#empty prayers au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

star-sim · 29 days ago

Text

japanese denim ☆ riki nishimura

☆ non-idol! riki x fem! reader ☆ summary: that one time your shower and heater broke down in the middle of winter, so you had to enlist the help of your neighbor... but since when was your neighbor so handsome?! ☆ genre: fluff, neighbors! au, high school! au, childhood friends to lovers, awkward crushessss ☆ word count: 3.6k

enjoy!

"Hi, I think my shower is broken, can I use yours?" Your nose scrunched as these words left your mouth.

There was no use feeling embarrassed. Especially in front of Riki Nishimura, your next door neighbor who you’ve known since you were a child.

“Yeah,” Riki said simply, his raspy voice sounding indifferent as always. “Just make sure you have your own towel.”

Although it’s embarrassing to admit, this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. You lived in a dinky little apartment complex, one with pipes and plumbing so crappy that it would randomly break. All it took was a prayer and maybe a few nights and it would somehow work again.

Riki Nishimura, a boy your age, was your next-door neighbor. As you’ve lived in your current apartment since you were a child, you’ve known the boy since childhood as well. In fact, both of your parents were at work more often than not. So, on the nights where either of your parents weren’t home (which was most nights), there was an unsung agreement to watch out for each other.

Sometimes if you heard too much crashing and movement from Riki’s side of the wall (oh, damn those thin walls), you’d just give him a little shout.

It wasn’t an ideal living situation. In fact, it was messy, annoying, and sometimes downright scary. And yet, this was your life, and there was no escaping it.

Tonight wasn't anything special.

Your shower had broken down once again, and of course, as you always did, you appeared at Riki’s door, in a bathrobe and slippers with your shower caddy and a towel. Cold and shivering, you cursed under your breath.

Why did your shower have to break down on the coldest night of the year??

As children, you and Riki had a casual relationship. You actually went to the same elementary and middle schools— and now the same high school. You’d end up walking together to and from school everyday. So many days where you’d get ice cream or milk cartons together, and so many more days where you’d inevitably come over to his apartment to play on his gameboy because he wouldn’t shut up about it. And of course, you’d have to help each other out sometimes.

He was a quiet guy, not someone who had a lot to say, but easily riled up. He was never great at getting along with people.

You’re not as close to him as you used to be. He's rather lonesome and brooding, though he has bursts of energy and you're reminded of his fiery personality that stuck with him even through childhood.

Still, he was your friend. You were all grown up now, but it didn't mean that you weren't comfortable around him. If there was anyone that you felt comfortable around, it had to be Riki.

But, something has been weird lately.

You couldn't put your finger on, but lately, you couldn't look at Riki the same way. Sometimes it was normal, but some other times, you'd feel an uncharacteristic feeling of shyness around him. You simply couldn't wrap your head around it— but you just felt so, so, so weird around him

It was strange.

Walking with him to school every morning, you had a heightened awareness of what words he said, and more importantly, the way his raspy voice sounded. When the cool winter wind blew, you'd pick up the scent of his cologne, and for a moment, you'd think that he smelled nice.

Sometimes you'd accidentally brush your hand against his. For someone that you used to take baths with as a kid, it shouldn't be weird. But now it was.

Maybe it was just teenage hormones.

As you slowly undressed, you took a glance at Riki’s bathroom sink. Other than his toothbrush, his deodorant bottle, and maybe a few colognes, his sink was practically empty, very different from your own that had makeup, skincare, and the like cluttered around the sink.

You folded your clothes neatly before stepping into the steaming shower.

Since Riki’s apartment was in the same complex, it was identical to yours in build. And as you basked in the warm water, humming a tune from your favorite song, it almost felt like you were in your own bathroom.

You were almost forgetting that you were in Riki’s shower when you heard a little click! and suddenly hard rock music was blasting from the other side of the door.

Immediately, your eyes shot open.

“Will you turn it down?!” you shouted, though you were certain from the reverberation and echo in your voice that you were muffled. Geez, how rude of him to disturb your peaceful shower! You swore you heard Riki laughing his ass off from the other side. Asshole.

You relished in the warm shower on your skin, as best as you could despite Riki’s music.

It felt normal for a few moments, until you were suddenly hit with that weird feeling of shyness. Riki's laugh rang in your head, the melodic tune of his hard rock bouncing off the walls. Has his laugh always sounded like that?

You huffed, pushing it to the back of your mind.

Don't be weird about him, the little voice in your head said. It's just Riki.

You’re lost in thought as you finish your nice shower. The bathroom is still steamy as you step out of the shower, drying yourself off.

Dry off completely, put on some body lotion, and maybe do some skincare, and now it's time to put on some clothes and—

Wait.

Where are your clothes?

You swore you brought your pajamas when you came knocking. Right?

You were in your robe and bath slippers, and you made sure to bring in your caddy your body wash, lotion, and— oh my God, you 100% left your change of clothes in your room… instead of taking it with you!

So now you either put your bathrobe, which was soaked already, on…. or do the unthinkable.

Ugh.

Slowly, holding your towel tightly around you, you peeked your head out from the bathroom door. You felt your cheeks heating up as the boy snapped his head toward you. No longer the little boy you knew him as, he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, scrolling on his phone and jamming to his music.

Your gaze fell over his features—his once round and star-filled eyes now sharp, and his once squishy cheeks replaced by a strong jaw.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked so different, yet the same as you always remembered.

When did he grow up?

"Riki..." you stammered. The way Riki's face immediately contorted, morphing into a highly questioning expression as he fixed his gaze on you. And you didn't know why, but when his eyes met yours, you felt a newfound feeling of shyness. Something that you never felt around him of all people. "Riki, I—I think I left my clothes."

Your neighbor stared at you for a few moments, and for a second, you could almost swear that he was boring holes into you. You shifted uncomfortably, leaning into the doorframe to hide yourself. It's that odd feeling toward him again.

Then, he clicked his tongue, before sighing exasperatedly and getting up.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Where did you leave them?"

You squeaked. You thought back to earlier, just before your shower broke down. Did you lay out a fresh pair of pajamas to wear?

No, you didn't.

"U-Um," you stumbled over your words. This was really embarrassing. Your cheeks burned. "I didn't leave them—Canyougointomyroomandgetmyclothesfrommydrawers?"

Riki stared at you again, his slim eyes narrowing. He sighed again, muttering something under his breath that sounded too much like, "You're an idiot."

You murmured a thank you, and as he left the room, you shouted after him, "My front door's unlocked!"

After a few minutes of waiting in Riki Nishimura's bathroom, with your heart beating uncharacteristically fast, and in nothing but a bath towel, you finally heard the front door of the Nishimura apartment open and close.

"I have your clothes," Riki said coolly as he knocked on the bathroom door.

"Oh, thank you, Riki!" you cried in joy, the door much wider now. "I really owe you— T-Tomorrow I'll buy you a milk."

Maybe a little joyful.

Because you didn't notice your bath towel slipping down from your body and your chest was mere centimeters from being exposed—

Riki's hand jerked, immediately zapping out to grab the hem of the towel wrapped around your chest, gripping it tightly so that it stayed in place.

You squeaked again. "R-Riki?"

"Your—Your towel," he mumbled, and suddenly, his eyes that were so focused on you looked straight at the floor.

"Oh." Your cheeks flared with warmth. You snatched the sloppily-folded clothes that Riki got for you. You flashed Riki an awkward smile.

"Thanks!" and then you shut the door immediately.

How embarrassing!

You rested your back against the bathroom door, holding your clothes close to your chest. Your eyes glazed over the way Riki had folded them, though it was a poor job. You snickered. One look at Riki's room, and it was clear that he wasn't the most organized person. But just because he knew you liked to keep things neat he folded your clothes just for you. How sweet of him.

You were about to forget the abnormal feelings of discomfort and shyness that you harbored toward him, when there was another knock on the bathroom door.

"[Name]..." Riki's voice was shaky, the shakiest that you've ever heard him. You hummed in response. "I think I— I think I forgot to give you your panties."

Oh my god.

The door barely cracked in and Riki threw you your panties, before the door slammed shut again.

Actually mortifying.

When you were done with your business, you took all of your belongings, carrying them out. Since the only way to get to the bathroom was to go through Riki’s room, the condensation and steam, scented with your body wash and shampoo, diffused through his room, filling the space with a sweet scent.

Riki, who was now sprawled across his bed, was reading manga, his head buried between the pages. Like always.

"Your body wash smells like strawberries," Riki remarked plainly as you left the bathroom and entered his room.

"Yeah," you scoffed, pointing at the big lettering on your body wash bottle, reading strawberry-scented. "That's the point."

You could hear Riki snort. Slowly, he poked his head out of the manga book. His slim eyes stared into you, before you felt them travel down your body.

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip. There it was again. That weird feeling of shyness.

He threw his manga aside, before he stood up and inched toward you.

Has Riki always been this tall? And big? You don't remember him being that much taller than you.

Before you knew it, Riki was right in front of you, with his neck bent down to stare directly at your chest, eyes squinting.

"W-What are you looking at?!" you cried.

"Is that my shirt?"

"Wh—"

"I swear that's my shirt," Riki said, bringing his face even closer to your chest to get a better look. Mind you, it was the shirt that he picked from your closet to bring to you. It was an old Naruto shirt, and you couldn't remember when you got it. "Did you take my shirt? When did you get this shirt?"

"I don't know!" You put one hand on his head, pushing him away. You hear Riki yelping, followed by complaining, but you tune it out. "Stop looking at my boobs and maybe I'll tell you!"

Riki shut up. His eyes stared at you, widened and with his lips parted. Your cheeks felt hot, burning hot.

"I— I'm sorry," Riki stammered, and unfortunately, Riki was incredibly bad at hiding how he was feeling... because you could feel his eyes darting toward your chest again. "I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up!" you cried. Embarrassment took over. "I'm a girl, you know! You can't just stare at me and expect it to be okay!"

Riki, just as embarrassed as you, cried back, "Well, I forget that you're a girl sometimes! So cut me some slack!"

You groaned loudly, storming out of his apartment, tuning out his yelling while trying to ignore your own embarrassment.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Riki Nishimura is so stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You stormed back to your apartment, slamming the door as loud as you could. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your cheeks feeling as if they'd been lit on fire. You marched right to your bedroom, ignoring the sound of your broken shower dripping. You threw everything aside, plopping straight onto your bed.

You were so embarrassed you were near tears, shoving your face in your pillows.

Why did Riki make you feel this way all of a sudden? On a normal day, you'd fight back, maybe even throw the first punch. But why were you now so resigned?

And you're just about to scream into your pillow and maybe do some stress-relief strategies when you hear a giant crack, another crash, and then suddenly your apartment was cold. You let out a shriek.

Freezing cold.

Usually it would take some time to notice that your heater had broken. In fact, in the summer you wouldn't even notice. But tonight was arguably one of the coldest nights in the entire year. So you noticed the way your home began to seemingly freeze over almost immediately.

You curled up under your blankets.

On nights like this, you always knew what to do: knock on Riki's door, and stay the night at his place. At least, under the assumption that his heating system didn't break down either.

But after what happened earlier, you didn't want to see Riki. Not now, not ever.

He's stupid and childish and insensitive! you thought.

You huddled under your blankets. Shivering, you tried your best to ignore the cold. But without an internal heating system, you swore ice was going to form in your house.

Maybe you should go ask Riki...

Your mind drifted back.

His slim eyes, his annoyingly smug face that contorted into one of embarrassment. His sharp jaw and his steely gaze. Your heart sped up. It was just yesterday that Riki was a little boy. And now he was handsome. Really handsome, that it intimidated you.

You still felt like the little girl that would play fight with him and squish your cheek up against his. But now that you were grown, it didn't feel right to touch him the same way that you used to. There was a wall now.

Riki has always been Riki. He's never been anything more to you than just Riki. But now he was attractive.

And it was frustrating you.

You're pulled out of your thoughts when you hear banging at the door and a familiar voice.

"Oi, [Name]!" It was Riki. You squeaked at the sound of his voice. "You good in there?!"

You didn't respond.

"I heard a scream, did something happen?" A few moments pass, and you still don't respond. Except, Riki is smarter than you think. "I know you're in there. I'm not going to leave until you say something!"

You huffed again. With your blankets draped over your shoulders and dragging behind your feet, you trudged to the door. Damn him.

"What do you want?" you squeaked as your door flew open, your eyes looking everywhere but into his.

Riki cocked a brow at you, and you huffed again. "Fine, my heater broke. Not a big deal."

"Why didn't you call me?" Riki's brows crashed together. "It's near-freezing outside."

"It's not that cold," you murmured, but Riki scowled, clicking his tongue. He was observant, and you knew he knew you were lying when his eyes fell down to your feet covered in layers of fluffy socks and to your legs that were shivering under the blankets.

"Stop lying, I know you're cold," he scoffed. "Come over. My heater's fine."

"I don't want to."

Riki reached out, your hands falling into his. "Your hands are freezing, come on."

And you'd object, if it weren't for the way his warm hands felt in yours, if it weren't for the way you already felt warmer with Riki.

Contrary to popular belief, Riki Nishimura was actually a pretty difficult person to read.

Well, at least, that's what he hoped.

It's no secret to anyone that Riki cared deeply about you. Riki's annoyed easily and he's a loner but that doesn't mean he's emotionless. Even though sometimes he feels like you view him that way.

Though, that seemed to be the general pattern.

Everyone knew that Riki was enamored with you. And yet, you didn't seem to realize that in the slightest. Because you're dense and just as stupid as he is. And to be fair, he tends to be quiet when he's around you.

One day Riki woke up and he realized that you weren't just you, but a very pretty girl, too. And the next thing he knew, you were all he could think about. You had always kept him at an arm's distance, and frankly, Riki was okay with that. As long as he got to keep you in his life, he was happy.

Maybe a little cynical for a boy his age, but Riki was so sure that he'd never have a chance with you. You were sweet and pretty, and he was everything but.

"Why are you still wearing just pajamas?" Riki couldn't help but scold you, rummaging through his closet searching for a hoodie for you to wear. "It was freezing in your apartment!"

You didn't say anything.

"And why didn't you come to me? You know my heater never breaks, and—"

You just sat on his bed, both your and his blanket over your shoulders, completely silent, eyes staring at the ground.

Riki bit the inside of his cheek.

Had he made you uncomfortable earlier? It killed him knowing that he did.

Riki sighed. His stomach pitted.

He glanced at your face: pretty as always, but awfully vacant.

Damn it, he thought. Did he just ruin it?

Riki inched toward you, a hoodie in hand. He murmured something under his breath, placing the hoodie down next to you on his bed.

His chest felt heavy.

He never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable. In a world full of weirdos Riki always wanted to be your friend.

"Hey," he started, his voice soft. "I'm really— I'm really sorry about earlier."

Your eyes gazed up at him, blinking slowly, and before you could respond, Riki continued.

"I... I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," his voice stayed quiet, but Riki kept his eyes on your face. "I- I—"

"Wait what?" You finally said, your face contorted. "You didn't make me uncomfortable."

"But..." Riki's brows furrowed together. You looked at him, your eyes locked together. You stared at him for a few moments, before you huffed.

"Just shut up," you muttered, before curling further into Riki's bed, turning your back to him.

Riki stood there, staring at your back. He dug his nails into his palm. It was so weird, for it to be awkward between you and him.

"Aren't you cold too?" you asked slowly after a few seconds.

"Right," Riki blinked. "Can I— Should I lay with you? Or..."

Riki watched your expression twitch. "I-It's your bed. You can do whatever y-you want."

"Right."

So awkward.

Both you and Riki laid in his bed, like planks, refusing to get to close. Which was weird, because you and him used to nap together all the time as kids.

The two of you laid in silence, until you broke it.

"Riki, is your heater on?"

He hummed. "Yeah. Is it not warm enough?"

You sniffled, and now that Riki heard your voice, you sounded raspy and dry. "I think I.. I think I'm coming down with a cold."

Riki could feel you physically shaking beside him, shivering like crazy. His hand reached out for your face. You let out a small eep! as you flinched away.

Riki jerked his hand away from you.

You stared at his startled expression. "S-Sorry."

Riki's hand crept closer to your face again. "Can I?"

You nodded, and Riki brought his hand up to feel your forehead.

"Shit, you're really warm," he muttered. "Do you feel feverish?"

You shook your head. Riki was about to bring his hand away, but you clutched his wrist, keeping his hand there on your forehead.

"Don't," you said, as your eyelids fell shut. "You're so warm."

Riki watched with a warm face as you nuzzled into his large hands. Under his palm, you still shivered with such ardor.

Like when you were kids, Riki's arm slithered down to your shoulder carefully. Before he pulled you closer, with his voice as low as a whisper, he asked, "Can I?"

You only hummed, and that was all Riki needed to pull you into his embrace. You were still trembling, and despite being buried under layers and layers of blankets, your skin was so cold to the touch.

You let out a small squeak, before you pushed your face closer into him.

"So cold," you said into his chest.

"I know," Riki whispered. "I know, [Name]."

Your breath was now slowing down, your words slurring as you mumbled a small thanks under your breath.

"Of course," he said back, chuckling as you seemingly tried to dig yourself into his skin.

"Love you," you murmured, and everything froze for Riki. "Thanks for everything, Riki."

And with that, you were asleep.

Fighting the stupid grin that was taking purchase on his face, Riki could only breathe into your ear, "I love you, too."

#star-sim #vanya-writes #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #riki imagines #riki nishimura #enhypen niki #riki fluff #nishimura riki x reader #nishimura riki #nishimura riki fluff #ni ki enhypen #ni ki #enhypen riki

1K notes · View notes

nemesyaaa · 7 months ago

Text

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

1K notes · View notes

saintobio · 8 months ago

Text

LUCIFER.

his fall was not from grace, yet in his descent, he found freedom—a kingdom of his own making, where he rules not with light, but with the shadows it casts. and you, unfortunate soul, are the sin that fuels his eternal reign.

♱ genre. gothic, dark romance, smut, angels/demons au, 18+

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ tags. 5.2k wc. this fic will contain dark and twisted themes. please heed the warnings and proceed with proper discretion. demon!sylus, sylus is ooc, not set in lads universe, profanity, heavy sacrilege/blasphemy, catcalling, sadistic undertones, noncon/dubcon, toxic relationships, corruption, sex in church, dacryphilia, mentions of obsession, allusions to stockholm syndrome, yandere, fingering, unprotected sex, explicit smut.

♱ notes. this is an old rewritten/reimagined fic of mine bcos i saw a theory abt sylus being a demon. and coincidentally, rewatching a season of lucifer only made my brain rot tenfold D; so if you've seen me post this fic before with another character, pretend you didn't >:D

Thunder grumbled as a flash of lighting struck through the dark blanket of twilight skies. The rumbling sound angrily resonated through the stretch of clouds as if the heavens were to wash away human sins that have long been plaguing this era of the 21st century. A shower of rain soon followed that started in huge droplets and later cascaded from the slate gray clouds like waterfall.

Checking your old leather watch, it was only 6PM. It had been two hours since the power outage doomed the whole neighborhood because the utility poles were severely damaged after the hurricane ravaged the city yesterday.

The thick soles of your boots landed heavily on the tessellated sidewalk with every step, holding your umbrella closer to seal you from the heavy rainfall. Your eyes followed the beads of rain that bounced off the cold cement as your mind wandered further than where your body could take you to.

You had left Sylus sleeping in bed back in your shared apartment so you could walk around the city and drop by the church. It wasn’t like you sneaked out, but was only reluctant to let him know of your whereabouts because you didn’t want him to follow you around, especially to such a scared place like church. Before you left, however, you did ensure that his silver cross was still enclosed around his collar just for your sanity.

It had been a while since you last visited the church. With the power out and nothing else to do, you decided it was the perfect time to visit the cathedral where you always made your most solemn prayers.

The streets were still in shambles, though. Road signages were sprawled on the sidewalk, branches were barely hanging off the trees—the city had vestiges of wreckage from the hurricane that emptied a usually busy metropolitan area today. Most people were still at the leisure of their homes as work and classes have been suspended until further notice, for everyone’s safety and to allow the government to clean the roads.

You could already imagine Sylus shaking his head at your resistance to just stay indoors and simply be with him. The only reason you were confident to leave his side today was because it had been awhile since the last incident. You could live with the thought of coming back home to Sylus and his usual self. Sylus, who was always thoughtful and tenderhearted albeit his dominant exterior. Never did you think that you could land a man of such warmth—a year in two days—but how you met was a story made for another day.

Amidst the already dismal atmosphere outside, stepping by the narthex inside the baroque church greeted you with an even more caliginous surrounding. Darkness enshrouded the interiors of your chosen place of worship with only as much as three paschal torches by the apse to light up the altar. Still, with God’s presence, your feet carried you in slow footsteps along the velvet red aisle as you made your way towards the nave.

You were alone in the eerie cathedral, but fear did not consume as you were in attendance to the crucifix above the high altar. This was your favorite cathedral among all the others in the city simply because of its gothic Victorian architecture.

Fixed with the cathedral’s grandeur and bedight with ornate decorations, you became more comfortable at situating yourself by the pew—genuflecting on the elevated wood behind the stretch of oak benches as soon as you found your usual spot.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” you whispered in sotto voce, performing a sign of the cross with your eyes glued to the crucifix that represented Jesus Christ. You had your elbows propped atop the bench as you silently prayed.

Loving and gracious God, with all love and mercy, we thank you for blessing us with another day and protecting us in times of natural disaster.

You wanted to ignore the unusual cold air that slithered on your skin in horripilation. Your prayer resumed despite the Stygian gloom that darkened the cathedral’s interior or the sound of the harsh wind slamming through the towering doors by the vestibule. The storm is coming again, you mentally noted.

With your grace and kindness, Lord, I pray that you will continue to guide us—

The manly fleer echoing through the vacantness of the church made you halt from your recital. “I knew my cute church girl would be here.”

You knew that devilish voice all too well that it had you shutting your eyes, petrified. No wonder the air felt sinister. But if your gut-feeling about him was right, then there was no need to be frightened. “Sylus, I’m in the middle of a prayer,” you hushed, although before you could turn around to face his silhouette, he had already transported to your side with a wicked smile plastered on his pallid face.

“I’m not him,” he spoke in an orotund voice, stepping closer and closer. His ash blond hair did not hide his incarnadine eyes. “Stop looking for that runt when you’re with me.”

You stepped out of the pew with a rapid heartbeat, standing by the aisle as the tall man towered over you. “S-Sylus, where’s your—” you searched for his silver cross and found it still hanging around his neck, “did you break it?”

He glowered at your accusation. “You know I would if I could, sweetie.”

You exhaled a deep sigh. This was not Sylus, this was the malevolent demon inside of him. You ought to be cautious of yourself. “Okay, well... Leave me alone. I’m praying.”

“Ordering me around?” Each step that he took reverberated across the cathedral. He stretched his head from side-to-side in a manner that showed his ennui. “Don’t you miss me, kitten?”

There was no stopping to the loud thumping of your heart as you stood along the aisle with Sylus backing you off further to the center. “Sylus, I said not now,” you begged, but he refused to listen and only wiped his lower lip with his thumb.

“I hate it when you make me wait,” he muttered, stepping forward until your lower back hit the credence table at the altar. You found yourself trapped in a decreasing distance between yourself and the sadistic devil in front of you. “Don’t look so scared. We do this every time.”

“I’m not scared, but...” Your voice was getting softer, yet filled with fret. You pressed a hand on his chest as he locked your body with both arms around the table. “Please, not here.”

You had to be firm, you just had to be but you couldn’t muster the courage to fight back in Sylus’s presence. He was the embodiment of power and you were the representation of weakness.

He was a demon that thrived on sin, and he drew strength from indulging in the seven deadly sins. Vainglory, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath, sloth—all of those fueled his existence. Today, however, it was the third sin that consumed him, the one that ignited his darkest sexual desires.

“I’ll be quick,” he bargained, undoing the upper buttons of your dress despite your failed attempts at pushing him away. Doing it at such a place! You sent him a glare but he only returned a sly smile. “How about we show your God what you’re really like underneath that maidenly exterior, hm? Show him how dirty you really are?”

God, help me. You desperately shook your head, now overthinking if someone could see what he was about to do to you in this holy sanctuary. Long before you could cover your chest, he already pinned your wrist on the side as he lowered the fabric to show your collar. “Sylus—!”

“Don’t be shy, kitten,” the whisper he sent through the shell of your ear caused shivers to your spine. With his heightened senses, he placed his mouth on your ear, “No one’s here to watch us except for your God. Be a good girl now.”

You tried to push him once more to no avail as he sucked on the flesh above your shoulder. There was no warning to prepare you from the sudden harsh suction. “I-It hurts!”

Your nails dug into your palms to leave crescent marks on your flesh while you were squirming out of his strict hold.

“It hurts? Good.” He continued to leave marks all over your flesh as he caged your waist around his arm. The feeling of his teeth pricking your skin had you whimpering in pain, and his eyes had grown rutilant when he momentarily pulled away to look at you. “You’ll hurt even more,” and then he erupted into a deep chuckle as if you were a meal that he was seasoning with a sprinkle of fear, “I should really just keep you for myself.”

Your desire to breathe grew exponentially. “I’m not yours.”

A low sneer and a dissatisfied ego had you pressed against the oak table in surprise. “Yes, you are,” he reiterated as though he was enforcing the idea in your head. “Your soul, your heart, your body—you are mine.”

“I’m not! I wasn’t born in this world to be your property,” you protested, pulling away from his grip only to be slammed harsher on the table. You knew you should never anger a demon but his possessive nature irked you. Aside from your already shameful situation, you wanted nothing but to get away from him. “You’re evil.”

“What makes you so brave? Your beliefs?” he gritted, reaching for an object near your head that turned out to be the Bible. “This?” he quickly opened the sacred handbook and ripped the pages in front of your very eyes with a distasteful smile. How easily he ripped it, how easily he also tossed it. “Whatever, then. There’s no God. You humans are complete idiots for worshiping a nonexistent being. Weren’t you the ones saying that I’d burn as soon as I stepped into a church?”

“He is your father!” You sat back up, revolted by his blasphemy. He had no right to mock God like this. “Don’t taint my beliefs with yours. My faith in Him is stronger than you think.”

“You should know what it’s like to be in hell before you say that shit,” he retorted, placing his lips back on your ear, “I’ll take you there with me.”

This is not the time and place! What a shameful situation he was putting you through, so unbelievably shameful and obscene that you couldn’t look at him in the eyes. “Sylus, I swear. I’m going home if you’re gonna keep on—”

He huffed, showing boredom by dismissing you with a wave of his hand. “Ah, fine. You’re boring. Continue the prayer, then.”

For one of two things; first, Sylus would never let you off easily. Every act of defiance would garner you a punishment. Second, he was a time bomb. You never knew when his most cruel intentions would come to show. He was a malefic being that wouldn’t give two shits about where he was as long as he was having fun at torturing your soul.

You should have known that when you chose to finish your prayer back at the pew. Sylus would simply not last long enough to just sit by your side in his apathy.

“Holy Father, please forgive us for our sins—”

He snorted in ill-humor. “Pitiful.”

And while you sat there looking up at the crucifix, Sylus’s hand was already sneaking its way under your skirt. His icy fingers traced your inner thighs until he reached your center, and that was when you finally grabbed his wrist to stop him with wide, scandalized eyes. Was anyone on the qui vive to see you right now?

“Sylus, for heaven’s sake,” you hissed, pulling his wrist away but his slender fingers were already coordinating motions against your clothed core. You had to look around in panic lest there be any unknown audience peeking from the shadows. Despite your refusal to submit, the contact was eliciting suppressed moans out of your parted lips. “Y-You’re insane. This isn’t the place.”

His smile was full of triumph and excitement, his right eye glowing ominously he spoke. “What makes it different?” he asked, raising your skirt and inserting his fingers inside your underwear. You had to press your lips together as soon as he started rubbing his fingers on your clit. “See, you enjoy the fuck out of it. I can see through your deepest desires, kitten. It’s telling me… ‘don’t stop’.”

Your palm was pressed on his chest while his other hand tried to spread your legs open. The very position you were in—leaned on the wooden bench, legs spread apart, and being fingered in the presence of God—you were certainly going to hell. This was going against your belief, having your chastity corrupted in arrant disgrace by a man who was the devil himself.

How exactly did you find yourself in this predicament? You came here to offer a quick prayer, not to be pressed on the bench by a man who was now unbuckling his belt in haste. You could only think of how Sylus, who was an angel beyond his demons, was perhaps trying to come out of being trapped in the dungeon where Satan had him caged.

“This is so wrong,” your lips quivered as you spoke, both of the curling of your toes and of the shameless sacrilegious act. You knew you couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried because Sylus would remain tenacious until he got what he wanted.

With that, you fully submitted yourself to him and let the back of your head rest on the wooden surface while you stared at the stained glass that roofed the cathedral in different hues.

Sylus was fast to display a smirk while positioning his hardened length on your entrance. The bands of your underwear were now resting mid-thigh as he pressed himself down on you with one knee supporting the angle of his hips. He was running his throbbing tip between your plump folds to lubricate himself with your slick. No screams could be released because you restrained your own whimpers, but your tears brimmed on the corner of your eyes from the initial penetration.

“Ngh!” Your nails dug deep on his forearms. “S-Sylus!”

“Are you crying?” His carmine eyes glinted of sadistic humor, running his gelid thumb across your lower lip only to sink it deep inside your mouth. “How does it feel knowing that the God you worship can’t save you?”

A tear slid down from your eyes to your temple as Sylus started moving his hips in an achingly slow rhythm, each thrust going deeper than the last. You almost bit his thumb before he released your mouth by gripping your wrist. “Sylus—someone could see—!”

To your irony, the crucifix stared down at you and enkindled your conscience from this sinful act. Father, forgive me. You could only whisper those words in your head because your mouth was too occupied in crying out Sylus’s name.

“So warm.” It was hard not to think of how attracted he looked when he raked his fingers through his hair, later meeting your eyes with overpowering lust. He didn’t hold back at burying his cock into your cavern, allowing your walls to fit his girth like tight gloves—the feeling garnering his raspy grunt. “You’re mine, sweetie. All mine.”

Sylus. You blinked your tears away as you closed your eyes. Sylus’s lips were now on your neck as he increased the pace of his member sliding in and out of your cunt with squelching noises that shamelessly echoed across the cathedral. “Sylus,” your lips were on his ear, “we’re in—aah—church.”

Unlike you, he was nonchalant about the sacredness of the house of God. He was mocking the supreme being that you held faith to as an act of engraving his existence into your mortal soul. While you restrained your moans as he slammed his pelvis against your hole, there was fulfillment rattling in his bones when he pressed your face to the side before diving in to suck on your sweet flesh.

“Cry more. Did you know your walls get warmer when you’re aroused?”

It was hard to describe the feeling. The median between pain and pleasure was the closest example you could liken it to. The grazing of his fangs added to the burning sensation that you had all over your body as if fire was ignited to light up all your nerves.

Your hand latched onto his shirt before his body collapsed on top of you. With your legs spread wide, his head hung low on your neck—still and unmoving, strangely like he had fallen asleep.

“Sylus.” You tapped his arm through the heavy rise and fall of your chest.

And before you could move away, he shot straight up and looked at you with those foxy incarnadine eyes that were now in the shade of deep crimson. Eyes that were wide and full of horror as he looked around the cathedral before he slowly realized what he had just done.

“Y/N,” he said your name regretfully, pulling your dress down to cover your exposed parts, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I did this—? I don’t—”

Long dried were the tears on your cheek. As you two scrambled to fix your clothes, you pulled him into a hug while he murmured endless sorry’s to your ear. At least, for now he was back. That was the most important thing with all the sanity you had left.

“Just get me out of here, Sy,” you said, back into the arms of your human lover.

You’ve always wondered why Sylus often slept during the day. Or why his normal heartbeat was at the pace of someone who was having a heart attack. Or why he could get serious wounds but managed to heal himself fast. Sometimes he would disappear from your sight and transport himself into another. Sometimes he would see and hear things a thousand times clearer than any other person could.

For almost a year of dating, these questions only came up to you without much of an answer. You thought that you were simply theorizing over things that you shouldn’t. Why does Sylus always wear that cross around his neck? At the back of your head, you were always intrigued.

You didn’t find out about the real reason until two months ago when you finally met ‘Lucifer’ out of nowhere. If Sylus was Jekyll, Lucifer was his Hyde. It was his way to allow you to form a dissociation between the two beings in one body.

You never believed in devils until Sylus showed his demonic face to you one night while you were supposedly peacefully sleeping. You recalled the screams that you released when you found out that Sylus was the fallen angel all along. That the rosary around his neck was meant to seal his dark side, the side that you still didn’t know much of. Up until this day, he didn’t provide a concrete answer as to why he needed to seal himself. He was taciturn about the topic of his other self despite you bringing it up every now and then.

But because you loved him, trusted him, and believed him when he said that he didn’t plan to hurt you—you stayed. You knew his human side better than the monster within him, so you told yourself that you could stay for him. You just needed to learn more about him.

There were still moments where you felt cautious around him, but when you looked to see his softened expression, you were comfortable at seeing the Sylus that you knew.

“Y/N,” he broke the silence that lingered between you two as you walked around the city, “I’m sorry.”

You tugged at his hand in reassurance. “It’s okay, I just...” As flashbacks of the earlier events returned to your head, you felt ashamed at having done such dirty deeds at a holy place. “He always gets what he wants.”

Because you let him.

“I can’t do anything when I’m trapped,” Sylus mumbled, keeping up with your footsteps as you strode along the street.

Your curiosity bubbled from his statement. “What happens when he’s taking over?”

This time, Sylus didn’t shy away from giving an answer while he interlaced his hand with yours. “I can hear everything, but I can’t feel or see. It’s all black, like I’m in a dark void.”

“Like comatose?”

“You could say that.”

How could a rosary seal his other self? How come he had two versions of him?

“He’s obsessed with you,” he admitted, frowning at the thought as you passed rows and rows of boutiques and restaurants. “Your soul, your scent, your body. That’s probably why he always has the urge to come out.”

The thought of it permeated heat on your cheeks even when it shouldn’t. Sylus had always been sweet and loving with his intimacy with you, but his other side was rough and sadistic. He liked tormenting your innocence with his immorality.

“You said the rosary was meant to seal him, but how come he keeps on—”

“It doesn’t work these days. Only my father can help, but I don’t wanna go that far just to tell him about this.”

Father. It was the first time he had ever spoken about his father in your twelve months together. Or did he mean father as in God? “Where’s your father, Sylus? Or the rest of your family? Are the other archangels roaming on Earth, too?”

You could see it in his saintly face that he was about to give an answer and you anticipated it, not until the nearby catcalling distracted you two.

“Nice legs, gorgeous,” whistled the man who was leaning by the street railings with a cigarette in his hand. The man was probably in his mid-40’s with disheveled hair and unshaved face. You sent him a glare but a crude wink was returned.

“It’s a bit rude to ogle at my woman in front of me, don’t you think?” was Sylus’s warning, the tendrils of his black-red mist extending to surround the man.

You could hear the man hooting again, unaware of what would become of him. “Ha ha! You punk. I’d spread those legs in a heartbeat.”

While Sylus’s eyes were deepening into a darker hue, you knew you couldn’t risk seeing him release his demonic side again. It was a dangerous gamble. And the city could become a bloodbath. So, in your insistence, you told your lover to just leave it be.

“Sylus, let it go,” you gently asked, tugging at his arm softly. You wanted to avoid confrontation and just continue walking with you until you could reach your destination. “It’s okay.”

“Happy anniversary to my favorite couple!”

The clinking of glasses was followed by cheers on the booth where your boyfriend and your friends sat together. It was Avery’s idea to celebrate the special day two days prior as an excuse to hang out and drink. Luke and Kieran, being Sylus’s minions, were very much willing to join.

“It’s not until Wednesday,” Sylus corrected with a smile, sipping on his pint before putting an arm around you. He gestured towards Avery and Luke with a knowing look. “Now you two should date each other.”

You giggled at the thought. “Yeah, I totally support that.”

Instead, the two of them reacted heavily against it—faking a gag, making a face, name it all. They were adamant on showing how disgusted they were at the thought of dating each other and it was quite a hilarious sight to watch.

“Boss, come on,” Luke replied in outward distaste.

Avery, on one hand, was rolling her eyes. “You wish I was interested. I’d rather do Kieran than you.”

Kieran was Luke’s twin, the less obnoxious and more empathic one. But when those two were combined, their level of mischief wasn’t really any different from each other.

“Picking Kieran is the most insulting thing you can say to me,” huffed Luke, earning yours and Avery’s chuckle.

After an exchange of playful banter and teasing remarks, the conversation was redirected back to you and Sylus as Avery curiously brought up how you first met your boyfriend. It was only a year ago and the memory was still vivid in your head.

“Oh my God. I remember how Y/N first saw you at this auction,” she gushed towards your boyfriend while you blushed, gripping his arm closer, “and she’s acting like she just saw her soulmate.”

Kieran decided to chime in, “Boss was looking at her too, though. He may look tough, but he’s a hopeless romantic deep down—”

“Enough,” Sylus warned before sipping on his glass.

You rested your head on his shoulder and relaxed against him. “Next thing you guys know, we’re living together.”

Frankly, everything was normal until Sylus showed up.

“What do you like most about her, Sylus?” Avery egged on with a grin spreading on her face.

Your boyfriend didn’t even take a second to answer, “She’s cute like a cat,” he said, caressing your hand with his thumb from under the table, “and smart, and caring. Can get spicy, too. It won’t end.”

Sylus was the same, if not better. You didn’t have much experience when it came to dating, but you were surely on top of the luck department for being blessed with a man like him. He was the most protective person you knew, the most affectionate, the most thoughtful. Sylus was the moon that illuminated your dark nights. You could even remember how he would wait outside of your workplace to pick you up in his motorcycle—those were the little things that lasted for a lifetime in someone’s memory.

“She’s also a nun.”

The sudden panic in your eyes came simultaneous to the fast beating of your heart. You swiftly whipped your head to look at Sylus who was now displaying a deriding smirk across his pale face. Oh, were you doomed. The ruby eyes and the stony face was clear confirmation that the demon had taken over him. Twice in the same day.

Even Avery was surprised by his word of choice, but nonetheless found it amusing as it was rare for them to see Sylus acting bold. You were grateful for her obliviousness because you didn’t know how else you could explain the situation at hand.

“She’s a what, boss-man?” Luke jeered, chugging on his pint and looking at his boss in his newfound entertainment. He was among the very few people that knew Sylus’s true nature. Because the twins were demons like him.

“A nun,” Sylus answered, sending a look of mischief your way. You were deeply panicking that you had to squeeze his hand in hopes of stopping him from showing his true colors. “What? Don’t be shy, kitten. Didn’t we have fun in that church?”

You quickly shook your head and denied it in front of your friends. “We didn’t. Don’t believe him.”

Avery was unbelievably taken aback. “Wow,” she held back a chuckle, “I didn’t know Sylus has a vulgar mouth.”

The night carried on while the downpour engulfed the streets heavily. Your desperation to leave the dinner earlier than intended was solely because you weren’t comfortable at having Sylus around other people. The man was clearly enjoying the embarrassment that he was putting you through. And you, you were only being cautious. Who knew what things he could do to Avery while in his other form?

You didn’t want things to end up where Sylus would be ostracized by the people who knew him just because they couldn’t understand that he was completely harmless in his benevolent self.

It took a lot of effort to finally make an excuse of getting home early while the skies have temporarily calmed down. However, as you two strolled across the street, Sylus wouldn’t stop blabbering on and on about how you should have stayed more to talk about how prudish you were.

“I’m not in the mood right now,” you spoke in a detached voice, moving away from him as you walked together. Because you ruined it, you wanted to add. The cold breeze kissed your face through the dark.

Sylus only moved closer to you. “You shouldn’t be so uptight,” he countered, “Is that how kittens should act? Or do I punish you back at home?”

Punishments. You didn’t wish to go through another round of his ‘punishments’ because you weren’t certain at how creative he could be at delivering them. There was no doubt that a man who traversed the ages would have seen enough torture devices used during the earlier times. Perhaps he could get inspiration from those.

“I just wanna go home,” you muttered, almost inaudibly had his heightened hearing senses not worked.

“Good, then I can have fun with y—” Sylus halted from his words as his face froze at the sight in front of him. His body had completely gone stiff and his jaws were clenched. You would have thought that he was angry until that evil upturn of his lips came to show.

“Sylus...”

Following his sight, he was all eyes on a man from a distance before he dashed towards the stranger, leaving you utterly stupefied from where you stood. What’s he on about? You rushed as your heels landed in lightweight steps across the sidewalk while you watched in terror how Sylus mercilessly throttled the man by the neck and dragged him into a dark alleyway.

“Sylus, stop!”

As you reached him with a panting breath, you realized that the man he was holding high up against the wall was the same person that catcalled you earlier. The man was wriggling away from Sylus’s tight grip, only to be asphyxiated harsher than before.

“Wh-What’s your problem?” The man struggled to breathe due to the strangulation and you were pulling Sylus’s other arm to stop him.

At the sight of Sylus’s crimson eyes and vicious stance, you knew there was nothing much you could do to prevent harm. He was determined to do what he wanted without paying attention to his surroundings.

“You’re fantasizing her, huh?” Sylus taunted with a sinister undertone in his words. “You wanna spread ‘em open?”

Recalling the very words he spoke, the man saw you with frantic eyes as his face was reddening from the lack of oxygen. With a rushed shake of the head and a face that was begging for sympathy, he tried to break free. “N-No, no. She’s—haaa! She’s all yours.”

“Sylus, stop it.” You grabbed his arms and attempted your best to pull him away despite the trepidation that caused you goosebumps. “Please stop, you’re gonna kill him.”

Every time you saw this demonic creature, you were learning new things about him and most of those things were of the worst kind. Not only was he possessive—he was diabolical, potentially obsessive, and a cutthroat sadist who wouldn’t even blink before ending someone’s life. This was the true nature of a demon, not some silly fantasy that today’s pop-culture portrayed them to be.

He was a body without a soul.

Unfortunately, you should have thought twice before choosing to get involved with him.

“That’s my plan, sweetie.”

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x y/n #lads x reader #lads x you #lnds x reader #lds x reader #l&ds x reader #sylus smut #tw.dark content

1K notes · View notes

girl-lostconnection · 2 months ago

Text

Acceleration AU (part 4) 7.1k

Warnings: smut, insecurities, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is middle child and hates it, possessive behavior, Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader, Simon is a loser😔, mentions of religious elements (prayer beads) as allegory, suggestive themes, abandonment issues

Soap isn’t sure about anything. Soap looks at you and feels a surge of protectiveness, your tears cracking open the soft tender part of him.

The protector. At his core Johnny is a protector, and you look like you could use one. He knows you are capable of doing it all yourself, God, he can see the way you actually snarl at Simon when he tries to make decisions for you.

But he can’t help but move a little closer to you, passing you a pillow for your lower back while you drink your tea. It earns him a small smile and an additional biscuit on his plate.

(He will come off his leave few pounds heavier thanks to your efforts, but God, it’s not fair how delicious everything is)

For some reason you keep feeding him like your life depends on it, sneaking him crackers and nuts and sandwiches.

Passing him juicy cuts of steak Simon fries for dinner. Making him tea and sharing your cookies. Cutting fruit and peeling oranges and tangerines.

Soap feels like you would hand feed him like he’s a sparrow if you could. If he’d let you.

Caring for him comes to you so naturally like you don’t even have to think about it. And watching you notice Simon’s mood swings and the fact that you pinned comfort foods list for his lieutenant on the fridge…it speaks volumes.

Soap isn’t sure what’s going on and what it means but Simon seems incredibly pleased, and you seem to act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

So, he just…accepts it? He likes to eat and things you pass him are always delicious so there are no actual grounds for complaining.

You aren’t pushy like Simon is with his advances, you don’t hover, you don’t stare him down. Where Simon is a mountain, an enormous heavy presence and heavy hands and heavy eyes — you are the wall.

You are the cover and safety and absolutely unyielding nature. You are wide shoulders and warm fingers passing him food. You feel like shelter.

Still, he can’t help but sneak glances at you and Simon, trying to gauge how you two even happened. How does it work?

Why did you two stuck together for so long?

Two stones won’t make a paper and while he thought that he and L.T. balance each other out, he didn’t know about you in the past. And now when he does the dynamic leaves him puzzled.

It’s entirely new side to Ghost. A side he never knew before, a side no one but you see, probably.

But you mention running low on groceries and Simon gets up without a second word, getting dressed.

Soap isn’t sure he’s morally ready to stay with you in an empty apartment while he wears your…boyfriend’s? partner’s? just yours? Simon’s sweater.

So, he gets up as well and then you hum to yourself and also get up, quickly drafting up a list in your phone’s notes app, murmuring to yourself what you need to get and occasionally asking Simon (who’s already one leg out the door) if he knows whether or not you have flour.

Simon huffs, getting his boots off and pads back to pantry to check before reporting that no, no flour.

Finally, after two more walks to the pantry (you seem to enjoy making Simon walk back and forth simply because why not and Soap hides his grin behind a cup) and uncomfortably warm fifteen minutes in a puff jacket (that’s what he gets for getting ready too quick) you all are dressed and ready to go.

The afternoon is cold but crisp, not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly enough for you to pull out sunglasses and push them on Simon’s nose.

Simon presses a short kiss to the crown of your head and extends palm to Soap, making a flexing gesture with his fingers.

Johnny feels something inside of him warm up when he takes Ghost’s hand and gets pulled up close, grinning when sunglasses almost slide off Simon’s crocked nose.

It’s good. He feels like a boyfriend. Like Simon’s boyfriend.

Where he stands with you, he’s not sure yet, because as much as primal part of him surges up to protect you from slick mud and Simon’s glares and stranger almost checking you off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, he doesn’t know how you feel about him.

Why bother imagining something that may not even come to life? Powering through obstacles is purely Simon’s virtue, Johnny is more used to rebuilding things. To squeezing through the cracks and making his home in people’s heads before they catch the wind of it.

But you prance forward, click your tongue in annoyance when Simon pulls you back. There is a silent moment where you two just stare at each other and Johnny swears he can see the conversation happening.

He’s just not a part of it.

Johnny has never seen before the way you and Simon operate outside of your home bubble and now, he thinks he gets it a little.

There is this years-old familiarity with which you cover Simon’s side in the crowded mall, pressing him to the opposite side of people walking by you — minimizing amount of accidental physical contact with strangers for him.

And Simon lets you do this without as much as a sound, free palm under your puff jacket, on the small of your back as you lead the way.

It’s as if you know Simon like you know the back of your own hand, perfectly attuned to the level of his comfort, hypervigilant as soon as you step outside.

It’s the same deal inside of the supermarket when Simon tugs your puff jacket off, draping it over the crook of his elbow and pushes the trolley forward, following you as you go.

It’s a routine that you two have, it’s a habit born of years and years of knowing and learning each other’s clicks and hurts and little sore spots.

To the point when now Simon just hums and puts headphones on you when there are screaming kids in the store, and you haul in the shopping cart twice the amount of his favorite snacks.

You two just click and go, moving as a well-oiled machine, the intimate understanding of a perfectly combined puzzle — polished to perfect silence and flickering back and forth glances.

Soap feels the way his right shoulder nervously twitches and speeds up, so he doesn’t get left behind. There is a cool spiky ache in his chest at the comfortable silence you two share.

He’d honestly prefer to chat up one of you, but you are already wearing headphones, engrossed in shopping and Simon looks like he’s perfectly content with staying silent.

You two share a routine and Soap doesn’t know how to slot himself into it.

He doesn’t know if he should.

(How do you know when you are in? How do you know that you can make yourself at home? How do you know you are wanted there? How?)

Johnny waits for a sign.

Trying to see whether he needs to pack up his bag or stay by the door.

He doesn’t wait to see if he’s invited in the bed, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Simon would change his mind, he doesn’t wait to see if you would kick him out like a stray dog.

A mutt that wandered a little close to the warmth of the hearth and wasn’t immediately shooed away.

Now lying under the table, nervous to breathe too often, nervous to ask for things, nervous to lick petting hands.

But Johnny is not a mutt. He doesn’t want to be one.

Johnny is smarter than empty despair, Johnny is stronger than taking it lying down, Johnny is too stubborn to give up easily.

So, he chats Simon up, so he makes his way into Simon’s arms and Simon’s bed and Simon’s life.

And he meets you.

You watch him — wary and tense, eyes growing heavy when he tries to push through you, when he tries to sneak under your table and wait you out.

It doesn’t happen.

John is annoyed that it doesn’t.

Part of him relieved at that. He tries not to think about that part.

Johnny is from a big family with brothers and sisters, born somewhere in between.

Born and forgotten — mom’s kiss on the cheek and sibling’s shove coming a little too late to go unnoticed. Just a moment later than for everyone else, like they have to make a conscious effort to remember that he is there too.

Just one of the children. Just one of the brothers.

Nothing special really.

He fucking hates it.

He doesn’t want to be one of someone’s, he doesn’t want to be blank face in the crowd, he doesn’t want to be second fiddle and second choice and second best.

Johnny wants to be the first. Johnny wants to be the best.

Johnny wants to be wanted.

He’s just not sure yet how to get himself in your hands. If you even want him, if you even would take him as he is or would he need to adapt to you. Would he need to create a separate Johnny specifically for you?

So, he can stay with Simon and you. So, he doesn’t get tossed out as soon as you are done with him staining your pretty hardwood floors and laying in your bed and fucking with your Simon.

Johnny hates that in his head he can’t name Simon his. Johnny hates that he doesn’t even share Simon with you — you already have him. You had him way before Soap.

And you won’t need to do anything to keep him. Simon is not leaving. Simon isn’t going anywhere from you. Simon is not leaving you behind.

Johnny doesn’t know whether or not he will get left behind. Johnny wants to find out.

He murmurs “give it to me, lass” getting your bags of groceries and watches you wrestle the door. Plastic of bags cuts in his palms, and he thinks they bought entirely too much, because do they really eat all of that?

But then he takes another look at Simon, picking coins off the floor and sighs. Yeah, probably they do. He didn’t think how much three grown people eat. Or two grown people and a bottomless pit of a man.

Simon huffs out air and rolls his shoulders when everything spills out of your bloody pockets.

It’s nothing special really, just that you fumble with your keys and send flying spare change and keychain and old museum ticket and some scraps of paper all over the floor.

Simon crouches with a grunt to pick them all up because Johnny is holding the bags in both hands, pressing one more to the wall with his hip and you are trying to unlock the door (God, he will change the fucking locks as soon as he can. That’s ridiculous, thing jams since you moved into the flat and it’s been years).

So, it’s nothing out of ordinary when you finally wrestle the doors open and shake off your coat, cupping your palms in a boat so he can place everything he picked up in your hands.

It’s not unusual, honestly, it happens a little too often to his liking, but it is what it is and then his eyes catch on a receipt stained with liquor.

A receipt with a phone number and cheeky “gonna wait for your call, doll!” in the corner written in the most shit cursive he has ever seen.

Which bloke with a handwriting like that tried to hit on you? A bloody chicken?

But you just hum, throwing everything back in your pockets, not paying much attention to his inner turmoil.

Though when your eyes catch on the corner of receipt, you pull it back out, inspect the cheerful note and hum again in a way that Simon isn’t sure he likes.

Because you don’t crumble the piece of paper and don’t throw it away — you put it back in the pocket of your coat.

You help Johnny with bags, giving him a chance to shake off his own winter jacket.

There is a dark hot coil of anxiety in Simon’s gut when he stares down your puff jacket, fingers itching to get the bloody receipt and throw it away while you are not looking.

It’s childish and he has no right to do that, but the urge is so strong he actually tries to come up with an excuse in case you catch him.

Soap’s voice is the only thing that snaps him out of it, forcing to start undressing, heavy boots thumping down as he gets them off. He’s a little lightheaded with razor-sharp panic and clouding agitation, tension pain in his neck spiking up again.

Will you call the number? Will you go out with the bloke again? Did you like him? Would you date him?

The timing really couldn’t be worse for this kind of thing. Not when he finally realized what he wants and how he wants it.

Not when he got you and Johnny in one place, not when he already admitted to Johnny that he wants you both.

And while he understands that he mostly dug his own grave on his own, Simon also strongly dislikes the idea of you with someone else.

It’s selfish and he has no right to your time and personal space. He has no legitimate grounds to even be jealous.

But he is.

Drives him fucking mad it does.

Simon watches you pour Johnny some tea, Soap’s eyes warm and thoughtful on you.

Like he is not sure he gets you. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

And maybe it should soothe him, but he can’t not think about the number that’s still lying in your coat. The number you didn’t get rid of.

There’s heavy dangerous kind of rage beneath Simon’s skull — pulsating and filling his head with migraine intensity, pushing on his eyeballs harder and harder. Until something breaks.

Until he can’t hold it in anymore.

But Simon could’ve gotten Olympic gold in bottling up his feelings if it ever became a sport. He’d be undisputed world champion with how naturally it comes to him.

Would be great if he also could bottle thoughts in his stupid fucking head so he can think clearly, so it doesn’t make him fidgety and snappy, so he doesn’t hole up in the bathroom for forty minutes just standing under the water.

He gets out only when Soap gets in, fingers massaging his nape, fingers rubbing his shoulders and pressing him in cool tiles. Somehow Johnny knows exactly how to pull the plug and drain him.

Somehow Johnny is always there, making it better, biting into Simon’s arm to force him out of delirium.

Johnny’s palms slide down Simon’s waist, forcing him to brace his forearms on the shower wall, forcing his back to arch.

There’s a familiar tap on his thigh, command to open up because frankly the floors are slick and there’s a huge fucking chance for Simon to fall and break his skull open if Johnny plays rough and kicks his legs open.

But Soap presses himself from behind, teeth scraping against Simon’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down until there is this familiar pressure on Simon’s hole. The one that leaves him empty headed and greedy, the one that makes his legs slide open and his jaw go slack because bloody hell, Johnny and his long fucking fingers.

(Sometimes he thinks that he and bombs are the only things that get Soap’s fingers with his full concentration in addition. Simon often feels like Soap does work him like a tricky bomb)

Johnny and his attention to smallest detail because he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses Simon into the wall and fucks him stupid.

Coaxes out moans and greedy greedy creature sitting in Simon’s chest, aching for more, always begging for scraps off the table, still not used to sit like a person and ask like a person.

Johnny cracks him open and bleeds him out just to kiss it better afterwards. Johnny is there, pressing his whole body into Simon, holding him together.

Just holding him.

The water in the shower is cold by the time they get out and Simon is blissfully empty headed and relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to another when he feels familiar pull inside.

Probably should have stretched better but bathroom is cramped, and he needed to get out of his head then and there.

Johnny watches him before swiping his thumb at the corner of Simon’s mouth and popping it in his mouth, blue of his eyes so scalding Simon’s throat bobs.

Soap wipes off the drool and silently promises to make him go slack jawed again later. When he gets his hands on the lube that got left in bedroom.

Simon pads back into the kitchen and you silently place a mug with his tea made exactly the way he likes it, and Johnny plops himself down, leaning in close and snuggling.

All sated aching and pleased rumbles.

Simon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel after everything, but he feels warm. His body melting into Soap’s, his eyes melting into yours when you swat away a tiny eyelash from his cheek and hold it up so he can make a wish before you throw the thing away.

How did you even notice it there? He has blond eyelashes; the tiny hair would be practically invisible on his skin.

Simon doesn’t ask, staying content with the knowledge that you just did. Like always.

You and Johnny both — keeping him together, noticing smallest thing, making him sane and full.

Making him Simon again and not just Ghost.

Simon watches you standing over the pot with water for future pasta you three are apparently having for dinner. Means he’s in charge of cooking meat a little later than. Okay, that he can do.

But for now, he doesn’t get up anywhere. Doesn’t really want to.

Kitchen is quiet, warm with more than just condensation from cooking, soft from more than just small light of your lamp.

Simon likes evening like this one, when it all slows down and feels home. Like a proper life. And a proper family for him.

The two of you is frankly all he needs. All he wants. He knows that it may be incredibly greedy of him, but he’s been more than humble in anything other than you and Johnny. He’s been content with scraps and leftovers for a long time.

Is it really selfish if he wants to have it all for once?

Maybe it is.

Simon watches you salt water, sleeves of his sweater pulled up to your elbows, your shoulders spread and relaxed as you hum something under your breath. It’s a pleasure to watch you like that. Calm and relaxed in the safety of your home, in the warmth of your kitchen.

Johnny leans on his shoulder yawning and Simon wraps an arm around him, letting him lean in, letting him nap as they sit there.

Feels good. Feels exactly the way he wanted it to.

Better than he imagined.

Simon rubs circles on the back of Johnny’s shoulder, skin under his fingers is warm and soft, littered with smallest freckles he has ever seen. Like his boy was just dusted with cinnamon at birth.

Prettiest fucking thing.

Simon looks back at you coincidentally in the same moment you look at him and you smile silently, mouthing “you okay?” just so he can nod, feeling his chest slowly melt.

Yeah, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s perfect.

Simon smiles as you quietly pour the pasta in the boiling pot, doing your best not to disturb half napping Johnny. You may not be in love with his boy (yet), but he’s rubbing off on you.

You already care after all.

Simon’s eyes slide to your neck again and something in him clenches, scrubbing from inside out with annoyance. Demanding out.

He can’t help but think back to the phone number in the corner of receipt and the way you came back home — neck blooming with hickeys, some bloke’s cologne clinging to your hair.

It disappeared after prolonged cuddling session, of course. He took care of that.

And when the evening of that day came — you were warm, sleepy and smelling like you again. Soft skin and laundry detergent with the hint of something uniquely yours.

The soft scent he could usually feel only by nuzzling into your neck or when he managed to dip his nose in your cleavage.

Same soft scent he could feel on the tip of his tongue, when he’d leave kisses on your cheeks and jaw, soaking you with his affection.

The thing is, he could take care of scent.

But could he take care of some bloke that took interest in you?

Soft, gorgeous, warm you. His moon in the sky, his home, his family. His lovely bird.

Simon doesn’t know how to just tell you what he wants. It’s not conventional and he already fucked in a bit and then some.

But if he was at some point to inevitably lash out when his desperate childish “don’t leave me, not you, don’t leave me, i don’t want to do this without you” pours out into something thick enough to choke the words out of him and possessive enough to try and keep you back…he’d better have some really good reason.

Because if he was to ask of your attention, your time, your effort, you — both for him and Johnny — it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest about his reasons.

You are grown people. He’s a grown man for god’s sake; he should be able to hold a proper conversation with you about something this big.

Simon knows you hate change and don’t like surprises and have hard time adjusting to changes in routines and patterns.

Honestly, so does he.

That’s one of the perks of being in military — you get the same fucking routine over and over again, you have a clear set of rules and even clearer one of instructions.

(If drill sergeant tells you to sweep the sunlight out of the garage, you sweep the sunlight out of the garage)

But it’s not military this time. It’s home.

And home has always been a safe harbor.

Place for both of you — space designed with your specific quirks and preferences in mind.

Big bed with orthopedic mattress for Simon to help his back aches and sleep apnea, bought bloody thing off the first cheque he got. You bought proper pillows and weighted blankets (filled with glass balls or something, he wonders where you even found it. Probably costed a fortune).

Good ACs both in living room and bedroom for you, which costed a bloody rack at the time, but it’s been more than worth it. Keeps you nice and cool in summer (God knows you can’t sleep if you are sweaty and if you aren’t sleeping — neither does Simon).

There is his favorite beaten up armchair you saw on Facebook Marketplace and somehow hauled back to the apartment. There is your couch with dozens of blankets and pillows, thing that’s sinfully comfortable but a tad short for someone of his size. Though many things are.

There is Simon’s butcher knives in the kitchen and your neat rows of spices. Your herbal tea and his straight black Earl Gray.

Simon’s right side of the bed and yours’s left one.

For so long this home was only for the two of you — the only constant in your lives, the place of comfort and security.

He still remembers how he had to change locks on windows and screw in additional bolt lock for you to the front door. Can’t have any accidents happen while he’s away on deployments and not here.

Simon knows that asking you to even consider making space for an entirely new person is a lot.

Almost too much.

So, a proper conversation about the matter is the least he can do to smoothen over possible transition.

He needs to do this.

Because as much as he loves you, he doesn’t love Soap any less. He can’t ask of Johnny to just wait, standing in the doorway with his bags still packed and ready if he’d need to leave at moment’s notice.

He can’t leave Johnny hanging in the air.

It’s not fair to Soap.

So, after dinner when Johnny is already halfway napping Simon wraps him in a blanket and tucks him comfortably on the couch. Lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, there is unfinished plates with pasta on the coffee table and some movie you and Simon watches a million times is playing.

It’s soft and quiet, it’s warm and peaceful.

Simon pads back to the kitchen, nudging your hip with his so he can wash dishes instead. It’s only fair — you cooked, he’s gonna clean.

You hum, moving aside and picking up towel in area to dry off things he passes to you after thorough wash. God knows both of you can’t stand dishes being wet and cold.

“Something on your mind”, you muse quietly and Simon glances at you, moving his lower jaw until there is click before he actually nods.

“Yeah. Think we can have a proper conversation?”, the words feel like he has to physically drag them out of himself, fingers twitching again because there is sharp ping of anxiety in his head, and he hates that he can’t just bottle up some of his thoughts.

You hum, eyes sliding up to him. There is something in your face that makes him pause turning off the water, heart thumping in his chest.

He needs to sit down and preferably right now. This is fucking scary, why is that so fucking scary.

Simon doesn’t know how to properly say everything in a way that would be coherent and make perfect fucking sense to you.

God knows out the two of you, he’s the one who’s worse with words.

A small stubbornly childish part of him still really wants you to read his bloody thoughts so he can be off the hook. But the same part sometimes makes him eat ice cream in the middle of the night and then sugar doesn’t let him sleep so evidently, that’s not the wisest his part.

There’s thumping anxiety behind his thorax, phantom vibrations sending nervous twitch to his fingers, his eyes landing on the useless awkward stump of his absent finger.

Had to re-learn how to fucking shoot after Roba’s torture and even then, he managed to crawl back to you.

Legally dead and everything, he came back, and you didn’t ask any questions. You just accepted him — a finger less and a whole lotta scars more.

You deserve to have a proper conversation about his behaviour and about Johnny’s presence. You deserve so much, and Simon is here fighting himself to choke out something. Fuck, anything at all.

But there’s knot in his throat and lead weights in his belly and it should be funny that he’s that scared.

Only he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

“Do you want me to move out?”, your question snaps him out of panic induced stupor and every thought train in him stops with screeching of pulled stop lever.

“What?”, his voice croaks with broken shards, thumping in his chest just getting louder and louder, his eyes flicking to you like you might disappear if he lets you out of his sight. “Luv, no, I— wha’— sweet’eart, no.”, there is an edge to his voice.

An edge that scrapes the inside of his gut, carving your initials in tender bleeding flesh. So, he gets to keep something. So, he lives with a reminder of you.

“Why—”, he licks his lips, feeling every crack and that’s the wrong time but maybe he should have used the chapstick you gave him and maybe he should have talked with you before and maybe he should have done more. “Do you want to move out?”, the question tastes like bile in his mouth and God, he hates the way even the thought of you leaving makes him blind with panic.

Because no. Nononono, you— he doesn’t want you to leave, please, don’t leave, please, don’t.

“Thought that’s what you wanted to talk about. So…you know, Johnny can move in”, you explain with tone so casual he’d snap if he didn’t know better.

If he didn’t know you.

There’s tension coiling in your shoulders, that pulls occasional shrug-like motion out of you — half-discreet attempt to loosen some of the muscle pain by rolling your shoulders.

You don’t look at him, staring down in the sink at the remaining cup like you can obliterate it with the power of your mind. And honestly, Simon wouldn’t be too surprised if the bloody thing fell apart.

He for ones certainly feels like falling apart.

“I don’t want you to move out.”, Simon’s hand wraps around you, pulling you away from the sink. “I want you to never move out”, he mumbles in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and it’s so lame of him and he hates the numb-headed state he gets in as soon as he starts panicking.

Maybe he should actually try therapy like you’ve been suggesting. Or at least start taking medication? He’ll think about it later.

“Luv”, there’s a soft press and a tickling exhale to the back of your head and Simon is very close to wrapping himself around you like a weighted blanket and just pin you to the floor.

Which would be a lame fucking decision but thankfully, you aren’t leaving yet. So, he can do that. He has to do that. “Luv, I want you to stay. You and Johnny both. I want you two to stay with me”

Simon breathes it out, wrestling every word out of himself and it feels like bloody confession he saw in movies and with his palms on the soft roll of your tummy he feels impossibly close to the divine, knuckles gently rubbing idle patterns on you.

Why would he need any prayer beads when he lives with a bloody saint? Your flesh so soft under his fingers he wants to press his face into it and never come up for air.

“I don’t think John would appreciate your friend forever third-wheeling you two”, there’s a small vulnerable crack in your voice and Simon can’t help but dip his fingers in it, opening you up.

Cracking open your ribs and scooping up your heart.

More and more and more and more.

So he can finally see what you are feeling, so he knows he isn’t the only one scared/

So he knows you want him. Them.

“Luv, I don’t want to be friends anymore”, Simon exhales and his lips are trailing down the nape of your neck, drinking in the rapid beat of your heart and soft scent of your skin, his body pressed flush to your back. “Not just friends”

“What do you want then?”, hitch in your voice makes his blood flow south, raw feral need bubbling in him, nose rubbing at the hickeys someone else left on you.

Thick and dark hunger of his threatens to spill over and cling to your skin. Never to be washed away. Never wiped off. Never-never-never.

You can always be his, he’ll take care of everything, he’ll take care of you, of Johnny, of home. He’ll be so good, you won’t need for anything, you just gotta stay.

“Want you. Want Johnny. Want us three together.”, the quiet exhale sends a shiver through you and Simon drinks in it, lightheaded and slightly mad with need, pressing a kiss to the soft place between your neck and shoulder.

“What does Soap think about that?”, you try to deflect, slide into different railroad, branch conversation away from his obvious need to hear your answer.

“What do you think of that?”, Simon huffs out, teeth nipping your soft skin, stubble scratching you. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Simon smiles in your neck, his open-mouthed kiss hot and sinfully wet, his embrace tightening around you.

You are warmth and safety. You are home.

You are moon in his sky — he’d be blind without you, he’d be lost without you, he wouldn’t be Simon without you.

“I asked first.”, you dig your heels in and smack his palm away from sliding under the hem of his your sweater, effectively stopping Simon from getting handfuls of you to squeeze.

This man is not going to drop a bomb on you and then turn around and use your tummy as anti-stress toy.

He annoys you even more because Simon is not even trying to look guilty — his smile so wide you can feel it with every inch of your skin he’s pressing his big head to.

“I told him that.”, Simon finally admits, nuzzling himself in your neck. “You are mine. And he’s mine. It’s not gonna change.”

The silence stretches between you two as you turn your head to him, giving him the slowest blink in the world.

Simon pauses for a moment before huffing out air in your neck, palms finally getting a hold of your love handles.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, sweet’eart. I’s not very nice”

“You are not very nice, Simon. You can’t just drop something like that on a person. It requires proper conversation. A mutual discussion of everyone’s borders and comfort levels”, you hiss trying to wiggle yourself other way in his hands so you can face him.

Simon eases his hold on you so you can reprimand him properly, but he doesn’t let you out of his hands completely. Not yet.

“I’m trying to have one”, which is honest to god’s truth, because he knows he’s not good at that and he knows you are right, fuck, you are right more often than not.

The sigh that he gets in response is so heavy he almost feels bashful. Almost.

“We can have one. All three of us in the morning”, he offers, and he can practically hear the sound of gears in your head turning faster.

Planning and outlining everything, already building a system in case of bad ending or good ending or no ending at all.

“Okay.”, you finally nod, your fingers hooking under his chin to tilt his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “Tomorrow in the morning, yes?”

Simon nods, leaning into your touch, eyes half-lidded and entirely too soft for someone who doesn’t have a definitive answer.

But he knows you.

And if it’s worth anything, the mere fact that he hasn’t heard “no” or “fuck off, Simon” is a good bloody sign. So things are going much better than expected in all honesty. Job well done. Almost.

There’s warmth in his chest as he cuddles sleepy Soap back to the land of awake, fingers rubbing the nape of Johnny’s neck, pulling him out of the slumber.

It’s slow and soft and for a few long blissful moments Soap is warm and heavy, honey is coating his limbs and eyelids.

He is safe and he is home, Simon’s side pressing into his, your quiet voice asking if he’d like a cup of tea.

And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water is “We will need to talk”, sending his heart in a rapid beat, his eyes flying open.

“Talk?”, he sounds hoarse even to himself and you just hum, collected as always, eyes calm when they settle on him.

“About the three of us”, you explain, and he swallows, eyes watching you.

Is that the time for him to pack bags? Is that the time you realised that you don’t want a stray in your bed and a strange man in your home?

Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrist, not even realising until he’s face to face to you, your eyes watching him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”, there is a gentle care in your face he didn’t expect to see, there is lack of fight in you he didn’t expect to encounter.

Because in his first day here you looked at him like he was a mutt your partner dragged from a cold street and told you that it’s staying.

In his first day here, you hissed and bristled and snapped at him, your silence weighted, your eyes heavy.

Soap knows all too well that nothing comes to the likes of him without a fair price. Soap knows better than to hope without fighting his way up and proving himself over and over and over.

He’s not going to be pitied. He’s not going to be a charity that you do for the sake of Simon’s happiness; he doesn’t want it to be like that.

Johnny is anything if not persistent. Johnny refuses to go out without a fight, without trying to wiggle his way in, without clawing at everything he wants.

If he won’t get place for himself, at least he will leave his mark.

As a reminder that he was here. As a reminder that he was almost loved.

Johnny nuzzles in your palms, eyes a little mad and a little gone, hollowed out pit in his belly, hunger in his chest that he cannot sate, need that you know all too well.

A hysterical chant in his head.

Love me-love me-love me-love me.

Don’t leave me, don’t forget me. Notice me.

Johnny shudders when you hug him, when your hand reaches out for him even if you don’t need him. Just because you want to.

Just because you want him.

Johnny presses his body into you, whines when Simon presses his own from behind, his mind blanking out at the feel of being surrounded by you two.

It’s warm, plush of your tits cushioning on his chest, bulk of Simon’s body pressing him into you tighter.

More. He wants more. He needs more.

Johnny spreads his legs open and hides his face in your shoulder.

Johnny hiccups when Simon’s fingers rub his prostate, torturously slowly stretch him open, kisses littering his back, sharp overbite of Simon’s jaws sinking in the fat of Soap’s ass.

Leaving mark, staking claim, showing love.

Johnny whines when you pepper kisses all over his face, fingers going through his sweat-wet hair, pushing it off his face, your lips the sweetest fucking thing. He never wants to go without your kisses ever again.

He is sloppy and wet, mixed drool dripping down yours and his chins, his stubble scratching your soft face and oh, he’s sorry, bonnie, he’s sorry-he’s sorry-he’s sorry.

Johnny doesn’t realise he’s crying until you wipe his tears off, until Simon doesn’t wrap his hand around his waist tightly, pulling him in, the delicious stretch of thick cock spreading Soap open.

Fucking hell.

Johnny whimpers something incoherent, Scottish Gaelic mixing up with English, eyes glazed over and desperate, hands gripping you and legs spreading for Simon.

Anything. He’ll do anything.

Just don’t leave him behind.

“Love me-love me-love me-love me”, chants in his head, dances on his tongue, tears out of his throat when he sinks into your welcoming heat. Drunk on pleasure and dazed with need.

He wants it all. He wants you both.

Forever and always. Until death do you part.

Until you no longer want him

You make the prettiest fucking sounds when he bites your neck, canines sinking in soft skin, his cock so deep inside of you it should be impossible.

But he pushes himself into you again — dives in and gulps as much water as he can so he stays at the bottom of you.

So he can stay as a small coin in your fountain, a memento you’d never forget, a man you might never love but who’d never be just another face in the crowd for you.

He will always be someone.

Simon presses himself hard to Soap’s back, rumbles out “kiss ‘er more” and Johnny obliges because if this is his last night he’s going out with fireworks and your taste on his tongue and Simon’s bites all over his body.

And the imprint of your combined hands on him — gripping and tugging and holding and squeezing.

It’s so much and so overwhelmingly perfect he doesn’t know how he’s still lucid, pleasure dripping down-down-down, his spine melting, his mouth hungry wet thing full of teeth and promises to be the best.

To be everything. Anything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.

Your lips find his and Simon bites down on his shoulder, fucking into him with the slow force of a heavy hammer coming down on anvil with all its weight.

You squeeze around him, inner walls of your cunt wet silken heaven that drives Johnny mad, that makes Johnny blabber filthy things, voice cracking with something wet and gurgly and he's kissing you again.

You won't forget him. He won't let you. He won't let Simon.

Pleasure coils in him until there's nowhere else to go, until he's overflowing and pathetic - face buried in your neck and god, Simon was right, you do smell divine - back arched so hard he feels like his spine will fucking crack but he wants more. He wants everything.

Until he's sick from how full he is. Until he can't take it.

Pleasure drips down-down-down and he never wants this moment to end, he never wants to come back to what was before and how fucking ironic it is that orgasm snaps him out of it?

He's coming and coming and coming, his body honeyed and heavy, his head empty and he's wet like a fucking dog - sweat and drool and saliva and combined fluids drying up on the insides of his thighs.

Soap blinks himself back to reality, but he can't move - he doesn't want to really. His face is nuzzled in your tits, your fingers combing through his wet hair as Simon wipes you both off.

The towel is warm and a little scratchy, cleaning you up, taking care of a mess Johnny is right now.

It's good. It's soft.

It almost feels like he belongs here. Like he deserves it. Like he isn't a stray accidentally let in and who purposefully overstayed his welcome.

But you are soft, and Simon is warm, and Johnny is sandwiched between the two of you in the best way possible.

He makes sure to remember every little thing about this moment. After all it may be the first one and very much the last one.

So, if things go south tomorrow - he was here. He felt good. He felt wanted.

For one beautiful hot night he belonged.

That's what matters, isn't it?

<<PREVIOUS | NEXT>>

Taglist: @thestoriesiread @skeletonsucker @sirbonesly @blackhawkfanatic @rpgsandstuff @danielle143 @parasite--girl @un-aesthetic @vmaxis @kittygonap @love-kha1 @hidden-reblogs @sgt-barnesveins

#acceleration au #call of duty #cod mw2 #girl.snippets #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost x reader #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap cod #soap mw2 #john soap mactavish #soapghost

672 notes · View notes

atomicami · 1 month ago

Text

party of three

boyfriend’s mom!abby x fem!reader ft. sevika

- summary: after that unforgettable night you spent with your boyfriend’s mother, you make the decision to stay with him just to continue seeing her behind his back. the affair runs smoothly at first—until her best friend gets into the picture.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, age gap (abby is 38, reader is 20, sevika is 40), reader is in college, abby and sevika are best friends, abby and owen are divorced, reader is still dating abby’s son, infidelity/cheating, threesome (f/f/f), softdom!abby 🤝 roughdom!sevika, fingering & oral (all receiving, r&s giving), strap on usage (r!receiving), abby and sevika take turns hitting it from the back, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, these two women basically own you tbh

- author’s note: you ask, and i deliver. here is the long awaited full version of this drabble that i posted a while back, it took me so long to get this one out for y’all but it’s finally here! now this fic can be read standalone but here is the previous part i wrote if you guys need a refresher. other than that i hope y’all enjoy it :)

(also special thanks to @sunflowerwinds for proofreading this fic for me, ily cherry girl <3)

You should have walked away after that. Any sane person would have. But instead, you stayed.

Not for him, but for her.

It was only supposed to be just a moment of comfort—neither of you had expected for it to grow into something stronger. But you couldn’t leave him, because it meant that you would lose her too. And that was something that you weren’t ready to do.

And frankly, neither was she.

So you stayed, just for the sake of seeing her behind closed doors. It was wrong, and you both knew it. But the moment she would touch you, the moment she would whisper your name like a prayer before pressing her soft lips onto yours—that’s when it felt right.

But what neither of you expected was just how easily someone else could slip into the space between you two—someone who understood exactly what you both desired.

It was like déja vu hit you once again—you sat in your car, parked in the driveway of Abby’s house once again, preparing yourself to go inside. The night was clear this time—a stark contrast to the gloomy thunderstorm that went on when you first showed up that night. It was coincidental, because ever since then, being with Abby made you feel just as calm and clear as the night sky.

You exhale, taking your key out of your ignition and grabbing your bag before getting out of your car. As you exit your vehicle, the sight of a parked black truck catches your eye—one that you haven’t seen before. It wasn’t Abby’s or Andrew’s, which could only mean that Abby had some sort of company. You didn’t give it a second thought though, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you make your way over to the front door. You ring the bell, and in an instant you can hear a familiar sound of footsteps approaching to answer it. It was almost as if you could sense Abby’s excitement from a distance—a feeling that her son hardly expressed when he’d see you.

The front door opens, and you’re greeted with the sight of Abby standing in front of her, a soft smile plastered on her beautifully freckled face. “Hey there, sweetheart.” she says, leaning in to give you a hug. “Come on in, Andrew is still getting ready but you can wait with us in the meantime.” She gestures toward the living room, and curiosity starts to pique your interest as your head peeks inside. Us? Who could she have brought over?

Once you enter inside, you’re met with the sight of an unrecognizable woman who was seated comfortably on the living room couch—broad shoulders, a sharp jawline, and a striking set of gray eyes. Her hair was at her jawline’s length which framed her facial structure beautifully, and the left side of her face was littered down with scars that made her olive skin stand out even more. A half empty beer bottle rests in her hand, and the low hum of the football game playing on the TV fills the room before Abby’s voice cuts through. “This is Sevika—she’s a close friend of mine.” Abby shuts the door behind you before walking over to the couch and looking over to Sevika. “Sevika, this is my son’s girlfriend.”

Sevika sets her bottle of beer down onto the coffee table. “So this must be the not-so-lucky girlfriend, yeah?” she asks before turning her head to Abby, to which she nods. “Hey there, pretty girl. Name’s Sevika.” she says, offering her hand out to you.

You blush at the name she gives you and reach out to shake her hand as you give her your name. Her palm had felt so large and warm in yours, almost like Abby’s, but maybe a little bit bigger. You let go of her hand and sit down on the love seat next to her, and you can’t but curiously look at her other arm, seeing that it’s entirely replaced with a metal prosthetic. Sevika catches your glance shifting and she looks down at her arm. “Oh, this?” she says, looking back up at you. “I lost it about a decade ago…car accident.”

“Oh,” You hesitate for a moment before meeting her gaze again. “That…that must have been really intense.” you say, your voice gentle.

Sevika simply shakes it off, leaning back against the couch. “It’s alright, I’m just glad to have made it out alive. Besides…” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “My other hand still works just as good.” she says with a wink. You got the joke behind that, of course. But what you didn’t realize was how well she was going to prove that point soon.

Abby sits back down on the couch next to Sevika, leading you to switch the subject. “So, how long have you two known each other for?” you ask them curiously.

“Since college,” Sevika replies, turning her head towards Abby. Abby’s gaze matches with hers, and she starts to chuckle while shaking her head, almost as if she was reminiscing a moment. “Yeah…I guess you could say she was sort of my…awakening.”

Sevika was in the process of turning her head back to you, but she turns back to Abby again and raises an eyebrow at her. “Sort of?”

Abby sighs dramatically and laughs as she playfully nudges Sevika’s shoulder. “Alright alright, she was my awakening. But it was just that one time way back then.”

Sevika hums, a smirk growing on her lips as she reaches over for her beer and takes a swift sip from it. “One time was sure enough to rock your world though.”

Abby rolls her eyes at her but she doesn’t deny it, and you can’t help but feel the heat creep up in the back of your neck—and between your thighs as their history piques your curiosity even more.

“We didn’t have much back then,” Sevika says, taking another sip of her beer. “But I was sure able to do my job without the parts that were necessary.”

The realization clicks in an instant. Your mind flashes back to the first night you spent with Abby—the way she touched you like she knew exactly what you liked, the way she pressed herself against you just right, just enough to make you fall apart and come undone underneath her…it was all so perfectly executed, so well practiced—maybe a little too well practiced.

She learned it from her.

Your gaze flickers over to Sevika, watching as she takes another slow sip of her beer, her expression unreadable. But there’s something there—something in the way she looks at you, like she already knows what you’re thinking. Like she wants you to say it out loud.

Sevika’s voice cuts through the air, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Tell me about you, pretty girl. You in school?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning back slightly. “I’m in my third year now.”

“Halfway point, huh?” Sevika takes a sip from her beer, eyeing you with a casual but interested look in her eye. “You’ll be at the finish line before you know it.”

“Yeah, exactly, you say, nodding in agreement. “I still feel like I have so much left to figure out though.”

Abby chimes in from her side of the couch, grinning knowingly. “You’ve got time, sweetheart.” she says with a soft chuckle. “And you’ll do just fine.”

You smile, appreciating her reassurance. But before the conversation can continue, you hear footsteps coming from upstairs. A familiar voice calls your name—your boyfriend’s voice—and you feel a sudden shift in the air, the tension of the situation lingering in the back of your mind.

“Hey, babe!” Andrew calls out casually, the usual smugness laced in his tone as he did so. “You ready to go?”

Your expression falters in an instant, nose wrinkling up while your lips pressed together in a fine line full of grimace before you catch yourself and quickly shake things off. You let out a sigh as you stand up from the couch. “Yeah, let’s head out.” you reply flatly.

Sevika doesn’t miss it. Her gaze stays fixed on you as she observes your every move, the corner of her lips twitching into a subtle smirk as she did so. She doesn’t say anything as to not interfere, but she doesn't look away either, her gaze burning on you to where you could feel it from behind.

As you push yourself up from the couch, a sharp smack lands on your backside. Your body tenses instantly, irritation bubbling up inside you as you whip your head around. Andrew just stands there with that stupid grin on his face, completely oblivious—or maybe he just doesn’t care—about the way your jaw tightens, how your fingers curl into your palm in fists, fingernails digging into your skin as you hold back the urge to hit him away from you.

“Jesus, Andrew,” Abby says, shaking her head in disbelief. “Show some damn respect for her, will you?”

He simply shrugs, rolling his eyes in the most nonchalant way as if she was the one making a big deal about it. “Relax, Mom, it’s just a joke.” he shuffles his way over to the front door to head out. “C’mon babe, we’re already late to the party.” he says, opening the door.

You scoff behind his back, rolling your eyes. “That’s because you’re always so damn long to get ready,” you quietly mumble to yourself. Andrew was too stubborn to have overheard it, but you could hear a soft chuckle coming from Sevika, however you think nothing of it and move on.

Andrew steps out of the door and heads outside, and before you were about to follow him, a gentle tug on your arm keeps you from moving forward. You stop in your tracks and look over to Abby, who was rising up from the couch to shift closer to you. “Remember sweetheart, if he starts misbehaving tonight, you let me know, okay?” she says, giving you a wink.

A smirk crept up on the corner of your lips when she said that. You knew exactly what she had meant.

It took a while for you and Abby to have figured it out at first, but eventually you two decided on this particular arrangement—to stay with her douchebag son just to continue seeing her behind his back, and to let her know about any sort of trouble he’ll cause when he’s with you, because she can easily make it up to you without thinking twice. It didn’t matter how big or small the issue would be—if Andrew ended up upsetting you in any way, shape or form—Abby would be quick to take matters into the bedroom with you to apologize for her son’s actions. After all, it was the least she could do, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it herself.

You give her a smile, gently squeezing her hand in reassurance before she lets go. “I’ll be sure to let you know, Ms. Anderson.” you reply to her.

You say your goodbyes to Abby and Sevika before heading outside, closing the front door shut behind you. As you watch your boyfriend make his way over to his car, you can’t help but wish that he’ll screw up the night for you just so you can get a taste of his mother’s forgiveness later on.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ──

Your wish was already coming true in an instant.

The party was in full swing, music blasting within the thin walls, voices blending into the atmosphere. The house completely reeked of liquor and cheap cologne, making you feel as if you were being smothered by the thickness of it. It’s only been an hour, and all you wanted to do was get out of here and go home.

You push through the drunken crowd, trying to squeeze through the tight gaps between bodies until someone accidentally stumbles and spills their drink on you. All you could in that moment do was sigh and just keep moving. Andrew had disappeared a while ago, leaving you stranded in a house full of strangers. Going to this stupid party was his idea to begin with—you didn’t know, or even care about anyone here. On the contrary, all you had really wanted to do on a Saturday night like this was to stay at home and lie in bed—particularly his mother’s bed.

After a while of searching through the packed household, you finally spot him slumped over on an old leather couch, a half empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers.

But he’s not alone.

There’s a girl draped over him, her manicured fingers lazily playing with the fabric of his shirt as she leans into him, whispering something in his ear. He doesn’t react much aside from a drunken chuckle as his head tilts to rest against hers. You’re not sure if he knows her—or even cares.

Your jaw clenches as a bitter taste fills your mouth, but you’re quick to take a deep breath to ground yourself. There’s no point in confronting him. It’s a waste of your time and energy, both of which can be used on something better. So instead, you pull out your phone as you turn on your heel, dialing Abby’s number in an instant.

The line barely rings twice before Abby picks up. “Hey there, sweetheart,” she greets, her voice warm enough to alleviate you from the chills that traveled through your body. “Is everything alright?”

You hesitate, glancing back at Andrew as he exchanges another drunken laugh between the girl beside him before turning back around. “Not really…Can you come pick me up, please?”

There’s a brief pause, and you can hear the faint chatter of the TV in the background followed by Sevika’s groans and protests over whatever that was happening on screen. You hear Abby hum softly before replying. “Of course, honey. I’ll be right there.”

You hang up, slipping the phone into your pocket. Despite how rocky the night began, at least now, it was about to end exactly how you wanted.

It didn’t take long for your phone to ring again, screen lit up with Abby’s name. You answer quickly.

“I’m outside,” she says, her voice steady but firm.

Relief washes over you just for a moment, until the sense of obligation quickly replaces it. You glance back over to the mess of a living room where Andrew is still passed out and sigh in annoyance. “Okay, um, hold on a second so I can get—”

“No.” Abby cuts you off, her voice quickly going stern. “I’m here for you, sweetheart. Just you.”

“But what about—”

“He’ll be fine.” She reassures you firmly. “I already called Owen to pick him up. I’m not gonna be dealing with that tonight.” She says it in a way that shows that her son was the least of her priorities tonight—that he was more of an inconvenience rather than a concern.

You pause for a moment as her words settle into your chest. You exhale slowly, glancing at Andrew one last time before opening the door. He won’t even notice you’re gone.

The cool night air hits your skin once you step outside, finally giving you a moment to breathe after being cramped in the thick air of the party for the past hour. As you look up, you’re welcomed by the sight of Abby leaning against the open passenger door of a black truck—the same black truck that was parked in her driveway not too long ago. You take a closer look, eyes widening when you see Sevika sitting behind the wheel with an amused look on her face.

The sight of the two women together sends a mix of relief and anticipation coursing through your veins. Abby’s expression softens once she meets your eyes. “There you are. I was starting to think I’d have to come in and save you myself.” she says gently, giving you a smile.

Sevika, on the other hand, simply jerks her chin toward the passenger seat. “Get in, pretty girl. Don’t wanna waste gas waiting on your sorry excuse of a boyfriend.”

You don’t hesitate. With one last glance at the house you’re leaving behind, you move toward the truck, letting the door shut on the night and on Andrew without a second thought.

You step up into the truck, sliding into the middle seat while Abby hops in behind you and shuts the door with a soft thud. The space that was once between them disappears in an instant now that you were there, pressed between Abby’s present warmth and Sevika’s quiet intensity. Abby’s hand meets with your knee in a gentle and reassuring grip—almost as if she’s done this before. You barely register the comfort of it before Sevika shifts in her seat beside you, the warm fingers of her human hand gently brushing over your bare thigh in the process. You assume it’s unintentional, but the heat that her touch leaves behind lingers on your skin, sending a slow shiver down your spine.

The rest of the ride back home is quiet, but the tension between the three of you continues to roar inside the truck. As Abby and Sevika exchange the occasional hum of conversation, you remain situated in their place between them, completely aware of every shift of their bodies. Abby’s palm stays warm and steady on your knee, giving you a strong sense of comfort. However, Sevika’s touches are more teasing, almost in a way that makes you wonder if she's doing it by accident or not. Her fingers brushing over your thigh when she adjusts the gearshift, her thigh pressing against yours when she stretches—it’s enough to make you think if she could be desiring the same thing right now.

By the time you arrive at Abby’s house, your pulse is unsteady, and your breath feels tight in your chest. The three of you exit Sevika’s truck and step inside, the warmth of the house settling around you. Sevika rolls out her shoulders as she picks up her jacket that was draped over the couch. “Well,” she exhales, slipping her other hand into her pocket. “I should probably head out.”

Abby hums, tilting her head slightly. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Sevika nods. “Thanks for having me over.”

She’s still standing close to you, her fingers briefly brushing over lower back as she shifts past you to get to the front door. Her touch was brief, yet intentional. You swallow as the heat starts to coil in your stomach. Before Sevika can take another step, you speak up, the words slipping past your lips before you could even second guess saying them.

“You should stay,” you tell her.

Sevika stops mid-step, and both her and Abby turn over to look at you. Abby raises a brow, an amused look behind her eyes, while Sevika lets out a quiet shuckle, shaking her head slightly. “Oh yeah?” Sevika muses, her voice low and testing. She shifts toward your direction, tossing her jacket back onto the armrest of the couch before pressing her weight against it. “You sure about that, pretty girl?”

The challenge in Sevika’s tone sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow dryly, your heart pounding in your chest, but you don’t back down.

“Yeah,” you reply, voice steadier this time. “Stay with us.”

And so Sevika stays. She even makes herself comfortable too—leaning back against the armrest, her arms now crossing over her chest like she belongs here. Abby watches her, then watches you, all with a subtle amused expression on her face as if she already knows where this is headed.

You should sit down. You should relax. But you don’t. Instead, you remain standing, the anticipation causing your skin to erupt in goosebumps. It’s Abby who makes the first move—slow and concentrated as she steps closer to you from behind. Her fingers slowly brush your arm before leaning in just enough for you to hear her command. “Come on,” Abby murmurs, tilting her head toward the hallway that leads to her bedroom.

Sevika doesn’t move right away. She just watches, an amused smirk growing on her lips as she shifts her gaze between the two of you. She then lifts her weight off the arm rest to step closer to you, just enough for you to feel the heat of her body radiating against yours, and for her metal knuckles to brush over your hip again. Except this time, it wasn’t accidental. “You lead the way, sweetheart.” Sevika says, gesturing you toward the staircase.

You don’t do it just yet. Instead, you take a couple small steps back, eyes flickering between the two women before taking each of their hands into one of yours. You cautiously walk backwards as you approach the staircase, hand in hand with each of them. Abby is the first to fall into step in front of you, while Sevika lingers just beside her, close enough for you to hear the faintest chuckle under her breath, as if she already knows exactly what’s coming next.

The three of you arrive at Abby’s bedroom, and Abby briefly lets go of your hand before opening her door to the two of you. You enter inside with her, Sevika following right behind before shutting the door with her other hand. While still holding Sevika’s hand, you use your free hand to grab Abby by the collar of her shirt and pull her towards you in a deep kiss. Sevika lets go of your hand as she watches the two of you, but you’re quick to sense the loss of her touch and you pull away from Abby to turn to her and give her a kiss as well. For such a rugged woman like her, you were surprised to discover how soft Sevika’s lips were on yours—the kind of softness that would have you melting into her for more. The hair on the back of your neck quickly stands once Abby approaches you from behind. She brushes your hair over your shoulder, and begins to plant soft kisses on your bare skin as her hands meet with the zipper of your dress. However, her hand stills for a moment when she notices Sevika pulling away from you. “You sure about this, sweetheart? Bringing me in?” she asks, her head tilting slightly. “Because once we start, I’m not gonna be going easy on you.”

Abby scoffs and rolls her eyes back at her. “Don’t listen to her, sweetheart.” she says soothingly. “We’ll go at your pace, yeah?”

You nod at the two women, looking back at Sevika in reassurance. “I’m sure. I want you both here.”

Sevika lets out a low chuckle, stepping closer towards you as her fingers graze over your waist. “We’ll see about that.”

Her words are followed by the sound of a zipper, and you glance over to catch Abby unzipping your dress through your peripherals, a subtly desperate look in her blue eyes as she does so. Once the zipper reaches the end, she slides the dress off your body until it hits the ground, the fabric now pooling at your feet as you stand there fully exposed in nothing but the black thong that rested on your waist and hips. Sevika’s eyes darkened at the sight of your breasts, then bringing her gaze down to the rest of your figure. “My God…” she whispers, tracing the fingers of her flesh hand down the curves of your breast, waist and hip. “You look like a goddamn work of art, pretty girl.”

Abby chuckles over Sevika’s reaction as she presses another kiss on your shoulder. “She sure is a keeper, isn’t she?”

Sevika hums, briefly glancing at Abby before back at you. “Can’t believe your kid isn’t giving this pretty girl the attention she needs, Anderson.” she pauses for a moment before continuing. “If she were mine, I’d be worshipping her every damn second she’s with me.”

Your cheeks heat up a little over Sevika’s praise, and you inch a little closer to her to bring your hands over to the hem of her shirt. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here with us now, Sevika.” you whisper back to her. Once your fingers meet with her shirt you attempt to pull it over her, to which she assists you in doing so. Sevika pulls the shirt over her head before tossing it to the ground, and you can’t help but fawn over her physique in pure lust. She was just as jacked as Abby, maybe a tiny bit bulkier, and her olive skin was littered with scars on her chest and torso. Despite how battle worn she resembled, it only made you more desperate for her.

You turn around to look over at Abby, chuckling once you also catch her admiring Sevika as well. You do the same with her, lifting her shirt up by the hem and tossing it over her, smiling at the ripped freckled physique you were familiar with seeing. A sudden squeeze on your hip startles you, causing you to glance back over at Sevika. “Sit behind Anderson, pretty girl.” She commands, jerking her head over to the bed. A subtle smirk grows on Abby’s face, and she brings one of your hands into hers as she follows you towards the bed. She then kicks off her shoes and discards her pants from her legs. You watch as she mounts onto the bed, accommodating the pillows before settling herself down, keeping the space in between her legs open for you to join her. You hesitate for a moment, glancing over at Sevika to see her tilting her head towards Abby with a smirk on her face. With that, your body instinctively follows along, kicking off your heels onto the floor before getting into bed and positioning yourself in front of Abby with your back against her chest. Sevika’s the last one to go in, settling herself on her stomach with her face already in between your legs. Her metal and flesh fingers trail up your thighs and hips to hook them underneath the waistband of your underwear, causing your breath to hitch at the contact. You press your palms on Abby’s thighs to lift up your hips, allowing Sevika to slide the underwear off of you in one fluid motion. Then, as if it were a reflex, your legs naturally spread themselves open right in front of her. Sevika lets out a soft groan, her gaze getting hungrier once they meet with the sight of your soaking wet pussy.

Sevika didn’t delay any longer after that. She’s quick to dive right in, her tongue licking a long, experimental stripe up your cunt. A soft moan elicits from your mouth over the sensation, followed by a whimper once Sevika tightens her grip on your thighs and yanks you closer to her mouth, her tongue continuing to lick slow strokes through your pussy. Abby leans over you and gives Sevika a gentle squeeze on her forearm, provoking her to slightly lift up her head. “Hey, be gentle with her, okay?” she murmurs, slowly loosening her grip on her before leaning back against the headboard. “She’s a sensitive girl.”

Sevika clicks her tongue and shakes her head, almost in a way that she might not be able to stick with Abby's directions. “Can’t make any promises on that, Anderson,” she replies, letting her flesh hand go from your thigh so she can run a finger through your wet slit. “Especially when she tastes this good.”

Without warning, Sevika inserts a finger into your soaking cunt. You initially jerk back at the sudden sensation, before slowly easing into it, your hole gently clenching itself around her finger. Sevika is quick to slowly pump her finger in and out of your pussy while latching her mouth back onto your throbbing clit, and as she does so, Abby trails her hands up and down your torso before pausing at your breasts, gently stroking and squeezing them as Sevika continues to eat your pussy out in a painfully slow, yet rough manner. Her lips wrap around your clit even tighter and her finger starts to harshly curl against your g spot, causing you to whine at the sudden pressure.

“Sevika, I said be gentle,” Abby reminds her from behind, gently caressing your breasts as she watches Sevika’s movements. “I told you she’s sensitive.”

Sevika grunts back at her, briefly removing her mouth off of your throbbing clit to speak to her. “Where’s the fun in that, Anderson?” she replies as she inserts a second finger into your soaked cunt, admiring how you squirmed and whined at her touch. “Look at how much she likes it…pretty girl seems to be enjoying herself from the looks of it.”

While Abby and Sevika may present themselves in similar ways, you realize that they are both completely different in bed. Abby was the gentle type, who’d always touch you and handle your body with care as if you were a porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment. Sevika, on the other hand, was the opposite. She’s been manhandling the hell out of your thighs and pussy for the past ten minutes now, as if you had now turned into a ragdoll that could easily be thrown around the bed.

But if there’s one thing the two women have in common…it’s that making you cum was going to be their number one priority.

“You okay, beautiful?” Abby purrs into your ear, gently planting kisses on the back of your neck as Sevika continues to finger your cunt. “Is Sevika taking good care of you?”

You nod with a whine, and while Abby took that as a valid answer, Sevika sure didn’t. Her metal hand gripped your inner thigh harshly, causing you to jerk back at her once more. “Answer her question, sweetheart.” she mused, her steel gray eyes staring you down.

“Y-Yes! Please keep going, Sev…” you whine back to her. Sevika hummed, bringing her gaze back down to your gushing pussy as her fingers continued to pump at its standard pace. “Such a pretty pussy, baby…it’s crazy how Anderson’s kid can get to taste this whenever he wants.”

“Yeah, about that…” Abby chimes in, stifling a laugh. “It’s just me who does that. Andrew always refuses to do it.”

Sevika scoffed and shook her head in disbelief, her fingers slowing down their movements inside you. “You’re fucking lying.” Her eyes shift back over to you. “She’s lying, right?”

You look down at Sevika with a straight face, slowly shaking your head. “I-It’s true…h-he never does…”

Sevika couldn’t help herself. She starts to laugh, still unable to wrap her head around it. “Jesus, Anderson, your kid is pretty stupid for that. Who wouldn’t wanna get a taste of this gorgeous girl?” She leans in and licks another stripe up your pussy, letting out a groan as she savored the arousal that caught on her taste buds. “She tastes like fucking heaven.”

“That’s exactly what I had told her.” Abby replied. “But what can I say? He’s self-absorbed just like his father, and I sure can’t fix his stupidity either.”

You whined as your pussy clenched tightly around Sevika’s thick fingers. It felt insane to think about it, but the fact that Abby and Sevika were talking shit about your boyfriend like this couldn’t help but turn you on even more. However, Sevika was quick to sense your actions as her gaze dropped back down to your pussy. “Did you just clench around me?” she asks, looking back up at you. Her fingers began to speed up a little now, causing a whimper to escape from your throat as you clutch onto Abby’s bicep. “Seems like she’s getting off on hearing us talk shit about her stupid boyfriend.”

Abby chuckles, leaning in to press a gentle kiss on your cheek. “It’s because she knows it’s true. Besides, she’s got two women right here who’s gonna give her all the pleasure her body needs tonight.”

Sevika smirks, using her metal hand to spread your thighs out farther for her. “In that case, you better buckle up, princess…because we’re just getting started.”

With that, Sevika’s fingers speed up into your pussy even faster. You’re caught completely off guard by the sudden action, jerking back against her once more only for your hips to involuntarily grind against her and for your cunt to clench around her fingers once more. Sevika chuckles and watches you closely, relishing over how willing your body has become for her touch. “Can’t believe you even let him touch you,” she says, shaking her head. “Bet a pathetic boy like him doesn’t even know what to do with you.”

Abby hums in agreement, pressing another kiss on your shoulder as she starts to roll your hardened nipples in between her fingers. “But it was never about my son, was it, sweetheart?” she muses, a subtle smirk growing on her lips. “You always did have a clever way of getting what you want.”

“That so?” Sevika grins back, her voice getting rougher as she looks at you. “Then maybe it’s time that you really got what you wanted.”

A third finger slides into you, and a cry elicits from your mouth at the stretch. Your hands fly down to Abby’s thighs, nails digging into her soft freckled skin as your own thighs instinctively close around Sevika’s hand. “S-Sev…t-too much…” you whine out to her.

Sevika simply laughs, shaking her head tauntingly at your direction. “Oh no, you don’t get to close out on me, princess.” she says, forcing your legs back open with her metal arm and folding them up to your chest. “You wanted me to stay, remember? So you’re gonna take what I give you.”

Her fingers move relentlessly after that, and her head dips back down to suck on your clit. You’re quick to reach your peak as the coil in your stomach gets tighter with each passing second. Abby tries to coo and praise you as she continues to softly kiss you and hold your breasts, but her gentle actions do nothing to sublimate the intensity of Sevika’s fingers ramming in and out of your cunt. The combined sounds of your pitchy whines and the squelching sounds of your pussy filling the bedroom were borderline filthy. You try to tell Sevika that you’re close, give her some sort of warning—but you just can’t get the words out of your mouth. Sevika lifts her mouth off your clit and replaces it with the thumb of her metal hand while the rest of her arm keeps your thighs pinned up, the cold metal causing the rest of your body to shiver. “What’s wrong, princess?” she grins, tilting her head slightly as she watches you struggle. “Can’t get the words out?”

“I…I—” you’re cut off with another whine as Sevika’s fingers continue grazing over your g spot. All you could do was whine and writhe under her grasp, clawing for some sort of escape from the stimulation. Abby releases one of her hands from your breasts and brings it up to your jaw, tilting it to face her. “It’s okay, beautiful. You don’t have to say it.”

Sevika clicks her tongue in disagreement, pushing her fingertips harder inside you—as if she was trying to make you struggle even more to speak to her. “C’mon, princess. Use that pretty mouth of yours for something other than whining.”

Abby rolls her eyes and shakes her head, pressing a slow kiss to your jaw as her soothing voice remains intact. “Shh, it’s okay. We already know what you need.”

Sevika groans as her gaze shifts over to Abby. “Yeah, but I still wanna hear her say it.” She looks back over to you. “Go on, princess…say it.”

Your voice feels lodged in your throat, more gasps and whines slipping from it until finally—you get the words out. Or—you try to.

“S-Sevika, I…I-’m gonna—”

But it was too late. The stimulation gets to your body before you could even get the words out of your mouth. Without warning, a stream of release spurts out of your pussy and soaks up Sevika’s arm and Abby’s bed sheets in the process. Your thighs tremble under her grasp, back arching off of Abby’s chest as your eyes flutter shut and the rest of your face contorts in pure pleasure.

An astonished look is spread across Sevika’s face, her movements still not faltering inside you as your cunt continues to spasm and squirt all over her hand. “That’s it, pretty girl…let it all out for us.” she praised, her voice in a low, wicked purr. “Fuck, she looks so beautiful like this. So fucking perfect.” Her eyes fawn over your contorted face, taking in the way your back arched, your tits thrusting out and your mouth open into a silent scream of ecstasy. As your orgasm begins to subside, your body goes completely boneless on top of Abby. Sevika’s flesh fingers quickly withdraw from your cunt while her metal arm loosens its grip from the backs of your thighs. With her fingers still coated in your release, she brings them up to her mouth to suck them clean, her eyes briefly closing shut as she savors your taste. When she pulls them away from her lips, her voice is now laced with satisfaction. “Sweet girl. Just like I thought.” She’s quick to dive back into your cunt, her tongue lapping quickly on the surface as she cleans you off from the rest of your release. Sevika presses a final lingering kiss against your inner thigh, smirking as she looks back up at you. “No wonder you had Abby wrapped around your little finger.” she muses as she sat back up. “Think I might just keep you for myself.”

Your breath is still uneven, body still pliant against Abby’s as the aftershocks pulse through you. You barely have the strength to meet her gaze, but once you do, the heat in your eyes makes your stomach flip once more. Abby’s fingers trace slow circles over your shoulder, keeping you grounded as you slowly shift back to reality. She then reaches over to your jaw, cupping it gently as her blue eyes search for yours. “Still with us, sweetheart?” she asks softly, to which you reply to her with a whiny nod.

Sevika watches the two of you intently, and amused look on her face as she watches your fucked out self. “Oh, she’s with you alright. But let’s see if she can keep up, yeah?”

Once you catch your breath, your head drags over to face Sevika, who was now kneeling with a dark grin on her face. “I…I can handle it.” you pant out to her.

Sevika lets out a chuckle, shaking her head in disagreement. “Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that, pretty girl.”

Abby scoffs, playfully glaring back at Sevika before looking back down at you. “Ignore her. She likes to pretend she doesn’t have a soft side.”

Sevika simply raises an eyebrow, smirking as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And you like pretending you don’t want me to ruin her.”

Abby just smirks back at her, but she tilts her head just a bit in thought—as if an idea had just clicked into place. Her fingers trail gently up and down your arm, her touch light as a feather in comparison to Sevika’s rough hands from earlier. “Sevika sure made you feel good, didn’t she, sweetheart?” she purrs, leaning in closer to you.

Your breath hitches at her question, only mustering up the energy to answer her with a small nod. Sevika scoffs and shakes her head, shifting her weight against the mattress. “Oh, come on—”

Abby cuts her off with a hum, almost as if she had expected that reaction from her. Her fingers tilt your chin just enough to make you look at her. “I think she deserves a thank you, don’t you think?”

Sevika scoffs once more, rolling her eyes. “Oh please, I don’t need–”

“Don’t need what?” Abby asks, tilting her head slightly in amusement.

Sevika exhales through her nose, crossing her arms over her chest as if she couldn’t care less. But her gaze flickers over to you, watching you carefully. You shift, mustering the energy to sit yourself up from Abby’s lap, your pulse still pounding in your ears. You wanted to do it, not just to thank her—but to see her fall apart. You wanted to see how Sevika’s composure can slip, to see just how deep that soft spot of hers can be, no matter how much she denies it.

The click of Sevika’s tongue shakes you out of your thoughts as she leans in towards you. “You don’t have to do that for me, sweetheart.” she says, her voice quieter this time.

You swallow, your lips parting slightly as your eyes stay fixed on hers. “I want to do it, Sev.” you murmur back to her.

Sevika’s jaw tenses, just for a bit—but the rest of her doesn’t falter as she raises an eyebrow at you, her smirk still plastered on her face. “...Yeah? Is that so?”

You nod in response, and Abby leans in from behind to press a kiss to your shoulder. “That’s my girl.” she murmurs softly, brushing your hair to your other shoulder. “Go on, beautiful, you know what to do.”

Sevika doesn’t stop you this time. She watches as you sit up and approach her, already prepared for you to lean in and give her a tender kiss. Her lips melt against yours, and her hand trails down to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, causing you to whimper softly against her. She pulls away to sit herself up against the headboard next to Abby, but impatience starts to fill you as your hands meet with the buttons of her jeans. You sense some shifting from above, and you look up to see that Sevika has discarded her bra off to the side. Your eyes widen at the sight of her breasts, large and enticing to your gaze. Your lips part open, and you lift up one of your hands from her jeans to hold her breast, gently squeezing it before leaning in to latch your mouth onto her nipple. Sevika lets out a low groan at the sensation of your warm mouth on her chest. She gently runs her flesh hand down your head and upper back before bringing it down to her jeans to unbutton them.

Your mouth quickly switches over to her other breast, but before you could give it the attention it was needing, a rough tap against your forearm brings you out of focus. You pull away from Sevika’s chest and bring your gaze down to her lap, gasping softly once you see the sight below you. A dark purple strap attached to her hips through a black harness, its length thick and protruding, showing a sign that it needed something to fill. Arousal starts to flourish out your cunt once more, dripping down your inner thighs as your mind wanders on how you could possibly be able to take something this big.

Abby lets out a sigh next to you and you look over to see her shaking her head in disbelief. “That is way too big for her, Sevika,” she says, her voice slightly laced with concern as she wraps a firm hand around the length to take a closer look at it. “You’ll break her with something like this.”

Sevika scoffed and shook her head in disagreement. “That’s what you think.” She brings her gaze back down to her lap and begins to unbuckle the harness. “But let’s save that part for later, yeah?”

You didn’t want to admit it, but Abby was right. Even though Sevika might know her way around any woman’s body, Abby was the one who knew yours the best. She knew what made you melt, what pushed you too far, how much you could handle—and she knew that this would be more than what you could take.

But Sevika was going to prove her wrong very soon.

However, she wasn’t going to be worrying about that just yet. Sevika finishes removing her strap and sets it down next to her before shimmying off her pants and boxers in one motion. You watch with a hooded gaze as her legs spread out slowly on the bed, your eyes darkening at the sight of her cunt. It was a sight for sore eyes—her brown folds were puffy, glistening with her own arousal, and topped off with a trimmed patch of hair as the overall musk of it filled the room in an instant. Sevika’s pussy elicited a primal hunger inside of you, and you’re quick to lie down onto the bed and settle yourself in between her thick thighs. Your head slowly dips in, tongue darting out to lick a slow and savory stripe up her cunt, your eyes closing in pure bliss as Sevika’s arousal clings onto your taste buds. A low groan slips from Sevika’s mouth, her body instantly going soft from your touch. Her hips lift slightly, instantly offering herself to you, silently begging for more of your mouth onto her aching cunt. Your lips move up to gently suck onto Sevika’s throbbing clit, and the two of you could have sworn that she let out a whimper. Abby simply chuckles as she watches the sinful sight of the two of you unfold in front of her. “Well, would you look at that? I think my pretty girl has you melting, Sev.”

Sevika shook her head, shifting around as she tried to maintain her composure underneath you. “Don’t flatter yourself, Anderson.”

Abby laughs at her, crossing her arms over her chest as her eyes flicker between you and Sevika. “Oh, I don’t have to. You’re doing that all on your own.”

Sevika narrows her eyes down at the blonde woman, her mouth opening to spit back at her only to be cut off by another soft groan once your tongue slides inside her cunt. Her jaw clenches in an attempt to restrain herself, but her body betrays her, hips twitching further against your mouth. A shaky exhale slips from her lips, her eyes darkening as her gaze snaps back down to you. “F-Fuck, just like that…Don’t stop.”

Abby shifts closer to Sevika to watch the two of you, continuing to spur Sevika on as she brings a hand down to tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “You should see yourself, Sev. Maybe you do have a soft spot after all.”

Another low grunt escapes from Sevika’s throat as your tongue swirls around her cunt, the tension in her body continuing to betray her. She doesn't even bother talking back to Abby and brings her focus back to you, her human fingers tangling in your hair as her breath continues to stutter. “Keep going, pretty girl. Just like that.”

You moan softly over her praises, the vibrations from your mouth stimulating her cunt in the most exquisite way. Sevika groans at the sensation, her eyes snapping shut as she tips her head back against the headboard.

Abby continues to watch the two of you, admiring how you both became lost in each other’s pleasure as if it were a trance. Her gaze drops back down to you—your body splayed face down on the bed, eyes closed in complete bliss as your tongue continues to flutter over Sevika’s puffy wet cunt, getting a fresh taste of her arousal with every jerk of her hips. Then, almost instinctively—your back arches off the mattress, leaving your ass perked up into the air—and an idea sparking into Abby’s mind.

The two of you don’t even register Abby’s movements around the bedroom—the weight shifting on the bed, the sound of soft footsteps on the ground, followed by the sound of her nightstand drawer—raises no curiosity to you and Sevika whatsoever.

The weight shifts around the bed once more—particularly right behind you. You think nothing of it at first—until a sudden pressure begins to stretch into your cunt. You gasp, and your mouth briefly parts away from Sevika’s pussy, curious to find the source of this familiar stretch. You glance over your shoulder to see Abby kneeling behind, now fully nude with her strap buckled around her hips, the tip of it already teasing into your cunt. She keeps her hands firm on your hips, slowly pushing her strap inch by inch until it reaches the base. A low moan slips from your mouth once she bottoms out, the stretch of her cock filling your cunt already making you go dizzy. Abby smirks once she sees the already fucked out look that was spreading onto your face. “You should see yourself, princess. Looks like you missed having my cock in you, yeah?” she asks, to which you reply with a whiny nod. Without even warning you, Abby begins to slowly thrust her cock in and out of you, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure.

The headspace didn’t last for long when a sharp tap against your cheek pulled you back from the fog that Abby’s cock had you drowning in. It’s not harsh, but firm enough to make your eyes snap back open, to remind you that there’s still someone else waiting on you. Sevika’s smirk is lazy, her eyes still dark with lust as her calloused fingers squish your cheeks, making your lips pout while it’s still glistening with her arousal. “Did I say you could stop, pretty girl?” she asks sternly, tilting her head slightly.

Your lips part open to respond to her, but Abby thrusts into your pussy once more, causing only a broken whine to come out instead. You shake your head at Sevika, and her grip loosens on your face just to move to the back of your head, fingers now tangling in your hair. “That’s what I thought.” Her hand begins to push your head back into her neglected cunt once more. “Get back in there, princess. I’m still not done with you.”

All you can do is oblige, allowing Sevika’s cunt to stuff your mouth while Abby’s cock stuffed your cunt. Once your tongue slides back inside her, Sevika takes full control of your mouth, keeping your face buried into her pussy as she fucks herself onto your tongue, desperate groans and grunts of pleasure slipping from her mouth with every thrust of her hips. She can feel every inch of your tongue, every flick and swirl sending shockwaves of ecstasy through her body. Her clit throbs as she grinds herself harder against your mouth, chasing the sweet release that was bound to happen at any moment. However, you also couldn’t miss the sounds that Abby made from behind either, the breathy pants and gasps escaping her lips as the strap deliciously rubs against her clit every time she thrusts it into your hungry cunt. Your body shifts back and forth between the two women despite the firm grips they had on you, practically using you as a toy for their own pleasure.

Sevika is quick to get close, her grip on your hair tightening, holding you firmly in place as she continues to grind her cunt, her low groans shifting into desperate cries with each passing second. Her strong thighs quiver on the sides of your head, her body tensing as you feel her rapidly approaching climax. Abby continues to thrust her cock steadily into your dripping pussy from behind, the obscene sound of her hips slapping against your ass filling the bedroom.

Your brain starts to feel like mush as you’re lost into the pleasure of the two women using your body for their own satisfaction. The sensation of Abby’s strap sliding in and out of your dripping cunt combined with the salty taste of Sevika’s arousal filling your mouth is almost too much for you to handle. You can feel your own climax building quickly as your walls start to tense and spasm around Abby’s thick length.

A string of incoherent moans and curses coming from above hit your eardrums as Sevika thrusts her hips further into your face, her pussy clenching as she hits the brink of her orgasm. With a loud cry of your name, her body goes rigid as she finally comes undone. Her pussy clenches once more around your tongue, gushing and pulsing as her release floods onto your mouth and chin. The intensity of her climax causes her thighs to brutally shake around your head, her fingers twisting almost painfully in your hair as she rides out the final shockwaves of her pleasure.

As Sevika recovers from her orgasm, she watches as Abby continues to pound you from behind, admiring how your face remained pressed against her crotch, eyes fluttered shut in pleasure as drool pools from your lips and onto her cunt while Abby’s strap fucked you deliciously. A mischievous idea sparks in her mind, and she signals Abby to stop. “Mind if I finish our pretty girl off, Anderson?” she asks, her eyes darkening towards the blonde.

Abby looks back at her, nodding in agreement “Why of course, you’re our guest of honor after all.”

You were too drunk, too fucked out to register the conversation between the two women. Until—Abby stops. She slowly begins to pull her cock out of you, and your mind slowly begins to shift back to reality. You start to whine as the loss, weakly pushing your hips back against her as a desperate sign for her to keep you full. Sevika simply chuckles as she gently lifts your head to push herself off the bed. “There, there, pretty girl,” Sevika muses, reaching for her strap on the bed and putting it on. “Anderson and I are just gonna switch places, yeah? But don’t worry, you’ll get your fill again soon.”

Abby slowly pulls the rest of her strap out of your dripping cunt before shifting aside to let Sevika take her place, the thick strap of hers bobbing obscenely as she settles in between your legs. Her gaze lingers on the immense length of Sevika’s strap, shaking her head in uncertainty. “Sevika, there’s no way she’s gonna be able to take this.” she reminds her.

Sevika simply scoffs and looks over to her, raising a confident brow. “She’s a big girl, Anderson. If she can be able to withstand faking it with your kid for this long, then she can handle me.”

Abby sighs back at her, unable to fight back with that statement. She moves closer to Sevika, and she allows her some space for her to settle next to her. “Well, in that case, let me help you break her in.”

A shiver starts to travel down your spine once Abby’s warm palms land onto the skin of your ass, slowly spreading them open to reveal the sight of your cunt, still dripping with your arousal, your clit throbbing while your hole clenches around nothing with a desire to be filled again. Sevika groans softly, bringing her flesh fingers to your puffy folds and spreading them open to get a better look. “Fuck, I’ve never seen a pussy this needy before.” She muses, angling her flesh thumb down to rub gentle circles on your throbbing clit, only for more of your arousal to drip out of your hole. A laugh elicits from her mouth at the sight of it, shaking her head. “And he really thought he was keeping you satisfied, huh? Poor bastard.”

With that, Sevika’s metal hand wraps around the shaft of her strap, aligning it with your entrance before she pushes the tip inside. Half of her length is quick to slide in, and it was no surprise to the two women given how soaking wet you were. A groan falls from your mouth once Sevika bottoms out inside you, your mind already floating from being so full of her.

Abby lets go of your cheeks and trails a gentle hand down your thigh, rubbing it soothingly as her gaze stays fixed on your face, scanning for any pain or discomfort you might express. Her lips part open to speak to you, but a firm squeeze on her forearm keeps her from doing so. “Hey,” Sevika murmurs, leaning close to her. “She’ll be fine, yeah? Look how good she’s already taking me.”

She gestures to Abby to lie back down on the bed, and she hesitates, just for a moment—but obliges. Abby settles herself on the bed in front of you, spreading her legs wide. You try to lift up your head, the weight of it feeling like a thousand pounds. A gentle hand is placed on your jaw as Abby lifts your head up and slowly guides you closer to her until your face is hovering over her glistening cunt. Before you could latch your mouth onto her, Sevika is already beginning to thrust her cock into you, causing a strangled moan to escape from your throat. Your mind is reeling, overwhelmed by the pleasure of being so used and filled by these two women. But you still obey nonetheless as you give in to Sevika’s thrusts and dive into Abby’s wet pussy. Your tongue lazily slides between Abby’s slick folds, stroking and swirling around her tight hole and her sensitive clit as you lose yourself in pleasuring her.

Abby’s head tilts back against the pillows, eyes fluttered shut in pleasure at the sensation of your mouth lapping onto her cunt. “O-Oh fuck, sweetheart…you’re d-doing so good taking me and Sev like this…” Abby’s fingers tangle into your hair, holding you firmly against her as she grinds her cunt against your mouth. Her moans grow louder, more desperate, spurring you on as you feel Sevika’s thick strap stretching you wide with every thrust of hers, her movements getting quicker and rougher with each passing second.

Sevika’s metal and flesh hands tighten their grip on your ass as she leans over your back, her muscular body pressing against you as her strap continues to plunge in and out of your dripping cunt with brutal intensity. “Fuck, pretty girl…Look at you, taking my cock while eating Anderson out like a good girl.” she praises, letting out a groan right when the harness hits on her clit. “I bet this is a hell of a lot easier than pretending to enjoy yourself with that useless boyfriend of yours, huh?"

A muffled whine was all you reply to her with as your mouth stays fixed on Abby’s pussy. Abby’s back arches off the bed, her moans and cries escalating higher as your tongue pushes her closer to the edge. “Fuck, sweetheart! Right there!” she exclaims, pushing your head further into her as she angles her hips against you. “D-Don’t stop, sweet girl, don’t fucking stop…”

Feeling both of them closing in on their releases, you try to fight through the haze in your mind and muster up the energy to double your efforts. Your lips tighten around Abby’s clit, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud of hers. Your inner walls start to clench around Sevika’s plunging strap, your own climax quickly accumulating as she continues to stretch and fill your pussy in the most sensational way. “That’s it, pretty girl, come for us.” Sevika demands, reaching her flesh hand around to rub tight circles over your clit. “Let us hear what he was too pathetic to pull from you.”

Sevika’s final words were what pushed you over the edge. A scream of ecstasy erupts from your lungs, muffled against Abby’s cunt as your climax crashes over you like a tidal wave. Your pussy clenches harshly around the strap, walls spasming as you cum all over the length, completely coating the purple silicone with your thick release as it keeps stretching you wide. Your body shakes and convulses between the two women, back arching in pleasure as your vision goes white, leaving you a writhing and whimpering mess. Abby’s own climax is quick to follow next, cumming a loud cry of your name as she grinds her gushing cunt into your face, coating your lips and cheeks with her release. You drink up every last drop of her in primal thirst, her thighs trembling between your head as her orgasm tears through her.

The two women hold you in place, using your trembling body as they ride out their highs, Abby eventually collapses back onto the bed, chest heaving, while Sevika leans over you, both of you panting and shining in sweat and arousal. As the haze of pleasure slowly subsides between the three of you, you find yourself sandwiched between them, your face still pressed against Abby’s twitching cunt while Sevika’s strap was still buried deep inside your fluttering pussy. You truly have never felt so thoroughly used, so deliciously satisfied—it was a sensation that Andrew could have never fulfilled.

The two women slowly loosen their grips from you, and Sevika eventually pulls out of you with a wet squelch. The strap slipping from your abused cunt followed by a final gush of your release, and the rest of your body goes limp and collapses onto the mattress once Sevika lets go of your hips. The weight of exhaustion settles deep in your limbs, the warmth of the bed and the lingering touch of their hands pulling you under. The last thing you feel before slumber consumes you is the soft press of lips—whose, you’re not sure—against your temple, followed by the distant murmuring of their voices as they move around you.

The room is much calmer and quieter by the time you stir awake. You’re tucked beneath a fresh set of sheets, and you realize you’re no longer bare once you notice one of Abby’s shirts was clinging onto you instead. A weight shifts beside you, and you look to the right to see Abby slipping into bed beside you, now comfortably dressed, her hand finding yours under the covers. Across the room, Sevika is still standing, her boxers back on as she searches around for the rest of her clothes on the floor. The two of you watch her intently, both tempted to do the same thing—to not let her go just yet.

Abby chimes in, sitting up just enough to face her. “You should stay,” she murmurs, voice thick with drowsiness.

Sevika sighs, picking up her jeans from the floor. “It’s late. I should—”

“It is late,” you repeat, voice softer and laced with sleep. You shift closer to Abby to make an open space for her as you meet with her gaze, your eyes heavy-lidded but certain. “Stay with us, please?”

There’s a brief pause. Her eyes linger on you, and for a moment, it seems like she’ll refuse—but then, the corner of her mouth twitches just a bit. She doesn’t want to admit it—not to Abby, not to you—but something about the way you say it, the way Abby's voice softens, makes her want to stay. She gives into it in an instant, letting out a low, amused grunt as she sets her discarded clothed back down. “Alright, I’ll stay. I can’t exactly say no to the two of you.”

Abby smirks, her hand brushing over yours. “We’ll make it worth your while, Sev.”

Sevika only shakes her head, her lips twitching into a smile as she removes her prosthetic arm and sets it aside before settling back into the bed. The warmth from her body pressed against yours as she gets comfortable, but there’s a gentle side of hers in the way she adjusts the covers, a quiet understanding in the way her human hand brushes over yours, just enough to remind you that she’s still there with you too.

And soon enough with Sevika’s steady presence beside you and Abby’s warmth wrapping around you from behind, the exhaustion takes over you once more. You fall asleep again, nestled between the two of them, safe in the soft rhythm of their breaths.

── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☽⋅⋆ ──

Later in the night, Abby stirs. The peacefulness of the house is interrupted by the distant sound of tires rolling over pavement, followed by the familiar footsteps approaching the front door. She’s out of bed by now, patiently waiting at the top of the stairs, curious as to who could be coming here this late. The door creaks open, and Andrew stumbles inside, still slightly drunk and disoriented as the keys jingle in his grip. Abby scoffs under her breath, shaking her head as she moves past him and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water.

It isn’t until she heads back up the stairs, cold glass now resting in her hand, that she hears him follow behind her. “Hey Mom, uh…where is she?”

She doesn’t answer right away, only peeks through the slight crack in her bedroom door. Inside, under the soft glow of the moonlight, you’re now curled up on your back beside Sevika, face peaceful, body relaxed in a way he’s sure he’s never seen before.

Andrew shifts around uncomfortably, rubbing at his neck. “She didn’t answer my texts, and her car is still outside.”

Abby turns over to look at him, raising a brow. “Maybe she finally had something better to do.”

His brows furrowed in conclusion, an uncertain look expressed on his face over his mother’s response. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Abby huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she takes a sip of her water before responding to him. “Don’t think too hard about it, Andrew. Just go to bed.”

She turns back to her door before he speaks again. “Do you know if she’s okay, at least?”

Abby glances over to him, then through the door again—at the way Sevika’s flesh arm rests loosely over your waist, at how you press into her warmth, both of you lost in deep slumber. The sheets are slightly rumpled where Abby had been lying before she got up, the warmth of her spot still lingering and waiting for her return. A small, knowing smile grows on her lips before she looks back at him. “She’s in good hands, Andrew.” she says simply. “Exactly where she’s meant to be.”

Without another word, she steps into her bedroom and shuts the door behind her, leaving him standing alone in the dimly lit hallway while she returns to where she belongs—where she’s also meant to be.

i’m not gonna lie…writing this fic drained me so much. but i hope it was worth the wait 🥲

requested tags 🏷️: @jinxvex @lucidfairies @valentinewife @willurms @jhyoos @thatgrlnany @sevikas-whore @brisaccount @iluvwomensm @halle5s @tohoko @blackdykegirlblogger @lenahhsworld @starrycherie @acidblum

773 notes · View notes

hederasgarden · 3 months ago

Text

Eternal Devotion (1/3)

Summary: Months after your husband's untimely death, his presence lingers, haunting you in ways you never expected. Pairing: Vampire!Friedrich Harding x Wife!Reader Word Count: 3.9K Rating: Mature, 18+ only. Heavy angst and grief, period typical sexism, creepy things, mildly dubious consent, sexual content, vampirism and all the warnings that come with that (I’m diverging from canon a bit in regards to feeding). This is my attempt at Gothic Romance. A/N: The reader has always been Friedrich's wife, Anna does not exist in this AU. Big thanks to @ryebecca, @otaku-girl-ao3, @whatblogisthis216 , @eremeldanin and @caught-reading for their help with this fic. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Aaron Taylor Johnson Character Masterlist ♡ Masterlist

No grave can hold my body down, I'll crawl home to her. -Hozier

The room is dim with the curtains drawn tight, allowing only a sliver of daylight to creep through the gap. In the distance, the soft hum of morning activity rises from the rest of the house, the gentle chatter of your two daughters layered over the quiet rustling of the servants preparing for the day ahead. You should rise and follow the rhythm of the world outside this room, but you cannot.

Friedrich has been gone nearly six months. It feels like a lifetime. The days stretch endlessly, and each one feels like an affront, a reminder that the world refuses to stop turning. How are you supposed to go on living? You know if you had died, Friedrich would have climbed into the casket beside you and his grief would have blotted out the sun.

But there was no casket for him. No body left to bury. He was swallowed by the sea, lost while fulfilling a promise you made, helping Ellen return to Thomas.

Your daughters do not yet grasp the finality of it. No matter how many times you tell them, they speak of their father like he is simply away at work, perhaps, or out on some important errand. And each morning they act as if he’s come to tuck them into bed, kiss their cheeks, and say their prayers like he did before. They look up at you with soft eyes, the very same as his and you must relive the pain of it again and again when you remind them their father is gone.

Sometimes, you wish you could believe your own dreams, the ones where Friedrich slips back into bed beside you. Yet even in those fleeting moments of illusion, something is wrong. The warmth you long for is absent. His touch is colder, harder, his presence not the way it used to be. When his lips meet your skin, it stings, sharp and unfamiliar, and the truth rises within you, pushing against the comfort of the dream.

It’s not him. And it never will be. Now and forevermore, each morning you will wake to find the sheets beside you cold. Empty.

Everyone told you the grief would abate with time but these past few weeks have drained you more thoroughly than any that came before. Each morning, it feels as though your very blood has turned to sand, your bones to lead. Even the simple act of turning onto your back, to stare up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, takes more effort than you can summon.

You remain in bed until the door creaks open, and the light sound of footsteps follows. Kerstin’s voice is no more than a whisper as she brushes your shoulder.

“Frau Harding. Your parents have arrived for breakfast. Your father wishes for you to join them.”

The sight of your maid’s pale, worried face is enough to rouse you. You let her dress and prepare you for the day. Although she’s done this a thousand times, there’s something about the way her hands hover over the buttons of your gown, the hesitation before each movement, that makes you feel like a stranger in your own skin. You see how she and the other servants watch you now. Even when they pretend to be absorbed in their tasks, their glances are sharp, laden with worry. They fear you’ll descend into the same madness as Ellen, but it is only your grief, so vast and deep, that’s reshaping you in ways you can’t even recognize.

When you enter the dining room, your daughters rush to you. You hold them close, inhaling the familiar scent of their hair. Your mother greets you next, reaching out to cup your face in her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they linger there. There is a deep sadness in her eyes and she glances over at your father with a look halfway between pleading and resignation.

“Come, you must eat,” she encourages, guiding you to sit beside her.

Your father, sitting at the head of the table, offers no such tenderness. His presence is a commanding weight in the room and the deep set of his brow lets you know this is not merely a social visit. You glance at your mother who stares at the hands in her lap and your fingers curl around the richly upholstered arm of the dining room chair. Whatever he has come to say will not be good, you realize.

“The children are finished with their breakfast,” he announces sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a command. With a quick flick of his fingers, he gestures to the governess. “Take them to the parlor. Their mother and I have matters to discuss.”

Once they are gone, your father doesn’t wait long to speak again. “It has been six months,” he begins, his gaze unwavering. “Long enough. You must remarry, and soon.”

You blink, momentarily stunned. Six months? Six months since Friedrich was swallowed by the sea, leaving nothing but an empty, aching space behind. Six months in which you have not even been able to make sense of the grief that clings to you like a second skin. How could he even think of you remarrying so soon?

“But… Father, I…” you begin, the words faltering in your throat.

He doesn’t let you finish, his voice growing sterner. “You must think of the future, not just of your own sorrow. The children need stability, and you need a husband. You cannot manage alone, not with the wealth you inherited from your late husband.”

You shake your head, even as you know there is a kernel of truth to his words. The vast estate, the shipyard, and the assets Friedrich once managed all fall on you now. It is a burden you are not prepared to shoulder and one you have steadily ignored these past months. But even beyond all that, the thought of remarrying, of taking another man into your life is something you can’t even entertain.

"I cannot… not yet," you whisper, barely above a breath. And in the pit of your chest, a deeper thought rises unbidden: Not ever.

“I understand your reluctance,” he says firmly. “But even now, men circle you like vultures. They want your husband’s wealth and his business. We must act swiftly and secure the right match — for you, for the children, for our family’s future.”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to pass. Your hands move to straighten the cutlery in front of you, anything to occupy them, anything to hold off the flood of emotion threatening to spill over.

And then, almost without thinking, you speak. “You never say his name.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “What?”

“Friedrich,” you whisper. “It is always my husband or your son-in-law. You do not… you do not say his name.”

There is a long pause before your father clears his throat, dismissing the uncomfortable silence. “We cannot afford to linger on sentiment,” he says. “Sentiment will not feed the children or keep the business afloat. We need to think practically.”

You stare at him, hearing nothing more than the absence of your husband's name in his voice, the not-so-subtle command that you too must move on, move past this grief, and return to the world of the living.

“You cannot make me do this.”

"Perhaps not," your father concedes, exhaling sharply. "But your husband has many cousins who would think nothing of reclaiming control over the business." He pauses, taking a deliberate sip of his water, his eyes never leaving yours. "Men who would see no value in a widow and her daughters when they have families of their own.”

His words have their desired effect, leaving you feeling small and powerless. Your shoulders slump, the strength in you draining away as your head hangs, heavy with the crushing knowledge of what awaits.

“Now, your mother has already arranged for you and the girls to have new clothes made for your return to society," he continues, his tone cool and businesslike. "We will host a small, intimate gathering. I will invite a few prospective suitors—men I consider promising options. You may, of course, choose which one you wish to pursue."

“How kind you are to offer me a say,” you murmur, the words bitter in your mouth.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “I know grief has stolen your good sense but you will watch your tongue when you speak to me,” your father warns.

A surge of emotion rises within you, sharp and unwelcome, forcing its way up your throat. The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and unrestrained. “You would not speak to me this way if Friedrich were here.”

Your father shakes his head, rising from his seat to tower over you. “He is not here, my girl. He will never be here again. You are alone in a world that is unkind to women such as yourself.”

The pity in his eyes is more than you can bear. The dam breaks, and the first wave of tears crashes down, unbidden and unstoppable. A flood that drags you under. You sink back into the chair, helpless as wracking sobs tear through you, a deep, raw ache flooding every part of your being.

Distantly, you hear your mother’s voice chastising your father. Her arms slip around you, pulling you close. She whispers gentle reassurances, her shushing echoing the soothing words you’ve said a hundred times to your own girls, but it feels empty now, a hollow repetition that cannot shield you from the brutal reality.

Friedrich is gone. And with him, any hope you once held of finding happiness.

–

When you step into your father’s parlor, the weight of every gaze in the room settles on you like a tangible thing. The faces that turn toward you are mostly unfamiliar, offering you that sad, understanding smile you’ve grown so weary of. It is a smile that means nothing at all in light of their presence here. Each one of them is complicit in your father’s schemes.

“You look lovely,” your father says. He presses his lips to your cheek in an exaggerated gesture of affection, more a farce than any real expression of love. “The blue truly suits you,” he adds, his eyes dropping to take in your fine silk dress.

It’s the latest fashion from Paris, or so you’re told. Once, a dress like this would have delighted you—Friedrich always took such joy in bringing you the finest, most exquisite silks and fabrics from his travels. But now, the dress feels all wrong, too tight and too revealing, exposing more of your shoulder and décolletage than you’re comfortable with.

You smile at your father. Even though it barely touches your lips it doesn’t seem to bother him. He simply sweeps you further into the room, his hand on your arm guiding you forward as he begins the task of making introductions. It’s a performance, and you are trapped at the center of it. But you do as your father and society demand, falling into the practiced motions of politeness.

You engage in small talk, offering the kind of perfunctory responses that are expected of you, feigning interest in whatever these men have to say. Some ask after your children, while others offer their condolences for your loss. But behind their kindness lies a predatory sort of interest. It is all you can do to nod, offering your own strained smile as you stand there wondering how much longer you can keep up this charade.

When your father finally leaves you for a moment you close your eyes, exhaling.

“Oh, dearest girl.”

The unexpected voice makes you flinch. You turn, meeting a familiar pair of brown eyes of Herr Gothrim. Of all your father’s friends, he is the one you think might understand your plight the best. He lost his wife to the plague that swept the city nearly a year ago.

“It is shameful what your father is doing. Forcing you from your mourning period so soon.” He shakes his head. “Though, I confess, had I daughter like you I might be convinced to do the same.” He steps closer, his voice quieting. “You are the talk of the city and beyond.”

“They desire Friedrich’s wealth,” you reply. “Nothing more.”

Herr Gothrim stares at you for a moment before he speaks again, his words laden with something that makes your skin crawl.

“Do not sell yourself short. You are young. Beautiful. You might still bear your future husband a son or two.”

Friedrich had wanted a son. You knew that long before you ever married him. He had spoken of it often, longing to see his name carried on but he never once made you feel like an instrument to secure his legacy. More than that he loved your daughter fiercely, completely. And though it might have been a sin, he loved you even more.

“I fear you will not have the luxury of time, my dear,” Herr Gothrim warns. “Your father will push forward with his plans, and if you do not make a choice, one will be made for you. Perhaps a familiar one would be best.”

His eyes briefly flick over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze. It rests on his son, Pieter. The sight of him makes a sharp, uncomfortable feeling bubbling up from within. Once, he had petitioned your father for your hand and before Friedrich had made his offer, Pieter had been the one your father had entertained as a potential suitor.

To your dismay, Pieter seems to take your attention as an invitation, crossing the room to join the two of you. He greets you with an overly familiar kiss to your cheek that lingers, brushing against the corner of your lips. When he pulls away his hand remains on your elbow, tethering you to him.

“Frau Harding, you look well,” he says brightly. “Or should it be Fräulein now?”

His boldness stuns you but before you can gather your thoughts, he continues, oblivious to the discomfort in your silence. “I must confess, I was both surprised and pleased to receive your father’s invitation. And to see you again after so long. I am eager for a second chance to win your hand.”

It is only the thought of your daughters and the need to ensure their future is safe that keeps grief from sharpening your tongue. You force your eyes downward, focusing on a speck of dust on his lapels to avoid looking at his face. “My father was pleased you accepted his invitation. He has always been fond of you,” you reply hollowly.

Pieter smiles, seemingly unaware of how your voice thins and your words fall flat and meaningless.

“You look cold,” he observes. “Come, you should warm yourself by the fire as we reacquaint ourselves. My import business has grown greatly since we last spoke.”

His touch feels possessive, demanding even yet you are helpless to do anything more than follow him. You catch your father’s eyes when you pass him. He looks pleased and it turns your stomach.

Pieter keeps you by his side for the rest of the evening, his words a constant hum around you. Whether he’s wholly unaware of your discomfort or willfully blind to it, you can’t decide. His conversation is a relentless stream of boasts about his business, his wealth, and his success, as though he expects you to be impressed, to be eager for his attention. Each time you try to excuse yourself, your attempts are dismissed with a smile and an insistent push to stay.

It isn’t until your mother comes to collect you at the end of the night that you are finally freed from his hold. You follow her away from the gathering and into the waiting carriage, Pieter’s gaze lingering on you.

You’re so exhausted on the ride home that the muffled sound of the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone streets and the rocking of the carriage nearly lulls you into sleep. You find your daughters are already in bed when you arrive at the house. Though you loathe to disturb their peaceful slumber, you find yourself drawn to them, compelled to check on them before you can rest. You make your way down the dark hallway, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath your feet the only sound betraying your presence.

When you crack open the door to their room, a cool rush of air greets you, sending a shiver through you. You find their window unlatched, the curtains fluttering in the autumn breeze that has slipped in. Startled, you step further into the room, a wave of panic rising in your chest. You move quickly to reach the window and quietly shut it again.

Once it is secured, you turn to your girls. The sight of them, peaceful and safe in their beds, eases some of the tension in your chest. Your youngest clutches a slip of fabric in her hands, her tiny face relaxed in sleep. There is something about the cloth she holds that gives you pause. You kneel beside her, gently prying it from her grasp. At the sight of the familiar handkerchief and your own needlework, worn and fraying with time, your breath stutters in your throat.

It was one of the first gifts you ever gave Friedrich, back when he was still courting you. You had made him dozens more over the years, but still, he carried it with him, even as it began to unravel at the edges. You always assumed it was lost with him and to find it here, tucked in your daughter’s hands, feels like both a balm and a wound.

Fingers trembling, you press the fabric to your face and close your eyes. For a brief moment, you swear you can still smell Friedrich’s cologne, faint but unmistakable. You linger in that moment until your daughter shifts in her sleep and you're brought back to reality. Carefully, you tuck the handkerchief into her tiny hands and kiss her forehead before retreating from the room.

–

Your dreams are restless, an amalgam of fractured images and disjointed sensations. Pieter’s dark, unblinking eyes merge with the black fabric of your mourning gown, and then, without warning, the scene shifts, plunging you into the vast, endless depths of the sea that claimed Friedrich.

The cold water envelops you, and you gasp for air, but the water rushes in, drowning your cries. In your panic, you thrash wildly, desperate for escape. Just as you feel yourself slipping into the abyss, strong hands seize you, pulling you upward. Your eyes snap open, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The water recedes, and in its place, Friedrich’s face fills your vision.

“I am here, I am here, my love,” he murmurs softly, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand rests lightly on your chest, guiding your breath to match his steady rhythm, coaxing the frantic pace of your heart to slow.

You stare at him as the world crystallizes around you. Then, you surge forward, your lips crashing into his with a desperation that consumes you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, clutching him tightly like he might vanish if you let go. The kiss is a lifeline and you cling to it with a need so raw it aches.

“Friedrich,” you gasp, reveling in the familiar tickle of his mustache and his strong hands on your body.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is real, if he’s truly here, or if your grief has finally unraveled, conjuring him from the depths of the ocean to haunt you. But then, as his lips press urgently against yours and the solid weight of him fills your arms, you decide you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if he is a ghost, risen from the sea’s cold embrace. Nor does it matter that death has leached the color from his cheeks and the warmth from his hands. All that matters is that he’s here.

“My love,” you cry.

“I am here,” he promises, trailing his lips down the side of your throat until his mouth seals over the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder.

He lingers there, the sting of his kiss euphoric. You bury your fingers in his thick curls, tugging gently and he all but growls against your skin. With his mouth still on you, his fingers tug at your nightgown, baring your body to his eager hands. They slip between your parted thighs, finding your wet heat, and stealing it away as they work you to the peak of pleasure. Friedrich groans and the pain in your neck flares, sharp and sudden.

When he pulls away, a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, leaving you breathless and spent. You stare up at him as your vision shifts, the world taking on a hazy hue. In the dim light, his blue eyes are dark, almost silvery, and something deep within you recoils, an instinctive fear that you can’t quite name. But then, he blinks, and just as quickly the shadow fades. The warmth of his gaze returns, and those same familiar blue eyes, the ones you’ve loved for so long, look down at you with tenderness.

Your fingers hover over his face, longing to touch him again. But a painful realization stops you.

"You are not real.” The words leave you in a rush.

“Does it matter if I am?" he asks. "Does this not bring you peace, my love?"

You shake your head, the pain of his absence still raw in your chest. You can’t resist the pull of him, the need to feel close again, even if only in this fleeting moment. Without thinking, you draw him down to kiss you, and the taste of him is sharp, unexpectedly coppery.

"It is a horrible thought," you murmur, breaking the kiss, "but I wish I would not wake when morning comes. I want to stay here with you. In this dream."

A deep frown forms between his brows, and his hand finds your cheek, his touch colder than it should be. His mouth parts slightly, and his teeth, white and sharp, glimmer faintly against his pale lips.

“You do not wish to find a new husband? To live?” he questions.

"I wish only for you," you say, voice trembling but sure. "And for our girls."

“My dearest wife,” he whispers, kissing you sweetly. “I will never leave you. I cannot.”

A soft moan slips from you, unbidden, the sound encouraging him to kiss you deeper. His lips move with a possessive tenderness that fills the hollow spaces inside you. “Nor would I ever let you go," he promises. “We are bound even in death.”

Part 2

#friedrich harding x reader #friedrich harding x you #friedrich harding #nosferatu #aaron taylor johnson

730 notes · View notes

htaesan · 2 months ago

Text

　ᅠ ✿　ᅠ NOT THAT I CARE OR ANYTHING　　────　ᅠ ( han taesan )

𝓹recis ⠀ : ⠀your ex, seemingly sweet anton, spreads malicious rumours about you that could potentially ruin your entire academic weapon career, so you have to take desperate measures𑁋and that includes a fake-dating contract and the bane of your existence, han taesan.

　　　ᅠ 한태산 ⠀⠀◜◡◝ ⠀⠀𝒇 reader ⠀wc 13k ⠀ genre college au fluff angst if you squint one sided rivals to lovers academic weapon x campus crush ⠀ contains mentions of food vulgar words skinship pet names several ocs ⠀ note i’m sorry if this fic is.. all over the place a bit coz,, yea!! but this fic is highly.. self-indulgent.. heheh! and i originally wanted to make this more angsty but i’m already sad and single so, No! anyways, enjoy reading ^_^ ⠀ tagging @a-dream-bookmark ,@/k-labels , @k-nets , @k-films , @sgz-net

　　　ᅠ ＞︿　　please leave feedbacks 　　& 　　reblog

“ALRIGHT. Let’s do it.”

As you gaze into Taesan’s determined eyes, the entire series of events flashes through your mind.

It was back in your first year of university—early winter, the day of the first snowfall. You were walking towards the three-floor library, the cold wind stinging your eyes. You rushed inside, grateful for the gush of artificial warm air that greeted you as soon as the doors closed behind you. The library was quite packed for some reason, and you could barely spot any empty seats.

You walked towards the edge of the library, a corner with the largest window of the level. There it was—one of the only empty seats in the entire library—but that seat was next to a boy, heavily occupied with his studies. Your pace slowed down as you hesitated. The boy had a focused blank look on his face, his headphones on, and several papers and notebooks were scattered on the table around him.

You felt like you wanted to just leave and go back to your room, but remembering how cold it was outside, you decided against it.

After taking a deep breath, you approached him. With a shaky smile, you tapped the boy’s shoulder, muttering a silent prayer.

“Excuse me,” you said as he lowered his headphones to his neck. “May I sit here? I-I mean, if it’s cool with you..”

He simply nodded. “Sure.”

You had sat down next to the mysterious boy for the entire day, not knowing that, in the present, he would be the bane of your existence.

In this moment, you’re brought back to the present, startled at how you’re standing in front of him. The mysterious boy that you had sat next to turned out to be Han “Taesan” Dongmin—KOZ School of Law’s campus crush. There’s almost nothing “bad” that you’re heard of him, yet, when you find yourself walking towards him with a fiery determination in your eyes—you immediately know that you’re about to get hit with something you’d never expect.

“A-are you sure?” you say, surprised to even find yourself stuttering. You’ve held yourself to such a high reputation—being your school’s academic weapon—you’ve worked hard to keep yourself true to that name.

Well, to be fair, you didn’t expect Taesan to even say yes to your ridiculous plan—given that all that’s he’s ever done for you is say everything that will get on your nerves.

Taesan gives you a smirk. “Of course,” he says, clearing his throat. “Being the boyfriend of KOZ Academy’s academic weapon isn’t something you get to do everyday.”

The way he presses the emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend’ makes you flinch. It reminds you of your stupid plan; who in their right mind would offer Han Taesan—your rival—a fake dating deal just to make rumours about themselves go away?

“Right,” you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I think we need to enforce some guidelines and boundaries regarding this… set-up.”

Taesan shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight to let himself stand more comfortably. The smirk still on his face, he replies, “alright. Hit me with all of ‘em.”

You whip your phone out, quickly showing him a document that you spent an entire night typing out—complete with every single thing he needed to do for you.

“Here,” you say, frustrated at how Taesan’s smug smirk just never falters.

Taesan runs a hand through his hair before leaning down to read through the document displayed on your phone. He finishes reading it quickly, taking a step closer to you after. He doesn’t say anything for a while, only to startle you by abruptly saying, “I agree.”

“What–?” you blurt out, surprised once again. You thought that Taesan would be more picky than–

“Your terms are easy for me to do. However,” you narrow your eyes at the boy who’s towering in front of you. Of course he’s picky—he’s Taesan. “I’d like you to agree to my conditions as well. If I have to do some things for you, you’d have to do some things for me too.”

You sigh before nodding. How hard could it be? Besides, this whole ‘relationship’ you’re having with Taesan is merely a fake dating set-up.

“Okay.”

Taesan whips out a full-blown smug smirk, making you roll your eyes. He pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, holding out two fingers.

“First, you have to also put in the effort to make things real. Like, wearing my jersey when I have basketball games, and wearing my initials ‘round your neck,” he pushes his middle finger down, the smug grin still plastered on his face, “and secondly, you’ll have to let me kiss you anytime.”

The moment the word ‘kiss’ escapes his mouth, you choke on thin air.

Why is my plan backfiring on me?

“What? No–”

Taesan shrugs. “Basically, physical contact is allowed to be done anytime.”

You feel your face flush, immediately recalling the third condition that you showed Taesan. No physical affection unless needed.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that—it’s clashing with my third term.”

“But your first term: ‘the other party must always do his utmost best to make the relationship seem real’ exists, am I right?” Taesan objects relaxedly. “Then, my second term doesn’t clash with that. And I also do believe that that first term of yours comes before the rest. Am I right?”

You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath. How could you forget? Taesan will always work to have the last word—be that in court or in conversations.

Plus, he’s not entirely wrong.

Though, you’ve never been someone who lets Taesan win willingly.

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes, your heart twisting in detest at the way Taesan’s face lights up with a smirk again.

“Then, we have a deal?” Taesan asks.

You stare into his dark brown eyes once again, registering what you’re about to commit yourself to. All just to get rid of your ex and the rumour he’s pulled you into.

You hold out your hand, Taesan gladly reciprocating.

“Deal.”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

IT didn’t hit you that you’re officially Han Taesan’s girlfriend that night. However, the next morning, right after the two of you signed the document at the coffee shop you always study at—it hit you like a million bricks from the sky.

You’re in a “relationship” with the person you loathed the most for the past year. The exact same man who everyone adores, who’s called the it-boy, the campus crush—is now your most “beloved”. Freshman you would rather jump off a cliff than to offer her nemesis a fake-dating pact.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess.

“Here,” Taesan hands you a velvet box—one that obviously contains jewellery of some sort.

Of course. Han Taesan’s always prepared.

You let out a deep sigh, knowing what’s inside. Despite that, you ask, “what’s this?”

Taesan gives you a grin, one that you always see him don during the countable times that he beats you in quizzes. “Open it—I’m sure you’ll like it.”

You run your fingers around the edges of the velvety box, sceptical at Taesan’s sudden soft tone. “Don’t talk to me like that,” you mutter, loud enough for him to hear.

Taesan, instead of immediately throwing a scoff in your face, simply leans back into his seat with a chuckle.

Not waiting for whatever reply he’s preparing to throw to you, you open the box. Your eyes lay upon a beautiful, dainty necklace with a “H.D” pendant, nested elegantly in the box. You bite back a gasp, though you’re unable to hide your surprise. The silver necklace is one of the most beautiful pieces of jewellery you’ve yet to lay your eyes upon—it’s dainty and simple, yet it screams elegance in the best way possible.

You look up at Taesan, obviously bug-eyed. “What- I’m- thank you?”

Taesan throws his head back, laughing. He perches an eyebrow up, clearly amused. “What am I supposed to answer? ‘You’re welcome’?”

Oh. It’s part of his terms.

You glare at him.

Not missing a beat, Taesan says with a big grin on his face, “what is your lazy ass waiting for? Put it on—or do you need me to help with that?”

You massage your temples, tempted to stick your tongue out at him, hissing the obvious at him—that you do not want to wear his initials around your neck.

“I don’t need your help,” you say between gritted teeth, harshly yanking the necklace from the box. You swiftly clasp the necklace around your neck, secretly surprised that you’re able to do so.

Maintaining a glare, you retort, “I’m only wearing this stupid necklace because it’s part of your terms.”

You throw your gaze elsewhere, Taesan laughing his stomach out in the background. Why is he finding your irritated state so funny?

The pendant feels cold against your skin, sending tingles. You gulp, feeling odd. You hadn’t announced your ‘relationship’ to your friends yet—but seeing you with Taesan’s initials could certainly start rumours.

A part of you is jumping with triumph—your plan is starting to set its course, while another part of you is afraid of it all. What if you’re finally not good at something, no matter how much you try—pretending you’re in love with your rival, the bane of your existence?

“We’ll start slow,” you hear Taesan say, pulling you back into reality. You quickly morph into your stoic expression—one that you find yourself often putting up around people. “Like everyone else does. Soft launch.”

“Ah,” you manage, nodding. “Sounds good.”

“Even though that necklace certainly is a big jump for a soft launch,” Taesan voices, chuckling. His words cause you to narrow your eyes at him, hyper aware of the cold metal against your skin—a mark that Taesan managed to place on you.

It’s all fake, you chant to yourself. Once Anton gets the message, it’ll all be over.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE past few weeks had been a blur. Nothing was out of the ordinary—you attended classes, performed mootings and sent in assignments like usual. Though, only one thing that was out of the routine.

Taesan no longer felt like a thorn to your side.

You still hate him—you despise the way he carries himself, so proud and confident. You wish you could punch his face for the way he’s so smooth with his words, the way that his charm works on everyone so well. You absolutely hate the way a handsome idiot like him had the potential to beat you in every single subject if you slacked for even a minute.

Yet, to the public, he’s your boyfriend.

A cliche: rivals to lovers, they say.

Despite being the one proposing the whole fake dating plan, you had been the one following Taesan’s itinerary so far. The two of you had finally exchanged phone numbers, and at night, Taesan would always send a list of ideas on how to make the soft launch more obvious day by day.

The first week, you found yourself wearing tops that highlighted the H.D pendant, styling your hair to make it more noticeable—you even went as far as attending Taesan’s birthday celebration to top the chances of people noticing the pendant. And Taesan didn’t inform you of this one, but you often found him telling his friends, yours, or random coursemates to pass you drinks and snacks. You had no idea how Taesan had gotten the list of all your favourite things to munch on, but you secretly did enjoy the free flow of snacks. Anton had passed you a snack from Taesan too—five packs of your favourite Choco Pie. You couldn’t forget the bewildered face Anton had as he passed them to you, eyes filled with question and a hint of jealousy.

“What’s up with Han?” he asked.

You shoved the Choco Pies into your shoulder bag, biting back a smile. Who wouldn’t be jolly after getting five of their favourite tidbits?

“How would I know?” you replied bitterly. You quickly turn away from Anton, the uncomfortable feeling of being around him overpowering the bubbly feeling you had from getting snacks.

“Well, those Choco Pies are from him,” Anton repeated for the second time. “And I don’t recall him being anything but hostile to you.”

You suppress a scoff. “Maybe he’s had a change of heart? His brain is probably tired of coming up with things to try and outsmart me,” you muttered. As if.

“Well, if anything—if that asshole tries to do anything to you, I’ll… be here for you, Y/N,” Anton said, taking a step closer. Your eyes widened and your jaw clenched. You quickly finished packing your bag up, swinging it over your shoulders.

You said that last time, too.

“Don’t talk to me, Anton,” you responded as monotony as possible before running out of the lecture hall, not giving Anton even a glance.

The following weeks, Taesan was hanging out with you even more than the previous week. He wasn’t being too obvious, but to you, him walking slightly behind you and not throwing a loud sarcastic remark was already an apparent sign that would show everyone that your dynamics had changed.

Anton had found yet another chance to corner you after a Public International Law lecture. You stayed back in the hall to reread your theoretical essay before sending it in. Behind you, Taesan was packing up his things, busy scrolling through something in his phone.

“Hi, Y/N,” you froze when Anton’s voice reached your ear drums.

You look up at him with a glare. “What do you want?”

Anton flashed his usual pitiful, soft smile. “Nothing. Just a meal with you—this week has been quite stressful for you, right? I heard that last Monday’s mooting was rough.”

“You’re not even a law student, Anton,” you seethed. The KOZ School of Business student ID card hanging on Anton’s neck looked extremely out of place amongst the ocean of law students. “Please kindly get lost, go back to the Business building.”

“My course mates are boring. Besides, you’re more fun to be around,” Anton replied. “I know we… haven’t been on good terms, but give me a chance to fix it all?”

You gritted your teeth, your hands beginning to shake.

The audacity of this boy… where is my stupid fake boyfriend when I need him–?

“I think she clearly said for you to get lost, bud.”

You fought back a grin. Finally.

“Han?” Anton tilted his head. “Wait– who are you to tell me that?”

Taesan stood next to you, his backpack dangling from one shoulder. His height towered significantly above you, making you standing right below his shoulders—enough to match Anton. “Who do you think I am?”

Anton’s eyes darted towards the pendant on your décolletage, his eyes bulging. “What the…” you heard him mutter under his breath.

Taesan seemed to notice this too, and he swiftly pulled you close, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “So, get it now? Get lost, Lee, and give your ex some space. An ex is an ex for a reason.”

Anton then left with a fuming expression, leaving you in fits of relieved laughter after. You thanked Taesan, who simply responded with a polite smile.

“By the end of this, don’t forget the wish, yeah?” he said, before walking out of the lecture hall.

You stood there, blinking profusely. You had completely forgotten the last clause of your agreement with Taesan—once you were satisfied with his service, you had to grant him one wish. Anything that he wanted.

You face palmed yourself. Why didn’t you think twice before typing that down? You mentally made a note to yourself to prepare your wallet for the outrageous request that the thorn in your side would make later on.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“ARE you and Taesan dating?”

Sophia’s question makes you almost spit your lunch through your nose.

“What?”

“Girl, don’t you dare pretend not,” Yunjin interrupts, pointing her spoon at you. “You literally have his initials as a necklace that you never take off! H.D., which means Han Dongmin, right? Isn’t that his real name?”

“It’s not like–”

“No, no. It’s so obvious! Taesan’s around you more now, and he even gave you a birthday present!”

Sophia smiles, “he looks at you so differently now!”

Yunjin laughs, nodding. “Yeah, yeah, that too, I guess,” she then looks at you, directly in the eyes, “I guess Han Taesan and Y/N L/N have finally begun their lovers era, huh?”

You feel your cheeks warming up, and guilt fills your chest. You draw a sharp inhale before telling the girls the full story. And subconsciously, your fingers find the pendant, playing with it.

“It’s fake,” you sigh, “I mean, not the necklace—he’s just pretending. I’m pretending, too. None of this is… real.”

Sophia gasps and Yunjin frowns.

“Are you… sure? What for?” Sophia asks.

Yunjin nods in agreement. “I’ve always thought that dude had feelings for you, but I… I didn’t realise it’s actually wrong and my deductions were totally off.”

You scoff, though Yunjin’s words left you wondering. “Taesan doesn’t like me—have you girls seen how he treats me?”

“He treats you well,” Yunjin states plainly, shoving a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

“No,” you immediately shake your head, “he hates seeing me happy! He always finds a way to stick his annoying nose into my life, mocking me. He’s like always, always there to only laugh at my face.”

“Then why did he agree?” Sophia asks.

“To what?”

“To fake date you,” she continues, taking a sip of her yakult. “Well, I’m sure you have a plan—a contract and all—don’t you?”

Your eyes widen. How do these two girls know you so well?

“Yeah. I do. I’m doing all this because of Anton,” the look on your friends’ faces makes you feel a little relieved, “I need him to shut up about me.”

You recall the ridiculous rumour you’ve heard about you from Yunjin, that’s been going around like crazy—the rumour that you used to date Anton because he’s rich and that you used him as a bribe to get outstanding grades. Those close to you knew that is and would never become true—yet people are always jealous of others who have certain things better than them.

It may seem like a small matter to some, but to you, it’s a matter of reputation. Your whole image and potentially, your graduation is at risk. What if the rumour reaches some professor and they report you? You couldn’t risk the huge amount of money and time you spent, only to be scrapped off the dean’s list due to some rumour.

Yunjin herself had recorded proof of Anton trying to turn her against you, using that rumour. If she hadn’t shown you the recording, you wouldn’t have believed that sweet, kind Anton was the one who spread those malicious whispers about you.

Now, you’ve got to end it all. One way or another.

You continue finishing your lunch, Taesan somehow in mind. By the end of your lunch, you’re convinced that this is truly all an act—it’s nothing real, and in the end, you’re both just people who hate each other and use each other for selfish, personal reasons.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“DO I really have to wear your ugly varsity jacket?” Dongmin hears you grunt through the call. He stifles a laugh, tossing a ball up and down.

“Obviously, you dimwit,” he replies, “you’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?”

Dongmin lets himself smile. The word rolls off his tongue like a simple melody—it feels natural for him to say. He finds it odd, yet entertaining—your reaction is worth it all. Besides, it’s quite refreshing to take a break from hating you, sometimes.

“Besides, your ex is going to be there,” Dongmin reminds, his voice more throaty than expected. “He’s on the team as well, remember?”

“Yeah,” he catches your quiet answer.

“Anyway, how do you even have time for all this?” you question from the other end of the line.

“Hmm,” Dongmin hums, “I do have time.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” you hiss. “You’re in law school, Han Taesan.”

“What? Like it’s hard?”

Dongmin lets out a hearty laugh as he hears you gasp—one of the loudest and most genuine expressions he’s gotten out of you yet.

“I’m so done with you,” you huff. Dongmin hears you shuffle through your closet, most likely finding something to wear.

“You say that everytime,” Dongmin whispers to himself softly.

“Anyway,” you announce loudly, “you better have some food for me once I arrive—I’m wearing your stupid varsity jacket.”

“Alright, sweetheart, anything for you,” Dongmin jests in a sing -song voice.

He hears you yelp in disgust, chuckling. “Yuck! Fuck off, Taesan!”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

IT’S a friendly match, nothing serious, Taesan had said; yet you’re here amongst other significant others, to watch him and his team play against another school’s team.

At the bleachers, you feel called out, and insanely out of place. Everyone looks so in love—girlfriends wearing jerseys with their boyfriends’ numbers and names on the back, painted their faces accordingly, and even cheering for them with their hearts; mothers and siblings gathering together to support their sons and brothers.

Everyone looks so genuinely in love, and you’re the only one who’s there just because you have to. You arrived only two minutes before the match started, too, because you obviously don’t love Taesan enough to be rescheduling your work shift to see him play.

You fidget with the edges of the varsity jacket you’re wearing, oddly feeling how it’s perfectly oversized on you.

Earlier, Taesan had spotted you sitting awkwardly on the bleachers. He ran over to you, quickly handing you a quesadilla and a cup of bubble tea, before jogging back to the basketball court to warm up. He didn’t say anything, nor did you—but the gesture made you feel weirdly fuzzy.

Taesan did actually get you some food, even though you grumpily yelled at him to do so. You thought he wouldn’t, just so that he could get on your nerves, just like he always does.

You watch him and the team warm up, pumping up positive energy with each other. You take a bite of your quesadilla, trying to ease your heart—yet you just can’t forget the real reason why you’re here.

Jersey number 35.

The whistle blows, indicating the start of the game, and you catch Anton’s glance at you. He gives you a wide smile, winking twice—a sign that he made up, thanking you for coming, just like the old days. You grimace, turning away.

The mission is to make it seem like I’m in love with Taesan.

You intently watch Taesan play in the arena, his moves sharp and powerful. He slips through the opposition’s defense flawlessly, scoring goals smoothly. Every time he throws the ball, it gets into the hoop—people erupt in cheers and he’s surrounded by his teammates.

And every time, Taesan looks up at you, flashing his signature smirk. His grin sparkles, lighting up the room—it makes you feel like you’re the only one in the huge arena.

It makes you feel odd.

Like there’s so much more under that grin he flashes to you every time he scores.

You touch the pendant on your décolletage, the cold metal stinging against your skin. Your fingers trace the letters—the initials of Taesan’s birth name—reminding you this is all a set-up. You’re supposed to pretend, and Taesan is pretending too.

He must be.

Taking a deep breath, you tug the varsity jacket closer to your body, shoving your hands into its pockets. The weight of Taesan’s name and number lay heavy on your back, yet you don a bright smile—trying your best to show your support for him.

Right now, you’re Han Taesan’s girlfriend. Player number 11’s girlfriend.

The match ends with Anton’s final goal, and KOZ Academy’s team wins 115-113. The entire gym erupts in waves of cheer and heartfelt hugs, every attending person feeling proud of their team, losing or not. You jog down the stairs, heading towards Taesan, whose height stands out in the crowd.

When you reach the end of the stairs, you notice Anton’s gaze on you. You glance at him, the weight of past memories dragging you down. At the end of these exact same stairs, you used to run straight to Anton, engulfing him in a hug after a match. You used to kiss his cheek, congratulating him for a successful game. You used to feel like your entire world revolved around him, and that you would be happy with him.

But that was in the past. Now, you can look at Anton with nothing in your heart. You feel nothing but plain resentment—damning him for the things he did to you. You had thought he was the love of your life, that you’d grow old with him—but Anton had other plans, and another girl that he prioritised more than you.

You turn your head away, directing your gaze towards Taesan. He’s talking to his friends, his hair wet from the sweat. He’s grinning proudly, talking about something that’s interesting to boys.

You sigh. Hopefully this whole set-up works—Anton leaves you alone, the rumours die down, and you can go back to bashing Taesan’s head.

And hopefully, you can move on, too. Once and for all.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Anton take a step towards you. Though, what you don’t see is that Taesan is faster. He waves at you, calling your name with a big grin, before running to give you a hug.

Your eyes widen upon the impact, and it’s like everything is in slow motion.

Taesan pulls away, ruffling your hair. His eyes crinkle with his grin. “Are you proud of me, darling?”

Darling.

You gulp.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

You give him a laugh, trying your best to not make it sound staged. Your nose crinkles at the smell of sweaty boys. Taesan notices, of course, and he chuckles.

“Sorry, I must smell bad. I’ll be sure to spray on some more deodorant next time.”

You gaze into Taesan’s eyes, his arms still around your waist. There’s some kind of softness behind his teasing look—something that you’ve never seen before.

A small smile forms on your lips, one that you’re unable to hold back. “Good job, Taesan.”

“Yeah?” Taesan laughs, his eyes forming crescent moons. “Thanks, Y/N.”

He then leans in to whisper, “that’s the first time I’ve heard that from you.”

You push him away, rolling your eyes. “Fuck off, Taesan. I’ll be waiting at the bus stop.”

Taesan laughs loudly as you stomp away. “By the way,” he yells, “you look good wearing my number, sweetheart!”

You lower your head, biting your lips to fight two things—the urge to flash the middle finger to the jolly Taesan behind you, and the weird fluttering feeling that erupts in your stomach every time he calls you ‘sweetheart’.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“Y/N,” you turn around, finding a panting Anton in front of you.

You’re standing in line outside one of the most famous pasta restaurants in the heart of the KOZ School of Medicine square, waiting to buy this one pasta dish you’ve been craving for the entire month. You didn’t tell anyone you’d be here—not even Taesan or the girls—so you’re weirded out by the fact that your ex found you here.

“...Anton,” you curtly acknowledge.

“Is it true?” he asks.

You force your eyes close for a second, wishing that it wasn’t wrong to beat someone up. “What?”

“That you’re dating Han Taesan. I saw him kissing your cheek last time.”

Your heart almost stops beating for a second. Almost two months have passed, and almost everyone in the entire campus of KOZ Academy knows that you and Taesan are finally getting tired of fighting each other—falling in love instead.

Your plan has passed the soft launch phase, and now, you’re having your nemesis call you sweet, adoring nicknames out in public.

“Yes,” you answer, managing a deadpan expression. “What about it?”

“Do you love him?”

You narrow your eyes at Anton, feeling like if he keeps on shooting questions like this, he’d go home with a black eye. “Why does it matter if I love him or not?”

“Because,” Anton starts, his voice beginning to waver with every following word, “you used to love me.”

His words hang in the air, thick with a known, cursed history. You could hear your heart stutter for a split second, but you shake your head, quickly suppressing the feeling. You take in a sharp breath, feeling the heat of old anger rise in your chest. You force yourself to look at Anton, eyes hardening.

“That was two years ago, Anton,” you say, your voice detached. “And you made sure to end it, remember?”

Anton’s face flickers with something—guilt, regret, maybe even a hint of fear—but you’re not interested in seeing it. You’re sick of it—too familiar with the way he can spin his words to make himself seem like the victim.

“You don’t get to do this,” you continued, lips tightening into a thin line. “You don’t get to just show up and act like we can pick up where we left off, after what you did with Mina."

Anton’s face darkens the moment your old best friend’s name leaves your mouth, but you hold his gaze without flinching. Anton opens his mouth, probably to throw another lame and poorly explained excuse that you’ve heard before, but you’re faster than he is.

“Save it,” you snap. “You don’t have any right to ask me if I love Taesan after what you did. You lost that right the moment you lied to me and slept with her.”

Anton looks taken aback, as if he hadn’t expected you to bring that up, but obviously, you don’t care. You’ve held your feelings in for so long—leaving them behind quietly to try and move on without a commotion. You’ve spent enough time letting him walk all over you in the past—you’re not about to let him do it again.

For a moment, Anton looks like he’s about to say something more, but you don’t give him a chance. You turn away, taking a small step back as you glance briefly at the line in front of you. “I’m done with this conversation, Anton. You should be, too.”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next morning, after your first class of the day, you sigh as you find yourself waiting outside of a rather packed coffee shop—allegedly Taesan’s favourite one—bundled up in Taesan’s scarf. Autumn is starting to give way to winter, and as it’s doing so, the winds and temperatures are getting crazier. You bury your face further into the softness of Taesan’s scarf, letting the mixture of champagne orange, passion fruit, and sugar vanilla attack your senses. It’s disturbing, once the fact that the scarf that’s warming you up belongs to Taesan registers in your head; however, you had no choice. Freezing your nose off was the only other option.

“Hey,” you hear Taesan’s voice, turning instantly towards him.

“Apple pie latte?” he says, handing you a warm cup of said coffee. Grabbing it from him, you perk your eyebrows up.

“How did you know?” you say, pushing the scarf down. Taesan shrugs, sipping his own drink. You glance at the sticker on his cup: cinnamon maple latte.

“Instincts.”

You snicker at his reply, rolling your eyes. “Cut me some slack.”

The two of you then walk back towards the law school complex, where both of your classes will be held next. The winds begin to blow, and you find yourself hiding half your face behind Taesan’s scarf. You squint your eyes, blinking harshly as the stray strands of hair sting them.

“I love autumn, but not this kind,” you mumble.

Taesan glances at you, and in one swift motion, he grabs your free hand and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. He interlaces his hand with yours, letting his body warmth transfer to you.

Your eyes widen, your brain slow at processing the situation. You whip your head towards the tall man walking with you, his expression relaxed as ever.

“What are you doing?” you hiss, trying to pull away.

Taesan gives you a look that yells ‘really, Y/N?’. “Keeping you warm?”

“I don’t need your help,” you retort, yanking your hand away.

Taesan grabs it back, shoving it into his pocket. This time, his grip on your hand is firmer than before. “I don’t need my girlfriend to freeze to death—it’s going to ruin my reputation.”

Realisation hits you, again, like a ton of bricks right at the face.

Oh.

“Okay,” you say quietly, letting him do his thing. You look away, deciding to admire the surrounding golden trees. You take a deep breath, reminding yourself of how this whole ‘thing’ with Taesan is temporary—and having a personal heat packet isn’t too bad.

Once the two of you reach the lecture hall together, people begin to clearly spectate. You pull your hand away from him, rushing to your usual seat. Taesan, his expression calm as he always is, walks over to his usual seat as well—directly behind you.

Then, two minutes before the lecture starts, the person you truly hated comes into view, and decides to sit at the empty seat next to you.

“Hi, Y/N,” your ex, Anton, greets you with the biggest smile on his face. You mentally sob—already dreading the three hours to come.

You turn away, scooting as far as you could. The memories rush like a flood you can’t stop—reminding you of the heart-tearing pain the boy sitting next to you caused.

“Y/N? You alright? You look pale,” Anton says, probing further.

“It’s the weather,” you reply dully, your lips downturned. You unravel Taesan’s scarf from your neck, placing it on your lap. Your eyes fixed onto the lecture, you ignore Anton’s attempts to get you conversing with him.

“Y/N, are you free after class?” Anton whispers, twenty minutes into the lecture.

“No.” You give him a side glance.

“And you don’t even take IT,” you fake a smile, “so I don’t think you should even be here. With due respect, get lost, yeah?”

“I’m honoured,” Anton whispers back. The soft smile on his face makes you gag. “You still remember things about me.”

“Oh, please,” you grimace, anger beginning to bubble up inside of you. “I’d rather make out with Taesan than remember even the tiniest bit of–”

You suck in your breath sharply, your cheeks flushing at an alarming rate. You had blurted your words out too fast to even register the fact that you’re actually wearing the said person’s initials in a necklace ‘round your neck.

“You’d rather what now, sweetheart?”

Hearing Taesan’s voice, you can almost see his smug smirk decorating that annoyingly attractive face of his.

Your eyes widen.

I did not just admit that.

You turn to Taesan for a moment, flashing him a sheepish smile. You quickly spin back to face the lecture, forcing yourself to focus.

After the lecture concluded, you find yourself stuck in a sticky situation—Anton just can’t let you go out.

“Do you want to go and grab lunch together? It’s pretty late for lunch, and I know your stomach gets upset easily if you don’t eat,” you wince upon hearing his soft tone.

You frown, hating the fact that Anton knows almost a lot of things about you. “No, Anton, I’m sure I said–”

“She said no, Lee, I’m sure even a stupid motherfucker can understand.”

Seeing Anton’s eyes almost pop out at the sight of Taesan next to you, you’re sure that you look the same. You turn sharply towards Taesan, who has his hand perfectly placed on your back. The look on his face is fierce and scary, like he’s about to completely destroy Anton exactly where he’s standing.

“Han,” Anton addresses him curtly. “I didn’t know that you’re on… good terms with Y/N.”

You fidget with the charm on your décolletage, collecting every bit of energy you have to maintain a stoic expression.

Taesan flashes a sly smirk, pride radiating from his eyes as the corners of Anton’s lips twitch. “Why? Is it important to you who I’m close to?”

“No, but given your history with Y/N—I don’t want her to get hurt,” Anton blathers, “so I’m gladly asking you to–”

“What? Fuck off?” Taesan scoffs. Your eyes bulge, somehow not expecting Taesan’s choice of words to be so vulgar. “I think that’s what you’re supposed to do, Lee.”

“Y/N,” Anton says, desperation vivid in his voice. He grabs your wrist, and you instinctively step back. “C’mon, let’s go. I know you don’t like this stupid asshole here–”

Before you could even act, Taesan steps in front of you, shoving Anton to the floor. The students who are still lingering around stop to look. You couldn’t hold in your gasp—Taesan looks extremely angry, you swear you could see fire in his eyes.

A thought clicks into your head.

Taesan is the it-boy, of course he’s good at acting.

You take a step back, weirded by the heavy feeling of disappointment that begins to cloud your heart as soon as you remember the arrangement.

It’s just acting, Y/N. Get it together.

“Don’t touch her, bastard,” you hear Taesan hiss before he turns to you. Anger still lingering around, you watch with silence as Taesan relaxes the tension in his jaw. In a mirroring silence, he gestures for you to follow him out. You nod.

As you turn on your heel, Anton calls out, visibly irritated.

“Y/N,” he says, “what’s going on?”

You give him a mocking smile. You swing Taesan’s scarf around your neck. “I don’t think I owe you an explanation, Anton.”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

AS you and Taesan walk out of the lecture hall, you can’t ignore the heavy weight settling in your chest. It keeps replaying in your mind: the way Taesan stepped in, fiercely protective—it’s all an act, right? You sneak a glance at Taesan, but his face is unreadable, his jaw still slightly clenched from the encounter.

“Taesan… you didn’t have to do that,” you mumble, playing with the hem of his scarf.

Taesan exhales through his nose, his shoulders rising slightly. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he then adds under his breath, “fucking bastard.”

You blink, unintentionally slowing your steps. That’s… different from what you expected.

“Taesan,” you try again, but he shoves his hands into his pockets, picking up the pace.

You know you should just let it go, but the air between the two of you feels heavier than it was before. Was it just an act? Maybe it was—and that Taesan’s acting skills are as good as the rom-com actors—but something about the way he had looked at Anton; like he was seconds away from doing more than just shoving him to the ground.

It feels too… real.

A sudden gust of wind cuts through your coat, making you shiver. Instantly, Taesan grabs your wrist and pulls you into a nearby convenience store.

“Sit,” he orders, disappearing for a moment. You watch him move through the aisles, confusion twisting in your chest. You take a seat exactly where he ordered you to, your head fuzzy from the mixture of confusing, unnamed emotions.

When he returns, he kneels slightly, pressing a warm drink and a heat pack into your hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

“You’re hopeless,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “First my scarf, now this.”

You gasp dramatically, rolling your eyes as your lips twitch, your heart knocking against your ribs. “You’re the one who keeps giving me things.”

Taesan just hums in response, his gaze locking onto yours. His usual unreadable expression softens, something almost unreadable flickering in his eyes.

Your grip tightens on the cup, trying to shake off the way your body reacts to his warmth. This whole thing with Taesan was supposed to be temporary. So why did it feel like something had changed?

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

DONGMIN takes several deep breaths, his eyes shut. The jazz music plays in the background, and the buzz of the cafe calms him down.

No wonder Y/N likes this place.

Dongmin opens his eyes, finding himself staring at you ordering drinks and some food for the two of you. You had dragged him here as soon as you finished your drink at the convenience store, repeating that you needed to treat him to some food. Your voice rings in his head, telling him that he needed to follow you to the coffee shop, to cool off his steam.

“Do you like apple pie?” you ask, setting a plate of two slices of said dessert, accompanied by two scoops of vanilla ice cream.

“Why do you even ask if you’ve already gotten it? Seems like my preference doesn’t matter,” Dongmin replies, putting on the usual smirk.

Your eyes widen and he chuckles.

“Well,” you huff, “I like apple pie—and it’s impossible to find someone who doesn’t.”

“Alright,” Dongmin laughs, and it hits. His laughter dies down as the realisation sinks in—watching you devour your slice of apple pie like it’s the only food you’ll eat until the end of time.

Dongmin, as he puts a bite of his food into his mouth, realises how messed up he is. He realises how often a hearty laugh escapes him when he’s with you—how a flustered, frustrated mess you make him.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Dongmin asks. He pokes his fork absentmindedly into the crust of the apple pie, second guessing his question the moment it leaves him.

You and he had always, always been rivals—a pair that’s never meant to get along. He’d always find you muttering curses and throwing glares in his direction; and he’d always find himself trying his best to reciprocate your disdain for him.

Dongmin does hate you, too.

He hates how you’re so confident, so diligent, so talented. He despises how hard you work, how determined you are, how you seem to always effortlessly bring him down and defeat him in academics. He feels the most intense dislike for you—whenever you walk in the room, he feels like the world is about to explode, along with his sanity.

Dongmin hates, with a burning passion, how he can’t stop himself from falling in love with you. He absolutely loathes the way you smile, the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh, and the way you look at him—with such fiery determination that’s enough to knock him off his feet. He completely hates the way that he has to keep his tongue sharp, and his attitude insufferable, for you to give him a sliver of your attention. He perfectly hates the way it’s impossible for him to let you know that he doesn’t hate you, at all.

Dongmin watches you open your mouth to reply, yet you don’t for a few moments. You return his gaze, uncertainty playing around in her eyes.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. “We’re just eating apple pie, Taesan,” you laugh sheepishly.

For the first time, Dongmin doesn’t have an immediate answer. He swallows the bite of apple pie in his mouth, unsure of what he should say next. His smirk fades and hesitation engulfs him.

You notice this, of course, and your frown deepens. Though, before you could do anything, Jaehyun—Dongmin’s friend, suddenly appears.

He greets Dongmin, patting his shoulder. “Yo, Taesan, long time no see! Wait–” he pauses, laying his eyes on you. “Wait, am I dreaming? You two? Sitting together? Laughing? Are pigs flying now?”

You immediately shake your head, laughing along with Jaehyun. Dongmin, on the other hand, is dazed. He stays silent, still unsure of what to say. He’s finding everything peculiar—the way he’s unable to say anything, the way that his heart is thumping loudly against his chest at the mention of you as his girlfriend.

He watches you politely say goodbye to Jaehyun, gaining certainty with every beat of his heart.

His little crush on you is resurfacing, after two years of pushing it down with faked hatred.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

AFTER Jaehyun leaves, you let yourself sneak a glance at Taesan, who’s absentmindedly poking holes in his already destroyed pie crust, avoiding your gaze. You notice his oddly quiet state—the Taesan you know would never miss the chance to throw in a witty remark.

You throw him a glare, slightly hoping it’d make him knock out of his trance. You set your fork down with an audible clink. “You’re being weird. I mean, you always are insufferably weird, but this is even weirder.”

Taesan scoffs, lifting his drink to his lips. “And you’re being annoying. Paranoid.”

You cross your arms, an annoyed grimace forming on your face. “Am I?”

Taesan holds your gaze for a moment too long, something flickering in his eyes before he looks away. “Maybe not.”

Oh.

You lean back, sighing dramatically. “Fine. I don’t get what you being weird has with me being paranoid, but yeah, I’m totally being paranoid. Definitely imagining things,” you scoff sarcastically.

Taesan hums in agreement. “You do that a lot.”

You choke on air. Glaring at Taesan, you retort, “you’re infuriating.”

“And yet, here you are, sharing dessert with me,” Taesan smirks, tilting his head.

You pause, blinking profusely.

That… is a valid point. How did you even get here? You and Taesan are supposed to be rivals. Aren’t you supposed to hate each other?

Your stomach twists, and suddenly, you find it difficult to swallow your final bites of apple pie.

After moments of deafening silence, you say, your voice slightly wavering, “you’re unbelievably good at dodging questions, Taesan.”

You bring your drink to your lips, hoping that you sounded casual.

Taesan looks up from his finished plate of apple pie, smirking as he leans back. “Oh, yeah? Have you ever considered that you’re too good at asking too many questions, and it’s insufferable?”

Your eyes widen slightly, flickering to the way that his eyes glare vaguely at you. “Maybe I am,” you admit quietly, “but you’re dodging the real ones.”

Taesan’s smirk falters a little bit, just for a second, and there’s something unrecognisable in his eyes. Something you can’t put a name on.

Maybe a shift in the air. Maybe it’s just your imagination. Or maybe it’s because your heart is racing just a little too fast.

You’re so focused on trying to read Taesan’s expressions that you don’t notice the way your voice softens. “So… if this whole thing is an act, why do I keep feeling like you actually care?”

You mentally hit yourself. That isn’t what you meant to say—and it’s certainly not what you would say in front of Taesan.

Though, it’s out before you can stop yourself. The words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain.

Taesan freezes, his eyes widening with a vulnerability for a fraction of a second. Then, just as quickly as it came, his guard comes back up. “Like we’ve discussed before, it’s an act. Nothing more.”

His voice is stern and plain, and his expression is stoic, but you catch the tremble in his hand as he’s fiddling with his fork.

That, somehow, doesn’t sit right with you.

You learn forward, the pendant swinging against your décolletage, your expression more serious now. “Then why do you care so much?”

You watch him closely, catching the tightening in his jaw and the way his hand proceeds to rest on the table, fingers anxiously tapping against the wood. Taesan doesn’t answer immediately, and instead, he looks away to drift his gaze to the window.

Your chest suddenly tightens. He’s acting like this is nothing, but you certainly feel it—the crack in the walls you’ve both constructed carefully against each other. It’s a tug at the back of your mind, a repeating whisper you’ve been trying so hard to push away.

And yet, the silence between you feels louder than ever.

Minutes pass by and the silence gets louder and louder. You’re lost in your own thoughts—realising just how much you’re affected by Taesan; just how much more you’re feeling than you want to admit. In the silence, you’re wondering, are you just imagining all this? Maybe it’s just you, maybe it’s the fact that you’re finding something more from this fake relationship you have with Taesan, your nemesis.

Though, there’s something that you can’t deny: the fact that your chest tightens with fluttering butterflies every time he gets too close, every time his words shift to something softer than usual, it’s something that makes your heart trip in your chest.

“Y/N,” Taesan calls, his voice softer than anticipated, and you’re pulled out of your train of thought. You look at him slowly, uncertain and afraid of what’s to come. He pauses, as if he’s unsure of what to say next. “What if… I told you I’m not sure if I can pretend much longer?”

His gaze finally meets yours, and for a moment, there’s no mask—just the raw sincerity in his eyes.

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. You open your mouth, trying to say something—but nothing comes out. The evident truth in his words hits you like an ocean wave on a sunny day, and you can’t help but feel something is shifting between you both.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next few weeks pass by like a ridiculously large time-skip in a movie. You’re doing things like you usually do—attend classes, do mootings, send in assignments, study for exams. Though, there’s one big thing in your life that you can’t ignore—Taesan, your fake-dating arrangement, and the lingering, unspoken tension between the two of you. The first week after the coffee shop episode, you couldn’t sleep even a wink—your mind kept on replaying the scenes over and over again, the way you caught Taesan’s guard almost falling down. You’re sure you felt it too, the cracks in the walls you’ve built against him—even for a short moment.

At school, you’re hyper aware and extra distracted by Taesan. He’s doing his part of the agreement well, acting like he agreed he would. Every glance from him feels like a load of unspoken words, and the air between you two feels heavy. Every day you ponder, unsure of what to do with the new, fragile tension that’s settled between you and Taesan.

Today is the same—everything passes in a blur of lectures, assignments, and studying. You drag your heavy footsteps out of the room, your head spinning at the thought of the many assignments waiting for you. You look up, and the moment you step into the hallway, you see Taesan leaning against the wall, phone in hand, looking as calm as ever.

You walk near him, and your eyes meet—you see a flicker of something there—a tension, a question neither of you have the answer to.

“Y/N,” Taesan greets you with a casual, unreadable smile. You pause in your steps, turning to face him.

“Hi,” you reply quite timidly. You’re trying to sound casual, but you can hear the slight hitch in your voice. There’s no pretending this isn’t different now. There’s no pretending you didn’t almost cross a line last time.

Taesan takes a final glance at his phone before shoving it into his pocket. “Still pretending this is just an act?” he asks, his voice surprisingly soft but laced with something familiar, almost teasing.

You pause, your breath stuck in your throat. Your heart, yet again, skips a beat, and you try to brush it off by laughing nervously. “Me? Pretending? I’m not pretending,” you say, and it’s directed more towards yourself than to him.

You’re not sure who’s trying to convince who anymore.

Taesan looks taken aback. He blinks profusely before putting his usual, calm expression back on. “Yeah,” he whispers, nodding, “I’ll see you around, Y/N.”

You watch him walk away, heart twisting in the weirdest way.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

DONGMIN hates the way everything is now. Why can’t he just tell you everything? Why can’t he just tell you that he isn’t pretending, that he actually cares?

He wants to stop everything–going back to shoving insults at your face might be the safest option of them all. Yet, Dongmin finds himself caring for you in the little ways—wrapping his scarf around your neck, adjusting the placement of your bangs with a simple ruffle, placing a tin of coffee and bread in front of you whenever you seem exhausted with studying, sliding post-its to you with his handwriting reminding you to take breaks when needed. He still finds his heart racing upon seeing you; the way your lips pout when you’re deep in thought, the way you smile and laugh so adorably upon hearing a funny joke from your friends, the way you’re still so cute even when frustrated.

As he walks away, Dongmin fights with his own heart. Why was he acting like this? It’s so clear that you’re expecting something more, but why is he pushing you away?

Dongmin takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s scared. He’s afraid that maybe it’s all in his head, maybe you’re the one acting so well and it’s just gotten to him.

Dongmin swears to get himself together, but it looks like he’s going to need more than just mental affirmations.

The next day, he misses his alarm, for the first time in forever, and is running late to his 9 AM lecture. He’s speed walking through students, dodging them with a bag hanging on one shoulder and his hair still partially wet. Just as he’s about to near the entrance of the Law building, he hears raised voices nearby. He puts his hood up, his first instinct is to ignore it all—he’s got no time to eavesdrop on people’s business. However, he recognises one of the two quarrelling voices—yours.

Dongmin’s steps come to a halt, and he turns to face you. His eyes slightly widen and his shoulders begin to tense as he sees you and Anton standing a few feet away, locked in an argument. He’s a bit too far away to hear the full conversation, yet he catches some bits of it.

You’re standing at your full height, stiffly in front of Anton, arms crossed and eyes blazing with fury. Anton, on the opposite side of you, no longer has that sickening, innocent smile—instead, he’s flashing you a mocking smirk.

The argument is already reaching its peak, yet Dongmin is quick to analyse the situation just by picking up a few bits.

“You think you’re really something, don’t you?” Anton taunts.

You scoff. Dongmin could tell you’re offended, yet the mask you put on really makes a difference. “At least I don’t have to put other people down to feel important.”

Anton scoffs back, “please. You act like you’re above all this, but you’re just as desperate for attention as everyone else.”

Dongmin clenches his jaw, watching the argument unfold as his fingers begin to twitch.

You give Anton a mocking laugh, stepping forward. “I don’t care what you think, Anton Lee. I don’t care if you think I don’t love Taesan, because what matters is my own feelings, not yours. And I’m done wasting my time on you.”

Before you could turn away and enter the building, Anton grabs your wrist.

It’s not aggressive, but it’s enough. Enough to make Dongmin see red.

Everything’s a blur—one second later, he’s towering in front of Anton, his eyes glaring daggers.

“Let her go,” his voice is low and threatening, as sharp as a blade.

Anton looks up, initially startled, but as soon as he sees Dongmin, he rolls his eyes. His hand still around your wrist, he says with a sneer, “look who’s here, Y/N’s knight in shining armour! Oh, so great, always the hero.”

Dongmin is too busy counting down the ways he could destroy Anton’s life to be noticing how immediate the warmth creeps up your cheeks. Dongmin, in one fluid motion, steps closer, standing between you and Anton.

“Did you hear me?” his voice drops deadly lower than before, his posture relaxed yet his eyes are dangerous. “Let. Go.”

Anton huffs, roughly letting go of your hand. He shakes his head. “You two are seriously something else,” he mutters before storming away.

You and Dongmin stand next to each other, cautiously eyeing Anton until he disappears from sight. For that moment, none of you say anything.

“What was that for?” you say suddenly, crossing your arms. “I didn’t need you to step in.”

Dongmin shoves his hood down to his neck, raising his eyebrow. Feeling slightly irritated, he scorns. “Yeah? Looked like you were having a great time.”

You roll your eyes, scoffing, but something pinches Dongmin’s heart as he notices there’s no real bite behind it. “I’m fine—I had it all handled.”

Silence.

Dongmin exhales sharply, words shooting out of his mouth without second thought. “I know. It’s just–”

He stops, his eyes landing on your wrist. Closes his mouth.

You wait for a few moments, before warily asking. “What? Just what?”

Dongmin hesitates. Suddenly, it’s all he can push out of his throat. He’s already there, halfway crossing the line he’s put between you and him for the past two years.

And then, it just… slips out.

“I just can’t stand it, okay?”

Your frown deepens, confused. “Stand… what?”

Dongmin lets out a frustrated breath, turning sharply to completely face you. “I can’t stand seeing you with people like that fucking bastard. I can’t stand watching you get into these stupid situations. And I really, really can’t stand how much I—”

His eyes widen, and his words stumble upon a stop. Dongmin stammers, realising what he was just about to say.

“Taesan,” you call, gently, hope suddenly shimmering in your eyes. “How much you what?”

Dongmin freezes. He’s silent, tongue frozen, unable to utter another word.

He can’t say it.

Instead, he runs a hand through his hair, muttering curses under his breath.

“You know what?”

“Taesan–”

“Next time,” he says quickly, in a softer voice, “don’t… waste your time on a guy like him.”

Your eye contact is still intact, you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Your eyes widen for a split second—as if you’re catching on to the feelings displayed, unknowingly, on Dongmin’s face.

His concern is real.

“W-we should go,” you stammer instead, gesturing to the Law building.

Dongmin nods. He grabs your backpack from you, signalling for you to walk in first. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

You force yourself to walk as swiftly as possible to the lecture hall, heart pounding, mind racing. Behind you, Dongmin’s entire body is tense. He’s finally realising he can’t keep his feelings for you hidden forever.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next day, you can’t stop thinking about Taesan—and whatever he was about to say to you. Your mind races with a million different thoughts throughout the day. What if he actually feels the same? What if you’re not the only one looking for something more in this fake arrangement?

However, given that exams are looming closer, you’re only given a short amount of time to dwell on your thoughts. After your last class of the day, you find yourself cooped up in the library, studying the rest of the day away. Several of your friends join you, too.

The study group grows, joined by both your friends and Taesan’s—though, you didn’t even realise that Taesan is sitting across you the entire day, until everyone starts leaving one by one.

By midnight, it’s only you and him. You don’t look up, but you can feel your heart thumping faster than usual. You’re hyper aware of your surroundings—how close he is, how his scent feels comforting yet intimidating, and how his presence is reminding you of something that you’re too afraid to admit.

“Y/N,” you open your eyes to someone gently shaking your shoulder, the reality of things crashing onto you all at once. You lift your head up, realising that you fell asleep in the middle of reviewing a past paper. Your eyes meet with Taesan’s concerned gaze.

His voice is low and soft, as if it’s only for you. “Let’s take a break. You’ve been snoozing off way too many times.”

Your heart is beating a little faster than usual, but you agree. Taesan’s request seems too casual, and he looks like he needs a break too.

You follow his lead, walking a little bit behind him to the convenience store that’s still open in campus grounds. He’s silent, observing you and letting you pick anything you want before paying for both your things and his.

“Go sit,” he says, holding your instant tteokbokki package in hand, along with his instant noodles. “I’ll heat these up.”

Taesan quickly moves to the microwave before you can say anything in retaliation, a sign that you take seriously. He’s not in the mood for any fights.

You take a seat, and soon after, Taesan joins you. He puts your instant meal in front of you, breaking your chopsticks for you.

“Here,” he says, his voice quiet. “Careful, the tteok is still hot.”

He then slips his coat around you before turning back to his own beverages.

You find yourself staring at him, long after he’s handed you your things. You watch him, peacefully releasing his tension—running a hand through his hair, chugging down a cup of coffee.

Everything around you looks like it has a blurred filter on, yet one thing is crystal clear: Taesan, and his evident care for you. The longer you stare at him, the more you realise.

He’s always been the one. He’s always been there.

It hits you harder than any bad grade has ever done.

Taesan has always been like this—quietly looking out for you, quietly caring for you.

All this while, all the banter, the little arguments, moments, and glances—it’s not just rivalry. It’s not just the fact that he always finds a way to make you all grumbly and irritated. It’s not just the fact that, even back when you were with Anton, he’d always find a way to show his care for you.

It’s not just the fact that you enjoy his company, even if he makes you feel like you want to bang your head against the wall.

You like him.

You like Han Taesan.

You quickly turn your head away, blood rushing to your head as soon as the realisation hits you. You stuff a few bites of instant tteokbokki into your mouth, wanting to quickly get rid of whatever this warm, refreshing feeling is.

“Can you stop looking at me like that, L/N?”

You cough, shocked at how his sudden comment breaks through the almost comforting silence. All the past moments you’ve had with him—the banter, the insults, the arguments—run through your head as soon as your last name, what Taesan had always called you, reaches your ears.

“Like what?” emboldened by the awakening of your feelings, you retort, your tone more challenging than you intended.

Taesan snaps, pushing his chair back, raking a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Like I’m your fucking boyfriend.”

“What?” you’re confused, not expecting that out of his mouth. “What are you–”

“Like you’re waiting for me to say something that I know I can’t take back.”

“Say it, then.”

You say, challenging him. It feels sentimental—like the old days, where all you did when you met Taesan was throw taunting words at him. But at the same time, the words come out of your mouth without realising—daring the two of you to finally cross the line.

“I like you, okay? I probably love you at this point, I don’t know. I don’t know when it started, but I do. And I—” He exhales sharply, his voice softer. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t.”

The world stops spinning and you stare at him, blank.

Your tongue feels numb, your heart racing at a million miles per hour.

You feel the same, you’re sure, but you don’t know how to respond. Do you smile and say it back? Do you tease him, calling him an idiot like you always do?

“I didn’t mean to fall for you,” you catch Taesan muttering.

You smile. “Me too,” you say softly.

Taesan lifts his head immediately, sharply turning to you with widened eyes. “... pardon?”

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THE next few days feel like a refreshing spring breeze in the peak of winter, yet the air is filled with a cute awkwardness. After the confession, neither of you explicitly announce to one another that the two of you are a real couple now—yet your interactions feel new and unscripted, but no one exactly is making the first move.

Of course, your friends notice before the two of you do.

You’re sitting at the food hall together with Yunjin and Sophia, eating breakfast. You’re halfway through your pancakes, and Taesan—or Dongmin, as you call him now—suddenly takes a seat next to you.

“Mind if I join, girls?” he asks, a charming grin on his face. He’s asking the table, yet his gaze is directed to you. You bite your lip shyly, nodding.

“Sure, make yourself at home,” Yunjin says, her words laced with teasing. She watches with eagle eyes as Dongmin puts all of the sliced bananas from his serving of pancakes onto yours, knowing that you especially enjoy them with your breakfast pancakes. She snorts at the obvious look of love in Dongmin’s eyes, more evident now that he isn’t shoving insults at your face. “So, you two are really dating now?”

You choke on your bite of pancake, immediately blurting out,

“No!”

“Yes.”

You sharply turn to Dongmin, who has a smug look on his face. It’s the one look on his face that you’re used to, yet there’s a tint of pink on his cheeks. The edge of his smirk twitches, threatening to form into a cute, lovesick smile.

“...I see,” Sophia interrupts your awkward eye contact, sighing dramatically.

“We’re dating?” you ask Dongmin acutely, your brows connecting in an embarrassed frown.

“I don’t know,” Dongmin shrugs casually, the look in his eyes teasing. “Are we?”

The blush that instantly creeps up your cheeks tells you the answer. You look away, suddenly focused on the way you’re cutting your pancakes. Dongmin’s laugh echoes to your left, and your friends’ send you teasing looks.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

A few months later, on the first week back after winter break, you go on a walk around campus with your boyfriend, Han Dongmin. It feels weird, calling him yours now. Just almost half a year ago, you were fighting your ego to have your nemesis fake-date you in order to intimidate your ex into leaving you and your life alone. Now, that same thorn in your side has become the light of your life, the apple of your eye. Now, the two of you are in something that’s not written on a flimsy contract.

Dongmin had also helped clear out the rumours surrounding you—in the most annoying, Han Taesan way—announcing the truth about Anton by spreading it like a rumour to everyone. You still get second-hand embarrassment remembering that day, bombarded by questions and apologies from acquaintances and people you’ve only seen around.

“You know,” you say dreamily, distracted by your train of thought, “you’re so annoying—but I love you.”

Dongmin freezes, his steps coming to an immediate halt. You, too, freeze in your steps as you realise you’re a few steps ahead of him now. You turn around, eyebrows perked up. “What’s wrong, Dongmin?”

Dongmin.

The sound of your voice calling his birth name repeats in his mind, like a favourite song on loop. He stares, unable to say anything. His eyes fall on the pendant dangling from your neck, one that you started wearing due to the fake-dating arrangement. He remembered insisting that you take it off, so that he can buy you a new one later, but you said that it’s special so you won’t take it off.

I love you.

Dongmin feels a smile slowly bloom on his face.

She said it. She didn’t even hesitate. It’s like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

His face softens, jogging up to you. He gives you a cheeky smile.

“Say that again.”

You frown. “What again?”

“The first part.”

“What–” you pause, eyes widening as you get what he’s talking about. Heat rushes up your cheeks, warming your face despite Dongmin’s scarf wrapped around it. “I–”

“Yeah,” Dongmin says, smirking as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Me too.”

You bury yourself into the familiar scent of Dongmin’s scarf as he kisses your cheek.

“Fuck you, Han Dongmin,” you grumble, ignoring the obvious butterflies in your stomach.

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 ▒ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

THAT weekend, you and Dongmin are eating lunch together at your favourite coffee shop. Dongmin had said that the vibes there makes him sleepy, and tried to bring you to eat at one of the more famous restaurants near the KOZ School of Engineering, yet the plan backfires on him when the line is certainly too long.

Now, the two of you are back at your favourite coffee shop, sipping warm cinnamon lattes.

“See?” you tease, smiling cheekily. “I told you this place is the best.”

Dongmin rolls his eyes, taking a big spoonful of the chocolate cinnamon roll on your plate. “I want to eat some real food, like kimchi jjigae, not these sweet chocolate desserts,” he complains, though he can’t hide the fact that he secretly loves it.

“Yet you’re the one finishing my cinnamon roll,” you retort, letting him subconsciously finish your dessert. You’re familiar with his love for chocolate.

Dongmin flashes you an innocent smile, shrugging. “Not my fault.”

Comfortable silence engulfs the two of you, letting you bask in each other’s presence. Suddenly, Dongmin leans closer, adjusting the place of the H.D pendant on your décolletage. Frozen, you watch him lean back into his seat, smiling as he admires you.

“You look good today,” he murmurs, “actually, you look good everyday.”

An undeniable tint of pink colours your face. “I’m literally wearing a black turtleneck sweater, Dongmin.”

His gaze softens. “Like the first time you sat next to me, three years ago, during our foundation year.”

Your eyes widen, your mind replaying the memory, fresh like it happened yesterday. “You… remember?”

“Of course,” Dongmin replies, his smile delicate.

“I even remember the day you walked up to me, confident and all. I thought you were going to brag to my face that you won first place for the quiz we had the day before, but then you told me to fake date you.”

You almost spit out the coffee from your mouth. “Han Dongmin!” you hiss. “Don’t remind me… it was so stupid.”

“Stupid?” Dongmin asks, tilting his head. The signature cocky smirk is back on his face. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah…” you sigh, “I mean, I could’ve resolved the matter by myself, you know–”

“But you know that I’m the best option,” Dongmin cuts you off, smug. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, though,” he continues, his expression softer. More… raw. “To be honest, I think I was ecstatic that you walked up to me that day.”

“Why?” you ask croakily.

“‘Cause I’ve always liked you, Y/N. I always have. I just don’t understand where things went wrong—maybe it’s the way I thought teasing you would gain me your attention at first. It did. But then, you became used to my teasing and thought of me as a threat—maybe ‘cause I’m smart as hell, too—but yeah. I don’t know how to say it but, all of that hatred was… pretend.”

You blink at him, too shocked to process his words. You try to reply, but mere stuttering comes out, and your face turns bright red.

Dongmin notices this, of course, and he turns on his shameless, impudent grin. “Besides, you said you’re going to grant me any wish that I have, right?”

Oh.

You inhale sharply. How could you forget? You immediately bring out your phone, checking the balance in your bank account. It’s quite a luxury, due to you working a few part time jobs during your break and whenever you can—but you certainly don’t think it’s fit for whatever grand wish Dongmin is about to demand from you.

“Fine,” you huff, “only because it’s part of our… old contract.”

“Old contract, huh?” Dongmin wheezes, already laughing hard. You frown, fighting back a smile.

“Why are you always laughing whenever I speak, dumbass?”

“Hey,” Dongmin pauses his laughter, flicking your forehead gently. It doesn’t even hurt, but you gasp dramatically, and he laughs it off. “It’s babe for you, sweet girl. And, I’m not laughing at you. I’m just admiring how cute and funny you are.”

Babe, huh?

You snort, hiding a smile. “Fine.”

“Anyway, speaking of the old contract,” Dongmin grins, “what’s the new one, then?”

“You haven’t even told me what sort of dumb, overpriced thing you want for your wish,” you say, lips set in a grim line. “And now you want another one?”

“My wish, huh?”

The unreadable look on his face makes you brace yourself and your wallet.

“Then, my darling, this is my wish.”

Dongmin leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. It’s subtle, short and sweet, but significant enough for you to realise it all—the reality of your feelings and his. He lingers for a while before sitting back in his chair.

“So,” he says coolly, ignoring the plain blush streaked across his face. “Can you grant me the wish? To kiss you anytime, and anywhere I want?”

“Basically, physical affection can be done anytime?” you say, quoting what this man in front of you said months ago, when both of you first agreed on the fake-dating situation. The whole absurd set-up that brought the two of you to where you are, today.

Dongmin laughs, clearly impressed. “Yeah,” he nods.

You give him a warm smile, glad that you’re finally able to follow your heart’s desires, and to not put up a wall of defense around him anymore.

“Wish granted.”

― © htaesan, 2025.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀want more like this? check out the 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

980 notes · View notes

hcneymooners · 20 days ago

Text

౨ৎ stargirl interlude.

wnba!paige x pop star!azzi. men & minors dni.

⋆ 🪩 part one ( you are here. )

masterlist.

synopsis: azzi’s one of the industry’s fastest rising stars—a notorious ice princess. she doesn’t pay much attention to the internet, so she’s caught off guard when she finds out who her biggest fan is: world-class athlete paige bueckers, publicly losing her mind over her.

cw: implied mental health issues, fluff, slow burn.

notes: hi, my loves. this is the first installment of my popstar pazzi au. let me know if you want me to continue. i kind of feel like this is shit, but i can be mean to myself.

love you.

I: FIRST TOUCH.

azzi hadn’t felt anything in months.

so, when her costume fitting resulted in a bubble of blood along her thigh, she found herself strangely grateful. the needle had only slipped and pricked her, but she was always easy to bleed which was what made her famous.

she watched, detached and faded, as the designer’s assistant apologized profusely, her thin lips quivering beneath eyes as round as the moon. they were a deep brown, like azzi’s own, and made her seem even more pathetic in her simpering.

azzi reached out a light brown hand, her nails done perfectly in a glossy, milky-white set—extra-long and square-shaped, with a delicate cross of small, metallic studs glinting on the ring finger like a whispered prayer. they curled around the assistant’s shaking shoulder, the tips digging into the skin beneath the spaghetti strap of the woman’s halter top.

“hey,” she said, sounding as if she was underwater, “it’s okay. you didn’t mean to.”

and she knew the women didn’t; it was an honest accident. she extended her forgiveness like a knife, swift and exact because she could see her manager and mother in the corner vibrating with a frequency that only she seemed to be attuned to.

“i am so sorry, azzi. i really—”

“i know,” azzi said, shrugging her shoulder. “why would you hurt me on purpose?”

the woman blinked up at her from where she was crouched on the ground, her hand dangerously close to her baby-pink pincushion. azzi smiled, revealing her sweet bunny teeth that had endeared over a million people to her overnight. the woman relaxed and azzi continued to smile, her cheeks aching by the time the fitting was finished.

eventually, she was left alone. she always needed a moment to herself before performing—rehearsal or concert. she could hear the echoes of people’s movements in the otherwise empty arena, and something about that made tears prick at the corners of her eyes. she wondered if they would hear her heartbeat over the speakers, if it would echo and thunder with all of her sadness and the incredible weight of pressure put upon her.

i look beautiful, she tried to think but the thought fell flat as it always did. objectively she looked gorgeous, absolutely out of this world if her fans were to be believed.

her skin glowed, the candy brown of it enhanced by her morning tan. her hair had been thickened by lush extensions and the fervent heat of a five thousand dollar straightener that, in her opinion, was shit compared to her well-loved seven-dollar one sitting on the rim of her sink in her apartment bathroom. her curls were gone, replaced by perfect rivers of dusky brown beach waves.

her outfit was heavy, weighed down with shimmering embellishments that caught every stray bit of light. the corset was tight, sculpting her waist into something delicate, something precise, pushing her chest so high she couldn’t see her feet beneath it. the bodice was stitched with thousands of crystals, scattered like stars, each whispering of spectacle. the skirt was short, the hem dripping with beaded fringe that swayed when she breathed, a tiny, deliberate cascade of silver.

her arms were wrapped in sheer lace gloves, soft and weightless, tied off with ribbons that trailed past her wrists. the choker at her throat gleamed like a warning, pressing against her pulse, reminding her of the weight of expectation.

everything about the outfit was meant to make her look untouchable—something divine, something impossible—but standing alone in the vast emptiness of the arena, it felt more like armor.

with one last look at herself, azzi tossed her hair behind her shoulder and grabbed her personalized microphone from the edge of her vanity. the chrome twist along its body was cool in her hands, and she focused on it as she walked through the hall and grew closer to the heat of the stage lights.

the beginning beat of her song began to play, the backing track taking the responsibility of harmonizing off of her. she stepped out from the passageway, her skin almost splitting with the force of her smile.

“hello, new york!” she called, her voice echoing off the empty chairs. pre-recorded applause and cheers exploded from the speakers.

by the time she launched into the chorus, she was already distant.

⟡

azzi wasn’t supposed to be here.

her security team would kill her if they knew she had called an uber—no bodyguard, no disguise, just a pair of oversized sunglasses and a puffer that swallowed her whole. it wasn’t even a good puffer, not one of the designer ones gifted to her in hopes she’d be photographed in it—just something she grabbed on the way out, her hands shaking too hard to zip it up all the way.

or maybe it was good because it was hers. it had been hers for a long time and held the essence of the teenage version of herself who used to play basketball with the neighborhood kids and cried over crushes that no longer mattered. the lining of the pockets was worn and she wormed her fingertips into the loose cotton, watching the green of the fabric change underneath the lights animating from store signs and headlights.

her uber driver was sweet, an older man who had come over from laos with his wife. he talked in a low tone, his accent curling like smoke over the vowels. she soaked up the stories of his home, lost herself in his memories. she sat with her legs tucked up on the seat, bare from the thighs down. she had thrown on a new york yankees tee and powder pink ballet shorts along with her favorite black leg warmers tucked into her well-loved uggs.

it was a relief to climb into the car and have him know nothing about her, his eyes not even flickering with a small hint of recognition. he’d only seen a small girl trembling inside of herself like a ghost trapped in its corpse, her dark eyes full of unease and her hair still wet from the rushed shower she’d taken beforehand.

she reminded him of his daughter.

eventually, they reached her usual haunt and she had to let him go. she tipped him generously, which she’d already planned to do, but he had squeezed her hand before she got out with such warmth that it made her stop. azzi had turned, looked back, and listened as he told her, the whole world is a very narrow bridge, and the main thing is to have no fear at all.”

she stared at him for a moment and he smiled. she could see the gold capping his back tooth. a good quote, he said. it helped me during the worst of times.

she would’ve given him a million dollars if she could. instead, she leaned over the seat and hugged him. then she told him to listen to the song “shame” by the smashing pumpkins. my go-to, she said, when i’m trying to figure it out.

(in years to come, that same driver would relay that story to a journalist doing a profile on legacy popstars. he never forgot that, how kind she’d been to him. she never forgot that, how kind he’d been to her.)

the sushi bar was tucked into a quiet street, just past a convenience store that smelled like stale bread and cigarette smoke. inside, it was small and bright, warm in a way that made her stomach curl with need. she hadn’t been here in a long time. not since things changed.

her mind was already falling into that static peace that accompanied her trips here. it was as if her brain fell out and onto the conveyor belt, looping back toward the kitchen where they would keep it on a freezer shelf until she was ready to be herself again. the bell jingled as she stepped in, and before she could process anything—before she could even breathe in the smell of sashimi and balled-up white rice—someone crashed into her.

it was solid, with enough force behind it that azzi’s breath hitched as she stumbled back, the scent of fabric softener and something warm and spicy filling her senses. she felt the grip of someone’s hands—strong, steady—catching her arms like instinct.

“oh, shit, my bad, my bad, i ain’t even see you,” the girl said quickly, stepping back so fast she nearly tripped over herself.

azzi blinked. she looked up slowly, her mind still trying to come back to itself.

in the seconds it took for her brain to catch up, azzi cataloged the facts of the situation. first, the grip—broad hands, fingers warm even through the padded sleeves of her puffer. then, the voice—low, raspy, almost apologetic. and finally, the face.

paige bueckers.

azzi knew who she was. everybody did. paige was a world-class athlete, a star, a whole damn nike deal in human form. and right now, she was standing in front of her, looking like she just got hit by a bus.

paige was still talking—rambling, really. “oh my god, bro. i did not just meet you like this. this cannot be how it happened. like, i gotta run that back or sum—”

azzi didn’t register the rest of what she was saying. because for the first time in months, something was funny.

it started as a small, startled exhale. then, before she could stop it, the laugh came—sharp, unexpected, curling out of her so fast it made her whole body shake.

paige froze. “uh.”

azzi laughed harder. she laughed until her shoulders curved inward, her hands gripping the counter like she needed something to keep her grounded.

“oh, nah,” paige mumbled, brows furrowing like she was really concerned now. “baby, you good?”

azzi sucked in a breath—tried to steady herself—but instead of stopping, the laughter turned into something else. something sharp and humiliating and impossible to control. she raised a hand as if to fend paige off, the familiar tightness in her throat stealing the words straight from her mouth.

the tears came fast. she barely had time to swipe at them before paige went full crisis mode.

“hey,” paige said, shifting her weight like she didn’t know whether to back up or step in. “what’s wrong, ma? you okay?”

azzi exhaled slowly, tipping her head back toward the ceiling like it would help her keep it together. she focused on the buzz of the fluorescent lighting so she wouldn’t have to see the patrons who had turned to stare. “sorry. um, we can take a picture or something.”

paige’s brows furrowed like she didn’t get it. “nah, it’s cool. you don’t gotta do all that.”

azzi didn’t know why that made her feel worse.

she cleared her throat, still feeling raw, and tried again. “can i get you something?”

paige hesitated. then, looking almost guilty, she muttered, “yeah, aight. sure.”

azzi watched as paige glanced up at the menu like she didn’t already know what she was getting, like she hadn’t been in line before they crashed into each other. something about it made her feel almost normal. she made sure to smile as she handed paige her order, squeezing her long fingers before letting go.

“thank you,” she said, “for asking me if i was okay.”

paige’s face did something complicated before she bit her bottom lip, and then spoke.

“course.” then, “you okay to go home? my driver is around the corner.”

“i’m okay,” azzi said, already moving away. she turned, those perfect lips parting like petals as she said, “i want to sit here for a while.”

paige nodded, then smiled. she left, and azzi watched her ponytail sway through the window before she picked up her phone and opened her camera to scan the booth’s qr code. as she looked down, paige turned back around and found her again.

she stood there for a minute too long, taking in the way azzi’s knees were drawn up to her chest, her brow furrowed and her curls falling almost rabidly from the bun she put it in. she was beautiful, even in that low light.

she hoped azzi would never be sad again.

⟡

she didn’t check her socials much anymore. she had a pr team for that. but tonight, she needed something to distract her. it only took a swipe and two clicks for her to open twitter.

then she saw it. her name, sitting right at number two on the trending page just beneath something about formula 1. she clicked, bracing herself for something unsavory, but instead, she felt an unexpected laugh bubble out of her.

there sat a tweet from pbueckersofficial, already viral:

met the fucking loml in a sushi bar bc I RAN INTO HER and had to physically restrain myself from getting on one knee and proposing in apology.

it had turned into a thread, paige’s lamenting going on for ages.

⤷ dawg you don’t even understand, she’s so pretty in person. like i was genuinely about to kill myself right then and there ⤷ and THEN she still asked if i wanted a picture like i didn’t just almost make her bust her ass ⤷ it’s alright y’all. trust, imma be on my shit next time. #bueckersfudd2028

azzi covered her mouth to keep herself from smiling. scrolled.

the replies were a mess.

username: PAIGE WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU. username: bro she doesn’t even know you like that 💀💀💀 username: accidentally meeting ur wife in a sushi shop is crazy username: nah bc imagine fudd actually sees this 😭😭

azzi stared at them for a long time. then, before she could think too hard about it, she hit retweet and added:

azzi35: oh! that’s not—um just keep winning those games instead, please.

within minutes, her notifications were done. paige’s teammates were in the replies immediately.

karnold: girl this is NOT ur priv. aubrey: paige fumbled a proposal and got cooked by azzi fudd on the same night wow uconnsports: how are u even gonna play after this

azzi rolled over on her side, her phone pressed to her chest as she giggled. it felt like a strange creature—the vibration of her joy.

⟡

paige was going to die.

she padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, not even bothering to look up at her teammates sitting around the table. they’d probably been up for hours already, laughing at the bullshit she’d orchestrated in the last twenty-four hours. she had barely slept. after the whole sushi bar incident, she’d tried to shake it off, but it just… stayed.

and now? now she was paying the price for being online past her bedtime.

she opened the fridge, her movements slow and sluggish. as she grabbed the milk, her hair shifted over her shoulders and she tucked it irritably behind one ear. waking up to the whole world laughing at you could really ruin your day.

as she closed the fridge door, she felt the weight of her teammates' eyes on her. no one was speaking, but she could practically feel the air crackling with suppressed laughter.

paige sighed, not ready to deal with it. "please don’t tell me you guys are still on that."

kk raised an eyebrow, looking like she might burst any second. "oh, but we are," she said, voice uncharacteristically soft like she was trying not to break.

paige groaned, burying her face in her hands.

"i'm fucking killing myself,” she muttered.

ice, who had been eerily quiet up until that moment, finally spoke. she didn’t even try to hold back. "but bueckers-fudd 2028?"

and that was it. the whole table cracked. kk fell into jana’s shaking shoulders. ice was wheezing. even caroline, who normally kept her cool, was holding her side like she was in pain.

paige stood there, glaring at them, but her lips twitched despite herself. "y’all are so fucking extra," she said, trying to keep it together, but the image of azzi’s face and the whole absurdity of the situation came flooding back.

she covered her face with her hand. "i didn’t even mean it like that. fuck, why didn’t i check what account i was on?”

it was ice who finally leaned forward, eyes sparkling. "i gotta admit, though—bueckers-fudd 2028? that’s got a ring to it."

paige shot her a look that made the other girl snicker even harder. "shut the fuck up," paige warned, but it was too late. the whole room was laughing.

"man, this is so fucked up," paige moaned, trying to sink straight into the floor. but then, azzi popped into her head. the way her laugh felt had seemed like a relief, like a crack in the wall she'd been building. her fingers trembled, and she had to push that thought away before she started really melting. but then again, who was she kidding?

she was already gone.

the worst part? her mentions were a complete circus. fan accounts. meme pages. sports commentators. everyone was having the time of their life dissecting her very public, very messy encounter with world-famous popstar azzi fudd. lusting after the people’s princess meant the people would be involved.

when her phone buzzed with a follow request, she assumed it was another troll. but then she saw the verified checkmark.

azzi35 requested to follow you.

without thinking, paige clicked on the notification and watched as instagram blossomed before her. she paid no attention to her feed, clicking the heart where the following request lay in wait. she triple-checked in, taking in the black and white candid of azzi holding her dog up to her cheek, their faces smushed together as she smiled with all of her teeth.

the photo made her think of how much azzi seemed to want to remain normal. her feed rarely had promotional material on it. instead, it was filled with carousels of memories: azzi squeezed into the booth of a restaurant alongside her parents, azzi laying beachside with her niece lifted above her head as she laughed, azzi bare-faced and half pressed into a hotel pillow with her most recent read covering the bridge of her nose, azzi in istanbul, standing on a street just beside grand bazaar with carts swollen with an endless inventory of multi-colored heels behind her, azzi’s hands interlinked with her makeup artist with the caption “thank you for making me so beautiful”.

paige clicked on the comments and saw the mua’s reply: world’s easiest job, baby. x

hard agree, she thought.

she could’ve spent hours taking azzi in, drowning out her teammates' good-natured ribbing as she swallowed the pieces azzi let slip through the cracks of her iron boundaries. as if to remind her of why she’d gotten on the app in the first place, a dm request popped up.

» hey, i wanted to say sorry about earlier. you were so sweet when we met and i feel bad i was such a mess. that was probably not the experience you were hoping for when randomly running into someone. » thank you for checking on me. it meant a lot.

paige read the message approximately 47 times. her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly.

» hey, you were great. made my day regardless. you're allowed to have a hard day.

she made the message simple, direct. the kind of genuine response that would cut through all the performative noise azzi had been swimming in for months. no pressure, no expectation—just human kindness.

she watched as azzi began to type something, the bubble rising and lowering before another message came through.

» can't believe you wanted to propose to me when i was basically a snot-nosed mess at the sushi place

there was a pause as paige stared at the reply. long enough that she realized azzi may be wondering if she'd said something wrong. she jumped into action, sending her response through, and in her eagerness, the message was filled with such raw honesty that it made embarrassment flush through her—ripe and red.

» u were beautiful, azzi. so beautiful it was fucking unreal. never seen anything like you. couldn't stop looking at you if i tried.

the words hung there, suspended in digital space. paige read them again. and again.

why the fuck would she say that? it read as cripplingly parasocial, almost rotten with its clear excitement and awe. she closed her eyes, kicking her head back as she thought, once again, of ending it all.

her phone vibrated and she cracked one bright blue eye open, scanning her screen for what was sure to be azzi’s swift block.

» you too.

then,

» want to grab coffee?

⟡

azzi was feeling something. it was fragile and unexpected, like a seedling pushing through concrete. connection. warmth. the first genuine emotion she'd experienced in months.

she rolled her lip between her teeth as she waited for paige’s answer, her leg bouncing underneath the table of the conference room she was sitting in. she’d typed out the offer before she could second-guess herself. before the bear trap of performance and expectation could slam back down, cutting through the tendons of her ankle and drawing blood.

paige's response came after a few more minutes, and azzi’s jittering slowed.

» yes. » fuck yes. when and where?

azzi felt herself smile. a real one. the kind that reached her eyes.

#mine ; 🐎.#pazzi fics #pazzi #paige x azzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #uconn wbb #uconn huskies

371 notes · View notes

idkanymark · 1 month ago

Text

[I just want you to know who I am]

soulmates au | Mark lee x f!reader

INTRO: " and I give up forever to touch you" Is all I need to explain this short story

NOTE: This imagine is inspired by the song "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls.

—————

Soulmates.

In this world, everything revolves around soulmates.

On your 18th birthday, a small tattoo appears on your wrist — a clue to guide you to your other half.

If you can't find them within five years, the universe steps in, etching their full name into your skin, giving a final chance.

But fate isn’t always kind.

If you still can’t find them, or if they’re no longer alive, your heart protects itself the only way it can. It strips you of every emotion, leaving you numb to the world.

—————

It was a normal Tuesday.

The café buzzed with quiet conversations, the low hum of life moving on without you. The cold coffee in front of you sat untouched, the bitter liquid half-empty, half-full — a perfect reflection of how you felt. Or maybe, how you didn’t feel at all.

You lifted your gaze, watching the world through tired eyes. Couples lingered at tables, fingers intertwined, matching tattoos peeking out from beneath sleeves like little promises from the universe. Soulmates. Everywhere you looked, love clung to people like second skin, a reminder of what you never had.

It had been almost eight years. Eight years of searching, hoping, breaking. And still, you were alone.

The universe, it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor. You traced your fingers over the faded star on your left wrist, the skin warm beneath your touch. Below it, a name curved along your bone in delicate ink: Mark Lee.

The name appeared three years ago, a lifeline you clung to with trembling hands. You tried. For two relentless years, you chased every lead, whispered his name like a prayer, hoping fate would answer. But fate stayed silent. And eventually, you stopped asking.

Now, the countdown pressed against your chest like a weight. In a few months, your time would run out, and whatever fragile piece of you still clung to hope would shatter. You’d wake up, and everything would be gone. No more sadness, no more longing. No more anything.

Maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Life had already unraveled beneath your feet. You lost your job. Friends faded away like ghosts. Each day bled into the next, an endless loop of empty routines. Maybe losing your emotions was just the final step — maybe the universe was doing you a kindness.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers curling around the coffee cup just to feel something, anything. The porcelain burned against your skin, but the ache was muted, distant. Like it didn’t really belong to you anymore.

Maybe it never did.

You looked at the watch on your right wrist, it was time to go back home. You stood up and after a few seconds you were already out.

The door swung shut behind you with a hollow thud, sealing in the hum of conversation and the clink of cups. Outside, the world was gray. The sky hung low, bloated with heavy clouds, and the air smelled like rain — sharp, metallic, inevitable.

You stepped onto the sidewalk just as the first drop hit your cheek, a cold kiss from the sky. Then another. And another. Within moments, the heavens split open, and the rain poured down in relentless sheets, drenching you in seconds.

You didn’t run. Didn’t flinch.

You just stood there, letting the water seep into your clothes, cling to your skin, blur the world around you. People rushed past, huddled under umbrellas, ducking into doorways, laughter and shouts echoing through the downpour. But no one noticed you.

Of course they didn’t.

You tilted your head back, eyes fluttering shut as raindrops slid down your face like mock tears. It had been so long since you’d cried, you almost forgot what it felt like. Maybe this was the closest you’d get.

The weight in your chest throbbed, an ache so familiar it almost felt like comfort. You pressed your hand against your wrist, fingers brushing over the inked name — Mark Lee — the letters raised like a scar.

Somewhere out there, he existed. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was already gone, and you were mourning a ghost you never got to meet.

Maybe that was why the universe made you wait so long. To break you slowly, piece by piece, until you didn’t care anymore.

Until losing your emotions felt like mercy.

The rain clung to your lashes, blurred the streetlights into smudges of gold. You couldn’t tell if your chest felt heavy or hollow, only that something inside you was slipping, dissolving like sugar in water.

And still, you didn’t move.

Because standing there, soaked and shivering, with the name of a stranger etched into your skin, felt more real than anything had in years.

—————

You decided you were going to appreciate the world one last time before it faded away. Before the colors dulled, and the weight of existence slipped from your grasp. A few more days, and everything you’d ever felt — every scrap of joy, pain, and longing — would be gone.

And now, you were finally in Paris.

You wore a black dress, something delicate and simple, but you’d taken the time to fix your hair, to put on makeup. If this was your last chance to feel, to see beauty, you wanted to face it with grace.

The Musée d'Orsay hummed with quiet life, footsteps echoing against marble floors as visitors admired the art. You stood in front of Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over the Rhône, the deep blues and swirling stars pulling you in.

You traced the brushstrokes with your eyes, imagining his hands painting each one — the desperation, the need to pour his heart onto the canvas. Did he feel like this, too? Like his soul was slipping away?

The painting was beautiful, painfully so. It made your chest ache.

"It’s a pretty painting, isn’t it?"

The voice behind you was warm, low, and gentle enough to make your breath catch.

You turned slowly, and your heart nearly stopped.

He was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Dark hair clung to his forehead, and his eyes — soft, dark, and deep enough to drown in — studied you with quiet curiosity.

"Indeed” you whispered, your eyes tracing the swirling night sky. "But… sad."

"Sad?" he echoed, stepping closer.

You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your side. "The stars are so bright, but they feel… unreachable. Like they’re shining for a world they can never touch." You exhaled shakily. "It’s lonely."

He was quiet for a moment, studying the painting like he was trying to see it through your eyes.

"I think the stars are hopeful” he said softly, his voice like a steadying hand. "They can’t touch the world, but they still light it up. Even if no one notices, they just… keep shining."

Your throat tightened. "Even if it doesn’t change anything?"

He nodded. "Even then."

You blinked back tears, staring at the painting until your vision blurred.

"I wish I could be like that” you whispered.

His voice dropped, gentle and almost unbearably kind.

"Maybe you already are."

He smiled, the kind of smile that felt like it could thaw something frozen inside you.

"You’re not from here, are you?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

You shook your head, words sticking to your throat.

"I’m Mark. Nice to meet you."

The world tilted.

Mark.

The name echoed through your skull like a thunderclap. Your pulse roared in your ears, your fingers curling into your dress as panic and hope collided so violently you thought you might shatter.

"I…" Your voice trembled. "I’m sorry if this sounds insane, but… can I ask your last name?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.

"It’s Lee” he said slowly. "Why?"

The room blurred. The painting, the people, Paris itself — it all disappeared.

Mark Lee.

The name carved into your wrist like a cruel joke. The name you’d chased for years, across cities and continents, only to end up here, on the other side of the world, face to face with the stranger the universe had promised you.

Your chest caved, and tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them.

"Hi, Mark” you breathed, voice breaking. "I’m Y/N”

His entire body stiffened. His eyes, those gentle eyes, went wide with shock as his lips parted, struggling to form words.

"It’s you?" he whispered, barely believing it himself.

You nodded, the weight of years crashing down on you all at once. The failed searches, the hopeless nights, the slow descent into numbness. All of it had led here.

And he was real.

Mark exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath for years. Without thinking, he reached for your wrist, his fingers brushing over the faded star tattoo. His touch was so careful, so reverent, like he thought you might disappear.

"I looked for you” he said, voice rough. "I thought I’d lost you."

Your heart shattered.

"I thought I’d never find you” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. "I thought I’d wake up and never feel anything again."

Mark let out a shaky laugh, swiping at his own damp face as he stared at you, overwhelmed.

"You found me” he whispered, like he was convincing himself. "We made it."

He pulled you into his arms, holding you as tightly as he could, and for the first time in years, you felt something other than despair.

You felt whole.

380 notes · View notes

maegalkarven · 1 year ago

Text

Homecoming

The third part of the Empty Prayers AU.

They are home, but Baldur's Gate is nothing Wyll remembers it to be.

Characters: Wyll Ravengard, Shadowheart, Enver Gortash, Nemo (Durge), Jaheira, Karlach, Astarion.

Dark Urge x Gortash.

Wyll's POV.

The city is quiet.

It’s the first thing Wyll notices, how quiet Baldur’s Gate is, almost unnaturally so.

This is not how it should be, not how Wyll remembers his city.

The streets should buzz with the sound; even at night there should be the echo of steps, someone having a brawl in the nearest inn, some criminal individual skidding about, some poor soul retching in the ditch. There should be a low, unmistakable hum of the city being alive. Baldur’s Gate, city of many, city of all. Criminals and respectful citizens side by side, the most beautiful gardens of the Upper City and the foulest smell of the sewers.

The Gate.

This not how Wyll imagined his return.

In his dreams, the deepest, most sacred of them, so secured even Mizora couldn’t get a grip on, he saw himself a hero returning home; with victory, with salvation.

Wyll saw his father pardoning him, embracing, hailing a true hero of Baldur’s Gate. He saw himself standing tall and proud in front of the patriarchs of the city and not being ashamed of who he was.

Sneaking into the city like thieves in the night was not in his dreams.

His father, exhausted, strained by the knowledge of things passed and things yet to come, was not in his dreams.

Fighting the losing battle against the Elder Brain crowned with Karsus’ infamous creation was not in them.

Allying himself with the men personally crowning said brain was...was unimaginable, really.

And yet working alongside the two former cult leaders is the best chance they have. Wyll has spend endless hours in conversations with his father about this; appealing to his sense of duty, his responsibilities to the city, his honor.

Wyll knows both Gortash and Nemo are awful people. He has met his fair share of the scum and recognizes it when he sees it. If things were different, if both of the men have not fallen from grace, then... Then they would be the enemy, and of the worst, foul kind. The clever, sophisticated kind of the enemy who knows they do wrong, but can’t seem to particularly care.

Wyll still isn’t sure how much they can actually rely on Enver Gortash, not to mention trust him. He rather agrees with Karlach’s assessment what trusting the man would be a fool’s play. But urgent need for survival pulls together and turns into allies even the strangest types of men.

And not all villains had the choice to begin with.

Wyll knows Nemo is convinced he is a being of pure evil, the Murder Incarnate, the Worst of them all. He also knows Nemo doesn’t feel slighted by that, it is his destiny, after all. It is what he was made for.

Made.

Not even born, Bhaal could not allow him even that small slither of grace. No, his friend was literally sculpted from the dead flesh of the dead god. Then, if Nemo’s recollecting is to be trusted, he was entrusted into the care of no one but Sarevok Anchev, who then proceeded to raise a boy as the true heir to their Father’s bloody legacy.

Wyll shudders at the way Nemo casually recounts his past, how he brushes over the awful details with practiced ease of someone who doesn’t see anything wrong in that.

And how could he? Who was there to explain to him that what his Father and then his brother did to him was awful? Who was there to tell the child, beaten bloody, what this ‘training’ Sarevok put him through was not humane? It was ruthless, it was unkind, and it was brought on a but a babe.

"The pureblood child of the Bhaal should be perfect," he remembers Nemo commenting, not understanding the level of horror Wyll felt, not seeing why would he even be horrified by that. "It should be stripped of any weakness, any chains society would gladly press on it. All Bhaal’s child is – His vessel, His hand, the blade striking in His name. It doesn’t have the personality, better yet no will of its own. It is Father born anew. It is His second coming. It is the maw what will devour the world."

How Nemo turned up being as sane as he is now is a mystery, all things considered. He was destined to be nothing.

Wyll will gladly help his friend to break out of this bloody destiny.

Which leads his thought to the unkind revelation to why the said child of Bhaal even started to break out of his fate. Or because of whom.

Nemo is almost sewn to the failed tyrant’s side these days; the dark shadow behind Gortash’s frame, hushed whisper into his ear, steady hand on the man’s forearm.

Wyll would think it to be suffocating if not for the way Gortash stands straighter at the touch, looks surer of himself, smugger, more unbearable.

They bring the worst into each other. They keep each other afloat.

Wyll remembers the first several days after the Moonrise Towers. He remembers Nemo disappearing into Gortash’s tent every night, emerging in the morning with the image of tiredness stitched up his face. Gortash didn’t look any better, the signs of exhaustion lying low in the dark shadows under his eyes, in the crease of his mouth, in the wrinkles on his forehead. Somehow everyone knew nothing lewd was taking place, what the two failed chosen simply guarded each other against the world.

As if the world was the enemy.

As if traveling with them has not shown Nemo what the world is a much kinder place than what he was taught to believe. As if they were not allies, were not friends.

Wyll knows the revelation of Nemo’s true identity, of his past had to cost him greatly. He remembers this confession as if it was yesterday.

***

He remembers Nemo’s fists opening and closing, helpless in the painful need to strike at someone. He remembers the half-elf taking his shirt off – for the first time showing them his naked chest – and he remembers the awful, stark revelation it brought.

The scars like those do not appear out of nowhere. The scars like those are left on the bodies forgone autopsy. Dead bodies.

And yet these scars bite into Nemo’s skin even now.

“I...I don’t remember who she was,” the bhaalspawn murmured then, voice low and dark. “But I remember her face and I’m sure I’d recognize her if we were to meet again. I am convinced she is a myrkulite and what she is somewhere in these Towers.”

“That’s not all,” he interrupted then Wyll opened his mouth to say something, maybe offer comfort, as futile as that attempt would be. “She was not the one to put tadpole into my brain. That was my sister.”

“Your sister?” Gale’s voice raised the octave. “Why would she do that?”

A smirk, a dark shadow of a smile, lips baring white teeth in a grimace what looks strained, forced upon.

“Because our father told her to,” a pause. “Our Father, Lord Bhaal.”

It quickly fell into dreadful silence then, no one knowing what to say, no one knowing what to believe in.

Wyll personally hadn't felt betrayed, shocked, yes, but not wronged.

He understood the heavy weight of a dark secret; he had one. Wyll has lived for seven long years with his lips sealed.

But Wyll would understand if the others would have different reaction. If anything, Nemo seemed to expect it.

Nemo tried to continue with the confession.

Yes, he was a bhaalspawn, but the kind of which no one saw before. He was a pure Bhaalspawn. There’s not a drop of mortal blood in him, not a drop of essence what is not of his father’s. He wasn’t born. He was made. And for the last thirty years he was the leader of the Church of Bhaal.

Thirty years. That gave Wyll a pause, and it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

“How old are you exactly?” Astarion, the resident old-timer of their ragtag bunch of misfits, inquired.

“Fifty,” came out an easy response. “I became the leader my Father wanted me to be at the ripe age of nineteen. It’s been an endless road of improvement since then, until...” A wild gesture around.

“I...I did not fail, you have to understand. I do not fail. It’s just...Father does not tolerate a straying thought. For the last thirty years I was careful with what I do and how I do it, careful to not bring his wrath on me. I was...probably the unconventional leader, I admit, but everything I did made the Church grow bigger, stronger, better. Everything but-“ he looked down. “I am not supposed to care, you see? About anything or anyone. I should only think of murder, of blood, of my Father’s goal.”

“But you care,” Karlach looked pained as she stepped forward. Carefully, as if approaching a wild beast, but surely still. “You care about us. I know, even if you try to downplay it. You care about things.”

Nemo took a shaky step back.

“I know,” came sounding worse the admittance than of his bloody legacy. How admitting you care could be worse than that? “But do you know when I started to care? Or when I realized I do, in fact, care?”

“When?”

“You will hate the next part.”

“I already hate every part of what you’ve said,” she let out a pained laugh. “How worse can it be?”

The bhaalspawn smiled the kind of smile what promised more disaster to come.

“Nine years ago,” he let out. “I was approached by the man named Enver Gortash. He had,” a movement to intercept whatever Karlach was about to say. “He had information about the Hall of Wonders,” a glance to Wyll. “You probably know of that, the disgraceful display of my brothers and sisters, put upon view like trophies. Well, I didn’t like that. And Gortash, he...offered the way in. A help, in kind.”

“Trust me when I say he would never offer any help just for the sake of it,” Karlach seethed. “He wanted something-“

“And he got it. That and more,” Nemo looked as if he was forcing himself to stay still, burning under the piercing stare of the Fury of Avernus. “We became allies. Did all sort of thing, the two of us. Planned, schemed. Broke into Methistar,” a proud little grin. “Stole the crown of Karsus.”

“You stole what?!” Gale, clearly familiar with the thing.

“-And put it on the Elder Brain,” oh fuck, Wyll didn’t like there it was leading. “Used the netherstones from the crown to control it. Started our own world domination plan.”

“And then your sister stabbed you.”

“And then my sister stabbed me. Because my father told her to. Because I started to care.”

“For what?” Karlach was hardly seen through the flames wrapping around her in waves. “For who?”

“We were perfect together,” Nemo stared straight ahead. “We were indestructible. We were meant to rule the world as the gods of new age. We were-“

“The name,” Karlach seethed. “I don’t want bloody details; just prove my worst fucking fears. Tell me the name.”

Nemo looked away. It was, perhaps, the first time he was admitting it aloud, or even at all.

The Pure Bhaalspawn was not supposed to care for the others.

“I didn’t want to kill Enver Gortash,” he let out, small and pained and weak. “I do not want to kill Enver Gortash. He is the only one...” he trailed off.

“Anyway, this is my crime, the one my Father punished me for. I care for the banite. I care. I fucking care, and I’m not supposed to. And he,” a quick glance at the Moonrise Towers on the horizon. “Is somewhere in these fucking towers.”

***

He did not have to kill the man, and Karlach didn’t get to kill him, because in the feat of reckless abandonment Lord Enver Gortash did something no one expected him to be capable of.

He saved Nemo’s life.

He ruined his own plans.

And everything changed.

Everything changed, and now they sneak across the streets, the wraiths in the night, criminals in their own city.

There’s a curfew, Wyll finds out. There was never a curfew.

Also there’s a siege on the city, brought by the forces of the army Ketheric Thorm has build and Absolute now uses.

There are posters on the streets claiming they’re enemies of the state. Wyll, his father, Nemo and Gortash. Four of their faces, painted in the likeness, printed out and put around the city Wyll calls his own.

And Florrick did it.

No, he shakes his head, Not Florrick, the Elder Brain what controls her, the tadpole what’s buried deep into her brain. Florrick would never do that, but she is locked somewhere deep in her own mind, behind the intricate web of psionic power Absolute possesses.

The Steel Watch is at her heed, used against their own creator, used by the Brain the same way it uses Florrick, the same way it uses Orin, the same way it uses anyone who doesn’t have the luxury of the astral prism and an unlikely illithid ally protecting them from within.

A mindflayer named Emperor, the one who seems to have some kind of a bad history with Gortash. If this is not the cherry on top of the overall disaster of their lives.

The world Wyll has known is burning around him as he watches, and the only hope of even getting out of this mess is the help of the criminal underworld of the Gates; the Ninefingers’ guild, the assassins Nemo claims would stay loyal to him, and Enver Gortash’s questionable contacts.

Somewhere in the city there’s a diabolist who will help them break into Hell, and at that point Wyll doesn’t even ask. He doesn’t trust Emperor, and Lae’zel demands Prince Orpheus to be released, so what choice do they truly have?

Somewhere in the city there’s a vampire lord planning to sacrifice seven thousand souls for his own selfish gain.

Somewhere in the city there’s a cult of Shar, hidden in the plain view.

Somewhere underground there’s a Temple of Bhaal, its torches alight, the screams of victims echoing in the halls.

Somewhere in the city where are refugees who managed to flood into the streets at the moment of confusion; somewhere in the streets there are Mol and Umi and the others, there are those of tiefling refugees who managed to survive against all odds.

Somewhere in this city where’s hope, and Wyll will be damned if he does not find it.

***

“Home sweet home,” Nemo smirks as they approach the building on the poor side of town. It seems to be the shoemaker’s shop, a small and unassuming building with the words ‘Flymm's Cobblers’ scratched on the plate near the front. “Didn’t expect this would be first place you’d want to visit.”

“Be quiet,” Gortash snaps back, more tense than Wyll would expect him to be. They are indeed a strange and suspicious group of adventures, with three of their faces put on every wall of the city with the world “reward” underneath. “We’re coming in, I’m taking what’s mine and we leave.”

“So no family reunion then?”

Gortash does not answer, instead working on the lock. Shadowheart looks around just in case, but the streets are empty, quiet. Abandoned.

“This curfew works in our favor,” she comments.

“This curfew is wrong,” Wyll argues.

“Would you two be quiet for a mere fucking moment?” the former lord hisses. “I am trying to do something here.”

“He is breaking into his own home,” Nemo comments helpfully.

“This is not my home and you know it.”

“And yet you still keep things here.”

“No one would think of looking here. Look at this place,” the man manages gesture around without breaking the hold on the lock. “Look at this excuse of a shop. I’m surprised they’re not run down by the debt collectors at the rate they’re going.”

“Wait a moment,” Shadowheart speaks. "You know these people?”

“They’re his-“

“They’re no one.”

The two of the gods’ chosen stare each other down. Nemo is the first to look away.

“Be it your way,” he murmurs. “But I think it’s dumb.”

“You think table manners are dumb.”

“Because they are!”

“Quiet,” Gortash hisses and pushes on the lockpick with the force the poor thing does not deserve. Somehow it works and the lock opens with a soft click. “Inside.”

“Who made you the boss?”

“Nemo, for the fuck’s sake, just once in your goddamn life-“

Shadowheart pushes them all inside and closes the door behind.

“There,” she comments plainly. “That’s better.”

The inside of the store is...quite insignificant, in lack of other, kinder words. The room to the storefront is small, ill-kept and rather unwelcoming. There are pairs of cheap shoes on display behind the counter; not badly-made, but not masterfully either.

Just a little poorly-maintained store in the Lower City, one of the many.

What Enver Gortash is doing here is a question. Nemo called it Gortash's home, but Nemo talks people in circles. His words should be put under scrutiny more often than not.

"Keep watch," the lord barks a command, already climbing the steps, and some part of Wyll wishes to whip the arrogant order off his lips, to remind him he is a lord no more. His fingers tingle with magic, Mizora's gift always ready to draw first blood.

That makes him pause.

Wyll is not that kind of a man and Enver Gortash will not turn him into one.

He resolves to respond with silence, locking gazes with visibly annoyed Shadowheart.

"I fail to see how Nemo finds it charming," she comments, observing the room around them, poorly lit up with the waning moon. "But again, he was raised in a cult."

You were raised in a cult, Wyll almost says, but manages to bit his tongue just in time. This is a dangerous topic.

"And so was I, I suppose," she continues, oblivious to his inner turmoil. "It's funny, I'd never thought Bhaal and Shar would be so alike; in their methods, if nothing else."

"All things evil tend to walk the same path," he offers tentatively, listening closely to the surroundings. So far things seem to be going smoothly. There's not a sound around, not as much as a creak of the stairs. The rooms above are silent, obvious to the intruders no doubt ravaging through things.

An echo of steps appears in the distance, and they crouch by the windows, peeking outside. A single steel watcher walks by, its steps mechanical and devoid of any life. A monstrosity of infernal iron, connected to the tadpole somewhere deep in the Foundry. Gortash told them that much after it became clear the Watchers are no longer his to command.

How they're going to defeat the Elder Brain in possession of one of netherstones is a mystery clouded in a failure.

"Look," Shadowheart murmurs, touching his shoulder. "Near the counter. Isn't that Gortash?"

And indeed it is him, or rather a very well-made portrait of him. It looks expensive and entirely out of place in the poor cobbler's store.

"That's weird," Wyll comments. "Should we investigate this place while our companions are busy?"

Shadowheart makes a face.

"I don't want to think what is it exactly they're busy with," she wrinkles her pretty nose. "Everything concerning these two is bad news."

Wyll can't not agree with that.

They swiftly move to get closer to the portrait, but before they reach it, the small door behind the corner creaks open.

They freeze.

"Who is here?" A shrill voice of an older woman demands and then the woman herself appears, dressed in a cheap nightgown with a shawl draping over her shoulders. "Who is it who dares to break into my house?"

There's something familiar in the crook of her nose, in the shape of her eyes; but Wyll can't for the life of his figure out what.

"Wyll," Shadowheart whispers, suddenly tense. "Can you feel it? This woman, she is..."

Wyll closes his eyes and concentrates on his surroundings, and indeed he can. The pull, not unlike the ones he has felt before, in the presence of so called True Souls.

"She has a tadpole," he whispers back. They could just...navigate conversation though their unusual link granted by tadpoles in their heads, but neither Wyll not Shadowheart like doing that. They have been stripped of personal space for long enough, he thinks, no need to break that little what remains of the inner walls.

"She does," Shadowheart agrees. "And it almost like...Like something fights it, tries to push the worm away, but to no avail."

"Her real mind perhaps, part of it not controlled by the tadpole?"

"Perhaps," she agrees. "I will try to reach out to it."

And, before he manages to stop her, she does.

The revelation it brings them both is worse than they could have expected.

***

Wyll pulls back at the sound of the steps above, interrupting the woman's inner pleas.

His mother. This woman, Sally Flymm, is Enver Gortash’s mother.

Worse, she sold her son - the spiteful ungrateful brat as she called him - to a warlock.

Worst of all, the tadpole in her brain is her son's doing.

The loud voice of said son interrupts his line of thoughts.

"We need to go," Gortash tells someone, irritation clear in his voice. "Let go of my forearm, if you may."

"But my boy," a man's voice replies. "You only just returned home, surely you will stay-"

"This is not my home," the lord cuts off sharply. "And I'm not staying. Come on," he nods at Wyll. "I have all we need, there's no reason to stay in this wretched place any longer."

"Enver," Sally Flymm, or rather the tadpole operating her body, speaks. "You won't rob us of your presence so quickly, will you? Please, I beg of you, at least stay for a tea. I can make some sweet to go by. Not a feast worthy of archduke, but-"

"No," he cuts off. Wyll can't help but notice the tension in his shoulders, the sharp edge in his voice. Enver Gortash has orchestrated this concerto, yet hates to participate.

For the first time since ever Wyll can't fault him for that. His father has his flaws and he did banish Wyll from his home - for a good reason -, but Ulder Ravengard would never do something like the cruel deed of the Flymms.

Nemo trails behind his companion, quiet for a change, eyes shrewd and thoughtful. Wyll knows Nemo is a noisy person and he bets the bhaalspawn reached for the man's mind the same way Shadowheart reached for Sally's. He wonders what Nemo found there.

They leave as quickly as they came, and just as quietly. The portrait on the wall doesn't leave Wyll's mind. It's expensive and well-made presence clashes with the environment, making him suspect how the portrait appeared there in the first place.

They sold him into slavery, he thinks, and his heart aches for the little boy Enver Flymm used to be. And in return he locked them inside their minds and made repeat the words of admiration.

Somehow it rings even worse than if Gortash had simply killed them. Somehow it tells more of the deep unhealed wound on the tyrant's soul.

It sure as hell does not excuse a thing, but at least gives some explanations to why.

"So," Nemo starts as they almost reach their hideout. Renting rooms in Elfsong was out of question, that with sparse recourses they have and being haunted by the law. By Elder Brain using the law for a tool, Wyll mentally corrects himself. So abandoned house close to the docks was pretty much their only option. That or the sewers, and Wyll really didn't want to camp in there. "Nice place. I like what you did to it."

There's an undeniable undertone to his words Gortash catches on almost immediately. He whips his head to the spawn, staring him down. Nemo only smiles languidly, clearly pleased with- himself? Situation they found themselves in? What Enver Gortash did to his parents?

The last one, Wyll decides. It would be the kind of thing Nemo appreciates.

Nemo seems to have a personal vendetta against parents all around the world, an echo of his existence as a child of a cruel god.

After a moment of scrutinizing inspection in which Gortash stared into Nemo's face as if looking for a trick and Nemo stared right back, relaxed under such pressing attention, the lord's posture slightly eases.

"Thank you," he lets out, turning away. "I knew you would get it."

There's strange, ominous kind of silence that falls between them.

Wyll can feel Nemo's mind buzz with elation and dark satisfaction. Not only he approves of Gortash's treatment of his parents, but the mere fact of said treatment makes him...not exactly happy, but cheerful, like a child who got the candy.

Wyll once again grieves for a boy Nemo never was, for a life created for a single, awful purpose.

He swears to break the chains tying his friend to the god of Murder.

***

"You need to break out of Bhaal's hold," Shadowheart states as they close the door to their hideout, Gortash quick to leave them behind and stroll for the room he claimed as his. Nemo turns around, curious.

"I do not exactly disagree with that statement," he hums. "But why bring it now?"

The woman reaches out, raising her hand, then letting it drop before it touches the spawn.

"It's just a thought I had," she replies, visibly closing off. Wyll sighs and wraps his arms each around one of his companions, feeling them both tense.

Children of the cults, playthings of the evil gods.

He will not leave them to it.

"Because you owe nothing to the evil who claims to be your god," he replies instead.

Nemo snorts.

"I'm pretty sure I owe him my own existence. Made of the god's flesh, remember?"

"Did you ask to be made?" that shuts the half-elf down. "That's what I thought. No child should bear the weight of their parent's expectations the way you do, not even a child of a god."

"Especially not a child of a god," Shadowheart chimes in. "And...I just had a curious thought. Parents sure are the first gods we ever worship, aren't they?"

Wyll contemplates it for a moment, but has to agree. Once upon a time Ulder Ravengard was his everything: his father, his hero, the symbol of everything Wyll strived to be.

Now he is but a tired warrior in a fight bigger than his life. Now he looks mortal.

This, Wyll thinks, is what growing up feels like.

"Are we going to address what we saw in that shop?" He asks quietly and is sure his friends understand the meaning.

"Depends," Nemo hums. "Do you want to get a bolt in the lungs? Kidney if you're lucky."

Shadowheart laughs, quietly as if she isn't sure she is allowed to.

Wyll wonders how hard it is to kill a goddess; Shar has it coming anyway, after the Shadow curse and all the grief it brought.

"I'll pass," he comments instead, hugging his friends closer.

"Oh, a group hug," Astarion's voice reaches them before the vampire does. "Why are you having a group hug without us?"

"Because they're evil," Karlach comments. "Very evil. No fun. No hugs for me either, it seems. Despite, you know, me being the best hugger in the world."

Shadowheart laughs again, brighter this time, her cheeks warm. Wyll doesn't miss the way cleric brightens up in the presence of their fiery friend.

"That's true," Nemo comments, snaking out of Wyll's embrace. "I indeed am the worst person you'll ever meet. Now, if you excuse me, my evil deeds await," and he goes for the stairs, slightly wary around Karlach as he passes her by.

Wyll hates it, he hates the tension what has grown out between them ever since Nemo's confession and even more - after Gortash unexpectedly joining in. It's like they're drawing lines in the sand, with Nemo being steadily on one side with Gortash, and them - on the other.

He had thought they have built alliances, what they've grown closer, became friends, but the blunt way Nemo keeps choosing tyrant over them puts it in question.

Astarion seems to gravitate to where Nemo is, almost subconsciously, Wyll isn't even sure the spawn knows he does it.

Gale is staying aside for now, not willing to pick a side and not ready to condemn anyone.

Jaheira, surprisingly, is much warmer to Nemo than anyone would expect her to be.

It has to be the way Nemo denies his father; the way the struggle is clear on his face as Lord Bhaal calls for his wayward son; the way half-elf demands answers for how to defeat him from the harper: "How did Abdel Adrian did it? How did he free himself from the Dread Lord's bloody hold? How, how, how? Help me defy him, help me deny him. He will not have me, I am his puppet no more."

Halsin stays on some distance from Nemo, taking a stance similar to Gale's. He doesn't exactly like Nemo, that much is clear, but he also cannot deny his part of breaking the Shadow curse. Why Nemo even helped with that is a question Wyll still battles with. He hopes it is because, despite everything, there is a part of his friend that seeks light, what wishes to do good. What it's not just the lack of former power what makes Nemo form alliances and rescue refugees. Wyll believes there's goodness in him.

He hopes he isn't wrong.

He also hopes he won't have to fight Nemo, what he will not cross the line, does not breach the point of no return.

There's an awful thought what the point of no return has been crossed long before that. Fifty years of servitude to Bhaal is a long time. A long reign of blood and terror.

"What deeds?" Karlach calls out, almost grasping Nemo by the wrist, the man dancing out of the touch at the last moment.

"I already said: evil."

"Nemo."

Nemo sighs.

"Fine, fine, I'll answer," he became less cooperative since Gortash. A lot of things changed for worse since that. "I want to try and track assassins operating through the city. Some of them should've kept their brains in their heads and know what's good for them."

"And what's good for them?" Wyll isn't sure he likes where it's going.

"Me, obviously. Not my dreadful father and definitely not Orin, tadpoled or not."

"We need to find Minsc before you decide to deal with your family business," Jaheira interferes, appearing as if out of the thin air.

"I know," half-elf nods. "I have already contacted some of Ninefingers' run-arounds. I believe we will be allowed to enter her little den, but can't promise she will cooperate."

Jaheira's eyebrows climb up.

"You two know each other?"

"We do," Nemo sighs. "We had a truce of sorts after our organizations clashed badly. Same sewers, you know. People would run into each other sooner or later."

"I find it hard to believe she would agree to a truce so easily."

"I didn't say it was easy. It was a pain in the ass, actually. And I'm pretty sure the truce doesn't stand anymore, Orin would ruin all my hard work the moment she had the chance."

"I can't believe you've been a cult leader for thirty years," Karlach comments. "What did you even do? No, don't say it, I know, e-"

"Evil things," Nemo replies, a shit-eating grin pulling the corners of his lips up.

Karlach sighs loudly and rather dramatically.

"There is more in the world than evil things, you know?"

"Hm," Nemo hums. "Let me think about it. I'm sure I've heard something about things other than evil, but can't exactly point out to where..."

"Alright, smartass, I give up."

"Already?" Another sharp smile. "That was-" words die on his lips out of sudden, along with the smile. It slides off as if poorly drawn picture being washed away. His muscles tense, a telltale of the pain to come.

Shit. Not again, not so soon.

"Nemo?" Karlach tries warily.

"Get the fucking chains," Nemo manages to croak. "I- his face contorts in a painful spasm. "-hate this par-" he chocks on his words, biting into his own tongue. A thin trail of blood appears on his chin.

"Hold on, darling," Astarion seems to be that particular kind of fool who does not fear Nemo even when he should be. Even then it's the sane thing to do. Instead he steps closer, hands reaching to Nemo's.

"No!" He bhaalspawn gasps. "Chains-"

Karlach rushes back into the room, and when did she leave? She drops a long chain over Nemo's shoulders and starts fixing the locks.

"I hate everything about it," Wyll comments as his hands already move to cast the spell. He does hate every part of it.

"Shh," Astarion, almost obvious to the ruckus around, cups Nemo's cheeks in his palms. "I got you."

"Get away from me," Nemo tries to order, his voice breaking into a roar at the end. "Astarion, please, just get away-" his body convulses as power beyond man's control takes a hold, breaking bones and tendrils alike. It never goes the full way, the transformation Bhaal inflicts on his son, but it's no less horrifying for that.

"What's up with you lot this time?" Gortash descends the steps in a hurried annoyance, brought back by the noise. He freezes midway at the sight. "Again? The last time was just-"

"Father doesn't exactly care for the timing," it has to be a sheer need to have the last word what pushes words through Nemo's lungs. He chocks on the air then, trashing in the chains holding him down. Shadowheart joins her spell to Wyll's, amplifying it, as Jaheira's vine creeps about the spawns body, locking it in it's hold.

There's not a shadow of a smug expression on Gortash's face. Instead there's a look of someone staring straight into the abyss and not being able to look away.

"Stop-" Nemo croaks. "Staring...Creep."

Astarion laughs, a shrill and pained sound it is.

"You have an awful taste in men," he comments, smoothing the creases on the bhaalspawn’s shirt.

"Astarion, get out of there," Jaheira commands. "He isn't safe to be around now."

"I know that," the spawn huffs in annoyance. And yet he moves nowhere, a hand circling in smooth motion over Nemo's heart now. Nemo tries to claw at him, but the vines and the chains hold him down. Then he snaps his teeth dangerously close to Astarion's face.

"Well, now," the elf comments, entirely unbothered. "We ask before we bite."

"Since...then?"

"Since we learned we're more than just rabid beasts driven by hunger. Now," Astarion glances back at Shadowheart already casting the spell. "Rest, darling."

The sleeping spell hits Nemo in the head and gets to work immediately. The bhaalspawn struggles, before succumbing to it and sliding to the floor in a heap of limbs.

Everyone breathes out.

"Well, then," Wyll concludes. "It's another night of watching over our friend. Who takes the first shift?"

#bg3 #gortash x durge #durgetash #dark urge: nemo #empty prayers au #hinted astarion x durge #a lot of thinking and reminiscing on Wyll's part. idk if I managed to capture his character but I Tried #i keep feeling this is very ooc but also do i care?#au: everything went differently after the Moonrise Towers #au: dark urge remembers everything #the mental gymnastics I have to perform in order to make Nemo the scum he is and also keep him friends with the team is...uh #A Lot #Unbetad unproofread idc #tadpole got to me #1000 voices in my head tell me I forgot how to write #1001 voice asks: of but who gives a fuck?#not the 1001th voice clearly

28 notes · View notes

leona-hawthorne · 2 months ago

Note

military!mattheo’s favorite things about reader orrr what it’s like before he goes away WINK WINK

⊹ ࣪ ˖ military!mattheo’s favorite things about you

warnings ; nsfw 18+, fem!reader, fluff, sexual content

₊⊹ navigation ; military!mattheo ; him and reader ; au’s ; m.list

there isn’t a single thing military!mattheo doesn’t love about you. not one. he’s tried to think of something before—some little habit that might get under his skin, some quirk that should annoy him—but he always comes up empty. especially when he’s been away for so long, when all he has are memories of you, replaying like a goddamn prayer in his head. it only makes him love everything more. every little thing.

because you’re perfect to him, made for him, and no matter how hardened he’s become, no matter how much blood stains his hands, you’re the one thing that’s still soft, still untouched by the ugliness of the world. here are some of his favorite things, just to name a few:

the way you always make sure he’s taken care of when he comes home.

when he steps through the door, dusty and tired, he’s greeted with a warm meal—something homey, something familiar. a plate of his favorite food, even if it’s just something simple, with a glass of whiskey on the side. and there’s always a hot bath waiting for him, the water perfectly steamy, the bubbles just right.

but it’s the little things you slip under his pillow that get him—your letter. handwritten. always waiting for him, like you’ve been waiting all along.

how you fold his uniform when he’s home.

you’re careful, gentle, like it’s something delicate and not something that’s seen blood. you smooth your hands over the fabric, over the creases and patches, your fingers lingering at the frayed edges like you can will them whole again. he watches you do it, watches the way your brows knit in concentration, and he thinks—if anything in this world is holy, it’s you.

the way you hold his dog tags between your fingers.

as though they haven’t stuck through war. like they don’t weigh heavy with all the things he’s done. you twist the chain around your knuckles absentmindedly, press the cool metal against your lips when you think he isn’t looking. but he sees. he always sees.

the way your fingers trace the veins in his forearms.

following the lines like a map, like you’re learning him by touch alone. you press down where his pulse is strongest, smiling a little when he shivers.

“still alive,” you murmur, half-teasing, and he grabs your hand and kisses your fingertips like a prayer.

how you kiss his scars.

not just the old, faded ones, but the fresh, angry ones too. the ugly ones. the ones that still ache when he moves a certain way. you never ask where they came from, never make him speak about things he’d rather forget. you just kiss them, soft and slow, like your lips alone can rewrite history.

the way you never let him leave without a kiss.

even if he’s already got his boots on, even if his bags are packed and waiting by the door, you pull him down and kiss him like you can anchor him here, like you can press your love into his skin so deep it’ll never leave him. he doesn’t know if you realize how much it wrecks him. how he carries the taste of you like a ghost, like a promise, like a reason to come back.

the little crease between your brows when you’re focused.

he sees it when you’re curled up with a book, when you’re doing something mindless but deep in thought—folding laundry, stirring tea, brushing your hair. sometimes, he watches you in the mirror, that soft little furrow between your eyes, and it makes something ache inside him.

so he kisses it, every time. presses his lips there and murmurs, “don’t think too much, baby.” like you don’t have to. like he’ll do all the thinking for you.

how you hum when you cook.

not a full song, just little bits and pieces, half-formed melodies that drift through the kitchen as you move. sometimes, it’s a tune he recognizes, sometimes it’s just soft nonsense, but it stays with him. when he’s away, crouched in some cold, godforsaken place, he swears he hears it. swears it keeps him warm.

how you run your fingers through his hair when you’re half-asleep.

slow, lazy, dragging your nails against his scalp in a way that makes his eyelids go heavy. he pretends not to need it, pretends he’s too tough for it, but you know better. and when he finally does fall asleep, his head in your lap, you kiss his temple and whisper, “i’ve got you.”

how you always know when he needs to be in control.

he doesn’t have to ask for it—you sense it, feel it before he does. the way you let him flip you onto your stomach, let him take you from behind like he’s claiming you, letting him hold you in place with one hand on your back while the other digs into your hips. you don’t complain when he gets rough, don’t beg him to slow down—you love it when he takes what he wants, when he uses you like his own personal playground.

you just let him fold you in half, pressing your knees to your chest as he drives into you. the breathless little whines you make, the way you blink up at him, glassy-eyed and dazed. he knows you could squirm, fight, tell him no, be gentle—but you don’t. you let him toss you around, pin you down, grip your waist hard enough to bruise. you want it, and fuck, if that doesn’t drive him crazy.

“missed you so much,” he pants against your throat, and you nod, gasping, “missed you too, missed you so bad.” it does something to him. makes him want to keep you like this forever, pretty and pliant and his.

how you taste when he finally presses his lips to your cunt after a long deployment.

like honey and desperation, soft and sweet but with a hint of something darker. he can’t help but moan into you when you pull him closer, when you tug at his hair, pushing him deeper. you beg him to take his time, but he’s fucking starving, needs to devour every inch of you until you’re trembling and crying out his name.

the way you sound when he’s got you beneath him.

when he’s stretching you open, murmuring, “easy, baby, let me in.” the little whimper that catches in your throat when he bottoms out. the way your fingers clutch at his wrists, your nails digging into his skin, like you’re barely holding on. he loves that. he loves ruining you.

the way your nails leave marks on his back.

long angry red lines and deep crescent shapes from where your fingers dug into his skin, desperate for something to hold onto. he never tells you, but he loves it. loves the way it stings when he runs his hand over the scratches later, feeling the indentations like little imprints of you. it’s like you’ve marked him, branded him, and it gets him hard every time he so much as notices them in the mirror.

the way you bite him when you cum.

sometimes, it’s nothing too hard, nothing painful—just a little scrape of teeth against his shoulder, his neck, his jaw. sometimes, it’s straight up animalistic, going deep enough to leave marks. you bury your face in his throat, gasping against his skin as you tremble in his arms. and it makes him fucking feral. makes him rut into you harder, chasing after that feeling, after the little please that falls from your lips when it’s too much but you still want more.

the simple feeling of you beneath him.

wet and warm, your legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you slow, each movement deep and deliberate. he never wants to rush these moments—wants to savor how you squeeze around him, how you moan when he presses deeper, closer, until you’re clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

how you always cry a little when you’re cumming.

not sobbing, not loud, just quiet little tears slipping down your cheeks as you tremble beneath him. he brushes them away with his thumbs, licks them up, shushing you, kissing you, whispering how good you are, how sweet. he tells you he loves you then, like it’s a confession, like it’s something fragile and sacred. and you always say it back. always.

how fucked-out and pretty you look when he's done with you.

glossy eyes, swollen lips, breath coming in short little gasps. you always reach for him after, even when you're boneless, even when you can barely move. you curl into his chest, soft and sleepy, and he holds you like you're the only thing in the world worth holding.

this was fun to write, i wanna do more of these lists

#military!mattheo #mattheo riddle #slytherin boys #harry potter #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle headcanon #mattheo riddle smut #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin #mattheo riddle blurb #mattheo riddle fluff #— 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐬 ༯ #— 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ༯

594 notes · View notes

user-needs-new-hyperfixation · 11 months ago

Text

You know how we joke about the array being like a group chat or social media? Well imagine if prayers went into a sort of heavenly email inbox. And when Xie Lian ascends for the third time, he expects his to be empty aside from the occasional spam from someone trying to schmooze up to every god they can think of, or the sadder chain emails from people desperate for help from anywhere.

Instead, he opens it and finds thousands upon thousands of prayers dating back throughout the entirety of his banishment, all from the same untraceable source. He opens random ones. Some are sweet little things, "Your Highness, wherever you are tonight, I hope you sleep well."

Others are more complex, "Your Highness, I find myself in a position where I must either seize power myself or risk it falling into other, more wicked hands. My own hands will inevitably be dirtied by wielding that power, but would they not be just as tainted if I did nothing, and let worse things happen? I know what I will choose, but I still wonder what you would do in my place."

Others still make him blush tomato red up to the tops of his ears, trailing babble still imbued with frantic eroticism and clearly never meant to actually reach him, cutting in and out like a poorly tuned radio as the devotee tries to keep thoughts from becoming prayers, panted strings of "Your Highness, Your Highness, please please please..."

The prayers date back to a few years after his second banishment, which makes sense because his inbox had been wiped when he was banished. He's surprised it's been allowed to gather all of this since: he supposes it's just that no one has even thought to notice. The centuries the prayers span makes it clear they do not come from a human, which is confusing and intriguing in equal measure.

And then, early on, he finds one that makes his heart stop and then take off again at a gallop.

"None of them are quite right, Your Highness. If I carve a thousand, ten thousand, will I eventually get it right? Will I ever be able to capture the kindness and the ferocity you radiate in something as base and cold as stone? I'll keep trying forever, or until I can see you again in the flesh. Your Highness has a believer here who still offers worship."

And that is how Xie Lian realizes that Wu Ming still exists.

(Insert long canon-divergent AU I'm too lazy to write here. I think there needs to be some kooky misunderstandings. Xie Lian is now aware that Wu Ming is out there and loves him and is looking for him and is so distracted by his determination to find him that it takes him 600k words of stubbornly denying his growing affection for Hua Cheng before he finally realizes Hua Cheng IS Wu Ming and has been desperately trying to court him for several volumes.)

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #hualian #fic-ish

1K notes · View notes

lordprettyflackotara · 9 months ago

Text

noise || ticci toby x maid!reader (𝓕𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝓵𝔂pasta au)

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: toby & reader are both switches, toby’s a lil freaky fuck, face fucking, biting, choking, marking, squirting, humiliation fr

If you had been asked what you thought creeps did for fun, you would’ve had a few guesses. Murdering sprees, torture, potential cannibalism. What you would’ve not guessed was partying.

It was a surprise to you that the creeps did in fact like to party, with outside mansion residents as well. Immortal killers of all shapes and sizes were making their way into the mansion, eyeing you like you were candy. Slenderman had made it very clear you were off limits as the mansions official maid, but that didn’t stop the stares or awkward conversations you were forced into. You realized many of them hadn’t interacted with a regular human in so long they forgot social manners. The realization hit you when Laughing Jack asked if you wanted a piece of his lollipop.

Nevertheless you were still having fun, despite cleaning up after everyone constantly. The music was loud and obnoxious, the weed smell burning your nostrils so much you were sure your nose hairs were fried. Thankfully Slender opted to let you wear a more appropriate attire, fearful the guest would go feral at the sight of a helpless human girl with her ass out. A pencil skirt and button up weren’t your forte, but damn did it beat the flimsy halloween costume you wore everyday. You threw some empty red solo cups in a trash bag, many of the creeps in a circle on the floor.

“Hey Y/n! Come spin this shit!”

You looked over in surprise, Jeff’s rough voice one you’d recognize anywhere. It looked like an old fashioned game of spin the bottle. “Uh i’m not sure-” You started to protest, Ben appearing behind you. You jumped in surprise as he grabbed your shoulders, floating behind you shamelessly. “Dont be shy. Besides, it’s seven minutes in heaven, you’ll get some privacy,” He cooed mockingly, pushing you towards the circle. Uncertainly you placed one foot in front of the other, peer pressure obligating you to act cool with this. “Ben’s right. Besides, you don’t exactly have much of a choice maid,” Jeff snickered, taking a swig of his beer bottle.

Begrudgingly you lowered yourself onto your knees, joining the circle. You sat in between Eyeless Jack and Jane the killer, both of whom looked at you like you were a fresh pile of meat. Unsurely you grabbed the bottle in the middle of the circle, spinning it. Glancing around you were surprised to see Masky and Hoodie partaking in the silly game, the two nearly mirroring each other with the way they smoked their cigarettes. Your gaze then landed on the bottle, silently praying you’d get someone from the mansion, not a guest. Your prayers seemed to be answered once the other end of the bottle landed on Toby.

Ticci Toby, a scrawny unhinged killer who twitched everytime he looked at you. He seemed to be the closest to your age, despite being the youngest mansion resident besides maybe Ben. It was hard to tell how old anyone was, the creeps not aging after age twenty five. Jeff chuckled darkly at the match, guiding you both to follow him. “Alright lovebirds, into the closet you go!” He sang cheerfully. Toby stepped inside first, red led lights decorating the top of the closet. You nervously trailed behind him, Jeff grinning mischievously as he started a timer. “Oh and Toby make sure she comes out alive, boss will be pretty mad if she doesn’t. Have fun!” Jeff advised, before slamming and locking the closet door. Although it was dim inside of the closet, it wasn’t hard to see Toby was visibly nervous.

“We d-don’t have to d-d-do anything. Jeff’s just an asshole,” Toby sputtered. His neck twitched after he spoke, his hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. You both leaned on opposite sides of the closet, only a couple of feet dividing you from touching. You cleared your throat, boldly taking a step forward. It had been a stressful week, your stress pent up and taking a toll on your body. “Have you ever done anything with a girl before?” You asked. Toby’s eyes widened at your question, pushing his goggles further back on his head. “Yes i-it’s just been a long t-t-time,” He answered. You tilted your head to the side curiously, the young brunette boy reluctant to elaborate. “My ex is C-Clockwork,” He explained. For once he was grateful at the red lights in the closet, they concealed the blush that dashed across his cheeks.

You knew who Clockwork was, her presence not as frequent as you would’ve liked. It was easier being around the female mansion residents rather than the males. “Oh I see,” You mused. You grabbed the collar of his hoodie, attempting to straighten it out. “I’d l-l-love to make her jealous,” Toby admitted. A devious grin spread across your lips, your hands sliding down his chest. “Why don’t we do that then?” You asked. You grabbed handfuls of his hoodie, dragging him over to you. Your lips met his, his kisses sloppy and uncoordinated. He grabbed your waist harshly, causing you to groan in his mouth. His lips were eager and desperate, his cock quickly hardening in his pants. “M-move your h-h-hair,” Toby ordered softly. You strayed away from his lips, brushing your hair behind your neck. His lips were quick to assault your neck, sucking harshly at the sensitive skin. You couldn’t control the whimpers that left your lips, his tongue lapping at the hickies he was sucking.

You let out a gasp as his teeth sank into your skin, causing you to whine under him. He pressed you flat against the wall, your back flat against the wood. “Y-you t-t-think i’m going to l-l-let you leave unmarked? Boy are you d-dumb,” Toby chuckled darkly, his hands now slithering to the mounds of your ass. He roughly grabbed the flesh, his teeth sinking into your neck once more. The pain was almost nauseating, thin beads of blood forming around the bite mark. The brunette was quick to lap at the wound, relishing in the taste of your metallic blood. Once he released his hold you pushed him back, his back crashing into the opposite wall. You assertively grabbed his throat, tilting his neck to the side. As harshly as you could you sucked at his skin, the boy beneath you having a hard time restraining his cock in his jeans. You sucked and lapped at his neck, hickies and bruises forming over his greyish skin.

“Y-you can t-t-try to hurt-t me all you want. I don’t feel pain,” Toby laughed. You pulled back from his neck, eyes wide. He found the fear in your blown pupils arousing, his hand finding your cheek. “We d-d-don’t have a lot of time, s-stay still for me,” He commanded. You watched as he undid his belt, pulling down his pants and boxers in one shift motion. You tried to follow his order, his slender hands grabbing you and flipping you upside down. You gasped as he held your waist, your body weight as light as a feather to him. You felt the blood rushing to your head, his hard cock dripping precum dead center in front of your face. “G-get to sucking i-i-if you want to cum,” Toby ordered. Your hair hung in the air underneath you, your body tense as he held you upside down. You felt him shove your pencil skirt ‘down’ and your panties to the side, his bandaged fingers playing with your slick.

“So f-fuckin wet. F-filthy fuck,” Toby commented, bringing his mouth to your clit. You groaned as you stroked his cock, bringing it to your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down on his cock, licking the underside of his shaft as he wrapped his lips around your clit. Your nails dug into his thighs for support, the brunette holding you blissfully unaware of how hard you were truly holding onto him. You could feel yourself becoming dizzy as you sucked his cock, Toby’s fingers dipping into your entrance. You whined around his shaft, the vibrations around his length only making him harder. He released your clit with a pop, his fingers now abusing your g spot. “F-fuckin whore. D-don’t pass out o-o-on me,” Toby barked. Your eyes were screwed shut as you shoved yourself further down his length, his tip brushing against the back of your throat.

His fingers were merciless, his tongue lapping at your folds like a starved man. You briefly disconnected yourself from his cock, a string of saliva still connecting you to his tip.

“Two minutes left!”

Jeff’s mocking voice notified you both outside of the closet door. Toby frowned, flipping you over and forcing you onto your knees. You were dizzy and disoriented as he shoved his cock into your mouth. You gagged as he began to fuck your throat, determined to cum. “C-come on s-slut. The sooner y-y-you make me cum the sooner I m-m-make you squirt,” Toby barked. You whole heartedly sucked his cock, your jaw going slack as he abused your throat. You ignored your desperation for oxygen as well as the tears streaming down your face, determined to make Toby cum. His fingers were roughly lodged in your hair, yanking at it and forcing you to take all of him. “F-fucking s-s-shit,” Toby grunted. He held you down to the base of his cock, your nose buried in his bush as he came down your throat. You struggled to swallow his seed, his warm cum spilling down your throat.

“Swallow it fucking a-all or I swear I-I-I make you lick it off of the ground,” Toby growled. You managed to blink your eyes open, through the tears looking up at the brunette with glassy eyes. You swallowed every drop of cum he could produce, Toby only pulling out when he felt satisfied. He grabbed you by your throat, fingers wrapped tightly around your flesh. He shoved you against the closest wall, his hand digging up your skirt. You whimpered as he abruptly shoved two fingers inside of you, using his thumb to circle your clit. He quickly curled them, abusing your g spot as quickly as he pleased. “Y-you’re a s-s-sick fuck. Enjoying killers u-using you like a s-s-sex doll,” Toby growled. His eyes were blown with lust, but sparkled with something much more sinister. His fingers clamped over your throat tighter, restricting your airway. “G-gonna talk to b-b-boss about making a g-g-glory hole just for you. Since-e that’s all you’re good for,” He purred.

It sickened you just how much his words sent waves of pleasure down to your core. You grabbed his wrist, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as the cord inside of your stomach tightened. “B-bet you’ve never squirted b-b-before, huh?” Toby asked mockingly, tilting his head to the side. You shook your head no, his circles around your clit speeding up dangerously quickly. “Well you’re going to for me. N-now fucking cum,” Toby growled. You felt an unfamiliar feeling wash over you, one you hadn’t felt before. You gripped his wrist as you squirted, your juices soaking the carpet below as well as your skirt. You blushed as your vision went hazy, your head spinning. You hardly felt like you could stand, Toby holding you upright. Through spotty vision you watched the brunette suck his fingers, cleaning off your juices.

“You look like s-shit. Take this,” He said, handing you his hoodie. It smelled like dirt and too much cologne, but you weakly shoved it on. You pulled down your wet skirt, trying to look semi decent. Toby fixed his pants and boxers, relooping his belt. Just in time too, Jeff then opening the closet door. Ooo’s and awe’s spread across the room, your face as red as it could get. Jeff patted Toby on the back, congratulating him. You nervously left the circle, resuming your task of collecting trash. You felt a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of your head, causing you to look behind you. The infamous Eyeless Jack was shamelessly staring at you, wondering if he could make you make more noise than Toby could.

820 notes · View notes

youarewhatyoulove-blog · 1 year ago

Text

the violence of the dog days.

pairing: jeongguk x reader

summary: In the midst of summertime, after a week of neglect, your boyfriend has a way of making you feel even more heated.

you're hot and horny for jeongguk.

rating: mature🔞 (minors please dni)

genre: non-idol au, college au, established relationship, smut, fluff, pwp

word count: 9.2k words of unadulterated smut.

warnings: reader and jeongguk are absolute horny simps for each other, but they're also so inlove, soft boyfriend jeongguk (because yes that is a warning), jeongguk is a law student (oof), overuse of the petname 'baby', reader hasn't been getting it seven days a week😔, switch jeongguk (kinda), hair pulling, hickeys, making out, thigh riding, nipple play (jeongguk is proudly a boob guy), religious imagery because jeongguk worships reader like a god, usage of the words 'c*nt' and 'p*ssy' (because i know some people are iffy about that), cunnilingus (f-receiving), jeongguk is low-key a sadist y'all (in his fantasies), a bit of dom/sub dynamics, prayers for reader because jeongguk's got that big d🙏🏽, unprotected sex, doggy style, degradation, a teeny weeny bit of overstimulation, creampie - like this is just pure smut guys 😬, possessive sex, choking, aftercare, reader kinda hints at having attachment issues (but don't we all).

author's note: 1. please ignore any typos :). of course, i'd appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism. but if you find yourself uncomfortable by any of the themes in this fic, there's no need for hate, just kindly move on. 2. also, this is a lot longer and softer than i intended. this fic was supposed to be purely hard smut, but i fell in love with the characters and their relationship, and some aspects of the story just turned out sickeningly sweet - so proceed with caution.

You're an hour into tossing and turning when you can't take it anymore.

The heat.

With June coming to a close end, the surviving remnants of summer creep in through your bedroom window with barely a whisper of a breeze. It clings to every part of your skin, that ever-lingering humidity thickening the air, and wraps itself around your body like a cloak. For some reason, you thought that scrolling aimlessly through the various apps on your phone would help distract your mind from the muggy weather or maybe, by some miracle, even lull you to sleep.

But it hasn’t—of course it hasn't. Because summer is here to stay, burrowing deep within your bones and making a home there. Each passing minute is a testament to that, insomnia creeping up your spine with ill intent and wriggling into every cranny of your mind until you feel like you're losing it.

Perhaps you are, you think.

Because when the desk fan a few feet away suddenly stops whirring and the fumbling grasp you had on sleep slips from your reach like a fleeting dream in the morning light as a result of it—drifting further and further away—you hit your breaking point. The lack of white noise and cool air blowing your way mounts your frustration into place. It hangs there in the ether like a looming shadow but, unlike your slumber, has no plans of deserting you.

With an annoyed huff, you drop your phone back onto the nightstand for the umpteenth time and kick your leg out from under the duvet.

“Fuck.” You sigh, rolling onto your back.

A thin sheen of sweat lingers on the surface of your skin, causing the sheets to stick uncomfortably to every part of your body. You spread your limbs out like a starfish in some futile attempt to cool them down, hoping that you'll catch a draft, but the action only reminds you of how largely cavernous your bed feels right now.

The space beside you is missing a particular doe-eyed boy and, as your hand brushes over the empty spot, you realize that it's not so much the seasonal heat that's making you feel weirdly restless, but rather Jeongguk's absence. In an inconveniently clingy way, you need his body settled next to you at night, your legs and arms a tangled mess beneath the blankets.

You don't know why that is. Why sleep eludes you like a compass without direction, unable to find its way to you when Jeongguk isn't near. But you don't mull over it or give the thought a foothold to stand amongst the endless anxieties already in your head.

All you know is that cuddling up with him in the evening is perhaps one of your favourite pastimes. Akin to a baby with it's bottle, falling asleep in his embrace is something you've grown incredibly used to, maybe even a little dependent on—like a security blanket or night-light—and there's nothing you can do about it.

Sneaking a glance towards the dim light spilling in from beneath the bedroom door, you picture Jeongguk on the other side. Chances are, he’s still where you last left him. Sitting cross-legged on the couch with a laptop balancing carefully on his lap, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration, as he catches up on coursework.

You worry your lip, the thought of your boyfriend causing your mind to wander...

He looked so good tonight; adorned in a pair of grey sweats and a baggy t-shirt with his tattoos fully exposed. His dark hair was strewn across his forehead, falling into his eyes in a way that made your fingers itch.

You, on the other hand, are sporting an old, oversized shirt you opted to steal from Jeongguk's wardrobe to combat the high temperatures, but it hasn't helped much. The heat still loiters, creeping up the back of your neck and imbuing your cheeks with warmth.

It makes you long for winter, for the bitter nip of frosty ice and pelting rain, and the desire for that inadvertently reminds you of that fucking silver lip ring Jeongguk had gotten recently.

The memory of its cold, metal sting against your lips as he kissed you goodnight sends a distant, carnal hum coursing throughout your veins. It's probably tugged anxiously between his teeth right now whilst he types away, eyes deadset on the screen before him, and the image of that sends you reeling. Makes your skin flush further, yearning to feel its steel bite again.

For some reason, it propels you into motion, skin prickling as you throw your legs over the edge of the mattress without a second thought.

The last thing you want to do is bother his progress or interrupt his work, but selfishly, you persist. That gnawing feeling deep within your chest is too hard to ignore, heart beating voraciously with each step you take because it longs to be satiated by Jeongguk's presence. Your boyfriend is only one room over, just four thin walls separating the two of you, yet still—you miss him, want him.

Treading lightly, you hear the persistent click-clack of his keyboard and the muffled sound of typing only grows louder as you step out into the hallway. The wooden flooring is frigid beneath your feet, a sensation you immediately relish in as soon as the fiery crawl of discomfort across your skin begins to lessen. Your shirt—or more precisely, Jeongguk’s shirt—falls flat from your waist, landing a few inches above your knees, as you wander further into the apartment.

Just as you’d predicted, Jeongguk is all pretzelled up on the sofa, too focused on his work to hear you enter. A few empty bottles of soju and convenience store snacks litter the coffee table, serving as silent witnesses to the length of time he's been out here. He must have dimmed the lights as well because a faint, warm glow shrouds every facet of the room, making him look particularly soft at this hour.

You walk up behind him, wrapping your arms around the length of his shoulders as you bend over the couch's headrest to envelop him in a hug. ”Hey,” You hum softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Jeongguk startles slightly at the contact, shaken from his deep concentration as he angles his head to look up at you. “Shit, baby. You scared me.” He breathes, voice rough from disuse. It rumbles through you like a distant thunderstorm, body vibrating with electricity.

“Sorry,” You murmur, glancing at the assignment he's been working on and tiny pangs of guilt gradually trickle into your stomach. “I didn't mean to disturb you, but-”

“You're not disturbing me.” Jeongguk instantly reassures, scanning your face with a knowing look. “Can’t sleep?” He asks and you nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The scent of his body wash immediately encompasses you like a warm embrace, wild pinewood and bergamot invading your senses.

“I thought you’d be in bed by now.” You mumble against his skin, unable to hide the pout in your voice.

Jeongguk frowns, eyes flickering to the time at the bottom of his laptop screen.

Shit, he hadn’t even noticed how late it’s gotten, the hours skulking along the cusp of a new day. He should probably be turning in for the night, head to bed and worry about this project tomorrow, but he’d rather not postpone his responsibilities. Not when you’re staying over the weekend and he could be spending that time with you instead.

“I know.” Jeongguk responds, hand coming up to intertwine with yours. “I’ll be there soon, okay?” He promises, bringing your knuckles to his lips. The featherlight kiss he presses there soothes you like a curative balm.

“Okay,” You relent, untangling yourself from his body. “But, can I stay here for a bit? It’s too hot in there.” You half lie, gesturing towards the bedroom while simultaneously walking over to the kitchen only a few feet away.

“Yeah, of course.” He murmurs, eyes following your movements.

“Thanks, Kook.” You smile, sparing him a glance over your shoulder as your eyes sparkle with mirth. “By the way, your fan broke down again.”

“Again?” He laments, eyebrows furrowed together whilst he runs a disgruntled hand through his hair. “I seriously need to get that old thing repaired or maybe even replaced.” He grumbles to himself, before a guilty afterthought occurs at the sight of you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby. No wonder you couldn't sleep.”

You don't tell him that it's not so much the heat keeping you awake but, more so, him.

“No, don't worry about it.” You settle on instead, trying to dispel his concerns. “It's not your fault.”

This isn't the first time that Jeongguk’s fan has given him problems. He's had the thing since high school; so it’s no surprise that the motor tends to give in every now and then, running a little too hot. He’s been meaning to get the issue sorted, but hasn’t really found the time to do that these days.

“Plus, I'd much rather be out here with you.” You add.

Jeongguk smiles at you so sweetly then, dimples making an appearance, and your body flushes all over, burning once again.

God, what is wrong with you tonight?

You need to calm down, cool down. At this rate, you feel like an overheating engine, bound to crash in on yourself and combust.

Grabbing a glass of ice water from the fridge dispenser, you rein yourself in, distracting your mind with conversation. “I promise not to be a bother though, like you won't even notice I'm here.” You say, before chugging the cold liquid down on the spot, completely ignorant to the way that Jeongguk drinks you in.

A welcome sight is what you are, so cute tonight with your hair all mussed, practically drowning in his shirt. “You’re never a bother.” He responds, mouth going dry when you lean back to empty the glass. The action causes your shirt to hike up, the creamy expanse of your thighs further exposed to his hungry eyes.

He feels his dick stir at the sight.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be?” You ask, wiping your lips with the back of your palm, as you place your cup in the sink and shuffle over towards your boyfriend.

“Uhh…” Jeongguk clears his throat, broken out of his stupor. He turns back to face his laptop, skimming the Word document that's open before him when he feels you nestle into his side a second later. Automatically, he brings a hand down to rest against your leg.

“I’m not sure,” He grumbles, thumb rubbing soothing circles against your bare thigh. The absent-minded touch ignites something in you, skin blazing at the contact, and you try your best to suppress the goosebumps that rise in Jeongguk’s wake. “Maybe another hour or so?” He guesses.

“Oh.” You mumble and, although you fight the disappointed curl of your lips, Jeongguk doesn’t miss the deflated look on your face.

“I’m sorry,” He squeezes your thigh apologetically, frown overtaking his pretty features. “I know it’s been a while since we spent time together.”

A week exactly, you note, but ultimately keep that detail to yourself. After all, neither one of you is to blame for being so busy, constantly caught between work and university.

You think that's maybe the reason you're feeling so needy tonight, body set ablaze by every minor look and touch from your boyfriend. In a way, you're feeling a little neglected since your relationship’s taken the backseat, not by choice but by consequence, and you don’t know how to deal with it.

“It's fine.” You shrug. "It's not like we can help it.”

You try to be nonchalant about the matter, injecting the slightest hint of indifference into your tone, but Jeongguk sees right through you.

He always does.

“Come here.” He says suddenly, voice soft as he shifts his laptop onto the coffee table.

You look up at him, confusion clear on your face.

“What?” You blink, but your question falls on deaf ears because Jeongguk merely uncrosses his legs and pats his lap.

“Come here,” He then repeats and reaches for your waist.

You're uncertain for the briefest of moments, eyeing Jeongguk suspiciously, before you ultimately give in like malleable clay in his soft hands, allowing him to pull you onto his lap with ease. “I've been working for hours.” He grumps once you're comfortably straddling his waist, hands resting on either side of your hips. “Hardly seen you since you got here.”

You hum, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in thought. It's no secret that you've been spending a lot more time at Jeongguk's place in lieu of your ratty little dorm room. You felt bad about it at first, feeling as though you were invading his space and overstaying your welcome. But your boyfriend couldn't be happier about it. He rather likes the idea of your lives interlocking, melding together as if they were puzzle pieces falling into place. He likes that when he's working, like on nights like this, that you're just on the opposite side of the door, not one phone call or car ride away.

He likes that you're his and he is, equally as much, yours.

“I wanted to leave you to your work.” You explain, curling your arms around his neck. Your fingers absentmindedly play with the ends of his hair that have grown out and the light touch only brings about the memory of how much he has missed you these past few days.

“Well, it's about time I take a break, don't you think?” Jeongguk muses and you become hyper-aware of the way his fingers brush up your spine. “Give my girl some attention…” He trails on, eyes flickering to your lips.

You practically preen at the idea, smiling shyly as you lean into his touch. “I wouldn't object to that.” Your heart patters in your chest, beating wildly at the mere sight of Jeongguk. At the thought of him finally touching you, kissing you, quenching your thirst after this week-long drought. “I've missed you.”

Jeongguk chuckles faintly. “Me too, baby.” He murmurs, perching his head upwards to press his lips against yours.

The kiss is gentle, chaste, his plush lips feeling so featherlight against yours. You almost imagine they were never there to begin with because Jeongguk pulls away before you can truly savour the taste of them.

“You know, you look so pretty in my clothes.” He begins, large hand spreading lazily around your left hip and up your back. “Kinda makes me want to wreck you.”

“You already wreck me.” You breathe without missing a beat.

“Yeah?” Jeongguk rasps, his voice low and a little dark. It sends a thrill straight up your spine.

You nod in response, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks. “No one makes me feel the way you do.” You admit, eyes flitting across his face. It's an unwavering truth—one that simultaneously scares and excites you in this quiet dead of night.

“Can I kiss you again?” The words come out as a breathy whisper; as if you've been holding on to them for too long, as if they're the oxygen you so desperately need to breathe, and Jeongguk tilts his head, bewildered frown on his face.

“How is that even a question.” He gripes, slanting his head in a means to meet your mouth halfway, but you have another idea.

You press into him instead, leaning forward, and set out to peck lovingly along the curvature of Jeongguk’s jawline. He huffs in amusement, endeared by the way you take control. Because, although he’s usually the dominant one in the bedroom, he doesn't mind when you take charge like this. In fact, he's grown to love it. Loves the way you come into your own, toying and teasing with him, until your own actions cause you to grow desperate.

It's one of his greater weaknesses, his Achilles heel, and right now, you want nothing more than to expose it. Unveil a certain side of him. The one that'll see how far you can push before he starts to push back. The one that'll give in and take you right here on this couch after he's entertained your antics for long enough and you finally beg him to fuck you.

Your body practically hums at the thought.

You map out his skin, lips brushing against the surface like you're exploring a new land. Every movement careful, every touch claiming what's yours. And it almost goes to your head—how quickly Jeongguk submits to your mouth’s assault, his body relaxing into the couch like he's letting you have your way with him.

Jeongguk doesn't tell you that he is. That your lips are a holy grail he'd happily yield to.

When your teeth graze lightly at a particular soft spot below his ear, he lets out a small groan, eyes falling closed at the sensation. You feel the sound roll through you, the ache between your legs becoming hard to ignore when you think about the fact that you've roused that melody from his mouth.

It spurs you on, makes you want to hear it again and again. You want to paint the entire column of his neck red and then watch your confession of love fade to a bruised purple in the weeks to come. You want to rediscover all the ways that you can make Jeongguk sing, and the way your body dances to his tune in turn. Your lips lap him up, kisses becoming indelicate with desperation, teeth nipping with intent along his upper jaw, tongue tracing over the skin before you repeat all these gestures twicefold.

You can feel yourself growing wet, relish in the way that Jeongguk's hands tighten around your form. “Shit,” He mumbles and your body crows. Without pause, you shift against his lap and move to the neglected side of his neck, targeting the skin there. You can feel him getting hard beneath you, your core situated right above his growing erection, and it causes a shiver to run down your spine.

You plant a few messy kisses against his throat, nibbling vehemently, but then Jeongguk tuts and pries his eyes open before you have the opportunity to really sink your teeth into him.

“Baby,” He warns, curling a hand into your hair to form a makeshift ponytail. “No marks. I've got a presentation on Monday.” He says and pulls you back by an inch. His movements are somewhat hesitant, voice rough, like he's not entirely sure he truly wants you to stop.

But he has to. He can't afford to show up to class on Monday and present the most important project of his life with hickeys all over his neck.

“Next time.” He promises, but you consider outright ignoring him for a second, even though it's nonsensical, like some twisted form of punishment for a week of neglect.

But it’s Jeongguk—Jeongguk who’s been extra stressed lately about completing his degree. Jeongguk who’s carving time out of working on his big assignment right now—one which, not only counts forty percent of his grade, but could also earn him an internship at one of the top law firms in Seoul if he's lucky enough—all to pay special attention to you.

So, “Fine.” You give in, albeit a little petulantly, and brace your hands against his chest, face feeling flushed. “I’m sorry. I just wanna be close to you is all.”

“I know. Me too.” He rasps, grip on your hair loosening a touch, but not completely. “We don't have to stop though, just don't mark me up.” He explains, free hand rubbing up and down your thigh.

“Okay,” You slide your palms up his chest, feeling the toned muscles tense beneath your touch. “I really love you, you know?”

Jeongguk's eyes soften, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face. “I know,” He hums, tugging at your hair in a way that makes your scalp tingle. “But I don't think it comes close to how much I love you.” He rasps, using his grip as leverage to pull your head backwards until the delicate skin of your throat is exposed. “It's incomparable.” He murmurs, placing a single kiss on the side of your mouth before he travels south, lips peppering across your jawline.

You shiver, hands twisting into the thick material of Jeongguk's t-shirt. You want to tell him that it's not a competition, that you'd love him until the sun stops rising and, even if this one week of distance had been more, you know that he feels the same.

But the heavy palpitations in your chest causes the words to dissolve on your tongue because Jeongguk pulls the collar of your shirt to the side a second later, exposing more of your skin, before he traces a path along your décolletage. He's touching you like a starved man, mouth just as desperate and feverish as you’re starting to feel.

A stuttered gasp escapes your lips, your hands moving upwards, unsure of where to be, when he nips at a particularly sensitive spot. You settle them on his shoulders.

“Jeongguk,” You moan, the tingling between your legs maturing into an unbearable ache.

“I know, baby.” He abruptly pulls away from your clavicle—lips red, eyes blown. “Tell me what you want.”

His demand goes over your head because you don't know what you want; can barely think straight with the lingering feeling of Jeongguk's lips on your neck. With the growing wetness sticking uncomfortably to your panties. With the burning, hot embers laying at the base of your stomach, begging to be set ablaze. And Jeongguk knows that. Knows that you're neither here nor there, only somewhere in the middle, teetering on the line of endless choices. So he lets go of your hair then, manoeuvres your body until you're straddling only his left thigh.

“Don't think about it, baby.” He murmurs, both hands moving to your hips. He guides them back and forth, slow and gentle, with just enough pressure to relieve that desperate throbbing in your pussy. “Just feel.”

And you do, sinking into your own little bubble, a paradise as impenetrable as the gates of heaven. You take your time to grind up against him, moving in tandem with the flow of his hands and a soft whimper climbs up your throat at the sensation of your clit brushing against the firm muscles of Jeongguk’s thigh. You're already so soaked, underwear absolutely sodden from the relentless pendular motions of your pelvis, and when you look down to find a dark, damp spot beginning to stain Jeongguk's sweatpants, you can't help but intensify your movements.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you've become turned on, how much you're dripping, when Jeongguk's barely touched you, but instead you just feel liberated. Pure power coursing through your veins because your boyfriend has given you the reins, is letting you use his body like a bitch in heat, and it's exhilarating; intoxicating every facet of your mind.

“That's it,” Jeongguk purrs, deserting your hips once you gain momentum to instead sneak both hands up the hem of your shirt.

Your breath escapes its chambers when he trails past the soft curve of your waist and straight to your breasts. “Fuck, you're so beautiful.” He grunts, gaze intent on your every reaction, like he's watching artwork unfold. His nimble fingers circle your nipples, tracing them with the most tantalizing pattern, until they begin to harden.

“Please,” You choke, clasping his shirt in between your fists like it's some sort of lifeline. You're not even sure what you're begging for, pace quickening as you ride Jeongguk’s thigh more aggressively. Every rut forward sends sparks shooting throughout your body, nerve endings alight, and when Jeongguk pinches your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, your back arches in pleasure. A throaty moan penetrates the room otherwise filled with nothing but your uneven pants and the sound of Jeongguk's voice.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” He groans, hands inching towards your shirt’s lower seam. He drags it over your torso, itching for better access to your breasts. Even in your muddled state, you meet him halfway, raising your arms above your head until the damned thing is off and you're left in nothing but your lacy underwear.

You hardly have time to adjust to the humid air hitting your torso, when Jeongguk tips his head forward, enveloping your right nipple into his mouth with reckless abandon. The response is instantaneous, a strangled sob slipping past your lips at the feeling of his warm mouth encased around your stiffened peak. His tongue swipes across your nipple, shockwaves manifesting at the blissful contact, and you don't know how much longer you're going to last—an embarrassing feat you don’t ponder on too much.

Instead, you squeeze your eyes shut, focusing on the attention Jeongguk pays you. Whimpering when the pads of his fingers move to fondle the nipple of your forsaken breast while the other submits to his mouth’s pleasurable torment, each purposeful pinch causing them to tighten all the more. Your skin feels like it's on fire, the warmth of Jeongguk's touch igniting the cinders glowing from deep within your belly. “I-I think,” You swallow, your pussy rubbing deliciously into Jeongguk's leg. “I think I'm going to come soon,” You manage to admit through a repressed whine, voice so strained it sounds foreign even to your own ears.

You don't think you've ever hit an orgasm this quickly. You've never had to. Because you and Jeongguk are like inseparable magnets; every atom in your bodies drawn to each other, always connecting like two poles seeking the other out—never going more than a few days without some form of intimacy. Never mind a week.

At least, not until now.

So when Jeongguk bounces his leg upwards to meet the force of your pussy coming down on his quadricep, adding to the way you slam into him, your clit positively throbbing at the impact, you feel the onset of that familiar coil in your stomach tightening.

“Just let go, baby.” Jeongguk rasps, granting you permission with one final flick of your nipples and then you're coming undone, white fiery heat flooding every fiber of your body, as you cry out his name. Only his name, forever on your lips. You feel the way your entire form convulses, the way Jeongguk helps you through it, flexing his thigh so that you can get the most out of your orgasm, and your hips buck forward—unrelenting and greedy—before they finally ease into a slow rut. Grinding into him until the receding, minuscule waves of pleasure begin to fade.

With the last few clenches of your pulsating core, you slowly catch your breath, muscles slackening as you become pliant in Jeongguk's arms, the weight of your body suddenly too much for you to bear. Your boyfriend holds you tight though, both hands moving to your waist to keep you secure.

Behind the darkness of your closed eyelids; you hear Jeongguk softly murmur your name and feel the way his hand comes up to your face, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear before he cups your cheeks. “You okay, angel?” He asks, voice emerging as a hushed tone.

When you manage to tear your eyes open and give him a soft, affirmative nod, Jeongguk seems satisfied, pressing a delicate kiss to your sternum before he shifts you from his lap and onto your back in one fell, but gentle swoop.

Your head hits the soft leather of the sofa with the aftermath of your climax still lingering against your skin like crackling electricity, fuzzing up your mind. “You think you can take more?” He asks, eyes flitting across your face to get a read on your current state of mind.

You nod your head assuredly, reaching out to make a grab for his body, to bring him closer. “Yeah I can,” You say confidently, arm's snaking up his back to explore the taut muscles that reside there.

Jeongguk is hovering over your body, thigh pressed hotly between your legs, and even though you can feel the rush of arousal, brought on only a second ago, pooling uncomfortably in your underwear—you want more. You want him. “I want to carry on.”

Jeongguk studies your demeanour, casting your body and expression a careful once-over, because he wants to feel you, be in you, wants to make you see stars. But it's only a matter of whether you're able to handle that right now. He has barely had his way with you, but you already look so fucked out, so perfect for him. It makes the blood rush straight to his dick. “You make me crazy.” He rasps, eyes locking with yours as he brings a hand up, tracing his thumb along your bottom lip.

You almost cower beneath his touch, beneath the sincerity of his gaze; appraising the very depths of your being as if you were a delicate treasure, as if he were staring at a god or something of a divine beauty.

Jeongguk thinks that maybe he is; thinks you’re the light, the one thing he’d worship morning, noon and night through blind faith. And there are barely enough words in the dictionary for him to express this notion to you, so instead he settles for “I love you.” Voice as rough as the high tides, but softer than moonlight.

He feels compelled to tell you this every chance he gets, a hopeless slave to his feelings for you. “Like I've never loved anything else in my life.” He continues. It's a quiet confession in the night, not a new one, but the words mean just as much as the first time he admitted them to you.

You feel yourself melt, can't remember ever feeling this cherished. Not since before Jeongguk and hopefully, never after. “I love you too.” You murmur, taking a moment to drink in every detail of the man who has left you restless all night.

Your eyes flicker over the defined cut of his jaw. The delicate curve of his lips and the pretty mole resting just beneath it. The small kissable scar on his cheek. The feathery flutter of his eyelashes. The strands of hair that have fallen over his face, and you retract your hand from his back to push them away.

How did you ever get this lucky?

“So much.” You emphasize and your voice thickens with the weight of your words, spoken from the very depths of your soul. “More than you could ever know.” Because there aren't enough words in the dictionary to get this notion across, so instead you lift your head, planting a firm kiss to Jeongguk’s lips as if sealing a vow, a promise of forever.

Jeongguk receives your kiss like he does with everything else related to you; openly, hungrily. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip—once—twice—and you instantly become pliant under his weight. Your fingers find his hair, tangling into the dark tresses as you deepen the kiss. It’s hot and it’s heavy, and in the distant part of your mind, you register that Jeongguk tastes like peaches, most likely from the alcohol he’s been drinking.

The sweetness of his lips immediately goes to your head; drunk and euphoric, and all grace flies out the window the next second. “Touch me,” You murmur breathlessly against his mouth, fingertips skimming over the nape of his neck. “Please, I need you.”

Jeongguk groans, a husky sound resonating from deep within his throat. “Fuck,” You can feel how rock hard he’s gotten, his erection pressing into your inner thigh and it's making you delirious with need. “I’ll give you anything you want.” Jeongguk rumbles, his mouth forming a wet, messy trek away from yours to embrace the flesh of your breasts.

You want to tell him that it's him, only him you want. Puppeteering your every move, body relinquishing itself to his touch. But you don't. You can't, not when Jeongguk's teeth leave scarlet marks across your chest that render you mute, words evaporating on your tongue like sacramental bread.

“My pretty baby,” He coos tenderly and you fight the urge to rut up against him. “Always so fucking ready for me.“ He praises, kisses traveling southward and it burns, searing, everywhere that Jeongguk touches you. You think you might erupt or shatter, and nothing less, if he doesn't meet you where you really need him to, your cunt begging to be satiated with his fingers, or his tongue, or his dick—anything.

A whimper escapes your lips, an embarrassing, desperate sound hanging in the thick air, as you glance down past your heaving breasts. You watch as Jeongguk abandons your boobs, planting a trail of kisses across the expanse of your stomach, your hip bones—takes the tiny little ribbon on your underwear between his teeth and tugs. The deliberate gesture causes your panty to rise up a bit, ever so slightly brushing against your clit in the process, and you bite down on your bottom lip, holding back an ungodly moan.

You can't take it anymore, all this teasing.

Jeongguk can read it on your face; sees it in the way you swiftly tilt your head back, eyes closed, brows scrunched together. He knows you like the back of his hand, which is how he gauges that you've fallen back into a place of submission—done with the tortuous foreplay, done with calling the shots, done with delaying the inevitable. You want him to fuck you, to use your body the same way you had used his mere minutes ago. And if his dick could get any harder at the thought, it would.

Jeongguk licks his lips, slips a finger into the curve of your waistband as he murmurs, “I’m gonna take this off now, okay?”

You nod your head, not daring to open your eyes to confront the image of Jeongguk's face a mere hair's breadth away from your cunt. It's too erotic. Too much. You feel him drag the thin garment down your legs, a string of arousal following suit, and suddenly feel self-conscious, attempting to close your legs to hide how shamefully wet you are.

But Jeongguk's not having any of that.

He carelessly chucks the lacy material to the side like it’s nothing but a rag, a nuisance, and then grips your inner thigh. “Don't you dare,” He grunts, using his grasp to keep your legs apart, lifting them upwards until your knees are bent to your chest and your ankles are resting over his shoulders, giving him the perfect view of your dripping cunt.

You barely have time to register the ticklish feeling of Jeongguk's breath fanning against your core before he dives straight in, licking a long stripe across your pussy, and your hips instinctively buck up. “Shit,” You mewl, rejoicing in the way his tongue traverses from your slit to your clit, lapping up every drop of arousal.

Jeongguk groans, a sound so low, stemming from the heart of his diaphragm, when he samples that first morsel of your leaking nectar. You taste like heaven, so sweet and unbearably wet, and all just for him.

“So fucking good,” He grumbles, mouth drinking you in. His tongue is unrelenting in its efforts to devour your pussy, and the overwhelming sensation of him slurping and sucking—of him eating you out like a connoisseur tasting the rarest of delicacies—causes frenzied pools of pleasure to ripple within the base of your belly.

He keeps at it, nose brushing against your clit as a byproduct, and after a few minutes the pure, unwavering rapture of Jeongguk's tongue becomes excruciating. A feeling so good, it’s almost too much. “Jeongguk,” You wail, heels digging into the couch as you try to back away from his mouth, but your boyfriend merely hooks his arms around your legs and pulls you closer. Holding you in place; unable to run or escape from the ruthless onslaught of his tongue, from the metal bite of his piercing brushing against your lower lips. “I can't,” You cry, writhing beneath his touch.

With his grip keeping you firmly anchored, Jeongguk brings one hand down to toy with your swollen clit, fingers moving in languid, clockwise motions. “You can,” He grunts thickly, tongue slipping between your folds and prodding deliciously at your hole. “I know you can, baby.” He mumbles in between fucking your drenched pussy with his fleshy muscle.

You shake your head frantically, eyes screwed shut, as you feel the waves of your second orgasm surfacing. “Not like this,” You beg, using your hands to reach down, fingers twisting into his fluffy hair as you desperately try to push him away. “Please, I want you in me.” A sob runs free, your walls pulsating around nothing because Jeongguk is taking his time with you, teasing your opening like he's got all night. But you don't. You're close, so fucking close, you can feel it in the tightening muscles of your pelvis, in the quivering of your legs.

But Jeongguk isn't giving you enough. He isn't giving you what you need. Your boyfriend, in all his hot glory, is taking you there with his tongue, swirling insufferably along your orifice—bringing you right up to the edge of the plank with an ocean of pleasure waiting just below your feet, but then he pulls you back. Drags you from the precipice before you can allow yourself to fall in, and it causes a frustrated whine to escape your lips. You need his cock deep inside, filling you up, pushing you off the ledge and into troubled waters. Your pussy throbs at the very thought. “Please Kook,” You find yourself beseeching for the second time. “I wanna cum with you in me.”

And any thread of composure Jeongguk has been holding on to up until that point, snaps at the pure neediness burrowed within your tone.

He looks up at you; lips glistening, eyes dilated—a mess of a man. But you don't look any better—or, if you were getting a glimpse of yourself through Jeongguk's point of view, never better—skin flushed, gleaming with a fine film of sweat, lips swollen from the way you've been biting them, and all at once, Jeongguk is overcome with the desire to give you everything you've ever wanted.

“Fuck, okay,” He curses, rising to his knees and you force your eyes open at the rough edge tainting his voice, at the overwhelming relief of getting what you wished for. “But it’s going to be a bit of a stretch, baby.” He says, not having prepped you fully. It's been a while since the two of you have had sex and, if he had it his way, he would have given you his fingers first, would have warmed and widened your lubricated walls, to ease the initial discomfort of him entering you.

But you look so pretty beneath him, so impatient, and—“I can handle it,” You mollify, voice a sweet concoction of sultry persuasion.

He nods in response, a curt motion, because if he thinks about how eager you're being, about how you're willing to take a little bit of the pain for the insurmountable pleasure, he might just come right there. Might just think of all the other ways you like to hurt; of the way you'd react if his palm made rough contact with your ass cheeks, or what would happen if he handcuffed you to his bedpost and stuffed you full with a vibrator and butt plug—if he fucked you tonight with no end in sight. He wonders if you'd cry, if you'd beg him for more or want him to stop, sopping and spent. More than that, he wants so badly to find out.

Jeongguk’s dark eyes find yours, their typical doe-eyed demeanour having turned hooded a long time ago. Yours are twinkling with anticipation, watching intently as he pulls his sweatpants down, letting them hang low beneath his buttocks. His cock immediately springs free, slapping against his stomach, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip at the sight.

“Come here,” Jeongguk's voice carries a jagged intonation, raw and untamed, and breaks through you like crashing waves. But when he makes a grab for your body, his hands are nothing but gentle, hoisting you up onto your knees and positioning you on all fours.

With your ass bared before him, face pressed into the cold faux leather of the couch, Jeongguk smooths a hand down your back, watches with satisfaction as your spine yields before his touch, and then he takes a hold of his dick. Doesn't even bother giving it a few preliminary pumps because he's already painfully hard, precum leaking from the tip as he lines himself with your hole.

He doesn't put it in though.

First, he teases your little cunt with only the head of his length, not fully embedding himself within your warmth just yet. You whimper pathetically at the testing prod, fingers balling into frustrated fists, while Jeongguk watches in awe as your entrance narrows, pleading to be stuffed.

“God, look at you.” Jeongguk groans, eyes traveling from your glistening pussy to the state of your overall servile form.

He places one hand on your hip, fingers digging into the skin there, as he inches just the slightest bit forward, his dick slowly pushing into you. Your mouth parts at the sensation and you shakily prop yourself up onto your elbows, head falling forward with a moan. “So fucking needy, huh.” He goads when you attempt to meet him in the middle, subtly backing up against his pelvis.

“No,” You shake your head as if it's some sort of lie, as if you haven't been thinking about this moment since you stepped over the doorsill of Jeongguk’s apartment earlier. And your boyfriend laughs—he actually laughs—a maniacal, derisive sound that rings in your ears.

“There's no need to deny it, baby.” He drawls like smooth liquor hitting the back of your throat, a silky succour that, for some reason, has you dumbly nodding along. Because Jeongguk’s entering you more now, his dick fighting against the tight restraint of your heat, and you're too distracted by the feeling of it to fully comprehend what he's saying.

“I mean,” He continues, reaching down between your legs to gather the wetness clinging to your folds before he bends over your back, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You’d think you've never been fucked a day in your life.” He murmurs, bringing his slick fingers to your level of sight.

You flush instantly, burning at the way your arousal dwells on Jeongguk's digits and forms a translucent web when he parts them into a V shape. “I can't help it,” You breathe shamefully, about to protest that it's his fault for letting you go so long without attention, for not taking care of your sexual needs and making you this susceptible to moments of depravity, when Jeongguk fully entrenches himself into your heat without so much as a warning.

“Aah,” Your jaw slackens at the sudden stretch of his length against your walls, the sensation so unfairly delicious you find yourself clenching around the intrusion with a gasp, and your boyfriend uses the opportunity to stuff his letch-laiden fingers into your mouth.

“Clean them.” He grunts, lazily rocking forward and you choke back a moan, mouth instantly closing around his fingers. Head full of clouds, pussy filled to the brim, you obey. Your tongue licks up the juices stuck to his slim digits, gliding sensually across each one with care, and you vaguely hear Jeongguk curse below his breath, hips grinding into your core. “Fuck, just like that, angel.” He praises, allowing you to suck them clean for a few more seconds before he pulls them from your lips altogether with a lewd pop.

“Such a good girl,” He murmurs lovingly, pressing a singular kiss to your shoulder blade before he straightens to his full height behind you. “Always so perfect for me.”

Jeongguk's hands find your ass again and he gives the supple flesh a few gentle squeezes, savouring the way you whine in response.

“Please,” Your words come out embarrassingly broken and wretched, heart hammering in your chest with want, as you peek at Jeongguk over your shoulder. “Please, no more teasing. Just fuck me.”

“What do you think I'm doing?” Jeongguk asks, eyebrow raised, voice harbouring a hue of cockiness. He withdraws his thick length from your warm embrace at an agonizingly slow rate before thrusting right back in, repeating the motion steadily. “I'm fucking you right now, aren't I?”

You want to cry, your need to come so severe, it's starting to physically hurt.

Your fingers leave deep indents in the couch as you tackle the burning coals of frustration setting every inch of your body on fire. “M-More,” You stammer, feeling a pearl of arousal trickle down your thigh. You're so turned on right now, your mind an empty haze as Jeongguk edges you into oblivion, cunt so wet, you can barely feel the brush of his shaft against your walls anymore. “I need more.”

Jeongguk grins, feels the crown of his cock brush against a particular soft spot, and then decides to give you what you want. Because he loves it when you beg, when you become a blubbering mess beneath him, so cock-hungry, you forget yourself.

Without a moment's pause, Jeongguk pounds into you with unbridled vigour. His hips slap against your ass, the sound echoing throughout the room, and your body jerks forward at the impact. Your core is so drenched he's able to enter you with little resistance now. Emitting a rough, throaty groan, he fixates on how your creamy arousal coats his cock, disappearing in and out of your cunt.

“F-Fuck,” You hiss, your hand reaching back to firmly grip Jeongguk’s wrist for support, but he takes advantage of your extended arm and yanks you up until your back is pressed to his chest.

The new position gives him better access to your front and Jeongguk ghosts a hand around your waist without a second thought, smooths it down your stomach until he reaches your clit. Your body jolts the instant his fingers make contact with the swollen bud, legs quivering with the strength it's taking you to stay upright.

Your boyfriend notices your struggle and hooks his other arm around your waist, his fingertips holding you so tightly you won't be surprised if some bruises appear there tomorrow.

“Fuck, I've missed this.” He rasps, more to himself than you, whilst drilling against your g-spot. But the words affect you just the same as your pussy tightens in response, squeezing him into a death grip, and Jeongguk's hips stutter. “Jesus,” He groans, making a mental effort to stave off his own orgasm, trying to focus solely on you.

You really are going to be the death of him.

He breathes heavily through his nostrils before starting up again, slowly driving into you and his cock burrows so deep, you swear you can feel it in your uterus.

His fingers skim over your clit, tracing the nub ever so slightly because you're starting to flinch from his touch, starting to grow sensitive. And when your head falls back against his shoulder, a choked whine forcing its way out your throat, Jeongguk knows that you're close.

“You gonna come for me?” Jeongguk's lips brush against your temple, his hand deserting your pussy in sympathy to knead your breasts instead. You feel his thumb run over your nipple, static lightning steamrolling across your skin with each sweep.

“I-ah!” You can barely form a coherent sentence, the inklings of even one lucid thought slipping from your empty, fucked out mind as Jeongguk slams into you. He's setting a brutal pace, the noise of skin-against-skin undeniably obscene, but you can hardly find the will to care when the muscles in your abdomen begin to tense. They twist up like a clockwork toy, winding and winding, until Jeongguk hits a particular spot that makes your toes curl, and then you're coming undone for the second time tonight, knees buckling with the sheer force of your orgasm.

It hits you like a freight train, your body spasming. White dots of euphoria blur your vision, the pleasure so blinding, and Jeongguk's hold around your midsection is the only reason you don't collapse right there onto the couch.

“That's it, baby.” He reveres, hips never ceasing their movements even as your walls contract sporadically, determined to fuck you through it. An uncannily pornstar moan spills from your lips, mind and body having finally plunged into the silvery, stormy torrents of your climax, and the strangled sound causes something impossibly primal to rupture within Jeongguk. It thrashes at his chest like a wild caged animal, demanding release, and he recognizes the feeling all too well.

“You're mine, right? ” He finds himself grunting, voice husky with strain. The hand that was attending to your boobs instinctively ascends to your throat, squeezing slightly as he chases his own high, gives in to that grueling streak of possessiveness that only every rears its head when he has you like this—naked and vulnerable—and you groan at the familiar pressure.

You hum, walls clenching around him. “Only yours.” Your own hand reaches up, cuffing around his wrist for support as a tremor runs down your spine.

Jeongguk feels his balls tighten, the knowledge that he’s the sole witness to this side of you, so subservient and docile, sets him off the deep end.

Then you angle your head to the side, joining your lips with his. It's a messy, sloppy kiss, but the intimacy of it all causes Jeongguk's last bit of composure to crack.

He spills into you with a groan, the sound muffled by your mouth, as he rocks forward until every last drop of his seed is snug within your warmth.

The feeling of his cum bursting inside of you, length twitching, causes your pussy to flutter by reflex, milking Jeongguk of every ounce of cum, only suspending their contractions once he's thoroughly depleted.

By the end, you're both a heaving mess; chests rising and falling in unison as you come down, the electric current pulsing through your bodies fading into a comfortable hum.

Your skin is still buzzing, head befuddled, when Jeongguk presses a few lazy kisses across your shoulder—as if to ground you, to bring you back from the constellations he's painted behind your eyes.

“You were so good, baby.” He commends, smoothing the hair at the side of your profile and you can't help the soft, but dopey smile that breaks out onto your face then.

“I've been dreaming about that for forever.” You murmur, submitting to the assault of his lips. Your boyfriend chuckles in return, nuzzling your neck as he commits the smell of your skin, an alluring scent of sex and lavender, to his memory.

“Me too,” He hums, thumb gliding gently across the contour of your waist. Your sensitive pussy throbs at the light touch, rousing from the stimulation; which only reminds you of the unpleasant remnants of arousal coating your inner thighs.

As if reading your mind, Jeongguk whispers against your skin. “Let's get you cleaned up, okay?”

He eyes your figure carefully, waiting for any hint of consent before he leaves you here alone.

You manage to muster a nod and then feel his dick slip from your entrance a second later, withdrawing in a way that makes you cringe and leaves you feeling oddly empty.

“I’ll be right back.” He assures, his lips quickly, but comfortingly, brushing against your hairline. Thereafter, from your peripheral, you see Jeongguk detach himself from your side, pulling his pants back up as he disappears into the bathroom to do what he does best—take care of you.

In the meantime, you resist the temptation to slump back onto the sofa, feeling a hefty load of cum leaking down your thighs. Every muscle in your body feels relaxed, those sparks from earlier sizzling down into sleepy, smoky remnants that weigh you down. Mind a dazed mess, not sure of how much time has passed, you almost give in—the slumber you so desperately sought out at the beginning of the night finally settling into your bones—when Jeongguk walks back into the living room. He's changed into a pair of briefs and is carrying a wet cloth, as well as, a small tube of ointment.

Your body instantly perks up, a little rejuvenated by his presence.

“Hey,” Jeongguk murmurs once he's back in your close vicinity, fingers brushing against your cheeks as he peers down at you with a soft smile.

“Hey,” You tiredly grin back, pointing a finger at the items in his hand. “Those for me?”

Jeongguk hums, draping an arm around your waist to steady you. If you had the energy to freshen yourself up, you honestly would but currently, you can barely keep your eyes open. So instead you lean on your boyfriend—figuratively and literally—clutching onto his biceps as he brings the warm cloth to your nether regions. You hiss a little at the contact, still feeling delicate down there, but Jeongguk handles you with a gentle mindfulness that makes your heart swell. Makes you think back to a little over an hour ago, when you were alone in bed unable to fall asleep because he wasn't there.

And sometimes it worries you. How much you need him. How much something as simple and basic as sleep, needs the warmth of his touch to make its mark on you. How much you’ve grown to love him in the span of a few months, your life endlessly orbiting around him like the earth to the sun. How much the deepest crevices of your soul, where the vile fear of abandonment and instinctual desire to run, relinquish themselves to the light of Jeongguk’s unconditional love.

You watch him toss the used washcloth to the side before unscrewing the top of the ointment. Sigh; as his fingers, tender with purpose, apply dabs of vitamin K salve to your hips where the marks from his fingertips are starting to surface. “Shit, I'm so sorry baby.” He apologizes, the raspy, hushed tone of his voice communicating how guilt-ridden he feels. “I didn't mean to be this rough.”

And, you've never known a love like this. One that rustles through your hair like the wind on the drive down to your parents. One that meets you in the dead of winter between classes, wrapped up in coats and scarves, and coffee as the snow falls. One that kisses you goodnight, hands cupping your cheeks while the street lamps flicker outside.

One that dresses all your bruises.

It makes you want to run in the opposite direction every now and then, fleeing until you forget that you ever knew it could be this good, this safe.

But, staring at Jeongguk and the careful, intricate way he's massaging ointment onto all your black-and-blues, you bury these trepidations away, laying them to rest in the one place they belong—the past.

Because yes, you’ve never had this sort of love before—the seriousness, the commitment.

The emptied-out drawers for your clothes.

The spare toothbrush at his place.

The conversations of a future together—the clear line being crossed from fling to forever.

Even though it's a concept so scary and unfamiliar, and foreign to you—you never want to let it go.

You never want to let him go.

3K notes · View notes