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hyunsvngs · 1 year ago

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𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦 - modern royalty au!lee felix x female reader

wc: 16.2k words (i’m sorry)

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: felix and mc being dumbasses part 2, no use of y/n, again a vast use of sickeningly sweet petnames, MORE ANGST, MORE FLUFF, unrequited feelings (or is it), chan being a sweet but teasing older brother, feminist bang chan, smut warnings under the cut!

synopsis: it's getting close to your arranged marriage to your best friend, and you're getting more and more conscious of the guilt you feel that he doesn't know you love him. why can't you just be honest with him for once?

a/n: this is part 2 to my fic fairy flowers - thank you all for showing so much love :D I HOPE U LIKE THIS PART TOO

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: making out, use of petnames in bed (again), oral (f&m receiving), fingering (f receiving), felix talking u through it, dirty talk (not too graphic i swear), handjobs, cum eating, loss of virginity (both), maybe a slight breeding kink or a major one idk, felix crying cos it feels too good

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’d loved Lee Felix since the day you met him, and you were soon to be married to him.

It was something that you’d hoped would diminish with age, but the feelings only seemed to get stronger with every inch you grew in height. You dreamt of your sunshine the night after his brother - the Crown Prince - interrupted you two, the scent of baby’s breath filling your nostrils. It almost distracted you from the feeling of dainty fingertips traveling softly up your thigh to between your legs. It had, of course, been only a dream, much like any of your others about your best friend.

Other than your not-real sexual trysts, the pressure of becoming a Princess was heavily weighing down your mind. You wouldn’t be able to do all the things you used to do - gone would be lazing in the meadow on a Saturday, and you could probably forget about your book club altogether. You had little freedom beforehand given that Felix was a Prince, but that little freedom would be stripped away completely once you two were married. You’d be expected to appear by Felix’s side as an almost monarch, with a solemn but friendly expression on your face. You had to be careful, you had to be perfect.

Needless to say, you felt like a fucking fraud. There you were, completely and utterly in love with your best friend, and having to pretend that you were only pretending to be. You hoped this wasn’t obvious by your flustered facial expression while you sidled up close to Felix during your engagement party, dressed in all of your finery and feeling like a dickhead, to be honest. Felix had made sure that he had a tight yet comforting arm around your waist the whole time, a hand resting above your hip conservatively.

As if he hadn’t been making out with you a mere few hours before. That was something you hadn’t really addressed yet. It hadn’t been awkward, it had been far from it - you hoped that anything could make the atmosphere awkward between you and your prince - but you still felt guilty. You’d been going along with it, agreeing to it just being practicing. In reality, you felt like you were flying a bit too close to the sun, like that fucking Icarus guy in the Greek mythology tale Felix had forced you to read when you were still spotty teenagers.

“My lady?” You focused back on the man standing in front of you, Felix’s fingers digging into your side softly to bring you back into reality. He was some sort of noble, you weren’t sure of his name - he stood there with graying hair, a salt and pepper beard trimmed neatly and beady dark eyes staring at you. He didn’t even seem like a noble, really, more like a reporter designed purely to get information from both you and Felix.

“I’m sorry. What did you ask? I just got lost in my own thoughts. The excitement, y’know,” You mumbled in response, making Felix smile at the man in way of an apology. You tried not to play with the hem of your sleeves, another dress your mother had forced you in. You always thought you were of reasonable education, even having etiquette training, but you still felt out of place as the prince’s intended wife. The prince’s betrothed, even. You wished for a moment where you and Felix could be alone and more like yourselves again.

“That’s alright, my lady. I was asking about your love. I’m just curious, when was it that you realized you were in love with each other?” The man cocked his head to the side. You were flustered, leaning further into Felix’s side. He was beautiful tonight, he always was really - and he was ever so eager to save you when you were in an awkward position.

He did so at that moment. “I think we’ve always been in love. Just took a bit of thinking to notice it, right, sugarplum?” You blushed at the cringey nickname, elbowing Felix. The man chuckled at the display of banter and bid you both farewell, entering the crowd of bustling nobles. Felix’s statement weighed on your mind. You wished to believe that he meant it, that he loved you too.

You turned to Felix, humming as you placed your hands on his shoulders. His shoulders were broad now, unlike the way they had been when you were younger and he was smaller, narrower. You brushed off nonexistent dust on his dark navy suit jacket, playing with the soft blonde tendrils of hair at his nape. He’d been placed in sophisticated wear not dissimilar to yours, a dark velvet matching suit with a white shirt underneath. “Thanks for the help, Lix. I’m really nervous, to be honest.”

“You should always be honest with me,” Felix gave you a toothy smile, his eyes forming crescent moons. “You’re doing amazing, you know that? I know it’s awkward for you, so I had an idea. How’s about… do you want to sneak into my room tonight? I have to speak to Chan about some stuff once we’re done here, but I was thinking we could make a blanket fort and just talk. Just us, like old times?”

You smiled at the memory. You and Felix, prior to it being frowned upon to be in each other’s chambers, building blanket and pillow forts and reading books draped over one another. Your mothers would both smile upon finding you two drooling in the morning, books still open and more often than not fallen on your face and giving you a sore nose the next day. You were still as enchanted by him as you were years before, staring at the constellation of fawn freckles on his face.

“Of course, Lixie. I’ll be there.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You had a plan.

A plan to confess, actually. You’d never made such a brave decision in your life, not even those times you kissed Changbin when you were younger. You’d been studying, investigating, brainstorming - much like those detectives in the television shows Felix made you watch who stand with a board adorned with pictures and red string, going insane. You’d had an idea following the ending of the engagement party, and decided that you were going to recommend a book to Felix. It was an action that wasn’t out of the ordinary, and you had just the right idea. It would be a confession without being so explicit and embarrassing.

Following the party, you made quick work of your plan before your blanket fort date with Felix. Were you allowed to call it a date, now that you were going to be getting married? You decided you could. It was your turn to discuss a book for your book club, and you decided you were going to recommend Emma by Jane Austen. It was one you’d never discussed, and once you flicked through the few copies of the novel in the palace library, you were sure Felix hadn’t read it. His signature dog-earing of the old pages was nowhere to be seen in all of the pages you flicked through, so you tucked a random copy under your arm and returned to your room.

You hadn’t even read the book yourself, but you knew the gist from studying it briefly. It was a tale of multiple relationships between different characters, with a particular focus on a slow burn love that sprouts between protagonist Emma and her close friend Mr. Knightley. You hoped Felix would read between the lines and take notice of what you were trying to say when you handed him the book that night. You liked the concept of Mr. Knightley’s character - considerate, fond of Emma and had extremely high morality. He reminded you of Felix. Emma was nothing like you, however, apart from the fact that she made regular mistakes. That was exactly like you, you mused as you pulled your pajamas on to head to Felix’s chambers. This whole thing could be categorized as a mistake, but it was the boldest thing you’ve ever done and you knew Felix would be proud of you if he knew you were planning on doing it.

Or, he’d be absolutely scandalized. It was concerning him, after all.

You raised your hand up to knock on your Prince’s bedroom door, only to have the door swing open right in your face. The friendly, casual smile you’d plastered on dropped as soon as you laid eyes on him. He was dressed in a tight black tank top, joggers slung low on his hips and hair still slightly damp from a shower. You felt subordinate in a baggy hoodie - that actually previously belonged to Felix - and pajama shorts, a flimsy linen tote bag slung over your shoulder with a toothbrush and the copy of Emma laying inside. Your eyes were widened, staring at his almost bare shoulders, freckles littered all over the exposed skin. You hadn’t even put shoes on, for Christ’s sake, only a pair of fuzzy slippers with a baby chick on your feet.

“Hey, sugarplum,” Felix smiled brightly, before his dark eyes flicked to your tote bag. His smile fell, focusing on the rectangular shape concealed by the linen. “Please tell me that’s not a copy of Princess Diaries. I can’t do it again, I’m sorry.”

You scoffed, pushing past him and throwing your tote bag on the bed. “It’s a fucking book, Pixie. For our club, remember?”

Felix let out one of his award winning giggles, throwing himself down onto his plush bed. His room was obviously more lavish than yours, and you took a second to take it all in, given that it had been so long since you’d entered the room. The sheets were soft - the type of comfort that was obvious just from gazing at them, and the four poster bed was adorned with a sheer beige canopy that hung over the bed frame. You tried to avoid looking at Felix as you spun around and stared, taking in the moonlight flickering in through the curtains. The room was lit only by two bedside lamps, giving it a cozy ambience and making your Prince look even more ethereal - if that was possible. His hair fanned out around him as he waited in silence.

When you finally looked at him again, the signature Felix smile was plastered on his face. Dumb Felix comment incoming, you registered. “I have two issues with this current situation, sugarplum.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the bed. You made quick work and shuffled your slippers off, letting them drop to the hardwood floor unceremoniously and hiding your face in the pillow. You let one eye poke over the pillowcase as you looked at him, speaking, “and what would that be, your majesty?”

Felix elbowed you playfully at the quip before rolling over onto his side, his light blonde fringe taking up a lot of the beautiful face that you wanted nothing more than to stare at. “Firstly, it’s not book club day, which means all talk of books is strictly prohibited and also frowned upon. It is the agreed upon rules.”

“By whom? Who agreed to that?” You were teasing him, grinning into the pillowcase.

“Me!” Felix yelled. “And you. You established the rule! Secondly, you should be staring at me, your smoking hot fiance, not the room! You’ll have plenty of time to lay in this bed when we’re married, plenty of time to stare at the walls while we-”

“F- Felix!” You screamed, trying to push him off the bed with your feet, using all your body weight. He simply smiled at you cockily, pushing your feet off of him and widening his eyes to taunt you. “I- Don’t talk about us doing that! It’s… uncouth.”

“Uncouth? Were you thinking of us having sex?! I was going to say watching films together, but seeing as you’re so focused on what almost happened earlier…” You were lost for words as Felix stared at you, raising an eyebrow. You tried to stutter out a few things before just giving up, groaning in response to Felix’s giggle at your struggle.

You jumped up from the bed, grabbing the pillow with one hand and hitting him with it. Felix squealed, kicking his legs out playfully. You avoided looking at the sliver of skin that was revealed through the action, courtesy of his loose-fitting joggers. You sighed. “Blanket fort, Pixie. It’s game time.”

After half an hour of you and Felix bickering over the construction of your blanket fort - he insisted on using the bed frame and the canopy to make it cozier, but you tried to explain you had nothing to use to attach his spare blankets to the frame. He quickly realized that you were, in fact, correct once the blankets fell off of the wooden posts and onto your head, blinding you with fluffy cotton - you were finally settled. You both laid wrapped up snug as bugs in the blankets, only your heads poking out as you stared at each other comfortably.

“Let’s sleep like this,” Felix chirped. “Burritos.”

You giggled, nuzzling further into the blanket wrapped around you. “We should’ve put a film on before we got all cozy like this.”

“No need, we can talk about the book you brought here. What is it you wanted me to read?”

You blanched, staring down at the blanket. Felix’s head barely poked out of the fabric. He gazed at you as you struggled to speak yet again. “It’s- no book club talk. It’s not book club day.”

Felix rolled over and hit you in his blanket burrito, headbutting your chest softly. Now that he’d rolled over on the mattress, he was closer to you, almost nose to nose. You bit your lip, not noticing his eyes flickering down to your bottom lip.

“It’s called Emma,” you began. “One of, um… Jane Austen’s books. It’s- It’s. It’s good. I just thought… you’d enjoy it, y’know? Then we can like, discuss theories, or something. Discuss the book. The characters. The plot. There’s, like- yeah.”

This had to go in the top three, if not the top of worst confessions ever. Felix was simply staring at you, nodding, letting you speak. He’d always been understanding. Okay, you thought. You can say it.

“There’s two characters that remind me of us. Emma, she’s um- the main one. She’s the main character, the protagonist, or whatever. Then there’s Mr. Knightley, he’s like… you. Like you. He reminds me of you, and then Emma would be me, and then-”

You were cut off with a chaste peck to your lips, your eyes remaining open and widening with shock. Felix pulled away with a smile. You didn’t even have enough time to process it before he was speaking again. He was acting like the kiss was normal.

“I’ll read it, sugarplum. Sounds really good! I mean, if that guy is like me, he must be really fucking hot, right?” He was smiling ear to ear, trying to encourage you by joking around. He must’ve noticed that you’d never been so shy to talk about a novel you’d found before. You were normally the one who spoke more between the two of you, gushing about all of the language analysis and plot devices you’d discovered. You even went so far to link it to historical context around the novel most of the time. This was different though, you’d used yours and his love language of books to confess and he’d have no clue until he actually read it.

You briefly registered that you’d maybe made a mistake by doing this. First of all, you knew this could ruin your friendship. That was something you had actually considered, and you’d still decided to do it, because you were impulsive and nervous. That was by the by. But, now that you’d decided to give him this book, it meant that you had to wait until he’d actually read it and realized what you were trying to say - if he even realized, actually. Princes live very busy lives. Perhaps he wouldn’t even read it until after your wedding, in which case it was just plain fucking awkward.

Wedding. It still hadn’t really sunk in for you yet, the fact that you would be a princess by marriage.

You shut your eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. “Anyway,” you trailed off, desperately wanting to change the subject. Felix hummed in response, going with the change of pace. “What did Chan- erm, Chris, want to talk to you about?”

It was Felix’s turn to get flustered, shifting awkwardly in his cocoon and repositioning so his head was on your chest, pushing you flat on your back. You pulled your arm out of your own blanket to rest on his head, stroking through the strands. “Okay, so you know my mother is abdicating before she gets too old?”

“Yeah, it’s just a matter of time, really. Palace gossip has been running wild since Chan got married.” You felt awkward addressing Chan by his Korean name - it always felt too personal, but Felix didn’t react, simply nodding against your chest.

“Well, the Queen isn’t the only one who’s abdicating,” Felix began. His head was still on your chest, as if he refused to look you in the eyes. Was he insinuating…? “Um, yeah. So, Chan is abdicating so that his wife can rule her own kingdom, something against two heirs being married and both being monarchs. That means that I’m gonna be the King, so then you’ll be the, um…. Queen Consort. I didn’t want to- well, no, I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to be scared off.”

“I’m not scared.” You really fucking were.

“You should always be honest with me,” your Prince chirped again, a familiar phrase. He shifted onto his forearms, chest looming above yours and his face mere inches from your own. You stayed cocooned in your blanket, your one arm hanging out and still positioned uselessly on his head. “Are you scared, sugarplum? It’s a lot of power. I understand if you’re scared.”

You sighed. “I guess I am, maybe a little bit. But I’ll be okay with you by my side, Pixie. I suppose I’ll be fine being your Queen,” You tried to joke, grinning, but the look in Felix’s eyes was anything but amused. He stared at you with his facial expression showing nothing but timidness. Your smile fell and you blinked owlishly at him, jaw dropped. “I- Sorry, was that not funny?”

“That’s… shit, sugarplum, that got me fucking turned on?” Felix admitted, his eyes darting down to his crotch concealed by the joggers and the blanket. You gasped, your eyes following his own as if you’d be able to see his naked cock through the layers of clothes. “I think it was the Queen thing.”

“The Queen is your mother, Felix.”

“Don’t- Don’t ruin the mood,” Felix groaned, throwing himself down so he was lying on top of you, chest to chest. “I meant like, you being the Queen. ‘M gettin’ all hot because of that. Sorry, sugarplum.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Felix’s cheeks were blazing while he pushed the blanket down to his waist with his right hand, fanning himself with the left. “Just you like, I dunno - being mine? You being the Queen? Yeah. That does it for me. Shit, it’s so warm in here. Are you warm?” He was still wrestling with the blanket, starting to grab yours in frustration. Your sunshine Prince was looking shy, and he rarely got shy. He rambled when he was shy. You wanted to save him from his awkwardness.

“Um,” You stated, rather intelligently. Good start. “I guess. Yeah. I’m warm. Do you want to like, maybe… practice? The wedding is soon, Pixie.” It wasn’t for another few weeks, at least. They were bringing the marriage forward, previously for an unknown reason to you. You knew after Felix’s explanation that it was because the Queen was planning on giving up the throne to Chan, who would then abdicate, leaving Felix to be the heir. She clearly wanted you both to be married before Felix took the throne, and you assumed the whole situation would take a lot of paperwork and celebratory parties.

You quickly registered that you wouldn’t even be able to sneak off and get drunk with Changbin at the parties because you were now officially a public figure. Shame. It was probably the only thing that helped with your nerves.

Still, you were now feeling the tell-tale fluttering of butterflies in your stomach and a growing tingling sensation between your legs at the idea of your best friend being horny while in the same bed as you. While on top of you, actually. You wanted to punch yourself in the face.

Felix went still on your chest. “I mean, that is actually such a great idea. Maybe my stupid brother won’t walk in this time,” He didn’t even look at you. “Actually, we should probably stop talking about my family members right now.”

“Yeah, you should shut up, Lix,” you chided him, trying to lighten the mood. You tried to seem false-intimidating, but you couldn’t even do the false part given that you were still half wrapped in a blanket. With a soft ‘hey!’ and a quick scolding tap to your ankle, Felix was shifting again, moving so he was looking directly at you. Your Prince, you thought, staring into his dark doe eyes and following the slope of his button nose down to his full lips.

You wondered if it was strange, what you two were doing. Chan hadn’t really acted like it was - he had teased you more than anything, but isn’t that what big brothers do? You wondered if anyone else had ever been in this situation, in love with their best friend and completely aware of the fact that they were taking advantage of the situation by being able to kiss said best friend.

You decided you didn’t care, especially when Felix was shooting forward to press those full lips against yours and immediately keening softly into the open mouthed kiss. This was something you knew how to do, considering you were making out earlier that same day. Was that weird? It had only been a few hours… Were you insatiable? Yeah, probably.

Felix did well to distract you from your racing thoughts, his dainty hands going up to your jaw and gripping softly. You always thought his hands were well matched for someone of his status - small and delicate, but when clad with rings they looked to be nothing but powerful. You let out a soft sigh when his tongue started to dance against yours, hands going up to rest on his shoulders. You loved the feeling of his lips against yours and decided you’d never get sick of it as you returned the kiss with just as much energy. You let your hands slide up to his hair, pulling softly at his mullet.

Felix liked that, apparently, since he groaned softly in his deep timbre into the kiss before pulling away. His chest was heaving and flushed crimson with a blush that showed over that fucking black tank top.

He looked shy again. “I want to touch you, like, in that way,” He blurted out, your eyes focused on the expanse of skin showing on his chest. You glanced up at him, seeing him biting his lip. “Is that strange? I mean, we’ll have to do it when we get married anyway, right?”

You nodded, shrugging your shoulders and trying to act nonchalant. “I guess we would’ve ended up doing it earlier anyway,” Felix smiled, more confident at your agreement. “I just don’t really know what I’m doing, Pixie.”

Felix cooed, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks and squishing them together. “That’s okay, sugarplum. Neither do I, to be honest, but I’ve been researching.” He hadn’t done anything like that either? Had he… he hadn’t waited for you, right?

You immediately wanted to change the subject, not wanting to be disappointed. “Researching?”

“I asked Chan,” Felix admitted, his cheeks pink with embarrassment. You scoffed, kicking his leg softly with your foot. “Hey! He ‘bones’ a lot, you said it yourself-“

“No talk about family members, remember?” You chided, smiling. You felt so relaxed with him - as you always had up until your recent love crisis - and you decided that if you were going to do anything sexual with anyone, it had to be Felix. Your Prince. You wriggled out of your blanket burrito, kicking your legs out triumphantly once you were free of your confines.

Felix did the same, pushing the rest of his blanket off and letting the fabric fall around his feet. He looked at you, smiling fondly and shifting so he was comfortably on top of you, your legs slung over his hips. He licked his lips. “Mm, come here.”

With a swift move forward, your Prince was kissing you again, this time with a renewed intensity. His lips were almost harsh against yours, but the fullness made up for his aggressive nature. His hands went up to your hips, pushing up the fabric of your shirt and his thumbs rubbing circles. Felix breathed heavily into the sloppy kiss you were sharing, and you shifted impatiently as you wished for more.

He was getting antsy too, something you noted when his mouth separated from yours and instantly pressed against your neck, licking and biting at the skin but making sure not to leave any marks. You couldn’t have people believing you’d had sex before marriage, of course, but you still whined the same as if he was giving you a million marks and claiming you as his. You thought about earlier, when you’d been caught by Chan. What would have happened if you kept going?

“We- Lix-” You were cut off with your own whine when Felix’s teeth nipped at a particularly sensitive spot on the crook of your neck. “We can’t have- Lix, fuck, listen to me! We can’t have sex.”

Felix’s head poked up at that, his eyebrows raised in shock and amusement. “We’re not going to have sex. Jesus, you just want to jump straight into it, don’t you-”

“No! I meant that we can’t have sex until the wedding. You seemed to be getting pretty excited, so I thought I’d just remind you,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to shift away from him. He didn’t permit this, his hands pulling you back to your old position by your hips. Your mind went blank at the show of dominance.

“We’re not going to have sex, duh. I want to touch you. I said that, didn’t I?” Felix was giggling again, flicking your forehead as a way of teasing. You frowned, and Felix immediately pulled his hands away from your hips, resting them in your hair instead. “Is that okay? Do you want me to touch you, sugarplum?”

He was asking for consent. You didn’t think Felix had ever asked you if it was okay if he did anything. Then again, this situation was different, and you smiled softly at the reassuring question. Of course you wanted him to touch you. You thought someone would have to be blind to not want Lee Felix to touch them. You personally wanted his hands touching intricately all over you at every second of every day. “I- Yeah. I want you to touch me.”

At your consent, Felix gave you a quick smooch to your nose and started to kiss down your body. He didn’t remove your shirt, only pushing it up at the hem so that it rested just underneath your tits. You’d foregone a bra for comfort, but you were quickly regretting it when you saw the hard peaks of your nipples poking through your shirt. This didn’t go unnoticed by Felix, and he grinned against your tummy when his eyes landed on your nipples, reaching up to brush his thumbs over the sensitive buds teasingly. You moaned softly in response, a high-pitched, embarrassing noise - but Felix seemed to like it, if the kick of his hips against the mattress was any indication.

“Never fucked anyone, you know that, sugarplum? Wanted it to be you,” he breathed out against your tummy, button nose nudging at the top of your underwear and bottoms. You squirmed, sighing out loud. “Wanted it to be you, always. But you’re so fucking…”

You almost forgot to reply when his teeth grazed against the fabric, heavy breathing now being spilled over your core. The sensation was hidden by the two layers of clothing, but it sent shockwaves up your spine just the same. He looked to be going insane, hair mussed with sweat and darkening the strands to a milky coffee shade while his eyes were blown wide with lust. His mouth was slightly open, exasperated, pouty rose lips permitting the erotic breaths of air to escape from his lungs. They rang off the walls like church bells, incredibly pleasant to your ears, juxtaposing the precariousness of your situation. “S-So what? Felix, just… please…”

“So fucking oblivious,” Felix whispered. His thumbs found themselves yanking both layers down at once to expose your dripping hole, clit swollen and throbbing, aching for the touch of your best friend. You felt yourself blush while he took you in, a deep groan rasping through the air at the sight of you wet and needy for him. Only for him, you thought, legs spreading wider to let him get a better look despite your embarrassment. He was looking at you in your entirety, eyes tracing a path over your labia and down to your twitching hole. He was murmuring incoherently, his jaw dropped in shock. “You’re so wet, sugarplum. Jesus, you’re so fucking wet, what the fuck?”

You groaned, throwing your arm over your face to hide. “Lix, shut up. It’s not like I can help it. You were kissing me, and- and stuff.”

“And you think your bestie is so totally hot, yeah, I get it,” You huffed again at the comment. He was getting closer now, breaths warming up the wet slick that had accumulated around your bottom set of lips. Your hands dropped to your sides, gripping the sheets awkwardly as if you didn’t know where exactly to place them. “I’m gonna taste you. That's okay, yeah?”

You nodded, shifting around impatiently once again. He let those small hands go up to hold your hips down, the show of power once again going straight to the pit of your tummy. The feeling was meant to be reserved just for your dreams, but here Felix was, reenacting everything that you’d tried to push to the back of your mind.

Just as you hit that realization, Felix was shooting forward once again, delivering a fat lick up the middle of your core. He groaned as he tasted you. His precision was anything but perfect, but he was eager, licking through your folds and cleaning you of all of the sweet dew that had accumulated there. He pressed a soft kiss to your clit, those plump lips wrapping around your button and giving it a quick suck before he pulled away.

Felix swiped his middle finger through your folds, groaning in that deep voice as you got wet despite him just cleaning you up with his tongue. “You taste so sweet, like fucking sugar. I knew there was a reason why I was calling you sugarplum.”

You whined when his finger breached your hole, immediately curving upwards to find that spongy spot inside of you. Chan had told him how to do some good things, you’d muse afterwards - but your brain was too fuzzy to think about anyone else when your best friend reattached his lips to your clit and sucked hard. You wondered if his finger would reach so deep inside of you, given his small hands, but he had clearly hit the exact right angle and pressed on it just as he sucked. Your hands went down to his hair gripping harshly. You didn’t realize just how hard you were yanking the strands. “Mm, fuck- more, more, please-“

Felix hummed in response, his tongue swirling around your clit while he continued to suck. You writhed and whimpered out loud, not caring of who heard you. That was something you’d also consider later, when your brain wasn’t so foggy with lust.

Looking down at Felix between your legs, you wanted to paint that image onto your eyelids so that you saw it every time you blinked. His hips were still kicking up a fuss against the mattress, small, aborted thrusts as if he was a bit too embarrassed to do it fully. His hair was messy from you grabbing onto it, something that made you retract your hands immediately. His eyes were practically rolling back into his head as he tried to keep his eyes on you to see your reactions, and his free hand was still pinning your hips down to keep you from moving too sharply away from his ministrations. He looked beautiful, as he normally did, but even more so now - your Prince looked thoroughly debauched. You hadn’t even touched him. You couldn’t wait to touch him.

You quickly noticed that just the image of him was making you hurtle closer to the edge. You’d felt this before, of course, many times when you shoved your hand down your trousers in your way of settling down to go to sleep. This was stronger, though. Every cell in your body felt like it was igniting with white hot lust, your toes were curling as you tried not to squirm and your jaw was dropped, unabashed moans and whines tumbling out. Your hands subconsciously went up to your tits, yanking the hem of your comfy t-shirt up and pinching the buds of your nipples harshly.

“Lixie, please, just a bit more, I’ll-“

Felix let go of the button between your legs with a wet smack, keeping his finger moving rhythmically as he came to lie next to you. His free hand moved from your hip into your hair, pulling you to face him. His eyes looked to be trying to figure out where they wanted to look - darting around your pussy, your fingers tweaking your nipples or the euphoric expression on your face. “Can you cum just from my finger? I want to see you when you cum. I want to see you when it’s all me, just me doing this to you.”

You whined, nodding as your hips started to pick up, thrusting into the rhythm of his hand. You briefly thought of how embarrassing this was - cumming from just your friend’s finger inside of you, only one finger at that, but you decided that was just the effect Felix had on you. “Yeah- yeah, I can cum from this, fuck- aah! Lixie, Lixie, please!”

“What are you begging for, sugarplum? I’m here,” He kissed your face, peppering small pecks all around the expanse of your flushed skin. He had positioned his hand to grind his palm into your clit. “I’m here. I’m all… I’m all yours.”

He seemed hesitant to say that, but it worked its intended effect anyway. You gasped and hurtled into an almost silent orgasm, but as if expecting a loud, nosy climax, Felix’s lips instantly attached to yours. Your toes curled as the bubble finally popped, so to speak. An euphoric sensation took over your body, beginning from the pit of your stomach and feeling as though it traveled all the way to the tips of your hair. You whimpered softly into the kiss, your hands gripping onto Felix’s wrist as he steadily slowed down his pace.

Your chest heaved with exertion. You were acting as if it was you who had done all the work, cheeks flushed and legs feeling stiff. You groaned as you stretched, your arms above your head until you realized Felix was pointedly staring at your exposed tits. Your nipples were still hard, perking upwards and Felix was almost salivating. A quick look down at his crotch revealed he was still sporting an extremely rock solid erection that looked fit to burst out of its confines.

“Was it… good?” He was licking his lips while he asked you. He wasn’t even looking at you; still staring at your tits with hunger in his eyes. You blushed, nodding.

You motioned at his erection. “Do you want me to…?”

Felix blinked owlishly. He had that deer in the headlights facial expression again. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to? ‘M really fucking hard, sugarplum, and if I’m honest, my dick will hate me forever if I force it to enjoy my own hand again, y’know-“

You shut him up with a kiss, giggling into his lips. A darting of his tongue into your mouth made you taste yourself on his lips, and you moaned, sucking on his tongue filthily. You had a burst of confidence then, as if it had only just hit you what you were doing. Your hand went down to his length and gripped it firmly through his trousers.

“Jesus, you are hard,” you stated, shocked. Felix choked back an embarrassed giggle, simply blushing and nodding with the teasing of a smile on his lips. “I’ll… yeah. Can I take these off, Pixie?”

Felix nodded eagerly, making you smile fondly at him. Rather than allowing you to take them off yourself, his hands were pushing at his joggers and wrestling them off in one go with his boxers, quite like he’d done with your clothes. He flipped you both over, positioning so you were on top of him with him laying on his back. You tried not to notice how you still weren’t wearing anything on your bottom half and your t-shirt was barely covering your pussy.

You instead focused on the skin newly revealed to you. He’d shucked his tank top up so his abs were exposed to you - those fucking abs. You thought you’d get over seeing him shirtless once you weren’t sixteen and hormonal anymore, but the tell-tale clenching of your pussy when you looked at his body told you otherwise. Your eyes went down to his length, chestnut hair trimmed neatly above the shaft and his cock resting against his tummy, hard and leaking. You felt bad for what you’d put him through minutes before. No wonder he was grinding against the mattress.

Taking initiative, you wrapped your hand firmly around the base of his cock, pumping twice in quick succession.

“Fuck-“ Felix was whining immediately, hips canting off the bed. He yanked you down next to him by your free hand, your legs slung over his thighs and your head right next to his. He wasted no time, grabbing your head and bringing you in for another kiss.

You tried to focus on kissing your Prince back while you stroked his cock, but you knew you were kissing him very badly. He didn’t seem to mind, just breathing heavily and whining into your mouth. His voice had shifted several pitches higher. It was so fucking hot to you.

“Mm- sugarplum, tighter as you get to the tip- and- and… hnng.. use the, um, the precum to make it wet. ‘Kay?” You smiled, nodding at his instructions. You knew you weren’t brilliant at it, knew you hadn’t done research like he had, so you appreciated the tips he gave you. You swiped your thumb over the head of his cock, through the slit, and dragged the wetness down to his shaft. The pumping sounded wetter now, a slick noise that was simultaneously pleasing and distracting to your ears.

“God, can you spit on it? Sorry, sugarplum, just feels really good when it’s wet,” Felix whispered. He looked embarrassed and horny at the same time. It looked fucking amazing on him, you thought, as you spat in your hand and returned it to his length. He immediately shot his hips up, toes curling into the sheets and his jaw dropping. “Oh God, yeah. Like that, Jesus, you’re good at that.”

“I’ve had a good teacher,” You rested your head on his shoulder, staring down at your own hand pumping his length quickly. He was leaking precum steadily, adding to the mix of the already leaked substance and your spit on his cock. You wanted to taste it.

Before even processing what you were doing, you were shifting again, settling between his legs.

“What are you-“

You sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth. The precum tasted like nothing, really, but it had a slightly salty aftertaste that wasn’t unpleasant. Felix’s jaw dropped in a shocked moan, his hand going to your hair and pulling on the strands softly.

“Shit, I won’t last long,” he admitted. You simply hummed and sucked harder, bobbing your head on his tip. You could’ve sworn you were meant to use your hand too. You had seen porn, after all. You reached up, squeezing the rest of his shaft and pumping it along with your hand. “Sugarplum, oh-!”

Felix moaned and bucked his hips up, stammering and trying to stutter out sentences. You weren’t sure what he was trying to say, so you assumed it was blabbering in the throes of passion and continued.

His fingers linked into your hair then, pulling your head off of his shaft. You blinked at him, hand resting still on his cock.

“Sugarplum, I was going to cum in your mouth.”

You frowned. “That’s the point, and you say I’m the fucking dummy-“

Felix sat up, pushing you down into the mattress once more and sitting between your legs. You tried to ignore how his cock was so close to your pussy, rather unsuccessfully as your core gave a betraying clench and leaked another rivulet of wetness. “I want to- sugarplum, I want to cum somewhere but it’s literally so weird.”

You tilted your head to the side in confusion. You reached down and gave his cock another few pumps. “Tell me, Lixie.”

“God- I want to cum on your pussy. Is that weird?”

You pulled away and sucked your thumb into your mouth, cleaning it of the fresh precum. Felix groaned at the sight and started to pump his own cock, pushing your shirt up again to expose your tits. His eyes immediately settled on them as he waited for your response. You didn’t even need to consider it. “Do it. Nothing’s ever weird between us, right?”

Felix nodded quickly, moving closer to you and positioning his cockhead above your clit. It rubbed against your button teasingly, making you squirm and writhe underneath him.

“Shit, be careful, sugarplum. I could slip inside,” He leaned fully over you, kissing your neck. He was breathing heavily into your ear now, making you play with the swollen buds on your tits again. “Could… could slip inside, and fill you up, and-“

“Y-You could. Can. Please.” you whined, wiggling again.

“No, no, can’t. Fucking can’t, not yet. Fucking want to- fuck- fuck-! I’m g’na…” He was panting, barely able to get words out that weren’t littered with profanity. You shuddered.

“Cum, Lixie, c’mon. I’m yours, all yours.”

You hadn’t even noticed what you’d been babbling in response, but his body seized up and you felt hot stripes of white cum shoot from his cockhead onto your clit. He was loud through the orgasm, swearing and whining in a high pitched tone. You were making noise too, little noises as if you were shocked. The warmth of his cum on you was erotic, yet weirdly comforting. Strange. Maybe it’s because it was his, like he was marking you as his territory.

“Shit,” Felix panted, flopping down next to you with a loud sigh. “Shit.”

“Shit.” You agreed.

“That was fucking good though, right?” He turned to you. You looked at him and noticed he looked like he needed some validation, eyes soft and vulnerable.

“Um, duh. It was amazing, Lixie. Thank you,” You smiled. “We should get cleaned up now though.”

Felix nodded, as if realizing the urgency of the situation. He darted around the room, using a small face towel to quickly wipe his softening cock and then he threw it at you for you to wipe yourself. It landed on your head unceremoniously, blinding your vision as the blanket from the blanket fort had done. You groaned. Felix giggled. Of course he did.

“Um, your underwear is still… wet. I’ll grab you a pair of my boxers, okay, sugarplum?” You nodded, slightly embarrassed. You made quick work of wiggling the boxers he threw at you up your legs, yanking your t-shirt down to cover yourself. It didn’t bother you being so uncovered in front of him, just like it didn’t bother you wearing a pair of his boxers. You’d done all of this a million times before - just not after doing… what you just did. You couldn’t even fathom saying it, not even in your head.

Felix switched one of the bedside lamps off on his way back into bed, a hairband pushing his hair back and a fresh pair of underwear on. He wiggled underneath the quilt, putting himself back into a cute burrito and gazing at you expectantly. You sighed, kicking the hand towel onto the hardwood floor and wiggling into the blanket with him. It was like you could read each other's minds in situations like this.

“Yay, sleepover,” He chirped quite happily. You let out a small laugh. It didn’t feel awkward. The relative silence was comfortable. You couldn’t wait to marry him, your best friend, your Prince. “I guess Chan told me some good things then, huh?”

“Oh my God, shut up,” You giggled. You let your face fall, giving him a serious look. “It was alright, I suppose.”

Felix gasped theatrically. “Take that back! I’m a master at it already, I know it.”

“You’re not a master if you had to ask your fucking brother-“

You huffed as Felix wrestled you to the bed, pinning your arms down and tickling your skin. You squealed when he hit your sides, thrashing around and trying to kick him off of you.

You hoped that you were right, that it could never be awkward, not even after he read the book and knew you were madly in love with him.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You stood on the day of your wedding two weeks later wearing a dress that had been worn by the Queen to her own wedding, many years earlier. You were grateful that the Queen had trusted you with her own dress, showing how much she approved of you, you supposed. It had been altered by one of the palace tailors so that it wasn’t too old fashioned, but still, the feeling of the satin against your skin reminded you of the many memories the fabric held.

They’d fast tracked your wedding to your best friend and it was a lot sooner than you’d hoped. You hadn’t seen Felix in a full week, due to him being preoccupied with wedding plans himself, and the only hint you’d had that he’d still been thinking of you was the bouquet of baby’s breath flowers that were dropped off to your chambers earlier on that day. You’d decided that would be your wedding bouquet. You didn’t even know if he’d read the book you recommended, if he’d even realized what you were trying to say.

The anticipation was killing you. Your dress was an off-shoulder beauty, a tight form fitting design that clung to your figure and flared off into an a-line hemline. It was conservative nonetheless, a bright shade of ivory that was almost blinding along with your mother’s necklace that she’d insisted you wear. She was fussing with your hair while you stared into the mirror. You weren’t displeased at what you saw, but you still felt a bit fake, like you weren’t meant to be the one standing across from the nation’s favorite Prince in the next hour.

Your mother sighed in frustration at someone entering the room, because your head spun to face the intruder and forced her to promptly drop the ornate clasp she was holding. Chan stood there, holding a box of chocolates with a cheerful smile.

“I come with a gift for the bride,” He chirped, placing the box of chocolates on the small coffee table of your dressing room. It was a spare room in your designated section of the palace that had been repurposed just for the day. You wanted to slap Chan because he reminded you of Felix, and more importantly, the fact you hadn’t seen Felix. You shut your eyes and pursed your lips, reminding yourself that it really wasn’t Chan’s fault. When you opened your eyes, Chan was motioning to the bouquet of baby’s breath on the table. “You got Felix’s flowers then.”

“Yeah, and no sign of the actual Felix,” You sounded petty, and you knew it. Even your mother scoffed at your statement as she fled the room to do something else - probably flitting around in panic, trying to get the tablecloths at a perfect angle. Chan laughed at you nonetheless, sitting down on a chair and still grinning at you. You pulled the off-shoulder sleeve up self consciously. “Have you seen him much? Is he okay?”

“Eh, not really. When he’s not preparing for the wedding, he’s had his nose in that book you gave him.”

“Huh?!”

Chan’s smile dropped, looking at you with confusion. “Well, yeah. He always reads the books you gave him. Why’s that a shock?”

“B-Because… no. It’s not a shock, just- I don’t know.”

Chan hummed. “Today’s probably got your head feeling fuzzy, I don’t blame you for feeling weird.”

“Yeah.”

He came behind you and you stared at him in the mirror. He kept his distance, but was smiling at you cheekily. He shoved his hands in his pockets in a nonchalant manner. “I mean, I’d probably be nervous too if I was in an arranged marriage with my best friend. Especially if my best friend also didn’t know that I was madly in love with them.”

Your eyes widened. How did he…? Okay, no. It was probably super obvious to everyone apart from the actual love interest in your life, to be honest. Instead of berating him, you did actually stomp your feet in anger. “Okay, well. The book was sort of my way of confessing. There’s two characters who are friends that fall in love, and I told him they reminded him of us. It’s sappy, I know-”

“‘S not sappy at all,” Chan cut you off. “I think that’s really fucking sweet, to be honest. I’m not entirely sure he’ll understand what you’re trying to say, though. He’s oblivious like that.”

“And he said I was oblivious,” you muttered. Chan’s head tilted to the side, as if asking you to repeat yourself louder, but you simply shook your head. “I’m going through with it.”

“Well, yeah, I know you are? You’re standing there in a wedding dress?”

“It’s going to be awkward when he knows. I’m regretting everything.”

Chan shook his head. He stalked across the room, placing his hands on your shoulders comfortingly. “Nothing could ever be awkward between you two. Who knows? Maybe he even feels the same?”

You groaned in distress. “He doesn’t feel the same, Chan. Shut up.”

Chan shrugged. “I mean, how would I know, anyway?”

You blinked at yourself in the mirror as Chan left the room with no further comments. How would he know? Um, maybe because he’s his fucking brother?

Wait.

You sighed, ridding yourself of the thoughts in your head. You had to leave now, to walk down the aisle, given away by your mother rather than your father and given away to your best friend. You didn’t have time to consider what Chan was saying. He was being fucking cryptic and annoying.

It was all backwards. It shouldn’t have felt right, but it did, weirdly enough. You’d been freaking out about it all day. You had been told by your mother to wear heels with your dress, and although they were only simple white kitten heels, if anything, you still teetered precariously on them and had horrible thoughts about flying ass over tit on the aisle in front of everyone. Felix would laugh. Hell, Chan would probably cry laughing too, but you’d be actually crying of embarrassment.

Your mother returned shortly after Chan left, and she had clearly given up on your hair. It had decided today of all days to be classed as an unruly mane, and so she’d tried to clip it up with some clasps but your hair just hadn’t obeyed. She huffed, brushing through it and letting it hang limply over your shoulders. It was your wedding day and you felt like a pig with makeup on. You sighed, pulling the veil over your face while your mother linked arms with you.

You looked at you both in the mirror. Even with your face obscured by the sheer veil, you were both so similar. Similar in height, similar in stance.

“Are you ready, dear?”

You felt tears welling in your eyes. “No. I don’t think I am.”

Your mother sighed, her fingertips brushing down the hair that she could access. “I know. I promise you, dear, everything will be just fine. You and Felix will always be fine, no matter what.”

You knew she knew. You knew she was trying to comfort you, despite knowing. She’d always been like that. Even when you’d been getting up to no good with Felix and his friends as kids and you ended up crying and throwing a tantrum upon being caught - she still comforted you. She was your mother, your inspiration.

You nodded solemnly in response to her statement, and she smiled a comforting smile on her face that was so similar to yours, yet weathered and aged like the books you and Felix enjoyed flicking through. She must have so many secrets, she must have known and seen so many things - yet she was still by your side, because you’re her daughter. You were grateful she was ignoring her job duties to comfort you and make sure you were feeling decent enough for the wedding. It had always been the two of you, after all.

You were led out of the dressing room by your mother, her arm wrapped around yours and her dressed elegantly, similar to you. She looked better, more comfortable in her own skin and more important, demanding authority everywhere she walked. You hoped you’d become even a fraction of the woman she was one day.

She led you down to the hall where the Queen normally took court, repurposed for the reception. You assumed everything would be taking place there, but then she was leading you out to the palace gardens and you were astonished. It was like having your wedding in a forest, beautiful greenery everywhere and the sound of soft tinkling music coming from a piano. You were being taken down the aisle before you even registered what was happening.

The guests all stood up politely, turning to look at you. A few of them even looked in awe, and you really hoped there was a God who would prevent you from falling flat on your fucking face as you walked down. Your sweaty palms clenched onto the plastic paper of the baby’s breath bouquet, crinkling under your touch. You were just staring at the crowd, jaw dropped rather embarrassingly.

Your mother spoke to you in a hushed whisper. “Smile, dear.”

They can’t even see my fucking face through this veil, you thought, but you smiled dutifully anyway. You noticed people starting to murmur, and you could’ve sworn you heard that people were saying how elegant and regal you looked. You wanted to scoff. Fat chance. You still felt like a peasant being forced to marry a Prince in a medieval show, or something.

Your eyes finally landed on him. There he was, your Prince, standing at the end of the aisle underneath a wooden wedding arch covered in forest green vines and baby’s breath littered all over the structure. You almost forgot how to breathe, and almost did fall on your face. He looked amazing. Well, he always looked amazing, but even more so on that day. The greenery made him look like some form of faerie prince. They’d dressed him traditionally, a white shirt with frills on the sleeves being exposed just underneath a black suit jacket. The frills went all the way up to his neck, clasping tightly beneath a silver chain necklace. Most importantly, on top of perfectly tousled blonde waves, a crown full of ornate jewels sat. You really did forget how to breathe, then.

You smiled softly at Chan and Hyunjin, stood on Felix’s side as his best men. Hyunjin looked beautiful, as he always did, straight out of a magazine. He wasn’t a patch on your Prince, though. You chided yourself mentally for that. It’s not as if you’d kick Hyunjin out of bed, it’s just that you’d now had, erm… bedtime activities with Felix and knew that he was a sex-god. Sexprince. Whatever. On your side, where you were meant to arrive, Chan’s wife stood as your one and only bridesmaid. You didn’t have many real friends in the palace, only Felix really, and she’d been fucking ecstatic when you had asked her to be by your side at the wedding. She didn’t have many true friends either, it turned out.

Before you knew it, you were standing across from Felix, eyes gazing into eachothers.

He mouthed a sentence, a simple “you’re fucking beautiful”. You’d slap him later for swearing at your fucking wedding. Seriously, he needed to have some respect.

The wedding officiant - another random noble - began to talk at that moment, now that everyone had sat down and settled. Your mother was staring at you with a kind smile on your face. You avoided her eyes. She’d pissed you off, but you weren’t exactly sure what she’d done this time. Maybe it was her being so nice. Maybe it was because everyone kept mentioning the fact you’re in love with Felix. “Repeat after me, I, Lee Felix, take you…”

You honestly zoned out, staring at your Prince. He didn’t even seem to be listening either, but you’d gone over this part in the wedding rehearsal. You knew what you had to say to solidify the marriage, but in all honesty, your mind was on what you’d have to do afterwards to consummate the marriage. Having not seen him for a while, your hand had become acquainted with the inside of your knickers rather frequently, and you’d come apart way too many times to the thought of him to be considered normal. You wondered if he’d done it, too.

In your train of thoughts, you almost missed that it was your turn. “Ah, sorry,” you mumbled, making everyone in the audience chuckle. You even heard a faint ‘the Princess is cute’, making you feel flustered and want to throw your shoe at whoever said it. You got on with your speech. “... f-for richer, for poorer. Um. In sickness, and in health, to love and cherish always.” It felt like you’d been reading it off a script. In all honesty, you kind of had been - you’d been staring at the space behind Felix and squinting to remember what had been written on the piece of paper placed in front of you so many times.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Don’t use that fucking tongue, Lee Felix, there’s children present, you thought. He, as if reading your mind once again, leaned forward and pressed a chaste peck to your lips, lifting your veil before doing so. You smiled, satisfied, and he took your hand, leading you out of the ceremony. The reception would be straight after, a gathering of people of high status drinking expensive wine and doing that stupid fucking laugh they do. You couldn’t say much - you’d been educated and instructed to do the exact same.

Only one thing was on your mind though, amongst the cheers and applause of the public at their favorite Prince getting married. You couldn’t help thinking that this was the beginning of a union, so why did it feel so much like an ending?

Once everyone was seated, you sighed and began to pick at your food in front of you. It was some posh recipe made by the palace cooks - everyone sitting in the reception was eating the same thing, and seemed to be enjoying it a whole lot more than you were. The whole room was decorated similarly to outside, green vines and flowers hanging everywhere from potted plants. Felix sat next to you, thanking everyone who wished you both well.

“I want to apologize, sugarplum,” He began, eyes staring at the plate of food in front of him instead of you. “I haven’t had a chance to read the book you recommended. You know, with all the preparations and stuff.”

Wait. What? Someone’s fucking lying here. Was it Chan or Felix? To be fair, you hadn’t had much time to do anything else either. But Chan had told you that Felix had his nose in that book all the time, and Felix was intensely avoiding eye contact with you now. Unless…

Oh, fucking hell. He read the book, knew what you meant and is choosing to expertly say nothing about it - because he doesn’t feel the same. He wants to just act like nothing happened. You felt tears brimming in your eyes. It’s not that you didn’t expect this outcome, because perhaps a small part of you did, but it still fucking hurt your heart nonetheless. A large part of you had hoped for something cheesy, like a large declaration of love and you two running to each other in the meadow and maybe him spinning you around in his arms or something.

This was reality though, not one of your romance novels. You blinked to try and destroy the tears in your eyes, before giving him a smile. “That’s okay, Pixie. I’ve been busy too, I get it.”

Felix held your hand under the table, clenching it tightly. He was smiling ear to ear. “‘S fucking sick though, right? We’re married now.”

You tried to return his energy. He’d sounded absolutely gushing, full of happiness, practically over the moon. “Yeah. So fucking cool.” You sounded devastated.

Felix glanced at you quickly with concern, his eyebrows furrowed. Before he could manage to say anything, Chan and his wife were standing in front of the table, looming over you. It was intimidating. She looked beautiful, dressed in a tight floor length pastel blue dress. It matched Chan’s own blue suit, and pastel blue had been your intended color for your bridesmaids dresses, had you had more than one.

Chan clapped his hands together. “So, we are excited for tonight?!”

You blushed, turning to Felix. He looked just as shy as you for once. His eyes were widened and he was finding the white linen tablecloth very interesting all of a sudden. Chan’s wife slapped him on the arm, grumbling about having etiquette. “I’m so sorry about him.” You found it funny, their dynamics - you followed Felix around like a lost puppy, whereas Chan’s wife seemed to have him on a tight leash.

In reality, it was extremely fucking daunting. You found yourself still nervous, even when the festivities had ended and you were standing in your own chambers. It all felt too formal. You hoped that in another lifetime you and Felix would’ve been able to do this whole thing at a more casual pace. Maybe you even would’ve been able to lose your virginity to him before you got married.

You were greeted with a white slip of chemise laying on your bedsheets when you returned. You knew you’d be expected to wear something like that but it still shocked you, and you stared at it as if it was an illegal piece of evidence for a solid few minutes. It was delicate, the satin between your fingers, a perfect juxtaposition to what you’d be doing in less than an hour. You took your wedding dress off quickly, laying it out on the bed and putting it on the hanger. You wondered if your matching white lace underwear would be okay for Felix, before realizing that it was actually a miracle that it was even matching.

Once you’d slipped the chemise on, you stared at the mirror next to your armoire. You looked at yourself in surprise. It actually looked good, and you’d chosen to leave your bridal leg garters on. The dress met your legs mid-thigh, meaning the garter on your left leg was about one gust of wind away from being exposed. You thought you were meant to leave it on anyway, that you were meant to have your newlywed husband take it off for you in a sign of like, possession or something. The whole thing was so fucking medieval to you.

Slipping your coat over your shoulders, you decided to forego proper shoes and just slipped your white sandals on. Well, they were white, until you and Felix had commenced a full on wrestle in the meadow one day and now they were permanently stained beige from your efforts of planting your feet in the mud to punch him. Playfully, obviously. He still whined when you did it as if you’d battered him black and blue.

Stalking over to your Prince’s chambers, you realized something. Soon, probably in the next few days, you’d have to move all of your things here and then you’d be living with Felix in the palace. It would be both of your chambers, not his. The thought made you feel giddy with excitement but it also made your head dizzy with confusion. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore. You were in love with him, sure, obviously - but you didn’t know how long you could keep up the facade if he wasn’t about to address that fucking book you gave him in all of your bravery.

You stood there awkwardly. Were you meant to knock? Surely you were meant to knock. Or maybe you just open the door. You’d be moving in soon, anyway, so it would make sense if-

The door swung open in front of you. “Oh, hi! What a nice surprise. How long have you been-”

“Just got here, like, this second,” You grumbled, arms crossed across your chest. Felix laughed behind you as you pushed past him into the room, clearly knowing that you had been standing there for a solid minute just staring at his bedroom door. You turned around when Felix pushed the door shut. He was wearing just pajama shorts and a t-shirt. You wanted to scream. Maybe you weren’t even meant to wear the stupid fucking nightgown. He’d clearly dressed for comfort.

“Why are you wearing a coat? It’s summer.”

You blanched. You looked down at the coat. You’d have to take it off eventually. “Okay, don’t laugh.”

Felix nodded. He was already holding back a laugh, and you could tell by the stifled look on his face. “Not gonna laugh.”

“You so are,” you huffed, unzipping your coat and letting it fall to the floor. You scrunched your eyes shut tightly, waiting for the impending cackle to come from your best friend. You felt like an idiot. You’d walked in here, all dressed up to the nines like some fucking prize for him to unwrap, and you’d been met by him in his comfy pajamas. Not even the nice, princelike pajamas!

After a moment of silence, you opened your eyes. Felix was staring at you, jaw dropped and a visible tent in those stupid shorts. Any sign of a smile had disappeared from his face.

Your brain was working at 100mph, deciding to have a severe case of word vomit. “Okay. So, this was on my bed. I’m assuming Chan’s wife left it there or something. I don’t know. I didn’t… I wasn’t sure if I should wear it. I feel really stupid now, and you’re staring, Lix, so can you just say-”

You were cut off by his lips against yours. He was pushing you backwards onto his four poster bed with ease, moaning deeply into the kiss. You squealed with surprise, hands going up to his hair to try and keep yourself steady. Once he had you situated on the mattress, Felix was immediately in between your legs, bunching the fabric of your nightgown up in his fists and his tongue dancing around your mouth.

You hummed, spreading your legs wider to accommodate him. You found your lips sucking on his tongue in a filthy kiss, much like the one you’d done weeks prior before his head was between your legs. You desperately hoped he would do it again. His plump lips were harsh against yours, his hands traveling everywhere across your body as if he was trying to be able to draw your body by memory after this.

Felix pulled away, breathing heavily. It seemed he really enjoyed kissing, because after everytime you kissed he looked fucking debauched. His hair was scrunched up everywhere - courtesy of your hands - and his chest was heaving. “Trying to- fucking hell, sugarplum. Trying to fucking kill me, I swear,” You giggled. He liked it. He liked the dress. You felt like a thousand rocks had been lifted off of your back. Felix smiled back at you, letting out a small laugh and shutting his eyes as if he realized the severity of the situation. His eyes opened, looking down at you. They were a deep brown, blown wide with lust. “I- Jesus. Do you want me to fuck you? We don’t have to, y’know-”

You shifted, bringing him back down into another heated kiss with a hand on the back of his neck. He moaned, his hands going to grab your nightgown again. This time, his hands went further down, sliding up your thighs and then he positively keened into the kiss.

He pulled away again. “Tell me you’re fucking joking.”

“H-Huh? Joking about what?” You sat up on your forearms. Felix yanked you closer to the edge of the bed by your hips, moving backwards with you and landing on his knees. You squeaked in response. He was sitting on the floor, right in front of you as your legs hung over the edge of the bed. His hands went up to your nightgown, pushing it up, and you finally realized what he meant. The garter.

Felix groaned, loudly, so loud you were worried that everyone else would be sending noise complaints to… well, who? They’d probably just pass an angry note under the door in the morning if anything. His button nose went to your left thigh, nuzzling into the lace garter. He was breathing heavily, harsh puffs of air being spilled all over your skin and making you feel warm. You squirmed, feeling ticklish.

Felix looked insane. He looked like he’d thoroughly lost his mind, all over you arriving at his bedroom door in a satin nightgown and a bridal leg garter. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and vast, as if he was looking for approval, licking his lips. You didn’t know what he was looking for approval for, but you nodded anyway. His teeth immediately bit into your garter, catching the skin just a tad and making you whine. He dragged it all the way down your leg, spitting it out on the floor before his head was back between your legs, licking fast stripes over your clothed core. The dress obscured his head just a tad, making you feel like you were doing something you shouldn’t be.

“Lix-” You whined, spreading your legs wider. He moaned against the fabric, using his hands to push your legs up and against your chest, to where you dutifully held them up for him. You had no idea why he’d made you do that, but all of a sudden, your underwear was shifting to the side and his middle and ring finger were sliding into your wet hole. It was all so fucking fast, you couldn’t keep up - your brain felt ten steps behind. “Aah- hnng, fuck, Lixie, so quick, Jesus- a- ah-”

“I’m sorry. Need- need to make you cum, so then I can fuck you,” you nodded at his words, hips canting into his hand. Felix stood up, sliding back on the bed to loom over you as he finger fucked you. You’d never had two fingers inside before, but God the stretch felt amazing, and it had you wondering what it’d be like when he finally got his cock inside of you. “I’m sorry. Wanted- wanted to go slow, shit. You’re driving me fucking insane, sugarplum. We don’t have to- we don’t gotta-”

“I want to, God- I want you to fuck me so bad, Felix,” you moaned in a high pitched tone. You were almost embarrassed about the way your words came out, but Felix was smiling, curving his fingers to hit your g-spot.

“Yeah? Do you want it that bad, sugarplum? Thank God, because I can’t wait to make you mine.”

You nodded eagerly, trying to wiggle your hips to get some stimulation on your clit. Felix shifted then, his palm rubbing up against your clit like he had done before. “I’m- I’m already yours, Pixie.”

Felix groaned, a deep groan that came straight from his chest. His fingers went faster, his palm rubbing your clit sloppily and giving you barely any friction. It was enough though. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer. He’d started to actually suck marks into your neck, something you knew you’d have to cover afterwards but you didn’t care so long as he kept bringing you this insane pleasure.

When he shifted again, bringing his thumb up to rub your clit more precisely, you dropped your legs and whimpered. You couldn’t focus on anything, head dizzy at the biting pleasure that was mounting and mounting up and bringing you close to your climax. He was so good with his hands. You wanted to feel him finger fucking you everyday, and a sick part of you reminded you that you could now. You were his legally, married, you were his wife.

Felix let your legs drop and came up to nuzzle at your earlobe, biting it softly with pearly teeth. You were babbling again now, hips canting rhythmically to meet his thrusts. “You getting close, sugarplum? You get nice and squirmy when you’re close.”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, gonna- g’na, yeah, g’na cum-“ You managed to stutter out. Felix simply hummed, and kept his rhythm the same. His thumb continued to swipe precisely over your swollen bud. That combined with the dainty fingers inside of you made you whine, and you grabbed the back of Felix’s head to kiss him as you came.

You moaned into the kiss, him dominating your mouth while your eyebrows furrowed and you let go around his fingers. He moaned back, feeling the slick from your pussy coat his digits and making the thrusting in and out much more slippery.

“Got so wet just for me, sugarplum. Mm,” Felix slipped his fingers out. You almost short circuited and died when he sucked them into his mouth, letting out a puff of air through his nose while he licked them clean. He giggled at your facial expression. “‘S sweet, sorry. You still wanna… do more?”

Felix giggled again when you nodded eagerly, a sweet chime of happiness. You were happy to please him. You wanted to fuck him anyway, because you weren’t blind and could see how fucking hot the Prince was, just like the rest of the nation could.

Felix was laying by your side, nuzzling your cheek when you spoke. It was probably the most declarative, decisive thing you’d said in a while. “We need a condom.”

Felix’s head shot up. He was looking at you with a guilty expression. “Um… I don’t have any, you know, heirs and all that.”

You hummed, saying “that’s fine” just as he said “kidding, lol”. You wanted to berate him for saying the word ‘lol’ out loud, but you were more taken aback by the fact you were fine fucking your best friend raw and hadn’t even put a second thought into it.

“That’s fine?!” Felix shrieked. “I was kidding! I totally have condoms, I was just winding you up-“

You punted him in the shin, sitting up to wriggle your nightgown off. It successfully distracted him and he went quiet, staring at your tits confined in your bra. “Get a condom then, Pixie. There’s nothing stopping you.”

Felix gulped, audible in the room. He was still staring at your chest. “Well, now that you’ve said it, I’m kinda thinking about fucking you raw. It’s hot.”

“Fuck me raw then?” You shrugged. Felix looked like he was about to die. He immediately shot up, wriggling his pajamas off. His cock sprang out of its confines, even more hard than it had been two weeks ago - if that was even possible. It was leaking just like it was before though. Without another moment to think, he was back on the bed, hands tracing shapes on your thighs.

You managed to unclasp your bra and flick it off to the side, and he was on you instantly. His mouth was wrapped around the bud of your right tit, sucking and making you moan. You tried to shift out of your underwear while he was occupied and he conveniently shifted upwards to allow you to do so.

With red raw lips from the suckling, Felix pulled back. “I… Please? Can I?” You nodded, spreading your legs. He took in the sight of you again with your pussy on display and groaned, pumping his cock a few times before positioning it at your entrance.

Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt. You’d heard horror stories of women bleeding on their first time and even feeling like they were being torn open, but all you felt was a bit of an uncomfortable sensation when he pushed in. It was a stretch obviously, but you found yourself wanting more of the feeling as soon as you experienced it. You could feel the stretch it gave your walls, wet core stretching to accommodate his length. He gave you a second, giving you kisses around your face in anticipation as he bottomed out.

Felix wasn’t faring too well, by the looks of him. His cheeks were flushed red beneath the fawn freckles and his lips were wet, as if he’d almost been drooling. He hadn’t moved yet, only just buried to the hilt inside your sopping wet hole, but his eyes still brimmed with tears at the pleasure.

“That feels… sugarplum, oh, please.” He whined.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. You pecked his lips fondly, before pecking both of his flushed cheeks. “C’mon. You can move, Pixie.”

Felix immediately started grinding his hips at a slow pace. It was inexperienced, but the speed worked to make you feel a little bit more open and pliant for his cock to bully inside of you. It hadn’t really hit you yet, that you were losing your virginity to your best friend who you’d also just married. That could be because of the immense pleasure you were feeling, or maybe because Felix looked so fucking beautiful whining on top of you. Fuck, if the feeling wasn't heaven, just because it was him - you were getting fucked by your best friend and you knew you'd able to come back for more.

You moaned as he jolted into an extremely sensitive spot inside of you, making you clench your walls around him. “Oh G-God, yeah, like that. So good.”

Felix nodded, chest heaving. He positioned his hips so that he was thrusting directly into that spot, still at a slow pace but just deep and hard enough to feel fucking amazing. “Good? There? Is it- am I… am I good for you?”

You blinked. You took just a second too long to respond as Felix’s newfound submissive nature registered in your brain, and you smiled, brushing your fingers through his hair. “Yeah, s-so- ah- such a good boy for me, Lixie. So good.”

Felix’s hips stuttered at that, him wanting to go faster but not knowing if you could take it. He was terrified, worried about hurting you since he knew of horror stories, too. He also knew that it felt so fucking good that he could cry. He was about to cry actually, you’d noticed, his eyes watering just a bit more with every thrust.

His abs rippled above you with exertion at every thrust, his legs pinning yours to rest either side of his. He leaned down, kissing up your neck as he started to pick up the pace just a tad. His hair fanned out around him as he breathed heavily, eyes scrunched shut. He looked ethereal. He was clearly trying not to make too much noise, but deep moans and whines were ringing out when it felt especially good. "God, not gonna last long, sugarplum, I'm sorry-"

"Don't apologize, Pixie. F-feels really good for me too," You moaned out, stretching your legs out further. You just needed it a bit deeper, just rub your clit a bit and you were sure you wouldn’t need much else. He was staring down at your core, where his cock was entering and reentering you at a steady pace. "Mm, Lixie?"

"Y-yeah?" Felix responded instantly, head raising to look at you. He looked as if he wanted to stop to check you were okay, but his hips had a mind of their own, pushing back and forth into the wet hole you'd provided willingly for him. His eyes were nearly rolling back in his head.

“I need… can you rub my c-clit, please, need- need it, need it to cum around you,” Felix nodded eagerly, groaning. He used one hand to reach down and rub your clit. You thrashed your head around in response, letting out the most guttural moan you ever had. “Oh, oh yeah, so good for me- hnnf- I’m not gonna last long!” He kissed your nose in response, heavy breaths and moans panting right into your face and only doing more to turn you on. He was beautiful, perfect, and all for you. He was listening so well, caring the most about your pleasure and the way you wanted him to do it.

All of a sudden, his pace picked up, his hips moving in a frenzy. You whined when you felt it, hand going down to his abs in an effort to get him to slow down. It felt way too fucking good, his fingers still rubbing your clit. “G-Gonna cum with me, my Queen? God, please cum with me, need to feel it, I-" Felix was stuttering now, his head thrown back as he tried to keep a solid rhythm on your clit. You decided not to address the title he gave you. You also decided not to address how fucking wet it made you. “Sugarplum, my Queen, fuck, where do I- can I- inside?”

You moaned, feeling your orgasm building up. You pressed further into his hand and length using your hips, gripping onto the sheets behind you with your hands. His eyes were watering as he waited for your response, hands gripping your hips.

"Yeah, yeah, inside- in- inside, Lixie. Pixie, Pixie, oh God, you gonna cum in me? You gonna give me an heir?” Felix moaned loudly at your words, his hands clenching you tighter. You were babbling, going on and on about him letting go inside of you. He was loving it, hanging off of every word, tears now coming from his eyes at the pleasure.

“Yeah, ‘m gonna- Gonna fill you up, sugarplum, mine, mine, gonna- gonna- fuck, ‘m gonna give you an heir, gonna make you full of me-“

You whined out, clutching onto his arms and pushing back against his thrusts. “S-So good for me, Lix, gonna cum-'' You groaned, clenching down on his length one last time and positively exploding around him. You felt it all get wetter between your legs as his hips halted, pressed firmly against your asscheeks. His cock spurted ropes of white inside of you, making Felix let out a loud groan.

Felix collapsed on top of you, making you let out a “hmph” at the added weight. You let out a small laugh nonetheless when he started nuzzling into your neck like a cat, very nearly purring and smiling into your skin.

There were a few moments of silence before he decided to speak. “That was like, so fucking good. I’m g’na need that everyday, mmkay?”

You shook your head, grinning. “Should’ve never given it to you. Now you’re gonna want it all the time.”

“I just want you all the time,” he whispered. “Love spending time with you.”

“I…” You began, flustered. Felix was looking at you with pure admiration in his eyes, his now softening cock still inside of you. It was weirdly comforting. “I love spending time with you too, Lixie.”

“Mm, good. You’re stuck with me now, sugarplum.”

You fell asleep naked that night, cuddling your best friend after getting cleaned up and talking about the meaning of life. He hadn’t mentioned the book, and you weren’t sure if you were relieved or upset about it. It felt right, being in his arms. He was giggling, happy, poking fun at you when you said something stupid and kicking you playfully when you teased him. It felt domestic, like you were meant to be together in bed after sex for the rest of time.

You wished you could allow yourself to do it more often, but you just had no clue what he felt for you anymore.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You woke up next to your Prince, freshly married and freshly fucked. You let yourself laugh internally at your own joke before realizing the actual situation.

You’d fucked your best friend. More importantly, you and your best friend had just lost your virginities to each other and you’d loved every fucking second of it. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? You couldn’t even look him in the eyes during this, after moaning his name while he pummeled his cock inside-

Okay. You needed to wise the fuck up. You also needed to get out of Felix’s room, fast. You had to run. You’d never run from Felix before, but with the anxiety mounting in the pit of your stomach and your head feeling like you’d been dangled upside down for hours… yeah, no. You needed to go.

You shot out of bed, looking at your Prince still tucked up in bed. He was letting out deep breaths, not quite snoring but obvious he was still deep in his slumber. You felt guilty for leaving him, but you were due a long advice session with your mother. You hadn’t heard from her or seen her, apart from the note she left you on your bed with the chemise dress.

The same chemise dress that you’d now have to wear back to your mother’s room. You sighed, pulling the material over your head and slipping your shoes on. You’d worn basic white sandals over, and had thankfully worn that oversized coat, so it should hide you from judging eyes.

You looked at Felix again. You felt so fucking guilty. He looked so beautiful in bed, quilt pushed down to his hips now and showing off his body. The sunlight was blaring in through the curtains and highlighting his abdominal muscles, and you just wanted to bury your face in his tummy and bite hard. You shook your head. You needed to speak to your mother. You were driving yourself insane at this point.

You scurried over to your mother’s chambers, thankful that it wasn’t too far from the Royal Family’s side of the bedroom wing. You’d always been placed close together. You did get a few confused murmurs from staff in your direction, but a quick scathing look from you had them shutting up immediately. Perks of being a Princess now, you supposed. People needed to mind their fucking business though.

You raised your hand up, knocking one knock, and three quick ones after. She’d known it was you from the knock, and the door swung open almost instantly. Her face gave away her surprise to see you at her door so early. You immediately crumpled, throwing yourself at her chest and sobbing.

“Oh, dear. Oh, no,” She soothed, stroking your hair. She led you into her room and sat you down on the chair, kissing your forehead. You felt immediately a bit better upon being in her company, but you couldn’t shift the guilt that you left. You’d done it for yourself, but when did you ever do anything for yourself? Apart from marrying Felix just so you didn’t have to see him with anyone else. You’d done that and disguised it in your head as being so that he didn’t have to marry someone he didn’t know, but in reality, you’d been selfish. It had fucking backfired in your face massively. “You… consummated it, I assume?”

You groaned at your mother’s words, reaching up and almost tugging your hair out of your scalp. “D-Don’t wanna talk about it. I need to… I can’t. I fucking can’t.”

Your mother sighed at your language. She kneeled in front of you anyway, placing her hands on your knees. “It’s a bit too late for that, I’m afraid.”

Sniffling, you tried to blink your tears away. It was of no use. They were tumbling down your cheeks freely like the summer rain you and Felix used to dance in when you went to your meadow. You groaned internally. Could you just not think about him for five fucking seconds?

“I… I’m not upset I married him,” you whispered. Your mother nodded, waiting for you to continue. “I think marrying him was one of the greatest things I’ve ever done. I also think it was the worst. I’m… I’m in love with him, and I tried to tell him, and… I just can’t process it. I can’t think straight. I need to get away, just for a bit, just so I can get over my feelings-“

“Going away is not going to rid you of the love you have for that boy, my dear. Things like that are eternal,” Your mother was firm, but soft. She hummed, looking at a space on the wall behind you before nodding. “How about you go and visit your dad’s brother? Your uncle? You’ve not seen him in a while, and it wouldn’t look out of the ordinary at all to go and visit family in the next town after getting married.”

Trust your mother to always think of the way the public would view it. Her job duties still ensured she was a diplomat in every case. You looked at her, in her eyes the same color as yours. It was a good idea. “That’s… yeah, okay. I’ll pack a case and I can go today. Is that alright?”

Your mother smiled again, her long nails going to scratch your scalp. “No longer than a week, my dear. Is that okay?”

She was approving of it. She must understand. You wondered if perhaps your mother had been in a similar situation years ago where she was in a catastrophe and needed to get away. She seemed understanding, and she was telling you what you needed to hear.

You wiped your eyes once more, giving your mother a quick hug before returning to your chambers. You managed to find a large duffle bag that you hadn’t used for years. You struggled to remember what you had even used it for before, before realizing you've used it to smuggle alcohol out of the palace and to a party. Made sense, because now you were using it for another bad fucking decision. It seemed to be all you did.

You shoved a few items of clothing in there, chucking your barely used phone and your charger in there too. Just in case he tried to call, you told yourself. As if you’d pick up anyway, you never used the fucking thing. Quickly getting changed into something more presentable and comfortable for the bus ride over, you slid your shoes back on and slung the duffle bag over your shoulder.

This was it. You were fucking running, like a coward. A part of you knew a week wouldn’t be long enough to rid you of a lifetime full of love for your Prince. A part of you still wanted to try. Seeing family would be the cover - you would actually be seeing family, but you were thinking of it as more of a mental health retreat than anything.

Padding softly out of the palace grounds, you gave a soft wave to the guards posted at the front. Luckily, they didn’t question you. You got a confused facial expression but you simply walked out, making your way down the street to try and find a bus stop.

You almost stopped when you heard quick footsteps behind you. You’d know the sound of those footsteps anywhere - you’d heard it enough times running up and down the palace trying to find you, or trying to run away from you when you were playing some dumb game. You shook your head. Not now, not fucking now. It’s too soon.

“Hey- wait!” It was Felix. You sighed, picking up the pace and dragging your heartbreak along with you. It was hurting you to leave your best friend, your only love, the one that had you enchanted by something a lot more complicated than fictional magic - love. You reassured yourself mentally that you just needed a week, just a few days to process everything and hopefully try to sedate your feelings.

“Jesus, when did you become a fucking athlete, oh my God sugarplum, stop running so fucking fast! Please, just hear me out!”

You stopped dead in your tracks. His pleading always got to you, and you were met with puppy dog eyes you knew you’d see when you spun around to face him. He was dressed casually, baggy sweatpants clad on his legs and a loose hoodie almost falling off one bare shoulder, exposing the freckles littered on his skin. He hadn’t even put proper shoes on - he stood in front of you in sliders. No wonder it had been so hard for him to keep up, you thought, rather pettily. The fucker hadn’t even put shoes on.

You huffed nonetheless, crossing your arms over your chest. “What is it, Felix?”

“I- I just wanted to tell you something,” he bent over, trying to catch his breath and putting his hands on his knees. You wanted to roll your eyes, but he still had you under his spell, and you felt sorry for him. Why had you been running so fast? Why didn’t you just slow down and let him catch up? “I… I know it’s hard. I roped you into marrying me, and it clearly upset you so much you wanted to leave, and I understand that. But then, the book you gave me, the fucking book! And… I know it’s difficult, I know you’re mad at me especially since we had sex, but I’ve been feeling this for like, ever, and-”

You blushed, arms dropping to your sides. “Lix!”

“I just wanted to say that…” Felix huffed, finally returning to his standing position and running a hand through his hair. His hair was wet with sweat, no doubt from running to catch up to you and in his thick clothes. You felt guilty for even wanting to leave. You knew you wouldn’t even be gone long, a week, max - but Felix was nothing if not dramatic. “This is so fucking hard to say, sugarplum. I had a whole thing planned, a big one. That’s why I never mentioned the book. But then you left.”

“God, Lix, will you just get it out?! I don’t have forever-”

“I’m in love with you.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

taglist: @moasworld . @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad . @queenofthegardengnomes . @boomfrogg . @hoeinthehouse . @msaddictions . @sunnyhonie . @hizliyuruyen . @jyu037 . @jouoy . @drhsthl . @seungincore . @jellylver . @veedoesntknaur . @meloncremesoda . @k-poplv . @livieloo914 . @fekixfmp . @fawnpeaks . @minnielvr . @imastraykidsfan . @hanjisung2023 . @hoelynecujoh . @kyrviu . @sxgeofprohets . @everydreams-penumbra . @chaneomma

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apolloscastellan · 5 months ago

Text

You roll like thunder when you come crashing in | Luke Castellan

Pairing: Luke Castellan x female zeus!reader.

Summary: Luke gets injured during capture the flag and you go crazy, it forces you to confront your feelings (Angst+fluff).

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: injury, loss of blood, use of y/n, female pronouns used to describe reader, ig this is ooc Luke, pre-tlt. Not beta'd we die like men, english isn't my first language, etc.

A/N: This is my first ever time publishing anything I've written so pease tell me what you think!

Luke feels like he’s been struck by lightning the first time he sees you. He is sitting down beside Thalia’s tree, talking to her absentmindedly, when he hears the most gut-wrenching scream he has ever heard. He sees you stumbling up the hill, covered in blood and dirt. You are holding up the body of your satyr protector, who struggles to walk. Catching up to you alarmingly quickly is one of the most terrifying monsters Luke has seen in a long time. You seem determined to keep running, even as your protector attempts desperately to get you to leave her behind. Luke knows he shouldn’t, but as he watches you give up trying to run away and prepare to fight, he wants to step outside of camp limits and help you. It seems like you don’t need his help, though, as you pull out a dagger from the back of your cargo pants and charge against the monster. Luke unfreezes then, calling out for the campers who can hear him to go “find Chiron!” When he looks back at you, you’re finishing the monster off. He forgets every protocol and safety rule when he sees you stumbling, sprinting towards you and catching you just in time before you pass out on his arms.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that you are not in your room, or anywhere you recognize. You’re also not outside, the view of the sky that had become usual to you covered by a wooden ceiling. You sit up and look around, no one seems to be there, and when you look out the window you realize that it is probably because it is already dark outside. This must be the camp your protector was talking about, you realize. They are not very good at welcoming newcomers, it seems. Once you find a mirror to check that you don’t look crazy you decide to go outside to try to find someone who can confirm where you are, and hopefully help you settle in. When the wind hits your skin for the first time, you feel a chill run down your spine, you wonder how long you were unconscious for. You follow the voices you can hear singing to a plain terrain. A huge campfire lights up the place, teenagers and kids of all ages congregate around it singing, talking, laughing and eating s’mores. They are all wearing matching orange t-shirts. They look like a cult, you think, and the thought makes you giggle. That seems to pull somebody’s attention, and before you can realize what’s happening, there is a quiet murmur going around and everyone is looking at you. You freeze, suddenly feeling like you are crashing a party you were not invited to. You’re about to turn around and run when a boy with dark brown curly hair and a mischievous smile runs up to you. He couldn’t be older than sixteen, but something about him makes him look as if he is in charge.

“You’re finally awake” He whispers with a sigh.

“Sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude but do I know you? Also, where am I? And Why is everyone staring at me? It’s a little creepy”

He laughs openly, turning around to stare the rest of the kids down.

“Everyone, go back to your own conversations, there is nothing to see here” It’s a little crazy that he thinks it’s gonna work, but it’s even more crazy that it works, and everyone turns around within seconds. He extends his right hand towards you “I’m Luke Castellan, welcome to Camp Half-Blood.”

“y/n” you say, still shocked by his obvious power and shaking his hand. “So, this is the place Leela was talking about.”

You look around, Luke’s eyes fixated on you. Leela was your satyr protector, you met her only a couple weeks before arriving at camp. He is still looking at you when your eyes finally find him again.

“It is. The safe haven for demigods. How much do you know about Greek mythology?”

“A fair bit, the same about Camp Half-Blood, is that how you called it? I’m curious and there’s a lot of awkward silences when you’re traveling across the country” she jokes. “I know about the idea of camp, and about the cabins, the godly parent… When will I get claimed? Leela never told me that.”

The smile immediately drops off his face, an awkward grimace taking its place. He looks around, as if trying to find an excuse to run away. He comes back to the conversation empty handed.

It has been a year since you had arrived at Camp Half-Blood. You had found your place, in more ways than one. You were surprisingly good at sword-fighting, archery and Greek, and you had made many wonderful friends. But still, something was missing. You hadn’t been claimed. And because you had never met either of your parents, you couldn’t even rule out half of the options. You had tried everything, from becoming the best at every activity, to giving the most generous offers, but nothing seemed to work. Luke, who had become your best friend, was pulling his hair out in frustration. In your behalf, because how dare the gods ignore someone as wonderful and kind as you, but also in his because no matter how much he knew he loved you and wanted to be with you, he could not make a move without the fear that Hermes might claim you someday. His dad was not the most reliable of fathers. So he went about his life pretending he wasn’t dying inside to be able to kiss the sadness away from your face. The same sadness that was overwhelmingly present as you got yourselves and your team ready for capture the flag.

“Okay” he said as he clapped his hands to get the attention of the rest of the kids, knowing expanding your winning streak would be the easiest way to make you feel at least a little bit better. “Everyone knows what they’re doing? Good, if you don’t, go see Annabeth right now. Blue team, this victory is ours!”

The kids scatter as he walks back up to you. You’re fiddling with your armor, visibly frustrated. He lets you continue to try on your own until you groan in desperation. He takes the strap from you and buckles it himself.

“What’s wrong?” he asks next, his voice soft.

“Today’s the anniversary of when I first got to camp” you whisper. “And I know, I know that people wait for longer, that some never get to know who it is but I can’t help feeling this way. I’ve tried everything, it’s not fair.”

Luke’s heart breaks hearing you talk about your godly parent, the one person who is supposed to take care of you. But that is how the Gods work, they only care about themselves. He promises then, that he’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. For now, he pulls you close to him, wrapping his arms around your body and placing his chin on your head. You pull apart as the bell that signals the start of the game rings through the forest.

“I’ll see you after our win?”

“Definitely.” The smile on his face stays as he picks up his shield, running away from you.

He turns around right before you lose sight of him, giving you a military salute with his sword, pulling a giggle out of your mouth. You have been tasked with watch-out duty. You are a decoy, pretending to guard the flag so the kids in the other team come after you. You’re a good enough sword fighter to keep them entertained for a while on your own. You are bored for a while, until a group of three young Ares kids surrounds you. They are inexperienced and eager to prove themselves which makes them reckless. You could fight them off easily, and get them on their way, but you know that part of your mission is to stall them so you do your best to not give them your best moves. You’ve been sparring for a little bit when something throws you off. Someone is screaming your name. Through the forest you can see a little girl running towards you. Annabeth looks like she’s crying, which is enough to worry you, Annabeth never cries. The Ares kids try to use the distraction to attack, but you dodge their hits, quickly disarming them before running towards the girl screaming your name.

“Y/n! Come quickly! It’s Luke!”

He is the first thing your eyes lay on when you get to the clear Annabeth has led you to. He is on the floor, unconscious, his face covered in blood. You fall to your knees next to his body. Your hands are shaking, aching to do something, anything. There is not much you can do. You haven’t prayed in a while, having given up, but now, as you tear apart your t-shirt to cover the wound and stop the bleeding, and yell at the younger kids to “go find Chiron!” you beg any God that will listen to not let you lose your best friend. Someone touches your shoulder, whispering that you should move away. You’ve never felt this much rage. How dare someone tell you to walk away, to leave Luke’s side in this moment.

“Get off me!” You don't recognize your own voice as the scream leaves your mouth.

You realize slightly too late that the voice telling you to move was Chiron, but as you turn to apologize you are left speechless. The floor where Chiron had been standing just seconds before was completely burnt. When you look up, you realize why. There, shining above your head, was a lightning bolt.

“Zeus” Chiron said, his voice solemn, as the campers who had gathered to see what had happened, kneeled. “Energymaker, King of Gods, Father of Men. Hail, Y/n Y/l/n, Daughter of the Sky God.

You sit outside the back door of the infirmary for three days, unwilling to talk to anyone. For almost all campers, you’ve disappeared. They won’t let you see Luke, the Apollo kids take turns trying to convince you to go to your Cabin and get some sleep. You refuse. That's a new development, you have a Cabin now. A place where you belong, forever, not a temporary solution, or a rest stop, a place of your own. But the thought of walking into an empty, eerily silent mock of a home has you wanting to crawl out of your skin. You’ve become so used to sleeping through the noise of the Hermes Cabin’s campers you doubt you’ll be able to sleep on your own. And what are you going to do without being able to walk two steps and lay in Luke’s bed? Luke, who is currently unconscious inside the infirmary. Luke, who for some stupid reason you are not allowed to see. Luke, who is the reason why you haven’t even processed that you have been claimed. You have been claimed by Zeus no less. The king of the Gods, one of the Big Three. You can’t think of the implications, not when your best friend is battling between life and death so close to you, yet out of reach. You play with the food Annabeth had brought you, trying to forget the worry in her face as she tried to get you to say something. You know that Luke would have wanted you to move, take care of her and all the other campers, but you can't. He can’t be disappointed when he is unconscious. Still, you try your best, nodding at her words so she knows you’re listening. The door opens as you give up eating for the night. Mark, the Head Counselor of the Apollo Cabin looks down at you. He motions you to follow him with his head and you do so wordlessly. You don’t know what to think, and then you see him. He is sitting down, his back propped up with a pillow. He has bandages covering his reopened scar, and he gives you a sad smile when he finally spots you. You freeze for a second, unable to believe your eyes, before running and launching yourself towards him.

“I’m going to kill you” you say through the tears streaming down your face, hiding in the crook of his neck. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

You try to pull away but his arms stop you. You feel him shake his head.

“Don’t you dare, I’m fine.”

“I thought you were dead. I thought…”

“I’m ok… I’m ok now.”

“I got claimed.” You spit out suddenly, which makes Luke pull back, looking at you with wide eyes, a silent question in his face. “Zeus”

You can see his expression turn mournful as he remembers his old best friend. You’ve heard about Thalia, the quiet resentment you held for the girl who had undoubtedly held Luke’s heart had once made you feel terribly guilty. Now, you feel a sort of kin with her you had never felt before. You wish she was still here. You can see in Luke’s eyes he feels the same way.

“Daughter of the king of the Gods” he says finally, trying to be upbeat. “What a power trip. Hope it doesn’t get to your head. How’s the empty cabin? Much easier to sleep I hope?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been there yet” you breathe in and out. “I couldn’t leave you. The thought of anything happening to you…”

“Y/n…”

“No, let me finish. I need to get this off my chest.”

Alone with yourself for the past three days, you had had a lot of time to think. That is all you had done. Think about yourself, and your dad and your friends and the danger all of you were under just for being born. But mostly, you thought about Luke. And how he was the only person you felt truly comfortable with. And how you had this weird, guilt-inducing dislike of Thalia, not because she wasn’t good, you had never met her, but because she had Luke before you ever did, and you couldn’t stand it.

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking these past few days,” you finally breathe out. “And I have come to a couple realizations. Luke, I'm in love with you.”

It comes out of your mouth like a shot, unplanned and unbridled. You don’t know how you had planned to say it, but it was not like this.

“You’re what?” too embarrassed to look him in the eye, you shift your gaze to your lap.

“I’m in love with you. I don’t know how it happened, and I honestly don't know why I’m telling you. I guess watching you almost die made me realize life’s too short to keep secrets. You don’t have to say anything at all, but I love you.”

He’s already looking at you when you finally look up, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Nobody says anything for a couple of seconds. You search your brain for a joke, something to say to dispel the tension. You shouldn’t have said anything. You should’ve just kept it to yourself. Before you can continue further down your spiral he finally breaks his trance, pulling you towards him from the front of your ripped t-shirt and kissing you. Your lips move against his almost instinctively, and you can’t think of anything that’s not the taste of his tongue when it finally makes its way to your mouth, or the weight of his hands that have now shifted to your waist. You pull away when both of you need to breathe, but he doesn’t let you get very far.

“I love you too. I’ve loved you from the first day I met you. I’ve always known, you are it for me. I love you.”

At a loss for what to say, you kiss him again. Your hands cradle his face before moving to his curls. You kiss each other as if trying to convey the magnitude, the finality, of your feelings for each other. Luke is right. This is it, for both of you, You have finally found your person. Everything else is background noise from that point forward. You don’t care that the Gods are unfair and neglectful, or that you were born to a world destined to kill you. As long as you have Luke, you know it’ll be alright.

#Annie writes #Annie writes Luke #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #percy jackson #luke pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n #percy jackson fanfiction #pjo series #pjo fanfic #luke x reader #luke castellan fanfic

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sadhours · 11 months ago

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gamer boyfriend with kurt

kurt x female reader

cw: 18+ minors dni, virginity loss, oral (m receiving), no use of y/n, awkward dirty talk, p in v (unprotected)

“Ya know, if you actually stream the gameplay and not just your face, people might watch,” you tell him as you sit back on the bed, plugging in your phone.

Kurt looks down at his lap and then back up at you, looks like he’s connecting the dots and you’re right. Like he’s never thought of that before. He pouts, “Yeah well maybe when the money from Spree gets to my bank, I’ll look into it.”

You huff, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can watch him. You have no idea what game he’s playing, video games aren’t really your thing. But it’s a bunch of dudes running around with guns. You’d have a better chance guessing if the games were listed on a board and you threw a dart at it. Who you think is Kurt’s character isn’t very good, though. The dudes running around in circles and not shooting. Gets shot several times in the few minutes you’re watching.

“Are you winning?” you ask, bored.

“No,” he mumbles.

You sigh and pick up your phone, scrolling through Twitter absentmindedly when some porn pops up and out of curiosity, you don’t keep scrolling. An idea pops into your head and you reach your foot out to poke Kurt’s thigh. “I know how to get some attention online,” you purr.

“How?!” he asks excitedly, glancing briefly at you and then his eyebrows furrow. “I’m talking to my girlfriend, not you guys!” he screeches into the mic. Then his eyes roll, “Yes, she’s real.”

You giggle, stroking your foot up his thigh and back down. His cheeks flush as he continues in the mic, “We haven’t had a chance yet.” He sounds embarrassed and you can assume they’re asking if he’s slept with you, in not so nice words. And you two haven’t. Not for a lack of trying on your end. Hell, you would’ve blown him in his Spree the first time you met. Granted, you were drunk but you thought Kurt was cute and really, you would’ve invited him in if he wasn’t so awkward. So you left him your number on a napkin but he never called. And for about two weeks you wracked your brain trying to remember his instagram handle that he repeatedly rattled off to you and your drunken friends. They thought he was cringey but something about Kurt intrigued you. He was sweet. And really goddamn good looking under that mop of greasy hair and clothes his mom picked out for him.

She was really the reason you guys hadn’t done much more than rushed handjobs in his Prius. Kurt’s mom was… protective. Babied the hell out of Kurt. Treats him like a teenager and not a 23 year old man. The door has to stay open when you’re over. Like that would stop two adults from fooling around.

“We’re busy, I don’t know,” Kurt’s mumbling interrupts your thoughts. “No! She wants to. She definitely wants to.”

You get up from his bed and get yourself between his thighs, purring into the mic, “Oh, I really want to.”

Kurt’s face lights up, cheeks flushing as they swell with a bright smile. You giggle, and close his laptop, ending his stream. Something like this will get him banned, and you’re pretty sure he’d cry over it. He starts to protest, “Wait! What are you—“ it dies in his throat as you palm at his crotch over his pants.

His eyes roll back the harder you rub and yours glance up towards the door, making sure his mom isn’t being nosy. But she works a lot so when she gets home, she tends to pass out watching TV. You’re probably in the clear as long as Kurt keeps quiet. Your fingers work to unbutton his jeans, pulling down the zipper before grabbing his waistband and tugging his pants down. You can see the swell of his dick chubbing up in his briefs and you rub your nose against him, looking up to see his pretty, full lips falling open. He’s gripping the controller close to his chest and his eyes are on you. Sweetest brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Mouthing at his boner, you hook your fingers into his briefs and start pulling them down his thighs. Kurt’s impressive length flops out and rises with arousal, filling out quickly. Kurt hasn’t admitted he’s a virgin, but you’ve come to the conclusion he is. Which is a first for you and it’s exciting. The thought that you’ll be his first is intoxicating and has you soaking through your panties. You wrap your fingers around his cock and stroke him slow and tight, mouth watering at the sight of it. His cocks huge. Pretty. Thick and long with a pink head and it gets wet. Never seen a man leak so much. You lick his slit, giddy when he whines and grips the Xbox controller tighter.

“Maybe I am,” he mumbles into the microphone and smirks and you laugh softly, squeezing his dick tighter. More precum bubbles out of his slit and you’re quick to lick it up.

“Tell them, Kurt,” you bite your lip, “Tell them what I’m doing.”

He looks shy, eyebrows raising as his cheeks ruddy even more, “She’s literally touching my dick right now.”

He whispers it, barely audible and you wrap your lips around his tip, sucking softly as you look up at him. Wide eyed. Kurt whines again and then says, “I’m not lying!”

“Shh,” you hush him when you pull off his dick, “We have to be quiet.”

“Sorry,” his eyes are so so sweet and apologetic. You need him. Can’t handle it anymore. You stand, pushing down your leggings and underwear before climbing into his lap. He grunts, looking at you all wide eyed and confused but it just spurs you on more. You’re almost feral for it. For him. For Kurt.

“Shh,” you repeat, “Need you, now.”

You grip his cock, lining it up with your entrance and sinking down on him. You whine from it and Kurt moans, loud and shaky. Slapping your palm over his mouth, you look at him with wide eyes before looking over to the doorway.

“Kurt… keep it down, baby. Okay?” you whisper, gazing into those beautiful brown eyes. He nods, and you grab the controller, dropping it to the floor and guiding his hands to hold your waist. He grips you tightly, looking up at you with stars in his eyes. You smile, stroking his cheek with your thumb before lifting up and slowly lowering back down on him. Kurt looks amazed, eyes and mouth open in absolute awe. You build a slow and gently rhythm, wanting this to last at least five minutes.

You connect your lips to his, pushing the headphones off his head and they fall around his neck. Riding him steadily, you deepen the kiss as you slide your tongue along his lower lip. But Kurt’s Kurt so he doesn’t get it and you have to press your thumb to his chin and pull his mouth open. When you lick inside his mouth, he moans and digs his fingers into the small of your back. Thank God his cocks so long, it prods at your g-spot perfectly, hooked just right. You’re sure you can cum if you time it properly. So you kiss him filthier before picking up the pace, sucking on his tongue and licking against the roof of his mouth. Kurt’s completely falling apart, whimpering and messy. You bounce in his lap, adjusting the angle to ensure he’s slamming against your spongy bit just so.

His gaming chair squeaks under the weight, rhythmically mirroring your thrusts. You gasp, pulling back from the kiss and whispering in his ear, “Talk to me, baby. Make me me cum.”

“Oh!” he whines, “okay, uh… I’m fucking you. With my dick.”

It’s almost sweet and dorky enough to work, it makes you smile and you nod as you whisper back, “Yeah, baby. You are, your cock is so big. Filling me so deep, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” he whimpers, “Filling your pussy up.”

“How’s my pussy feel, baby?” You coax him along, knitting your fingers in his hair, slowing your movements.

“Good. Really good,” he struggles to get stay quiet, voice wrecked and shaky, “It’s wet and so good.”

“Yeah?” you hum, kissing along his jaw, “You wanna cum in my pussy, baby?”

“I—fuck,” he grits out, wrapping his arms around your waist while he holds you still, spurts of hot cum shooting from him inside you.

Well, you tried. You nuzzle against him and repeatedly kiss his jaw as he rides out his bliss. “That’s it, Kurt. Fill me up.”

He lets out a pathetic sound, face all contorted as he thrusts his hips up at you. Then his arms fall to his sides while he lets out labored breaths. You keep kissing his face and stroking his hair.

“Let’s go to mine. And we can do that some more,” you say and Kurt laughs, full of excitement and disbelief.

#kurt kunkle smut #kurt kunkle #kurt kunkle x reader #Kurt kunkle x you

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consultingskeletondetective · 3 months ago

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Virginal, chapter 2

Michael had left you alive, and you couldn't begin to fathom why. You know all you can do is try and forget it and move on with your life.

Except...Michael has followed you home.

masterlist ❤️🖤 ao3

chapter tags: serial killer, murder, death, violence, blood, gore, weapons, knife, female reader, non con, stalking, hair pulling, forced orgasms

The police hadn’t caught him yet.

It had been almost a week since your encounter with Michael Myers in the woods on your way home from work, and he’d been on the run ever since. You hadn’t reported what had happened to the authorities, even if you’d been on the verge of it many times. You’d spent the whole week waking up in cold sweats with a gooey and shameful mess between your legs at the memory of Michael’s large hand on your neck, or the sense-memory of his cock pressed heavy and dangerous against your core. The way he’d used you, fucked you, like his own little plaything haunted you.

No one could know what he’d done to you, no one could know how you felt about it, even if the guilt gnawed at you. Maybe if you’d told someone, they might have caught him by now, and people might still be alive. But there was a part of you, a part of you you wished you didn’t have, that reminded you that if Michael wanted someone dead, then there was nothing any earthly power could do to keep that person alive. Michael left no survivors.

Except for you.

It had been on the news religiously all week; police were baffled by his location and utterly at a loss for his motivations and patterns. Michael, it seemed, cared not a bit to cover his tracks. He even seemed to decorate his murder scenes artistically, propping bodies up and, blurred though they were on the television, reminding you of a sick and gruesome game of action figures. They were Michael’s bodies, to do with as he pleased. Twelve people he’d killed since he found you. Twelve. That the authorities were aware of, anyway. The thought chilled you to the very core.

You’d learnt from the heavy reporting that Michael Myers had been being held at the Westbrook Sanitarium for the criminally insane, not four miles from where you worked, and he’d escaped that night he’d taken you - thrust against your weak body until he came on your cunt like a wild animal.

You were the first person he’d come across, apparently, and after years of solitude, Michael had some frustrations to take out on you. You knew well who he was, you recognised that mask and that boiler suit the second you’d seen it. You’d grown up with stories of the boogeyman who’d murdered his sister the same as everyone else, thrust into the spotlight when he’d escaped from Smith’s Grove Sanitarium a few years ago and murdered a bunch of teenagers on a spree. You’d seen the youtube video essays and buzzfeed articles on the stoic killing machine who’d baffled psychologists and doctors up and down the country, maybe even the world. You’d walked past books in shops written about this monster, his silence, his rage, his gore and death and damnation were a part of your culture. It made it easy to forget that Michael Myers was real, and not just some fictitious product of a sick mind. He became very real to you that night, your own personal boogeyman.

You’d learnt that Michael Myers was no man, he was an evil spirit, a hell-sent silent demon, a ghost - one that was haunting you.

You turned the television off and went into the bathroom, shucking your clothes into a messy pile by the bath as you stepped under the cool spray of the shower.

It was a warm day, your skin over-hot, and you welcomed the clammy dribbles down your back. You washed quickly, fingers pressing too familiar over the lips of your pussy, you expected them still to be swollen, puffy from use where Michael had rutted his scorching and elephantine cock against you like a beast in heat, but it wasn’t. It was like it hadn’t happened. Except it had, of course, because you still wore him on your skin. His fingertips were in every bruise, his grip was the ache in your bones with every groan of your sore body. It was like he’d marked you, made your tiny body a part of his eclipsing form.

You shook your head frustratedly to yourself in the bathroom mirror before flicking the lightswitch off and making your way to your bedroom. You couldn’t think of him every moment for the rest of your life, you couldn’t live in fear of the boogeyman. He had left you alive, and you had to live with that. Michael was gone, and you’d never see him again.

You pulled a short nightdress on, the flimsy material to combat the hot and sticky night you anticipated, and you made your way to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle to take to bed.

The outside light was on.

It wasn’t yours, but your neighbours. It was motion-sensored, you knew that because it blinded you every time you stumbled back from a night shift.

You frowned before crossing to the door, to close the blinds over the glass so no one would be able to see into your home in the middle of the night. Your hand tangled in the string before it froze, along with the rest of your body. Like your blood had frozen to ice inside you and made you a dead weight to the floor.

Michael was standing under the light, 50 yards away from your door. He was staring sightlessly at you through the empty eyes of his mask, utterly emotionless. His hands rested unclenched by his sides, his back razor-straight as always. He was just watching. His form gave no indication of how long he’d been there. Maybe hours.

Fear shot through you and the string began to shake violently in your grip as you stared at him. He’d come to finish what he’d started, you realised in horror, he’d noticed his mistake in leaving you alive. Was it so you couldn’t tell the police? Was it just that you needed to die, he’d had you in his grasp and that was that, a rageful itch under his skin that wouldn’t be quenched until your blood was soaking his hands?

It didn’t make sense. He was stood in the street, bathed in your neighbours motion light like a bloody homing beacon. Surely they’d seen him. Surely someone had seen him and called the police? Why weren’t there any sirens? It was deathly quiet. Just you, him and the wind. Maybe it was a fever dream, a sleep paralysis nightmare and your demon had returned to you.

He began walking leisurely towards the door, his pace bone-tinglingly unhurried as ever, before he stopped at the glass and peered down at you. You shrank, paralysed with fear. You’d somehow forgotten just how big he was. He might have been two foot taller than you, and just as broad, taking up the whole of the door so he blacked out any light behind him. That was as good a metaphor as any to describe Michael. The darkness followed him.

You didn’t know why you weren’t moving, dazzled, you supposed somewhere in the back of your mind. A monster brought to life, in front of you, enough to convince yourself that you were dreaming.

His fist shattered through the glass, shards of glittering ice hitting the kitchen floor as his hand curled down to find the handle. You screamed, backing off so violently your back hit the fridge and tears wept down your cheeks until they were quite literally soaking the front of your nightie. This was no dream. It was a nightmare incarnate.

Even his violent outburst seemed calm somehow, shattering your backdoor into shards of glass like it was nothing. His large hand found the door handle and began to rattle it, and the noise caused your brain to snap back to where it needed to be.

You forced your eyes from him, pushed yourself away from the fridge and scurried into the living room. The front door was in your sights. You didn’t know precisely what you planned to do with yourself when you got outside, your brain hadn’t made it that far yet. All you knew was that you needed to survive, and you had no chance of that locked in the same cage as this rabid animal.

You grabbed for the front door handle with a hiss of accomplishment, throwing your gaze back over your shoulder to ascertain how much time you had. No time. Michael was already in the living room, walking towards you like he had all the time in the world. You shrieked in pure terror at his towering form as you flung the door wide open, the concrete of your front step was cool on your barefoot but the sensation barely lasted a second as fingers tangled roughly in your hair and yanked you roughly until you fell onto the carpet. The open-palm of Michael’s free hand slammed the front door shut, cutting off your exit, and the oak creaked under the force of it, the foundations of the house damn-near shaking.

You scrambled onto your knees, screeching, crying, grasping at his hand in your hair, wincing when every flex of his fingers yanked at your scalp, tearing individual hairs out by the roots. He had to bend his back to hold you to the floor, his emotionless mask looking down on you. His breathing was barely audible over your devastated screams. You couldn’t move.

“Please, please, please, Michael, please don’t kill me. I didn’t tell anyone, I swear! I won’t! I don’t want to die, please let me go, please, please-”

You could barely beg, your throat hoarse, your words sobs. He didn’t respond except to drag you into the middle of the room by your hair, kicking the coffee table aside to make room for you both in the middle of the floor. One of the wooden legs of your poor table snapped under his boot before he tossed you down like a ragdoll. Your back hit the carpeted floor and it shook your whole frame. You instinctively planted your palms on the floor behind yourself, to crawl back, to spring up, you didn’t know.

Michael’s boot came to rest on your bare thigh, his weight utterly solid and you wailed as he pinned you to the floor. Your nightie had ridden up, not to the point of indecency, but enough that his boot kissed your flesh. You froze as fresh tears streamed down your face, remembering exactly what he’d done the last time he’d had you like this, as if just realising how acutely vulnerable you were in this position. Were you even wearing underwear? You didn’t think so. His boot was mere inches away from your exposed cunt, all he’d have to do was push your dress up and he’d see everything. See how fucking wet you were. You hated yourself.

“Please,” you tried again, voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him. Submissive, you realised, prey before a predator, begging for its life. “What do you want?”

He didn’t move, you could barely tell if he was breathing, just staring down at you as everything else in the world fell away. His hands were still loose by his sides, no knife, you noted, but a grim red-hued dirt on the rough palms of his hands you could identify without too much guesswork. Your stomach rolled.

His hand raised and you jolted, expecting pain, to be struck, stripped, killed.

How long had he been searching for you? Maybe he’d never left, maybe he’d been one step behind you all week, watching you sleep, watching you shower - were those twelve people dead because they lived close to you? Did you kill them?

His large hand came to rest over the front of his crotch and your mouth fell open. Not again. Why me? You were already shaking your head, breathy hitching sobs racking through you.

“No, Michael, please -”

He toed your thigh with the steel-gap of his boot, shoving it to the side, affectively opening your legs and you wanted to close your eyes, the feeling of vulnerability and shame as he spread your legs for him hurt something deep inside of you, you felt dirty and shameful in every one of your nerves. Your slick was soaking the back of your nightie and probably your carpet too. What the fuck was wrong with you?

He fell to his knees in front of you, in a way that could only have hurt, but he didn’t make a sound as his large, gore-stained hands gripped your bare thighs and tugged until you were lying in front of him. You squeaked, your legs not quite touching his, more left hanging in the air as he scraped his calloused hands down your thighs in a way that definitely didn’t make your heart speed up, no more than it was already hammering, before his palms were flat on your inner thighs, pressing them apart and into the floor. You tried immediately and desperately to close them and his grip on you tightened to the point of extreme pain, your femurs tremoring dangerously like they might snap if you moved even an inch.

You stilled completely, you couldn’t tell where he was looking, but it seemed to be right at you, that emotionless masked expression, or lack of, giving you nothing, but you could feel the rage and the dangerous power wafting off of him, you could feel the coiled strength in his fingers, the strain of his bicep muscles in his boiler suit as he held you immobile and you swallowed, shivering in fear and pitiful acceptance as you stopped struggling. If you had any hope of getting out of this alive, and as uninjured as possible, you had to stop fighting.

His pathetic, mewling hole, your brain supplied almost bitterly.

Once apparently satisfied you’d stopped struggling, MIchael’s grip on your thighs lessened somewhat, leaving deep red bruises regardless, and he shifted forwards on his knees, taking up more space between your legs, as he rucked your nightie up to your belly, sitting back a little just to stare at your pussy, exposed and dripping and vulnerable, as if getting a good look at the wet little hole that had made him come so hard the last time.

Your cheeks burned boiling hot as he looked at you, your thighs twitching conspirately to close but you forced yourself to try and calm, utterly impossible, you trembled like a newborn foal.

He dipped his head between your legs and your back arched, startled, wondering what he possibly meant to do, particularly, your horrible brain chipped in, with a mask over his face. You could hear nothing but that breathing, before it was sucked in, the nose of his mask just nudging your folds and making you jolt.

Was he - was he smelling you?

He made no noise, his body shifted an inch. What was he doing? It was like he was searching for something. He kept his nose buried against your soaping heat for a few more moments before he apparently found it. Then he was sitting back up again. Your knees were nearly knocking together in terror when his hands, fuck, how were they so big? framed your cunt, pulling at the flesh of the tops of your thighs, spreading your folds, revealing the vulnerable pink flesh of your seam, your clit.

Oh fuck.

He prodded you with a long finger a few times, painful sharp jabs until he caught the rim of your opening and sunk in to the knuckle. It burned, it burned so hot, you clenched painfully around his finger. Fuck, it felt like the size of a cock all on its own. But the finger was withdrawn as quickly as it had breached you, like a fucking dip test, but no less rough on the way out and you grimaced. You had a pretty good idea about what was to follow, and the anticipation of the pain alone was enough to make you cry again.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tried again pathetically, wondering somewhere in your mind why you were trying to distract him from fucking you, when the alternative was his heavy hands shattering your collarbone until your heart was pierced by your own brittle dagger. Survival, you kept saying to yourself, one day you might believe it, you were trying to live. Nothing else. Nothing else.

He’d already unzipped his boiler suit, you could just glimpse a sliver of pale flesh beneath but he undressed himself no further, reaching down into his trousers and pulling his cock free.

Fucking hell.

It was a goddamn fucking monster. It sat snug in Michael’s large hand, long and thick, crown red with blood and dribbling precome, it curved up slightly, in a way that was designed to attack that spot inside of you, and when he dropped it, it dipped, bobbing against his boiler suit, so heavy under its own weight it could barely hold itself up, but it did, his cock stood proud and to attention, ready for action, as he shifted down a little, hands once more finding your thighs and hauling you practically into his lap. He threw your legs over his broad hips, stretching your thigh muscles, as his cock rested hot and heavy on your pelvic bone, like a leaden weight on you. Oh fuck, you were so fucked. It was near enough the size of your thigh, and you knew it was going to wreck you.

You jerked your hips uselessly, trying in vain to put some distance between you and Michael’s thick cock, you’d never had a partner that size before, you’d never even had a toy that size. It wasn’t going to fit, it was as simple as that. Except he didn’t care.

He pressed his hips up, taking you with him, lifting your back clean off of the floor so your spine was arched uncomfortably. He paid you no mind as he gripped the base of his erection and slipped himself down through your folds.

He was silent, calm and ferocious as he pressed forward against you with so much pressure that it hurt. You could feel his heaviness hard against your pelvic bone and you trembled in fearful anticipation of what was about to happen.

Finally, Michael found what he was looking for and his thick cockhead breached your hole barely a centimetre but still you gasped, already undone by being so violently penetrated by not even a goddamn inch of that fat unforgiving head.

Michael surged forward, in triumph perhaps, or just in a hurry to get his cock stuffed deep into you as quickly as possible, but your traitorous cunt was wet enough that he slipped straight back out again, whole cock fucking upwards and jamming through your folds, gliding gloriously against your clit. You let out a loud moan and he stilled entirely except for the throb of his cock against you. You clapped your hands to your mouth and forced your eyes to the ceiling. You hadn’t meant to do that. You didn’t want to give him the sick satisfaction. It was the last thing you could keep for yourself.

Michael was a fast learner, it seemed, because this time he inched a little more slowly inside you until a good inch of solid cock was spearing you open. You thought you might die, knees knocking against his hips helplessly as he forcibly stretched you obscenely around him. You will take me, I will make it fit.

Only when he was firm in you, and you were surely going to pass out from pressure alone, did he plunge his hips forward, his whole cock sinking to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

The pain, fuck the pain was indescribable, burning, aching, stuffed full, stuffed beyond full - he didn’t care - he didn’t care that he’d probably just ripped you in half, stretched you so full you were more cock than you were yourself anymore. He didn’t care you were crying, shivering, he cared that you were an open, wet heat to warm his cock in.

Those blood-stained, murderous hands gripped your hips and an ache blossomed in your bones, your skin beneath his skin turned white to red to near-black with bloodied pressure-bruises as he gripped you hard enough you fully believed he intended to shatter bone. He could, you knew he could. It was enough to lose yourself to, you were going to pass out, you were going to die from the stress and agony forced upon your weak and small body. This was how he was going to kill you.

He moved, shifted his heavy length inside you, nudging spots of your flesh where a cock was not meant to be. He pulled out incrementally, shoved back in and oh - oh .

Your thighs shook again, trembled, as spiralling pleasure mixed with pain and your pussy clenched around his cock, contracting around it as he thrust in again, as if traitorously and deliriously pulling him in to you, to where that thick and hot pressure felt the best. He thrust in again, harder than before, faster than before, immediately picking up an athletic, robotic pace as if he were half-way through a marathon fuck, thrumming with energy. You had no time to adjust, no time to build-up - you were there immediately, clenching uncontrollably on Michael Myer’s mercilessly hard cock, your cunt fluttering and clenching on every brutal, animalistic intrusion, until you couldn’t take it anymore. There was no edge, there was just falling.

You yelped, back arching up even more than it already was, legs squeezing the small of Michael’s back as your poor cunt spasmed, coming hot and hard until you felt your own slick dribbling down the backs of your thighs. Michael didn’t stop for a second, he didn’t even slow, you nearly choked on your own spit.

He was utterly devoid of anything, breathing heavy and focused, no movement except the piston of his hips as he fucked you deep and unforgiving until you were sure his thick crown was kissing at your cervix.

Your head was hazy, eyes unfocused, you had absolutely no control over your overworked cunt anymore, whining pitifully as you came around him again, lathering his cock in your traitorous spend, praying every time that he’d slow, but he didn’t, and you felt that molten lava in your core building again until you were covered in a sheen of your own sweat, spent, exhausted. He didn’t care. He wasn’t done yet, he wanted more. He took it.

He angled his hips up, chasing a sensation, you weren’t prepared for it. He hammered into you until his hip bones were slamming against your inner thighs with enough force to shake your entire body. His cock against your sweet spot was like a punch to the gut and you screamed. Pain, pleasure, you didn’t know anymore as your hips convulsed and jerked, clamping down on him hard enough that if he were a normal man, he wouldn’t have been able to move.

But Michael was no normal man.

He held your hips down, taking your clenching orgasm for himself as he slammed into you. Being fucked into your leg-shaking release was like being volted off of this ethereal plane and into another, your eyes whitened, your brain slowed to juddering holt as dizzying, mind-numbing ohmyfuckinggodthisfeelssogood short-circuited your entire being.

Michael slammed into you one final time, unable to withstand the vice-like grip of your velvet walls any longer before he was stilling completely, his cock an erupting volcano inside of you that spurted hot white heat against your walls, filling you utterly.

Your mouth opened in shock, or exhaustion, as your whole body trembled, jerking uncontrollably in the aftershocks.

He didn’t linger. His hands left your hips first, the bruises behind ached immediately, black and devastating to your skin where even taking a breath in bothered them. Then he snapped his hips back, swollen cock slipping free of your drenched heat, sopping with white. He let it hang there, between his legs, a stark contrast against his boiler suit, and you trembled with undignified arousal. Your cunt felt wrecked, stretched wide, forced open to accommodate him, and yet your body still somehow ached for more. No, you were terrified, fighting for your life, this wasn’t real. None of it was.

He stood, using core strength alone, leaving your legs to fall heavily to the floor. They ached where the muscles had been stretched, kicking the pain in your back and your hips into eleventh gear. You’d been twisted like a pretzel for too long. You frowned. How long had he been fucking you? It felt like no time at all, it felt like days.

You pulled your nightie down as far as it would go, scrambling your legs together despite the way they twinged. You could feel him squelching between your thighs and your untouched clit twinged pitifully.

When you gathered the courage to look up at him, you saw that he’d tucked himself away and zipped himself back up. He stood tall and menacing over you, gargantuan in your living room, his head near-touching the ceiling. He was peering down at you, that devoid mask giving nothing. The utter silence was as terrifying and deafening as any death cry.

He cocked his head ever so slightly and you winced, fight or flight response, before he was turning on his heel and heading back to the kitchen.

Terror rocked through you, vomit-inducing, head-spinning terror, and you were on your feet in a heartbeat. Your mauled insides and your ruined hips complained at you but you ignored it. They would mean nothing if you were dead. Which you were about to be. He was going for a knife, surely he was. He -

The creak of the kitchen door caught you by surprise, but it took a few long minutes for your heart to stop thudding loud enough for you to realise that he wasn’t coming back in. After a few breaths, your curiosity got the better of you and you crept into the kitchen. The back door was shut, except for the hole gaped in the glass by his fist, of course, and the kitchen was empty.

You were careful with your bare feet to avoid the shards of glass on the floor, not that it would make massive amounts of difference to your ruined body, before you shakily peered through what remained of your door.

The motion detector light was on, the street was empty.

Confusion and shame rocked through you with enough force to make you tumble and you had to grip the countertop to keep yourself upright.

How on earth were you still alive? For a second time? What did the most infamous serial killer in the country get from keeping you alive?

A hot, wet hole to come in.

You could feel the ache between your legs like Michael was still there, it was a glorious, horrible burn, trembling pleasure, irrefutable depravity - the best fuck of your life.

What did that make you?

Everything was eerily quiet. Your water bottle still sat on the side. If it weren’t for the broken door and the shards of glass, it would be easy to imagine that Michael hadn't been there at all.

Except for the warm come dribbling down your thighs where he’d marked his territory inside you. You swallowed. Whether you were his next victim or his fucktoy - you couldn’t escape that you were his. And you knew, even now, with terrifying certainty, that Michael Myers was not going to let you go.

link to chapter 3

#virginal #skeleton_detective #michael myers #halloween #michael myers x reader #fanfiction #multi chapter #pls read the tags #dark fic

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btsmosphere · 7 months ago

Text

Supercharged | JJK

Chapter 1: the Light Dies

masterlist | next

🗲summary: It starts with a blow to the chest that changes your life. When your city’s most celebrated hero pays a visit, it turns out the noble Bolt has no trouble tossing lives aside. Lives that won't be missed. Lives like yours. Seven mysterious and powerful men give you another chance – one that starts to feel more like a curse the moment you meet golden boy Jungkook. The boy who wants you as far from his brothers as he can get you. Is it you he hates, or the blue lightning that now runs through your veins? And could it be his golden light that illuminates your heart when darkness threatens? 🗲this chapter: He’s the hero. Unfortunately for you, you’re not the villain.

🗲pairing: jungkook x female reader 🗲word count: 6.6k 🗲genre: angst, action, eventual fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, superheroes/villains au, it’s sorta like a mafia au but they have superpowers lmao 🗲rating: pg15 🗲warnings: violence with superpowers, minor character death, attempted murder, injury, loss of consciousness

a/n: I have to say thank you to @casuallyimagining and @bluewhale52 for betaing this chapter, although this might come as a surprise to them since that was maybe 3 years ago now?😅I'm really not sure how much my writing had changed since then, but you guys can be the judge of that as the future chapters unfold! In the meantime, enjoy! If you want more supercharged in your life, you can also search my supercharged tag to find some musings, rambling, gifsets and visuals etc that inspired me and kept me going while I lost my mind over this story!

Lastly, I present the supercharged playlist✨ I had a lot of fun making this – several songs align with plot events, while some of them are there for the title, the vibe, or even a single line! Feel free to guess which are which or come and chat with me about it👀

An ear-splitting roar was barely contained behind shuddering steel doors. Just down the corridor, your fingers still clicked away, unperturbed, at your keyboard.

Tapping your foot, you looked impatiently up at the clock as another thunderous bellow assaulted the air. If the full-length windows weren’t reinforced by your boss, Kuyang’s own design, they would be rattling in their frames.

Blowing to rid your face of a strand of hair, you returned to your work, not even sparing a glance towards the source of the racket. It was only around half an hour until you could leave work for the weekend.

Finishing your task, you turned to filing the correspondence on your desk as a few yells carried through the air, mingled with the monster’s uproar. Bills and business deals the lot of them, you tucked them away in their respective places to be dealt with next week – only to stop on the very last one. How many times had the postman ignored the very clear sign for no newspapers?

You supposed the city felt the need to remind everyone that there was some semblance of central control – not really of much concern in a workplace such as yours, mind. Glancing across the front page, you realised why. You didn’t have a tv at home, but you would have to live under a rock not to recognise your city’s most celebrated superhero. Bolt, the media’s beloved, had claimed another victory against some crazy start-up trying to build their own bombs downtown.

The hero’s blue-masked face grinned confidently up at you from the desk, while police led what looked to be two scruffy teenagers into the back of their van. But Bolt’s vivid presence eclipsed them in his suit that matched his bright eyes.

Not bothering to read further, you pushed the paper into the waste bin at the end of the table.

Just as you were tucking away the final bits of paper, your boss emerged, wiping his brow on a cloth that looked as dirty as his face. Smiling pleasantly despite his ruffled state, you rotated on your chair to face him.

“Frank’s all good and sleepy now,” he said, “if you could get him sent up to the chamber.”

“Sure,” you nodded, already getting up and straightening your jacket.

With nothing more than a weary nod of appreciation, he left for his private laboratory. This was through a series more armoured doors, to which only you and a small number of lab workers knew the codes.

He was a scientist. And you were sure he was unhinged, but the job paid well, so that was all you concerned yourself with.

In fact, you had got very lucky. You had been surprised when such a good position had become available and quickly given to someone as ill-qualified as you, with no references to give. But your lack of connections seemed of no concern, and here you were, finally making ends meet and no longer in fear of being turned out of your run-down apartment at the edge of town.

So you did your job as well as you could, worrying yourself over nothing except pleasing the odd man that was Kuyang.

Even so, it was still a little daunting each time you had to come face-to-face with one of his experiments.

Reaching the steel doors that had not long ago been seriously threatening their hinges, you took a breath. Holding your thumb over a scanner by the door, you plastered a confident smile on your face as you walked inside.

Affectionately dubbed ‘Frank’, a great lump of teeth and dark furry flesh several times bigger than you was sleeping in a pod at the centre of the room. Surrounding this were multitudes of screens showing graphs and readings you couldn’t hope to understand.

At the edges of the room, a smattering of other workers were slumped against the stainless steel lab walls, almost as rumpled as their boss had been.

A hulking guard, Taeyeon, stood near the entrance, and you quietly confirmed with her that Frank was under and secure. Nodding, you gestured to Taeyeon’s team, another man and woman with the same uniform and intimidating stature.

Together, you assembled in front of the tank that held Frank, Taeyeon typing authorisation into one of the computers. The others locked down the external doors, just in case.

Though it was a familiar sight by now, the opening of the pod always prompted you to run through your training. If you hadn’t read it in the documents you dealt with, you would not have known Frank was also known as Necrus X, a new prototype Kuyang was working on, although you could not imagine what for.

Kuyang had been sure to tell you how to knock out the creature if it ever came to it, though. There was a spot behind his ear, which was more of a ridge at the side of his enormous head.

With the pod open, a panel rose from the floor, taking Frank rotating upwards. You caught sight of the patch behind its ear, zeroing in on it. Just in case.

The smooth expanse of ceiling split then, a hole revealing itself as the roof shrunk away into the walls, leaving a clear path for Frank to rise to the next floor, where he was stored.

As effortlessly as the ceiling retreating, a smooth steel staircase emerged from the walls. You and Taeyeon climbed it, spiralling around the edges of the circular space until you drew level with Frank, now snoring on the upper floor. Here, the space was wide open like an empty art gallery, half the walls comprised of expansive windows, no lab equipment to be seen.

The floor closed up beneath you both and you walked around Frank, opening a secret panel in the wall. As before, you raised your thumb to a blank scanner – but got no further.

A deafening smash sent you crouching to the ground in panic. Livid blue painted all the walls in the space as shattered glass skidded across the floor.

You had thought that glass to be unbreakable. At least that was the intention. But when you turned, you were forced to believe your ears: the central panel of glass was completely blown in, all the others down the row cracked from the force.

At the same moment the glass had shattered, you could suddenly hear what before had been hidden behind soundproofing. Outside, there were shouts, screams, car horns and alarms blaring from every angle – and above all, sirens. Sirens wailing through the air like disembodied banshees, descending, apparently, on your building.

Shuffling along the floor, you peered past the sleeping mass that was Frank in front of you. Walking across the room was a man in a tight blue suit, the same hue crackling in the air around his hands.

Bolt.

Mind short-circuiting, you were frozen. What should you do?

What was Bolt doing here? Was there some kind of threat? The image of him should have brought you relief, even though you knew nothing of what the danger was, but you hesitated.

Only having the presence of mind to shrink back silently behind Frank, you looked between the beast and the control panel you had abandoned. But you had no more chance to move before a fearsome crack ripped through the air, another flash of blue, sending the hairs on your arms bolting upright.

Spinning back to face Frank, you were met with a thump. A body, falling onto the floor.

Though she was mostly obscured by Frank’s sleeping form, you stared in unbelieving horror at Taeyeon where she lay, unmoving. Breath accelerating in your throat, you moved at last, scooting yourself back and away. Closer to the wall.

First you lunged to sound the alarm, mounted inside the wall panel, which instantly lit the room up in throbbing red, blaring loud enough to drown out the sirens outside. Then your hand was fumbling across the scanner. You had to get Frank locked away.

The walls of the pod which safely contained Frank overnight began to descend, much too slowly for your liking. Whirling to face the room, your heart seized in your chest when the imposing figure of Bolt, now shaded purple by the red light, met your eyes.

A glance up at the descending walls. They were halfway to the ground by now, but you still had to enter the code to lock them down.

Bolt yelled for you to stop, barely audible over the dizzying noise of the warning siren.

As he strode towards you, you could only watch, pressing yourself desperately against the wall as if it could swallow you up.

Bright light cut through the imposing red as the heavy door at the opposite end of the room was thrown open. Bolt stopped, both of you turning to see Kuyang enter. His hair was still sticking up from earlier, a strange expression on his face that you hadn’t seen before.

Paying no mind to the maniacal smile that had no place on Kuyang’s face, you took the moment of distraction to scramble for the code lock.

Without a sound, the gap between the floor and Frank’s pod closed, and your fingers were already leaping to action, typing the numbers behind your back at lightning speed.

Kuyang was running now, a direct path towards Bolt. But Bolt turned back towards you.

You were nearly done, but his hand was raising towards you…

In a split second, your fingertip met the final key of the code. Almost instantly, it was ripped away as shocking blue light cut through the air. You felt the impact before you could even notice that it was aimed at you.

Hitting you square in the chest, white hot pain scorched through your every nerve as your body was flung backwards, powerless as a ragdoll sailing through the air. The collision with the cracked window behind was almost lost on you. More intense pain was writhing its way down each limb, making you cry out, uncaring about the rain-spattered wind that whipped about your face now.

But you could see shards of glass as they fell along with you, like daggers aimed at the ground.

Biting wind rushed in your ears, the sound crashing over you like waves. And just as a pan sizzles down off the heat, the ferocious attack of pain seemed to reduce just as fast as it had invaded you.

Your heartbeat was the loudest thing, booming over the insistent web of sirens and whistling air.

Breathing choppily, you screwed your eyes nearly closed, suddenly aware of the tempest around you as you fell. Above, the already darkening winter night was illuminated with flashes of that awful blue.

You were falling.

It hit you then, as if you hadn’t been falling all this time. But it was only now that your senses caught up with themselves. You worked on a very high floor of the skyscraper, but as you were tossed around in the air, you saw the ground rapidly approaching.

A horror gripped your chest like nothing you had ever felt before.

Below you, and rushing towards you at terrifying speed, a skip sat surrounded by heaps of trash on the street. Unable to think, you could only shield your face with your hands, stretched out in front of you as if to stop the inevitable collision.

Though your eyes fell closed, you felt the jerk that flung your whole body backwards.

That wasn’t what you had expected.

Eyes snapping open in confusion, you found your vision lit with blue. In front of your face, blue light was shooting from your palms, pushing you up and away from the ground.

Your mouth fell open. Gaping in shock, you did nothing as the light died and you slowed again in the air.

Though you began falling much slower this time, you barely had time to notice your surroundings – much nearer the ground – before you were plummeting again, and this time nothing could stop you.

Your eyes weren’t even open when you felt your body slide off something. Not a second later, you were crumpling onto hard concrete which grazed your cheek.

You groaned.

It was dark. High above, any flashes of light didn’t reach you here, having landed in a thin alley beside the building. And though this shielded you from the commotion on the main streets out front, sirens still pierced the air, each one feeling like a stab to your head.

You clutched it as you maneuvered to sit. It took you a few tries, groping for a wall or something to lean against as you regained your balance.

Eyes cracking open, you waited patiently for the dark splotches to dispel before looking around.

Right next to you was a car which blocked you from view of the road beyond this alley. Evident from the dent that caved in its bonnet, that was what you had landed on.

Turning your head, you had to squint even more as light assaulted your sensitive eyes.

Among a blazing light, you could make out the vague shapes of rubbish bags and an overflowing skip that you recognised. Out of these, a vibrant fire was now burning. The correlation was too strong for you to ignore.

Breath shallow, you turned your horrified gaze to your hands.

They had done this… but how? They looked totally normal now.

Frowning, you brought them up closer to your face, so that your nose was practically buried in your palms.

No difference.

You were sure you hadn’t imagined that blue light which saved you earlier. Was there a way to make it come back?

While you were puzzling, you lowered your hands again, still staring intently as you rotated them in your lap.

Then, quick as a blink, a blue flash darted from them again. So fast, in fact, that you had no time to react before one of the bolts was fired directly into your opposite arm.

Snatching it away reflexively, you hissed in pain as a burning sensation crawled, tingling, over your skin there.

Despite the pain, the blue light didn't cease shooting from your hands. They tingled, a strangely uncomfortable sensation. It was as if something warm was wriggling its way up your veins and spilling from your fingertips.

“Stop! Stop!” you whispered in panic.

You turned them outwards, aiming away from you, but if they kept at it for much longer you were sure to draw attention.

Moving your hands around jerkily, the beams of light shook along with you, but did not go out. With each unsuccessful movement, panic made you more frantic until the glowing rays jerked erratically around the small space.

Straying too far, the light came into contact with a post at the alley’s entrance. You could only watch, helpless, as light like blue snakes skittered up it and latched around the wires it supported.

To your relief, the strange current seemed to have found an outlet, and only remained a second longer before cutting out. You were left blinking in the relative darkness. Panting heavily, you stared down at your hands, although you did not bring them too close anymore.

Once again, they appeared utterly innocent. There was nothing to suggest they had just channelled lightning through them.

Suddenly, the world plunged into darkness. The fire still burned at the other end of the alley, or you would have been left totally blind. In the building behind you, in the street, all the lights had gone out.

Almost instantly following the blackout, screaming rose again in the air.

Gulping, your eyes travelled to the blackened post at the corner, which you had accidentally electrocuted.

This was bad. Your head was spinning, both from your short, hard fall and from the whirlwind of events that had happened in what could only have been minutes. Surrounded by darkness, with the wail of the city and a fire for company, you could only see one course of action.

Run.

You had to get away from here. It wasn’t safe. You had little idea where was safe, but you couldn’t be here anymore.

It wasn’t like you had anyone to call who would care enough to come and pick you up. Nor did you have the money to try a hospital, though you felt as if you may need it.

But especially with electricity shooting from your hands at the drop of a hat, it probably wasn’t best to be anywhere around people.

The dizziness from your unfortunate landing on the car had worn off while you were sitting, but the world swayed anew the moment you made to stand. Pushing determinedly against the wall, you struggled on anyway, brand new dark spots in your vision offset by the brightness of the fire you walked towards.

This end of the alleyway led out through smaller streets, away from the city centre and furore of sirens.

On reaching the opening, you cautiously assessed the road stretching away either side. Empty. And if there was anyone there, they wouldn’t see you in this darkness.

Shoving your hands beneath your armpits on some misguided hope of keeping them from causing problems, you lowered your head and ran. It was more of a jog, considering everything, but you still moved as quickly as you could beneath the dead streetlamps.

Head throbbing more with movement, you stumbled a few times as you went. The pavement tilted around you.

You had made it a few roads before you felt that awful tingling in your arms again. It itched, like something fighting its way out of your skin.

Nausea rolled in the pit of your stomach. This couldn’t be real.

Slowing down and stopping beneath a signpost, you drew your shaking hands out in front of you. The world careened on its axis, revolving around the sight of your palms as a faint blue glow grew in them.

You were going to throw up, you were sure of it.

You wanted it to stop.

A few flickers of blue darted down the veins in your wrist. Towards your fingertips. Sparks leapt from them, small tendrils of lightning crackling between your fingers like webbing.

At last, you gave in to the rising horror mixed with a sick feeling. The floor’s spinning became too much, your hands turning to a bright blur in the centre of your vision.

You passed out on the spot.

Lights were turning on again around the city. Television sets flickering back to life to announce Bolt’s victory against the beast that had attacked earlier that evening.

But not on the street where you still lay.

The return of light only reached neighbouring roads, dim glow snuffed out before it could penetrate the middle of this street. A white-haired young man stepped forwards, but his face was totally obscured in darkness.

“Here,” he spoke to the silence.

The next moment, a deep red glowed in the middle of the road, though it brought little light. The red bounced off a signpost before it was gone, replaced by another man, seemingly from nowhere.

The newest arrival stood there, looking down at your figure, unconscious by the sign. Then he disappeared again, leaving total darkness behind as if he had never been there at all.

A few more moments passed, you and the hidden man the only beings on the dark road.

Not very long after, a car’s engine rumbled and sputtered into earshot. The bright beam of headlights rounded the corner, growing larger and shedding light on your form as it drew closer.

Pulling up next to you, the engine died along with the lights. Two doors opened and slammed shut.

As two pairs of feet stepped nearer to join the one remaining beside you, the streetlamp directly overhead began to glow. The faint glimmer grew until it illuminated the scene. Still no other lights joined it, leaving the small group of you lit up as if by spotlight.

“It’s her?”

The man crouching beside you asked the question without looking up, and the shadowed man answered.

“Pretty sure.”

“She’s breathing?”

��Yes.”

The crouching man hummed. Moving to kneel instead, his eyes roved over your somewhat battered face, dark hair obscuring his own.

“Namjoon?” he asked then, turning to the other man from the car. It was the same man who had momentarily appeared in the street earlier.

Taking his cue, the tall man, Namjoon, walked forwards and bent to lift your hands by the wrists. In just moments he was placing them carefully back, nodding.

“No doubt.”

“Okay then.”

“Can she travel, Jin?”

“Give me a moment.”

Producing a small object, he pressed a button and a small light sprung from the end. Carefully lifting one of your eyelids, he shone the light into it, observing like a doctor.

The first you became aware of was the far away sound of voices being quietly exchanged. But with the cloudiness in your head, identifying them didn’t seem very urgent. You were preoccupied with the swirling feeling that made the world swim around you, even though it was dark.

But as dim awareness was returning to you, the process of regaining your senses was violently accelerated as a blinding light was thrust into your vision.

You flinched, and as Jin pulled away he saw you blink, eyelids screwing shut in protest. His eyebrows raised in slight concern as he watched your first groggy movements.

Blinking around at the dimly lit figures over you, your eyes widened. The nearest man held the illuminated light stick. Was he a doctor?

Next, your eyes darted to the tall man standing behind him. You recognised neither.

Some strange feeling told you someone else was standing there too, but when you looked to your other side you were faced with nothing but empty shadow.

“Can you sit?”

The first man’s question was gentle, his hands ready to support you.

Nodding timidly, you heaved yourself up with his help. It embarrassed you to be panting after just that much movement.

“What happened?” came the next question.

As you replayed the events, you avoided their eyes. You could not let them know what happened, what you had become. They were helping you, and yet you might hurt them-

Fists clenching subconsciously, you stuttered in panic.

“I-I can’t pay,” you told them, but before you could say more a new voice was speaking. The standing man stepped forwards, his voice calm and surprisingly friendly.

“There’s no need to pay. We can help you. Can you tell us what happened?”

“I don’t, uh, I-I-“

His eyes travelled towards your hands, which you were trying to tuck behind you.

“You gained powers, didn’t you?”

You froze.

“I have them too,” he smiled, “I know what it’s like to be scared. But you can work with this and learn to control them. I’m Namjoon, and this is Jin. We’ve been through this before, we can help you.”

At your sides, your hands relaxed. Tension lifted from your tightly hunched shoulders. Wordless, you looked between the men who were watching you, ready to move, but only on your word.

Swallowing, a light frown creased your brow.

“What do you want-”

Namjoon’s smile dimmed into something kinder.

“At least let us check you over.”

Your hands fretted together. It was strange, you couldn’t feel anything there. Surely they should feel different? How would you know if these… powers, Namjoon had said, were to come back?

“You won’t hurt us, don’t worry,” he seemed to anticipate your thoughts as he watched you, “we can protect ourselves.”

“You were unconscious,” Jin spoke, drawing your perplexed gaze back to him, “did you hit your head?”

You blinked, but found yourself answering.

“I think so.”

Nodding, Jin shuffled at your side. He leaned a bit closer.

“I need to shine this light in your eyes again. You may have a concussion.”

Complying, you sat through the eye-watering brightness. He asked you things, like a doctor would, except he was working in the middle of an empty street in the middle of the night.

“Do you feel dizzy?”

“I did. I think still, a little.”

“Any nausea?”

“Yeah… but maybe because of the…” you gestured to your hands.

Jin sat back, taking the light with him. Namjoon shot you a sympathetic smile at that. You supposed he had been through the same thing, from the sounds of it.

Jin looked up at Namjoon.

“It looks pretty rough. Definitely a concussion, and she needs patching up, but in the long run she’ll be fine.”

“I-I’m serious,” you interjected, “I don’t have the money for hospital…”

Your voice faltered. You half thought of asking to just go home, but you were hardly sure of even making it there by yourself. And if you got there, then what? The prospect of burning down the place with these errant powers didn’t fill you with comfort.

“Good thing we’re not going to bring you there, then,” Namjoon said, “but I meant it when I said we could help. We can take you home, if you want… but you can stay with us, too.”

You stared at him wordlessly. Was it crazy that you were considering this?

“Just for a bit, if you need,” Jin added softly, “it’s just… now might not be the smartest time to be alone.”

You chewed your cheek. But your head was pounding too much to think very hard, and this seemed like the most straightforward option. The people in this city kept surprising you, after your first stroke of luck with Kuyang's generosity.

“Sure…” you spoke quietly, not quite able to look them in the eyes, “yes please.”

“Okay,” Namjoon took it in stride, “but let’s get moving.”

“Just one moment – we should wrap that.”

Gesturing towards your arm, Jin stood and went back to the car. On his return, he knelt again and began to secure cling film around the angry red blotch blistering your skin, where you had caught yourself with your own beam.

“We’ll sort it out properly when we get back,” he told you, “but Namjoon’s right, we should be going.”

You followed his gaze which seemed to dart up and down the street. However, nothing was there.

Jin helped you stand, still looking around. Sure enough, the dizziness from before hadn’t quite left you yet. Biting down on your lip, you focussed hard on getting the short distance to the car. You were led to the passenger seat and crumpled gratefully into it.

But just as Jin closed the door, you felt an uncomfortable prickling clutch your forearms again. Namjoon slid into the back seat in time to hear your gasp, noticing the way your fingers flexed in panic. Digging in his pockets, he produced a pair of thin black gloves and held them out to you just as the first trickles of blue appeared in your veins again. He watched with a studious frown as you pushed your hands into the gloves.

“Those will help,” he said, still looking at your wrists, “they can contain the powers. But you shouldn’t keep them on for too long.”

Jin was seating himself in the driver’s side as you frowned over at Namjoon. At first you had been relieved to have a solution to your erratic lightning problem, but that was ripped away at his last addition.

“Why not? It will keep you safe,” you questioned, but kept your voice quiet.

“Don’t worry, we’re more than capable of handling anything you could throw at us,” he laughed, “but you can keep them on in here. Best not to bottle up your powers forever, though.”

Resigned, you turned back to face front. The moment Jin stepped on the gas, all the lights in the road sparked to life at once. Startled, you blinked, looking around. On the pavement you were just pulling away from, a man was walking away, unidentifiable behind a hoodie.

Slumping back in your seat, you breathed a short, dry laugh. This mysterious happening was just the latest in this crazy night. You had no choice but to accept it.

The car ride was fairly short, but you were too tired and distracted to take in exactly where you were going. Streets seemed to blur together, aware only that you were heading out of town.

The itching in your arms had persisted for a while, but as promised, the gloves seemed to work. No fiery blue burst out of your palms, and, eventually, whatever it was decided to give it up, subsiding again by the time the car pulled up.

But no one got out yet. Jin had stopped at the end of a small road, big enough for only one vehicle, directly facing an expanse of crumbling and graffitied brick.

Curiosity woke you up from your daze, and you watched as Jin reached to tap something on his dashboard. Almost instantly, a groaning reached your ears from over the whirring of the engine. The wall ahead shook before shifting, sliding sideways until it tucked itself behind a dented dustbin, unveiling a space beyond.

Leaving you little more time to wonder, Jin started the car again and you rolled downwards through a plain, dark entrance. It reminded you of those multi-storey car parks formed with ugly blocks of concrete. It was considerably smaller than those, however, Jin pullingup into a space alongside about a dozen other vehicles, beyond which the place seemed entirely deserted.

Jin came around to open your door, but you were able to stand by yourself. It was still a bit of a struggle, your limbs sluggish and the world dull around you – although that may have just been the low underground light.

Namjoon led you, Jin staying close by your side. Blinking at the space as you moved through it, your eyes traced over the various car roofs, some cleaner than others. A larger four-by-four was particularly beaten up, with a large crease in one of the metal wheel arches.

Your eyes rested longest on what was probably the most pristine: a motorbike, at first hidden by the cars either side of it.

Soon enough, you were past them. Stopping as Namjoon did, you watched him expectantly. However, he did not turn around, instead standing face-to-face with a plain concrete wall. Except… now a low rumble announced the movement of a panel which slid away, revealing a wide doorway which had previously blended seamlessly with the flat wall.

Your eyebrows raised at the touch that was reminiscent of Kuyang’s lab. Without time for you to dwell on this, your small group moved up a dingy staircase that lay beyond the doorway.

At the top, you emerged into a new space, notably lighter than before. You assumed you were back on ground level, perhaps above. It was hard to be sure, disoriented as you still were in the whirlwind that had overtaken your day.

Bizarrely, the space appeared to be someone’s home. There was a large and coffee-stained table surrounded by mismatching chairs, a kitchen behind it littered with mugs and pot plants. Still, beyond the lived-in array of things lying around, it was big. You imagined it must be miles more expensive than the shoddy apartment you stayed in.

It was open plan, and you followed Namjoon past the dining table towards an area filled with two enormous sofas.

The back of a blond head was visible over the sofa, and now the person turned towards you.

“Guys!” a loud exclamation rang out as he leapt up. A dazzling smile spread across his mouth.

When his eyes fell on you, wincing at his sudden volume, the smile dimmed a little.

“Not so loud, Hope-ah,” Jin spoke gently from behind you.

“Sorry,” he dipped his head, smile remaining on his lips.

Jin’s hands came lightly to your back, steering you over to a sofa. As you sunk into it with relief, the blond man sat across from you, tilting his head to catch your eye.

“I’m Hope,” he smiled, “I’m glad we found you. You’ll be right in no time!”

Frowning, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes flicking over the damage on your face. Averting your gaze, you chewed your lip absently.

What did he mean? I’m glad we found you…

Had they been looking for you? You still weren’t sure if it was a lucky coincidence they found you, but perhaps it was something more.

The lingering ache in your head forced you to push the issue away. You missed Namjoon’s stern look at Hoseok as he hovered behind your seat.

Jin pulled a pack from a cupboard and set it beside you. You let him lift your arm and unwrap the burn, your unfocussed eyes dragging across the room while he applied something cold over it. Next came stinging, scattered over your face as he wiped at the small cuts and grazes with an apologetic grimace you barely saw.

You only forced the world back into focus when someone else entered your sight. Emerging from behind you, a gentle, friendly smile was directed your way from a man with pale pink hair. Swallowing, you never managed to smile back before he was turning away.

The pink-haired man reached a hand out to someone you couldn’t see. Another man appeared, walking towards him, but he never looked at you. Or if he did, it was obscured behind the black hair that fell to his eyes.

The two new people left towards the kitchen, though not without another smile from the pink one.

Who were all these people?

Frowning after them, you were interrupted by a clap on the shoulder from Jin.

“We’ll talk more in the morning. You need to rest.”

Looking around, you had half a mind to protest, but were overruled by the shakiness taking over your frame. Body too fatigued to allow you much say, you meekly followed Jin.

Beyond the living space, a thinner corridor led away, several closed doors along its walls.

Further you went, until a door just ahead opened. Another person walked out.

When he stopped to face you, his posture remained stiff. Tall and muscular, he was clad all in black except for a towel slung over his shoulder. Damp hair fell messily around his head. But you had little time to take this in, as his eyes fixed themselves fiercely on yours, rendering you unable to look away.

Mouth remaining in a hard line, his expression only twitched further into a frown.

Then his gaze flicked abruptly away, travelling to Jin just beyond you.

“Kook-“

Jin never got further than that before the man strode forwards, marching sharply past you and away with a scowl. Turning after him in surprise, you watched his tense shoulders disappear behind Namjoon, who you hadn’t noticed hovering.

Namjoon stared sternly after him, but the man seemed to avoid his gaze.

Jin sighed, sending an apologetic glance at you.

“That’s just Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke, ushering you all further along the hallway, “don’t pay him any attention.”

“Why was…”

You trailed off, unsure of what exactly to ask. Neither of them made an attempt to answer.

You had no idea a wordless encounter could leech so much hostility into the atmosphere. Picturing Jungkook’s glowering face, you blindly followed the others through a different door.

“You can sleep in here.”

“Hm?”

Shaking yourself, you looked around the new room. There wasn’t much to see. Beside a low bed, there was a mirror, a wooden closet and nothing more. Looking up, you didn’t even find a light in the ceiling. The only light leaked through from the hallway.

Clearly reading your gaping mouth and furrowing brow, Namjoon moved in front of you.

“Don’t worry, this is just a place to sleep, nothing more. But since you’re going to have to take those gloves off, we can’t have you in a space with any electricals.”

Stepping back defensively, your fingers pressed tightly together. Having the gloves on had let you almost imagine that nothing life-changing had happened. Like gaining unpredictable powers, for instance.

Namjoon watched patiently, holding out a hand.

“You don’t need them…”

He realised he had never asked your name, and let his sentence trail expectantly. Telling him your name, he relaxed into a smile.

“You don’t need them, Y/N,” he repeated, not that you believed him for a second, “you’ll be perfectly safe. And so will we.”

Only the yearning to collapse onto the bed persuaded you to hand over the gloves. The instant they were in his hand, you swore you could feel a shock go up your arm. Immediately tense again, your breathing became shallower, with no idea how to try and stop power shooting from your hands any moment.

But Namjoon and Jin seemed content. Before you could gather your thoughts, they had left, closing the door and drenching your room in near total darkness.

Stumbling to the bed and virtually falling into it, you wiped sweating palms against the fabric. Your mouth was dry with fear.

This couldn’t have happened.

Alone for the first time since your initial panic, it didn’t take long for your mind to wrap itself in circles again. Only hours ago, you had been sitting happily in your bright office, going through the motions…

One split-second decision from a powerful man had changed that.

You knew full well he had intended for you to die. But he was Bolt...

He had probably forgotten about it already. The guard he sent lifeless to the floor, the secretary he threw from the building.

Itching feeling returning, you swallowed desperately and raised your hands. Sure enough, against the darkness, blue pierced your vision, darting its way up-

Turning your face away, you flinched as the outburst came. Your eyes screwed shut, you pressed your cheek into fabric, not wanting to see the deathly lightning that shot through the room. Shuddering breaths broke into your lungs when at last it subsided.

Letting them fall, limp, to your sides, your hands fisted the covers tightly.

You were almost afraid to open your eyes, knowing it would only show you the empty room, confirmation that this was real. You were dangerous, shut in a safe room where you could hurt no one. Would you ever get out? Succeed in controlling this, like Namjoon had said?

With no idea where you were, barely any idea who the people here were, you wanted to block it out. But even with your eyes closed, you couldn’t escape.

The memory of Jungkook’s suspicious face made your heart sink. Perhaps people should be afraid of you, now. As much as you may want to, there was no getting away from this.

Pushing yourself to sit, you surveyed the room. Eyes accustomed to the blackness a little more, you could make out vague shapes. Your breath fell alone in the silence. This really was the safest place you could be right now, even if it was a nightmare.

As your head turned, you suddenly came level with your eyes in the mirror, and a shock of light.

For an extended moment, you could only stare.

Then all at once you were rushing forwards, tripping from the end of the bed. Bracing your arms against the wall either side of the mirror, you gaped at your reflection.

As you watched, an angular bolt of blue shot across your irises, which were already dimly glowing.

You gulped against the thick feeling crawling up your throat. Faced with this, you could no longer have any hope of denying it.

This was really happening.

Thank you for reading!! Please please let me know your thoughts on this chapter, comments make it all worthwhile!💜💜

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dr-hairblog · 1 year ago

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DR-HAİR - DEVASA+ (2)

Understanding the Procedure of Hair Transplantation Surgery in Turkey

When it comes to hair restoration, Turkey has become a popular destination for many individuals suffering from hair loss. The country boasts of a high success rate in hair transplant procedures, thanks to the advanced techniques and experienced professionals in the field.

Hair transplantation surgery in Turkey is a procedure that involves transferring hair follicles from one part of the body, known as the 'donor site', to the area experiencing hair loss, commonly referred to as the 'recipient site'. This process is mainly used to treat male pattern baldness, but it's also an effective solution for anyone suffering from hair loss.

The hair transplant procedure in Turkey is carried out using state-of-the-art technology and under the guidance of highly skilled specialists. It's a minimally invasive procedure that promises natural-looking results. However, it's crucial to understand that the success of the procedure largely depends on the quality of the donor hair.

Furthermore, Turkey's hair restoration industry has invested heavily in the latest technologies to ensure the delivery of effective hair loss treatments. These treatments not only aim to restore hair but also work towards maintaining the health of the existing hair.

The hair loss treatment in Turkey lies on the cutting edge of medical science. With continuous research and advancements in hair transplantation surgery, patients can expect a safe, efficient, and relatively pain-free experience.

Despite the growing popularity of this procedure, it's important to remember that hair transplantation surgery is a significant decision. Therefore, we recommend that you conduct thorough research, consider all available options, and consult with a professional before deciding to undergo the procedure.

In conclusion, hair transplant Turkey offers a promising solution to individuals grappling with hair loss. With its blend of advanced technology, skilled professionals, and a high success rate, Turkey stands as a leading destination for effective hair restoration.

Understanding Baldness and Hair Transplant Solutions in Turkey

Baldness, or as it's medically known, alopecia, is a condition affecting millions of people worldwide. It's not restricted to any particular gender; both male pattern baldness and female pattern baldness are common, highlighting the need for effective solutions.

Male pattern baldness is the most prevalent form of hair loss in men. It manifests as a receding hairline accompanied by thinning hair on the crown and temples. Female pattern baldness, on the other hand, is characterized by a general thinning of hair across the scalp rather than a receding hairline.

The root cause of these conditions is often androgenic alopecia, a genetically determined disorder. This form of hair loss is typically progressive, with the severity and pattern varying from person to person. It can start as early as one's teenage years and worsen over time if left untreated.

In Turkey, there has been a surge in the number of people seeking solutions for baldness, including hair transplant procedures. A hair transplant is a surgical procedure that moves hair follicles from a part of the body called the 'donor site' to the balding part of the scalp known as the 'recipient site'. It's a popular option because it offers a permanent solution to hair loss and the results often mimic natural hair growth patterns.

Genetic hair loss is an issue that many people grapple with, and it's not just about vanity. Losing hair can significantly impact a person's self-esteem and overall quality of life. But, with advancements in medical procedures like hair transplants, there is hope for anyone suffering from baldness or alopecia. Especially in places like Turkey, where the medical community is making strides in providing affordable and effective treatments.

In conclusion, whether you're dealing with male pattern baldness, female pattern baldness, or androgenic alopecia, it's essential to remember that you're not alone. There are solutions available, and hair transplants in Turkey are proving to be a viable option for many.

Understanding Follicular Unit Extraction and Transplantation in Turkey

The world of hair transplant procedures is constantly evolving, and two techniques have emerged as the preferred methods in Turkey: Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE) and Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT). Understanding these techniques, their differences, and how they use individual grafts can help potential patients make an informed decision about their hair restoration journey.

Sapphire FUE hair transplant turkey, is a modern grafting technique that is gaining popularity in Turkey. This method involves the extraction of individual hair follicles from the patient's donor area, typically the back of the head, before they are transplanted to the balding areas. The key advantage of FUE lies in the fact that it doesn't leave a linear scar, allowing for shorter hairstyles post-procedure. It's important to note that the success of the FUE method is heavily reliant on the expertise of the professional handling the procedure.

On the other hand, Follicular Unit Transplantation, or FUT, is a more traditional method of hair transplant. Unlike FUE, FUT involves removing a strip of tissue containing multiple hair follicles from the donor area. The strip is then dissected into individual grafts, which are then transplanted into the balding regions. While FUT may leave a linear scar, it allows for the transplantation of a larger number of grafts in a single session.

Both FUE and FUT use individual grafts in the transplantation process, but the extraction process differs. The choice between Follicular Unit Extraction and Follicular Unit Transplantation ultimately comes down to the patient's individual needs, the extent of their hair loss, and their personal preferences.

Regardless of the technique chosen, the results can be life-changing. Hair transplant in Turkey, using either the FUE or FUT method, offers an effective solution for those struggling with hair loss. The procedures, when performed correctly, can restore not just hair, but also confidence and self-esteem. It's vital to thoroughly research and understand these grafting techniques before embarking on the hair restoration journey.

Understanding Hair Growth and Density in Hair Transplants in Turkey

When considering a hair transplant in Turkey, understanding the intricacies of hair growth and hair density is crucial. The success of the transplant largely depends on these two factors, which are characterized by the hair growth cycle and the subsequent regrowth of transplanted hair.

Hair growth is a natural process that involves a series of phases collectively known as the hair growth cycle. This cycle consists of the anagen (growth), catagen (transition), and telogen (resting) stages. The anagen phase is where your hair grows and can last between two to six years. The catagen phase is a short transition stage that lasts about two weeks. Finally, the telogen phase is the resting phase where hair falls out and is replaced by new hair.

In a hair transplant procedure, hair follicles are removed from one part of the scalp (usually the back or sides, where hair is denser) and transplanted into the areas where hair is thinning or absent. The transplant aims to increase hair density, improving the overall appearance and boosting the confidence of the individual.

Successful transplanted hair growth depends on several factors, one of the most important being the health of the donor hair follicles. Once transplanted, these follicles go through the same hair growth cycle as the rest of your hair. Initially, the transplanted hair may shed - this is a normal part of the hair cycle and is not a cause for concern. This shedding makes way for new hair regrowth, which usually begins about three months after the transplant.

Hair regrowth after a transplant is a gradual process. The transplanted hair will start to grow at a similar rate as the rest of your hair, and over time, the new hairs will blend seamlessly with the existing ones. It's important to remember that individual results may vary based on the individual's hair cycle, overall health, and post-operative care.

In conclusion, understanding how hair growth, hair density, and the hair growth cycle affect the outcomes of a hair transplant can play a significant role in managing your expectations. It's also vital to remember that while a hair transplant can significantly improve hair density, it is not a cure for hair loss and will not prevent future hair loss. Regular maintenance and care are required to maintain the results of the transplant.

Understanding the Process of Hair Transplant in Turkey

The innovative advancements in the field of hair transplant in Turkey have made it a popular choice for individuals experiencing hair loss from around the world. The procedure involves the careful extraction of hair follicles from a donor area, typically at the back of the scalp, which is then transplanted into the recipient area, usually the balding or thinning sections of the scalp.

The success of a hair transplant largely hinges on the quality and quantity of the donor hair. If the donor area is healthy and dense, it provides an ample number of hair follicles for the transplant. These follicles are the building blocks of hair growth and their careful preservation is instrumental in ensuring a successful transplant.

Follicular units are the naturally occurring groups in which scalp hair grows. They usually consist of one to four hair follicles. The extraction of these follicular units in their natural grouping is essential as it helps maintain the aesthetic integrity of the scalp, ensuring the transplanted hair grows in a natural-looking pattern.

After extraction, these follicular units are meticulously inserted into the recipient area of the scalp. The placement of these units is a critical aspect of the procedure as it determines the direction and density of the hair growth, which ultimately impacts the overall aesthetic result of the hair transplant.

In the context of a hair transplant procedure in Turkey, both the donor and recipient areas of the scalp are treated with utmost care. This ensures minimal damage to the scalp and maximizes the chances of a successful transplant.

The high success rate of hair transplant in Turkey can be attributed to the expertise of the medical professionals and their meticulous handling of the hair follicles and follicular units. Their precise work in extracting donor hair and transplanting it into the recipient area has made Turkey a leading destination for those seeking solutions for hair loss.

Comprehensive Understanding of Hair Transplant Techniques in Turkey

In the realm of cosmetic procedures, hair transplant in Turkey has gained significant momentum. A procedure that primarily involves the transferring of hair grafts from one part of the scalp to another, hair transplant has become a sought-after solution for individuals experiencing hair loss.

The focal point of this procedure is the hairline â€“ the area most affected by balding. The main goal is to restore the hairline, giving it a natural and youthful appearance. The success of hair transplant largely hinges on meticulous attention to the hairline, as it's the most visible part of the scalp.

Several transplantation techniques are utilized in Turkey, each with its unique advantages. These techniques are continually evolving, backed by state-of-the-art technology and a deeper understanding of hair growth patterns. While some techniques focus on the extraction and placement of individual hair follicles, others involve the removal of a strip of scalp tissue, followed by microscopic dissection to isolate the individual grafts.

Microscopic dissection plays a critical role in the process. It allows the surgeon to meticulously separate the individual hair follicles from the harvested scalp tissue, ensuring the grafts remain intact and viable for implantation. This precision significantly improves the success rate of the hair transplant procedure.

The process of harvesting and implantation of the grafts is another crucial aspect of hair transplantation. Harvesting involves the extraction of hair from the donor area, usually the back or sides of the scalp where hair growth is abundant. After the grafts are harvested, they undergo microscopic dissection before being implanted into the recipient area.

Implantation is the final stage of the hair transplant process. Here, the harvested grafts are carefully inserted into tiny incisions made in the balding area. This requires a significant level of skill and precision, as the angle and depth of each incision can greatly influence the overall outcome, including the density and direction of the new hair growth.

In summary, a hair transplant in Turkey encompasses a comprehensive process that includes the careful design of the hairline, the use of various transplantation techniques, meticulous microscopic dissection, and precise harvesting and implantation of grafts. Each step is essential in ensuring a successful and natural-looking result.

Understanding Recovery and Post-Operative Care for Hair Transplant in Turkey

The recovery period following a hair transplant in Turkey is a pivotal phase that contributes significantly to the overall success of the procedure. Understanding the process of post-operative care, managing post-surgery results, and handling potential post-operative complications are all essential aspects of achieving optimal post-transplant hair growth.

Post-operative care is an integral part of the hair transplant journey. It involves meticulous attention to the scalp and hair follicles to ensure the newly transplanted hair grafts thrive and grow as expected. Following the surgeon's instructions for post-operative care can minimize potential complications and promote the best possible outcomes.

One of the significant facets of post-operative care is managing post-surgery results. It is essential to maintain realistic expectations about the timeline and growth pattern of the transplanted hair. The initial shedding phase may cause some concern, but it is a natural part of the process, paving the way for new, healthy hair to grow.

Post-operative follow-up is another crucial element of the recovery process. Regular follow-up sessions with the medical team can help monitor the progress of the transplant and address any concerns or issues that may arise. These sessions are vital to ensure that the post-transplant hair growth is on the right track.

While hair transplant surgeries in Turkey are generally safe, there can still be potential post-operative complications. These may include swelling, pain, and infection. However, with the right care and attention, these can be effectively managed. It is essential to keep in touch with the medical team and inform them of any unusual signs or discomfort.

Lastly, the ultimate goal of a hair transplant procedure is to achieve natural-looking, post-transplant hair growth. This outcome significantly depends on the recovery process and how well post-operative care instructions are followed. Regular cleaning, avoiding exposure to sun and dust, and following a healthy diet can contribute towards successful hair growth.

In conclusion, the recovery phase following a hair transplant in Turkey is as important as the procedure itself. Proper post-operative care, managing post-surgery results, attending regular post-operative follow-up sessions, and addressing potential complications are all key steps to achieving the goal of natural, healthy, post-transplant hair growth.

Understanding Anesthesia and Pain Management in Hair Transplant Procedures in Turkey

In the realm of hair transplant procedures in Turkey, a crucial component that potential patients often have questions about is the use of anesthesia. The type of anesthesia used, the process of administering it, and the role it plays in pain management are all significant aspects of the pre-surgery consultation.

During a pre-surgery consultation, the hair transplant surgeon or a medical professional will discuss the type of anesthesia that will be used during the procedure. This can be either local anesthesia or general anesthesia. The decision is typically based on the patient's health condition, the scope of the procedure, and the patient's comfort levels.

Local anesthesia is the most commonly used type in hair transplant surgeries in Turkey. This type of anesthesia numbs the scalp area, allowing patients to be awake and alert during the procedure without feeling any pain. It has the advantage of quick recovery times and fewer side effects, making the process smoother for both the patient and the medical team.

On the other hand, general anesthesia renders the patient unconscious for the duration of the hair transplant procedure. While this type of anesthesia is less common in hair transplantation, it may be considered in some complex cases or if the patient has significant anxiety about the procedure.

Pain management is another crucial topic covered during the pre-surgery consultation. It's important for patients to understand that while the procedure itself is virtually pain-free thanks to the numbing effect of local anesthesia, there may be some discomfort or mild pain in the days following the procedure as the scalp heals.

The medical team will provide guidance on pain management techniques, including over-the-counter pain relievers and rest, to ensure the post-surgery recovery period is as comfortable as possible.

Overall, understanding the role of anesthesia and pain management in hair transplant procedures in Turkey can significantly ease any anxieties or concerns potential patients may have. It empowers them with knowledge and sets realistic expectations for their journey towards restoring their hair.

Redefining Aesthetic Appearance with Hair Transplant in Turkey

Hair transplant in Turkey has emerged as an effective solution for hair loss conditions. Offering a more permanent solution as compared to other hair loss treatments, it's becoming a favored choice of those seeking a full head of natural hair. The process involves the transplantation of healthy hair from one part of the scalp to another, addressing hair thinning and baldness issues primarily.

One of the key reasons why people opt for hair transplant in Turkey is the desire for a better aesthetic appearance. The presence of a full head of natural hair greatly enhances an individual's look, boosting their self-confidence. A successful hair transplant ensures that the hair grows out to look just as natural as your original hair, matching the growth pattern and texture perfectly.

Another major advantage of a hair transplant procedure is that it offers a permanent solution to hair loss conditions. Unlike hair growth serums and medications, which need to be used continuously to maintain hair growth, a hair transplant provides a one-time, long-term solution. Once the healthy hair follicles are transplanted, they continue to grow hair in the treated areas, eliminating the need for repeated treatments.

Scarring is a common concern associated with surgical procedures. However, in the case of hair transplants in Turkey, the advanced techniques used result in minimal scarring. The tiny scars that do occur are usually hidden beneath your new hair growth and fade over time, making them virtually invisible.

In conclusion, hair transplant in Turkey is a promising way to combat hair loss conditions. It offers a permanent solution, resulting in healthy hair and an improved aesthetic appearance. Furthermore, the process is designed to ensure minimal scarring, making it a seamless and effective choice for those battling with hair loss.

The Role of a Hair Surgeon and Surgical Team in a Hair Transplant Procedure in Turkey

In Turkey, hair transplant procedures are carried out by a highly skilled hair surgeon and a dedicated surgical team. The hair surgeon is the professional who leads the process, making key decisions based on the patient's unique hair growth pattern and aesthetic goals. They play a critical role in ensuring that the transplant is successful and that the results are as natural-looking as possible.

The surgical team supports the hair surgeon in various ways. They prepare the surgical instruments required for the procedure, ensuring that they are clean and ready for use. The team also plays a key role in maintaining a sterile environment throughout the procedure, which is crucial in preventing infections and ensuring optimal recovery for the patient.

The surgical procedure itself is a delicate process that requires precision and expertise. Using specialized surgical instruments, the hair surgeon extracts individual hair follicles from the donor area and transplants them to the balding or thinning areas of the scalp. This is done using a technique known as Follicular Unit Extraction (FUE) or Follicular Unit Transplantation (FUT), depending on the patient's specific needs.

Sterile technique is paramount throughout the hair transplant procedure. The surgical team carefully prepares the surgical environment, ensuring that it is free from any potential contaminants. This includes sterilizing all surgical instruments and wearing appropriate protective gear such as gloves and masks.

In summary, the success of a hair transplant in Turkey is highly dependent on the skills and expertise of both the hair surgeon and the surgical team. They work in tandem to ensure that the surgical procedure is carried out in a sterile environment using sterilized surgical instruments, following a strict sterile technique. Their combined efforts result in a successful hair transplant procedure that can significantly enhance the patient's appearance and confidence.

Evaluating the Success and Patient Satisfaction of Hair Therapy in Turkey

When it comes to hair transplantation, Turkey has become a leading destination for individuals worldwide seeking to restore their hair. One of the key factors contributing to this trend is the high hair transplant success rate witnessed in the country. Numerous hair transplant testimonials attest to the effectiveness and efficiency of the procedures carried out.

The hair transplant experience in Turkey is unique and patient-centric. It focuses on providing the best service, starting from the initial consultation, throughout the procedure, and during the aftercare period. The aim is to ensure patient satisfaction, which is an essential measure of success in hair therapy.

One of the major focus areas in Turkey's hair transplant industry is the quality of hair achieved post-transplant. The result is not just about having more hair but having hair that closely matches the patient's natural look. The attention to detail and the expertise of the professionals involved contribute to this high quality of hair.

Another noteworthy aspect is the success rate of hair transplants in Turkey. Many individuals have seen drastic improvements in their hair growth and density post-procedure. This success is attributed to the advanced techniques used, the meticulous execution of the procedure, and the personalized care provided to each patient.

The overall hair transplant experience in Turkey has garnered much praise, with patients applauding the service's professionalism and efficiency. These hair transplant testimonials provide a glimpse into the experiences of past patients, detailing the before and after journey of their hair transformation.

In conclusion, the hair transplant sector in Turkey thrives on high patient satisfaction, excellent hair quality, and an impressive success rate. These factors combined provide a holistic and satisfying hair therapy experience for patients, making Turkey a go-to destination for hair transplant procedures.

Outpatient Procedure and Long-term Results: Understanding Hair Transplant Processes in Turkey

Hair transplant in Turkey has gained significant popularity and has become a sought-after solution for individuals experiencing hair loss. This procedure, typically an outpatient one, is known for its effectiveness and the promise of long-term results.

The hair transplant process generally involves either a single session or multiple sessions, depending on the severity of the hair loss and the desired hair density. It's important to note that the decision between a single session or multiple sessions is usually determined by a professional based on the specific needs and situation of the individual.

The outpatient procedure aspect of a hair transplant in Turkey is a highlight for many individuals considering this solution. This means that the procedure does not require a lengthy hospital stay. Instead, patients are allowed to return home on the same day of the procedure, making it a convenient choice for many.

A single session of hair transplant can last anywhere from 4 to 8 hours, again depending on the extent of hair loss and the desired density. Despite the length of the procedure, the single session approach is often preferred for its potential to deliver instant results.

On the other hand, multiple sessions might be recommended for individuals with severe hair loss. Each session is typically spread out over several weeks or months allowing for gradual hair growth and density improvement. This approach ensures a more natural-looking result as the hair begins to regrow.

The long-term results of hair transplant in Turkey have been overwhelmingly positive, with many individuals reporting an increase in density and improvement in the appearance of their hair. However, it's important to manage expected results, as the success of the procedure can vary based on individual factors such as the extent of hair loss and the patient's overall health.

In conclusion, hair transplant in Turkey offers a comprehensive approach to dealing with thinning hair. By addressing the issue of DHT and providing guidance on post-transplant hair wash, individuals undergoing the procedure can expect significant hair rejuvenation and a meaningful solution to hair loss prevention.

The Journey of Hair Transplant in Turkey: From Preparation to Post-Surgery Expectations

When considering a hair transplant in Turkey, it's crucial to understand the process from start to finish. This includes the procedure time, preparation, post-surgery expectations, and the role of hair loss medication such as finasteride and minoxidil.

The procedure time for a hair transplant can vary depending on the individual's hair loss severity and the technique used. It could take anywhere between four to eight hours, but in some cases, it may extend over two consecutive days. This extensive procedure time is because each hair follicle is individually transplanted to ensure a natural and satisfying outcome.

Preparation is a key step before undergoing a hair transplant in Turkey. This includes a thorough consultation with a hair loss expert who will examine your hair loss pattern, discuss your expectations, and propose the most suitable treatment plan. It's also an opportunity to address any concerns or queries about the procedure.

Hair loss medication plays a pivotal role in both the preparation and post-procedure phase of a hair transplant. Medications such as finasteride and minoxidil are often recommended to stabilize hair loss and enhance the growth of new hair. Finasteride works by preventing the conversion of testosterone into DHT, a hormone that can cause hair loss. On the other hand, minoxidil is a topical solution that stimulates hair growth by increasing the blood flow to the hair follicles.

The post-surgery expectations after a hair transplant in Turkey involve some level of patience. The first signs of new hair growth can take anywhere from three to four months to appear. It's also important to follow a proper hair care routine and continue with the prescribed hair loss medication to maintain the results of the transplant.

In conclusion, understanding the procedure time, preparation, role of hair loss medication, and post-surgery expectations can help individuals make an informed decision about undergoing a hair transplant in Turkey.

Safety Measures and Affordability: Understanding Hair Transplant Cost and Graft Survival Rate in Turkey

Understanding the intricacies involved in a hair transplant procedure is crucial for anyone considering this life-changing decision. One of the key aspects to consider is the hair transplant cost in Turkey, hair transplant procedures are not only renowned for their high quality but are also impressively affordable. This affordability, however, does not compromise the safety measures in place.

Safety measures in Turkey's hair transplant industry are top-notch, ensuring the well-being of every patient. The medical practitioners are highly trained and adhere strictly to international standards of safety and hygiene. These precautions significantly reduce the risk of complications, ensuring not just the survival of hair, but also the overall health of the patient.

When it comes to the graft survival rate, Turkey boasts an exceptionally high percentage. This is a testament to the advanced techniques used in the country, which ensure the survival of hair after the procedure. The high graft survival rate indicates the effectiveness of these techniques, as the transplanted hair continues to grow healthily in the new location.

The survival of the transplanted hair is a key factor that determines the success of the procedure. In Turkey, the transplanted hair tends to thrive due to the meticulous care and precision involved in the transplant process. This high survival rate of transplanted hair is one of the reasons why many individuals opt for hair transplant procedures in Turkey.

In conclusion, the blend of affordable hair transplant cost, stringent safety measures, and high graft survival rate makes Turkey a preferred destination for hair transplant procedures. Understanding these factors can help potential patients make an informed decision and find a solution that best fits their needs.

Maximizing Hair Transplant Results: Post-Surgery Hair Care and Recovery Time

When it comes to hair transplant in Turkey, the procedure itself is only one part of the journey towards achieving a fuller, healthier head of hair. The post-surgery hair care routine and following the post-operative instructions are equally important if you wish to maximize the results of your hair transplant procedure.

After undergoing a hair transplant, the scalp needs a considerable amount of time to heal and adjust to the new follicles. The hair transplant recovery time can vary based on the individual and the specific procedure used, but generally, patients can expect to see the full results within six to twelve months post-surgery.

During the hair transplant recovery time, it's crucial to follow the post-operative instructions provided by your surgeon. These instructions typically include guidelines on how to clean and care for the scalp, which products to use or avoid, and what activities to refrain from. Adhering to these instructions not only ensures a smoother recovery but also helps to optimize the growth and health of the transplanted hair.

In addition, establishing a proper hair care routine is fundamental during the recovery phase. This involves using gentle, nourishing hair products, protecting the scalp from sun exposure, and maintaining a healthy diet rich in essential vitamins and minerals.

It's also worth noting that the new hair may initially shed after the transplant - this is a normal part of the process and is no cause for concern. The transplanted hair follicles are still healthy and in place, and new hair growth will usually start to occur within a few months.

In conclusion, the success of a hair transplant in Turkey goes beyond the surgical procedure. Proper post-surgery hair care and adherence to post-operative instructions play a significant role in determining the final outcome of the transplant. Remember, patience is key during the hair transplant recovery time as it can take several months to see the full benefits of the surgery.

Addressing Thinning Hair through Hair Transplant in Turkey: An Insight into Post-Transplant Hair Wash and DHT

Thinning hair is a prevalent issue that affects numerous people worldwide, both men and women alike. This condition escalates to a point where self-esteem is compromised, and the pursuit for hair rejuvenation becomes inevitable. Remarkably, Turkey has emerged as a globally recognized destination for hair transplants, offering solutions to hair thinning and hair loss prevention.

The underlying cause of thinning hair is often linked to DHT, or dihydrotestosterone, a hormone that shrinks hair follicles and hinders hair growth. DHT is usually the culprit behind male pattern baldness, but it also plays a role in female hair loss. While it may seem like a formidable foe, it can be addressed with the appropriate hair loss prevention measures, such as hair transplant procedures.

Hair transplants in Turkey have been revolutionized to counteract the effects of DHT, providing a viable solution for hair rejuvenation. The process involves relocating healthy hair follicles from one part of the scalp to the thinning or balding areas. This procedure is meticulously designed to mimic natural hair growth, ensuring that the new hair blends seamlessly with the surrounding hair.

After the hair transplant, it's crucial to follow a proper post-transplant hair wash routine. This step is essential for hair loss prevention and maintaining the health of the newly transplanted hair. It involves using gentle, hair-friendly products to wash the scalp and promote healing. This routine is typically recommended to start a few days after the procedure, once the scalp has had time to recover.

The post-transplant hair wash routine also helps to remove any scabs or crusts that might have formed on the scalp following the procedure. It's a delicate process that requires careful handling to avoid dislodging the newly transplanted hair follicles.

The Journey of Hair Transplant in Turkey: Before and After, Reviews, Results, and Side Effects

Embarking on a journey towards getting a hair transplant in Turkey can be both exciting and overwhelming. In this section of the article, we will explore the hair transplant before and after experience, discuss the possible hair transplant side effects, delve into some hair transplant reviews, and highlight the hair transplant results you can expect.

Firstly, understanding the hair transplant before and after process is essential. Prior to the procedure, it is common for individuals to experience varying levels of hair thinning and loss, significantly impacting their confidence and self-esteem. However, after the hair transplant procedure in Turkey, one can expect to see a significant improvement in the density and distribution of hair. This transformation not only enhances physical appearance but also restores self-confidence.

While the hair transplant before and after experience is generally positive, it's important to be aware of potential hair transplant side effects. Like any other medical procedure, a hair transplant carries certain risks such as infection, bleeding, and scarring. It's also possible to experience temporary hair thinning post-procedure. However, these side effects are usually temporary and manageable with appropriate care and medication.

Now, let's delve into hair transplant reviews. It's important to note that individual experiences with hair transplant in Turkey can vary. Generally, hair transplant reviews reflect a high level of satisfaction with the procedure, with many noting an improvement in their overall quality of life. Patients frequently describe the procedure as life-changing, highlighting the positive impact it has had on their self-esteem and happiness.

Lastly, let's talk about hair transplant results. The ultimate goal of a hair transplant is to improve the appearance of the hairline and increase hair density. The hair transplant results can be substantial, with many patients seeing a significant improvement in their hair growth within just a few months of the procedure. However, it's crucial to remember that results can vary depending on individual factors like the extent of hair loss and overall health.

In conclusion, a hair transplant in Turkey offers the potential for significant hair restoration and improved self-confidence. By understanding the hair transplant before and after process, the potential side effects, reviews, and expected results, one can make an informed decision about whether this procedure is the right choice.

Understanding the Recovery Process: Expectations and Aftercare for Hair Transplants in Turkey

When considering a hair transplant in Turkey, it's essential to have realistic hair transplant expectations. This procedure is a significant commitment, but it can yield impressive results for individuals experiencing hair loss. Knowing what to expect during recovery, including downtime after hair transplant procedures, can help you adequately prepare and ensure a smoother journey towards your new look.

Firstly, let's discuss the recovery period. This is where the downtime after hair transplant comes in. After the procedure, your scalp may be tender, and you may need to take medications for a few days. Most people can return to work two to five days after surgery. However, it's crucial to note that recovery times can vary depending on the individual and the extent of the hair restoration.

One common concern among patients is the redness after hair transplant surgery. It's a typical side effect and usually subsides within a few weeks. The redness occurs due to the increased blood flow to the scalp and the healing process of the tiny wounds from the procedure. Rest assured, this is a normal part of the healing process and should not cause any alarm.

Swelling after hair transplant surgery is also common. Again, this is a natural reaction from your body as it heals. The swelling typically occurs around the forehead and may last for a few days. Applying a cold compress can help reduce the swelling.

Understanding these aspects of hair transplant expectations can help you make an informed decision and prepare for the recovery process. It's essential to remember that every individual's experience will vary, and it's crucial to follow your healthcare professional's advice for aftercare to ensure the best possible results.

Hair transplant in Turkey is a popular choice for many due to the country's advanced medical facilities and highly experienced specialists. By managing your expectations and being prepared for the recovery process, you can look forward to rejuvenated hair growth and increased confidence in your appearance.

Understanding the Hair Transplant Procedure Steps in Turkey for International Patients

The hair transplant procedure steps in Turkey are renowned worldwide for their efficiency and effectiveness. International patients are drawn to this country due to the highly-regarded reputation of its medical procedures, especially in the field of hair transplantation. Before delving into the specific steps involved in the process, it's important to understand that each patient's journey typically involves a preoperative assessment and a postoperative assessment.

The preoperative assessment is the first step in the hair transplant procedure. This involves a comprehensive evaluation of the patient's hair loss condition, general health, and expectations. This crucial step helps the medical team devise the most suitable hair transplant plan for the patient. The aim here is to ensure that the procedure will not only be safe but also achieve the highest possible aesthetic results.

Once the preoperative assessment is complete, the hair transplant procedure steps can begin. While the specifics may vary slightly from patient to patient, the general process normally involves the extraction of hair follicles from a donor site (usually the back of the scalp), followed by their careful implantation into the thinning or bald areas.

Throughout the procedure, utmost care is taken to ensure the natural look of the transplanted hair. The orientation, angle, and positioning of each follicle are meticulously considered to replicate the natural hair growth pattern. This level of precision is what sets Turkey's hair transplantation procedures apart, attracting international patients from all corners of the globe.

Following the surgery, the postoperative assessment begins. This step is just as important as the preceding ones, as it allows the medical team to monitor the patient's recovery, assess the results of the transplantation, and provide essential aftercare instructions. It's during this phase that patients can see the fruition of their hair transplant procedure steps, as the newly transplanted hair begins to grow and blend seamlessly with the existing hair.

In conclusion, understanding the hair transplant procedure steps in Turkey can provide international patients with a glimpse into what to expect from their experience. The combination of a thorough preoperative assessment, a meticulous surgical process, and a comprehensive postoperative assessment ensures the best possible outcomes for patients seeking hair transplant procedures in Turkey.

Exploring Hair Transplant Alternatives and Understanding Pre and Post-Transplant Prep in Turkey

The journey of hair transplant in Turkey often begins with an essential, yet often overlooked step: the hair transplant consultation. This crucial meeting serves as an informative platform where patients receive comprehensive insights about the process, along with an evaluation of their scalp laxity and overall suitability for the procedure.

Scalp laxity â€“ the flexibility and looseness of the scalp â€“ plays a significant role in determining the success of a hair transplant. A scalp with good laxity allows for the easy extraction and implantation of hair follicles, resulting in a more natural-looking hairline. On the contrary, a tight scalp may limit the number of grafts, leading to less satisfactory results. Therefore, understanding your scalp laxity is a critical part of the hair transplant consultation.

However, not everyone is an ideal candidate for a hair transplant. In such cases, hair transplant alternatives come into play. These alternatives can range from low-level laser therapy that promotes hair growth by stimulating the hair follicles, to medication that either slows hair loss or encourages new growth. These alternatives offer a ray of hope to those who may not be candidates for a hair transplant due to various reasons, such as inadequate scalp laxity or insufficient donor hair.

Once a patient decides to proceed with the hair transplant, the next step involves pre-transplant prep. This preparation phase mainly involves following the surgeon's advice on lifestyle changes. These might include quitting smoking, avoiding certain medications, and maintaining a healthy diet. Each of these steps is designed to optimize the body for the upcoming procedure and promote better healing and growth post-transplant.

Post-transplant prep, on the other hand, includes understanding what to expect after the procedure and following the surgeon's aftercare instructions. This might involve taking prescribed medications, avoiding strenuous activities, and ensuring a clean and healthy scalp environment for the new hair follicles to grow.

In conclusion, the journey of hair transplant in Turkey involves more than just the procedure itself. It starts with a hair transplant consultation, understanding your scalp laxity, exploring possible hair transplant alternatives, and ends with appropriate pre and post-transplant prep. By understanding these different elements, you can better prepare for your hair transplant journey and optimize your results.

Understanding the Timeline, Aftercare, and Healing Process of a Hair Transplant in Turkey

The journey of a hair transplant in Turkey is not merely confined to the surgical procedure. It is an extended process that involves a notable timeline, diligent aftercare, and a specific healing process. This comprehensive route ensures the maximum benefits of the transplant and contributes significantly to the final outcome.

The hair transplant timeline begins with an initial consultation and assessment. During this stage, the prospective patient's scalp condition, hair density, and hair loss patterns are evaluated. This information aids in the formulation of a tailored treatment plan. Following the consultation, the actual hair transplant surgery is scheduled. The surgery typically lasts several hours, depending on the size of the transplant area and the transplant method used.

Post the surgery, a crucial phase begins - the hair transplant aftercare. This phase is paramount for the success of the hair transplant. The aftercare involves specific guidelines that the patient needs to adhere to diligently. It includes keeping the scalp clean, avoiding strenuous activities, and potentially refraining from hair washing for a few days post-surgery. The patient is also advised to sleep in an elevated position to prevent swelling.

In terms of post-operative medication, it plays a vital role in the hair transplant aftercare. It aids in managing pain, preventing infection, and reducing inflammation. The medication is usually prescribed by the surgeon and may include antibiotics, anti-inflammatory drugs, and painkillers. Adherence to the prescribed medication greatly aids in the healing process and contributes to the overall success of the hair transplant.

Another significant aspect of hair transplant aftercare is the scalp massage. A gentle massage can help increase blood circulation to the scalp, promoting hair growth and speeding up the healing process. However, it is important to wait for a certain period post-surgery before commencing the scalp massage to ensure that the transplant area has healed adequately.

Finally, understanding the hair transplant healing process is essential. Each patient's healing timeline may vary, depending on individual factors such as general health, age, and adherence to aftercare instructions. Typically, the first signs of new hair growth can be noticed around three to four months post-surgery, with substantial growth observed after eight to twelve months.

In summary, a hair transplant procedure in Turkey is a journey, encompassing a detailed timeline, meticulous aftercare, and a distinctive healing process. Being informed about these steps can help you better prepare for the procedure and ensure an effective and successful hair transplant.

Understanding Hair Transplant in Turkey: From Procedure to Care, Risks, and Benefits

In the world of medical advancements, hair transplant in Turkey has emerged as a popular and effective hair loss solution. This solution has become increasingly sought-after due to its impressive results, offering individuals struggling with hair loss a much-needed boost in confidence.

Hair transplant is generally categorized into two types, invasive and non-invasive procedures. The invasive procedure is a traditional method that involves the surgical removal of hair from a donor area and implanting it into the balding or thinning area. The non-invasive procedure, on the other hand, uses modern techniques to stimulate hair growth without having to undergo any surgical procedure.

Understanding the hair transplant procedure is crucial, but an equally important aspect is hair transplant care. After the procedure, patients need to take extra care of their scalp to ensure the success of the hair transplant. This includes proper cleaning, avoiding exposure to direct sunlight, and refraining from using harsh hair products that might affect the newly transplanted hair.

While hair transplant in Turkey could be the answer to your hair loss problems, it's essential to weigh the hair transplant risks and benefits. Some risks include infection, bleeding, and unnatural-looking hair. However, these risks are usually rare and can be prevented with proper care and by following the surgeon's instructions.

On the brighter side, the benefits of hair transplant are numerous. It's a permanent solution to hair loss, it improves appearance and self-confidence, and it's relatively maintenance-free once the recovery period is over.

In conclusion, hair transplant in Turkey offers a promising and practical solution for those grappling with hair loss. With its invasive and non-invasive procedures, along with comprehensive hair transplant care, it presents an effective method to restore not just hair, but also confidence. However, like any medical procedure, it's crucial to understand the possible risks and acknowledge the benefits before making a decision.

Unraveling the Cost and Effectiveness of Hair Transplant in Turkey

Navigating the journey of hair transplantation can be a daunting task, especially when it comes to understanding the hair transplant cost and the graft survival rate. Turkey, a renowned destination for hair transplant surgeries, provides a comprehensive package that not only satisfies your aesthetic needs but also ensures a high graft survival rate.

Hair transplant cost is a crucial factor that influences your decision. However, it is essential to remember that the effectiveness of the surgery is equally important. You need to ensure the survival of hair after the procedure to enjoy lasting results. In Turkey, the hair transplant cost is often balanced with quality service. The medical practitioners ensure the survival of transplanted hair through advanced procedures and post-operative care.

The graft survival rate is an essential indicator of the success of a hair transplant surgery. It refers to the percentage of transplanted hair follicles that successfully grow in the recipient site. A high graft survival rate implies a higher chance of survival of hair after the operation, leading to better hair density.

Hair density is another crucial aspect to consider. It is the number of hair strands per square inch on your scalp. A successful hair transplant should result in increased hair density, giving a fuller and healthier look. The medical professionals in Turkey use modern techniques to ensure optimal hair density after the surgery, helping you bid farewell to thinning hair.

Thinning hair is a common concern that drives many individuals to consider hair transplant. It is crucial to choose a destination that not only offers affordable hair transplant cost but also ensures a high graft survival rate. After all, the ultimate goal is not just the survival of transplanted hair, but to effectively combat thinning hair and enhance hair density.

In conclusion, when evaluating the hair transplant cost and the graft survival rate in Turkey, it is paramount to consider the overall benefit. The focus should not only be on the survival of hair post-transplant but also on maintaining a satisfactory hair density to permanently resolve the issue of thinning hair.

Enhancing Aesthetic Appearance: The Role of a Hair Surgeon and Surgical Team in Hair Transplant Procedures in Turkey

In the realm of aesthetic enhancement, hair transplant in Turkey has gained significant attention. It's a procedure that's not only about restoring hair but also about boosting an individual's aesthetic appearance. This process is meticulously carried out by a proficient hair surgeon and their dedicated surgical team.

The role of a hair surgeon is pivotal in this procedure. With their extensive knowledge and expertise, they perform the task of individual grafts placement. This involves transferring hair follicles from regions with sufficient hair to the balding or thinning areas. The precision of the hair surgeon in the placement of these individual grafts is crucial to ensure a natural and seamless look, which enhances the overall aesthetic appearance of the patient.

The surgical team also plays a significant role in the hair transplant procedure. Their meticulous work begins with preparing the donor area and extends to post-operative care. The surgical team works in harmony with the hair surgeon to ensure that each graft is optimally utilized.

Besides the technical aspects of the procedure, patient satisfaction is another critical area of focus in hair transplant procedures. The aim is to not only meet but exceed patients' expectations in terms of results. This is achieved through a blend of technical expertise and patient-centric approach. The surgical team and the hair surgeon work together to ensure that every patient receives personalized care, making them feel comfortable and satisfied throughout the process.

Hair therapy is another aspect that adds value to the hair transplant procedure. The right hair therapy can significantly speed up the healing process and stimulate the growth of the transplanted hair. In addition, it can help maintain the health of the existing hair, preventing further hair loss.

In conclusion, achieving an enhanced aesthetic appearance through hair transplant in Turkey involves a combination of the expertise of a hair surgeon, the teamwork of a surgical team, the use of individual grafts, a focus on patient satisfaction, and post-operative hair therapy. Each of these elements plays a crucial role in delivering an effective and satisfying hair transplant experience.

The Process and Benefits of Hair Transplant Procedures in Turkey

Turkey has established a reputation as a leading destination for hair regrowth treatments, notably hair transplants. This is due to the country's innovative techniques, affordable prices, and highly skilled professionals. One of the major advantages of having hair transplant in Turkey is the possibility of achieving long-term results that look completely natural.

Hair transplant is a meticulous outpatient procedure typically performed in a sterile environment to prevent any infections. The procedure involves transplanting hair follicles from one part of the scalp, usually the back or sides, where hair is more resistant to balding, to the thinning or balding areas. The goal is to stimulate hair regrowth in those areas, creating a fuller, thicker appearance.

The complexity of the individual's hair loss pattern will determine whether a single session or multiple sessions are required. In a single session, thousands of hair follicles can be transplanted, which makes it a highly efficient solution for those with severe hair loss. However, for those with less extensive hair loss or for those who prefer a more gradual change, multiple sessions may be recommended.

Regardless of whether the transplant is performed in a single session or multiple sessions, patients can expect to see a significant improvement in their hair density. The transplanted hair follicles will grow and shed initially. After a few months, these follicles will start producing new hair, leading to noticeable hair regrowth.

One of the most significant benefits of hair transplant in Turkey is the potential for long-term results. Unlike other hair regrowth treatments that require ongoing use or maintenance, a hair transplant provides a permanent solution to hair loss. Once the hair follicles have been successfully transplanted and have started to grow, the results can last a lifetime, with the transplanted hair growing just like the rest of your natural hair.

In conclusion, a hair transplant procedure in Turkey offers a high possibility of achieving long-term hair regrowth. It is performed in a sterile environment as an outpatient procedure, meaning you can return home the same day. The number of sessions required will depend on the extent of hair loss, but whether it is a single session or multiple sessions, the improvement in hair density can be remarkable.

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753 notes · View notes

vernons-girl · 9 months ago

Note

Hey girlie! I just read 2 of your works and I really really liked them ❤️

Since I saw your requests are open, can I put one forward?

An angsty one with Mingyu. Female Reader loves him but he loves her sister.

Hope you have a good day.

Thank you 😊

not her | kim mingyu x fem!reader pt.1

PART 1 ; PART.2 ; PART 3 (final)

(could be gn!reader tho)

angsty, wc:1.3k

a/n:hi love!! I hope you'll like it, it may not have been what you had in mind but yeah.. I could always go deep in the drama in part2, who knows haha. have a nice day too!!

You had known Mingyu for a few years now and he had quickly became one of your closest friends.

I mean that's what you tell him and every one of you guys' friends because you can't tell any of them that you've had a raging crush on him since forever.

I mean how could you not ? Aside from his good looks, Mingyu was kind, fun, caring, loving, everything you could dream of in a boyfriend.

You liked him so much that you decided to bring him to have dinner alongside your close family, in hopes that your sister could help you in figuring out if the feelings were mutual before you could even consider making a move on him.

It's not that you thought you were unlikable. No. Far from that. You weren't. It's just that you thought perhaps, you guys were just really good friends and that, even worse, maybe he just saw you as a little sister.

But this was your way of figuring it all out. So you put on your best outfit (without overdoing it, I mean what a way to be suspicious-), you did your hair and makeup and took a deep breath. Looking at your phone, Mingyu should be there in 10 minutes. You couldn't help but feel a little nervous. To your family it was just a nice friendly dinner with one of your pals, nothing crazy, that has happened before. But you knew. And so did your sister.

Speaking of which, you heard a knock on your bedroom's door followed by the appearance of her face in the tiny crack of the opening.

"Hey gorgeous" she says entering the room, looking at you up and down. "You look amazing, he is totally gonna fall for you" she affirms while rearranging your hair.

"But what if he doesn't like me?" you voiced out your worries about the possibility of a one-sided crush.

"Then that's his loss!, she says, Imagine not liking this, she gestures at your figure, he would be so dumb!" The two of you chuckled.

"I'll get him on your good side, don't worry," your sister nudged your shoulder with a playful look on her face, making you laugh.

The sudden noise of the doorbell brought you back to reality and you took a deep breath.

"You've got this, your sister said with a smile.

- I've got this" you repeated confidently.

To say the evening went great was an understatement.

Mingyu showed up with flowers, wooing all the women - and even some of the men - with this and his unmissable charms.

He's a very friendly person, that goes without saying, so he got along with everyone that night, winning over the elders by volunteering to clean up, not just helping, no no, he did it all himself.

'What a good future house husband.' that's what you thought, but little did you know, you weren't the only one.

After Mingyu left, you rushed to your bedroom to have a debrief with your sister.

"Sooooo?" you asked genuinely curious to hear her opinion.

"So what? she asked in a teasing tone,

- So what did you think ?

- About what ? Him ? You two?

- I don't know! Both I guess?

- I mean everyone loved him so I would be lying if I said I didn't think he was a great guy.

- Thanks for stating the obvious, you replied playfully.

- You guys seem close and he cares for you, I can tell, she started, he watches over you and he's already there to give you a hand, he makes you laugh, so I mean if he isn't into you, I don't know what it's like when he has a crush on someone, she laughed.

- So you think he has a crush on me?? you asked excitedly,

- Hm, he might." she assures.

This statement made you giggle like a teenage girl who just got her first boyfriend as you started planning ahead how you would make your crush known to him to see where all of this goes.

"Anyway, we should sleep, let's talk about it later yeah? Make a plan? your sister said,

- A plan? Haha okay whatever" you reply softly as she makes her way out of your room to hers.

You got ready for bed and as you got under the cover you couldn't help but think 'Gosh I love him.'

It had been a few weeks since Mingyu came over and you've been trying your best to make your crush obvious to him on your sister's advice.

You've became more touchy, you set up hang outs that look a little too much like dates minus the label, you walk alongside him with your one of your arm looped in his, and even without all of this, the look in your eyes when you look at him doesn't lie.

Now, you guys planned on getting food together in three days from now, nothing too much, just a cozy restaurant you guys wanted to try after seeing pictures of the food they served online. However, you wanted to make this big and perhaps finally confess your love to your friend that very night. And that's why you decided to go to the mall to get an outfit specially for the occasion.

You browsed through a few stores but nothing really caught your eyes so you decided to take a short break at the food court. Maybe if nothing seemed good enough to you, you should ask your sister, right?

So you called her, no response. But a few texts :

'Sorry I'm out with friends'

'It's a little noisy. I think I won't hear you'

'What's up'

You sigh and type :

'I wanted you to help me shop for an outfit :('

To which she replied :

'Sorry luv, send me pictures and I'll tell you what I think,kay?'

After sending her a simple 'kay' you put your phone down and took the time to look around.

As usual there were loud groups of teenagers, even louder families, couples, Mingyu... Wait Mingyu???

What was he doing here? On one hand you didn't want him to see you and risk him to find out you were looking for an outfit for him but on another hand you wanted to come up to him and have a "friendly" chat.

You were now standing up, fighting an internal battle in your brain as your gaze was fixed on him.

That was until you saw him turn around with not one, but two drinks in his hands. Fuck why did he have two drinks when he was on his own? Your question was quickly answered as you saw a girl walked up to him, grabbing one of the drinks from his hand.

You looked at her, I mean her back since she was facing away from you, she had a great figure you couldn't lie but why did her sweater look so familiar ? It looked like the one your sister always borrowed from you, you didn't know it was a common item but hey at least she had good taste you guessed.

But it seemed like hell had frozen over as the girl linked her hand with Mingyu's free one, kissed him on the lips. Your hopes flew away instantly, but what you crushed your heart into thousands of pieces was seeing your sister's face as the girl turned around to face you.

She couldn't see you, neither could he. But you saw them. You clearly saw them.

The betrayal burned your throat, your eyes watering, hands shaking, the beating of your heart kept accelerating, you felt like your were going to consume within.

All this time, she had been hiding this from you, lying to you. How did this happen? When? Why?

Why couldn't it be you at his side? But also why did it have to be her?

Why did Mingyu not tell you about this? Did she tell him not to say anything? Had she told him about your crush on him and told him to play along with it? Had they team up against you?

At that moment, you lost everything.

Your friend. Your sister. Your hopes. It all turned to dust.

You were likable. You just weren't her.

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen reactions #seventeen x reader #mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu x reader

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ryuzakemo128 · 2 months ago

Text

Grim Reaper Part Two

Pairing: Poly? Team 141 x Female reader / Female reader x her mental health

Content Warning: breaking and entering, kidnapping, pregnancy, mental health issues may be touched on, returning home, tear-jerking levels of nostalgia for possibly wrong reasons. Certain implication of a certain Austrian.

Words: 797

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Supernatural AU - Poem

Credit for Dividers: @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: “Welcome home, Maus.”

You were sent home on mandatory leave, the empty house feeling colder than when you left it the first time. It felt like you were always on edge, waiting for a lecture. Even though your parents are long gone now and you're thirty now. You go to leave a few times. Though, you liked it better when you avoided having to go back home. Preferring back to back missions than facing the thought of going back home. The doctor forced you to, shaking his head and hands on his hips as he told you it was good for your long term health. Tapping into your fear of failure.

You anticipate your mother coming to the front door, but you know she never will, never again. The clock still at 3 o'clock in the morning when your mother passed from a heart attack in her sleep. You remember your father waking to her lifeless form, a form that used to be so full of love for life. Gone. Long before she reached fifty years old. Your father went on without her, turning to alcohol for comfort of the loss. It was to no one's surprise, he had passed from a broken heart two weeks after.

You sat on your old bed, dust flicking upwards as your legs pressed into the covers. In a twisted sense you still loved them, cared for them and wish they were there. Even though they were toxic parents. You loved them. The neglect, the threats of abandonment, everything about it. You know you shouldn't. Yet you still do.

It wasn't your fault you looked so much like your mother, her hair, her eyes, her smile and her mannerisms. They were hers, just as much as they were yours. The older you grew, the uncannier it became and the uncannier it became. The more your father seemed to hold disdain towards you.

You were a constant reminder of the woman he lost. You often wondered if he blamed you for her death. If he thought, you were the reason she had a heart attack. You had been sixteen at the time, a rebellious teenager who had been out past curfew. Your father had found you drunk, stumbling home, and had yelled at you, your mother trying to intervene. The next morning, she was gone.

A stupid thought, you know. A thought you can't hope to let go of, no matter how much you push forward. The guilt had gnawed at you for years, and it had only worsened when your father had died. You had felt like a failure, a burden, a constant reminder of the pain they had endured.

It was like most of it never changed from when you were young. Frozen. In stasis. Paused during a time. A moment in your life when things in your life started, spiralling into something so wrong. As you cleaned out the home, windows open, airing the entire house out. Like it was holding its breath for the past few years or more.

It was after the furniture was taken out, after the walls and floors were sanded, that the house felt emptier and less like a home. More of a tomb of what was. You were hand painting images your parent's wouldn't have let you do. Though, they weren't here anymore to tell you off.

Starting off small with small birds, flowers and animals in corners, after a one-night stand you found out you were pregnant. You debated telling them for a while, you knew you couldn't put it off forever. You called your mother's phone just to hear her voicemail message. As the days marched forward like sand dripping inside an hourglass.

The phone snatched from your fingers, a cold hand closing around your wrist. You pulled your hand away from the stranger, or at least you tried to. "Let go of me." you shouted. "Whoever you're looking for isn't alive anymore. My mother and my father are dead. If you're here for them. Then you are fourteen years too late. They have been cremated, and their ashes are buried with the redwood trees."

You assumed he was there to rob you. "I have nothing of value. Nothing." you told him.

The man laughed, a low, guttural sound that sent chills down your spine. "I'm not here for your parents," he said, his voice thick with a foreign accent. "I'm here for you."

In any other circumstance, those words would be a delight to hear. Given the situation now. It just sent chills up your spine and made your palms sweaty. Fear gnawed at you, gripped your throat and stolen the breath from your lungs.

He learned over, whispered into your ear, his hot breath against your neck and face, “Welcome home, Maus.”

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Note

Happy 500! 🩵 I feel like "best friend's brother" and the Millers is something smutty just waiting to happen, maybe? 🫢

Best Friend's Brother.

y. Best Friend's Brother

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. thank you for this request!! another one for my will girlies - love you all <3

Pairing - Will Miller x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 900

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

You've known Benjamin Miller since you were a teenager.

He's been there through thick and thin, love and loss, good and bad.

He makes you laugh until you cry, happily watches awful movies with you, and loves to make you breakfast for dinner. He knows you like the back of his hand, and vice versa. He's the best friend you could ever ask for.

He also has the most beautiful brother in the world.

William Miller is the bane of your existence. Golden hair, big blue eyes, gleaming smile. He's aged like a fine wine, and damn have you noticed. You love Benny more than anything, and you'd never do anything to jeopardise that. But my god... it's tempting.

You're one too many tequilas down when you realise you're wobbling. You're holding onto the bar's bathroom sink for balance, attempting to keep yourself upright. You pull out your phone and call Benny, your designated taxi driver.

"Hello?"

"Benny. Baby. I am drunk! So drunk. The room is spinning, actually. Bathrooms don't spin, right?"

"Sweetheart, this is Will. Benny left his phone at my place. Where are you? You need me to come and get you?"

"Will! Hey Will. Wonderful Will. I am drunk. Very drunk."

"You may have mentioned that," he chuckles. "Where are you?"

"O'Lockes, I think. You know the place with the lights? The pretty lights?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Stay there, okay? I'm coming."

He gets to you within 20 minutes, which means he can't possibly have followed any of the speed limits. You're sat on the bench waiting outside when you see his truck pull up.

"Hey, you."

"Hi, William. Beautiful boy. God, you're the best."

"Thank you," he chuckles.

He gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to help you in.

"Chivalry isn't dead, huh?" you giggle. "Such a gentleman. How are you single? Why are you single? Do you want to be? You don't have to be. Every single girl in that bar would swoon for you, William."

"Alright, this feels like 20 questions. You need help with that seat belt?"

Will reaches over and buckles you in. His face is so close to yours, you can smell his toothpaste. The tiny part of your brain that's still rational begs you not to kiss him.

He jumps into the drivers side and starts up the engine. He turns up the heat so you're warm enough, and turns the music down so it isn't too loud. You curl into the heated seat and sigh contently, sobering up pretty quickly.

By the time he's pulling into your driveway, you can't feel the tequila anymore. You're warm, you're happy, and you're madly in love with the man sitting next you. What could go wrong?

"Hey Will?" you ask when he cuts the engine.

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why are you single? I'm not trying to be nosy. Just curious."

"Curious, huh?" he drawls, smiling gently at you.

"I mean - I've never heard you talk about a girlfriend, or even going on a date. Ever since I've known you, you've been practically always single."

"Yeah. Dating isn't really my thing, I guess. Too much effort."

"Too much effort? Will, I've never heard you say anything is too much effort."

He chuckles, and you laugh along with him.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just waiting for a certain someone."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Anyone in particular?" you ask, toeing the line.

"Maybe," he mutters. "Maybe."

He leans in over the centre console and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You thread your hands into his hair and pull him closer, desperate to feel all of him. He grabs your hips and pulls you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You whine and the sound shoots straight to his core. He groans in response, tongue licking into your mouth. You shakily unbutton his jeans, pulling your skirt up around your waist.

"Should we go inside?" you pant breathlessly.

"Can't wait that long," he replies quickly. "Need to feel you now."

You pull him out of his underwear and lower yourself down, the both of you moaning in unison. The angle is a little awkward and you accidentally bump your head on the roof of his truck, but neither of you can find it in you to stop.

You set a steady rhythm, rising and falling with determination. Will helps you, grabbing at your hips and moving you as he pleases. You drop your forehead to rest against his, sweat mixing and breaths mingling.

"Oh, fuck," you whine.

"Yeah, baby. Keep going. You're doing so good. Don't stop, yeah?"

"Not stopping," you reply. "Never stopping."

Will moves his thumb to rub circles between your legs, causing you to breathlessly pant his name like a prayer.

"So close, Will. So close."

"Come on, honey. Give it to me. I can feel it. Yeah, that's it."

You fall over the edge with a moan, gripping at his hair. You tug a little harder than intended, but it does the trick, sending him into his own climax. He's groaning your name, and you're convinced the sound will be ingrained in your mind forever.

You're both panting, chests heaving. Then, you burst into a fit of giggles. It seems to be contagious, because Will joins you.

"What?" he asks through the laughter.

"How the fuck are we gonna tell Ben?"

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staylovesmiley · 2 months ago

Text

Connected~ Chapter 4

ᯓᡣ𐭩Pairing; Bangchan x Fem!Reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩Summary; Lumi had been a trainee at JYPE for years. Having entered the company a couple years after Chris the two became good friends, maybe even more. As she watched her best friend finally achieved his dream, the distance between them grew. With her debut date finally set in stone, will the two be able to rekindle their flame or will the connection between them falter?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 Notes; This is an ABO!AU. in this world when someone reaches puberty they will present with one of three sub genders; alpha, beta, or omega. Scent glands are located near the pressure points on the neck and small hormonal patches called scent blockers can be placed over them to reduce or rid an individual of their scent for a period of time depending on the strength of the hormones in the patch.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᯓᡣ𐭩ᯓᡣ𐭩Warnings; abo!au, female!reader, poly!pack dynamics, angst, mild violence, smut, old friends to lovers, she/her pronouns used for reader, jealous Bangchan, Reader is an OC, Mentions of unhealthy dieting(forced by the company), Reader is three years younger than Chan (‘00 liners unite!!) extra chapter specific warnings; vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (kind of? Birth control is used but no condom- remember to always wrap it before you tap it to protect against stds!!) implied cum eating, I might have missed some but I think that’s all?

Intoxicating is the only way she could describe the feeling of being held so close to him again, one hand placed on the wall beside her head while the other gripped her hip firmly causing the dancer to gasp against his lips. Her hands were tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as he bit down on her lower lip with a soft growl.

Things had been going on like this ever since the movie night at her dorm. When no one was paying attention or they were left alone the pair would sneak off to a isolated bathroom or closet somewhere, unable to keep their hands off of each other as they finally gave in to the physical pull towards one another they had felt during their teenage years.

The tension between them would build up from the second they laid eyes upon each other until it snapped like a rubber band pulled too taut, the two pouncing each other once they were sure no one was around to bear witness to their actions.

The way sweet, mildly spiced vanilla filled her senses set Lumi’s soul on fire and she felt as if she couldn’t get the alpha close enough to her, her instincts screaming at her to claim him and be claimed by him. She wouldn’t allow it, of course, always stopping them before things went farther than a heated make out session that left them having to adjust their appearance before rejoining the others wherever they had left them.

Currently they were inside the third floor bathroom at the end of the hall from the practice room where the rest of stray kids were waiting impatiently for the pair to join them. Chan had been in the studio working when the rest of the kids sent Lumi to retrieve him, Han saying that since she was just coming to watch and get dinner afterwards she didn’t need to warm up like the rest of them and it made the most sense for her to go.

It was on their way back down to the practice room from his studio that she couldn’t help herself any longer, taking him silently by the wrist and pulling him into the first unlocked door they passed by. This wasn’t the JYPE building she knew, the company having changed locations after she had left, so she was still getting used to the differences as she started coming to visit them more on her time off. She was expecting a closet of some kind but was surprised to find a single use bathroom instead, locking the door before the alpha turned her around and pressed his body against hers pinning her to the door.

Chan began trailing losses down her jaw leading to her neck, biting and sucking there and having the omega moaning breathlessly. “Chris- we should probably stop or the others are gonna come looking…” despite her words, Lumi was tilting her head to the side to give him better access as he continued to leave kisses and little bite marks along the column of her neck and nape where it met her shoulder. “Don’t care-“ he growled, hand moving from its place on the wall to begin working on untying the drawstring of her sweat pants.

“Chris no- stop.” She said firmly now, pushing him away with the palms of her hands flat against his chest until he pulled away with the look of a kicked puppy. “What- is everything okay?” His eyes scanned her face for any signs of pain or discomfort, worrying he may have bit down too hard or done something she didn’t like. “No no everything is okay just- we need to get you to practice…”

Chan sighed, realizing that once again things were being cut short and the wall the pink haired dancer had placed between them was going back up. “Right. Yeah.” He huffed, pulling away from her fully to straighten his clothing and fix his hair in the mirror from where her soft hands had been pulling at it and causing it to look more disheveled than a mere set of headphones would. She followed suit, making sure he hadn’t left any visible marks along her skin before combing her fingers through her hair and nodding in approval at her reflection.

Torture was the only was he could describe the feeling of walking down the hall with a very noticeable distance between the two of them.

It may not have shown but the alpha wasn’t the only one suffering.

The way his scent lingered on her skin, the feeling of his lips on hers leaving them tingling, the sound of his moans and little growls echoing in her mind and keeping her awake at night. She wanted more of him, craved him like a drug, but the dancer wouldn’t allow herself to let him in anymore than she already had.

Lumi was friendly with him, small smiles and waves when he would join her and the others during their plans, but besides sneaking around their dorms or the jype building to get a little hot under the collar away from prying eyes she didn’t attempt to get closer to the alpha on a one on one level.

The dancer had been spending a lot of time with the stray kids pack, as it seemed, but still made time to spend with her beloved member just the two of them as well as inviting the older omega to join them which she did on occasion. This time it was just the two of them in their dance studio at the kq building, laying on the cool hardwood floor side by side after hours of practicing for their first comeback since debut.

As the girls lay catching their breath, the sound of loud voices carrying down the hall could be heard before the door to the dance studio was pushed open and a voice called out in a song-like tune.

“Moony-moony~ where is the absolute love of my life??~” Wooyoung called out, the omega Smirking when he saw the two girls laying in the dim light of their dance studio. “Found ya!” He laughed, pouncing on the other omega as she let out a small grunt once the dancer’s body landed on top of her own. “Ya! Be careful- your boney elbow could’ve taken my eye out!” Mani shouted as she struggled to get out from under the raven haired man.

Lumi laughed at the exchange, the smell of their deeply spiced scents filling the practice room as they wrestled playfully in front of her. “Woo would you give them a break? It’s been too long since they’ve had to put up with your antics-“ came Yunho’s deep voice as he made his presence known. The omega’s eyes lit up and she sprung off the floor to embrace the much taller man. “Yuyu! Oh my goodness how have you been?” The omega asked, squealing in delight as the alpha wrapped her in his strong embrace and lifted her off the ground slightly to spin her around in his arms.

“Been good- missed our girls though.” He teased the two omegas, gently setting Lumi back on the ground and pulling back to look down into her eyes. “Feels good to be back home.” He smiled, the warm smell of bourbon and cinnamon filling her senses and heavily overpowering the other scents in the room. “It’s nice to have you back! You’re working on a comeback too, right? We’ll get to promote around the same time it will be so much fun!” The dancer said while bouncing on her feet lightly.

The alpha laughed at her enthusiasm, giving the top of her head a soft pat before they were interrupted by a loud shriek from the floor behind them. “Ouch Woo that fucking hurt-“ Mani said as she inspected the place where the slightly younger omega had bit her on her upper arm. “Almost broke skin mother fucker-“ She hissed, giving him a glare as Wooyoung merely wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder from behind. “Awe come on moony~ I was just showing how much I looove you! You just smell so tasty!” He said with a pout, batting his eyelashes at the blue haired omega. “You can bite me back if it’ll make you feel better?” He winked, causing Mani to scoff and roll her eyes. “Yeah you’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

Both Yunho and Lumi laughed at the two of them, the pink haired dancer shaking her head as Mani did in fact bite down on their fellow omega’s forearm with a vengeance causing Wooyoung to yelp and smack at the back of her head lightly. “Ow ow okay that’s enough- OW!”

Yunho shook his head as well but made no move to interfere with the two’s play fighting. “Lumi, I actually came here to ask something from you…it’s kind of important but you don’t have to answer right away if you need time to think it over.” The omega’s interest spiked as she turned back to look up into the tall alpha’s soft brown, puppy-like eyes. “I got picked to be studio choom’s next spotlight artist and I wanted to do a duet…with you if you’d be down?” He looked hopeful, those puppy-like eyes staring down at her with an intensity that caused her heart to flutter a bit and she understood what atiny must feel whenever they get the chance to witness his charms in person.

“With me, really? That’s like- huge, yuyu!” She gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth in shock and disbelief. “This would be huge publicity for Eclipse- and you know I love dancing with you…yes! Are you kidding me? Is it even a question?” The alpha laughed, relief flooding his expression as he brought the omegan dancer in for another tight embrace. “Well I wasn’t sure you’d be up for it with your comeback coming up- it’ll be a lot of extra work on top of everything.” Lumi shook her head, beaming up at him as excitement coursed through her. “Yunho this is an incredible opportunity! I promise I’ll put in the work and I won’t let you down-“ she said earnestly, eyes full of determination as she looked up into his own eyes as he wore a soft expression. “I know you will, that’s part of why I asked you.”

The omega giggled while giving the alpha an almost bone crushing hug despite her smaller stature, looking up at him with her chin resting against the middle of his chest. “Can we get started choreographing now?” Yunho smiled, showing his amusement with how eager she was, nodding the affirmative to her.

For the next few hours the pair began the process of choosing a song to dance to, listening to it on repeat until suddenly looking at each other with wide eyes and wicked grins as parts of the dance seemed to come to them in a vision. Wooyoung helped to at times, moving from his place on the floor cuddled up next to Mani to give his input and grin with pride seeing his advice taken and applied to the choreography.

As the early morning hours crept up on them, Mani laid asleep curled up on the small couch at the back of the studio while the three other idols bounced ideas off of each other to try and finalize the performance so that they could begin really practicing and fine tuning everything. The song chosen was a bit provocative, One Of The Girls by The Weeknd, so in turn the dance was a bit on the sensual side. Lumi and Yunho didn’t bat an eye at that fact though, being comfortable enough around each other to play up the chemistry needed for this type of performance yet also comfortable enough in their friendship to not take it as seriously as once the music cut before looping the pair burst out laughing at each other while Wooyoung wolf whistled at the suggestive position they we’re currently posed.

The trio of dancer’s decided to break for the night, Lumi making her way over to grab her phone and see she had several missed calls and texts from Jisung asking her to come hang out at their studio. She sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sent a quick text asking if he was still there since it had been a few hours since the beta had reached out.

The dancer’s mind began to wander, sipping from her water bottle with a frown as thoughts of a certain alpha crossed her mind.

The two members of ateez seemed to notice, glancing at each other before turning back to look at the omega with a questioning look. “What’s wrong Lumi?” Wooyoung asked as he wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and pulled her to his side in a comforting gesture. It made sense to her when she had learned a few years back that the dancer was close friends with Changbin, both omegas having such a natural talent at being a calming force to her despite their tendency of being a bit chaotic at times. “You look like you have something on your mind.” He pouted, tilting his head cutely as he looked the pink haired dancer in the eyes with his own full of curiosity.

Yunho nodded, stepping closer after setting his own bottle down. “Yeah- if something is bothering you, you know you can tell us right?” Lumi sighed, nodding her head. She knew that they were right, being two of the trainees she spent the most time around as they had bonded over their shared passion for dance. Even after debuting, Yunho and Wooyoung would always invite the younger girl to come with them to the studio to work on new choreography or teach her new dances they had learned for their comebacks. She was forever grateful for their friendship, as it came in a time when she felt so lost and alone having just joined a new company where she knew no one and was one of only a few female trainees.

“Yeah…okay- I guess I should talk about it to someone…” she sighed, sitting down on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest before patting the floor for them to join her. “You guys know stray kids, I know…” Lumi began once they had taken their seats on the hardwood flooring of the dance studio. “Yeah! Pretty well, actually! We don’t get to hang out much since we are both pretty busy groups now days but we always look forward to seeing them.” Yunho spoke up, a fond expression on his face. “And Binnie is like one of my best friends- you know that. Did you finally get to meet them?” Wooyoung said with excitement as he practically bounced in his seat.

Lumi nodded, eyes glued to the floor. “Yeah uh- I actually met them before you did…funny thing-“ she spoke hesitantly, afraid to finally open up to them about the secret she held back when they originally told her about their times meeting and befriending their fellow boy group. “What-?!” Both men said in unison, so loud the omega feared they would wake Mani behind them where she still slept and Lumi really did not want to deal with a grumpy band mate on the trip back to their dorm.

“Shh keep it down- yes. You guys know I trained at jype before I came to kq…” she explained, watching as they nodded along. “Well- yeah. But you never said you knew stray kids from back then-“ Wooyoung said with a pout, arms coming to cross over his chest. “Ya! Were you guys like close or something?” Lumi nodded, sighing as she ran a hand through her hair nervously. “Yeah you could say that…”

For the next few minutes the pink haired dancer explained the nature of her relationship with the members of 3racha, and ultimately her new friendship with all but one member, including the parts about how she had left to join kq without ever informing her friends where she was going or that she was even leaving in the first place. Yunho frowned, reaching out to smack lightly at her leg. “That’s kind of fucked up, Lumi….how could you do that to your friends?”

She winced, knowing he was right. “I didn’t want to- I was going to tell them but…” the two men looked at her with sympathy, Wooyoung coming to wrap his arms around her in a tight embrace as he comforted his fellow omega. “We get it…they weren’t really around for you to tell.” Lumi sighed and nodded, resting her head on his shoulder as he held her. Yunho moved to her other side to bring her into his arms as well.

The three of them sat like that for a while before her phone went off with a response from Jisung telling her that she was still good to join them at the studio if she was available. “There’s something else….” She spoke softly, hesitant to even speak about it out loud.

Yunho set her with a look that said she had better spill now that she had already started, the alpha motioning with a hand for her to continue. “Chris- I….we kissed-“ she started, Wooyoung’s gasp audible as he backed away to look her in the eyes.

“You’re kidding, right?? You kissed Chan hyung?! When?!?” He questioned, kneeling in front of the pink haired dancer as his hands on her shoulder shook her lightly. “Woo- calm down let her explain.” Yunho scolded lightly, taking the omega’s hands off of her before turning her to face the both of them. “It was a few weeks ago…and we haven’t stopped since-“ both men’s eyes widened as they stared at her in shock. “Every time I’m alone with him it’s like I’ve been possessed or something- I feel like I can’t trust him enough to be close again but now that I know how it feels to-“ she sighed, running a hand through her hair anxiously. “Now that I know what it feels like to kiss him after I used to dream about it in highschool….I can’t control myself.”

Wooyoung smirked, hands placed on his knees where he sat criss cross on the floor and leaned forward towards her. “Ooh Lumi’s got a cruuusshhh~~” he teased, bouncing a bit in his seat. Lumi whined, shaking her head as she lunged forward to cover his mouth with her hand. “Shut up, I do not-“ she should have expected what came next as the dancer looked up at her with a devilish glint in his eyes before licking the palm of her hand. “EW YOU ASSHOLE!” She shrieked, pulling her hand back to rub against his shirt in an attempt to remove the saliva. Both men laughed hysterically at her reaction, causing Lumi to pout and reach for her bag to use the hand sanitizer she kept there.

Once they calmed down Yunho sent the pink haired omega a look. “Has it gone any farther than just kissing?” He questioned nonchalantly causing the girl to choke on air. “Excuse me?!” She gasped, looking at him with shock at the boldness of his question. “Come on we are all adults, Lumi. Just answer the question.” The omega pouted, but shook her head to answer him. “No…every time he’s tried I’ve stopped him- I’ve always been…afraid-“

Wooyoung gave her a questioning look before standing and making his way over to her. “Afraid of what? We know you aren’t a virgin so it can’t be that-“ his words caused the memory of her early trainee days with them at kq, and a night of truth or dare turned a bit too steamy, shaking the thoughts away quickly with a grimace. “Don’t remind me- but no that’s not why I’m afraid.” Lumi sighed, slowly collecting her things as she decided to take the producer up on his offer to join him and the others in the studio like old times. “What if I get attached again and he pulls the same shit. He’s a popular idol now, the leader of his group….what happens when they go on tour or get even more popular than they already are? Will he just drop me again until being reminded I exist? I can’t do that again…”

Wooyoung gave his older member a pleading look, nodding towards the pink haired dancer and sighing when Yunho held his hands up defensively and shook his head to say he wasn’t planning on getting involved. The omega huffed a bit before turning back to the younger dancer. “Lumi, baby- your trust issues are very obviously shot tremendously.” The girl scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks Woo. Tell me something I don’t already know-“ the pink haired omega pulled her bag up over her shoulder before making her way towards the door. “I don’t need a lecture about how what I’m doing is wrong and how it will only hurt in the long run, hell it’s already so confusing it hurts, I just needed to get it off my chest since I can’t really tell any of his members and I know Mani would probably scold me a lot worse than either of you-“

The older dancer sighed and shook his head in disapproval, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m just trying to look out for you- you’re going to see him now, aren’t you?” Shaking her head, Lumi pulled the door open and called out over her shoulder. “Han, actually- but he’ll most likely be there…make sure Mani gets home alright?” Wooyoung nodded, already going to the sleeping blue haired girl with a smirk on his face as he cuddled up behind her on the couch. “Yeah yeah Moony is safe with us~”

The younger girl laughed lightly at the display and shook her head, closing the door behind her and calling for a cab to take her to the jype building.

Quietly she made her way down the hall, deja vu giving her whiplash as she stopped in front of the door to 3racha’s studio. This was a new building, and a new studio, but the situation was something she was somewhat familiar with. During their time as trainees she had been in this position many times, often being the only reason the three producers remembered to eat or sleep as she would frequently stop by any time she had a free moment and would bring them snacks or meals and make sure they took breaks and didn’t work themselves as hard as they would with no outside intervention.

Her hand raised cautiously before knocking on the door. The voice that called out to her made her even more hesitant to enter but she pushed herself regardless, entering the room and closing the door with your back turned to the rest of the room. “Lumi?” The thick australian accent called out to her causing her to tense slightly. The smell of warm vanilla swirled around the room and the omega turned slowly to see that it was only the two of them present, Han Jisung no were to be seen although he was the one who told you it was okay to come over still. “Where is Hanji-“

Chan frowned, turning in his desk chair to face her fully. “You just missed him- he’ll be back at some point but he left to go get something to eat from the convenience store.” Lumi sighed, setting her bag down on the floor beside the small black couch against the back wall before taking a seat. “Well then I guess I’ll just have to wait until he gets back, won’t I-“ the dancer pulled out her phone, scrolling until she landed on Han’s contact before sending a quick text asking that he please return quickly, only receiving a laughing and winking emoji in response.

“This guy-“ she scoffed, rolling her eyes as she laughed lightly in disbelief. “Huh?” Chan rolled his chair over to face her with a raised eyebrow. At his questioning look, Lumi held her phone out to the alpha who shook his head while laughing at how the beta had responded to her. “I don’t know what he’s up to but I don’t like it.” The omega huffed, going back to scrolling through her phone while Chan got back to work at his computer.

The two of them sat like that for a while with Chan humming under his breath every now and then and Lumi making sure the volume on her phone was down as to not disturb the producer as he worked. “Do you think I could borrow your ears for a minute?” He asked suddenly, the dancer straightening her posture to look at him. “Me?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow at her in a teasing manner. “Do you see anyone else here?” She frowned, hitting his shoulder lightly as she stood up and took a seat in the chair beside him. “Don’t know how much help I can be but sure…since Jisung seems to have abandoned us.”

Chan laughed and carefully placed the headphones over her ears. “I could have done that myself-“ she protested though there wasn’t much force behind her words, the alpha shrugged and sat back before pressing play on the track he had been stuck on for the past few hours before Han had left for the convenience store and Lumi had arrived.

Music began flooding her ears as a deep, sensual beat began playing through the speakers of the headphones. Lumi’s eyes fell closed as she let the lyrics take over her mind. She knew he had been known to write some more risqué, though he would never openly admit such to his fans, but hearing it with her own ears she couldn’t help but bite her lower lip gently as she nodded along to the beat.

The flow of the music seemed to take her over, body moving slowly as she rocked along with the melody and pictured how she herself would perform such a song. Chan watched with his hands clasped in front of his face in an attempt to hide how anxious he was to show the dancer his work. After the short two minutes and forty-nine seconds Lumi placed the headphones back on the desk and the alpha swore his heart stopped with the look she graced him with. Her eyes were dark and the corner of her lips turned up mischievously. “So…?” He asked hesitantly, biting down lightly on his knuckles in anticipation.

Lumi chuckled, shaking her head as she stood up to retake her spot on the couch behind him. “I think your fans are going to go absolutely nuts over that, Christopher.” She teased, passing by him only for his hand to shoot out and take hold of hers tightly. “But what about you?” Her breath hitched in her throat, mouth feeling dry at his question and the grip he had on her now slightly clammy hand. “I don’t think my opinion matters much, now does it.” He frowned, tugging lightly and causing her to sit herself down on his lap as she lost her balance. “I have always valued your opinion, you know that.” Lumi sighed, unable to meet his eyes and the words from his song echoed in her mind. “You do know that…right? That has never changed, baby….”

“A lot has changed, Chris…why wouldn’t that change too?” One hand came to rest on his hip, his eyes watching her carefully for any signs that the placement was unwelcome but she seemed to lean into the warm of his touch, his chest tightening with how fast his heart was beating the closer they got. “For you, maybe- nothing has changed as far as I am concerned.” He said, eyes glancing from her eyes down to her lips as she frowned at him. “Christopher that’s not true, and you know it. If you aren’t willing to acknowledge that things are different now then you are in for a rude awakening.”

Lumi moved to stand but his grip on her waist only tightened as his other hand came to hold the opposite side, effectively keeping her in place on his lap. “Chris let me up.” She said, no conviction in her words as she looked into dark brown eyes with her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. This whole time she was holding back, struggling desperately to keep the wall up between them and not give into the temptation to let him in any more than she already had. The warmth of his hands soaked through her clothing and caused a shiver to run down her back as he leaned in slowly. “Show me how much things have changed then, don’t keep hiding from me-“ he said breathlessly, lips now ghosting over her own but not quite touching yet. “Stop holding back.” He whispered, and the smell of vanilla mixed with the feeling of his hot breath against her lips caused her resolve to break.

Lumi crashed her lips against his roughly, as she had countless times since the first in her dorms small kitchen what felt like an eternity ago. He shifted them carefully, lifting the omega and placing her back on his lap so her knees straddled his hips and her thighs restated against his on in his desk chair. One hand was still placed firmly on the left side of her waist while the other cupped the back of her neck to deepen the kiss they shared as Lumi let out a soft moan against his lips.

Slowly her hips began to rock against his own to the beat of the song he had shown her, which she assumed was simply playing in her mind as his kiss distracted her though after a minute of so she realized at some point the song began to play from the speakers of his laptop and fill the small studio with the sound of his voice and the low, sensual beat she was quickly becoming addicted to as much as she was his scent and touch.

The hand he had on her waist slowly began to trail under her shirt as she continued to move her body against his. Chan let out a low groan into her mouth before slowly kissing his way down to her neck and jawline. Now that her mouth was no longer occupied soft moans flowed freely as her hips ground down against his own. One of her hands rested on the back of his chair while the other came to tangle in his hair, a gasp escaping as his teeth nipped hesitantly at her neck. He half expected her to push him away given that was the usual reaction he got from the omega once things started to escalate.

When she pulled back slightly from her, Chan braced himself for rejection but instead he was met with the sight of her shirt being lifted over her head and tossed behind them onto the couch by her bag. “Nice aim-“ he commented, still in disbelief at her actions. “Shut up.” She practically growled, lips crushing against his own in a bruising kiss as she began tugging at his own shirt almost desperately. The alpha thought he must be dreaming, pulling away briefly to remove the offending article of clothing before pulling her back into the kiss with one hand cupping her cheek while the other ghosted up her side to cup at her left breast over her sports bra.

As her hands roamed the ridges of muscle carefully sculpted by countless hours in the gym and practice studio her mind clouded further and she could feel her arousal, wet and warm between her thighs causing her to feel more impatient with each passing moment. “Couch.” She managed to get out between kisses and bites to the alpha’s plush lips. “Huh?” He pulled back to look into her eyes, his own blown with lust as she was sure her own were and his eyebrows knit together with confusion. “We need to move this to the couch if we are gonna go any further.” She explained, watching as his eyes widened with realization. Suddenly feeling a bit self conscious, the dancer tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear and looked away from him shyly while attempting to ignore the wetness growing in her panties as the smell of roses began crowding the small space of the studio. “We don’t have to keep going if you don’t-“

Before she could finish her sentence Chan had stood up with the omegan dancer in his arms and soon Lumi’s back made contact with the cool leather material of the small couch against the back wall. “Shit you could have given me a warning or something-“ she said breathlessly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he gave a shrug with a smirk plastered to his face at being able to fluster her so easily. “Just trust me, ‘kay? I’ve got you.” Lumi scoffed, eyes rolling at his words though she didn’t put up a fight as she silently lifted her hips for him to slide the joggers she had wore down her legs until he was dropping them on the floor beside the couch.

At the sight of the dancer mostly undressed beneath him, Chan took a deep breath and felt a growl rumble in his chest as her scent filled the space and mixed with his own perfectly. Roses and vanilla swirled around his senses and he felt intoxicated by the smell as he leaned over to kiss and suck marks into the side of her neck and collar bone. He knew deep down he should be careful about leaving any marks behind but with his right mind taking a back seat at the present moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. Chan had wanted this for years, wanted her. Lumi was more than just some fleeting crush, someone he was attracted to on a surface level, she meant everything to him.

He let her get away before he ever had the chance to properly express his feelings before, teenage awkwardness and anxieties always getting in the way causing both to shy away from the topic of their emotions for one another but now that she was back he intended to show her just how much she drove him crazy, how much he needed her and not just on a physical level though in the moment he was more than happy to start there. As one hand cupped her neck he brought his lips back to hers while his other hand moved between the two of them to first slide across the wet patch at the front of her underwear before pushing them aside to run across her folds slowly.

Lumi moaned against his lips, brows furrowing as he carefully slipped a finger inside. “Fuck-“ She moaned, trying to relax as he slowly began moving before adding a second finger alongside the first. “Relax, baby.” His voice was low, raspy from all of the kisses as he mumbled against her lips. The omega nodded and let out a whine as his thumb pressed against her clit gently before beginning to rub slow circles as he pumped his fingers inside of her.

They stayed like that for what felt like eternity, her back arching slightly towards where he hovered over her as he worked to stretch her carefully with their lips pressed together so that he could swallow the loud moans threatening to give away to anyone passing by what exactly it was they were doing inside the small studio. “Chris, please- need you.” She said finally, voice breathless as her hands moved down to attempt and push his sweats down past his hips as far as she could manage. “You sure, like really really sure?” He questioned suddenly, forehead resting against the dancer’s as he pulled his fingers from inside of her as carefully as he could. “If you don’t fuck me within the next few minutes I swear to god I will get dressed and I will leave you here.”

Lumi’s threat seemed to be confirmation enough as the alpha nodded and moved quickly to push his sweatpants down to just above his knees along with his boxers before giving a few quick pumps to his length. The pink haired omega could only bite her lip as she watched him kneeling over her, bringing herself up to rest on her elbows and forearms as he positioned himself in front of her. “Do you uh- have a condom?” He asked, looking at her through his bangs where they had fallen in front of his eyes slightly with how long they had grown over the past months. “Don’t need one, I’m clean. You?” She answered quickly, clearly having no patience remaining as she brought a hand up to push the bangs back from his eyes and forehead.

Chan frowned, raising an eyebrow at her before answering. “Well, yeah- but there is also this whole thing called pregnancy? Condoms are for more than just stds.” Lumi laughed, shaking her head as she laid back against the couch. “I’ve got an implant, Chris. Seriously- wouldn’t offer to go without if there was a chance.” She shook her head, moving her arms so that they wrapped around his neck and her hands could tangle in the hair at the back of his head. “Now please, can we get on with it before Jisung gets back?” Fuck, that’s right. Chan had almost completely forgotten that the beta was meant to return at any moment and they were kind of on a time crunch. Deciding to ignore how much his pride swelled with how much trust Lumi must have held for him in this moment the alpha slowly pushed into her with a low moan which the omega beneath him echoed before pulling him down into a hungry kiss in an attempt to silence both of them.

Try as they might to keep anyone from figuring out what was happening behind closed doors, the smell of vanilla swirled with rose water permeating from the studio door and out into the hallway gave away their dirty secret too easily. Jisung, who had returned from his convenience store run not to long ago, stood outside the door with a shit eating grin and a mischievous glint in his normally soft boba eyes. He had intended to leave them alone together in an attempt to get them to become for comfortable with one another, like things had been as trainees, but it seemed he got a bit more than he bargained for.

As he left the company building, heading to the dorms and deciding to call it a night he made sure to wait until he was already back and safely inside the home to give the two of them plenty of time before sending a quick text that he felt too tired and went home so that his text wouldn’t…disturb their late night activities too much. The beta put away his snacks before crawling into his bed and hiding deep under the covers while trying not to be too smug over his plan working as well as it had to get them back on speaking terms.

Or so he thought….

Intoxicating is the only way to describe the feeling of laying with sweat slicked skin sticking lightly to the fabric of the studio couch as he laid on his back with Lumi on top of him, their chests rising and falling in sync as he ran a hand through her hair gently and she rested her cheek against his collar bone while attempting to catch her breath.

Chan felt like no moment could be better, their scents mixing together on their skin and causing him to feel this sort of lightheaded bliss as the adrenaline slowly faded away and he could truly take in the shared warmth of her skin against his own. He tried and failed to hold back the smile as the dancer got up and gave a slight wince. Her body still sore from their earlier activities, skin cooling with sweat as she left him laying there to collect her clothes quietly.

With a word he grabbed his tshirt and slipped it over her head, causing the omega to startle slightly. “Jesus, Chris- you really need to work on warning me before you do shit.” She grumbled, smoothing her hair down after slipping her arms through the sleeves of his shirt. He chuckled, admiring how the oversized garment hung on her to mid thigh, it was already big on himself but it practically swallowed her frame whole and he was starting to think he was addicted to the sight of her in his clothing.

Pulling in his boxers, Chan ran a hand through his no doubt messy hair from where she had been tugging at it not too long ago with his head firmly between her thighs as he cleaned up the mess he had left behind. “Han isn’t coming.” She said suddenly, her discarded panties in one hand and her cellphone in the other, led screen illuminating her face and causing the pink of her hair to cast a slight pastel halo from the glow. “What?”

Lumi sighed, holding out her phone to show the message from Jisung saying he got tired while waiting in line for his food and decided to go home instead of back to the studio as originally planned. “Oh, well that works out then- don’t have to worry about him walking in on us after all.” He said with a grin, standing to wrap his arms around the dancers waist and hold her close to him once more. He already missed the warmth of her skin, head coming down to place gentle kisses at the base of her neck where it met her shoulder.

She shook her head, stepping away from him to continue getting dressed leaving him standing there a bit dumbfounded. “Lumi?” He asked softly, a pained look on his face as he watched her father her things after slipping her joggers before sitting on the edge of his rolling chair to slip her shoes on from where they had been kicked under the desk. “What, Chris? What’s wrong?” He huffed, raising an eyebrow at the omega as his arms crossed over his chest. “That’s exactly what I was just wondering. Seriously Lumi, don’t tell me this changes nothing-“ his tone was firm, almost annoyed though his eyes were pleading with her not to do what he was thinking she was.

She bit her lip, looking away from him quickly in an attempt to hold up whatever semblance of the walls she had put up to protect herself from the potential abandonment she feared so deeply. “This? This is- this was-“ “nothing.” He scoffed, cutting off her stumbling over her words as she struggled to find a way to put it without making him right. To find a way to keep him at arm’s length but hold him close at the same time. To not break his heart while also protecting her own.

“Right. Nothing, that’s what this-“ he spoke, motioning between the two of them. “-is. Lumi we can’t keep doing this, I can’t. I thought things would be different now…” running a hand through his hair he stepped closer to her, almost caging her in against the desk. “Why? Because we fucked?” She asked, letting anger stain her words so that the sadness she truly felt wouldn’t seep through. “Just because people have sex doesn’t mean anything, people do it all the time.” She scoffed, moving around him quickly to grab her bag. “But you’re right….we can’t keep doing this. This was a mistake, clearly….”

Chan stood still for a moment, shock taking him over before his mind finally caught up with it all. “Right, maybe it was- at least let me take you home? It’s late-“ Lumi shook her head, holding up her phone as she backed up towards the door and gave the alpha a weak smile. “Already texted my manager.” He sighed shakily, nodding in understanding before realizing she was still wearing the shirt he had placed on her. His chest tightened but he didn’t say anything about it, taking it as a small win in what felt like a hopeless situation as she opened the door and muttered a quick “Goodnight, Chris-“ before she was gone.

Torture was the only way she could describe the feeling of walking through the still brightly lit halls of the jype building to where her manager was waiting for her at the side of the building as her sore muscles from practice and her extra curricular activities with a certain alpha screamed at her with each step. No amount of soreness could compare to the deep ache she felt in her chest having to leave him like that, every fiber of her being longing to turn around and run back into his arms.

She couldn’t do that, even if realistically she could she thought this was for the best. Things were already so complicated, her feelings were complicated, their past felt even more complicated, her mind and heart unable to come to an agreement as to what it was she wanted so instead of Chan’s embrace with his warmth and the smell of warm vanilla and something sweet like frosting she was met with the biting cold of a late autumn night as she pushed the doors to the exit open and ran to meet her manager at the curb in hopes that due to the late hour no one would be witness to her leaving the company she didn’t belong to anymore, and slightly disheveled at that.

author’s note: tbh I think I blacked out while writing the sexual parts of this chapter lol so sorry if they seem off it’s easy for me to like- visualize the scene but writing it out is so hard and I don’t get why ૮꒰ “. . ꒱ა anyways please please please give me feedback I am so eager to hear from you all about what you thought of this chapter and what your thoughts are for what is to come/what you might be looking forward to from this series~

taglist; (pink users means I was unable to tag) @coastinglove @breadedloafs @miraculous-disaster @dreamerwasfound @katsukis1wife @emmxxsworld @nebugalaxy

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thatsonemorbidcorvid · 2 years ago

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“I read my colleague Hadley Freeman’s column in The Sunday Times this weekend in a growing state of shock. Hadley described how, on three occasions, a man had choked her in bed. I then read the section in Escape, the book she references, written by another journalist, Marie Le Conte. Le Conte writes that choking during sex was “mainstream” among those under 40. “If I were to rank it,” says Le Conte, “I would say it sits somewhere around the light spanking mark . . . not so out of the ordinary that you would mention it to someone.”

Readers around my age, 58, will appreciate how I felt. Never mind incorporating strangulation into sex, we belong to a generation where the “light spanking” Le Conte references is itself regarded as a bit weird, a bit pervy, a bit “why would you want to hit someone, or be hit by someone, in bed?” As regards throttling a partner, a phrase I am shocked to find myself writing, that belongs in my mind to the realm of bullies, abusers, thugs, misogynists, rapists. Very niche. Very sinister. Very illegal.

I would regard even pretending to strangle a partner as an outrage. If a male friend told me such behaviour turned him on, that friendship would end. If I contemplated doing it myself, I’d get therapy. And let’s be clear, the choking under discussion, which a study last year found almost 60 per cent of female students in the US had experienced, does not refer to play-acting, but actual hands round the throat, pressure on the windpipe, possible-loss-of-consciousness suffocation. WTF?

When I got to work yesterday morning three younger female colleagues — in their forties, thirties and twenties respectively — confirmed how widespread the practice is. I suppose when Men’s Health carries idiotic articles headlined “how to do choking safely, according to experts” I should have known asphyxiation-as-foreplay had become, if a long way from normal, then at least normalised. All three women said they had encountered it, along with being slapped, hair-pulled and spat on (eh?!) by male partners. None had welcomed any of these actions.

I should emphasise that these were not super-traumatic encounters with evil psychos, but otherwise consensual acts with otherwise normal blokes. Not pleasurable in any way, but not, I gathered, a massive deal either, such is the extent to which formerly minority, hardcore aberrations have entered the everyday bedroom experience.

The youngest colleague told me several of her female friends did enjoy the experience. I’m sceptical about that. I fail to see how partial suffocation by someone physically stronger, someone you don’t necessarily know well, with no help at hand, can be anything other than terrifying. I find it more likely that some young women, not yet fully confident, have been persuaded that being choked is not only not weird, but now a standard aspect of sex to which they ought to submit. Human beings are hard-wired for self-preservation: oxygen deprivation is something we desperately strive to avoid, not embrace. I’m in no doubt that the vast majority of women subjected to choking do not like it, to put it mildly.

What shocks me is why men, so-called normal men who aren’t sadists who ought to be locked up, would want to strangle their lover in the first place. Of course the easy answer is the malign influence of protracted youthful exposure to pornography. Such exposure has, it is argued, normalised sexual behaviour previously thought extreme. And yet it is possible to view porn without going anywhere near clips of men choking women.

A correctly socialised teenage boy in receipt of the correct moral guidance would shut down such content in a cold sweat should his cursor so much as inadvertently hover over a link. Yet evidently lots of boys and young men blithely consume the dodgy stuff, presumably not knowing it is dodgy. They then expect to mimic it when their sex lives begin to encompass people other than themselves.

Therefore, older people, parents, specifically fathers, are not doing their job properly. Shame on them. They should be telling their sons that all sexual violence is despicable, full stop. We’re not in groovy, liberal, “each to their own” territory here. We’re not talking dress-up or role play. We’re talking about actions which are at best distressing and degrading, and at worst deadly. This behaviour should not be up for discussion. It’s just plain wrong.”

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babygorewhore · 1 year ago

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Motive.

Tate Langdon imagine.

On Halloween, you and your boyfriend Tate are on a date. As you talk about his past as the slasher, Ghostface, he comes to realize that he needs to be punished for his actions.

Can you tell Scream is my favorite slasher series? WARNINGS. Sub! Tate. Mommy kink. Degrading. Dom! Reader. Knife play. Blood play. Talk of violence. Oral! Male and female receiving. PnV! Overall filth. Brief Tate POV.

Halloween was your favorite day of the year. Not only was the weather perfect, the best scary movies were released, costumes became creative but also because Tate could go out and venture into the world.

This was your second Halloween together. The first year you went to the beach. A place he admitted used to be his designated spot whenever he needed to escape. You had discussed back and forth before ultimately deciding to have your date at a graveyard.

It filled your gothic heart.

Your relationship was exciting, despite his eternal life as a ghost.

Tate carried the blanket and bottle of liquor you bought on your way home. The walk wasn’t far, allowing you to wear platform shoes that went along with your costume. You were dressed as the Scarlet Witch. Trading in your black clothing for red.

Tate allowed you to paint his face with makeup, skeletal features were his preference. It took you almost an hour but you wanted to be precise. You slicked his curly hair back with product. But he would do anything you asked. He was your good boy. You held your own bag close to your body.

A week ago, you gifted him a cellphone. For reason one, he could contact you while you were working. And secondly, it would make tonight even better. It was secured in his denim pocket. He wasn’t able to hold your hand, so you opted to hold the crook of his elbow.

You stepped through the entrance of the cemetery. The overhanging metal curved over your head as your eyes swept over the hundreds of tombstones. “This way, baby.” Tate gestured with his head towards the left. You allowed yourself to be guided.

Your feet padded over the grass. It was dark, but the adjacent streetlight gave you enough ability to see your path.

Tate led you down the narrow section between a towering tree and a collection of tombstones before he pulled you to a stopping point in front of a smaller one. “Here I am.” He smirked, his skeleton makeup curving, turning to look at you.

The modest headstone was ordinary, without any flowers to commemorate the loss. You nodded as you registered the name.

Tate Langdon 1977- 1994. Loving son.

You chuckled breathlessly at his joke. “This is one hell of an idea, having a date in front of your own grave.”

Tate quirked an eyebrow before pulling you to a seated position, setting the blanket down on the ground and alcohol aside. You both hadn’t bothered with cups, planning on just drinking out of the bottle, something you’d both done several times. He wrapped his arm around you, your head nuzzled on his shoulder.

“What was your motive, Tate? Being Ghostface?” It was before you were born but everyone heard about the killing spree during 1994. It started with one murder, a teenage girl strung up on a tree. Before it escalated to a principal. Those weren’t enough to raise concerns until the last night when the killer was caught.

It was at a party. A curfew had been given but a group of teens threw a gathering anyway. Two more people were murdered. Brutally. One girl was inside a dog door inside the garage. The man’s throat had been slit and he was dragged across the front of a van.

The murderer wore a gown and a mask.

Tate Langdons identity was revealed after he had been gunned down by the swat team. He took too long at the house as the police were called. The term Ghostface had been taken as a joke before it ultimately stuck with him. But he never revealed why he did it. Even during the last seconds of his life. Yet, his soul remained in the very home he was killed in.

He had been shot down in the Murder House.

You’d seen the apparel once. When he played the same game with you after class several weeks ago. Where he fingered you, used the very blade he commented the crimes with. It gave him pleasure to scare you. Or try too.

“My motive?” He asked, glancing down at you. He didn’t like to talk about his past. He hated answering questions because he didn’t want to relive it. He was always paranoid you’d leave him if he explained. You knew the relationship was toxic. But you still loved him.

Besides. He was already dead. What more could he do?

“Yes. Why did you do it?” You lifted your chin upward, watching as he clenched his jaw.

“Who said I needed a reason?” You pursed your lips as he teased you.

“Tate. Be serious. Why? Why did you kill them?”

Several seconds of silence followed. All you felt was the pattern of his breathing.

“I wanted to die. And I wanted to take people with me. I wanted to scare them. I wanted them to think they had a chance to escape me. I wanted my mother to know exactly what kind of monster she created. That’s why I killed her boyfriend. I wanted her to know the pain she made me feel.”

You allowed the confession to hang in the air. It wasn’t fear you felt, more like a realization that Tate had been dangerous. Your loving, doting and obsessed boyfriend had been a killer. He knew exactly how to press the blade down on your skin without breaking it. He knew how to walk without making noise. He enjoyed seeing you beg for him. Beg for his cock. Beg for him to let you finish.

But you wanted him to have a turn. He needed to experience it.

“Mmm. Did you like being covered in blood?” You asked, your voice soft despite the disturbing question.

Tate swallowed. “I didn’t really think about it.” You nodded and pulled your hands in your lap. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, instead starting at the stone.

“Do you ever think about me, covered in blood?” You withheld a smile when he took a sharp inhale. He blinked.

“Y-yes.” He looked down at you but you reached up, taking his chin between your thumb and pointer finger. You set his jaw straight.

“Did I say you could look at me?” Tate shakes his head obediently.

“Good boy. Do you ever think about…me killing someone?” His lips parted and he heavily inhaled through his nose.

“Yes.” He half whispered, half whined.

“Have you thought about fucking me in the costume? Using the knife on me again? While I’m covered in someone else’s blood?”

Tate shifted on the ground, his eyes glazing as he tried to keep his focus ahead. “Babe-“

“Don’t interrupt me, Tate. Be good and answer only when I tell you to.” You sternly commanded. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” He shakily answered. You needed to push a little harder, just a bit to get exactly what you needed.

“What are you thinking about now, Tate? And make sure you’re honest.” You kept watching him. His teeth grazed his lower lip, despite the paint and his hand started to drift to his pants.

“I want to splay you on the ground, right here. Right now. I want to spread your legs, taste you with my mouth before I fuck you senseless. Until you can’t wait. And then do it all over again.” You quirked an eyebrow before your hand fell to his thigh.

“What about you, baby? Don’t you want me to make you feel good? To suck your dick? Make you cum in my mouth?” He shivered and his fingers drifted to his crotch.

“I’d rather feel you cum. I don’t care about me. All I want is you.” You hummed and your finger tips grazed his growing erection.

“Mmm. You’re such a sweet boy, Tate. Do you like it when my legs are around your head? Do you like that?”

Tate’s hand finally palmed his dick and you smiled in triumph. You lifted yourself from his embrace and you grabbed his wrist.

“Tate. Did I say you could touch yourself? Don’t you remember our rules?” Tate’s eyes widened in response and you shook your head disapprovingly.

The rules consisted that Tate was not allowed to touch himself without permission. Neither were you. Along with a safe word. Mercy.

“I’m sorry-I thought you-“

Your hand raised and wrapped around his neck. You pulled him close as he grunted from the pressure. You squeezed steadily the sides of his throat and you leaned in, hovering over his mouth. “Mmm, my sweet little boy. Getting hard over me being drenched in blood. You’re absolutely pathetic.”

Tate’s eyes glasses over and his lip slightly trembled. “Mama-please-“ He leaned in to kiss you but you pulled your head away.

“I don’t think so, Tate. I think…you need to be punished. Would you agree?” You proposed and he swallowed heavily. Fear prickling his expression.

“Do whatever you want to me. Just let me touch you, please.” Tate placed his hands on your waist, squeezing gently and causing your knee to settle inbetween his legs. “Please, please let me touch you. I can make it up to you. I promise, baby. I can’t stand the thought of you mad at me.”

He laid down, his hair like a blonde halo on the ground as he stared up at you, your hand still wrapped around his neck. He looked so submissive. So willing to make you happy. Ready for you to use him however you fucking wanted.

And you will.

“You’ll make it up to me?” You whispered. Tate started grinding his dick down on your knee, humping like a bitch in heat.

“Yes, anything. I’ll do anything for you.” He encouraged, slipping his fingers down to your waistband, your dark leggings stretching as he attempted to touch your underwear.

Removing your hand from his throat, you slapped him across the face. Tate grimaced from the impact, his head jolting to the side and he blinked at you with watery eyes.

“I didn’t say you could touch me, Tate.” He leaned up, taking his hands off your torso and buried his face in your breasts.

You attempted to push him down but he was a lot stronger than you despite his slender form. His arms wrapped around your hips, making you straddle his pelvis.

“Mama-I’m sorry-I just need you. I want to make you cum. I want you to be proud of me-please let me be good. I promise you’ll be proud of me…” He was begging. You almost gave in, withholding a moan as he pressed kisses on your costume covered breasts but you needed to stick with your plan.

“Tate, if you want to make me feel good. Lay down. Lay down nice and slow for me, baby.” He quickly pulled away, his face paint smudged as he slowly laid his body down on the grass.

You were situated above him, powerful and he was willing to obey every command you gave him. Reaching your hand down, you brushed his cheek with your fingers and he contently leaned in to your touch. “Now, I want you to close your eyes. Keep them closed until you know exactly when to open them.” You instructed in a clear voice.

Tate opened his mouth to protest but you gripped his chin between your fingers. Leaving nail imprints. “What did I say about disobeying me?” He shut them immediately after that. You smirked. Now, the real fun could begin.

Carefully, you brought yourself to stand. Your boots crunching the grass beneath you while walking to your bag. Digging through it, your hands locked around a lightweight but long, black gown. Slipping it on, you then pulled out the last needed item.

The Ghostface mask. And the same blade Tate used on you.

Slipping it over your hair and face, you started walking away as quiet as you could. Then, you tucked the knife to your belt inside the gown. If Tate heard running, he would open his eyes too soon. You disappeared in the bustle of trees across the cemetery before stepping behind the church. Smiling wickedly, you pulled out your cellphone.

Tate was growing impatient. He listened to your footsteps carefully, trying to figure out where you were before they disappeared entirely. Seconds passed, he felt alone. Despite your warnings, Tate opened his eyes and sat up.

You were gone.

Panic set in and he jumped to his feet. What if something was wrong? His breathing grew heavier as he jogged through the area, desperately searching for any signs of you. “Y/n!” He called out but no answer came.

“Fuck. Fucking shit.” He ran his fingers through his mused hair and stepped forward in the direction of the church, but his cellphone started ringing.

Tate frowned and looked at his pocket. Only one person knew of his number. Maybe you needed help. He dug it out of the material and pressed it to his ear.

“Y/n, are you okay? Where are you?”

“Hello, Tate Langdon.” He froze and his eyes widened. The voice on the other end.

Was Ghostface. The very same alteration he used in 1994. The same he used to call Y/N.

He opened and closed his mouth, unable to come up with a response. It was all a trick. It was Y/N. But…how did she sneak it past him?

“Don’t you know it’s bad manners not to respond to a greeting?” Ghostface prodded and Tate cleared his throat.

“Hey. Y/N, is that what you were planning? Where are you?”

“Tate, you’ve been such a bad boy. Dreaming about your girlfriend killing someone.” He huffed out an embarrassed breath and scanned the area around him.

“This-this isn’t funny, asshole.” He muttered under his breath.

“Oh, I’d be careful about calling me names, Tate. You wouldn’t want me to slit that pretty neck of yours, would you?” Ghostface leered. Tate chuckled and started moving towards the trees.

“That wouldn’t matter. I’m already dead.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be punished, Tate. For all the things you did to those poor, innocent people.”

“Innocent?” He parroted.

“Yes. In fact, I wonder if movies influenced you. Movies can be a powerful inspiration. Tell me…what’s your favorite scary movie?” Tate squatted down, trying to see evidence of your boot prints but he didn’t see anything.

“Do you really have to go through the whole speech? I asked too many questions.” He said to himself.

“Is that a refusal to my question? Mmm, Tate. You just can’t listen, can you?” Ghostface teased and he sighed with frustration.

“Where are you?”

“Aw, you look so pretty when you’re desperate.” He looked around, realizing you must be close by, able to see his expression. Instead of answering, he crept closer to the church.

“What happens if I find you?” He asked, excitedly looking for you.

“Then, you get to make me cum. Just like you want.” Tate groaned and quickly looked behind the building.

No one was there.

He went to speak before a hand gripped his hair, yanking him back and a sharp blade pressed against his neck. He gasped.

“You didn’t think it be that easy, did you?” Y/N said, her voice still altered. Tate wanted desperately to turn around and pound her on the ground but the knife nicked his skin.

Blood trickled down and the hand that gripped his hair, traveled down his face, to his throat. Her finger collected the plasma and smeared it across his lips.

“Please, Christ I can’t take it anymore. Please, let me fuck you. I’m begging you, please y/n.” Tate pleaded. Y/N turned him around.

He stared down at her, her gown hung on her body. The mask was secure and she aimed the knife at his chest. “Sorry, I just wanted to hear you scream.”

“Get on your back.” You commanded. Tate fell to the ground, landing underneath you and you smiled behind the mask. Finally, he was listening. With your free hand, you unbutton his jeans and yanked them down.

You lifted his shirt up, exposing his v line and the thin patch of hair. His dick was hard and prominent through his boxers. A wet patch of precum staining it. You shook your head, taking the blade and lightly tracing it across his skin.

Tate inhaled sharply and bucked his hips. Humping the air as you played with the knife. His hand lifted and you smacked his crotch with the handle. He stilled, panting as you peeled off the mask. You set the blade down, hooking your fingers around his waistband and then you pulled it down his legs.

His cock hung heavy, thick and red at the tip. “So needy, baby.” Your voice was back to normal. You lowered yourself on your stomach, wrapping your hand around his dick before licking a single stripe along the vein.

Tate whimpered with a high pitch whine as his hand flew to your hair. Allowing the grip, you pulled the tip to your lips and started sucking gently. His fingers pulled your hair, hard enough to hurt but you massaged his cock with your hand as you bobbed your head up and down.

He was a mess, moaning and shaking as you gave him head. “I’m gonna-I’m gonna cum.” He grunted. His climax rushed through, gushing out of your mouth as you helped him ride out his orgasm.

You pulled back, your lipstick smeared and you wiped your chin with the back of your hand. Before you had a chance to breathe, Tate flipped you over, immediately smashing his lips to yours. As he shoved his tongue in your mouth, hungrily kissing you, his hand frantically felt your torso. You kissed him back feverishly, pulling his hair as he sank his teeth into your lower lip.

You mewled as he ripped himself away and then sloppily kissing your neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks. “You’re mine, all fucking mine.” He pleaded like a prayer as he rocked his hips against yours, his hardening dick against you.

As submissive as he was, Tate could also fuck you like it was his last time ever doing so. You were lost in the growing pleasure as he brushed his tongue against your sweet spot. He fumbled to pull your leggings down and underwear down, any coordination gone as he shoved himself down. You wanted to resist, regain control but he pried your legs apart.

“Tate-“ You started but he shook his head. He opened his mouth, laid his tongue flat against your pussy as he started lapping away at your clit.

“No, no, don’t tell me to stop. I need this, mommy.” He moaned against your cunt as he circled his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to withhold your sounds but he grazed your pussy with his teeth. “No, I want to hear how good this feels.” Tate dug his fingernails into your thighs to keep you still, dragging them painfully but deliciously down. You felt the hilt of the knife against your entrance and you looked down. Tate’s eyes were black as he effortlessly slipped the handle inside you. The foreign feeling pumped in and out as his mouth worked your swollen pussy. You weren’t going to last much longer as he increased the speed.

A overpowering wave of pleasure exploded and you couldn’t make any noise as you trembled. Tate finally pulled back and removed the handle from you. He crawled up, cupping your chin before he kissed you. Forcing you to taste your own cum.

“I need to fuck you,” He moaned against your lips as he shuffled clumsily to line himself up with your cunt.

He nipped your lip too hard, blood pooled from the small wound and he repeated your earlier actions. Smudging your mouth with blood as he bottomed you out. “Fuck.” He growled. “You look so hot with blood on your skin.”

You arms wrapped around his shoulders as he thrusted, deep inside you, hard enough to hit your cervix but you loved the pain. His movements were growing sloppy. “Don’t cum until I say, Tate. Or else I’ll have to punish you again.”

But he couldn’t listen, his speed thudded inside you and you felt him spill inside you, he squeezed his eyes shut from the orgasm as he came to a stop. He ripped them back open in fear as he understood his mistake. “I’m sorry-you just felt so good-“ He pleaded but you wouldn’t have it.

You pushed him off, forcing him on his stomach as you straddled his back. His bare pelvis pressed against the ground as you trailed your fingers down his skin.

“Now, you’re really going to scream.”

Taglist. @howtobesasha @scene-and-dandylover @evanptrss @randodummy @icannot3 @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @alittlesil @fuckedbykai @hyperharlz

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oftenderweapons · 3 months ago

Text

Bourbon Bossa Nova | MYG | Pt.2

This story is part of the Blue Crush Collab

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader (nicknamed Sunny)

Wordcount: 11.4k

Rating: 18+

Genre: strangers to friends to lovers, composer!Yoongi x lifeguard!YN

Content warning: Allusions to death, child abandonment and family loss. Swearing, Alcohol. Sexual content (switch!reader, switch!yoongi; unprotected sex (plz be smart, use condoms); masturbation, both male and female receiving; oral sex, male receiving; powerplay with sub!yoongi; plenty of emotional, intense moments).

Synopsis: when you start your summer at Honeycomb Cove, you're only expecting sunshine, waves and annoying teenage bravado as you work as a lifeguard. What you don't expect is Min Yoongi. He wasn't expecting you either. Soon your morning walks are your favourite part of the day, until you realise it's not really the walks, maybe it's always been him you are, after all, waiting for.

Shoutout: to my lovely readers first, and my moots too. Thank you for staying around. This is all for you 💜

Here's part one, in case you missed it

And here's my complete masterlist, in case you're new HEHE

Six days went by without you seeing Yoongi. First you had your day-off, and though Yoongi waited for you by your tower, you didn't come.

Truth was, you spent your day off working at the Firefly Ball at The Orchard, the retirement home you had been volunteering at for years. It took you about two and a half hours to realise you truly didn't have Yoongi's number, which reminded you of your short conversation before your non-kiss debacle. You couldn't tell him about not being there for the day; after all, you'd always gone on a walk even on your day-off during the previous weeks. Mostly, you couldn’t tell him about Laura helping you with the german short rows you needed to shape the sweater that had become his. You couldn’t tell him about Marvin trying to set you up with his lovely nephew — who is already very taken, of course, except Marvin doesn’t really like the girl and you’re already like family. You couldn’t tell him about that song you hate coming on thirteen times on the radio, and you couldn’t tell him about the excellent songs the people at The Orchard recommended you. You couldn’t tell him that you told Orla about him and Beatrice and she said she has some pictures of her in high school, from the days she started dating her future husband. You couldn’t tell him that she told you about Beatrice and Antonio, how she would have loved to spend more time with them, and get to know them, weren’t her husband so opposed to her hanging out with such ‘uncivilised extravagants’. Orla also told you about the samba that used to come from that house, how she loved walking by it. And then she asked to hear the young man play just once, with the guitar, because he was so good at it since when he was just a child and he must have become even better now that he’s a man.

The day after that, you did go to the beach, but this time it was Yoongi that didn't come.

You had broken him, you told yourself. You had broken the beautiful, timid bond between the two of you. You had slashed it away. And once again, the day after that, you were left by yourself, dashing away from the tower before you could sink in the magnitude of your loneliness.

You were sad.

You felt like an empty fishbowl, a broken diapason no longer giving the right frequency. It was like a crack had damaged the truest, most intimate part of you.

It was excruciating to feel so lost after knowing Yoongi for so little. It was as if the sun had dulled. You felt underwater, suffocated, with the ocean above you weighing you down.

Being in that kind of mood meant that it was hard to convince you to join your coworker Hoseok at his friend's party — you had given up exclusively because the man was incredibly persistent and he was very hard to turn down. So you had done your hair up pretty and you had worn your cute white dress, checking yourself in the mirror before heading out, forcing yourself to put a spring in your step and not throw yourself at some regrettable glass of exceedingly sweet liquor.

Once you reached the beach, you recognised the party immediately, a large group of people gathered around the fire, the full moon lulled by the sea as it laid a couple inches above the horizon. You scanned the crowd for the only person you knew, spotting the two bickering employees of the ice cream parlour. And a man that looked like the surf instructor who worked in the school a mile away from your tower. And there was Hoseok, surrounded by cheering people. Of course he was the life of the party; still, though everyone looked at him when he cracked a joke, he always looked at the same girl, over and over again.

There she was then. His crush.

And there he was. Yours.

Yoongi, sitting on a bench, hands tucked in between his knees, shoulders squished together as he tried to make himself less noticeable. Maybe he didn’t want you to see him.

Still, his shy wave in your direction made you change your mind.

Confused, you made your way closer to him. To hell with fear, you would get your answers tonight.

“Hi,” you spoke, and your voice could barely be heard with the crowd and the noise, the music, the chatting and screaming.

Yet, Yoongi heard you. And he smiled. It was like getting kicked at the back of your knees. “Hello, Sunny.”

Your insides fluttered. You didn’t have much history with boys or men, only a couple relationships behind you and maybe three or four sexual partners with varying degrees of success. And apparently, Yoongi had been engineered to be your kryptonite. He was just the right side of shy, and introverted, and quiet and soft spoken, despite the bite in his sense of humour. After those initial adjustments during that first awkward dinner, he’d become so incredibly suited to you. As you looked at him, you suddenly felt so very known, maybe because anyone else at the party was more or less a stranger.

And in all that strangeness, there was Yoongi’s warm, steady gaze. Familiar and gentle. To you, he was irresistible. You’d hoped that the days spent apart would have cooled your spirits; instead, seeing him again after so long made you appreciate those details you’d almost grown accustomed to. The way his hair curls softly when dried by the ocean breeze. The way his pale, pale skin contrasts so beautifully with the black of his hair. The way his gums show when he smiles, and how damn perfect his teeth are. And then those hands. Good lord, those hands.

A part of your brain screeched to a halt. He’s abandoned you, Sunny. He’s left you alone. You left him alone once, after almost kissing him, and he realised you’re weird and embarrassing and inappropriate. And your sense of humour sucks. And you can’t make friends because when people get to know you they find you a lot worse than they thought you’d be. You frowned and shook your head at your own limiting beliefs, but you forgot to adjust your facial expression and your greeting to him came out sour. “Hello, Yoongi. Glad to see you.” You managed to pull your face into a smile. “Finally.” Very smooth, Sunny. Very damn unsuspectable.

He blushed and looked down. “I was in the city. I had to deliver my mixtape.” The fact that he was seated, lower than you, and he had to tip his head back to look at your face made you even weaker. His jawline was splendid, but that was not the point.

His glance was so intense, with his obsidian irises glimmering with the fire and the night sky. He looked beautiful and you were so damn fond of him. He was the best thing you had seen in a while, and quite definitely the most attractive man you had ever laid your eyes on. Had he put on something special tonight?

You checked his outfit, but it was a simple black button down in some flowy, glossy material, some white flowers printed on it — probably lilies? — and he was wearing some undyed cotton jeans underneath. Plain, usual Yoongi fashion.

And you checked his hair — slightly longer, but still inky black, still curled in the softest little bouncy waves at the bottom. It looked extra silky tonight. Very soft. The kind of soft you can comb your fingers through as you’re making out. The kind of soft you can caress as he’s kissing down your—

“You didn’t come either. On Tuesday,” he reminded you.

You shook the steamy thoughts off your brain, terrified by the way you were dangerously getting increasingly affected by his presence. “I had a day off for the Firefly Ball. At the retirement home,” you explained. “I always came here for our walks so I never really mentioned I have Tuesdays off. And then I didn’t have your number to call you.” You asked to sit beside him through awkward body language, a whirlwind of arms and wrists and hands until he nodded with a little laugh.

He was impressed by the fact that you had come to meet him even when you could have slept in or done whatever it is that athletic, stunning, too-out-of-his-league girls do. “How was your time in the city?”

Boring. Sad. Lonely. Agonizingly slow. He had wanted to see you. He would have all summer with you; nevertheless, he would much prefer spending it in your arms, as your crush, rather than the sweet introvert who you pitied. He wanted to confess. He would do so at the end of the night, with the fireworks. He would sing you ballads all night and exchange shy or flirty looks and then he would confess. And if you liked him back, then good.

If you didn’t…

“It was sad… I don’t like the city. You can’t hear your thoughts.” He inched closer towards you.

Sitting beside him had been an awful idea. He smelled like his usual self: a deeply set salty smell mixed with lemongrass and incense. Was it incense? Something spicy, but deep. It smelled like inspiration and artful meditation and invention. It also smelled like the kind of sex that resets your whole existence. What in the world do you mean? the rational side of your brain — not your strongest — objected, but it was quickly coerced into silence. “Excuse me, what?” You said, not even remembering what he’d told you mere seconds before.

He tipped his head to the side and repeated. “I was saying the city is really loud. Lots of stuff happening and you can’t focus on your thoughts, because you know, the noise and stuff keep interrupting you and—”

You nodded eagerly in understanding, “Oh yes!” God, he must think you’re dumb or something. Of course he’s smart. Smarter than you, clearly. Living with all those academics must have helped with the braincells. His mom probably listened to Bach while pregnant. Or maybe he—

“How was the ball?” Yoongi asked, his face serene as he looked at you. And yet there was a certain gleam in his eyes, the kind of gleam you’d seen in the restless beast he’d become the last time you saw him, on his porch, drenched in rain, desperate, burning.

You needed to slap your face and get your mind all in one place. Since you couldn’t quite slap yourself in public, you settled for a nice pinch to your leg and nodded, grounding yourself to the current conversation. “It went okay,” you replied. “The usual. Old people dancing, spiced punch, dreamy jazz and blues.”

And there it is, gummy grin all out. Perfectly symmetric pearly whites flashed to your face. “Seems like my kind of night.”

You snorted loudly, your laugh erupting without grace or composure. Yoongi was amused by it: he would make fun of himself forever if that meant making you happy like that. “You’re unbelievable” you murmured, half to him, half to yourself, for being this rowdy, antisocial mess.

Yoongi’s eyes fell to your lips. God, he loved them. So rosy, not too plump but always so happy. And he was pretty sure there were some freckles on them too. He was about to give in. There was nothing he wanted more than to touch your lips with his. Not even kiss you, just… Just touch you.

“Come on, guitar boy, make your show!” a moderately tall, moderately tanned man hollered. He had impressive shoulders. “Who’s your friend?” he questioned, studying you.

“____, this is Seokjin. You can call him Jin, but it’s better if you don’t call him at all.” Yoongi bared his teeth at the man as you introduced yourself, but it was only half disguised as a smile. Seokjin shrugged and cocked an eyebrow as he stared at Yoongi, daring him to make a move.

It took half a second for Yoongi to realise how easily you and Seokjin would get along, how the adventurous, athletic, extremely sporty man could charm you with his stories and take you surfing at midnight to look at the stars from the sea, where no artificial lights could taint the immensity of the night. It bothered him. Bothered him and saddened him, and he just shook his head and let go. If that’s how it was supposed to go, then he would let it.

Seokjin passed a sticker-covered guitar to his friend, forcing the two of you up from your seats and away from the main location. It was just a few metres away, someplace more quiet, where the guitar could be heard over the blaring music.

Only a couple people followed, and it felt like a true concert, a miniature one, mostly because of how skilled Yoongi was. After all, he is a professionist, and the fact that he has never mentioned playing live doesn’t make the experience any less exquisite.

Soon more people were coming around, a few women sitting way too close for your eyes not to look at them with scorn. Were they thinking…?

No. You had no right to feel the tightening sensation around your stomach, not when Yoongi would look up and search for your eyes, to make sure you were watching — that you never stopped watching. You wouldn’t want him to find your eyes away from him to stare down at some dumb girl whose only fault was fawning over the same man you had a crush on.

It was almost midnight when a loud beeping sound broke out from across the beach, blue lights in tow. The beach patrol. “This party is unauthorised!” An officer ordered from a megaphone. “You must leave the premises immediately.”

Your eyes met Yoongi’s, then Seokjin’s, whose face looked very white as he glared at a woman in shock, then in full-blazing hatred. No, not hatred: disappointment. The object of Seokjin’s pointed stare seemed equally shocked.

Yoongi placed down the guitar, immediately reaching Seokjin and grabbing him by the shoulders — if it weren’t for the dramatic situation, the height difference would have been truly endearing, if slightly hilarious. “Didn’t you ask for a permit, you dumbhead?”

“I swear I did, Yoongi! Remember I made you check the papers? I did everything right!” Seokjin was panicking, staring at the other woman. “I did everything right, didn’t I?” At the woman’s silence, he asked again. “Didn’t I?”

“Officer! We have a permit!” Yoongi told the woman who arrived on the beach together with two colleagues. “We delivered it at the office and had it signed. This party is authorised.”

“We signed no permit,” her coworker stated coldly. “Leave the premises now.”

“Excuse me, officer, but my friend and I handed in the request personally,” Yoongi repeated, already losing his cool. The fact that he’d been sipping bourbon between a song and another didn’t help at all. He seemed ready to start a fight.

The officer shook his head. “We have no permit for tonight.”

“Listen, you—” Yoongi replied, visibly irritated, taking one more step forward.

You stopped Yoongi from pressing a finger against the fine shirt of the man’s uniform, doing the first thing that crossed your mind. You pulled him away and squatted down, pressing your shoulder to his stomach and picking him up effortlessly.

With a kind smile, you tried to flatter the guard. “Officer, please excuse me. He has been really stressed over his job—”

“Sunny, what the hell are you—” Yoongi wiggled around a little, but you held him tighter.

“Tonight he let loose a little, and drank a bit too much. Please excuse him.” You gave your most dazzling smile, looking sheepish, trying to project all your innocence and adorableness.

“Don’t worry, ____. Do you need us to take you home?” the female officer intervened.

You shook your head. Apparently your good girl looks were giving you one more perk. “I’ll just walk him. Don’t worry. The people here are very cooperative, I’m sure you won’t have to deal with any issues.”

“Sunny! I swear to God—” Yoongi insisted, hitting his forearms against your back.

“Easy, tiger,” you taunted him before waving at the beach patrol staff members before you turned and left.

“Put me down!” Yoongi growled once you were a few feet away.

“Shut the hell up,” you replied, calm and condescending. Yoongi felt a shiver roll down his spine, completely ignoring you as you went on chastising him. “Do you wanna end up in trouble?” you said, calmly, reasonably.

Heat started to warm his stomach, and it had nothing to do with the liquor. Sure, the alcohol made him more prone to a short temper, but he could still keep himself in check. This, however, this liquid warmth making him melt for you… This was all you. “We had the permit!” He complained, whiny, pliant, but still combative.

“If you read the room a little, apparently Seokjin’s friend hadn’t handed it in, you dumbass.” Go figure, you were the one supposed to be the dull tool in the box. “You really thought it would be a good idea to lay a finger on an officer? After drinking? They could arrest you, Yoongi. And I won’t waste my pay on bailing you out of jail.”

“But I would have paid you back!” he protested while you opened the gate in his fence and dropped him down unceremoniously. He grunted a little and stormed off to the door as you followed him suit.

“You would have slapped yourself at the thought of paying money to the fucking police!” you reminded him. “And it would be a big waste of money.” You stood behind him as he opened the door, then tried to slam it shut, almost causing it to hit you. The action made you startle, and maybe he didn’t want you to enter, but you also wanted to calm him down, and you deserved an apology about his lack of gratitude and basic decency. “Oh, come on, I just saved you at least a few hundred bucks, don’t be such a brat to me!”

He turned around with a cocky grin. “Or what? You’re gonna spank me?” He sealed his lips shut as soon as he realised what he’d just said.

Your face went dead serious, an eyebrow raised at him as your blood cooled significantly. A little cackle came out your throat as you said, your tone serious and dark. “Is that what you want?” It came out a bit more seductive than you intended.

“Don’t get all puffed-up now. Didn’t know you liked authority so much,” Yoongi’s body language got interesting: he conveyed challenge and curiosity as moved behind the kitchen island, putting an obstacle between the two of you.

“I don’t. I just think you're being a warmongering little shit.” You felt your body act on instinct, getting ready for the chase. You didn’t know exactly what was going on between the two of you. Actually you didn’t know anything at all.

He licked his lips, looking at you from under his lashes. “That’s a difficult word for a lifeguard.”

That almost made you lose your cool, but you still managed to hold your horses since it was so obvious he was looking for a fight. “You think I’m dumb?” You asked, taking a slow step towards him. He took a step in the opposite direction.

“No. But that’s a booksmart, not streetsmart kind of word.”

You took one more step towards him. “I might not be a little intellectual, like you fancy yourself, but I’ve read a few books, Yoongi.”

He bit his lip, put more distance towards the two of you.

“What game are you playing, little mouse?” you taunted him.

He could feel his heart hammering against his chest, blood rushing everywhere. He could tell his body was reacting in ways he was not proud of, grateful for the counter currently hiding his lap. “You might say you don’t like authority, but you sure like playing cops and robbers.”

You grinned at him and he grinned right back. With two large strides, you were on him, arms wrapped around his middle, and if it hadn’t been dangerous inside the kitchen, you would have tackled him with no effort whatsoever, his tipsy form completely incapable to stand a fight against your trained, honed and ready physique. “Gotcha,” you murmured in his ear and he just folded over himself, trying to hide from you the ridiculous state he was in. “What do you have to say about streetsmart nurses and puffed-up lifeguards? Still wanna start a fight?”

“Sunny…” he whispered, turning to stare at you.

That day under the rain and that mad dash came back to you like a punch to the face. He was again dark eyed, pouty, beautiful. So easy; so, so easy to take. There, hanging from your very lips.

“Yoongi,” you whispered back. “This is—”

He licked his lips, his eyes as if chasing shooting stars from your eyes to your mouth. “If you run this time, I don’t think I’ll be able to make it make sense.”

“How sober are you from one to ten?” Safety first, you told yourself. If he’s not sober there’s no chance you can kiss him, no chance to go further than this.

“Enough to tell you I’m not gonna regret this in the morning.” He was still caught in your arms, and it felt divine to feel the shape of you against him, warm and soft in the chill of an early summer night. His cheeks heated as he added, “Enough to tell you I’ve been thinking about this long before I had those drinks. Long before the party even started.”

Your hand moved to cup his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about this too.”

He wanted to turn around, but he was not entirely proud of how affected he was by the current situation. However he did not fight it when you made him face you, your belly pressing against his, your breath catching in your throat. “I’m sorry— I—”

You shook your head and smiled as you looked down. “You thought about this, that day in the rain?”

“I’ve spent the last four days asking myself where I messed up,” he admitted, purring when you tentatively shifted against him.

Your legs bracketed his, the puzzle of them causing him to hold his breath, then breathe out very slowly. He took a step back, but his arms were looped around you, so he managed to drag you with him until his back was pressed against the wall by the kitchen.

“I thought I was… I thought you didn’t want this. I thought I was projecting my own desire, misreading the look on your face.” You shook your head and chuckled, your exhale caressing his chin.

He licked his lip, then bit it a little and you stared at it, your eyes incapable of ungluing themselves from the glistening of moisture on his pouty mouth, so red, so plump, like ripe cherries. You tempted him, lowering yourself so close, your breath fanning over his lower face, close enough to kiss, yet not crossing the final inch yet.

He whined, “Can’t you tell how much I want you, want this?” He shifted his hips and you both held your breath. “Like I wanted it then?”

Your hands moved to cradle his face, holding him as if he were delicate. “Then I can—?”

He nodded. “Yes.” Then more. “Fuck yes, please.”

You dove for him without hesitation.

Kissing Yoongi must be what scientists feel when they discover some groundbreaking molecule that could cure some half-known disease. It’s revelating.

You’ve been waiting your entire life for this.

The kiss managed to stay innocent for two seconds more. Two seconds too many.

Yoongi groaned against your mouth, then pulled you closer, pressing his hips against yours, then yielded again, maybe ashamed, maybe weakened by the sensation.

You answered his need with your own, picking up where he left off. He gasped against your face, mouth sweetly parted, sloppy against your own, jaw slack as he got lost in sensation.

“If you want to just make out, this is the right moment to tell me,” you advised him, but he shook his head, eyelids hanging half-open.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” you asked, a smile on your lips, so amused at the idea that this intellectual, eloquent, intelligent man had turned wordless in your arms, with his body writhing against your own.

“Some words here and there,” he replied, then tilted his head back in a way that summoned every inch of instinct within you, your face nuzzling against the column of his throat as you started sucking at the side of his neck.

“Like what?”

“Like ‘make out’, and ‘right moment’, and ‘little brat’,” he hummed, then moaned, his hips rolling so softly, so perfectly that you wondered what he would do once undressed against your naked body.

“I didn’t say ‘little brat’,” you pointed out in between a bruise and a kiss.

“Too bad. I must have been dreaming it all.” He hissed as his zipper pressed against him just a tad too hard.

“I could still—” You smirked. “You want me to…” Your hand moved from his waist to his side to his thigh, then went back to his ass, cupping one cheek and pressing him against your hip. You bent to his ear. “You like being talked dirty to?”

He nodded, thankful that you were making sense of him.

“Being told that you’ve been bad?”

He nodded again, feeling heat flush his cheeks further.

You frowned, trying to find the right way to go about this. “That you’ve been driving me crazy? You flirty little demon…”

He smirked and threw his head back, puffing out a desperate little cackle, his brow furrowed. “Please, Sunny, God I’m hating these jeans, love.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you kissed him slowly this time, taking your time. Did you want to undress him? Here? In the kitchen?

You shrugged at yourself. “You want to go upstairs or?”

“Don’t care, please, just…”

You considered it for two seconds, then you stopped him, grabbing him by the face. “Okay, let’s be clear. You want me to… be a little harsh?”

He let his eyes roll close, head tipping back as if he couldn’t hold it anymore, resting it against the wall. “Yes. Please, yes.”

“You want me to manhandle you? Get rough?”

“Yes!” he confirmed, his tone definitive.

“Okay, good.” You moved your hands to his wrists, currently at your sides, his hands frozen at your tapered waist, as if not sure where he was allowed to touch. You pinned his hands to the wall, then skillfully twisted your body so that he ended up with his back pressed to your front, his cheek against the wall. “Like this?”

“Yes. Sunny, love, this— Yes.” He was struggling to form sentences. God. He was one lucky mess.

“Is this what you like?” Adrenaline rushed down your spine. God, he was wicked, and perfect, and so, so needy. “Answer me, my cute devil.” You pressed your lips to his ear. “Or do you want me to call you a dirty little freak?” You didn’t feel like cursing out insults at him, but this, all these pretty pet names? This you could do.

And Yoongi seemed to like them as he shivered again, whining, his hips shifting against the wall.

You chuckled, curious, delighted. “Who would have thought pretty, dainty Yoongi wanted this… Because you want this, don’t you?” Apparently, just as much as he wanted this, as much as he was turned on by your rough treatment, your brain was turned on by the fact that he wanted you to administer it. You always thought your shape and build meant that you would always somehow be a challenge to your potential partners, usually aiming at the fit, buff type so that they could handle you. You’d never thought you’d be turned on at the idea of overpowering a smart, lithe, uncharacteristically agile little mouse such as Yoongi. And yet, here you were, soaked against his writhing body as it ricocheted between you and the wall.

“I like this. I like this a— a lot,” he said, panting faintly as you breathed against his ear. “I like you a lot, ____. Please—”

You chuckled. “Oh, you like me? A lot?” Tentatively, you skimmed the shell of his ear with your lips, making him whimper. At the first sign of him breaking, you added the tip of your tongue, causing him to moan outright, his glutes flexing against your pelvis as he tried to find a sliver of pleasure. You wanted to touch him, and he seemed okay with the idea of doing this here and, on top of that it was vaguely turning you on too. “Would you still like me if I put my hand into your jeans and stroked you?”

“I think I’d go insane for you,” he confessed.

“Is that your consent to me giving you a handjob, Yoongi?” You checked, your hands still on neutral ground, one pinning his wrists gently, the other helping you prop yourself up against the wall.

He nodded before speaking, “Yes, I do.”

In a second, your hand left the wall, undoing the buckle of his belt.

“Where the hell did you learn how to undo a belt one-handed,” he mused. He hoped you would shut him up with your lips against his. Unfortunately you didn’t.

“I’m a lowly nurse, right? A nurse needs to know how to work with buckles one-handed. Now will you… finally… stay put?” You asked, finding his cock and squeezing it in a way that made Yoongi’s knees grow weak.

“You’d have half the fun,” he opposed, right as you started stroking him, his tip so wet it was ridiculous. He felt ridiculous.

You blushed as you put on your shameless, steel-spined persona and asked, “What got you so hard, Yoongi?” You took a break, trying to find the words, then let your curiosity out: there was no harshness in your tone, no command, no bitterness, just simple curiosity, soft amusement. “Does it make you hard for a woman to toss you around like her doll? Or do you like being fucked against the wall?” You made your way slow and gentle further down his jeans, finding his balls and squeezing them.

“You’re not fucking me,” he objected with a weak smile. Yet, he was glad that was on the table. “Yet.”

You shook your head, smiling softly, “Yet”. Precious, delicate, charming Yoongi truly loved being treated like an object. How surprising. “What do I need to do to shut your pretty bratty mouth? Maybe keeping it busy between my legs?”

He purred at the prospect.

“Maybe shutting it with my hand?” You felt shame creep to your cheeks, then let the thought out. “Maybe stuffing it with my panties?” You’d seen it once in a picture on an adult website and the image had never left your mind.

He threw his head back. This had to be a dream. A fantasy. You couldn’t be what he’d been dreaming of for years, and at the same time be the gentle, nurturing presence he had known in the last five weeks. “Please,” he begged again, his eyes rolling shut, his hair falling all over the place as his lips disclosed shyly.

This time, of course, you weren’t afraid. You pressed your mouth to his, not without licking his lips first, coaxing his tongue to peak out and lick up against yours.

His sex was hot, hard, and not too big, but definitely big enough to work with. He was pulsating in your hand already, smooth and needy as he thrusted into your fist. You dreamed about him moving inside you, with that fantastic bubble butt you’d eyed more than you’d like or care to admit. He kept moaning and groaning as you carefully stroked him, trying to accompany his movements with your own. You imagined what this could become if you were stroking him with a bit more lubrication, trying to invent a way to make your hand wet without having to part yourself from him.

You pushed his jeans and underwear to his knees, then moved the hand you’d been using to pin his wrists, letting it climb beneath his shirt to massage his chest, his shoulders caving in beautifully as he pressed harder against the fingers currently pinching one of his nipples. You wished you could see the hollow you knew was now carved in between his shoulder blades, but you simply bent your head forward and kissed it from over his shirt, nuzzling your face against it.

“I’m gonna use lube next time, so I can make it even wetter for you,” you mused. “I bet you’re a picky, fussy thing in bed.” You delivered a trail of kisses up his nape. “I’d love learning everything you like.”

He chuckled and admitted, “I’m afraid I won’t be as picky with you.”

“Then I’ll get very specific about new ways to make you come.”

He turned his head to the side so he could see you in the corner of his eye. “I could… spit in your hand?”

You blinked once, twice. “Sure.”

He grabbed the hand in between his legs, brought it to his mouth and pressed the flat of his tongue against the centre of your palm, delivering a wide, sloppy lick. Your hand was salty with his sweat and arousal, but he was too needy to analyse the taste further as he brought your hand back on his erection.

You stroked and his knees buckled, the both of you smirking and exhaling in unison. He held on for ten, maybe twelve commendable seconds, then crumbled adorably with a weak, soft moan.

He ended up spilling into your hand, your palm stroking even when he started shaking. You let him go only when he sobbed for you to stop; yet he turned his face to the side and kissed your chin, then your mouth, sloppily, and whispered, “Actually, keep—” you understood what he meant and resumed the—

“Sunny, love, fuck! Please, fuck!” His knees wobbled and his cock quivered just once, another shy dribble coming out.

You supported him with an arm around his waist, his lithe physique crumbling over you, his head on your shoulder.

“Yes,” he whispered, completely fucked out, so spent and adorably pliable.

You turned him around and held him, letting him rest his cheek on your shoulder. “You okay, Yoongi?”

“Never been better,” he admitted, voice saccharine and exhausted, before he started to stir. “Fuck, I made a mess.”

You shrugged. “All chill, babe.” You stroked the small of his back. “What do you need, Yoongi?”

He shook his head. “Just hold me please, I’m not sure I can stand on my legs,” he admitted before cackling. “I wasn’t expecting this.” Once more he chuckled. “This is kinda embarrassing to me.”

You pressed your cheek to his hair. “I’ve never done something quite like this either.” You drew small circles on his back. “I don’t know what to do. Or what to say.” You nodded to yourself, waiting for something, some sort of signal that you hadn’t just ruined your friendship with him because you caved in to some preternatural instinct to ruin him.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” he asked, hesitating for a second before looking into your eyes. “I want to make you feel good too.” And next, he looked to the floor, his lips flushed in red, his cheeks a deep crimson.

How dare he act shy after challenging you and letting you torture him like that? “You’re fucking impossible.” You grabbed his chin and made him look at you. “Ask it again. Look into my eyes and ask.”

“Fuck me, please.”

As a reward, you pressed your mouth to his, his hand grabbing your wrist and trying to bring it back to his length; however, you tutted and grinned. “Go upstairs, get ready. I’ll fix the mess you made on me and the floor.”

He puckered his lips and chased your mouth, holding you by your elbow. “Are we okay?”

You kissed him again, reassuring him. “We’re okay. I just need to see you come maybe three times more. Or maybe nine.”

He snickered. “So we’re cool with the idea of this being not platonic, like… at all?”

You stopped mid-breath. “I think this stopped being platonic the day I realised I ran because I wanted to kiss you so bad.”

“I thought you ran because you didn’t like me.” He didn’t care about his softening dick being out and covered in his release. He had more pressing matters at the moment, like your confession.

“I ran because I wanted to press you up against the wall and make out with you and cover your neck in hickeys—”

“Seems like a great idea to me. I’m into that,” he admitted, acting pragmatic.

You smiled mischievously. “Go upstairs and we can make that happen.”

“I need convincing,” he purred, haughty.

The hand that had taken care of him so proficiently was still covered in his slick, and how convenient that was now. Lowering his trousers efficiently, you hit his left ass cheek, a wet squelching sound echoing in the kitchen. As he moaned, you shook your head, grinning just in time as he did. “I’ll give you more if you go upstairs and get all ready for me.”

He pouted and covered himself while you went to rinse your hands and grab a cloth. You marvelled at how, after maybe three or four visits at his house, you could move around so easily. Five minutes and the kitchen was clean, you heading up the stairs, following the mellow music coming from a room barely lit.

There were a couple candles around the room, the smell of vanilla and bourbon drifting around freely, the mild orange halos of the flames contrasting with the full moon just out of the window.

Yoongi was laying on the sheets, as lazy as a white Persian cat, stretched like a hedonist king. His hair melted into the darkness, and his eyes glimmered, dark and luscious, like black magnets, his skin pale, diaphanous and opaque like almond milk.

He wasn’t naked yet, his white underwear the only hint that his skin tone is not the palest.

You stopped by the threshold of his room, and stared at him like you’d never seen him before, never seen a man before, and from the reaction of your body ou do wonder if any of your previous partners really made sense, if you really should have slept with them considering how you are now burning for Yoongi.

You kissed him tonight for the first time, you didn’t have the time to adjust from a platonic to a romantic or outright erotic disposition, and yet this feels the most natural, to the point that you question whether it’s always been desire right from the start.

“Why are you standing there,” he asked, a gentle smile on his face.

“You’re pretty to look at,” you admitted, with a little shake of your head and a helpless smile.

He laughed shyly. “As much as I like being looked at, I have more pressing necessities at the moment.” He rose to his knees, moving closer to the edge of the bed. “Come, it’s your turn.”

You took a couple steps towards him, studying him some more. His chest was fairer than fair, the pink of his nipples perfectly matching the shade of his lips. It felt poetic to say the least. The shape of his torso made you think of Greek statues, balanced, lithe, mythological.

“You know, you seem very tempting,” you told him, suddenly deprived of thoughts, words, just pure instinct left.

“Why are you resisting, then.”

He lured you in, like a mermaid, like an exotic, mesmerising bird of paradise.

He cupped his palms around your waist and pulled you closer, making you kneel on the bed in front of him. “I’m going to dream of you in this dress.”

“I’m going to dream of you up against that wall,” you countered.

“Lovely to feel reciprocated.” His hand grazed your thigh, lifting the hem of your breezy sundress. “This colour makes you look unreal.” He skimmed the outside of your leg, his lashes lowered, his lips agape as he breathed in through his mouth. “LIke you just came out of seafoam.” HIs index finger continued its path upwards, stopping at the frilly hem of your panties.

You exhaled slowly, your breath trembling. Despite being trained to act even during utmost emergencies, actual life-or-death situations, you can’t operate through Yoongi’s touch flooding your system with adrenaline and arousal.

“Are you going to taste like seafoam too?” he said, tracing the hem of your underwear, inquisitive, shifting towards the inside of your thigh, venturing where your heat grew feverish, your core melting and dripping into the fabric. “Like saltwater, here?”

The noise rumbling out of your throat was not entirely human and absolutely, not even remotely, coherent.

He brushed his knuckle against the apex of your labia, which made you respond with a full body shiver, your torso tipping forward before you stabilised yourself with a hand pressed to his shoulder, your palm clammy, your grip urgent at first, then more controlled.

“You’re so immensely beautiful, Sunny,” he whispered with awe, and that is the last thing you see before you let your eyes roll shut, overwhelmed by sensation, by pleasure.

“Can I?” he asked, waiting at your threshold, lingering where the fabric of your panties wears thin and humid.

You nodded, almost mindlessly, your eyes still closed.

“Look me in the eye, Sunny. Show me you want this. Tell me,” he urged you.

When your gaze does meet his, you’re caught in it, like black holes calling you to him, any chance of escape now useless, vain. “Please.”

“Please what,” he murmurs, teasing.

“Touch me, please,” you reply, almost immediately.

“Where?”

“There,” you whine, your voice thin. “Be— between my legs.” The words stammer out of you, and Yoongi rewards you with a flirty smile, tongue peaking out.

“You mean here,” he says, saccharine and yet dark, like molasses.

“Under,” you whisper, tortured by the fact that the barrier of your panties is still there, between his fingers and your feverish skin.

All patience thrown out of the window, you grab his hand, place it right where you want it, beneath the fabric, and sigh once you finally get exactly what you needed.

Yoongi smiles, licking his lips before noting, “just as wet as I’d hoped.”

But the words don’t register: you are already out of this galaxy, eyes unseeing, ears unhearing, your mouth agape in a perfectly round shape, of which Yoongi takes ample advantage.

He traces the rim of your lips with his free hand, then debates whether to slip his fingers inside your mouth. A few shallow gasps tell him enough of what he wanted the most.

“I want to hear you, my little star.” The pet name coerces a whine from your throat. “Won’t you moan for me?”

You do. Of course you do, and Yoongi nods, pleased with himself. “Good girl,” he rewards you, his tone calm and deep, soothing. “The moment I saw you, I thought I was having visions.”

You gasp as he becomes more liberal with his touch: you’d manoeuvred him into touching you, but now he’s doing that unprompted, all on his own will.

“And now you’re here, like dripping sunlight on my bed,” he says, reverently, rapt.

You moan his name and nod, engorged in the shallow gasps of your throat and the silky wet warmth of your core, where his fingers slide in and out, slow, accurate, thorough.

Your hand cups the side of his neck, your eyes desperate as you hold his gaze, imploring him to subside the fire burning down your spine, melting your core and climbing back up with electric shivers across your entire back.

“Kiss me,” you ask, your voice fragile and hoarse.

He stares at your lips, licks his own and observes the wet pink of your tongue as your mirror neurons respond, mimicking him wetting his lips.

This time, he does slip the flat of his thumb in your mouth, watching and craving the way your mouth closes around him, your eyes rolling shut, then your jaw going slack as a clever twist of his other hand catches you by surprise and coerces a broken plea from you. Pleasure burst from you like a pinched balloon, startling you with the unexpectedness.

And Yoongi watches.

He studies you, the way your hips buckle wild over his hand, the way you grip his forearm and push him deeper, until you can feel him pushing against the rim of your cervix, hard and deep where all your nerve endings seem to meet.

It feels like drifting on the surface of the ocean, deprived of all thought, the overwhelming completeness of the universe surrounding you, transforming you into nothing but a recipient of all the sensation the world can offer. A sentient being: the most simple definition of life.

And right now, with Yoongi coaxing every drop of pleasure from you, you are made of pure life. You are radiant and wide-open and all-encompassing. He stares at you, at the look in your eyes, the heaving of your chest.

He nods to himself, so many things making sense all at once. Of course, we reproduce through sex. How can you be so full of life without it eventually spilling out of you?

He gawks your reddened lips, cheeks and chest, pressing a kiss to your temple. “We should get you out of this dress,” he said, dragging his face down the side of your neck, reaching the base of it, nibbling at your collarbone as he starts undoing the buttons. “You’re made of fucking sunshine, Sunny. Sunshine and seawater,” he says reverently.

You’re not sure this is actually happening. You must be hallucinating, because Yoongi pushes aside the front of your dress with his teeth and mouth, then repeats the motion to the strap of your bra, nudging it with his nose, sending electric zings through your shoulder, all the way down your arm, until the thrill reaches your fingertips. And just as you’ve come to terms with him kissing your neck, your chest, your collarbones and your shoulders, his mouth reaches your now bare breast, the precious petals of his lips pillowing your nipple.

He makes quick, wicked eye contact with you before he turns wickeder still, and starts sucking.

You groan a very unfeminine sound, but you’re both too far gone to mock your reaction.

He’s undone the rest of your buttons, and you shrug off your dress, his hands urgently sliding to your back, then pressing to your ribs, pulling you closer to him, to his mouth. He hums in pleasure, his hair caressing your skin like dark silk. You reposition yourself so that your thighs bracket his, and the way your hips and his immediately start a game of tug-of-war drives you insane. It’s like you’ve been training your entire life to make this work, like you’ve always known this, you just needed him to unlock this part of yourself.

You begin to grind against his leg, the friction of his thigh against your clothed core just perfect.

“Perfect,” he says, as if reading your mind, hissing as his sex too finds just the right stimulation against your soft navel. His movements, the slow strokes, pull you even closer to the edge of your entire world. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this before with any other man, be he fictional or real. “You feel divine, Sunny. You feel like Sunday morning.” He grabs the back of your head, nudges into your hair, inhales you, and he seems so lost in you it’s almost poetic. “You feel like sunshine, and breeze and…”

You grip his hair, pull him from the crook of your neck and stare at him, breathless and unfocused. And you just kiss him.

He’s harmless in your arms. Entirely incapable of anything but kissing you. His arms fall at his sides, his hips halt, his mouth is the only moving part of him. He’s like a leaf drifting in your currents, and little does he know the tide has just turned.

You unhook your own bra, take his hands in yours and place them against your breasts, that are now tender with pent-up pressure. You both gasp in the kiss as his palms, soft and silky, make contact with your skin. The way he fondles you feels like second nature. He’s made of nothing but instinct and will, he feels like an arrow, tracing the fastest, most effective way to go from where he is to where you need him to be.

And no matter how much you’re loving your current predicament, you know you need more. You need him inside. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you pull him down with you, drag him on top of you, the kiss undisturbed, uninterrupted. “Naked, please, inside,” you whisper, the urgency in your voice leaving him stunned.

He’s just so pliant. You’re pretty sure that if you asked him to throw himself off a cliff he would, as long as you’d kiss him at the bottom of it.

Yoongi rocks his hips against you, and you both moan, a little lost. That’s when you realise his underwear feels a little bit damp where his tip rests, and that renews your motivation. You roll him over, rising above him, and he’s stunned, staring at your hair.

“Lift it up for me, love,” you tell him, and you’re not sure where all this agency is coming from, but you know you have a list of things you’re going to regret not doing to him — another surprising aspect of what you feel for him.

He arches his hips off the bed, obeying your request, and you slip his boxers off him. And he’s so perfect. Crouching down and tasting him is the first thing that comes to your mind and you don’t even question it. You bend down and you do.

He moans, and you regret not getting the sound recorded.

“Come up here… You’re gonna make a sorry mess of me, Sunny,” he says, and it comes out so embarrassed, and so entertained too. “Let me please you, ____. I’m begging, sweetheart.”

You keep working him lightly, with little touches and small licks, and gentle nudges, your lips drawing his length, your teeth brushing against his flesh as softly as a lover’s whisper. But as you do all that, you slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties and drag the fabric off your hips, down your thighs, till it reaches your knees, then you readjust yourself so that you can remove the garment entirely.

“Is this the right moment to tell you I’ve done this just once?” He asks.

You freeze. “What?”

“I know, I was very poorly adapted to society. I’m not… I’m not entirely sure I know how this works.”

You frown, but nod anyway. “Okay. This is definitely not going to last, but I’ll make it good. I promise.”

Yoongi bites his lip, again, an embarrassed and amused expression on his fine face. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will,” you reassure him, taking his hand in yours and kissing his palm. And then you place yourself astride him. “But I’m staying on top just to keep you rooted.”

“Thanks,” he says with a chuckle. He looks entirely adorable. You want to eat him, just for a quick second, like a cotton candy bunny.

You’re also sure you don’t want to stretch. You just want to grind and take him inch by inch, using him to ready yourself, feeling your body adapt to him.

When you grip him, he hisses, but refuses to stop watching. The first three inches feel like the most brilliant decision you’ve ever taken, and you move on them for a bunch of seconds, then nod to yourself.

All the way. That’s what you want, and the realisation dawns on you like the first day of summer.

You let yourself slide on him until your butt rests on his hips.

You both exhale with the wonder of those who finally discover the world was built in Technicolor after a life in black-and-white.

“Fuck. Condom. Forgot,” he says through gritted teeth.

“If you’re clean then—”

“Used it that one time,” he reassures you.

“Fuck, good,” you swear, and it is uncharacteristic of you, but he’s making you see stars. He’s thick and blunt inside you, so hot and smooth and his flesh has the perfect give. When you squish him, your inner muscles responding to the divine feel of him inside you, the poor boy hums a long, restrained sound that culminates in a tender gasp. His mouth is wide, his eyes squeezed shut instead. “This… this is what it must feel like,” he whispers.

“Yes, when you’re lucky,” you confess before rolling your hips, making him drag along the most sensitive spot of your inner walls.

“I know I’m lucky. I feel very fucking lucky, Sunny.” His hips jolt and you squeak at the sudden bump, the thrust making you tighten around him. “Dammit, that’s what you do when I push inside you?”

You nod, a roguish smirk on your lips.

He cradles your hips and then holds you still, pushing once again inside you. This time it’s deliberate and thorough, as if he’s searching the right angle, friction, direction. And when he sees your jaw fall, your lips agape, he nods to himself, and repeats the movement, intentful.

You squeeze him, not entirely coherent, and this time the both of you lose reason a little.

It becomes mechanic, natural, a push and pull that requires no thinking and all moving.

“I think I’m close,” he says. “Are you?”

You frown, because you are actually close, but quite surely not as close as he is. “Close, but it’s okay if—

He slips all the way out this time and moves his hand so that his thumb can dip between your folds, tracing the cleft that runs from your entrance to the turgid bud of nerves at the top of your sex.

You moan his name in warning. “This you’ve done more than once, though.” The devil’s in the details and there are only so many details you can know before you’re entirely damned: from the way he’s touching you, you’re probably both destined for a very hot circle in hell. There’s no way you can do this just once, no way you’re going to do this in the quiet. You just let yourself moan, and he chuckles, but the sound is filled with awe.

“If I could bottle the sound, I’d get drunk on it,” he murmurs, and that seems to justify the way he looks barely sober now — nothing to do with the drinks he had at the beach earlier. This one is entirely your own doing.

You lower your hips so that you can grind against his shaft, while his fingers keep working you leisurely.

“I thought I’d done enough of it, but that was before you,” he says. “You feel like warm butter, Sunny. Like damn velvet.”

“I need—”

“Inside. Yes, I know,” he whispers. His tone is knowing, and it clashes with his admitted inexperience.

“How do you know?”

“Because I fucking need inside you too,” is his only explanation. “Or you can make me come this way,” he suggests, “Watch me ruin myself. Bet you’d get high from my utter humiliation.”

You shake your head a little, and bite your lip. The picture he’s painted in your head has nothing to do with humiliation. “It wouldn’t be that. It would be the hottest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Then bring it home, love,” he tells you with the flirtiest smile on his face.

So you pick up your pace, focus a little bit more on his tip and reach behind you to cup the rest of him. You slide the head of his dick inside you, work it with shallow, slow strokes, which makes him hiss.

He doesn’t know how he finds the strength, but he manages to pull out just half a second before he reaches his orgasm. Just half a second of rationality before he loses himself entirely.

And you know he’s let go: you can tell by the way his head tips back and he grunts in a way that doesn’t sound like him at all. It makes you shed your skin a little, and you allow yourself out of your shell. You ride him, hips swivelling like never before. You feel like water, and it seems absurd that no matter how much swimming, how much surfing, or how much sailing you’ve done in your life: you’ve never felt this fluid, this liquid before. You’re pure movement, and Yoongi can’t help but stare as you dance on top of him, like rain, like waves, like waterfalls.

You grab at your chest, squeeze your breasts and pinch your nipples as you ride him, your hair like a halo, dancing with your movements. His own hands join yours and you bend forward, pressing yourself against his palm.

He’s still spilling himself under you, his orgasm reaching his stomach and his chest. It’s messy, and yet you’re entirely fascinated by it. You can feel his sex twitch and release itself against your folds, and you marvel at how sensitive your bodies can grow.

It’s with his final thrusts that you finally reach the apex of your pleasure, and you part from him just quick enough to slide him inside you, his hiss going unnoticed as you finally, finally squeeze around him and there you go, tumbling down into pleasure, your downfall glorious and ruinous at the same time.

You want him as close as you can and you just throw your body onto his, taking him to the hilt, gasping at how marvellous it is to be so full, to be this close, this uniquely twined with someone. It is not a tidy or poetic moment, your perspiration and his release mixing together on your and his chest as you embrace. You stare at each other, stupefied by the animalistic nature of your joining, both wide-eyed and desperate. And then you kiss him, like it’s the most obvious answer to this all.

“Are you alright,” you ask him once the kiss fades out, and he nods, his hands caressing the sides of your face, cradling it.

“I’m sure that thing you did when you pulled me back in killed me once or twice,” he confesses. “But overall, I’ve never been better.”

His humour steals a chuckle from you. “I’m sorry about the mess,” you say, apologetic.

He shakes his head with a mischievous smile on his face. “Sit up, Sunny. I have plans.”

You frown, not sure about his intentions. Does he mean ‘plans’ as in the sense that he needs you to leave?

You try to roll off him, a little upset, but he holds you still as soon as he realises you weren’t moving in the right direction. “No. Stay on top, just sit up, love.”

Your frown is still all out, but you do as he asks you. And right then you notice his eyes drifting down your torso, from your sticky, messy chest to your sticky, messy sex.

He brings his hands to the side of your breasts, pushing them together, looks deep into your eyes as he sits up himself, the shift in the angle of him inside you making you gasp. He holds your gaze until he can’t anymore, then dives with his face for your chest, the mess transferring from your boobs to his cheeks. And once he starts licking and sucking, once you feel him twitch inside you, you know the night has just begun.

“Guess this means you’re ready for your third time?” you say, teasing and gleeful.

“After all, they do say ‘third time’s the charm’,” he quips.

And boy, oh boy, aren’t they just right.

September is no longer terrifying. Not as you and Yoongi glide across the linoleum floor of Juniper Hall, his friends — maybe yours too, at this point — stare at you from the refreshment table. The Winery Ball is splendid, as usual, the true event of the end of the season, the closing of another cycle. The Orchard organises it each year, giving a chance for the members of the retirement home to celebrate one evening with their families, but also a way to keep them occupied through the final days of summer, and a kind initiative to include them in the social life of their community. Socially, but also creatively, is one of the best examples of Honeycomb Cove.

Somewhere around the room, Hoseok was also dancing with his now-girlfriend, and you could hear Seokjin’s shrill laughter as he listened to his partner’s winded and absurd stories, her sarcastic — though wildly entertaining — rants.

In another corner of the room, the brightest one, with an arm lamp, Laura was working at a new cardigan in Yoongi’s favourite shade of lavender. She’d become entirely smitten with the guy, and he often visited to keep her company; however, you also suspected he came around to hang out with you, and just maybe to hear some of your childhood stories. Marvin had yet to come to terms with the fact that you were now very happily taken, but his nephew was very glad the matchmaking shenanigans had to come to a much-needed halt. After all, Marvin liked Yoongi very much, and he liked live music even more than that. He was secretly glad you’d found such a perfect match for yourself, though he would never admit that publicly.

Still, the person who enjoyed the music the most was Orla: she and Yoongi had bonded almost immediately, and he did love spending time with her the most. They spoke a little Portuguese together every now and then, and she was becoming rather committed to the idea of reaching a little more fluency before ‘laying to rest for good’, as she said. Yoongi’s eyes would always glow glossy at the way Orla would talk about her declining health and what was left of her lifespan, but the cloud of melancholy would always drift by quickly, and his eyes would light up in determination as he fought to keep her entertained for just one more day.

Like so, your life had changed forever, and in the span of one summer, you had entered a new season in your life, one that would one day lead probably to marriage, and a family. A dog. Kids too, if you were so blessed. Or maybe you would just adopt — both you and Yoongi were rather open to the idea of that.

But first, marriage: you had both been on the same page about that, and he hadn’t made it a secret he had every intention of keeping the engagement rather short.

You stared at your hand, resting on his shoulder as you swayed to the music, his gentle samba playing from the speakers, the sound so familiar as the first time he’d played it for you in his home studio, the melody reminding you of every walk by the rising sun, of every wave crashing at your feet on the shore, of music by the fireplace, of stars making his hair glitter like the ocean at midnight, of making love in the deep quiet of the night, when you knew each other not by sight, but by touch and taste alone.

He’d given you Beatrice’s ring earlier tonight: a bright yellow crystal surrounded by exquisite smaller stones, forming a star. He’d put it on your middle finger, then kissed your palm before he said, “We’ll move it on the right finger when you’re ready.” He’d been confident, and calm and trusting, and you’d felt like the time was right, then and there, but you decided to be considerate, and see how winter would play out. You would return to the Orchard full time in just ten days, but you felt excited, with your truck in Yoongi’s driveway and your scrubs and your knitting supplies waiting for you at his place, in a wardrobe he’d fixed for you.

He’d made you move in with him a month after that first night, with the excuse of making you save on rent, and the promise of letting you split the bills, since you would have felt too much of a freeloader otherwise.

Truth is, he paid the bills in full, and kept your money on the side, just in case you would need it someday — but that’s not something you needed to know yet, and he kept his little secret with a little smugness.

“Have I touched on the subject of how much I love you in this dress tonight?” Yoongi said as his fingers lowered into the low scoop of the back of your dress, chastely caressing the naked skin at the small of your back.

“I know for sure you have elaborated on how much you love me with no clothes on, but the part with my dress on no, you actually haven’t mentioned,” you replied, fond, but also quippish.

You’re rather fond of all the ways your inside jokes have lined up, with the way you’ve found a common sense of humour, and with how sensitive, how aligned you’ve become with each other.

“I guess I have some shortcomings to make up for,” he conceded.

“You can start by saying how much you love him.”

“Oh, an easy one, thank you,” he said before caressing your face, his palm cupping your chin before his lips landed on yours, light and loving. “I love you as wide as the sky, and as deep as the ocean,” he declared, with that little lull in his voice. He’d told you Antonio would always tell Beatrice so before resting his lips on her forehead, holding her. And a few weeks later, he’d barged in the kitchen as you were cooking, excited like a little kid on Christmas morning.

“Found it! I found it!” he’d cheered. He’d dragged you to the living room, where a pile of VHS towered dangerously on top of the coffee table. He grabbed the remote, and rewinded the tape just a little. “Here,” he’d said, his voice elated. He’d held you tight, like you were his teddy bear, his comfort blanket, his lifeline. And with his chin resting over your shoulder, his arms wrapped snugly around you, you’d both faced the screen and he’d pressed play.

The voice that came on was soft, like the sound of wind gushing through the branches of osmanthus trees in the garden. And there was the lull of that declaration, by now so familiar to your ears. With the same pattern of stresses, the same intonation, Antonio proclaimed his love to Beatrice on the occasion of their tenth anniversary, both dressed in white, both crowned in flowers, both barefoot in the garden. Right there, the declaration, like an oath and like a children's rhyme.

“And I will love you true, always. As wide as the sky. As deep as the ocean.”

Your and Yoongi’s eyes had sparkled with unshed tears that night, as you stood there, years after that video had been shot on a cheap camera. It felt powerful, being testimony to a love like that, long gone from the world, but still alive in the memory, and in Yoongi’s very existence.

And now swaying in an improvised ballroom, not barefoot yet — but sometimes soon, with a priest and matching rings and emotional friends — you looked at Yoongi and replied, just as Beatrice had, “As bright as the sun, as soft as the moon.”

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! If you want to know more about this collab, you can head over here!!!

#bourbon bossa nova #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi fanfiction #bts blog #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi smut

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