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sinful-sonnet · 2 days ago

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The Space Between Us

Chapter 5

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W/C: 7k

Summary: You and Joel share a raw, urgent moment of intimacy. Though the encounter edges into rough territory-briefly blending pain with intense pleasure-it ultimately reaffirms your emotional closeness, ending in a breathless, deeply connected state.

Content Warnings: Explicit! MDNI -Dirty talk, unprotected piv, rough sex, bodily fluids, strong adult language lol, after care, confessions, blood, graphic, fainting,

———————•

“No Holding Back”

You drifted somewhere in that twilight space between sleep and wakefulness, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets and the steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing against your back. Vague remnants of your dream floated through your mind, fading with every exhale. The room was still dim—early morning light barely peeking through the curtains.

Then you felt it: Joel shifting closer, his hand sliding along your side in a tentative, almost careful way. At first, your sleep-heavy brain registered it as one of those half-conscious comforts: the simple, pleasant weight of a loved one’s arm around you. But the touch was different this time—more deliberate. Gently insistent. You sensed him hesitate, as though he was torn between letting you rest and succumbing to the urge to pull you nearer. His thumb brushed lightly over the hem of your tank top, a featherlight caress that made your skin tingle.

A soft sound escaped him, barely audible, and you realized he was half-awake himself, testing the waters. You stirred, your body shifting as you turned in his arms, lids fluttering open just enough to catch the outline of his face in the low light.

Joel stilled the moment he felt you move. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, voice husky with lingering sleep. His hand froze on your side, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s okay,” you whispered back, still groggy but fully aware of his closeness, the quiet want in his touch. Your heart skipped in your chest. Slowly, you reached for his hand and guided it more securely against your waist. “I’m awake now.”

He paused, gaze searching yours for a long moment in the dimness, as though making sure what he wanted was truly welcome. You answered him by leaning in, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to the corner of his mouth. That was all the invitation he needed. A low, appreciative hum rumbled in his throat as he eased you onto your back, his weight settling beside you, not over you, mindful and careful. His lips found yours slowly, gently, like he was savoring a first taste all over again. Even in this tender moment, you felt the lingering tension in his shoulders—an undercurrent of relief and longing that told you he needed this closeness as much as you did. You traced your fingers along the nape of his neck, letting him know you were here, awake, and wanting him too.

“Good morning,” you breathed against his lips, the simplest greeting suddenly feeling weighty with all that you’d been through together. Joel’s small smile against your mouth felt like both an answer and a promise. “Mornin’, darlin’,” he returned softly, and this time, there was no hesitation in the warmth of his hand on your hip, or in the quiet, content sigh you gave back.

Joel's lips hovered just over yours, warm breath mixing with your own. The way he studied your face made you feel cherished and, at the same time, set an undercurrent of desire humming through your veins. When he finally bridged the small gap, the kiss was both tender and insistent, a slow burn kindling in the space between you.

His hands slid carefully over your waist, testing your boundaries, making sure you were still comfortable. Each touch was gentle at first, deliberate. But soon, you felt the subtle shift in his grip-the way his fingers pressed a little more firmly into your sides, betraying a hint of the urgency he was holding in check.

You answered him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him close. A soft sound escaped him, somewhere between relief and a low growl of need. In that moment, everything outside of this room seemed to slip away: the dangers, the fears, the lingering memories of violence. Now, there was only Joel and the feel of his heartbeat thudding against your own.

His kisses trailed from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, each gentle press of his lips building a delicious tension. Yet behind the tenderness, you sensed a restrained hunger-he held you like he was afraid to let go, fingertips digging in just enough to send heat rushing across your skin. You arched into him, breaths coming in shorter, heavier bursts. Your pulse hammered, a heady mix of reassurance and raw longing.

When Joel shifted position, bearing a little of his weight against you, the bed creaked beneath you both. The press of his body spoke volumes: he wanted you with a fierceness that bordered on desperate, but he was still careful, alert to every subtle cue you gave. When you hooked a leg around his, meeting his intensity with your own, he let out a low noise that vibrated against your collarbone. Your hands found their way into his hair, knotting gently, urging him on. Each time you tugged, his grip tightened— there was a welcome roughness there, a counterpoint to the guarded way he'd tried to keep you at arm's length for so long. His mouth found yours again, more demanding this time, pulling a soft gasp from your lips. Heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, your body responding to his closeness and that delicate balance between sweetness and a desperation you could both barely contain.

"Tell me if it's too much," he managed to whisper, voice rasping with need. His forehead pressed against yours, searching your eyes for any sign of uncertainty.

"It's not," you breathed, guiding his hand where you wanted it, the simplest reassurance that you were here for everything he offered. "Joel... I'm good."

That quiet admission was all it took. He pressed himself closer, yet even in his urgency, there was a distinct gentleness in how he held you-like he couldn't bear the idea of hurting you. When you gripped his shoulders, letting a hint of nails scrape lightly across his skin, he groaned, breath hitching. The tension between you built, your bodies moving in a near-synchronized dance of hunger and cautious tenderness.

Neither of you spoke again. Words would have been clumsy here, unnecessary. The conversation unfurled in every labored breath, every shift of hips, every soft moan muffled against heated skin. And when the moment finally caught up with you, it was an overwhelming rush of closeness-an affirmation that, despite the dangers and anxieties, you were both alive, together, and finally letting yourselves feel something that had been simmering for far too long.

Joel's breath ghosts along your inner thighs, the air warm and deliberate.

Despite the early morning light spilling across the sheets, he's wholly absorbed in you—no inhibitions, no self-consciousness. His fingers press gently against your hips, guiding you closer as his eyes meet yours, a flicker of longing and unspoken awe passing between you. He dips his head, and a contented murmur escapes his throat as he presses his face into the soft curls right above your clit. There's something deeply grounding in the way he buries himself against you, not rushing, simply reveling in the texture and warmth of your unshaven skin. Every exhale of his carries a quiet reverence, a hint of something feral beneath the tenderness.

"You feel...amazing," he breathes, and it's more than just a compliment-it's gratitude. This closeness, this unfiltered honesty, is what he craves. You catch the faint grin on his face when the curls tickle his nose, and his voice drops low, rich with affection. There's no room for any insecurity here; he loves you exactly as you are, finds beauty in every part of you, even the ones you worried might be "too much."

When he finally moves to taste you, it's unhurried, savoring each second. His soft groan vibrates against your skin, and his hands slip beneath your thighs to keep you where he wants you-firmly in his care. His lips and tongue map out every sensation as though committing it to memory, and the pleasure that races through you feels all the more potent for the ease of it, the complete acceptance in his closeness. Joel doesn't speak much then—he doesn't need to. The reverent way he lingers, the texture of his beard against your skin, the low, throaty sounds he makes whenever you shift or sigh...they say enough. It's a heady mixture of unguarded desire and tenderness, stirring something raw and deeply comforting in you.

Joel's low voice thrums with unwavering conviction as he leans in, pinning you with that smoldering look he gets when he's set on something-or someone. Lapping his tongue around your clit as he takes his two fingers to slowly tease your entrance.

"Relax," he whispers, voice gravelly with controlled desire. His other fingertips trace lazy patterns just above your knees, coaxing your body to let go of any residual tension. When he finally presses his fingers in, he does it slowly, savoring your every reaction-every soft moan, every quiver of your legs around his shoulders.

Time loses meaning in the hush of the room. He lingers with single-minded focus, lips and tongue working you until any coherent thought slips away. That steady, methodical attentiveness sends you climbing higher and higher, and whenever you think he's about to ease off, he doubles down, determined to wring every ounce of pleasure from you.

Through it all, he keeps murmuring hushed, tender reassurances against your skin-telling you how good you taste, how he'd stay like this forever if it meant seeing you come undone again and again. It's an unspoken vow that you come first, that your pleasure matters before all else.

Eventually, you're left breathless and boneless beneath him, your heart hammering in your chest. He looks up, a faint smile curving his lips as he takes in the sight of you-disheveled, glowing, entirely undone.

Joel straightens up onto his knees, still breathing hard from the heated exchange that brought you both to this point. His gaze never leaves yours as his fingers move to his belt buckle. There's a deliberate, almost measured quality to the way he undoes it—metal clinking quietly in the otherwise still room. A spark of anticipation flutters through your stomach, realizing he's giving you a small show, letting you see just how sure he is about what happens next.

He tugs the belt free, letting it slip from the loops with a soft rasp. The muscles in his arms shift under his shirt, every motion exuding that calm, contained power you've come to know. When he finally drops the belt aside, he reaches for the button of his jeans, pulling it open with a deft flick of his fingers. His eyes flicker with something between determination and need as he straightens, pushing his jeans and underwear down in one smooth motion.

You watch, heart thudding, as his length springs free-hard and ready, evidence of just how worked up he's been. For a moment, you can't help but stare, breath catching in your throat. The raw need in his eyes only fans the heat coursing through your veins.

You swallow, mouth going suddenly dry and then flooding with want all at once.

Every muscle in Joel's body is poised, tense with anticipation as he looks down at you. There's a flicker of that familiar gentleness in his gaze, but it's undercut by an unmistakable hunger. “Fuck” you breathe out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Joel's voice dips into that low, husky register that always makes your pulse race. He hovers above you, one hand braced near your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek in a gentle but insistent hold.

"Tell me how much you want it, darlin'" he murmurs, breath hot against your ear. His gaze roams over your face, devouring every flicker of reaction.

You feel a rush of warmth, your heart pounding in your chest. The intensity in his eyes draws a shiver up your spine, and you let yourself be honest-no holding back, no coyness.

"I want you," you whisper, voice unsteady but sure. "I want all of it."

A slow, satisfied smile tugs at his lips.

Joel keeps his lips lightly against yours, as if savoring every exhale that slips between you. The contact is tender, but there's a deliberate tension in the way he pushes forward, guiding his cock into you with excruciating slowness. Each inch is a warm, gradual pressure, and it's all you can do to cling to him, arms winding around his shoulders. Your breath catches at the sudden fullness, a heady mix of pleasure and the natural jolt of adjustment. His mouth coaxes yours open in a gentle kiss, softening the moment until your body relaxes under his. You hear him let out a ragged sigh, a sound somewhere between relief and restrained desire, as he stills for a second-just long enough to make sure you're truly okay.

"It's alright," you manage to whisper, voice shaking with a mix of nerves and excitement. You shift your hips, inviting him deeper. Joel adjusts his grip on your hips, the muscles in his arms flexing as he starts to move. He fills you to the hilt, every inch of his length snug in place, then pulls back until you feel the sudden coolness of absence. You barely have time to catch your breath before he thrusts forward again with a little more force, eliciting a startled yelp from your lips.

He stills for a second, eyes flicking over your features to make sure you're okay, that you're with him in this moment.

Your heart thunders in your chest, and you give him a small nod, breath hitching at the lingering sensation of that bold push.

A hint of a reassuring smile curves his lips. He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss against your shoulder, his gaze earnest, letting you know he's paying attention to every cue from your body.

As he starts up that intimate rhythm again, the warmth and tension coils lower.

At first, Joel tries to pace himself, to keep the sensations from spinning out of control, but the moment overtakes him. His restraint cracks like a dam giving way, and he begins thrusting harder, each urgent stroke fueled by a raw, unfiltered need. The sheer force pulls a startled cry from your lips; your fingers dig into his arms, instinctively clinging to him as he surges forward.

He notices the sound you make, flicks a desperate look your way-and you meet his gaze, heat rushing through your veins. He searches your eyes, confirming you're all right, then presses in again, rough and insistent. There's something primal in the way he moves, as if he can't bear even an inch of distance between you.

A sharp pang slices through you, momentarily stealing your breath. The thrusts have become urgent, almost too intense. You can't deny that it hurts— but the pleasure that surges in its wake is even stronger, a heady rush that makes your body crave the next wave.

Joel notices the flicker of pain in your eyes and seems torn between concern and the raw, desperate need pouring off him. His grip tightens on your hip, and he tries to ease his pace, but you tug him closer, eyes half-lidded, silently telling him it's okay.

"Tell me," he rasps, voice rough with worry. "You-are you sure?"

You suck in a shaky breath, nodding.

"Yes. I'm good," you whisper, heart pounding against your ribs. A trembling hand cups his cheek, a tender counterpoint to the fierceness of the moment. His gaze darts over your face, searching, then he groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours in relief.

He doesn't stop—he couldn't if he tried

-but he adjusts, recalibrates just enough that your body begins to loosen under him again. The pain lingers on the edges, but each pulse of pleasure chases it back, building a euphoric urgency that sets every nerve alight.

You cling to each other, lost in the collision of sensation-where hurt becomes heat, and heat spills into ecstasy. And in that wild, fragile balance, the connection between you only deepens.

You could feel the urgency radiating off Joel in waves, every ragged exhale brushing hot against your ear. His pace grew uneven, each thrust edged with mounting desperation. "So good," he muttered, voice raw, words slurring together in a low, urgent litany.

He didn't bother trying to hold back his mouth-dirty confessions poured out in a husky, unfiltered stream, praising every inch of your body and the way you clenched around him. “Feel how good you take me? You’re perfect, sweetheart” It wasn't just filthy talk; there was an almost frantic reverence woven into each word, as though he couldn't get enough, couldn't be close enough. His hips were starting to stutter and you could feel your own resolve crumbling, a shockwave shoots through you as your body gives into the pleasure. Your eyelids flutter shut as the final crest of pleasure surges through you, muscles tensing in anticipation. But Joel's hand moves to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your jaw in a gesture both tender and insistent. His voice, low and husky, rumbles close to your ear:

"Look at me... right here. I wanna see your face when you come."

At his words, your eyes snap open, meeting his heated gaze. The world around you seems to narrow until only his face remains in focus. A tremor races through your body, and you're utterly undone-an electric,

overwhelming climax that arches your back and spills a loud, drawn-out moan from your lips. Your mouth forms a silent "O," caught there in breathless rapture as every nerve flares with sensation.

Joel's gaze never wavers; he holds you through it, absorbing every quiver and cry. You can feel the fierce pride in the way he watches you, the way he savors the unguarded emotion flooding your expression.

You're still riding out the last waves of your own pleasure when Joel lets out a ragged groan, hips stuttering against you. Panic flashes over his features for a split second—he tries to pull away, but it's already too late. The heat of his release spills into you, followed by a strained exhale that echoes the intensity of the moment.

A tremor courses through his body as he half-collapses, catching himself on one elbow to avoid crushing you. His forehead drops to your shoulder, breath coming in short gasps. He finally manages to ease back, murmuring a low curse under his breath-an apology caught somewhere between guilt and lingering pleasure.

Despite his moment of hesitation, you feel a flood of tenderness as he lifts his gaze, searching your face. The shared realization of what just happened hangs in the air, but the softness in his eyes speaks volumes. You reach up, brushing a hand against his cheek, and his chest heaves with relief. In that hushed aftermath, you're both left a bit shaken, a bit breathless, and overwhelmingly connected-each heartbeat a reminder that, no matter how messy it might be, this closeness is exactly where you want to be.

——

The warmth of the moment still lingers in every ragged breath, your pulse hammering in your ears. Joel’s weight rests heavily on you for a few lingering seconds before he carefully shifts away, his gaze flicking over your features as if to double-check you’re alright. There’s a softness in his eyes that tempers the rawness of the encounter you just shared.

“I’ll, uh… run you a bath,” he murmurs, brushing a stray hair from your face. Even in his hushed tone, you hear the concern that’s always right beneath his gruff exterior.

You only manage a nod, still catching your breath. He presses a brief, tender kiss to your temple before rising, gathering a pair of boxers from the side of the bed, and slipping them on. As he disappears into the hallway, you hear the faint creak of the old pipes coming to life, water rushing through.

Pulling the sheets higher over yourself, you close your eyes for a moment, letting your heart settle. Outside, the world feels distant, and you’re grateful for the cocoon of calm that’s wrapped around the two of you—no raiders, no infected, just the quiet aftermath of a shared intimacy that still leaves your legs trembling.

After a minute or so, Joel’s footsteps pad back toward the room. He stands in the doorway, arms folded across his bare chest, the slight flush still on his cheeks. “Water’s runnin’,” he says gently, voice low. “C’mon. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You ease out of bed, each movement a reminder of the fervor you just shared. Joel crosses the room in a few strides and rests a steadying hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the bathroom. A rising cloud of steam beckons from behind the door, the promise of warmth and comfort.

In the softly lit space, the tub’s nearly full, water gently steaming at the surface. Joel turns the faucet a bit, testing the temperature with his fingertips. Satisfied, he twists it off and gestures for you to climb in, his posture guarded yet attentive—ready to help if you’re sore or unsteady.

You sink into the bath, a relieved sigh escaping your lips as the heat soothes tired muscles. Joel lingers at the edge, rolling up his boxers just enough to kneel beside the tub. With tender care, he sweeps a hand through the water around you, the small motion an unspoken question: How are you feeling?

“I’m okay,” you whisper, leaning back against the porcelain. Your eyes flutter shut, letting the water cradle your body. Every twinge of ache from earlier recedes under the liquid heat, and you sense Joel’s gaze on you—protective, gentle, and a little bit humbled by what you’ve just shared.

He reaches for a washcloth and soaps it up, then wordlessly offers to help wash your arm, your shoulder—any place you’re too spent to reach comfortably. There’s no rush now, just the soft drip of the faucet and the low hum of the house around you.

As he runs the cloth in slow circles along your skin, you lean into his touch, breathing in the damp air. The world feels at rest, if only for this moment, and in his quiet care you find the reassurance you need. When he finishes, he sets the cloth aside, trailing his knuckles lightly over your cheek.

“You get some rest when you’re done,” he says softly, voice rich with concern. “I’ll— I’ll be right here if you need me.”

The gentle promise in his words settles over you like a blanket. You let your eyes close again, letting the steam and the rhythm of your breath guide you toward a calmer state of mind. At this moment—wounds, stress, and the trials of the day aside—you realize how comforting it is to be cared for so completely. And as Joel lingers at your side, you know neither of you would trade this small, stolen sense of peace for anything.

By the time you step out of the bathroom—hair damp and skin still radiating warmth from the bath—you notice the house is hushed except for the faint clink of a mug against wood. Following the sound, you find Joel in the living room, sitting on the couch with a steaming cup of coffee cradled in one hand.

As soon as he spots you, his expression brightens, relief and tenderness mingling in his eyes. Setting his coffee on the side table, he stands and opens his arms wide, invitation plain on his face. Without hesitating, you cross the short distance between you and slip into his embrace. He wraps his arms around you with a gentle firmness, the soft fabric of his shirt a comforting barrier against the lingering chill clinging to your skin.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just hold each other, your ear pressed to Joel’s chest, listening to the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat. All the tension from earlier feels far away—replaced by the simple warmth of his presence. When he finally loosens his hold, his gaze searches yours, wordlessly asking if you’re okay. You give a small nod, and his shoulders relax as he tugs you back in for another brief, quiet hug. In that stolen moment of peace, it’s hard to imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

You whisper something softly, half expecting him not to hear you.

Joel’s hold on you loosened fractionally as your words slipped out, so quiet you barely realized you’d spoken them aloud. For a second, the world seemed to fall silent; you half expected Joel to ask you to repeat yourself or miss it entirely. But then, he drew in a sharp breath, his hand settling firmly against the small of your back.

He pulled away just enough to meet your eyes, a mixture of astonishment and softness on his face. You felt your cheeks heat under his intent gaze, that flicker of uncertainty fluttering in your stomach. Had you said too much too soon?

Yet Joel’s expression slowly melted into something deeply certain—tender, almost reverent. He brushed a thumb across your cheek, leaning in to press his forehead gently against yours.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice hushed, holding your gaze like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. And somehow, just like that, the fear faded, replaced by a quiet, overwhelming warmth at being heard—really heard—by him.

A small tremor flickers through you as Joel’s voice wraps around those three words, coaxing them out of you one more time. His forehead rests softly against yours, his breath a quiet, steady warmth across your lips.

Your heart flutters, but you force a whisper past the tightness in your throat. “I love you.”

The look on Joel’s face is almost disbelieving, as though he’s trying to memorize every nuance of this moment. He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s letting the weight of your words sink in, then opens them again with a resolve you’ve only ever seen when he’s protecting someone he cares about.

He shifts his hand to cup your cheek, gaze drifting over every feature of your face. “I love you, too,” he says, the low rumble of his voice like a promise that settles warmly in the quiet room.

You press your forehead more firmly to his, relief and tenderness washing over you. He rubs a thumb lightly across your cheekbone, and for a fleeting moment, neither of you speaks—no words are necessary when the feeling is that clear.

Eventually, Joel pulls you into him once more, a slow exhale leaving his chest, as if he’s finally allowed himself to relax. You melt into his embrace, your ear catching the steady beat of his heart. With those three words hanging in the space between you, the house feels more like a home than it ever has before.

Joel’s gaze travels across your body in that tender, protective way he has—until it snags on your shoulder, where a telltale patch of red blooms against your shirt. His expression shifts in an instant, all softness replaced by alarm.

“Oh shit, darlin’,” he murmurs, hands coming up quickly but carefully, as though he’s not sure whether to touch the wound or keep from hurting you further. “You’re bleedin’.”

You glance down, following his worried eyes. The sight of blood seeping through your shirt tugs the breath from your lungs; you’ve both been so lost in the comfort of each other that you completely forgot the stitches the doctor had given you yesterday. A throb you’d been ignoring intensifies, as if to remind you that the injury still needs attention.

Joel scrambles for the nearest towel or rag, pressing it gently over the stained fabric. “C’mon, lemme see.” His voice is steady even though you see the panic flicker behind his eyes. He peels the fabric back with painstaking care, hissing softly when he catches sight of the torn stitches.

“Easy,” you mutter, trying to keep the pain from your tone, but a wince slips through anyway.

Joel’s jaw tightens. He’s already scanning the room, looking for the first-aid kit or anything that might help. “We gotta get this cleaned up. Should’ve remembered—”

You shake your head, though the movement makes you a bit dizzy. “No, it’s on me too. I—forgot.”

He moves with a crisp resolve, one arm still cradling you while the other rummages for supplies. “Sit down,” he orders gently, voice low and firm. You do as you’re told, lowering yourself onto the couch while he carefully eases the damp cloth away.

His eyes lift to yours, contrite but determined. “I’ll fix this up. Just sit tight.” And in the quiet between you—cut through only by your shallow breaths—you can feel the undercurrent of worry that tells you he’s more upset about this than he’ll admit.

But as he gathers what you both need to patch things up, his hands betray none of that emotion: they’re steady, protective, and sure. It’s then you realize that even though he’s anxious, he won’t let that stand in the way of keeping you safe.

A cold sweat prickled across your forehead, and you felt your heart rate spike at the sight of the blood seeping through the bandage. Even though you’d been bruised and scraped more times than you could count, the sharp sight of fresh blood always had a unique way of weakening your knees. Your stomach gave a slow, uncomfortable roll.

Joel, hunched beside you with the first aid kit in hand, read the change in your face before you even noticed it yourself. One glance at your eyes turning glassy, and he sprang into action.

“Hey,” he murmured, his free hand reaching up to cup the uninjured side of your face. The warmth of his palm felt steady, grounding. “Stay with me, darlin’.”

You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly in an effort to fight off the wave of dizziness creeping in. The walls seemed to close in for a moment, the dim edges of your vision going fuzzy.

“S-sorry,” you stammered, breath hitching, “I’m—gonna be fine.”

“Don’t try to tough it out,” Joel said, voice low but firm as he guided you to lean against the back of the couch. “Breathe, remember?”

Trying to follow his instructions, you drew in a slow breath and let it out in shuddery increments. Gradually, the buzzing pressure in your ears began to recede. Feeling a bit steadier, you met his worried gaze.

Joel returned a small nod of approval. “Better?”

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He exhaled slowly, picking up a roll of gauze. “I’m just gonna get this wrapped—then we can get you to the clinic for new stitches if we gotta. But first things first.”

Your heart fluttered at the care in his voice, even though you were still fighting the unease in your belly. “Thank you,” you managed softly, closing your eyes for a moment to focus on his voice, his presence.

Joel’s movements were practiced and deliberate as he pressed fresh gauze against the wound. His brow knit in concentration, but he kept one eye on your expression to make sure you weren’t about to keel over. Every so often, he’d whisper a small reassurance—quiet words that kept you tethered to him and away from the threat of passing out.

And it worked. Gradually, the hush in your head faded, leaving only the steady sound of his breathing and the warmth of his hand on your arm as he finished dressing the wound. Even though the pulsing ache persisted, it was easier to bear with Joel close by, guiding you through each breath until your stomach finally settled.

“You did good,” he murmured once he was done, offering you a shaky little smile of his own. And despite the pain and the lingering dizziness, the sight of that honest concern on his face was enough to make you think that maybe—just maybe—you’d be alright.

———-•

The rest of the day passed more smoothly than you’d feared. After patching you up at home, Joel insisted on taking you to the clinic just to be sure, and the doctor confirmed what the two of you already knew: one of your stitches had torn. While the doctor carefully replaced it, you gripped Joel’s hand with white-knuckled intensity, wincing every so often at the sting of disinfectant.

Ellie, planted in the corner, openly snickered whenever you flinched, though her eyes shone with relief. “Keep it up,” Joel warned, shooting her a half-hearted glare, but she just rolled her eyes and offered you a dramatic thumbs-up. Despite her teasing, you could sense her concern; it showed in the way her voice quivered with relief once the procedure ended.

When the doctor finally pronounced you patched up—again—you and Joel exchanged exasperated smiles. Ellie, still smirking, ambled over to nudge you playfully. “Could’ve been worse,” she mused, feigning seriousness. “At least no one fainted.”

Joel shook his head, helping you to your feet with gentle care. “Yeah, yeah. Keep it down, kid.” But his voice carried more affection than annoyance, and Ellie’s grin widened.

Once you left, the three of you stepped into Jackson’s late-afternoon light. You winced at the brightness, but a deep sense of relief settled in your chest. Even if it meant a rip in your stitches, the day’s close call was behind you, and for once, normal felt close at hand.

Joel’s hand remained firmly clasped around yours as you made your way back home, Ellie trailing behind with her usual lighthearted commentary. And though your shoulder throbbed dully beneath the fresh bandage, the pain was a small price to pay for the calm you felt in that simple moment—united, safe, and together.

Tommy’s voice cut through the comfortable lull as you, Joel, and Ellie were passing by Jackson’s main street. He stood a short distance away, hands on his hips, eyes narrowed in that half-stern, half-concerned way of his.

“You guys have a job to do!” he boomed, though the frustration in his tone was laced with brotherly worry as he looked Joel up and down, his gaze flicking to your freshly bandaged shoulder. “Don’t think I’m lettin’ you off the hook just ’cause you decided to go get yourself stitched up.”

Joel let out a low groan but strode forward to meet Tommy’s eye. “We just got back from the clinic. She’s fine—everything’s fine.”

Ellie snorted, folding her arms. “Yeah, yeah, we can’t go five minutes without being on some chore list around here.”

Tommy shot her a quick glare, then focused back on Joel. “Look, we’ve been running low on certain parts—generators are acting up again. I need some folks I trust to head out beyond the perimeter to pick up replacements. Figure you and Ellie can handle it. And you,” he continued, nodding pointedly at you, “only if you’re up for it. Don’t push yourself if that shoulder’s still tender.”

You gave a small shrug, feeling the dull ache beneath the bandage. “I’ll live.”

Tommy’s expression softened a bit, looking guilty for a moment. “I wouldn’t be asking unless it was important. Supplies’ll be gone by the end of the week if we don’t get our hands on parts soon. You know how fast folks use up electricity around here. We can’t afford any downtime.”

Joel sighed and glanced at you, then at Ellie, who was already straightening her posture as if ready to march off on the mission. “Guess that means we’re on duty,” he muttered.

Ellie grinned, tipping her head back as if she thrived on the chance to do something useful. “We’ll get it done.”

Tommy crossed his arms. “I know y’all will. Just be careful. Strange stuff’s been happening around the outskirts—folks reporting fresh tracks, maybe infected. Could just be paranoia, but keep an eye out.”

Joel nodded. “Alright. We’ll gear up. Give us a half hour.”

Tommy’s gaze lingered on you one last time. His features eased, genuine concern shining through. “Take care of that shoulder.”

With that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the hustle of Jackson’s late afternoon, leaving you, Joel, and Ellie standing in the street—renewed purpose stirring in your veins, a trace of anxiety coiling in the pit of your stomach, and the faint but steady throb in your bandaged wound reminding you that nothing in this world ever stayed calm for long.

Ellie threw up her hands, exasperation pulling her features taut. “But we just went on a supply run yesterday,” she whined, jabbing a finger in your direction. “That’s how she got this!”

Her voice echoed slightly along the busy street, drawing a few curious glances. You shifted uncomfortably, hyperaware of the fresh bandage on your shoulder. Ellie’s words stirred the memory of the close call—raid, chaos, and a knife wound.

Tommy gave Ellie a look somewhere between sympathy and impatience. “I know, kid. But this is different. We can’t wait around on these parts, or the whole town’ll be sittin’ in the dark by next week.”

Joel nudged Ellie gently, his eyes scanning her face before darting to yours. “We’ll be careful,” he assured, though you heard a hint of fatigue in his tone. “Stick close, minimize any risks.”

Ellie folded her arms, torn between her desire to protest and the sense of responsibility she felt for Jackson. Finally, she gave a resigned sigh. “Fine. But if we run into trouble, I’m blaming you,” she told Tommy, though a ghost of a grin tugged at her lips.

Tommy just shook his head in exasperation. “Yeah, yeah. Just get those parts back, and don’t let her,” he added, nodding at your shoulder, “get busted up any worse.”

Joel turned to you, and you offered a small smile—equal parts reassurance and weariness. Whatever lay ahead, you knew one thing for sure: things might never slow down in Jackson, but at least you’d face it all together.

#joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller game #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller show #tlou fanfiction #joel miller pedro pascal #joel x female reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #smut #tsbu #joel the last of us #ellie the last of us

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wren-kitchens · 2 days ago

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i will still come around when the time for sleep is through

3000 words

curious as ever, jimmy swims slowly to the surface, careful to avoid being spotted before he can figure out why in the name of void smajor is at the codlands in the middle of the night. is- could he be looking for jimmy? well, obviously he’s here for some reason, and jimmy highly doubts that it's to do a midnight trade deal, but- could the king of rivendell really be looking for him? oddly enough, smajor appears to have dressed hastily; clothes far less formal than jimmy has ever seen them, a shawl draped haphazardly around his shoulders in what seems to have been an afterthought. his gloves, jimmy notes, are the only orderly thing about him.

this has been finished for like a week now but I keep forgetting to post it lol

flower husbands for the soul 👍

a catfish flicks a clump of seagrass into jimmy's face, and he lazily opens an eye as he floats across the bottom of the swamp. the fish has the self awareness to look sheepish as it swims away, and jimmy closes his eyes again. he knows smajor (and several other rulers, but he doesn't care as much about their opinions) would think him even lesser than they already consider him to be if they knew he very literally sleeps with the fish, but he can't find it in himself to care all that much. after all, beds—in jimmy's opinion—are just for setting a respawn point; they’re far too uncomfortable to actually sleep in.

people make such a fuss about beds; all gilded canopies and satin spreads to show off wealth and luxury, when all one really needs is a soft bank of sand and silt. even lizzie has a bed, although she has since told jimmy that it was only for show, admitting that the ocean floor is so much more comfortable, but a grand bed makes an impression. jimmy doesn’t have the resources to waste on a bed he'd never use, and he can’t be bothered to find any, so he never has. which has now led to him getting smacked in the face with seagrass for the second time in five minutes.

"do you mind?" jimmy huffs, opening his eyes again to see the same catfish floating next to him. "i’m trying to- what?"

the catfish flicks the seagrass in his mouth and swims off, and as jimmy spits it out, he notices a foreign shape at the surface of the water. in fact- no, not foreign at all; if those colours are what jimmy think they are, then that's-

jimmy pops his head above the water. "smajor? you're- what are you doing here?"

smajor turns so fast, jimmy wouldn't be surprised if he strained a muscle in the process. "codfather?" voice almost frantic, he moves over to the water in a very un-smajor-like way. his eyes land on jimmy, and something in his shoulders seems to relax.

"you- are you okay?" jimmy frowns, swimming over to the shore, a little concerned. smajor has a very holier-than-thou attitude when it comes to the swamp, so to see him here with no apparent reason is odd to say the least. not that he’s complaining about seeing him here, just- it's odd.

"i’m- I am perfectly fine." smajor says, entirely unconvincingly. something in jimmy's chest aches as he notices that smajor's hands are shaking. "i'd- I have to ask if you yourself are alright, codfather, seeing as you appear to be sleeping in a river." smajor says, clearly aiming for his usual cold indifference and falling short. it feels- almost inappropriate to witness smajor like this, but at the same time, jimmy wants to help—more than he expected to.

so jimmy gives what he hopes sounds like an offended scoff and folds his arms, tail keeping him afloat. he sinks a little lower in the water, and hopes that smajor is too distracted by whatever it is he’s dealing with right now to have noticed. "I have tried almost every bed in the world, and none of them have been remotely comfortable."

something shifts in smajor's expression, and he looks almost disappointed, which jimmy does not understand in the slightest. "I cannot imagine the seafloor being more comfortable."

"then you'd be surprised." jimmy says, unfolding his arms and swimming closer to where smajor stands on his dock. "I can’t imagine you ever tried it, anyway." with some effort, he hoists himself up onto the platform, tail vanishing as he does so.

"no, I have not." smajor says, oddly quiet.

jimmy leans against one of the pillars, facing smajor, who now sits in an oddly formal way, shaking hands clasped in his lap. "you should. at some point anyway- you’re basically immortal, right?"

"I- yes." smajor's face remains unreadable. "not many ways to kill me."

"there you go." jimmy waves a hand in a vague gesture. "what's the point of immortality if you don't try new stuff?"

smajor looks up, and his eyes look- almost clearer as he raises an eyebrow. "but you won't try beds?" there's some of that amused judgement in his voice, and jimmy almost grins.

"I tried them, I just didn’t like them." he corrects. "honestly, they’re just so- constricting. I don’t know why anyone sleeps in them voluntarily; it's like being suffocated."

smajor gives a little scoff, almost inaudible. "i’ve heard that's your opinion on formal clothes too. is that why I don't see you in my meetings anymore?"

jimmy blinks, a little taken aback. that is why he doesn’t like formal clothes, but the only people he complained to about that were lizzie and joel—and they definitely are not friendly enough with smajor to have mentioned it. "I- no, I just- they were frustrating."

"oh?" smajor frowns, and something about the way he does makes jimmy feel like he didn’t do it intentionally.

"joey, mainly." jimmy admits, and smajor scoffs again.

"hardly surprising." smajor says, a slight softness around his eyes. "i’ve never met a man so capable of being so irritating."

jimmy grins. "is that 'cause he keeps trying to flirt with your brother?"

smajor groans, and jimmy laughs as he pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "no, it's because my brother is being insufferable about joey flirting with them."

"they- its reciprocal?" jimmy gapes. smajor looks up, takes one look at jimmy's expression and covers his mouth, a smile in his eyes. jimmy finds himself warming to it despite himself. if smajor is happier, it's worth a little teasing. "don’t laugh at me- how in the name of void would I know?"

"I think, codfather, having a pair of functional eyes would suffice." smajor says, something like amusement lacing his tone. his hands have stopped shaking.

jimmy gives an exasperated huff, glancing back at the water. "the amount of times i've been told that- it's just getting ridiculous now."

"well, if you keep missing things, it's to be expected." jimmy turns to smajor to find his expression reserved once again—something moving behind his eyes.

jimmy looks at him for a moment. "why are you here, smajor?"

apparently unconsciously, smajor tugs at the cuffs of his gloves. "do you.. have you-" he clears his throat, nervous. "what do oceanfolk think about past lives?"

jimmy blinks. "I don't- we don't really have that kind of thing? y’know- we live for thousands of years, me and lizzie are immortal, it's- i’ve never really thought about it."

"I- right. yes- of course, that was- that was a foolish question." smajor says, beginning to stand up as if to leave. something jolts in jimmy's chest. "I should-"

"hey- no, wait." without really thinking, jimmy grabs his hand. smajor practically freezes, seemingly shocked by jimmy's sudden reaction. "what do you mean?"

smajor hesitates before sitting down again, rubbing a gloved thumb against the back of jimmy's hand unconsciously. jimmy finds himself suppressing a smile at it. "in rivendell, past lives are- it's believed that we all have one. sometimes we have dreams of- y’know. who we used to be."

jimmy tilts his head in interest. "how do you know they’re about a past life and not just like- regular dreams?"

"there's a kind of.. familiarity to them." smajor says, voice soft. "almost nostalgic, honesty. it's often as if i’m looking through an old diary i’d forgotten about."

"oh." jimmy feels a little winded. "how do- are they always.. good?"

something shifts in smajor's expression, unreadable. although- something about it suggests that it isn't entirely meant to be unreadable. "no. I- many of the ones i’ve had are.." he glances at jimmy's eyes, something sad flickering across his face for a fraction of a second. "they’re- they aren't always good."

"I think- I think i’ve. had those." jimmy says haltingly, and smajor watches him intently. "but- they've all had people I know? it doesn't- statistically speaking, that's unlikely, right? like- my past life interacted with their past lives?"

"i’d have to argue that it's fate." smajor says, and there's something almost melancholy about the way he says it.

"nothing i’m seeing seems to have anything to do with fate." jimmy huffs. "joel had a dog named geraldine and he was trying to sell everyone dead bushes."

much to jimmy's surprise, smajor sits upright, eyes fixed on his own. "you- do you not see anything else?"

a little startled, jimmy shakes his head. "I don't- i always thought they were just weird dreams, I didn't really pay attention to them much."

there it is again—that upset flickering across smajor's face, vanishing before jimmy can decipher what it means. "that's such a you thing to do." smajor says instead, scoffing a little. oddly enough, it doesn’t sound mocking, rather.. disappointed.

"it- how would I know?" jimmy says suddenly, realising that he does not want to see smajor looking that sadly at him any longer. "th- if i’d seen anything else, I mean."

"I- I would assume you remember." smajor says, apparently taken aback. "if you don't- you said, oceanfolk don’t have past lives?"

"no, I just- how do-" come on words, don’t fail him now. "I assumed they were- your brain can’t create new faces, even when asleep, right? so I just- I assumed that's what it was."

"you- so you may remember something else?" smajor says, a spark of what jimmy can only call hope in his eye.

jimmy shrugs, a little helpless. "I don’t know. I never- I mean, I just thought they were dreams, y’know?" he pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. it's not exactly the most well-mannered thing he's ever done, but this little meeting is far from formal, so he doesn’t care. "it- I always felt. I don’t know, like there was something missing?"

smajor looks torn between two conflicting feelings—neither of which jimmy can even begin to parse. "missing? how so?"

"just- i’d wake up, and i’d remember bits and pieces in such vivid detail, but.. there always felt like i’d forgotten huge chunks." jimmy says, finding it a little difficult to bring himself to look anywhere other than smajor's face. "I remember small stuff like- like there were no dark oak trees, or the weird monopoly on an enchanting table, or that the place I lived had someone else there- but I can't even remember who?"

smajor blinks back something that looks almost like grief, and jimmy can’t imagine what he could have said to elicit such a response. "I see." his voice is weirdly cold, and jimmy wants to take back whatever it was that made it happen. "the missing chunks.. do you have any idea what they could be?"

jimmy shakes his head, more apologetic than perhaps he should be. "it's just nothing. I don't- is there some reason that is, with your past lives?"

hesitating only for a moment, smajor nods. "it- it typically happens when you recall something or someone.. incredibly important to you." he glances away, and jimmy almost wants to take his hand again in order to keep him from running off. "generally speaking, it takes something related to whatever the memories are to trigger their return."

"is there a way I can do that?" jimmy asks, and he can't quite understand why smajor looks so upset.

"I don’t know." smajor says, shortly. "i’m- my apologies, but I must leave. I made- I shouldn't have come." he starts to stand again, and jimmy stares at him. "i’m sorry I disrupted your sleep, codfather."

"you- do you have to go?" jimmy says, pushing himself to his feet. "I- did I say something?"

smajor gives a ghost of a smile, something so deeply sad shadowing his eyes. "nothing you said. i’m- it's merely late."

he turns to leave, spreading his wings, and jimmy reaches out on instinct to stop him- barely managing to catch smajor's wrist as he does-

there are butterflies in jimmy's stomach as scott tucks the poppy into his own hair, talking so casually about how they are husbands now- apparently completely oblivious to just how flustered jimmy has become at the concept. he takes jimmy's hand, staying close as they venture further into the cave, and all the while jimmy can think of nothing else but the man beside him. void- the idea of scott as jimmy's husband? gosh.

scott smiles in that stupidly fond way, and jimmy could just die right here as scott strokes his hand carefully through his hair. in the quiet of the night, with only their soft voices and the crackling of the fire to break the gentle silence, it could truly just be the two of them in the whole world.

the worry in scott's eyes as jimmy desperately tries to assure him (and maybe himself too) makes his heart ache. neither of them want to say it, but both of them are thinking the exact same thing: if jimmy does die one final time, where does he go? and more importantly- will they ever see each other again?

jimmy's last moments are spent staring at scott—watching the dawning horror reflect on his husband's face and realising simultaneously that their worst fears have come to pass. and yet, even as jimmy's vision fades to black, he can’t help but notice just how gorgeous scott's eyes look in the light of the sun peeking through the windows.

gasping for breath he didn't know he'd lost, jimmy struggles to sit upright against the dock—head pounding as if he had fallen backwards. smajor- scott- he is in front of him, eyes wide and panicked as he grasps jimmy's hand, cradling the back of his head.

"aeor- codfather, are you alright?" scott says, and- oh void, it's really him- and he knew-

jimmy pushes himself up, sitting properly as he catches his breath. scott (is that even his name anymore?) watches with apparent fear in some attempt to prevent it from happening again.

"you- you remembered it all," jimmy breathes, and scott's eyes widen with understanding and something so deep, jimmy isn't sure there's a word for it. "didn't you? you knew who I was- all this time."

scott nods, tears beginning to shine in his eyes. "I- I knew. I am sorry I didn’t tell you, I wasn't sure-"

scott doesn’t have time to finish, because jimmy has pulled him into a hug that feels so incredibly long awaited—especially as scott sinks so readily into his arms. "i’m so sorry." jimmy says into scott's hair. "you waited so long- i’m sorry I took all this time."

"I don’t care." scott whispers, and the softness of his voice is reminiscent of every quiet evening in their cottage, falling asleep in each other's arms in front of the fire and almost forgetting where they were. "you're worth every second. oh, jimmy."

"I love you." jimmy buries his face in scott's shoulder, pressing a kiss to his neck as he does so. "I- I can’t believe I- oh void. I love you so much- i’m so sorry."

scott is laughing, and he sounds like he might be crying too, and that alone brings tears to jimmy's eyes. "it's okay- you’re here. i’m never letting you go again."

it takes a long moment for either of them to regain enough composure to pull away, to wipe away the tears and do anything other than hold each other close. when they do, scott is smiling and still crying and he’s the most beautiful thing jimmy has ever seen.

jimmy reaches up to cup his face, and he sinks into him within a second. "you’re so different- you’re so fancy. where's the cottagecore builder I knew?" he gives a teasing smile, blinking back tears.

"I don't- I don't think i’m the one who changed the most." scott rests his hand against jimmy's, laughing wetly as jimmy scoffs in joking indignation. "love, you’re a fish."

jimmy can’t help but laugh. "am- am I a handsome fish at least?"

there's a fondness in scott's eyes, so great that jimmy thinks he could probably die right here. "the most handsome. oh, darling." he whispers, tears springing from his eyes again. "i’d almost given up. I thought- you must have been someone else."

"i’m so sorry." jimmy says again, voice breaking. "you know- if- if it's any consolation. I think I was falling for you again."

scott laughs, wiping his tears away. "you’re such a sap." he smiles. "you always have been."

"I loved you since the day we met in that cave." jimmy presses his forehead against scott's. "you- I always assumed you knew, but- you meant the world to me. you mean the world to me. you’re my home." he gives a little grin, tearing up again.

scott makes a noise that sounds like a broken gasp. "you- you want me to say it, don’t you?"

"a little." jimmy rubs a thumb across scott's cheek, and he laughs.

"it's home?" scott smiles, and jimmy's mind reels. void, how he’s missed him- without even knowing.

jimmy presses a soft kiss to scott's lips. "home."

#this was at 2999 words when I checked so I just had to add one more in GKFNSK #flower husbands #jimmy solidarity #scott smajor #empires smp #empires smp season 1 #empiresshipping #trafficshipping #it's kinda both #wren writes #kissing #romance #does this need more tags I feel like it's a little barren #oh well

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butch-silver · 20 hours ago

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*When the contorted image of his mother pounced on him, Silver tried to wrestle with the outstretched hands clawing at his quills. Although, he couldn’t bring himself to use telekinesis. The Ward didn’t seem to be trying to hurt him, if anything, whatever he’s doing is hurting himself. What could possibly be his end goal here?- The chaos emerald. The Ward’s survival instinct wouldn’t gravitate to chaos energy.. unless.. this is Shadow trying to survive.. or save someone. His hands fall to his side as Shadow takes the emerald from him.*

*He waits with bated breath to see the result of his decision. His entire body tenses with psychic energy, ready to stop the entire weight of the creature before him. . . Then, Twink Silver materializes from the mindscape. Butch’s entire mind and body relaxes. He picks up the other Silver and carries him into the bedroom from before. He weaves through long abandoned toys on his way to the small bed in the corner of the room. The bed only has a bare mattress, everything else makes up the ‘nest’ he remembers sleeping in not too long ago. With a steady flick of his wrist, all the blankets and pillows float back onto the bed. It would be too much effort to make the bed properly, and he’s tired, so he rests Twink Silver on the spread out pile of comfort*

*sits for a moment before he just can't shake it off he pats @twink-shadow on the leg*

Sorry @twink-silver I'm not letting you die

"Hey, Ward you know about the other silver yeah?" *looks up at him from his lap*

#I WAS ASLEEP

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padawansuggest · 1 year ago

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Qui-Gon: *on his first night with Padawan Kenobi after his older padawans convinced him he needed a new baby so he’d bother someone else* Alright, now I think it’s bedtime. I know it’s a bit earlier than usual but you have a whole new set of classes to switch to tomorrow so we have to get up early.

Obi-Wan: *is only 11, is fine with more sleep* Okay, Master! *wanders off to get in his pajamas*

Qui-Gon: *making a pot of sleepy tea*

Obi-Wan: *comes back in jammies looking confused*

Qui-Gon: What’s wrong, Padawan?

Obi-Wan: I can’t find my sleepy cocoon.

Qui-Gon: …your sleeping bag? Oh, I assumed you used that for camping in the room of a thousand fountains, do you usually sleep in that at night?

Obi-Wan: ??? No? No I use it sometimes but you’re right, that’s for camping nights. I mean my sleepy cocoon?

Qui-Gon: …what is a sleep cocoon?

Obi-Wan: It’s… it’s a stretchy fabric that goes over you?

Qui-Gon: …gimme a second, I don’t think I saw anything like that in your bags.

One call to the creche later

Creche Master: Is something wrong with Padawan Kenobi settling in?

Qui-Gon: Um, he’s missing something that I don’t think I’ve seen. He called it his sleepy cocoon?

Creche Master: Oh! That went into the laundry this morning, it probably got delivered back to us, I’ll have it sent right away.

Qui-Gon: Um, I need to ask… what is a sleepy cocoon?

Creche Master: *snort* It’s an anti-grav sleeping tube. It’s a compression material so he doesn’t feel it when he starts to float in his sleep. He’s too close to the cosmic force to control it, so they give him the compression tube.

Qui-Gon: …you’re saying he disobeys gravity in his sleep, so the tube makes him stop realizing it?

Creche Master: Yeah, it’s pretty important, actually. It keeps his joints in place. No cricks in his neck or dead arms if they start to fall.

Qui-Gon: Amazing. A straight jacket for his cosmic force abilities. I adore it. Please send it here. He can get out of it on his own, right?

Creche Master: Oh course, it’s just pressure, not actually being tied up.

Qui-Gon: Delightful. I’ll get him extras for off planet missions.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #incorrect star wars quotes #qui gon jinn #Obi is a floating baby of the cosmic force #also I follow the idea that Obi is of the cosmic force thank you #he floats when he’s comfortable in his sleep #also he’s 11 which means Xanatos and Feemor are doting older brothers #Qui needs a baby to coddle at all times #I just had this idea of him floating like astronauts do in his sleep and sometimes he uses the sleeping bag #but sometimes he can’t get to sleep cause his limbs keep floating off #he needs a baby womb to encase him #like a swaddle blankie but a single compression material #tbh I want this so bad do they exist??? it would be so comfy #padawan obi wan #baby wan

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screechingfromthevoid · 4 months ago

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The cape wrapping was too much for me I have to leave

#silver sending stones #cr spoilers #cr 3 e 108 #orym of the air ashari #dorian storm #he probably watched the loom and was like “this is what i signed up for. forever.”#dorym #i do not know how to feel #because this came at the end of such a harsh moment from orym?#he killed fearnes dad which will eat him alive for the rest of his life #he just yelled at everyone because theyre still not understanding that the gods leaving is not going to leave exandria as it was.#he is literally so spent.#hes so tired #and so guilty #(oh i have to update my list of things orym blames hinself for)#and as hes yelling. as hes pleading with his friends to see the calamity that will happen if the gods are gone.#he floats over to dorian.#arguably his biggest opposition #and when hes done. when hes tired himself out. he leans on dorian.#he leans on dorian probably with no expectations of reciprocation. he just. needs dorian in that moment.#and dorian. who has been fighting to get rid of the gods since they took opal and killed hia brother. who wants them gone more than anything #wraps orym in his cloak. a protective wing around him. a warm. same place for him to lean. to rest. even running his hands through his hair.#they have been fighting since dorian came back. theyve been on the opposite sides of each discussion. each argument. and yet #orym still finds comfort in dorian. and dorians still affectionate towards orym.#id like to believe they slept in the same bed that night. after weeks of... finding reasons not to.#theyre clean and newly dry and slightly cold and maybe Orym finds a bed and curls up alone because fearne isnt there. but she hasnt been #for a while. and he doesnt take up the whole bed. he cant. but he doesnt expect someone to join him.#and then when the lights are off and the crickets are chirping and the faint screaming of a new bush to lull him to sleep. his door opens.#he doesnt get up because he knows hes safe in the manor. despite how scary it is. hes fearnes friend and has a deal with nana.#so he doesnt move. he feels cool. soft skin on his back and arms wrapping around him. to protect him. to comfort him

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thatsdemko · 5 months ago

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inexperienced? - o.piastri

masterlist | pairing: Oscar piastri x Norris!fem!reader. summary: in which a little joke takes a hit on you, and you prove to your brother that you do in fact, get it. warnings: mentions of sex + 18+ content + some soft fluff a/n: I’m back! so so happy to have something out xx ps please don’t do this I’m sure that this wouldn’t go so well with your family xx

your cheeks are a deep red hot and you’re sure the moisture forming on the back of your neck is from the sheer embarrassment right now.

“what?” Lando laughs, your sisters cracking up alongside him, “I’m sure the only thing those two do is vanilla at this point, we don’t have to worry about osc and y/n ever having a kid.” the laughter that spews out of him brings tears in his eyes but only brings you embarrassment as you sink further into your seat.

the conversation deterred rather quickly. it was a family dinner—a rare one to be specific—where your mother announced she’d found a few gynecologists for you to visit if you were to continue to see Oscar. Lando busted into a fit of laughter that you were sure he’d choke if he didn’t stop.

it wasn’t that you and Oscar weren’t exploring each other— because that would be a lie you definitely were, but you were taking your time. Oscar was your first serious boyfriend, and he was very serious about making sure you were comfortable with whatever were to come next.

“I’m sure osc has never even had sex. he’s got an innocence to him.” your sister snickers, but your mind is playing all the dirty moments it can of Oscar being nothing but innocent.

he was shy, always had been and even when it came to bedroom activities. you both never pushed each other beyond what you wanted and it was always sweet how nervous he got. it was like you weren’t alone in the first timers pool.

“do you guys do anything like that?” lando asks out of sheer curiosity, but he doesn’t realize you’d left the table. you’d snuck out of the laughing fits and into the living room far away from them.

“oh y/n! we are joking!” your sister hollers from the other room, “give us all the piastri babies in the world!”

—

“that really happened?” Oscar’s voice is hoarse in your ear. his heartbeat pounding against your shoulder, you can hear his uneven breathing pattern as his pushes himself against you.

“it was so embarrassing.” you grumble as you turn into his body and allow him to hold you like he always does.

“what did lando say? all we do is vanilla?”

“he knows im a virgin.” you reply in your brothers defense, and while you have no previous context of what vanilla is, you’d say that these activities you both do were far from that.

“not anymore are you.” Oscar reminds you with a nibble on your earlobe, “it doesn’t grow back, once it’s gone, it’s gone.”

your body shivers against him, “I don’t think it counts if I come in the first thrust.”

“it does count, but we can work on that.”

your first time was special. after many months of working on trust and definitely not laughing at each other in awkwardness, he finally set up candles and rose petals around his apartment. he did whatever he could to make you comfortable, and that night will probably be etched in your brain forever.

you practically floated home that evening and that next evening your mother laid down the recommended gynecologists at the dinner table. she knew you’d done it, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to notice the hickeys and the way you smiled at visibly nothing.

“you know lando is going to go into the office and tell everyone you’re not fucking me.”

Oscar rolls his eyes in response. it didn’t bother him that people thought he wasn’t getting it. he knew he went home to you and did whatever you two pleased before sleeping. Lando could spread all the false rumors around that he wanted, but Oscar never would care. that always showed you that Oscar was way more mature.

“one day you’ll get pregnant and he’ll still think we aren’t doing it.”

“there’s only one way to show him we are doing it,” your playful smirk makes his stomach swirl in excitement and anxiety, “you scare me, Norris.”

—

“why the fuck did you have sex in my bed?!” Lando shrieks running down the stairs towards the kitchen where you’re buttering toast for your dear boyfriend who’s covered in hickeys. a marking that certainly shows your bother otherwise.

“oh was that your bed? I’m so sorry, we just were really into it.”

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heesimp · 2 months ago

Note

I lwk keep imagining Heeseung doing a livestream and you’re just sitting there bored and decide to give him head when he’s talking to his fans like>>>> help😭🙏🙏

HOT. au where idol!heeseung’s sextape gets leaked so he becomes a pornstar instead. bye

“What time is it for me? Oh, I think it’s midnight…Yeah, couldn’t sleep.”

Heeseung sits behind his desk and leans against his gaming chair, giving his fans a small peek of his bedroom. They can see his door and artwork that keeps on his shelves and walls but they can’t see the bed where you lay sleeping peacefully with your back turned.

“Missed you guys,” he says with his voice kept low. His eyes flicker over the screen of his monitor to see you naked underneath his sheets. “Why am I talking quietly? It’s night time, isn’t it? I don’t want to wake the members up.”

They seem to buy it for now. Heeseung’s soft melodies that put you to sleep still air throughout the room, songs that describe sex and sensuality floating around as it permeates within the chat room of his livestream. He sees the comments—ones he can read—and smirks when the people watching him call him out for the nasty lyrics.

It takes him back to just thirty minutes prior when he was making a mess of you on his bed, shoving his cock and fingers so deep in your hole that he was sure you’d feel him as melodic lyrics talk about having sex all day and night. He hasn’t seen you in a while due to busy schedules but now that he has his own room and the walls are relatively thick, he’s got no problem plowing into you without abandon.

“Wet the bed? Yeah, that’s a good song.” Heeseung rubs his chin and flicks his eyes over to you before looking back at the chat. “What am I looking at? What do you mean? What could I possibly be looking at?”

The uptick in his voice sends his chat room in a frenzy. He feels like he might as well be high off his last orgasm and knows his fans can sense his change of attitude. Seeing you half naked in his bed doesn’t help calm his mind anyway.

Heeseung chats with these strangers for a while before you stir. The music drowns out the sound of his bedsheets ruffling and he turns up the music just a smudge in case you make any more noise. To his pleasure, you turn to face him and immediately catch that he’s on a livestream with the glow on his face.

“I’m not tired,” Heeseung says after a beat of silence, looking at his monitor before looking at you. The sight of your naked chest makes him bite his lips, tits spilling out of the blanket as you do your best to sit upright and cover yourself. “Not tired at all. Are you guys tired?”

His cock jumps when you shake your head. “I could keep going.” Heeseung’s attention returns to the screen as he runs his free hand through his hair. “You guys are too funny. What do you mean, why am I acting like this?”

Your tired eyes seem to understand exactly what he means and your own mind drifts over to what transpired before you fell asleep. With a careful step, you make room for yourself underneath the desk and let Heeseung situate himself in his chair as you spread his legs by pushing his knees apart.

This isn’t the first time the two of you have fooled around on a livestream but it is the first time he’s done it with his camera on. Heeseung loves looking at his comments as you get him off and loves all of the tweets and posts after the fact, speculating that he might’ve been distracted during the livestream. These scenarios fuel him to keep going and he thinks he might have a little taste for exhibitionism.

He looks down at you. Your cheek rests against his knee and his thumb comes to brush just underneath your eye with a gentle touch. He bites his lip when he looks past your eyes and sees you completely naked underneath him, tits bouncing as you get comfortable with your bare pussy towards the floor.

“Mm,” he moans subtly. “Can’t wait for the weekend. We don’t have any plans, for once. What are you guys up to?”

Heeseung pretend to grab his water in order to lift his hips from the desk and let you pull his boxers down. His cock is still soft before you. Your lips come to press gentle, quiet kisses over his warm dick while he gulps the water down and flexes his thighs to keep himself calm underneath your mouth.

“Coming to Korea? Wow.” Your tongue moves over the head of his cock and repeatedly licks over his slit in a back and forth motion, which makes him choke and cough. “You’ll love it here. I know I do.”

You pay no mind to him with his subtle flirtation as you work up his cock until it’s hard. Heeseung is always like this, so sensitive that one touch makes him harder than a rock in no time. Being on the road and away from you is tough and his hand can only do so much. Your warm mouth dropping spit to coat him for a blowjob is what keeps him hard.

“What’s up with my music?” Heeseung laughs, biting his lip as you engulf his tip in your mouth. Your wet tongue is warm to the touch and his balls feel heavy with you around him. “Nothing. I just like these songs.”

That’s not a total lie. He loves them because he fucked you to this music before turning on his camera. You give his balls a squeeze when you catch him in the lie and Heeseung winces, trying to hold in his moan.

“You guys are hearing things,” he tells the chat when they start speculating that someone might be in the room with him. “Why do I keep looking down? I don’t know. I didn’t realize I was doing that.”

Another lie, but you let him go this time. You push your head down to force the entirety of his cock in your mouth and feel as his hips jerk at the sudden movement. Heeseung can only smile painfully and hold in his grunts while the camera is on him. Looking down at you isn’t an option since his fans have caught on to his line of sight but the thought of getting caught turns him on. He’d probably invite them to watch you suck him off if that wouldn’t cost him his job.

You look so cute on your knees like this for him. Heeseung avoids looking down at you but sees your mouth move from his peripheral vision and holds your hair out of your face as you push yourself up and down on him. You’re insanely wet to the point where you might as well be dripping right onto the hard wood of his floors. Hearing him talk to his fans about everything but what’s happening is turning you on far more than you’d like to admit. Seeing him flirt with fans on stage fuels your jealousy and winds up in mind blowing sex when he comes back home to you. You’re the only girl he’d ever want around his dick anyway.

You know Heeseung is close by the tightened grip he has on your hair and the way he flexes his nostrils because he can’t make a sound.

“When am I coming back to America?” Heeseung asks after reading a message. “I’m coming—”

He does, right into your mouth until his salty cum coats the surface of your tongue. You swallow him with his cock still lodged in you and suck him with an iron grip while he tries to answer the question but it’s so hard for him to focus when you’re sucking him like that.

“—in a while, I think.” Heeseung winces when you start to kitten lick his slit to catch the stray beads of cum that seeps from him. “Yeah. I’d love to come.”

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #enha hard hours #heeseung #hard thought

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penascigarette · 1 month ago

Text

Smooth Operator Ch 1. A New Client

Joel Miller x f!phone sex operator

➴wc: 6.7k | summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.

➴warnings: mdni, phone sex, mxm phone sex, fxm phone sex, m&f masterbation lots of dirty talking, use of princess, shitty moodboard

➴an: hi! i hope you enjoy the first chapter of the first fic I have ever posted. if I have missed any warnings please let me know. feedback is super appreciated! now I will go run and hide lol. and a big tysm to @saradika-graphics for making such lovely dividers!

masterlist | series masterlist | pt. 2

You love sleeping, and just as passionately, you love your bed. Whenever you wake up in the morning, you spend at least ten minutes wrapped up in your duvet, savoring the warmth and comfort as you tease yourself with the idea of a nap.

This morning is no different. The sun shines outside, making your dark purple curtains look lighter than they actually are. If you open your eyes, you know you'll see dust particles floating through the air.

You take a deep breath through your nose and immediately wish you'd opened your windows to let in some fresh air. But you never do, even though you think about it every morning. It's too risky. Open windows are an open invitation to your worst fear—spiders.

Just the thought of their tiny, hairy bodies and long, wiggly legs sends a shiver down your spine. You pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders, practically imagining the creepy crawlies on your skin.

And of course, that's when your roommate, Elliot, decides it’s the perfect time to tickle your ear with one of his long, pink, kinky feathers—used for who-knows-what.

You scream, jump, and scramble off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. Your eyes—probably bloodshot with dark bags underneath—narrow at the grinning culprit, who is currently doubled over in a fit of laughter on the right side of your king-sized bed.

“What the fuck,” you huff, too tired to find any humor in this. You were so warm and cozy, and now that feeling is ruined for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

“Y-your face!” he chokes out between giggles. He looks far too fresh-faced for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. Still in his pajamas, his messy hair—short on the sides with a wave on top—looks like it hasn’t seen a brush this morning.

“It's not funny!” you argue, your voice rising over the sound of his laughter. You’re this close to stomping your foot at him. “I thought you were a spider!” Standing there in nothing but pink pajama bottoms and a black strap top, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Yet again, you curse him for ruining your warm, safe burrito.

That only makes him laugh harder. It’s hard to believe this man-child is twenty-eight years old when he acts less than half his age most of the time.

At the sound of his snort, you feel your lips twitch against your will. No, you’re pissed at him—there’s no way he’s going to make you laugh. But very quickly, you’re losing the battle. Have you ever tried not laughing with someone who has an impossibly contagious laugh? It’s damn near impossible.

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes as a reluctant smile finally breaks across your face. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, but Elliot knows he’s won this round

“It’s getting late,” he says, still chuckling. His green eyes are watery from laughing, making them sparkle as he grins at you. Rolling onto his left side, he props his head up with one hand—the one holding the feather—while his other hand runs through his sandy-brown hair, slicking it back. “And you slept through your alarms again, so I thought I’d help you out.”

Damn, have you really? It wouldn’t be the first time. Waking you is like trying to wake the dead.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Fair enough, he had to wake you, but—“Did you have to use your kinky, sex feather...thing?” You shiver in disgust. “Who knows where that’s been.”

He shrugs innocently, twirling the offending object between his fingers. “Nowhere gross...” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles once more. “Only up Danny’s ass.”

Your eyes widen, and you splutter. “What? Oh, my god—Jesus, that’s just—” You gag in the back of your throat. “You said it hadn’t been anywhere gross!”

He laughs again, sitting up. “I was telling the truth. Danny’s ass was far from gross.” A faraway look crosses his face. “It was heaven,” he muses wistfully before frowning. “God, I miss him.”

“Oh, honey,” you soften immediately, making your way to the bed and crawling toward Elliot to offer some comfort.

You know Danny and Elliot’s breakup was hard on him. He’d been completely in love with that man and was about to ask him to move in—with you both—when Danny decided to end the year-and-a-half relationship. It just wasn’t working was his excuse, but Elliot later found out the truth when Danny updated his Facebook page: he’d left Elliot for someone else.

“He didn’t deserve you,” you say, trying to make him feel better as you drape an arm around his shoulders. Sitting back on your heels, you add, “He was a dick for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—”

“A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me, I know,” he cuts you off, reciting your usual line before you can finish. You’ve said it enough times in the past three months since the breakup that he knows it by heart. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know,” you respond quietly, your thoughts drifting to your own breakup. It’s been over a year now, but the pain still lingers. Your ex had been your first boyfriend—hell, your first everything. You’d met when you were seventeen, and you moved in with him before your next birthday. Everything happened so fast, and you didn’t see the cracks until it was too late. “But we have each other, right?” you say, giving Elliot a little shake.

He glances at you, his expression vulnerable. Big eyes, plucked thin eyebrows, a slight bump on his nose from when a bully broke it in his teens, full lips, high cheekbones, and when he smiles, dimples form on his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he replies, hopeful. “Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s ass?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away to thump him on the arm. “Fucker,” you mutter as he starts giggling all over again. “Remind me why I love you?”

Grinning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajama shorts and pulls out his phone. "Because I'm adorable," he answers distractedly as he stares at the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it's Simon," he whispers the last part to you as if Simon could hear. "He sounds like a whale when he comes, but boy, does he have a gorgeous sex voice," he informs you. You snort as he accepts the call. "Why hello there, lover."

While Elliot makes himself comfortable against your pillows, you climb off the bed and head toward your wardrobe. You already have your outfit in mind—a pair of leggings and a plain white shirt.

"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," you hear Elliot purr in the background, and you smile, shaking your head. You can’t imagine what people would think about you being in the same room as your guy roommate while he talks dirty to one of your clients, meanwhile, you're getting changed in the corner.

It’s a strange situation, to say the least.

As you remove your shirt with your back turned to Elliot, you can’t help but listen in to the conversation.

"I'd love to touch your nipples," Elliot hums behind you, getting into character. You know how much he loves talking dirty to guys. It’s a turn-on for him. Unlike you, who only really enjoys sex if it’s with someone you love. Elliot is way more adventurous and has had more one-night stands than you can count. "I'd love to stroke them, caress them, lick them. . .”

"Suck them," you add when you hear Elliot hesitate. You pull the straps of your bra up your arms and hook it at the back.

“Oh, and suck them," Elliot says as you pull your top on.

Since Elliot is still fairly new to this, he needs help sometimes. His situation had been very similar to yours—a broken-up relationship, no job, and forced to move back in with his mum until someone came along and gave him hope. For Elliot, that person was you. For you, that person was your boss, Jane.

Elliot's voice lowers as he talks to his client. "Your body is so pretty, honey. I can't wait to trace my tongue up and down your belly, and then start going lower and lower until I reach your—”

You cough quietly to yourself, trying to hide your smile as you change into your leggings and slip on a pair of fluffy pink socks. You’ve heard Elliot talk dirty loads of times, and he’s heard you talk dirty just as many. Part of training him was him having to listen in on your conversations, and then you monitoring his. Neither of you gets embarrassed around it anymore. It’s more amusing, to be completely honest.

Deciding to leave Elliot to it, you grab your phone off your bedside cabinet and quietly tiptoe to the door. Before you leave, you look over to Elliot and mouth, Coffee?

He nods enthusiastically at you and mouths back, Yes, please!

You’re halfway down the steps when you rub your eye and feel the crumbly sensation of mascara under your fingertip. You’ve forgotten to take your makeup off the night before. You curse to yourself before heading back upstairs to fetch a makeup wipe.

When you reach your room once more, Elliot looks at you questioningly before he notices your face. His lips curl into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. You roll your eyes and put your middle finger up at him before heading over to your dresser, which sits directly opposite your bed. You open the top drawer and feel through the ridiculous amount of makeup and beauty products you’ve collected over time. As your fingers search, your eyes stare forward at your flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. You can see Elliot's reflection.

"God, you feel so tight around me," Elliot is telling his customer, and you bite your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Finally, your fingers grip the packet of wipes, and you pull them free. "I'm gonna come inside of your ass so damn hard—," Elliot is cut off by a muffled roar, and you turn to look at him questioningly.

He is still sitting on your bed, back against the pillows with one hand holding the phone far away from his ear. He has an uncomfortable look on his face, and it’s then you realize the noise has come from the phone. Or, more accurately, the noise is the loud, animal-like groans of a man coming hard.

Oh my god," you whisper to him quietly, now understanding what Elliot had meant by Simon sounding like a whale when he came.

Elliot uses his other hand to cover the bottom half of the phone, preventing Simon from hearing you speak. "Every. Damn. Time," he replies just as quietly, looking so serious it makes you giggle. He cracks his own smile before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Oh, that sounded like a good one, baby."

You’re glad Simon isn’t one of your callers because you’re not sure you’d be able to stay professional with that sound in your ear. You take care of your makeup before finally getting started on coffee.

Your living room and kitchen are all in one room. The only thing separating the rooms is the counter you eat at. Silver stools with black padded seats sit underneath, four of them for when you have guests over.

You walk past the L-shaped sofa and the counter. Once the coffee is on, you get started on breakfast. You decide on some cheesy, ham-scrambled eggs. Just as you start mixing the ingredients, your phone vibrates where you’ve placed it on the counter. You lean over far enough to see the screen. When no name appears, only a number, you figure it must be a new client since you save existing clients in your phone book.

You accept the call and bring it to your ear. "Hey there," you purr in your sexy voice. You never thought you had one until Elliot pointed it out to you. According to him, it’s a hot one too. "Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?"

"Josh." He’s breathing heavily, sounding as if he’s already started the party without you. "I-I'm new to all this…phone stuff," he informs you.

"That's fine, Josh," you say with a slight smile. "My name's Angel, and I’m going to take care of you, all right?" Your name isn’t Angel, but for safety reasons, you’re Angel as far as your customers know. And yes, you’re well aware of how clichéd it is.

"Yes," he tells you, his voice rougher than before. He’s probably getting more excited. Now, all you need to do is find out what he likes.

"Tell me, honey, you like it hard or soft, hm?" you question just as Elliot’s footsteps sound on the stairs.

"God. Hard. I like it hard," Josh answers. "I like it when you take control, with a little pain. Yeah, I like that a lot." In the background, you can hear the sound of his hand working his dick. At least you know he’s enjoying himself.

"Okay, Josh," you nod to yourself, knowing exactly where to go from here. Elliot appears in front of you, his lips forming an 'o' shape when he sees you’re with a client. You nod your head toward the food you’ve been preparing, signaling him to take over as you move away from the counter and toward the living area. Elliot passes you on the way, his hand patting you on the shoulder.

You flop over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, landing with a bounce on your back. "The first thing I want you to do is to strip for me, now," you order him, reaching toward the coffee table when you spot a magazine there. You bring it over to you and open it. "Are you naked yet?"

"Almost," he practically gasps to you. You can hear some more shuffling, and then he's telling you, "Yes, mistress, I'm naked."

Mistress? You sigh internally. You seriously can't believe how many men are into the whole dominatrix kink. In the beginning, it was kind of fun, but by now, it’s getting pretty old.

Mentally awakening your inner dom, you relax further into the sofa and flip through the magazine. "Good boy," you coo, finding a 20 Sex Tips for Women article. Huh, how fitting. "Now, here's what I want you to do, and you better listen closely, pet."

The call ends up lasting 2 minutes and 28 seconds. Not bad for a newbie.

________

“I might have a date this weekend," Elliot mentions casually, making you glance over the top of your book at him, eyebrows raised.

A few hours have passed since breakfast, and you've had at least seven phone calls since. The two of you are relaxing in the living room, you on one side of your L-shaped sofa and Elliot on the other.

"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" you respond, feeling rather hurt. You tell each other everything. You know the penis size of every boyfriend he's had. How can he share that information so easily yet let something like a date stay secret?

He cringes, and you just know you're not going to like what's coming next. "Because..." he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and rushes out, "BecauseitswithDanny." He says it so fast it almost doesn't register, but the name Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

"What!?" you exclaim, book falling forgotten onto the floor as you sit up. You're completely shocked, and you imagine your expression says everything before you even open your mouth. "How can you—why would you want to after what he did?" You can't understand what's going through Elliot's head, but you seriously want to knock some sense into him.

"I tried hinting to you this morning!" Elliot tells you, sitting up. The magazine he'd been reading earlier falls onto his lap, his attention now completely on you. "I told you I missed him!"

You scoff at that. "A hint is, 'Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of going on a date with my ex.' Not, 'I'm going to tickle you with Danny's ass-feather, complain about missing him, and hope that you get the hint that I'm going out with him this weekend despite the fact he broke my heart!'" You take a deep breath, oxygen running low after that rant. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"

"Of course it's your business. You're my best friend."

"—I just don't want you to get hurt," you continue as you both stare at each other with similar expressions. You're both desperate for the other to understand how you're feeling without wanting to cause any upset. "I love you, honey...and it destroyed you when he left."

"He said he's sorry," Elliot tells you quietly, making you realize just how much they've been talking. A pang of hurt goes through your heart, knowing that Elliot felt like he couldn't talk to you about this. "He said it was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. But I don't want to jump back into things so...I told him we'll start slow."

"Well," you nod slightly. "That's something, I guess." It comforts you to know that he isn't rushing into the relationship again. Maybe, if they start from scratch, it could work this time. Unfortunately, your gut tells you different. "I'm going to be honest with you, okay?"

Elliot gives you a lopsided smile, causing a single dimple to form on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile back for a moment before turning serious again. "I think...you're thinking with your heart and not with your head," you tell him softly. "I think you're in love with him, and you miss him, and you're not thinking rationally about this. Which I totally understand, honey. You love him; I know you can't help that. I just worry that Danny knows how you feel about him, and he's going to use it to his advantage." You watch Elliot's expression closely; he's nodding, letting you know he's listening.

You give your lip a quick nibble before continuing. "But if this is something you feel like you need to do, then I'll support you, you know that."

"Thanks, babe," he responds sincerely, but his eyes are sad. "You're right. I know you're right, but...my heart wants this so damn badly."

"What's your gut telling you to do?" you ask him curiously. You’ve always believed in following your instincts.

"Run," he answers with a painful laugh. "Run and don't look back because he's only doing this as a rebound."

You frown at the information. "Rebound?"

Elliot nods, tears filling his eyes. He crosses his legs underneath him, which surprises you given how skinny his jeans are. One arm goes to the back of the sofa while the other runs through his slick-backed hair. He pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, a habit of his, before telling you, "Him and Voldemort broke up. Danny says he broke it off because he misses me, but I checked Voldemort's page, and it looks like he's gone and gotten himself a new guy."

You hold back a snort at his nickname for Gary. Voldemort. It suits him. From Elliot's information, you're guessing that Danny is only after a rebound, but Elliot doesn't want to admit it because he still wants to be with Danny.

"Honey..." you sigh, scooting across the sofa so you can give Elliot a cuddle. He immediately returns the gesture but stays seated, whereas you lean up on your knees, making you higher than him. You rest your head on top of his, your arms around his neck. You know you don't need to say anything. Elliot knows he's burying his head in the sand. You think he just needs to find out the hard way; otherwise, he'd always regret not trying.

"I'm here for you," you assure him. This is something he needs to do, and you can't protect him from it, no matter how much you want to.

"Thank you," he tells you tearfully. You can hear how upset he is, but he's trying to hold it back. You squeeze him tighter, wishing you could take away all his pain. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."

Your lips curve at that. "I know," you joke because really, you're not that big-headed. "Now," you say as you pull away but keep your arms around his neck. "What do you say we turn our phones off for a while, get a Chinese, and watch some crappy chick flicks?"

His eyes are bloodshot and wet with tears, but the smile he gives you is genuine happiness. And that you completely understand because food makes you feel the same way. "I love you so much."

The film you end up watching is beyond cheesy, but the humor is awesome, and you find yourself giggling along. Your Chinese food is now in your overly-stuffed belly, and the only things left are the containers sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You sit side-by-side with Elliot, shoulders touching, a leopard-print blanket draped over your laps. Both of you ordered a beer with the takeaway. It isn’t enough to get you drunk, but that wasn’t the plan since you need to turn your phones back on for work later.

By the time the film ends, Elliot seems to be in a much better mood. Hopefully, he’ll stay that way for the next few hours.

“Gosh,” Elliot starts, reaching behind the sofa to the side table where a lamp sits. He switches it on, making you both blink against the sudden brightness. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“Same,” you say, squinting as your eyes adjust. Your muscles feel cramped, so you throw off the blanket and stretch. As you straighten your body, you begin to slide off the sofa but don’t bother stopping it. You let yourself slip onto the floor.

With the coffee table in the way, you have to arrange yourself so you’re lying between the sofa and the table. The wooden flooring is cold against your right arm, while the left side of your body enjoys the comfort of the fur rug.

“Weirdo,” Elliot snorts from above.

“Don’t judge,” you respond, letting out a yawn. Watching films always makes you tired. Maybe it strains your eyes. The floor is oddly tempting right now—so cozy—or maybe Elliot is right, and you’re just a weirdo.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Elliot speaks again, his foot nudging your side. “Can’t sleep now. We’ve got horny customers waiting.”

It’s only then you realize you’ve closed your eyes. “I’m up,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit upright. The smell of Chinese food still lingers in the air. It was absolutely delicious, but your stomach protests now, begging you not to even inhale another whiff of it. You pat your belly proudly, knowing it did a good job handling the feast.

“Good,” Elliot says. “We gotta get to work.”

Neither of you moves.

“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot sighs after a moment, making you crack a smile. “It’s so much effort. I hate... effort,” he says, spitting the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

You tilt your head to look at him better. “Just think about all those handsome, horny men stroking their dicks, waiting for you to—”

“I’m up!” Elliot exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hands dive into his pockets as you laugh loudly. “Christ, where’s my phone? My customers need me!” He’s being overly dramatic on purpose, and it makes you giggle even harder.

“It’s not funny!” he tells you, though he’s trying his hardest not to smile. “Who’s going to give those guys their orgasms? This is a serious situation!”

You giggle again, but then you try to put on a straight face. “You’re right. There could be a riot!” you gasp dramatically. “I’ll get on the phone to the prime minister right away!”

“And the president!” Elliot chimes in, but then you make eye contact, and the two of you burst into laughter. Sure, you can act pretty silly sometimes, but it’s healthy. At this age, you feel more mature than most people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be childish once in a while.

Once you both calm down, you know playtime is over. It’s really time to get to work. Sighing, you take Elliot’s hand when he offers it to you, and he easily pulls you up from the floor.

“Thanks, kid,” you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. You know he hates when you do that.

He lets out a high-pitched squeak and backs away. “You know my rules!”

“No one touches the hair,” you recite dutifully.

“Yes!” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yet you always forget. And what do you mean ‘kid’? I’m older than you!”

“Yes, well, mentally you’re the age of ten, so…”

“Bitch,” he says, lightly punching your arm, and you laugh.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you tease.

He plants his hands on his hips, cocking a hip at you and raising an eyebrow. “Honey, you can’t handle what I’ve got.”

“I’m heading upstairs. Gonna talk dirty to some dudes, grab a shower, change into my pajamas, get some more horny people off, read a book, then go to bed.”

Elliot takes the phone and nods. “Sounds like a damn good plan,” he says, holding up his hand.

You smile and give him a high-five.

One of the hardest parts of your job is keeping things fresh and coming up with new ideas. That’s why you love working with Elliot. He’s a guy; he knows what men like, so whenever you feel like you need something different, he’s your go-to.

New customers are always the easiest to please. No matter what you say, it’s fresh to them. Exciting. It’s your recurring customers who require more effort. There are only so many ways to describe a blowjob before it starts feeling repetitive. When you get that feeling of déjà vu, you worry your client does too.

Oh, and trying to figure out what a guy likes? That’s another challenge. Sometimes, it feels like a seriously fucked-up game of I-Spy.

“I spy with my little eye…” Imaginary-you says in a hopeful voice. “A foot fetish? No? Fuck.” You’re rocking back and forth now, losing hope. “I spy with my little—oh, I know! Voyeurism?” you practically beg, thinking about pulling your brains out with a spoon if this doesn’t work. “…Golden showers?”

Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but you get the point. It’s frustrating, especially when the client is shy and doesn’t know what they like themselves.

Deciding you’re getting cranky—probably because you’re tired—you decide to finish half an hour early tonight. You shouldn’t, especially after already losing a few hours of work earlier, but you’ve made enough money to cover your half of rent and bills this month. You’ve still got a week to earn more for food and anything else you need.

So yeah, you’ll finish early.

Yawning, you pull the covers out from underneath your ass before throwing them over yourself. You’re already in your pajamas—a loose pair of pink shorts and a white strap top—and your book sits next to you, waiting to be read.

But just as you pick up your phone, ready to turn it off, a new number flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth leaving. The problem is, with it being a new customer, leaving a bad impression could mean they wouldn’t come back.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, knowing the professional businesswoman in you can’t risk losing what might end up being a recurring customer. As far as you know, this phone call could change your career. You snort at that. Highly unlikely, but it’s going to bring in extra money, which is a good enough reason. “Just this last one, then I’m going to bed,” you tell yourself.

You place the earphones back into your ears and press the green button on your touchscreen. “Hey there, handsome.” There’s a pause, and you briefly wonder if they’ve decided to hang up when he finally speaks.

“Hey,” he responds simply, sounding kind of awkward.

“You caught me just in time,” you say naughtily.

“Oh?” he sounds intrigued, though the awkwardness remains. He’s probably just shy or clueless about what to do. “Why is that?”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by how much you’re attracted to his voice. That’s never happened to you before, and he’s barely said five words. Masculine, educated, and gruff. Swoon.

“Um...” You try to get back into character while scolding yourself. The conversation has only just started; you can’t screw it up already. Get your head in the game, girl. “Because I’m wet and needing a man to help me out.” Internally, you wince. That’s pretty weak considering how good you usually are at this.

He doesn’t seem to think so because he releases a sexy, “Shit. I—” He’s breathing heavily, and you wait for him to finish, sensing he has something else he wants to say. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he admits after a moment.

Fuck, you’re losing him, and you’re losing him fast. You need to think quickly if you want to keep him on the line. You don’t want to admit it, but your interest in this man goes beyond the money you’re earning from him. He’s ignited something in you. “Wait! Please,” you breathe. “I—I’m so horny. I need you. Please? Just stroke your dick for me. I need it.” There you go; you knew you could do better.

“Damn it,” he hisses, and then there’s the sound of a belt buckle, and you know you’ve got him. “What’d you need, sweetie? Tell me,” he demands, and for the first time since doing this job, you feel a wave of lust hit you.

Swallowing in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dry mouth—it all seems to have headed south, if you know what you mean—you respond truthfully, “You.” Jesus, you shouldn’t be doing this, but before you can stop yourself, your left hand is slipping underneath your strap top and finding your breasts. “I need you, please—” You pause for a second. You don’t know if it will work, but if you’re right about him, this is going to go down a treat. For both him and for you. “—sir.”

And you’re right because he lets out a loud groan, making you squeeze your thighs together in response. Jesus, you haven’t wanted someone this badly in what feels like forever.

“Fuck, you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re already nodding before he finishes his sentence. “Yes, god, yes.” You move your right hand so it’s also caressing your breasts. In this moment, you completely love your headset, which allows you to talk and touch at the same time.

“Mm, you’re so obedient, baby,” he tells you, approval evident in his husky voice. “Tell me, Princess, tell me are your nipples hard?”

Your pussy clenches almost painfully, and you try to remind it to calm down because it’s only just started. “They’re hard. So hard they’re showing through my shirt.”

You’re getting so hazy with lust you’re not sure what to do with yourself, so you pinch your nipples roughly and almost cry out in frustration, knowing it would be so much better if he were doing it for you.

“Damn, that’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you, and your belly does a funny flip. “You touchin’ them? Want you to roll them between your fingers. Not too hard, just enough pressure to leave you needing more.”

It’s not easy to admit, but you think he’s better at this than you are, and it crosses your mind that you should probably be paying him. “I already am,” you confess with a guilty laugh. “Your voice... it’s, uh, fucking hot.” You hesitate because you’re not sure if you can say that to him. It’s not very professional, but then you remind yourself that you’re only second-guessing it because you’re actually getting off on it.

"You that eager for me, princess?" he sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. "Tell me how it feels. You know, I'm stroking my dick to this. Getting hard over the noises you're making, and the pretty picture you're giving me."

The image of this man, who you are undoubtedly attracted to, stroking his hard cock over the thought of you pleasuring yourself drives you crazy. He seems so generous, something rare nowadays.

"It feels..." you breathe, trying to find the right words. "Like it's not enough. I need more. Christ." You throw your head back against your pillows, frustrated with yourself and the way you're acting. Completely unprofessional.

"Shh," he coos softly. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. Okay, princess?" He's so freaking good at this. You're practically shivering in anticipation of what he might say next. "I want you to get naked for me. And tell me, baby, you got any toys?"

"Um," you think about his question as you pull your strap top over your head. It gets caught on the earphone wire. "Wait a second." You quickly untangle yourself before placing the earphones back into your ears. Moving on to your shorts, you push them eagerly down your legs. "Yes, I have one of those little bullet vibrators."

"Good. I want you to get it for me, princess."

You bite your lip for a moment, feeling extremely dirty about what you're about to do. "Yes, sir..." you say before reaching toward your side cabinet and opening the bottom drawer. In an old, tiny, purple purse with a single zip sits the bullet. You take it out before getting comfortable on the bed once more. "I've got it."

He hums in approval. "Now, I'm more than happy to go slow, make this last, but I'm sensing that my girl wants to come hard and fast, am I right?"

You suck in an unsteady breath. Being called his girl really shouldn't make you feel as giddy as it does. Why and how does a complete stranger have such an effect on you? You're never one of those girls who fall for a man's charm easily. Yet here you are, swooning over a guy because he's good at talking dirty and has a sexy voice.

Apparently you were easier to seduce than you originally thought.

"Yes," you choke out, wondering if you'd wake up if you pinched yourself hard enough. You wouldn't try it, though, just in case you were dreaming. You really aren't ready for it to end. "God, yes."

"All right then," he chuckles, the sound warm. "I'll do what you want this time. Next time, what I say goes, okay, princess?"

Before you have a chance to respond, he's giving you more orders, and in no way are you complaining.

"I want you to spread your pretty little thighs for me, baby." His voice, and the way he's breathing, gives you the impression that he's getting just as excited as you are.

"Okay," you squeak rather embarrassingly. Cool air hits your most sensitive area as you do what he orders, your hands resting against the inside of your thighs, fingers clutching your vibrator as you wait impatiently for his instructions.

You have yet to turn the bullet on, but it already feels like your insides are vibrating.

"Now, take your hand and spread your pussy lips for me."

And there you go, once again speechless—and breathless—because of this man and his words. Seriously, he could do this job better than you. You have to admit, you're storing parts of this conversation away for both personal and professional use later on.

Your hands automatically do as he says, your body desperate for some kind of release. You feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start or what to do in order to relieve it. Thank God you have him to guide you; otherwise, you might combust. Then again, if he wasn't here, you wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"Okay," you breathe, feeling more and more like a client than a sex line operator. But taking control is obviously something he enjoys, so who are you to put a stop to this? What’s the saying? ‘Customers are always right?’ Well, you absolutely, completely, one hundred percent agree!

"Stretch yourself out," he continues, his voice starting to strain. "Force your sexy little clit out of its hood. I don't want it hiding when you start fucking yourself. All right, princess?"

Fuckkk. Just when you think he can't possibly get any hotter, he goes and says that. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire; your clit is so swollen it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you came the second you put any pressure on your nub.

"Now," he continues. "Turn your bullet on and press it to your clit. You're not allowed to stop until your legs are shaking and you're calling out my name. Got it?" You can hear how hard he's pumping his dick now. For a moment, you feel guilty. Are you neglecting him? But then you remind yourself again that this is what he wants.

You know you're not going to last long. You're too excited. Not to mention, it’s been a while since you've spent some time with your right hand. You twist the top of your bullet, putting it on the highest speed. You know you're worked up enough to take it; usually, you start on low and build your way up because you're overly sensitive. Right now, you know it won’t be an issue.

The bullet starts to shake violently, but the noise is low, like a quiet buzzing. Your left hand holds yourself open, fingers forming a 'V' and spreading your lips as far as you can, just as he instructed.

You don’t need to tell him what you’re doing; the moment you press the bullet to yourself, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips. You’re right—you definitely won’t last long. The vibrations are intense, and you draw small circles on yourself, pushing yourself even closer to the edge.

“Damnit,” he hisses. You’re quickly learning it’s one of his favorite words. “You sound fucking sexy. Wish I could see you. Watch you,” he inhales sharply. He’s just as close as you are.

“What’s—” you attempt to speak but end up gasping instead. Wetness gathers below, soaking your entrance and trailing toward your clit. The added lubrication lets the bullet slide more freely around your nub, the sensation unbelievable. “What’s—”

“Princess?” he chokes, likely having the same problem as you.

So close now. So fucking close. You just need a little more. The rhythm is perfect, and you can hear him breathing in your ear, letting out the occasional groan. It’s too damn much, but you can’t let yourself go—not without— “What’s your name?”

"Joel."

"Fuck - Joel!"

You see stars, as cliché as it sounds. Your whole body breaks into spasms, your left hand falling to the sheets and gripping the fabric desperately. Your right hand forces the bullet between your slippery lips, and your thighs clamp around your hand. Incoherent words tumble from your mouth: “Oh god,” “Fuck,” and Joel’s name.

As you come back down to earth, you can hear that Joel barely followed two seconds behind.

“Damn it, Princess. You’re so fucking good. Sound so pretty. Done so well,” the words spill from his mouth like sweet wine. He probably isn’t even aware of them. The sound of him fisting his dick is irregular and off-beat. “Fuck. Damn. You’re such a good girl.”

You remove the bullet from yourself—if you leave it there any longer, it’s going to become painful—and let out a giggle. Your cheeks are flushed, your body buzzing with pleasure. Lightheaded and giddy, you think to yourself that this guy must be amazing in bed. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly. “You can say that again. I can’t believe I almost hung up.”

“That would have been bad,” you reply, wondering if your heart will slow down anytime soon. “Very, very bad.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then pauses before adding, “Let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” You hesitate for only a moment. It’s unusual for clients to stick around afterward, but you’ve quickly realized this guy isn’t a normal caller.

“What’s your real name?” he asks. “No way is it ‘Angel.’” He snorts, finding your alias hilarious.

Is Angel that bad of a name? You think it’s kind of cool. The company is called Angels and Demons, with you being the Angel. Elliot’s alias is Daemon because it’s close to “demon” but sounds way better. When a customer calls, they get an automated voice instructing them to press the number for their chosen operator, complete with a brief description.

You’re losing your train of thought; you can’t give him your real name, can you? It’s against the rules. If Jane found out, she’d be pissed. She wouldn’t fire you, but her anger is almost as bad. With the image of facing her wrath in mind, you tell Joel, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Your tone is regretful because you’d really like to tell him. “My boss would…it’s against the rules.”

“Ah,” he responds, masking the disappointment. “It’s all right. I understand.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again, hating the idea of letting him down, especially after how amazing he just made you feel.

"Seriously, Princess, it’s fine,” he reassures you, easing the guilt. “I had a really good time tonight. You can bet I’ll be expecting a repeat tomorrow.” You just know that if you could see him right now, his eyes would sparkle with mischief.

Your pussy throbs again just thinking about it. God, he makes you insatiable. “I’m really, really looking forward to it,” you tell him honestly.

“Me too.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” Hanging up the phone, you place it against your lips, letting everything sink in. Alone with your thoughts, you can’t believe you just had full-blown phone sex with a client. It’s so unlike you. It’s more like something Elliot would do. Speaking of…

“Elliot, you won’t believe what just happened!” you shout at the top of your lungs.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

Text

Villain! Seungcheol

— Synopsis: After facing constant rejection from your own boyfriend, you discover he’s a superhero flying around the city. Seungcheol, the so-called 'villain,' stepped in when you were left as bait, exposed to your boyfriend's enemies. It turns out, he's the one who truly took care of you. — WC: 13k — WARNINGS: fantasy, angst, smut, crack, cigarettes, stalking (for good), physical fights, injury, murder, death (not the reader, not seungcheol), paranormal elements (superpowers, misshapenness, telepathy, and floating), moral ambiguity (unclear distinctions between "heroes" and "villains"), sex toys, oral (f. & m.), getting caught masturbating, cock riding, edging, creampie, DIRTY TALK.

You’ve dated a guy from the basketball team in high school, a guy from the cafeteria you used to frequent, and had your flings with… normal people. Gym rats or those who sang at the local bar.

But never... a hero?

He was kind, and romantic, and treated you well—in the beginning of your relationship. But then he became distant, always desperate to go home at night, barely sleeping at your apartment. You thought about a whirlwind of things, like a normal person would think of; that he was cheating on you, that he had stopped loving you.

Tonight, you’re making dinner—a last-ditch effort to please him, to make him notice you again. The TV in the living room is tuned to the news, the background noise almost comforting. You chop vegetables with precise, almost robotic movements, your mind drifting.

“He’s probably just busy,” you mutter to yourself, trying to believe it. But it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in your chest.

Just then, a headline on the TV catches your attention. You glance up, expecting to see something mundane. Maybe an officer, a firefighter, or even a regular person with good sociology. Instead, you see your boyfriend, wearing a red hero cape, flying around the city. The spatula in your hand falls directly onto the ground, clattering loudly.

[Hero is seen flying between skyscrapers to make the city of Seoul increasingly safer.]

“What the...?” Your heart races as you stare at the screen, unable to believe your eyes.

Your boyfriend, the man you’ve been worrying over, is a fucking superhero? Just like Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy?

The front door opens and he walks in, looking tired but carrying the same gentle smile that used to make your heart flutter. Tonight, though, it only fuels your confusion and frustration.

“Hey, babe,” he says, stepping into the kitchen. He pauses when he sees your expression, the dropped spatula. “What’s wrong?”

You point at the TV, unable to form words. He follows your gaze, and his face falls as he sees the news footage.

“Ah, you found out,” he says softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

[...]

This is how it started. It's as if, when you didn't know, he still made a point of being present here and there. But now that you know, he doesn't even care about it anymore. “I have to save the country, love,” you’ve heard this a bunch of times.

So when you turn on the TV, you have to see him flexing those stupid big muscles—that he gained out of nowhere—making you doubt if he’s using padding or prosthetics under that cheesy costume.

He shouldn’t be seen around your house, so the 'villains' don’t know where you live.

You don't recognize him anymore. Was it egotistical to wish that he never had superpowers? That he was just a regular human, just like you?

"Hey," his voice breaks you out of your thoughts. He's standing in the doorway, looking worn out but with a familiar, almost hesitant smile. "I brought takeout. Thought we could have a quiet night in."

You glance at the food in his hands, your heart aching. "A quiet night in? Like the ones we used to have?"

He sighs, setting the bags down on the table. "Yeah, like those. I know things have been... different. But I'm trying, Y/N. I really am."

"Trying?" you repeat, incredulous. "You disappear for days, and when you’re here, it’s like you’re not really here. You're always thinking about the next mission, the next villain."

"I know," he admits, running a hand through his hair. "The powers, the responsibility... it just happened."

"Did it?" you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. "Because it feels like you chose this. Like you chose being a hero over being with me."

His eyes widen, pain flickering across his face. "That's not true. I didn't choose this over you. I chose this because... because I want to make the world a better place. For us."

You shake your head, "But what about making our world better? What about being here, with me? Being present?"

As you sit down to eat, the TV plays in the background, another heroic feat being broadcasted. You hesitate, looking at the man you once knew so well, now feeling like a stranger.

With great insistence, you managed to make him sleep in your bed. When you left the bath to join him in your sheets, he was already sleeping—hibernating, snoring like never before. You sigh, laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. You stayed like this until you saw the perfect clouds through the window, fluffy, looking like cotton candy, with the blue sky painting a canvas behind them. It was a beautiful morning.

You don’t remember leaving the window open, so you get up to close it, stopping the wind from hitting your face. The sun was radiating, and you could see people enjoying their morning. But still... why do you feel this smell of storm coming?

The water started to flow, not from the sky, but from your eyes—your tears. The next storm is the one inside you, making small whirlwinds and huge hurricanes, carrying you and destroying you. Obviously, your boyfriend wasn't home. His smell wasn’t there, his presence was like bills payable, only at the end of the month.

You made your bed, some of your tears ruining the perfect white duvet. You walked around your kitchen, picking up the single coffee mug on your countertop and washing it.

Your coworkers noticed your face—like you had slept nothing last night—and even asked what was happening. How could you explain this? How could you explain that you were dating a guy for some years, and he turned into a superhero—flying around the city with underwear over the costume?

Of course, they would laugh, not only because it's the biggest turnoff they will ever have seen, but also because they would think it's a joke, a badly told joke. It makes you feel even more stupid for being complicit, an extra in his comic book.

You arrive home. You look at the window, open again. You roll your eyes, closing it to prevent the wind from coming in. “Are you flying through my windows now?” you mumble, half expecting an answer.

You wonder if you should watch the news again, and see your boyfriend flex his muscles in front of the pretty journalist, putting out a fire in an establishment, looking at the camera to see if they've captured his heroic act, or when he carried a mail car with one arm in front of a group of girls who were walking on the sidewalk.

You cringe, remembering all of them.

Dropping your bag on the couch, you plop down and grab the remote. You flick through the channels, each news report showing another heroic deed of his. "Great," you mutter sarcastically, landing on a channel where he’s giving an interview, his muscles practically bursting out of his suit.

He’s talking about his latest rescue, grinning at the journalist who’s batting her eyelashes at him. "And what’s next for our hero?" she asks, her voice sugary sweet.

"I’m just here to help," he replies, flashing a charming smile. "Wherever I’m needed."

You snort, turning off the TV. "Right, wherever you're needed. Except here," you say to the empty room.

You wander into the kitchen, the silence pressing in on you. You fill the kettle and set it to boil, needing something warm to soothe your frayed nerves. As you wait, you think about the early days, when he was just a guy you loved. Back when his biggest concern was making you laugh, not saving the world.

The kettle whistles, and you pour yourself a cup of tea, the steam rising in lazy spirals. You take a sip, leaning against the counter. "Why can’t you just be normal?" You whisper to yourself.

A sudden whoosh of air makes you jump, causing your hand to bump into the kettle. The same speed you touched it, you yank your hand back, a little burn forming. It’s nothing too serious, but enough to make you curse under your breath.

Your boyfriend widens his eyes and rushes over. “Let me help you,” he says, reaching for your hand.

“Fuck off,” you snap, pulling away. “I don’t need your help.”

He frowns, clearly hurt. How can someone not want his help? “I’m just trying to help.” his voice laced with exasperation.

Irritated by everything and the little burn on your hand, you cut him off. “What are you going to do, huh? Use lasers from your eyes?” You turn to the sink, running cold water over your hand.

“You’re always complaining,” he starts, his voice rising. “But you’re so difficult to deal with lately.”

You whip around, glaring at him. “Difficult? Do you have any idea how hard this is for me?”

He crosses his arms, his expression turning snobbish. “And it’s a walk in the park for me? I’m out there saving lives.”

“Yeah, and flexing your muscles for the cameras,” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re never supportive. All you do is whine about how hard your life is.”

You feel your blood boil. “Supportive? How can I be supportive when you’re never here? When you act like being a hero is the only thing that matters?”

He throws his hands up in frustration. “Because it does matter! I’m making a difference.”

“And what about us?” you yell, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “What about making a difference here, with me?”

He looks at you, anger and confusion on his face. “I’m trying to balance it, but you’re making it impossible.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “You know what? I wish you never turned into a hero. I wish you never had these stupid superpowers. I preferred it when you were just human, like me.”

He scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to be weak like you humans anymore. You’re just jealous when you should be cheering for me.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Jealous? Is that really what he thinks? “Jealous?” you echo. “I’m not jealous. I just miss the person you used to be.”

He shakes his head, looking away. “I’m still that person. You’re just too blind to see it.”

"Blind? Are you fucking serious?" you scoff, turning your back to him. "Leave," you grunt.

He furrows his eyebrows, shocked. Never in your relationship did he think he would see you like this—his cute girlfriend who begged for him to stay just one more minute, asking him to leave?

"I'm not going to repeat it," you say coldly. "You're making me feel sick."

"Fuck you then!" he curses under his breath before he storms out, leaving you stiff in the middle of your kitchen.

"Oof, I wouldn't let him get away with it if I were you."

You turn toward the voice, coming from the window—that one that you had to close again even though you already did in the morning.

A man is sitting there with the help of the fire escape stairs outside the building. He’s dressed all in black, and you can’t even distinguish how many layers of clothing he’s wearing. His hair is black, and he has one eyebrow raised as he smokes a cigarette.

People react differently when scared. Some scream, some run. But you… you feel like your feet are glued to the ground, and from your throat, not a sound escapes. Your mouth opens and closes like a fish as your eyes widen in shock.

He doesn’t seem to care. He drops his cigarette, watching it accidentally fall on someone’s head below.

He hisses, "Ooh, sorry about that." Then he jumps from the window, landing gracefully in your living room as he brushes off his shoulders.

“You know, you should be more careful when locking your windows. You’re the superhero’s girlfriend, I mean—ex-girlfriend now, I suppose. It seems like he didn’t teach you some basic security stuff.” He looks around your apartment, studying it. “I even drank a coffee in your Hello Kitty mug yesterday—”

“Who the fuck are you?” you cut him off, your voice finally finding its strength.

He raises his hand mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Relax, I’m not here to hurt you.” He smirks, glancing at the mug on the counter. “Nice collection, by the way. Just here to talk”

"Talk?" you echo, incredulous. "You break into my apartment, drink my coffee, and now you want to talk?"

He smirks, leaning against the wall. "Yeah, something like that. Seems like your boyfriend left you in quite a state.''’

You cross your arms defensively. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Pity?” he chuckles. “No, I just find it interesting. You’re dating the city’s golden boy, and yet here you are, all alone. Doesn’t quite add up, does it?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why do you care?”

“Let’s just say I have a vested interest in your boyfriend’s activities. And you,” he says, pointing at you, “are a fascinating part of that equation.”

You scoff, still on edge. “Fascinating? What’s so fascinating about being left behind?”

He smiles, a glint of devilishness in his eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just keep doing what you’re doing. Maybe even... enjoy the freedom a little.” He winks, heading back toward the window.

As he climbs out, he turns back one last time. “Oh, and lock your windows. You never know who might drop by.” With that, he disappears into the night, leaving you standing there, more confused and unsettled than ever.

You move to the window and lock it firmly, your heart pounding.

Your boyfriend had warned you that this might happen, and it happened at the worst time—when he wasn’t there.

Honestly, you couldn’t sleep that night either, now worried that a fucking stranger could break into your apartment, and instead of just drinking a coffee, he might bake a whole cake in your kitchen or, worse, do something to you.

So, you do what a ludic person would do. You start packing an emergency bag and ask to sleep at your friend’s house, using the excuse that you’ve broken up with your boyfriend—when in fact, you were more scared than anything.

[...]

More terrifying was when you needed to return home.

You open your front door, putting the bag on the floor. Before you can turn around to close the door, a hand clasps over your mouth, and the door behind you closes. You feel a warm body pressing against yours as you close your eyes tightly.

It’s your end, you think.

You don’t even dare to open your eyes. When the hand is removed from your mouth, all you can mutter is, “Don’t hurt me, please.”

You hear a scoff, and then you open one eye. The person takes his hood off, revealing the same guy from the window.

“Are you stupid? Why would I want to hurt you? I’m not a coward.” He detaches from you, looking at your still-squeezed form. “Where were you? And you did a great job locking the other windows, but your laundry window was not locked.”

You can only stare at him, your heart racing. He rolls his eyes. “Can you stop being a pissy little girl? You’re a grown woman. I’ve told you I’m not going to hurt you, and if it comforts you, I won’t steal your mug collection either. Maybe some coffee powder—but, well, can you stop?”

You think you’re going crazy. Was all of this supposed to be normal?

He rolls his eyes again and disappears into your kitchen. You take small, shy—and scared—steps toward the kitchen to find him using your coffee machine, watching the coffee brew. His arms are propped on the counter, and he turns his head to look at you.

He sighs, seeing your still-compressed form, like you’re still scared of his presence.

“Seriously,” he says, straightening up. “I’m not here to hurt you. You need to relax.” He takes a mug from your collection and pours himself a coffee, casually leaning against the counter as if he belongs there.

“What do you want from me?” you finally manage to ask, your voice trembling.

He takes a sip of coffee, savoring it before answering. “Just checking in. Making sure you’re okay. Your boyfriend isn’t exactly around to protect you, is he?”

You glare at him. “I don’t need his protection. Or yours.”

He smirks, clearly amused. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He sets the mug down and steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours. “But here’s the thing—you’re involved now, whether you like it or not.”

You swallow hard, trying to hold your ground. “I don’t want any part of this.”

“Too late,” he replies, his tone serious. “You’re already part of it. So, you might as well get used to it.”

You begin to shiver as his words sink in. This is your life now, tangled up with heroes and villains. And there’s no going back.

He sighs, seeing the fear in your eyes. “Look, I know this isn’t what you signed up for. But you’re tougher than you think. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, whatever—he’s not around, and that puts you in a vulnerable position.”

“You mean, you’re here to spy on me. To see if you can use me against him.”

He shrugs. “I'm here ensure you’re not caught in the crossfire. Believe it or not, I have some principles.”

You laugh bitterly. “Principles? Breaking into someone’s home and terrorizing them is principled now?”

He sets the cup down and steps closer. “I didn’t mean to scare you. But you need to be more careful. This world you’re tangled in—it’s dangerous.”

You stare at him, unsure whether to believe him. “And you’re what, my guardian angel now?”

He smirks. “Hardly. Think of me as a… concerned party. I don’t want unnecessary casualties.” “Stay out of trouble. Keep your head down.”

With that, he finishes his coffee and heads toward the window. “Remember, I'm not your enemy, but I'm definitely his. Don't make me your enemy too.”

"Wait!" you call out. He stops and turns around slowly, his expression curious. "W-who are you?" you stammer.

He tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. "Do you really want to know?" he asks, his tone dripping with mocking curiosity.

You nod, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’re practically living here. I should at least know your name."

He chuckles, a low, amused sound. "More like a roommate situation, huh? Alright, if you really want to know, you can call me Seungcheol. And if you’re genuinely interested in what I do, maybe I’ll take you to my HQ someday, show you my plans."

You grimace at his tone, which only makes him laugh harder.

Before heading down the emergency stairs, he looks back at you. "Stay close, alright? I need to keep tabs on you. You’re a bit exposed out here." He winks and disappears, leaving you standing there, more confused than before.

Seungcheol—the window guy, as you’d come to call him—disappeared physically for some days, but his presence lingered in odd, unsettling ways. You started finding pieces of ripped paper around your house, each with a different message.

“Keep your windows locked.”

“Log out of your social media from your home computer.”

“Check your door lock twice before bed.”

“Don’t leave your spare key under the mat.”

And one particularly embarrassing note: “I know you miss your hero-boyfriend, but can you also hide your sex toys? I’m traumatized.”

The embarrassment lasts only a few minutes each time, but then you think, nobody asked him to keep coming into your house. Still, there was a strange sense of security in knowing he was keeping an eye on things, even if his methods were invasive and borderline creepy.

Days turn into a week, and the silence feels heavy.

You find yourself almost missing the bizarre meetings. One night, as you’re cleaning up after dinner, you catch a glimpse of movement outside the window. You draw the curtains aside to find Seungcheol lounging casually on the fire escape, looking like he belonged there.

“Miss me?” he quips, flashing you a smirk.

You roll your eyes, opening the window slightly. “You really need to get a hobby, Seungcheol.”

“This is my hobby,” he says, slipping inside without an invitation. “Keeping tabs on you is surprisingly entertaining.”

“You know, you could at least pretend not to notice my vibrator,” you snap, half-joking, half-mortified.

Seungcheol grins, “Hey, it’s hard to miss when it’s just lying around. You could be more discreet.”

You huff in annoyance, continuing to clean up. He opens your fridge, rummaging around like he owns the place. “Any news?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He casually bites into an apple. “Yep. One of his enemies is planning to invade your place tomorrow at 7:48 p.m. The exact time you get home from work.”

You spin around, eyes wide. “What?! What do I do?”

“I suggest you stay close to me,” he shrugs. “I can keep you safe, make sure no one uses you as a pawn.”

“You want me to trust you?” you ask, incredulous.

He raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to be safe, or do you want to have some alien freak shoving its tentacles down your throat?”

You give him an exasperated look. “I knew you’d have this reaction,” he says, shrugging. He places a flash drive on your kitchen counter. “Watch it yourself.”

You close your eyes, massaging your temples. You don’t know if you’re ready to see what’s on that flash drive, much less trust a stranger who claims to be your ex-boyfriend’s enemy.

“I need you to leave. Even if he’s my ex, I still can’t do something like this.”

Seungcheol nods, looking up like he expected this. “Your boyfriend won’t be here to rescue you if that’s what you’re counting on.”

“How can you be so sure of that? I don’t even know you!”

“Because if your stupid boyfriend didn’t buy those superpowers, he’d be nothing. Without that silly red cape and the TV cameras, he’s just an insecure guy who wants to be seen. And— come on, he didn’t care about the girlfriend he had waiting at home. You think he cares about saving random people? Don’t be dumb.”

His words sting, and you feel like you’ve been slapped in the face. He nods negatively as he walks out again, leaving you standing there, the weight of his words sinking in. You don’t want to believe him, but deep down, you know there’s some truth to what he’s saying.

With a sigh, you look at the flash drive on the counter.

The next day was a mess from the moment you woke up. You couldn't find your white shirt, and your baby liss was nowhere to be found. Running late, you had to leave without fixing your hair.

Work was a blur of you staring blankly at your computer screen, your mind preoccupied with the fear that some tentacle monster might actually show up at 7:48 p.m.

Were you being stupid for believing a guy you met barely a week ago? Absolutely. But who wouldn't be a little suspicious?

As you stepped off the bus and walked along the sidewalk toward your building, your watch read 7:58 p.m. You glanced up at your window. The lights were off, and everything looked normal. No way a villain would get you, right?

"I knew he was lying," you mutter quietly to yourself, almost convincing.

But your conviction didn’t last long. A massive purple tentacle exploded through your living room window, sending concrete and bricks crashing to the street. Your eyes widened in disbelief. Was that a person in the middle of those giant tentacles? Were you homeless now?

"Are you gonna hop on or let these ugly tentacles suffocate you?" Seungcheol’s voice cuts through the chaos.

You didn’t need to look to know it was him. You turned to see him in his black outfit, waiting on his motorcycle. Your instinct was to kneel on the ground and cry about your now-destroyed apartment, but you didn't have time for that.

You sulked a bit before grabbing the helmet from his hand and hopping onto the bike, your hands wrapping uncertainly around his waist.

As Seungcheol sped off towards his HQ—or hideout, whatever it was—your tears started to flow. "My apartment... it's ruined. All my stuff, my mug collection, my unicorn pajamas I didn’t even get to wear yet," you whined into his back.

Seungcheol fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Seriously? We're running from a monster, and you're worried about unicorn pajamas?"

“Yes!” you sniffled. “They were so cute. And now I don’t even have a place to sleep. My place is ruined, and all my goods are probably destroyed.”

“Focus on staying alive first,” he said, trying to sound more patient than he felt. “We’ll deal with the rest later.”

“But my mugs… My unicorn pajamas…” you continued, your voice muffled against his back.

“Alright, alright,” he said, trying to placate you.

Seungcheol had to concentrate to keep from crashing as he listened to you cry and whine about your lost belongings. He knew you were overwhelmed, and though it was annoying, he understood. Reaching his hideout, he finally stopped the bike and helped you off, letting you lean on him for support.

Your first instinct is to look around. It’s a large industrial loft, the walls made of bricks, and the long windows hidden behind some opaque plastic.

The place seems to have only the essentials: a large bed with a vintage headboard, a couch, a TV. Turning around, you notice the kitchen has a coffee machine just like yours.

Then your eyes widen as you spot familiar items: the white shirt you were looking for this morning, poking out of a huge black bag, a big box labeled 'mugs’ in bad calligraphy, your hair iron with the princess tape patch on the cord, emerging from another black bag.

Several bags are sprawled on the floor, all looking ready to burst.

"M-my things!" you squeak as Seungcheol looks unbothered, though you can see the faintest hint of a smile at your happiness. You run to him, giving him a clumsy hug that he doesn’t reciprocate, before opening the bags.

"It was very difficult to bring all of your stuff," he says, trying to hide his amusement. "Can I know why you have three... inflatable flamingos all the same color?" he asks, clearly judging the quirky items he found while gathering your things from your dresser.

You don’t respond, too busy rifling through the bags like a kid on Christmas morning.

You open another bag with a big smile on your face, which quickly fades when you see what’s on top: your vibrator, handcuffs, and lube.

You widen your eyes and try to close the bag with an awkward smile, but it’s too late. Seungcheol turns his head to the side, taking a deep breath as if trying to pretend he wasn’t the one who had to gather your spicy stuff.

You clear your throat, standing up and brushing off your knees. “When did you get all of this? I mean—how did you do it so quickly?”

"Some friends helped me," he answers, watching your reaction.

You widened your eyes, and he knew why.

“Chill out, I packed your Christian Grey stuff myself,” he said, looking up as if remembering something. “And what's with that neon green, dildo? Seriously?”

You stuttered, your face flushed. “I-I didn’t use that, it was a gag gift!”

“Trust me, I don’t want to know,” he said, cutting you off with a furrowed brow.

“That’s… oddly considerate of you,” you admitted, still processing everything.

He shrugged again, “Don’t get used to it. I’m not a nice guy.”

“Thanks, Seungcheol.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, turning away. “Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”

You sighed, “Thanks, I guess. It’s just… embarrassing.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’ve seen worse,” he shrugged.

“Worse than a neon green dildo?”

He chuckled, “You’d be surprised.”

You point at the large industrial loft around you. “So, this is your place?”

"Not as fancy as yours, but, yes, it is," Seungcheol responds, shrugging nonchalantly.

You shake your head, still taking in the surroundings. "I wouldn’t call my place fancy. Just... more pink."

He chuckles, nodding. "Yeah, I noticed. You have a thing for unicorns and pastels."

You look around, taking in the mix of sparse furniture and personal touches. "Why do you have my stuff, anyway?"

He leans against the counter, arms crossed. "Had to make sure you had everything. Can't have you running back to your place and getting into trouble."

You shake your head, still in disbelief. "You really don’t look like a villain."

He scoffs, giving you a sideways glance. "That's because I don't have a red cape? You don’t look this naughty either. I discovered it in the worst way."

You try to slap his shoulder playfully, but he catches your hand with his quick reflexes, smirking as he lets go and starts walking toward the loft above. You follow him, curiosity getting the better of you.

“Different from your boyfriend, I don’t need muscle superpowers to be relevant,” he says, glancing back at you as he ascends the stairs.

You glance around as you reach the upper level, which is filled with computers, chemistry equipment, and some jackets thrown randomly around. "So, what exactly do you do here?"

"Let's just say I have my ways of keeping an eye on things," he replies, tapping on one of the computer screens. "Information is power, you know."

You nod slowly. "And what's your plan with all this power?"

He raises an eyebrow, amused by your question. "That depends. What do you think I should do with it?"

You let out a nervous laugh. "I'm not exactly an expert on villainous plots."

Seungcheol chuckles, shaking his head. "Relax, I'm not planning world domination. Just...taking care of some business."

You tilt your head, still trying to piece everything together. "And what kind of business would that be?"

He sighs, looking frustrated at you—but trying to be patient. "Let's just say there are a lot of things that need fixing, and sometimes you have to break a few rules to get it done."

You frown, thinking about his words. "And my ex-boyfriend...does he know about any of this?"

Seungcheol shrugs. "He knows I exist, but he doesn't know the details. Probably too busy flexing for the cameras."

You can’t help but smile. "Yeah, he’s definitely good at that."

Seungcheol looks at you seriously. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me, it’s better you know the truth. You can’t go back to being ignorant."

"So, what do we do? I can't just hide forever."

Seungcheol sits on the edge of a desk, looking thoughtful. "You’re here because you’re vulnerable—"

"Vulnerable?" you interrupt, crossing your arms. "You make it sound like I’m helpless."

Seungcheol stops for a moment, looking at you blankly.

"Think fast!" he says suddenly, throwing a sock ball in your direction. You instinctively step back, catching the ball, but your back overtakes the loft railing.

Seungcheol gets up from his chair, moving swiftly to grip you tightly before you fall to the floor below. You go static as you look at him, his hands firm on your waist, grounding you.

"You're good at catching," he says, glancing at the sock in your hand. "But you need to have a better sense of space."

Your heart pounds, both from the near fall and his closeness. "What was that for?"

He releases you, but his eyes stay locked on yours. "Training. If you’re going to stay here, you need to be alert."

You nod. "Okay, but maybe warn me next time?"

He chuckles, stepping back to give you some space. "Where's the fun in that?"

You roll your eyes, tossing the sock ball back at him. He catches it effortlessly. "So, what’s the plan? How do I learn to protect myself?"

Seungcheol tilts his head, considering. "I don't know... Maybe some basic self-defense? For example, if i do this—" He moves quickly, throwing a punch towards you—not to hit, but to test your reaction.

You manage to dodge, but not gracefully. He smiles. "Not bad for a beginner. We'll keep working on that."

[...]

You still miss your apartment, and a lot of your things are still in bags, which you pick through only when you need something. You always wondered what really happened in movies when heroes destroyed the whole city during battles. Now, you’re experiencing it firsthand. Your apartment is being repaired by the building’s construction company, with help from insurance. So, more days living with Seungcheol.

It’s not bad. It’s strange, for someone used to being alone at home. He leaves at night, just like your ex-boyfriend, but spends more of his days in the loft—more than your ex-boyfriend ever did.

He’s actually teaching you something useful. The two of you spar in the loft, not even needing to move furniture since there isn’t much. And he’s hard on you.

You support your hands on your knees, panting, while he looks untouched. "C’mon! Are you tired already?"

You straighten up, mocking his tone. "Unfortunately, my ex who fights around didn’t give me a preview of how to box."

He puts his hands on his hips. "Your boyfriend doesn’t know how to fight. He only has his powers to his advantage."

“You didn't watch what was on the flash drive, did you?” he asks.

You shake your head.

He sighs and asks you to come up. He sits you in his chair, in front of his computer, and opens a folder. There’s a video of your boyfriend inside a laboratory. It looks very old.

"I need more than just strength and flight," your boyfriend says in the video, addressing what looks like a scientist. "We’ve been studying this for years. My time has come."

“Are you sure? There’s no turning back,” the scientist asks.

“I’m sure. I can’t keep living this mediocre life,” your boyfriend replies.

“But what about the people around you? They’re at risk,” the scientist says.

Your ex-boyfriend's response breaks your heart, though you can’t deny it fits his recent arrogance. "I don’t care. I need this."

The scientist sighs and then injects several different colored serums into your ex’s body. He groans, and as he begins to levitate, the video blurs and turns off.

You stare at the blank screen, processing the information. Seungcheol leans back, giving you space.

"See what I mean?" he says. "He wasn’t thinking about you, or anyone else. Just himself."

“So, he chose this. He actually wanted this.”

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah, he did. It wasn’t some accident or noble cause. He was just desperate to be more than he was.”

You sit back, processing the information. “He used to be so different. I don’t even recognize him anymore.”

“That’s what power does to some people,” Seungcheol says, leaning against the desk. “It changes them.”

Seungcheol’s screens start to beep urgently, pulling his attention away from you. He walks calmly to the other side of the room to grab his jacket. The steady rhythm of his movements contrasts with the beeping noises filling the space.

He’s about to leave again when he pauses, his back facing you.

You watch him, restless, pacing back and forth as your mind churns over the recent revelations. His peripheral vision catches your agitation. He glances sideways, noticing the anxiousness in your steps.

He moves towards the door, then hesitates and turns back. “If you need anything, just—”

“Yeah, I know. Just call you, right?” You finish his sentence, giving him a small, knowing smile.

He smirks, nodding. “Exactly. Stay put. I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he leaves the loft, the door closing behind him.

You knew Seungcheol would arrive home late, and you needed to calm down. Unfortunately, the last bottle of wine was finished yesterday when you couldn't find anything else to drink with your popcorn.

Sweets maybe? Well, a villain’s house would have sweets? No, just as you thought. The only thing left was a pack of cigarettes on the kitchen counter.

You find yourself on the rooftop of Seungcheol's loft, the cigarette smoke filling your lungs and burning your throat. You didn’t like the smell of cigarettes and coughed every time the smoke filled your lungs.

But that’s what you had to dissolve a bit of your anxiety, your last moments with your ex replaying in your mind. So he never cared at all?

Suddenly, your cigarette is slapped out of your hand. You turn around to see your ex, his costume perfect, but his eyes deep and face scarred.

“This is what Seungcheol has taught you then? Aren’t you ashamed?” He sneers.

You open your mouth to answer, but he comes closer, making you flinch.

He scoffs. “What? You’re scared of me? Let me tell you something... He is the villain. And you’ve joined his side, my enemy, after all we had.” He spits the words out with venom.

Rage boils within you, making you feel not like yourself. “Seungcheol took care of me. If I were alone, I would be dead. You don’t know what kind of superpower this is.”

He grabs your arm, making you feel dizzy, your vision cloudy. The pain is intense and senseless.

“What? You thought a villain would help you? You’re fragile. You need attention so bad that I couldn’t even handle you.” You fall to the ground, the pain spreading through your body as you groan.

“You know what? If you think he’s going to be your enchanted prince, you’re wrong. So damn wrong. The chances of him wanting to kill you are greater than that stupid dream of yours—”

You hear an impact, and the dizziness and pain slowly dissipate. You breathe properly again. When you come back to your senses, you look up to see Seungcheol, fighting with your ex. Seungcheol is taking a beating, only advancing when your ex's power falters, like a lag.

You could leave sneakily, but was it right? Seungcheol literally protected you from your own ex, showed you his true colors, and taught you the best of himself. Even though he is cold and "cruel" as they say.

As you're thinking, a glass sound pulls you from your mind. It's an injection.

You see your ex crawling desperately to get it. Seungcheol gives you an exasperated look, signaling for you to pick it up.

You grab it, walking back as your ex roars for you to leave it. You clutch it in your fist and, in a moment of desperation, inject it into your leg.

Your ex widens his eyes. But the substance is too powerful for you. You fall again, the pain overwhelming you.

He laughs, but Seungcheol is on him, beating him relentlessly. The fight intensifies, Seungcheol’s blows becoming more furious. You can barely focus on their struggle, the pain in your leg is consuming your thoughts.

The injection burns through your veins, making you feel like you’re on fire. You clench your teeth, trying to endure it. Your ex's laughter turns into cries of pain as Seungcheol lands a particularly harsh blow.

Seungcheol’s eyes briefly meet yours, and you see the determination in them. He’s fighting for you, protecting you with everything he has.

Seungcheol pauses, turning his attention away from you as the hero rises once more, clearly summoning his last reserves of strength.

Seungcheol stands confidently, knowing he has a chance to defeat him—if only he weren't standing on the edge of the building.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t possess flying superpowers. Instead, he grips the edge of the building with nothing but the strength of his fingers, looking up at the hero who towers above him.

Yet, Seungcheol has one special superpower, the reason he's considered the villain: the ability to listen to those who need help, like an echo in his mind. He hears the calls for aid and responds in his own way, without the expensive, extraneous superpowers the heroes pay billions for.

Unlike them, who need to buy their abilities, Seungcheol was born with his. He helps those living on the margins of society, without seeking fame or recognition. He doesn’t want to appear on TV or in the news.

Inside the heroes' world, he is well recognized, but without the money and science they have.

Seungcheol has nothing in his favor.

Yet, he still manages to help people. They can’t understand him. And hate can come easily to that which is too remembered.

His body can't manage more than this—more than his telepathy.

If it could, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He’s going to end up like this. His death won’t be caused by a big octopus or a giant RoboCop, as other heroes did. But by a great show of charity. He would do it for any citizen, but the fact that it’s you makes him have no regrets at all.

Seungcheol’s fingers start to slip, and he knows his time is running out. The hero stands above him, a look of triumph on his face. But Seungcheol’s mind is calm, even serene. He’s made peace with his fate.

The hero moves closer, ready to deliver the final blow. But in that moment, Seungcheol’s telepathy kicks in stronger than ever. He hears the cries of the people he’s saved, their voices filling his mind.

He has always fought for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, without the need for glory or recognition.

The world may see him as a villain, but he knows the truth.

His life has been a quiet rebellion, a stand against the notion that only the powerful can be heroes.

Seungcheol's mind becomes silent, and he can only hear your groans. His eyes close as he tries to hear from you again.

“Y/N?” he telepathizes, his voice entering your mind, velvet and deep.

You groan again, and he asks. “I’m here... are you alright, my love? Can you walk?”

The affectionate nickname makes your heart flutter. Seungcheol agonizes when the hero's steps on his fingers, but he agonizes more because he can't hear a proper response from you. Desperation sets in.

“Answer me, please. I’m not going to last,” he telepathizes again.

“Seungcheol...” he hears your voice and breathes out, relief washing over him. He looks down, watching the movement on the street below. It was too much of a drop to survive. His fingers were burning with pain.

“Seungcheol...” you call again. He shuts his eyes, clinging to the sound of your voice. “Let go,” you tell him. The words hit him like a jolt. He doesn’t understand. His arms tremble with the effort of holding on.

“Trust me, trust me, trust me.” He hears it like a whisper around his head. The conviction in your voice pierces through his fear.

He loosens his grip, his fingers slipping from the edge.

The air envelops his body like a hug as he falls, the distortion from the speed making the street sounds blur into a cacophony. The only thing he can think of is how you’re going to live by yourself now.

As he falls, memories flash before his eyes. He remembers every face he saved, every life he touched, his quiet acts of heroism, every moment of your brief time together, and then, vividly, your face.

He thinks of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy.

The moment Seungcheol hits the ground, he expects the pain, the end. Instead, he feels a strange warmth spreading through his body. He blinks, realizing he’s lying on a soft cushion of air, suspended just above the pavement. The hero stares down in disbelief.

Seungcheol’s body is gently lowered to the ground. He looks up to see you standing on the rooftop, your hand outstretched, eyes closed in fierce concentration. As his feet touch the ground, your eyes snap open, and you breathe out in relief.

Before Seungcheol can react, you advance on the hero, the two of you disappearing in a blur of motion and light atop the building.

Blinding flashes illuminate the rooftop as Seungcheol scrambles to his feet, urgency driving him forward. He runs into the building, tripping on the flights of stairs in his haste. The sounds of the battle above echo down to him, and he pushes himself harder, every fiber of his being focused on reaching you in time.

Seungcheol bursts onto the rooftop again, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. The sight that greets him makes his blood run cold.

Your ex-boyfriend lies lifeless on the floor, a pool of blood spreading beneath him. In your trembling hand, the hero’s heart reactor device glows faintly, now smeared with blood.

“Y/N!” Seungcheol shouts, rushing to your side as your knees give way, collapsing under the weight of what you’ve done. The powers from the injection still course through your veins, but your energy is completely spent. You tremble in his hands, your body feeling like it’s made of lead.

The weight of what you’ve done hits you like a ton of bricks. You stare down at the reactor in your hand, the blood smeared on your fingers, and a violent shudder runs through you. The metallic smell of blood mingles with the acrid scent of smoke, and it’s all too much.

“I never wanted it to end like this,” you whisper, your voice breaking. Your face is frozen in shock, eyes wide and unseeing as you try to process the magnitude of your actions. “I-I’ve killed someone.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, his grip on your shoulders firm yet gentle. “You did what you had to do,” he says, his voice low and steady. “He would’ve killed you, Y/N.”

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But it wasn’t supposed to be like this,” you insist, your voice trembling. “I didn’t want to become a killer.”

Seungcheol’s eyes soften, and he pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth seeping into your cold, shaking body. “Listen to me,” he says firmly, his lips close to your ear. “You’re not a killer. You’re a survivor. He put you in this position, not the other way around.”

You cling to him, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you sob uncontrollably. The reactor slips from your grasp, clattering to the ground with a dull thud. “I just wanted to be safe,” you cry, your voice muffled against his chest. “I didn’t want any of this.”

“I know,” Seungcheol murmurs, stroking your hair gently. “I know, Y/N. It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “How can you be so sure?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you’re strong,” he says simply, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Stronger than you realize. And because I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart ache. Despite everything, there’s a flicker of hope in his gaze that you can’t ignore.

Seungcheol brings you back to his loft, your body feeling heavy and numb. He helps you inside the shower, carefully removing your clothes. You sit on the floor, naked, as the warm water cascades over you, washing away the blood and grime.

There’s no malice or ulterior motive in his actions—only a quiet, pure care. You stare blankly at the tiles of his shower, lost in your thoughts, while his hands work methodically, washing your hair and scrubbing away the blood stains from your skin.

You needed this.

The side effects of the injection, the strain of using powers you didn’t fully understand, have left you weak. So weak that you need him to do something as simple as this for you.

Once you’re clean, Seungcheol wraps you in a fluffy towel, drying you carefully. He dresses you in one of his shirts, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin.

He guides you to his bed, tucking you in. You sink into the mattress, the exhaustion pulling at you like a heavy blanket. Seungcheol sits beside you, watching you for a few minutes. His body aches from the fight, but his concern for you overrides his own pain.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, his eyes never leaving your face. “You need to rest. Let your body recover.”

You nod, closing your eyes. The events of the night replay in your mind, but there’s a strange comfort in knowing Seungcheol is there, watching over you. “You don’t have to stay,” you murmur, feeling a pang of guilt.

“I want to,” he replies softly. “Just sleep, Y/N. I’ll be here.”

As you drift off, the last thing you feel is the warmth of his hand holding yours, grounding you in the midst of the turmoil. The darkness of sleep pulls you under, but for the first time in a long while, you don’t feel completely alone.

He waits for you to fall asleep before quietly moving around the loft, gathering what’s left of your belongings.

With quick, calculated motions, he loads his things, along with yours, into the trunk and backseat of his truck. The apartment, once filled with traces of both your lives, now stands empty, its furniture the only remnants of your presence.

When he looks at the empty space one last time, he takes a deep breath, then returns to the bedroom. Gently, he lifts you into his arms, careful not to disturb your sleep.

You’re so exhausted that you don’t stir as he carries you to the truck. His eyes flicker to you now and then as he drives, taking the road that leads to the other side of the country.

Long hours later, the sun starts to rise, casting a golden hue over the landscape. You wake up, eyes still adjusting to the brightness of the day. You find yourself parked outside a roadside restaurant, the car silent. Seungcheol is nowhere to be seen. Sitting up, you notice a blanket draped over you and realize you’re fully dressed, not just in his shirt anymore.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, fingers curling around the edges of the blanket. The sound of footsteps draws your attention, and you see Seungcheol approaching with a box of food in his hands. He opens the car door and slides into the driver’s seat, placing the food on the console between you.

“Hey,” he says softly, glancing at you. “How are you feeling?”

You blink a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Tired,” you admit, your voice still groggy. “Where are we?”

“We’re on the road,” he replies, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I thought you could use some breakfast.” He opens the box, revealing a variety of pastries, fruit, and a couple of sandwiches.

You nod, reaching for a piece of fruit. “Thank you,” you say, taking a bite and savoring the sweet taste. “For everything.”

He watches you eat for a moment before responding. “You needed to get away from there. It’s not safe.”

“I know,” you reply, your voice soft. “But where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe,” he answers, his tone reassuring. "Somewhere, they won’t find us.”

You look at him, studying his face. There’s a determination in his eyes, a resolve that gives you a sense of security despite the uncertainty of your situation. “Okay,” you say, trusting him.

He nods, his eyes softening. “Finish eating. We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

As you pass through small towns and sprawling landscapes, a sense of peace begins to settle over you. The rhythmic hum of the truck and the steady presence of Seungcheol at your side are comforting.

You share the occasional snack with him, your fingers brushing against his lips, eliciting a small smile from him each time.

As the truck continues down the road, the cityscape starts to take shape on the horizon. Tall buildings stand proud, their windows reflecting the sun’s light. It’s a bustling place, full of life and opportunity.

It’s everything you’ve been yearning for—a fresh start, a new chapter.

After you arrive, your legs stretch as you step onto the new asphalt. You look around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and ask, “Where are we?”

Seungcheol smiles, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “I’m going to show you,” he replies, leading you towards a big, white house. The house stands in stark contrast to the urban scene around it, classic and serene.

You follow him inside, and immediately, you notice people dressed in white moving about with purpose. Some are tending to children, others to elders, each room filled with an atmosphere of care and compassion. It's a place of healing and sanctuary, you realize, a refuge from the chaos you’ve just escaped.

As you walk through the house, you reach a garden at the back. The same people in white are there, playing with the children and dogs, the air filled with laughter and joy.

You notice a girl in white sitting by an easel, her fingers pressed to her temples. To your amazement, the brush on the canvas moves on its own, guided by her powers.

You stare in awe. “She’s painting without touching the brush,�� you whisper, your voice filled with wonder.

Seungcheol nods. “Yes, she’s using her powers. This place is a sanctuary for people like her, like us. A safe haven where they can learn to control and use their abilities for good.”

You look around, taking in the peaceful surroundings, the sense of community and support. “It’s beautiful,” you say softly, feeling a sense of hope blossom within you.

The next stop is a small, vintage apartment where you and Seungcheol place your things. The walls are adorned with faded floral wallpaper, and the furniture has a charming, old-fashioned feel. You sit on the living room floor, surrounded by boxes, and trail off, lost in thought.

“So, you’re a hero, not a villain,” you murmur, looking up at Seungcheol.

He pauses, glancing at you with a thoughtful expression. “I guess it’s not that simple,” he says, sitting down across from you. “People see what they want to see. To some, I’m a hero. To others, I’m a villain.”

You nod, digesting his words. “But you saved me. You brought me here. That makes you a hero in my book.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “I just did what needed to be done. Sometimes, the line between hero and villain isn’t so clear.”

You lean back, propping yourself up on your elbows. “It’s strange, you know? All this time, I thought I knew who the good guys and the bad guys were. But now… everything’s different.”

He nods, his eyes distant. “Life isn’t a simple story. It’s messy, complicated. People have layers, motives that aren’t always black and white.”

You turn to Seungcheol, who has laid himself out on the living room floor beside you. The gentle hum of the old radiator fills the silence between you as you finally ask the question that's been on your mind.

“Can I ask you something?” you say, glancing over at him.

He turns his head to face you, nodding slightly. “Sure. What’s up?”

“How did you meet me?” you ask, curiosity lacing your voice.

Seungcheol sighs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s a bit of a long story,” he begins, his tone thoughtful. “I first heard you every single night in my head before I even knew where you lived. It started with your thoughts and feelings—your fears, your doubts. I heard them all.”

You blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “You heard me in your head?”

He nods. “Yeah. I didn’t know who you were at first, just that there was someone struggling. I could sense your pain and your frustration. It was like an echo in my mind.”

He pauses for a moment, then continues. “When I'vve found you, I started watching the movements in your apartment. I saw you and your boyfriend fighting—a lot. I saw the nights you were left alone...”

You shift uncomfortably, thinking about all the arguments, the hurtful words exchanged. “What did you see?”

“I saw things that were hard to watch. There were nights when your boyfriend would come home drunk, lashing out at you for no reason. I saw him bringing people over, strangers who didn’t have your best interests at heart.”

Your heart aches as you listen. “So, you were watching all of this?”

He nods. “I was. I needed to be sure of what was happening before I intervened. I couldn’t just act without understanding the full picture. He was involved in some dangerous activities, connections with people I didn’t want you to be near.”

He looks at you with a serious expression. “I knew I had to do something. It’s my job, in a way. The place I showed you before, is where people like me come from. We’re spread out across the country, helping those in need.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “So, you felt like you had to save me.”

“Exactly,” he says softly. “It was more than just a job. It was a responsibility. When I saw how much you were suffering, I knew I couldn’t just stand by. I had to step in.”

As you lie there, processing everything Seungcheol has told you, it dawns on you that the man who once seemed so mysterious and distant wasn’t a villain at all. He was the one who sat on your window, smoking and wearing a black outfit, seemingly a shadowy figure.

He was the one who risked falling from a building to ensure your safety, who gathered your belongings—even your mug collection, and your… dildo—before your apartment was destroyed by an alien.

He was the man who, despite the doubts and fears, saved your life and now laid by your side as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Seungcheol’s presence beside you, so unexpectedly comforting, makes you feel secure in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. His gaze meets yours, a question in his eyes as if trying to decipher the whirlwind of thoughts running through your mind.

Unable to hold back your emotions any longer, you roll over and drape yourself across him like a koala. The sudden weight makes him emit a funny gasp. You both end up laughing, the sound filling the room with warmth. He wraps his arms around you, reciprocating the hug with a soft giggle.

“What?” he asks with a playful smile, his eyes twinkling.

You look up at him, your heart full, and press a soft kiss on his lips. Seungcheol’s eyes flutter closed, and he melts into the kiss, holding your face gently as if he’s been waiting for this moment all along.

But then, he pulls back slightly, his expression thoughtful. "Wait, no, are you sure about this? I mean, you’ve just come out of a… complicated relationship.”

You can see the concern in his eyes, the careful consideration behind his words. “I am sure,” you say softly, pressing another kiss to his cheek. “You’ve been amazing. You’re not a villain, and you’ve shown me what it’s like to be cared for.”

You move to kiss his forehead, then his neck, making him giggle again, his laughter bubbling up despite the seriousness of the conversation. He closes his eyes, savoring each tender kiss, his heart racing with every touch.

“I guess I’m just worried,” he says, his voice a mix of hesitation and affection. “You’ve been through so much. I don’t want you to think that I’m just trying to fill a void or something.”

You shake your head, placing one last kiss on his lips. “You’re not just filling a void. You’re something real and true, and I can feel it.”

“Can you… feel it?” he asks.

You smile against his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to reassure him. “Of course I can,” you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

The moment your lips meet his again, you notice his reaction is less restrained this time. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you might disappear. His kisses grow more passionate, each touch of his lips filled with a desperate need to communicate everything he feels.

You can taste the sweetness of his affection, feel the way he melts into you, and you respond with the same intensity. Your hands explore the familiar contours of his face, as if memorizing every detail, every emotion he's conveying.

His breath quickens, and you can feel the heat of his skin, the way his entire body seems to respond to you, to the connection that’s unfolding between you both.

He pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes locked onto yours. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could.”

You brush your lips against his once more, a soft, tender caress. “It’s because it’s real,” you whisper. “It’s something I’ve needed for a long time.”

[...]

If you ever thought your life would change drastically, you never imagined it would be like this.

When Seungcheol left to handle his tasks for the night, it felt different. The house, though quiet, seemed fuller now.

His presence lingered in the way he had filled it with his energy, his routines, his little touches that made the space feel like more than just four walls. The absence of his constant presence was noticeable, yet somehow, it felt like a comfort.

You wandered around the house, touching things you hadn’t noticed before. There were small, personal details—like a collection of old vinyl records stacked neatly on a shelf, and a set of quirky, handmade coasters on the coffee table. They made the house feel lived in, like a real home.

In the kitchen, you found a note Seungcheol had left on the counter, scrawled in his familiar handwriting: “Pick a movie tonight. I’ll be back soon.” You smiled at the simple gesture, a small piece of normalcy in the midst of the whirlwind you’d been through.

When he arrives at the apartment, the warm aroma of dinner wafts from the stove. He glances around, noticing that the movie on the TV is paused at the very beginning. It’s strange that you’re not here; usually, you’d be curled up on the couch, waiting for him.

His eyes sweep over the space, and he hangs his jacket on a dining chair, the soft thud of the fabric against the wood mingling with the hum of the refrigerator.

A sudden noise catches his attention—an “Ah!” from somewhere in the apartment.

Seungcheol freezes, his heart rate quickening. He tilts his head, straining to hear again. The sound came from the bedroom. Curiosity and concern propel him forward as he moves cautiously toward the door.

Pushing the door open just a crack, he peeks inside. His breath catches in his throat as he takes in the scene before him.

You’re sprawled out on the bed, your legs were spread open in a way that revealed everything.

Your body glistens with a sheen of sweat, and you’re arching back, clearly horny. The vibrator, the very same one he had glimpsed in your old apartment—a sight that had piqued his curiosity—was now pressed tightly against your clit.

He could see the pleasure etched across your face, the way you bit your lip and gripped the sheets. He hesitated at the doorway, not wanting to intrude but unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

The sight is so intimate, so raw, that he feels a blend of emotions—desire, awe, and a sense of protectiveness. His initial impulse is to step in, to be there for you, but he’s also painfully aware of how private this moment is.

His own breath hitches as he wrestles with the decision of whether to interrupt or simply stand back. He knows this is a vulnerable part of you, one that you might not be ready to share with him just yet.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, his desire is real as he steps fully into the room. The bulge in his pants is a constant reminder of just how affected he is by the scene unfolding before him. But he pushes past his own need, focusing on you.

He kneels beside the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements that might pull you from your reverie. His fingers, though trembling slightly, are gentle as he reaches for the vibrator. He eases it away from your clit, the sudden absence making you gasp, a sound that’s part surprise, part frustration.

You blink rapidly, trying to catch your breath as you process his presence. Your cheeks flush a deep red. Just as you begin to open your mouth, ready to speak or perhaps to protest, Seungcheol silences you with a touch.

Without a word, he positions the vibrator back against your wetness, the cool touch of it sending you screaming on your bed. Slowly, he guides it back to your clit, applying a steady pressure as he begins to circle it.

His eyes are locked onto your every reaction, absorbing each tremor and gasp as if they were treasures.

The immediate pleasure that jolts through you is overwhelming. You clench his forearm, your grip desperate and needy as you roll your eyes back in pure, unfiltered sensation. The way he controls the vibrator, the way he’s so deliberately attentive to your body—it drives you wild.

The intensity of your arousal triples, the added thrill of Seungcheol’s touch making it feel like every nerve is on fire. You sob, the sound escaping from you as you struggle to stay grounded amidst the stimulation.

Each circle of the vibrator on your clit feels like an eternity, stretching out the sensation to a nearly unbearable edge.

Seungcheol’s gaze never wavers from you. He watches you with an intense focus and tenderness, his own breath coming in uneven puffs as he fights to keep his own desires in check.

He’s controlling your pleasure with an expert touch, making sure that each movement is precise and perfectly tuned to your reactions.

He knows you’re on the brink, and he’s both savoring and prolonging this moment for you.

The control he exerts is deliberate, his movements are carefully calculated to push you to the edge without letting you fall over just yet.

As your body writhes beneath his touch, Seungcheol’s expression softens. He can see how much you need this, how much his presence, his touch, is amplifying everything you’re feeling. It’s a heady blend of power and vulnerability, and he’s completely consumed by it.

As the waves of pleasure begin to crest, you feel your moans transforming into quieter, breathless gasps. Your body tightens, with every muscle pulling taut as you approach the brink of orgasm.

It’s right there, just a heartbeat away, when Seungcheol suddenly pulls the vibrator away. The abrupt absence of its buzzing sends a shock through you, your body jolting as you let out a delayed cry of frustration.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at you. Rather, he sets the vibrator on the bedside table as if it were a routine, doing so with practiced ease.

Then he gets to his feet and strips off his shirt, baring his chest. Your need is heightened by the sight of him, so masterful and totally devoted to you. You watch him, breathless and with wide eyes, while he dismisses your little cries of protest.

He seems determined to show you something more personal than the toy could ever offer, judging by the steady, unwavering look in his eyes.

He says, taking off his belt, “I want to see you cum for me, not for a toy.” “I want to see you cum in my mouth,” he murmurs.

You swear you see your soul leave your body just like in a cartoon,with his words. He spreads your legs wide, putting himself between them. You can almost feel the need in your body quivering with anticipation.

His mouth feels like fire when it first touches your clit; the buzzing vibrator has made you more sensitive. You gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily. His tongue is moist and warm as it hungersily probes every part of you.

You let out a deep moan as he laps at your entrance, gathering your slick and spreading it over your clit.

He sucks gently, then more firmly, his tongue flicking over your most sensitive spot in a way that has you writhing beneath him. Every nerve ending in the body is hyperaware of intense pleasure.

Your hips are held in place by Seungcheol's hands as he consumes you. You can feel the strength in his hold, the way his fingers dig into your skin just enough to anchor you. His eyes glance up at you, watching your reactions, ensuring he’s giving you exactly what you need.

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice shaky. “I’m so close.”

His response is a deep hum against your clit. He intensifies his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his lips sucking harder. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you hold on for dear life.

Every muscle in your body tightens, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He doesn’t let up, his focus entirely on you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, your back arches off the bed, a loud moan escaping your lips. Seungcheol continues to lick and suck, drawing out every last bit of your pleasure, his eyes locked on your face as you come undone.

You take a deep breath, your vision slowly clearing, and catch sight of Seungcheol gripping his cock through his boxers. The outline looks thick and big, making your mouth water at the sight of it.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur, your voice still shaky from the intensity of your orgasm. His eyes meet yours, dark and round.

“Yes?” he asks, his voice husky.

You reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you press your palm against the bulge in his boxers. He inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as you touch him.

“I want to make you feel good too,” you say, your voice gaining strength.

He groans softly, his restraint slipping. He helps you pull his boxers down, his erection springing free. It looks even more impressive without the fabric, flushed, throbbing, and you can’t help but lick your lips in anticipation.

You lean forward, taking him into your hand, feeling the warmth and the weight of him. He watches you, his breath hitching as you stroke him slowly.

“You’re so big,” you whisper, looking up at him.

He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “And you’re so beautiful.”

You smile. Leaning down, you place a soft kiss on the tip, tasting the salty precum. His reaction is immediate, a shudder running through his body as he groans your name.

Encouraged, you take him deeper into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the head. His hand finds your hair, not pushing, just holding you gently as you work him with your mouth.

“Just like that,” he breathes, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re doing so well.”

You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, feeling the stretch in your jaw. His size is a challenge, but you’re determined to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His groans and gasps spur you on, each sound a reward for your efforts.

You bob your head, taking him as deep as you can, your hand stroking the base where you can’t reach. His hips begin to move, a slow, careful thrust that shows how close he is to losing control.

“Y/N, I’m close,” he warns, his voice strained.

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his as you continue your movements, letting him know without words that you want this. He curses softly, his grip on your hair tightening just a bit.

One thing he didn’t notice was your sneaky hand grabbing the forgotten vibrator on the bedside table. With a naughty grin, you hold the base of his cock to keep it still, then turn the vibrator on and press it against his length while your mouth sucks on his tip.

Seungcheol lets out a deep grunt, propping himself up on his elbows, his eyes closing tightly. “You little—” he curses, his voice strained. Your smirk widens at his reaction, the vibrations traveling through his body, making him shudder.

“Who’s the villain now?” you tease, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock.

His response is a strangled moan, his hips jerking slightly into your mouth. “You... you’re the villain here,” he groans, his hands gripping the sheets. “Fuck!”

The combination of your mouth and the vibrator makes his body tense. You can feel him throbbing in your hand, his muscles tightening as he gets closer to the edge.

You increase the intensity, your hand moving the vibrator up and down his length while your mouth continues its assault on his tip. His breathing becomes ragged, and he’s practically panting now, his moans growing louder with each passing second.

“Y/N, I’m gonna—” he chokes out, his voice desperate.

You let go of his tip, a knowing smirk playing on your lips as you realize you’re giving him a taste of his own medicine. The vibrator still buzzes in your hand as you reach for his cock, straddling him and slowly sinking down.

The sensation is electric—your drenched, sopping cunt engulfs him almost like a vacuum, drawing a desperate moan from his lips. His eyes flutter shut, and you can tell he’s loving it just as much as you are by the way his face contorts.

When you bottom out, Seungcheol squirms beneath you, his hands gripping your hips. He reaches for your wrist and places the vibrator on your clit, the sudden jolt of pleasure making you clench around his length.

His moan mingles with a teasing smile, his eyes dark with lust. If he wasn’t a villain before, he definitely looks like one now.

You ride his cock in circles, the vibrations on your clit making your body curl inward, your nails digging into his abdomen. The pleasure is overwhelming, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you move faster, chasing the high that’s just within reach.

His grip on your hips tightens, guiding you as you move. “That’s it, baby,” he growls “Just like that.”

Seungcheol sneaks a hand to the vibrator and turns it to the highest level. You grunt, throwing your head back as the intense vibrations radiate through your entire body. He can feel them inside you too, the added stimulation making him groan.

“Fuck, Seungcheol!” you cry out, your voice shaking as you jump up and down on his cock. Your pussy meets his length and then his base, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room.

“Yeah, take it all, baby,” he growls, his eyes locked on yours. “Your pussy is so fucking tight around me.”

You moan louder, the dirty talk driving you wild. “Tell me more,” you gasp, craving more of his words, the filthier, the better.

He thrusts up into you, his own pleasure building as he watches you ride him. “You love this, don’t you? Being my little slut, taking my cock so well,” he says, his voice strained with the effort of speaking through his moans.

“Yes! Oh god, yes!” you reply, your movements becoming more frantic. “I love it, Seungcheol. I love being— Fuck!”

He grins. “You’re so fucking wet for me. Look at you, bouncing on my cock like a desperate little whore.”

You shiver at his words, your body responding eagerly. “Shit, Seungcheol, you feel so good inside me,” you pant. “I want to cum all over your cock.”

“Do it, baby,” he encourages, his voice rough. “Cum for me. Show me how much you love it.”

“I’m gonna cum again, Seungcheol,” you gasp, riding him faster. “I want you to cum with me.”

“Fuck, yes,” he grits out, his hands sliding up to your breasts, squeezing them. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

“Cum inside me,” you moan, your nails digging into his chest. “Fill me up, Seungcheol.”

He thrusts up hard, matching your frantic pace. “You want my cum? You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please,” you beg, leaning back to get a better angle, driving him deeper. Your voice breaking with need. “I need it, Seungcheol. I need your cum.”

His grip on you tightens, and you can feel him getting close. “You’re gonna get it,” he promises, his voice rough. “I’m gonna fill you up so good, baby.”

Seungcheol presses the vibrator harder against your swollen clit, and you convulse on him, your body shaking uncontrollably from the combined sensations.

“Fuck,” he growls, “You’re creaming all over my cock. Look at you, so fucking soaked.”

You moan loudly, barely able to respond as the vibrations and his cock drive you wild. “Yes, Seungcheol,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “I’m so wet for you.”

He chuckles darkly, his eyes locked on yours as he continues to thrust upward, hitting every sensitive spot inside you. “Hm… The way you’re dripping all over me. I can feel every drop.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you bounce harder, trying to chase the overwhelming pleasure. “I can’t stop cumming,” you whimper. “It’s too much.”

Seungcheol’s breathing grows ragged, his gaze fixed on the way your pussy pulses around him. “That’s right. Let go for me. I want to see you lose control. You’re such a fucking mess for me.”

The pressure of the vibrator against your clit makes you cry out. “I’m cumming so hard,” you moan. “I can’t handle it.”

He grunts, his voice deep and raw. “That’s it, baby. Cream all over my cock. I love how you’re losing it. I’m gonna make you cum so fucking hard.”

Your eyes roll back. “Seungcheol,” you cry out, your body arching and trembling. “I’m gonna—”

He groans as he feels your inner muscles clench around him, the vibrations making every nerve in your body explode. “Yeah, let it all out,” he commands. “Show me how much you fucking need me.”

You convulse one last time, your vision blurring as the orgasm washes over you. Seungcheol holds you tightly, his cock still buried deep inside you as he continues to grind against your clit, making sure you get every last ounce of pleasure.

Seungcheol wastes no time, flipping you over onto all fours like you're a rag doll. The sudden shift leaves you breathless, your body pliant and obedient to his every move. He quickly turns the vibrator off and tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. His hands find your ass, squeezing and fondling your cheeks.

Without missing a beat, he thrusts his cock back inside you, abusing your sweet spot with relentless precision. You feel the sting of your skin meeting his pelvis with each strong thrust.

You bite down on the pillow, muffling your sobs as your body trembles beneath him. The orgasm still pulses through you, but now Seungcheol is fucking you through it with a ferocity that has you seeing stars.

His grip tightens on your hips, one foot propped up on the mattress to give him more leverage. The bed creaks under you, the mattress springs creaking.

His moans become whiny and throaty. You can feel him getting closer, his cock twitching inside you with every thrust, and the sight of the white ring around his shaft driving him feral.

Summoning strength you didn't know you had, you lift your head and glance over your shoulder. You need to see his 'bad boy' posture crumble.

Seungcheol's face is a picture of raw emotion, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open in a silent cry. His expression is utterly shattered, as if he's about to break down and cry like a boy.

The sight of him like this, so helpless and undone, makes you squeeze harder around him. The reaction is immediate—Seungcheol's eyes roll back, and his hips slam into yours, grinding deep as he reaches he orgasms.

You feel the warmth of his cum filling you completely. He groans as he cums harder than ever before, his hips twitching with each spurt. The room is loaded with the sounds of his heavy breathing and the wet, obscene noises of your bodies joined together.

He stays buried inside you for a moment, savoring the sensation of your bodies connected, his cum still dripping from where he's filled you to the brim.

Seungcheol sleeps soundly, like a baby, his face peaceful and unburdened. In that moment, it doesn't matter who he is or where he is; his mind is completely consumed by thoughts of you.

The room is quiet, the only sound being your synchronized breaths. Exhausted and spent, you don't even have the strength to clean up. You sleep without a care, even as his cum slowly drips down your thighs.

[...]

Morning breaks gently, the soft light of dawn seeping through the curtains. Seungcheol stirs, his senses gradually returning to him. But something feels off. He blinks his eyes open, expecting to see you lying beside him. Instead, he’s met with a sight that jolts him fully awake.

You’re floating.

Your body is hovering a few inches above the bed, suspended in mid-air. Your eyes are wide with shock, mirroring his own as you both take in the surreal scene.

“Seungcheol,” you whisper, your voice tinged with panic. “Lower me down.”

He scrambles out of bed, his mind racing to process what he’s seeing. Without hesitation, he reaches out, his hands gently guiding you back down to the bed. The moment your body touches the mattress, the floating sensation ceases, leaving you both staring at each other in stunned silence.

You sit up slowly, your hands trembling slightly as you brush your hair back. “Wasn’t the injection supposed to last only for a few hours?” you ask.

Seungcheol, still healing from the sight of you floating, nods slowly. “Yeah, that’s what they said. But…maybe there’s more to it. Maybe it’s affected you in ways we didn’t expect.”

“So, does this mean you can fuck me while I'm floating in mid-air?”

Seungcheol's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a deep red. He laughs, a surprised sound escaping his lips as he runs a hand through his hair, clearly caught off guard by your audacity.

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fanaroff · 6 months ago

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DP X DC Prompt: It’s In The Cave

There’s an animal in the cave. At least, that’s the closest approximation. It cannot be caught on the cameras and any noises made only translate into static. Dicks says it’s green. Tim says it’s black. Stephanie insists it’s white. But Damian knows it’s all three.

The others can’t see it as well as Damian can, for the moment. It’s not a cat, but cat-like. It’s not a snake, it’s snake-like. There’s big, shining green eyes with their color not dissimilar from the Lazarus Pits. Tufts of flowing white hair white a body black body that trails off into a tail and pointed ears that flatten and raise. It looks alien. It looks like an animal. It feels familiar. Damian keeps it.

When it first appears, it’s only noticed at first because a few things are moved around in its haste to find shelter. That, and the little spots of green that trail after its first entrance inside. The green spooks them all, at first, thinking it’s Lazarus water. There are similarities, but it’s not quite the same. After a time, the green fades to red. There’s no recognizable DNA from any creature in it. They settle on it being an “alien.”

It’s always watching, always peeking. Snacks left for it are eaten quickly and sometimes vanish into thin air right in front of them. The longer they go without attacking it or trying to root it out, the more it seems to become comfortable with them. (Not for Damian’s lack of trying anyways.)

Dick tells him to “pspspsps” at it like a cat once, softly patting at the ground. When no one is around, he tries it while crouched between the cave wall and a piece of machinery he saw a movement between. The little thing “pspspsps” right back. He even sees a tiny paw with tiny claws mimicking his motions from under the machine. Damian decides right then and there that this thing will be protected.

Eventually, it starts getting comfortable enough to start showing itself more and soon they’re having to scoot it off of the keyboards in the Batcave. It’ll drag itself about, climb, and sling itself around their shoulders and gnaw with little teeth and claws on their gloves. (They go through gloves much quicker once this starts.) even Batman melts when it starts purring.

Originally, they were worried it was injured but after the time it was there, hidden, it seems to have healed from whatever it was. (Or they get to fawn over the little injuries and fix them up best as they can.)

It will only take food from Damian’s hands though and he lords this over the others with immense pleasure. Often, it can be seen wrapped around one of his hands and forearms like a snake, wiggling away and batting at its own tail-tip. Its growls sound like little blips of static and gargled nails.

Damian names him Phavadi (Marathi meaning that could mean a pickle or a mess, let me know if this is incorrect, it’s not my language.)

They aren’t able to find out what Phavadi is, at first. The Green Lanterns don’t recognize it. Martian Manhunter has never seen it and states that he is unable to read its mind. Like there is nothing there to grasp. (This starts a round of the birds cooing at Phav, calling him brainless, no braincells between them big ‘ol eyes, no thoughts head empty.) Starfire doesn’t know what he is, but is absolutely enamored.

It starts floating. That’s surprising, but also not. They knew Phav has some powers, it could go invisible after all. Gravity has no hold and now it happily makes its nests on top of their heads. When Phav somehow floats his way into the manor, this starts a frantic chase through the mansion to catch it and Phav thinks it’s a game. Winking in and out of existence, waving its tail from a chandelier. When Dick makes it up there to grab it, Phav just plops to the ground scaring the shit out of everyone. Uninjured, thankfully. Phav scoots off into the kitchen and is caught by a heavily scolding Alfred.

Sufficiently cowed, Phav is returned to Damian and the little thing starts sleeping in his room.

They don’t know that this entire time Phav has been following them on their patrols. Staying out of sight but watching with glowing eyes to make sure they’re all safe. An in-grained confusing feeling.

It’s when there’s a big-bad that things come to a head. The entire Justice League is called in and eventually Justice League Dark. The Robins insist on helping as well, they need all hands on deck.

Mid battle, Damian is about to take a hit he can’t dodge.

This can go one of multiple ways—

Angsty: little baby man Phav takes the hit and gets pretty injured. Left limp and unmoving to the distress of everyone. Constantine, seeing this thing is like “Oh. Oh shit. That’s a baby eldritch. That is an INJURED baby eldritch we are so FUCKED.” Because he knows that with this happening, its momma is about to come soon. Phav’s form starts to destabilize, little body starting to goop into a puddle of green. Damian is distraught. All he’s left with is a light blue, cold, glowing orb the size of a marble.

Ghost King: Suddenly, tiny Phav isn’t so tiny anymore. He’s grown to the size of a two story house, hunched and hissing. Eyes wildly glowing, claws out and very large, teeth dripping green, tail long and curled around his bats and robins. Constantine, upon seeing this, shouts “YOU DIDN’T TELL ME YOU HAD A BLOODY FUCKING ELDRITCH??!”

Feel free to add more or use this!

#danny phantom #dp x dc #danny phantom fanfic #ghost king danny #little baby man danny #little baby man #danny phantom prompt #danny phantom fic

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zyafics · 10 months ago

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STAY THE NIGHT | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe x FWB!Female Reader

Summary — When Rafe sees you as just a fuck buddy, you embody the role and remind him what that truly means.

Word Count — 5.5K

Content — 18+, Smut, Jealousy (From Rafe), Dominance Play, Oral Receiving (F + M), Fingering, P in V Sex, Unprotected Sex, Cockwarming, Praise Kink, Fluff At The End

Rafe Cameron doesn't get jealous.

You two aren't a couple. You are nothing more than casual fuck buddies that are conveniently located within proximity of one another when one of you need to blow off some steam or get off. The feeling is completely mutual.

However, you've been exclusive.

It's unspoken, of course. No one is willing to admit that they don't want the other to be sleeping with other people and you settled on that ambiguity.

You thought it could mean something more.

You thought wrong.

The other day, after fooling around, you laid in his bed, wearing nothing, and asked if you could stay the night. As part of your undefined relationship, you don't do sleepovers. Rafe doesn't do sleepovers. However, he was the one who was calling you after midnight. He was the one who wanted you to sneak out of your house, where your parents placed a curfew. If you go home now, you would be caught dead in the act and get into trouble. It would be easier to save yourself and stay over.

"No." Rafe declared, not letting the suggestion linger for more than a second. You lifted yourself from the bed by propping your elbows against his mattress, staring at the man who's searching for his throwaway clothes on the floor and redressed himself. "We don't do sleepovers. I don't want to be caught with a Pogue."

"Rafe." You said with a hint of annoyance. He saw you naked, but he was afraid of being seen with you in public? "It's fucking four in the morning. My parents are going to see me."

He scoffed. "Not my problem."

"So what? You don't care if I get in trouble?"

He shrugged, pulling his shirt over his chest. "You're just a fuck."

You said nothing. You just stared at him. He quickly gets dressed and finds your clothes around his floor, throwing them on the bed for you to take. With a huff, you pull yourself from the comforts and put them on.

"I'll call you." He said as you walked out of his bedroom, but you didn't answer him. All you did was flip him off and make your way out.

The next morning, you got in trouble with your parents regarding your absence. But, you said nothing, taking the lecture they gave you and headed to your room.

And you thought, if he sees me as a quick fuck, fine. I'll be just that.

The next Kook party, you were there. You always attended Kook parties, despite being a Pogue, simply because the alcohol is all free and it tasted better. No more cheap beer on The Boneyard, but you had to admit—the music was better.

Kooks can't play for shit.

This party happened to be on Tanneyhill, the mansion where Rafe lived. You haven't seen him since the last time you hooked up, and it's been the longest you've gone without seeing each other. Sure, he called you but you let it go to voicemails and all his texts were left on read. You know, without a doubt, Rafe would be looking for you and attempting to pull you to the nearest bathroom to fuck your brains out.

But you didn't care.

(Maybe just a little).

After dancing for a while, grinding against random strangers and making conversations with some friends of yours, you settled into a seat next to a Kook. He introduced himself as Ethan, and you chat with him as you drink from your cup, making small talk about what you're doing this summer.

He seemed interested enough. His eyes shamelessly glance down at your top, which practically shows off your tits, and floats back to your lips a couple of times. You knew if you wanted to, he would've follow you to a bedroom and fuck you.

But you didn't.

You laughed at his jokes. You told some of your own.

All while having an nagging feeling of a pair of eyes on the back of your head.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You know exactly who.

And Rafe Cameron is fuming.

He noticed you when you first walked in, in a top that shows off too much and a skirt that covers practically nothing. You walked into Tanneyhill as if you owned the place, despite being a Pogue, and that's one of the things that irritates him about you.

But it also made him attracted to you.

Your confidence. Your demeanor. You never backed down when Rafe tries to put you in your place and you never let him gain control without a fight. He likes that you make him work for it; there's a thrill in the chase. Because he knows, at the end of the day, it's his bed that you ended up in. It's his cock that you're sucking.

But, at this moment, he isn't so sure. Instead of being in his arms, talking to him, you were talking to some random fucking guy who attended Kook Academy and is making you laugh.

You didn't even bother to tell him you were coming.

Rafe thought he could hold it in until he got you alone.

But that was before the guy put his hand on your upper thigh and you let him.

It takes mere seconds for Rafe to cross the yard, and when he comes behind you, it surprises you at how silent he was. "Get your hands off my fucking girl," he snapped at Ethan and before Ethan got the chance to back off, Rafe grabs your arm and pulls you off the chair, taking you inside of Tanneyhill.

You let him drag you for a few moments. The booze in your system is making your reaction sluggish, but when the realization dawns on you, you finally pull away when you reach in front of his bedroom, hidden in a dark hallway.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He scoffs at your words. "What am I doing?" He repeats. You nod. He jabs an accusing finger in your direction. "What the fuck are you doing?"

You lift the cup to your lips. "I'm drinking."

His eyes are livid. "With that guy?" He gestures outside where Ethan is, jealousy pouring from his words and he sounds like he's using every inch of restraint he has to hold everything together. You shouldn't be enjoying it so much, but you are. When you don't answer him, feigning a bored expression, Rafe gets more frustrated. He doesn't like that you aren't reacting. He doesn't like it at all. "What's your fucking problem?"

You lift your shoulders in a casual shrug, pressing the red solo cup against your lips and says, "thought I was just another fuck."

He knows you were throwing his words back at him. He knows that this is some fucking test that you're doing to drive him bad. He also knows it's working, so much so that he knocks the cup out of your hands, causing the content to spill all over his marble floor. "Fuck you."

You scoff, unfazed by his aggression. "You already did." You say, and while Rafe is silently raging underneath, you decide to take it a step further. Closing in the distance until you're right in front of his face, you smirk, "and you fucking loved it."

Rafe is breathing hard, his blue eyes searching your face, his chest raising and falling in rapid beats as frustration rolls off of him, all while you tip your head to the side, raising your brow, challenging him to respond.

He does.

By slamming his lips against yours.

One of his hands catches the back of your neck as he presses a bruising and punishing kiss against your lips, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. Instinctively, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"You're mine." He breathes against your lips when you break apart, trailing kisses down the column of your neck as you tip your head back to give him more access, feeling his mouth working against your skin. "And no fucking asshole from the Academy is going to take you away from me."

Wanting to tease him further, you say. "What if I leave?"

He answers you by sucking on a sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to arch into him and let out an involuntary moan as his free hand descends down to your short skirt and roughly palms your ass. Rafe chuckles against your skin, satisfied by your body's reaction to him. "Then no one is going to make you feel like I do."

His hands move to pull down your top, causing your tits to spill out of the fabric. The cold air pricks at your exposed skin and Rafe takes a beat of a second to admire you before lifting his gaze to meet you in an easy, cocky grin.

"So ready for me," he teases, moving his hand up to play with your hardened nipples between his fingers. You let out a small sigh. "God, you're fucking gorgeous."

"Shut up," you say, not liking how his words are making your cheeks flush with heat and a flutter of butterflies to swarm your stomach. This is just a fuck, you remind yourself. He lifts his blue eyes to meet you for a brief second before descending his mouth down to cover one of your nipples.

You always like playing with yourself there. As his tongue swirls around the sensitive tip, his teeth lightly graze against the bud, causing your moan to echo across the hallway and his hand immediately slaps over your mouth, silencing them.

Rafe's eyes lock with yours. "You don't want anyone to hear what a needy girl you are, do you?"

You clench your jaw underneath his hand, at his dominance, but when you don't answer fast enough, he asks again. "Do you?"

You shake your head and he pulls himself off of you, the cold invades the absence of his heat. But, Rafe doesn't leave you for long. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his bedroom. The moment the door slams close, his lips return on yours and his hands explore over your exposed body.

Your core clenches as Rafe slams you against the back of the door, kissing you hungrily as he lowers his hand to the cutoff of your skirt and pushes the flimsy material up to your hips before cupping your pussy.

"God, you're dripping," he says with a small laugh, looking up to you. "Are you this wet for me, baby?"

You are. Rafe Cameron has a way to make your entire body responsive to him, his touch, his kisses, his everything. But, you don't want to let him know that. You don't know how much you want it, how much you need it.

Instead of answering him, you say with a roughness to your voice, "if you don't fuck me, Cameron, I'll find someone else who will."

Humor leaves his face and his expression hardens. He cups your cunt hard, causing you to involuntary jolt forward into his hand and a small whimper to escape you. "This is mine. No other fucking man is going to touch this but me."

"Big words for someone who hasn't made me come."

His eyes darken and, with your taunting and teasing getting to him, he finally pushes your panties to the side and inserts a rough finger inside of your pussy, causing you to wince at the abrupt motion. "Can you handle it?"

You nod with closed eyes, feeling as he adds a second finger, thrusting in a steady but rough pace, his other hand fondling with your tits.

You lean back against the door with heavy breaths, moaning and clenching as your orgasm builds from his rhythm. Rafe knows your body, he knows you're about to come, and as your moans get more erratic and you grind harder into his hand, he quickens his thrusts. Leaning into you, he says to your ear, "let it out, baby."

You do.

Your walls clench around his fingers tightly as you ride on your high, so much so that you hear his muttered fuck under his breath. When you're slowly coming down from your climax, Rafe removes his hand. The loss of his touch causes you to frown but before you get the chance to open your eyes and complain, he pushes the wet digits against the entrance of your lips. "Suck."

You want to argue back, about him telling you what to do, but you can't seem to help but listen. Your eyes open and find his face, watching you as you suck his fingers clean of your arousal. "Good girl."

When he withdraws his fingers, clarity dawns on you. He's wearing too much while you're practically exposed. You didn't like how uneven the playing field is, and with a gesture to his shirt and pants, you demand. "Take it off."

His smirk is smug. "Eager, aren't we?"

"If I have to be naked, so do you."

"You aren't naked." He gestures back to you and you look down at yourself. While your tits are showing and your panties are soak, he's right, you technically aren't naked. Not afraid of backing down from a challenge, you easily pull your tiny top over your shoulders and push your skirt and panties down to your ankles.

Stepping out of them, you look back to see Rafe admiring your naked body. You can see the outline of his erection straining against his pants, and for a moment, a self-consciousness creeps up on you and you blush. With a hard swallow, you point to him. "Your turn."

The corner of his lips quirks up at how demanding you are and he pulls his shirt over his body, revealing the defined and taunt muscles of his chest underneath. Your mouth waters. You watch as he goes for his belt—knowing you’re watching—that he teases it out slowly. He messes with the buckle, taking his sweet time, that you grow impatient.

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath, approaching him and pushing his hands out of the way, sinking to your knees as you unbuckle the belt with ease—practices from all the other times. When you pull it out of his pants, you stop, looking up to Rafe.

"Go on, princess." He gestures, a cocky grin at the sight of you on your knees for him. "Finish what you started."

You hate how much power he has over you this time, how he is telling you what to do, but because of how needy you are, how much you want him between your legs and his cock to be in you, you listen. You unzip and pull down his pants, revealing an impressed bulge underneath his briefs. With one easy tug, you freed his cock and it stood in front of you, hard and leaking with pre-cum.

On your knees, you look up to see Rafe watching you, waiting to see what you do. His eyes are hungry and his arousal is obvious. Tentatively, you wrap your hand around the thick cock, your fingers barely connecting together because of his girth.

And slowly, you rub up and down his shaft.

A hiss leaves the back of Rafe's throat and satisfaction pools in your core at the realization that you are making him feel this way, that you have this much control. "Faster." He commands, his voice thick with desire.

Instead of listening to his orders, you open your mouth and take his cock in your mouth, swallowing the salty taste as you swirl your tongue at his head. Added with the motion of your hand playing with his balls, and rubbing him up and down, Rafe can’t help but rock his hips against your face.

“Fuck,” he swears, his hand finds your hair and pulls your closer to him, as your grip around him gets firmer and you hollow your cheeks, creating a stronger suction. Rafe groans under your touch, tugging the root of your strands, wanting you to do anything and everything to build him closer to his climax. “Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

With that pride of information, you slow down, your fingers loosen their pace and you pop the cock out of your mouth. Rafe feels the instant loss of touch and he looks down at you, his expression hard and angry.

"What the fuck?"

"Say please."

He says your name in a command, but you don't budge.

Rafe's blue eyes are hard. He knows you do this. He knows you like to mess with him, take back control whenever you find yourself in a small position of power and remind him of his place. Irritation builds in his chest, this time worse than the others, but so does his delayed climax. He needs it more.

With a reluctant sigh, he says, "please."

You return your motion, moving in slow, torturous strokes as your hand moves up and down his slick length, creating enough pleasure for him to feel but not enough friction to ease into his climax. Your mouth has yet to return on his cock and without the added assistance, his jaw tense and his frustration and horniness builds.

In a desperate plea, Rafe begs, "baby, please."

His voice didn't sound like his own and his words are so rough, so willing, that you can't help but alleviate him from his misery. You reconnect your lips on his tip and begin to rub his faster, firmer, sucking him harder. With the edge of delay, Rafe comes fast with a guttural groan, spilling in your mouth as you lap over the taste, swallowing all of it.

Rafe lowers himself and guides you back to your feet, pulling you towards the bed and pushing you flat against the mattress, laying on your back.

He lowers himself off the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees as he steps in front of your exposed pussy, and looks up to see the self-satisfied smirk on your face at the little stunt you pulled back there. In a low voice, he says, "you're going to regret that."

A finger drags up your slit, in a slow motion, gathering your wetness on the digit but producing enough pressure that it makes you whine. You try to grind yourself against his hand but he lays his palm on the flat of your stomach, holding you in place.

When his eyes connect with your needy gaze, he says, “my turn.”

Dipping his head between your legs, he kisses your inner thighs in slow, agonizing touches. It produces an aching feel to your core as he gives careful attention to both of your thighs, slowly creeping up to your throbbing cunt, but not quite giving you a release.

Rafe lingers on a particular sensitive spot near your pussy, sucking and kissing the placement until you're writhing in pleasure and frustration, desperate to feel his tongue in you.

"Rafe," you say with a throaty beg and he grins against your skin.

"I said you're going to regret it."

"Yeah, and if you take any longer, I'm going to go downstairs to find Ethan."

Rafe hates it when you mention other men, or even think of other men, especially when he’s fucking you, but it does the trick as he moves between you and his fingers spread your folds. “You are this wet for me, baby, not Ethan,” he reminds you, before lowering himself to your pussy, flattening his tongue against your center before moving up and down in slow strokes.

“Fuck,” you moan as he finds your sensitive clit and sucks on the nub, the sound of wetness fills the bedroom as the low volume of the music thumps from downstairs. He lets one finger enter your cunt, beginning at a slow pace. “Rafe, ohmygod.”

He moves faster, rougher, lapping out your taste as if he was dying of thirst. With his finger quickening and his tongue working a miracle on you, another orgasm builds.

“I’m close,” you whisper and he nods. He moves with precision and god, Rafe Cameron is good at eating pussy. When his tongue enters into you and the pad of his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit, you can’t help but arch into his pleasure and come on his face.

You fall against the mattress with a heavy breath, but Rafe doesn’t stop. He continues to suck and lap and rub, causing you to wrap your thighs tightly around his head. You’re already so exhausted, so sensitive, coming down from your high, but that does nothing to satiate the man between your legs—fingers and tongue buried inside of you, still hungry.

Your thighs violently shake and your fingers rack through his hair, pulling, “ohmygod, ohmygod,” you moan as he works another orgasm from you, your stomach tightening and the pressure being so unbearable you feel as if you’re going to cave and explode.

“Come for me, baby, I want another one.” He mumbles against your cunt, the low hum of his voice vibrates through your body in a pleasurable sensation. With a rougher pace and a harder suction around your clit, you come for a second time in a row.

You’re an absolute wreck when he pulls away and, assessing the damage he caused, Rafe chuckles at the sight before him. You splay out on the mattress, breathing heavily with low lids and the prettiest pussy. He lowers himself, placing both hands on either side of your head to carry his weight, he plants a soft kiss on your lips.

His eyes set on you, a gentle gaze, and whispers. “Can you take another, baby?”

Though you are weak from all the orgasms you endured, you still nod, looping your arms around his neck as he descends closer to you, planting kisses against your lips, the corner of your mouth, to the edge of your jawline. You can feel his erection grazing at your entrance, waiting to enter, and the thought itself ignites another round of passion and need within you.

Rafe pulls back just enough to line his cock against your wet folds. Before he enters, he looks up to you, waiting for a confirmation sign. When you nod, he slowly pushes the length into your aching core and you jerk forward.

He goes in slow at first, allowing your walls to adjust to his size because, no matter how many times he’s been inside of you, it still takes a moment for your pussy to register that this is him. That this is his pussy. A hiss escapes the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You, with what little strength you have left, push yourself up as he rocks against your hips, beginning his thrusts. You get closer to him, grabbing his shoulders, while he takes the opportunity to play with your tits.

This new position allows him to enter deeper inside of you, hitting a new angle, causing you to let out a cry from the explosion of pleasure. In addition to the remnants of the orgasms you had a few moments prior, as Rafe pounds into your very sensitive core, you begin to feel as if you’re seeing stars.

Rafe leans down, closer to your ear as he asks, "who's fucking you?"

You feel your stomach knot and tighten, knowing he’s getting you close. But, you also can feel his cock twitching inside your walls, alerting you that he’s also getting close. With this dynamic power, you turn your head to face Rafe, connecting your heavy-lid eyes with his.

“Ethan.”

Rafe stills. His eyes darken at your words, watching the way your lips curl with an innocent look and he decided he hates it. He hates this little power play you're doing to him, he hates how it's working. He knows that you two are nothing more than fuck buddies, but without the reassurance that you are his—fully, devotedly his—he doesn't know if you haven't fucked another guy before. If you haven't had Ethan's name on your lips.

His hand lowers between the two of you, lightly grazing against your sensitive clit. You jolt into his touch. "Did you fuck him?"

His voice is low, dangerously low, as you watch how serious he turned with the tease of another man's name. You tilt your head to the side, challenging him. "And if I did?"

He pinches your clit and your hips arch forward, but he uses his other hand to grab it still. Your core throbbing while he remains inside of you and does nothing. You realize, in this moment, that you might've gone too far. You feel full and have everything in your possession to make you reach your highest peak but you chose to delay it with a joke that wasn't even that funny.

Especially not now.

Rafe slowly rubs your clit with his fingers, painfully light, teasing and punishing you all in one. You gasp into his touch, but he doesn't let you move. His grip remains firm on your hips, holding you in place as you ache around his cock, as he can feel your walls clench around him, begging to be fucked.

But he needs to hear you say it.

"Rafe," you choke, and his eyes connect with yours. Your eyes are teary, your breathing is erratic, and you are trying desperately to produce some friction between your legs and give you some semblance of pleasure. "Rafe, move."

"No, princess," he says with a deadly calm, shaking his head. "You want to play mind games with me all night, fine. But tonight, I'm going to fucking hear you say my name." He repeats himself with aggression, his fingers skims across your sensitive nub. "Who. Is. Fucking. You?"

You grip his shoulders, your eyes meeting his, and your core aches painfully. You try to grind yourself against him, trying to produce some friction of your own, but he uses both hands to grab your hips, stilling you in place with a deadly grip you are sure is going to leave a mark.

He shakes his head, firm on getting the answer out of you.

With teary eyes, you beg. "Please, Rafe. Please."

He grins with that self-satisfying charm. He loves it when you finally break your dominance. He loves it more when he can break you.

His thrust begins at a slow rate, still on the edge of punishment, but at least you can feel some friction producing between your legs. You look down at his cock entering and leaving your cunt, the image gratifying, but Rafe roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look back up.

"Look at me." He commands, his voice shallow as the slow thrust is killing him, but he needed to teach you a lesson. "I want you to remember this when you're looking at anyone else. Talking to any other fucking guy. Remember how I make you feel."

You nod frantically. Desperate at this point to say anything to get Rafe to move faster, harder, providing you with your climax. He sees it in your eyes, how he finally got you, that it makes him smile.

"God, look at you," he chuckles. "You want me to fuck you so bad."

"Yes," you beg, "yes, please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" He asks again, the proposition is too nice to tease out.

You nod, blinking through the tears. "Anything."

He grins at this exchange of power, when he holds all of it, that he finally relents and quickens his pace. You grip harder on his shoulders as Rafe thrusts into you, rocking his hips against yours.

You claw and moan against his skin, using it as an anchor for all the pain and pleasure ripping through you, and he takes it as a mark of honor. When he lowers one hand between the two of you, using the pad of his thumb to rub small circles around your clit, you see stars float in your vision.

"I'm coming," you pant against his skin. "God, please, I'm coming."

Rafe's hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him, and nods. "Come for me, baby."

When you feel your orgasm hit its all-time high, you slump in exhaustion against his shoulders, while he continues to move in and out of you. It takes a few seconds later before Rafe comes, feeling his hot cum leaking out of you.

He doesn’t remove his cock from your pussy and honestly, you don’t want him to. You want to stay like this for a moment, to catch your breath and come to the dawning realization that this is the best sex of your life. You didn’t want it to end.

Rafe lays his chin on your small shoulder, pushing your wet hair to the side as he recovers.

“Be my girl.” He whispers, so quiet, that you thought you imagined it. You weakly pull back, connecting your widened eyes with his.

"What?"

"Be my girl," he repeats once more, his blue eyes vulnerable and tracing your features to see if there's any hint of rejection on the bay. "I can't fucking stand you with other guys. I don't even want you to say their names. I want you. All of you."

You hesitate. "Rafe..."

"You said you'll do anything." He reminds you.

"You said you don't want to be seen with a Pogue."

He growls. "Fuck what I said," he snaps with a shake of his head, raising his hand to wipe the leftover tears from your face. "I want you. I don’t care about anything else. Just say yes."

You look at him and soften your gaze. You have wanted this, you admit, you wanted him to confess to you that he wants you as much as you want him. But, for a moment, in this brief second, you’re afraid that if you agree you would submit to everything you’ve fought against. The control you tried so hard to retain.

He sees it. He knows you’re having an internal battle. Using his hand, he cups the side of your face, the heat and comfort of his palm makes you instinctively lean into him. “Please.” He begs softly, giving you one last shred of power.

With a small chuckle of your own, you finally nod. "Okay."

He grins, and without hesitation, presses another kiss against your lips. This time, it lacks the power and control you two have been fighting for all night but rather is sweet, sensitive and patient. He pushes you back against the mattress, using his arms to hold up his weight.

When he pulls apart, both of you are out of breath and breathing heavily. He offers you a genuine smile, at how proud he is that you’re his, and uses the pad of his thumb to rub across your flushed cheeks. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You blush, waiting to pull away from his touch but Rafe knows you. He grabs a hold of your face, holding you in place so you can’t tear your gaze from him. “I’m serious. Since you’re my girlfriend now, you have to get used to that or else people are going to assume I don’t compliment you enough.”

You scoff. “You don’t. The only times you say nice things to me is when you’re in me.”

“Yeah?” He challenges, cocking one of his brows. You nod. “That’s going to change. Prepare for me to shower you with compliments every time I see you,” he says, as he lowers himself and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder blade. “Especially when I’m in you.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off as your eyes find the clock in the back of the wall. You didn’t realize how late it was.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Rafe turns to you, his brows knit together in confusion.

"What?"

"It's almost one am. I promised my parents I was going to go home at eleven."

He glances at the clock, before returning his gaze back to you. "Stay the night."

"What?"

"You said it would save you trouble, right?" You hesitantly nod. "Just stay the night."

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe how much he’s willing to give in now that you’re finally his. Maybe you should’ve made him jealous a long time ago. Your first instinct is to tease him about it, but you decide that you had enough power play. The both of you deserve some rest and plus, sleeping with Rafe would be a comforting feel after the sex you just had.

When he comes to approach you, settling between your legs as he waits for an answer, you run your hands through his messy blond locks. “Okay.”

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