#i just straight up. forgot for a second. what the FUCK

[jamiehe4rtsmen]

⁹ can't believe i get to call you mine

୨ৎ

"you see that girl over there?" schlatt leans on the counter, pointing towards you across the deli shop, who was squinting at the menu (you forgot your glasses at home and were suffering the consequences).

the underpaid employee blinks. "yeah."

schlatt lights up, a dumb grin settling on his face as he lets out a giggle. "that's my girl. can you believe that?"

"wow... so, what kind of sandwich do you w—"

"i mean, that's like, the definition of pulling above your league. am i right?" he pushes his elbow into the cashier gently, like they were best buds who were catching up after a long day.

"for sure. what kind—"

"i asked her yesterday, and she actually said yes! can you believe i—"

"give me your fucking sandwich order."

his video had now garnered 9.9 million views, titled "the bit went too far". it started off as an apology video, apologinzg for something vague, until you walked into frame and chirped "hey babe, whatcha doin'?" in the video, schlatt whipped his head around and hissed, "shh! what if they see you? i'll lose like, all my revenue from my woman audience!" your eyes widen and you giggle conspiratorially, walking out of the frame. schlatt turns around, facing the screen, and shrugs awkwardly before the video cuts off. all thirty seconds of it went absolutely viral.

right after this video was posted, unpaid intern came out with its first episode. a specific clip mentioning you went viral.

"so, after everything that's happened today, how are we feeling? like schlatt, we all know you've got a girl back home." ludwig transferred the microphone from himself to schlatt.

he grumbled, "what's it t'ya?"

"well, are the two of you thinkin' about kids?" a grin broke out across ludwig's face.

schlatt's poker face was immaculate as he shrugged. "well, so far the two of us have been trying to keep her tamagotchi alive more than anything, so once we deal with that first... we'll think 'bout it. but i don't mind the idea."

the kids burst out into the classic teasing chant of, "schlatt and his girlfriend kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G—"

"alright, alright! cool your little jets, kiddos." he groans, ruffling their hair.

on his new minecraft server, he was talking about you (as always). he killed a few sheep and made you a pink bed, placing it quite literally right next to his. he made a little sign that said "for my girl" and side eyed chat before quickly scrambling to add a little "<3" at the end, but when his chat teased him for it he scoffed, gaslighting to the thousandth degree. "psh.. no, chat. you guys are seein' things."

he'd added a new dono goal (which he reached in under an hour), which read "STREAM W/ THE MISSUS." he begrudgingly kept his word, booting up a just chatting stream titled "q&a with woman."

chat had fed him important questions to ask, like your name and hobbies, but he purposefully picked out the most funny one. straight-faced he looked at you and loudly proclaimed, "would you still love me if i was a blue ford f-150?" to which he got a hesitant, "...yes, but would i be like... carsexual then?"

he had also been caught and clipped glancing at his phone during streams and chuckling to himself, his cheeks flushed. sometimes he would even turn his phone to chat to show that toots 💕 texted him "saw a pineapple can at the grocery store next to a lawnmower and thought of you"

"ah. shakespeare's got nothin' on my girl. bill can suck a cock." he sighed, clearly lovelorn as he chuckled to himself.

sometimes chat would tease him with donos such as "blink twice if you need help" or "dating above your league final boss"

but his favorite thing was when someone on twitter tagged him in a photo of you and a man talking to each other, captioned "@/jschlatt, i'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but i saw your girl at a restaurant with this guy. dm me if you need emotional support 😘 xoxo"

schlatt was sent this tweet on stream, and burst out laughing. he laughed so hard he burst into tears, then he called you in the room with a mock-serious voice. "babe, jschlattsleftsock on twitter—"

"x, the everything app," you jokingly interrupt him.

he rolls his eyes, clearing his throat and grumbling, "not fuckin' calling it that. anyway, she said that you cheated on me with this guy." he burst into laughter as he showed the photo of you and the guy.

you burst into laughter two, but in between laughs you wheezed, "that's— my older brother— oh my gosh! and the xoxo at the end, the girl is shameless!"

chat, when they realized the truth of the situation, calmed down and started laughing too. you and the guy did look eerily similar to anyone with a pair of eyes, and it became a bit between the two of you and chat.

୨ৎ

divider credits @issysh3ll

[t-r99]

A Rare Treat

Oliver Aiku x reader

the things this bitchass manwhore does to me

i sincerely believe that being friends with occasional benefits with aiku would be the definition of angst because of genuine feelings but nothing being done about them because he's a whore

and yes, sex with friend aiku would absolutely turn soft

i haven't written anything in a hot minute and this feel bleh but but. aiku smut it always a joy☺️

warning: mild smut

wc: 780

Being friends with Aiku is fun because if you ever feel lonely or sexually frustrated he'll just stand there while beaming like Yumichika from Bleach like this,

He's there before you've even said anything and he is ready to go.

Lord have mercy on your insides, because Aiku sure won't.

It's a strange mix between gentle and roughness. Oliver's touch is soft as his hands roam all over your marked skin that's starting to bruise where he eagerly gripped and groped earlier and he's placing gentle kisses over the deep purple marks left by his mouth where he sucked and nipped all over your neck.

As already stated, Aiku is a very weird mix of two different things. He will smirk and pinch your nipples one moment, quickly capturing your lips in a fierce kiss and swallow up your cute little moans, and then he will pull away and move down to soothe your nipples gently.

He's been teasing you, tormenting you for ages now and hasn't even fucked you yet, the bitch. It's fun for him and he relishes in your little gasps and cute little noises.

"J- Just get on . . . with it." You can barely form a proper sentence.

Aiku looks up at you, a playful look in his dual coloured eyes. "In a hurry?"

He's fucking hot like this. "No . . . No, I . . ." Damn, he looks really good.

"Just lie down and be good for me." He smirks. "I don't get to do this often."

Now that's a damn lie. "You sleep around-"

"Yeah," Oliver moves further down, leaving a trail of soft kisses after him. "but this is my once in a blue moon treat."

This has happened a few times before, and every time you end up just as flustered as the first time you slept with him.

He stares down at you intensely and you feel shy under his gaze, suddenly wanting to hide, and Aiku loves that. It just makes you even cuter than you already are. "Shy all of a sudden?" His eyes narrow and he slaps the side of your thigh playfully. "Weren't you begging me to fuck you a second ago?"

Bitch. "Shut up . . ." You mumble.

Maybe he has dragged it out for too long. He's so unbelievably pent up that it hurts.

"Shit." Oliver whispers. He's rock hard and dying to be inside you. "See what you do to me?"

You can feel it, giving a needy, "Put in it." when Aiku only teases you further.

"So impatient."

You might actually end up hating him if he doesn't fuck you soon. "Aiku," All you want is to feel him inside you. "please."

That'll do it.

He's weak to your pleas. How could he ever deny you when you beg so softly and look up at him like that?

The sound of your pretty moans are sweet heaven and like music to his ears when he finally pushes in. Damn, he might just cum on the spot, it's been too long since he got to do this.

"We need to do this more often," Oliver whispers and pecks your lips. "I almost forgot how good this feels."

You're already gone, overwhelmed by being filled up alone and only able to pick up one word from him. "More?" You mumble in a daze, thinking he asked a question. "I want more."

Say less.

You're just so warm and tight around his cock that fits perfectly inside, pushing ever deeper until you feel impossibly full.

Aiku catches you off guard when he pulls away and the warmth of his skin leaves you. "Just a little . . ." He mumbles to himself and sits up straight. "change."

"Huh . . . ?" He handles you like you're nothing and you find yourself pushed further into the mattress with your feet up in the air and legs over his broad shoulders.

This guy is canonically the physically strongest player at Blue Lock, he's going to kill you from this new angle with how hard he pounds into your needy hole that clenches around him so tight he almost loses his composure.

"Fuck, y'feel good." Oliver pants. "'f you keep squeezin' like that I won't last."

All you can do is let out a string of moans that only turns him on further.

"Shit."

Aiku reaches his limit. He always cums embarrassingly fast with you, that's the effect you have on him.

He's cute like this, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, eyes fluttering closed as he pants a string of endless, "You feel so good." that only ends when you reach up to hold his flushed cheeks.

"Give me . . ." You whisper breathlessly. "Give me everything."

Your wish is his command.

[cable-salamdr]

I am actually taking in that Jaya had a versus fight oh my god. That Jay shattered his goodness and that he seemingly did this already before the tournament by the sound of it oh my god

[talkorsomething]

I made a vague semblance of brushing my teeth today! second time this year ...

[snekdood]

broly could totally kick slendermans ass

[lovegasmic]

OO1  𖤐 KINTOBER ; CORRUPTION

 toji, sukuna, satoru x f!reader ꒰ tw. manipulation leaning to dub con, age gap ꒱ taglist in the comments.

 𖤐 Megumi’s cute little friend from college who has the hots for Toji, but she’s just too shy and inexperienced to make the first move.

“Megumi and I? no, we’re just friends” is what you had said hours ago, when you so cutely arrived at his doorstep, with bitten lips and a notebook Megumi apparently forgot back at the lecture hall.

and Toji is not dumb not to notice the looks you give him, but it’s not sex all you want, or else you would have jumped on him on the spot, no, you’re a lot more innocent and naive, tugging on your skirt to cover your legs while sitting on his couch.

“is that so? i thought you were a thing” Toji is a lot more loose now, coming to sit next to you, a bit too damn close, and a hand on your knee.

suddenly a cheap porn video starts playing on Toji’s mind, one way too similar to your current situation, you mumbling a weak “we shouldn’t be doing this” while his hand is already sliding underneath your skirt.

his already rock hard cock twitching at the sight of your flustered self, panting for a mere touch on your inner thigh? god, Toji is going to enjoy this so much.

“boys your age don’t treat you like this” a calloused thumb tugs at your bottom lip, all puffy from your teeth digging on it, “are you going to be good for me, doll?” but can you really refuse? with the way the man towers over you, having you laying on your back, all flustered, panting with a lustful yet shy look on your eyes, one that Toji wants to turn into sheer submission.

Megumi’s not usually home, and although this detail should annoy his father, right now, the older is much happy about it, grateful that his son does not have to witness the way your puffy pussy lips part to greet the sticky, condom covered bulbous head of his cock, teasing, poking against your hole as if to taunt you to whimper louder.

“Toji...” sounds so heavenly how you moan his name, with a weak hand pushing on his lower abdomen, “we... shouldn’t...” is a weak complaint.

yet he does not even respond, almost forcefully sliding his tip into your tight cunt, grumbling at the sensation of your soft walls welcoming every fat inch, “you’re taking it well, doll” he smirks down at you, brutishly brushing your damp hair back in an attempt to be kind for a second, instead of just ravaging your insides.

your trembles, sobs and mewls all go straight to his balls, taut and full, forcefully slapping against your pussy with each thrust, no showing any signs of mercy even through your hiccuping moans, you’re enjoying it, soaking his cock down the couch, pussy fluttering and sucking him deeper with those pleading eyes of yours, dumb, gone just from some good cock.

with Toji’s large, broad chest pressing you down, forcing your hips to tilt up slightly, no one can blame you for getting cockdrunk, barely managing to squeal through the tongue shoving down your throat, “that’s an obedient girl” he chuckles, enjoying how you finally stopped mumbling comments over how this was wrong, now just focusing on soaking Toji’s balls with your creamy cunt.

 𖤐 the new sorcerer from the outskirts of town, with sparkling eyes, hopes and a dream. truly pathetic to Sukuna, to be honest, all humans are pathetic and a waste or time. but why has he gone so quiet after getting a glimpse from inside Yuuji’s body.

obsessed is not a proper word, he’s not curious either, but there’s something about you that Sukuna wants to ruin so bad, he wants... needs to break your spirit and those sparkling eyes of yours.

it kind of fucks you up how the curse seem to stop talking when you’re around, Yuuji himself telling how how odd it was for Sukuna not to pester you too.

little did you know it was all part of a plan to lure you into his domain, not even giving you a second to process what was happening, having your defenses down and much easier to manipulate, such a terrible idea for a sorcerer.

“aren’t you so naive?” his hand squeezes your cheeks together, tone mocking right against your face, “did no one teach you not to let your guard down? useless human”

embarrassment, fear and awe all burn through your veins, what did you really wish to achieve? truth was that Sukuna’s lack of interest in you only made you... needier, needy for at least some reassurance.

the curse is not foreign to how your skin heats under his big fingers, how your eyes shine uncharacteristically, this situation was not what you expected, but it will do.

“say it again, loud and clear” a low and deep rumble against your ear, keeping your back tightly pressed against his chest with an arm around your neck, mercilessly sliding that thick cock in and out of your soaked pussy.

“t—haaah, thank... you, l-lord Sukuna...!” you’re a mess, an utter mess of saliva and tears rolling down your face to soak his arm where your nails dig into for support, almost dizzy from the lack of air and the way Sukuna’s cock presses just beautifully against the firm spot inside your cunt.

the man didn’t expect for you to be so willing, but those cute eyes of yours, begging to get fucked, got the best of him. with all his hands on you, groping, squeezing nipples and ass, all wherever he can touch and angle your soft hips to take more and more of his cock inside, almost making it impossible for you to breathe from how deep it hits, thankful that his whole strength is keeping you up, balanced on your tiptoes or else you would have fallen long ago, now all you had to do was to take whatever he has left in store for you.

 𖤐 you are not Satoru’s student, but that does not mean he can’t have some fun with you.

you’re a bit too naive, aren’t you? sulking in silence at a bad grade, you’re grown, among the oldest students at Tokyo’s jujutsu tech, yet you’re in your own world, not even realizing it’s Satoru fucking up your student score.

call him a dick, whatever, you will never find out. and instead, come to his arms with a pout, asking for help to raise your grades.

a threat to stop giving you missions, or worse, sending you back home was more than enough to make you desperate.

you are so pretty when asking for help, something Satoru knew was not common, but now, you just need someone’s help, or at least some advice, and the mere thought that the white haired was your first option makes his cock throb.

“no matter what I do, it’s never enough for Yaga!” you poor thing, thinking you’re not good enough for your teacher, but Yaga is way too slow with technology as to realize your grades are strangely lower than they should, maybe he should not trust Satoru with them.

but it does not matter, because you let him touch you, you let him place you up his desk with such care you feel your face burning, setting between your thighs with kind and reassuring words, “Yaga is an idiot for not realizing how talented you are” Satoru’s voice is so low it’s almost a whisper that brushes past your ears, the same way his knuckles brush through your jawline and down your collarbone.

but you’re a sucker for those compliments, “do you believe so?” so cute, so pliant, with eyes twinkling and all.

“of course, angel...” he gauges in your reaction first, getting just a tiny squirm in return with breath hitching, “you are perfect”

it should not be a surprise to find you, merely minutes later, with his tongue down your throat and two knuckles deep into your squelching cunt, with his remaining hand squeezing your thighs and ass as if trying to leave prints of his fingers on your skin, making you ache so you remember him later.

your initial idea of seeking for help from Satoru all got drowned with his good the tips of his fingers dragged up and down your soaked walls, taking with him copious amounts of slick that just added onto the lewd sound, making a mess on the wood desk that squeaked just barely.

he’s just too good, and you’re so eager to cum that there’s not a coherent thought behind those eyes, glossy, staring in love at his own blue eyes while gushing cum all over his digits and palm.

[rememberwren]

Skin Deep

Tattoo artist!Simon x fem!reader. Reader, looking to expand your horizons, you get your first tattoo from an enigmatic artist deemed “Ghost”. 8.4k. Features: soft!Simon who is bad at people-ing, vaginal sex, lots of nipples, like at least three nipples, poor writing, abrupt transitions, shy and awkward reader. Based on this post.

Sequel here.

-

“I bit the bullet!” you shout over the music, hand cupped around your friend’s ear to be better heard. She shrieks in delight at the sound of your voice, turning to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you close to her swaying body. Many eyes in the club follow her movements. She has always been the wild child to your wallflower, attracting attention wherever she goes.

“You bit what?” she shouts back, her breath like a mint julep. 

“The bullet,” you laugh. “I called that guy you recommended and set up an appointment. For the tattoo I wanted!” 

She stares at you blankly. Her silky little tank top is drooping off of one shoulder, so you reach out and tuck it back into place. The longer she stares, the more nervous you grow. She’d been so encouraging after your last boyfriend dumped you—encouraging you to step outside your comfort zone, to ‘make more mistakes’, to live life more fully. Now she’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head and it’s the one doing the talking. 

“What guy I recommended?” she asks. 

“Kevin!”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Not Kevin. Not Kevin. Why, Kevin?” 

You frown. “You said you went to Kevin.” 

“It wasn’t a recommendation, sweetie, if anything it was to caution you away from him! He’s a creep; there’s a reason why I never went back.” 

You deflate like a balloon, going limp and letting her drag you to the nearby free seats at the bar where you sit heavily. It’s not just the tattoo. It’s the icing on a shitcake of a day. 

A new song seamlessly starts, and the dancers nearby go wild with excitement. Your mood is the antithesis of the event; everyone seems to be having a great time except for you. Story of your life. 

“You conveniently left that out. Ugh. I’ll cancel it. What am I even fucking doing—thank you—” you accept the cup of ice water the bartender slides in front of you with a shy smile, sipping at it and keeping your hand curled over the top of it protectively. “—none of this is like me.” 

Your friend frowns. She steals your drink and sips at it. “You were the one who said you’d always wanted a tattoo. You’re an adult. These are exactly the kinds of decisions you’re old enough to make. Look, fuck Kevin. All my friends hate Kevin. I know another guy, and he’s highly recommended. Let me give you his number. Alright?” 

“Alright,” you sigh. You make a silent promise to yourself though: if it doesn’t work out with this next tattoo artist, then you won’t be getting one at all. You’ll take it as a sign from the universe to get back in your comfort zone and stay there, once and for all. 

-

What kind of a moniker is Ghost? you wonder to yourself as you skim the Instagram of the shop this Ghost owns. The profile picture is one of the building itself, and all of the pictures are of various inked body parts. Beautiful ones, admittedly. But no hint of the mysterious figure who owns the shop. There is a personal instagram linked @GHOST89 but it is private when you try to click on it. 

The phone number your friend gave you rings straight through to voicemail. You let out a shaky breath. Fuck, you hate voicemail. Talking to people was difficult enough; talking to people’s disembodied machines was even worse somehow. It isn’t until you’ve hung up after leaving your message that you realize you forgot to tell him your fucking name (genius!). Groaning, you contemplate dialing him back when the phone in your hand rings—and it’s him. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m free Wednesdays for consultations,” says a baritone voice from the other end of the line. 

Nice to talk to you too, you think dryly. Maybe this guy is as bad at the phone as you are. “I work Wednesdays. Are you free in the evenings?” 

He sighs, like this is going to be very strenuous for him. 

“Name a time. I’ll pencil you in. Half is due at the end of the consultation upon booking an appointment. Cash only,” he says. 

Jesus Christ, could he be anymore abrupt? While a tiny part of you is grateful that he isn’t trying to make small talk, a larger part is terrified that you’ve already made an impression so foul that it’s incurred his wrath. What other reason could he have for being so stilted? 

“Alright,” you answer cautiously. “How’s five?” 

“Five. Don’t be late.” 

He hangs up on you, leaving you wondering why every step outside your comfort zone must be so bloody far.

-

You arrive early to the consultation, only to find that the building itself—a tidy little brick two-floor, adorned with a sign that dubbed it SKIN DEEP tattoos & artisan piercings, which you recognize from Instagram—is locked. A note written in neat handwriting taped to the door declares NO WALK INS. Your palms are sweaty. You wipe them on your work slacks, but it doesn’t help. How are you supposed to get in? 

All at once a shadow appears on the other side of the door. The shadow is enormous: well above six feet tall, and broad shouldered. A black surgical mask is tucked up over his mouth and nose, which only adds to his intimidating aura. Judging by the impressive sleeve of tattoos he has, you imagine that this is the guy. 

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And Ghost. 

Dark brown eyes stare down at you when he opens the door, cocking a hip against the frame, staring at you. Waiting. 

Waiting for you to explain your presence, you realize. 

“I have a consultation,” you blurt out. “At…five?”

He opens the door wider to let you pass without a word. He’s so broad that you can smell him as you pass him: clean and masculine. The inside of the tattoo shop is bigger than it looks on the outside. There is a reception area with a desk and a computer and printer. The glossy wooden floors are polished to shine, leading to an open floor plan. There is a small sitting area with armchairs, a wide sofa, and a table on which rests two bottles of water, a notebook, and a steaming mug of liquid.

“Sit,” he says, his voice the same deep rumble you recognize from the phone. He chooses the chair beside the mug. His body is so goddamn long, his legs lean and thick all at once where he stretches them out in front of him. He reaches for the mug and takes a sip—of tea, judging by the smell. “Name?”

You tell him, perching yourself anxiously on the other chair. He glances up at you, eyes raking over your posture. Suddenly he tugs the mask down to rest beneath his chin, revealing a full, pale mouth. A straight, noble nose. A pink scar stretches across his lips and up towards his cheek. 

“The water is for you,” he says. 

“Oh!” You reach forward and take one bottle, breaking the seal. “Thank you.”

“This is your first tattoo.” 

“What gave me away?” you ask with a weak laugh. 

He doesn’t laugh. “Everything. Is someone putting you up to this? This smells like Soap.” 

“What? No, of course not. I want this, I’m just, I’m an anxious personality. I promise.” You hesitate and then add: “I probably smell like soap because I showered this morning.” 

His mouth twitches. He leans back in his seat and sucks on his teeth, and you get the distinct feeling that he is trying very hard not to laugh at you. Why had you mentioned to him that you showered? What was wrong with you? Just as you’re comprising a list of things, he picks up the pencil and the notebook, opening to a fresh page.

 He asks what you want and God, that’s a harder question. 

You do your best to express your idea, but your words feel halting and silly. His pencil scratches rapidly at the paper as he listens in total silence—pausing only once, when you say that you want this to be a sternum piece. Only then does his pencil seem to hover over the paper, his dark eyes seeking you out and pinning you in place on the armchair. 

He reaches for his tea to take a generous sip and then continues writing. 

He asks a few pointed, concise questions (and you’re just thrilled he was actually listening), following your answers up with more scribbling in his notebook. At length, he shuts the book. 

“I think I see the vision. Give me thirty to sketch something and we’ll see if you want to book an appointment. Something this size, on your sternum could take more than one session, depending on how well you sit. How do you take pain?” 

“I mean, it hurts?” you offer. 

He stares. “Two sessions. Let me sketch something. Drink your water.” 

You think that maybe he’ll move to another room to sketch, but he just flips to a clean page and begins to work right there (drawing the mask up over his nose and mouth again). With nothing else to do, you can’t help but watch him. 

He’s handsome, in an odd sort of way. His brow is a little too low, his gaze a little too intimidating to be considered conventionally attractive, but you find him fascinating to look at, especially when he is so clearly in the throes of something he enjoys doing. It’s almost like watching someone have sex. The thought makes your face go warm. You pick up your phone, determined not to look at him again. 

“Here.” 

You glance up from your mindless scrolling. What he shows you is a beautiful rendition of what you had expressed wanting. There are a few key differences, and he patiently explains why he made the decisions he did. He didn’t make the changes because he thought your idea was stupid. He made them so the image would better fit the contours of your body. He made them because the ink will spread over time, and he wants the look to stay clean. 

His thoughtfulness touches you. 

“I love it. I want it,” you say, enthusiasm getting the better of you. 

“This is just a first sketch,” he says dryly, making that warmth return to your face. “I’ll text you a few variations this week, and we can nail down the final piece. You want to book?” 

“Yes,” you say, nearly buzzing. “I really want to book.”

He’s expensive—but judging by the book of his artwork that is available for you to flip through at the front desk while he quotes you a price and writes you up a receipt, he is more than worth the money. Fuck, he’s got skill. You thought that maybe his art style was too dark for what you wanted, but you found that he was able to adapt styles nicely. You just hoped this tattoo wouldn’t bore him to death. 

“Thanks again for meeting with me,” you say as he sees you out. “I’ll be waiting for your text.” 

“You’ll get it.” He glances past you out the window. It’s dark. “Did you walk?” 

“No, my car is just there.”

“I’ll wait.” 

And he does. His figure darkens the doorway until you have shut your car and locked the doors, temporary insanity making you give him a short wave. He raises two fingers and then disappears. 

-

You didn’t tell me this guy was cute, you text to your friend. 

GHOST? Cute? I’ve never even seen his face lol. He’s always wearing one of his masks. 

You chew over this information. Yes he’d been wearing a mask, but he’d lowered it for you. Did that mean something? Did it mean something that you wanted it to mean something?  

Masks are cute, you say. 

Fuck the tattoo artist!!!! she says. Maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

You’re terrible. 

You’re…thinking about it. 

-

Two days later, you squint blearily into the darkness at your phone after it vibrates on your nightstand. The time reads twelve past one in the morning. It’s from GHOST. 

The two images he sends are beautiful; enough to rouse you straight from sleep into wakefulness. 

I love them both, you tell him. But the second one is amazing. I think that’s the one. 

Keep your appointment. Ten minutes later (after you have already fallen back to sleep) he sends: wear something appropriate.  

And fuck, you didn’t even think of that. 

-

“You’re being ridiculous,” you mutter to yourself in the mirror, turning sideways to assess yourself. On the bed behind you are a series of button up shirts, all of which you have tried on at one point or another. 

“You are,” your friend agrees from where she lounges on your bed, scrolling on her phone. “Your tits are cute. Let Ghost see them.” 

The look you give her is the one the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ was modeled after, surely. She doesn’t even see it, so the effect is lost entirely. You turn your gaze back to the silicone nipple adhesive covers again, still stuck to their adhesive backing. You’ve already used one set of the pack of three, and they covered your nipple and areolas nicely, but still left you feeling so exposed. 

“Be glad you’re not going to creepy Kevin anymore,” your friend says.

“Very glad of it.” 

You felt reasonably safe with Ghost, but still a degree of embarrassment about your own body. Or perhaps that was too strong a word—it didn’t embarrass you, but it felt private. Baring your breasts to a near stranger (especially one you had a grudging attraction to) made your anxiety reach epic level proportions. 

“You should text him about it, see if he has any advice for you. He’s been doing this for years. I’m sure he’s seen it all,” she says—the first good idea she’s had all night, miles ahead of ‘Just let Ghost see your cute tits’. 

That night, you take her advice and text him, hoping you aren’t overstepping some weird artist-client boundary. 

I’m a little nervous.

You can cancel, is all he says. I’ll refund your money.

It’s not that. 

What is it? 

Not really accustomed to the nakedness tbh. There. You said it. Let him think you some prim priss; it was true. 

But all he said back was: how can I help?  

I don’t know, you admit. Then; sorry. I’m probably bothering you with this while you’re working. 

I’m not working. Five minutes later, when it seems as if you aren’t going to message back: I keep the shop closed to the public. One customer at a time: you. I’ll let my piercer know I’m with a client and not to walk in. I’ll keep you covered every moment I can. Better? 

Relief, warm and sweet curling low in your belly, you let him know: much better. 

-

You bring the pasties anyway. 

-

The day of your appointment, you are so nervous you are shaking. Now you know the truth behind the phrase ‘knees knocking together’, as you stand outside SKIN DEEP waiting for Ghost’s hulking figure to appear on the other side of the glass. 

When it does, he’s like a little punch to the gut. That black surgical mask is in place—typical for him, if your friend’s words are to be trusted—but his blond hair, cropped short to his scalp is riotous in a way that is adorably charming, like he hasn’t been able to keep his hands out of it. His black t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, and his jeans fit him nicely around his thick thighs. 

You’re horrified to find that your attraction to him has grown. Exponentially. Your friend’s words echo in your mind—fuck the tattoo artist, maybe he’ll ink you for free. 

“Hi,” you squeak. 

Ghost raises both his brows. He opens the door wider for you to slip past him. Fuck he still smells good.

“I’m still nervous,” you blurt out, hoping that speaking the truth out loud will help you feel better. It doesn’t. 

“That’s normal. You can back out at any time, but the earlier the better. Come look at the image and tell me if it’s still what you want.”

It’s exactly what you want, and more. 

“It’s perfect. You’re very talented.” 

He huffs a little, like you shouldn’t have said such a thing. 

The chair is a great leather contraption which reclines comfortably once he’s gotten you in it (after making you use the restroom first, during which you took the time to splash water on your burning face and double check that your pasties were in place covering all the cutest bits according to your friend). Simon moves around you, making preparations with the ease of someone who has done this work for many years. 

You fight the arousal that blooms in your belly at the sight of him doing such benign things as washing his hands, putting on gloves, opening fresh needles, preparing little wells of ink and sticking them to the movable cart with Vaseline. There’s just something about a person who knows exactly what they’re doing and who is able to do it with efficacy.

“Ready?” he asks at length. 

You nod, hoping your nerves don’t show on your face. Steeling yourself, you unbutton the shirt you’re wearing. His eyes follow your hands, but there is a detached, clinical sort of expression in them. He’s not watching a strip tease, he’s looking at a canvas. 

Finally, you sit in front of him in only the pasties, the shirt lax around your shoulders, and your sweatpants, socked toes curling in anxiety in your shoes. Without missing a beat, he leans the chair all the way back. Then he opens a fresh disposable razor and shaves you. 

“Am I hairy?” you ask, resting your hands oh-so-casually over your breasts to keep them out of his way. 

“Yes,” he says. Then his eyes flicker to yours. “Everyone is. Everywhere. It’s normal.”

“I’m just teasing you.” 

“Didn’t think you had the breath in your body left to tease me,” he mutters, voice nearly lost behind his mask as he carefully works the razor across your skin removing the baby-fine hairs from beneath your breasts and across your sternum. “You’re nervous, I mean.” 

“Would you take the mask off?” you ask on a whim. It had helped last time, to see his face. 

“No,” he says. He adds: “Sorry. It’s more sanitary f’you if I keep it on.” 

You get the feeling that he really is sorry—and that’s well enough. Some of the anxiety in your belly fades away. He would take it off if he could. The most anxious part of the process (baring yourself to a stranger) has already passed. Maybe now you can begin to relax. 

After cleaning your skin, he carefully lays the stencil and has you stand up to look at it in the mirror and make sure the placement is correct and holy fucking shit. It’s sexy. You’ve always been attracted to tattoos, and fancied the idea of getting one on your sternum for far longer than you’d ever admitted to anyone, but seeing it come to life gives you a rush you hadn’t expected. You feel so…badass. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Very good,” you answer, sitting back down, hoping he ignores the way your breasts bounce a little as you do. He leans you back again and this time breaks out the needle gun.

But before he uses it on you, he carefully takes a clean towel and lays it over your left breast, covering the parts of you that are not nearest to his eyes. His gentleness and thoughtfulness go straight to your cunt. 

“Thank you,” you say softly. 

He just nods. The gun buzzes to life. “I’ll make a line and see how you feel. Last chance to back out without any souvenirs.” 

“I’m not backing out.” 

He clicks his tongue as if to say, It’s your funeral. Then he lays his hand on your sternum above your breasts, pinning you in place, and makes a gentle line. 

It burns more than you expected it to. There’s a sandpaper quality to it, almost like the rasping of a cat’s tongue. The pain is sharp and bright, but it isn’t overwhelming. In fact…a strange part of you sort of enjoys it. Maybe it’s the rush of endorphins. 

“Good?” He asks. 

“Good,” you squeak. 

You hear his quiet laugh, no more than an exhale of breath.

“Let me know when you need to break.” 

You don’t know how you feel about the way he phrases that: when you need to break. He adjusts his mask a little, leans over you, and gets to work. Sometimes the needles pass over a place that is more sensitive than the others, making you flinch. He pauses when this happens, eyes flickering up to your own, making sure you are alright even though he can likely feel the pounding of your heart beneath his hand. That hand on your chest, wrist just brushing the top of your breast, is a solid warm weight that seems to tether you back down to the earth as he lines you. He is very careful not to brush against your breast when he wipes away the excess ink and traces of blood, but you feel hyper-attuned to how easy it would be for him if he wanted to. How huge his hand is compared to your tit. Beneath the pasties, your nipples ache with tension, a tension that is mirrored between your legs. 

“Alright. Break,” he says, abruptly turning the gun off. He covers your exposed breast with another towel. “Take ten.”

He disposes of his gloves and disappears behind a curtain in the back, leaving you throbbing between the legs. Worming your phone free from your pocket, you scroll aimlessly, hoping to calm your raging hormones. He returns right at the ten minute mark, just as his cellphone rings. He glances toward where it rests on the table, but makes no move to answer it. 

“Do you need to get that?” you ask, offering him an out.

“No,” he says. “I make everyone leave a message. Weeds out the cowards.”

It had almost weeded out you, you think about telling him, but in the end you decide against it. He gloves back up. 

“Good for more?”

And so it repeats. 

At one point, he runs into a patch of sensitive skin on your ribs just overlaying the bone. It has you sucking in a breath through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut. It’s too late to turn back now you tell yourself; the only way out is through. 

His thumb gently strokes your sternum. 

“It’s rough. You can take it,” he says, quiet and focused. The buzzing of the gun never ceases as he tries to make his work as quick as possible, his words a little distant and distracted. “Just keep breathing. That’s it. Good girl.”

Jesus. Did he not have any idea what those words could do to a girl? A groan escapes your lips, and he clearly mistakes it for pain, because his thumb strokes again the soft skin over your heart, just above the curve of your breast. 

“You can do it. Just a little longer for me, and we’ll break.”

“Hurts,” you breathe, flinching again. 

He hushes you, surprisingly tender. 

“This is the worst of it.” This time, his thumb does brush the edge of your breast, making you suck in a gasp. He recoils, hand lifting away from you and curling into a fist. He rests that against you instead, taking away any further hope that he might brush his fingertips against you. You make it through the rough patch with tears in your eyes but no worse for wear.  

“Break. Ten minutes,” he says again, already shredding his gloves and moving to disappear behind the curtain. 

You call out: “Hey, wait—I’d rather just get through it in one go if I can. If this really is the worst of it.” 

“I need breaks too,” he says stonily.

You duck your head, feeling silly. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He vanishes again. 

He is late to return to you. Only by five minutes or so, but noticeably for a man so usually punctual and so demanding of punctuality in you. His face is stoic—what bits of it you can see from behind the mask—as he washes his hands thoroughly and preps his work station again. 

This time his hand keeps a very respectable distance from your breasts—a fact which you both lament and appreciate all in one. He works with single-minded efficiency, giving you his entire focus. You break once more, but this time he breaks in the room with you, stretching out his back and neck (giving you a generous glimpse of his belly when his shirt rides up, exposing cut abs and a happy trail you’d give your life to follow). 

“I think we could do this in one sitting, if you have nowhere else to be,” he mutters at length. 

“Eager to be done?” you wonder. 

He stares at you, expression flat, and says nothing. Nothing needs to be said. 

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” you murmur, staring up at the bright adjustable light that he has positioned over you. You hope he mistakes that for the reason behind any mistiness in your eyes, his rudeness cutting you deeply. 

So the two of you push through later into the evening, until you are sweating at your temples and the base of your neck from the continuous pain for so long. At last he lays the last gradient for the shading, sprays you down, and wipes you clean so very gently. 

“Go take a look. I’m going to cover it up.” 

It’s beautiful. Stunning, even. You let your shirt gape closed and cover the pasties, revealing a broad glimpse of the sternum tattoo, and it is the sexiest you have ever felt. It almost makes your eyes burn anew.

“I love it,” you choke out. “Thank you.”

“Can I take a picture of it?” he asks. “For Instagram.” 

“Sure!” It will feel a little like being famous, you think, judging by how much notice each of the photos on his Instagram garners. He crouches down on the floor to be at the perfect height, reaches out and gently adjusts your shirt. Parts of the tattoo are covered—the very far edges—but you can’t deny how sexy it is. Maybe he feels the same way. 

After he takes the photo, he posts it and asks for your handle to tag you in it. Then he says: “Let me cover it up. Keep it covered overnight, but tomorrow let it breathe. Keep it clean. Don’t do anything stupid to it. Understand?” 

“I understand.”

“And if you have any questions—text me.” 

-

You get home to find that Ghost’s personal account has requested to follow you. Thrumming with nerves and excitement, you accept the request and send one of your own, spending the night scrolling through his Instagram (so, so carefully to avoid any incidental ‘likes’). Plenty of the photos are of his artwork, still. But there are ones of his dog: a German Shepherd that is thankfully much more photogenic than her surly owner. There are three or four photos featuring Ghost himself, and only one has his full face in the picture. You find yourself staring at his fixated expression for longer than is respectable. 

-

Three days later when you find yourself panicking, you don’t text him like he asked you to. You call. 

Your skin is peeling off. Peeling. Off. The sight of it makes your stomach roll. The entire tattoo is hot to the touch, and the skin around it feels warm as well. Flushed. Is it supposed to hurt this much? 

The internet doesn’t help. The peeling is normal, sure. But everything else is suggesting that your tattoo could be infected. What sort of ink did Ghost use? Was it reputable? What if the infection reaches your bloodstream? You were too young to die! Your anxiety spirals like a plane with one wing, trailing smoke as it soars straight down, determined to take you with it.   

With shaking hands, you don’t even think about texting Ghost. You go straight to calling him, tapping his number in your phone and pressing it to your ear, listening to the ring. 

He’s going to send you to voicemail, just like he does to everyone else—except he doesn’t. All the sudden there is glorious feedback from the other end: a cacophony of voices and laughter, clearly some sort of gathering. 

“Yes?” Ghost says into the phone, as if that’s a decent hello. 

“There’s something wrong with my tattoo!” you cry. 

“Wait—get out of my goddamn way.” There is rustling, and then the noise decreases substantially. You can almost see him standing outside whatever bar his friends have brought him to, mask down around his chin, hand over his other ear as he strains to listen to you. “Say it again. Now I can fucking hear you.”

“There’s. Something. Wrong,” you say through your teeth. “With my tattoo!”

“Well? What is it?”

“It’s falling off, for one!”

He snorts. “That’s normal. That's why you called?” 

“It’s all swollen and hot. And it hurts.” 

Now that shuts him up. He sighs a little, switches the phone from one ear to the other. “Hurts how bad?”

“Worse than getting it.” 

“Fuck me. Alright. Meet me at the shop in…twenty?” 

“Twenty minutes from now?” 

“From when else?” He hangs up. Man doesn’t know the meaning of the word goodbye. 

-

The night is cool. You don’t bother with a bra, not when it irritates your tattoo so much. Pulling your jacket closed more tightly around yourself, you walk from your parking spot along the street to the tattoo shop. 

Ghost stands outside at the curb. His figure is unmistakable. He is smoking, mask down, the lit end of his cigarette a burning ember that flares bright in the darkness. When he sees you coming, he crushes the cigarette beneath his boot and opens the door to the shop, which is still and dark. He flicks on a light switch as he goes, casting the place in a warm glow. 

He’s dressed in his usual dark jeans and an obscenely tight t-shirt, his sleeve of tattoos on display. He leaves the mask down. His eyes are on your tits—or resting where your tattoo is beneath your clothes. 

“Well. Sit. Show me.”

You sit in one of the armchairs, your shoulders rising in defensiveness. “What, just flash you?”

“Nothing I’ve never seen before.” 

Gritting your teeth, you begin unbuttoning your shirt until it gapes open. You cup your breasts with your hands, maintaining your modesty while putting the tattoo on full display. He narrows his eyes, leaning down. His fingers reach out, but then he thinks twice and washes his hands. 

“I was smoking,” he says when you roll your eyes in exasperation. 

“You’re worried about getting the chemicals on my skin but not in your lungs?”

“Fuck my lungs,” he mutters. His fingers hover over your tattoo. “Can I?”

You nod. His fingers are cool when they gently prod and ghost along the edges of the tattoo, feeling for the signature warmth of an infection. “Any fever?” he asks. 

“Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You feel warm, but I’ve felt warmer. I don’t think it’s infected. Have you tried icing it?”

“No,” you admit. 

“Ice will help. Just use something clean, for fuck’s sake.” As he speaks, his breath fans across your chest, making you shiver. He sees this, his eyes darkening. “When you called, I thought it was for me.”

“It was for you,” you say, brow furrowing. “Who else?”

He snorts, lips quirking. It tugs on the scar across his lips. “Forget it.” 

“Forget what?” 

“Talking about it goes against forgetting it.”

You groan, tossing up your hands. “You’re impossible.” 

He reaches out and jerks your shirt closed, hastily doing up a button. Your face burns as you do up the rest of the buttons—you end up having to backtrack and redo them because he was off by one. 

“Thank you for meeting me. I’m sorry it was for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing,” he says. “And I wasn’t doing much.”

“You were with friends,” you insist.

His eyes narrow. “Who told you that?” 

“I saw it on your Instagram tonight.” 

“Nosey.” 

“I could buy you a drink sometime,” you offer after a lengthy pause, your heart pounding loud enough to fill the silence between you. Are you really doing this? Are you really asking him out?  “Make up for the ones I lost you tonight.” 

“Maybe.”

God, it’s like he’s not getting it. Maybe you need to be bolder. Fortune favors the bold, doesn’t it? Your hands are shaking when they fall back to the buttons on your shirt. 

“Would you take one more look at my tattoo? Just to be…positive?”

He sighs and makes an impatient hand gesture. Your fingers fumble through the buttons again. You don’t cover yourself with your hands this time; just keep the halves of your shirt over your nipples. He dutifully exams the tattoo again, prodding gently, laying the flat of his fingers against it to feel the warmth it lets off. 

“Maybe you should look closer.” 

His eyes flicker up to yours. “Closer.”

Your mouth is dry. “Yeah.”

“Can’t get much closer than I am.” 

“You could—if you wanted to.” 

“If I—“ it hits him then. You can see it in the fractional widening of his eyes, the way his mouth parts softly in blatant surprise before he shuts it, dark eyes returning to your sternum. He says: “Closer.”

“Mhm.”

The back of his hand brushes against your breast, causing your breath to hitch. His thumb traces softly along the outline of the tattoo, following the path just beneath your shirt, nudging the fabric aside slowly, so slowly, until your breast is bare, nipple puckered and aching. 

“Fucking hell,” he mutters. His eyes flicker to yours as if to see if you really want this—and whatever he sees must reassure him, because then he is sweeping his fingertips along the bottom curve of your breast and taking it into his hand, his palm rasping gently over your nipple. All the breath rushes out of you. Your thighs clench together. Already you’re aching—have been since you saw his mouth around that cigarette on the street—but he moves with determined caution. His thumb finds your nipple and teases it, pulling a desperate little sound from the back of your throat. 

“Pretty little tits,” he says, his voice a warm, smoky rumble that goes straight to your core. He captures your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, pinching softly. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, one hand reaching out to brace yourself against his shoulder. He is solid and firm beneath your touch, unmoving and unmalleable. Your breasts have always been sensitive, but it feels like every touch is directly related to the feelings in your cunt. You find your back arching, hips searching for friction against the seat of the chair. 

“Be still,” he says firmly. Another pitiful sound slips past your throat. “Let me play with you.” 

“Please,” you gasp. “Play with me—even if that’s all you want—just don’t stop, please.” 

His mouth parts as he listens to you, his eyes so, so dark. The pupils have nearly swallowed his irises whole, until you can see yourself bare from the waist up in the reflection. He shakes his head a little. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I do. I—“ your words are cut off with a gasp as he hauls you out of the chair by your wrist and onto his lap. He’s so thick thighed that it stretches you obscenely to have him between your legs. His hands tear the button-up off your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the floor, leaving you half naked. Dipping his head, he presses a heated kiss to the place on your sternum where he had rested his hand during the tattoo—and then trails wet kisses towards your left breast, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking with a decided softness. 

You let out an unflattering, choked groan, resting your weight heavily against him until you can feel the prominent bulge in his tight jeans. His hands find your ass and grip you tightly, working you back and forth, rubbing that bulge against your clothed sex. 

“Driving me fucking crazy,” he mutters against your skin, opening his mouth to drag the sharp line of his teeth against the curve of one breast before switching to the other and flicking his tongue over your nipple. 

You gape at his admission. Had you been? He’d been so closed off and cool…though now that you thought back, maybe that was just his way of hiding it. Suddenly he grips the back of your neck, where your hairline ends, and pulls you to his mouth. He tastes faintly of smoke, even fainter of the drinks he had had earlier in the night, but it is an intoxicating mixture. Your tongues find a rhythm as your hips do the same, both of you fucking in every sense of the word except the literal kind. 

He takes one of your thighs and wedges it between his own, until you’re no longer grinding against his cock but instead his denim-clad thigh. “You the kind of girl who can cum like this? Just from this?” 

“Uh-huh,” you promise, head bobbing. 

He buries his face in your neck. “Good. I won’t last when I’ve got my cock in you. I’d like you to cum at least once before then.”

“Oh god,” you groan, gripping his shoulders fiercely as you begin a halting, stilted rhythm against his thigh. The denim is rough against your leggings. He feels all around you: his scent, his taste, his touch. When his hands find your hips to help you work yourself against him more smoothly, a sigh of gratitude fans from your lips. 

“What else do you need?” he asks. 

“My—touch me—“ He abandons your hips once you find a suitable rhythm. He finds your nipples again, teasing them with clever fingers. The stimulation has your peak approaching faster, building like a storm in your lower belly. 

Ghost leans back to look at you, eyes trailing over you from head to toe: your face burning with warmth, your breasts with peaked little nipples, your leggings nearly soaked through at the crotch with how wet you are. He shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Fucking perfect.” You bury your face in his neck, feeling a warmth inside your chest. He grips you by the neck again and tugs you back. “Look at me. Look at me.” 

You look at him for as long as you can, but when the band in your belly finally snaps, your eyes roll up and slip shut, your mouth drops open in a choked gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you shudder and shake in the throes of your pleasure. 

He leans down to kiss you through it, tongue teasing at your slack mouth. 

When he stands, he takes you with him, hauling you up until you wrap your shaking legs around his waist. It’s probably a good thing too. You aren’t sure you could walk otherwise. He carries you the few steps to the couch and lays you down, curling his fingers in the waistband of your leggings. You nod. He strips them off you, along with your flats, and your panties until you are naked as the day you were born.

Your thighs clamp together shyly. He lets them, reaching behind himself to pull his shirt off. Something catches your eye in the streetlights streaming in through the window: Ghost has one of his nipples pierced, a neat little barbell through the sensitive flesh. 

Fingers enter your vision—your own—reaching out on instinct. You hesitate, unsure if he is receptive, and a little afraid to hurt him. He’s so bloody tall, too…but he takes care of that himself by kneeling down by your side, his eyes cautious. Closer, you can see the scars: silvery in the moonlight, crisscrossing over his torso. 

“Does it hurt?” You ask, softly stroking your fingers beneath the pale pink skin of his areola. 

“No,” he says. You can feel the timber of his warm voice vibrating through his chest, up your fingers, straight to your pussy. “You can play with it.”

You shyly run your thumb over it the way he had yours. He sighs, breath fanning across your arm. His eyes go heavy-lidded, tongue flashing as he wets his lips. After a moment, you grow insecure and move your hands away from his nipple down to a scar that crosses his sternum. He lets you, very patient, like a dangerous creature withholding its bite. 

“You’re so—“ the words are whispered dreamily before you have any idea how you plan to finish the sentence. Flushing with embarrassed heat under his wary stare, you finish: “—hot.” 

He physically turns away, expression inscrutable. You can’t help but feel like you have said the wrong thing. He puts a hand on your belly, stroking the softness. “You broken, or can you take more?” 

“I want more.”

“Want my cock?” 

You nod, feeling like a bobble head. 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

“I want your cock.”

His hand reaches for his belt, unbuckling it. Your eyes track the movement with hungry nerves. His hands put butterflies in your belly: thick palms with long, slender fingers, veins criss-crossing along the backs. An artist’s hands. He works his belt free with nimble grace and shucks down his jeans and underwear in one smooth movement, revealing his cock to your gaze and the light from the street lamps. 

He is huge here to match. Downright intimidating in length and girth, uncut with a nice curve toward his belly. He grips himself and gives a series of smooth strokes, the muscles in his abdomen flexing into sharp relief. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter. 

“No gods here,” he says, kneeling up on the couch. His hands part your thighs, and for a long time he just looks at you, that sensitive, swollen place between your legs. He stares so long that you nearly cover your face, embarrassed by whatever he is thinking. Then he touches you, and when he does, he touches you with surprising reverence. He touches you like you are art. 

“Can’t believe you let me ink you,” he mutters, stroking your vulva with his warm palm. His eyes are on the sternum piece now. “Practically let me carve my name into your skin. Anybody around here who sees it will know who did it. They’ll know who touched you.” 

“Good,” you breathe. 

His sigh is shaky. You’re learning his reactions, his very breaths. That shaky sigh means he’s pleased with you. You’ve said something right. 

He reaches down to his jeans on the floor and works a hand into his pocket, pulling free a condom. He hands it to you—for inspection, you realize, though you’ve had so few one night stands (try zero) that you’ve never had the need to inspect a condom before. The package is intact at least. There appears to be an expiration date which you squint at. All looks well. You hand it back to him and he tears it open, rolling it down his considerable length. 

Then he goes back to touching you. One hand braces himself against the back of the sofa so he can lean down to kiss you, tasting your mouth deeply. The other hand finds your entrance, circling it with a finger before slipping inside you all the way to the last knuckle. You are wet enough and relaxed enough that he slips in easily. 

“Relax…there you go. Let me in,” he says under his breath, working a second finger in beside the first. It is a bit of a stretch—he’s thick everywhere goddamn it—but it’s a good stretch, a much needed one. The third finger has you stiffening, whining at the pinch of pain. He slows his fingers and lets his thumb find your clit, muting the pain with little jolts of pleasure. 

“Ghost,” you groan, toes curling against the leather of the couch.

“I think you can take it,” he says, thumb so soft and insistent against that aching pearl of nerves. “But what do you think?” 

“Your cock—want it—please—“

“Alright,” he laughs, pulling his fingers free and wiping the wetness on his cock. “No need to beg.” 

He notches his cock against your entrance and slips inside you. Both of you inhale together, like on cue. Just the first few inches have you feeling full beyond your comfort zone, but he seems to understand in his silent, all-knowing way. He stills, working that free hand between you both to play with your clit until you’re clenching around him, body trying to pull him deeper. He slips further in and then reaches the end of what your body can take. You feel fucking stuffed, your hands shaking where you have gripped his naked shoulders, nails digging into his skin. 

His own breathing is ragged, pecs brushing your nipples with every inhale. The little bursts of pleasure help, until you find that your hips have grown restless, working back and forth as much as his substantial weight will allow when you’re pinned beneath it. 

“Stay still,” he mutters into the juncture of your neck. “Stay still or I’ll cum and this is all over.”

“Can’t,” you gasp, his revelation electrifying you. “Have to move, ‘m so full—“

“Fucking hell,” he groans. He pulls out, leaving you feeling gaped. “Roll onto your side.” 

He gives you instruction but isn’t shy about reaching out and physically arranging you until you are both spooning, your back to his chest. This time when he enters you, it is more shallow, and easier for him to reach around and play with your clit. 

You arch your back, seeking more of him, pressing your breast into his free palm. He plucks at the nipple, teeth nibbling at your throat. 

“Want you to cum again,” he says, stilling your movements so that you can’t fuck your self back against him. “Give me one more. Then it’s my turn.”

“Ghost—I can’t—“ you’ve never cum twice before. Not even with your favorite toys have you been able to scrounge together more than one illustrious orgasm. This knowledge and your expectation of his disappointment has you stiffening in his arms. 

“If you can’t, then don’t,” he says simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He keeps his fingers soft and insistent against you, and only after a few lengthy moments does he feel confident enough to work his hips against you too. He pulls out too far and his length drags across your labia, the head brushing where his fingers play with your clit. 

You give a sighing little moan. His head cocks; you aren’t the only one listening to sighs. Now when he gives those lazy, lackadaisical thrusts, his entire length just strokes the outside of your sex. 

“Oh fuck,” you whine, feeling that band in your belly begin pulling tight again. 

He hums behind you, a smug sound. 

“Not sure I want you to cum now,” he says. “Hold it. I’m thinking it over.” 

“Ghost!”

He laughs, honest to God laughs at you. Tears prick your eyes from the sheer need (and a bit from embarrassment) but his hips never cease nor slow their tireless thrusts against you, not even when you grow close enough to beg, close enough to plead. 

He loops his arm around your waist and pins you against him when you cum to keep you from rolling right off the couch, your body wracked with shivers and spasms. The warmth of your release washes over you from head to toe, and you are still basking in it when his cock finds your entrance again and enters you. 

The position keeps the penetration blissfully shallow (otherwise he might give your cervix a painful beating), but he still reaches new lengths inside you, filling spaces you didn’t know were empty. The shop is eerily quiet except for the sound of his hips snapping against your ass and the frequent breathy sounds his cock punches out of your lungs. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck and lets out a series of sounds that are toe-curling: deep groans and raspy curses, whispered praise and hisses through his teeth. His hand grips your hip tightly, leaving shadows the shape of his fingerprints on your skin as he fucks you. 

Sooner than you’d like—but he’d warned you, hadn’t he?—his thrusts grow sloppy, the sounds messy thanks to your wetness as he finds his release and moans it into the skin of your throat. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. And again: “Fuck, fuck. You broken?” 

“Yes.” 

He snorts. Then it turns into that laughter, warm and rumbling against your back. You smile where he can’t see. 

-

“Sorry about this,” he says as he ties the condom off and throws it away, naked as the day he was born. You’re still naked too, though much more shy, legs crossed demurely and arms wrapped around yourself. 

“Regretting it already?” 

“Yes,” he says. Then, when he sees the stricken look on your face, he adds: “Should have at least taken you to dinner first.” 

“Dinner?”

“You owe me drinks. I owe you dinner.” He finds his boxers in the darkness and slips back into them. Then, because the expression on your face still hasn’t relaxed, he says: “I don’t regret the sex. Do you?”

You shake your head. 

He scoffs a little. 

“I mean it,” you insist. You touch your tattoo. “I wanted it…the day you did—this.” 

He raises both brows at you, silently calling your bluff.

“I didn’t think you were interested,” you admitted sheepishly. 

“I jerked off in the back just from seeing half your tits,” he admits, slipping into his jeans now too. His mouth curls a little at the corner when he sees the way you gape at this news. “I was interested.” 

You laugh; you can’t help it. “Dinner, then? Or drinks?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Alright. Get dressed.”

[shigarakisstalker]

hardcore launches with the boys

in which neither of you take a… soft approach, to announcing your secret relationship

todoroki didn’t expect for it to go the way it did. it was a normal training day when suddenly he turned only to see you straight on your back, air knocked out of you from the move bakugo had just pulled on you. he lost his shit.

suddenly there he was, right next to you as bakugo found himself as a human ice cube. he gently pulled you up and dusted you off.

“you okay, love?” he gently placed his hand on your cheek.

“shoto, while i appreciate the gesture,” you slowly pushed his hand down, “we’re in training and it’s bound to happen. you can’t ice anyone just because they’re doing their assignment.”

“i know, but i dont care. you’re my girlfriend nobody has the right.” he simply shrugged.

a few gasps were heard, they turned their heads to find an unintended audience. the entire class.

“you’re together?!” everyone yelled.

“HALF AND HALF BASTARD!”

◡̈

bakugo wasn’t exactly discrete, especially when it was agreed you guys weren’t going to hide it anymore. it was a nice sunday morning when he came down,

only to see you wearing his favorite shirt and sweatpants that had been missing for days.

there you sat next to mina and tsu, they took took notice of the shirt but decided not to say anything.

that was until mina couldn’t hold it anymore, “aren’t those bakugos clothes?” you looked down, taking notice that you forgot to change before coming down, “uhhh-”

“yeah, aren’t those my fucking clothes?” you heard from behind you. you jumped up and darted for an escape, only to be grabbed by the hips and pinned to his front.

“you know i’ve been looking for my shit for days now, right?” he whispered in your ear.

you wordlessly shook your head, words gone and heart beating a million times a second. he knew exactly how to get a rise out of you.

your cheeks flushed as he turned you around to face him, before he could see your face you quickly shoved your face in his chest.

he chuckled, “you’re so fucking lucky you’re pretty.”

“EEEEKKKK!” they both looked over to see mina and both squads starring at them with wide eyes, “YOU GUYS ARE DATING?!”

◡̈

sero would do it in a funny way, you’d be arguing about some stupid shit in the common room. you, mina, and jirou would be ripping their asses for doing some dumb shit.

the girls were too heated to even realize you were yelling at sero, except for kaminari and kirishima.

they looked at you both strangely, which caught the attention of the girls. and shortly enough it was only you yelling at sero.

“you’re so fucking dumb! i swear you give me a headache every single goddamn day, yet i-” you were soon cut off by lips touching yours gently, all anger seemed to diminish and your brain went fuzzy.

when you both pulled away his hands still remained on your face, “y’know you’re so pretty when you’re angry?

“oh my god?!”

◡̈

denki would find it fun to mess with everyone, he’d go on and on about this mystery girlfriend.

“she’s soooo pretty”

“i want her so bad right now”

“she thinks i’m funny”

“guys where should i take her for dinner?” he whispered, hoping not to attract your attention from the girls.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP DUNCE FACE WE KNOW SHES NOT REAL!” bakugo screamed, getting everyone’s attention.

“YES SHE IS!” denki yelled back.

“THEN WHO WHOM?” he paused, “HM?”

“me.”

everyone snapped their head towards you, full of shock.

you lazily walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, laying a small kiss on his cheek.

“WHAT?!”

◡̈

kirishima would do it completely on accident while admirning you.

everyone was stuck on their own task of the day, beating their opponents ass.

you specifically were never one to back down, something kirishima absolutely adored about you. you were a hardass and stubborn as a mule, sometimes biting him in the ass.

you were now going up against mina, and odds weren’t in her favor, bless her soul. you were a tough girl. and as of right now you had her in a chokehold on the ground.

kirishima stood there in awe.

not because his friend was getting her ass beat, but because his girlfriend was so, manly.

“damn, that’s my girlfriend.”

everyone snapped their heads to him,

“what.”

◡̈

midoryia wasn’t very sneaky about it in the first place.

so when the class woke up one sunday and found you two cuddling on the couch after a failed movie night, it really was no surprise.

instead of being abrupt and waking you guys up (like bakugo offered) they layer a blanket on the top of you two. nicely and gently.

“they’re a cute couple.” tsu commented.

“oh for sure,” sato started, “they’re both hard working and very very sweet.”

“this is unacceptable on school property though-”

a joint “shut up iida” ensued.

[poguehearted77]

Stormbound

Summary: There's a tropical storm headed straight for the OBX but Rafe won't leave you alone.

smut: dom! rafe, pogue! reader, mentions the pogues, fingering, secret alliances, rafe is a good bad guy, making out, unprotected sex, big dick rafe, choking, teasing, floor sex, missionary, protective rafe, mutual pining but both are too stubborn to admit it.

The rain is just a steady drizzle when you start the long walk back from Figure Eight, cool and misty, soaking through your baby tee and denim shorts, but not quite cold enough to make you turn back.

Not that you would even if it were—the map you’d stuffed in your back pocket was too valuable to leave behind, and JJ had been so insistent that you’d be the one to get it.

It was a worn-out paper, a little frayed around the edges from too many hands clutching it too tight, and tonight, it held the Pogue’s best lead. JJ had been so confident about this—said it’d help them find the next clue, but you were the only one available to get it.

Just in and out, he’d said, sure as always, but of course, that had been before the storm started closing in. Even though you should've been back in the Cut by now, having ridden on the back of JJ's bike as he promised you he would, but of course, he forgot. You cross your arms and mutter to yourself, “Damn it, JJ. This better be worth it.”

The streets around you are silent, eerie even, with all the houses in Figure Eight shuttered up tight in preparation for the coming storm. It’s desolate and unsettling, making you all the more eager to get back to the Cut. But you’re barely halfway there when you hear the low rumble of an engine behind you.

Of course, you think. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

Rafe’s truck slows to a crawl, matching your pace, his headlights cutting through the rain. You feel his eyes on you as he leans out the window, looking you up and down with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Y/n? What are you doin' out here?” he calls, loud enough to be heard over the rain.

You ignore him, quickening your steps, but he’s persistent. The truck keeps rolling alongside you, just close enough that his voice still carries over the sound of the rain.

“You know there’s a storm coming, right?” he asks, his tone somehow both mocking and concerned. “You’re not gonna make it back before it hits.” A crack of thunder roars through the sky.

“Really? I didn't know that,” you mutter, not bothering to look his way. “Just go away, Rafe.”

He lets out a sigh, exaggerated, and you can practically see him rolling his eyes. “Jesus, can you stop being so damn stubborn? Just get in the car. I'll give you a ride back to the Cut.”

“No thanks.” You keep walking, setting your jaw as you ignore the urge to shiver, the rain starting to pick up, chilling you through your soaked clothes. With another quick glance at the darkened sky, you're now considering taking the shortcut along the beach to shave off some time.

But still, Rafe doesn’t drive off. He just keeps creeping along beside you, the engine of his truck a low, constant hum as he matches your pace. “Stop fucking around, Y/n. If you get caught out here you'll never make it back.” He warns but your shoulders shrug.

“I like those odds a hell of a lot better than risking a ride with you.” you snap, the suppressed shiver prevails as the rain intensifies, falling harder, faster, in cold, fat drops that slap against the pavement and blur the world around you.

Thunder rolls in the distance, low and ominous, and Rafe’s truck finally comes to a full stop as he pulls over. A second later, you hear his door slam shut, and when you glance back, he’s striding through the rain toward you, his face set in an exasperated glare.

“Are you done being difficult yet?” His voice cuts through the rain, his eyes locked on you, unyielding and determined. You hasten your pace, heading down the unpaved path towards the beach with Rafe trailing behind you with calls of your name.

This goes on for too long. The rain is relentless now, pouring down in thick sheets that chill you to the bone. Your vision was so distorted you could hardly see where you were going. You feel yourself starting to shiver, but you lift your chin, refusing to back down even as the storm rages around you.

A heavy hand holds you by the shoulder. “Jesus Christ, Y/n. You're gonna get yourself killed! The storm's just getting started-” he says, his exclamations punctuated with a bright bolt of lightning striking down not too far in the distance followed by a boisterous rumble of thunder.

"Shit!" You both curse before Rafe motions to the storage house up ahead, "We've gotta take shelter before shit goes south."

Even in life and death, your naturally skeptical nature overcomes you as you genuinely take the moment to consider the proposition. The rain was pummelling over the both of you, dripping down your faces, causing you both to squint, “Fine.”

For once there's no smugness in Rafe's expression. It's shielded by a look of relief, initially anticipating more resistance but he doesn’t say another word as you rush towards the shed and lock the doors shut.

The shed was spacious but dark. You took a step forward, or maybe a step back, but you weren't sure, almost instantly tripping over what you can only assume was a pale of some sort. You complain, "I can't see shit in here."

"Hang on," Rafe mumbles, followed by the indistinct sound of ruffled pockets and keys clinking together. The familiar spark of a lighter flicks a flame to life and gives you the light you've needed.

For a moment your eyes meet over the lighter. You clear your throat, looking around for something useful to keep the place lit, a gasp of relief falls from your lips as you locate a dusty lantern on the top shelf.

Raising yourself to the tip of your toes, your fingers are just barely grazing over the glass body of the object before a large hard, adorned with a few rings is already reaching over your head and bringing it down.

"I don't need your help." You snatch the lantern out of his grasp and it causes him to lose balance on the lighter in his left hand, the light goes out for a moment before he relights it.

"Can you ever be fucking grateful for once in your life? Would it kill you to say thank you?" He takes the lantern back and lights it, setting it down on the lower shelf.

"Why should I thank you? You're egotistical, narcissistic, selfish-" Your unfiltered rant is cut short by the pressure of his hand wrapped around your throat. You immediately try to move from him but the weight of his grip holds you in place.

"Selfish? Who's the one that made bail for you when you were caught trespassing in Tanny Hill?" Your brows furrow, "What? Shoupe said it was a wrongful arrest." He shakes his head, his hold around your neck loosens but you don't move it. "That was me. Who's the one that made sure you and those pogues made it off Dead Man's Island untouched when you'd stolen from them? Me."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing, "That doesn't change the fact you're still an asshole. I saw you tampering with my drink at the bar and I got upset then you threw it at my feet-- "That drink was roofied. I saw the bartender spike it," His hold tightened a little more, "Don't worry, I made sure he couldn't use his hands for a long time."

Your stomach was in knots, for once not in a way that made you seasick anytime you were with Rafe. This time was different, there was slight adoration building within you. His eyes were cold, hard, and protective. Without thinking you slinked your hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in for the first kiss of many.

The cold shed quickly filled with warmth as you familiarized yourselves with each other's bodies. Your clothes were now in the pale that tripped you earlier and Rafe's shirt was nowhere to be found, possibly hung up on the wall with the life jackets.

Rain lashes against the walls of the shed, a fierce, steady drumming that drowns out every other sound. The wind howls through the cracks, sharp and wild, whistling as it sweeps across the beach, sending gusts of sand and spray pelting against the flimsy structure.

The ruckus was the least of Rafe's concerns as he had you on your back on a pile of beach towels, moaning his name as he fingered you incessantly with his right hand, his left pinning your leg down to stop moving.

"R-Rafe!" Your vision begins to darken, and your heart rate picks up as you quickly stumble toward your high. The lewd sounds of your slick humiliated you, not because of what it was but because Rafe made you like this. You had Rafe Fucking Cameron between your legs and you loved it.

"Yeah? You got somethin' you wanna say?" He teases, his pace relentless and unforgiving as your body spasmed, your wetness covering his fingers as they stretched you open. The coolness of the metal rings adds a cold surprise with every glide.

"I'm-- fuck! Gonna-" You're interrupted by your own orgasm once Rafe accelerates to a pace that you couldn't handle without being blinded by the heavens. "You look so fucking pretty when you come" Rafe remarks, voice deep but a little unstable. Unsure how long he could maintain his composure.

Not long at all it seems.

The moment the bulbous head of his cock had caught in the ring of your wet heat, he sank himself into the hilt. "Shit-Shit- Shit!" A pained his scratches up the walls of his throat, not giving you a second to adjust. Your back arches off the towels, eyes glossy as they stare up at Rafe whose eyes are screwed shut, bottom lip tucked between his teeth as soft grunts fall from his lips.

His eyes open to look down at you, entranced with every movement on your face, looking for any signs to slow down, but your legs wrap around his waist to pull him closer. He groans at the extra depth he reaches within your velvet walls. He lowers himself down, dropping teasing kisses on your lips, the some behind your ear, down the side of your neck and you were sick of his antics.

Looping your fingers under his chain you pull him close to you once again, locking your lips with his. The kiss is messy, unrestrained and dangerously intimate for a pogue and a kook to share. "Can't get enough of you," He whispers against your lips, his thrusts slowing down and dragging slower making everything feel deeper.

"Why'd you have to be such a douchebag." You pout between kisses and he chuckles, "Maybe I wouldn't have to be if you weren't such an ungrateful brat." He snaps his hips on impulse causing you to gasp.

"I'm n-not-" You were losing your train of thought and Rafe couldn't concentrate on anything more than the immense wave of pleasure that was breaking down over him.

"Not what? Huh?" You were unable to speak, the coil in your core rapidly igniting, about to snap. Rafe didn't need to hear you say it to know you were close. "Come on, baby. Give it to me. Give me all you got." His gruff tone combined with the pet name had you unravelling beneath him and he came moments later, pulling out and pumping his cum on your stomach.

He kept you warm on the towels, his larger frame wrapped up with yours. You both refused to acknowledge what had just happened when-- "Oh Shit!" You jolt up, rushing to the pale where your clothes had been displaced and you rummage through the pockets of your shorts to find the map that caused all this.

"What's wrong?" You ignore his question once you have the map in your hands, It's still folded, but soaked. You carefully opened it and the ink was partially illegible, but you could still make out some of the words.

"Is that what I think it is?" Rafe asks and you nod slowly, "The map to Kraken's Rest? It was. The rain washed it out." Rafe takes a closer look at the map, asking where you'd gotten this from.

"I.. borrowed it from the museum." You lie. "You don't have to lie to me, I know you stole this-- Did you get it off the display?" You nod, and he tosses the map carelessly into the pale.

Suddenly you remembered why you didn't get along. "What are you doing I need that." You're about to retrieve it when he speaks up. "Museums rarely put the real shit out for the public. All the authentic artifacts are kept in the Kildare vaults."

The good news puts a smile on your face before reality wipes it off, "How am I supposed to get in there unnoticed? They'll catch me before I even make it to the door."

Rafe grins as if the sequence of events has worked itself out too perfectly. "I'm on the guest list for their upcoming exhibit charity gala. The vaults are fingerprint-protected, and I know a guy who's got access. The event is pretty high-profile so I know he'll be there. I can lift his prints and pass them to you during the night so you can get to the vault..."

It sounded like a good plan but how would Rafe get prints to you-- He continues, "But if the plan is gonna work, you'll have to come with me. As my plus one." He's unable to mask the small tug on his lips at the offer and you smile.

[a-b-riddle]

Part Three

Warning: If you don't like Taylor Swift, you're not gonna like this chapter that much, homie. But So Long, London is so fitting for this drabble series. (I guess a series since it's longer than a drabble at this point)

Can’t stop thinking about reader just trying to move on

You had to remind yourself several times not to check in with the guys. It had almost become second nature doing something big like this. But going to another country…

Not that they would care. You told yourself. It was for the best that way.

The expo went better than you expected. You didn’t believe that there would be a line out the door of eager readers wanting to read your book, but you got a decent amount. More than a few told you they couldn’t wait to read it. Several asking for photos and asking questions on any future books, a spin-off or even continuing the series.

When one a particular large group of girls your age asked for a group photo, you could have cried. They were had found each other in an online book club. You had given them your book several months ago. All copies signed with a note thanking them for taking the time to read what you had poured your heart into.

You had spent a large chunk of your free time talking to them. Bonding more so as women than over your book.

"Have you listened to Taylor's new album?"

It had only been out for two days and you had been able to avoid it like the plague. You didn't need to even listen to 'So Long, London' to know it would fucking gut you. So you would enjoy your time in the states. Save the listening experience for when you were packing up their stuff.

They had posted and tagged you before continuing on with the rest of the expo. You had reposted the photo to your own social media. Or at least one attached to the pen name you had crafted. You only had twelve thousand instagram followers, but it was something.

The first day was much like the second. You had attended several Q & A sessions with a panel of more experienced authors and managed to go to a few meet and greets. Before you knew it, it was time to pack up shop.

The agent the publishing house had assigned to you had stuck with you for most of the day. You were able to pick her brain a bit about new ideas for possible future plot lines and her thoughts. Overall, the trip was great.

Not only were you able to make great connections and take a lot back home with you to reference, but for a few days you forgot what waited for you back home. Or rather what wasn't waiting for you.

By the time your plane landed back in London you could barely hold yourself up. You left the expo, went straight to the hotel to shower, pack and head to the airport.

Your flight was delayed. Your luggage was taking forever to get onto the belt. It was only seven, but fuck if you weren’t ready to just call it a day. Tomorrow you would have to start again. Opening up the shop. Coming back to an empty flat. Maybe start gathering up the items the boys had left behind.

Should you give them in separate boxes or just one giant one and let them sort it out themselves? It was easy to discern whose sweatshirt and t-shirts belonged to who, but when it got to things like socks and chargers...

Yeah.

They could sort it themselves.

You could drop it off at Kyle's when you knew he would be at the gym. He was good at avoiding you anyway.

It wasn't until you stood in your apartment did it hit you.

You were alone.

For the first time in over a year you couldn't call one of them over to soothe that ache of loneliness.

For the first time in over a year, you had to relearn how to handle just being alone.

You usually showered at night. Washing away the grime of the day before settling into bed. But today was a new chapter. You woke up wanting to start it on a good note. Plus you went straight to bed after getting home so you still had a bit of airport funk on you.

It had been a week. One official since you had sent that text nailing the coffin shut. You had touched base with your friends who didn't bat an eye at you dating four men at once. They liked them, even if Simon scared them. You didn't give them the details of the breakup or the cause. You were pretty private in your problems and if you wanted relationship advice, you would seek an unbiased unopinion.

You had a good group of friends, but the moment you told them that you were well and truly heartbroken, they would insist the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Something you were nowhere near ready for.

So you needed to look like you had your shit together. You put on a dress that was feminine and, most importantly, comfy as fuck. An A-line floral frock paired with a light sweater and some white trainers. You knew a few of your friends would be stopping by for tea so you need to look like you were taking the separation well. Even if you were barely holding it together.

With makeup and perfume on, you started the early morning stroll to your shop.

You loved openings. Starting up the register and selecting the playlist for today. Picking out the essential oil to put in the diffuser even though you mostly stuck with a lavender and vanilla blend during the spring months.

For the morning you stuck with a Taylor Swift Instrumental playlist you had found initially for studying, but you liked the peaceful feeling it brought. Even when it covered the most gut wrenching songs.

You had started to collect the online orders that had accumulated over the last week. Sending out the e-mails alerting to your patrons that their orders were ready for pick up. Luckily you weren't set to receive a delivery until tomorrow.

It was eight and everything was set. Although not many people came to a bookstore at eight in the morning, it really didn't bother you opening up that early considering you were the only employee that was on the payroll. It gave you the possibility of making money, but mostly you spent the morning reading or writing.

You flipped the sign over from CLOSED to OPEN. Ready to start take on the day.

You had turned the kettle on in the back room when your friends had stopped by around lunch. You always said it was just tea, but you always had an array of snacks on standby for you all to munch on.

Meredith was complaining about what a dick the new client at the law firm was being. An absolute slime who had been married to his wife for almost twenty-five years before he decided to fuck his twenty-two year old assistant.

Tabitha didn't want to talk about work. To her, her career in tech was just a paycheck. She did what she needed to do and left when she was done.

You talked about the expo and how your book. Although neither of them really read, they had promised that they would read your book. You didn't hold your breath. They had reposted your posts as well as making ones of their owns in celebration of you. Words of praise about your dedication and hard work.

You realized that even though they couldn't give you the support you needed as readers, they supported you blindly. You could have written absolute garbage, but they would still support you.

You talked about how many people liked your book and wanted pictures and to sign their copies.

Then came the question you had been rehearsing since you had texted them a week ago. They both shared a look before Meredith finally asked.

"How are you holding up?" You gave a half-smile and a shrug. So perfectly rehearsed in your head you were ready to deliver your lies lines.

"I'm fine," you lied. "It was just fading so there isn't much of a difference, I guess." Not necessarily a lie. "We just wanted different things and were on different paths in life." Not a lie. "It's for the best." You weren't sure if that last one was a lie or not just yet.

They both shared a passing look before returning their gazes back to you. "You know you can come to us about this stuff." Tabitha's hand reached across the table, placing a hand on top of yours.

"It wasn't going to work out." You added. "Situations like that don't and I should have known better."

"A situation?" Meredith asked. "When have you ever called it a situation?"

"It always was one."

"I love you enough to call bullshit." She raised her eyebrow at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "You loved them and you need to stop pretending this is easy."

"You're a divorce lawyer, Mere," You reminded. "You see marriages fall apart every day."

"I do. I get to see from across the table how a woman is still willing to take her cheating arse of a husband back. So the fact that you went from on cloud nine with all of them to not even talking about the break up is concerning to say the least."

"Tabitha," you looked at your only ally left. "A little back up would be nice."

"I'm with her on this one." She confirmed. "You loved them. Not that I cared, but if you weren't talking about books or the shop, you were talking about them. What you did, where you went. How they fucked you."

"I think I'll miss that part the most." Mere sighed. "I lived vicariously through you."

"You know you could actually date people." Tabitha suggested.

"I'd rather live with chronic carpal tunnel than a man." You almost choked on your tea. If you were wearing pearls you would have used the comedic relief of clutching them to break the awkwardness of the current topic of conversation.

"That should be put on a t-shirt." You suggested

"I wouldn't mind it on a welcome mat to be honest." Tabitha added.

"But in all seriousness, cut this bullshit." Meredith gave you an sympathetic smile. "We're here. Good, bad and ugly."

You returned her smile. "I know."

You had closed up shop for the evening. Your lunch had gone longer than expected so now you were left doing the dishes and clean up during closing. You were setting the last cup on the drying rack when you heard the front door chime.

Shit.

You must have forgotten to lock the door when you turned the sign.

“I’m sorry!” You apologized, making your way out of the back break area and to the front of the store. “We’re-”

“Closed.” He said, locking the door behind him. “I saw the sign.”

[davinawritings]

Werewolf Husband that is obsessed with your ass...

Werewolf husband that is obsessed with your ass. His hands are on it at all times of the day. It’s not even always super sexual. Sometimes it’s just a loving little slap as you pass him in the hallway or a firm grab as you bend over to reach for something. He always makes sure to give your ass a big squeeze as soon as you wake.

Cuddling= Hand on ass

Sleeping = Hand on ass

Bending over to tie your shoe laces = Hand on ass

Walking away after placing his food in front of him = Ass smack

Walk past him in the hallway= Ass smack 

Fucking: Ass smack, bite, grab and occasionally fuck

This werewolf is obsessed with your ass.

You have come to expect having your ass in his hands in some way, shape or form. So, when you woke up this morning and he didn’t grab it, you were completely thrown off. You didn’t say anything because maybe he just forgot, but then you walked by him in the hallway and he just gave you a small smile.

Once again you brushed it off, you know he has been working hard lately with the pack. Maybe he is just tired. 

Then you brought him lunch in his office. You made the food perfectly and put on a cute little skirt that practically screamed look at my butt and squeeze! Placing the food down you stood right next to him and angled your body so you were easy to reach and your ass was on prime display. He just thanked you and went back to work while taking bites of his food.

Now you know something is wrong. You spend the rest of the day trying to figure out what you did wrong. You cannot think of anything but surely you are missing something. Everything was normal when you went to sleep last night. He fucked your brains out then pulled you to his warm chest. You even felt his clawed hand stroking your ass as you drifted off to sleep. What could have possibly changed between then and this morning?

When your husband finally emerges from his office he finds you pouting on the sofa. He calls your name and as soon as you look at him the dam breaks and tears start pouring from your eyes. 

He is kneeling in front of you in seconds grabbing your smaller hands in his own and asking what is wrong.

When you tearfully say, “You haven't touched my butt today”, he just looks at you confused. You go on and try to explain, “You always touch my butt. You love it. Everytime you are within arms reach you grab it or smack it. You didn’t do it at all today. Not once! What did I do wrong? Do you not love me anymore? Do you not love my butt anymore?”

He looks at you in complete shock for a moment before howling in laughter. Your sad tears quickly turn into irritated tears and your small fists hit his chest.

“That’s why you’re crying? You think I don't love you anymore because I haven't grabbed your ass today”, he says between bouts of laughter.

You glare at him for making fun of you and refuse to say anything further, knowing he will just laugh more.

He finally controls himself before scooping you into his arms, his hand going straight to your ass to hold you up. His hands massage your ass as he sticks his long tongue down your throat, earning a needy moan from you. He begins walking towards the bedroom and says “Come on my little mate. Let me show you how much I love your ass by stuffing it full of my cock. Cant have my precious wife feeling unloved”.

You smile as he lands a firm slap on your right ass cheek, everything feeling right once again.

[chrissv4mp]

𐙚 GAMES

EDIT: shit i forgot this was in queue 😓 merry christmas i guess (if you celebrate)

Her fingers worked furiously, eyebrows furrowed and lip tucked between her teeth as she breathed heavily, "Fuck!" She groaned, leaning back against the chair as she threw her head back against the headrest softly. Her fingers slowed to a halt, stopping her moments entirely to breathe for a moment.

"GAME OVER," the screen read, flashing white for a moment before it asked if she wanted to play again. And, of course, she pressed, "YES." Billie had been at this for what felt like an eternity, playing some stupid video game instead of paying attention to you. Not even your lazy attempts at bringing her water worked, and it was starting to irritate you intensely.

So, you finally pull the oldest trick in the book: Whining her name lowly, lips pouty and eyebrows furrowed as you squirmed on the bed. Her posture was quickly fixed as the sound reached her ears, fingers pausing once again on the controller she held so possessively. Then, the screen paused, and Billie finally set the controller down on her desk, spinning around in her chair.

Her eyes landed on you immediately, clad in only your undergarments as it was almost midnight. Way past the usual time you and her fell asleep, "What's wrong, Ma?" She asks, voice husky due to the insane amount of yelling she'd done in the past few hours. Her tank top hugs her chest perfectly, and as she stretches, you can't help but stare at the dragon tattoo that peeks out as the fabric rides up.

She yawns quietly before manspreading, hands resting on her clothed thighs. She hadn't even gotten ready for bed before she started the game, and even that was irritating you. You whine again, your pout deepening, "Want'chu in bed, Bills..."

Billie's lips curl into a smirk at your tone, her tattooed hand coming up to run through her soft hair. It doesn't even take you ten seconds to scurry into her lap whenever she motions you over with her two fingers, clinging to her body like you hadn't seen her in a million years—Because that's what it felt like. Her head nuzzles into your neck, breathing in the faint smell of your perfume as her hands wrap around your waist, holding you possessively.

Your body shakes slightly, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of her touch for the first time in a few hours, earning a quiet, amused chuckle from your girlfriend, "Someone's excited to see me, hm?" Billie comments, one of her ring-covered hands coming down to pat your ass softly. Your hips buck subconsciously, arms wrapping tighter and tighter around her body as your breath becomes uneven.

"Jus' missed you," quickly falls from between your lips, voice quiet and laced with sleep and something else. Something she can't quite put her finger on. Your eyes flutter shut as you relax in her embrace, your hips continuing the slow, grinding movements against Billie's lap. It's only when you mewl straight into her ear that she notices what you're doing and what you're feeling, "I can tell."

Your arousal leaks through your panties, coating a small patch of her sweatpants. Billie gasps just to humiliate you, "Missed you—Bills, missed you s'much." You babble, hips starting to move faster with the help of your girlfriend's hands guiding your movements, "Wan'—Need you, baby," you cry softly, voice breaking. Billie stays silent, her breathes becoming heavy, head falling back against her headrest.

"Yeah?" She asks, voice teasing and raspy. Her nails dig into your hips, eyes locking onto yours as she pulled away from your neck, "Well, c'mon, show me how much y'missed me, babygirl." She nods her head towards your trembling figure, a devious smirk playing on her lips. Your cunt clenches around nothing, clit throbbing with each movement of your hips, head lolling back and revealing more of your neck, "S—So mm..much!"

"Missed you too, sweetie," she mutters, biting her bottom lip as her hands continue to rock you back and forth on her lap. She's already dripping herself, and she swears she could cum just from the sight of you alone, "Sorry for bein' so distracted. Didn't mean to ignore my pretty baby's needy pussy." You huff at her words, sweat beginning to bead on your hairline, "Gonna cum—cum f'you, Bills!—"

Her hands are quick to halt your grinding hips, heart beating rapidly in her chest as she looks up at you with that same mischievous glint in her eye that never left. She spun her chair back around, hands leaving your hips to grab her controller once again. God, you never thought you'd be able to hate an inanimate object as much as you hated that stupid controller.

"One more game." She breathes into your ear, kissing your jawline, "Then I'll treat you better than ever."

𐙚 amiyaps : how not to hate every single thing I EVER WRITE

𐙚 tags : @sophloveswomen @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livvydunneness @vyntagess @afteraftercare @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @slxtarchive @stonerfromlesbos @bilsdillldough @47lake @hopingforgoodblogs @karaeilishh @mybluebossanova @hopelessfawn @zayluvss @meliciousmel13

[mggslover]

🤓☝️ may i request for your first time series the first time spencer lets reader take control during sex? not too sure how you feel about sub spencer but im horny for it and i’d love to see what you do

edging sub spencer genre: smut 18+ cw: sub!spencer x dom!reader, mentions of spencer being insecure about his masculinity, mentions of p in v sex, tied hands, handjob, edging, breastplay, oral (f receiving), thigh fucking, bit of degradation, religious comparisons wc: 2,4k a/n: am i a sub spencer fan?! pull up in the- yes lol i very much am. i cannot even call these drabbles anymore. if anyone is wondering why your requests are taking so long, this is the reason. my first time exploring this dynamic. i hope you'll enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

“Come on, baby. You’re the one who begged me for this.”

Spencer whimpered underneath you in response. He sat up straight on your shared bed, upper body rested against the headframe, long legs spread over the sheets, as your naked body hovered over his. And most importantly, his hands were tied behind his back with a silk red fabric.

Spencer craned his neck, trying to press his lips to yours, but you simultaneously leaned away from him. You shook your head, tsking. “What did I tell you?”

Twinkling hazel eyes blinked up at you, his eyebrows caught in a slight furrow.

“You can’t tell me you forgot,” you purred, fingertips trailing the curve of his jaw. “What did I tell you, Spencer?” you repeat with more force in your tone.

He visibly swallowed as your nails dragged down his neck. “That I’m not allowed to touch you.”

“And why’s that?” You hummed.

“Because sexual denial will increase the release of dopamine, and—oh…” he closed his eyes in delight as your nails continued their path down his chest.

“—and the release of oxytocin and serotonin. It will… in general… Jesus… make you more sensitive, which will heighten your pleasure.”

He had hurriedly finished his last words, letting out a deep breath of relief once you nodded in confirmation. 

“And all we want is for you to feel good. Isn’t that right, baby?”

He nodded fervently, a deep moan escaping his throat as your fingers grazed the skin of his upper thigh, carefully avoiding his throbbing length.

-`♡´-

It had all started last week, when you came home on a dreary Thursday evening. Immensely frustrated from your day at work. 

Spencer oftentimes suggested sex when you were feeling stressed out. Sexual intercourse is known for lowering blood pressure and boosting happy hormones.

Usually this would result in him leading you to the bedroom where he’d gently press you down onto the mattress. He’d crawl on top of you, lips immediately finding yours, giving gentle pecks as his hands roamed up and down the sides of your body. 

You’d have sensual sex. Sweet. Vanilla. It was the norm, and when it came to sex, Spencer wanted to keep to the norm. Sexuality and masculinity were deeply intertwined for him, and in both of these aspects, he felt like he didn’t fit into the traditional roles of a man, causing him to feel the need to approach sex textbook-wise.

The sex was good for the both of you. You never minded seeing your boyfriend on top of you. His lips slightly agape as he fought back his moans, hair falling into his face with every push of his hips, shoulders shuddering as he came inside of you. And for Spencer, he was always happy to be there. 

So, it was entirely new when you came home that day and tugged him by the collar of his shirt the second you entered the house. Spencer’s mouth was still in a gasp when you hungrily pressed your lips to his, tongue finding his without building the moment up like you’d usually do. 

Your body pulled flush against him. The softness of your breasts pressed against his hard chest. He was able to feel the peaks of your nipples even through the fabric of clothes.

“Are you okay?” Spencer choked out as you cupped him roughly through his pants. 

“I just need you, Spence. I need to use you.”

Those words were almost enough to make him spill in his underwear. And indeed, the second you had moved to the couch and straddled him (an entirely new position), taking his cock in your soft hand as you sunk down onto him, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to fill you up with his release.

You needed the control and security after having been bossed around at work. Spencer, on the contrary, felt too much in control at his job. Setting a profile and finding evidence and whereabouts on an unsub was very precise work, not even mentioning the huge amount of pressure on saving people’s lives. 

He never realized how good it felt to let go. To trust someone else in taking charge, in taking care of him. At that moment he didn’t think about portraying a certain type of masculinity. Instead of holding back his moans and settling on deep groans, he whimpered against your mouth as you fucked him. Squirming and whining underneath your touch as he begged you for more. 

His reactions didn’t go unnoticed by you. When you both had recovered and were cleaned up, you brought up the subject of this sub-dom dynamic, and it was very easy for Spencer to give in to exploring it more.

-`♡´-

“P-please.”

“What’s that?”

“Please touch me,” Spencer softly cried, fisting the pillow behind his back with the little grip he had.

You leaned in closer. Your breath tickled against his neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake, before you licked a bold stripe up the skin. 

A strangled moan left his throat. You smiled at him, pleased with yourself. It deeply turned you on that you could do whatever you wanted to him, that he’d beg you for anything that you could give him. 

His body responded to every ghost of your touch. Your lips trailed his throat, feeling the heat radiating off of him. Occasionally leaving lingering marks and bites until you made your way up his jaw.

“Is this what you wanted, Spence?” You teased as you put your hand around his thick shaft. 

“Yes,” he moaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “Exactly that.”

You pumped his length in a steady rhythm, flicking your palm to enhance the sensation. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. Such a pretty boy. Your cock is so hard and ready for me.” 

He shivered at your words. He didn’t know how he got so lucky to have you hovering above him, breasts swaying with every movement of your hand. You were so good to him. When his gaze blinked from your breasts to your face, seeing you seductively smile but your eyes radiating a gentle sweetness, he started wondering if there might really be a God. You were too heavenly to be here on Earth, pleasing him like there was no better enjoyment in life.

Your eyes were fixed on his cock, watching his precum gather at the tip. You circled the sensitive skin with a soft stroke of your thumb. Spencer used the momentary distraction to dive in, his lips catching around your nipple. “Oh god,” you gasped in pleasure, the sensation going straight to your core. His tongue made quick work of stimulating the nub. His cheeks were hollowed as he sucked, giving his everything for the mere moments he might get of tasting you.

Spencer was internally grateful when you didn’t stop him. As a matter of fact, your fingers knotted through his hair as you tugged him closer to you. It helped him keep his balance as his still tied hands clenched around the air. 

He continued his kisses to the rest of your breast once he was confident enough that you wouldn’t tell him to stop. He sucked on the soft, full flesh, leaving marks that would remind you of this moment days from now.

“Look at you sucking on my tits. You’re so desperate, aren’t you? Such a little slut for me.”

He moaned around your nipple, a wave of need fluttering through your stomach. You pulled on his hair, sharp enough to leave a pleasurable sting of pain. “Look at me.”

Wide doe eyes met yours. “‘m sorry.”

“Too distracted by having my tits in your face to look me in the eyes, huh?”

“Sorry, you’re just too pretty,” he truthfully muttered, eyes fleetly falling onto your breasts before blinking back up.

He looked so pretty like this. A red flush painting his neck and cheeks. His lips were just as swollen and red as he pouted at you. A smug smile lingered on your face, and you pulled him back in, leaning forward to not have him stretch his neck too far. The kiss was sloppy, hungry. You were not able to tell whether his whimpers were because of the kiss, or because of your touch as your hand had found its way back to his cock.

You fastened the motions of your wrist. His mouth was parted, a pretty song of whines escaping. You sucked down on his bottom lip, mirroring the action he always did when kissing you. 

“Oh, baby.” The moan came out in a gasp. His hips started stuttering, stomach clenching as he neared his release.

“Are you almost there, Spencer?”

“Yes! I’m almost there, I’m almost there baby. Please don’t stop.”

You released your grip on him. His length remained hard, standing upright as if you were still holding him.

The desperate cry that left his lips should have made you feel bad. Instead, you found yourself getting even more turned on. Sure that your thighs were slick with your wetness by now.

“Why—why did you do that?” He whimpered accusingly, as if betrayed. “I was so close.”

“Ah, I know, baby,” you faux pouted. You had to bite your lip to hold back a sadistic smile as you noticed his glossy eyes, looking more green than they usually were.

“I’m just keeping you to your promise,” you reminded him. He tilted his head like a confused puppy. “When you told me you’d always make sure to make me come first.”

“But we weren’t—”

“Uh, uh, uh,” you shushed him, index finger pressed to his lips. “Don’t you want to please me?”

He softly kissed your finger, “Of course I do.”

“Then start using your mouth for better things than complaining,” you cooed at him before carefully standing up on the bed, making your way forward until his face was right below your cunt. Spencer wiggled on the sheets until he lay flat on his back, arms in a bit of an uncomfortable position, but not enough to bother him as he had a perfect view of your dripping pussy.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in a prayer. You softly chuckled, bending your legs so that they were spread on either side of his face. Slowly, you lowered yourself until his tongue, which was already sticking out, made contact with your folds. You hissed at the sensation, your clit throbbing in the same way it always did before he ate you out.

He started lapping at your pussy, gathering your sweet slickness and spreading it over the lips. He flicked his tongue over your inner lips before sucking on them. As much as Spencer adored giving you the reins, nothing compared to the shaky, uncontrollable whimpers that left your mouth. Sounds that were made because of him. Sounds that were made for him. 

“Keep making those sounds, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body.

After more worshipping kisses to your cunt, his lips finally settled down on your clit. Your back arched when he started sucking on the sensitive button while simultaneously pressing on it with the tip of his tongue. He truly was your toy, no silicone object giving you the ecstasy that he could give you. 

“Oh God, Spencer. You’re so good at this,” you stated in a heavy breath. The feeling of your orgasm coming up was close to overwhelming, and you were whimpering as your vision hazed.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Oh, fuck, I’m—”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence, instead crying out a moan as your release hit you. Your legs started shaking uncontrollably, your pussy pressed even harder against his mouth as you rode out the aftershocks, muffling his deep moans. The feel of his nose against your overstimulated cunt was dizzying. 

“I need to lie down,” you said, out of breath. Shaky Bambi legs as you climbed off of him. Your body didn’t allow you to move much further. Settling on lying down on top of his body, spreading your legs to give his achingly hard cock room to breathe.

Your cheek rested against his sweaty chest. Spencer reached out to trace your face, huffing in annoyance when he remembered his hands were still tied behind his back. 

He hummed when you pressed a wet kiss to his chest. “Finish for me, baby.”

Then you squeezed your thighs together. Spencer swallowed when he realized what you meant. His cock was enveloped between your plush thighs, and when he experimentally lifted his hips, he discovered how good the act felt. 

“Jesus, that’s nice,” he groaned. 

Wasting no time, he started pumping his hips up, using your thighs as a cocksleeve. The wetness that was gathered on your inner thighs (and was still dripping out of your pussy) working as lube. 

Your fingertips lazily trailed over his chest. “Doing so good for me, baby. Show me how good you can make yourself feel.”

He nodded, a whine leaving his lips as he fastened his speed. His eyes were transfixed on the curve of your ass, craning his neck to get a better look.

He’s never experienced a feeling as sentimental as this. The rough pleasure of the sex mixed with the gentleness of your head resting against him. He couldn’t get closer to Heaven than this.

“You feel so good,” he whined. “You’re not stopping me this time. Right?” He asked for confirmation, his voice shaking in doubt. 

You laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest. “That really took a toll on you, huh? I won’t, I promise.”

The slight tension in his body resolved. Making him feel enough at ease to let go. He placed his feet firmly on the bed, using his knees to lift himself up, making you let out a yelp as he fucked your thighs.

The silk wasn’t enough to hold him back, the fabric tearing as he moved his wrists. His hands immediately found your head, holding you against him as his hips stuttered. Your moans were entangled in each other as he spilled his cum all over your ass. 

His stomach clenched underneath you, and you soothingly shushed him. Reassuringly caressing his chest and shoulders as he came down from his height.

-`♡´-

“You okay?” You softly mumbled once his heartbeat had calmed down.

He nodded, a lazy smile displayed on his lips. “I’m okay.”

“I wasn’t too rough with you. Was I?”

“No,” he answered, holding you closely against him. “You were perfect.”

[melioraskz]

Lee Minho, the guy who…

A/N : Wrote this in the middle of the night LOL !! Also my first written thing of 2025, it’s short af but enjoy !!! It’s like a headcanon thing idk

Warnings : mentions of sex, markings, Minho being a little jealous ig. Nothing crazy LOL!!

Minho x reader !

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Lee Minho, the guy who remembered your order at the local coffee shop in detail, if you hated coffee ? Then he’d order you something else like tea or matcha, point is he knew exactly what you liked and would always get you one if he was grabbing one for himself and knew he would be meeting you as well, sometimes if he knew you needed cheering up he’d come with one anyways despite not getting myself anything <3

Lee Minho, the guy who even before he knew that he had a crush on you would feel his ears burn up when your hands accidentally touched while you were handing him something, even if it was just for a second he’d think about it for an hour afterwards…

Lee Minho, the guy who who stared at you for a solid minute when you finally told him how you felt about him. Under that minute you had felt all your anxiety about being rejected build up to the point where you had to snap your fingers right in front of him to make him snap out of it. When you said it was fine if he didn’t like you the way you liked him he quickly shook his head in panic and waved his hands in front of you to signal a strong no. “No no no I like you! I like you too!”

Lee Minho, the guy who even a year into the relationship looked at you with such loving and genuine appreciation in his eyes. His lips curled into a crooked smile. You’d be doing your laundry in front of him and he’d be staring at you smiling like a goof with one elbow against the table with his hand steadying his tilted head.

Lee Minho, the guy who will act like he definitely doesn’t wanna help and that you’re so annoying for asking but secretly love doing anything and loves the feeling of being needed, even if it’s for something as small as reach the top shelf or open a glass jaw. (he is such a Tsundere…)

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely is rough in bed, you will wake up bruised up the morning after and he will have the biggest smug on his face as he looks at you trying to cover it up in the mirror, resting his shoulder against the doorframe as you swear at him for being too reckless.

Lee Minho, the guy who when you do get upset at him for marking you up will say something like “well you didn’t complain yesterday” and just laugh at you.

Lee Minho, the guy who definitely find it super fucking sexy seeing you marked up by him, however he will eventually feel bad as he does not wanna cause any trouble for you at work so he’ll try to help you cover it up to the best of his abilities <3.

Lee Minho, the guy who will be jealous over your boss, especially when he one day goes over to your work to give you your phone that you forgot at home on his way to JYPE. He casually walks in with cap & mask on hiding his identity and sees your boss trying to put his hand on your shoulder, on top of your clearly uncomfortable expression he just feels a rush of jealousy so he will straight up walk up to you, introduce himself as your boyfriend like. “It’s nice to finally meet you, sir. I’m Lee Minho, her partner”.

Lee Minho, the guy who after years of being with you, when his kpop career has calmed down a bit and he has finished his military service, will propose to you. He did definitely ask his members, most likely Jisung, for help on rings, making sure it’s the perfect ring that’s your style. He takes everything into consideration, what style you usually get drawn towards, if you’re out with him at a mall and walk past a jewellery shop he will see if your eyes linger just a little longer at a certain design as well. He wants everything to be perfect.

[aquariusmiller]

Sell-out

Pairing: QZ!Joel x f!reader

Summary: After a smuggler Joel and Tess were working with didn’t pay for his end of the deal, Joel captures his girlfriend, you. Tired of your boyfriend’s scheming ways, you decide to use the situation to your advantage.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, captivity, mentions of m!oc, cheating, darkish!Joel, dubcon (power imbalance, eventual consent), oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, slight dom/sub dynamics

A/N: Happy New Year! Decided to do something different for this one-shot and I'm excited to put it out there because I personally love reading these types of stories and I've been writing this for a while. I appreciate any feedback and enjoy these messy characters! :)

masterlist

The first thing you feel waking up is sharp pain coming from the back of your head. You move your arm to inspect it, but the weight of chains stops you, clanging against the hard floor. You quickly open your eyes to see where you are.

The room you’re in is wide, brick walls of it covered with graffiti, holding a network of pipes. You... You know this place. You’ve seen it from outside of the abandoned warehouse near the QZ, waiting for your boyfriend Lucien to finish up meeting with his smuggling crew. You always hated the types of guys coming here and the way he’d try to fit in with them, mimicking them without noticing. Most of the time, though, you’d bear with it because his line of work brought in the resources. To him and to you. This has to be the shadiest place in a wide perimeter, and it smells like it; of sweat, dried blood and rusted metal.

You raise your arms slightly and turn to look at them. There’s a pull of the heavy metal again. You see chains tied around your wrists, locked around a metal pipe. You don’t remember any of this happening, much less getting here. Your mind runs a mile an hour, trying to find an answer to the burning question – why the hell are you here tied up?

Heavy and intent footsteps grow louder until you see a big wooden door open. Your eyes widen as you see who comes out, his bearded face and stern expression unmistakable. He leans on a small metal table, staring you down. Joel fucking Miller.

Of course you know who Joel Miller is. Along with Tess, he’s one of the most notorious smugglers in the Boston QZ, feared by even the toughest of brutes. Tess is the brains, Joel is the muscle. They worked with Lucien on his most recent deal and... Oh, shit. You know why you’re here.

His expression is nonchalant, except for a subtle scowl. “Finally. You’re awake.”

You look him straight in the eye, trying not to show the fear bubbling in your stomach. You curse yourself as a tremble in your voice betrays it. “Why am I here?”

He grins darkly at the tremble in your voice, satisfied with his plan to intimidate you. “You know why you’re here.”

Of course you do. This isn’t the first time Lucien’s sleazy tactics backfired on him, yet he always thought he knew better than you. Didn’t want to listen to your advice and did as he pleased. Now you’re the one captured for it.

You decide in a split second you’ll pretend you have no idea. “No, I don’t.”

“Liar.” He says menacingly.

“What do you want?” You get annoyed and struggle against the chains.

“No use strugglin’. You’ll just hurt yourself. And I want my share.” He walks around as he speaks, heavy boots stomping on the concrete floor. You have to resist the urge to flinch at every one of his steps. “Thought you were so smart, double-crossing me and Tess.”

You glare at him, determined not to let him sense your fear. “Me? I’m not a smuggler.”

He smirks. “Oh, right. Forgot you’re Lucien’s arm candy.”

You know what he’s doing. Trying to coax an answer out of you by implying your only use is standing still and looking pretty. You won’t fall for it. You tilt your head. “Forgot you’re Tess’s muscle.”

You see a flicker of annoyance pass him at the quip before he composes himself. “The muscle could snap you in half.”

You keep glaring up at him. “Good thing. Nothing else going for you.”

He comes closer and kneels in front of you, his shadow looming over your frame. “You’re makin’ this a whole lot harder on yourself.”

You keep eye contact as he comes closer to you, his breath hitting your face, your breath speeding up from adrenaline and... His proximity. He’s so close you can smell his musk mixed with gun powder. God, not him. Not right now. You swallow.

He smirks. “What? Cat ate your tongue?”

You struggle to think as your skin warms up slightly, making part of you not want to leave. Looking away from him towards the floor, you shake out of it. The chains are tied to the pipe with a lock. If you’re lucky and he hasn’t thought this through, he could be keeping the keys to the lock somewhere on him. Joel wouldn’t, but it’s worth a try. You could also convince him to let you go. You’ve talked your way out of worse, and Joel is a pragmatic man. If you figure out what he wants, you stand a chance.

After a few seconds of running through this in your head, you have a plan of action. “I can give you your share.”

He leans a bit away to check your facial expression, determine if you’re deceptive. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah. It was a stupid idea, and I told him that. You should be made up for your struggle.” You try to keep your expression flat, playing up the “you deserve compensation” card.

He hums, smiling slyly. “You’re good. Can’t tell if you’re lyin’.”

“Well, I’m telling the truth.” You huff, genuinely annoyed this time at the predicament you’re in because of your boyfriend. “So how about we cut a deal and you get me out of these?” You raise your arms as much as the chains tying them on your back will allow.

He raises his eyebrow. “You’re takin’ this way better than I thought.”

You roll your eyes. “Not used to people coming in to save me.”

He shrugs and nods. “See...” He gets up slowly from his crouching position, walking around again. “I could cut you a deal.” He stops and looks you over, his eyes scanning your body slowly, like a predator deciding whether to play with its prey or finish the hunt. “Ain’t sure you’re gonna like it, though.”

Relief, intrigue and a bit of fear are swirling in your chest. Your voice cracks but you compose it quickly. “Go ahead. Shoot.”

He comes closer to you and crouches again, stroking your cheek with no emotion in his eyes, searching yours for any signs of discomfort. Chills prickle your skin and you’re not sure if you want to bite your lip to hold back your reactions or to spur him on. You refrain from it.

You should move to stop him. But it’s as if his gaze is keeping you in place, looking into your very soul.

“This is about sendin’ a message.” He strokes your cheek with his knuckles, the roughness of his calloused hand pleasant against your soft skin. “So you can tell me where you keep everythin’ you own, or...” He bites his lip, his eyes closing slightly with lust. “We can do somethin’ else.”

You’re breathing heavily, you heart beating quickly in your chest, leaning against the wall to get as much distance as you can from him in a desperate attempt to think clearly.

All of Lucien and your resources or... Whatever Joel’s up to? You don’t like this. You’re cornered. As much as you’re intrigued by the latter, you have a sinking feeling in your gut you’ll be forced to do it anyway. You frown in resignation.

You turn back to Joel, your tongue on your teeth in anger. “What else?” You spit out.

He smirks, aware of his position, taking his hand off your cheek. “You’re a smart girl. ’M sure you’ll figure it out.”

Thinking of your next move, you look at him frustrated. You lunge and bite the front of his shirt, keeping him in place as you try to will your chained hands to move to his jean pockets and look for the key.

He scoffs in frustration and shakes you off, pinning your shoulders against the wall. “Goddamnit-“

You slam against the wall, scowling at him.

He keeps you pinned and scoffs. “Oh, c’mon.” He smiles slyly, running his finger down the pulse point on your neck. “Afraid you’ll like it?” He leans in and whispers in your ear, his lips lightly grazing the shell of it. “You already do.”

You hate him with a fiery passion. You hate the invisible pull between you two and the way your breath is quickening.

He keeps whispering. “Smart girl. Sharp as a whip. Bet he doesn’t know how to handle ya.” He runs his hands down your sides, stoking the fire lit in you.

Your eyes shut slightly on their own accord, the sensation in your core pleasant. He’s flattering you, using your vanity against you as if he’s reading into your mind.

“I could make good use of you.” He whispers, his breath hitting your ear. “In a lotta ways.” His words are seductive, but you sense a deeper meaning. He sees tangible value in your calculating mind and survival instincts.

You should resist him. Use any tactic you can think of and try to run. But you’re curious about what he could do to you. You like the thought, and your body’s betraying you too, heat pooling low.

You’re also curious about the vision of Joel treating you like an equal. Tess is his partner in crime and you’re not sure how you’d fit in the picture. Yet, desperation for recognition Lucien never gave you lets you think wishfully for a fleeting moment. Does thinking like this make you a traitor? Weak willed? A sell-out? What devastates you is you’re not sure Lucien would care for this more than losing his supplies.

There’d likely be hell to pay either way. Hell with Joel seems like the lesser one.

So you entertain Joel. You bite your lip and turn to him slightly as you whisper. “Bet you could.”

He slowly pulls away from your ear and smiles slyly. “You’re comin’ around.”

You return his sly smile with your own. “Are you gonna make good on your promise?”

He leans in, his lips inches from yours, an invitation for you to close the distance. “You bet.”

You look down at his lips, corners of your mouth crooked into a smug smile. Temptation rises in you, pulling you in like a moth to a flame. And a flame will it be when Lucien finds out.

You lean in and kiss him. He kisses you back searingly, full of pent up aggression and desire, biting your lip softly. You moan at the slight sting, both getting lost in this desperate and carnal moment, mouth to mouth, no more space for thinking. His tongue finds your lower lip, asking for access. You grant it instantly, opening your mouth to let him explore it. You catch his tongue with yours and they glide against each other in a slow dance.

Moaning, you pull away. He grunts slightly at the loss of your lips on his. There’s a certain question in the way you look at him now that he can’t answer; how far is this going? He’s swept away in the tide of his arousal and letting it guide him.

He gets up and puts his hand on your chin, lifting it and tapping it as he speaks commandingly. “On your knees.”

You blink a few times in surprise and swallow your pride before you get up on your knees, tugging at the cold chains as you shift from your sitting position. Your core is fluttering even as you’re feeling like uncertainty is pressing down on your chest.

He smirks at your current position and tilts your head up, nudging you softly with his words. “Open wide. C’mon.”

You lick your lips as you look up at him with an expression juxtaposing what you’re feeling. Ready. In too deep, you’re seeing this through, letting him take you through the unknown. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out.

“Eager for me, huh?” He strokes your chin tenderly, like you’re something to be handled carefully. “Good girl.”

You smile smugly with your eyes, keeping your mouth open, the last shreds of your restraint keeping you from giving fully into him.

The sound of him unbuckling his belt echoes through the warehouse interior. He slides it off, pulling down his jeans. You get a good look at the bulge straining against his boxers. God, he seems big. A bit of worry of you’ll fit him in your mouth comes over you.

He just grins at your hesitant frown and reaches for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down. His length is bobbing on his abdomen, red and angry, already leaking precum. You instinctively tilt your head and bite your lip at the sight. His bulge didn’t fool you about his size, and of course it’s as demanding and manly as the rest of him.

He looks at you sternly. “Go on. I ain’t got all day.”

He’s taunting your doubts, and you might agree with the sentiment. You want to be so full of him you can’t think. You lick up the drops leaking from his slit, looking up at him with wide, pliant eyes.

He strokes the back of your head, sucking in a breath. “There we go.” He grips your hair and pulls you in the direction of his cock. You wrap your mouth around his tip, swirling your tongue, before you push in deeper.

He grunts. He grips your hair, his eyes shutting slightly at the sensation of your warm mouth. “Just like that, baby. So good.” He pats your cheek with his other hand.

You bob your head, setting up a steady pace. You inhale his musk as you take him in deeper each time.

He’s a mess of grunts and low moans. He grips your hair with both hands and starts thrusting into you with abandon. He hits the back of your throat and even as you gag, you close your eyes and moan, the vibration pleasant on his cock. He lit up a wildfire inside you. At this point, you’re helpless to stop it.

Even in his haze, he’s making sure to hold your head securely to keep you from falling backwards. He lets out a groan as he bucks into you, struggling to speak. “Takin’ me so well. You like chokin’ on it?”

You moan in approval. You’re getting off on being tied up and used like this, the ache in your core becoming almost unbearable. So intent on doing whatever he wants, you don’t care if it gets eased.

“’M not sure how long I can last.” He pulls out of your mouth slowly, the saliva stream connecting your mouth with his cock as he does. You open your eyes, looking up at him half-lidded, close to being completely spent. He strokes your cheek, scared he’s hurt you. “You okay?” His voice is tinged with warmth you didn’t expect.

You nod as you look into his hazel eyes, still devoid of emotion but attentive in their own way, glimpses of the man he must have been before the world hardened him.

“Where d’you want me?” He keeps stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I want you inside me.” There’s almost a desperation in the way you look up at him, not sure if it’s for him to slide into you or to keep him giving these small crumbs of attention.

He nods as his gaze skims over your body slowly. As if he just remembered something, he stops in consideration. He orders, slight irritation at this thought ruining his fun in his voice. “Turn around.”

You narrow your eyes questioningly and hesitantly turn around to face the wall. Gripping your arm, he unties the chains around your wrists. Relief and confusion come over you. Is he going to...?

He is. You recognize the sound of keys clinking behind you before he turns the key in the lock keeping the chains to the pipe. The chains fall to the floor with a loud clang. You finally move your arms, sore and chafed by them, rubbing the marks.

Why would he let you go before you get to the good part? Wait... Guess there are invisible lines Joel won’t cross. As much as he liked the power he had over you, he wants you to have a choice in this. To know you’re doing this on your own accord, not to escape, not fearing for your life. This is just his test of that. He stands behind you for a few moments, gauging your reaction, watching whether you’re preparing to flee.

As you stand with your arms free, all your instincts tell you to run. But where to? Back in the arms of the boyfriend who makes you fear his betrayal every single day? It’s only a matter of time before his backstabbing tendencies are turned on you, you think.

To be fair, Joel is not the most reliable man to turn to next, but you decide to explore what has transpired between you further.

You turn around and look at him, his bulge still straining against his pulled up jeans, tilting your head and smiling knowingly. “Go on. I ain’t got all day.”

“Good. Thought you’d try to run.” He grins and nods, and you can see relief clearly painted on his face. “Woulda been a shame.” His voice takes on a lower and more confident tone.

He grabs your arms and moves you to the patch of brick beside the pipe you were locked to, pinning you to it. Your faces are close together and now you’re both smiling like two teenagers sneaking off to do something forbidden. He slides his tongue into your mouth again as you open it eagerly. You kiss briefly before his fingers slip past the waistband of your jeans inside your panties. He hums. “Already wet for me, aren’t you?”

You nod as you exhale in pleasure. “So wet.”

He parts your folds with his finger, not pushing in, just teasing. “Let’s see how wet you can get...”

Your core is throbbing and his touch keeps making it worse. Leaning your head back against the wall, you sigh. “Oh God...”

He smiles slyly as his fingers find your clit, rubbing teasingly. “Lucky bastard, Lucien... Gonna fuck you so hard you forget all about him.”

You look at Joel in surprise at mentioning him, too worked up to care at this point, perhaps even tempered by the anger and resentment you harbor for Lucien. Too late to turn back anyway, you think you like the way this is sticking it to him. A subtle sly smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

He takes his hand out of your jeans and begins undoing the button and zipper on them. As he does, your chest is rapidly rising and falling and you feel the heat spreading through your body, consuming you. You clutch onto his belt, undoing it once more along with his jeans and boxers. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down.

He taps the head of his cock to your clit, your arousal mixing. You move your hips instinctively for him to push in, but he makes sure to torment you for a moment longer, tapping it against you again.

“Joel...” You whine.

“You want it? I wanna hear you.” He pushes in just the head of his cock, closing his eyes in pleasure.

“Yes! Yes, I want it so badly. Please...” Before you’re even done begging, Joel can’t take it anymore and pushes all the way in. In one rough stroke, he’s fully inside you. Your breath’s almost knocked out and a slight sting from his size quickly turns into pleasure.

He stills for a moment, letting you adjust. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

He slides out of you a bit before he slams back in. He sets a ruthless pace, each thrust pushing your hips to the wall and hitting deep inside of you. You lean against the cold brick, your lips parted and your eyes half-lidded, moaning. It’s almost animalistic, the way you’re both losing your bearings in this dirty warehouse.

“Atta girl. Take all of me.” He picks up speed as he presses closer to you, taking your nipple between his fingers through your shirt and pinching it, his voice husky and low. “Who’s fucking you harder than he ever did?”

“You, Joel.” The words come out of you without even thinking about them.

He grins proudly. “Damn right.” His hand reaches for your thigh, raising it slightly so it’s wrapped around his waist. The angle he’s thrusting at changes and you feel him hitting that delicious spot inside you that makes your vision blur. Now you’re a mess of gasps and moans.

He pounds into you relentlessly. “’M close. Gonna fill you up full of me.”

Too deep into the blissed out haze, you moan and nod, only thinking about how good it will feel. And it does. He buries his face in your shoulder as he fills you, hot pulses of his thick release pumped deep inside you. His cock is throbbing inside you as he empties himself. The sensations send you over the edge, and you lean your head back and moan as waves of pleasure crash over you.

He stays like that for a while as you both catch your breath. Sated and wrapped up around him, you close your eyes, coming down from the high. The tension from your initial meeting has dissolved, leaving you both light and boneless. You wrap your fingers in his hair, stroking it as he tries to gather his bearings.

There is not much to say after what’s already said and done, besides the question making your chest tighten as you both put your clothes back on. Is Joel going to brag to Lucien about this, more so – was this kind of payback his plan all along?

Something in your stomach twists at the thought that you were a pawn Joel successfully used in his game, but you don’t regret the way this has forced you out of the convenience of being by Lucien’s side.

As you zip up your jeans, your gaze falls back on Joel’s questioning expression. He can tell you’re lost in thought.

“Will you tell Lucien about this?” You say it with more bite than you intended, angry at the thought of being used.

He considers your question then shakes his head. “Won’t if you don’t want me to.” He grins. “Reckon it’s not my style anyway.”

Exhaling in relief and amusement, you nod. “Alright.” Your legs are sore as you head for the steel doors of the warehouse.

He raises his eyebrow at your abrupt exit and calls out. “We gonna see each other again?” He wants to, you can tell by his tone.

You turn around on your way out and contemplate whether you want to see him again. You connected physically but you feel like connecting emotionally with Joel would be an endless chase of something never to be caught. You’re so drawn to him. You don’t want to go. But you tilt your head as you answer bluntly with a smile. “No.”

He shrugs indifferently as the steel sliding door grinds while you open it. “Probably for the best.”

[kimingyuslover]

Sweet Revenge

Synopsis : You get into a fatal car incident, but later you wake up and find yourself back in the past. You vows to take revenge on your adopted family.

Word count : 7,750

Pairing : Choi Seungcheol x reader.

Genre : Romance, revenge drama, contract marriage, time traveler!au & smut.

Warnings : mean stepmother & stepsister, mentions of car crash and fire incident, CEO SEUNGCHEOL, make out session that leads to both individuals doing sex, smut, red leading to black flag ex, infidelity (not reader and seungcheol), mention of period, sexual tension(?), lovey-dovey couple, sexy and delicious seungcheol 🫦🫦, simp!seungcheol, he fell first and they both fell harder.

★ THIS IS MY VERY FIRST FIC THAT REACH MORE THAN 3K WORDS AAA, and sorry for the delay because i forgot what the ending was supposed to look like, also the smut warning below. enjoy reading it, xoxo

☆ check out my other works > main masterlist

Smut warning : making out, pussy eating, cream pie, BIG DICK!cheol, reader sucking on seungcheol's fingers, breast play(?), sex without protection (don't do this shit in real life) this is my first time writing smut, lmk if i miss anything!!

“You can't just break up with me when you know our wedding is near!” Hearing that makes your blood boil, he’s right, your wedding is near, but don't you think it's too much? Get married with your fiance after knowing he likes your sister and they have an affair going on?

You don't even know how you can return to the time before Se-hyuk & you get married. All you remember before is you're in a coma after big accidents between your car and theirs. And now you're wearing your cancelled-wedding dress, in the boutique store that you remembered has been closed.

“I shouldn't even fuck with you, Yoon Se-hyuk” That's all you say before you ripped the gown, paid for it and then go straight to your car without sparing a glace at him.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“Han y/n! Se-hyuk is searching for you” You sigh heavily, you already blocked his number & any other social media platform so he can't annoy you anymore, but now he's coming to your house? You wonder how much audacity he has, because he was brave enough to come here after you made him gone in your life.

“Tell him to go home!” You don't want to see his face anymore. Every time you remember it, your heart aches so much that it brings your eyes to tears.

You know you have never been so lucky in your life. Your stepmother opens your bedroom door, telling you to talk with Se-hyuk.

You told him to talk with you outside, and he's holding onto your hand like a lost puppy.

“I told you to fuck off, didn't i? What is wrong with you? I told you don't be near me anymore!” You yell at him, and before he can even answer, his phone rings and when you both look at the contact name, you decide to be the one who answers the call.

It was his mother, “Hello? Se-hyuk, I'm searching for a hanbok right now, and they have a lot of variety. What colour do you think would match me well?” After a few seconds of silence, you answer her.

“Pink and green will suit you the best auntie, and for your information, our wedding is canceled” You can hear his mother's panicked voice, asking what is wrong with your relationship, but you didn't answer her, you hung up the phone and put his phone on shut down.

“Go away, Yoon Se-Hyuk” You said and turned your back to go back to your house.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“So, you're Han Yu-ra?” The guy in front of you asked and made a smirk raised from your lips.

“No, I'm Han yn. I'm her sister, and I'm the one who’s going to be married to you” The sentence you left out making him arched one of his eyebrows, telling you to explain yourself.

“Here's the deal, we’re going to get married, you go back to Taeja's group, and both of our companies will merge and I get to have my revenge” You said calmly, while looking him dead in the eyes and smiling through your lips.

He asked what's in it for him. Luckily, you've done your research, “you can get your revenge on your brother too, isn't that what you wanted?” You tell him and your expression is cocky.

Both of you closed the deal and started making the rules to live in while still in your marriage life.

You are aware of your surroundings. There is a paparazzi that takes your photos, and Yu-ra is also in that lounge, walking to search for the man in front of you but then surprised by your figure that sat with him.

You had asked your cousin– who also deeply hated Yu-ra, to help you check Seungcheol's background and being the paparazzi at the hotel and will be the one who published the rumor for both of you.

She also knows about you going back in time.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Seungcheol brought you to his room to discuss the matter of your marriage, and suddenly, a question came to his head.

“Why did you choose me to have revenge on your family? Am I that handsome?” He asked while confidence was plastered on his face as he poured the wine for both of you.

You scoffed, didn't know what to say for a while because of his demeanor, “Because Yu-ra liked you, and also you're not my type, so don't be a big head”

His smirk faltered after hearing your response, and a scowl replaced his confidence.

Both of you are drowning your sorrow with the wine filling up the hollow of your body.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

A Few weeks passed, the rumors started flying in his company too, and now Seungcheol is in a meeting with your ex.

“Do you realize she's just using you?" Se-hyuk says to his boss, his tone dripping with arrogance.

The audacity of his words makes Seungcheol blood pressure spike. After everything he’s done—treating you so cruelly and having an affair with your sister—he still refuses to let you go? What the hell is wrong with him?

“That’s none of your concern, Manager Yoon,” Seungcheol replied sharply. Then, with a calm yet pointed smile, the CEO added, “And for the record, I don’t care if she’s using me. I love her.”

Se-Hyuk glares hard at his boss.

Maybe he still loves you, and doesn't want you to go run your own life, because after all you both have been in a relationship for a decent time, 5 years to be exact and the moment before you ended everything is 3 months before your wedding.

He knew better than to press the issue further. Instead, he turned his attention to the proposal his team had submitted. Yet, no matter how hard he tried to focus, his mind wandered elsewhere.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

"Aww, so you shut him out like that? You really love me, don't you?"

Seungcheol was used to your teasing by now, and he found it oddly satisfying to play along.

"Of course. You're my dear fiancée. How could I not love you with all my heart?" he replied, a smirk adorning his perfect features.

The two of you continued your playful banter late into the night. Eventually, you realized he had caged you beneath him on the sofa in the apartment he had bought for you both to share.

His intense gaze shifted between your eyes and lips before he slowly leaned in, his right hand cradling the side of your face. You responded with your lips brushing against his, a silent invitation.

When your lips met, Seungcheol kissed you like he was afraid of losing you, his touch tender yet passionate. You knew better, though. He loved it when your kisses turned wild— something you'd learned firsthand during your first kiss in a hotel room, a memory you cherished.

Your hands threaded through his black locks, pulling him closer as soft grunts and moans escaped your lips.

After what felt like ten minutes of an intense make-out session, He finally pulled back to give you both a chance to catch your breath.

Without hesitation, he asked, "Bedroom?"

You nodded in response.

Your relationship might not have started romantically, but deep down, something told you this could be the best thing that ever happened in your life.

Meanwhile, you and Seungcheol are having the time of your life, Se-hyuk is trying to get Yu-ra to go home because earlier she called for him, and he can tell that she's drunk.

He's rushing to the bar, throwing Yu-ra on his shoulder to take her to her house (which basically, yours too).

But a plan can't always get in your way, can they? Yu-ra is drunk enough to have Se-hyuk stop the car in the stinky, small motel, so they can do the activity a soon-to-be brother-in-law and soon-to-be sister-in-law shouldn't do.

Even when Yu-ra is kissing him like a mad woman after entering the room, Se-hyuk still thinks about the afternoon event that makes the girl who sat between his legs pissed and starts to attack his sensitive spot on his neck so she can get his attention.

Pretty good to say, both pairs having an intimate time that night.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Here's the difference, Choi Seungcheol woke up from the best sleep he ever had with a smile on his face when he noticed you're still in his arms.

On the other hand, Yoon Se-hyuk was scared shitless when he saw Yu-ra's and his naked body and the motel room they booked for the night. He quickly gathered his clothing and put it on so he could leave the room fast.

Now, he can't even blame you for the canceled wedding anymore. He knew he was an asshole back then, but now he feels like he's a total dickhead because last night he fucked your sister, despite knowing that there's a cold war going on between both of you.

He’s still trying to win you back, with a constant push from his mother and sister, who many have labeled a gold digger.

Yes, he marries you for your money, that doesn't mean he doesn't love you, does it? Well, he admits, at first glance, that he has already fallen in love with you, the way you sit and talk elegantly about your interest, and that you are also searching for a husband.

Then, there comes Yu-ra who is always trying to steal his attention away from you to her, and that she always wears a slightly more provocative outfit when he's at your house, telling him that she already feels comfortable with him.

That leads to another. They started seeing each other more often without you knowing, and they started developing feelings for the other individuals, making it so complicated.

He doesn't know how you can find out about his affair with Yu-ra because both him and your sister are sure that they're playing clean, at least that's what they thought.

Unfortunately, you saw them minutes after the hard car crash. That puts you in a fatal condition where you can even speak or move your body. You can only move your eyes.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

After you woke up, your fiancé decided that it's time to have a shower, and he insisted that you both have to do it together.

It’s nothing dirty. He just takes care of you after the little act last night and having a light conversation with you, and what surprises you is that there's no awkwardness lingering between both of you.

The CEO said his schedule today is packed, so he’s going to come home late, so you told him you will be joining a cooking class that his mother attends.

You know Seungcheol's mother isn't quite fond of you, so you want to change her mind and want to start a good relationship with her.

It's 10 a.m. and the house is already empty, leaving the cool air behind.

“So, do you have any reason why you want to join this class?” Jamie– the owner of the class, ask you. So you answered, “yes, i want to sometimes cook with my fiancé, and my soon-to-be mother-in-law is joining this class, so i want to start a good relationship with her”

Jamie nodded with a satisfied smile, and then she talked to you about the rules on this class and other information you should know.

The odd thing is, Jamie looks a lot like your mother. They even had the same scar that looks like they have the same cause– a cat.

After she explains everything, Jamie brings you to her class and starts introducing you.

Seungcheol's mother looked surprised by your present, and then she shifted her eyes to her table again.

You greet her, and you're lucky because the table you got is side by side with her.

“Why do you join this class?” She asks, tone sharp, and she doesn't even know why it can come at such a tone when she didn't mean it.

“I heard from Seungcheol that you joined the cooking class here, auntie, so i said to him i'll give it a try to bond a good relationship with you” you answered calmly.

She gives you one last glare before deciding that it would be best for her to just ignore you.

When the class is finished, she told you to meet her at the café nearby, wanting to have a talk with you about your relationship with her son.

“I’m just going to ask you the point here” she says, making you gulp hard on her glare.

“Do you even love my Seungcheol? how can I trust you when I know your relationship with your ex has failed because you canceled the wedding!?”

You won't lie, that words cut deep into your heart, your body is shaking and your eyes are glossy, you want to get out of there soon, but before you can even open your mouth, she strikes again.

“Look, you can't even answer that question. How can I give Seungcheol to you when you can't answer the basic question I ask?”

Another voice joins in, a male voice that you and her are familiar with, because that's your fiancé's voice.

“That is not your business mom, the only thing that matters is I love her and she’s willing to try a relationship with me, isn't it enough?” He angrily said to his mom, and he gently grabbed your hand and pulled you up from your seat, then you both walked away.

You are still sparing glances towards your back to see Mrs. Choi's reaction, but she just looks at both of you in horror.

Seungcheol doesn't even spare her a glance anymore, he just goes straight to the parking lot while still holding your hand to guide you.

“You okay? She doesn't do anything to you, does she?” His voice etched with worry that was evident on his face.

“It's okay, Cheol. She didn't do anything to me”

After you calmed him down, both of you entered his car, you questioned your car but he said a driver will pick your Mercedes up a few minutes ahead.

The strings of ‘sorry’ seem to never stop falling from his lips, and you can only tell him that everything's fine and he doesn't need to apologize.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“Ya, Han Yu-ra, what’s your sister like? She's marrying my brother, so I need to know her” of course Yu-ra and Se-hee— Se-hyuk's sister, knows who that voice belongs to.

Choi Seungchae, Seungcheol's sister and a well-known celebrity slash influencer in south korea.

“She's selfish, and always talks bad about people even if she is close with them, you know she was also adopted by my father, right?” Yu-ra said with a smirk on her face, that Seungchae wants to scratch her face with her perfectly fresh-made manicure.

Se-hee nodded her head upon hearing Yu-ra's words, she also added, “And you know? she’s the one who cancelled the wedding between her and my brother!”

“Also, I followed you on sns, can you follow me back? it'd be an honor to me!”

“I'm sure she has her reasons to end things with your brother,” Seungchae pauses before continuing her words, “and doesn't your description sound like you throw your sister under the bus Yu-ra? No? I feel like that is much more to your description, not hers”

She then walked away out of that store with her friends while they were laughing about Se-hee who bluntly asked her to follow back her SNS so she can brag to her other friends.

Yu-ra twitches her eyes, she can't even make Seungchae like her? What does she lack? She's perfect and she's going to tell her mom so she can ruin both family dinners.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

When Mrs. Choi goes to Seungcheol house, she didn't expect to see his son and you both sleeping together.

it's nothing serious, she would say. because Seungcheol's sleeping on the couch while his hands are holding onto yours who's sleeping on the floor with the position that could probably make your neck uncomfortable.

Startled by the sound of the door being unlocked, you shot your eyes open and found it weird that Mrs. Choi is here, she doesn't usually come in without any notice before.

You want to greet her first, but she quickly shuts you down and then grabs your hand to take you outside.

You want to protest, but before any words come out of your mouth, Mrs. Choi brings you to her embrace and starts hugging you tightly which makes you worried, what's wrong?

“Are there any problems, auntie? I’m sorry, I didn't mean to sleep here, I dozed off without knowing last night” You babbled to her, waiting for any impact that might have gone to your face.

Instead, she pulled away from the hug and started speaking, “I never seen him sleeping peacefully since he's graduated his elementary school because of his trauma, thank you for making him sleep like this again”

You don't even know what to say when she hugs you again, this time a little bit shorter, and she says, “You have my permission to marry him, the only thing you have to achieve is that i want you to join Taeja's group again”

And there's where your real revenge starts, with the help of your fiancé's family, of course.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Both your family agreed to have dinner together on Sunday night in Taeja’s group restaurant that they had reserved, only for the family.

Mrs. Choi doesn't look so fond of your stepmother, she knew about the backstory of your poor life because of her.

Meanwhile your father— Han Jiwoong, greets the other families with a genuine smile, your stepmother uses her sly smile, making everybody in Taeja's family start to scoff at her, even Grandma Taeja.

After half an hour greeting each other, here comes the main topic of why Taeja’s family and yours are having dinner tonight, it's to discuss your marriage.

“Our company will begin merging after they both get married, you don't mind that, right?” Grandma Taeja asks your family, especially your stepmother because her eyes are pointed to her.

She answered her with that mischievous smile of her, “we'll gladly accept that, grandma”

“But our daughter is not perfect, so we aren't really sure if she can be married with your grandson” she continues, and that makes your heart burn with anger.

“As you know, she works as a painter that only sell 2 or maybe 3 pieces total in her life, she can't cook on her own, and also adopted” The words that she threw at you make your heart pounds a thousand times than your average, all of that makes you nervous, but Seungcheol hold your hand to tell you he's here and everything is gonna be fine.

Seungchae seems to be confused by the tension from your family, she whispers to her husband, “what is this? Why are they trying to make their daughter look bad?”

While her husband only shook his head that means he doesn't know.

“I don’t care about the pieces she sell, my family is rich, we surely can make her life comfortable without her lifting up her fingers” Mrs. Choi said as she also knows about Han Jiwoong's wife's plan to drag you down.

Seungcheol chimes in, joining the conversation, “I'm the best cook in my family, you don't need to worry about both of us not eating, I can make her breakfast, lunch, and dinner, we can also go out sometimes” His answer is sharp, undeniable.

“We also don't care about her being adopted, there's nothing to worry about, and we have 90% control of the media in South Korea, so we can shut them down if we want to” He added to ensure that anyone from your family can talk bad about you anymore.

Few hours passed, and the dinner was already finished minutes ago. You and Seungcheol are both satisfied by the dinner and also his family answers to yours.

“It's okay, they're good people” Your fiancé said to ease up your worries that were written on your forehead.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Summer is soon turning into autumn, and your relationship label is turning into husband and wife after being engaged for 3 months.

Today is the sacred day for you and Seungcheol, both of you will say the vows and a contract hidden beneath that.

Your father walks you down the aisle, a beautiful white gown draped around you, fitted bodice that accentuates the waist and a voluminous skirt that flows out dramatically made of satin.

You choose a sweetheart and off-shoulder neckline to anctuates your collarbone, and a natural looking makeup so it doesn't overwhelm you.

The veil made out of tulle, makes your face look beautiful in the altar lighting.

The procession goes really well, and you soon know that's because your step sister hasn't arrived yet.

after the guest and family member announce their speech— including Seungchae and her husband crying while reading theirs and it makes your heart warm at the sight, and Seungcheol's brother's cold speech that looks like it's just for formality.

When the photo session though, everything starts to irritate you a little, because not only your stepsister have arrived, she also wears a white dress, hoping to outshine the bride— yes, you.

She even goes live on social media, “Guys, look at my stepsister, she really looks beautiful isn't she?” while holding your hand, which you let go.

“I'm sorry, Yu-ra. I'd love to hold hands with my husband only” with a smile on your lips, filled with dread for her to take a hint.

“I love you, my wife” Seungcheol said, and you answered the same.

Both of you lean towards each other, letting the photographer take your sweet photo while kissing so happily and a grumpy Yu-ra beside you.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“Okay, so now what?” You ask your now husband, after the wedding ends.

“Why are you still asking? We’re going to have a Honeymoon, and we're taking the first flight to Jeju tomorrow” He said, making you feel ridiculous talking to him.

So you hit him, hard on his shoulder, “You said you're scared of the beach and ocean because of your childhood, we don't have to if you don't want it, we can go anywhere” You answered him and remembering his fear of the ocean that he told you a few while back.

“If you can face your fear, and eat my food without me having to do it first, so can I do it too, you're telling me we are in this together, right?” He looks at you like you're the one putting stars one by one in the sky.

And without a doubt, Jeju is where you both go.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“It's not that bad” Seungcheol says after you both reach your bedroom, and clean yourselves.

You gave him a smile, “right? it's calming” as you climbed to the bed, your brain turning his gears to think about the sleeping position tonight.

“Here's a pillow, you go sleep down there” Your words make Seungcheol furrow his eyebrows and eyes wide, “No! We can go sleep in the same bed”

The way he said it so casually makes your eyes also widen, you both definitely can't sleep on the same bed.

“I promise i'm going to hold your hands while we sleep–” before Seungcheol can even finish his sentence, you already throw the pillow to him.

“No!” You yell at him to make his eyes go even wider, which makes you smile sheepishly at him, while muttering soft ‘sorry’.

“You have a dirty mind, we wouldn't even do anything” and finally, you tell him, “okay, you sleep here”

And just before he can express his happiness, you added, “i'll sleep there" while grabbing your pillow and starting to get up from bed.

Well, of course Choi Seungcheol has to be a big headed person he is, so he caged you on the soft bed, making it impossible for you to move.

A week before your wedding, Seungcheol confessed that he has feelings for you, maybe that's why you don't want to sleep together.

“You don't believe my words, do you?” he asked, and the way you stay silent with your eyes wandering anywhere but him makes Seungcheol even more sure about his question.

His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and back to your eyes again, only to find you already doing the same.

Slowly but surely, he leans in, both you breath hot while your lips brushing the slightest.

it feels like you're so close but so far to his liking, so he grabbed the back of your head to push your lips to clash with his.

The kiss soon got heated with both of your tongues joining in, your lungs burning at the sensation begging to tell you to pull away from him but your brain keeps ignoring it.

Fortunately, after a few seconds Seungcheol pulls away, making you chase his lips that are stained with your lipstick, meanwhile yours was plump and glossy.

Your hands paw weakly on his shirt after gripping it like your life depends on it, silently asking him to put it away, and with that look in your eyes, how can he refuse?

Seungcheol wasted no time to take his shirt off, leaving him only in his black trouser.

You're now technically gawking at him, but how could you not? His bicep is big and you can even see the veins become more prominent. Looks like he's god's favorite, and that's why he has that body of a god.

Seungcheol goes to the bed again, only to find you still staring at him. Looks ready for him to cherish, and to ravish.

He kisses your lips again, but this time it's rougher than the last one, soon the kiss starts going to your neck and the sweet spot behind your right ear.

his hot breath fanning over your skin, makes you shudder. His next move lets you out a whimper, but how can you not? He cups your pussy through your short silk nightwear.

“Cheol” you moan, holding his bicep while looking at his other hand that goes under your top, fondling with your right breast.

Seungcheol can feel himself getting worked out. The trouser he had picked earlier today feels a little strained to his liking. He can't hide his growing bulge anymore.

He starts undressing you, taking his time while kissing the new spot he sees, while you can only whimper and moan out because you can't think of anything other than him.

“You're wet, baby” it's true, you've been wet since the moment your kiss got heated, and everytime you think of his demeanor, you caught yourself in a sinful scene.

You grab his black lock when he decides to dive in without giving you any warning, the sudden act makes you scream out loud, you don't really care who's gonna hear you, the hotel receptionist told you the suite was soundproof.

Your husband can tell you are close, so he pulls away from your cunt and you can see his chin and mouth glistening deliciously with your essence.

Without any words, he gets up to take off his trousers and boxer. His cock is massive with veins noticeable to your eyes, even though you two had sex before this, but you still amaze at his size.

You whine at him but he quickly shuts you up with a deep kiss to your lips and slowly he starts pushing himself inside of you, not wanting to hurt you.

His thrust started slow, but when he's sure you adjusted his size, he becomes rougher with you, grunts heavily heard here and there from him.

“Open” His words leave no room to argue, when you do open your mouth, he inserts his middle and index finger.

He smirks before opening his mouth again, “Suck my fingers, sweetheart” He left you speechless— not that you could answer him or something, you begin to suck eagerly, wanting to be a good girl for him.

After only a few thrusts, you can feel your stomach tightening a sign to warn that you're going to cum, and Seungcheol was aware of this so he fastened his pace, also reaching for his own high.

The way you clench around him makes your husband's head feel dizzy, and the time you cumming it also triggers him to come hard inside you, filling you to the brim.

He didn't immediately go off of you, he rested himself for a minute and when he did get off you, he carried you to the bathroom to clean yourselves out.

“I love you, baby” He said while carrying you, never in a million years he's thinking of saying that to someone. “And I hope you love me too” Seungcheol added.

The sweet moment makes your heart start warming, and you just hope that there's no other torture you'll get in this life.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Of course, your torture doesn't stop there.

Yu-ra is still snooping on your marriage life, and Se-hyuk is still being your pain in the ass.

One day, though, he's going inside your house and finds a file of treasure, the truth inside your wedding.

He quickly tells Yu-ra about it, and they both make their cunning plan with the help of your stepmother.

Meanwhile, you found out that you are your father's real daughter after taking a DNA test. The result makes your heart clench, so he abandoned you and decided to adopt you again?

And Yu-ra is not even his real daughter, all the torment you had in all your life just to know you're the real one?

“You're home late tonight, it's unusual of you, why?” Your husband asks why slowly walking to you while crossing his hand, and before he can say anything, you just go to wrap yourself on his body, wanting nothing but to be held by him.

The seconds he had you in his embrace, tears started falling from your eyes, your expression pained seungcheol to the deepest of his heart, willing to do anything to stop them.

A few minutes pass and you finally tell him what's going on and why are you home late at night crying your heart out.

The moment he hears the reason, he instantly soothes you down with his hand, silently telling you that it's okay to cry and you will resolve this problem together.

Since the honeymoon, you two got closer and eventually you started to like him too, your routine becomes more and more like a husband and a wife should be.

you sleep on the same bed, cooking or baking together, and even have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together.

Seungcheol's family also notices this, even Seungchae always teases both of you for it. His grandma also becomes more welcome to you, and being the kind person she always have, sometimes she invited you to Choi's manor to have brunch together with her and Mrs. Choi.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

Seungcheol and you entered his family's manor at the same time, his mother told both of you to come here everyday, but since you’re busy you often call off her invitation.

But today is an exception because you and your husband don't have any schedule.

Mrs. Choi is already waiting for you at the sofa right before the entrance, she gets up to greet you.

Seungcheol is already having his hands in the air beside him, waiting to be hugged by his mother while closing his eyes.

After a few moments, he can't feel anything that close to his body, so he opens his eyes and can't believe what he is seeing.

His mom hugged you before him, when he saw this, he whined “mom! I'm your son, why is she getting the hug first!?” He said while slightly pouting and looking at you with a playful glare which you responded with you sticking out your tongue at his direction, mocking him.

“She’s my daughter! Of course i would hug her first, beside you don't come here as often as her and i'm angry for that” She defends herself after letting you go from her embrace.

The lunch was filled with a lot of laughter echoing in the table and the talk about everything you could ever imagine with cranky Seungcheol at his mother's house.

It's not a problem to have your husband sulky, because you know how to make him normal again, so you hold your chopsticks that you use to pick the galbi to his mouth, muttering ‘aaa’ to him.

Seungcheol looked at you weirdly and not wanting to take a bite but gave in when you kicked his shin beneath the table.

When your stomach is filled to the top, you three go sit in the living room and hold a conversation about your businesses.

The talk soon died down when an uninvited guests came barging without everyone knowing they would be here, it's your stepmother, Yu-ra and Se-hyuk that you think so pathetic because of how on's on his knees for you last week on a police station but now he's on their side.

“Oh, good. You’re here, mom” The words coming out of Yu-ra's mouth make Seungcheol’s mother want to gag. She doesn't have any right to call her that.

She was searching for a document in her purse, and when she found it, she shoved the paper to your face. She smirked before opening her mouth again, “your son and my sister are having a marriage that is based on a contract. She wants to use your beloved son for her own goods”

Mrs. Choi unfazed as she took the paper slowly, training her eyes into it before forcing her eyes to Yu-ra's again, she chuckles.

“First of all; don't call me like that, I don't want you to call me ‘mom’ because you don't have the right, second of all; do you not know literally anything beside this? I also participate in this contract. You should read it first before barging into my house like that” She gets up from her seat, and starts going to your stepmother.

“Teach your daughter some manners, how come she has a mother but doesn't have any manners or shame walking like that at someone's house? She must be getting it from her mother” You can basically see there's a lot of smoke coming out of her head, being the embarrassing attention to her because of her daughter.

Your mother-in-law also goes to your ex, “What kind of man are you? Why are you still interfering with your ex who has already married life? You’re the one who found out about the contract, are you? I checked the CCTV when I went there, and you know it can get you to prison, right?”

Her words leave three of them speechless, and before she turns around, Se-hyuk is already on his knees.

The sight makes you roll your eyes in annoyance, and the thing that makes you want to throw up is the fact that he started apologizing hundreds of times.

But she just stood there quietly, that's when you noticed the front bodyguard already at home, dragging all of them out of the house.

And after a few moments, the lady asks you if you're okay and when you said you're fine she turns to her son to give him a long well needed advice.

It's already sunset when you both decide to go home, and Seungcheol holds your hand throughout the ride, an act to comfort you.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

It's been weeks since your last encounter with Yu-ra, it happened just 2 days after the incident in the Choi's manor, she slapped you real hard before chucking her glass of water at you.

“You're a fake daughter of my dad, so let go all you have because you don't deserve it and you never will! you take everything that's mine!” She said with anger, the fiery glares she threw at you filled both of her eyes.

The way she started mocking you and even bringing up your biological mom hit your nerves, so you slapped her back, twice and smirked at her “Who said I'm the fake one? call father if he's aware of it”

When Yu-ra got home, she got into a big fight with her father or stepfather, she's not his biological daughter but you are, and then her mom did nothing as she was just as speechless as her.

turns out you already sent him the file before Yu-ra's incident, oh and how he is mad is unbelievable because he also found out that his wife now already knew about it and didn't say anything.

He yells at her, and this is the one time everybody saw him losing his control, slamming the door right behind him, leaving the house hollow and cold because he takes the warmth from there.

While your family is having their problems, you're digging for Jamie– your cooking class mentor, if you'd remember, She “accidentally” tells all the students that she has a daughter but gets separated after an incident in her house.

And with that you're pretty sure she's your mother.

Her gestures, the way she talks and even the scars feel close to your mother, and she always gives you the warmth you had lost since your past incident.

After a few days of searching, the result of the DNA test you took with Jamie came in your mail.

Tears start brimming on the edge of your eyes, the test result is that you're 99,9999% share the same DNA with her.

Seungcheol is there too, watching all the scenes with both of his eyes, and when you start getting weak after reading the paper, he saves you from falling to the ground.

There's one question in your head: Why should she leave you alone with your hell of a father?

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

The time you confronted Jamie about your test result, she invited you to her house to talk about this more privately.

When you go inside her house, she immediately hugs you tight on her arms as if she is scared to let you go again.

She tells you about the incident details, that she was locked in her bedroom when the fire started, she's calling anybody for help, but the only one she can hear is your stepmother's voice that told her to stay put in her position and that she will have to die.

Your dad and you were getting groceries together and she can come because she has to finish her painting before tomorrow comes.

She got a second degree burn on her right hand but got out just right before the house exploded because of the gas.

And the left side of her hand has the exact same cat scratch you saw the first day.

She said that she moved to the states after that incident and after knowing you're in the hand of your father because she needs a treatment that only america has, not knowing that your father left you a month after she left to the states while you're at a foster home.

No words exchanged after that, just a comfort silence filled the room while you both cuddled up on her sofa, watching your favorite movie of all time— according to your 7 year old self and your mother who remembers it.

You already told Seungcheol about this, and he said that it's okay and you need to have a quality time after a long time not meeting your mother.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

A month after you met your mother, she decided to move into the house beside yours and Seungcheol, wanting to be closer to you.

Your father finally comes to his senses and always shows up at your mother's front door while holding a bouquet of Daffodil and some peonies.

Yu-ra and her mother got their karma.

Your stepmother's crime was finally discovered by the media and police, she's doing fraud and selling fake pieces of art.

The one who reported her? Your family secretary— Kim Jae Won, and how does he know it? Because most of the art that your stepmother sells is his father's painting, and he always knows his father's signature and the pen he uses, he is not going to be fooled by her.

Oh, and Yu-ra? She gets pregnant and wont even come out of her hotel room because the baby is already 7 months old— you heard from the Taeja's group hotel receptionist while you want to visit your husband.

She eventually got kicked out because Seungcheol's brother doesn't pay for the room anymore— yes, Han Yu-ra fucked with Seungcheol's big brother.

That's why she comes again to the Choi's manor, wanting to tell them that it's their son's baby.

Wrong choice.

The only one who was at home that time was Mrs. Choi and Grandma Taeja, they're having a girls talk while smiling to each other when the others talk or even laughing.

That's it until Yu-ra comes with her big belly and also a big suitcase.

She confidently tells both of them that she is currently pregnant by the seed of their oldest son.

“Well, they have a machine that can test the DNA of your baby while it's still in your stomach, they have it in Germany, want to try them?” Grandma Taeja says, without any words and panics evident in her eyes, Yu-ra gets out of that house and goes to her other victim's house.

Mrs. Choi and grandma Taeja then laugh at her antics, how can she be that confident without thinking of other things ahead of her?

“Oh! Han Yu-ra you're pregnant? Who's the father?” Se-hee technically freaks out when she sees Yu-ra standing in front of her porch while dragging a big ass suitcase.

Without any care of the world, Yu-ra blurts out “Your brother” that makes Se-hee's brain start to stop functioning at the very second.

She says that loud enough to be heard by Se-hee's mother and Se-hyuk himself with a woman she doesn't want to know anything about (probably his soon-to-be wife) hears it.

Well, upon hearing that of course Mrs. Yoon doesn't want her son's possible marriage to be ruined by some girl, so she gets up from her seat and walks to her while telling her to go away.

but when she gets closer to Yu-ra, she just shoves her away and goes straight to Se-hyuk who's still sitting at the dinner table.

He stood up nervously, and then the bomb finally said out loud, more clearly, “he's your suitor? don't accept him,” then Yu-ra's eyes made eye contact with Se-hyuk's “I'm pregnant, and he's the father”

The girl storms out furiously while grabbing her purse, straight to the open door of the apartment.

Meanwhile Yu-ra dragging Se-hyuk to his room, she chuckles slyly, before asking him, “how can this baby live in this small house?”

Se-hyuk takes both of her hands and looks up to her, “Why don't we live in your house? It's good for the baby to live there”

Hearing that Yu-ra's blood started to boil again, she slapped his right cheek, leaving him with a bright red cheek.

“Why can't you take the hint? if i'm still living there i would not even step foot on this small freaking apartment! my father disown me and then he proceeds to fucking throw me out!” She yells at him.

Well that’s the ending of hee story, you would say pretty tragic, right?

Meanwhile, she's suffering.

You actually have a good life, and now you sat on the dinner table with Soojin— the same cousin who took the pictures of you and Seungcheol the first time and Seungchae who is now helping your mom in the kitchen with her cooking.

Soojin and Seungchae have a competition, which of their food that you'll love, and basically the winner gets free chicken and beer for a month.

But after they finish cooking and you start to pick up the food with your chopstick, you suddenly feel a lump going up your throat, and now you feel like you want to throw up.

So you ran to the bathroom, there you threw all your guts out without any hesitation.

When you got out of the bathroom, you found three of them looking at each other in silence, “what?” You break the silent atmosphere because they all suddenly turn their heads at you.

Soojin spoke first, beating Seungchae that just opened her mouth, “when is the last time you had your period?”

Then everything starts to kick in. Your period is late by 3 weeks now, and you always have that morning sickness.

“I'll grab you a test” Your mother said hurriedly, after a moment.

When she took it out of her bag— which you don't know why it's there, you went to the bathroom again, for checking.

The result came out positive, so when you tell it to everyone, they start hugging you like crazy, and your mom brings you to the dining room, insisting that you have to eat more.

[⋆✴︎˚｡⋆]

“So, any news today?” Seungcheol just got off work and he's asking you while hanging his coat.

You fiddle with your fingers, confused how to tell the big news to him, so you just said, “I'm having a morning sickness and my period is still not coming today”

Without any warning, Seungcheol holds your waist and behind your knees, and now he's carrying you with bridal style.

“Maybe you need some refreshment?” You see what he's doing now, so you just blurt out, “I think I might be pregnant!” while closing your eyes, probably expecting him to drop you immediately.

Instead, he puts you down slowly then just stares at you very lovingly with his eyes brimming with tears.

He opened his mouth like he would say something, but nothing came out, just a big gummy smile from him.

And then he starts getting closer, his hot breath fanning at your skin and your lips just a few centimeters away while holding eye contact with you.

That soon breaks by him and he starts kissing you slowly, passionately, while thanking you and praising you between the kisses.

Revenge is complete, and now you have a loving husband besides you while carrying his and your love.