#i just watched it again and i just had to draw this as tonight's study

[zznblr]

exes and ohs 𐙚 c.yj

chapter eight: walk down memory lane

written • 1689

october 16th 2023, 8:43am

morning light filters through the curtains, catching the soft curve of yeji’s shoulder as she turns away from him, half-buried underneath rumpled linen sheets. she reaches for her phone. before she can slip out from under the covers, yeonjun hooks an arm around her waist and reels her back into his warmth. his breath on her skin is warm, and he presses a slow kiss to her shoulder.

a groan slips out of him. “i have to get ready for work,” she says.

“can’t you call out?”

“no,” she replies, wriggling against his hold. “i can’t.”

“yes, you can.” a sleepy smile curves at his lips. “you’re the boss.”

she turns her head just enough to give him a look over her shoulder. “no, my mother is the boss. and i have a meeting with her in two hours.” she gives him a quick peck.

he kisses her again, slower this time, as though dragging it out will make her forget the clock. “tell her something came up,” he says between kisses. “and you’ll be a few minutes late.”

“you know my mother.” she scoffs.

he grins, not deterred. “well, i’m sure she’ll understand. this is the first time i’ve seen you since you got back from paris.”

she softens for a moment before sitting up. her back is straight, hair messy but somehow still perfect. yeonjun’s arms loosely wrap around his waist. “well, i told you to come with me.”

his arms drop. “and what would i have been doing?”

“i had events. you could’ve come.”

“and be captioned ‘hwang yeji’s boyfriend?’” he teases, leaning to kiss her one more time.

she closes the gap. “or maybe be captioned ‘choi yeonjun on maison choi.’” she says against his lips.

yeonjun freezes.

yeji pulls back, studied his face. “what?”

“how many times do we have to talk about this?”

“i was just saying; your dad was there. soobin was there. they were doing things. you could’ve been—”

“i’m not interested in being my father’s lap dog.”

she stares at him. “you think soobin is a lap dog?”

“yes.” his jaw tightens. “he doesn’t have a mind of his own. he needs someone to tell him to do everything. at least i can say no to my father.”

“but at least he is hardworking, and he has ambitions and goals.”

“i have ambitions and goals, yeji.”

“you have pipe dreams.”

“just because it’s not what my father wants and it’s not what you want doesn’t make it any less important.”

she rolls her eyes. “oh poor little rich boy.” her arms are folded over her chest. “yeonjun, you need to come back down to the real world.”

he looks at her like he can’t even recognize the person in front of him. “you know what – neither of us are in the… uh… in the right headspace to have this conversation right now, so i’m gonna go.”

he gets out of bed and looks for his clothes. she stands up too watching him. when he is ready and dressed, he walks towards the door. he turns back to her. “i’ll see you tonight.” he says and he leaves.

october 16th 2023, 5:28pm

yeonjun pulls into the circular driveway of his parents’ estate. he steps out of the car with a bottle of cabernet clutched in one hand. his steps echo slightly on the stone path leading up to the door.

he rang the bell.

the door opened in less than ten seconds. the butler stood tall and unblinking in the doorway. he accepted the bottle with a silent nod.

yeonjun steps inside, heading towards the drawing room, where his father slouches back on the leather couch in tailored slacks and a navy sweater, legs crossed, reading an article on his ipad. his looks up at his son briefly before going back to some article about the economy, or foreign affairs, or war.

his mother isalready on her feet. her cashmere matches the walls. she smiles and comes forward, arms out.

“hey mom,” yeonjun greets her, wrapping her in a careful hug. “uh, yeji is—”

“she’s in the pool house with soobin,” his mother interrupts. she turns, walking toward the drink cart tucked into the corner near the antique piano. “do you want something to drink?”

yeonjun blinks.

he is still preoccupied with what she had said earlier. “no,” his voice is half a second behind his thoughts. “yeji is where?”

“you don’t want anything to drink?” his mom asks again, pouring something amber into a crystal glass. his father exhales sharply. a scoff.

yeonjun glances at him, jaw flexing. “no, i’m good.” his mind isn’t here anymore. it is outside, across the patio, in the pool house. “why is she there?” and why didn’t she tell him when she was arriving?

“i told you we were getting work done on the pool house. soobin is showing her the renovations,” his mother answers. she finally turns to look at him. “are you sure you don’t want anything? what’s wrong?”

“okay, mom, can i get a diet coke?”

his mother smiles in response and proceeds to make him a drink.

“diet coke?” his dad repeats under his breath, disdain in every syllable.

yeonjun turns towards him slowly. “do you have a problem with my drink choice?”

his father doesn’t answer right away. that was what always made yeonjun get upset. he could feel the temperature of his blood rising as his father sat there, scrolling away, not even bothering to look up. his mother hands him a drink. “we’re supposed to be having a nice family dinner.” she warns her son.

“i didn’t do anything,” yeonjun starts, defense slipping into his voice.

just then, the sound of the patio door opening slices through the room.

yeonjun watches yeji step into the room.

she wore a cardigan that slid slightly off one shoulder, exposing the delicate strap of her tank top underneath. her hair is pulled half-up in the way she always does when she doesn’t have time to do anything else with it. she looks really pretty. her cheeks were flushed from the cold or laughter (or both).

yeonjun’s breath catches.

behind her, soobin appears. his hand is casually placed on yeji’s waist. his thumb taps rhythmically against the small of her back as he urges her inside.

yeonjun’s gaze drops to that hand and every nerve in his jaw tenses. soobin looks up and catches his brother’s stare. his hand drops immediately to his side.

“nice of you to join us,” he remarks.

yeonjun nods at him not answering.

october 16th 2023, 8:03pm

after dinner, yeonjun and yeji sit in his car parked in the driveway of his parent’s house. yeji sits cross legged in the passenger seat, coat draped over her lap like she doesn’t want to feel at home in his car.

“should i drop you off at your place?” he asks.

“yeah,” she says quickly. she stares straight ahead through the windshield at the gate that is slowly opening, her fingers absently toying with the buckle of her clutch.

he flicks the gear shift into drive.

neither of them speak for a while. the only sound in the car is coming from the friction of the tires on the road.

“do you want to talk?” yeonjun asks, finally breaking the silence. he glances over at her just once as the car turns onto a main road.

“about what?”

“this morning?”

“i’m kind of tired,” she responds, yawning mid sentence. she leans her head back against the headrest as her eyes flutter shut briefly.

“okay,” he sighs. “can i ask you a question?” his eyes stay on the road.

“sure, yeonjun. what’s your question?” she exhales slowly, rubbing her temples.

“is there something going on between you and my brother?”

she turns her head to look at him slowly, frowning. he doesn’t meet her glare. he eyes flick towards her and then back to the road. he asks again, more direct this time. “is there?”

“why would you ask me that?”

“is it crazy of me to assume there is?” he shoots back.

“yes.”

“you guys are very close.” he states. he’s not accusing anymore. he is just confessing an observation that he has made over the past few months.

“he’s my friend. you have friends.” she replies quickly. he turns back away from him, facing the road now.

yeonjun scoffs. “i don’t let my friends grab my waist.” he says without hesitation.

“what are you even talking about?”

“just saying,” he muttered.

“you are letting your insecurities get to your head,” she remarks coldly, folding her arms and leaning back against the seat.

“and please tell me; what am i insecure about?” he presses through gritted teeth.

“about the fact that your dad likes your brother and not you.”

yeonjun groans. “here she goes again.”

“or maybe about the fact that he’s not wasting his time and energy chasing childish dreams like you are and he’s actually doing something with his life,” she adds.

“i’m not talking about this,” he snaps.

“that’s fine by me.” yeji shifts again in her seat. the couple falls back into silence.

“if you want to be with him, i think you should.” yeonjun says after a while. he is staring straight ahead and his voice is distant. he is imagining what that would look like for his girlfriend and his brother to be together and he is hating himself for it.

“i thought you didn’t want to talk about this,” she chides him.

“instead of trying to change me, maybe you should just be with him.”

“you act like a child.”

yeonjun pulls up to her apartment in silence. the brakes sigh as the car slows to a halt. yeji unbuckles her seatbelt with a swift, almost angry tug. she opens the door without saying a word. she steps out of the car, heels clicking against the pavement. she slams the door shut and walks towards her building.

yeonjun stays in the driver seat, not even looking at the now empty passenger seat beside him.

previous masterlist next ʚ♡⃛ɞ his ex is getting married to his brother. he’s totally okay with it. he’s very happy for them. of course, he’s going to the wedding. and he definitely did not pay his next door neighbor five hundred dollars to be his plus one at their destination wedding.

taglist: @beomgyusluver @yeovnjin @mari-18s-world @usuallyunlikelyfox @iluvjjunie @boba-beom @beaabz @yezznn @lovesickchoi @taysfairies @kagtobis @ohmahgods @bunniwords @tkooooop @20-cms

[inkopolis-connection]

Drunken Master! (reference)

[prythiansprincess]

focus on me.

pairing: mattheo riddle x reader request: I NEED MATHEO OR THEODORE X FEM READER AND SHE JUST LOVES HIS HANDS AND ARM VIENS AND SHE WALKS INTO HIS DORM AND IS GOBSMAKED TO SEE HIS ABS AND SHE WANTS TO RIDE THEM AND SHES JUST SO OBSESSED AND THINKS HES THE HOTTEST MAN IN THE PLANET- AND SHE FOLDS LIKE A PRETZEL WHEN HE GIVES HER THOSE EYES- JESUS IM A CATHOLIC BUT THEO AND MATTHEO COULD BE MY NEW RELIGION- author's note: big thanks to @writingsbychlo for listening to me rant about this man in her inbox. posting this now so she can wake up to her mans. the way that i would fold for mattheo so fast (theo look away). anyways, enjoy this purely smutty fic 😮‍💨

You were supposed to be studying. 

When you came into his dorm, you specifically told Mattheo not to interrupt you under any circumstances. Usually, you preferred the library but some prat had accidentally set off a dung bomb, which meant closure until further notice. 

You tried studying in your dorm, but your fellow housemates decided that there was no better time to throw a back to school bash in the common room than the night before your Ancient Runes exam. Harry and Ron, who shared the same class, appeared completely unbothered as they chugged firewhisky straight from the bottle. 

Your roommate Hermione was long gone. Probably holed up somewhere in the dungeons with Draco. You followed your friend’s cue and snuck into your boyfriend’s dorm, narrowly avoiding Filch. It never seemed fair that the Slytherins got individual rooms, but tonight you had never been more thankful for it. 

Mattheo had set up a whole battle station for you on his desk. There were fresh ink pots, newly sharpened quills, and blank parchment waiting for you when you arrived. After kissing your sweet and considerate boyfriend, you went straight to work. 

By the time midnight struck, the parchment was filled with glowing runes, making your ink stained hands cramp from drawing out the symbols over and over again. To Mattheo’s credit, he kept to himself and read quietly on his bed while you studied. 

You were so engrossed in the material that you barely registered him kissing you on the cheek before leaving to take a shower. That little mistake cost you because as soon as he walked back into his dorm with nothing but a towel on, you nearly spilled fresh ink all over yourself. 

Water trickled down Mattheo’s chest, the little droplets snaking through his perfectly chiseled abs only to disappear beyond his v lines, which pointed like an arrow to what you knew was hiding underneath that towel. 

The fabric hung dangerously low on his hips as he walked over to his dresser to pick out something to wear. You watched with rapt attention as he braced himself against the wood, those delicious, juicy veins protruding from his forearms and nearly making you dizzy with desire. 

Finally, Mattheo turned. The silence had caught his attention and he smirked when he saw you ogling him. 

“See something you like, pretty girl?”

You flushed. “Just got a little distracted.”

Mattheo’s grin grew. He sauntered over to you, leaning over so that he had you caged against the desk. 

“Oh?” he asked, his voice low and husky and absolutely fucking sexy. “Maybe it’s time for a break then. You’ve been such a good girl studying so hard all night. I think you deserve a reward, my love.” 

Your breath hitched as Mattheo’s lips grazed yours. He tilted your chin up, giving you a perfect view of those brown eyes. Then he gave you the look and you knew you were done for. 

It was a look that said he wanted to devour every inch of you until you couldn’t even recall your own name. You gave in. Of course you gave in. How could you not?

“Maybe for a second…”

Mattheo took the opening. One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you up with him as he pressed you against the desk. His other arm crept up your back until he reached the nape of your neck, fisting your hair through his fingers as he kissed you roughly. 

“Do you even know how fucking sexy you are, princess? My smart schoolgirl in her tiny little skirt.” 

Mattheo carefully moved your studying materials aside before picking you up and setting you down on the table. He gripped the top of your thighs and brought you to the edge while sliding his tongue against yours. You whimpered as he grinded against you, showing you exactly how hard he was underneath the towel.

“Been thinking about bending you over this table all night,” Mattheo whispered in your ear. His hand climbed higher up your thigh and you felt your body instantly respond to his touch. “Bet you’re soaking wet for me already, aren’t you angel?”

You moaned as he toyed with the waistband of your panties. “Matty, please.” 

Your boyfriend smiled at your nickname for him, knowing that he had you right where he wanted you. “What is it that you want, darling?”

“Touch me. Please.” 

Mattheo smirked as he tugged your panties off. His lust filled gaze drank you in as he dragged two fingers through your slick folds. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet. Is this all for me, princess?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled, nipping at his neck. “It’s not fair. You play dirty, Matty. You can’t just walk in here with nothing but a towel on.” 

“Why not, angel?”

You sighed, tracing the hard planes of his chest. His muscles flexed under your fingertips as you gently raked your nails against his six pack. “Because you’re sexy and I can’t help myself.” 

Mattheo chuckled darkly, plunging two fingers in your pussy. You bucked against his hand, watching in stunned silence as he withdrew it only to stick his middle and pointer finger into his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he tasted you on him. 

“This is exactly what I mean,” you whined. “For Godric’s fucking sake, how am I supposed to concentrate after that?”

“Maybe we can compromise, angel.” He shuffled through your parchments and stuck one to the wall. “I’m going to trace the runes inside of you and if you get them all right, then I’ll give you your reward.”

You swallowed thickly and nodded. Mattheo grinned before giving you a quick peck. “Pay attention, sweetheart.” 

His fingers dipped through your folds once more and you gripped his arm, fighting the moan from escaping your lips. Mattheo curled his fingers inside of you, drawing a familiar shape. 

“Urus,” you said in a breathy voice. “It means strength.”

“That’s right, angel.” He shifted as you ran your hands down his arms. You could feel his veins throbbing underneath your palm as he fingered you. “Don’t get distracted now. I know how much you love my hands. I promise they’ll be wrapped around your throat by the end of the night if you get all these right. Now focus.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering close as he traced another rune. “Algiz,” you answered. “For protection.” 

“Hot and smart,” Mattheo announced proudly. “How’d I get so lucky?”

His lips grazed yours and you willingly parted for him, fluttering around his fingers as his tongue slid into your mouth. He pumped his digits inside of you, teasing and taunting. 

“Let’s try something harder, princess.” 

Mattheo’s skillful fingers prodded against your walls, sketching a complicated shape. You closed your eyes and focused. It was a tricky one, but you remembered the cris cross pattern. 

“Inguz,” you said decidedly. “Fertility.” 

“That’s right,” Mattheo said with a smile. “You're doing so well, sweetheart. One more and you can have anything you want.” 

“Anything?” you asked with a small smile.

“Whatever that devious little mind of yours desires, my love.” 

“Okay,” you replied. “I’m ready, then.”

Your boyfriend nodded, staring right into your eyes as he marked the last and final rune. It was an effort not to get lost in those warm, brown eyes. But you steeled yourself, determined to claim your prize.

“Rerth. For luck.”

“Good girl,” Mattheo said with a smirk. “Fitting since you’re getting lucky tonight, angel. Where should we start?” 

You bit your lip, cocking your head at him. It was nearly an impossible choice. You wanted to kiss him. Bite him. Lick him. All of the above and more. 

But there was one thing that stood out from all the other deliciously sinful choices. You pressed your palm against his abs and grinned. 

“I want to ride your abs.”

Mattheo’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected it, but fuck he was so down. He would’ve given you anything with the way you were looking at him right now. 

“You never fail to surprise me,” he said fondly. “Well come on then, let’s make your filthy little fantasy a reality.” 

In one smooth move, he lifted you off the table and deposited you on top of his bed. Mattheo reclined against the headboard and watched with hungry eyes as you straddled his stomach. He smiled as you slipped the tie off your neck and looped it around him. 

It was a simple move, but so fucking sexy and possessive at the same time. You were claiming him. Mattheo was yours and you were his. You belonged to one another—mind, body, and soul. 

Mattheo trailed kisses down your neck and throat, leaving marks on your skin as his deft fingers made quick work of the first few buttons on your blouse. He leaned back and admired his work, his hands gripping your hips while you grinded your soaking wet sex against his muscles. 

He didn’t think it would feel this good. There was something about you using his body to get yourself off that fucking turned him on like no other. Mattheo lifted your skirt up, fisting the fabric in his hands and watching as you coated him with your arousal. 

The little whimpers you were making sounded like music to his ears. “My good little slut,” he said, squeezing your tits as you rode him with reckless abandon. “You’re so fucking filthy, baby. Using me to get yourself off. I’m just your fuck toy aren’t I princess?”

“So good,” you murmured. “You feel so good, Matty.”

The desperation in your voice set him off. He gripped your hips hard enough to bruise and bucked forward, smirking in satisfaction when you moaned. The ridges of his abs rubbed against your clit, providing the perfect amount of pressure to the sensitive area. 

“Keep riding me,” he said in a low, rough voice. “Just like that, angel. Such a good girl for me.”

You closed your eyes, lost to the waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Mattheo gripped your chin, his voice rough around the edges as he spoke. “Open your eyes, darling. I want to watch you cum.”

His rich brown eyes pinned you in place, drinking in every detail. That sexy smirk curved against his lips as he hooked his arms behind his head, admiring the view of his girl riding him. 

“Look at you, baby. You’re making such a fucking mess. Such an innocent face, but you turn into a filthy whore when you’re with me.” 

“Only for you, Mattheo.” 

“Damn fucking right,” he said, sliding his hands under your skirt to rub at your clit. 

You bucked against him, riding out the high. Heat exploded in your core and seeped into your veins. Mattheo kissed you roughly, staking his claim on you as he devoured your moans. 

“That’s it, princess. Cum for me, pretty girl.”

The orgasm felt like a lightning strike. It hit you all at once, making your walls spasm as you came all over Mattheo’s abs. He cursed when he felt you soaking him through, utterly turned on by the mess that you’ve made. Mattheo had never been harder in his life. 

Your boyfriend peppered kisses on your face, pulling you taut to him as you came down from the high. Mattheo brushed a lock of hair behind your ear, tilting your chin up so he could press his lips against yours. He groaned and held your hips down, grinding his boner against your ass. 

“I’m not done making you cum, princess. You’ve got one more in you, don’t you angel?” 

As sensitive as you were, your pussy throbbed at his words. When it came to Mattheo, you could never really get enough. 

“I thought I only got one reward. You’re spoiling me, Matty.” 

“There’s no question about it. You’re my spoiled rotten little princess. But this reward isn’t for you, it’s for me.” He smacked your ass, gesturing for you to get up. “Now come on, angel. I was serious about that desk.” 

He smirked as he walked you back to his desk, his hands disappearing underneath your skirt as he massaged your ass. Mattheo kissed you roughly before he flipped you over, bending you on the desk so you were face down and ass up. He flipped your skirt up, hissing when he found you soaking wet again.

“You just can’t help yourself can you, princess?” He pumped himself in his hand before sliding the tip of his cock along your folds. ��Gods, you’re fucking wet. Are you ready, baby?” 

You whimpered, rocking your hips against him for more friction. Mattheo held you in place, fisting your hair in his hands. 

“Use your words, darling. I want to hear you beg like the good little slut that you are.” 

“Please, Matty,” you whined. “I need you so badly that it hurts.” 

He kissed the base of your spine, grinning as he eased his length inside of you. Still sensitive from your last orgasm, you gripped the edges of the table as Mattheo buried his cock within your walls. Your legs felt like they were going to give out any minute, but he kept you upright, cursing when he felt how wet and tight you were. 

“Fuck,” he grunted as he thrust into you slowly. Mattheo gripped you from behind, picking up the pace. Your pussy clenched around him like a vice. “Gods, pussy’s so good baby. You’re doing so well. Taking all of me like my perfect little whore.” 

Mattheo fucking adored the way you blushed at his filthy words. He leaned over, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as he fucked you into the table. He thought he was going to pass the fuck out when you grinded back into him, meeting his movements to take more and more of him. Mattheo leaned over and shielded your head from the wall, making sure you were protected as the table shook underneath you. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin mixed with your breathy little moans was enough to send him over the edge, but he wanted to make good on his promise. Mattheo always put his girl first. The boys were right. He might be just a little bit pussy whipped. 

Even without the sex, you could’ve asked Mattheo to kill for you and he would’ve done so without question. 

“I fucking love you, darling. I’d kill for you. I’d die for you,” he said, every word laced with conviction. “Forever and always.” 

“I love you too, Matty. Forever and always.” 

He kissed your cheek, the action surprisingly soft compared to how rough the sex was. You felt like you could’ve melted onto the floor. 

“Cum with me, my love.” 

Mattheo wrapped his arms around you as that familiar heat spread burned in your core. He held you as the orgasm rocked through your body, sharing in the euphoric high while the two of you finished together. His grip around you only tightened, hugging you from behind while he slowly pulled out. You were barely keeping upright as it was, your legs threatening to give out under you. 

Without a word, your boyfriend scooped you into his arms and brought you back to bed. He cradled you against him, whispering praises and encouragement while stroking your hair. 

“You did so well, baby. I’m so proud of you for remembering all those runes. You’re gonna ace your exam tomorrow.” 

“You really think so, Matty?” You snuggled against him, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Mattheo stroked your back and placed a kiss on your temple. 

“I know so, darling. You have no idea how proud I am for having such a smart girlfriend. I love bragging about you to our friends.” 

You flushed. “Well, I couldn’t have done it all on my own. I had some help from my smart, sweet, and sexy study partner.

Mattheo grinned and kissed you gently. “Glad to be of service, my love.” 

taglist: @annaisabookworm @marina468

please let me know if you'd like to be added.

[ddejavvu]

i love love love your work you’re so talented!! ☹️ got me checking for updates everyday omg

can i pretty please request mean!logan x crybaby!overstimulated!reader who can’t stop squirting lolll 😭 love u!!!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

contents/warnings: smut, minors dni. mean!logan, crybaby!reader, squirting, oral sex (f receiving), don't like don't read.

You can't quite figure out what's different about this time than the others. Logan is always good at what he does, but maybe it's because this time he hasn't shaved for a few days, leaving his lower face covered in a thick layer of rough stubble. Maybe it's because you'd had a dream about Logan last night that had you waking up in a sweat, pussy throbbing and stomach clenching. Maybe it's because you'd spent all day thinking about it, remembering the way it had felt, the things you'd seen, the way it had driven you so close to the edge of an orgasm even in your sleep with no contact. You really, truly needed Logan today, and now that he's feasting between your thighs you feel yourself coming to a climax that you fear the intensity of.

You've cum hard before, but never like this. It's a full-body experience, white hot tension spreading outwards through your limbs like a live wire sparking and burning anything it can reach. It's all-encompassing like the way Logan's hefty muscle envelops you so easily, and your fingers dig what you're sure are painful, crescent-shaped marks in Logan's scalp as you latch onto him and tug him closer.

You realize halfway through your climax that there's something more happening- and for a half-second your heart stops as you think you're letting out more than you'd intended. But Logan groans, licking a long, languid stripe over your spasming cunt and pulling back to watch.

"Logan-" You gasp, mortified as he studies your pussy. His face is messy- more than usual, and you realize that you're squirting. You're still squirting, aided by Logan's fingers that replace his tongue as he stares hungrily at your release.

"Shit. You're like a fuckin' fountain. That good, huh?"

"Aah!" You cry as Logan's long finger bottoms out in your cunt, still sensitive but uncontrollably gushing impossible amounts of your release. He dips back down to lick at your pussy again, catching more in his mouth, and your body finally decides it's run dry, leaving you panting as Logan cleans your sensitive sex.

When he draws back you watch him scrub a hand over his beard, the short, stiff hairs mangled with a thick layer of your slick. He's always been a messy eater, but you certainly didn't help by squirting in his face.

"That was good." He notes gruffly, casual to the point where you're not sure if he's on the same page as you; he just watched you squirt, right? He's acting casual, save for a hunger in his eyes that lingers longer than usual, and you wonder if he's forgotten that your release had hit the back of his throat like his so often hits yours.

"I'm sorry." You feel the need to babble out an apology, still struck dumb from your own orgasm, "I- I didn't mean to- was that, is that- normal?"

Logan snorts, still staring at your puffy, sensitive pussy. He runs his already-sticky finger down its slit and you hiss from the overstimulation, wriggling away from his touch.

"Normal when you feel really good, sweetheart." He hums, dragging his hand up over your bare abdomen and leaving a glistening trail of your release there, "Now, clean off my hand- that's good, that's right." He hums, tucking his long, thick fingers into your mouth and letting you suck the slick off of them, "And when you're done with that, I'm gonna see how many more times I can get that pussy to squirt tonight."

[leascorner]

b.b. | With child

Summary: He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours.

Pairing:  Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader

Warnings: angst ('cause I can't write anything else), alluding to sex (no description whatsoever), discussions around pregnancy, pregnancy, mention of alcohol.

Words Count: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Had this in the work for the longest time. I was actually thinking to publish it for his season (#4 I hope!). But we got new stills of Season 3 and it's nearly Valentine's Day so... Enjoy!

“Are you-” you asked when you noticed your sister-in-law had let her glass of wine and her plate untouched.

Your words stayed lost on your tongue, yet Daphne, sat in front of Benedict and next to you, knew exactly what you were about and nodded slightly, tears in her eyes. You let out a small cry of excitement and leant in to hug her. While you wore the most delighted expression, Benedict’s heart sunk a little at the news.

His sister was with child. Again. She was the second women of his family to be expecting this year, while he had yet an exciting news to share himself.

You both had wed a little over than a year and a half ago now and were yet to be blessed with a child. You were doing your best, of course, but none your efforts had been fruitful so far. Benedict did not mind; he had waited his whole life to meet you, he definitely could wait a little bit longer.

He did not mind, or so he thought…

Tonight, he thought life was particularly unfair to him. Every pregnancy announcement was only nourishing this harrowing feeling in his chest. All he could feel was his siblings’ bliss and it made him sick to the stomach. Yes, he was sick with jealousy - and ultimately selfish. He just couldn’t wait to feel your belly growing, to hold your children, to watch them playing around with their cousins, for them to grow older and become adults themselves. Just this simple thought made his very own heart felt extremely heavy.

Politely and quietly, he raised his glass wishing his sister a healthy pregnancy, before drinking away his sorrow.

The ride home that night was particularly quiet.

Silence had never been a thing between the two of you. Benedict was usually the most talkative, telling you about his days, about whatever painting he was going to paint, about that book he had been reading. You would listen, looking back at him with your big bright eyes and a soft smile onto your lips. Other times, he would watch you pacing back and forth in his study while passionately debating about politics. He would be drawing imaginary circles on your soft skin as you were lying in bed, you telling him about another one of your days chaperoning one of his sisters. He would listen to your laugh at one of his jokes. Even your fights would be followed by soft apologies, quiet words, whimpers, and love.

On the contrary, that night, the air was thick with something he couldn’t quite describe, and the coach was wrapped up in dark clouds, a genuine storm in the awakening. Sat on the opposite side, you were looking through the window, your face only light up by the few shines of the full moon. Benedict was so focused on his own thought that he didn’t realize you hadn’t had a word for the rest of the night.

He was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. It only made him angrier at the entire world. Why couldn’t they let you live this as well?

He would have liked to discuss this with you - his regrets, his hope - but he was too afraid you would realize what a failure he was. How disappointed with him you were. How you would hate him for not being able to offer you this. So, he sat back in his seat and watched out of his own window.

When the coach stopped in front of your residence, Benedict got out first, offering his hand to help you getting down the small step like he always did. You smiled at him, thanking him politely, and let go of his hand as soon as your two feet were on the ground. It didn’t mean anything, he tried to reassure himself, you needed both of your hands to grab the tissue of your dress to prevent the hem from getting wet and dirty. Yet, he couldn’t help the sharp pain in his chest.

Silently, he followed you inside, hat in his hands, jaw locked. You were welcomed as usual by your housemaid, who got both of your coats and stayed there, in the uncomfortable silence, arms full, waiting for one of you to dismiss her. As you took off your gloves and didn’t dare look at Benedict, he nodded sharply to let her know she could go and watched her somehow disappear in an instant.

Suddenly, it was only the two of you again and it was all too much for him. He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest being crushed by the invisible weight of his sorrow. He couldn’t bare staying with you one more second. He needed to get out of here.

“Good night,” he said firmly, before walking to his study.

Would he have looked back he would have seen you watching him disappear in the corridor. You, all alone in the middle of the hall, arms dangling. He would have seen the frown on your face and the hurt in your eyes. Would he have looked back he would have run back to your side. Instead, he did none of that. He continued marching, head up high, trying to escape his own misery.

You sighed before turning in the opposite direction and to your shared bedroom.

Benedict went to bed less than an hour after you.

He had been haunted by guilt as soon as he had reached his study, sadness evaporating once he had stepped inside the room. Instead of turning back and chasing after you, he had tried to put his head in order. He then had tried painting whatever he was feeling, but he could only stay in front of his white canvas, terrified of laying his brush on the cotton. He had tried writing it, but he couldn’t concentrate enough; his thoughts always drifting to you, alone in your bedroom. He had then settled on having a drink to wait long enough for you to fall asleep before he could go to bed - his other option would have been to sleep in his study if he got too drunk, which he did not.

He had thought long about the whole situation. It wasn’t like you were not trying. Sometimes, even with doing the right things, it didn’t happen. He would need to accept this. And he couldn’t continue being a terrible husband. It wasn’t your fault; it wasn’t anybody’s fault actually. What he knew more than anything though was that he loved you. Whatever would happen, he could not afford to lose you.

He had decided he would come clean tomorrow, but for now, he only wanted to sleep with you by his side.

In the dark of your room, Benedict undressed and lied besides you as silently as possible.

All he could hear was your uneven breathing; whatever dream you were having did not seem to be pleasant. He reached out to your arm, hoping that you could feel his presence through his touch and know he would always be there for you.

It wasn’t until your body was rocked by a hiccup that he understood that you were not having a bad dream, you were crying.

“Y/N?” he asked, lying on his side to face your back.

“I am so sorry,” your voice was only a whisper.

He gently made you roll on your side. Even in the dark, his right hand was able to find your face and his thumb to rub the tears away. Before he could ask what was wrong, you spoke:

“I am so-” You chocked on – yet – another sob and it took you a couple of seconds to even out your breathing so you could speak properly: “So sorry- for not being able to get you- get you what you ever wanted.”

“My love,” he sighed, grabbing the back of your neck to bring you closer. Instinctively, you hide your face in his chest, and he started stroking your hair to try and calm you. “My love, do not ever feel guilty on this.”

“I have tried every tea, every method that is supposed to help,” you cried some more.

It broke his heart to realize the burden on your heart - of course, if he was feeling it, you would have too. He finally understood how selfish he had been, how centred on his own pain he was and so oblivious to yours. It had never been a subject between the two of you, but it was slowly crushing you both.

“My love, this is not your fault.”

“You don’t see the pity in their eyes. You don’t hear them whisper.” You sniffled against his chest, arms wrapped around his waist. “We are even blessed Lady Whistletown has not written about us.” He heard the frustration in your voice and the ton of it made him understand how you had tried to suppress the guilt but failed. It pained him that out of all of this, it was you who were the one being charged guilty by everyone - you included. As if you couldn’t imagine it being his own fault. As if you couldn’t imagine it being anyone’s fault but yours.

“Perhaps, I-” he stopped, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. “I drink loads of Colin’s stupid tea; I paint with all sorts of chemicals substance. Perhaps, I can’t-”

“Ben, of course, no!”        

“Perhaps we won’t ever-” he confessed, but he couldn’t even say it out loud. It was all too much.

You moved against him, and he felt both of your hands grabbing his face, your forehead resting again his. He felt your hot breath against his skin, and he hugged you tighter, crushing your bones, making sure you were close.

He had you, he kept repeating himself. It was all that mattered. Of course, it was a dear wish of his to see mini versions of yourselves running around, but not at all costs. He wasn’t willing to sacrifice what you both had, right here, right now.

“We are both healthy, it is more than all I could ever wish for.”

“Will this ever be enough for you, though?” you asked so quietly he nearly did not hear you.

Benedict frowned. Was it really what you thought? That he would leave you? That your own self was not enough for him? He had been an even more terrible husband he had thought to lead you thinking this. He had failed you on so many levels.

“I was so absorbed by my own desire of having my own family,” he whispered back like he was telling you a secret, “I never asked if you also desire to have children of your own.”

“Ben, of course, I want your children!”

Benedict wanted to express how grateful he was to have you in his life, but no words came to his mind at that moment. He only reached out to your lips, trying to express how much he loved you.

If he could not tell you, he could still show you…

Hours later, while you were lying in bed, your head on Benedict’s chest, his left hand drawing invisible love words on your back and the other holding you close, he thought that there was nothing else he would like to do than stay with you, like this, forever.

“We should just take some time away from here.”

“What do you mean? The season only began-”

“To hell with worldliness. Some time away, just the two of us.” The sun was slowly peeking through the blinds, its yellow light was painting on your naked skin a glowy spectrum. “I heard South of France is particularly beautiful, this time of the year.”

Your chin on his chest, you looked back at him, eyes bright. He was looking at you the same way you had catch him do a million time: a soft smile on his lips, his eyes filled of this spark, shinning only for you. You didn’t care how beautiful France would be, he was the most beautiful view you had ever laid eyes on.

His hand brushed some hair out of your face, and you grabbed it to kiss his knuckles.

“France, it is then.”

Little did you know, you would be coming back home a few months later, bearing your own little miracle.

One of the many to come.

[belovedhoon]

simulation

pairing: camboy! sunghoon x bff! reader genre: smut, fluff fandom: enhypen wc: 4100+ contains: smut, fluff, unprotected sex (just dont do this), recording of sex, perv y/n, roughish sex, choking, slight size kink taglist: @st1llm0nster , @hmusunoo , @lonelybutterflytae divider credit: @cafekitsune

synopsis: sunghoon is a very popular camboy with a huge following unbeknownst to his best friend y/n. what happens when y/n stumbles across ‘iceprince02’? what happens when she realizes it’s her best friend sunghoon, surely she’ll stop watching right?

fic under the cut >>>>>

Y/N was scrolling through a popular cam sight when she stumbled across ‘iceprince02’ who was live at the moment of her endless scrolling to find something or rather someone good to get a quick self-made orgasm through. What made her click on this particular camboy was his pale-toned stomach and pretty cock. She clicked on his live after it had prompted her to make an account, and she came up with the username ‘xo_darling_xo’ on a whim. When she was finally able to click on the live, her eyes widened at the man’s deep husky voice. ‘He sounds so hot’ she thought to herself. She watched as he had his hand wrapped around his long pale cock, the girth looked like it would stretch her out just right. Y/N got comfortable in her bed, up against her headboard, and began to slowly bring her hand down her chest slowly.

Y/N brought her hands to the waistband of her sleep shorts before stopping. Was she really about to get off to some random dude jacking his shit on camera? Yes, yes she was, Y/N was down bad, so very down bad… You slid your hands down towards your waistband again this time not hesitating to slip your hand into your shorts and rub gently against your throbbing clit, mentally patting yourself on the back for forgoing panties tonight. You observed your laptop screen closely as the man on screen who called himself ‘ice prince’ dragged his hand slowly up and down his cock, squeezing at the base when he would feel himself getting close to his high. He didn’t want to come so quickly and ruin the fun so soon, he knew that he could go again after he came but he really didn’t feel like overstimulating himself too much today…so he just stuck to edging himself. You watched entranced at the sight of his buff arms flexing every time he stroked his very hard cock. How were you feeling so close just from rubbing your clit? That’s unheard of for you, it usually never being enough stimulation for you. You continued to watch with bated breath as he moved his hand faster, his deep groans and grunts going straight to your cunt. The closer ‘ice prince’ got to his high the higher-pitched his moans got and you swear you’ve never heard something so melodic and beautiful.

You could tell the very moment he was about to reach his peak by the way his stomach tensed and by his staccato moans. You were right because a few seconds later you watched as he let out one last loud groan and his thick white release squirted out spilling onto his hands and stomach. You let out a moan of your own as you came to the sight. ‘Ice prince’ stayed mostly silent while he was recovering letting out an occasional whine as he moved his hand very slowly up and down his spent length to draw out his orgasm.

As ‘ice prince’ got up off his bed to turn the live off, you noticed something in his room that shook you to your core…it’s just a coincidence, right? There is no way that you just saw the flag you had made for your best friend on his wall behind ‘ice prince’ when he moved to grab tissues right? There’s no way at all…You studied the room that this ‘ice prince’ guy was in and the realization dawned on you, wondering how you didn’t put it together sooner that this was Sunghoon…your best friend and roommate. The voice alone should have brought up some red flags but I guess in your lust-haze you didn’t even notice. Before you could process what was going through your head, ‘ice prince’ or Sunghoon rather ended the live. The post-nut clarity hitting you hard. There is no way you just came to the image of your best friend Sunghoon jerking off in his room…

You truly didn’t know how to feel about the whole situation, on one hand, you felt guilty for watching your best friend jack off, but on the other hand, you felt even more turned on at the fact that it was indeed your best friend you had just watched climax on camera… How will you face Sunghoon after this without remembering his pretty moans every time he talks?

You stayed in your room for a few seconds longer before deciding to go knock on Sunghoon’s door just to confirm it was him, not directly but just to see if there were any clues to confirm what you had just witnessed. When you knocked on his door, you heard a quiet ‘one second’ and then a few seconds after he opened the door still shirtless btw… You stayed quiet just staring at his toned chest. Sunghoon raised a thick eyebrow at your silence and intense gaze.

“Y/N? You good? Do you need something? I’m kinda in the middle of something…” Sunghoon said his voice confused yet rushed. He really didn’t need you finding out about his ‘secret’ job right now…even if it did pay the bills. He still had his camera set up, and the tissues by his bed, he hadn’t had time to get rid of the evidence before you came knocking at his door. Your eyes flitted up to his at his words, breaking you out of your filthy thoughts. You gave him one last glance before pushing past him into his room before he could protest to see his camera set up in front of his bed and you froze at the sight. Guess your suspicions were right… it was him you had just watched masturbate on camera for thousands of people. You would have never expected this from Park Sunghoon.

You stood there staring at the camera before your eyes were drawn to the tissues on his bedside table and then the flag that you had just seen on his porn live… Sunghoon watched as you observed his room and being the clever guy he is put everything together and realized you must have stumbled across his cam page. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and then turning to you and noticing your flushed face, sweaty neck, and your eyes blown wide with lust. He smirked, you weren’t disgusted no you were far from it…no you were clearly aroused. You had to of watched the full live through there’s no way you hadn’t or you wouldn’t have realized it was him.

“Y/N…I know you know what you just saw was me…and quite frankly I think you liked it, like the little pervert that you are…” Sunghoon said, his tone smug. Your eyes widened at his words, you hadn’t expected him to know you knew about his dirty little secret. You started to protest but before you could finish your sentence, he was suddenly right in front of you his breath fanning over your face. You stared up into his eyes and watched as they darkened at your flustered reaction. You truly couldn’t help the little whine that escaped your lips when he brought one of his hands to your waist and the other to your face caressing your cheek.

Sunghoon looked into your eyes gazing intensely as he brought his lips closer to your own, giving you time to back away if you wished to, if anything you moved slightly closer. He took that as initiative and closed the gap between you two crushing his lips to your own. You moaned into his mouth at the feeling of his soft plump lips on your own. You opened your mouth as soon as you felt him brushing his tongue on your bottom lip asking for entrance. Sunghoon slipped his tongue into your mouth pulling you closer to his body where you could feel his cock growing hard against your stomach. Finally, he pulled away so that the two of you could catch your breath.

“Now that you know my little secret, you should join me one day hm?” Sunghoon said with a smirk, chuckling darkly at the way you panicked. You stuttered not knowing how to react or what to say. There was no way in hell Sunghoon just insinuated you joining him… You just stared at him your eyes comically wide and he just laughed at your reaction before leading your stiff body to his bedroom door and all but pushing you out and closing it, you could hear the sound of it locking seconds later. You stood outside his door frozen, not properly processing what had just happened. You shook out of the weird feeling before going to your room and masturbating a second time remembering how Sunghoon’s lips felt on your own before drifting off to bed, with you guessed it…thoughts of your best friend once again.

The next few days passed by in a blur with exams coming up right around the corner. Your mind is finally preoccupied with something other than that odd situation that conspired with Sunghoon. Sunghoon seemed to forget about what had happened or maybe he was just that good at pretending it didn’t happen. It was pretty awkward for you the next morning, not knowing how to react to what had happened, but with Sunghoon he made it pretty easy to get over the initial awkwardness. The next passing days got better and better and finally, you and Sunghoon were back to your normal dynamic, well as close to normal as you could get with the fact that you couldn’t help but continue to watch his lives…not that he knew of course…you’d never let him know that fact.

Exams came and went for the both of you and finally, the semester was over which you couldn’t be happier about. Now you could relax and not have to worry about studying so much. Now that you didn’t have the distractions of exams…your mind went straight back to the night Sunghoon kissed you with so much passion and the words he said to you…surely he was joking right…? The way he said it, it seemed like he was being serious, but he also hasn’t asked you since so you were conflicted. Was you supposed to ask him? Were you supposed to go to him? At this point you had to find out, your mind was just so plagued with Sunghoon that you just couldn’t resist knowing if he was telling the truth and actually really did want you to make a video with him. So you did what any logical person would do…you walked out of your room clad in pink lacy lingerie and a matching silk robe and marched your way over to Sunghoon’s room and knocked on the door.

You heard shuffling around before the door was opened and Sunghoon was stood there bare-chested once again, bringing a sense of deja vu to you. He stared at you expectantly waiting for you to say something. You both just stood there for a few seconds more before you finally mustered up the courage to ask him what you were there to ask, the confidence from before leaving as soon as you saw Sunghoon’s pale bare chest. God, you were so down bad.

“I…Uh…I was uh…wondering if you were…if you were being serious about what you said a couple of weeks ago…” You finally stuttered out, your voice barely above a whisper. One of his eyebrows rose at your muttered words, processing what you said before a sinister grin appeared on his face. He studied how you couldn’t even look him in the eyes and how your hands were twitching with nerves. Suddenly you felt him lift your head to make you gaze straight into his dark eyes.

“Ah, I thought you’d never come crawling back…I was dead serious about what I said. I was actually just about to start another live, which I know you knew, seeing that you watch every one of my shows and know my schedule.” Sunghoon said, his tone cocky. Your eyes widened at that, how did he know that you watched all of his lives? He smiled at your shocked expression.

“You think you’re sneaky ‘darling’… you left my page up on your laptop when I borrowed it, I saw your user name…’xo_darling_xo’ very cute by the way. It suits you. I noticed every time you would join in Y/N, made me that much harder to know that my pervy little best friend was touching herself while watching me…” Sunghoon said seductively, his voice almost a growl at the end. Oh how he wished you knew that every time he did one of his cam shows he was touching himself to the thought of you in your room, your small fingers buried inside your wet cunt moaning out his name.

Sunghoon opened his door wider, gesturing you to walk inside his room. You gulped walked in slowly and stopped once you heard the door close and lock. Your senses were heightened it seemed like, your nerves going haywire. You listened closely to Sunghoon’s footsteps as he walked closer to you, and then suddenly the footsteps stopped and you felt goosebumps arise at the feeling of his hot breath fanning across the back of your neck. You shivered at the feeling of Sunghoon gently turning you around, his touch scorching your skin, the feeling electric.

“Are you sure you want this Y/N? We don’t have to film this…” Sunghoon said softly, wanting to make sure you were sure and comfortable. You nodded your head eagerly, the thought of Sunghoon claiming you in front of his thousands of fans made you uncomfortably wet. Sunghoon clicked his tongue.

“Use your words, pretty girl.” Sunghoon said sternly, holding your face in his hand and squeezing your cheeks roughly. You whined at the feeling of his rough hand on your face.

“Yes Sunghoon…I want this…please take me on live…” You let out with a whimper. Sunghoon groaned at your desperation, his cock growing impossibly harder at your pleas. He smirked before moving his hand from your face bringing his hands down to your plump ass grabbing it firmly before pulling away from you entirely, you moaning at the loss of his body heat and touch.

“Alright baby, I’m going to start the live normally and then I’m going to announce that you’re joining…then I’m going to absolutely ruin you…” Sunghoon said his tone sultry and deep. You smiled and nodded at his words signaling you heard him loud and clear. He smiled back before he turned on the camera and his laptop, starting the live.

“Hi, my loves…we’re doing something different tonight. I have a special guest joining tonight’s live, someone very dear and special to me…I hope you all can treat her with as much enthusiasm as you do I.” Sunghoon said out loud to his streamers. He looked up at you before gesturing you to join him on the bed, to which you shyly did.

You sat on the bed beside Sunghoon, and he looked over at you smiling brightly then you both turned to the laptop to read the comments flooding in. ‘she’s so pretty…what should we address her as?’ one of the comments asked. Sunghoon thought before telling them to call you ‘darling’ seeing as that was the name you used when you first encountered his cam shows. You continued to watch as comments kept coming in commenting about how you and ‘ice prince’ were so cute together and how you two seemed like a perfect fit. There were also the dirty comments about how they wished for ‘ice prince’ to ruin you. So that’s exactly what Sunghoon planned to do…

Sunghoon gently laid you on your back on his bed, looking into your eyes for discomfort the whole time he did so. You looked up at him with eager, desperate eyes, Sunghoon’s eyes darkening in desire. He undid your robe slowly revealing your pretty lingerie-clad body, and he groaned at the sight of you all dolled up for him. He slipped the robe off your body completely and brought his hands to your bra and unclipped it taking that off as well. His eyes zeroed in on your hard nipples and he couldn’t help but bring his mouth to the right one and begin sucking roughly, his hand going to the other one massaging it with a firm grip. You moaned out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around your erect nipple. Your hips rose trying to seek friction on your needy cunt, Sunghoon hissing at the feeling of your warmth grinding against his hard cock. Sunghoon let go of your nipple with a pop before he brought his hands to your soaked panties and slid them down your legs, tossing them on the floor beside your robe. He took off his pants, leaving him in just his briefs, and then placed his lips on yours kissing you intensely. Sunghoon began to grind his clothed cock into your clit and you couldn’t stop the whines that escaped your lips, the feeling so intense.

“Please…” You begged him, you felt like you were going to explode with how pent-up you were. Sunghoon just smirked down at you, enjoying his teasing torture on you and your body, you were just so responsive to his touch, and that made him impossibly harder. Suddenly he pulled away from you and you protested at the feeling of his body warmth gone. He just clicked his teeth and pulled his briefs down, throwing them on the floor. You could feel your mouth watering at the sight of his thick pale cock…the one you’ve been fantasizing about for weeks… You needed him in your mouth right now or you think you might die.

Sunghoon noticed the feral look in your eyes, knowing what you wanted at that moment. He moved over to where you were lying on the bed and stood and front of you in a way that was blocking the camera setup. You got up on your knees crawling toward him, you bent down toward his throbbing cock, your ass in the air. You looked up at Sunghoon through your eyelashes and studied his face and how he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You move your hand towards him and gripped his large cock in your grasp, your hand looking tiny compared to his length. He moaned as soon as you made contact with him. You smiled innocently up at him as you brought your mouth to his pink tip. You took him further into your mouth before pulling off and then doing it again. Sunghoon got tired of your teasing real quick and grabbed your hair and pushed you further onto his cock. You gagged at the sudden intrusion and moved your hands to his thick muscular thighs gripping on for dear life as Sunghoon began to thrust his hips harshly, his tip hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Sunghoon let out deep grunts at the exertion of his thrusts and he let out an occasional long drawn-out moan at the feeling of your throat constricting around his throbbing cock. You weren’t any better honestly, letting out moans and whines at the way Sunghoon was abusing your throat. You could feel yourself dripping down your thighs and onto the sheets below you. Sunghoon’s moans grew higher in pitch the closer he got to his climax before he suddenly groaned out that he was about to cum. He grabbed your head forcing you all the way onto his cock and cumming inside your mouth, his cock pulsating at the intensity of it. You let out a moan at the feeling of his warm cum coating your throat and mouth. Sunghoon pulled out of your mouth slowly and moaned at the sight of his cum pooling at the sides of your mouth. He then pulled you up and crashed his mouth onto yours, not caring that he had just come into your mouth.

Sunghoon pulled away from the kiss and pushed you back onto the bed crawling between your spread legs. He started to kiss up your thighs, avoiding where you needed him most. If you were going to tease him, he was gonna do it 10x worse…

“Please…I need you…” You whimpered out grasping his hair between your fingers and tugging him closer to your core. Sunghoon moaned at the stinging on his scalp. Finally, he brought his mouth to your clit, licking it softly before taking it into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. You yelled a quick ‘fuck!’ at the feeling. Sunghoon looked up into your eyes as he brought two of his fingers to your slick entrance and pushed them inside you. You were a moaning, squirming mess as Sunghoon feasted on you. You could feel your high fast approaching, so you warned him, but before you could reach your much-needed high, Sunghoon removed his fingers and let go of your clit with a loud pop. Your eyes shot open at the feeling of your high being stolen away from you so rudely. Sunghoon just smirked at you, popping his finger into his mouth and moaning at your taste.

“If you want to cum, you’re going to cum on my cock darling…” Sunghoon said smugly, raising an eyebrow. You sighed nodding your head. Sunghoon then climbed on top of you, his chain dangling above your face and you couldn’t help but whine at how sexy he looked with his hair mussed up and his eyes blown wide with lust for you. You felt as Sunghoon aligned himself with your entrance, pushing just the tip inside you. Your eyes closed at the feeling of your walls adjusting to his head. Sunghoon slowly began to push himself into you, grunting at how tight you felt around him. You whimpered as you struggled to adjust to his huge size.

“Shh darling, you’re okay…You can take it…” Sunghoon wheezed out, trying so hard not to just thrust forward. You just felt so good around him, so tight. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was bottomed out inside you. He stayed still for a few more moments so that you could completely adjust before he began to thrust into you at a steady pace. You kept moaning loudly at the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of your walls. You could feel your high approaching once more, still feeling sensitive from your high being taken away earlier. Sunghoon could feel himself getting close as well, but he wanted you to come before he did, so he brought one of his hands to your clit and began to run it harshly. He picked up his pace until he was pounding into you as hard as he could, his headboard hitting against the wall in a repeated ‘thump, thump, thump’ sound. Sunghoon brought his other hand up to your neck, squeezing slightly and that was your downfall, being pushed over the edge as soon as you felt him choking you. You screamed out as you let your orgasm take over your body, clenching around Sunghoon tightly, your juices soaking his cock as you came hard. Sunghoon lets out a long drawn-out groan at the feeling, cumming right after you. You could feel his warm cum painting your walls and moaned at the oversensitivity. Sunghoon thrust a few more times to draw out both of your orgasms, pushing his cum deeper inside you, before pulling out of you.

Sunghoon said goodbye to the viewers and then turned off the camera. He then walked into his ensuite bathroom and grabbed a wet rag to clean you up. He walked back to where you were passed out on his bed in exhaustion. He smiled softly at the sight. You were so cute to him and he couldn’t help but fall more in love with you at that moment…you looked so peaceful and content. Sunghoon cleaned you up gently, slipping one of his shirts onto your sleeping body putting on a pair of boxers onto himself, and slipping into the bed beside you pulling you towards him. One of your eyes opened at the motions and you let out a small yawn and snuggled closer to him with a cute happy smile on your face. Sunghoon pulled the covers onto you both and thought about how you two were going to have to talk in the morning about what had conspired, but for now, he was going to hold you close to him. So he did just that drifting off to sleep, exhaustion taking over him. He didn’t know what the future would hold for you two but as long as you were happy, he was happy…

[theonottsbxtch]

PREACHER’S DAUGHTER | MV1

an: can you tell i have an amazing music taste, anyway i’m finishing up a lot of my wips this weekend therefore be ready for a bit of stuff to come out!! i need to update my master list

warnings: domestic abuse, religious themes obvs

wc: 10.2k

Max was never one for church.

Never believed in any of that.

But God, would he get on his knees for a girl.

He couldn’t even remember when he first saw her—it was like she’d always been there, glowing in a way that made his chest tighten and his palms itch to touch what he had no business reaching for.

She was perfect in that untouchable kind of way. Always smiling, always polite. The kind of girl who said "please" and "thank you" without sounding fake. She had a laugh that could make angels jealous and a silver cross around her neck that caught the light just right, like some divine shield.

And Max? He was everything she wasn’t. Grease under his nails, a cigarette always tucked behind his ear, and a devil-may-care attitude that had sent half the town clutching their pearls. He’d been watching her for weeks now, maybe months. The way she walked, her little rituals—Bible study on Wednesday nights, choir practice on Saturdays, and the absolute certainty that she’d be on her family’s porch every evening at seven, helping her mom snap beans or some other domestic chore that Max couldn’t wrap his head around.

She didn’t belong in his world. Hell, she probably didn’t even know it existed. But that didn’t stop him from wanting her. No, needing her.

It was the way she looked so... pure, he supposed. Untouched by the grime and shadows he carried around like second skin. And it wasn’t just her innocence he wanted to wreck. It was the thought of making her his—really his. Of seeing her in his world, in his trailer, on his bike, wearing his marks, not that dainty little cross that probably smelled of Sunday mornings and lavender soap.

Max didn’t follow her. Not exactly. But he always seemed to know where she’d be, and tonight wasn’t any different. Wednesday night Bible study. He parked his beat-up car down the street from the little white church, hidden enough to keep from drawing attention. Not that anyone would think twice—it wasn’t like he blended in with the choir crowd.

The stained-glass windows glowed softly, warm light spilling out into the cool evening air. He could hear the faint hum of voices, maybe a hymn being sung, as he leaned back against the hood of his car and waited. He lit another cigarette, the flicker of the lighter briefly illuminating the sharp lines of his face.

When the front doors finally swung open, he straightened, tossing the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement and crushing it under his boot. She was the last to leave, as he knew she would be. Everyone else had trickled out in pairs and groups, chatting and laughing as they headed home. But she stayed behind, always locking up on her own.

Tonight, she was struggling with a box full of what looked like hymnals and Bible study materials, juggling it while trying to fit the key into the heavy wooden doors. Max could see the way her fingers fumbled, her brow furrowing in frustration.

Before he could think better of it, he started across the street. The click of his boots on the pavement caught her attention, and she turned her head sharply, her soft eyes widening as she saw him.

“Need a hand?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing.

She hesitated, her gaze flicking from his face to the box in her arms and then back again. He noticed how she clutched it tighter, like she wasn’t sure if she should trust him.

“It’s fine,” she said quickly, her voice as soft and sweet as he’d imagined. “I’ve got it.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” he said, stepping closer. Before she could protest, he reached out and took the box from her. Their fingers brushed, and the contrast hit him like a punch to the gut. Her hands were soft, smooth, and clean, while his were rough, calloused, and stained with grease that never seemed to wash off.

“Thanks,” she said reluctantly, looking up at him. He noticed how small she seemed compared to him, how her cross caught the light even in the dark.

“You’re the boy that fixes Daddy’s car,” she said after a beat. “From the shop in town.”

Max raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Didn’t know you knew me.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly, her cheeks flushing. “I just… heard Daddy talking about you. Said you do good work.”

He smirked at that, carrying the box like it weighed nothing and setting it gently down beside her. “Guess I’m a little famous, then.”

She laughed softly, and it was the kind of sound that made something deep in his chest tighten. She reached for her key again, this time managing to lock the doors without the box in her way.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, stepping back and brushing her hands against her skirt.

“Anytime,” he replied, his grin widening. He leaned against the doors, watching her as she adjusted her bag over her shoulder. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she were about to answer, but then she shook her head. “I should go. My family will be waiting.”

And just like that, she was walking away, her head held high, her skirt swaying gently with each step.

Max watched her until she disappeared around the corner, his grin fading into something darker, more determined.

“See you around,” he muttered under his breath.

Because he would. One way or another.

Max didn’t see her again for days, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on his mind. She had a way of lingering there, like the scent of rain after a storm—clean, fresh, and completely out of place in his world.

The more he thought about her, the more he couldn’t shake the way her voice had sounded when she’d called him "the boy that fixes Daddy’s car." There was no judgment in it, no disdain. Just a simple observation, like she hadn’t even realised how different their worlds were.

But Max knew. Oh, he knew.

She was the preacher’s daughter, for God’s sake. The girl who probably spent her nights reading scripture and praying for sinners like him. And he? He was the guy people crossed the street to avoid, the one mothers warned their daughters about. He’d left home at fifteen, slept on park benches and under bridges until he’d scraped together enough to buy that rusted-out trailer. He worked double shifts at the garage, spent his weekends drinking cheap beer with guys who wouldn’t bat an eye at a bar fight, and had a reputation that kept most people from looking him in the eye.

He wasn’t good enough for her. He knew that.

Didn’t mean he didn’t want her anyway.

The next Wednesday, he found himself back outside the church, parked in the same spot as before. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself. But when he saw her again, her laugh carrying across the parking lot as she said goodbye to the last of her Bible study group, he felt that same pull in his chest.

This time, he didn’t approach her. Not yet. Instead, he leaned against his shit box car and watched as she locked the doors, her movements quick and practiced. She wasn’t carrying anything tonight, but she still seemed to pause for a moment, glancing around like she could feel his eyes on her.

He ducked his head, pretending to light a cigarette even though it was already burning. When he glanced back up, she was gone.

The next few days passed in a blur of oil changes, engine repairs, and sleepless nights. Max couldn’t shake the image of her—the way her hands had brushed his, the way she’d looked at him like she was trying to figure him out.

By the time Sunday rolled around, he couldn’t stay away.

He parked his bike a few blocks from the church, out of sight, and watched as families filed in for the morning service. They were all dressed in their Sunday best—dads in pressed suits, moms in floral dresses, kids squirming in their fancy clothes.

And then there she was, walking up the steps with her family. She wore a white dress that stopped just below her knees, her hair pulled back in a way that showed off the delicate line of her neck. The silver cross around her neck gleamed in the sunlight, and Max found himself staring at it, wondering what it would look like tangled with the chains he wore.

Her father was at her side, his hand resting protectively on her shoulder as he greeted the congregation. He was everything Max wasn’t—clean-cut, well-spoken, a man who commanded respect just by standing there.

Max stayed until the doors closed behind her, then turned and walked back to his bike.

He didn’t know what he was doing, or why he couldn’t just let it go. All he knew was that he’d see her again.

And when he did, he’d make her notice him.

Max didn’t plan to follow her after the service, not really. But when he saw her step out of the church alone, her family nowhere in sight, curiosity got the better of him. She walked with purpose, her hands clutching a small book—probably her Bible, he figured—and her expression calm, like she knew exactly where she was going.

He stayed a block or so behind, keeping his footsteps quiet on the pavement. She didn’t seem like the type to sneak off after church, and yet, here she was, turning off the main road and heading toward the park.

When she reached a shaded bench near the pond, she sat down, smoothing her dress before opening her book. Max hung back, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and began to read, her lips moving silently.

He couldn’t stop himself. Hands shoved in his pockets, he sauntered over, his boots crunching on the gravel path. She looked up as he approached, her eyes widening for a moment before settling into something softer, almost expectant.

“I told my daddy I saw you,” she said, closing the book and resting it on her lap.

Max raised an eyebrow, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And what did he say?”

“That I shouldn’t hang around with people like you,” she replied simply, her voice steady, but her fingers fidgeting with the edge of the book.

He stepped closer, leaning down slightly so they were almost at eye level. “But I don’t see you running,” he whispered, his voice low and teasing.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, her expression unflinching. “I’ve noticed you, you know,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re always… around. Outside the church. Watching.”

He straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can’t help it,” he admitted. “You’re hard to ignore.”

She blinked, her lashes fluttering like she wasn’t sure what to make of that. Then, to his surprise, she smiled—a small, hesitant thing that made his chest ache in a way he wasn’t used to.

“I’ve been praying for you,” she said softly, her hands tightening on the book.

Max couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him, low and rough. “Praying for me, huh? What for?”

“That you’ll find peace,” she said simply, her voice so earnest it made him pause.

He looked at her, really looked at her—the way the sunlight caught in her hair, the way her fingers trembled just a little against the leather cover of her book, the way she seemed so fragile and so unshakable all at once.

“Peace,” he repeated, the word foreign on his tongue. “You think that’s something I’m missing?”

Her smile grew just a fraction, her eyes softening. “Don’t you?”

For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to laugh it off, to brush her words aside like they didn’t hit somewhere deep and uncomfortable. But the way she was looking at him made it impossible.

She shifted slightly on the bench, her hands resting in her lap as she looked at him. “Everyone finds their way,” she said softly, her voice carrying the kind of conviction that made Max’s chest ache. “One way or another. You just have to be willing to see it.”

Max wanted to scoff, to tell her he didn’t have a “way” to find, but the words died in his throat when he noticed it—a faint bruise just below the cuff of her sleeve, barely visible as she adjusted the book in her lap. His eyes narrowed, the casual smirk on his face fading.

“What happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her arm.

She followed his gaze, quickly tugging her sleeve down to cover the mark. “Oh, that?” She gave a small, nervous laugh. “It’s nothing. I play volleyball sometimes with the girls from church. Just got a little too close to the net.”

Max didn’t buy it. The way she spoke, the way her fingers tightened on the fabric of her dress—it didn’t add up. But he didn’t push. Not yet.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes sharp.

She nodded quickly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “Positive.”

The silence between them stretched, and Max could feel the distance growing, even though they were sitting inches apart.

“I should get home,” she said suddenly, standing and smoothing out her skirt. “It’s getting late.”

He watched as she picked up her book and slung her bag over her shoulder, the hesitant smile she gave him feeling more like a goodbye than a see-you-later.

“You walking?” he asked, standing as well.

She nodded. “It’s not far.”

He didn’t offer to walk her, knowing she’d probably say no. Instead, he stayed where he was, watching her disappear down the path until she was out of sight.

The next Wednesday, Max found himself back at the church. He hadn’t planned it—at least, that’s what he told himself—but when he saw her locking up the doors again, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching.

She glanced up as he stepped up to the doors, her face lighting up with a mixture of surprise and something softer that made his chest tighten.

“You’re here again,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he replied, leaning casually against the doorframe.

She hesitated for a moment, then tilted her head toward the doors. “Do you want to see the inside?”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You offering to give me a tour?”

“Maybe,” she said with a small smile. “If you’re interested.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Show me.”

She unlocked the doors and pushed them open, leading him into the dimly lit sanctuary. The air was cool and quiet, the kind of silence that felt heavier than normal.

“This is where we hold services,” she said, gesturing toward the rows of wooden pews. “And over there is the choir loft.”

Max followed her, his eyes drifting over the stained-glass windows and the simple but elegant decor. It wasn’t the kind of place he ever pictured himself in, but being here with her made it feel… different.

“And where do you ask for forgiveness?” he asked, his voice low as he stepped closer to her.

She paused, then turned and led him to the front of the church. “Here,” she said, motioning toward the altar. “This is where people kneel to pray.”

Max’s gaze flicked from the altar to her, and for a moment, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind. The idea of her on her knees, not in prayer but for him, sent a rush of something dark and hungry through him.

She knelt down, her hands clasped in front of her as if demonstrating. “You just… let it all out here. Whatever’s on your heart, you bring it to God.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her, his throat tightening as the image burned itself into his memory. He wondered, fleetingly, what she’d look like if she weren’t here for forgiveness but for him.

“You going to try?” she asked, looking up at him, her expression earnest and full of trust.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “Not my thing,” he muttered, stepping back.

She stood, brushing off her skirt. “Maybe one day,” she said softly.

Max wasn’t so sure. But he’d come back, if only to see her again.

He didn’t ever think he’d see her in his stomping ground, ever.

The garage smelled like oil and metal, the kind of earthy, gritty scent that clung to Max no matter how much he scrubbed his hands. He was leaned under the hood of an old Chevy—her dad’s car—when he heard the soft jingle of the bell above the shop door.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag as she stepped inside. Her presence was like sunlight cutting through the dim, grease-streaked world he lived in.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said, leaning against the car and smirking. “Ain’t I usually the one picking you up?”

She stopped a few steps in, her hands clasping the strap of her bag. “I left some college work in my daddy’s car,” she said, her voice steady but careful, like she wasn’t sure how to navigate him in this setting.

Max raised an eyebrow, tossing the rag onto a workbench. “Well, aren’t you lucky I’ve got it right here.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the car before meeting his. “Can I…?”

He stepped aside, gesturing toward the passenger door. “Be my guest.”

She nodded, walking over and leaning into the open door to retrieve her things. Max’s eyes flicked down before he could stop himself, catching a glimpse of her skirt riding up as she bent over, exposing plain white cotton panties that clung to her hips.

It was innocent, unintentional—but it made his pulse spike, his throat tightening as he quickly looked away. His hand clenched into a fist, nails biting into his palm as he forced himself to focus.

Then he saw it—a jagged gash on the side of her thigh, red and raw against her pale skin. His smirk faded, replaced by a frown as something twisted in his gut.

“You gonna tell me what happened there?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

She froze for a moment before straightening, clutching her notebook tightly against her chest. “Oh,” she said, glancing down at the cut. “It’s nothing. I was playing with my brother in the park, and the ball rolled into some bushes. I went to get it and scratched myself on a branch.”

Max folded his arms, his gaze sharp and unrelenting. “You’ve got an awful lot of bad luck, don’t you? First volleyball, now this.”

Her eyes darted to his, wide and a little panicked. “It’s the truth,” she said quickly, but her voice wavered just enough to betray her.

He stepped closer, his presence looming as he leaned in, his voice a low whisper. “Lying’s a sin, you know.”

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked like she might crumble. But then her shoulders straightened, and she lifted her chin, defiance flashing in her eyes. “I believe you should worry about the long list of sins you’ve racked up,” she shot back, her voice trembling but firm.

Max smirked at that, the sharp edge of his grin making her swallow hard. “I thought you were praying for me,” he said, his tone almost teasing but laced with something darker.

She stared at him, her hands tightening on her notebook until her knuckles turned white. “I should go,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he replied, stepping back just enough to let her pass.

She turned and walked out, her steps quick and purposeful, the door swinging shut behind her with a jingle that felt louder than it should have.

Max watched her go, the tension in his chest twisting into something heavier. He didn’t believe her for a second. But the look in her eyes—the mix of fear, defiance, and something else he couldn’t quite name—made him want to figure out exactly what she was hiding.

And he would. One way or another.

A few days later, Max was leaning under the hood of yet another clunker when his manager strolled over, clipboard in hand.

“Got a favor to ask,” the older man grumbled. “Preacher’s too busy to pick up his car. Needs it dropped off at his place.”

Max straightened, rubbing his hands on a rag, his pulse quickening at the mention of her house. He didn’t even have to think about it.

“I’ll do it,” he said casually, masking the eagerness bubbling under his skin. “Got time.”

His manager raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” Max tossed the rag aside, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. “Consider it handled.”

By the time he pulled up to the preacher’s house in the old Chevy, the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting the house in a warm, golden light. He killed the engine, climbing out and leaning against the car for a moment.

That’s when he heard it.

The sound drifted through the open window—a soft, mournful piano melody that sent a shiver down his spine. It was beautiful, haunting even, and he knew immediately that it was her.

He stood there, listening, his chest tightening as each note seemed to carry a weight he couldn’t quite place. Then, as the song trailed off, he forced himself to move, stepping up to the door and knocking firmly.

The music stopped. A few seconds later, the door creaked open, and there she was.

She looked different. Vulnerable.

Her hair was loose, falling in soft waves over her shoulders, and she was wearing a simple pair of pyjamas—pale blue cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt that hung loosely on her frame. She blinked up at him, clearly surprised, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Brought your dad’s car back.”

“Thanks,” she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.

His eyes drifted lower, and that’s when he saw it—a dark, fresh bruise blooming along her forearm, just visible under the edge of her sleeve.

His chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, his rough fingers brushing against the tender skin.

She flinched, but not away. Her lips parted, her eyes flicking up to meet his, wide and uncertain.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

She pulled her arm back, wrapping it around herself like a shield. “I’ve been sick,” she murmured, her words hesitant. “That’s why I’ve been home. Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He didn’t believe her. Not for a second.

“Sick, huh?” he said, his voice edged with scepticism.

She nodded, but the way her gaze darted to the floor gave her away.

For a moment, the air between them felt heavy, charged with something neither of them seemed able to name. Max’s hand hovered at his side, aching to reach out again, but he forced himself to step back.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and Max turned just as her father appeared in the doorway.

“Evening,” the preacher said, his voice warm but commanding, his eyes flicking between Max and his daughter.

“Car’s good as new,” Max said, holding out the keys. “She’ll run smooth for you.”

“Appreciate it,” the preacher replied, taking the keys with a nod.

Max hesitated, glancing at her one last time. “You know where to find me if you need anything. Always here for you to rely on the car.”

His words were meant for her father, but his eyes stayed on her, making sure she understood the double meaning.

The preacher didn’t seem to notice. “Thank you, son,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crisp bill. He handed it to Max with a firm handshake.

Max nodded, pocketing the tip without looking at it. As he stepped back, the preacher gave him a polite smile before closing the door firmly, leaving Max staring at the wood grain.

The following morning sun filtered weakly through the dusty blinds of Max’s trailer, casting long shadows over the cluttered space. He was sprawled on his bed, one leg hanging off the side, barely awake when he heard it—a soft, hesitant knock at the door.

For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, the sound so light it could’ve been the wind rattling the screen. But then it came again, firmer this time.

Grumbling under his breath, Max swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face. He shuffled to the door in nothing but his boxers, too groggy to care about decency.

When he pulled the door open, he froze.

There she was, standing on the cracked wooden steps of his trailer.

She looked like she’d stepped out of another world—her crisp white blouse tucked into a pale blue skirt that swayed lightly in the breeze, her hair perfectly combed and pinned back. But her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, and there was a tremble in her lip that told him she’d been crying.

Her gaze flicked downward, catching sight of his bare chest and boxer-clad frame. Her face flushed pink, and she quickly looked away, clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Max blinked, his grogginess evaporating in an instant. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice rough from sleep.

She didn’t answer right away, just stared down at the ground like she couldn’t meet his eyes. He stepped back, holding the door open wider. “You wanna come in?”

She hesitated for a moment, then nodded, stepping over the threshold.

As she entered, the contrast between her polished appearance and the rough, lived-in state of his trailer couldn’t have been starker. The cramped space was cluttered with tools, half-empty coffee mugs, and a laundry basket overflowing with clothes. She looked out of place, like a dove dropped into the middle of a storm.

Max closed the door behind her, leaning against it as he crossed his arms. “You okay?” he asked, his tone softer now.

She stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around herself. “I… I didn’t want to stay at home,” she said quietly.

The way her voice cracked on the last word made his chest tighten.

“What happened?” he asked, stepping closer but keeping his distance, giving her space to speak.

She shook her head, her fingers gripping her bag tighter. “I… I snuck out,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Max’s jaw tightened. He wanted to ask why, but he already knew. He’d known for weeks.

Finally, she looked up at him, tears brimming in her wide, frightened eyes. “It’s my daddy,” she whispered. “He… he hits me.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy and raw.

Max’s fists clenched at his sides, his whole body going rigid. “How long’s this been going on?” he asked, his voice low and tight.

She looked away, her gaze darting to the corner of the room as if she could hide from the question. “As long as I can remember,” she said finally, her voice barely audible.

Max swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. He wanted to punch something, to drag her father out into the street and make him pay. But more than anything, he wanted to make her feel safe.

“You should’ve told someone,” he said, his voice softer now, though the anger still simmered just beneath the surface.

Her eyes snapped back to his, a flash of fear and desperation in them. “I couldn’t,” she said quickly. “I can’t. If people knew, it’d ruin everything. My daddy’s the preacher. People look up to him. They’d never believe me.”

Max stepped closer, his rough hands itching to reach out and touch her, to ground her somehow. But he didn’t. Not yet.

“You don’t have to go back there,” he said firmly. “You can stay here. No one’s gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

Her gaze softened, her lips trembling as she whispered, “Why do you care so much?”

Max let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You think I can just stand by and let this happen? After everything I’ve seen…” He paused, meeting her gaze head-on. “You’re not like the rest of us. You don’t belong in a place like that.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the space between them felt charged, heavy with unspoken words. She looked like she might say something, but then a tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she said suddenly, backing toward the door. “I didn’t mean to bother you—”

“You’re not bothering me,” Max said firmly, cutting her off.

She hesitated, her hand hovering near the door handle.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes searching his face as if trying to decide whether she could trust him. Finally, she nodded, just barely, and let her hand fall away from the door.

Max rubbed the back of his neck again, his eyes never leaving her face as she stood there, caught between leaving and staying. He could see the battle in her—wanting to run but needing something, someone, to anchor her.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said, his voice steady but gentle, like he was trying not to spook her.

Her eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t respond. She looked around the cramped trailer, at the cluttered counters and the sagging couch, her delicate hands gripping the strap of her bag like it was a lifeline.

“I don’t know…” she started, her voice faltering.

“No one’ll bother you here,” Max said, stepping closer. “You’ll be safe. And if you want to leave in the morning, you can. No strings.”

She bit her lip, the hesitation etched in every line of her face.

“But…” she whispered, looking up at him, “I need to go to Sunday service.”

Max blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in her tone.

“While I’m mad at my daddy,” she continued, her voice growing steadier, “I still have to go. I can’t not be there. It’s… it’s important to me.”

Her words hung in the air, a quiet plea wrapped in conviction.

Max nodded without hesitation. “I’ll take you,” he said simply. “First thing in the morning.”

She blinked up at him, a flicker of relief crossing her features. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Scout’s honor.”

That drew a small, hesitant smile from her, though it quickly faded as her gaze dropped to the floor again.

“I’ll stay,” she said softly, almost like she didn’t believe the words herself.

Max exhaled, the tension in his chest easing just slightly. “Good. Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the trailer. “It’s not much, but it’s better than where you came from.”

She nodded, her movements stiff and unsure, like she didn’t quite know how to exist in this space.

“I gotta get to work,” Max added, glancing at the clock on the wall. “But you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. Bed is yours, and there’s food in the fridge—though, fair warning, it’s mostly leftovers and beer.”

That earned him a faint, almost amused look, and he felt a strange sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“I’ll be fine,” she said quietly.

Max hesitated for a moment, then reached out, placing a hand on her shoulder. His touch was light, careful, but firm enough to ground her.

“You’re safe here,” he said, his voice low but certain.

She nodded again, her gaze flicking up to meet his, and for a moment, the silence between them felt warm, comforting.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he said, stepping toward his makeshift bedroom grabbing some clothes and slipping them on. “If you need anything—anything at all—you call me, alright? Danny down the road has my number, he’s got the graffiti all over his trailer.”

“Alright,” she replied, her voice steadier now.

With one last glance over his shoulder, Max stepped out into the morning light, the door clicking shut behind him. As he walked toward his beat-up car, a strange mix of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

She’d taken a risk coming to him, and he wasn’t about to let her down. Not now. Not ever.

Max worked through the afternoon with his head barely in the game. The thought of her in his trailer—his space—kept creeping into his mind. He couldn’t shake the image of her standing there, looking so out of place, like she belonged somewhere far away from this rundown world he inhabited. The image of her soft eyes and trembling lip haunted him as he fixed engines and cleaned up at the shop.

By the time he came back to the trailer, the evening sun had already dipped behind the horizon, casting a pale, dusky glow over everything. He turned the key in the door, the familiar creak of the hinges echoing in the quiet.

And then he froze.

The trailer didn’t look the same.

It was spotless.

The clutter on the counters, the dirty dishes, the laundry piled up in the corner—all of it was gone. The floor was swept, the counters wiped down, and there was even a faint smell of something cooking, something hearty and savory. Max took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room as if he was seeing it for the first time.

And there she was, standing in the kitchen.

She had slipped into one of his old band t-shirts—black and faded with the edges curling up—and paired it with the skirt she’d worn earlier. Her hair was still down, a little messy from the day, but there was something about the way she moved around his space that made her seem... at ease. She was focused on the stove, stirring something in a pot, humming quietly to herself as if she belonged.

Max felt a sudden knot in his stomach, a wave of desire mixed with something deeper—something protective. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping down to her legs, exposed beneath the hem of the shirt, and then back up to her face. She didn’t notice him at first, too absorbed in what she was doing, and he took a few moments to just watch her.

She looked so out of place in his world—his messy, cluttered world—but at the same time, she fit perfectly.

She caught sight of him, and a warm, almost shy smile spread across her face. "I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I found some stuff in the cupboard. It’s not much, but I thought… I could make you something."

Max’s chest tightened at the sincerity in her voice. He had no idea she could cook.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice rough with something unspoken. He stepped further into the trailer, noticing that she’d even made the bed. The blankets were neatly arranged, the pillow fluffed, the whole room looking like it belonged in some kind of hotel. It felt... new.

She shrugged, a little embarrassed. "It's the least I could do. You’ve been so kind to me... I wanted to help, in some way."

Max ran a hand over his jaw, fighting the urge to reach out and pull her close. Her presence was intoxicating, her gentle kindness disarming. The way she stood there, so effortless in his space, made something inside him shift. His heart beat faster as he moved toward the kitchen, unable to resist the pull of her.

She turned back to the stove, unaware of the war going on inside him. He couldn’t help but glance at the way her shirt rode up on her thighs, the curve of her hips, and the soft skin of her exposed legs. His mind flashed to earlier—when she’d stepped into his trailer with those wide eyes, trembling and vulnerable. And now, she was here, looking like she belonged to him in ways she probably didn’t even realise.

His hands clenched at his sides. He needed to calm down.

“You didn’t have to clean everything up,” he said, trying to focus on something other than how badly he wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her beneath his hands.

“I don’t mind,” she replied, her voice soft. “It felt wrong to just sit around, so I figured I could do something. It’s a mess here, but I… I wanted it to feel like home for a bit.”

Home.

The word hit him harder than he expected. Max didn’t know what it meant to feel at home. His life had always been a constant hustle, scraping by, living in his car, barely getting by. But here, with her, in the middle of this trailer—he felt like maybe he could understand it, just a little bit.

She stirred the pot again, and Max took a deep breath. His body was tight with the need to do something—to touch her, hold her—but he fought it down.

He stepped closer, casually leaning against the counter. “You sure you’re okay with all this?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light, casual.

She glanced at him, her eyes soft but unreadable. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing, her gaze steady. “I just… I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m scared, Max.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. Her skin was soft, delicate, and his pulse skipped in response. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at him either.

Max leaned in just slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he whispered, “I’ll keep you safe, I swear.”

There was a moment of silence. And then, in the quietest voice, almost as if she were speaking to herself, she whispered, “I believe you.”

And in that moment, something inside Max shifted completely. He didn’t just want her. He needed to protect her. To keep her from harm.

The tension in the air was thick, and he knew if he didn’t walk away now, he wouldn’t be able to control himself. His hand lingered on hers for just a second longer before he pulled away, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Let’s eat,” he said, trying to mask the urgency in his voice, trying to ground himself again.

Max didn’t have a proper dining table—hell, he barely had enough room for his sofa—but tonight, that didn’t matter.

He took a seat on the old sofa, and she settled beside him, carefully placing the plates of food between them. The smell of whatever she’d made filled the air—something simple but satisfying, with just a hint of warmth that made it feel like a real meal. It was the first time in a while that Max had felt something other than hunger when he sat down to eat.

As she set her fork down and looked at her hands, she murmured something under her breath, her voice soft and steady. Max was halfway through a bite when he realised she was praying.

He watched her quietly, noting the calmness in her demeanor, the way her hands were folded neatly in front of her. Her lips moved with the words, a quiet reverence that made the air in the room feel still, almost sacred.

When she finished, she looked at him, a small, shy smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just… habit.”

Max shook his head, swallowing the lump in his throat. “No need to apologise,” he said, his voice softer than usual. He found it cute—no, charming—how she prayed before every meal, how that simple act of faith seemed to give her some semblance of peace. He had no idea what that kind of peace felt like.

They ate quietly, the sound of forks scraping against plates the only noise between them. There was something almost intimate about this simple moment—the way she sat beside him, the way she kept her space but still seemed to fill the room.

It wasn’t long before Max’s mind started to wander again, and his gaze drifted down to her hand as she picked up her glass of water. He noticed the ring on her finger, the simple silver band catching the light.

“What’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, though his stomach clenched slightly.

She looked down at it, almost absentmindedly, before meeting his gaze. “It’s a purity ring,” she said, her voice quiet, almost reverent.

Max froze, his fork half-raised to his mouth. A purity ring. The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, a wave of something dark and primal swirling beneath the surface. She wore it like a promise, a promise to stay pure, to wait for marriage, to avoid the kinds of things he’d spent most of his life seeking out—things he wasn’t sure he could even offer her if she wanted them.

His thoughts scrambled, his chest tightening. He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and shifted on the couch, trying to ignore the tightening in his jeans. He couldn’t help himself. The idea of her—innocent, pure, wearing a ring like that—drove him mad. It made him think things he shouldn’t, things that went against the very core of who she was.

He cleared his throat, trying to distract himself from the thoughts swirling in his head. “I, uh… I think you should take the bed,” he said abruptly. “I’ll crash here on the couch.”

She gave him a soft look, her expression kind, though there was something in her eyes that told him she wasn’t used to accepting charity—or favours of any kind.

“Thank you,” she said, glancing at the bed and then back at him.

She stood up, taking both their plates to the sink and left him in the makeshift living room.

Max settled back onto the small couch, but sleep didn’t come easy. He was restless, his mind too filled with thoughts of her, her innocence, her sweetness, and that damn purity ring. Even though there was a whole doorframe separating the two of them, the room felt too small. His chest too tight. His body too aware of everything that was happening in that tiny space between them.

Eventually, he shifted again, sighing in frustration as he tossed the blanket off of himself. The couch wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was too small for someone his size. He needed to stretch out.

A few minutes later, he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. He turned his head slightly, squinting through the dim light. She was standing in the doorway, her silhouette outlined by the faint glow of his beside table.

“Max?” Her voice was soft, tentative.

He sat up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“I—uh, I can’t sleep,” she admitted, stepping further into the room. “And you look... uncomfortable on the couch.” She hesitated, then bit her lip. “Would you, um, want to sleep in the bed with me? Just... just for tonight?”

Max felt his breath catch in his throat. He should’ve said no. He knew he should’ve. But she was standing there in his shirt, her hair falling messily around her shoulders, and her eyes—those soft, uncertain eyes—were pleading with him in a way that made him feel like he was the one who needed her comfort.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice tight.

She nodded, her hands trembling just slightly as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Please. I just—” She paused, biting her lip, as if searching for the right words. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Max’s heart twisted in his chest. He could’ve said something else—told her it was fine, that she should rest, or something like that. But he was done with pretending he didn’t want to be close to her, to feel her next to him.

“Alright,” he muttered, standing up. “But, uh... let me put on a shirt.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he could’ve sworn he saw the smallest flicker of a smile on her lips. “Okay,” she whispered, turning her back to give him some space.

He grabbed a random shirt from the pile of clean laundry on the floor, pulling it on over his bare chest, and then slipped under the covers beside her. She had already crawled under the blankets, pulling them tightly around her.

Max settled in beside her, keeping a careful distance at first. But the bed was small, and it didn’t take long for her to inch closer. He could feel her warmth at his side, the soft rise and fall of her chest with each breath, the delicate scent of her hair mixing with the familiar scent of his worn sheets.

The morning light filtered through the thin curtains of the trailer, casting a soft glow across the room. Max slowly woke up, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against his side. Her head rested on his chest, her soft breathing filling the quiet room.

For a moment, Max just stayed still, letting the comfort of her closeness wash over him. His arm had instinctively wrapped around her while they slept, and he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

But as his body began to wake up fully, so did a familiar discomfort: the pressure of his morning problem, straining against the fabric of his boxers. His breath caught, and he tried to shift subtly, hoping she wouldn’t wake up and notice the situation. She didn’t. She just remained nestled against him, her breath slow and steady.

Max let out a slow breath, trying to ignore the growing tension in his body. He kept his arm around her for a moment longer, relishing the softness of her against him, before reluctantly moving it.

Her movements eventually stirred him from his thoughts, though. He felt her shift and heard her small, quiet sigh as she began to stir. She slowly pushed herself up and away from him, the weight of her head leaving his chest.

Max watched as she stood up, stretching lightly before walking toward the small kitchen area. The simple act of her moving around his trailer felt domestic, a little surreal. He never imagined a girl like her would be here, in his space, making herself at home.

She turned on the old coffee maker and started washing the dishes from the night before, humming softly to herself. Her bare feet moved across the worn linoleum floor as she worked, picking up the plates, scrubbing them clean with a kind of focused determination. Max watched her, a little mesmerised by the way she went about everything with ease. She was so domestic, so... pure.

After a while, she glanced over her shoulder, catching his eye. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said quietly. “I usually make something nice on a Sunday.”

Max shook his head, trying to get his bearings. “I don’t mind at all.” His voice was still rough with sleep. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly and got to work, preparing eggs, toast, and whatever else she could find in his meager supplies. Max sat up, rubbing his eyes. He watched her as she moved, the way her shirt clung to her in all the right places, how she seemed so comfortable here despite how out of place she looked in his world.

Eventually, she finished up with the dishes and turned to him. “I need to get ready for church.” Her eyes softened a little, as though she could sense the hesitation in his. “Can y—“

“I’ll take you. I just don’t have a car right now. It’s in the garage.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and for a moment, Max thought she might protest, but instead, she just nodded. “Okay.”

He took a quick shower and threw on some old jeans and a t-shirt. He didn’t exactly have a wardrobe that screamed “church-going,” but it was the best he could do. He wasn’t there to make a statement anyway—just to get her there and make sure she was safe.

When he stepped out of the small bathroom, he found her already dressed in her Sunday best—yesterday’s shirt and skirt with a cardigan she must have pulled out her bag. Her hair was perfectly styled, like she’d just walked out of a church bulletin. She looked so out of place in his trailer, so polished and pristine compared to the worn, dirty space they were in.

Max grabbed his helmet and walked over to her, holding it out. “Here,” he said, the words laced with a slight smirk. “You’re gonna need this.”

She looked at him curiously but didn’t argue. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re not walking to church, and you’re definitely not riding behind me without it.” He grinned, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

With a small, reluctant smile, she took the helmet from him, adjusting it over her head, the loose strands of her hair sticking out slightly. Max handed her the extra jacket he had and then motioned to the door. “Let’s get going. I’ll get you there early so no one sees you.”

She nodded, slipping on the jacket and walking toward the door with him. Max grabbed the keys to his bike and headed outside, securing the helmet on her head.

The engine of his old bike roared to life, the sound rattling the air around them. Max felt the familiar rush of adrenaline, the wind in his face as they drove, but his focus wasn’t on the speed or the feel of the bike. It was on her, sitting behind him, her body pressed close to his, the weight of her on his back both grounding and electrifying him.

They took the back roads, keeping a low profile, making sure no one would notice them together. Max didn’t want to bring any attention to her. He didn’t want anyone to see her with him, not yet. She was too pure, too innocent to be caught up in his world.

They arrived just before everyone else, the small church looming in front of them as the sun began to rise. Max parked the bike in the back and cut the engine, then turned to look at her.

“Thanks for coming with me,” she said softly, slipping off the bike.

Max nodded, watching her walk toward the steps of the church, her figure straight and composed. As she walked away from him, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of something—something he couldn’t quite name. It was a mix of jealousy, admiration, and something darker that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He didn’t know why he stayed in the parking lot. Maybe it was the quiet that clung to the air after the service ended, or maybe it was the feeling of something unfinished between him and her. He waited, watching as the congregation filed out of the church, families chatting, some with smiles on their faces, others with the weight of the week still on their shoulders.

He saw her mother, walking alongside her brother, exchanging a few words with the other churchgoers. But no sign of her. His gaze swept over the parking lot once more, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. Maybe she had stayed behind for a little longer.

Minutes passed, and Max’s unease grew. She hadn’t come out.

Frowning, he swung his leg off the bike and walked toward the church’s front doors. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to check on her, but something in him insisted. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as if sensing danger.

Max approached the side of the church, his boots scraping the gravel beneath him. A faint voice reached his ears—just a whisper at first, but then it grew louder, more frantic. It sounded like shouting, distorted by the walls of the building, but it was unmistakably hers.

His heart skipped a beat.

He moved quickly toward the sound, pushing open a side door. The hallway inside was dimly lit, the walls cold and echoing with every step. He followed the noise, barely hearing his own footsteps as he crept closer to the source.

And then he saw them.

She was on the floor, her hands trembling in front of her, her back hunched as though she was trying to make herself as small as possible. Her father was standing over her, his voice a low growl of fury, loud enough to rattle the air between them.

“You’re a dirty slut!” he spat. “You’re going to hell for what you’ve done!”

Max’s blood ran cold, and for a moment, he didn’t think.

With a quick motion, he stepped forward, his voice calm but cold. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

The preacher spun around, his face twisted with rage, recognizing Max.

“Stay out of this, boy,” the preacher growled, his hand still raised in the air.

But before the preacher could make another move, she stood up, her breath ragged, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and something else—hope? Maybe it was desperation.

Without a second thought, she ran toward Max. She didn’t hesitate, her arms reaching out to him as if he were her only anchor in the storm.

“Max,” she whispered, almost too softly to hear, but Max felt the weight of it all the same.

Max put his hands on her shoulders, turning her so that she was standing slightly behind him. His eyes never left the preacher, his voice steady.

“You know, preacher,” Max began, his voice low and measured, “God loves justice and establishes equity.” He tilted his head slightly, as if recalling something. “Psalm 99:4, right? I’m sure that’s a scripture I heard your daughter read once in Bible study. Can’t be exerting your authority in such ways, can you?”

The preacher’s face went red with anger, his hands balling into fists. “Get out of here, boy. This is none of your business.”

Max didn’t flinch. “You’re right,” he said calmly. “It’s none of my business. But I’ll make sure it’s yours.”

He motioned to her. “Go wait by the bike.” His voice softened just for her, the harshness fading away. “Go on, I’ll be right there.”

She hesitated for just a moment, looking at him like she wanted to say something, but instead, she turned and walked quickly toward the door. Max watched her go, his heart pounding in his chest.

The preacher made a move to stop her, but Max stepped forward, his patience snapping.

“Don’t you ever touch her again,” Max growled.

The preacher lunged at him, but Max was faster, his fist connecting with the preacher’s jaw before he had a chance to land a blow. The sound of the punch echoed in the small hallway, and the preacher staggered backward, his hands gripping the edge of the wall for support.

Max stepped forward, his voice cold. “I don’t care who you think you are. You put your hands on her again, and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The preacher was on his knees now, his face a mixture of shock and fury. Max didn’t wait to hear more. He turned on his heel, walking out the door to find her standing by his bike, waiting as if she hadn’t just been on the receiving end of a storm.

He nodded to her, not saying anything more, his mind racing with the anger he’d just unleashed. But all he wanted now was to get her away from here, away from him.

“Let’s go,” he said softly, handing her the helmet.

She didn’t say anything as she put it on, but the silent understanding between them spoke volumes. Max revved the engine, feeling the rush of power beneath him as he led her away from the church, away from the hell that had just erupted there.

The ride back to the trailer was eerily quiet. Max could feel the tension in the air between them, thick and heavy, the weight of everything that had just happened hanging between them. She sat behind him, her grip tight on his waist, but there was no laughter, no playful banter like there had been before. It felt like the world had shifted somehow, and the silence stretched endlessly as they rode.

Max didn’t glance back at her. He kept his eyes straight ahead, focusing on the road, but all he could think about was what he’d just done. He knew he’d put himself in danger, confronting her father like that. He didn’t care. But for the first time, he couldn’t ignore the burning question: What did he really think he was doing?

The only sound on the road was the roar of the engine beneath them, a constant reminder of the distance they had yet to travel. Every twist and turn of the road seemed to reflect the turmoil inside of him, but he had no words for it, no way to express the chaos in his head.

When they finally pulled into the trailer park, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the worn pavement. Max parked the bike and cut the engine, the sudden silence of the world around them making the tension between them all the more palpable.

They didn’t speak as they walked inside, the door creaking as it opened into the small, dimly lit space. Max stepped aside to let her enter first, but the moment the door closed behind them, she removed the helmet and her composure seemed to crumble.

She stood there for a long moment, just breathing, as if she was trying to collect herself, but it was clear she wasn’t okay. Max watched her, his heart tightening when he saw the tears beginning to well in her eyes. She couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Before he could say anything, she collapsed into him. Her body shook as she buried her face against his chest, her sobs muffled against his shirt. Max’s arms instinctively wrapped around her, pulling her in close, his own breath shaky from the unexpected surge of emotion he felt at seeing her so broken.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly, his voice a soothing murmur. “I’ve got you, shhh.”

She didn’t respond, just continued to cry, the sound raw and heartbreaking. Max gently ran his hand down her back, trying to comfort her in the only way he knew how. He wiped the tears off her face with his thumb, brushing her hair back from her forehead. His chest tightened with every sob that wracked her body, every quiet sob that he couldn’t take away.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly, though his words felt powerless against the pain she was clearly feeling. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I swear it, sweetheart.”

She pulled away slightly, her tear-streaked face making his chest ache even more. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, a rawness that shook him to his core. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t need to. He could see everything in her expression, the hurt and confusion and fear.

Without a word, Max guided her to the small bed in the corner of the trailer, not sure what else to do. He wanted to fix everything, to make her feel safe, but he knew that wasn’t something he could do with words alone.

They sat on the edge of the bed, and she let him help her lie down. He crawled in next to her, his arm draping over her shoulders as she curled up against him. The space felt small, but it was warm. She was warm.

Max didn’t say anything as he laid beside her, his chest rising and falling with every breath he took. He just held her. The silence between them was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet, like the calm after the storm, both of them lost in the stillness of the moment.

Her breathing eventually slowed, her sobs quieter now, though her body still trembled slightly from the emotions that had flooded her. Max stayed close, not letting go. His fingers gently traced the outline of her arm as he held her close, not knowing exactly what to say to make it better, but knowing that being there, holding her, was enough—for now.

“I’m here,” he whispered again, his voice soft and unwavering, as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not anymore.”

Then a weird thought came to Max as he watched hee sleep in his arms.

She’d prayed for his peace.

And while he wasn’t a believer.

He sure as hell felt at peace.

part two out now!

[not-rigel]

Admit Defeat

warnings: smut, facesitting, fingering, bottom! sevika (if you squint), lots of flirting, y'all are in love, sub! sevika (if you squint), yearning, lesbians being lesbians

work count: 4k

You don't remember who made the first move. You don't know what you had done to get Sevika to return your feelings. At some point, the two of you switched from only speaking in work-appropriate conversations to constantly flirting. The switch was far from gradual, a near overnight shift in dynamic. For weeks,  Sevika has been laying the charm on thick and you've been returning the banter. 

Tonight was no different. The two of you inside the near empty Last Drop, chatting over a game of billiards. Billiards isn't yours or Sevika's typical game but watching her bend over the table was too tempting a sight to pass up. 

“I ever tell you about the time I almost bled out?” Sevika says, chalking up her cue. 

“Just one time? That's a little boring, Sevika,” you tease. 

“I'd have to be stabbed to be bleeding, and you know how often that happens.” 

The answer was seldom. Sevika got into plenty of fights, but most ended with her mechanical claws in her opponent's gut. Never the other way around.  

“Go on. Tell me,” you urge. She finishes chalking her cue and sets it down on the edge of the table. Your eyes follow her as she walks around the table, searching for her shot. She studies the eleven ball, considering the difficulty. 

“Eleven, back left pocket,” she calls. She bends down to line up the shot. But instead of taking it, she begins her story. 

“I was at the harbor, the smaller one, on personal business-” 

“You were gambling,” you interrupted, leaning your weight to rest your hip onto the table. You watch Sevika's eyes follow your movement. 

Sevika shakes her head, “It was for personal business. Needed new plating for my arm, one that can withstand higher temperatures. I heard from a trusted source-” 

“At the brothel,” you interrupted again. She still hasn't taken the shot. Still bent over the table, cue lined to hit but her arm hasn't drawn back yet. 

Sevika laughs at your correction, “I heard at the brothel that someone was looking to trade down at the harbor. I went down there with an alright gun. Wanted to be rid of it anyway. I get there looking for the guy and I find he's got four other people with him, fucking bruisers by the looks of it.” 

Sevika takes a break in her story to finally take her shot, the eleven ball gliding across the felt and into the pocket she called prior. She stands, walking over to where you're leaning against the table. She smirks as she draws closer to you, stopping just close enough for you to feel her body heat. You look up at her, gaze dropping to her lips for a moment before moving back up to her eyes. 

“It's your turn again,” you tell her. You tilt your head toward the table, not breaking eye contact. 

“You're standing in front of my shot.” 

“My bad,” you playfully shrug, taking a large enough step back. Sevika immediately fills the space, stepping even closer to you than she was before. Another centimeter and your chests would be touching. 

Up this close, you'd have to crane your neck to make eye contact. But since you can't find it in you to look away from her lips, you don't have to look as far up.  Her tongue creeps from her parted lips and wets her bottom lip, surely to tease you. 

“As I was saying,” Sevika continues, aware you're watching each word, “I don't pay attention to the other guys, figured if I didn't treat them like a threat they weren't gonna fuck with me. And it worked for the most part. I get through the trade with my guy, no issues. I'm thinking it's over so I shake his hand, close the deal and wait for him and his goons to leave, cause I'm not gonna turn my back on them.” 

You nod, trying to follow along with her story but your attention is divided between how her lips quirk up into a smirk every other sentence. You loved this side of Sevika, the side that can't stop talking. The side that loves sharing her time with other people. The side that is heartfelt and open. 

“You still listening?” She says, pulling your thoughts away from her mouth and secret softness.

“Just skip to the good part,” you huff. You're not impatient and you could listen, and watch, her talk for hours. But the attraction between the two of you was a few degrees warmer tonight. You can't afford to overheat, especially since you work together. 

“Right. The good part. They think I'm looking for a fight so they jump me. I handled them fine enough, taking a few punches. Was focused on keeping them off of me. One of ‘em came charging at me with a knife, no fucking clue where he got it from, and aims right at my ribs. I wasn't really thinking, I just pushed his arm down. Fucking slashed my thigh open,” she continued. She bent over the table again and this time you could see her back muscles ripple underneath her shirt. 

You shift your hips slightly, so they brush against her side. 

“Can I see?” You ask. 

She stood up without taking her shot, taking a step to trap you between herself and the table, “I'd have to take off my pants.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

She chuckles, “Thought you'd let me kiss you before trying to get me undressed.” 

This was the moment one of you would usually chicken out, coughing up a practiced excuse. But tonight was different. Seizing a confidence you've never held in your life before, you close the little distance there is between you. 

“Kiss me, then take your pants off.”

“Thank fuck,” she sighs. 

She reaches her right hand out, cupping your cheek and guides you to her mouth. There is a moment of hesitation from her, when your lips are a hair away. A chance for you to withdraw. But you won't take it. You push up on your tiptoes, smashing your lips into hers. 

Sevika hasn't felt genuine attraction like this in years. Her body feels like it moves on its own accord. Doing the opposite of what she usually does in situations like these. Fingers tracing over skin instead gripping. Tongue feeling the softness of your lips instead of claiming. Heart beating wildly out of her chest instead of being steady. 

Her chemtech arm holds you by your waist. Between her hips pressing into yours, the table behind you and her arm holding you up, you still feel like you'll melt right to the floor. 

Needing more purchase, you wrap your arms around her neck. Her hair tickles your fingertips and you need to feel more of the soft strands. When you tangle your fingers into her hair she shudders, her knees go weak and weight shifts to rest on you.

You take the time to kiss down her neck, feeling her breaths catch in her throat. Feeling her skin vibrate with her moans. When your lips press onto her pulse point you can feel her erratic heartbeat. It almost overwhelms you, how much she softens for you. 

You're surprised when she guides your hands from her hair down to her breast. Without any hesitation, you fondle her breasts, thumbs rubbing over where you know her nipples are. She's letting out moans above you, the sounds deep and throaty. 

She gasps out a ‘wait’ and you pull your hands and face away.  After she catches her breath she asks if you want to go back to her place.

She's staring deep into your eyes and you regret having looked at her mouth so much tonight. She has the prettiest eyes you've even seen, the most enchanting shade of gray you've ever seen. Like a thundercloud full of heavy rain, her eyes always held back a rough storm. Usually she's unreadable, but right now you know exactly what she wants. 

“Mine is probably closer,” you offer. 

At that Sevika nods, muttering out a soft “Take me.” 

You grab her hand and lead her out the Last Drop and in the direction of your apartment. It's far closer than Sevika's, hardly a five minute walk. Three minutes if you were really in a rush. You make it home in two and a half. 

It's a simple studio apartment, small but well within your needs. 

Once you step inside, she grabs you from underneath your ass, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around her torso. Your hands find their way into her hair, fingers dancing on her scalp. You needed her weak for you, and she was falling apart at the seams the more you touched her. She carries you over to the bed, hiding in the corner of your apartment. She sits down on your bed with you sitting on her lap.

Her hands grab at your shirt, shoving the offending fabric over your breasts until you break the kiss to pull your top over your head. You return to the kiss the moment your shirt is discarded behind you, pushing Sevika down into the mattress. She gasps into your mouth as her back thuds against the bed. 

Her hands are flat against your lower back, inching downwards to slip her fingertips beneath the band of your pants. Sevika guides your hips to grind over hers. You rut your hips into her, no rhythm or pace set. 

"You've got such a pretty face," you tell her. "You wouldn't want me to sit on it, would you?" It's something you've been waiting to experience, waiting for the right person. If there was anyone you wanted it with, without hesitation, it's Sevika. 

"I've been waiting for you to say that for so fucking long," Sevika laughs. You laugh with her, finding humor is how long you've spent dancing around each other. 

You roll off of her lap onto your back to shimmy off your pants and underwear. Within seconds, Sevika is sitting up to help you out of your clothes. You lift your hips and she pulls your pants and underwear down on one try. 

Seeing you near fully naked, Sevika admires your body. Every curve is in its perfect place. Every scar is like fine details painted into your skin. Each blemish makes you more and more of a masterpiece. She always thought you were breathtaking but the word felt much more literal now. Breathing was wasted energy, anything other than pouring her full attention into admiring you was useless to her. 

“Sevika… you're staring,” you said under your breath. 

“I- I'm going to die tonight,” she sighs, leaning down to press kisses to your shoulder. She kisses your shoulder until she's grounded herself, no longer lost in passion boiling over in her head. 

“I need you on my face. Now,” she says against your shoulder. 

“Patience.” 

“Fuck that. I need you. I can't wait anymore.” 

She grabs your hips, flipping you over to straddle her waist. She unclasps your bra, pulling the straps off your shoulders. 

“You're still dressed,” you gasped, trying to find an excuse to slow her down. 

“We'll get to that later. Sit on my fucking face.” She grabs at your hips trying to pull you up and shimmy herself down. You admit defeat when she pouts. 

You crawl up her body and place one knee to the left side of her head before swinging the other over her head. You don't sit down on her face yet, shifting your hips back to hover over her shoulders. 

“Fuck, please sit on my face. I can't wait.” her hands grab your thighs, metal and flesh fingers alike digging into you.  

You're ready to give yourself to her, but you're stopped by the look in her eyes. This time she's the one to take your breath away. 

You reach down and stroke her cheek, “You're so pretty.” 

Her hands loosen their grip on your hips, thumbs stroking your skin.

“You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful,” she whispered. The moment was so fragile but nothing could break how she felt for you. 

You feel the need to say something in return but the only words that come to mind are about how you're falling for her. And you can't give yourself away just yet. So you shift your hips over her face. Before you take your seat, you notice that you've forgotten a step in your haste. 

“Wait, we need a safe signal.”

“Like I'd fucking tap out,” she rasps, frustrated that you're so close but just out of reach. 

“Still, we need one.” 

“Fine. I'll tap you twice if I need you off. That work?” 

“That works,” you nod, shifting your hips to position right over her mouth. 

“Oh fuck, thank you.” She sighs before you lower your cunt onto her mouth. 

She starts with kisses to your folds, breathing in your scent while she can still breathe. Her lips press kisses everywhere she can reach, mostly over your labia. Her nose nudges right beneath your clit and you drag your hips back to get her right where you need her. Nose now bumping against your clit, your thighs clench from the added simulation. 

You can feel the tension, built up on months of pent up emotions, dissolving with each pass of her tongue. The tension melts down, collecting inside of you and waiting to be released. Her kisses become open-mouthed as your arousal coats her lips. You jerk your hips, moving your clit over her mouth. She licks around the bud, feeling it twitch and beg to be touched. 

Looking down, you can see her eyes are closed, eyes rolled back behind her lips. Her tongue swipes over your clit and you nearly throw your head back to moan, but you can't tear your eyes away from her. She looks too beautiful beneath you. It makes you feel like you're doing more than taking your own pleasure. It makes you feel like you're not on top, you're on your throne. Your insides clench again as she flicks her tongue over your clit. 

Sevika's hips squirm, trying to find some friction to calm the tension inside of her. Everything about you fuels how much she burns for you. She felt warm whenever you were around but with you filling her senses in this moment, she was close to combustion. She could distantly feel a liquid heat drip from her cunt. With each slow drip that leaked from her, her core coiled with excitement. 

Channeling her yearning into eating you out, she works her tongue over your clit. When you start to shift your hips again, she flattens her tongue letting you move wherever you please. 

You grab her by the hair, grinding onto her tongue to chase your orgasm. It's an orgasm you've been chasing everytime you've masterbated thinking about her. A fantasy that has been just out of reach, and even now it mocks you by running away. 

“Sev, I'm so close,” you choked out. 

You ride her tongue, desperation drowning out the aching in your muscles. Your thrusts are messy, but her tongue finds you each time. No matter where you move, Sevika is there. 

Your orgasm is done with being chased. It meets you, just the way you always imagined it would. It breaks the laws of physics, making gravity cease to exist. Your entire body is weightless as you gasp and choke out Sevika's name. Your grip on her hair is the only thing tying you to this world. 

When the world finally rights itself, gravity working as it should, you lift your weight off of her. Her hands pull your hips forward, setting your dripping hole over her mouth. There's so much more of you to be had and Sevika wasn't ready for the moment to end. 

She laps at your opening, groaning with every bit of cum she licks away. Your taste is even sweeter now, or maybe it was psychological. Sevika wouldn't put it past her to think you taste better after coming. You did things to her that she couldn't explain. 

She is pulled from her thoughts when you jerk your hips away and she detaches her lips. You swing a leg over her head and dismount inelegantly.

“Thank you,” she gasps after she catches her breath. When she no longer needs to gasp for air she takes a deep inhale through her nose, catching your lingering scent that coats her face. 

She doesn't have enough time to react before you straddle her hips and push at her top. You're surprised by your surge of energy but you'd be damned if you didn't return the favor. 

“Sev… Fucking strip for me,” you purr. 

She moans your name, hands reaching up to hold your face and bring you down for a kiss. You dodge the kiss, needing her naked for you. 

“Sevika, I want you. Please… you're too beautiful for me not to see.”  

That makes her heart skip a beat. Sevika doesn't accept compliments but you said that word like it's the truth. So she believed you. 

“Okay,” she nodded, her turn to admit defeat tonight. 

You lift off her lap, moving to unbutton her pants. She lifts her hips and you pull down the waist band. Her pants take more force than you expected to pull over her ass but after a couple tries, they slide all the way down to her knees. She begins to kick her pants down to her ankles then toes them off. 

“The scar is pretty obvious,” she says. You're confused for a moment then you remember why the two of you are in your bed in the first place. On her left thigh is a gash, a centimeter thick and 7 centimeters long. It was a deep cut, evident by how raised and pale the scar is. 

“Shit, that's really fucking bad. How'd you survive?” 

“Took two extra doses of shimmer. You'd be surprised by how life saving that shit can be.”

“Huh,” you shrug. She shifts her hips beneath you and you're back in the moment, forgetting her near death experience. Fuck the reason you finally got her into bed, you have her now and nothing else matters.

You are about to tug at her boxers when her chem tech arm reaches down and tears them apart with two tugs. You snort at her impatience. The amusement is soon gone when you see her cunt. Your imagination has failed you, she's prettier than any fantasy you've had. A trail of opaque, white cum leaking from her. 

“You fucking came?” you asked. 

“I can't control myself with you,” was the best explanation she could give. 

“Oh fuck,” you curse. You bend down to press kisses to her torso, trailing down the valley of her muscles. You don't care that you don't have her top off. If you were going to get your way tonight, it will be coming off eventually. But right now you want to feel her. 

You set your pace slow, kissing downwards to her thighs. She opens her legs, making space for you between them and you gladly take it. 

“Sevika, what do you want?” You doubt you could do anything she wouldn't want but it never hurts to be sure. 

Sevika stops to think for a moment. She imagined every single sexual scenario with you. So which one would she choose? A few crossed her mind but one made the coil of excitement return above the rest. The thought of your fingers, more slender and soft than hers, fucking her until she melts into nothing. 

“Finger me,” she pleads. Sevika keeps surprising you, using a desperate tone that goes against her character. 

“Oh shit, I'm going to fuck you so good,” you sighed. 

You get comfortable on your knees, intending to stay there as long as you can. You trail your fingers over her thighs, tracing words into her skin. You can't tell her that you're falling so you write it out. On her left thigh, ‘I love you” is etched. On her right thigh, “Stay with me” is drawn. 

“Stop tickling me, I need you inside me,” she whines. The sound almost kills you, her velvet voice whining for you to enter her. 

You trace your right hand over her thigh and toward her cunt, teasing just a little more. She gasps when you insert your middle finger. Maybe you do too, with how good she feels. You knew she was wet but what makes you lightheaded is how warm she is. 

Her whines no longer shock you, coming out of her with each slow stroke of your finger. Adding a second finger takes her moans up in pitch. Your fingers feel a thousand times better than she dreamed, non-calloused fingers pulling the coil inside her tighter. 

“More,” she pants. You don't want to leave her word up for interpretation so you ask for clarification. 

“More what? Another finger? Faster? Need me to rub your clit? Tell me,” you urged. 

“Faster! Touch my clit!” she gasps out. Sweat begins to coat her forehead. 

Your fingers pick up their speed, curling against her sweet spot. Without removing your fingers, you move over her right thigh, walking up on your knees before settling down. 

In this position you lay at her side, face next to hers and arm reaching down to finger her. Your palm rubs over her clit with each thrust. You dip your head down to attach your lips. She sighs into your mouth, lips parting to let you control the kiss. 

Everytime your lips meet, you find a new favorite way to kiss her. Now, you find you love biting her lip. She pants and moans into your mouth as her pussy squelches from your fingering. She sounds wetter with each thrust, your fingers gliding in with more and more ease. 

“Please,” she pants, “I'll make a mess.” 

It's your turn to groan into her mouth. That sentence was a threat and a promise. She shifts her hips nudging your fingers to the exact right spot. 

You feel her orgasm wet your fingers as she whimpers out your name. Nothing could've prepared you for how magical making Sevika squirt for you would be. Her breaths huffed into your mouth. Her thighs clamped around your hand. Her pussy leaked all over your fingers. 

After thirty seconds pass, her thighs unclench and you remove your hand. You bring it up to your lips but Sevika grabs your wrist before you can taste her. 

“Can we… I want us… I want to be yours.” Sevika says when she catches her breath. 

“As long as I can be yours.” 

She guides your wrist to your mouth and you take your coated fingers into your mouth. Her taste bursts over your tongue, earthy and slightly salty. You lick your fingers clean and commit her taste to memory. Not that you would never taste her again, but it's something you need to remember. Any moment spent not tasting her will be torture from now on. 

Sevika wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in to lay on her chest. You settle in, placing your head over her heart. The two of you hold each other, you're listening to her heartbeat steady itself. 

“Sorry about your sheets,” you hear her say, words rumbling in her chest. 

You sit up to inspect the damage. The image makes you laugh. Between her thighs is a little heart-shaped puddle. 

“I lo-” you stop before the words come out, “I don't care. It'll wash out.” 

You lay back down to cuddle her, “You came in a heart-shaped puddle, by the way.” 

Sevika snorts, not surprised that her body was outing her feelings for you. She presses a kiss to your forehead, settling for gratefulness that she didn't chicken out tonight. 

“Why did it take so long for us to do this?” you ask. 

“I was afraid you'd figure out that I'm in love with you,” she says. She meant to hide the words but they found their way out. Sevika loves the way you soften her, how you break away all the walls to her heart without trying. 

Your voice is a whisper when you speak, “Are you still scared?” 

“I'm terrified.” 

“Me too.” 

“Scared?” Sevika tries to get you to clarify. She needs to know. 

“No. In love with you.” 

[moonstruckme]

Could I request more soft dom Remus!! Maybe reader forgets to take care of her self because she is too caught up in her work and Remus loving sets her straight and just takes care of her🙏🏻 you are lovely my dear❤️❤️

Thanks for requesting!

cw: implied d/s dynamics, migraine

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 730 words

The couch springs groan beside you. You reach blindly for the tea Remus has brought you, eyes still on your laptop. 

“Look here, dove.” 

Your head turns before your mind has caught up to it, one hand still typing out the end of a word. Remus is scrutinizing you, your tea held firmly in his grasp. 

“Close your laptop.” 

“What? Why?” 

Remus gives you a look. “Weren’t you just telling me your head is hurting?” 

You chew the inside of your lip, but stand your ground. “Yeah.” 

“The laptop’s not helping with that, darling.” 

“Finishing my report will.” 

“You’re not finishing anytime soon, and the light’s not good for you.” 

He reaches for your laptop, and you draw it closer to you protectively. “It’ll be bad for me whenever I do it, so I may as well finish tonight.” 

“Enough.” Remus’ voice firms up. “Close it.” 

You scowl but do, saying a silent prayer that you remember all you’d wanted to say when you pick it back up again. Remus takes your laptop, moving it out of reach before he finally passes you your tea. The steam feels nice, and though you’d rather die than admit it you can feel the muscles in your face relax almost immediately. You blow on it gently.

A hand on your leg makes you look up at your boyfriend. Remus’ expression has gentled, a softer brand of concern in his eyes where they meet yours. 

“You wanna come here?” he asks. 

He helps you find your way into his lap, one of your thighs on either side of his. He draws slow, soothing strokes up your sides. One hand finds your face, thumb dimpling your lip. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, not without humor. “I know you wanted to keep working, but your body was tired of it.” Remus moves his thumb to kiss you, soft and lingering. “You’re your own worst enemy when you get like this, dove.” 

Your sullen mood gives way easily under the weight of his devotion. “I’m sorry,” you sigh. 

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to take better care of yourself.” He studies your face. “Have you had painkillers?” 

“No.” 

A wry smile. “How did I already know you were going to say that?” 

Remus reaches into his pocket, pulling out a couple of pills he no doubt fetched while the kettle was boiling. He passes them to you, watches as you down them with your tea. 

You watch him back as you swallow, feeling shyer than you did a minute ago. “Thanks, Rem.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He smooths a piece of hair away from your eye. His thumb lands on your temple, beginning to drill small circles. 

If your enthrallment with his touch weren’t enough, the skill with which Remus does the motion would be. It’s hypnotic. Your eyes fall closed, head listing forward. Remus chuckles and encourages it the rest of the way with his other hand on the back of your neck, letting you rest on his shoulder. How could anyone say that soulmates don’t exist, when the curve of his neck seems so perfectly fitted to you? 

“You’re going to let me look after you now?” he asks warmly. 

You manage a feeble hum of assent. 

Remus is massaging your head with both hands now, deft fingers smoothing over your scalp and working their way gradually towards the tensed muscles of your neck. “Good girl.” Your body goes warm and loose at the praise. Your forehead rests heavily upon Remus’ shoulder. 

His quiet voice takes on an amused hue as he asks, “And what are you going to do the next time your head starts to hurt while you’re working?” 

You whine. “Remus.” 

“I just need to hear it from you once, dove.” 

You sigh. You think for a second that you might just pretend to fall asleep to avoid saying it, but the pressure of Remus’ fingers lessen until they’re barely there at all. He’s waiting for you.

“It starts with a b,” he hints. 

You’re glad he can’t see you scowling into his shoulder. “I’ll take a break.” 

“There we go.” Remus’ fingers resume their work, and you can feel the chuckle brewing in his chest as he turns his head to kiss your temple. “I know we’ll do better next time, won’t we?”

[7ndipity]

Shy

Yoongi x Reader

Summary: You’re desperately craving your boyfriend's attention, but are too shy to ask for it outright. Luckily, Yoongi knows what you want anyway.

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut, swearing, unprotected sex(don’t do this pls), soft dom-ish Yoongi, brief mentions of insecurities, not proofread

A/N: Thanks @theuselessdaydreamingidiot for requesting this! I had so much writing this one, I hope you like it!

Masterlist

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He had to be doing this on purpose.

Normally, Yoongi could read you like a book, whether that was knowing whether you’d had a particularly rough day or just what food you were craving, all you had to do was look at him and he would know what you wanted.

Which was why his current lack of response to your attempts to gain his attention was so frustrating.

The two of you hadn’t been able to see each other all week due to your work schedules, and to say you were starting to go a little crazy was an understatement. As soon as you got to his place, all you had been able to think about was jumping his bones. Normally, you didn’t consider yourself a particularly horny person, but being without your boyfriend for any extended amount of time definitely tended to make you extra needy.

It didn’t help that your boyfriend in question somehow managed to look so fucking hot all. the. time. Even the simple sweatpants and white tee combo he was wearing was enough to make you clench your thighs together with need in your current state.

You’d tried your best to ignore it through dinner, but once the two of you had cozied up together on the couch to watch an episode of a drama, you couldn’t take it anymore. You were hyper aware of the warmth radiating off of his body, his arm looped loosely around your waist, the scent of his cologne filling your senses and drawing you closer, tucking your face against his neck as the ache in your core grew stronger.

Fuck you wanted him so bad.

Usually, all you needed to do was just give a little hint that you were in the mood to Yoongi and he would take the lead for you, asking in a low voice if you wanted to make each other feel good, an offer that you always readily agreed to.

But tonight, nothing seemed to catch his attention.

You let your fingers dance over his skin, tracing little patterns over his arm, up his bicep to his shoulder and back again, trying to elicit a response from him, but all he’d done was tighten his other arm around your waist ever so slightly.

Deciding to try being a bit more direct, you shifted around in his hold, pressing teasing little kisses along the underside of his jaw, knowing it was one of his weak spots, hoping he would finally catch on to hint at what you wanted.

Yoongi hummed appreciatively, but his attention was still fully locked on the screen in front of you, relaxing further into the couch.

You drew back slowly, frowning in frustration as you studied his side profile.

Maybe he was just really interested in the show, maybe he wasn’t in the mood, you weren’t sure, but you felt too shy and awkward to ask outright.

Giving up, you slipped out from under his arm and stood up.

“Where’re you going?” He asked, finally looking up at you with a small frown.

“I’m tired, I think I’m just gonna go on to bed.” You lied.

“Are you sure?” He asked with a slight pout. “You want me to come with you?”

Yes please! “No, you stay and finish the show.” You pecked his cheek. “G’night, Baby.”

You quickly made your way down the hall to his room, not bothering with a light as you climbed into bed, curling onto your side away from the door, staring at the wall in frustration.

You don’t know why you hadn’t just said yes when he’d offered to come with you, maybe then he would’ve caught on if you’d tried again? Or maybe he was intentionally ignoring you as a way to tease you for your shyness with him.

You don’t know why you always felt so shy to initiate anything sexual with Yoongi, it wasn’t like your relationship was particularly new or anything, but everytime you even thought about saying the same things that Yoongi said to you, they sounded so awkward and unsexy, not at all like when he said them. When he said them, you felt your stomach drop in the best way, your knees turning to jelly as your heart rate picked up. In just a few words, he could completely turn you to putty in his hands, a skill you desperately wished you possessed at times like this. Instead you were laying in bed alone and irritated.

No more than five minutes had passed before you heard the bedroom door behind you open,

Yoongi’s footsteps padding softly across the carpeted room to the bed.

You heard him chuckle softly to himself before the mattress dipped under his weight, quietly sliding under the covers and shifting over till he was pressed against your back, draping an arm over your waist.

“Babe? Are you asleep?” He asked softly.

“ ‘m trying to.” You grumbled, brushing his arm off of you. “I thought you were watching your show?”

“I missed you too much.” He said, nuzzling his face in your hair. “It’s no fun without you.”

You didn’t respond, but he could sense you soured mood

“I’m sorry baby. Was I not giving enough attention earlier?” He wound his arm around your waist again, pulling you close as his lips trailed along your neck and shoulder, mirroring your actions from earlier.

You squirmed slightly against him, not wanting to cave so easily, but his wandering hands and warm breath against your skin flooded your core with arousal, your breath hitching and coming out unsteady.

“Let me make it up to you.” He murmured against your skin, his hand making its way under your shirt, fingers brushing over where your skin disappeared under the material of your sleep shorts.

Fuck, you were so weak for him.

“Please.” You breathed, arching closer to him.

You made a soft noise, something between a whimper and his name as he continued to leave a trail of kisses against the flushed skin of your neck as his fingers slipped under the waistband, creeping lower till they brushed your pubic bone, just shy of where you needed him.

You squirmed in his gentle hold, bordering on desperation now.

“Yoongi,” You pleaded. “Please.” You needed him, and you weren’t sure how much longer your sanity could hold out against his teasing touches.

“I got you, baby,” He assured you softly, retracting his hand. “I’ll take care of you.”

He gently rolled you over, caressing your face before bringing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

You sighed in relief, looping your arms around his neck to keep him close as he shifted to hover over you, settling between your legs that fell open to accommodate him.

His grip on your waist tightened in surprise as your tongue delved into his mouth, swallowing down the sweet, almost inaudible groan that left him as your wet muscle tangled with his own.

God, you were addicted to the taste of him, light and sweet with a faint bitterness of the wine you’d drank at dinner.

His fingers dug into your thighs, dimpling the flesh as he ground his hips against yours, pressing his growing erection against your clothed core, your arousal soaking through the material of your shorts and making them stick to you slightly.

You don’t know when he removed his sweats, all you were aware of was his fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down as you lifted your hips to help him remove them, leaving you both bare from the waist down.

“My sweet baby.” He hummed, leaving another trail of wet kisses down your throat as he brushed two fingers through your slick folds, making you hiss as he teased your throbbing clit.

“Fuck Yoongi, please!” You begged. You had lost all patience, shamelessly bucking against his hand to any sort of relief, and in turn breaking any resistance he held.

As weak as you might have been for Yoongi, he was even more so for you, willing to give you anything you wanted and more. You could ask him for the moon and he would find a way to technically give it to you.

Removing his fingers, he shifted position to align the tip of his cock with your entrance. You were so wet and needy already, he slipped into you easily without any prep, sinking in all the way to the hilt in one go, making your eyes roll back in pleasure at finally being filled.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Angel.” He groaned, watching the way your hungry cunt swallowed him so eagerly. He pulled back, rolling his hips into yours slowly, letting you feel every inch and vein of his cock as it dragged against your walls.

“Fuck Yoongi, faster, please.” You practically mewled, clinging to his shoulders.

It was almost embarrassing, how reactive you were, how fast you fell apart for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, all you wanted was for Yoongi to fuck you properly.

The desperation in your voice sent a shot of electricity straight through Yoongi, making his cock twitch inside you as he immediately picked up the pace, plunging back into you quickly and setting a pace that had your toes curling.

His arms were braced against the mattress on either side of you, caging you in while your own hands clutched feebly at his back, nails scraping against his skin, leaving bright red lines and crescent marks in their wake.

Yoongi buried his face in your neck, groaning out with nearly every thrust, not bothering to try and muffle them as he knew they only spurred you further on as well, making you clench and spasm around him.

“F-fuck, Yoongi! I-I‘m close!” You managed to whine out,

“I know, baby, it’s okay.” Yoongi panted, kissing your neck. “Let go, I’ve got you.”

A few more thrusts of Yoongi’s hips were all that it took to tip you over the edge, a sharp ringing filling your ears as your high crashed over you, flooding your senses and causing your muscles to contract and spasm in bliss.

Yoongi followed almost immediately after you, spilling deep inside you with a broken groan, body going stiff over yours as he shuddered through the aftershocks.

He half collapsed on top of you, rolling to the side to avoid crushing you as you both lay there, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

“Feel better?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yeah,” You replied weakly. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He grinned, leaning up to kiss your cheek. “Though, you know, if you wanted sex, you could just ask. You don’t have to keep teasing me till I say something.”

“So you were paying attention earlier!” You exclaimed, sitting up to look at him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting to see if you would say something first,” He said, sitting up as well. “But then you went off to sulk instead.”

“I wasn’t sulking.” You pouted.

“Yes you were.” He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around you. “What I want to know though is why? Why won’t you ever initiate sex with me directly? You always kinda dance around it till I make the first move.” He looked down at you curiously.

“I don’t know.” You looked down, feeling your face heat up. “I guess I just feel kinda shy.”

Yoongi let out a short burst of laughter.

“Babe, you are one of the least shy people I’ve ever met!” He laughed. “I’ve seen you make friends in the middle of the grocery store after having a full blown debate with someone over the validity of skim milk!”

“That’s different! This is you and me, it’s feels embarrassing!” You buried your face in his chest, earning another chuckle from him. “What am I supposed to do, just jump you as soon as you walk in the door and say 'I need you in me or I’ll die'?”

“I mean, that would be really hot,” He smirked, earning a weak smack from you. “But seriously, you don’t need to feel embarrassed with me. Anytime you’re in the mood, just tell me. Hell, we could even make up a codeword if that makes you feel better.” He offered.

“What, like ‘Pineapple’?” You asked, incredulously.

“Sure, if that’s what you want. As of now, Pineapple means sex.” He announced, making you burst into a fit of laughter of your own.

“You’re insane!” You giggled.

“Only for you.” He said with a grin. “I mean it though, I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about stuff like this.”

You nodded, letting you head rest back against his chest.

“Thank you.” You said. “For not making fun of me.”

“I would never.” He said seriously, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

You drifted off to the sound of Yoongi’s heartbeat, completely and utterly content.

You did, however, wake up the next morning to several containers of fresh pineapple in the refridgerator.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I think I’m hillarious.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @mother2monsters @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[im4rmy]

your first time together - jisung (idol AU)

IMAGINE: You’re curled up next to Jisung, who’s effortlessly hot tonight, during one of your usual movie nights. But you two had agreed—when he felt ready, he’d be the one to make the first move.

TW: sex, fingering, virgin!boy, MDNI

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

• Jisung is very much a virgin. You’re his first girlfriend ever—his first kiss, even. He told you all of that himself in a moment of rare courage (not that you didn’t already know), and you reassured him, promising there was absolutely no rush. When the time felt right, you’d take things slow, together. Sure, you’ve shared some pretty intense makeout sessions, but that’s where it stopped. You genuinely don’t mind waiting—what matters most is that he feels comfortable, and when it happens, it’s a good experience for him. But—Jesus Christ. Jisung is so attractive. And the worst part is, he has no idea. It’s maddening.

• The two of you are bundled up under the covers in his cozy, warm bed. There are way too many junk food wrappers scattered across the blanket, and a Christmas movie is playing on his massive screen—even though it’s barely November. He slides his feet beneath the blanket, nestling them between your bare legs, clearly seeking the warmth of your skin. As his body presses closer to yours, you can’t help but stiffen slightly.

"You okay?"

You nod quickly, eyes glued to the screen, avoiding his gaze. Jisung doesn’t push.

• A little while later, he’s still all over you, absentmindedly drawing soft circles across your stomach just beneath your bellybutton. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, too absorbed in the movie. You take a deep breath, silently begging yourself to keep it together. Come on, y/n, get a grip, for fuck's sake. But your inner pep talk clearly isn’t working, because Jisung shifts just enough to glance down at you.

“What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

You sigh, closing your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just—ugh. I’m about to start my period.”

His eyes widen with concern. “Are you hurting? Cramping?”

“No, I’m just… horny.”

Jisung freezes, utterly stunned. You can practically see his brain short-circuiting. You giggle and quickly put a hand on his arm before his heart explodes.

“I’m kidding, Ji. I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry, okay baby?”

You snuggle back into him, but he doesn’t budge. You glance up.

“I mean it, babe. Don’t—”

“Are you really… um, t-turned on?”

You blink at him, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

“A little,” you whisper.

He has the nerve to nod. “So… d-do you want me to… do something?”

“I told you, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything.”

“But I want to.”

Your eyes snap to his, surprised. “Oh.”

• He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple shifting again as he leans toward you—hesitant, careful. He props himself against the headboard, then pats his thighs nervously.

“C-Can you come here?”

His stammer and those big, innocent eyes have your body trembling with anticipation. You nod and crawl onto his lap, settling on top of him. He wraps his arms around your waist, then lifts the hem of your pajama shirt, carefully pulling it over your head. You’re startled at first—but when you notice his hands are shaking, your heart softens. You lean in and kiss him slowly, threading your fingers through his soft hair. His touch on your bare torso is shy, unsure—but when you shift your hips slightly, grinding down for the smallest bit of friction… That’s when something clicks for Jisung. He swallows his nerves and lets himself lean into the sensation. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, catching his breath.

“Can I touch you?”

You nod, eyes locked with his, watching as his hand moves toward your underwear. You don’t know what’s gotten into this sweet, lanky boy—but honestly, you don’t care. Jisung starts touching you slowly, uncertainly—his fingers exploring with gentle, tentative movements. You let out a breathy moan and close your eyes. He blushes deeply, glancing between your blissed-out expression and his hand hidden beneath your shorts. As he starts to get a feel for the rhythm you like, you roll your hips to match the pace, gripping his shoulders for support as your legs begin to tremble.

“D-Do you like it?”

“Mhh… you’re doing so good, baby.”

The praise sends a shiver through him, and you feel his erection harden beneath you. You’d tease him, but then his fingers curl inside you and—yeah. You forget how to think. You can't believe Virgin Boy Jisung Park is about to make you come with just his fingers.

“Fuck—woah. That was… unexpected.”

• Jisung looks up at you with those big, puppy-dog eyes, his hand still between your legs, still inside you. You smile wickedly and kiss him again, stroking the back of his neck, drawing a soft sigh from him.

“Y/n… can we—um… can we keep going?”

“We can do whatever you want, baby. It’s all up to you, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

You tug lightly at the hem of his hoodie, silently urging him to take it off—and he does, right away. Finally, your eyes get their fill of his gorgeous arms, goosebumps trailing down his skin, and that beautifully sculpted chest that quite literally steals your breath. You bite your lower lip, and he flushes under your gaze. Your mouth finds that sensitive spot just beneath his ear, and he melts the moment your tongue touches down—you've found out before that’s one of his weak points. Now, with your body grinding softly against his, he’s practically in heaven.

“O-Oh my God.”

“You’re doing so well, my good boy.”

He groans, hands coming to rest around your waist. “Wait, I want—”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down beneath him, resuming his kisses while his fingers trace slow, reverent paths along your bare sides. He’s taking his time with you, learning, worshiping every inch of skin he uncovers. When he hooks your thumbs into the waistband of your pajama shorts, you raise your hips, letting him slide them down—along with your damp panties. Jisung holds his breath, realizing you're completely naked beneath him now, save for your bra. You help him out of his sweatpants, flashing him a sweet smile, doing everything you can to help him relax.

• He leans down to kiss you again, trying to calm the buzzing nerves beneath his skin. But then you feel him—his erection pressing against your thigh—and the need inside you spikes even higher. You can’t help but roll your leg against him, drawing a sharp curse from his lips. His eyes lift to meet yours, catching your soft, reassuring smile. He takes a steady breath and glances down at the space between you. Then, slowly, he aligns himself with your entrance and begins to ease into you, letting your bodies come together inch by aching inch. You both moan at the overwhelming relief of finally being this close. Jisung moves gently, in and out, savoring the way you gasp and shiver beneath him, because of him. And when he feels his orgasm start to rise, he buries his face in your neck, letting you hear the ragged sounds of his pleasure—God, his fucking voice. That low, wrecked voice of his nearly tips you over the edge all on its own, making your body tighten around him as your climax crests.

“Oh my—fucking God.”

“Shit.”

• The rush of release leaves you both stunned, clinging to one another in the aftermath. You stay like that, tangled up, trying to remember where you are, who you are—because holy hell. Your first time together was everything.

“H-How… how was it?”

“Incredible, baby. You were amazing.”

Jisung didn’t sleep a single minute that night.

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

other jisung's chapters:

bf!jisung scenario

jisung - when you first met

jisung - your first time together ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ you're here!

OT7 chapters:

your contact names in each other's phone

his favourite part of your body

when he hurts you during sex by accident

⇘ nct dream idol AU index ⇙

·˚✎ ﹏im4rmy's masterlist

Taglist: @carelessshootanonymous

♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤♡♤

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else—something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[elliesgffr]

Nerd Ellie being fucking clueless Guys pls be nice this is my firs post (and it's not proofread btw)

She was so distracted, living in her own world where apparently no one else could enter. She spent her free hours drawing in an old brown leather diary that looked worn, but you assumed it held some sentimental value for her. She was strange, a loser like those who appeared in the films you used to watch, a nerd whom no one looked at, but she intrigued you, you wanted to see the true colour of her eyes, how she would look without those glasses. You were also a bit curious about the story behind the tattoo on her arm—did she think it made her look tough?

She shot her diary abruptly before looking up, you two were the only ones in the university courtyard and there was plenty of space to sit, so why near her?

“What are you drawing?” you asked. She raised an eyebrow momentarily before reopening her diary, avoiding your gaze and continuing with what she was doing—drawing and ignoring your presence. You could see she was sketching some strange looking insect, but she made it look beautiful.

"A panda ant," she murmured boredly. You sat beside her and took a closer look at the drawing, the large, black eyes of the creature you'd never heard of.

"It looks like a spider."

"It's a wasp," she emphasised, shaking her head slightly and continuing with her work. You mumbled a small "right" while nodding awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"What else have you drawn?" you asked curiously. Ellie didn't need to be too clever to know you wouldn't let her finish her drawing; she'd seen you – you talked too much, you never shut up – so she decided to give in and handed you her diary, beginning a friendship she wasn't sure she wanted in the first place.

After that, you never left her alone, you used to drag her to parties she hated, and in return, she made you study for your exams and talked to you for hours about space stuff. It was fun, like when she tried to explain how a spaceship worked and you pretended not to understand just to keep listening to her. Her intelligence was her greatest appeal, and you wondered how she didn’t have the entire university chasing after her.

You were a little bit in love with her, but she acted as if you were a pain in her backside, so you discouraged yourself when you thought about telling her; it wouldn’t make any sense, you thought. However, the idea of not having her close to you at all times was horrible; her presence was addictive, and as a way to torture her, you would drag her out of her room tonight and take her to her least favourite place.

5:06pm. 

“Is Hallie’s tonight??” 

“No. I have to study.” 

“Please???? Just for a bit and we’ll leave, I swear.” 

“Liar.” 

You smiled as you read the message, you could almost hear her voice saying it; it was incredible how well she knew you in such a short time. You kept smiling like an idiot when your phone vibrated again in your lap. 

“Fine, but I’ll be late.” 

“Omg I love you, I knew you’d make the right decision, see you there xx.”

☆☆☆☆

The noise in the bar was deafening; there was a new band performing, and it was the only thing you could hear in the cramped space as you moved through the bustle of people searching for Ellie. You took out your phone to text her, but then you spotted her. You had to navigate through a sea of people before you could reach her, but at least she was in your line of sight. She looked bored. 

“Sorry I'm late.” 

“I was supposed to be late.” 

“I know, I'm sorry,” you murmured, moving closer to order a whisky from the bartender before turning back to her with the drink in hand. “There was a lot of traffic, and the taxi was going too slowly.” You leaned in too close for her to hear you, and her gaze instinctively dropped, her right hand nervously playing with her ring and little fingers as she nodded. 

“Fine” She replied flatly, and you rolled your eyes. You knew she hated accompanying you anywhere, but she didn’t have to make it so obvious.

“Come on, let’s dance.” You pulled her onto the dance floor amidst her protests, placing your hand on hers to guide her to your waist. She was clumsy, struggling to keep up with the rhythm, and laughed, shaking her head shyly when she realised she couldn’t.

“You always end up getting your way with me. I’ve got an exam tomorrow,” she protested in your ear, hands now gripping your waist firmly. You pulled closer, eager to take whatever she gave you, even if it wasn’t intentional.

“You need to relax. You’ve been so stressed this week, you shouldn’t even have classes on a Saturday,” you said over the music, your lips so close you could feel the warmth of her skin. You wanted to bite her earlobe, leave a mark to remind her of you, but you settled for having your arms wrapped around her neck.

“All this noise isn’t helping my stress,” she said, and you narrowed your eyes at her.

“I relieve your stress.” Her cheeks flushed crimson but she held your gaze, a burning intensity in your eyes, and it was in moments like these that she wasn’t sure what you meant, or if you meant it at all. She wanted to ask how, to say something, but instead she did the same thing as always.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” She said before hurrying away to somewhere that didn’t smell of you, staring at herself in the mirror and feeling like an idiot for letting you get to her so quickly.

You sat waiting for her, praying no drunk would bother you as you sipped your whisky, watching the band play; the bassist kept glancing at a girl in the crowd, giving her a flirtatious wink and even you blushed.

A lot of time went on, and you started wondering what on earth Ellie was doing in the bathroom, so you went to look for her. To your surprise, she was with a girl from university near the dance floor, hands clasped as they tried to communicate.  She was Ellie's only friend besides you, and the lively way she was talking to this girl made you feel both guilty and angry. You always had to force her to make plans with you, and she treated you as if talking to you was a chore she wasn't looking forward to.

You desperately wanted to confront her, but what could you say?  All desire to be with her vanished, and without much thought, you left the crowded place, walking a couple of blocks until you found a taxi. The journey back to the halls felt endless, and all you could think about was how angry she would be, but honestly, you didn't care.

☆☆☆☆

"You left me." Ellie snapped as she made her way through your room, knowing about the key hidden in the flowerpot, and right now you wished you had taken it out of there. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wanted to leave and I saw you with your friend, I didn't want to ruin the moment." You murmured half-heartedly, fiddling with your old tablet and not even glancing at her, which made her scoff slightly, looking at you in disbelief. 

"I was there for you and you left me." 

"And I'm telling you that you shouldn't do it anymore." 

She looked at you, confused, before rolling her eyes, snatching the tablet from your hands so that you would pay attention to her, but your gaze drifted elsewhere; you felt stupid, like a five-year-old. 

"You’re sick of me dragging you to places you don’t want to go, and I’m sick of feeling like I’m forcing you to interact with me." 

"Is this about Allison?" 

"No." 

"Oh my God, are you ten?" She spoke in frustration, raising her voice without realising, she was tired of having to explain herself to you, and for what? In the end, it was the same, being the same. Friends, less than that, she didn’t know. "I ran into her and wanted to say hello, we talked for less than ten minutes and you throw a tantrum over it, what the hell is wrong with you?"

“It’s not that, Ellie.” You said it as if it were obvious, and felt the heat rise to your cheeks, which only made you angrier, the words tumbling out rapidly, before you could think. “I always have to be chasing you, for everything – outings, even studying, which you know I hate, and-and you always act like I’m just another chore on your to-do list, but you were holding her hand and smiling at her—” You paused to take a breath, narrowing your eyes. “You know what? There’s no point telling you anything, it’s not going to get through that thick skull of yours.” And you were about to leave your room, just to escape the argument, but arms snaked around your waist, pulling you back inside, her hand finding its way up your back to tug at your hair, green eyes fixed on yours.

“What the hell do you want from me?” she murmured desperately before pressing her lips to yours, hands gripping your hips firmly, and you were in shock, kissing her back and moaning as her tongue pushed into your mouth, but still in shock.

You felt intoxicated without actually being so, everything spun each time you felt your bottom lip being tugged in a nibble; your arms wrapped around her neck and you pulled her closer, kissing her with a hunger you’d never felt for anyone. Finally…

“You always do this to me.” She continued, whispering close to your lips, gasping for air but unable to pull away.

Your heart raced, pulse thundering in your ears as you tried to make sense of her words, but she pulled you back into a kiss, not giving you time to process anything. You gladly kissed her back, but your hands grabbed her shoulders, pulling her down to her knees; she complied without protest, desperately lifting your dress and tugging at your underwear, burying her face between your thighs and moaning pathetically as she tasted you, her tongue moving languidly, lips closing around your clit, sucking gently and making you see stars. You brought your hand behind her head, tugging at her hair, pushing her deeper into the place she never wanted to leave.

You didn’t even try to stifle your moans as she worked her magic on you, pleasure sparking as the pressure in your belly tightened, but you didn’t want it to end like this.

“Come here, come.” You whimpered, pulling her once more by the collar of her shirt, devouring her lips as you both tried to reach the bed without falling. You straddled her, skilled hands unbuttoning her trousers and you slipped your hand inside, feeling the warmth of her skin, your gaze burning into hers as your fingers worked on her swollen clit, she spread her legs wider, looking at you with tired eyes, her arms wrapping around your waist.

"I need to fuck you." She whined breathlessly, as if the thought of not being able to do so pained her.

You fumbled for the bedside table, opening the drawer and pulling out a double-ended dildo that made her eyes widen, but her need overpowered her, and she snatched it from your hands, slowly inserting it inside herself, letting out a stuttered moan. You made her lie down, positioning yourself on top of her, and without thinking, you lowered your hips onto the toy. Ellie couldn't stop writhing, trying to please both you and herself, her hands urging you to ride her as if your life depended on it. You bounced on her lap with so roughly that the sound was obscene, but you loved it.

"I hate seeing you talk to other people." You spoke breathlessly, your hand tightening around her throat, but not enough to choke her.

"I'm yours." She breathed out, inhaling sharply, trying to get some air into her lungs. Her hips pushed against yours in an animalistic manner, her now darkened eyes staring intently at you, and her hoarse moans made you melt. You couldn't hold back any longer, and the pressure, the pool of heat in your belly burst, turning the bed into a mess. Ellie followed you, her climax just as intense as her need for you, her arms wrapping around your waist as she thrust her hips erratically until she calmed down, both of you gasping for air, bewildered by what had just happened.

To be honest, Ellie had imagined this scenario thousands of times, but… how would you look at each other after this?

[cece693]

Man, I'm obsessed with anything related to vampires and Hannibal & Will. And your Hannigram x Vampire male reader work had me thinking about Alucard from Castlevania, especially from Castlevania Nocturne. I'm daydreaming about it all the time at this point. Here and here. Isn't he just so gorgeous and ethereal? You should watch Castlevania if you haven't seen it before. What I'm saying is, can I have more Hannigram x Vampire reader stuff? I'm daydreaming about Will and Hannibal falling for some who knows how many centuries-old (Alucard was born in 1456 and since Hannibal NBC takes place somewhere around the 2010s, he would be around 554 years old. Man, that's half a millennia) dhampir (half-vampire) with mid-back long, luscious platinum-blonde hair, gorgeous golden eyes and a handsome face. Love your work, by the way, amazing writings❤️

Of Blood and Moonlight

pairing: hannigram x male reader tags: your a vampire hybrid, hannigram aren't together yet but will be, I haven't seen the show but he does look beautiful, new obsession perhaps?

You’ve walked among mortals for centuries. Ages have passed, empires risen and fallen, and you have always stood at the outskirts, watching. You are neither fully vampire nor wholly human—a dhampir, caught between two worlds. Some nights, it makes you feel invincible. Others, it leaves you burning with longing.

Tonight, the moon gleams overhead, a quiet silver disc in the sky, as you step along the streets of Baltimore. Your platinum-blonde hair catches the moonlight like spun silver, while your golden eyes are darkened with centuries’ worth of memories. Despite the hush of the city at such a late hour, you sense someone watching. Not an uncommon occurrence, but you can’t help the faint grin tugging at your lips.

He has found you again.

“Are you lost?” comes a soft, cautious voice from behind you.

Turning, you greet the man standing there with a faint nod. Under the lone streetlamp’s glow, you see the tension in Will Graham’s stance. His dark curls seem to frame a gaze that flickers between curiosity and empathy. You know that gaze well, the powerful empathy that draws him to wounded creatures—whether they walk on four legs or two. Or, in your case, something else entirely.

You offer him a slight bow of your head. “No,” you murmur. “Just alone.”

He studies your face. Anyone else might see only a handsome stranger, but Will senses the echo of something deeper—something not quite human. His brows knit gently. “There’s an emptiness around you,” he says, half to himself, half to you. “It’s like…” His words trail off.

You find yourself stepping closer, hair whispering over your shoulders. You speak with a calmness that’s centuries in the making. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Will only half-smiles. “Not sure yet.”

In the hush that follows, there is a faint rustle—another presence stepping out from the darkness. You turn sharply, your heightened senses recognizing this man even before your gaze can land on him. Hannibal Lecter’s refined aura precedes him. He stands just beyond the reach of the streetlamp, wearing a dark overcoat, and in his eyes glimmers a blend of intense curiosity and quiet fascination.

“I see you’ve met Will,” he says with his measured cadence. His voice is smooth, cultured, every syllable perfectly placed. “I’m Hannibal Lecter.”

You simply give him a polite, centuries-old courtesy nod, your own brand of chivalry. “I’m aware,” you say, giving a secretive little smile.

Hannibal inclines his head with intrigue. “You know me?”

“I’ve heard stories,” you murmur. You keep your own secrets well—this is one of the many reasons you have survived so long. You know these two are not ordinary men. One hunts monsters; the other one is a monster in human skin. Yet you sense no threat. In your long existence, you’ve learned that sometimes the most unlikely of bonds can be formed over fascination and darkness.

Your first night at Hannibal’s lavish home is a carefully orchestrated affair. You don’t need an invitation to slip into his world—some unspoken magnetism exists between you three. You come at his request, long hair tied loosely back, golden eyes absorbing the soft glow of the dining room. A single red candle flickers at the center of the table. The scents of rosemary and thyme float through the air. There’s a subtle, rich undercurrent that might disquiet a normal human. To you, it’s enticing. Hannibal’s eyes track your every move, while Will watches with a mix of wariness and longing.

Hannibal, always poised, presents a decadent meal. His skill with cuisine is legendary, and you admire his artistry—even if you have suspicions about certain ingredients. Your golden eyes flick to the plate with mild curiosity, then you raise them to Will and Hannibal. “I don’t typically partake in…human fare,” you say politely, leaning back into the chair. The flickering candlelight dances against your pale features.

Hannibal offers a gracious incline of his head. “No insult taken. I understand if your habits differ.”

Will’s mouth quirks at one corner. “You can tell us about yourself instead.”

They watch your every breath as you trace a fingertip around the lip of your wine glass. You let the tension wind in the air, enjoying their rapt attention. “I have existed for many years,” you begin. “Centuries, if you will. Time has a way of dulling the senses, which is why I search for new experiences…” Your eyes flash gold. “And interesting company.” There’s a flutter in Will’s chest. He can’t hide it; you hear the slight hitch in his breath. Hannibal’s eyes reveal satisfaction, his curiosity mounting.

It’s Will who first breaks down the walls. Over the following weeks, you find yourself drawn to him—his empathy, his vulnerability, his unwavering desire to understand even the darkest parts of others. On more than one occasion, you and Will take late-night walks through the woods behind his house. He confides in you the weight of nightmares, of feeling too deeply. You softly explain that time dulls certain pains, but your ancient heart remains capable of new scars.

One evening, the moon is bright overhead, silver illuminating every strand of your platinum hair, your golden eyes gleaming. Will suddenly stops, turning to face you. “How do you stand it?” he asks, voice thick with emotion. “How do you bear seeing so much and going on forever?”

You tilt your head. You’ve asked yourself the same question countless times. “I survive by allowing myself to savor the rare beauties of the world—like quiet nights, moonlit forests,” you say, stepping closer. You can almost hear the rush of blood in his veins, and your fangs ache. “And souls that fascinate me.”

His cheeks flush, not from fear, but from a sense of closeness he’s never quite felt with anyone else. A heartbeat passes, and he lunges forward, pressing his lips to yours. It’s a sudden, urgent kiss. You respond in kind, centuries of loneliness dissolving in the warmth that is Will Graham’s humanity.

Hannibal Lecter is different. Where Will is stormy and turbulent with empathy, Hannibal is cold fire, methodical in his pursuit of what intrigues him. His interest in you has grown with every meeting. You catch the traces of desire in the way his dark eyes slide over your face, your hair, your body. He is unflinching.

One evening, you accept another invitation to his home. You arrive just as a violin concerto plays softly on his stereo. He bids you to follow him to his parlor, where two glasses of deep burgundy wine await. “I took the liberty of procuring something special,” he says, handing you a wine glass filled with a liquid that is not wine. You inhale the scent—thick, coppery. It’s fresh blood, carefully warmed, laced with delicate notes of something akin to sweet spice. Your centuries-honed senses reel.

He sits across from you, elbows on his knees, studying your reaction. His voice is low. “I trust it meets your needs.”

Your eyes narrow slightly. “You toy with danger, Dr. Lecter.”

A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Danger is so often misunderstood. I prefer to consider it an exploration.” You sip—carefully, indulgently—and you feel his dark gaze track every movement of your throat. It is an intimate, visceral moment. The air thickens with unspoken tension.

In the hush, you lock eyes with him. “And what do you want to discover?”

Hannibal sets his wine aside, rising to stand before you. He tilts your chin upward with clinical gentleness, the pressure of his fingertips both polite and possessive. “Whether something as timeless as you can feel obsession or even love.” You let him bend to kiss you, a languorous brush of lips that tastes of fine wine and predatory indulgence. Like a snake around its prey, but you—oh, you are no helpless creature. You return the kiss with equal fervor, letting him sense the centuries of want coiled behind your restraint.

In time, you find yourself often in the quiet presence of both Hannibal and Will. They form a precarious balance—Will’s empathy bridging the darkness, Hannibal’s refined cruelty tempered by genuine fascination. They both watch you with desires they are only just beginning to articulate.

Will’s eyes shift from Hannibal to you. “It’s strange,” he admits one night after dinner, a meal that you’ve politely observed but not partaken in. “How could we…share this?”

Hannibal levels a gaze at Will. “Do you think we can’t?” His gaze drifts to you. “Is it not possible to crave more than one kind of beauty?”

You say nothing at first, letting them speak. In your centuries, you’ve known all varieties of hunger, passion, and love. Humans have so many rules, so many limitations. But Hannibal has broken them, and Will has shattered them in his need for connection. Leaning forward, you entwine your fingers with Will’s, and with your free hand, you brush a pale strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve lived so long, I’ve learned that hearts can hold multitudes.”

Will’s breathing quickens, his cheeks flushing. You sense Hannibal’s pulse, steady yet heavier, as he slips behind you, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear. For a moment, you close your golden eyes and let the swirl of your centuries melt into the present—this closeness, this strange connection.

The nights that follow blur into a tapestry of music, whispered confessions, and clandestine hunts through the city’s shadows. Sometimes you walk with Will beneath the stars, the hush of midnight an unspoken promise of safety. Other times, Hannibal lures you into hushed corners of his home, drawing you into sharp-edged kisses.

You’ve never belonged to anyone—nor have they. Yet you discover a kind of belonging here that is both enthralling and perilous. Hannibal’s presence is a constant danger, and Will’s precarious grip on his own self flickers daily. But for you, who’ve roamed centuries alone, this dual dance of desire is the most alive you’ve felt in ages. They see you as both a riddle and a comfort. They see your beauty—and your deadly potential. You are not monstrous to them; you are mesmerizing, as they are to you.

One late hour, the three of you gather in Hannibal’s drawing room. Crimson curtains filter the moonlight, casting the space in deep shadows. You stand between them—Will on your left, Hannibal on your right—each with an arm around your waist, their breaths close, hearts beating to different tempos yet syncing in one intangible thread of belonging.

“You’ve survived so long,” Will murmurs, pressing a cautious kiss to your neck, “will we be enough to keep you from drifting away?”

Hannibal’s voice flows smoothly, low and intimate. “Or will you watch us wither as the centuries continue on?”

Your lips curve into a wistful smile. “I cannot stop time, nor change the nature of my being.” You lower your gaze, hair drifting forward like a pale curtain, before lifting your eyes to them both—golden irises filled with an ancient warmth. “But I’ve learned that each moment we grasp is ours alone. What’s important is not how long it lasts, but that we truly live it.” Hannibal’s hand tightens at your waist, a promise if ever there was one. Will hides his face in your neck, his empathy bridging the eternity between you.

[prythiansprincess]

la petite mort.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: greedy by tate mcrae.

author's note: you guys, the wonka press tour is going to be the death of me. timothee looks so hot and therefore it gave me extra inspiration to finish this little piece.

Regulus Black was first and foremost a gentleman.

Before you started dating, Regulus was adamant about courting you properly. Your boyfriend was a bit old-fashioned that way, but you absolutely adored it. During your first date, Regulus took you out to the fanciest restaurant in town, opened the door for you, pulled out your chair, and didn’t even blink twice before sliding his card down when the check came. 

Ever since then, Regulus spoiled you rotten. Every day, he walked you to class, carried your bag and books, and even left sweet little notes for you to find throughout the day. In the eyes of the public, Regulus Black was the picture of the perfect gentleman, but in private, your boyfriend was anything but.

There was a dark side to Regulus. A side that you took great delight in awakening. Tonight, you were more determined than ever to push your boyfriend to his limits. 

It was a typical Friday night. You and Regulus were at his dorm for your weekly study date. Except you really weren’t in the mood to study. You were laying on your stomach on his bed, absentmindedly flipping through the potions manual in front of you. The assignment was to translate the text from French, but you hardly had more than a few sentences transcribed on your parchment. You were much too distracted at the moment. 

While the manual failed to capture your attention, Regulus did not. Your boyfriend was sitting across the room reading some obscure tome about dark magic. He leaned over the wooden desk, the sleeves of his shirt rolled just past his elbows, which gave you the perfect view of the veins on his forearms. His green and silver tie hung loosely around his neck, exposing the perfectly kissable column of his throat. 

Unaware of your ogling, Regulus twirled his wand between his fingers as his features pinched in concentration. Those angelic curls grazed his impossibly high cheekbones, drawing your attention to the smattering of freckles across his nose. As he read, Regulus mouthed the words silently, his lips curving around the vowels in the most delicious way. His green eyes burned intensely, illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern beside him. 

Abandoning your assignment, you dragged yourself off of the bed and sidled up behind him. Regulus melted into your touch as you massaged his shoulders. He looked up and the light hit his eyes just right, golden spears bursting through the rich green hues like a kaleidoscope. 

Regulus grabbed your chin and dragged your face down to his, planting a sweet kiss against your lips. You hummed against his mouth, eager to deepen the otherwise chaste kiss. You felt him smile at your enthusiasm before he gently tugged at your hair, forcing you to look at him once again. 

“Did you finish your translations, my love?’ 

You shook your head. “No, I think I need a study break.”

Regulus tutted. “Come show me what you’ve done so far and I’ll tell you if you’ve earned one.”

You pouted. It wasn’t very often that Regulus denied your request. Usually, he bent over backwards just to make you happy, so when he didn’t immediately grant you what you wanted, you couldn’t help but act like an absolute brat. Patience had never been your strong suit and Regulus knew that. 

Your boyfriend watched with an amused smirk as you retrieved your manual and parchment with a little frown on your face. You set the studying materials down on his desk and crossed your arms. 

“Where am I supposed to sit?”

Regulus patted his lap. “Right here is fine, darling.”

He almost chuckled at how quickly your mood brightened after that, but he didn’t want to give himself away. Regulus knew exactly what you wanted and he had every intention of making you work for it. You made yourself right at home on his lap, rubbing your arse against his crotch. He would’ve been embarrassed at how hard he already was underneath you, but Regulus had absolutely no shame when it came to his girl. 

“Why don’t you read what you have so far, mon amour?”

You began by reading the ingredients, which listed the main components of the potion. Those were easy enough to translate given that the terms were quite similar in each language. Regulus urged you to continue and you had no choice but to fumble through the instructions, which you had undoubtedly mucked up after getting distracted by him. 

“Faire chauffer à feu doux,” you said reluctantly.

Regulus shook his head. “Faire chauffer à feu fort,” he corrected in perfect French.

It was rather pathetic how hot and bothered you were over boiling instructions, but you couldn’t stop squirming at how attractive it was to hear your boyfriend speak the language of love. Regulus bid you to continue, which you did rather distractedly. 

You struggled through the next few sentences, pressing your thighs together every time Regulus corrected your pronunciation. “You have to roll your tongue, darling. Like this.” 

After Regulus demonstrated by rolling his tongue and sounding out the word flawlessly, your skin felt so hot that you were surprised you hadn’t burst into flames. As you stuttered over the next few sentences, you felt Regulus shuffle underneath you. He slowly unbuckled his belt and slid off his pants. You stopped mid-sentence when he lifted up your skirt. 

Regulus slapped your thigh so hard that the action made you jerk in his lap. “I didn’t say you could stop. Keep reading, love.”

“Trancher de la racine aux pointes—“ you stammered lamely through the words as his hands roamed underneath your skirt. 

You held your breath as he palmed you through the cotton fabric. Regulus smirked when he felt how wet and needy you were for him. He pulled your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off as he caressed your slit. Coating his index and middle fingers with your arousal, Regulus spread your wetness all along your folds. 

A pathetic little whimper escaped your lips. Regulus grabbed your chin and turned you towards him. “I told you to keep reading,” he growled. “Start that section over and don't stop or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand, princess?”

With a nod, you continued to decipher the next section. Regulus hummed in approval as he lifted your hips. You gripped the parchment as your boyfriend positioned you over his length before thrusting his cock inside of you without warning. 

You bit your lip to keep your moan in. “What are you doing, Reg?” 

Regulus chuckled darkly. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with acting like a spoiled fucking brat, did you?” You gasped as he sheathed himself in your warmth, filling you to the hilt and nearly making you squirm with pleasure. “You wanted my cock so I’m giving it to you, but I’m not moving until you finish your assignment.” 

The whine that escaped out of you made him smirk. “Now be a good girl so you can get your reward, yeah?” 

Your boyfriend stayed true to his word. Every time you translated a phrase correctly, Regulus rewarded you with a slow thrust. He grunted as he drove deeper into you, whispering praises of encouragement in your ear. 

“My smart girl,” Regulus declared proudly, littering kisses against your neck. “Keep going, baby. You want more, don’t you?” 

The growing need for him distracted you. When you pronounced a word wrong, Regulus pulled all the way out until only his tip teased along your folds. You whimpered at the loss, loathing the hollow and empty feeling it left you with. 

Regulus grabbed you by the throat. “Salé means savory, sucré is sweet. I’m disappointed. I know you know this, darling. Let’s refresh.” He pressed his lips against yours and you ached to kiss him, but you knew that he wouldn’t be pleased if you did so without permission. “Say it with me. Salé.” 

You swallowed thickly as he spoke the words against your mouth. The smooth way that the word rolled off of his tongue made you clench around him. Regulus smirked as you repeated the word, slightly stuttering while you struggled to stay still. 

“Salé.” 

“Does it turn you on when I speak French, mon amour?” You nodded silently, not trusting yourself with words at the moment. “I know it does, gorgeous girl. I can tell by the way your pretty little pussy is clenching around my cock. Poor thing, you must be aching to be fucked, aren’t you?” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wanted him so badly that it actually hurt. Regulus wiped the errant tear away with his thumb. “One more, darling. Surely you can manage.” He tilted your chin up and spoke the last word against your lips. “Sucré.”

“Sucré,” you repeated obediently.

“What does it mean?” 

“Sweet.” 

“Just like you, pretty girl.” Regulus kissed your cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now you can have your study break.” 

You sighed in relief when Regulus finally kissed you. The chaste kiss from earlier was gone. Instead, he claimed your mouth with his tongue, leaving open mouthed kisses that had you tugging at his curls for more. He smiled as you grinded into him, making him grunt in pleasure as you lowered onto his length.

“So eager, aren’t we? Where do you want me, mon amour? Here or on the bed?”

“Neither,” you gasped into his mouth before glancing at the desk behind you. 

He chuckled when he realized what you meant. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Couldn’t focus on your work because you were imagining me bending you over that desk?” 

You nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Reg. I need you so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you beg.” Regulus shifted and patted your thigh. “Come on, darling. Bend over for me. Let me fuck you on this desk until you cry.” 

Regulus watched with lust blown eyes as you bent over the wooden desk. He flipped your skirt up and palmed your ass, the cold bite of his rings sending shivers down your spine. You bit your lip as Regulus loosened his tie. He smirked as he slid it off his neck. 

“Put your arms behind your back, mon cœur.” 

You eagerly obeyed his command. Regulus pinned your wrists together and bound you with his tie. Pressing your cheek against the wood, he stripped you of your shirt and kissed along your spine. Regulus leaned over and slipped a hand underneath your lacy bra, squeezing your tits as he positioned himself behind you. His other hand guided his cock at your entrance. Regulus slipped in slowly, giving you inch after delicious inch. 

“Merde,” Regulus cursed. “You feel so fucking good, princess.” 

Once he started moving, you were reduced to a blubbering mess. Regulus was relentless as he fucked you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while he drove in and out of you. The parchment and quills that were neatly laid out on his desk clattered to the ground with every slam of his hips. The desk rattled against the wall while he fucked you into oblivion. 

You pressed your cheek against the wood, the sound of your moans bouncing off the walls while you begged for more. “Baise-moi fort, Regulus.” 

Regulus hissed, thrusting into you with force just like you asked. The line between pain and pleasure blurred. Warm tears coated your cheeks as he pushed your body to the limit. Regulus pulled your hair and tugged him towards you for a sloppy kiss. Your legs shook underneath you as he slapped your ass. You could feel the imprint of his rings brand itself into your skin. He timed his thrusts with each smack, making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

He brushed your hair back, kissing your cheek. Regulus placed his hand on your stomach and pressed down just as he rutted into you. “Feel that, princess? This is what I think about all day. Burying myself so deep inside you that you can’t even form words.” You babbled in response, whatever words you were trying to form came out entirely incoherent. “Have I fucked you dumb, darling? You should know better than to ask me to fuck you harder. You know I have no control when it comes to you, Y/N.” 

You cried as he slammed into you. “S’too much, Reggie. I—I can’t take anymore—“

Regulus only laughed. “That’s too fucking bad, princess. You begged like a whore, so you get fucked like one too.” He licked a stripe against your neck before leaving love bites on every surface of your skin. 

There was nothing your boyfriend loved more than claiming your body like this. He smiled as you whimpered, knowing that you’d be marked and bruised for days to come. Though your cheeks were stained with tears, Regulus knew you could take more. Your body told him everything he needed to know. The way you fluttered around him indicated that you were close. He was definitely pushing your limit, but Regulus had a habit of coaxing you out of your comfort zone to provide the most mind-blowing orgasms that you’ve ever experienced. 

“Cum for me, mon amour.” 

White hot heat surged through your veins. You moaned his name while the orgasm crested like a wave, washing over your body like a biblical flood. For a second, it felt like your soul had left your body entirely. The phrase la petite mort flashed in your mind. The little death, the French called it. 

Just when you thought that the high was finally leveling out, Regulus picked you up and placed you on the desk. He untied your wrists before kneeling between your legs. Regulus smirked as he kissed along the inside of your thighs. Those pretty eyes flashed with mischief as he bit into your flesh. 

“Hang on, pretty girl. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Regulus lapped up your arousal. He kissed and sucked at your wet cunt like they were hauling him off to Azkaban at any given moment. Your boyfriend grunted when you tugged at his luscious curls, utterly turned on by your roughness. When Regulus looked up at you through thick, dark lashes with his mouth dripping with your cum, you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. 

You loved seeing Regulus like this. You loved knowing that only you could awaken this dark and dangerous side of him. 

“Oh god, Reg,” you keened, arching against his mouth. “Fuck, I love you.” 

Regulus hummed in approval, spelling out his initials against your folds. The curve of R.A.B. branded itself into your core in the most erotic way possible. The message was clear. You belonged to Regulus and Regulus alone. 

As he worked, Regulus pumped himself between his fingers. You could feel him edging towards release just as a second orgasm washed over you. Regulus looked up when you tugged at his hair. 

“Don’t cum yet, baby,” you said hoarsely. “Not until you’re inside me again.” 

“Mon dieu, you kill me when you say things like that.” Regulus hissed as he wrapped your legs around his waist. The groan that escaped his lips as he slipped inside of you again was downright vulgar. “My filthy fucking girl. I love being inside of you.”

You whimpered in response, bringing him closer as he pounded into you again and again. “I love when you fill me up, Reg. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this. You’re the only one who can fuck me like I need. Gods, you’re perfect.” 

“You feel so fucking good,” Regulus whispered against your lips. “Gods, I’m so close.”

“I know, Reggie. I know.” You kissed him, sighing as you canted your hips to match his rhythm. “I want to feel you cum inside of me, pretty boy.” 

Regulus grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate. Your words sent him over the edge and he came with a gasp, biting into your shoulder to keep himself from waking up the dungeons. You held him as the orgasm seized his body, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and following the praise with adoring kisses. 

Your heart warmed as he gazed lovingly up at you. He pulled out slowly, peppering kisses all over your face but never taking his eyes off of you. The way Regulus looked at you made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

“Reg?” you murmured. 

“Yes, my love?” 

“I think I like studying after all.” Regulus chuckled against your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “You’re excellent at inspiring motivation.” 

“Anything for you, mon amour. I was a goner the second you called me pretty boy.” 

“Is that so?” You teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Well, you are, you know. You’re my pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that unless you’re ready for another round.” 

“I’m always ready for you, Reggie. I can’t get enough.”

Regulus picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed. “Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, my cheeky girl.”

“I love you too, Regulus Arcturus Black.” You smiled and kissed his temple. “With all my heart.”

[kenzdolls]

𝐑 𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄? — 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒

𖤐 synopsis: touya finds himself desperately drawn to his equally dangerous colleague during an elegant gala, revealing vulnerability beneath his scarred exterior as he struggles with newfound emotions while they maintain control of their complicated dynamic.

𖤐 trigger warnings: mentions of violence, implications of criminal activity, power dynamics, manipulation, and descriptions of physical scarring.

𖤐 pairing: touya (dabi) todoroki x villain! gn! reader

𖤐 side note: this was my first actual fic i made..I just decided to post it now cause I’m obsessed with the song again...

the grand hall of the underground villain society's annual gala shimmered with danger and decadence. crystal chandeliers cast shadows across the marble floors where villains of all calibers mingled, their formal attire a stark contrast to the chaos they usually wrought.

you adjusted your gloves, running a finger along the intricate design that concealed the weapon beneath. as a newer but rapidly rising member of the paranormal liberation front, you'd earned your invitation through a string of perfectly executed missions that had left authorities baffled and the villain world impressed.

"enjoying the view?" a low, raspy voice asked from behind.

you didn't need to turn to recognize who it belonged to. the faint scent of ash and that distinctive voice gave him away instantly. dabi. the plf's flame villain with a penchant for destruction and a mysterious past that nobody dared question.

"i'm observing," you replied coolly, taking a sip of champagne. "there's a difference."

you finally turned to face him, allowing yourself a moment to appreciate how the formal black suit complemented his stapled skin and piercing turquoise eyes. unlike his usual casual attire, tonight he'd made an effort. the jacket hugged his lean frame, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing glimpses of his scarred chest.

"you clean up surprisingly well," you remarked with a half-smile.

"don't sound so shocked." his eyes never left yours as he moved closer. "though i could say the same about you. almost didn't recognize you without blood on your clothes."

you laughed softly, the sound drawing attention from nearby villains who quickly averted their gaze when dabi shot them a warning look.

"dance with me," he said suddenly, not quite a question but not entirely a command either.

you raised an eyebrow. "i didn't take you for a dancer, dabi."

"there are many things you don't know about me." he extended his hand, his eyes betraying a vulnerability that his smirk tried to mask. "yet."

the string quartet in the corner began playing something slow and haunting as you placed your hand in his. his skin was unnaturally warm—a side effect of his quirk—as he led you to the dance floor.

"i've been watching you," he confessed as his hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer than necessary. "since that mission in hosu city. the way you took down those pro heroes without hesitation... it was beautiful."

"careful," you warned playfully. "people might think you're developing feelings."

his grip tightened slightly. "would that be so terrible?"

you studied his face, noting the intensity behind his casual expression. dabi was known for his indifference, his detachment. yet here he was, holding you like you might disappear if he let go.

"you know how this works," you reminded him. "people like us don't do attachments."

the music swelled as he spun you effortlessly, bringing you back against his chest with practiced precision.

"tell me something," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "are you just using me to pass the time? or is there more?"

you pulled back slightly to look at him. "that's a dangerous question."

"i'm a dangerous man."

around you, other villain couples danced, their faces masks of calculated charm and hidden agendas. everyone was playing a role tonight. everyone except dabi, whose eyes burned with something raw and unfiltered.

"every time you walk away," he continued, his voice dropping lower, "i find myself wondering if you'll come back. it's maddening."

"dabi—"

"i go crazy," he interrupted, "because being anywhere but with you isn't where i want to be. do you understand what that's like? to have someone crawl under your skin that deep?"

the music faded into the background as you studied him. this wasn't the dabi that the league knew—the apathetic, sardonic villain who cared only for his mysterious agenda. this was someone else entirely.

"you're acting like i own you," you said carefully.

his laugh was bitter and short. "maybe you do. isn't that what this is? you pull the strings, and i follow. like a damn puppet."

the song ended, but neither of you moved to separate. around you, villains exchanged partners, clinked champagne glasses, and plotted their next atrocities. but in your small bubble on the dance floor, something electric and dangerous was building.

"let's get some air," you suggested, acutely aware of how his fingers were now intertwined with yours.

he followed you through the grand ballroom, past clusters of villains deep in conversation, and out onto a deserted balcony overlooking the city lights below. the night air was cool against your skin, a welcome relief from the heat of the ballroom—and from dabi's proximity.

"better?" you asked, leaning against the stone railing.

instead of answering, he moved behind you, his hands gripping the railing on either side of you, effectively trapping you between his body and the stone.

"no," he said simply. "not better at all."

you turned to face him, your back now against the railing. "what is it you want from me, dabi? we've had our fun, haven't we? the missions, the nights afterward..."

"is that all this is to you? fun?" his eyes narrowed, blue flames briefly flickering at his fingertips before he controlled them. "because for me, it's become something else entirely."

"careful," you warned again. "shigaraki wouldn't approve of... complications within the ranks."

"i don't give a damn what shigaraki thinks." dabi leaned closer, his forehead nearly touching yours. "i only care about one thing right now."

"and what's that?"

"whether i'm yours," he said, his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of the party inside. "because you sure as hell are mine."

there it was—the raw desperation beneath his usual controlled facade. you'd seen glimpses of it before: in the way his eyes followed you during meetings, how his hand lingered on yours when passing equipment, the unnecessary risks he took to protect you during missions.

"this isn't you," you said softly. "the dabi i know doesn't beg."

something dangerous flashed in his eyes. "maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

his lips crashed against yours then, hot and demanding. it wasn't your first kiss—far from it—but there was something different about this one. something desperate and consuming that made your head spin.

when you finally broke apart, his breathing was ragged. "tell me you feel it too."

you reached up, tracing one of the staples that held his scarred skin together. "i've never seen you like this before."

"answer the question." his voice was strained. "am i yours? are you mine? i need to know i'm not just losing my mind here."

the vulnerability in his question struck you. for all his power, all his danger, in this moment, dabi was laying himself bare—something neither of you were accustomed to doing.

"we're villains," you reminded him. "we take what we want."

"and what do you want?" he searched your eyes for an answer.

you considered your options carefully. attachment in your world was a liability, a weakness that could be exploited. but there was something intoxicating about having one of the plf's most feared villains looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

"maybe i want you," you admitted finally. "but on my terms."

a slow smile spread across his face, transforming his features into something almost beautiful in its dangerous intensity. "i can live with that."

inside, the party continued—villains plotting, forming alliances, and breaking them just as quickly. but on the balcony, something new was taking shape between you and dabi—something that burned hotter than his blue flames and cut deeper than any weapon.

"you should know," he said, his fingers tracing a path down your arm, "i'm not good at sharing. what's mine is mine."

"i don't recall agreeing to be yours exclusively," you challenged, enjoying the flash of jealousy that crossed his face.

"you will," he promised, his confidence returning though the desperate need still lingered in his eyes. "i can be very persuasive."

the sound of the balcony door opening interrupted your exchange. toga's cheerful voice called out, "there you are! shigaraki's about to make an announcement. something big!"

dabi didn't take his eyes off you as he replied, "we'll be there in a minute."

when the door closed again, he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "this conversation isn't over."

"i wouldn't expect it to be," you replied, straightening his tie with deliberate slowness. "but don't forget who's in control here."

his answering smile was equal parts submission and challenge. "wouldn't dream of it."

as you both rejoined the gathering inside, dabi's hand possessively at the small of your back, you knew that things had shifted irrevocably between you. in a world where power was currency and weakness meant death, you'd somehow gained the most dangerous kind of leverage—complete devotion from a man who burned everything he touched.

and despite everything you knew about the dangers of attachment in your line of work, you couldn't deny the thrill that came with it.

after all, what was villainy without a little risk?

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