#i love making AND drawing corsets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

you-know-honey · 2 months ago

Text

Hanging in Your Hands

Viktor x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

←←←1/2

Viktor finds in you a love that subtly transforms him: without realizing it, he begins to take better care of himself, rest better and relieve his pain, all thanks to the peace you bring him. Finding a way to show you what he could never do with words.

N/A: English is not my native language, feel free to correct me in the comments and I will update it. Remember to share and comment if you liked it. Endnotes.

“Home sweet home…” you hum as Viktor opens the door, letting you in first like a true gentleman. You’re the first to leave your coat on the coat rack and throw your shoes somewhere in the room, walking now much more comfortably towards the kitchen.

Viktor’s home isn’t very big, but it had changed a lot since the first time you went there. Before, everything looked like a scene from the most godforsaken place, with almost no furniture and white morgue lighting. It was hard to convince him that to improve his health he also need to improve his environment. The living room was the largest room, with a functional fireplace, a second-hand coffee table and a sofa so soft it could be a piece stolen from heaven. The kitchen was the smallest, there was no table or chairs, instead there was a breakfast bar and some swivel chairs that you had taken from the academy and that Viktor had fixed. The bathroom started the hallway, followed by his office and finally his room. You had made sure that every room reflected something positive, watering plants or doing crafts like a comfort fairy. Viktor appreciated it, he had told you so many times, he didn't mind that you filled his house with your not so practical decorations, they were your personal brand and he liked it, besides spending all that time decorating, painting and remodeling gave him more reasons to love you, to get to know you perfectly and be fascinated by what he found in your being. Without you he wouldn't have managed to make his house feel and look like a real home in which to rest.

Viktor removes his jacket with precise movements. His long, deft fingers slide the dark fabric over his shoulders, revealing the impeccable shirt that sits tight against his slim figure. He folds the jacket carefully, as if he's in no hurry, and lays it over the back of the sofa. His hands move up to the knot of his tie. His fingers, always so precise, pull at the knot with ease, undoing the pressure around his neck. The gesture, so mundane to him, has a strange effect on you, an electric current running through your body. As if that weren't enough, the top button of his shirt unbuttons under his touch, revealing just a flash of skin on his pale neck. His breathing seems to relax instantly, as if the small adjustment brings him some comfort.

Viktor exhales softly, running a hand through his messy hair, unaware that this distracted gesture, combined with the shadow of exhaustion on his face, makes him look almost unattainable, like a work of art that doesn’t realize its own beauty. You feel trapped in a magnetic web that he doesn’t even know he possesses.

“That was sexy,” you mutter to yourself as you rummage through some food in the fridge.

“Excuse me?” His low voice echoes behind you, you have no idea how he moved so fast, his tone is incredulous, and his eyebrows arch slightly.

You shrug, trying to look casual as you turn to look at him, even though you know your face is probably burning. “What I said. You’re sexy. Especially when you do that without realizing it.”

His brain shuts down for a moment, processing the bold comment. “Don’t joke with me…” he finally says, leaning his cane against the fridge and trapping you in a bear hug, your hands quickly returning his, feeling the medical corset under his shirt.

“I’m not joking,” you insist, your words crashing against his bare torso, causing him to shiver slightly, which only makes his arms draw you closer to his body. “Is it so hard to believe?” you can hear his heartbeat quicken.

“Stop it…” he replies with his lips on your head.

“Too shy to receive compliments?” in his defense you are being a little more daring than usual.

His arms pull you closer to his body as if that were possible, it is clear that he wants you to stop talking, he laughs when he feels you squirm in his arms as if you are complaining.

“Y/N…” he tells you with that tone that you know is a warning, although it is not serious, you know he is having fun.

You sigh and he loosens his hug a little, enough so that you can rest your chin on his chest.

“Shall we make dinner together?” you ask, Viktor leaned in slightly, his eyes half-lidded in a warm gesture, and brushed the tip of his nose against Y/N’s in a gentle movement, barely a whisper of contact. It was an intimate exchange, full of affection and closeness, that spoke louder than any words. It was as if they shared a secret, a moment just for them, full of warmth and sweetness.

“Sure.”

Making dinner together is a very big word for what really happens in that kitchen, you prepare everything and force him to sit behind the breakfast bar to prove that everything is on point once you start the dinner. Viktor is not afraid to admit that he does not know how to cook anything other than toast and sandwiches. The kitchen is his war zone and the oven is the enemy he has yet to overcome, luckily he has you and by the time the timer in the shape of a pigeon reaches zero his stomach growls with eagerness.

“Taran!” you proudly take the lasagna out of the oven, the warm aroma fills the whole house and both of your stomachs growl desperate for food. “How is it?” you look at him expectantly.

Viktor runs his face over the steaming mold, it looks good and smells good “It’s perfect…” although he could perfectly refer to you instead of the lasagna.

“Go to the sofa, I’ll bring the dishes in a second.” still with your gloves on you push yourself over the breakfast bar to give him a chaste kiss on the lips. Cooking always puts you in a good mood, but seeing that he likes what you cook is a reward on another level.

As you serve the plates and accompany it with something to drink, you watch Viktor’s silhouette walk towards the sofa, he limps a little but that gives him a certain charm because he no longer does it in pain, the way he sits, the way he sighs as he leans his back against the back of the sofa, the way he tilts his head to look at the fire. Everything about him seems like a work of art to you, from the veins that run through his pale, thin hands, his moles that you’re sure must be a constellation in the sky, his eyes that remind you of fresh honey in a virgin forest, his laugh, secret but beautiful like the whistling of rivers in the distance. You love him like you have no idea. Thinking about him revives your spirit, releases unbridled currents of adrenaline that die for him, to reach him, to be in his arms and stay there forever.

“Enjoy” he says when he leaves the dinner on the coffee table, letting you fall on the sofa. Using a blanket to cover you both from the cold.

“Enjoy” he answers, using his arm to pull your figure closer to him and rests his head on yours.

You both eat in silence, not because you have nothing to talk about, just that your stomachs really need that lasagna, you are focused on Viktor’s plate, but this time it doesn’t seem like your tactics are needed to get him to finish eating, he really razes the plate with emotion, something that makes you feel proud. With a full stomach it’s easier to think of something to talk about.

“How about a plant?” You ask, resting your head on his chest, there’s something about his heartbeat that works better to relax you than the ocean sound records on the record players next to the window.

“A plant? Where?” he asks with a playful tone “There are already many at home.” he mentioned, pointing with his gaze to the shelf above the fireplace, full of cacti of different sizes.

“For the lab…something small with green leaves maybe with flowers...” He can hear the small tone of excitement in your voice.

Viktor looked at you curiously. “What do you want it for?”

“For you. The doctors say plants help reduce stress.”

He smiled, a wonderful expression on his face. “Do you think a plant can handle that place?”

“I have faith in it. Just like in you.”

He takes a few seconds to look at you, there is tenderness in his gaze. He is not good with plants, in fact he agreed to have cacti only because they were easy to take care of since basically nothing happened if he forgot about it for a few days, a plant like the one you wanted requires more care but… he is not willing to say no to you, if you want it that way that will be and he will take care of that plant better than anyone else.

“A plant it is then.” He sighs. His figure moves beside you, before you know it he’s picking up the plates.

“Leave the plates, I’ll wash them,” you say, quickly getting up from the couch as Viktor begins to stack the cups and plates on the coffee table.

“No need. I’ll do it,” he replies calmly, already focused on the task. His hands move with the same precision he uses in the lab, carefully stacking each plate to keep them from falling.

“Viktor, I’m your guest. You can’t wash the dishes,” you insist, stepping forward to take the plates from his hands.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression reflecting a mix of amusement and stubbornness. “Guest? You’ve been here so many times that I could claim my bedroom. There’s no point in arguing this.” You reach for the last plate, but Viktor pushes it away with a swift movement. “It’s just a small task. It’s nothing complicated.”

“But—”

“There are no ‘buts’.” He gives you a look, serious but not harsh. It’s more like a silent declaration of victory. “I’ll take care of it.”

Resigned, you sigh and cross your arms, watching him from the couch as he stacks the plates like a jenga and heads toward the kitchen. However, as he stands up with the stack of plates in his hands, he suddenly stops halfway.

For a moment, you don’t understand what’s going on. His back is slightly bent, his posture rigid. Then, he turns his face slightly toward you, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, moving closer with concern.

“A small… inconvenience,” he says in a tone that tries to sound calm, although you notice the stiffness in his voice.

You move closer and see the reason: one of the glasses is dangerously tilted, about to fall. His hands are too busy holding the others and holding onto the cane; moving just a millimeter could lead to disaster.

“Let me help you,” you offer with a smile you can’t help.

“No. It’s under control,” Viktor insists, although his tone lacks the firmness it had before.

“Sure? Because you look like you’re a second away from creating an experiment on the fragility of ceramics.”

His lips curve into a slight smile, but his attention remains fixed on the plates. With a quick but gentle movement, you slide your hands over to catch the wayward glass before it falls.

Viktor shoots you a look, his eyes shining with a mix of gratitude and resignation. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can you admit that you need help from time to time?”

He sighs, shaking his head as he continues on his way to the kitchen. “No. But I’ll let you believe it, this time.”

You roll your eyes in response.

“How about I wash them and you dry them?” he offers.

“Fine.”

You watch him sitting at the breakfast bar watching him thoroughly wash each plate, glass, and cutlery, drying his hands on a kitchen towel.

“All yours,” he says as he leaves the kitchen, which is too small for the two of them. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

“Do you want some company?” His figure tenses up like a cat, stopping only to turn around slightly to find a mischievous smile on your face.

“Nice try.” A stifled laugh escapes his lips before he disappears down the hall and it’s not long before you hear the sound of running water.

The dim light of the bathroom bathed the tense lines of Viktor's figure, reflecting his thinness and the sharp features that marked his skin. Viktor took off his shirt with slow, almost mechanical movements. He had always avoided looking at his nakedness in the mirror, the reflection of a weak man made him sick, but this time the mirror gave him a different image. When he took off his shirt he discovered that on his torso his ribs were barely noticeable, his abdomen was no longer sunken and even a tiny roll of fat had formed in the lower part. He was still thin, but when he touched him he felt muscles and not just his bones, his pale skin had taken on more softness and color. The wounds left by his corset had stopped being reddened furrows and were now barely noticeable.

He caressed his neck, slightly hunched, free of tension. The scars on his side, reminders of medical procedures, were no longer like cracks, but just soft marks.

As he unbuttoned his pants, he braced himself with one hand on the wall for balance. His outer brace trembled slightly. With a methodical movement, he removed the metal piece, carefully setting it aside, as if it were an extension of himself that he could not despise.

He felt like a different person, naked in front of the mirror, admiring a more vivid reflection of himself, his hands running over his muscles that were once tired and sore, now looking strong and energetic. He smiled a little, hesitantly. For the first time, he liked what he saw in the mirror and he knew who he had to thank for that.

Steam began to fill the room as he adjusted the water to hot for the comfort of his leg. Once naked, Viktor stood still for a moment, letting the moisture envelop his skin. His body, although marked by a certain fragility, radiated an unbreakable strength, feeling each scar with something other than disgust for the first time in a long time. His eyes closed, enjoying that shower like no other.

After finishing putting away the dishes, you peeked into the hallway. You found him sitting on the bed, wearing baggy pajama pants and his shirt covering his naked torso, his head in his hands and his eyes fixed on his leg. His posture was rigid, filled with a tension that you could almost feel in the air.

You didn't say anything at first, because you knew that what he needed wasn't words, but company. You approached silently, crossing the hallway and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his good knee.

"Does it hurt?" you finally asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Viktor nodded, not raising his head. "A little. There are times when... it feels like it's never going to go away." He internally cursed himself, the whole day had passed without problems, with barely any discomfort, he didn't understand why the pain decided to attack him right now, it was as if it was mocking him.

Your chest tightened at his vulnerability. You knew how much he hated showing weakness, even with you.

"Let me help…"

He stared at you for a moment, as if considering your words. He finally nodded with a sigh. You knelt in front of him, placing his leg over your lap, pushing his pajama bottoms up to his thigh, your cold fingers giving him goosebumps where you touched them. The internal mechanism of the device on his leg was simpler but no less aggressive, as you removed the straps you could hear small gasps coming from Viktor’s mouth, his hand crumpling the sheets beside him, his skin reddening as the pressure of the device disappeared. Once the device was off you followed the usual nightly ritual, sliding your hands up his leg, applying pressure to the right spot and massaging the tense muscles in his leg and foot, you were precise, almost surgical, as you moved your hands up his leg with extreme gentleness. At first his muscles were tense but slowly you felt them relax under your touch. Finally, the tense grimace changed to a placid, lazy expression of relief as the pain faded.

"Better…" he murmured after a while. His voice sounded calmer.

“See? I’m good at this.” you said as you stood up to sit beside him on his bed.

He laughed softly, his low, warm laugh filling the space. “Maybe I should hire you as my personal physical therapist.”

“You couldn’t pay me enough.” you teased, giving him a soft poke on his nose. “But lucky for you, I do this because I care about you.” Your hands slid down his back, taking the shirt with you, exposing his medical corset. It took you a little more technique to remove it, a couple of twists here and the movement of the levers on his shoulder blades were enough to make the heavy structure give way, pulling it over his head and leaving it on the floor under the nightstand. Your hands caressed his bare back, his skin pale as sweet milk and warm as the first rays of the sun in the day.

He took your hand then, bringing it to his lips to place a soft kiss on your fingers and murmur against them, “How lucky I am…”

“You have no idea…” you said, sliding your hand up his arm to his cheek. He looked totally sleepy but willing to simply adjust his posture and have your lips meet his in a slow, delicate brush, more sensation than intention. His messy hair falling over his forehead, tickling the bridge of your nose.

Without saying anything, his fingers slowly slide up your cheek, warm and a little clumsy, as if even in his sleepy state he wanted to make sure he touched you carefully. His thumb traces a small circle against your skin, and his lips, barely curved in a lazy smile, murmur your name, so low it almost seems like a sigh.

You lean into him, unable to resist the closeness he himself seeks. Viktor, so practical and rational during the day, now seems completely given over to the moment. The whole world had been reduced to that single point of contact.

There is no rush in the kiss, only a sweetness heavy with tiredness, as if sleep were pulling at him but he couldn’t help but stay with you a little longer. His lips are warm, soft, and his breathing, calm but irregular, mixes with yours.

When the kiss breaks you don’t know how, but you’ve ended up lying on the bed, his lips barely separating from yours, staying so close that you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His eyes half-closed, they look at you with a softness that melts any thought.

“I have a gift for you…” his voice is barely a whisper against your lips “Can you bring my bag please?” he asked, dragging one of your locks of hair behind your ear. You close your eyes, you're so comfortable that you don't want to separate from him. "Honey... please..." his words completely disarm you, the air leaves your lungs and you have to drag him back inside, it's the first time he calls you that...

You didn't expect it, you don't know what to do or say next. "I... amhmm... I... will go get your bag..." you murmur unsurely as you basically flee the room with your heart racing. You may have heard Viktor's giggle behind you but maybe it was just your nerves playing a bad joke on you.

When you returned with the bag to the room Viktor has lifted his torso from the bed and holds a small package wrapped excellently in ornate paper in his hands. You crawl to his side on the bed, cautiously dragging his bag, was sending you for it, a trick?

The air in the room is charged with a quiet expectation as Viktor leans forward slightly, holding a box wrapped in dark, elegant paper. His fingers, always careful, seem a little tenser than usual, as if the act of handing you the gift is more intimidating than he imagined.

“This is for you,” he says, his voice low but firm, though you notice the slight tremor in his words. He hands it to you, but doesn’t look directly at you; his eyes fixate on some indefinite spot, as if he’s not entirely sure how you’ll react.

You take the box, feeling the unexpected weight in your hands. You watch him, searching for some clue in his expression, but Viktor just crosses his arms, adopting a posture that could be interpreted as casual, though his slightly stiff shoulders give it away.

“Open it,” he murmurs, and his eyes finally meet yours, shining with a mix of nervousness and something deeper, something you can only describe as affection.

As you open the paper, you discover a retro-designed camera, impeccable, with a simple elegance that suits him perfectly. You blink, surprised, as he leans over to turn it on. Before you can ask, his hand rummages through his bag, showing you the small Hextech gem and to your utter astonishment he places it inside the camera mechanism. The room lights up for a moment before Viktor presses a button and the magic begins.

At first, music is the first thing you can hear, then like real magic you see a series of hologram images all around the room: you and him together at different moments, some captured in secret, others you remember clearly. Laughter, glances, small everyday gestures. Then, the photos change to your favorite things: books, landscapes, objects you love, letters you’ve never read written in his own handwriting, every detail carefully collected.

And then, his voice.

“My name is Viktor and…” he begins, his tone deep but soft, with that meticulous cadence that characterizes him. “This is for my dear Y/N. A record of shared moments, of laughter, of everything you represent to me, of everything she is and everything she have allowed me to be.”

Your eyes glaze over as the images continue: your first photo together, a romantic poem, even the portrait of you both that an artist had made on your first date after leaving the hospital, your favorite flowers, things only someone in love would choose.

“It’s an archive of memories,” his voice continues, “but also a reminder to me. That no matter how chaotic the world is, there’s always beauty in the small moments. And in all of these moments, there’s her.”

When the voice ends, the silence that remains is overwhelming, laden with emotions you can’t put into words. You look up at Viktor, who now seems unable to meet your gaze, his cheeks totally red.

“I wasn’t sure if it would be too much.." he admits, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “But I thought… maybe you’d like it. You’ve done so much for me…”

You lean into him, setting the camera aside, and wrap your hands around his neck. “Too much?” Viktor, this is perfect...”

His lips curve into a small but genuine smile, and even though he tries to hide it, you can see the relief and joy in his eyes. This gesture, so meticulous and full of love, is irrefutable proof of how much you mean to him.

The weight of what you just saw is still present in your chest, warm and overwhelming. The camera is off to the side, forgotten for the moment, because now all your attention is on him. Viktor is still in front of you, clearly nervous but trying to keep his composure, as if you don’t know how to handle your emotions at this moment.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, with that analytical look that never seems to completely fade. But there’s something else in his eyes now: a mix of vulnerability and hope, as if he’s not sure if his gift had had the impact he expected.

You don’t need words to answer him.

You move toward him in one motion, your hands gripping the sides of his face before he can react. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, and for an instant, you can feel his breathing hitch, caught between wonder and anticipation.

“You’re amazing,” you murmur against his lips, and before he can process it, you kiss him.

The kiss is urgent, charged with everything you feel and everything you can’t put into words. It’s like you want to tear down any remaining doubts he might have about how much you love him. Your lips move with a desperate hunger, as if you’re seeking to etch into him every emotion he’s provoked in you.

It takes Viktor a second to react, but when he does, he kisses you back with equal intensity. His hands, ever careful, grip your waist, pulling you closer to him as if he needs to have you closer. There’s no longer any shyness in his movements, only the restrained passion of someone who’s been waiting for this moment without realizing it.

His breathing is fast, ragged, and you can feel his lips tremble slightly against yours, not out of insecurity, but from the torrent of emotions that overwhelms him. One of his arms wraps around you, while his other hand moves up to tangle in your hair, holding you with a firmness you’ve never felt from him before.

When you finally part, you’re both breathless. His eyes, normally calm and focused, now shine with a mix of wonder and devotion. His lips are red, and a smile, small but sincere, forms on his face.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice huskier than usual.

“Did it bother you?” you ask, still panting, your hands still on his face.

“Disturb me?..” Viktor lets out a soft laugh and shakes his head, his forehead touching yours. “I couldn’t. But… I might need another demonstration to be completely sure.”

His playful tone, combined with the way he looks at you, makes your heart race again. “Cheeky…” Without saying a word, your eyes drift to the camera still resting to the side. You take the camara with firm but hurried hands, turning it on as he looks at you with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, tilting his head.

“I want this saved too,” you reply with a mischievous smile, holding the camera in the air, above the both of you.

Before Viktor can react or say anything else, you lean towards him again on the bed, capturing his lips in a kiss filled with all the love you feel. This time, the kiss is more confident, more determined, as if you both know exactly what you mean to each other.

With the camera in one hand, you press the button, the click barely perceptible between the racing beat of your heart and the soft whisper of his breath against your lips.

When the kiss ends, you both stand there, foreheads together, sharing a soft laugh, as if the simple act of capturing that moment makes it even more special.

The photo joins the rest floating around the room, and you see the image: the two of you locked in a kiss, your hand holding the camera, his hair a little messy, and his face slightly tilted toward you, as if his entire world is contained in that instant.

“Perfect,” you say quietly, stroking your thumb along the edge of the camera before turning back to him.

Viktor looks at the photo, and though he doesn’t say anything, the soft smile on his face says it all. You grab the camera and add the image to the video, where that photo now sits as part of the collection. One more memory that encapsulates not only who you are, but what you mean to each other.

He looks at you once more, his golden eyes shining with something you could swear is pride. “I think this is my favorite memory so far,” he murmurs, taking your hand delicately, as if afraid the moment might fade away.

And in that instant, you know that no matter how much time passes, that photo—and this kiss—will always be unforgettable.

N/A: I'm sorry for the delay, my dog died and I didn't have the strength to do anything other than be in bed. I really hope you like it and it was what you expected.

688 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 3 months ago

Note

elan for halloween would be a dream♡ i can see her in the prettiest costume everrrrr and h just going along with everything, hearts in his eyes👼🏼��🦢maybe even a private moment together, in costumeeeee🤍

wordcount: 5.5k+

—————

"No, totally... For sure, it's going to be so much fun. Just text me when you get back to where you're staying... Yeah, I still have your location. Do you have mine?... Perfect, good. I'll text you later, but if you need anything just let me know... Love you, Fran."

Harry watched on the end of (Y/N)'s bed as she spoke into her phone, hands wandering through her professionally tousled hair. While he was aware of what she was muttering to her best friend, not a single word processed when he had the distraction of her reflection in front of him.

While he was getting a stellar view from behind her, the dressing gown she had draped over her shoulders hid the details of her halloween costume. This year, one of her three (three!) planned costumes was a Playboy Bunny. That was the bodysuit she had on tonight, complete with a puffed tail over her rear and a headband with bunny ears hanging off of her arm. The night's plans included making an appearance at a party thrown by a friend of a friend, the kind where her hair stylist was called and a makeup artist had been given the privilege of painting her face.

She was left with big blown out hair, her face dewy and smooth with the prettiest blush dusting her cheeks. The pink flush was extra concentrated on the tip of her nose, giving the illusion of a bunny's nose without having to draw a button nose on her skin. Her lashes were long and fluttery, grazing her brow bone and brushing her cheekbones. Sparkling gloss had been swiped over her lips, playing against the shimmery white corset cinching her waist. In lieu of the traditional bowtie around her neck, she had a black choker tied around her throat with a tiny white bow stitched to the front. Her legs were silken smooth under a pair of sheer nude tights, leading to a classic pair of pointed black stilettos. Harry could already see her begging to carry her around so she wouldn't have to keep walking in those shoes.

The champagne colored dressing gown draped over her form was only loosely tied at her waist, creating a deep V to show off stretches of her costume. It was hard for Harry to keep his focus when he looked at her. Her attention was miles far away from him, but he still felt drawn to her—unable to look away.

But, he reminded himself, he had to be on his best behavior for the night. He wasn't going out with her as her partner, dancing and drinking with her friends. He was going out with her as her bodyguard on duty, his sole purpose being to protect her to ensure she was safe amongst the throngs of almost-celebrities and paparazzi with blinding cameras.

Though the real severe threats to (Y/N)'s well being had all but vanished once Damien had been removed from her vicinity (there were rumors he was relocated to Spain, the cover being that there was some internship with some artist he admired. Harry had a feeling Damien fled the second it reached him that (Y/N) knew and wasn't afraid of letting others know as well), there was always the worry of her walking into the lion's den that was the media. Especially at parties like these, where one drink would be exaggerated to chugging a whole keg, and photographers weren't afraid to push and pull for the ultimate shot. More than anything, he wanted to be there; to be a physical reminder that she wasn't alone and she had him on her side.

"Right, right," (Y/N) muttered, rooting through the small purse she was taking with her for the night, "No, for sure. No, I'll text you... Okay, love you. Bye."

Harry was surprised to see (Y/N) actually end the call given the fact that they'd said goodbye at least three prior times only to continue talking. Dropping her phone in her bag just as she found the lipgloss she'd been digging for, he watched as she took in a deep breath, breasts swelling over the balconette cut of her bodysuit.

"Sorry," she sighed, meeting his eyes through the mirror with the applicator of her lipgloss dragging over her plush mouth, "I didn't think we'd talk that long."

"'S alright," he murmured, forcing his gaze from the soft parts of her up to her eyes, "I figured you'd be talking for a while. I don't mind."

Truthfully, this only gave him more and more time to get in all of his gazing and admiring and staring before he would have to be the consummate professional in public. He'd drink her in now in hopes of holding himself over until the early hours of the morning when they would finally be alone again.

Rubbing her lips together to spread the gloss, (Y/N) pursed her lips with a pop. Harry had to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head as he watched. He forced himself to straighten his posture when she turned her gaze to his, no longer using the mirror as the middleman.

"I wish you'd dress up with me tonight," she pouted, canting her head just right with the light catching her pinkened nose.

"I know," he sighed, standing up from where he'd been sat at her glamorous vanity. "Maybe another time—I've got to work tonight, remember?"

She only rolled her eyes at him, a pinch of attitude twisting her features. "Sure, sure. Because someone's going to fight me in the middle of a night club."

Harry only looked at her with a deadpan look. She knew better than most just how easy it was for tensions to boil over in the dark like that, especially when alcohol was involved. He wasn't really in the mood to imagine her being the subject of a grainy cell phone video with someone attempting to pull her hair out or pour a drink over her head.

"Fine, I know," she relented after only a moment of his silence, "I just think it would be cute if we were both bunnies or something. I'd even let you pick if you wanted something specific."

He shook his head, his features finally cracking when he pulled her closer with an arm looped around her waist. "I just want whatever makes y'feel pretty. We'll match another time, but y'get to be the center of attention tonight."

She softened immediately in his hold, reaching for him with the sleeves of the dressing gown sliding over her shimmering skin. "Okay. Thank you, H."

Harry didn't bother with a response before he dipped his head down and pressed his lips to hers. The tip of his nose grazed the top of her own as he tasted the watermelon tint to her gloss. If it were up to him, he would continue this up until Sully arrived and they would be forced on their way, but he'd been in trouble one too many times to know that he wasn't going to get away with messing up her makeup before an event like this.

Drawing away, the light caught a stray smudge of her gloss caught on the corner of her lip. With her face tipped up towards him like a flower looking for the sun, he used the pad of his thumb to lightly swipe away the offending smudge. He could feel the weight of her gaze on his face, tracing the planes and lingering on his lips, where he was sure there was the mark of her kiss glistening in the low light.

"I think I want to come home early tonight," (Y/N) whispered with Harry's thumb pausing just at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah?" he pressed, raising his brows as he looked down at her. Carefully, he maneuvered his arm around her waist until he was pulling the headband of bunny ears from the crook of her elbow.

"Yeah," she breathed, no further explanation leaving her lips once Harry tipped her head back.

He pushed the headband over her hair, leaving the volume of her hair to flare out just behind the massive ears now stationed on the top of her head. (Y/N) didn't move, only looking up at him.

"'M sure we can make that happen, sweet girl."

Making the hard choice for the both of them, Harry unravelled his arms from around her and took a step back to allow clear air into their lungs.

"Finish getting ready, and I'll let Sully know we're almost ready."

With that, he exited her bedroom, knowing he would need a second to recuperate if either of them had a chance of acting normal for the night. He could feel (Y/N)'s eyes following him all the way out.

—————

Harry shifted, adjusting his stance as his pants felt entirely too tight as he kept his eyes stitched to the Playboy Bunny across the room.

It was criminal the way she was able to take all of the air out of his lungs when she was doing the most simple of things, when her attention was far from on him. Just dancing with her friends (and the hangers- on that would no doubt be posting about these interactions in the coming days) was enough to have him crossing his arms over his chest and clenching his jaw. He couldn't take his eyes off of her as she fluffed her hair, played with the bunny ears on her head with a grin aimed at her friends, and ran her hands over the curves of her body.

He had forced himself into his work mindset before they'd gone out, just for those expectations to be cast aside. Of course, with his eyes on her, he was able to keep track of who was approaching her, and who was getting a touch too close, but that didn't mean that was his priority at the moment. He was too entranced with watching the way her hips moved, the swell of her breasts over the cups of her corset, the length of her legs in the silky tights. Every time the light shined just right over her face, and he caught the pink blush on her nose, he wondered how long he would have to kiss her until that blush became real.

Photographs and videos were taken of her as she had fun, some where he was sure there could be a glimpse of him simmering in the background. He wondered if there would be any articles picking apart his body language.

Despite how much fun she was having, Harry wanted to cling to her earlier request of heading home while the night was still young. Truthfully, he doubted he could make it much longer with just watching her. His hands were already fisted under his arms.

A small smile touched the corner of his lips, cracking the stoic exterior, when he saw her twirl on the dance floor. She had her hands in her fluffed hair, and a bubbly smile on her features. He could just barely hear the melody of her laugh over the sound of the music and the volume of the chatter. The faint traces of her remaining lip gloss sparkled in the party lights, drawing his gaze to her mouth like a faithful spotlight.

Harry barely saw the others in her circle playing along, dancing to the unfamiliar song thumping through the speakers. With the way (Y/N)'s body moved, the rolling of her hips, the way her breasts bounced against the tight corset, there was no way he was picking up on any details of the surroundings; no one could ask him the color of anything with the expectation of getting the right answer, not when (Y/N) was acting like this.

Following the sparkles sprinkled over her décolletage, the ribbon around her throat and the delicate slope of her neck, Harry realized (Y/N) was looking at him when he matched her gaze. There was a sparkle there, one different than that of her makeup. A sly smile touched the very corners of her mouth.

He'd been caught, but Harry didn't dare to look away from her.

Watching as she excused herself from her friends, looking for only a moment over her shoulder before she threaded through the crowd. Heading directly towards him. Harry shifted in his spot on the edge of the crowd, stationed near the table that had been reserved exclusively for her and the attention she would draw to this party.

Aware of the cameras that could easily capture them, both professional and amateur, (Y/N) didn't draw too near, but the heat she brought with her was enough to tickle along his skin.

"Hey, you," she greeted, a flirtatious undertone to the words. Her smile was a touch too bright to be only casual.

"Hi," he answered, dipping his chin in an attempt to level with her eyes, "Y'come here often?"

A peal of laughter spilled from her, (Y/N) leaning forward as if he said the funniest joke she'd ever heard. "You're so annoying," she shook her head though she held no real grit in her voice. She recovered with her lips in a curl as she canted her head. "Are you having fun at least? You haven't even moved from here all night.

"'M having fun watching you have fun," he clarified, "How are y'feeling?"

"I'm good," she sang, her features staying rounded and innocuous despite the way her eyes dropped from his, to the pillows of his lips. There, the glittery lids grew heavy, hooding her irises. "I think I might be ready to go home, though."

"Yeah?" Harry pressed, his voice suddenly deeper. Enough so that (Y/N) took the risk and leaned closer.

"Yeah," she affirmed, nibbling at her lip, "I promised you I would let us get home early tonight, remember?"

"But, if you're having fun, we don't have to go yet, love. I can wait for you."

"I can't."

It was the way that she met his eyes, gaze clear and heavy, that had a pump of blood rushing through his system and bruising his ribs.

"Say bye to your friends, I'll call Sully."

When she tossed a bright smile in his direction, sparkling gaze trained on him, Harry saw a camera trained in their direction to capture the moment.

That was a photo he hoped would resurface at some point.

—————

"Have a goodnight, kids. I'll see you in the morning, Miss (Y/N)."

With (Y/N)'s hand still tucked into Harry's elbow, a light jacket draped over her shoulders, she looked to Sully over her shoulder. "See you in the morning," she called.

Her steps never slowed, Harry keeping up with her while he bit back a smile. She definitely wasn't lying when she said she could wait.

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, he pushed open the door to her building, allowing her to step inside first. The sound of her heels clicking over the glossy floor matched the ticking of his heart. He faithfully followed her towards the elevator, tossing a polite smile to the lobby attendant for the both of them.

It wasn't until they were safe behind the gleaming doors of the elevator, only the mirrored walls and orchestrational music keeping them company, that (Y/N) broke.

Swirling to stand before him, with her heels assisting her height, she tugged Harry down with her arms looped around his neck. As soon as she was close enough, she pressed her lips to his in a messy smear. The tip of their noses mashed together before Harry was able to tilt his head. He could feel the remnants of her lip gloss, the soft heat of her kiss, the creases that matched up with his so perfectly. Parting his lips just enough, he slipped the tip of his tongue across the plush of her own mouth, getting a taste of the few sips of alcoholic lemonade she had at the beginning of the evening.

A breathy sigh fanned across his kiss when she opened her own mouth. Her tongue played along with his, getting a taste of him just as teasingly as he did for her. He clutched at her hips, finally getting more than a passing graze of the silken fabric that held tight over her body. The high leg cut of the bodysuit allowed him to feel glimpses of her bare skin through the tights pulled over her legs.

He wondered how long he would be able to keep her in this outfit before he was forced to tear it off of her.

Just as she chanced a hike of her leg over his thigh, the elevator dinged over their heads. it was Harry that pulled away first, looking over (Y/N)'s shoulder to see her penthouse level being highlighted.

"I'll follow you, sweet girl," Harry murmured, forcing himself to turn her body away from his and towards the opening doors.

She blinked herself back to the real world, clutching Harry's hand in her own before taking them down the hallway. It felt like an eternity as she dug through for the key to her door, long enough for him to skate his eyes down her form and over the exposed curve of her ass from the cut of the costume. He felt his pants tighten, his cock stirring at the sight.

As soon as she was able, she tugged him into her apartment after her. It was Harry that had the wherewithal to lock the door after them, only getting through the twisting motion for a second before she was pulling him away.

"We'll do that later. You're not my bodyguard tonight, just my boyfriend," she insisted, taking him to the couch with her.

A lopsided grin took over his mouth, going along with her as she urged him to take a seat on the plush sofa. "I thought y'liked that I protect you? What happened to that, sweet girl?"

"I do," she countered, taking a seat on his lap with her hands landing on the broad of his shoulders, "But I just want you to fuck me right now—not bodyguard me."

Harry felt a pulse of heat race through his system. He didn't think before he smeared his lips across hers, decidedly messier and harsher than the kiss they shared in the elevator.

She relented to his strength, clutching at his shoulders while he clutched at her waist. The boning of her corset was stiff under his hands, keeping her back arched as she leant into him. His palms skated over her form as she moaned into his mouth, the slick press and pull of their mouths filling the quiet of her apartment.

The ties of her corset slipped against his fingers just before he ran its other cotton fluff of her bunny tail. He couldn't help but to tug on it, hoping she could feel just how much he enjoyed her costume. The roll of her hips she gave in response was the right answer.

A whining moan rang from her throat then, the thin covering between her legs providing no cushion against the bulge of his cock underneath her core. She pulled away with her chest heaving against his, leaving Harry to drag his lips down the line of her jaw and down the curve of her neck.

He hoped her makeup artist for the next Halloween party wouldn't mind using a few extra minutes to cover whatever marks he left over tonight.

Harry gently nipped at the soft skin of her throat, his tongue soothing that same area within the same breath. He sucked and bit, feeling the skin heat under his mouth. (Y/N) fisted his shirt, her manicured nails behind felt through the material. The light scratch against his skin was enough to have his hips bucking up to hers, meeting her soft core in a shallow thrust.

"Harry," she breathed, his name said like a prayer in a delicate voice. "I don't want to wait."

He only shushed her as he dotted kisses down her neck once he was satisfied with the love bite he left behind on her throat. She might not want to wait, but he was more than happy taking a bit of extra time with his mouth on her.

Once he reached the swell of her breasts, he brought a hand up from her rear to the flexible cups of her corset. It didn't take much force to fold it down and expose her peaking nipple. He took the bud between his lips, sucking it against his tongue. The scraping of his teeth had goosebumps sparking over her skin, her nipple hardening against the buds of his tongue.

Her hands on his shoulders shifted upwards into the baby curls on the back of his neck, fingers sliding amongst the waves. It was his turn to let out a strangled moan as he moved to press his lips to her other breast, spurring (Y/N) on to tug at the roots of his hair just enough to send a zip over the knobs of his spine.

Wrapping an arm around her back, he pressed her closer to his mouth, muffling his moan as he laved his tongue over her breast. The only movement she could make over his lap was to sit on his thighs, pressing her core headily against his cock.

He could feel the way his cock twitched when he imagined the heat that was waiting for him, the tight channel he was going to squeeze the head into.

God, could he really wait much longer?

Pulling away from her chest with a pop, his lips swollen and slick with saliva, Harry looked up at her with darkened eyes. She looked devastating, eyes glossy with thick lashes, her bunny-pink nose and lips agape, tongue tasting of his name.

"Harry?"

He pressed a hard kiss to her waiting mouth. "Want m'help with your costume?"

"I've got it," she rushed out, stumbling from his lap as she blindly reached for the ties of her corset.

It only took a moment of watching her unable to reach the right ties, that Harry let out a breathy laugh. He spun her with his hands on her hips, presenting him with the view of her back with her bunny tail at his face. He couldn't help but to plant a kiss on the small of her back, an act that had a small giggle sounding from his girl.

Harry worked gently and methodically as he undid the ties of her costume. He brushed the bare skin of her back as he worked his fingers under the ribbons, the boning loosening with every pull. Soon enough the entire ensemble was pushed down her hips and left in a puddle at her feet. (Y/N) took in a deep breath, looking over her shoulder at where he sat with spread legs on the couch.

"Ears or no ears?" she asked, referring to the headband pinned to her hair.

"Ears," he answered definitively.

A sly sight colored her lusted features. "Okay."

She had to have been putting on a show with the slow pace she rolled down her tights. (Y/N) slowly bent at the hips as she needed, her ass in Harry's face with the puffy lips of her pussy on display the deeper she bent. He could already see the way her slit was glistening for him. She hadn't been lying when she said she wasn't interested in waiting.

It was a bit selfish, he thought, leaving her to do the hard work of undressing while reaching down to the bulge in his lap. But, he wasn't one to say no to a show, especially not one as pretty as this.

Undoing the fastenings of his trousers, Harry pushed the band of his briefs down his thighs. The ruddy head was already smeared with precum, enough that allowed him to glaze down the rest of his length as he fisted over himself. There was no doubt (Y/N) heard the slick sound that rang through the apartment; especially not when she looked at him over her shoulder, her ass in his face and bunny ears on her head.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, eyes darkened.

Her movements became a bit clumsy then, leaving the rest of his dressing to be left on the floor in record time. But, before she had a chance to climb back on his lap, Harry caged his free arm around her waist from behind. She let out a gasp, grabbing for his forearm that curled around his middle.

Harry tugged her down to sit on his lap, her back to his chest with the warmth of her pussy pressed right against the base of his cock. A full moan fell from her lips, (Y/N) throwing her head back to be laid against his shoulder.

"Alright with this?" he asked, referring to both the way he was taking her from behind and the fact she was naked while not a single article of his own clothing had been discarded.

"Uh-huh," she nodded absently, turning her head until she was snuggling against the column of his throat. "As long as you still kiss me."

An affection curl took over his mouth. "'M sure we can manage," he mused, "Budge up for me, love."

Lifting her hips while Harry's arm was still barred around her middle, he fisted his cock in his palm. With the way she hovered just above him, he was able to skim the head of his cock along her slick folds, smearing his precum around her core.

"Let me know if y'want me to stop or slow down," he murmured to her, something he told her every time she allowed him the privilege of settling between her thighs.

"Stop body guarding me, I'm f—"

Her chiding was cut off when Harry pushed his hips upwards, splitting her open with the head of his cock. A garbled call of his name bubbled out of her, the kind of thing that she attempted to bite back but still made it way out. He pulled her down onto his lap, bottoming out through her slick walls. A pleasured sigh heaved from his chest.

Harry bucked up into her, driving himself that much deeper, pushing his balls against her budding clit. Her breathing was shaky.

(Y/N )'s legs were spread wide around his own parted knees, leaving her open for him to begin bucking up into. She made the sweetest noises, the kind that told him he was hitting the deepest parts of her she had once told him had never been reached before him. He didn't have to see her to know that her eyes were fluttering to a close, nose pinched as she fought to keep her cool

Slick noises filtered through the space, her walls pulsing around him, attempting to suck him deeper though he was barely even pulling out at the beginning of each thrust.

"I-I wanna help," she whined, digging her fingers into the cage of his arm.

"Yeah?" he breathed, smearing a kiss to the dip of her shoulder, "Go ahead and help me, sweetheart."

He always thought it was quite cute that she wanted to help him when she was on top, despite how much he could tell she enjoyed just being bounced on his lap. His sweet girl, right to her core.

Slowing his bucks to gentle rolls of his hips, Harry allowed her to shift over his lap. Moving until she was straddling his pelvis, knees brought up to dig into the cushions of her sofa. She was spread wide open for him to reach around and graze her clit, the leverage of her knees on the couch allowing her to lift off of his cock until only the head was still tucked inside before dropping back down.

"Oh—Harry," she cried, arching her back with her bunny ears going lopsided.

With the enticing curve of her back, Harry's eyes were led right to the rounded curve of her ass. As she established her pace, the plush flesh slapped back against his lap. He couldn't take his eyes off, leaning back to watch the feast that was her body as she rode him.

Around her waist, his hand wrapped around her front dropped low until he met the top of her slit. He could feel the way his cock was splitting her open, a grazing that had his mouth falling open. His fingertips met her wet clit, the first touch being enough to have (Y/N) stumbling in her pace.

"Harry, oh my god."

That was all he needed to hear before he was circling her clit harder, the pads of his fingers unrelenting. "I've got y'sweet girl. Gonna cum for me?"

"A-Are you?"

"Want me to cum with you, sweetheart?" he choked out through gritted teeth. As much as playing with her clit was for her, the shocks felt through her body with the pulsing walls and squeezing thighs, that was for him.

"Uh-huh," she moaned out, her fluffed hair in a mess, "In-Inside."

It was his turn to let out a string of curses. With his free hand, Harry cuffed his hand around her neck, pulling her flush against his chest. Keeping true to her request, he pressed his lips to hers in a messy kiss; he was barely on center, teeth and tongues playing against one another. (Y/N)'s moans slipped through into his mouth, sweet and sugary.

There was no way he wouldn't be able to follow through on her request. Not when she was asking him to cum inside her, where her walls pulled and squeezed around him. She was snug, unwilling to let go of him, even when it was only for a moment with the rolls of her hips.

A frayed knot came to fruition in his stomach. It wasn't strong, but it was tight—the kind that would only crumble under pressure. And his pressure was calling his team in ecstasy, requesting him to cum inside of her with her wet pussy doing all the extra convincing.

"I want you to finish first," he breathed against her mouth, "My bunny goes first."

She wanted to smile, that much he could tell with the twitch of her lips, but there was too much on her mind to record the bubbling feeling over his teasing. Instead, a pinch formed between her brows, Harry's fingers over her clit doing that much more to draw her to the edge.

It all happened so quickly. At one moment, she was fluttering her lashes closed with her lips parted, and the next she was pulling away from his kiss with her head thrown back to his shoulder.

(Y/N) grew impossibly wet around him, her walls that much tighter. The pace of her hips dropped until she was making only shaky rolls, toes curling on either side of his thighs. A breathless moan fell from her lips, her kiss-swollen lips parted.

All it took for Harry after feeling her pleasure and feeling the way every part of her body attempted to clung to him, was seeing the bunny-pink blush on her nose. Then he was summing.

He felt the way his cock throbbed just before ropes of his cum spurted from his tip. He was buried deep inside her, his release painting across the ridges of her walls. (Y/N) could feel the warmth, the pressure, he could tell with the way she clenched around him, both inside and out.

Keeping her flush to him, Harry wondered if they were in the same universe then. Were their heads filled with the same clouds? The thought had him holding her that much tighter.

Coming back down to earth came faster for (Y/N), leaving her to start spreading kisses along the side of his face.

"Harry," she murmured, breathless and tired, "Harry, I love you."

A small smile curled his lips, his eyes still closed as she felt another aftershock rock his body. "I love you, too."

His first act back on the material plane came in the form of turning her face to give her a proper kiss. The urgency had been drained from his body (literally), leaving him with only affection for his sweet girl.

He slumped back against the couch cushion, keeping her with him as she went lax.

"Can I stay here for a minute?" she murmured, her words holding a drawl.

Harry spoke through his smile, "Few more minutes, sweetheart. Then we'll get ready for bed, ‘kay?"

"'Kay," (Y/N) replied, though they both knew that he wasn't going to have the heart to make her get up until she was ready.

Moving cautiously, Harry pulled the throw blanket draped over the back of the sofa. He wrapped it around (Y/N)'s nude body, covering her before the chill of the room could eat at the bliss in her system.

Silence settled over them, Harry running a comforting circuit with his hand over her hip, the other hugging her around the waist. He closed his eyes when he swore he could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat—a grounding baseline.

Yeah, there was no way he was moving from this spot unless forced to do so.

"Harry?"

"Hm?" he hummed, pressing an absent kiss just to the side of her bunny ears.

"So," she started, amusement beginning to echo in her tone, "Bunny?"

Harry shook his head, biting back a smile as he held her that much tighter. "We're not getting into this tonight."

(Y/N) only laughed.

—————

#writing #harry #harry styles #harry one shot #harry blurb #harry imagine #harry smut #bodyguard harry #harry x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #bodyguard harry styles #harry styles x reader #pleasing #harrys house #as it was #fine line

520 notes · View notes

minisugakoobies · 1 year ago

Text

Yours for the Night | HHJ

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plot, frenemies to lovers, Model!AU Rating: M (18+) Warnings: so. much. cockiness from Hyunjin, arguing as a form of foreplay, a bit of dumbification, what's a little fucking between frenemies?, dick pics, exhibitionism, nipple play, mentions of slut shaming, grinding, fingerfucking, pinching, just a tiny bit of spit, unexpected use of pet names, oral sex (f receiving), wet and messy, biting, dirty talk, maybe a little degradation (talking about reader being cock stupid), unprotected sex (bc used), riding/cowgirl style, praise/use of "good girl," soft dom!hyunjin vibes, rough/hard sex, multiple positions, creampie, multiple orgasms Word Count: 8.8k Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SKZ - they just inspire me Summary: “Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” Or, Hyunjin makes you an offer you simply can't refuse.

A/N: I finished this earlier than expected, thanks to the inspiration that is Hyunjin at Milan Fashion Week. Have you seen him?? 🥵 Anyway, it's all because of his stunning beauty that this filthy lil pwp exists. Enjoy! 😘

Unbeta'd as usual. I would *love* to hear your thoughts - my inbox is always open (anon is on, but hateful comments will be blocked. Be kind, writers do this for free and with love!) 💕

SKZ Masterlist 💜

It’s Friday night, you’re out for drinks with your friends, and you are frustrated.

It’s not the club that’s bothering you. You’re here tonight at Felix’s request. He’d told you all it had been too long since you’d gone out as a group, so all nine of you and your friends crammed yourselves into a couple of rides and headed for downtown.

Nor is it the incredibly tight, short, and backless dress you’ve poured yourself into that’s annoying you, though it’s certainly not helping. Your fingers anxiously grasp at the hem, tugging it down your thighs as you take a seat at the table where Felix and Seungmin are currently talking.

No, it’s something personal that has you wound tighter than a corset tonight. Work has been kicking your ass lately, and it’s put a huge damper on your sex life. You haven’t been out with anyone new in the last few months. Haven’t had any time to reach out to any of your small group of casual hookups who would typically lend a hand. Most nights you’ve even been too tired to masturbate.

Put simply, you’re ready to fucking pop.

Which is why you’re wearing this bodybinding dress and staring at the dance floor like a wildcat stalking its prey, searching to find someone to help you with your problem. Unfortunately, you’ve been here for hours, and no one’s caught your eye so far.

Your clutch rattles on the table, drawing your attention. Everyone who would usually text you is here, so out of curiosity, you take out your phone. The notification tells you that Hyunjin sent you a photo.

You glance across the room at where Hyunjin is sitting in a booth with Changbin, deep in conversation. Why would he send you a photo right now?

Your confusion only grows when you look at the photo. It’s a selfie, Hyunjin raising his champagne glass in a toast to the camera, perfectly tousled dark hair spilling over his brow as he fixes you with his signature smirk. It’s a gorgeous shot, of course, because he’s a gorgeous man, but again, why is he sending you selfies in the middle of tonight’s celebration? Or at all? Hyunjin’s never been the type to send you photos before, of himself or the group or anything.

He’s never really been the type to text you, period, outside of the group chat. Probably because the two of you aren’t really friends. Frenemies would be more accurate. You share the same group of friends, but have nothing else in common. Which is fine, you don’t have to be close to hang out, but he’s… well… he’s an acquired taste, and you’ve never developed an appreciation. Hyunjin’s snooty and cocky - overly so, in your opinion, even if he is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. Most of your conversations consist of nothing but arguing. He’s very stubborn and loves to get the last word in on everything. Which drives you crazy because you prefer to have the final say.

So to say this sudden selfie has you perplexed is an understatement.

Ignoring whatever Felix and Seungmin are talking about, you fire off a question.

You: What is this? Hyunjin: Are you that drunk? It’s me

Reflexively, you scowl at your screen.

You: I know it’s you You: But WHY are you sending me a photo of yourself? Hyunjin: You’ve been staring at me all night Hyunjin: I thought maybe you’d like something to take home, to keep

Again, you look over, only to find him looking at you, lips curled to match his photo. Heat flames through you. Could he be more conceited?

Maybe the vanity isn’t totally unearned, considering that he’s an actual model, making a living using his ethereal beauty to sell products. His own lifestyle is just as luxurious as the images he appears in. Like right now, he’s wearing the finest black suit, obviously couture, with a few silver necklaces draped over his tie that you’ve no doubt cost more than your entire outfit alone.

And sure, he has a jawline carved by the gods, thick eyebrows that frame expressive, cat-like eyes, and ridiculously pouty lips that you’ve found yourself staring at once… an hour on average. Maybe in your weakest moments you’ve even dreamt about what it would be like to kiss those lips.

But does that mean he has to be a dick all the time?

You: You’re such an ass Hyunjin: Deny it all you want, but we both know you can’t keep your eyes off me Hyunjin: Not that I blame you You: It’s amazing your head still fits through doors Hyunjin: You’d be the first to notice if it didn’t

Your nostrils flare. No matter what you say, he always flips it back on you. Admittedly, you are a little tipsy, so you’re not fully on your game, but it’s still annoying as fuck. And right now, you really don’t need another reason to be frustrated.

You: Whatever, Hyunjinnie

You cast another glance at Hyunjin, delighting in the way he frowns at your response. He hates it when you call him that.

You take a moment to locate the rest of your friends. Changbin’s still sitting with Hyunjin. Jeongin and Chan are doing shots at the bar. Minho and Jisung are in their own little world on the dance floor, arms draped around one another. Neither Felix nor Seungmin seemed to have noticed that you have dropped out of their discussion. Part of you feels guilty for ignoring them, but, well, you’re a little fired up now, and the only thing that would make you feel better would be getting the last word in with Hyunjin for once.

You take a sip of your cocktail, floating the cold liquid on your tongue as you devise your next line of attack, when your phone buzzes again.

Hyunjin: I have another photo for you You: Why? Hyunjin: Because I think you’d like it You: Oh really? Like you know what I like Hyunjin: Always so argumentative Hyunjin: You’re pretty easy to figure out Hyunjin: The staring makes it incredibly obvious

Such an ass.

You: Fuck off Hyunjin: I will not You: What’s your game, man? Hyunjin: No game Hyunjin: Can’t I just do something nice for you?

The man is a riddle. An enigma draped in Versace.

You type out “I guess there’s a first time for everything” and press send, putting your phone down long enough to watch him get the text. Hyunjin laughs to himself, smiling down at his screen, and there’s this weird feeling of satisfaction in your stomach at the sight. Whatever, you like making people laugh, even assholes like him. So what.

You tell yourself that you’re not going to wait at his beck and call, jumping to read his texts as they come in, if in fact he keeps sending them, but then your phone vibrates again and you snap it up immediately, because you’re a liar.

Hyunjin: Just trust me Hyunjin: You want this Hyunjin: But I want something first You: Oh here we go You: There’s the catch A hand waves over your phone. “Hi, hello, are we boring you?”

Quickly, you turn it over before Seungmin can see your text thread. “No, sorry, I was just, uh - “

“Hey, leave her be,” your savior Felix says, pushing Seungmin lightly. “She’s had a rough couple of weeks. She shouldn’t have to suffer through your boring work stories, too.”

“Hey!”

Seungmin and Felix dissolve into arguing as you covertly flip your phone back over.

Hyunjin: I’m not asking much Hyunjin: Just a photo of you. A photo for a photo

He can’t be serious.

You: I’m not sending you a nude Hyunjin: Did I say nude? No, I did not Hyunjin: A normal selfie, that’s all

Again your suspicion rises. What is he playing at? Where is this going?

You: But WHY? Hyunjin: Maybe I can’t stop staring, either

Your breath catches in your throat. When you look up, he’s gazing at you again, but his expression is less smug than usual and more… ravenous.

You turn away so fast, your neck cracks.

Hyunjin: So? Send me a pic.

There’s no reason for you to agree to this. Absolutely no reason at all. Beyond, of course, your burning curiosity.

It’s really going to get you in trouble one day.

Grabbing your clutch, you slip off your chair. “Ladies room,” you announce, glancing at Felix and Seungmin, who aren’t listening anyway, still squabbling. You wander just far enough out of sight of your friends, find a spot with good lighting back near the bar (because even if it’s just for Hyunjin, your vanity will not let you take an unflattering photo), and snap a quick picture, firing it off right away.

As you’re sliding back into your seat, your phone vibrates. Hyunjin sent another photo.

You swallow reflexively. Holy shit. It’s a shot of his crotch, dress pants straining to contain what is clearly a massive cock, gripped through the fabric by long fingers.

Hwang Hyunjin sent you a dick pic.

So it’s not big dick energy, it’s just big dick, is the first coherent thought you have once the screeching inside your head stops. It occurs to you that you’ve been gawking unblinkingly at your phone for at least several minutes, so you raise your head to make sure your friends aren’t watching you, and thankfully they’re not. Really, you should know better than to underestimate just how much Felix and Seungmin love to bicker.

But what are you supposed to say to Hyunjin now? Your thumbs hover, waiting for inspiration, but you’re stuck.

Hyunjin: Wow, are you speechless? Hyunjin: Guess there really is a first time for everything

Even without looking, you know he’s smirking at you from across the room. Suddenly, you need another drink, so you mumble “bar” in Felix’s direction and stumble away. As the bartender mixes you another cocktail, you grip your phone tightly, waging an inner war with yourself.

You should look at the photo again. You shouldn’t look at the photo again. You should delete it, and Hyunjin’s number, and maybe throw the phone in the nearest trash bin too, just for extra comfort. But holy fuck, do you want to look at the photo again!

What you really don’t want is to think about the effect that photo has had on your pussy, because it’s humiliating how much she’s throbbing right now.

“I’ll take one of those as well, thanks.” A hand waves towards the bartender, and your treacherous brain immediately recognizes those fingers as the fingers from Hyunjin’s photo, and starts picturing what those lithe digits would look like wrapped around your throat. Great. Now your brain has joined your pussy. Traitors.

You say nothing as Hyunjin takes the seat next to you. Partly because you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten under your skin again, albeit in a very different way, but also partly because you’re still not sure what to say.

“You know,” Hyunjin bends towards you, close enough for his warm breath to tickle your ear, “if I’d known that all it would take to get you to stop arguing with me was showing you my cock, I would’ve introduced you much sooner.”

“God, you are just - just the worst,” you snarl, teeth clenched hard enough to give you a headache.

“Now really, is that any way to speak to someone who just gave you a gift?” Hyunjin sips his drink calmly.

Well, there’s the Hyunjin you recognize. What you don’t understand is how he’s still making your cunt drip with need. All you can think about right now is what he’s hiding under those suit pants. Are you really this dumbstruck by cock?

(Yes. Yes, you are.)

“Me and every other woman in this club, I bet. You probably air dropped it to the whole room.” You wouldn’t put it past him. Maybe that was his plan the whole time - work you up then leave you begging while he hooked up with someone else. As if you’d beg.

“Oh no, that was just for you.”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

With a roll of his eyes, Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “Come on. You know how selective I am when it comes to my clothes or my liquor. Why would I be any less selective about who I fuck?”

“Who you fuck?” Whoa, who said anything about fucking? Besides your duplicitous brain and pussy. “Who - who said - that’s not - I mean -” You’ve suddenly become the Big Bad Wolf, huffing and puffing, unable to form a complete sentence.

Hyunjin rises, leaning over you as you gaze up at him from your barstool. He places his hands on the bar, one arm on either side of you, bracketing you in, wild eyes trailing down your figure slowly before he smiles, hungry and sharp, and you realize, no, here’s the wolf.

“Listen, there’s no reason we can’t fuck. Friends fuck all the time.” His hand glides over your shoulder, light as a feather, and you watch dazedly as goosebumps ripple along your skin. His touch is electric.

“Is that what we are? Friends?”

Hyunjin shrugs, lips twisted in a droll smile. “Close enough. This doesn’t have to be complicated. You said it yourself - you’re in need.”

“What? When did - I never said that!” Again you struggle to speak coherently, sputtering in your confusion.

Hyunjin frowns. “Ah, you’re right, I misspoke. That was Felix who said that, wasn’t it? On the ride here?”

You curse inwardly, remembering the private discussion you and Felix had had on the way to the club, when you were discussing your dry spell. Or at least, it was supposed to be private, but obviously someone had been listening in. Felix had offered to play wingman for you, saying he wouldn’t let anything keep him from helping you “in your time of need” - a bit dramatic, but that was Felix for you.

You’d waved him off, insisting that you could snag someone without any help. But here you are, drowning your sorrows at the bar with no possibilities in sight. Maybe you should’ve accepted Felix’s help after all.

“That’s not…” Sighing, you shrug. There was no point in trying to deny what he’d heard. “Fine, yeah, I came here tonight hoping to leave with someone, but I didn’t mean you!”

“That’s because you didn’t know I was an option.” Again his gaze travels down your body, lingering like a slow caress. “But after seeing the way you look tonight, I had to offer myself up.”

Always. So. Cocky. You want to deny that his words have an effect on you. Want to. But can’t.

And like that, your resolve starts to slip.

“You really want to help me out?” you ask. He nods, irises blown as his eyes flicker to yours, and it puts fire in your belly, has you biting your lip in contemplation. “What makes you think you have what I need?”

Hyunjin doesn’t bother to check if any of your friends are watching as he steps closer, like he doesn’t care if anyone sees the way he cups your cheek. Or how he slides his thumb over your lips, dragging the bottom one down before lowering his mouth towards yours. He hangs there, just for a second - just long enough for you to tip your face up in a wordless answer.

His touch has nothing on his kiss. Your whole body thrums from head to toe, fizzing like the champagne on your tongue earlier, sweet and effervescent. His hand falls to your hip, squeezes there suddenly, and you feel a rush of heat between your thighs.

Hyunjin’s plush lips part, letting the tip of his tongue briefly nudge against yours before he pulls away, leaving you blinking dumbly. He lets out a low chuckle, gently wiping a drop of spit from your chin.

“I just know.”

You’re too busy licking the inside of your lips, hunting for any lingering trace of him, to respond.

“Let me lay it out for you, so there’s no misunderstanding. If you can stop pretending for five seconds that you don’t want me the way I want you, you can have me tonight.” His eyes dip to your mouth and back, and you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for him to make a move again. Needing him to. “Just think about it.”

And then he walks away, leaving you nearly toppling off your seat, floundering in his wake.

The ice cubes in your cocktail have all but melted by the time you remember you ordered another drink. Sipping it slowly, you replay the last several minutes in your head. Did all of that just happen? Did Hyunjin really just offer himself to you? And then kiss you like that?

You feel like you’re going out of your mind.

“Just think about it.”

Hyunjin’s last words echo in your head as you wander on wobbly legs back towards the table where Felix and Seungmin are still standing.

And oh, god, do you think about it.

For the rest of the night, no matter how many conversations you have with your other friends, no matter how hard you dance, no matter what you do - the sole thought occupying your brain is what it would be like to fuck Hyunjin. Again and again, you picture him above you, beneath you, behind you, big cock stretching you out, making you scream his name.

But it’s not worth it to give in to him. It can’t be. Good dick - if it’s good - can’t be enough to undo all the annoying shit he does, can it?

You cut yourself off early in the night, explaining that someone needs to stay sober enough to call for rides, but really you’re afraid that if you get completely blitzed, you’ll end up admitting something you don’t want to admit and going home with Hyunjin. Your friends honor your noble sacrifice by achieving impressive levels of drunk, ranging from delightful (Felix repeatedly booping you on the nose, calling you his “widdle buddy”) to disastrous (Chan, who gets upset when the guy he hits on in the bathroom doesn’t respond - turns out he was hitting on his own reflection - before falling asleep in a stall).

Since the club is in the middle of downtown, you arrange for two cars to pick you and your friends up - one heading east, one heading west. Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin, and you pile into the ride heading west. Changbin hops into the passenger’s seat before you can slip in, leaving you smushed in the back between Hyunjin and Chan’s gigantic thighs.

Said thighs are splayed a bit as Chan’s head lolls back, a loud snore erupting out of him as the car makes its first stop outside Changbin’s apartment.

“Can’t take him anywhere,” Changbin grunts, snapping a rather unflattering photo of Chan sleeping with his mouth wide open, obviously saving it to drop in the group chat at the most opportune time. “Can you two make sure he gets home okay? I know it’s a bit out of the way, but, well, look at him.”

Chan continues to rumble like a fighter jet, unaware of everything going on around him.

“Yeah, don’t worry, we got him,” Hyunjin replies, and you just nod. “Night, ‘Bin.”

Changbin gives the driver Chan’s address and then he ducks out of the cab. Your place is technically the next closest, but getting Chan back to his place safe and sound is the priority.

With Chan sleeping next to you, it’s basically just you and Hyunjin alone now. A fact that has also occurred to Hyunjin, whose hand has been drifting further and further around your waist the entire ride. Now it slides around openly, tucking you against his side. You could fight it if you so desired - he’s not holding you tightly. He’s giving you the chance to escape.

You’re not sure you want to.

“Have you thought about it?” he murmurs, nose against your ear.

Your body reacts to the tone of his voice, thighs rubbing together, as you nod.

“And what did you decide?”

“I - I don’t know.”

A puff of air tickles your skin as he laughs derisively. “Do you really need some convincing?”

Chan snuffles loudly, reminding you that there’s another person right next to you, since your entire focus is on Hyunjin, and the way his hand is now creeping beneath the open back of your dress, and slowly moving up your rib cage.

When he cups your left breast, you stifle a gasp. But you can’t stop the tiny “ah!” that escapes when he gently pinches your nipple. You attempt to cover it with a cough, hoping the driver’s lack of visible response means he didn’t hear you. Meanwhile, next to you, Chan doesn’t stir.

“Feel good?” Hyunjin coos quietly. “Must’ve felt good, given the way you’re squirming right now.”

Your hips have started to rock of their own volition. Brain, hips, pussy, all on your shit list.

“But just think how much better it’ll feel when it’s my mouth.” His tongue flicks the shell of your ear before he sucks your earlobe into his warm mouth. A preview of what’s to come. It makes you squirm even harder, dying for any sort of relief for the aching between your legs.

Remarkably, you manage to speak, hissing, “You’re a demon.”

Hyunjin laughs. “You’ve no idea.”

His hand stays where it is until the car pulls up at the curb outside Chan’s house. It takes a minute for the two of you to wake Chan, then another minute for him to realize where he is, then yet another minute for him to slide out of the car. Hyunjin sighs and also climbs out of the cab to make sure Chan gets into his house safely.

When Hyunjin returns, the driver glances in the rearview mirror. “So, one more stop, or two?”

You blink at the question. The air in the cab feels heavy with implication. Hyunjin says nothing, but looks at you expectantly, and you understand - the choice is yours.

You glance at your hands, as if they’ll help you choose. Your watch informs you that it’s 2:12 in the morning. Don’t they always say not to trust any decisions you make after two am?

When the driver clears his throat a little too loudly, Hyunjin’s fingers grip your chin.

“Well? You heard him - one stop or two?”

You meet his gaze, surprised to find a fire burning in his eyes.

Maybe you’d be a fool to run towards it, seeking warmth where there might only be danger.

Fine, then. You’re a fool.

“One.”

With a satisfied grin, Hyunjin gives the driver his address.

You’re a little tense during the elevator ride up to Hyunjin’s apartment. Hyunjin, on the other hand, looks completely relaxed, quietly leaning against the wall with his normal blasé expression on his face. Like you’re not about to cross a boundary here that you never expected to cross. Like this was inevitable.

As soon as you’re both inside and his door is locked, he turns to face you, and you suck in a deep breath, waiting impatiently for him to touch you again.

Instead, he asks, “Do you want some water?”

“Um, yeah, sure.”

He must read confusion on your face - at least, you hope it looks like confusion and not disappointment - because the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“A few questions first,” he says, walking into his kitchen, sliding his suit jacket off as he goes. “Are you in good health?”

“Am I - am I in good health?”

Hyunjin tuts. “I’d ask if you need me to repeat myself but clearly you heard the question.”

You stare at his back, brows furrowing as you decipher his meaning. “Are you asking if I’ve been tested recently? Yes, I have been. Nothing to report.”

“Good, me too,” he replies, yanking his tie off and tossing it onto the counter before opening the fridge and grabbing you both a bottle of water. He eyes you as he opens his. “Are you on birth control?”

“Is this what you’re like on a date? Does your foreplay always involve interrogating your partner with clinical questions?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He tilts his head back as he drinks, so he doesn’t catch the glare you shoot his way. “Answer the question.”

“Yes, dick, I’m on birth control.” You take a swig of your water. The memory of his touch in the taxi is fading more and more with every second that passes. With a clearer head, you’re starting to question if you’ve made the right choice.

“Good,” he repeats, wiping his mouth. “I prefer to fuck raw.”

You clench around nothing at the thought, but scowl anyway. “What about what I prefer?”

Hyunjin just hums, fingers brushing your cheek before they tap under your chin. “Do you want me to use a condom?” There’s no drollness or sarcasm to his tone. He’s genuinely asking.

“No.” Your pride takes a tiny hit at the way you answer him immediately, without hesitation.

Just as quickly as his gentle tone came, it disappears again, vanishing as Hyunjin flashes a smug smile. “That’s what I thought.”

“That’s what - oh fuck off.” There he is again, that cocky asshole. Reflexively, you curse at him, ready to fight. “Fuck you, you don’t know anything about me.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that I do? You’re so easy to read.”

“Really?” Okay then. You’ll call his bluff. “Go ahead, Hyunjinnie. Tell me what I like.”

He rolls his eyes. His fingers make quick work of his cufflinks, setting them on the granite top beside him, and he slides his sleeves up, revealing toned forearms beneath.

“Well, for starters, you love getting under my skin with that infantile nickname.”

“No shit. Everyone knows that.”

“You live for arguing, especially with me. Can’t let a single sentence go by without snapping back.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re always wrong.”

Hyunjin doesn’t take the bait, merely leans back against the counter, examining you so openly that you feel exposed, so you cross your arms, as if that will help you block his penetrating gaze. He takes a few seconds before speaking again.

“No, it’s not that. Though I’m sure that’s what you tell yourself. If it were, you wouldn’t be here right now.”

He speaks so calmly, so self-assuredly. It’s maddening, even though you’re burning with curiosity. Makes you want to know more, so you press him again. “Okay, then - what is it? Why am I here?”

“Because you wanted someone to take control.” He spreads his arms wide. “And here I am.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know. You want someone else to be in charge. Make the decisions. Do the work for you. Then fuck you so hard that all those thoughts just fly right out of that pretty little head of yours.” He says it all so matter-of-factly, like it’s completely evident, your deepest desires laid bare for all to witness.

You want to dismiss his words, act like he’s so far off the mark that he’s on another planet, but you’re too surprised by his answer to respond with anything other than stunned silence. His arrogant smile returns. Clearly he was expecting you to fight, so your lack of a snappy comeback only confirms to him that he’s right.

“Just look at what you’re wearing,” he continues. “That tight dress screams ‘please fuck me stupid!’ Lucky for you, that’s exactly what I intend to do.”

You find your voice. “Oh, now you’re judging my clothing? And - and slut shaming me?”

“Please. I’m always judging your clothing. But it’s a taste thing, not some sort of moral judgment.” He smirks. “And I’m very supportive of sluts, thank you.”

As he sips his water, you replay the entire evening in your mind. Sending you the photos. Kissing you. Making the offer. Fuck. He really did do the work for you tonight. Was there ever a chance you were going to say no? Judging by Hyunjin’s attitude, this moment was never in doubt. He knew you’d end up here with him.

The other realization that dawns on you is - you’re not mad about any of that. The only thing you’re mad about is that, once again, he’s right about something. And he knows it.

Okay. Fine. You want to be fucked stupid. But does he have to be so fucking rude about it??

“Maybe this was a bad idea.”

He suddenly steps towards you. His expression is so intense that you move without thinking, backing all the way into the fridge. Your heart feels like it might burst through your ribcage at the slightest provocation, breath leaving your lungs in tiny exhalations as his thumb ghosts your cheek.

Not because you’re scared. Because you’re excited.

“Tell me you don’t want to kiss me.”

Hyunjin says the words softly, but there’s a firmness to his gaze that makes you swallow hard.

Your lips don’t move.

He kisses you. Wraps his hands around your waist, pulls you to his demanding mouth, head turning this way and that as his lips crash onto yours.

You kiss him back. Just as greedily, just as deeply.

His hand strokes your thigh. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

You make no noise.

His fingers crawl beneath your skirt, dancing over the silk of your underwear. Your gasp warms his tongue. A throaty growl chokes him.

“So wet for me.” He brings his hand up to show you the evidence, skin glistening. As if you didn’t already know.

He surges forward, pinning you to the fridge, mouth blazing a trail from your ear to your neck as his fingers press into your soaking slit.

“Ah, Hyunjin!” you whimper, clutching wildly at his bicep. The swell of his arm bulges as his fingers slowly search your inner walls, like they’re mapping every inch of you. When they trace over your g-spot, they linger, brushing again and again. “Oh my god!”

“Tell me,” he implores, husky voice breaking, like he’s barely in control, “tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you don’t want this - don’t want me - and I’ll call you a ride and we’ll never talk about this again.”

His forehead bumps yours, eyes smoldering with bright intensity, hand still plunging.

This time, you speak, chest heaving as you gasp for air.

“Don’t - don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”

A smile spreads across Hyunjin’s face. He pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around your waist, the other hand still working between your thighs. You moan, feeling his erection digging into your hip as he presses himself against you, holding you firmly in place while he adds a third finger to the two already fucking you open.

“Say it,” he commands, mouth wet and hot on your cheek. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want, oh, fuck, I, I want you to fuck me, Hyunjin.”

In an instant, he’s disentangled himself from you, and you can’t help but whine very loudly at the sudden loss of his fingers. Hyunjin just smirks at your naked desperation, spinning you around so you’re in front of him.

“Come on,” he says, lightly pinching your ass to make you move. You yelp, smacking him on the arm, but he just laughs. “I’m not fucking you in here. Let’s go.”

“Asshole,” you curse, but you go anyway, because all you want is for him to touch you again, and if he’s refusing to do it in here, then why would you want to stay? You’re going wherever his hands go.

Maybe you should feel ashamed, for giving in so easily. But you don’t. All you feel is desire. This is what you want. What you need.

Hyunjin’s fingers press lightly on the small of your back as he guides you down the hallway to his bedroom. It’s just as ostentatious as the rest of his place - expensive-looking light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, dark leather headboard and frame for his gigantic bed, which is covered in piles of plush-looking blankets and pillows. There’s a gorgeous painting taking up most of the wall above his bed.

He doesn’t give you much time to admire the room, because as soon as you’re in front of the bed, he spins you again, hands reaching for the zipper of your dress, sliding it to the ground, leaving you standing there in nothing but your panties. Before you can tell him to stop pushing you around, he’s kissing you fervently, like he’s been dying the entire time his mouth has been away from yours these last few minutes, and suddenly you forget that you’re irritated.

Hyunjin backs you onto the bed, breaking away from your lips long enough to urge you to move towards the headboard, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the side as he follows. When his fingers grab for his belt, they find yours already there, making short work of the buckle. He groans in delight, deciding to use his hands to grope your bare breasts while you unzip his pants.

“Can’t wait to see it in real life, huh?” he asks, dragging his thumbs over your nipples. He chuckles when you just whimper, back arching slightly to encourage him to keep touching you.

The truth is, yes, you can’t wait to see Hyunjin’s massive dick, but more importantly, you can’t wait to feel it inside you, so you continue with your task, pushing his pants and boxers down together. And god, what a cock it is, long and thick and positively darkened with need. Smeared drops of excitement coat the head, and the sight makes your mouth water.

He rises up to kneel between your legs, grabbing his cock with one hand and giving it a few lazy pumps. “Well? Don’t tell me you’re speechless again.”

“Goddamn it,” you huff in exasperation, “you’re the fucking worst.” But you can’t stop staring as he gently squeezes the head, making a pleased noise, relieving himself a little while he watches you writhe in impatience.

“You’ll be singing a different tune in a moment, sweetheart.”

Your nose wrinkles at how easily ‘sweetheart’ drips off his tongue. “Just put it in me already,” you demand, leaning back on your elbows, licking your lips as you peer up at him, trying to send a blatant “fuck me!” signal with every inch of your body.

Hyunjin tuts, lifting one of his gorgeously thick eyebrows. “Right to it? Is that what you really want?” In one swift motion, he hooks a finger under your panties and drags them down and off. It’d be a more impressive move if anyone but him were doing it.

“I just… I thought we were gonna fuck?” Isn’t that what you’re here for?

“Of course we are. But is that how you typically do it? No foreplay, no build up?” His fingers rake down your stomach, trail over your thighs, causing your body to twitch with shivers. “That doesn’t sound like any fun at all.”

It’s not how you’d prefer to do this, no. You’re just surprised that he agrees. So you say nothing in reply, visibly closing your mouth while he maneuvers you into position, pushing your legs up so your knees bend, your thighs meeting your stomach, completely exposing your cunt to him.

“That’s better. Just let me play with you a little first, sweetheart. I promise you’ll like it.”

Your instinct is to argue with him, tell him he has no idea what you’d like, but you’ve already done that tonight. And you were wrong. So again, you bite your tongue.

Until he extends his own, letting a string of spit fall onto your pussy.

“Ew, Hyunjin!” You’re disgusted, but not with him. Why do you find that so hot?

“Too much?” he inquires, letting go of your legs as he glances at you. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a real expression of concern on his face before. It rattles you slightly.

Biting your lip, you shake your head. “No - keep going.”

He nods, hands reaching for your thighs again. “If I hit any hard no’s for you, say something, and I promise I’ll stop, okay?”

“I will.”

He bows over you again, licking a straight line up your slit. With a moan, you let your head drop back against the pillows. His mouth feels absolutely divine.

Where others in the past just dove in, Hyunjin takes his time. He drags his tongue around slowly, licking through your soaking folds, tasting you. It reminds you of the way you’d seen him drink a really fine whisky, holding it in his mouth, quietly identifying every note, every flavor. Relishing, instead of rushing.

When his lips brush over your clit, leaving teasing kisses, you moan. Hyunjin hums, a self-satisfied little rumble, and lifts his head. “See? Told you you’d like this.”

“Please, shut up and suck my clit.” It’s meant to be an order but definitely sounds like a pathetic whine. Whatever, as long as he listens.

He listens. Those plush lips that you can’t stop yourself from staring at roll over your already throbbing little nub and warm pleasure runs down your spine before pooling in your belly. His dark hair keeps falling in his face, obscuring him from your view, and for some reason you can’t have that. Tentatively, you reach out, hand shaking a little.

Hyunjin hums when your fingers slide through his soft locks, pushing the strands back, holding them in place so you can see his eyes, the way they squeeze shut when he sucks noisily on your clit. The sounds he makes are so loud, completely uninhibited, moaning and grunting as his lips smack and his tongue laps.

He uses said tongue to fuck you expertly, his movements so confident, so sure. He reads every quiver, listens to every moan, figures out how to work you up with quick, teasing shallow plunges, before slowing it down, going deeper, tongue brushing your walls like he’s speaking a language only your body understands.

“Hyunjin,” you sigh, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

His mouth parts from you long enough for him to speak. “There it is. There’s the tone I was looking for. Enjoy this, sweetheart. I know I am.”

You’re enjoying it so much that you unexpectedly whimper when he stops again a moment later, feeling a little embarrassed as he exhales a quiet laugh into your warmth. “Just hold on,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue up your slit to pass over your clit again and again, before sliding a finger into your clenching hole.

“Ohhhh.”

The combination is so good, his finger filling you while his mouth suctions to you, that your eyes flutter shut. He pulls out and glides back in, all the way to his knuckles in one smooth motion, your wet folds parting so easily for him. He’s done an amazing job of spreading your slickness around, coating your inner thighs, messing his bed beneath you.

“Gonna make you come,” Hyunjin says, spreading you open with two fingers now. “Need you to come before I can fuck you just like you want. Can you do that for me?”

The tension in your gut tells you that that shouldn’t be a problem. Both fingers have curled inside you, stroking over your soft spot, making you pant, clutching Hyunjin’s satin sheets for dear life.

“Hy-Hyun-”

Before you can even finish saying his name, the tension snaps, nerves firing from your cunt to your toes, causing your legs to lock up. Hyunjin groans, moving his hands to grasp at your thighs, trying to loosen their squeeze.

“Easy, sweetheart, don’t take me out just yet.” When your body finally starts to relax, he grins. “There we go. Good girl.”

If this were any other time, you’d snap at him for dropping that pet phrase on you. But you’re too blissed out at the moment, practically purring as he starts to kiss his way up your torso.

When he reaches your breasts, he joins you, a low rumble sounding from the back of his throat. His nose nuzzles between them, as he leaves loud kisses on their swelling curves.

Another thing Hyunjin isn’t wrong about - his mouth feels much better than his fingers do on your nipples, tongue gliding like warm velvet against the pert nubs. You continuously moan, until you’re nearly panting, fingers once again finding his dark locks and threading themselves between.

“How am I doing, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

“Good.” It doesn’t even occur to you to tell him anything but the truth. “So good, Hyunjinnie. Ah!” You flinch as he suddenly nips the other nipple, teeth clamping gently. “Why?!”

“You and that damn nickname. I must not be doing enough if you’re still calling me that.” He rises onto his knees, shaking his head. “Guess I just gotta fuck it out of you.”

And just like that, you feel that spark again.

“Sure you will, Hyunjinnie,” you simper, voice dripping with honey, so sickeningly-sweet as you coo his name. It has the desired effect, making Hyunjin’s eyes flash.

He reaches for you, pulling you up into his lap, before you can so much as breathe. “You doubting me, sweetheart?” His hands press into your hips, urging you down on him. Both of you groan as his cock slides along your cunt, and the sparks inside you ignite.

“I’m not your sweetheart,” you spit back, feeling that familiar sense of agitation, but it’s not annoyance now, it’s anticipation.

“And I’m not really yours, but let’s play pretend for the night,” he drawls, and you look at him with wide eyes, but he kisses away the wonder on your face, working you up with teeth and tongue, until you’re frenzied with need. Your fingers clutch at his biceps, nails sinking in to tether him closer.

His hands on your waist guide you down again. As his cockhead breaches your lips, you keen, head falling forward onto his shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” you gasp. The stretch is delicious, cunt already throbbing around his thickness.

Both of you freeze when you’re fully seated on him, no sounds in the room but the rhythmic cadence of your panting intertwining with his.

“You know,” Hyunjin speaks through grit teeth, focused on the spot where your bodies join, “we could’ve been doing this a long, long time ago.”

You don’t know what to say to that. How long has he wanted this? You’re not sure the exact answer for yourself, except that it’s longer than you’d ever truly want to confess.

“Maybe - maybe if you weren’t such a - oh, oh, oh!” Your lame attempt at a retort is lost to the rapid snapping of Hyunjin’s hips when he starts to thrust up into you. There’s nothing you can do but bounce in his lap, clinging to his shoulders as he finally fucks you just as hard as he’d promised. “Hyunjin, please!”

Hyunjin grunts, perspiration trickling down his forehead as he concentrates on giving you what you wanted. His jaw flexes, brows drawn together in a frown, and even with this fierce expression on his face, he’s so beautiful that you can’t help yourself, diving forward to kiss that gorgeous mouth of his like you’ve always imagined, as if you weren’t just kissing him a few minutes ago, but like it’s the first time, tracing his lips with yours, imprinting the feeling of them against your own to store away in your memory for later.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His words are the oxygen you inhale, tongues pressed together like the pages of a book. “I think I prefer you this way. So needy for my cock.” He smirks. “Kinda want to keep you like this.”

He digs his fingers into the plump roundness of your ass as he grinds into you, sliding you back and forth. Your hips undulate, rolling you down on his big cock, feeling every inch of him rubbing against your walls.

“Hyu-hyu-hyun!”

It’s impossible to get an entire word out, given the pace at which Hyunjin’s strokes are jostling you. Your staccato cries get louder when he switches it up, laying you on your back and shoving a pillow under your hips. His thighs smack into your ass with every plunge of his thick length, and again you can do nothing but try to breathe, drowning in euphoria as you are.

“Yeah, you’re best just like this. Stuffed full of cock, no room for thoughts. Or arguments.”

“F-fuck!” You were trying to say ‘fuck off’ but Hyunjin chose that moment to thumb at your clit, giving the aching nub the friction it so badly needed. Your hips buck up, making Hyunjin groan.

“Just like that, so good for me.”

You whine involuntarily at his praise, hips lifting again, trying to take him deeper. Every stroke of his cock lights you up, your body tingling from head to toe. The strong thrumming in your gut is going to overtake you soon and you’re finally going to get what you’ve been needing for weeks now. And it’s Hyunjin of all people who is going to give it to you.

You’re pulled out of your reverie as Hyunjin suddenly pulls out, falling onto his side next to you.

“What are y- oh!” You gasp as he turns you on your side, facing away from him. One hand lifts your leg, sliding it back until your calf loops over his. Then he enters you again, and again, thrusting in deep, powerful movements. “Oh, fuck, goddamn.”

“That’s right,” he growls, arm beneath you bending, hand coming to a rest around your throat. Not squeezing, but holding you in place, back pressed to his front. You’re both covered in sweat, bodies gliding over one another, making it hard for him to keep his pace. So his fingers spread on your chest, locking you in place, giving him leverage to pound into you. “Take it, sweetheart. Take what I give you like a good girl.”

“Ahhh,” you moan, “don’t - don’t call me that.”

“No? You don’t like being praised?” Hyunjin releases his hold on your thigh, running his others fingers around where his cock keeps sliding between your lips. “Your pussy tells me another story. You’re soaking my sheets.”

“Nah - ah - not that, ’s not that.” With this slightly slower rhythm, you’re able to speak, but full sentences still seem hard. “Like praise. Hate - hate good girl.”

“Ohhh, I see.” Hyunjin laughs breathily. “I should’ve known. You’re too proud. Think it makes you look weak if I call you that? Hmm?”

Even in your desperate state, you know he’s not far off from the truth. You don’t want him calling you that, because it feels like giving in to him. Letting him take control completely. Possessing you. His good girl.

The real, honest to god truth is - you can’t let him call you that, because you do want it. And you hate how much you want it.

So you deny it. Or at least, you try to. But all you can stutter is a weak “You’re s-such a d-dick,” as he continues snapping his hips into your ass, making your entire body jiggle in his strong grip.

Hyunjin drops an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, wet and sloppy. You curl your fingers into his arm as you sense that you’re approaching the precipice of your orgasm. You can tell that it’s going to be an intense one, one of those climaxes that clears your mind of all thought and leaves you literally shaking in ecstasy. Just as he’d promised.

You do appreciate a man who follows through on his promises.

Hyunjin must feel the way you’re starting to clench around him, groaning into your shoulder. “Ahh, I think this little cunt’s trying to tell me something again, sweetheart. You gonna come for me? Hmmm?” His fingers rub over your clit, the sudden touch making you jolt. “Come on, be a good girl and c-”

Twisting your head, you smash your nose into his cheek, clumsily seeking his mouth. Cutting him off with heated kisses, hoping he’ll interpret it as annoyance fueling your actions and not see it for what it truly is - untamed desire.

A strangled cry passes from Hyunjin’s lips into yours, and with one more tweak to your clit, you come undone. Your body locks up, thighs going rigid, cunt clamping around his cock so fiercely that Hyunjin hisses loudly, forehead resting on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight,” he whispers in your ear. Sweat drips from his skin onto yours. “You’re gonna make me come. Is that what you want?”

You can’t answer. You’re gone, completely gone, beyond words, capable of making only the most broken, pathetic sounds, wantonly mewling as slowly grinds into you, cock rubbing against your clenching walls. When your legs start to go slack, he resumes his thrusting, but at a languorous pace, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to go easy on you now that you’re approaching overstimulation, or if he’s trying to slow himself down.

“I think it is what you want. I think you want me to fill this little pussy up with my cum, don’t you? Hmm?” His nose prods at your cheek. “A sweet creampie for my good girl?”

The whine that you let you out is pitifully loud. White hot shame spikes through you, but only for a second, the emotion quickly burnt away by your fervent need.

“Come on, tell me. Tell me you want it.”

“Ahhh!” You gasp as his cock sinks in deeper, hitting your g-spot. It’s almost too much, the delicious drag, and your fingers dig into his arm, nails sinking into his skin. “Fuck!”

“Tell me,” he says again, but this time there’s a plea laced into the command, a desperate edge in his tone that strikes a chord somewhere deep inside you, and suddenly you want to give him anything he needs.

“Hyunjin, I want it, p-please!”

Those are the magic words. Hyunjin groans, his hips falling out of their slow rhythm, jerking erratically as he does exactly what he said, shooting his load deep inside you, moaning your name the entire time. You grip the sheets so hard, you’re afraid you’ll tear them, shoving your hips back against his, riding out his climax with him.

“Pussy’s sucking me dry, sweetheart. So greedy,” he pants, trailing kisses along your neck. “Think it wants more.”

“Hyunjin!” You sob his name again, voice breaking. All it takes is his fingers pinching at your clit and you’re coming again, stomach twitching, breath leaving your body in one big rush.

When your body stops trembling, Hyunjin finally slips out of you, his hand falling away from your cunt. He lets out a tired laugh.

“You can take your nails out of my arm. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh.” Your neck burns a little in embarrassment. You hadn’t realized you were still holding on to him so tightly, unconsciously keeping him in place. Keeping him close to you. You relax your grip, and he slides his arms around you further, locking you into his embrace.

It’s… nice, being in Hyunjin’s arms. Really nice. Lying there, in your messy, tired state, you feel rather content.

But the longer you lie there, just breathing together, not speaking, your head starts to fill with thoughts again. Questions. The most pressing being, at what point is he going to kick you out? Because despite everything that just happened, he’s still Hyunjin, and you’re still you, and -

“It’s already started.” Hyunjin hums, lightly shaking you. “I can hear you thinking again.”

Your reflexes kick back in. “It’s just what I do. You should try it some time.”

To your surprise, Hyunjin starts to laugh. You roll over, nose bumping his as you give him a curious look.

“What?”

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” He brushes a finger over your cheek. “You’ve got a fighter’s instinct. It’s one of the things I admire about you. But maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight me all the time?”

You stare at him as you try to make sense of the rather casual confession of admiration he just dropped. Nope. Can’t. Not right now.

“I…” You pause. “Sorry. It’s just a habit.”

He smiles, something genuine that slowly shifts into his familiar smirk, and even as spent as you are, you feel a stirring inside you. “Guess we need to work on that.”

In the morning, you might regret what you say next. But the night’s not over yet. “Maybe you just didn’t fuck me stupid enough yet.”

Hyunjin accepts your challenge with a kiss.

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜

Taglist: @scoupsjin; @aznstoner; @yourtmblrgirlfriend; @hyunlvrs; @notevenheretbh1; @chrisbangsgalaxy; @dessianna1

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz imagines #skz x you #skz fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #stray kids x you #fic: yours for the night

2K notes · View notes

just-some-random-blogger · 4 months ago

Text

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way the said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as you dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that I need no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

You gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat thats spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

#daemon fanfic #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #daemon fluff #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #daemon angst #daemon targaryen angst #daemon #daemon targeryan #house of the dragon

919 notes · View notes