#i'm highkey sorry that this is so long

[lususnatura]

💟

the expression on blamore's face while he sat next to eliza on their picnic (date) was made of pure joy. i mean, the two of them were sitting in the middle of a meadow together, with a blanket beneath them and various foods spread out all around them... which was already lovely. though what really made this moment special to it was the fact that elizabeth looked so beautiful in the sun like this: her green eyes shining, those bountiful red tresses of hair of hers descending down her shoulders like pillars of flame, and her outfit? ooh, eliza had managed to outdo herself yet again in the art of appearing like an angel. all blamore could think about now was that there was only one thing that could possibly make things more perfect right now.

waiting for the ideal moment to do so might just take a bit. he scooted slightly closer to eliza, then, to make sure that she was comfortable with being physically close to the plant-hybrid. he knew that he had gotten attached to her rather quickly after all and didn't want to run the risk of possibly scaring her away. not to say that eliza would be for sure, but still, blamore thought. the faint sound of leaves rustling with the wind soon occupied the space all around them. a gentle, cool breeze had just made it's way to them, ❝ ahh, this is so relaxing, isn't it? i feel like i could stay like this for forever. ❞ the sigh that slipped through it's lips was equally quiet and content; blamore just taking a moment to bask in the reprieve it granted them from the heat.

a partially lichen-covered hand got closer to eliza's to the point where their pinkies were just barely touching. blamore could feel his heart against his chest at this point, while nervous energy seemed to build up in his bones all at once. it had done this before. kissed someone, i mean, and it could do it again. that was the belief that burgeon was currently trying to drill into himself while his eyes darted down from the other's eyes to her lips. ❝ you know... excuse me if i'm being a bit forward, but the moment i saw you here, i got this fluttery feeling in my chest. i think you'd call it 'butterflies?' i don't know, but — ❞ a hearty chuckle resounded from it's throat as it summoned the courage to intertwine a few of it's fingers with hers from above.

❝ i wanted to do something since the last time that i saw you, ❞ a good-natured smile made it's way onto his face, before blamore leaned towards eliza and it revealed why in just a few seconds. it pressed a delicate kiss to her lips, along with raised a hand to gently cup her cheek midway through it. he allowed himself a moment to caress eliza's cheek with her thumb before completely pulling away from her. and burgeon was pleasantly surprised by this, because although it once believed that it couldn't be happier to be sharing his time with her, it was proven wrong.

[maraczeks]

+

[allforhee]

— 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐒! (ONESHOT) | LEE HEESEUNG

୨୧ pairing — secretary-general!lee heeseung x delegate!fem!reader

synopsis: decelis high's academic weapon, future valedictorian, model un prodigy especially in the crisis council, and top-notch secretary-general of the mun club, lee heeseung has it all. from earning constant "best delegate-s" left and right, no one dared to go against his stances in any debate. until a student like you transfers into decelis high. as a soon graduating senior, you were a newbie to press. but with your endless love for writing, you'd managed to steal the hearts of your peers. it was your first mun, and you didn't expect much. but when heeseung finds out about an article you've wrote about his arrogant performance in a recent committee session, he is set to strike you down.

୨୧ genre — kinda angsty but with happy ending, high school au, secgen/crisis delegate!heeseung x press delegate!reader, academic rivals to lovers, dumbasses in denial, a brief moment of rivals in public but lovers in secret, one sided rivalry

୨୧ warnings — a lot of model un terms (hope you guys can understand), cursing, hurt no comfort, heeseung highkey hates reader, reader is a bit feisty and could care less but she lowkey has parental issues, featuring all the other enhypen members, aespa's winter aka minjeong, txt's yeonjun and beomgyu, stray kids’ i.n, gidle's shuhua, and ive's wonyoung, one bed trope, forced proximity

୨୧ word count — 13.3k (not proofread, but will slowly edit/make changes to tiny minor mistakes found)

୨୧ author's note — dear readers, i'm back from a long overdue hiatus with a new layout and theme! this fic is long as HELL i didn't expect it to reach this long omg. i also changed up a couple details so it will be quite different from the teaser! i’m so sorry for the long overdue wait, senior year of high school has been so hectic, and i’ve been finally able to finish this so enjoy :) omg holy shit y’all are finally reading my full length fic i’ve been harboring since what? february?

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆 had it all.

the walls of his room were littered with delegate lanyards from conferences across the globe, "best delegate" certificates framed all over his house (and a couple crumpled up inside his desk to fit the space), and a collection of trophies stood in every nook and cranny.

no one at decelis high dared to go against his stance. whenever it was, whether it was a moderated caucus or unmoderated, he'd always have his country or character's placard raised high, ready to speak, or leading whatever bloc was being formed.

there was no doubt that no one had ever beat him. it was no doubt that he was decelis high's mun club's secretary-general, and those who chose to go against him either got crushed in fear or knew when to step back.

even with his "best delegate" status, he wouldn't have gone far without his best mates, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, and park sunghoon.

park jongseong or jay, most known for his cold stares in the debate room, ready to make a delegate tremble, would always chair crisis. he was decelis high's deputy secretary-general alongside heeseung. and although being heeseung's best mate, he never favored him when it came to awarding. it's just that he was naturally talented.

sim jaeyun, known for his popular slogan around the school; "jake it till you make it!", was the strongest when it came to knowing what a country or character believed in. his research skills were like a pirate on the hunt for lost treasure, he had all the facts, the data, and the proof to back up any stance. whatever heeseung needed to know, jake already had his back.

and park sunghoon. even though he was the quiet one of the bunch, his position papers never ceased to appeal to any chair. even if he wasn't as strong in speaking out during committee sessions, his fingers were his weapon. the guys would always ask him why'd he chair press and not join in the heat with them, he'd always answer with "my words are stronger than my actions." where jay would always respond with "isn't that the other way around bud?"

the four were unstoppable when it came to model un. lee heeseung was unstoppable. he was. until you came along.

you were quiet at first. everyone just saw you as the new girl who transferred for her senior year. nobody cared. until decelis high's annual mun conference, which happened to take place a couple weeks after the first day of school.

students from all over the country gathered at decelis high once a year to join in on the fun. various councils were presented at decelis mun, from heeseung's favorite council, crisis, and multiple others like unhrc, who, unsc, disec, unicef, and your favorite, press.

without a doubt, you registered yourself for press, opting that you didn't have the guts to join any other council. you feared you'd tremble listening to another delegate question your stances and ideologies.

your parents would always encourage your writing. as a child, you loved to write little imaginary stories about your life as a princess. writing stories about the love you've seen in your parents, you were set to write a book. but when your mom passed away a few weeks before your senior year of high school, and your dad constantly traveling for work, you had resorted yourself to watching the news all summer long, spiking your interest in being a journalist, where all you had to do was report whatever was going on, spit out what had to be said, and done. you didn't need to think long and hard on what your character was supposed to do next to support the storyline, no opinions, no biases.

as you stepped into your assigned council's room, you felt a gush of wind. the nervousness had gotten to you more, seeing all the socially bright journalists with their laptops open and chatting amongst each other happily.

"hi! you're a new face! oh and you're cnn! me and you will be best buddies! bbc here!" a girl squeals, she has a bright smile and a oh-so friendly demeanor. no doubt a popular trait amongst the press council.

"minjeong! don't scare her off. we're so sorry, she sometimes comes off a bit too much to new people. i'm wonyoung, the co-chair for press." she introduces herself.

"oh, hello. i'm y/n. i just transferred to decelis this year. it's my first time at press." you smile. you lost all your socialite cheerfulness over the summer, but meeting minjeong and wonyoung felt like you've been recharged. "oh and i'm the journalist for cnn?"

the girls take a glance at your nametag, examining you, before wonyoung cuts, "first time? don't worry sweetheart, we'll tell you all about it! right hoonie?"

a tall figure walks up to the three of you, no doubt a intimidating face. "y/n right? i'm sunghoon, the chair for press." he asks.

"yes yes this is her! oh we've got to tell her all about press! first timer alert!" wonyoung beams, before entangling her hand with sunghoon's. there was no doubt that the two were a couple.

"ugh, okay you two cut it off! we're journalists, we gotta be professional!" minjeong argues, playfully slapping wonyoung's arm, causing her to let go of sunghoon's.

at first, you had no idea what you were stepping into. but when chair sunghoon welcomed you to press with his icy-blue eyes and quiet demeanor, the other journalists supporting each other when it came to writing their articles, you felt right at home.

it didn't feel like it, but two days of endless debates went on, countries arguing left and right, and articles written on the current hot topic. the tension was surely rising, and your fingers were tired.

you were glad it was all over.

at every post-conference social, before awards were handed out, the articles the journalists from press wrote would be released to the conference for the other delegates to read. besides their usual gossip box, the articles the press wrote were always the fuel to the fire.

one article stuck up to heeseung. it read; "secretary-general heeseung's love for crisis interferes chair jongseong's chairing process, now who's really chairing crisis?"

heeseung swore to himself that he's never seen a girl like you. so quiet yet so powerful in her writing. hearing rumors that you've only just recently transferred to decelis high. even sunghoon himself was surprised to meet a talented journalist like you, a first-timer at press.

"it was her first time?" heeseung protested, "i mean- she's so quiet and reserved, if she had been doing press for years, i wouldn't be surprised. but this is her first time?!"

"what do you mean she's quiet? look at hoon, he never says a word in comses, but look at him chairing press. and i would never mind you tagging along in crisis, you always give out good insights." jay interrupts his thoughts.

heeseung complains, "i understand that, but her innocent face says nothing to what she wrote about me!"

"her articles were critical. they were precise and to the point. there was never a single weak spot in her articles. i think she's gonna make a run for my position." sunghoon defends.

"it's just one article hee, it won't affect your entire track record anyways." jake compliments, giving him a pat on the back.

heeseung believed what jake said was true. he did have an outstanding track record. "best delegate"s here and there, one silly little article wouldn't ruin his entire reputation.

as the clock strikes seven, social night was slowly coming to a close. decelis high's third annual mun was coming to an end. all that was left was to hand out the awards.

heeseung made his secretary-general speech as usual, a couple thank you-s here and there, before he handed it over to the chairs to announce the awards.

as he was walking down the stage, he felt a couple stares from mostly the press council linger. fixing his tie, he shook it off before taking a seat in the front row.

awards were handed, from best position papers, verbal commendations, honorable mentions, most outstanding delegates, and of course, best delegates.

the press council was saved for last. sunghoon asked heeseung if he could be given more time to rethink his options for the awards, and as his best mate, he let him. in reality, sunghoon didn't need time to rethink his options. he and wonyoung knew who was going to win best journalist. sunghoon just wanted to save the best for last.

when heeseung hears sunghoon's announcement for best journalist, it clicks.

"and the press council's best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

cheers could be heard from across the conference room. minjeong practically jumping on you when they heard your name mentioned. you rushed to the stage with a red face and a still shocked reaction, receiving the certificate along with the medal. wonyoung gave you the biggest bear hug known to man, whilst sunghoon gave you a firm handshake.

you felt the cameras flashing at you, taking pictures from what felt like every single angle. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was glaring at you from the front row.

best journalist. best journalist? his mind was running all over the place. how could he? how could sunghoon, his best friend, let such a writer like you, who wrote a devious article about him, win best delegate?

a single glance at the other delegates of the press council only angered him more. amongst them were laughs and snickers. he swore he heard a journalist say; "looks like mister secgen is upseeet!" but decelis mun only happened once a year. he wouldn't have the need to care about you every other day.

or so he thought.

heeseung felt like you were everywhere. at every lunch break, you were always sitting across his and the boys' table, laughing at nonsense with yunjin and wonyoung. during free periods, you'd be at the library, hunched over your laptop or head deep in a book. and at mun club, you just had to be there.

he hated that you were gifted like him. he hated that his friends favored you. he hated that sunghoon would always send you to their rival school's muns to participate in their press councils. he hated that you always won. he hated that you were clouding his mind every single day.

you hadn't but uttered a single "thank you," to lee heeseung. as decelis high's secretary-general, you didn't think he'd care about you. you were just a writer. you had no strength in the debate field, no reason for lee heeseung to care. but why was he being so cold?

it started when you applied for the harvard model congress. you were ecstatic to find out you'd be attending the conference. obviously, you told minjeong and wonyoung all about it. even striking up small talk with sunghoon.

"that's amazing y/n. i mean, harvard model congress? that's big!" his tooth-rotting smile bringing a cheerful mood.

"you went from winning best journalist in schools across the state to varsity level in just a few months!" minjeong squeals, as she hugs you. you were really lucky to have such caring best friends.

laughing along in the mun club room, you could feel heeseung's glare from his desk. headphones on and focused onto his laptop screen, you felt a strange feeling resonating off of him.

heeseung was fuming. the entire club applied for harvard model congress. heeseung got in. his mates did. and of course, you also did.

it was supposed to be a three day long weekend with his mates full of debate, laughter, awards, and getting drunk on social nights. but no. you and your friends would be there too.

heeseung didn't understand why everyone was so trusting of you so easily.

even jay, was friendly with you. "well y/n, i think you're going to make a run for hee's job!"

wonyoung rolls her eyes at jay. "he should be scared. you've rose up through the ranks like jake's receeding hairline."

"hey! my hair is perfectly fine, thank you!" jake cuts, huffing at the ridiculous comment about his hair.

"yo hee! we gotta work out the letter to the school so we can get a few days off. come over here, you look like you're burning holes into your laptop!" jay chuckles, receiving a smack on the arm from jake.

a quick but surprising slam! from heeseung's laptop emitted a low echo throughout the room. followed by a ruffling of him throwing his decelis almameter over his shoulder, and another loud slam! of the mun club room's door. lee heeseung just stormed out.

"oof, what's got into him?" minjeong asks, her face contorting into an anxious look.

"i don't fucking know, he's been at it since decelis' annual mun. throwing temper tantrums left and right." jay sighs, concerned for his best friend.

"well i guess that temper is living up to my article." you suggest, letting out a huff and a subtle eyeroll.

sunghoon takes a deep breath before realization hits. "now that i think of it, he's been at it since you've joined our core team." while he points at you.

"what does that have to do with me? i didn't do shit. all i do is sit, join muns, write, and win awards for us. would he rather i'd be getting verbal commendations instead?" you sigh. you've done nothing but bring pride to decelis high's reputation.

wonyoung laughs, patting you on the back. "it's not about winning verbcom or bestdel, it's about heeseung finally finding his match."

"exactly! he's gone on and on about constantly winning at every mun. he's always complained about needing more of a challenge. and no shit he's been jealous of your achievements." minjeong pipes in.

"that's ridiculous. i don't understand crisis as much as he does, i'm just a journalist on the press council! he's basically just being an ass to me, that's all." you confessed, you and heeseung were basically on different levels. he was secgen and lover of crisis councils, whilst you were just one of the head journalists and co-editors of the press division.

"maybe he likes you? i don't know!" jake squeals, lifting his shoulders in question. jay and sunghoon gives him a slap on the shoulder each, a glaring stare between the three.

"no no, lee heeseung is a cold-hearted son of a bitch with an ego to feed every other day, there's no way he can feel shit." minjeong debates, a hint of anger in her voice.

"woah girl, what's got you mad? i get you two grew up together but that's a lot to say about heeseung." wonyoung asks her.

"i know it's a long story, but y/n deserves to know. right?" minjeong asks, waiting for you to nod to continue. "every single day of my life, i was my parents' star girl. i love my parents for supporting me. but ever since heeseung moved in next door, i was demoted from best girl in the neighborhood to second best to heeseung. ever since we were eight, heeseung didn't like to lose. to a boy he'd be a good sport. but when he lost to me in a mere storytelling competition, he'd throw a tantrum. that's heeseung to me. he's nothing but an egotistical ass who has to win everything."

you sigh, hearing minjeong’s words. "and you know what y/n?" she continues, "he's never lost it since we were 13. and you, y/n, have officially made him lose his mind. again."

this year's harvard model congress was held at seoul national university, the dream university of many korean students. the seven of you stayed at a hotel nearby, settling in.

sunghoon picks up the keycards at the check-in counter, "okay so there's three rooms in total, the girls are sharing, me and jake are in one room, which leaves heeseung and jay—"

"i'm sorry sir," the hotel staff interrupts him, "but the rooms are already divided by the hotel and cannot be changed. it says here, room 745 is for miss kim and miss yang, room 746 is for mister park, mister sim, and the other mister park— mister jongseong, and room 777 is for—"

"great. thank you. alright, let's settle in and get ready for opening night." heeseung sighs, grabbing his suitcase and your shared room's keycards before heading to the elevators. you gave the rest of the group a shaky smile before following heeseung.

the moment you two entered the lift, and as heeseung tapped the keycard and pressing the button for the seventh floor, you could feel the tension.

as the lift begins to move upwards, heeseung lets out a sigh. "look, l/n. we're sharing a room by casuality, so don't make it a big deal."

you huff shakily, "a big deal? you're the one who's been avoiding me all year! i barely disturb you and all i do is win awards for decelis. what else do you want from me?" your voice slowly getting angrier.

as heeseung opens his mouth to answer, the lift comes to a halt as its doors open, signaling that they've reached the seventh floor.

heeseung holds the lift doors open, so you can exit it with ease. you were surprised with this gesture. coming from him who could care less about your presence, you were baffled.

as you both reach at your hotel room, heeseung gave you one of the three keycards given before tapping his at the hotel room's door.

and as if your romance stories came to life, you spotted an oh-so familiar trope sitting in the middle of your hotel room. there was only one king-sized bed.

"shut the front door." you sighed, looking at the clear situation in front of you.

heeseung entered behind you, "i clearly have, what are you talking abou—"

"no dumbass, it was a metaphor. i'm talking about this." you exclaimed, pointing your finger at the bed.

"great. i'll call up room service and get this sorted—"

"no it's fine, it'll be too much of a hassle and social night is in two hours. besides, we're civil adults, and we're here for only two nights. we can bear 72 hours living through this stupid one bed trope."

"fine. just so you know i'm taking the left side."

heeseung dropped his bag near his side, as he was trying his best to keep his composure. sharing a room with you was bad enough (that's what he keeps telling himself), but a bed as well? he'd rather win verbal commendation than share a bed with you.

you were unpacking your necessities before you decided to break the ice. "heeseung just so you know—"

but before you could finish, heeseung was already out the door. before the door closed, you could hear a mere; "i'll go down for social night. you do you." and a click! of the door.

you scanned the room that was once filled with such tension, spotting your room keycard on the bedside table.

you took off your sweater and switched to something a bit classier for social night, changing to a blood red dress you had packed to match harvard's colors. minjeong and wonyoung had helped you choose it a couple days prior, the conversation reappearing in your mind.

"harvard's got nothing on you with that dress! watch out best journalist!" minjeong hypes you up as you're trying it on in the changing room.

"are you sure it's not a bit too much?" you questioned, feeling insecure in the dress.

"too much? my guess is heeseung would drop dead seeing you in that dress. after all, he is in love with you." wonyoung giggles, which earns her a slap on her arm from winter.

"just own it y/n. maybe layer it with a leather jacket if you get cold?" minjeong suggests. you look at yourself in the mirror once more. maybe this would be the turning point between you and heeseung's rivalry. maybe he'd look at you and decide that he no longer hated you and instead loved y— no. enough of those thoughts.

as you touched up your makeup from earlier this morning, you headed out to find wonyoung and minjeong waiting at the lobby.

"there you are— oh that dress looks, damn!" minjeong exclaims, covering her mouth with her hand to hide the utter shock.

"i just know heeseung's going to gape at that dre—" before wonyoung could finish her sentence, she earns a smack on her arm from minjeong. "ow minie! i don't want my arm to be black and blue at social night! which starts in... thirty minutes. we should get to campus and fill in our registrations so we're set."

opening night was a blast. harvard model congress knew how to throw a goddamn banger of a opening night.

there were so many things to see. a karaoke booth, a photobooth station, a merch station, even a snack booth filled to the brim with various snacks and drinks.

after receiving your lanyards and a couple papers where you'd find your assigned councils for the next day, you, wonyoung, and minjeong, were set to let lose one last time before you were head deep into your laptops, writing articles for the next three days.

entering the room littered with decorations and other delegates, you and the girls entered the ballroom hand in hand, in awe with the decor.

wonyoung spotted the boys immediately, already saving a table for the seven of you. the three of you walked to the table, which had name plates for all your names. wonyoung next to sunghoon, jay next to jake, minjeong on your right next to you, and heeseung on your left.

sitting at the assigned seats and listening to the opening remarks by harvard model congress' secretary-general, the food was served and you all dug in.

although this was only the first of two social nights, you and the girls had to make the best of it. from abusing the “free photobooths!” booth, and filling the room with echoes of musical ballads, your first night at harvard model congress was deemed memorable.

before you knew it, you were dragged to the back of the room, as wonyoung pulled out a small paper bag—which turns out to hold a couple bottles of liquor, you grabbed your glasses and started pouring.

you could see out of the corner of your eye—the girls downing shots of tequila (in secret, cause you didn't want to get caught), and the guys coming along to take a shot or two. but heeseung looked, tense.

jake slapped him on the back, giggling, “come on man, loosen up a bit! mun isn’t all about the awards and the roles, it’s about the memories!”

“and the friends we make along the way, am i right?” jay chimed in, with a teasing tone.

before you knew it, heeseung grabbed an entire bottle and downed what was equivalent to maybe 4 shots, wonyoung squealed, arguing the fact that it was a very expensive bottle of liquor.

“dude! that’s from my dad’s cabinet, it’s at least 500.000 won!” she argued, grabbing the bottle out of his hands.

as you tried to ignore his gaze, minjeong gave you your first shot—which you downed immediately, but it only made you feel like heeseung’s gaze was burning holes into you more.

heeseung sighed, “give me another one.” holding his hand out for someone to pour him a shot. “come on, i don’t got all day.” before sunghoon poured him another shot—which he downed immediately.

you hated the feeling of his stare. it felt, uncomfortable, but you liked it? the more he stared, the more you downed more shots. before you knew it, opening night came to a close, and you were stumbling your way down the hallway with wonyoung and minjeong, before finally finding your room. and in your drunken state, you passed out.

burning pain. your eyes couldn’t handle the bright light emitting from what seemed to be all around you. as you open your eyes, head spinning, you flopped back down onto your bed, exhausted, and with the hotel room ac, you felt frozen.

but as you get comfortable onto the bed once more, you feel a sense of warmth engulf your body. it felt welcoming. comfortable. maybe a bit too comfortable for your sake. but the warmth was soothing. it was, moving?

you shot back out of the bed, trying to rub your eyes to focus back onto the warmth, but that warmth pulled you back into its embrace. as if it needed you to survive.

as you try to recollect the events of last night, your usual 7am alarm rung. what a great way to ruin the moment.

a groan echoed from that warmth you once clung to, a familiar sound, a familiar… voice?

“l/n, what time is it?” it asked.

fuck.

"chill y/n, you'll be fine." you whisper to yourself, walking to your assigned council's room. from the rest of the journalists in your gang, you had been assigned to report on different councils. while wonyoung and winter were assigned to report on the ASEAN council, sunghoon to report on the UNHRC council, you were unfortunately assigned to the crisis council. just to your luck. your mind was still stuck in what happened this morning. you met your chairs, shuhua and beomgyu, role call was held, and your first committee session began.

while you were typing away a starting paragraph for an article, a bright face comes to greet you. "oh hello, l/n y/n right? i'm jungwon, the journalist for KBS! i sit right next to you in our council room."

"oh hello! i'm y/n, reporting for the new york times, it's nice to meet you." you smile, offering a hand out for him to shake, which he accepts.

"so, you got assigned to crisis too huh?" jungwon asks as you nod, "honestly it's one of the worse councils to report on because everything is moving... too fast." he sighs.

"i don't mind the speed, it gives me inspiration to write. but everyone has their capacities right?" you try to reason, whilst jungwon gives an agreeing nod.

not long after some small talk before you could enter crisis' council room, another boy tags along. his bright smile clearly infectious as you and jungwon couldn't help but smile at his bright appearance.

"annyeong! nice to meet you i'm sunoo!" he smiles, his blonde hair reflecting the lights in the room.

you shake his hand as a boy with blonde hair and black streaks tags along behind him before slapping the blonde’s arm, "i'm nishimura riki, you can call me riki. can’t believe i flew all the way from tokyo for this."

“yah! your writing is fine riki, your good shots will steal the show.” sunoo assures him, before looking back at you, and smiling.

riki sighs, before turning on his camera “i wanna get the redhead over there, heard he’s super good at mun or something..”

you blink as you realize riki was talking about none other than—heeseung.

"oh him? yeah he's my secgen." you tell him, the sentence floating out of your mouth. jungwon and sunoo turn to you with gaping mouths.

"wait- what? he's YOUR secgen? THE lee heeseung?" jungwon exclaims.

you furrow your eyebrows, "um, yeah? what's the big deal about him?"

sunoo's face lights up, as he prepares his words. "girl, he's the most highest ranking student in the high school mun circuit! his countless awards and times he's chaired makes him a legend. he's a literal model un weapon, even delegates with the veto powers are scared of him." he explains.

as you open your mouth to respond to his comment about heeseung, one of the chairs of the crisis council exits the room to greet you.

"ah hello journalists, you're here. i'm yeonjun, the head chair for crisis. we currently have unmod going on right now so you're just in time. we'll give you guys a couple opportunities to interview the delegates, but please be mindful." he explains.

you and the three boys smile back at him, before he opens the council room door and lets you in.

"delegates! i'd like to introduce to you all the journalists from the international press institute council, who will be observing our committee session. we have yang jungwon from KBS, kim sunoo from associated press, nishimura riki from NHK, and y/n l/n from the new york times. please treat them with the upmost respect.

a couple delegates say their greetings, and even explaining the current debate going on, as the four of you smile back at them. the crisis council was a popular council, and you can tell that from the amount of delegates in the room.

as you return your laptop back into your messenger bag and pulling out a notepad, a pen, and some sticky notes, you look back up only to lock eyes with heeseung. his gaze was deadly. you give him a slight smile, which he responds with an eyeroll.

the only thing you hated about being a journalist was the interviews. you needed to research, but having to interact with people you don't know? you'd rather kill yourself. it just happened that heeseung's stance was interesting enough for you to pass a post-it note to him, which he threw away.

so you were surprised to see him walk towards you during break, as you had thought he had rejected your interview offer.

"l/n, you wanted to interview me?" he'd asked you, no bad tone in his voice.

you looked at him surprised, kinda shocked, "umm, yeah? are you okay with that."

"i'm good. just, make it quick."

you open your notes to find your question you wanted to ask him, "um, do you mind if i record?" you asked, which he nodded. "okay, so as the delegate of colombia, what steps would you take to face the ongoing drug trade happening in your country? as a journalist, we have not seen you speak up much lately, so i'd like to know your thoughts."

"um, thank you for the interesting question, well i think—"

it was unlike him to treat you like this. unlikely for him to keep his cool. as you try to remember the words he was saying as you hold out your phone to record him, nothing was catching on. it was as if words went in one ear and out the other. 

he was so professional. the way he walks, and the way he talks—the way his lips move when he talks, the way he explains his stance—the way he’s saying the words—the way his lips move to pronounce it, oh and the way he-

“l/n? are you done? i’m wasting my precious break time here.” heeseung asks you, breaking you out of that trance.

you compose yourself, hitting the stop button on the voice recorder app, “oh yeah, sorry, i was thinking of another question to ask you—got carried away…”

heeseung rolls his eyes at you, before thanking you and scurrying away.

what had gotten into you? you’ve never seen heeseung in that way before. he’s always been just a secretary-general to you. who also happens to hate you. you think. 

but as the unmoderated caucus comes to a close, you return back to your council room, ready to write an article on heeseung’s stance. after all, you still had a day’s left worth of committee sessions, as well as a press conference held at the crisis council. 

the press council room was chiming with the clicks and clacks of keyboards, journalists writing articles left and right. you were in the middle of writing once again another filler article, as you had no idea what to write for your mandatory article. as you look through your gallery, observing pictures you took earlier for your articles, you can't help but notice heeseung in his element.

as you're typing a possible title for your mandatory article, you hear from beside you, "hey, what's going on with you and heeseung?" sunoo asks, as you turn to him in shock, as you were in the middle of writing an article.

you laughed nervously, "what? nothing's going on between us. he practically hates me." you sigh.

jungwon pulls his chair over to you, placing his laptop on your table in the process, "i don't think so. not from what i saw last night."

you gasped at what he said, "and what i saw this morning! i could practically feel the tension emitting off the two of you as you were interviewing him. i've never seen a man so intrigued before." riki chimes in.

"this morning? nothing happened, i was interviewing him on his stances and whatsoever for a possible article! that's all to it!" you defend yourself, trying to get back into your article.

"y/nie, sweetie, i've seen way too many kdramas to tell that the way he's looking at you, is a look of love~" sunoo teases, smiling as if he knew something more.

jungwon and riki laughes at your expression, which seemed to resemble a disgusting look, but underneath that, you felt a sting in your heart. not a bad sting, a good sting.

"but hey you two seemed pretty cozy last night, i wonder what that was for?" jungwon asked.

riki gasps, "hey i took a picture! wait let me find it..." as he pulled out his camera, going through the camera roll. "here! you guys were dancing together a lot, and he basically was carrying you back to your room. what, did you guys get drunk or something?"

you choked on your water, as the events of last night start piecing together. "i remember taking a couple shots, he did too, but all i remember after that is falling asleep on my bed... i assumed my friends helped me to get back but now that i think of it... they were pretty drunk too."

taking another closer look at the pictures riki happened to capture, you saw two beaming smiles, and from the looks of it, it looked like you two were having fun. you've never seen him smile this much, let alone around you. the other picture resembled like a married couple. it was as if heeseung was trying to pick you up, but by the looks of your drunken states, it wasn't really working.

"wouldn't it be really funny if you guys accidentally fucked or something? that would explain the tension!" jungwon jokes.

you shake your head, before putting your face in your hands, "no way, not in a million years. our tension is, well, our tension! it's what happens normally!" you try to defend.

"no you're right won, they totally fucked. i mean the floor you guys are on? most of the rooms have king or queen sized beds. what would you guys be doing other than that? snuggling into each other till the sunrise?" riki assumes, scoffing afterwards.

your eyes widened in shock, as if jungwon cut your brain opened and took out the events of what happened this morning. you put your head in your hands once more before beginning to cry.

riki saw your reaction, "hey i didn't mean it that way! i mean it's- um... great? if you fucked? but if not then that's like, totally okay! i mean sex isn't for everyone—"

sunoo cut him off, shooing him away, "stop making it worse, ki-yah! y/nie? will you tell us what happened?"

you sniffed, not knowing why you suddenly burst into tears, maybe it was the frustration? you grabbed a tissue to compose yourself, "i don't know... all i remember is i woke up this morning, in his arms, and i just jumped out and got ready. we didn't even talk about it. all of a sudden he's back to his old self and he's being mean to me again."

you take a deep breath, sunoo rubbing you on the back, trying to calm you down. "he's been like this ever since i transferred. i was just the new girl who was a press prodigy, that's what they called me back at decelis, and i don't know, he's hated me every since. no reason whatsoever. i've tried to win his attention by winning muns and stuff but, it doesn't matter. he looks at me as if i disappoint him."

jungwon and riki both comfort you as well, before jungwon has a strike of realization. "you know, it's not that i wanna stir up delusion in your mind, but it's quite common for guys to hate someone because they like them. what if he has a crush on you?"

riki realizes as well, "yeah what if? what if all this time he's been trying so hard to hate you because he actually likes you?"

hearing the words likes you come out of their mouths makes you shudder in fear. no way he likes you. right?

before you knew it, your chair returns to announce that press conferences are due to start soon. and up first? was the crisis council.

stepping foot into the crisis room, with the information in mind, you start to notice the tiny little characteristics that match with the fact. the fact that the lee heeseung might as well have a crush on you. as you, sunoo, and two other journalists were guided to the front of the room, your chair explaining to the crisis delegates how the press conference was going to work, before giving the floor to the journalists.

you keep your head hung, distracting yourself by re-reading the questions you’ve written on your notepad, peeking through your hair, trying to take a glimpse of heeseung.

heeseung was in his element as always, head deep in his laptop, a couple volunteers passing by to give him a post-it note, filled with scribbles of other delegates wishing to be on his side. but as per usual, his critical self crumples the notes and puts it aside to his pile of other crumpled notes.

sunoo, on your left, nudges you in the arm, trying to snap you out of it. the moment you lift your head to look at the delegates and compose yourself, you catch heeseung looking at you.

with your bloodshot eyes, your usual smile fading, heeseung can’t help but notice what happened. you were fine last break. your eyes which used to be sparkling with curiosity had been traded for puffy eyes and a fake smile.

he wanted to come up to you, wanted to ask what’s wrong. but as your chair introduced the journalists, he’d wonder if it was just an impulsive thought.

each journalist had to share 10 minutes worth of press conference time to ask questions, a tight amount of time. as the journalist on your far left begins, the clock begins to tick. being the last journalist to ask, you begin to feel worried.

but as the mic is passed to you, and mere two minutes left on the clock, you scramble to compose yourself and your questions. “this journalist would like to open the question to the floor, with the excessive drug trade impacting the economy of your countries, what is an effective solution you’d have to decrease the drug circulation, but at the same time, would not damage your economy?”

placards were raised, and amongst them, were heeseung’s. you could see the colombian flag on his placard raised high, but as the journalist of the new york times, your work came first. therefore, you chose someone else. “yes, delegate of the united states?”

the delegate of the united states stood up, and you finally saw the name on his nametag. yang jeongin. he smirked at you, sending a wink. “thank you madam journalist for the intriguing question, as the drug trade across our country begins to increase…”

as you held your hand forward holding your phone out to record his answer, continuing to talk for the next minute. it felt like a lifetime. but in the corner of your eye, you could feel his gaze burning holes. heeseung held his placard high, glaring dead straight at jeongin even if he was still speaking. but as you thank jeongin for his answer, you open the question once more to the floor.

you hear a screech of the chair as heeseung, the only one holding his placard up, stands up to answer. but you don’t discern anything he says. you just stare at him. before you knew it, the clock rang, signaling that time was up.

sunoo nudged your arm once more, trying to snap you out of it. “you okay?” he asked, worry written all over his face. you nodded to tell him you were okay.

as you were escorted out of the room to head to the hotel restaurant for lunch break, you couldn't help but feel the same feeling of heeseung's gaze at the back of your head. you ignored him, walking out with sunoo by your side.

but you were stopped briefly by someone, none other than the delegate of the united states. "hey, that was a very interesting question you asked earlier at press conference. i was wondering if you need my insight on anything? given as i'm usa and you're the new york times." jeongin suggests, his usual smirk returning from before. sunoo winked at you, before leaving the two of you alone in the hallway.

you blink at him, "oh! yeah, i was thinking about gaining insight from, well our country's side of the story. so what can you tell me?"

your notepad flips open along the click of your pen, ready to jot down his words, before out of the corner of your eye, that sharp gaze returns. the burning stare heeseung emitted was back. you gulped and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. "hey, um jeongin? could we find somewhere a bit more quiet so i can record the interview? i need to make sure everything is clear because i need to submit the questions to my chairs."

jeongin smiled, "of course sweetheart, i know just the place." before he took your hand and led you away. unbeknownst to you, heeseung was fuming.

as the two of you walked away, heeseung couldn't help but wonder. what's so great about yang jeongin anyways? compared to himself, his track record was not all that. yeah he may have won most outstanding or honorable mention a couple times, but never best delegate. consecutively.

heeseung felt a tap on his shoulder, before briefly turning around. jay was standing there with a cup of coffee. he grabbed it out of his hands before immediately drinking out of it.

"that's! hot coffee..." jay protested. but to heeseung, his rage burned hotter. "what's got your panties in a twist?" jay asked, sipping his own cup of coffee.

"nothing, just pissed at a delegate. per usual." heeseung lied. as the two begun to make their way to restaurant to eat lunch.

jay chuckled, seeing his pissed face, "dude, i've known you for over eight years, you don't get pissed at a delegate for no reason. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, everyone here? they're basically professionals. mun legends. i wouldn't have afford this shit if i wasn't good at it. the awards and prizes helped fund this hobby."

heeseung sighed, "it's not just a delegate. it's someone else."

"it's y/n, isn't it?" heeseung snapped his head to glare at jay, as if he grew three heads. "chill dude, i can tell. you're painfully in love with her."

"no no no, you don't get it, she's a menace to my track record. do you remember back at decelis mun before she transferred? her article basically ruined my record the next five muns? i basically had to avoid chairing so the rumors wouldn't be deemed true." heeseung argued, reminiscing the times.

"but you'd argue she's a damn good writer, isn't she?" jay defended, "i mean no one from decelis has won consecutively aside from you. and she comes in to make the decelis name proud. aren't you glad? you're secgen after all. you're just in denial."

heeseung sighed, looking at his cup of coffee, once full, now empty. "i'm not in denial! i'm just stressed with a couple delegates in committee session, unmoderated caucus was, stressful."

entering the restaurant, their eyes landed to the corner booth, where you sat face to face with jeongin. jay turned his head to look at heeseung staring deadset at the two. "well, whatever floats your boat man, i'm gonna get some lunch. unsc might as well go to crisis next comses." jay pats him on the back, joining sunghoon, jake, wonyoung, and minjeong.

heeseung stood still. he couldn't help but wonder. is this what love feels like?

"so, yang jeongin, what can you tell me about the united states' stance on the current illegal drug trade? i assume that the country is fully aware of it happening?" you ask, pressing record on your voicenotes app.

jeongin looked around, before reaching over and pressing the stop recording button on your phone. before you could protest, "okay cut the crap, what's going on between you and lee heeseung?"

you looked at him strangely, not expecting the sudden confrontation. "well, nothing? i don't know what you want me to say, this isn't part of the interview."

jeongin dug into his food, "screw that shit, i wanna know why your secgen is all on my ass. i mean i looked at you once at comses earlier, and he looked at me like i lit an orphanage on fire."

you almost choked on your pasta, "what the hell, dude. he's just like that. he hates my guts so much he has to make me feel uncomfortable everywhere i go. i literally bring home decelis as many awards as he has in the past two years. i don't get him."

"nah, i don't think that's hate. he looked at me as if he was clyde and i was trying to steal away his bonnie. that's a look of love."

you sighed, "the thing is jeongin, he doesn't care. i've done everything to pique his attention, best journalist awards left and right, i was supposed to run for deputy secgen but he didn't let me. he said i wasn't a true decelis muner yet. i mean 8 muns in the span of a couple months? and i've never lost a single one? he probably hates me because i chose the lamest council."

jeongin swallows his food before he comes to realization, "hey weren't you the journalist who wrote on heeseung back at decelis' mun? i remember felix-hyung, my friend, that he went feral over it. he was chairing unicef, and in the chairs' room, he overheard heeseung talking about your article. how it was going to ruin his track record, or something."

"i mean, i do remember briefly. wonyoung, my chair, said i was allowed to write about the chairs or staff, even if they were filler articles. i wrote about heeseung and jay out of interest, i didn't know their history." you confessed, feeling quite bad about the outcome. "i didn't want my article to end up being gossip or shit talk, i just wrote what i wanted to."

"freedom of the press, am i right?" jeongin laughed, "speaking of the devil." signaling heeseung heading towards your table.

heeseung stood at your table. "yang. l/n." before scooting next to jeongin's side of the booth. you couldn't help but move your eyes between the two. after what sunoo and the boys told you earlier, and jeongin's confirmation that basically people could tell, you sit there in silence.

heeseung clears his throat, "well i'm not seeing much interviewing going on, delegates."

you scoffed at him, "it's none of your business heeseung. we're all delegates, it's lunch break. you don't have to boss around all the time."

"our decelis guidebook strictly confers to not confide in the enemy. and here you are, with the enemy. you know if you spill precious information regarding us we'd be dead?" he scolded you.

a laugh escaped your throat, "the enemy? jeongin is far from the enemy to me. matter of fact, heeseung, you've been more of an enemy to me rather than a secgen."

jeongin whispered, "keep it down y/n, it's okay."

you stood up in anger, "no it's not okay! i've been trying my hardest to do everything i can, i've won consecutively since my first mun at decelis, i've done everything you ask for. i've done nothing but make the decelis name proud, but i just can't happen to make you proud. what do i have to do next? i do everything and all i do is fall at second best. if you hate me so much then kick me off the goddamn team! wouldn't want me tarnishing your precious track record by having a traitor on the team, would you? all this over a stupid article i wrote months ago." you walk away from the table, returning to your room.

heeseung was speechless, the rest of the room was in awe, normally delegates would be able to stay professional. even if there was a break up or something. even wonyoung and minjeong looked at heeseung in anger, meanwhile jake, jay, and sunghoon looked at him in disappointment. jeongin stood up and left the booth, avoiding any more anger out of heeseung. "if i were you, i'd apologize. that girl has done nothing but try to please you and make you proud. start there." jeongin added before leaving.

out of habit, heeseung hung his head low in embarrassment. this was worse than the time you wrote that article about him. as he stood up to confide in the boys for advice, he spots a small leather notepad in the corner of the booth. it was yours. he'd have to find you, face you and give it back. it wouldn't hurt to read a bit of what's inside, right?

running back to your room, you couldn't dare return till next comses. the fact that an entire room full of delegates and chairs had heard you scream at heeseung's face. and returning back to the bed you woke up from this morning, limbs tangled with heeseung, didn't really help.

hiding your face in your bedsheets, tears flowing freely, you couldn't help but smell the familiar cologne he had left behind. the smell stung your nose, and made your eyes water more. the scent that once plagued you, now had lulled you to sleep.

a blurry facade appeared, the sound of heavy noise music remained muffled. your feet were cold on the hotel floor, destination? room 777. you were swaying side to side, but thankfully you were able to hold on to a pillar, which was moving with you.

"we shouldn't have drunk this much, right l/n? i'm not even sure i'm prepped for comses tomorrow morning." the pillar said.

"you have it easy, lee. you don't have to write 4 pieces worth of mandatory articles and observe other council's committee sessions." you replied, a clear slur in your voice.

it, who turned out to be heeseung, laughed, and it was like music to your ears. "i thought you journalists just copy-pasted shit off google or something, didn't get why you'd have to sit in the back of council rooms."

you scoffed at him, "well, as secretary-general, you should've known better. if only you noticed what i've been doing all this time to get your attention, maybe you would've understood."

"you think i haven't been paying attention? i've had my eyes on you ever since you wrote that silly article about me back at decelis mun. 'who's really chairing crisis?' you do know me and jay have been friends since primary, right?" he argued.

"that i know know, lee. the fact that you caused all the fuss over an article that was purely for mun, and had no ill intention is just stupid. i just wanted to be able to express myself." you confessed, feeling underestimated.

he sighed, pressing the up button on the lift, "it's not that i fussed over an article, it's that you wrote about me. i don't see many people brave enough to write about a secretary-general." before he could continue, the doors to the lift dinged and opened, allowing the two of you to walk in.

"i mean," he stuttered, clicking the number seven on the lift's buttons, "you amazed me. i've never met a person who could express themselves so much through their writing. no one paid attention to me enough to write such a critical piece about me."

you smiled at him, "so i'm special? i was the first to write about you, right?" he chuckled at your cheeky comment, "yes you're a first. i wouldn't mind if you kept writing about me."

"but why'd you hate me? i've done so much for decelis to make you proud, but you still have a way to butcher me. i just wanted to impress you." you'd sighed into his chest, the world beginning to spin.

luckily, heeseung had caught you before you fell, right on time as the lift reached the seventh floor. he basically carried you out, trying not to drop you.

"if i hated you so much, i wouldn't be helping you get back to our room, nor would i be making sure you get back safely." he assured you, holding you in his arms.

you groaned in protest, "but you do, don't you? i'm never enough for you, after everything i've done. all the things i did—"

you were shut up by his lips on yours. out of the blue, with no warning signs, he had kissed you. out of habit you kissed him back, lips molding against each other as if you had been waiting for years, as if you couldn't live without each other. all hatred you held against him dissipated. your arms crawling towards the back of his neck to pull him closer, his own pulling on your waist.

he pulled away to take a breath, but you couldn't breathe. he was your oxygen. you connected the two of you together, chasing his lips, his touch, his presence. it was the sweetness, the flavor of love and lust hanging. you’ve been craving his attention, hell, even his touch for months.

but your lungs craved oxygen, forcing you to pull away, hiding your face in his chest. as you were taking in the moment, he chuckled, "i wouldn't have done that if i hated you, would i?"

waking up with a jolt, the memories of last night came rushing in. you thanked yourself that the two of you hadn't fucked, but the idea of kissing him and liking it gave yourself insight. you wondered if heeseung remembered too.

opening your phone and seeing the time, you rushed out of your room as you were late to your next editorial meeting. it being the last committee session of the day, all you had to do was submit your mandatory articles of the day, and you'd be done. running back to your council room, knocking slightly on the door, you rushed back to your seat.

"journalist, you're late. why is that?" shuhua asked, beomgyu beside her, taking notes.

you sat down and composed yourself, "i'm sorry chairs, i slept in during break. it won't happen again."

the chairs nodded at you, letting it pass. the room discussed about how press conferences was, reminding the journalists of the upcoming deadline, but your mind was in the gutter.

you touch your lips, and you feel the lingering taste on your tongue. you were shocked out of your trance with the knocks of the chairs' gavel hitting the sound block. with only an hour left to finish your mandatory article, you begin to type.

social night was an mun tradition. after a full day of committee sessions, all councils, no matter what their council was, it gave a chance for all the delegates to mingle amongst each other.

free from the deadline of your first mandatory article, you had the whole night to party it out before tomorrow, where you had to finish your final mandatory article.

social nights usually had themes, and tonight, harvard model congress' was inspired by bridgerton, along with masquerade masks were in array. you had packed a a black dress, which belonged to your mother. she’d always tell you to save it for a special occasion, a moment you wouldn’t want to forget. and for tonight, as you miss your mom's touch, you wear your dress with pride.

walking to the venue, and right before you could even enter, you’re immediately greeted by wonyoung and minjeong. "oh my god sweets are you okay?" wonyoung asked, holding your face, clear worry in her eyes. "we heard and saw what happened at lunch, good for you to finally confront the bitch." minjeong commented, which earned her, once again, another slap on the arm by wonyoung.

you nodded at the two, holding their hands, "i'm fine, don't worry. i just needed to get it out of my system, that's all."

"to think of it, i haven't seen him since. normally when you pass by the crisis room, you'd hear his voice bouncing off the walls..." wonyoung confessed, "that's very unlike of him."

minjeong scoffs at her comment, "who cares? he's been downplaying y/n's achievements for the past couple months, i wouldn't be able to stay quiet if i were you."

you sighed at the two bickering in front of you, "guys, i just want tonight to be about us. this is harvard model congress for god's sake, i want to make the best out of it. so can we stop the heeseung talk and have some fun? please?"

the two nodded at your request, not pestering you any further. you all walk into the venue, being handed masquerade masks. the venue was decorated to the nines, and it felt like a ball straight out of bridgerton. the three of you were guided to your delegation table, which seated you, the girls, jake, and sunghoon. but heeseung? he was no where to be found.

"where's heeseung? it's not like him to miss out on social night." jake asked you.

you sat down on your assigned seat, and the seat on your right, which was supposed to occupy heeseung, was cold and empty. "why are you asking me? he hates me, remember?"

jake shrugged, "i don't know, i just reckoned that since the two of you are sharing a room, you'd know where he is."

minjeong scoffs, "who cares? y/n got ready at me and wony's room anyways, so no, we don't know where he is."

"jay said earlier today that he's been looking for him. wonder where he went. and if he found him..." sunghoon tells the table, sipping on his glass of water.

stuck in your trance, you were snapped out of it by a screeching of a chair, one, being jay, and the other was right next to you. heeseung. he was in his usual suit and tie, a couple buttons on the top were unbuttoned. you glanced at his tired eyes, hidden underneath the masquerade mask.

"dude? where've you been?" jake asked jay, slapping him on the shoulder.

jay sighed and drank a gulp of his water, "looking for this asshole over here." while pointing at heeseung, "took me a while to find him literally on the rooftop. i swear seoul uni has the most crazy hideouts. i'm not even sure i can even find my way back."

"how'd you find your way there anyways?" sunghoon asked heeseung.

he sighed, "don't know. just, found it." his demeanor slipping away as you begin to see the raw brokenness. you didn't hurt his ego that much, right?

as the clock struck seven, waiters all around the room began laying out the meals. you took a glimpse of the dinner courses in front of you, not really having an appetite for anything. but you still tried to eat, tried not to waste your food, tried to seem okay in front of him.

heeseung, on the other hand, was trying his best not to combust. sitting next to you was hard enough, but the fact you were wearing such a beautiful dress had him awestruck. he also lost his appetite. he couldn't help but stare at you.

after dinner, your friends stood up and ran over to the dance floor, and you were unfortunately dragged along. a remix of many famous hits were played, before you sang your hearts out to iris, by the goo goo dolls. you felt someone tap you on your shoulder, which to your surprise you see jeongin.

"could i have this dance?" he asked, hand out for you to grab, iris still playing in the background.

you nodded and grabbed his hand before you two danced foolishly to iris, heels discarded, his suit as well, just dancing your hearts out. but you had your limits, you were tired and excused yourself to grab some water. before you felt a nudge on your right, as heeseung leaned towards your ear. "can we talk later? don't say no just yet, just follow the green post its."

he walks away, as you look at him in confusion. feeling bad for what you said at lunch, you decide to meet him and see what he has to say.

following the pins of green post-its he left behind, you find yourself at the hidden rooftop jay was talking about at dinner. you open the door to be shocked at the view. the stars twinkling in the night sky. and stood there near the edge, was heeseung.

you broke the silence, clearing your throat, "you wanted to speak to me?"

heeseung looked at you and your dress, his mind going places. "yeah. i did. i'm not expecting an apology. i deserve it."

"but why'd you hate me so much, heeseung?" you whined at him, sick of his jokes.

"the thing is l/n, i don't!" he shouts, walking towards you, "it's not that i hate you, it's that i hate the way you make me feel. i hate the way you're so good at writing, i hate the way you win everything to make me proud, i hate the way you know my weaknesses, i hate the way you never gave up. you're on my mind every fucking day."

you walk up towards him, pulling his suit to pull him down, and him not expecting anything, you slap him across his face.

heeseung immediately pulled back, "ow! what was that for?"

"that was for not telling me about how you felt. you didn't have to bottle it up, you know?" you scoffed.

"and you didn't have to either!" he protested back, pulling out a familiar journal. your journal.

you grabbed it from his hands, "how'd you find this? i didn't even realize it was missing..."

heeseung sighed, "you know for a smart writer like you, you're very forgetful." a smile beginning to emerge.

"what did you read, heeseung? tell me." you asked, afraid that your secrets would spill out.

heeseung walked towards you, "enough to know that you're too stubborn to even tell me the truth. if you'd been feeling this way for months then you should have told me."

you gasped at him, "i would have told you about it if you weren't such a dick all the time? and then you kissing me last night just added more fuel to the fire." not realizing what you said, heeseung cupped your face, which was full of confusion.

"you remember last night?"

you blinked. "everything."

he laughed, "then you'd know i wouldn't hate you as much if i was doing this, would i?"

the familiar taste of his lips returned as he kissed you. you held onto his hands as he caressed your face. the oxygen you once craved had been fulfilled. you strung your arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life. you could feel the burst of sparks just surrounding the two of you, a moment you both craved.

the wavering facade between the two finally faded, unleashing the raw desire the two of you had, rushing through your veins.

you pulled away, heeseung leaning his forehead onto yours, before he gave you his best smile. you blushed out of nervousness and proximity the two of you held, not used to this view.

"you still hate me now?" you joked, smiling at him. his eyes softened, before he laughed, and kissing you once more, not wanting to let go. and as the stars glimmered under the night sky, you forgot time ever existed. forget the committee sessions due tomorrow, it was the two of you against the world.

surely, waking up on the final day of the conference would give you a sense of peace, right? wrong. you had spent so much time last night making out and talking with heeseung that you forgot your final mandatory article was due soon. waking up from the bed the two shared, limbs tangled once more, this time, you weren't ashamed.

you kissed heeseung's forehead to wake him up, and despite heeseung's wishes to stay in and make out some more, you declined and got ready.

"can't you just stay? a bit late to the first comses of the day won't hurt your awards." heeseung groaned, asking you to return.

"i was late at yesterday's comses post-lunch, so i think i'm going to be a good girl and come early to this one." you replied, fixing your tie.

heeseung basically stood up and tried to pull you back to bed, "come on, just be my good girl. i promise you will be awarded with all of my kisses in the world."

you shook your head, "missing out on a couple kisses won't be the death of me. come on, you need to prep for comses too."

heeseung moaned in complaint, "no, i'd break my streak for you, i don't care. i just want to stay in with you, away from everybody."

you were able to crawl your way out of his touch, "nope! i'm not letting you lose your streak just over me. come on, get ready. i'm going down for breakfast."

"can i at least have a goodbye kiss before you go?" he pouted, and the way his eyes resembled bambi, you gave in.

you tried to just give him a quick peck, but his touch was so fragile and welcoming, that if you didn't stand your ground, you'd probably be pinned down till the rest of the day. but you didn't want that, so you let go of his touch, assuring him that you'd spend more time with him after the conference.

now, here you were, back in your conference room with a giddy look on your face. you couldn't help but dream of last night. even sunoo, riki, jungwon, along with wonyoung, minjeong, and sunghoon, were even surprised to see you better all of a sudden.

"okay is this some weird process girls do the cope with sadness, cause if so how do we fix her?" sunoo asked, concerned.

wonyoung was staring at you like you were beaming, "it looks like pregnancy glow."

riki basically spit out his coffee, "wait so they actually fucked?"

minjeong snapped at riki, "who fucked?"

"we had speculation that, y/n and heeseung fucked the first night, hence why she was out of it the next day..." jungwon explained to the rest.

sunghoon, the only person out of the group who happened to know heeseung the best, commented that; "no there's no way he fucked her. if they fucked, they wouldn't have been here."

"could you stop speculating that me and heeseung fucked?" you snapped at the group. not out of anger, but annoyed that you couldn't concentrate.

"sorry, but did you?" riki enquired, earning him a riki! from the group around him. "what? i just wanna know."

you sighed, standing up and packing a couple things, "who cares if we fucked or not? just leave us alone." as you head out of the council room, heading to the crisis room for some final details.

contrary to how you first felt when you walked into the room, your heart felt full of hope. that this time, heeseung wouldn't be staring at you with hatred, instead of love. you hoped you wouldn't distract him.

as you walked into the council room, you nodded at chair yeonjun, before taking a seat at the prepared seats for the journalists. you sit down, open your laptop as you're typing your final mandatory article. you tried to glimpse towards heeseung, but you were returned with the same feeling as yesterday. the sharp gaze was back. maybe it's because he's in is element? mun is important to him... you thought, and busied yourself to writing your article. since it was your final committee session, you just had to submit your article and return for the closing editorial meeting. quickly clicking submit, and the chairs deeming the final committee session over, you wanted to sneak a quick kiss before returning for your meeting.

you stood up from your seat and walked towards heeseung. he stood up and saw you, walking your way. instead of being greeted by a hug or a kiss, he brushed past you to talk to his fellow delegates. you felt a pang in your chest, the way heeseung ignored you like that. you thought everything was okay. the kisses you shared, the conversations you had. you looked back at heeseung only to see him busy talking with the other delegates, barely sparing you a glance. you left the room quickly, not looking back.

unbeknownst to you, heeseung saw you leaving, his heart barely surviving after treating you like that. you deserved better than him. he couldn't have it all.

the final editorial meeting of press councils should be a joy to you. no more deadlines, no more press conferences. but you were stuck in your head. repeating the interaction over and over in your head, you didn't understand a single thing.

after the comments and input from both the chairs and the journalists, chair shuhua decided to pull out the gossip box. you'd been informed prior about the gossip box filling at social night, but since you ran off with heeseung to make out the night away, you didn't have time to fill it in.

as shuhua and beomgyu begin to read the entries, earning laughter all around the room, a certain entry snaps you out of your trance.

"oh this is a good one! new york times from press and colombia from crisis actually fit really good together! hope the enemies finally turn into lovers! wait is this about y/n and heeseung?" chair shuhua asks, causing the whole room to look at you.

you looked at everyone strangely, "what? there's nothing."

chair beomgyu shook his head, "no no no, i don't think there's nothing. come on spill the tea, something must've happened the past three days."

everybody was waiting on your response. waiting for you to tell everyone what happened. you just wanted them to shut up. "okay well. we kissed."

the group of six who were pestering you earlier, gasped loudly. earning you a rumble of no shit's, wait actually's, and a loud jinjja?!

you couldn't help but sink back into your seat, still upset about the way he treated you earlier. "yeah, but he's treating me like shit again today, so. that's that."

the entire room aww'ed in disappointment, before the chairs read out a couple more entries, and adjourns the final editorial. you stand up to clean your table, taking out a pen to begin signing each others' placards. signing everybody else's, photo sessions were in array, and after you were finally allowed to have some free time before awarding ceremony.

awarding ceremony was one of those moments where you have hope, but at the same time you don't. you start rethinking choices you made during the conference, wondering if you made the right option. you headed your way to where the press council was sat at, where you met a couple other delegates, even bumping into jeongin, wishing each other a good luck!

you sit down between wonyoung and minjeong, which earned you an endearing hug from the two, assuring your problems with heeseung didn't matter. stuck in your head, you didn't notice the boys' absence in the room. and awarding had begun. the secretary-general of harvard model congress came up and made their speech, thanking all the delegates for participating and giving their best. chairs from other councils begin to come up to give their awards.

meanwhile, outside of the room, was heeseung cornered by jay, jake, and sunghoon.

heeseung, not caught up with the situation, looked at the three with confusion. "what did i do?"

jay scoffed, "what did you do? you managed to fuck it up again? what did i tell you?!" shaking the life out of him.

heeseung shook his head in confusion, not knowing what to do, when sunghoon came up to him, "look man, your little feud with y/n has to stop. i don't get you anymore. i thought you'd be good at this after helping me and wonyoung get together..."

"nah dude you're in denial. what do you mean you two basically confessed to not hating each other and then made out a bunch of times, only for you to leave her and ignore her like so? that's crazy." jake protested. that was the truth.

"i don't know what to tell you, but me and jake have got to get back for unsc awarding, but please think about it? i know you feel scared of this whole love thing, but i assure you, it's okay to feel this way." jay says, leaving with jake, which left sunghoon with heeseung alone.

heeseung didn't know what to do. for the first time in his life, everything was out of his control. he craved you and needed you, but he felt like he didn't deserve you. it was as if a crisis was happening in his own mind.

as he hears the cheers of the room with every award that is given out, his heart races. he hears the announcement where jay and jake both won best delegates, which they had been double delegating in.

sunghoon kept trying to comfort heeseung, not knowing what to say to him. "look, i may not understand the way your mind works, but i assure you that you deserve her. you've put yourself through it all for decelis, and the track record that we have wouldn't have been what it is now if it wasn't for you. i don't know what plan you're cooking up, but whatever it is, win her back." heeseung looks at sunghoon with sheer nervousness in his eyes. "press and crisis are left, so whatever you want to do? do it now. before its too late."

leaving heeseung alone outside the room, sunghoon walks back in, returning to where the press journalists sat. he saw you picking on your nails out of habit, nervous for the next awards. as your chairs walk up to the podium, sunghoon just hopes heeseung would do something.

as names begin getting called out, sunoo winning best pre-conference video, then riki and jungwon winning verbal commendations, wonyoung and minjeong winning honorable mentions, you held on tight to the tiny string of hope left. it was probably between you and sunghoon left. as you look around the room, heeseung is still nowhere to be found. you had hoped that maybe with this win, you'd make him proud once and for all.

"the final two journalists were a tight match. these two shown impeccable talent in their articles and presence the past three days." shuhua announces. "it is with our great pleasure that the most outstanding journalist goes to, park sunghoon!"

wonyoung, who was on the stage prior, basically screams in joy. you high five sunghoon before he winks at you, knowing you'd win best journalist. but a part of you still thinks you won't.

beomgyu gives sunghoon his award, before adjusting his mic. "this final journalist has pure talent in her writing, and have awestruck the both of us with her work. without further ado, we would like to present that the best journalist award goes to none other than... l/n y/n!"

relief. that's all what washes towards you. yes you've heard your name and the words best journalist go along too often, but every time it happens, it always feels euphoric. as you walk up the stage to receive your award, earning smiles from the other awardees, you couldn't help but look to the crowd.

you see jay and jake basically jumping up and down in joy, but heeseung was still nowhere to be found. a pang of disappointment burns in your chest as you walk down the podium with your certificate in hand. an array of congratulations! are heard, as you sit back down for the final awarding. crisis.

zoning out, after feeling the euphoria of your win, your mind drifts off to heeseung. how would he feel? was he proud?

as chair yeonjun announces the awardees, you are cut out of your trance with every round of applause. you see jeongin win most outstanding, and you cheer for him.

as yeonjun clears his throat for the final award, he begins his speech. "this final award goes to a delegate who really deserves it all. although this mun may have not been his best run, he deserves so much more than the title: prodigy. i'd like to present this best delegate award to none other than... you know what? lee heeseung get up here, get your award, and get your girl!"

with pure shock, you watch as heeseung bursts through the doors, run up to the podium, quickly shake his chairs' hands, grabs his certificate, and runs down. and he's running to you.

he drops his certificate on the floor, before engulfing you in the biggest hug he's ever given in his life. spinning you around, you squeal in excitement. he whispers in your ear an array of i'm so proud of you's, before putting you down, and kissing you in front of everyone.

you cling onto him, parting your lips allowing him to kiss you deeper and deeper, and the feeling of sparks flying around you made it feel like it would last forever. your ears muffle all the cheers surrounding you, only focusing on heeseung, and heeseung only.

he puts you down and rests his forehead on yours, exactly like how he did on the rooftop the night before. "how'd you pull this off?" you ask him, still on cloud nine.

"eh, had some help from chair yeonjun. didn't expect the bestdel though." heeseung laughs, holding you by the waist, tighter, and tighter.

you held his face closer, wanting to feel his touch, "why'd you do that? why'd you run?"

"y/n. i love you. i never knew how to say it all this time, because it's a feeling unlike any other. to the point it made me feel as if my life was in crisis. but that's when i realized i never had it all. not until i found you."

taglist; @riekiss @sesameoil721 @desistay @capri-cuntz @beomluvrr @shawnyle @tya0 @heexoolio @sunghoonsgff @spiderhanzzz (crossed out = i can't tag you)

back to my masterlist?

disclaimer: this, in no way, reflects the idol. this is purely fiction.

© 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄, est. 2024 | do not plagiarize, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platforms.

[mikodaiyo]

I said things about @mythicamagic @cakeit0n @drosselmeyerwrites @chierafied @elevenharbor @sayuri-liu @cdart-carmendaniele @sagemcmae @tmetta and youkaiyume that I hid in the tags because I'm SHY I GUESS I'M CRAZY SHY??

Let's spread some love: tag your favorite people/bloggers and let them know how appreciated they are 💗

oh i hate these because i’m always afraid i’ll forget someone (but the sentiment is nice!)

@waywardbaby @supernatural-jackles @deanwanddamons @negans-lucille-tblr @lovealways-j @evanbukley @evansrogerskitten @nihilism-sophia @samdeanbitchjerk @kittenofdoomage @luci-in-trenchcoats @im-lovestruck

i feel like i’m forgetting people and i’m sorry if i actually did! love y’all ♥️

[rotthepoet]

Come Home (Dark!Mattheo Riddle x Reader)

Notes; DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Matty has been plaguing my mind and I need an outlet omg. I lowkey rewrote some lore for this, so essentially the battle of Hogwarts takes place but Voldemort's influence still lives on through Mattheo, who basically runs the new Knights of Walpurgis(The slytherin boys). Everyone is evil, all good business. 

Warnings; again, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Dark!Mattheo, Murder/death/gore, stalking, kidnapping, mattheo might highkey be ooc but its fine, dubcon(reader REALLY wants him but like.. morals?), oral(F! And M!), mention of fem masturbation, predator/prey dynamic, spitting, degradation, lowkey breeding kink?, piv, lowkey porn with plot, Stockholm syndrome if you squint, at least he kinda gets a redemption arc

This one goes out to my beautiful @nottswitch i hope dark!mattheo comes to life and fucks us both <3

Word count; 6.3k

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

The bitter breeze in the frigid air pricks through my thin shirt as the diner door swings open and shut again as a customer disappears into the icky black of our winter night. I stare out after him, a farewell unspoken on my lips as I cast my gaze towards an orange, flickering lamp post lining the parallel street, and I realize how truly cold it is inside the shabby eatery. 

As I tug the embarrassingly short, mandated skirt I'm forced to wear, I can only think of the comforting and safe walls of Hogwarts, my home only months ago, yearning for the soft crackle of a fireplace and the ambient chatter of portraits lining the walls. The muggles had nothing as interesting, nothing as familiar as the light of the silver moon passing through the large windows of the great hall. Nothing as comfortable as my own home back in England, with my mother and fathers smiling faces. Nothing as comfortable as the safe, unscarred arms of the once-kind boy I loved what feels like so long ago. 

Being on the lam for about a month now, I've been skipping towns and laying low where I can. It’s not often, but when I'm able to stay in a town for longer than a week, I take pitiful muggle jobs, my current being to take orders at a local diner, “famous for their milkshakes”, although fame must mean four regular visitors in this nowhere town. 

Jean, the gray-haired woman who owns the diner I work at, leans over the counter and points at the analog clock hanging on the wall. It reads almost 1:30, and it finally sets in how tired I am. She hums and looks me up and down, standing in the middle of the floor, standing stiff as a board while holding a broom. She clicks her tongue and shakes her head, a small smile gracing her aged face. 

“I’m sorry, I zoned out.” I apologize, leaning the non-flying broom against a nearby booth, and smooth out my wind-swept hair. 

Jean just shakes her head, “Go on and head home. You did good today.” she hums in approvement, tossing me my room key that was previously hanging on a hook in the kitchen. “Be careful out there, the papers said another storm is coming.” she warned, but a storm is the furthest thing from my mind as I push open the door. Silver light flashes across the street and my heart nearly stops beating, a pit forms in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes squint, finally adjusting to the lack of light, catch the face of a mannequin in the window of a shop. I let out a breath I don’t realize I’m holding and relax as I realize the moon had simply caught the silver details on the faux person. I turn on my heel and carry on down the dimly lit pavement towards my motel. 

It’s just as run down as everything else in this town, water stains stretching across the ceiling like swatches of muddy paint, and the hideous carpet crunches underneath my feet. It isn’t much. It is nothing, in fact, but a roof over my head and sanctuary from the ruthless dangers outside. 

I drop each article of clothing from my body onto the yellowing tile of the bathroom floor, stepping into the freezing cold water of the shower. I shudder, goosebumps racking through my body as I allow the water to wash away the grease and sweat, I collected today. I run a baby blue loofa over my skin, suds washing away with the now lukewarm stream. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath, and the smell of metallic rust from the old pipes fills my nostrils. 

Blood. So much blood. It covers my hands, and my knees, my face, and my clothes. I practically wade through a pool of it, the dark hallways of that god awful manor stretch on infinitely, and the smell of rot and decay suffocates my senses. My heart nearly beats out of my chest as his strong arms wrap around me as I collapse to the floor, and I'm hyper aware of the many motionless bodies lying at my feet. His lips brush against my neck, rough and wet, and I wonder if they have blood on them too. I wouldn’t put it past him. Malicious is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my lover, the man I thought I was going to marry one day, but like many other things before, he proved me wrong. His warm hands caress the soft fat of my thighs, slipping underneath the loose fabric of my shorts, and he leans into my ear. “They’re all gone now… Let’s go take a shower.” 

I release a shaky breath and turn off the water, letting it drip from my head and down my face, mingling with salty tears. Wiping my face with my wet palms, which did nothing in retrospect, I sigh. I can’t go back there; I can never go back there. It isn’t safe anymore. He isn’t safe anymore. Come on, I can’t keep feeling bad for myself. This is ridiculous, and as I step out of the shower and dress myself, I feel a newfound sense of determination. Sleep, for the first time in months, finds me easily with her warm embrace. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

As most things in my life do, my high spirits came to an abrupt end. Smoke fills my lungs, but there's a strange taste to it. It’s not a fire, no, it was tobacco. A smell I was all too familiar with. I sat up in bed, and my eyes met the inky black eyes of his silver, skull mask. My breath catches in my throat, only for me to cough out the smoke from his cigarette.

He couldn’t have found me this easily. It’s a bad dream, it has to be. Merlin forgive me, God save me, tell me this is just a dream! The mask on his face shifts a little, clearly amused at my coughing fit. “Have anything to say?”

Say anything. Stop gaping at him like a fish, you are a powerful witch, almost top of your class in DADA. Almost. Second place, notably. Right behind him.

Mattheo Riddle.

A sob racks through my body, tears falling down my cheeks before I even realize, and I’m paralyzed in place. Half of me wants to crawl into his arms, to beg for forgiveness, to beg for him to take me home. Home to that wretched, dark house, with blood seeped into the wood. With blood-stained grout on the kitchen tile. With blood-stained walls. So, so much blood. The other half of me screams at me to run. To run, to run, run, run, RUN! For god's sake, run! 

I push myself out of bed, fast enough to catch Mattheo by surprise. He flicks his cigarette to the side, letting it roll along the carpet floor. My hand reaches for my wand resting on a table beside the door as I duck out of his reaching arms, and I stumble to my feet as he lunges after me. I throw open the door, pulling it shut in his face as he screams for me.

“You bitch! Come back here!” he screams through the wood, struggling with the now sweat-slick doorknob. 

The door splinters open with the blast of, “Bombarda!”, but I scramble down the wet, cold streets, my bare feet scratch against the rough pavement as I sprint, thankful that it had been just warm enough to not freeze. I duck down another street, pulling out my wand to apparate elsewhere. I rack my brain for a safe location. Hogwarts? I might be able to, but I don’t want to risk splinching. My job? It might separate me long enough to get my shit together. 

Air is knocked out of me as a heavy body slams into mine, knocking my wand out of my hand. A heavy, black boot pins my wrist to the ground, and a silver mask that was not Riddle’s leans over me. He laughs under the mask, but I can’t tell which of his mentally fucked goons had caught me. I reach for my wand, but another set of boots kicks it out of my reach. Leather gloved hands grab my hair and lift me up to face the group now circling me. 

“She looks pitiful, really. Like an angry kitten.” An Italian accent draws next to my ear with a mocking snicker, and I thrash to kick Theodore Nott anywhere I can, luckily landing a solid blow to his shin. He curses in pain, and hisses something inaudible underneath his mask as he throws me back to the ground. The rough concrete scratches against my exposed skin, drawing blood from the soft flesh. I yelp in pain, landing at the feet of someone else. A black, steel-toed boot presses against my cheek, pushing my head to the side as I watch another figure ominously approach. I would recognize my Mattheo’s casual amble anywhere, and he peered down at my stray wand laying at his feet.

I don’t even have time to protest as he steps his boot onto the wood, sparks fizzing out around the magic object as it snaps under his weight. A choked sob escapes me as he approaches, my eyes wide with horror and betrayal.

“Enough of this, love. It’s time to come home,” He drawls, kneeling down to my level and lifting my chin to meet his empty gaze. “Be a good girl and come back to me, I’m tired of this little game of yours.”

“Fuck. You.” I spat on the silver of his skull-like mask, noting the wild look in my own eyes as the saliva slips down its reflective surface.

Mattheo groaned and tugged off his mask, and my breath caught in my throat. What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t think this awful man who betrayed me, threatened me, hunted me down, can still be attractive. Then again, he was still the man I had loved–part of me still does love– all those years ago. The handsome face I fell asleep looking at, the doe eyes I found comfort in. He looked roguish now, his brown curls were longer than the last time I had seen him, and he had a new scar running across his cheek from our last encounter. My mouth goes dry as he leans into my face, his breath hot against my lips. 

“I’ve missed you, love,” He practically purred, pressing his dry lips against my trembling ones. I whine against him, wriggling my body underneath the heavy weight of whoever was holding me. 

Mattheo groaned, gripping my chin harder, “You used to be so obedient, pet, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you.” he mumbled, kissing my forehead as I felt his wand pressed to my temple. He mumbled an incantation against my skin, and I felt my body go limp before my eyes closed themselves, and sleep consumed me. 

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

It was cold, damp, and reeked of copper and mold. My body laid on the floor, sore and unresponsive to my will to move. As my senses came back to me, I tried climbing to my feet, but a chain tugged my ankle back to the floor. I tumbled to the stone floor, scraping my hands against its rough surface. I whimper in pain, and only as I go to wipe my hands on my pants do I realize I’m completely nude. Horror racks through my body as I take in my surrounding and own appearance. I know I'm back in that old house, that old, disgusting, horrible house of horrors, and tears fall from my stinging eyes again.

I don’t know how long I laid on that floor, shaking from the cold as I sob into the air, screaming and cursing with conviction, damning Riddle’s name to an eternity in hell. I scream, and wail, and cry until I tire myself out, my voice breaking into nothing but a hushed plea for freedom. 

I fight sleep, sitting myself against a wall near my chain, breathing deep into my burning lungs. My eyes drift closed, but I will them open as the loud creak of a door alerts me. It’s only then that I notice a stairwell, casted in a white light with the newly opened door, and my heart nervously skips a beat as a tall shadow approaches the stairwell. The stairs creak under his weight as he descends to what I can only infer is a basement, and I stare up at his form.

Mattheo wasn’t nearly as scary like this, dressed in black slacks and a loose white shirt. Had he not been so threatening, and the reason I was chained to the basement floor, I would have swooned over the top buttons being undone. Perhaps I still do get butterflies in my stomach, but that may just be nausea. 

He looks down at me with an expression I can only describe as mock sympathy, clicking his tongue softly. “Down here for less than three hours and you’ve already managed to hurt yourself,” he scolded me, shaking his head in disappointment, “My clumsy girl, what am I going to do with you?” 

The smile he cracked made me want to claw his eyes out, or kiss him, and I worry that he may have slipped me a love potion. My ears ring, and my head suddenly aches with a mild pain, and Mattheo smirks.

“Like the shirt, do you?” He teased, kneeling down to my level. I curse under my breath, face heating up with anger (Or embarrassment, I can’t really tell), of course I forget he’s a legilimens. “Drop the act darling, I know you’re going to crack eventually. Save us both the trouble so I can finally bring you back to bed.” His warm hand tenderly caressed my cold cheek, and I fought the urge to lean into the comforting touch. “I hate seeing you down here like this, but you need to remember your place.”

My eyes snap back to his, and I whip my head to the side to bite his hand. He scowls and rips his hand away, reeling it back and back-handing me across the face. It knocks my breath out of my chest, and the rings on his fingers cut my cheek. Metallic blood drips to the floor. 

“Fine. Stay down here and bleed out for all I care.” He snaps, rubbing his sore hand as he turns on his heel and storms up the stairs. The door slams loudly behind him, and I’m engulfed in sudden darkness.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

My cheek and hands had long stopped bleeding the next time he came back, staining my skin red with its slick. My head lifts as the door opens again, and light makes my eyes dilate painfully. Mattheo trudges down the stairs, his head hanging low, and a small white box hanging from his hand. He approaches me and kneels at my level. I meet his gaze, glaring into his soft eyes.

“Darling, you know I didn’t mean to hit you, right?” He mumbled, holding my chin to twist my cheek towards him, his rough actions bringing tears to my eyes. “I was just so worked up, and you were pushing too many buttons, you’ll forgive me, right?” He asks hopefully, but I don’t answer him.

He sighs in defeat, opening the little box and retrieving a cloth and bottle full of a clear liquid. My eyes go wide, and I scramble backwards as far as the chain allows me to. “No, No, Mattheo please don’t-” I plead, heart racing as he looks at me with confusion.

A smile breaks across his face, “Oh darling, no, no, it’s just alcohol.” he laughs a bit, a deep sound that makes pleasant shivers run down my spine and too an embarrassing heat between my legs. What the fuck is wrong with me? He approaches me again, dousing the cloth with the solution before taking my hands. He shushes my soft whines as he presses it to my scraped palms, which makes me hiss at the burning sensation. “Good girl, there we go. That’s much better, isn’t it?” he asks as he takes a roll of gauze from the box and wraps each of my hands. He lifts my palms to his lips, pressing a storm of soft pecks and kisses to the gauze and skin. My face heats up at the gesture, and I force myself to look away. He was always so chivalrous for a monster, though it hurt to call him that even after everything.

He presses the cloth to my cheek next, his thumb tracing calming circles into the opposite cheek. “Such a pretty girl, my pretty girl.” He whispered, placing a bandage over my skin. Just like my palms, he kisses my cheek, though much slower and intimate this time. “I don’t want to hurt you, you know?” he promised, leaning over my trembling body. He looked down at me, eyes drifting past my collarbone, and he whistled softly. “A sight for sore eyes… and It’s all mine.” He smirked, leaning down as he supported his weight on his forearms. His chapped lips press suspiciously soft kisses to my neck. A loud thud coming from upstairs makes Mattheo groan and pull away. He looks down at me, wide eyed beneath him, “I’ll be right back, love, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He hummed, patting my cheek as he stood up. 

He casts me one last yearning glance before he shuts the door again, much softer this time. I lean back against the stone, releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and try to ignore the wetness between my thighs as I drift off to sleep.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I’m startled awake as the basement door slams shut, and heavy footsteps descend to my prison. Mattheo storms into view, and before I can even get a word out, he grabs me by the hair and pulls me up to my knees. He sneers down at me, and my head is spinning from the sudden switch up.

“Incompetent assholes. Have to do everything myself around here,” He mumbled, not really speaking to me rather than himself. He doesn’t loosen his grip on my hair as his other hand tugs apart the button of his slacks. 

My eyes go wide with shock, and he pulls my hair, forcing my chin up to look at him. “Open your mouth,” He demands, his voice lacking his previous warmth, and I'm reminded that this is not my Matty. My lip quivers and I shake my head slightly. Mattheo pulls his half-hard cock from the confines of his black briefs and pulls me by the hair to his tip. “I don’t have time for this attitude, I said open your mouth.”

I don’t even have a moment to react before his leaking tip is pressed against my mouth. He pushes his way past, groaning as my wet lips engulf his mushroomed tip. He pulls on my hair again, forcing himself further into my warm hole. “There you go, not so hard, was it? Now suck.” He orders in a tone I’ve never heard him use in bed before, and as he bucks his hips towards my face, I whine in protest while the ache returns to my lower stomach. My jaw relaxes on its own, familiar with the girth of his hung cock. An almost inaudible whine slips through my throat, and he groans at the tightness. One more tug lets me know his patience is running thin, and I reach my bandaged hand up to stroke the rest of him while I focus on his tip.

Mattheo bites back a moan, his hips stuttering as I descend further down onto his length. His leaky tip presses against the back of my throat, and he holds my head in place while he rocks his hips further into me. My nose presses against his groin as he slips down the back of my throat, and his grip moves from my hair to my throat, feeling my neck bulge with every movement. Saliva drips past him and down my chin, dribbling to the floor in thick droplets. He shudders as my throat tightens around him, nearly swallowing the head. 

“Yeah, yeah… Fuck baby. Keep going for me, almost there,” He mumbles, rocking his hips faster than before. I whine around him, my own hand slipping down to the ache at my core. My fingers gingerly brush against my clit, and the soft moan I try to let out makes Mattheo’s head roll back. Hot spurts of his seed shoot down my throat and my glossy eyes go wide at the feeling.

“Swallow,” Is all he says, and obediently, I do. He pulls my head off of him, his cum mixing with the drool in my mouth when it drips down my chin. He grips my face between his index finger and thumb, collecting the mess with a swipe of his finger and pushing it back into my sore mouth. “All of it.” 

When I satisfied him, he pushed me back to the ground, and I yelped in pain as I collided against the stone surface. “When I come down here, I want you on your knees waiting for my dick. Understand?”

I nod weakly, and he smirks down at me. “Good girl. Keep it up and maybe I’ll bring you back upstairs.” He says, before pulling back up his pants and running a hand through his hair. 

When he leaves again, I’m left with an unbearable, wet mess.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

With nothing else to do in my makeshift prison, I sleep a lot. And when I wake up, I force myself to sleep again. I sleep God knows how long before the door opens again, and Mattheo trudges down the stairs. I scramble to my knees, honestly fearing what might happen if I disobey him, and when Mattheo catches sight of me, he smiles. 

“There’s my pretty girl.” He hums, holding a platter with a bowl of something steaming, a slice of some sort of bread, and a bottle of water. My stomach growls as its divine aroma fills my senses, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten. 

Mattheo sits down in front of me and puts the tray between up. He rests his elbow on his knee and leans into his palm. “Eat,” he orders me, gesturing to the platter with the wave of his free hand. “Or would you prefer I feed you myself?” He asks with a smirk, watching how I shift from my knees to rest on my hip. I grab the water bottle first, chugging half of it in one go, before I subconsciously offer him a sip. What’s mine is his. Was his. Was. I look up at him, taking the water and sipping from it. I tore my gaze away before he noticed.

“I don’t want to stay in the basement anymore,” I mumble, dipping the bread into the soup before taking a bite, shivering at its deliciousness. Mattheo sighed and shook his head. “You know I can’t do that yet. You ran away, darling. I can’t trust you won’t do that again,” He explained, reaching his hand across the way to rub my knee soothingly. I sigh and push the tray away, my appetite gone. Mattheo frowned and moved the tray away, leaning over me. “Princess, c’mon, don’t be this way.” he hummed, pushing me onto my back. My heart rate quickened, and he definitely noticed. “But you’re right. I’ve been neglecting you… That’s why you ran away right? My poor girl was lonely and scared.” he hummed, pressing his lips to my collar bone. “Not anymore. My attention is solely on you, I promise.” 

My head rolled back a little, lolling onto the floor as he trailed his kisses down my sternum, stopping at my breasts to gently knead them. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached for his hair, tugging gently on his loose curls. He groaned in response, his lips finding my perked nipple and taking it into his warm mouth. His other hand slipped down my soft stomach, dipping between my thighs. Out of reflex, I squeezed them together, and Mattheo parted from my tit. He sat back on his haunches, using his strong, scarred hands to pull apart my thighs and admire my glistening, needy cunt.

“It’s been all about me, huh? Need to show my girls some love.” He mumbled, before dipping his head down. His warm breath fanned across my puffy lips, and I shivered at the breeze. He didn’t waste a second more, drawing a long, needy moan from my lips as he licked a long strip from my hole to my clit. My hands tangle into his hair again, and my mouth falls open with pleasure. “Fuck, Matty–” the nickname fell from my lips without a second thought, and he practically purrs against me. His hands grip my thighs, pulling them over his shoulders as he dives nose deep into my pussy. My back arches off the floor as a string of curses flies from my lips. I feel his wet appendage push against my hole, and I clench at the feeling as his nose brushes against my sensitive bud. I tug on his hair again, “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!” I mewl, my edge fast approaching as Mattheo swirls his tongue over my clit. He sloppily makes out with my lower lips, pulling me closer to the edge with each passing second, and I’m in near tears when there's a loud crash up above us. 

Mattheo practically roars in anger, pulling his soaked face away from my aching cunt, the knot in my stomach loosening at the sudden separation. I whine and sit up, trying to pull him back down, but he stops me with a firm hold on my wrist. “Stay here and don’t make a sound.” he ordered, “I need to take care of this, and I promise as soon as I’m done, I’ll come right back.”

Anger flashes through me, and I bite back my cries. “Don’t you dare leave me like this, Riddle.” I snap, and he gives me a warning look that makes goosebumps prick at my skin. He leans in, pressing a wet kiss to my lips, and I can feel him shiver as I lick my own arousal from his lips. “I’ll be right back, princess. Be good for me, and we can talk about a reward.”

And with that, he left yet again.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I was starting to get sick of his mind games, switching up his attitude, finally giving me relief before ripping it away from me. Fuck. What am I saying? I watched him murder dozens of people; I watched lives being taken right in front of me. I shiver at the memory and try to focus on anything else before it becomes too much to bear. 

I hate how he makes me feel. Sometimes he’s my Mattheo, and sometimes he’s nothing but a parasite attached to a face I can’t help but love. My back hits a wall, and I can’t count how long he’s been gone. I miss his warm, familiar touch, but anything was better than the cold, dark basement. I close my eyes, my lip trembling as I reach my hand down, fingers hesitantly spreading my folds. Cold air hit my wet lips, and I gasp at the feeling. I brush my fingertips against my hole, whining softly at the pleasure that coursed through my body. Maybe I'm sick in the head, maybe I hit my head too hard one day on the run and never recovered. Maybe I never really hated Mattheo. 

What is wrong with me?

I don’t move when the door opens again. I glare at him, anger coursing through my veins. This was not ‘right back’. As Mattheo’s black boot lands on the stone floor, my mouth goes dry. He’s weaning that stupid mask again, and that stupid costume, tilting his head stupidly at me. He approaches me in a way that makes my heart race in fear, like I'm nothing but cowardly prey between the jaws of a large wolf. 

He knees down, retrieving his hand from his pocket. Wordlessly, he unlocks the chain around my ankle, and he looks up at me. With another wave of his wand, I’m dressed in a loose tank top and shorts. It’s not much at all, but it’s better than naked. A rush of emotions rushes through my chest, and I almost gratefully throw my arms around Mattheo, but he stops me. 

“Go. Run,” He orders, stepping aside. I stare up at him in confusion, mounted to my spot on the ground. “I said run, little pet, like you want to.” He pulls me from the ground, pressing my cold body up against his comforting warmth. “Run, and if I catch you,” he leaned down into my ear, and through the skull mouth of his mask I could feel his breath fanning across my ear. “Well, I think you know what’s going to happen.”

I still don’t move, wondering if he would be less harsh if I stayed with him, but he only laughed. “Such a good girl, don’t worry,” he pulled his mask up just enough to expose his pearly white teeth. They sunk into the soft flesh just beneath my ear, “I’ll always find you. Go, now.”

I don’t know what possessed me, but my feet started moving on their own. I raced up the stairs of the basement and pushed past the door. The house was just as I remembered, dark with walls that were too tall, black cloths hung over the complaining portraits. I was disoriented in the dark, but my feet carried me through the house until I found the overtly large entrance. I pushed open the doors and ran out into the cold, snowy night. 

Frost nipped at each of my limps, and my lungs found it harder to breathe the frigid air. I ran anyway, out towards the woods surrounding the manor. I cast a glance over my shoulder, finding Mattheo staring back at me through the blacked-out eyes of his mask. I ducked into the tree line, just as he started his casual stroll towards me. Cocky bastard. 

I run for as long as I can before my lungs give out. I leaned against a tree, walking slowly into a clearing. I take a deep breath, pulling my arms behind my head to breathe deeper. Just as I find a moment of peace, a branch snaps behind me. I whip my head around, my heart racing as Mattheo approaches me. He doesn’t run, only walks towards me with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He ditched that awful mask, and I can see the smirk pulling at the edge of his lips. I stumble backwards, falling into the fresh snow. He continues his pace, unbothered by my racing heart as I scramble away from him and finally back to my feet. I don’t get one leg in front of the other before strong arms are wrapped around my waist, slipping under the loose fabric of my shirt.

“I win,” He mumbles in my ear, voice dark and raspy. It sends a chill down my spine that pools in my underwear. 

Mattheo throws me over his shoulder, ignoring my flailing lips as he walks back to the manor. “Didn’t even get a mile, love. Lost your talent it seems, or maybe you knew you’d miss me too much.” he teased, running his warm hands up my thigh, pressing a kiss to my exposed skin. 

It isn’t long before we’re back at the manor, and I thank every god I'm in good ties with when he walks past the basement. He takes me to his room instead, our room, the room where I've fallen apart under his touch more times than I can count. 

I breathe in his familiar scent as he deposits me on the bed, and I roll over to bury my burning face in the pillows. Mattheo chuckles at me and grabs my hips, pulling me back against him as he grinds his hardening bulge against the plushness of my ass. 

“You’ve been extra obedient, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice dripping with a tone I could quite place. Lust? Possession? Love? It all blurred together as he rutted his hips against me. “Good girls deserve a reward, don’t they?” he asked, before hooking his fingers at the hem of my shorts. He pulled them down to expose my glistening cunt. He spread me out along his fingers, admiring the way my pussy pulsed around nothing. He leaned in, pressing a possessive kiss to my clit, holding my hips as I try to buck away from him. 

His warm fingers trace along my thighs, sleeping between my legs and collecting the arousal that pooled there. I release a shaky breath into the pillow as his finger circles my clit, and I arch my back to present myself further. He hums in appreciation, trailing his finger further up to my dripping hole, slowly pushing his middle finger inside of me. I gasp at the intrusion, not being able to remember the last time something so long had been inside of me. I keen under his touch, gripping the sheets for stability as he slowly pumps his finger in and out of me. A moan escapes me as he curls his finger, and his thumb brushes against my needy pearl again. Mattheo adds a second finger, spreading out my tight, gummy walls. I crumble under his touch, mouth falling open and eyes going half lidded as he pulls his fingers from me. 

I hear him dropping his pants, and the bed dips behind me yet again as he leans his body completely over mine. His arm wraps around my neck, pressing me close to his chest while his breath fans across my face. The tip of his cock presses against me, and I whine at the sensation, pushing my hips back against him.

“Needy girl, thought you didn’t need me anymore.” He teased, pushing just the bulbous tip into my hole. It’s enough to make the knot in my stomach tighten, and I shake my head. “Need you, Matty, Need you so bad.” I admit, face flushed with embarrassment as he smirks. “Gonna run away again?”

He doesn’t let me get an answer out before he’s pressing further inside of me, the stretch burning pleasantly while my eyes roll back. His arm around my throat tightens, “I asked you a question, darling.” He teased, licking away the stray tear that fell from my eyes. I gasp as his cock brushes against a gummy bundle of nerves, and my head drops to the pillows. He tugs me back against him, pushing even further until he balls slapped against me. “No! No, never gonna leave again,” I promised, involuntary whines spilling from my throat. 

Mattheo pulls his hips back before drilling them back into me, “Good girl,” He grins as he sets a punishing pace, watching my face contort into pleasure underneath him. “Who owns you?” he asks, and I push back against his hips desperately. “You! You do, God, you do!” I moan, feeling my head go light from the lack of airflow. 

“God isn’t here, Love, It’s just me now.”

He drills into my pulsating hole, my back arching at his every thrust as my brain goes mushy from the pleasure. The arm around my throat pulls away, slipping down my stomach to find my pearl. His fingers are just as fast as his pace, and I can’t fight back the whorish moans in my throat. His lips attach to my shoulder, biting a possessive mark into my skin as he fucks me good, better than he ever had before. 

Tears fall from my eyes, and my hand grips his desperately as I’m worked to my edge. “Matty, Matty please…” I trail off into a string of moans, and Mattheo adjusts himself behind me. He bucks his hips into me once more, and I fall apart all over him. My pussy flutters around his cock, and he rides out my orgasm with a few last thrusts of his hips, before he spills his hot seed deep into my womb. Mattheo collapses on top of me, still deep inside as he pins my body to the bed. He hums into my neck, burying himself in my skin. 

“That’s my good girl. Let’s go take a shower.”

[endlessthxxghts]

Take It Easy

no outbreak!neighbor!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: ≈10.2k

Summary: Your family throws an impromptu barbecue. You’re usually the one they throw every task on, but with today being your most painful period day, you say fuck it and leave them to fend for themselves. Only one other guest is invited today, and that’s Joel Miller.

Warnings: Age gap (23/43). Established relationship (to everyone but reader’s family). No physical description of reader besides outfit choices. Use of feminine pet names. LATINO JOEL MILLER (he’s canon in all my fics, sorry not sorry). Fluff with slight angst - getting caught, kinda (?) - happy ending, don’t worry. This version of Joel is always soft for reader, but I feel like he’s extra soft here. These idiots are so fucking in love (highkey jealous). SMUT 18+ MDNI: If you know the traffic light system for safe words, reader uses yellow at one point - but fluff & comfort happens immediately after. Dom/sub and Brat tamer/brat dynamics (subspace!). Daddy kink. Degradation kink (very brief). Making out/body appreciation. Masturbation (F). Oral sex (M receiving). Spit kink (I'm so weak). Exhibitionist kink - reader is being bold 🫣. Face fucking. Vaginal fingering. Lots of kissing (these two definitely have some sort of oral/kiss fixation istg). Soft unprotected p in v. Reader gets a surge of dominance, soooo ya get a glimpse of sub!Joel😏…...I think that's it. Let me know if there’s anything I missed. 🫶🏼

Author's Note: This can be read as a stand-alone, but I accidentally connected this a bit more than I intended to the What You Need fic. That fic talks a lot about reader's background/family dynamic and why/how Joel is the way that he is with reader. There's also some little details in here that might fly over your head if you haven't read What You Need. However, I genuinely don't think any confusion or such will occur if you only read this one shot. I hope you'll be able to enjoy all the same. Much love 💚

MASTERLIST || ONESHOT COLLECTION

“Can you prep the veggies?”

“Can you prep the grill?”

“Can you make the rice?”

“Why don’t I make the entire fucking dinner at this point?” You snap in the direction of the kitchen from your place on the couch, wrapped in blankets, snuggled with a heat pack over your lower belly. 

“Well, if you’re offering,” your brother smirks. 

You started your period yesterday, and the second day is always the absolute worst. Your flow is heavy, your cramps are excruciating, and your mood is all over the place. Today was not the day for an impromptu barbecue, regardless if there were guests or not. 

You promptly give your brother the middle finger then pull yourself off the couch to make your way to the bathroom. You’ve filled up an entire pad, yet again, in less than 20 minutes. 

You always do everything for your family, but today, you absolutely don’t give a fuck. Today is self care day for you — popping three painkillers then heading straight to the dark of your room. 

You’re not entirely sure how long you fell asleep for, but the smell of charcoal smoke and sizzling steak is what wakes you up first. The next sensation that fills you is the sound of heavy boots walking from, what you assume to be, the back door to the kitchen. Joel. You’d know that walk anywhere. He’s taking on the tasks for your family that usually fall on your shoulders. 

He called you this morning before everyone (including you) woke up, saying he’s excited to see you tonight. You grumbled sleepily, about to tell him you were just as excited when a searing pain ruptured in your stomach, causing you to gasp out in pain. 

“Baby?” Joel called out, “What’s wrong, honey?”

“Fuck, sorry, baby, it’s nothing,” you shyly say. He says your name. You start to explain, “I started my period yesterday, and-” but Joel cuts you off. “The second day is always the worst,” he states factually. 

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, exactly.”

He tells you to get up and get a glass of water and some medicine to ease the pain, which you do, then he tells you to let yourself sleep in today, which you don’t. 

“Fine,” he relents at your stubbornness, “but at least take it easy today, darlin’, ya hear me?”

“Loud and clear, Miller, loud and clear,” you tell him. 

You can feel his dumb fucking lopsided smirk through the phone, “Fuckin’ brat,” he snarls. 

“Mhm, but you’re fuckin’ brat,” you correct him.

“Yes. Mine.”

“Mmmm,” you let out a soft moan at that. Mine. You love the way it sounds, the way he claims you. “I love you.”

His cock twitches at the sound you make, but he wills it stay down. He takes a breath before he responds, “I love you, baby.” He can’t get ahead of himself today. He needs you to take it easy. So he tells you exactly that, again, for the last time before he ends the call and lets you take on your tasks for the day. 

Even though the mouth-watering scent of all the delicious food has completely pulled you awake, you stay in bed a little longer, basking in the sensation of absolute no cramping in the position you’re in. And as if on cue, Joel quietly knocks on your door, waiting for you to invite him in. 

“Come in,” your voice cracks, still groggy from the hours of no speaking. 

He enters softly, clad in that denim button up you love so much paired with some dark washed jeans. “Hi, darlin’,” he makes his way to place a soft kiss to your forehead, your nose, then a longer one to your lips. “How you feelin’?” 

“Better now,” you coo, completely enamored by how soft your big, burly man can be. “Food smells good. You helped them?” 

He’s sitting at the side of your bed now, facing you, so he can rest his arm across you. “Only your old man. Carried in the food as he finished puttin’ em in the trays,” he says as he draws little circles on your arms. 

You hum in response, too content at his presence. Still unable to use your voice, you tug on his arm, silently asking for him to hold you for just a moment before you eventually need to get up. 

“They all left, by the way,” Joel soothes. 

You finally have the strength to lift your head up, a quizzical look on your face. 

“Your brother needed an herb, your dad s’more charcoal, obviously your mother drove ‘em. I don’t know where your other siblings are, though,” he explains. 

“Oh.” You look up at him. “So what you’re saying is,” tugging harder on his arm to pull him into your bed, “you can freely cuddle me until then.” 

He chuckles at that, giving into your pull, and wrapping his hand around your jaw to pull you into yet another sweet kiss. He’s laying down next to you now, and you take the opportunity to completely entangle your limbs into his, your head tucked into his neck. 

Your family is gone for another forty-five minutes from that point on, and you two spend each minute just completely wrapped into each other, sharing sweet, wet kisses everywhere both of  you can reach. His thigh supplying light pressure between yours at your core, spurring you both on just enough but not to the point where you lose all self control. 

There’s something about the way you two can touch each other like this. With past partners, they always wanted things to escalate. To undress you and devour you at any sign of affection. But with Joel, it’s natural. Of course, his body will react in ways that show he physically wants more, but truly, he just wants to adore you and appreciate you and love you. And in the moments where those three words aren’t enough, he shows it in the other pure way he knows how to. 

You’re too distracted being consumed by Joel’s touch, but as sharp as an eagle, he immediately perks at the sound of your family’s arrival. He slowly pulls away, trying to savor the kiss as much as possible. Finally it breaks, and you immediately pull your bottom lip into your mouth, trying to savor the way he feels and the way he tastes. He gives you a look of pure love and devotion—a look you know is only reserved for you, a look you’ll never get tired of. “Time to get up, darlin’.” 

“Ugh,” you whine out, “Okay, I’ll meet you out there. I’m just gonna change, baby.” 

He pulls you up out of bed and straight into another chaste kiss, “Want me to make you tea?” 

“That sounds lovely, baby,” you blush at his attentiveness. You’ve been spoiled rotten by him for the past year, but you still get so flustered every time. “But I think we’re out of what I normally drink-”

He stops you with yet another kiss. “I bought a box of that peppermint blend before I came.” 

You can’t stop the way you absolutely fold for this man, evident in the shaky breath you take and the way you completely stumble on your words, “Y-yeah, o-okay, yes, please.” 

He smiles and nods, walking directly to your kitchen without another second to waste. 

God, he deserves some fucking head right now, you think to yourself as you quietly giggle. 

You make your way to your bathroom, taking a quick body shower because those several hours of sleep, plus the way Joel was on you for 45 minutes, had you looking like a murder scene down there. You dry yourself off, lotion up, and change into some loose black sweats and a fitted, light blue baby tee. 

You look a lot brighter after your rest; Joel was right in telling you to sleep in, you needed it. Not that you’d ever tell him. He doesn’t need anymore ego boosts. Ya see, what’d I say, darlin’? you can hear his Texan twang scolding you already. 

He looks up from the kettle pot boiling before him to see you perched on the bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island, bright eyed and awake, watching him make your tea. “Thank you again, baby,” you softly say. 

He comes around behind you, setting your mug in front of you accompanied with three soft kisses peppered to the area where your shoulder and neck meet. “Of course, my sweet girl. You ready to eat? Everythin’ is set up out back, and everyone is out there, too,” he sighs, “already eatin’.” He says, annoyed at the fact that no one thought to call and check in on you, let you know that the ritual of eating together already started. You’re used to it by now, but seeing his reaction reminds you that it’s not normal for your own family to treat you this way. You smile a little sadly, trying to think of how you want to go about this. Usually you just wouldn’t eat, but with Joel around, you know that’s not going to fly. 

“How ‘bout,” he says as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head still resting on your shoulder, “I go out there, make a plate big enough for us both, and I come back in and we share?” He could easily get you your own plate, but he knows your family. They’ll jump at any opportunity to shit talk you when they don’t understand the entire situation. Getting you your own plate and serving you when he’s a guest in your own home could inspire that, and he really doesn’t want you to experience that right now. 

You lean into him, turning your head a little to place a kiss to his cheek. “Okay, baby,” you smile, “yes, let’s share.” 

He comes back inside to you snuggled on the couch again with a pullout table propped right in front. He snuggles up right beside you, placing your legs right on top of his, keeping you secure with a hand on your thigh. 

The plate is filled with a mountain worth of food. You already know three-quarters of that is going down his bottomless pit of a stomach, laughing to yourself at the thought. One thing that wasn’t on the original menu for tonight was on his plate. It also just so happened to be one of your comfort foods whenever you weren’t feeling good. “W-who made the mashed potatoes?” 

Joel looks up at you sheepishly. He thought he’d be able to pull it off. He didn’t just go to the store, before he came, for your mint tea. He also went to get the ingredients for the mashed potatoes recipe you love so much. Within the almost two years he’s spent getting to know you, he’s recognized that every single time you’re feeling under the weather or falling into some type of depressive slump, you’re either eating or craving it. “I, uh- When I went to go get your tea… I figured I’d get ya your stuff for this, too. Made it before I came to wake ya up.” 

“Joel…” your voice cracks and your eyes tear up. 

How is it that after 23 years of life, you’re finally experiencing what it means when someone loves you? And you’re not talking romantic, you’re talking pure, genuine love. Love that you should’ve received from your parents, your siblings. They have never once shown you the consideration of making you your favorite meal, or fixing you a cup of something warm when you’re not feeling well. They have never shown you what it means to appreciate someone, in any of the love languages. The only person that has shown you remotely anything is your mother, but even that is limited because she cowers behind the directives of your father. You see her try, and you feel selfish not to appreciate it. But is it selfish to just want to be wholly loved by the people who created and raised you?  

You pull the fork out of his hands and set it back on the plate. And in an instant, you completely throw yourself on him, your arms wrapped around his neck tightly, legs tightly hugged between his own. He loses his balance and lays straight back onto the couch, letting out a grunt at the landing, with you on top of him. You push into him for a kiss, your noses smooshing together as you lick inside his mouth with a sense of urgency to show him how much you love him. Once the initial shock of you pouncing on him wears off, he immediately wraps himself around you, tightening his hold to pull you in impossibly more. His tongue dances with yours, one arm wrapped around your middle and another secure around the bottom of your ass. 

You adjust to straddle his hips, sitting up and pulling him up with you by the collar of his denim. You break away from him just for a minute, heavy breathing and eyes dark, and you let your hand glide down his chest, swiftly undoing a few buttons of his shirt, making sure to leave a trail of sloppy, wet kisses as you go. You make your way down to his belt, unbuckling it with such a need that he can’t help but just watch you. You slip the belt out of the loops, letting it fall to the ground, and you’re scooting back more to situate yourself in between the tight space of his legs. You palm him through his jeans, feeling how absolutely hard he is, which elicits a deep groan from the man above you. With that, the button and zipper of his jeans are undone. You bring your hands up back to the hem of his jeans, looking back up at him for his approval. 

“Sweet girl, ya know your folks are right outside,” he tries to warn but fails with the way his voice wavers with need. 

You look to the back door that’s twenty feet away, curtains completely drawn, and look back at him. “You and I both know none of them are coming back inside for a while,” you raise your eyebrows in defiance. 

He is truly at war with himself right now. He could let you do what you want, knowing you get off just as much as he does when you give him head. Or he could situate you back to your original positions and finger a few orgasms out of you, and he just pulls away from you if someone were to walk in — the safer route. Or. The safest option being he bids your folks goodnight and you let them know you’re going out for the night. 

Though, the latter would just be too easy. He knows you both revel in the risk, in the act of sneaking around. Which is why he finds himself scooting forward to the edge of the couch, and you take the hint loud and clear. He wants you on your knees for this. He meets your stare once more, both of you sparkling with mischief. “Well? Darlin’? Best get on with it then, huh?” Followed by him lifting his hips slightly so you can tug his clothing down, his tip red and aching. 

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp out, “been thinking about this since you left my fuckin’ room, daddy, I want you so bad.” 

Your admission spurs him on more, and his eyes go impossibly dark. “Go on, darlin’. Prove it to me. Show me how fuckin’ bad.” 

You pull yourself up to stand on your knees for a moment, and murmur a quiet come here to him, urging him to lean in for a second. He pulls closer, stopping an inch away from your face. You open your mouth for him, tongue sticking out and flat. He gets the hint, and before you can even register, his hand is on your jaw, tilting your head back and opening you wider, and he spits. 

You use all your self control not to swallow it right here and right now, desperate to feel any kind of warmth from him slide down your throat. You have other plans right now. You close your mouth and let your own spit generate, absolutely giddy with want to please your man. His eyes are fixed on you, knowing your next plan of action, but still stunned all the same at how fucking filthy his sweet girl is. You pull yourself back, hovering your mouth over his erection. 

You open your mouth and just let the combination of both of you fall from your mouth, sliding down his cock like the sweetest of syrups that you can’t wait to lick up. As the amount of spit starts to really gather, you grab him by the base and start stroking up and down his length, putting extra emphasis on his tip, running your finger over his slit for good measure. He lets out a stuttered groan at that, and you take that as your queue to finally put him in your mouth. Running your tongue in the same pattern your fingers did his tip, making him hiss in your ability to make him fold at the smallest of touches.

You keep this pace for a good while, using your hand in tandem with your mouth, stroking up and down in the speed and pressure that you know brings him to the edge fast. The sounds coming from your throat mixed with the slick feeling of your hand pumping him has your pussy absolutely dripping for attention. Fuck it. You slide your other hand down into your underwear, and begin to play with your clit, not wanting to go any deeper for fear of getting blood all over the place. Joel wouldn’t mind—of course, he wouldn’t—but you would, so you give yourself just enough to ease the aching need between your legs. Your moans get louder now that you’re touching yourself, your throat adding a delicious vibrating sensation to him. 

His eyes were shut at how fucking amazing you’re taking him, but with the sounds you’re making, he can’t help but make sure all his focus is on you. And god damn, when he sees you touching yourself so prettily while you’re being such a good girl making daddy feel so fucking good, he can’t help but cum at the sight. “F-fuck, sweet girl, holy fuckin’ hell,” he breathes, “It turn you on that bad to have my dick in your mouth, huh?” 

You pull off of him with a pop, making sure you keep as much of his cum in your mouth as you can—because there’s a fuck ton—and you fix your stare into his dark eyes as you swallow every last bit of him. “So fucking good, daddy, I-” you break off into a moan, your hand that was pumping him now gripping his thigh to maintain your balance as you continue the ministrations on your pussy. 

“Cum for me, baby, show me how good it makes you feel to be daddy’s little slut,” he demands. You gasp out at his words, that demand being what really throws you over the edge. Your clit pulses underneath your fingers, you feel yourself gush out, your blood and cum making you feel impossibly messier, and with that, your body goes rigid. 

Joel leans forward and grabs onto your jaw, keeping you upright while you come back down from your high. You’re so far gone that you don’t realize he’s peppering your face with kisses, uttering sweet nothings until you’re back with him. He gently pulls your hand from your pants and settles them into your lap.

“I’ve got ya, baby,” he kisses your lips softly. 

“My sweet girl,” he kisses your jaw, “I love you,” another kiss at your pulse point below your ear. He feels your body begin to relax. 

“Atta girl, baby,” he whispers before reaching down and settling his other arm underneath your legs, positioning himself so he can pick you up in a cradle position. He stands and carries you to your bathroom, settling you on your feet for one moment so he can pull your sweats and underwear off of you. He guides you down onto the toilet, kissing your forehead and muttering a quick one sec, baby before he steps out. He comes back two minutes later, and you’re still in subspace but slightly more grounded, and he kneels down in front of you, instructing you to lift one foot at a time. 

He went to go get you a new pair of underwear and some gray sweatpants. He already stuck another pad to your underwear, too. The action fills you with such an overwhelming feeling that you can’t help the tears that roll down your flushed cheeks. He looks up, knowing everything you’re saying and feeling by your gaze alone. He cups your cheeks with both hands, rubs his thumb to wipe the stray tears, and kisses your forehead, your left eye, then your right, your nose, and finally your lips, all in an attempt to seal every ounce of love and adoration he has for you.  

“I love you,” you finally say, leaning your forehead against his, and just take a moment with his hands on you. He pulls back again with a kiss to your forehead, and he grabs the wipes on the counter, encouraging you to lean back a bit, so he can clean you properly. 

“Wait, no,” you meekly say, trying to grab the wipes from his hands. He knows you get embarrassed at the fact that he sees you a little gross like this, and you know he truly doesn’t care. Usually he relents and lets you do it yourself, but tonight, he’s doing everything for you whether you like it or not. He raises one eyebrow at you, and that’s all you need to bring your arms back down in defeat. You lean yourself back a little, spreading your legs open, and let him clean you up. 

When it comes to other activities during your period, you usually are uncomfortable. But with Joel? With him, you don’t mind. You actually love it. It’s in moments like these that remind you how irrevocably in love you are with this man.

Afterwards he stands you up, pulls your bottoms on, and turns you towards the sink and washes your hands for you. He really wasn’t kidding at how easy he wanted you to take today.

He carried you back to the couch and wrapped a fluffy blanket around you. You threw yourself on him in the middle of your guys’ meal, so after he settles you into the couch, he transfers your shared food to a real plate instead of paper and warms everything up. He does the same to your peppermint tea. 

After everything is warmed, he settles back onto the couch beside you, pulling your legs up onto his thighs and holding you above your knee to secure your position. You go to reach the fork, but Joel is quick to swat your hand away, taking the fork and feeding you a bite of your mashed potatoes instead. 

“I told you,” he scolds, “to take it easy today.” 

You frown, “And I have been! You’ve literally been taking care of me since you got here.” 

He sets the fork down, reaching for your tea and lifting it up to your mouth. He’s not gonna respond until you take a sip, which was much needed as your belly immediately calms at the heat. You take one more sip as he begins, “You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy.” 

You cough on the fucking liquid still traveling down your throat. You were not expecting that to come out of his mouth. You try really hard to will yourself not to fucking burst out in laughter because you know how serious he was with this statement. So instead, you settle for your typical smart ass remark. “It wasn’t?” You asked. “Seemed real easy to me,” you add as you take the fork from his hand and take another bite of the yummy food before you. His eyebrow shoots up and you give him a lopsided smirk in return. 

“Watch it, sweet girl,” he says as he brings his hand up, thumb and forefinger pinching at your chin to force your eyes into his. He gives you a bruising kiss, one that entices him to bite at your bottom lip as he pulls away. You can feel yourself slipping again. He’s not done with you, he’s just giving you a moment to refuel. 

“I’ll be good,” you softly whimper as you chase for his lips. “I’m not so sure about that,” he responds as his grip on your chin gets tighter, forcing you stationary and a few inches too far from where you want him to be. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes gloss over as you whisper out a small I promise, to which he says, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He lets go of your face completely and continues feeding you, alternating between the food and your tea. As the next bite he prepares for you reaches your mouth, something that has never happened before decided to occur. Your mother comes inside the house, and her first sight as soon as she came in was you, completely wrapped around Joel, and him feeding you. 

Your jaw freezes, his grip on your leg tightens out of instinct to protect you, and it’s a staring standoff between the three of you. Joel doesn’t realize he’s still holding the fork up until his hand starts to shake, so he gently sets it down on the plate. It’s you who speaks first. “Mom, I-”

But it’s your mother who wants the first word. The first two words, actually. “How long?” 

Your heart is beating out of your chest, and the only thing keeping you from full blown panic is all the ways you’re in physical contact with Joel. “I can explain, mom, I-”

“Flower,” she says to comfort you. She’s not mad? you think. Your heart immediately calms, but now you’re just confused. Growing up, your mother always called you her flower. She used it predominantly when she wanted to help you regulate. You’ve always been full of anxiety and other strong emotions. Flowers are strong and beautiful, and show exactly when they need support. And when they are given the support they need, they flourish. That’s you. You are a flower. Her flower. But now she can see, there’s someone else tending to you. And she is not mad. 

“A year and some change,” you softly say. She looks between you two. Then she steps forward. “Look,” she breathes. “I know our family hasn’t been the best in showing love or appreciation. And they obviously haven’t been the best at fending for themselves-”

“Amen to that,” you say, and she chuckles in appreciation. She continues.

“Thank you, by the way. For everything you do around here. We both know none of it would get done around here if it weren’t for you. I try to help you as much as I can, but obviously not enough. If you can pull everyone’s weight around here, which you shouldn’t have been doing in the first place, then I can at least pull my own and whip them into pulling their own, too.” 

Your eyes are watering, and you take a deep, shaky breath. Joel feels it. He brings his hand around to rub small circles into your back. You’re so grateful he’s here. “I love you,” you say to your mom. 

“I love you, too, flower, but I’m not done. I also know that I’m not too great at using my voice. Defending what’s right. But you’re the one person in this family that’s given me the inspiration to fight for what I believe in. You give me strength, and constantly seeing this family pull you down lower and lower as the years go by breaks me. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 

Tears begin to fall, both on your face and your mom’s. 

“And in this last year, and some change, to be exact,” she smiles as she recalls your answer from earlier, “you have been the most vibrant flower of the entire garden. In the gloominess of this house, you continue to grow, and I’ve been dying to understand what changed. And now I see why. And I have never been more grateful for another human—the first one being you—until he entered your life.” 

You and Joel both look at each other, his eyes have a hint of gloss to them now, too. 

“So,” your mother says as she reaches for the tissue box on the counter and walks back to hand you the box. “I won’t tell a soul. It’s not my story to share. And remember. I will always have your back. Always. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel comfortable enough to tell me about such a beautiful relationship, but we’re here now and I need you to know that I will forever support what makes my flower happy,” she looks to Joel, “and that’s you. I will support both of you until my flower decides on something different.” 

Joel’s face turns into a scowl, half joking and half pissed at the thought of you leaving him. “Which, I have a feeling isn’t gonna happen, so you can calm yourself, Mr. Grumpy Pants,” your mother adds after seeing his boyish reaction that would normally scare anyone but you, and apparently your mother. 

You lose your shit at his new nickname, and all the emotions just flow out at once. You pull yourself off of Joel and run into your mothers arms, needing her comfort. She holds you like that for a few seconds before she says, “Okay, go, I think Mr. Grump needs your comfort now. Absolutely no way I’m doing it.” You laugh and squeeze her one last time before she grabs something in the kitchen and heads back outside. You make your way back to Mr. Grump, straddling his lap. Before she opens the back door, though, she calls out your name. 

“Yes, mom?” 

“I’ll cover for you, hon,” she says nonchalantly as she goes back outside. 

You and Joel stare at each other for a moment, too shocked to take action on the opportunity that just presented itself to you. Then, it finally hits. You pull him into a kiss that’s downright feral, your hips grinding down on him on instinct. “Take-” you say as you try to break away from the kiss, but you’re too drunk on him to completely pull away, “t-take me home, baby.” 

He grunts in response, and stands up with you completely wrapped around him. He heads for your front door. 

“Baby, Baby, wait, not here,” you say breathily as you go back in for another quick kiss, “through the garage.” He looks confused for a second before he remembers. The front door camera. The left side of your driveway being the camera’s blind spot. Immediately he reroutes.

You would think the first thing he does is bring you to his bedroom, but no. He sets you on his couch, molding your body into his signature position for you that makes you sit on your heels, palms up on your thighs. He could’ve easily told you he wanted you in position, but again, he told you to take it easy. 

Although the position almost always forces you into subspace, you’re confused and coherent enough to question him, “Baby..?” 

He steps back, looking down at you with his eyebrow raised, “Don’tcha remember, sweet thing?” 

“You pouncin’ on my fuckin’ dick was not takin’ it easy”, he said. 

You promised you would be good. 

To which he assured you, “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make sure of it.”

He sees the moment it clicks in your head, and immediately his hold is on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. He whispers, “Color?” Still demanding but with a hint of softness to it. You tilt your head further back, trying to make your lips touch him more, “Green,” you say. 

He pulls your chin into him and kisses you, slow and sweet, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, breath slightly shaky, but he composes himself quickly and stands straight up, letting go of any contact with you. 

His couch is either really low to the ground, or he is just one big motherfucker. Either way, you sitting on your haunches on his couch like this while he stands straight up in front of you makes your head in direct eye line of his crotch. And you can’t seem to pull your eyes away from it. You see his tent forming, and you’re smart enough to realize what lesson he’s about to give you. 

“Told you to take it fuckin’ easy today,” he says as he slowly unbuckles his belt, “didn’t I, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy,” you say quickly, not wanting to piss him off more. 

“But ya didn’t,” his belt falls. “Did you?” 

Your spit thickens. “No, daddy.” 

His belt is on the floor, and he’s reaching to undo his button and zipper. “My good girl was jus’ too fuckin’ eager to have my dick in her mouth, hm?” 

You lick your bottom lip, catching the drool you didn’t realize was pooling out of your mouth. Like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, he’s got you trained. You let out a whiny mhm in response, already completely blissed out at the prospect of what’s about to happen. He settles for it, this time. 

He pulls his jeans down, just enough to pull himself free. He leaves his boxers up for now while he explains. He walks closer to you, his hardness one lick away from you, and forces you to look up at him again. “You’re gonna take my cock in your mouth again, sweetheart,” he says. 

You eagerly cut him off, “Yes, please, thank you, daddy, I-”

He shuts you up by pushing his thumb in your mouth. “But you’re not gonna move or do anythin’, besides sit prettily for daddy,” his grip on your jaw tightens, “ya understand me?” He slides his thumb out and spreads your spit across your bottom lip and down your chin. 

“I understand, daddy,” you say, your eyes completely glossed over. Out of instinct, you fold your hands behind your back, signaling to Joel your complete submission to him. 

“Such a good girl when you remember how to be patient,” he says as he stands back to his full height again. He gets impossibly closer, crowding your face. He pulls his boxers down, and his erection springs free, the tip landing against your lips, smearing the pre-cum across it. It takes everything in you not to lick it up—you can’t, he needs to give you your next instructions. He hears your silent pleas, and as he settles his hand at the back of your head, fingers grounding themselves into the roots of your hair, he tells you, “Open.” 

Knowing how rough Joel can get, you take a deep breath, relaxing your throat, and you open wide, your tongue laid flat out, slick with the drool that’s been forming since the noise of the belt buckle hit your ears. 

His other hand is holding himself at the base, guiding himself into your mouth. He taps his tip on your tongue a few times for good measure, before pushing himself all the way in. You feel your gag reflex coming, but you take another deep breath through your nose, urging your throat to relax a little more. It does. He pushes slowly in until your nose is flush with the patch of hair above his length. All you wanna do is unclasp your hands and reach for his thighs to pull him into you tighter, wanting to engulf his scent into you, but you can’t. All you can do is take what he gives you while sitting pretty like the good girl you are. 

He starts to pull back a little, and that naturally makes your throat contract, forcing a groan out of him and more saliva out of you. He lets go of himself, and now both hands are on you. He taps your cheek, asking you to look up at him. “Hands behind the entire time. Any touch on my thigh signals red to me, okay?” 

You nod your head as best you can with his grip on you and let out a little moan for good measure. At your signal, he completely and utterly wrecks you with no hesitation. And you take it exactly as he gives it, just like you promised you would. 

The more he thrusts, the more spit that builds, leaking from your mouth and down your chin. Your eyes are shut at the feeling of him abusing your throat, but he won’t have that. You feel his other hand not tap your cheek twice. Your eyes fly open and land on his dark ones. “Those eyes stay on me,” he grunts out at a particularly rough thrust. You whimper out at his words, trying to convey your apologies for doing something that could make him mad. “No, it’s alright, darlin’,” he says, his pace never faltering. “I- fuck- wasn’t specific enough,” he grunts, “but ya know what I expect now,” his thumb caresses the apple of your cheek. “Isn’t that right, pretty girl?”

Your eyebrows furrow and try to emphasize with your eyes that yes, eyes on you, daddy. He understands. “Atta girl, baby,” he breathes out, pulling out momentarily to give you a breath. 

You choke out a little as he pulls out. He softens, concern laced in his voice, “You okay, amor?”

“Yes,” you say weakly, “I promise, please. W-want more..” You open your mouth wide again, tongue positioned perfectly for him to slide back in. 

His eyes fall dark again and there’s that signature lopsided smirk. He guides himself back into you, completely, and his hand from your cheek glides down to wrap around your throat. “Shit, amor, you feel that?” He squeezes at the base of your throat. “I’m all the way fuckin’ in there, baby,” he says, falling back into a rough pace, feeling the outline of his dick glide in and out of your pathway. “You’re takin’ me so-” he lets out a pained grunt. He’s close. “-so fuckin’ good, shit, baby.”

Your throat constricts again, and that feeling is what sends him over. For the second time today, all of your senses are being consumed by everything Joel: his taste, his smell, his touch, the downright sinful sounds that grace your ears, and you take it all in, eagerly. Both hands release their hold on you as he pulls out of your mouth, and you’re quick to lean into his hips. His hand shoots back to the nape of your neck, pulling you back like a mother does to her puppy.

“You’re fuckin’ insatiable, you know that?” he says, out of breath, still trying to compose himself from the soul-sucking he just took from you. You give him a blissed out giggle, “You jus’ taste so yummy, daddy.”

“Yeah?” he asks, amused. “Well, so do you, babygirl, so it’s my turn now.”

Immediately your ears perk up and your body goes rigid. The thought of him giving you head with the flow you have right now doesn’t sit right with you. “Yellow,” you shakily whisper.

He lets go of the back of your neck and falls to his knees to match your eye level. “Oh, honey,” he cups your face, “Please tell me how to make it better. Do you wanna stop here, mi amor?”

Your body relaxes at his instant reaction. You’ve only ever had to use a safe-word with Joel twice. Today, included. And in each rare moment, he does what every caring partner and proper Dominant should: validate, comfort, and communicate. He has never given you any reason to be scared or feel disrespected. This is Joel we’re talking about here. You’re safe in his presence, always. The thought puts you at ease, but it also makes you feel a little ridiculous at using a safe word for something that could easily be communicated without it. 

“Wait, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you or anything, it’s something so tiny and stupid, I should’ve just communicated instead of going straight to the code-” you quickly start panicking as you ramble on, but he’s quicker. He pulls you off the couch and into his lap, holding you in a tight embrace, knowing the pressure is what helps pull you away from your panic attack. He’s muttering it’s okay, you’re okay and I’ve got ya, as he kisses the top of your head. As soon as he feels your body relax in his arms, he speaks. “Darlin’ girl, please look at me.” You do, teary-eyed.

“I completely forgot you were on your period. I was too in the moment, and I had a lapse in judgment in my words. I’m sorry. You should not be the one to apologize, ever, if you’re ever in an uncomfortable situation like this. The safe words are there for a reason, okay? Use them. They are there to keep you safe, always. Thank you for speakin’ up, my love.”

You nod your head at his words, too emotion-filled to respond with anything else right now. The only thing you can offer is a whisper of a “Thank you, I love you,” but that’s enough for him. 

He gives you a soft kiss to your lips. “How would you like to continue, beautiful girl?”

You think for a moment, and the way that his hand feels wrapped around you starts to make your arousal build again. All you can think of are his big, calloused hands all over you. In your mouth. On your thighs. In your warmth. Screw the bloody mess, he doesn’t care. You squirm at the thought, and he feels you falling back into your space again. His cock stirs beneath you. He tightens his grip on you to coax you out of your thoughts. “Fingers,” you squeak out, your cheeks flushing red instantaneously. He grins, but his eyes stay fixed on you, hinting at you for something more. Then, it clicks. “P-please, daddy, need your fingers in me,” you say, voice trembling with need. 

“I’ve got you, pretty girl,” he says as he pulls your thighs around him and brings himself to full height. He leads you to his bed, setting you down on the edge with a kiss to your forehead and a quick one moment, sweetheart. 

He leaves to return back with a large bath towel and lays it across the center of his bed, dark blue to match his sheets. He situates pillows for your head and leaves a smaller one out, just in case. You feel his weight shift the bed, and he’s walking toward you on his knees. You lean into his touch the moment his hand makes contact at your lower back, and he’s guiding your shirt off of you. He takes that same arm, wrapping it around your waist, and leans down to situate the crook of your knees over his other arm. He’s carrying you up higher to the center of the bed, completely removing any opportunity for a thought to run through that head of yours. He wants you focused on nothing but the way he’s going to make you feel. 

Once you’re laying down on your back, he makes his way down, placing soft kisses on your belly and all over your thighs while he slides your bottoms down your legs. Once you’re completely bare, Joel situates himself in a way that he’s never done before. He lays next to you on his side, shoulder propping him up, so his hand is underneath your head and he’s still looking down at you. He grabs onto your thigh closest to him, and he hooks your leg atop of his, opening you up. 

The level of intimacy and vulnerability of the way you two are positioned against one another has your mind reeling, absolutely aching to be consumed by him. Joel is always sweet and soft with you, but this is completely on another level. It doesn’t feel motivated by a feral need to rip each other apart. The motivation lies in the pure need to feel. To feel you against him, consumed in the entirety of love and raw emotion. To feel him against you, filling you with a genuine intimacy and devotion you both know only he can provide you.

He brings his other hand up to gently cradle your face, and he leans in to slot his lips against yours, his tongue running along your bottom lip, swallowing the faintest of whimpers that slip from your throat. Your hand slides to the back of his neck, keeping him close, deepening your dance of lip and tongue. His hand drifts away from your face and takes his time to grasp and show attention to the rest of your body. 

He takes one of your breasts in his hand, massaging it with a care that causes your fingers to curl tighter in his hair. He shows the same attention to your other one, then flattens out his entire hand to run down your sternum and belly, positioning his hand on the pathway down for his middle and ring finger to be the first that make contact with your sex. 

And when it does, neither of you can hold back the groan that leaves your mouths. He’s too enamored by you to let his lips leave yours, but you have a feeling your filthy-mouthed man would make a comment about how wet you are for him. You know you’re right when he completely bypasses your clit and down to your entrance, eager to get his fingers covered in you, so he can spread it all over you. 

You pull away for a moment, both of you out of breath and pupils completely blown. “You see how good you make me feel, daddy?” His fingers reach your clit again. “I’m so fucking wet,” you moan out, “and it’s all because of you- all for you, daddy.”

“Baby, please,” he grits out, his fingers leaving your clit after a few more circles, dipping into your entrance with ease. “So fuckin’ good to me, but fuck, stop talking,” he breathes, hips involuntarily thrusting into you, “need you to soak my fingers first, amor.”

You shoot him a smile that gives him butterflies, and then you’re pulling him back in, needing to feel him everywhere he can possibly manage. 

The pace of his fingers are perfect, constantly hitting the spot that’ll get you there in no time with the heated sensation of lips. His hand behind your head moves down and wraps underneath your waist, pulling you in flush with his body. He needs to feel every part of you. Your leg closest to him—the one hooked around his leg—comes off of him, and now you two are completely laying on your sides, facing each other. 

His fingers leave you for a moment to hike your other leg up and around his waist, your pussy inches away from his center. His fingers find you once more, and the angle is impossibly deeper. You’re whining out now as you rock your hips against his hand. He knows you're close with the way your breath shakes. He reaches his thumb up to circle your clit, and you break away from his lips, throwing your head back at an instinct, exposing all your sweet spots for his mouth to reach. As his hands continue working you to the edge, he gives you the final push when he latches at the base of your neck where your shoulder meets, and he litters the area in wet kisses and painfully delicious bites. 

Oh, fuck, daddy, yes,” you moan out, your vision going white and your body going rigid. Your climax hits you so hard that you don’t realize his fingers left you, your thighs still convulsing and hurtling you through your high. You can faintly hear Joel, muttering his sweet whispers, as he always does. 

“Oh, fuck, that was so fuckin’ sexy, baby.”

“You’re beautiful, yanno that?”

“I love you, my pretty girl,” he places a kiss right atop your heart.

Still, your mind is floating somewhere in narnia, so he understands when you don’t reply right away. You’re not even completely back from your orgasmic haze when he pulls his boxers completely off, throwing them somewhere in the room, and his aching cock is resting against your core. 

“Darlin’ girl,” he brings his hand up to guide your limpless head to look at him, “I need you to use your words f’ me, honey, please give me a color,” he says, the softest you have ever heard him. 

You give him the smallest smile back, but it’s so full of love and admiration. You’re lightly nodding your head yes, trying to will your vocal cords to respond. “G-gre..” you let out.

He stops you with a kiss, “Okay, honey, okay, that’s all I needed,” and another kiss, “Can I give my baby what she so desperately wants now?” 

The prospect of the sensation your body is about to go through because of him ignites a fire in you. It forces you to come back down from your haze, so you can register every second of him in his entirety. Your neck straightens and your eyes open fully, pupils blacker than he’s ever seen. “Yes, daddy, please give it to me,” you say with a neediness more than anything. His lip quirks up in a smirk. “What my baby wants, she gets,” and he’s pushing your hips into him as he pushes into you, his tip notching at your entrance. You hiss, reveling in the stretch he gives you regardless of how much he works you open. 

There’s a stigma with Dominants that they are always so calm and collected, always composed and never in a state of neediness and desperation like their submissive counterparts. However, that’s simply not true. In every please, in every whimper, in every cry; in every orgasm, in every act of brattiness, in each use of the honorific; in every demonstration of pure submission: there is a Dominant, willing themself not to give in and give their partner everything they need. There is a Dominant about to break because one more plea from the submissive’s mouth has them ready and willing to forgo every single plan they had for that particular scene. 

And that’s exactly what Joel does here. He had a plan for you, even after you used your yellow code, but with the way he’s wrapped around you tonight—you have the power. You’re calling the shots. He exists simply and solely for you and your pleasure. Nothing else matters. 

He bottoms out, and both his arms are wrapped around your waist, both of you completely aligned with one another. “How do you want me, baby?” 

“I don’t care,” your forehead falls into his, “I just need to feel you, please.”

With your words, he’s thrusting into you with a calculated intention. You needed to feel him, you said. So he pushes in not too fast but not too slow, and hard. He buries himself to the hilt every single time, and it’s like he put you in a trance. Your eyes softly shut, trying to stay open to look at him; your eyebrows are pulled together; and the only sounds falling from your mouth are moans and whimpers and sweet nothings only he’d be able to decipher with your babbling. You feel everything in this angle, with his rhythm. You feel every vein, every ridge, you feel his tip kissing every sweet spot inside of you while simultaneously stealing the oxygen from your lungs. He feels so fucking good. Your leg hooked around his waist squeezes tighter on instinct, and he groans at the feeling. Seeing you completely desperate and at his disposal nearly finishes him right then and there. 

Your hand is at its usual spot for tonight, wrapped tightly in the curls at the base of his neck. You're meeting his thrusts now, and it heightens the sensation tenfold. Both your breaths are hot and heavy, mingling into the thick air of Joel’s bedroom. You’re nearly at the edge again, you both are, but you need a little more of a push. “Baby, t-touch me, please,” you say with more breath than your actual voice. He sounds absolutely pained, “I got’cha, baby, I got’cha.” His hand leaves your waist, the other tightening around you to compensate for its absence, and his fingers are back on your bundle of nerves, circling at the same rhythm that he’s pulling in and out of you. 

A gasp leaves your throat, and every part of you that’s wrapped around him pulls him in impossibly tighter, “fuck, just like that, fuck, please don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” you ramble on in an almost incoherent whine. You can feel your words and sounds spurring him on as his cock twitches inside of you. He’s close, too. Then it clicks, you realize what you meant earlier when you said you needed to feel him first.

His fingers speed up and so do his hips. “C’mon, darlin’, such a good fuckin’ girl, give it to me, soak my fuckin’ cock,” he grunts out, now chasing his own release. 

Not stopping your movements, you unravel your arms from him and you push down on his chest, pushing him onto his back. You’re on top of him now, your movements only faltering momentarily as you situated yourself to straddle him. You grab both his arms, the one working your clit and the other on your waist, and you bring them up above his head. You pin them there with your own hand, your body leaning over him and adding to the momentum as you bounce on him. “No,” you say, almost a growl, “Need you inside me first,” sucking his bottom lip. 

He fucking whines. “Need you inside me first, then I’ll give you what you’re looking for.” You switch off into a grind of your hips, moving back and forth as the feel of his pubic hairs rub against your clit causing your pussy to flutter on him. He feels it and his hands flex to move from your grip. Your hold on him tightens. You have the power. You lean down, licking a pathway up his neck and making your way near his ear. You whisper, “Stuff me full of you, daddy, and I’ll fucking soak you, I promise.”

“Fuck!” He growls as your hips speed up, and now he’s the one seeing stars. His face and neck flush into a bright red as he floods you with his release. And as if right on queue, the warmth and the feeling of him in you and seeping out of you is what finishes you. The constant stimulation on your clit from his pubic bone along with the angle his dick continues to prod at, you’re creaming and soaking him, just like he wanted. His thighs and even the area below his belly are drenched with the mixture of your guys’ fluids, and he can’t help but gawk at the scene before him. 

You are completely surrounded by the product of your two’s arousal (plus a bit of blood, but he doesn’t care), you continuing slow grinds as you work yourself through your orgasm, and the way that your head is thrown back in pure bliss—he’s entranced by it all. His cock is nearing the line of painful overstimulation with you still on him, but he really can’t find himself caring enough to get your attention. 

He thought he would never be into giving up his dominance, his yearn for control. But now that you’ve given him a taste at what you’re capable of, fuck, he feels downright insane if he didn’t want more of it. 

You realize he may not be used to the oversensitivity as much as you may be trained for, so you bring yourself to a halt and slowly slip off of him. You bring your eyes to meet his, and you can’t help the giggle that leaves your mouth, seeing the goofy, blissed out grin on his face as he looks at you. You lean towards his head and give him a sweet kiss to his lips and his nose, and you softly tell him that you’ll be right back but to stay here with a slightly more demanding tone. 

You quickly go pee in his en suite bathroom and wipe your bottom half down. You grab a pair of his boxers he leaves for emergencies under the sink (you let out a little chuckle at the fact), and grab a pad from the box he also leaves under the sink, for you, and stick it onto his underwear before shimmying it up on you. You grab another washcloth and soak it in warm water and walk back to the bed. You sit yourself up next to him and start wiping him down. As soon as you finish, you try your best and throw the washcloth, aiming for the sink of the bathroom, but you fail, miserably. It lands with a wet plop on the side of the toilet, centimeters away from landing in the toilet’s bowl. “Eh, that’s good enough,” you say to no one in particular as you nudge him to bring his hips up so you can take the towel out that he placed earlier to catch any of your blood drippings. You place it in the hamper, then you bring yourself to lay back down, cuddling into Joel. 

He turns so you both are facing each other again. His head propped up on his hand. His other hand runs up and down everywhere he can reach. 

“W-was what I did at the end there… was that okay?” you ask meekly as you slowly bring your eyes up to his. 

He lets out a hearty laugh, shoulders shaking. You weren’t expecting that kind of reaction. “Honestly,” he says as his fingers come to a stop and he just lets his arm wrap around you lazily. “I was really shocked when you flipped me over, but then,” he pauses for a second. Really just to spur you on more than anything. “I was so fuckin’ turned on and achin’ for you. I’d just about let you do anythin’ to me if you treat me like that, darlin’,” he says as he leans down to place a kiss to your lips. 

He pulls back and your gaze is away from him and your cheeks are as red as he was earlier. A shy smile paints your face. He brings his fingers up to your chin, “Oh, come on now, no point in gettin’ all shy on me now is there, my dirty girl?”

You give him the best reprimanding face you can muster (which he finds beyond adorable), and you parrot a common phrase he uses with you when you’re a brat, “Watch it, big boy.”

He laughs at your antics, but you see his cock twitch at the pet name. Your eyebrows shoot up. “Joel!” you say, actually reprimanding him this time, but you genuinely don’t know what for. 

His hand shoots to cover his mouth, an attempt at stopping his burst of laughter at your reaction. He lets go of his mouth after a moment and pulls you closer to him. He places kisses all over your face while you both giggle and let yourselves fall from your high together. 

He abruptly stops his kisses to look at you. He doesn’t say a word. “Yes?” you ask, curious of that mind of his. 

“Ya know how much I love you, right?” he asks, genuinely. 

“I think I’ve got a pretty good hint, baby.” 

“Good,” he says, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I love you so much, you do know that, right?” you offer as you bury yourself into his chest, inhaling his musk mingled the faint aroma of you.

He repeats your response back to you. You smile in his chest. It’s you who places a kiss atop his heart this time. 

You both stay wrapped up in each other for a few more hours before your tummy begins yelling at you for sustenance. Though, until that happens, you two lie in each other’s arms, wondering what you did to deserve such an all-consuming, raw and genuine love. 

Your mother was right. You really were the brightest flower in the garden, and it was all because of your big, macho man, who was actually as soft and cuddly as the clouds that bring water for the garden. Ever since he entered your life, he made sure those clouds poured all their attention on you. Giving you all the water and nutrients, all the love and care that you would ever need. 

Forever. 

End note: Thank you so much for reading! As always, your support is always always appreciated. There's no amount of words to describe how grateful I am for how much love I receive from you all. You're all too amazing. Feedback is also greatly appreciated, whether it's praise or constructive! Anything and everything helps me to be the best writer I can be. I love you all so very much💚💚💚

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EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[eyesthatroll]

gatorade kisses

pairing; matthew rempe x fem!reader

warning(s); highkey cringe… (don’t say i didn’t warn you), fluff, kissing, NOT edited.

word count; 0.95k

authors note; i fear i have become endeared to ny’s baby goon . don’t crucify me

"Don't be mad at me." Your eyes lift from the pages of your book, and you nudge your glasses to rest at the peak of your head, casting a discerning gaze over him. The remnants of game day attire have been replaced by sweatpants and a hoodie, and his once-styled hair now appears tousled, damp from the rain that drizzled outside. Positioned just before the door, his Air Forces firmly planted on the welcome mat, he awaits your reaction.

"Did you not receive my text, Matthew?" Your tongue prods the inside of your cheek, as you release a heavy sigh. Returning your attention to the book, you gracefully lower your glasses back down to your nose. Amidst the audible shuffling, possibly the thud of shoes meeting the floor, your eyes stay fixed on the pages before you. However, your concentration wavers, and you find yourself not truly absorbed in the text anymore, your eyes just dancing over the Sans Serif.

You feel a dip in the leather beside you, and before you can voice your protest, your book is swiftly snatched from your hands and deposited on the end table to Matt's left. "I was reading that," you huff, "and I explicitly told you not to come over."

"I take it you saw the game." He concludes.

"I didn't need to; it was all over Twitter." Meeting his deep brown eyes, bruised and tarnished black from countless hits to the face, you can sense the pain he's concealing. A longing to reach out and comfort him tugs at you, but the sight becomes unbearable, prompting a cringe and a quick turn away.

He was such a beautiful boy, and you hated seeing him banged up like this.

His hand gently presses into your thigh, a subtle squeeze accompanying his plea, "Will you please look at me? I'm sorry."

Tears pool at your waterline, and you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, striving to keep them at bay. Slowly, you turn your head back to him. "I don't want you to get hurt," your voice leaves your lips in a shaky breath.

"Hey," he begins, his hand gently grasping your arm, tugging you towards him until you're straddling his waist. "Hey," he repeats. His thumbs reach up, delicately wiping away the tears that have trickled down your cheeks. "I'm okay."

"You look like you're in so much pain." Your hand gently rises to caress his cheek, mindful of the bruised skin.

"I'm not." He attempts to reassure you, but the waiver in his voice betrays his words.

"Please don't lie to me." You murmur, a desperate plead to the boy in front of you.

He exhales a deep sigh, diverting his attention momentarily before speaking, "It only hurts a little bit."

Seeking his touch, you lean into his embrace, your head finding the crook of his neck as salty tears cascade freely, quietly. His arms envelop you, hands gently rubbing your back in an attempt to provide comfort.

After God knows how long, the storm within you subsides, and your sole focus shifts to the rhythmic cadence of his breathing, the reassuring sensation of his chest rising and falling against your own.

“It won’t always be like this,” he says, “I promise.”

Drawing back from him, you release a deep breath. "Listen, I don't mean to get emotional," you start, a strained laugh escaping your lips as you wipe your eyes with your palms. He joins in, sharing a laugh that mirrors your own.

“I just—if you tell me you know what you’re doing, or that you have people looking out for you, I’ll try not to worry so much.”

His head tilts ever so slightly, and his fingers extend, delicately tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You surrender to the warmth of his touch, and his hand lingers at your cheek, caressing gently. "The coaching staff is great, and so are the guys."

“I don’t want you being the league’s punching bag.”

“I can handle myself.” He defends.

“Matthew.” You huff out.

He sighs, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “Do you trust me?”

Your gaze softens. “Course’ I do”

“Trust me, then.”

Your teeth graze your bottom lip, nibbling softly as you mull over his words. After a moment of contemplation, you respond with a simple, "Okay."

He quirks a brow. “Okay?”

“Yes Matty, I’m trusting you to not be a dumbass.”

A snort escapes his lips, morphing into a full-bellied laugh—a sound you find utterly captivating. The reading timer you set on your phone chimes from the other side of the couch, an unwelcome reminder of the outside world and the passage of time.

“It’s late.” You comment, “You tired?”

He nods. “A bit.”

"Let’s head to bed, hm?" You attempt to shift away, but his large hands firmly grasp your waist, keeping you in place.

"Wait," he groans, drawing you closer to him.

"What?" you ask, a questioning smile playing on your lips.

“I believe you have something for me?”

Your brows furrow in confusion, your mind retracing the events of the day in an attempt to recall if you've forgotten anything. It's only when his lips form a pout that you roll your eyes at the boy in front of you, but lean in nonetheless.

His lips meet yours softly, moving with a gentle rhythm. His hands migrate from your waist to your bum, delivering a cheeky squeeze that elicits a gasp from you, granting him complete access to your mouth. The scruff of his facial hair lightly scratches against the area above your top lip, and you pull away to catch your breath, Matt doing the same. "You taste like Gatorade."

[kaciebello]

hi, can you make a Draco Malfoy x Slytherin (female) reader please?

also, I'm really sorry about your chameleon!!

Drunken confessions

Masterlist Draco Malfoy x fem!reader Summary: Draco has a crush, and as a typical teenage boy, he has no idea how to deal with it. Warning: none author note: Sorry it took so long, this is way overdue. Also sorry it is so short but I felt like if I added more it would ruin it a bit. But I'm gonna be honest, I don't think you come to me for long fics. Btw if you see the pictures under each other and not next on pc, I am sorry, tumbler is tripping a bit. Word count: 1k Song: In My Dreams - Red Velvet

Slytherins were a proud house. Sometimes, they are too proud for their own good. But it’s not like somebody is going to tell them otherwise, and let's be honest, they are not going to listen to Rawenclar of Hufflepuff, and certainly not Grifindoor. Draco was aware of his pride and was proud of this too. There was just one person who would humble him any chance they got.

Sitting across him in the common room was a girl he despised. She was getting on his nerves just the way she smiled. She shared the same circle of high-up Slytherins as him, so he couldn't get rid of her. he tried once, but was shot down by the whole group. Sure, was he in another house, his friends might have said he had a crush on the girl. but he is a proud Slytherin, so he will never admit that out loud. Athou if you were to ask Matteo, he sure has a video of Draco crying hysterically over his crush.

it was only a short time before everyone returned to their own bedrooms. Draco stayed behind, finding himself nauseous when getting up. He was sitting there, nursing a small glass of water and staring at nothing with a blank expression. he could feel the sofa dip next to him but he could not be bothered. It’s when he feels a tap on his shoulder that he lifts his head.

There she sat next to him, flashing her pearly whites at him as if she wanted to blind him. His own smile crept on his face as he looked at her. God, he was whipped. She didn't say anything and Draco couldn't figure out if he was hallucinating. He didn’t want her to disappear. The girl let out a sigh.

“What are you doing here? It’s late. Why don’t you go to bed?” she says, looking all over his face for any sigh of exhaustion, or worse, some kind of mischievous spell.  Draco did not answer. Instead, he rested his head on the back of the sofa, looking at the ceiling. The girl didn’t say anything like she was expecting him to be a moody teenager.

He could feel her take his class and place it on the table in front of them. He could smell her perfume every time she moved and it drove him crazy. She made herself comfortable. Arms resting on the back of the sofa looking at him, her legs thrown over his lap. Dracos put his hands on them without even thinking about it.

“Can I have a question? “ She says. draco turns his his head so they are face to face.

“shoot”

“what are we?”

“unshoot” a gentle laugh leaves her as he answers.

Silence falls upon them. To others, it might have been awkward, but to them, it felt comforting. If Draco had to put any labels on them, he would write giant ‘ simp ‘ in a red marker on his face. She would be a goddess, of course. He turns to her again. She's looking at him with eyes full of curiosity.

“Ya know,” he starts, “I don't think I've ever told you this. But you’re lowkey pretty.” “Lowkey?”

“Yea okay, highkey.” Be blurs out. She again laughs. A sound that Draco swore he would hear at the pearly gates one day.

“Well, I'm glad you think I’m pretty. I would be pretty bumped if my crush thought I'm ugly.” She says. draco just hums, not really paying attention to her words. His eyes keep jumping between her eyes and lips. The girl just sighs again.

“Come one big guy, let's get you to bed.”  She makes a move to get up but Draco is not letting her move. A brilliant idea came to his mind and he felt like he was going to die if he did not execute it right at this moment.  He moved her close to his, as much as he could. One hand sneaked around her waist and the other around her neck. He leaned in so close that he could feel her breath on her face. Even up close he found her so pretty, it almost made him cry.  She was looking at him. Watching him studying her as if he was trying to engrave her face in his memory. She wanted him to move, she wanted him to close the gap between them, but alas he wouldn't move. Seemingly in his own world, with no way in.

So she did it for him. Only for a split second, Draco felt her lips on his. He was left chasing after her when she moved away. A small whine left him as well. He stayed there looking at her, a pout forming on his lips as if she had just stolen his last piece of candy.

“Ya know, I lowkey like you,” he says, very proud of his confession. His brain drifted away again as he locked his eyes on her lips once more.

“ I like you too, dummy.” She says back, playing with his hair softly. draco let out a hum as that was the only thing he needed to hear before locking their lips again. He leaned her back so she lay flat on the sofa. He separated them for a second.

“You know, this is not just a drunken confession. I don't do those.” He says and goes to kiss her again. She stops him with her hand on his chest. A wide smile on her face melted Draco's heart away.

“You meant like that one time you told me about how you slipped naked in the perfect bathroom and slid from one end to the other on your butt?”

“I told you that in confidence!” He whines and hides his face in her neck. She can only laugh.

[clawsdevour]

hq charas confessing hcs !!

wc: 0.6k content warning: not proofread, all fluff headcanons!!

⊹͏*.◯

-the type to have false confidence in themselves to help cope with their anxiousness. they'd for sure be hyping themself up loudly in the corner of the locker room with their headphones blasting in their ears. when they do confess though, they are a complete mess. they'd confess somewhere discrete where no one else is able to see them in case they get rejected right there despite knowing that you've been liking them.

"hey... look. i kind of like you. you don't have to like me back if you don't, i totally understand if you want to stay as friends even though it could be awkward-"

charas: kageyama tobio, tsukishima kei, kenma kozume, sakusa kiyoomi

─

-the type to come completely prepared for rejection. they just can't keep all these feelings bunched up anymore to the point where it's obvious that they have this big fat crush on you, and their heart is bursting with every beat. they're willing to accept the fact that you may not like them back and they're completely fine with it. when they confess, they just let it all out.

"SO basically you probably don't know.. or well know already but I really LIKE LIKE you! you've been running around in my mind like crazy these past few weeks and I just can't keep these feelings to myself anymore.. it's completely okay with me if you want to stay as friends though!"

charas: bokuto koutaro, hinata shoyo, nishinoya yu, tanaka ryunosuke

─

-the type to be calm, cool, collected despite having all these wandering feelings rapidly evolve and take over their mind. they're prepared for the worst and the best, mainly the worst. they're stern and real with their feelings, staring into your eyes to try and read your body language waiting for a simple yes or no.

"I like you.. that's kind of all I have to say. i'm sorry for sending a letter telling you to come all the way back here just for me to confess. but i've been having these feelings building up for so long, it's just time I come clean."

charas: akaashi keiji, iwaizumi hajime, ushijima wakatoshi

─

-the type to be abolsutely fiddling their fingers before they even meet with you. they may be one of the most hard working players with immense respect to their name but at the end of the day they're human too. the growing emotions that sway their opinions on you grow much larger by the day, theres none where their mind is just blank.

"I need to confess. I can't keep up with my emotions any longer. to be short and blunt, I really like you. you're just.. I don't know how to say it but.. someone I really value and see as more than just a friend.."

charas: daichi sawamura, sugawara koshi, kita shinsuke, osamu miya

─

-the type to be highkey prepared to accept whatever your response will be. they've come to terms to let life roll at its own pace, if you said yes the spark will lit into a torch that guides the hole in their heart. they're sincere with their words in a one on one, a bit more serious than usual when confessing to show that they aren't joking or playing around because they have actual interest in you.

"this is gonna be kind of embarrassing on my part but listen, I have these serious feelings for you that won't stop changing. I like you, okay? you don't have to respond to me immediately.. i'll even wait for your response because you truly do matter to me."

charas: kuroo tetsuro, oikawa tooru, yaku morisuke, atsumu miya, suna rintaro

masterlist here

[straykids-2000]

Asking stray kids if you can dom them

Bangchan

He wouldn't be opposed to it

Actually, he would love to give up control

His all ways has to be in control from being the leader of stray kids to the fan

It's nice to finally give up control

Before even doing anything, tho he wants to talk about and learn a little bit.

When his ready, he'll shyly tell you

He'll be a moaning, whimpering mess before you even start

If you're pegging him, then he'll want you to hold his hands

He will hide his face in your neck

Calls you mommy/daddy then gets shy

When you're done, he's so far gone in Subspace

✨️Aftercare✨️

"So cute, baby." You whispered, making him cover his face,

You chuckled and moved his arms as you softly thrust into him "please mommy/daddy so good." He said nails, digging into your back

Leeknow

At first his not sure, but after a bit of talking then he'll give it a chance

And he loved it

Lowkey (highkey) is a brat at first

Will talk back and talk about how it's better when he fucks you

When his finally realized how good you're making him feel.

He'll be a moaning mess

He will, in fact, claw you back and bite your neck.

If you call him kitten, he'll fall into his subspace faster.

Likes it when you degrade and praise him at the same time

If you are pegging him

He'll want to ride you

Will fondle your chest

Minho whimpered as he looked down at you, marking his thighs

He threw his head back and grabbed your hair "fuck, fuck please I'm sorry."

You groaned and waved his hands away from your head. " I know, kitten, but you were bad got punished you." You said and smirked as you leaned down back to his thigh

Changbin

Changbin will be right on board

Is a pillow princess

Absolutely loves it when you kiss him well riding him or pegging him

Loves to be praised

Call him babygirl and he'll cum right there

If you make him ride you, he'll cry and beg you to do the work

If you're strong then he want you to fuck him against a wall

Isn't really a big fan of degrading

It really depends on what you say doesn't mind being called a slut

Would love to roleplay

He wants you to mark him and talk him through it.

Has a breeding kink

"Please breed me." Changbin moaned, holding your shoulders.

"I know, baby, I know, baby." You groaned, kissing his neck

Hyunjin

Doesn't openly show it but is very excited.

Has been thinking about it for a long time

He doesn't want you to be gentle with him, but he won't openly tell you that.

You'll have to push him enough to tell you what he wants

He'll put his hand on yours and bring it to his neck for you to choke him

Loves when you degrade him

Call him your little slut or whore and he'll melt

Overstimulate or edge him

Claws at your back

Massive pain kick

Slap him, bite him, and he'll be begging for more

He'll be a brat on purpose, so he'll get a punishment

Hyunjin grabbed your hand and placed it on his throat. You squeezed, making his eyes roll back.

"Such a dirty slut." You said and used your other hand and slapped his ass.

Jisung

Immediately in bed, ready to be fucked

Ass up head down

Has been waiting since you started dating even before that

Doesn't care where you fuck him

Kitchen, bedroom, living room, doesn't care

Also has a breeding kink

Will dress up in a lingerie or a dress

And put on makeup just for it to get ruined

Will call you whatever you want daddy,mommy,mistress,Master

Likes it rough but also gentle(if that makes sense)

He'll be so fucked out that he goes cross-eyed

Loves sucking on your chest

"So good mommy/daddy don't stop feels so good" han moaned out as he folded your chest

you grabbed han hair, pulling his head back. You leaned down to kiss his neck, "so pretty"

Felix

Acts shocked as if he hadn't been hinting to it

Has the biggest feminist kink

Call him baby girl, doll, princess, and his eyes are rolling back

Very vocal in bed from the beginning to the end

Likes to call you daddy (female or not)

If you put my in front of one of his nicknames, he'll cum on the spot

Whould love to be fucked in public.

Will try anything once

He loves to Roleplay his favorite roleplay is nerd and cheerleader/jock

Wants to be recorded while you fuck him

Loves to eat you out

"Such a pretty little slut." You said walking around felix with a camera.

"Say hi babygirl."

Felix whimpered as he tried to smile.

Seungmin

His not really up for it a first.

But then he started to think about it and looked into it and realized how fun it looks

Will shyly ask if you're still up to dom him

He wants to try petplay

Loves to ride your strap on

Likes to lick and suck on your neck

Trys kissing you will you fuck him

Will cling to you as you fuck him arm holding onto you tightly

Loves being called puppy or pup

Loves to cuddle after your done wants to be held.

Giggles, when you kiss all over his face

He definitely wouldn't mind doing it again

"Mmmh, pup doing so good for me such a good puppy." You said as he held on to you. His eyes rolled back

Jeongin

Very confused asking to think about it first

When he decides he wants to do it, he'll ask it your still up for it

Wants to eat you out first then will ask you to fuck him

Also, is one who wants you to hold his hand

Very vocal in bed

Like when you talk him through it

Loves when you call him your good boy or my love

Goes cross-eyed when he cums

Whimpering mess when you jerk him off

If you don't let him cum, he'll beg you and cry saying that his you're good boy and please let him cum

Will moan and whimper in your ear

Loves to take baths with you after, wants you to message him in the bath

"Please, please don't stop fuck I'm your good boy." He whimpered out holding your hips

"Such a good boy for me, baby." You replied to him as you leaned down to kiss him

First post, so I hope yall like it 💓

[jinuaei]

Would it be fucked up to write about Chronic Wasting Disease(on deers) but make it Yandere! Alastor. Highkey inspired by Lovesick! Wally Darling.

TW: It's YANDERE and maybe horror like?

The more the disease develops the more boney and ill-looking Alastor gets. Wasting away in his room as he tries to find a cure for this disease, unwilling to show his face to the hotel members with how messed up he looks right now, drooling and skinnier than he has ever been, ears drooping low on his head, he doesn't have enough energy to perk them back up.

Even all through what has been happening to him, the smile on his face never falters, granted, he could never stop even if he wants to. The disease will never let him drop the grin on his face.

Enter you, a trusted member of the Hazbin Hotel, and a good friend to the Radio Demon before his isolation. The princess of hell has been concerned after a month of no contact from Alastor, she has been trying to get him out of his room but all she gets in return are incoherent mumbles and even growling. So, she assigned you to take care of Alastor during that whole month, her being too busy to focus on him.

You've been leaving him food outside his room, he never ate them so you resorted to asking Rosie to bring you demon meat or venison, he ate them but not alot. However when you left the food in it's raw state, as suggested by miss Rosie, he didn't leave any leftovers after that.

For the past month that's the routine that you fell into, wake up, eat breakfast, bring Alastor his food, try to talk to him while he's eating-- you never get any responses, then leave. One time though, you were a bit late in bringing him his food, and as you bent down to leave the meat, the door burst open and you screamed in surprise, dropping the food and crawling backwards against the wall. The hand that snatched the meat was too fast, too boney, and too sharp.

The door didn't close though and through the gap you can see a single red eye peering through it. It looked frantic, pupils dilated, shaky. Why are the pupils shaped like a heart...?

"I...scared you...? I'm sorry, I'm sorry...Imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry--," Alastor's demonic voice mumbles as the door creeps open. You ran away before he could fully open it.

That was a week ago, ever since then you tried to be on time. Today though, things went differently, not only did he grabbed the meat, he also grabbed you. Now you're laying on the ground shivering in fear as the deer demon lays on top of you, nuzzling onto your neck, the drool soaking your shirt.

"You're here...Yes... It doesn't hurt anymore, oh my darling... I was so sick for so long... I was trying to find the cure to heal me... but oh...," he sighs, gripping you tighter, "You were the cure all along! It was so close to me and I didn't even know it! It has always been you...!"

"Every time I thought about you, it hurt less, and every time you were outside my door bringing me food like a good mate. The pain was gone...! But why would you leave every time? Don't you know you have to stay with your mate? Your husband?"

"Hmmm... Maybe if you keep taking care of me, I'll be healthy enough to go outside our room! And we can go on dates! Yes... That would be lovely..." He croons, pulling away from your neck and looking down at you, his heart shaped eyes glowing in the dark.

What the hell happened to Alastor?

[forbidding-souda]

if you haven't already, could you do mondo, kazuichi and hajime with a goth girlfriend who's very feminine? tyty <3

Mondo Oowada, Kazuichi Souda, and Hajime Hinata with a very feminine goth girlfriend

I looked through my masterlists bc i thought already wrote one and that i wrote hella goth fics but appareantly it's only 2 so I'm tweaking. here you go anon ily here.

might be repetitive but who caresss

thumbs up emote

Sorry if it's underwhelming, I didn't realize how short it was until I read it over this morning. Highkey was high when I wrote the small scenario parts and the bold text. [next day, afternoon edit: wtf was i talking about this shit long ash LMFAO]

-Mod Souda

Mondo Oowada

❤ Perfect. Perfect for his aesthetic. Perfect for the atmosphere his home presents and you're such a perfect doll to great him at the gate of Hope's Peak every day. People are only surprised to know you two are together because of the fact that he pulled such a baddie. He'll wrap an arm around his shoulder and tell anybody who makes a comment to fuck off. He can pull. Duh. He's got you. But it's hard for anybody to take him seriously when he'll melt at the sound of your laugh.

"If you get your fucking," he wipes his cheek, "lipstick on me one more time." "You're going to what?" He stares down at his hand, the black lipstick smeared on the back of it from his touch. His cheek is stained. It's going to look ridiculous (but not as much as post-smear). His eyes hold a glare that's more intense than if you had just cursed at him. "Nothin'." Once again, he wipes his cheek, smearing it more. "Don't do that shit again." You in fact do that shit again.

❤ Don't get your makeup on him. It ruins his masculinity. His gang makes fun of him when he rides with black lipstick on his face, forehead to chin.

❤ On the back of a motorcycle in all black with heeled shoes brrr brrr.

❤ Yeah but tuck those necklaces in.

❤ And omg he's going to steal some of your hairspray sorry but he will. Whether you mind it or not. He's going to do it.

❤ + your over-the-top makeup yesss the both of you attract so many stares.

❤ I imagine people would want to take pictures of you two. He'd fucking hate it but you're like yes of course!!!!

❤ He tries to avoid main cities anyway as much as he can anyway.

.

Kazuichi Souda

❤ Worships you like it's nobodies business. You look just like a dream. The prettiest girl he's ever seen. From the cover of a magazine. Literally that fr. He's that obsessed with you. He's the type to carry you over a sewer grate so you don't get your heels stuck in it. He helps you tie your corsets and he'll buckle your boots for you. He'll kiss your neck whenever you're leaned over the bathroom counter doing your makeup. His intimacy is acts of service, but only for you. He'd do anything for you.

"Kazuichi?" You call from your bedroom. In the early morning, he's in the living room watching TV. At the sound of your call, your tone mildly concerned, he stands without hesitation. But you weren't in danger or anything. You were just having a hard time buckling your bra. Once he opened the door, you glance over. "Do it for me." It was more of a command than a request. "W-Woah there," he laughs nervously, taking a few steps at a time. "Sure, yeah. Sure thing." With no sign of the internal fluster, he hides the urge he gets to just stare at your half-covered chest like it were glowing. He steps behind you, focusing his eyes on your shoulder blades before strapping on the second hook of your bra. You had only managed to get one in. "There you go, gorgeous." You hum, a small smile on your face. "Thank you." Looking over your shoulder at him, you see his composure and how it changed drastically while you weren't looking. His cheeks were pink and his eyebrows were furrowed with distress. "Yeah," he says breathlessly, finally getting a look at your chest. "Anytime."

❤ Lord knows he just wants to gobble you whole like om nom nom.

❤ Yes he does the cooking yes he does the cleaning.

❤ He's your malewife.

❤ It makes sense to me somehow that he would be with somebody who's hyper-feminine. It's a good match.

❤ I'm in between the thought that he'd either make goth girlfriend jokes or hate them. I feel like he'd hate seeing memes about it bc it makes him feel like they're about you specifically. Bc you're HIS girlfriend. HIS.

❤ Shows you off.

❤ You'd probably be taller than him in some of your shoes.

❤ You'd get along with his classmates hella.

❤ And he'll give you the cutest pet names. Enchantress, spider, might call you evil as a tease.

.

Hajime Hinata

❤ You're both each other's scary dog privileges. With his glare and your outward appearance, it makes you two completely unapproachable. Hangouts in the dark of night have never been safer. You don't have to be scared of shit. He's here, and you're here. Fair's fair. There's not a person in the world that would want to bother you, and the fear of annoying you breaks any onlookers confidence. Plus, you're gorgeous, and it's threatening.

"Press this button to jump." He handed you the controller, and now he's practically leaning over you as he places his hands over your own. "I got it Hajime." "Just making sure." When you try and hone in on the button, your nail gets in the way. You smile to yourself before outstretching your finger to place the pad of your finger on it, your fingerprints practically sticking to it as you press down hard. But your nail had reached the button ahead of it, grazing down, lifting a bit upwards. Your face scrunches up at the sensation. "Uhh, are you alright?" He asks, his eyebrows furrowed but smiling with adoration. "I'm good," you chuckle. "Beauty is pain."

❤ I see him as not gaf or being overly appreciative of the fact that you're goth. It's just your style. Nothing to get handsy over.

❤ He does like uniqueness tho and ofc you're the embodiment of that.

❤ Fucking hates when tourists want to take a picture though because they'll exclude him. I imagine tourists are the people that would walk up to you, locals not so much.

❤ Literally those memes of goth girlfriend with plain gamer boy.

❤ He can work an all-black wardrobe though.

❤ He looks a bit alternative just naturally. So replace those white button-ups with a black one and bam. You'll match.

[iovetecchou]

When A Stranger Calls ⧸ Jouno Saigiku.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Dark Content! Don't Like Don't Read, You Have Been Warned!

summary: When a stranger calls, Jouno answers. Pulling himself into a world of trouble.

༞ Contains...! phone sex, mutual masturbation, serial killer!reader, highkey yandere!reader, blackmail, coercion, manipulation, dubcon, mentions of stalking, mentions of murder (sorry tecchou)

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 2,440 words.

kinktober masterlist!

Jouno was beyond fed up with the week and it was only Monday. Fukuchi put Tecchou and himself on this serial killer case. It has been weeks since they first got a lead. But still no luck in getting the perp behind bars. The worst part of it all? Was that Teccou was an idiot and hardly helpful in this investigation. He called Jouno every night about the details of the case, nearly boring Jouno to death with the repetitiveness. Hearing about the elements only aggravated Jouno even further because they had no advance in the case yet. 

Tonight was no different. Jouno had only just stepped through the threshold of his apartment. He had a second to kick off his boots and remove his hat, placing it atop his kitchen counter before his phone rang. Jouno clicked his tongue at the pesky ringtone. He just got off the clock. He didn't get paid enough to deal with Tecchou's stupidity off-duty. 

Jouno tugged his phone out of his pocket, answering it before shouting, "What could you possibly be calling me for now, you fool!" The blind king grimaced, clutching his phone tight, nearly cracking the screen. His anger only grew tenfold when more seconds ticked by, and there was no response from the man on the other line. "I'm hanging up. Don't call again, idiot."

Jouno huffed as he made quick strides toward his bedroom, tugging off his uniform in haste. He was beyond frustrated with everything as of late. All he wanted to do was shower after a long day. He stripped down to nothing but his boxer briefs, making his way toward the bathroom. He halted in his stride the moment he heard his phone ringing once more from where he left it on the kitchen counter. 

Did this idiot have a death wish?

Jouno stomped into his kitchen, swiping his phone off the counter, answering once more. "Tecchou, if you call me one more time... I will come to your place and wring your neck. You hear me?" 

"Woah... scary." 

Jouno's body went tense. This gruff voice certainly didn't belong to his counterpart. But the number this call was coming from was certainly Tecchou's. Jouno had specific ringtones set for each of his colleagues so he knew exactly who was calling. Something was off. Jouno had a bad feeling about this. 

"And who might you be?" Jouno quipped, keeping his voice calm as he tried to hear any background noises coming from the other end. He picked up on the rustling of leaves, the wind whistling, and perhaps the sounds of cars in the distance. Strange. 

"I'm quite hurt you don't know who I am, Saigiku. You've been my secret admirer for a few weeks now." You were using a voice modulator, Jouno noted. There were moments when your true voice would crack through, throwing him off. 

More importantly, how did you know his first name?

"Where did you get this phone from? Answer me now, mutt." Jouno barked out, quickly making haste toward his bedroom. He grabbed his discarded uniform, about to tug it back on before the voice over the phone snickered, 

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Sai. Those clothes are dirty, plus I love to see you nearly on full display for me. You have a cute butt." 

Jouno's blood ran cold in his veins. All of his blinds were shut, he was sure of it. He didn't detect any movement in his apartment, and from the background noise coming from your call, you were outdoors. 

"I'm hanging up." Jouno deadpanned, trying to keep his composure. Even though he was beginning to freak out internally. "Do that, and you'll regret—" The line went dead before you could finish your threat, but it didn't take a genius to know what you were trying to say. 

Jouno hastily checked the lock on the front door; it was secure. He tiptoed around the apartment, trying to listen to any abnormalities. His hands grazed along the windows, causing his fear to spike further when he realized all the blinds were, in fact, down. Nothing was out of place, and his apartment was as secure as ever. So, how were you able to see him?

He tried to think for a moment. You said he was your "secret admirer" which made absolutely no sense. Sure, many people fawned over him; but it was never the other way around. Plus, all he had time to do recently was work on this serial killer case— wait—. 

Just as Jouno put the pieces together, the phone rang again. His heart pounded as the sound of Tecchou's ringtone flooded his train of thought. Slowly, he answered the call once more tonight. He kept as still and quiet as he could. 

"Finally know who I am, darling? It's about damn time." Your altered voice boomed through his desolate apartment. You sounded displeased as you continued, "What, getting all shy on me now? Go on, say what's on your mind."

Jouno couldn't control the words that slipped past his lips. "You're that lowly killer on the loose. The one Tecchou and I have been hunting down." He didn't intend to speak, and yet he did? Could you potentially be an ability user and this was a cause of your ability?

"Lowly? That actually hurts my feelings. Don't tell me you truly think so poorly of me, darling." You feined offense over the phone, snickering slightly as you whispered, "No matter, I can just change your mind."' 

Jouno knew something was wrong, "I'm hanging up—" 

"No, you're not!" Your voice was playful, Jouno knew you were getting a rise out of this. 

But what frightened him even more, was the fact that he was still on the line with you. He intended to end this call but Jouno was frozen in his tracks. "What's going on?" Jouno questioned calmly, despite his heart beating a mile a minute. 

"Stop resisting, Saigiku. It'll be easier for you if you just give in!" Your altered voice was as chipper as ever. 

"And let you kill me as you did Tecchou? Hah, as if." Jouno feigned confidence, trying to subtly get more info out of you.

"You think... I would kill you? You really do think of me as scum. Saigiku, I would never allow you to suffer the same fate as your stupid colleague— ah what did you just say his name was... oh right, Tecchou." 

Jouno knew you killed Tecchou but to hear it from your mouth was petrifying. "Aww, what's with the sour face? I thought you loathed Tecchou! I got rid of him for you— for us!"

Jouno's breath was labored, he didn't know what to do at this moment. He felt utterly hopeless. "Tell me, how are you seeing me right now? Because I know you're not here with me."

Jouno cursed himself for how shaky his voice was. His face scrunched up as your wicked giggle flooded his mind. "It's a secret. If I told you, It would ruin all the fun! How would I be able to enjoy the sight of you jerking off every night if you somehow got rid of my little secret?" 

"What did you just say?" Jouno felt heat rise to his cheeks. Knowing someone was watching him during such an intimate moment was mortifying. 

"Oh, which part? The little secret of how I see you? Or the part about you fucking your fist like a desperate whore each night?" You snickered, causing Jouno's blush to deepen. 

"You're fucking sick." Jouno spat, and his hands began to shake from this uneasy feeling.

"Hmm, maybe I am. But your little whines are so addicting, I can't get enough. It's so cute as you try to muffle your moans with your hand while you get yourself off. Oh, but my favorite part is when you finish. The way your hips lift off the bed as you make a mess all over yourself is my favorite sight— fuck... I'm getting turned on just thinking about it."

Jouno could hear rustling over the phone, your altered voice coming out more breathless now. "Come on, darling. Why don't you give me a little show, yeah? Go to the couch and take your underwear off for me. Red looks good on you, by the way, and I'm not talking about your boxers."

Jouno's throat ran dry as his legs moved on their own. He placed the phone atop the arm of the couch, tugging his boxers down his thighs before making himself comfortable on the plush cushions. Jouno felt exposed, too exposed and he didn't understand why he had no choice but to obey you.

"Tell me, this is a cause of your ability... yes?" Jouno questioned, placing his palm over his cock. Trying to conceal himself the best he could.

"How about this... I'll answer your every question if you start touching yourself for me. How's that sound?" You panted, Jouno could tell you were getting yourself off from the sight of him. He considered your offer heavily, if he did this, he would be able to track you down. But if he refused, you would probably force him to touch himself anyway, minus the intel. 

"I accept. So, tell me... is this a cause of your ability?" Jouno's breath hitched the moment he wrapped his hand around his softened cock. He tried to stay focused on interrogating you as he stroked himself, getting hard in a matter of seconds from his heightened sense of touch. 

"Yes! It's a mind control ability of sorts, but that's all I'll say for now." You giggled, stifling a moan as you watched Jouno fist his cock. 

"How are you seeing me right now— hah..." Jouno huffed, letting out a small whine as he focused his touch on the head of his cock. Causing his legs to shake.

"Now, now... don't get greedy. That's one secret I won't give away. But since you're moaning so sweetly for me... I'll give you a hint. It's part of my ability." You whispered, the sound of rustling on your end of the call increasing by the second.

Jouno picked up his pace, slowly losing himself in the pleasure. "Why do you have a soft spot for me— ngh... d-do you— ah... do you know me perchance?" 

You went quiet for a moment, the voice-altering device slipping away as you lost yourself in your own pleasure. Jouno's cock throbbed wildly as he heard your voice, your real voice, as you cried out his name. He knew this was wrong, he shouldn't be feeling this way from hearing your sultry whines. You were a sick person... but your moans were like music to his ears. 

"I do know you... but I doubt you remember me. You saved me long ago... but— hn... I-I've loved you ever since." Jouno was trying to pinpoint your voice, skimming through his memories all the while he was trying not to cum from the intense simulation he was granting himself. 

"H-How long ago was that?" Jouno asked through gritted teeth, slender hips lifting off the bed as he fucked into his fist. 

"Years ago... I tried to grab your attention in every— ah... e-every way I could. But you're a workaholic. Never saving any time for a personal life, and so... hah— I-I..." A loud whine ripped through you. You panted as you tried to hold back. Not wanting to cum until he did. 

"You began murdering just to grab my attention? Tell me you're n-not serious— f-fuck..." Jouno spat, balls tightening as his release neared closer. He wanted to get as much intel out of you before he came, so he edged himself. 

"Oh, I'm dead serious— hah, get it? Dead serious— s-shit... gonna cum... Saigiku, stop holding back. I know you've been trying to hold out, but I need to hear you— need to see you cum for me." You hardly realized that your true voice was reaching Jouno's sensitive ears as you got yourself off. Too focused on Jouno and his pleasure. 

"Well then, why don't you tell me your name? I'll be sure to say it while I make a mess all over myself— hah... I'm sure you'd like that, right?" Jouno smirked as he heard you stutter on the other side of the phone. He knew you were contemplating it. If you gave up your name, you were practically turning yourself in. But... you've dreamt about Jouno chanting your name like a prayer as he lost himself in bliss.

"Hah... you're good, Sai. Too good... fuck— you always know just the right thing to say. No wonder you're the Hunting Dog's finest." You panted, scoring your bottom lip with your teeth before gritting out, 

"It's Y/N... go on, hah— cry out my n-name as you come all over yourself, Sai." Jouno finally let himself go at the knowledge of your name. He fucked into his fist vigorously, pace getting sloppy— tasting his release on the tip of his tongue. 

"That wasn't so hard, was it? F-Fuck... Y/N..." Your breath hitched, hearing your name roll off his tongue.

"Say it again. Please!" Your mind was clouded, letting your desperation take over as you made a fool of yourself. 

"Ah... Y/N, I'm gonna cum— s-shit, Y/N!" Jouno threw his head back in bliss as the first ropes of cum shot out past his slit. His thighs twitched as his hips studdered, sloppily working himself through his high. Cum painting his flush chest white. 

"Saigiku, Saigiku, Sai—!" Your voice was muffled as you tumbled over the edge, whining out his name as your own release washed over you. Jouno honed in on your soft panting and whispers of his name as he came down from his high. Trying his hardest to regain his composure. 

"Okay, I'm done playing these games with you, Y/N. Don't try to use your ability on me any further, or else I'll never say your name again." Jouno warned, resting his hips flat against the sofa as he twitched from the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"So cold... and just as I thought we were getting somewhere here! You know, I can just use my ability on you and make you say my name again!" You cooed. More rustling could be heard on your end of the phone as Jouno sat up, reaching over for his phone. 

"Goodbye, Y/N. Next time we talk, It'll be while you're behind bars." Jouno ended the call before you could say another word. You continued to observe Jouno from a distance, smiling to yourself as a blush still bedecked the blind king. 

"Catch me if you can, Saigiku."

[tbhyknow]

𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗦 !

summary, after overworking yourself pass your usual hours to handling your unit and preparing for a big event, you ended up sleeping while hanging out with them.

featuring, mayoi ayase, arashi nakurami && ibara saegusa w/ gender-neutral!reader (romantic, separate)

tags, established relationship, all fluff no angst, headcanons, ooc

notice, first enstars post yippie 🎉 taking a break from grinding so much for the spider halloween event.. reader is a producer if it wasn't obvious.. highkey ooc?? esp for ibara, as much as i love him, i suck at writing characters like him huhu

— m. ayase

the two of you were baking in the dorm's kitchen when you suddenly passed out. just a few hours ago, you had proposed to mayoi to spend the day off with each other and decided baking something would be nice.

after all, after a hectic week of working yourself to the bone, what's a better way to spend the day than hanging out with your beloved boyfriend?

mayoi, at first, was cautious. he had been watching you veryy closely (and he's absolutely sorry-not-sorry for doing that) for pasy few days and noticed your signs of exhaustion. but still, he couldn't resist accepting your date idea when you begged him so desperately.

mayoi stared down at the mixture he's been mixing for a couple minutes, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. is he 100% sure this is how it's supposed to look?

then, mayoi turned around to face you. "uhmm... (name), could you— eek!" just as he did, he had witness your body collapse, hitting the floor with an extremely loud and audible thud that rang through the kitchen like a big bang. mayoi's face turned pale as he immediately ran up to your spot and kneeled down, checking you thoroughly.

his hands were stained with cookie batter, but he couldn't care less at this point and rolled you on your back. he put your head on his lap, pushing your hair out of your face to only be greeted by your peaceful, sleeping expression. he carefully felt your pulse on your neck and immediately let out a sigh of relief when he felt soft thumping under the pads of his fingers.

mayoi sighed, "thank god... you're just unconscious, i don't know what i would've done if you..." he stared down at you again, caressing your cheek. at any other situation, he would've found your sleeping face cute, but the guilt of agreeing to do this with you even when you're exhausted was chewing him up.

he immediately got cleaning up the mess you two made and hurried you to the infirmary. after the nurse was done checking you and confirming it was just exhaustion and stress and not anything serious, he was left alone to sit by your side and wait for you to wake up.

throughout it all... mayoi was nervous. the intrusive thoughts are coming to his head, making up scenarios that your condition became serious and had put you in a coma... he knew it wasn't going to happen, but the thought terrified him still.

when you woke up, mayoi immediately got on his hands and knees and apologized to you with genuine tears. it's gonna take a while for him to calm down...

"i-i'm sorry! i was aware you were overworked a-and yet i still made you bake w-with me! i'm an awful and pathetic person, i don't deserve your forgiveness!"

"m-mayoi, i said it's fine... c'mon, get up.."

— a. narukami

arashi finally got a day off from idol work and modelling, so she decided it would be fun to tag you along for shopping! it's been so long since she has been able to do some retail therapy, but it's much more longer since the two of you gotten on a date and it was starting to irritate her.

even if you were tired from handling your unit and trying to keep them out of trouble or paying the consequences of their stupid decisions, you still accepted the offer because you missed her a lot as well! you can handle to stay awake for a couple more hours, right?

... right?

arashi finished zipping up the dress and after doing a couple of practice twirls, she stepped out of the dressing room in an elegant and stylish manner fitting for the outfit she's trying on.

"(name), darling, what do you think? should i get it or not?" she spun around once more, showing off a full 360 of her look. when she didn't hear your voice praising her or doing commentary, she took a good look of your slumping figure and noticed that you had fallen asleep.

"oh dear," she chuckled, finding the way your head keeps flicking whenever you hunched too far cute. she sighed and shook her head, "you really should know better than overworking yourself, whatever should i do with you?" then, she walked up to you and tapped you on the shoulder, "come on, let's go home and do a spa day instead!"

when you grumbled something akin to a protest, she merely tutted and kissed your forehead. "mhm, whatever you say, dear. let me change back first and we'll head home, okay?"

"mmmgh... okay.."

true to her words, when you two arrived back, she immediately began setting the things up and prepared all the necessities for a spa day.

facemask? check. her favorite scented candles? check. the two of you in fluffy white robes, sipping on some tea with your feet deep in a bucket of warm water and epsom salt and your favorite drama playing on the tv? check, check and check.

arashi made sure your sitting arrangement is as comfortable ss possible, and frequently checked on you to see if you're in deep sleep. once the time is up, she'll gently shook you awake to let you know and cleaned up the place before bringing you down on the couch for a cuddle.

"i love you, (name), so please don't do that again, okay? i won't scold you right now since you need to rest more, but next time know your limits please. overworking is bad for your health."

— i. saegusa

it was rare for ibara to come back home for a day off. apparently, he was urged by his unit members to take a break and spend some time with his lover aka you, especially since the event is over now, and he had finished months worth of work in one sight.

although, it didn't take the rest of eden long to convince him to go home as he was already prepared to come back to your arms. after all, distance brings fondness and oh does he yearns for you.

he arrived at your apartment in a timely mannera and while his appearance is poised as usual, there was a slight element in his body language that told you he hurried his way back. he never been this ipatient.

there was time to go out for a date, but the two of you lacked the energy to even step out and interact with the world after a hellish week. ibara came rushing to you and spooning you in his arms.

"— it was hard to pull in the reigns on that problem child, but thankfully he seemed to understand and followed my instructions this time around... oh, i'll surely miss that part of him now that this event is over." ibara sighed, playing with a strand of your hair and twirling it between his fingers.

then, he shook his head, choosing to forget about his stressful week and focused on you now. this is the limited times he's able to see you outside of work and he didn't want to talk your ear off about every miniscule thing that has happened the previous days. he wanted to focus on you and you only for now.

"moving on. what about you, my dear? anything interesting happened to you?" he asked, waiting for an answer. he waited, and waited, assuming your silence was just you thinking about what to say. yet you still continue to be silent, confusing him and worrying him slightly.

"(name) dear?" he looked down at your face and relaxed immediately, making a sound of acknowledgement as he found you fast asleep in his arms. he chuckled, shaking his head gently. he said nothing more and joined you in your sleep.

even if the whole conversation he had with you was mostly one-sided, he's still glad he could spend his time with you. when you woke up from your nap, he had put a blanket over you and let you rest on the couch.

he even went out of his way to prepare food for the two of you, just in case you woke up hungry. the table was set nicer and better than you could ever done, and the food looked and smelled like heaven.

"hm? you're finally awake, i see. come, i've prepared us dinner, won't you join me? then, after this, let's talk some more. you still haven't told me how your week went, after all."

notice, leave a like, comment or reblog if you liked the hcs! it helps me a lot, ty^^

[edgeray]

One Hell of a Butler Pt. 6

Husband and Wife

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N: Guys, sorry for not posting anything in like 2 weeks. School highkey sucks. Have this to make up for it. Sorry for rushed ending, I'm tired but if I don't finish it as soon as possible, I won't be posting anything for another 2 weeks. Series Masterlist Content Warning: None really, rushed ending (I'm tired af), references to Pt.2, but not that relevant. This is also long af, 4.7k words

This scene is becoming far too familiar than you’d like it to be.

An icy nailed finger trails up your bare spine, the blackened hand grazing against the vast, open back your dress allowed, leaving your shoulder blades and a little under exposed. The other hand is draped around your midsection, pushing you against her front as firmly, the lack of her body heat practically numbing against your skin. Yet, hot air cascades against the shell of your ear, a sultry whisper in your air as her lips near your earlobe.  

“You look beautiful, my dear wife,” Arlecchino sighs out, humming in approval as her red-crossed eyes practically devour your form, the hold around your body slightly tightening it. It invokes more shudders, making you let out the softest of groans. 

“So, so beautiful,” she murmurs against your skin, her wet mouth ghosting against your nape. Her hand traces the dip of your shoulderblades before guiding her fingers to your side, her hand grasping one of your hips. “Red is a fetching color on you. Wear it more often for me, won’t you, my Lady?”  

You’re fully aware she’s only partial to the color because it resembles her pupils. She likes to associate herself with this particular hue. Narcissus himself, wasn’t she? 

One of your hands is placed over the one on your hip, wrenching it away from your person before it could creep lower. You click your tongue in ire. By this point, you’re more than aware of her persistent and irritating suggestions, always pushing the boundary between master and servant. Regardless of how many times you reprimand her, she’s undeterred–a trait you almost admire if it didn’t often hinder you. Still, you can’t deny the way your skin always tingles underneath her fingertips, or the way her amative words stirs something deep within you. With every protest and physical pushback, a prickling feeling at the back of your mind shoots through you, something you can attest to allegorize to the figurative biting of your tongue. 

There’s the common rationality that crossing the line will cause inevitable consequences that neither of you will be capable of facing, and yet you let her teeter the line. Toying with it, as if it’s not there, or a better analogy: that it’s nothing more than one of those games she enjoys playing with you. Is it because of your own lack of will or because you indulge in this far more than you should? You find contempt with the acknowledgement that you favor the way she dallies you. 

You knew that this ploy would excite the demon, give more latitude to her already desirous advances and increase her antics, but it was necessary for what you were trying to achieve. Masking as a wedded piar was the only way of concealing your identity while ensuring that Arlecchino remained by your side at all times but you wished there was a simpler guise. Regrettably, a charity event didn’t allow many guises, not with the scheme you plotted. Arlecchino, would undoubtedly, use every and any courting attempts under the guise of your ‘husband,’ throughout the entirety of the night. You only hope you could curb her behavior enough to not result in the right into becoming a blunder. 

“Arlecchino, are you so oblivious as to not be able to hold tongue?” You ask, your frigid words and sharp tongue coating your internal thoughts with a mask of coldness. 

Her words ring through your ears, sounding just like they had numerous times before. How long will it be until she stops repeating those praises, you wonder; how long will it be until they seem credible? You finally gaze up into the mirror, and there’s no objection to her statement. It’s a stunning, remarkably well-tailored scarlet dress, long and flowy with a high slit running from your thigh. It pairs well with the crimson suit that adorns the demon’s form exquisitely. The two of you do appear as an attractive pair, you admit begrudgingly to yourself. You gaze at the mirror for a moment longer before prying yourself away from the demon’s hold, stepping away from her with your back towards her. There’s the small inkling inside you that she pouts much like a scolded puppy. 

“Why, are you offering to slit it?” She offers, and you forget; that’s precisely something she’d enjoy. Always the cheeky demon that she is. From the mirror, you can see that almost infatuated expression on her face: lips curled into a cutting smirk, eyes narrowed on the image of you in the mirror, and red-crossed pupils glowering. “I’m merely commenting on your appearance, can you fault me when I have such a lovely wife before me?” 

“Don’t make me keep you on a tight leash,” you snap, once again swatting Arlecchino’s hand that tries to creep up onto your waist. “Behave yourself appropriately.”

A chuckle erupts from behind you. “If I behaved myself, then our image of doting husband and wife will shatter, no? Besides, a leash may not be very… dignified, would it? It’d be quite the presentation, indeed.”

It slips from your memory at times: how demons, or Arlecchino particularly, have no shame. 

With a scoff and a shake of your head, you reply. “Is that what you want to appear as? A dog I leash around?”

Again, another noise of amusement comes from the demon, but she replies with neither a confirmation or objection. Kinky bastard. 

“The only thing we need are finishing touches, is that right? Accessories if you will.”

You nod, making your way towards the door of your bedroom. “Your gloves and your contacts. You have them, yes?” 

“Yes, but I was referring to something else.” Before you can question it, there’s a grasp on your wrist andd then you’re spun around to face her. With the slyness of a fox, she slips a ring on your ring finger prior to your awareness, and a sparkling gemstone greets your vision. You nearly sputter at the sudden action, jerking your hand away from her hold as you extend out your hand in front of you to view it. A brilliant ruby, no, red diamond glimmers before you, encased by a sleek, intricate, gold and silver design–irrefutably based off of her usual palette she prefers to don. You collect your composure, masking it with a monotone hum. 

“I don’t recall purchasing this for tonight.” You look at her, scanning her expression: the amused gleam in her black pits and the hardly discreet smile across her lips. 

“I acquired it myself. There should be no issue with it, I presume? I thought it would… assure our disguise.” She raises up her hand, wearing a similar jewerly. 

You note that she uses ‘acquired’ over ‘purchased.’ What means have she gone through to obtain this? You don’t have even an inkling of an idea. You don’t care enough to inquire further on how she obtained a ring containing the rarest type of diamond discovered by humans yet. However, it is difficult to argue that it doesn’t achieve the job of solidifying the illusion the two of you aare trying to uphold. 

“We have everything, we need, is that correct?” 

“That’s correct, my Lady.”

“Then let’s go. Come along, Arlecchino, no point in dallying is there, my dear ‘husband?’” 

Unbeknownst to you, your words lit a spark within your butler, an inferno that will remain undying until the next morning. Thrill hums underneath her blackened skin, and the warmth and levity of adoration grips her dead, devoid, demonic heart. 

—

Upon arrival at the venue of the charity event, a grand mansion, it bares much resemblance to the ball that you and Arlecchino went to for information gathering–your first failure, regrettably, on no one’s fault but yours. You had banked on your source of information to be accurate, and what a fool you made of yourself then. Though this time, you had a different objective in mind, this one more promising for success. 

Hosted by Magnate Tartuffe, a philanthropist and so-called ‘Savior of the Poor,’ you have no doubt the charity event is just a convention for his more… shift business partners. The perfect den to gather evidence of this scum’s lies, and a good place to see who else is involved with his web of deceit. You pose as one of the guests invited to such an event…how lucky for you that you just come across her invitation first instead of her. 

Rich people do love their ballrooms, don’t they? 

You observe the dancefloor and the pleasant couples. Unsurprisingly, some of who you recognize: politicians, entrepreneurs, philanthropists; this place reeks of two-faced snakes. Arlecchino’s prickling gaze bores into you, and you have no doubt that your ‘husband’ wants nothing more than to ‘blend in’ among the dancing pairs with you. Sure enough, after a few minutes of wandering through the swarms of people, there is a tug on your dress and you redirect your attention from the various sea of invitees to your butler. 

“We look quite conspicuous wandering about, don’t we? Why don’t we indulge ourselves for a little bit, my love?” Arlecchino says to you from behind, her gloved hand finding yours, intertwining your fingers. She pivots you to face her again, a mischievous glint in her obsidian abysses. Through her gloves, her coldness bleeds through the silk fabric. Her fingers run over your ring with careful deliberation. 

Love. It’s a word that you think seldom comes from a demon’s lips. And yet, you find yourself entertaining the notion of her repeating that single syllable in that distinct lilt. Foolish, you chide yourself, but perhaps there is some truth to her previous statement. Still, now is not the time for dawdling, you reason.��

“Now? You know better that this event gives little leeway to do as we please.” You refute, but you’re swept in her embrace, drew against her with a precise disregard of your words as she often does. She peers down on you, that damnable, infuriating smirk across her features as she practically undresses you with her gluttonous glare alone. You repress the reflex to shudder. 

“Is that so? Not even one dance, darling?”

“No.” You attempt to wring your hand from hers, but then her fingers fixedly but gently wrap around your wrist. She guides your hand to her chest as if she’s safeguarding it from you. 

Through gritted teeth, you enouciate her name, like scolding a disobedient pet. “Arlecchino.”

“What wife doesn’t have time to dance with her husband?” Arlecchino replies back, her voice raising in volume, a faux disbelief present in her voice, her expression imitating likewise as well–widened eyes, raised eyebrows, and a pity-garnering frown. It’s far from the first time she’s done this, act as if she had any human emotions beyond lust, but there’s yet been a time you fell for it, even when she does look like a kicked puppy.  

“This wife.” 

Your butler leans down until her lips brushes against your ear, a lazy, alluring drawl graces your ears. Her other hand seizes your chin, turning it away from her direction and steering it towards the few bystanders watching the two of you’s interaction. You could feckly hear their snobbish remarks, the way their eyes usher away from yours and they lean towards the other, a hand covering their mouths. “Careful. We have an audience. We wouldn’t want to draw attention to us, would we?” 

Her and her diabolical tricks. 

“Fine,” you submit begrugingly, seething anger barely contained in your voice. An amused and smug titter spews from the demon, and it takes a considerable amount of restraint to not deck her across her face; she’d relish in it anyways. 

“Do you mind if I take the lead, my love?” She asks you in a sickeningly, sweet tone like a doting partner would. Your stomach churns, but you can’t discern if it’s in an discomforting way or not, but you could physically feel some of your ire dissipate, humbly tamed by a simple pet name. You detest the wonder if your will was always this frail. What was it this time that broke through your stubborn front of vexation? You’ve been kidnapped, beatened, tortured before, but this was where you fell? Unfathomable. My love, she repeats again, and it rings through your ears, almost deafening every other sound that surrounds you, rendering you powerless. 

Arlecchino places your free hand on top of her shoulder while hers position itself on your side. The hand that is still clasped with yours extends outwards, assuming the waltz position. Abruptly, you’re acutely aware of how clammy your hands are underneath your gloves and you utterly despise the quickening of your heartbeat that drums throughout your entire body; still, you couldn’t muster the courage to look away from the reassuring smile–free of its previous pomposity and ridicule–she sends you. For the briefest period of time, you think that instead of a demon, in place of it is an angel from how ethereal she appears. But you quickly shake your head ridding of that thought as soon as it came. 

Stupid racing of your heart, making you see things that aren’t there. 

She moves slow at first, as if to examine where your experience lies, gradually increasing her pace with each minute. It’s awkward at first, but once she finds a suitable speed, the two of you smoothly glide over the floor. You match her every step with poise and fluidity, and when it’s clear you’ve accustomed to her rhythm, she raises her left arm while dropping your right, twirling you around. In this moment, everything else disappears, the only thing that is of relevance to you is her, your bodies in sync as your eyes lock. With each sway, you wonder if your heartrates are also synchronized–in this breath of time, does her heart races for you like yours does? The unwavering gaze of hers resides on you, and you can’t do no more but reciprocate her attention. You dubiously think that in her eyes, there’s a fondness to them, and oh, how it melts you. How it eases your soul and lightens your steps. How you carefully regard every feature, admiring the lack of blemishes over her skin and the softness of her facial traits; but maybe those observations were made from your own bias.

There’s a silence between the two of you that you find solace in–almost anyone would call it intimate. Outside of you and Arlecchino, the world would think of the two of you as husband and wife truly, and it’s like you’re the only one that knows the truth. You bite your lip harshly, dragging back your imaginative consciousness back to reality. When trying to enact revenge, foolishness and naivety have no place here; your goal is the only thing that dictates your life now. 

That’s right. You have no time or need to fool around with a demon, no matter how charming she is. 

“I wasn’t aware you knew how to dance.” You make small talk, if only to break the growing intimacy between servant and master, attempting to dismiss the way your nerves singe from the warmth she exudes and how loud that beating organ in your chest thumps. 

“Yes, serving a multitude of masters over hundreds of years has allowed me to cultivate an innumerable amount of skills and experience–dancing included. of course,” Arlecchino replies as she spins you, following a dip immediately afterward. As you’re lowered until a feet or two above the floor with only her arms supporting your weight, she leans her head further down, inches away from your face, her breath skimming against your nose. The sudden action has you breathless, heaving for the air she effortlessly stole from your lungs. Her eyes lock with yours for a short while, her expression slack as if she’s in awe, before her lips curl into a smile. 

“You should be underneath me more often,” she has the audacity to comment in that husky, amorous voice, both a stinging annoyance and blossoming fluster bubble inside you. Before you can berate her, ‘your husband’ raises you until both of your feet are flat on the ground and she resumes the standard waltz stance, the two of you sashaying across the floor. 

Nonchalantly, she resumes her answer previously, as if to overlook her brash remark; you know it’s only to further fluster and tease you, that fucking demon. “Waltz is, admittedly, one of my favorite types of dancing. The intimacy it creates between the partners is thrilling. I’ve had much experience with it.” 

And suddenly that placid campfire stoking in your chest ignites into an inferno, like being possessed by something sinister; the previous levity that coats your person is stripped away, replaced with a heavy and overbearing covering that makes you too aware of her speech and her expression, keen in deciphering her thoughts behind that front. She’s… reminiscing? There should be no logical reason it acutely agitates you, but that faraway look–it infuriates you. It’s a sensation that was similar to what brought on about that abrupt and inexplicable fit of irrationality during the ball, when you marked Arlecchino’s neck. You’ve opted to not ruminate over that occurrence after the event but as you feel the same beast’s claws grip your form, it’s with a grim realization that you discover unsightly jealousy. 

It spews out before you can stop it. “And how many people have you danced with like this?” 

Arlecchino’s smile freezes in time, her eyes flicking over your slight scowl, brows lifting bemusedly. Then, her lips curl further upwards marginally. “Quite a few has come before you, my Lady.”  

Is she purposely trying to aggravate you? 

Deciding to avoid another incident like at the ball, you bite your tongue in an attempt to repress anymore thoughtless utterances; you refuse to let her win in this little game she’s trying to play. Fanning the flames inside you won’t mean that you’ll combust. You bitterly question what you thought would come from a demon. Expectedly, nothing genuine. Becoming lost in your thoughts, your eyes wander away from her face, absentmindedly observing the gazes of other observers, watching the two of you sway. You’re broken out of your trance when your butler’s voice cuts through your thoughts. 

“Something more interesting than ‘your husband?’” 

You recover from the shock quickly, glancing back at her. “And if there was?” 

“Then I would be saddened. Perhaps I haven’t captured your attention enough?” 

You choose not to respond, unsure of what to say and what it would lead to. The song in the background comes to a close, and she ends the dance with one more dip. Once the song ends, you immediately wrench out your hands from her grasp. 

“Satisfied yet? You got your dance,” you sigh, inwardly disgusted with how uncomfortable your gloves feel now with all of the sweat built up. Settling your palm onyour chest, you can feel the faint thumping underneath, still pumping rapidly. Through deep breaths, you try to calm it, turning away from Arlecchino.

“Very. You were an excellent partner,” your ‘husband’ says from behind.

Some part of you asks how many times she’s said that before. 

You huff. “Great, now can we do what we came here for?” 

“As you wish, my lovely wife.” 

Stupid demon husband. 

—

Sneaking around the venue has yet garner much success. Currently, you’re searching for the location of Tartuffe’s meeting with his other associates, but no luck. His goons are watching over the hallways; a clear signifier that he doesn’t want others to be probing about where they shouldn’t be. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper once you’ve found yourself in a secluded hallway, making sure that no one is around. The demon appears. 

“Have you found them yet?”

“No, I’ve yet to find them. Even with my hearing, it appears that they’re not here.” 

“How good is your hearing?” 

“They’re quite sensitive, I can hear so much as a whisper through walls.”

“How thick can those walls be?”

“It’s dependent on the material. Though these types of walls should not prove to be difficult for me.” 

“Hm… it’s less likely that they would move to another place altogether, there’d be no reason to all come here if that was the case. So there’s a high chance they’re still here… Arlecchino, on the blueprints was there any stairwells?” 

The demon closes her eyes momentarily, attempting to recall. “Yes, it would be on the opposite side of the building. Though, when I was exploring that section, there was no apparent stairwell.” 

“That may be where they are. We should–”

Before you can continue, you hear a thudding reverberate through the hallway, the sound growing louder with each second passing by. If you’re spotted here, it’s likely you’ll be expelled out of the event for trespassing and looking around. Your heart pounds rapidly as you try to conceive the notion of another failure towards your goal; no, you cannot let it end here. The footsteps approach closer. Your hands scramble for the doorknob behind you, twisting it to see if it’ll allow you inside and serve as a covert. However, it doesn’t budge, no matter how many times you try. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse underneath your breath when you realize the door is expectedly locked. Is there any way you for the two of you not to get caught. Arlecchino may be a demon, she has teleportation powers, but those powers mean nothing to you when she can’t transport you. You could order her to disappear and allow yourself to be thrown out; she’ll probably be able to find out how to let you back in, but again, that carries risk and you may not have enough time for that, especially when the distance makes coordination difficult for that type of plan and you don’t know how long that meeting will last if it’s started half an hour ago, wait, the footsteps are just about there, rounding the corner, think hard, faster, think, think, thinking fucking dumbass–

A firm, chilling hand places itself on your shoulder, whipping you around before pressing you harshly against the wooden door, making you groan from the immediate impact. Arlecchino’s body towers over you, her pupils gleaming so radiantly that they’re visible through the contact lenses that she’s wearing; her expression is still and emotionless, only adding to the chilling emanation from her. One of her arms is placed beside your hand, and she leans forward against the door. Her other hand hooks underneath your chin, and tilt your face up, viewing her face. The only information that your mind could process at this instance is just how little distance there is between the two of you, and that is enough to send your pulse soaring. The panic of your impending exposure futiley against the thoughts that suddenly revolve around your butler, your husband, who draw nearer. You should push her away and demand what she’s doing, but her speed surpasses that of human capabilities, far too swift for you to even occupy that consideration, and you give up the fruitless struggle in the next moment. 

“Forgive me, my Lady,” she whispers huskily, just a hairsbreadth away from your own and she descends upon you. 

Arlecchino’s cold lips find yours, prying away your oxygen effortlessly with each claim of your mouth. Reality melts away at her touch–she overwhelms all of your senses, you’re mindless except for the flavor and texture of her–as she presses against you even more. She tastes chilling and metallic, like steel; yet soft and welcoming as a pillow; you can’t imagine anything more from your demon, and it certainly doesn’t prevent you from leaning further. She’s nothing and exactly like how you would think she’d be like, and it absolutely thrills you. Heart palpitating, every nerve hums underneath each inch of skin, and oh, how absurdly hot you feel despite her cold lips. Closing your eyes, your hands raise up to her face, cupping both sides and tugging her impossibly closer. A soft grunt escapes from her and her fingers below your chin leave in favor of lagging down below, over your dress before it finds the thigh-high slit and slides underneath. 

“Arlecchino,” you gasp out as her gloved fingers trail up your bare thigh, and she quickly swallows the whisper of her name. Continuing up, they travel innerwards, and your body involuntarily bucks in her direction. You’re filled with only the incessant need for her, more of her touch, more of her taste, more of her everything; you bite her lip, requesting–no, demanding–for entrance, and like the obedient servant she is, she allows entry. Just as she has claimed your lips, you decide replicate it back, exploring every crevice of her mouth with your tongue. You’re further fueled by the throaty moan she emanates, the pit of your stomach fluttering. 

“Say my name again,” she begs out in the sweetest, most yearning voice that’s ever graced your ears, and with that kind of plea, who are you to deny her? 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out, and then again, and again, like a chant. You pull the slightest bit away just to catch your breath, before leaning back in, but that is when Arlecchino leans away, backing away fully from your lips to your dismay. Her touch on your leg leaves.The sudden break snaps you out of your lust-filled daze, and you look at her like a betrayed lover. Noticing that her eyes are directed somewhere else, you follow them. 

Two men stand by the side of you, evidently discomfortable if the way they’re refusing to make eye contact signifies anything. You rack your head around for a second, before remembering they’re among the security personnel. Still recovering from the intimate engagement you just had with your butler, you heave for breath, attempting to say something to them, but Arlecchino does so first. 

“Is there something you’d like to say to me and my wife about?” Your ‘husband’ gruffs, frigid fury coating her words. 

One of the men cleared his throat before replying awkwardly with, “Um, we’re sorry to have… interrupted you, but guests are not supposed to be in these parts.” 

Arlecchino lets out a faux scoff, and her hand reache for mine, clasping it tight. “Fine. Then let us be on our way back,” she states, turning away from them and wordlessly walking away, leading you along with her. Once the two of you are out of the two men’s sight, you stop her in her tracks. 

“Was that necessary?” You inquire, a bit of indignation in your tone. Because how could she just do that without your permission, without your order? The two of you have just breached a line you promised yourself you wouldn’t cross, and here you were, like a fucking liar. This shouldn’t have happened. 

“We needed a way that would make us not look conspicuous, didn’t we? I thought if we… played up to our roles, they would think that we were just… having a rendezvous.” 

You sigh. It worked as Arlecchino has intended at least. Yet, you can’t help but question if that was all to why she did it. 

Your lips still tingle, her taste still lingers. 

“Fine, I won’t reprimand you for that. But know if you do something like that again, there will be consequences,” you warn her harshly. “Now, let’s go, we still have to proceed with our plan.”

— 

That night was successful, thankfully. You had managed to get all the evidence you needed, and formulate a list of who exactly is working with that damn philanthropist. After you arrived home, you immediately sent Arlecchino out, changed, and retired to bed. But as you lay underneath the covers, you couldn’t help but wish that it was her arms wrapped around you instead of these blankets. And yet you never call for her. It is the same reason why you never mentioned about the kiss to her again. 

Ah, you want to taste her again. Drink her in once more, discover more sounds of her.

Your fingers fiddle with the ring that Arlecchino slipped onto your finger earlier that night. It fits your finger just right. 

Husband and wife? What a funny thought. 

That night, when your eyelids are finally too heavy for you to lift, you dream of eyes with crosses as pupils and blackened hands, chilly to the touch.  

A/N: First canonical kiss. Whoooooo. Only took these bitches 12.4k words for them to kiss. Anyways, I'm going to pass the fuck out now.

[torialefay]

I also headcannon Chris from skz with us virgin girls as well because I don't think it would be extremely difficult to please him in the bedroom.

The way that you mentioned he could get off just from vocals and reaction alone just cements to me that finding someone like him in real life with similar desires in the bedroom is probably one of the best ways to feel more confident in intimate acts.

Because he's so service/daddy dom coded and eager to please- like I don't think he'd really care if you're a pillow princess half the time (all the time).

I think as long as you're consenting, enthusiastic, verbal with the feedback and praise and willing to give your body and soul to him- then that man is just going to be buzzing the entire time.

Which I know for me personally would make me feel confident than having to feel like I gotta put a performance in.

I think Chris would be satisfied that you're just fucking THERE in the moment with him.

how i just saw this idk???? i'm so sorry my friend, i wasn't ignoring you (nor anyone else's asks i dont see omg) 😭😭

while reading that, one thought popped into my head.

chris is for the virgins.

like lowkey highkey he rly would be so into that & he'd be v patient & take his time of course. and he'd be sooooo good with giving praise for it too oh my lord 😫

not a virgin, but want that man so bad