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therealbeachfox · 1 year ago

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Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

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We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

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So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

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They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

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When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

#gay marriage #gay rights #gay history #gay

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m00ngbin · 6 months ago

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I am very grateful to my friends but one of them especially right now because he's so fucking nice and he always helps me do stuff I can't do by myself for various reasons and I love him forever

#tldr i love my friend SO FUCKING MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW HELPFUL THIS IS. I WOULD DIE WITHOUT HIM #specifically this is about a problem ive been having where i cant reread or look at anything ive ever made #without being in literal physical pain. it feels #like im dying. idk how to describe it but it makes it really hard to improve on anything because i cant see my mistakes #so he is going to reread something ive written with me! so that i actually can!#and i know that might not sound like that much but it is legitimately the nicest thing ever. because i love writing! but #i cant be good at it or do it at all if i cant read it #anyways tmi maybe but im never allowed to stop thinking about it and i hate it and him offering is relieving it ever so slightly #idk. my brain attacks me i guess. this is nice #sorry im probably explaining more than i should. not being super detailed but yk

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malachitezmeyka · 1 year ago

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*wakes up*

*grabs phone*

*email notification*

*new comment on SotRL*

*throws phone to the far side of adjacent couch*

*goes back to sleep*

#NOT TODAY THANK YOU #not ever. preferably #I was not emotionally prepared for this #look... I think I might be the direct opposite of literally every writer on the planet #because seeing that email made me feel sick to my stomach #this has singlehandedly sent my entire day off kilter #I'm supposed to go to my grandma's today but now all I want to do is rot in bed for the rest of the day #literally anyone else would have been happy to receive a several sentences long comment praising them #but my initial reactions were 'how the fuck did you find this?' 'why the fuck would you read it?' and 'I should've deleted when I wanted to'#I've heard countless stories about sudden comments received years after the last update kicking authors into continuing the story #usually in PSAs to always comment or whatever #but I just feel awful #not because I feel guilty over not finishing SotRL or anything like that #just.. because this is exactly the reason why I wanted to delete that fic #people reading anything I've written makes me want to die but SotRL especially #it's old. the writing is bad. there's a reason I call it my greatest failure #I don't want people to read it. that's why I wanted it gone #and the comment was so nice too. much more than just a call for an update #I hate that it caused this reaction in me because it's clear the person only had the best intentions in mind #but I can't control my emotions. far from the first time I wish that I could #someone put me in the guiness world record book as the first person to ever get genuinely upset over a nice comment #I laugh shit like this off as the mortifying ordeal of being known or whatever but in reality it's so much worse #if I didn't have anything to stop me my entire ao3 account would be gone. I hate the thought of people reading my work #just further proof that I'm not a writer. that I spent six years deluding myself into believing that I was #trying to shove square pieces into triangular holes like a dumb toddler #I should have quit before any of this happened. erased everything and forgotten about it like a bad dream #I should have never started writing in the first place #if I had the chance to go back in time and tell one thing to my 11 year old self it would be to not even think about writing #it has brought me nothing but pain and suffering and I really should have stayed away from it #too late now. I've been irreversibly ruined

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pedgito · 11 days ago

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𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 | Joel Miller x reader

part one– summary | Two strangers and their internal loneliness attract like magnets. Joel is at a loss, stuck—and you are alone, terrified. In the forced, shared space you find that distraction was the easiest way to cope.

content warning | dddne — DUBCON (this is an ongoing theme for a while), coercion, selective mutism on readers behalf, graphic depictions of violence, injury tw, not quite kidnapping/stockholm but reader has nowhere to go, brief mentions of pregnancy (like literally one line), mentions of starvation due to food scarcity but appearances isn't deeply described, mentions of sa and other relating themes, mean!joel, girthy age gap (reader is 20, joel is 54), joel is riddled with guilt but what's new amirite, oral (m receiving), unprotected piv and creampies, if i missed anything please let me know!

author's note: guys this has been sitting in my drafts finished for almost a year and this new picture has sparked a fucking fire in my docs over this series (another one? yeah i know), this is probably the heaviest thing (for me) i have ever written? so just, be warned. i don't have a timeline for this, i'm literally just vibing it out as i am with most fics lately and if you see a tag you don't like. don't read. you're responsible for the work you consume. a full list of triggers/warning can be found on the masterlist.

word count —10k

part two | part three | strangers masterlist

“She’s a stray, look at her.”

Two pairs of eyes stare back, across the dimly lit room. You’re curled up in the chair, thick leather coat lined with wool draping your shoulders and your toes curled around the edge of the seat, hands balled up near your chest as you savor the warmth.

It was the first time in a month that you’ve seen a fire—sure, you’ve tried to build one. But, you never quite got it and usually ended up burning yourself in the process and added onto the litany of other scars left as memories and reminders on your skin.

Survival—while you weren’t good at it, you did what you had to. Pure, primal instinct. Find shelter, find food, get safe. Don’t die.

Your nose was bloody, lips chapped and cracking, running on a few hours of sleep over the last several days. Place to place, you had to keep running. If you didn’t, they would catch you, surely.

Your muscles ache as they had a moment to relax, legs sore from walking miles and miles, the lingering cuts and scabs that hadn’t healed from your own clumsiness and a mix of being at the end of a blade of a man with too much pride to allow you to damper the moment.

You licked your lips and your eyes flitted away, staring out the window and counting the string of illuminated, plastic orbs hanging on the house across from the one you were currently being interrogated in—the men were still looking at you. Your outer stoic expression hid away the trembling fear you kept inside. They were waiting for you to speak.

That never came.

“You got a name?”

You shake your head, eyes quickly averting in a different direction.

The two men were similar in build—tall and stocky, large and filled out bodies built of muscle and years of hard labor, older based on the grays littering their well-kempt hair and trimmed beards. One has hair that curls just beyond his ears, a warmer brown than the other mans.

They both pull the same expression—complete and utter confusion.

Nearly identical. Oh, they’re brothers.

If not, they sure did bicker like it.

“She’s pullin’ our fuckin’ leg, Tommy.”

Your ears perk up, assigning the name to a face. He seemed softer than the other man, less weathered and guilt-ridden. It wasn’t like you knew anything about these men, but you’ve learned to identify as much as you could within a couple looks.

Figure them out.

What do they want? What can you give them?

Tommy rounds the table separating you from him, a safe, protective distance as he presses his palm into the chair pushed under the table, fingers curling around the top.

“Listen, you’ve gotta give us something.” Tommy explains, “Given the shape of you, I’m tryin’ to avoid the whole vetting process we go through. We don’t take kindly to raiders or tricks or people looking to cause trouble.”

“We ain’t even got space for her—”

Tommy holds his hand up to the other man, eyes still locked on you.

“Look at me,” His voice is solid, demanding.

But, he’s not yelling. You turn meekly, gripping for the jacket when it slips from your shoulders. Your clothes were torn, jagged edges barely hanging on in some places. Garments soiled and unwashed for weeks and god—you fucking reek. You can smell it, you know they can smell it.

You were a stray feral cat that had scurried up to their doorstep and passed out from exhaustion and while one was attempting to take pity, the other was ready to crush your skull under the weight of his boot.

“Can you talk?” He asks, eyebrows raising slightly in question.

Your tongue rolls against the front of your teeth and you switch your gaze between the two men before shaking your head, a barely noticeable gesture if they hadn’t been staring you down.

You were being truthful—you couldn’t speak. It wasn’t like you’d had your tongue cut out and were ridden with the choice, but quiet has been the only thing that has ever brought you peace.

Familiar phrases echo loudly in your mind.

Don’t speak, be a good girl.

Seen, not heard.

Speak and I will rip your fucking tongue out.

So, no—you can’t talk.

“We’ve got families comin’ in—men and women that are willing to be a hell of a lot more cooperative than this—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns with a voice that shakes the room, causing you to jerk in response and this time he is holding his hand out to you, palm raised as if to ease you down, “we can give her a fair chance, just like we do the others. Grab a piece of paper and pencil,” He points toward a desk tucked against a far wall and Joel's heavy boot stomps follow Tommy’s orders before he’s returning, slapping the items back down on the table and taking a similar stance to Tommy.

You were sandwiched between the two men as they surrounded you, shaking as you took the pencil in your hand and gripped it, fumbling for the paper as you used your fingertips to drag it close.

“Where did you come from?” Tommy asks.

You remember the dark room, chains and screams—blood-curdling screams. One meal a day, if you are good. Constant pacing in the halls, a building in the city holding a much darker secret in the quarantine zone you had been kidnapped and forced to take home in.

Bad place, you write in sloppy handwriting.

Tommy leans to look and his brow furrows, subverting toward Joel who shakes his head at you.

“No—state, city. Anything. Bad place ain’t gonna cut it, kid.”

Kid.

They’ve never called you a kid before.

Men like him—he wasn’t them, but they all start to look the same after a while.

Salt Lake? Old QZ in the city.

Joel knows that place had crumbled years ago and quarantine zones were nearly non-existent now. Taken up by people trying to start anew, much like Jackson, but more often than not it was raiders—the filthy kind of people who took without asking and killed first, asked questions never.

He couldn’t blame them, but the handful of years in Jackson has taught him a new approach. It wasn’t his favorite, but it allowed him to sleep easier at night, usually.

“You left on your own?” Joel asks, speaking before Tommy could, likely ready to ask the same question. His insipid tone makes your skin crawl.

You chewed at your bottom lip and your eyelashes touched your cheeks in a flurry of blinks as you scribbled out the one word onto the paper.

Escaped.

The alarm is immediate, Joel’s head snapping up as you push the paper toward the middle of the table and allow the pencil to roll with it.

“Tommy, can I speak to you for a minute?” Joel’s voice is harsh, not nearly the question he posed it as.

Tommy rolls his shoulders and walks around the back of your chair, following Joel into the hallway, hushed voices shocking the tension back into your body as you curl into yourself, crossing your arms over your chest and allowing your eyes to scan the room.

Memorize, categorize—this was one of the men’s houses, of whom you weren’t sure for the moment.

But, it was stocked with personal items and supplies, a bassinet shoved away in the living room and as you turned that way you noticed a pair of eyes peek around the doorframe leading that way.

A girl, young—not much younger than yourself but she is noticeably more child-like, curious.

Her shoes squeak against the hardwood startling you both and suddenly Joel is reentering the room and directing his voice toward her.

“Go on home,” He speaks to her, his expression washed-out and tired, “don’t linger ‘round here, kiddo.”

“I’m the one who found her,” She seems to take an angle of defense, coming into view. Clothes that hung off her body, not well-fitting and clearly second hand but more intact than your own, “I was on watchtower duty with Dina—”

“Ellie, this doesn’t concern you.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, walking closer regardless of Joel’s words and tossing a knife on the table.

Your knife—the black-handled switchblade closed shut. It still had old, dried blood caked on the handle. It could have been your own, but that was just a lucky guess. That thing had been your lifeline for weeks, moments away from a terrible night of near starvation or a desperate attack on you, it helped keep you safe.

You instinctively reach for it but Joel is quick—unnaturally, as he curls it into his hand and gives you a look of warning.

“This,” He holds it up, the switchblade dwarfed between his large, calloused fingers, “ain’t yours.”

Your lips pull into a thin line, eyes falling to the floor.

Tommy’s tongue clicks against his cheek as he rounds the corner, fingers rubbing at his chin as he paces, his face deep in thought and contemplation as he back steps toward the edge of the table near you, leaning into it and crossing one foot over the other. His hands are tucked away in his pockets.

“That place you escaped—” He looks up toward Joel briefly before his gaze lands on you again, “they gonna come lookin?”

You could tell the truth—you weren’t sure.

You weren’t the only girl that was locked away in the central tower of that city, the only person who was being used so inhumanely for the needs of others in the most heinous of ways.

Selfish, sick and demented, men who got off on that desperate need for power and control.

So, instead and out of self-preservation, you lie.

Shaking your head, Tommy takes a small breath and nods.

“Alright—I’m trustin’ you. Still, we’ll beef up security for a bit, and add a few extra patrols. You need a place to stay and we’re gonna give you that. But, we got rules.”

“Rule number one–you earn this,” Joel holds up the knife again before it’s tucked away in his pocket for safekeeping. Your eyes drag toward his pocket, staring daggers into the material.

“You earn your keep—I’m going to give you some time to settle, but eventually we’re going to assign you to a station. You work or you leave, there’s no other way about it.” Tommy continues, “And while I’m more inclined to give you a space of your own, we’re all full up singles and giving you a townhome…well, I’m not so sure that is the best idea.”

You weren’t going to argue—not that you had the will to speak up for yourself now, not when both of their presence were so oppressive. You nod obediently and look over at Joel who is still lingering, like an ugly guard dog ready to bare his teeth at a moment’s notice.

“I’d keep you here, but with my situation I’m not putting anything at risk,” Tommy says and you suddenly realize that this was his home. You weren’t that slow-witted. He had a family, something you were never familiar with.

But, you understood.

“So, you’ll be staying with Joel.”

It clearly wasn’t his choice, based on the way his teeth clench, jaw flexing as he crossed his arms, fabric stretching over broad shoulders and thick, muscled biceps. His piercing gaze makes you shrink into your chair, if that were possible.

Your nose scrunches slightly, in a faint show of disgust but you quickly collect yourself.

“I’m also gonna suggest you see our doctor, get those bruises checked out. Make sure you don’t have any broken bones and they can stitch up any—”

It forces you into a panic, heart beating rapidly in your chest as the jacket drops from your shoulders, fingers reaching out to wrap around Tommy’s wrist—and, like you had suspected, Joel is quick to grab at your own wrist, ready to tackle you to the ground. It wouldn’t take much given your size difference—he was just...massive, threatening in a way you've never felt. Joel could snap you like a twig, but his restraint is there.

Tommy notices the panic in your eyes—you weren’t trying to attack. You were attempting to communicate in a moment of worry, he nodded and waved Joel off, prying your hand from his arm gently and placing it against your knee.

“Alright, no doctor.” Tommy settles, “For now.”

You slump back and blink away the burning sting of tears that filed your eyes.

“Get her settled in,” He tells Joel, “make sure she eats.”

Joel doesn’t nod, but he moves, backing out of your way and giving you space.

You move slowly, shaking the jacket off your shoulders before Tommy is shaking his head and grabbing hold of the lapel, pulling it back up. You jerky slightly, averting your body from his sudden touch.

“Sorry–just…keep it,” Tommy tells you—it was a look of pure pity, his eyes softening around the naturally hard edges, “I’ll have my wife go searching for some clothes tomorrow, get you out of those and into something clean and better fitting.”

You follow behind Joel to the door, a careful distance as you linger, bracing yourself for the cold crunch of snow under your bare feet.

“And brother,” Tommy calls out—there it was. Joel twists the knob and looks over his shoulder, “don’t go scaring her more than she already is.”

You weren’t sure if it was even possible to feel true fear anymore.

The walk is short, but painful. Small winces that get caught in your throat as you quicken your pace to keep up with Joel, a slight limp to your walk from the bruising on your ribs and the tinge of pain in your hips and pelvis—your body has relaxed for too long, it felt brittle.

You hurt all over, but lately, you could will it all to go numb if you tried hard enough. Disconnect, disassociate, and disappear from your own body.

Eventually, you do meet his front door and you’re enveloped with warmth in a matter of seconds, making your way inside hesitantly as Joel holds the door open. He hadn’t spoken a word since you left the other house, fingers gripping hard on the pair of gloves tucked into his left hand. You look around curiously, the house shrouded in darkness aside from the fireplace ignited and crackling in the far room to your left. Joel moves quietly behind you, placing his belongings on the kitchen counter, but the switchblade is still tucked away in his front pocket, you know that much.

He plucks at a note folded under a magnet on the fridge, reading it to himself silently.

“Come on, kiddo,” He mumbles to himself, realizing it must be from the girl—sounding exasperated as he balls up the paper and tosses it in the trash. He favored that word, but you can’t tell if it’s just a habit.

You weren’t a kid, not even close. It felt patronizing when it was aimed your way.

He eyes you carefully, sighing as he presses a hand against the kitchen counter.

“I’m settin’ you up in the basement—none of the other rooms are in good enough condition.” Joel explains, speaking to you in the most civil way he has all night, “nothin’ is off limits except my room. And Ellie’s. She’s out back but you don’t get to go snoopin’ around. Got it?”

You shrug the jacket off but hold it close to your chest, arms crossing over each other as you hug the thick material. You nod slowly.

“Really, nothing?” Joel asks.

All it takes is a look, eyes bleary and sorrowful.

“Go on,” He nods, “there’s a bed down there, a shower, a change of clothes—”

You quickly scurry off, overwhelmed by the intensity of his unwavering gaze and the sound of his voice as it becomes more and more muffled the deeper you trek down the stairs, careful steps on your torn up feet, he seems to finally give up when your feet hit the concrete floor.

It’s still warm here, but not nearly as much. A small rectangular window sits right above the old bed, a mattress on a rusted metal frame that looked like it barely had any life left in it. But, it was an actual bed. Not boxes and a bedsheet, a makeshift pillow made from your dirtied clothes to give the ache in your neck some much needed relief.

There was a small room in the corner, a bathroom that barely managed to fit the necessities you needed—but it was still something. A shower, a toilet, a sink. A mirror that you couldn’t even bother to look in, making your way around the room you find the stack of clean clothes and towels on the coffee table in front of a worn couch, threads pulling apart at the seams on the arms.

You crouch, despite the screaming protest from your body and sift through the pile. A clean shirt, a clean pair of sweats. Underwear—you haven’t had the luxury of clean undergarments in months, often finding that going without was easier. A lump burns in your throat.

You move slowly, tucking the jacket over the edges of the mirror to cover it and placing the clothes on the closed toilet seat as you struggle for a few minutes to figure out the shower, jolting at the touch of hot water when it shoots out from the spout above.

You strip carefully, shirt pulled over your head with a small wince before your fingers are dipping into the waistband of your bottoms, slipping them down your hips and allowing them to drop silently to the floor before you step out of them—the moment the water touches your skin you regret it, the dirtied water pooling at your feet.

You cry, sob under the spray of water and scrub away every inch of dirt and grime and blood from your body–it hurts, it fucking hurts but you can’t find it in you to stop. You could scrub the skin raw, open up old wounds and make the fresh ones worse, but you’ll settle for red and welted skin. A mix of re-opened gashes and cuts flushed out by the stream of water and your maniacal scrubbing, but at least you didn’t smell like the stench of your own bodily fluids and weeks of built up dirt on your skin, nights of sleeping on wet ground in the woods.

There is a moment of running your fingers through your hair that feels nice, hair still slightly matted from the lack of care but it feels cleaner, as much as you could manage before your arms gave out from exhaustion. You savor the warmth until the water runs cold, heavy footsteps above you shaking the dust from the ceilings.

Right. You’re not alone. Not anymore.

But, that didn’t bring you comfort either.

You turn off the water and reach for the towel, allowing yourself to get dressed at a careful pace—they must be Joel’s clothes, a plain white shirt that was soft to the touch but clearly worn and a pair of black sweats that had seen better days, the color warped and faded. You manage to slip the socks of your feet with one stumble, hand pressing against the sink to catch yourself.

The jacket remains hung and you flick off the light before taking space on the bed, palms pressed out against the clean, linen sheet, the comforter tucked away against the wall as you laid down, body protesting the entire way.

Eyes squeezed shut, you grit your teeth and pull the comforter over your shoulders.

You try to sleep that night, but it is futile. The light hanging above your bed flickers occasionally—every fifteen minutes to be exact, it had done it thirty two times that night.

–

It never fails—just as you feel yourself drifting off every early morning, Joel is awaking you with the sound of his heavy footsteps and a bag of food. Sometimes a tray or plate. It varied.

You’ve been here three full days now, not counting the night they had taken you in.

You hadn’t left the room, hadn’t asked for a single thing.

Joel was starting to believe that your tongue was cut out—that you were robbed of the ability to speak entirely, but he knows that isn’t the case when he watches your tongue peek out as you take a bite of the scrambled eggs he had grabbed from the town dining hall for you.

You haven’t seen an authentic plate of food in months, and with proper silverware—having half the mind to dig in with your hands before Joel passes you the fork. It was real, warm food. Your stomach growled with greed as you shoveled the food into your mouth quietly.

Joel watches you with a strange look, not with judgment but a genuine curiosity that he doesn’t act on with questions or crude statements. He waits until you're done, leaning against the door that leads to the rest of the house, only coming near when you press the plate to the floor with a soft clang.

And it continues like that for a couple days—occasional Joel will bring more than food; a book, a magazine, a set of cards. He never explicitly acknowledges the items, but he does leaves it behind. You can’t bring yourself to leave the room, in fear of what you faced outside of here. Even just a few steps into Joel’s kitchen and it made your stomach twist and the bile stir.

Sometimes the food comes in only paper bags, a few at a time and things that didn’t need to be kept cold because when Joel had to go away on patrol he couldn’t watch over you, even if he felt the need to.

He wasn’t sure if you were going to try and make a break for it, escape over the walls.

He wouldn’t stop you, wouldn’t blame you either. But, the state you're in, he can’t see you surviving more than a day. Bruises were healing, cuts were scabbed up and scarred over. He never tended to your wounds, always allowed you to do that on your own. At least, he assumed you were. You’ve learned to not scamper away as much, taking things from him with minimal contact and a small nod, sometimes allowing a small gesture of thanks with a hand on your chin that you bring downwards.

Joel only scowls his brow and looks at you confused.

“You stink.” Joel says one day, out of the blue over dinner as he watched by the doorway.

You stop chewing mid-bite and look at him.

“Have you showered at all since the first day?”

Impishly you look away toward the bathroom.

It felt selfish, to overuse the hot water and indulge in the pleasure of the heat—always used to cold showers and the bare minimum of scrubbing yourself down in thirty seconds. It was routine: in, wash, out. There was no enjoyment.

You shake your head after a while and push your plate aside, feeling your stomach turn.

“Go,” He nods as he steps toward you, swiping up the plate in his right hand and leading the way toward the bathroom, noting the way the coat was still hung over the mirror. He doesn’t comment on it, but he nods his head in the direction of the shower.

You look at him slightly unsure, “If I have to force you in there I will,” He says, but there isn’t any real bite behind, although the look in his eyes tells a different story, “there’s plenty of hot water, use it.”

But…

The word lingers in your head.

“I’ll have Ellie grab you some new clothes, somethin’ that fits better.” Joel tells you, “Just get in the goddamn shower.”

You brush past him quietly, beginning to undress yourself without warning which alarms Joel.

“Oh—well, shit. I mean after I left.” Joel turns away and his descending footsteps eventually fade and despite how hard it is to get your body to work, or even move, you shower.

You grab the unused towel hanging over the barely clinging metal rack nailed into the wall, wrapping it around your body securely, bare feet pressing against the ground and for the first time in a while, it doesn’t hurt. It’s sore, but it doesn’t sting as harshly as it did.

There’s a suspicious lack of clothing—your dirty ones nowhere in sight, no clean ones either. In fact, the room was practically bare of all trash and old clothing. You ignore the dull pain at your hip, a wound still on the mend and step around the corner of the doorway carefully and hear the sound of footsteps above you, the soft hum of voices until one fades, a door closing following in the wake of the newly discovered sounds.

The door is open. Joel left the door open.

You stop several feet away, staring out into the hallway, the house was dim aside from the bright glow of flames burning in the fireplace. You feel so strongly to run toward the door and slam it closed, clamber back into bed—fearful that if you left the room then this bubble of safety and protection would be broken. But, there was the small voice in the back of your mind screaming to take a step forward, and then another, until your fingers were lingering over the doorknob and pushing it open further.

You take a step out, only to be met with the chest of someone else running into your arm clutching at the towel wrapped around your body—it couldn’t be anyone but Joel, and of course, you’re right.

He’s staring at you emotionless, aside from the subtle acknowledgment that you had listened to him.

“Got you a couple sets—something to sleep in, something to wear during the day.”

He doesn’t elaborate, handing the clothes over into your empty hand. You’re halfway in the process of dropping your towel before Joel’s hand is wrapping around your wrist, forcing you to stop.

“Stop doin’ that,” Joel commands, nodding toward the bathroom behind you, peeking over your shoulder in that direction before looking back at him with wide, startled eyes, “privacy—do you understand that?” His voice is slow, almost patronizing.

Privacy wasn’t lost on you—but it had long been a foreign concept.

You nod.

“Then go, get dressed.” He reprimands, pointing down the hall, a different bathroom then you’ve seen before.

You scurry away with the clothes clutched to your chest, catching a quick glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you step inside the room—it was startling, having not seen your appearances in weeks, days and days of constant guessing, wondering how the time starved in the Wyoming forest had damaged you.

Physically, mentally, emotionally.

It had taken a toll and it was even more visible than you expected.

You looked rundown, eyes tired and sorrowful. It was pathetic. You tried not to linger for long, noting the appearance of your body and moving on—having to look back at yourself in the mirror was far worse than being attached to it.

The clothes Joel gave you were thin, fleece pajamas that felt soft to the touch and kind against your still sensitive skin. You exit the bathroom quietly and Joel is nowhere to be found in your immediate vicinity, half-expecting him to be waiting outside the bathroom door. You edge back toward the basement door before you spot him on the couch in the living room, the back of his head and broad, stocky shoulders the only glimpse of him you have.

He seems relaxed, staring off into space as he looks down.

You don’t know where the pull comes from, but it wraps around the ache in your chest and pulls you closer, toward him. The creak in the floorboard gives you away.

“Don’t sneak around,” Joel says, “makes people anxious ‘round here.”

Makes him anxious, clearly.

After a moment of silence, he extends the invitation to join him.

“If you’re cold, sit—got room if you want to sit somewhere closer to the fire.”

He did have quite the sizable living room, a couple couches and a few arm chairs surrounding the otherwise bare living space.

You can see the softness on his face under this light, his eyes drawing up to look at you while his head is still tilted down, his hands rubbing away at his stiff knuckle joints. He keeps flicking his eyes between the two—his hands, you, then back again.

If he has something he wants to ask, he doesn’t.

You’re silent as you avoid each piece of furniture all together and quietly make your way between his outstretched legs, a perfect place to tuck yourself between as you kneel.

Thank him, he deserves it.

He didn’t strike you as a shy man, but you’ve done this plenty of times before—it was really no different, but this was more of a silent offer than the usual demands you were faced with.

Joel doesn’t move right away, doesn’t even react.

Until you touch him, your hands gliding over his knees, his thighs, leaning forward to nuzzle your face against his thigh as you pull at his zipper—again, his fingers wrap around your wrist. But, no words follow. You make eye contact with him then, feeling at your most confident and bold when he looks so worried, frightened—the deep feeling of intrigue buried underneath it all.

You pull away from his grip and wrap your fingers around his waistband, pulling slowly until he moves, wordlessly he responds by using his thumbs to push his jeans far enough down that you can comfortably press your hands over the obvious bulge in his boxers—it wasn’t hard or straining, but the touch of your hand against his cock had it growing to that point quickly, his eyes downcast and half-lidded.

It was like he didn’t want to look, but couldn’t look away. You took it in stride and pulled at his boxers until you could tug his cock free of the confines, watching it spring up against his stomach—thick in every sense of the word and large, much more than any man who’s ever claimed you. Pretty, almost, if you could consider it that. He’s well-kempt and clean which was nice, unusual given the time you lived in now. More importantly, you feel your mouth watering at the prospect of taking him inside, pressing your tongue flat against the tip and swallowing him down.

That has never happened before.

You settled between his legs more comfortably, raising up on scabbed up knees and dragging your fingers delicately along the shaft and down to his balls, watching them tighten at the attention you showed before you��re leaning down to take his cock into your mouth without much of a warning. Joel shifts slightly and you ancitpate him to push you away.

But, really, you just wanted to thank him. It was the only way you’ve learned how.

He breathes out softly, the first sound you’ve heard since you touched him.

You drag your tongue from base to tip, hand pressed his cock flat against it as you circle around the tip before dipping back down, slipping back into the motions so easily it feels mind-numbing.

Your eyes flutter as you force yourself to take him as deep as possible, nearly gagging before you pull away, catching a slight glimpse of him behind bleary, wet eyes.

His own are wild, hands pressed flat against the cushion, mouth only slightly ajar. But, he won’t look at you. Only the action, your hand wrapped around his shaft, the other pressed against his thigh and he fights off that urge to touch you, tilting his head back against the couch as you continue with a sudden fervor you didn’t have before.

You bob effortlessly, taking him just near the point of impossible before you’re pulling away, repeating that until you can feel that faint throb, that familiar pulse as his balls tighten with his impending orgasm and just as he reaches for your hair, ready to pull you away, you fight against it. He comes in your mouth with a low groan, gripping onto the surface of the couch in desperation.

When the pulsing finally calms you pull away, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand and standing slowly, adjusting your clothes where they had shifted out of place slightly before taking a silent seat on the couch beside him, laying down and curling up into yourself.

You hear the dull sounds of him readjusting his pants, zipping them, shuffling slightly as he clears his throat and suddenly there is a throw being draped over you—a soft, sherpa lined blanket that immediately bathes you in warmth.

Joel catches your gaze as you blink up at him, pausing briefly to acknowledge how lost you seem—in need of guidance. It settles in him then, dawns on his mind that this was what you were used to, wherever you had escaped from was far worse than anything he’s ever suspected. He tucks the blanket in gently and double checks the locks on the door. You’re already asleep by the time he passes by, leaning over the back of the couch to check on you.

Joel feels the guilt creep in slowly.

He should have stopped, he knows he should have. But, he didn’t.

Why? He couldn’t explain it.

The walk to his bedroom seems miles away and when he finally reaches it he’s closing the door with a dignified sigh, immediately making his way toward the en-suite bathroom and undressing his clothes—it was his second shower that day but he didn’t give a shit.

He needed a moment to reconvene in his mind…or escape.

Really, he just needed a distraction. It was selfish need.

The clothes pile up on the tile floor as he turns on the water, the stream shooting out of the shower head in quick spurts before it levels out and Joel steps inside, head first as the water soaks his hair, face, traveling down his body.

It wasn’t the first time he’s allowed his hand to travel to his cock within the privacy of this bathroom—a man with no one to keep his bed warm at night, or morning–or ever, really. He’s learned to cope, release some of the built up anger and frustration even if for a brief moment.

But, this was different. Because the only thing he could think of was you. The meek looks you offered, dumb-founded and lost, like a young gazelle lost in the woods. He can only imagine, suspect what you’ve been through, but the look you had given him while you took him into your mouth was something Joel couldn’t describe.

There was no clear acknowledgement, no hard line of yes and no. The lines were blurred and he doesn’t know why, but he was okay with it for a moment. Truly, you’d had all the power in the moment anyways—Joel was helpless under the touch of your mouth, a goner the second your hand touched his skin.

He tugs at his cock lazily and with no real purpose, knowing if he tried to come again so soon it wouldn’t happen, but for the brief moment of peace, he imagines you there, kneeling before him with the spray of water over your face and his cock buried in your mouth, puffing out your cheeks and how you would be so willing to do whatever he’d ask.

Obedience—that was the one thing that stuck out. You always listened when he spoke.

He could help you, he thinks. Heal you.

Or, he would fuck up and make it far worse.

He wasn’t sure if it was even worth the trouble.

The next morning you wake to the startling clang of pans behind you, shooting upright on the couch and snapping your head toward the kitchen to catch a glimpse of Joel’s back, shoulder blades stretched and outlined under the thin material of his shirt, clinging to his back snuggly. There’s a savory smell that breaches your nose–meat, potatoes, something of a near feast as you spot the few plates on the table stacked with various other foods.

Joel seems to sense your eyes, turning his body slightly to look behind him and your gaze quickly averting down, playing with a loose thread on the blanket as he plates the remaining food.

“Beginning of the month,” Joel explains, “usually the only time we get to eat like this.”

Joel swiftly decided that taking the route of pretending nothing ever happened was the easiest, brushing off the events of the previous night with a point to the seat near the kitchen island.

“C’mon, dig in,” He invites, “Ellie should be up soon and lord knows that kid doesn’t care about savin’ enough for the rest of us. Fill up while you can.”

Your footsteps are quiet and slow as you approach the island, the long sleeves tucked under your fingers mid-palm, crossing your arms over your chest as you look at the cacophony of items. Not sure where to start or end. Joel reaches for a plate and points to the items in order from left to right, plating a couple items with every nod you give him.

He was an enigma of a man—so brute and intimidating at a glance and he was when he needed to be, but this was a soft crack in a hard exterior, years of built up trauma intertwined with a rough world dependent on the strongest to survive. It had to level out at some point–and here that big strong man was, making up your plate and plopping a piece of bacon down before you impishly nod your head toward the pile of bacon.

“More?”

You nod quickly and Joel feels a subtle grin tug at his face, nodding in agreement with your choice as he gives you another piece.

You eat in silence—chewing slowly and methodically as you listen to the quiet, roving chatter of people outside, neighbors readying for their day. It was a community, a town, well-oiled and rare in this world.

“Are you done hiding down in the basement?” Joel asks eventually, peeking up from his plate as he leaned against the counter adjacent the island, “Eventually you’re gonna have to talk to Tommy, get you set up with a job.”

Right. Work. Sustenance. You had to carry your own weight.

“You can talk here, you know?” Joel tells you, “You can talk, can’t you?”

Your eyes flick away briefly, avoiding the question.

“Let me try that again,” Joel clears his throat and tosses his empty plate behind him in the sink, fingers curling around the edge of the counter beside him, “Can’t?”

You shake your head.

“Won’t?”

A jerky nod as you push your own plate away.

“I’m not tryin’ to pry or force it—jus’ think it may cause problems eventually.”

You make a motion of writing with your hand shyly, hoping he’ll understand.

Joel nods jerkily and turns to rummage through a drawer in the kitchen, filled with a miscellaneous amount of junk, finding a pad of paper and a pencil and handing it over to you.

Not scared. Of you.

Joel watches as you scribble the words down and furrows his brow.

“No, I’m not sayin’ you are—”

You scratch out the words and start a new line.

If we talked, they hit.

They?

Joel doesn’t voice the word but you see the confusion on his face.

They do nice things and we thank them. The men. If we didn’t, they would hurt us. Or kill if they were angry enough.

You scrunch your nose up slightly, looking disgruntled. Joel watches your hand shake as you continue—it didn’t help to be vague, but that fear they had instilled in you lingered like a dark, suffocating cloud.

I grew up in that place.

Bad place, Joel reminds himself. That was what you had told him and Tommy.

“People—they ain’t like that here—” Joel says, but you’re already scribbling before he can finish.

You don’t know that.

Ellie disrupts the quiet conversation with her loud entrance through the back door, looking tired as she tugged her jacket over her shoulders, pack already slung over her back.

“You’re up early,” Joel notes, preemptively handing Ellie a slice of bacon.

“Jesse wants to get an early start for the patrol since that big storm is supposed to hit tomorrow.”

Joel nods, noting how you looked between the pair curiously.

Ellie seems to notice you’re staring too, offering a casual, “Hi,” around the bacon her teeth tore into.

“Right, shoulda remembered to tell you,” Joel looks over at you, “we’ll both be gone for a few days, longer patrols with all the extra ones Tommy’s pushing at.”

“Seems pointless,” Ellie shrugs, “but…whatever.”

“You get goin’,” He tells Ellie, “I’ll catch up.”

Ellie chews at her breakfast indifferently, nodding in response as she departs, the front door closing gently behind her.

Joel gathers the dishes quietly but you feel the urge to move, helping him gather the rest of the dirty dishes and pile them into the sink. You don’t ask and he doesn’t either, but as he washes, you dry, and it feels normal.

Maybe the only normal experience you’ve had since you ended up here.

You couldn’t place your finger on him, though—Joel. One moment he was kind, talkative and curious, willing to take his time to figure out what he could about you. But, other times you felt like you were a stray dog that popped up at his doorstep and refused to leave. So, now he was forced to house you, feed you, take care of you.

So, obviously, it only made sense to take care of him.

He’d enjoyed it the first time.

Joel’s drying his hands on a towel you hand him before you’re reaching for his belt, metal clinking against metal and you tug, but you’re stopped short, his hand wrapping tightly around your wrist.

“The fuck are you doing?” Joel asks, shoving your hand away forcefully.

But, it’s the clipped, peaking anger in his tone that forces you back further.

You blink away the quickly forming tears in your eyes and retreat quickly, mouth hung open slightly in shock, frightened at the almost instantaneous shift in Joel’s voice. His face. His entire demeanor—you’ve crossed into dangerous territory, like mindless prey.

You’re amiss to the way Joel’s jaw clenches at his sudden outburst, internally shaming himself for the strain in his jeans at even just the thought of you touching him again—the willingness and eagerness of your actions, how long you’ve been conditioned into this.

He doesn’t call after you, though—only stopping by the house later that afternoon before he left to set you up with enough meals and changes of clothes to last you those three days. A knock on the door startles your timid heart, forcing you to your feet and by the time you reach the door he’s nowhere in sight. You’re thankful for that, actually. You weren’t sure if you could even look at him, fearful of the disappointment.

There was a small note folded on top of the pile placed on the floor, unfolded with a careful touch, it read—House is all yours.

Three days, all alone.

You couldn’t bring yourself to leave that basement once.

–

When Joel returns home it’s late and he’s toeing his boots off at the door the moment he steps inside and notes the lack of warmth—a fireplace unused and the door to the basement closed shut. Ellie had already wandered off with Dina for the night, one less thing he had to worry about. He was more appreciative that she’d finally broken out of her shell and actually made a few good friends.

He ignites the fireplace, looking over his shoulder every few seconds waiting, wondering if you were waiting in anticipation—those curious eyes tracking every movement he made. He’d picked up some dessert from the mess hall on the way to his house, selfishly wanting to keep it for himself but he feels that tug, that push to extend the olive branch.

He needed to clear up this…confusion. Try—he could try, at least.

“Sorry, I actually didn’t want you to suck my dick.”

“I enjoyed it but we shouldn’t do that again.”

“I know it’s wrong, but I didn’t want to stop you.”

Joel knows he sounds ridiculous in his head, but he was at a loss.

He’d stopped you because it was wrong–but not because he didn’t want you to.

Joel doesn’t even consider the idea that you may already be asleep for the night, pulling out the small box of dessert and a fresh pair of clothes he’d picked up alongside the food when he checked his horse back in at the stable, picking up a few other spare supplies.

You hear him before you see him when he opens the door, those heavy boot steps thunk, thunk, thunk against the floor and you lie still, staring at him meekly as he approaches the couch adjacent to the bed in a near corner, resting the items on the table and taking a seat silently.

“You hungry?” He asks casually and your stomach growls on command despite your unwillingness to move, blanket tucked under your chin.

He can see you shake your head slightly, easy to miss if he wasn’t staring you down.

“We need to talk,” Joel says, your eyes jolting to him suddenly, “about the other night.”

He jerks his head over, silently asking you to join him on the couch—he’s leaned back but not comfortable, his hands resting in his lap, much like the position you caught him in that night.

When you don’t move, he sighs. A deep, soft sound that has you turning over in bed to face the wall.

“I’m not asking.”

Heavy footsteps follow, the sounder closer and closer, his boots scuffing against the ground before they stop and you can feel him at your back, the whole of the bed shifting as he rests a hand on a decorative knob of the arched bed frame, creaking under his weight.

“Sit up,” He says again, “come on.”

There’s an irritation in his tone that tells you he isn’t leaving until you do, pushing up slowly and crawling to the side with your hands. The last lingering wound stings as you move, a gash on your lower back, toward your hip that you had haphazardly sewn up a few weeks ago with some sewing thread and a needle. It still hadn’t healed like the rest of your wounds. The last remaining physical memory of that time, aside from the scars.

Joel tilts his head to the side and back, noticing as you squeeze your eyes shut in pain and irritation.

“You’re still hurtin’,” It's a statement, he knows it—he can see it on your face.

You shake your head unconvincingly.

“Let me see.”

You shake again, backing into a corner but Joel is quick, he follows and leans down, pulling at the edge of your shirt that was already riding up your back, noting the red and fussed up wound by your hip—it was infected, there was no doubt in his mind.

“Does it hurt?” He asks now, “Don’t lie to me.”

Your eyes lock for a long, lingering moment before you nod, shifting away from his touch as it presses featherlight against the skin.

“I got some supplies upstairs,” He tells you absently, eyes examining the festering wound, “you need that cleaned and stitched up properly before you end up septic.”

Not that it sounded like too bad of a prospect anymore, you square yourself away as he retreats without another word, his figured disappearing out of sight as he turned the corner outside of the basement, your eyes following the sound of his footsteps and noticing the soft rustle of dust above—it took a while for you to realize his room was above yours at first.

He’s back swiftly, a trove of supplies in one arm and a wooden chair in the other, hauling them like they weighed nothing, sleeves already rolled up at his elbows. The chair skirts the ground, squealing loudly as Joel brings it near the edge of the bed and motions for you to turn around and face the wall.

Again, not asking.

With shaky hands and fingers you move, slowly until you back meets Joel’s fingers at your shoulder, curled up into a fist and pressing gently into your skin.

“Lift your shirt,” You grab the edges, ready to strip it over your head before Joel grabs your bicep and stops you, “—that’s—that’s fine, alright? Just hold it there.”

Joel slowly cuts away the old thread and removes the old stitching with a careful hand. You bite at your bottom lip until it draws blood. It unsettles Joel with how quiet you are, even now. Not a word or a single sound or expression of pain, just white knuckles gripping the shirt bunched under your chest and your head tucked down as you shake with a silent cry.

“Stop movin’,” He says brutishly, cleaning up the wound with an antiseptic that makes you squirm away slightly, “I’m almost finished.”

He cleans, re-stitches and covers up the wound with minimal effort, like he’s done this a million times before. And you hear the shake of a pill bottle behind you, whipping your head around quickly.

“S’just antibiotics,” Joel explains, “we picked away at a pharmacy a few months back that had a decent supply,” He pours one into his hand before it rolls to his fingers and he’s handing it off to you—as he suspects, you eye it wearily, “look, your choice. I got enough here to clear that up within a week or you can continue to suffer, not my problem.”

Reluctantly, you take the pill from him and dry swallow it down with a small, nearly silent wince.

There was no reason to trust Joel, but you did.

At some point between the walk from your bed to the table, Joel realizes he’d bypassed the entire reason he had come down here–to talk. About it. That instance you were both dancing around, the one he’d fended off the second time with a barking, heavy voice.

His lingering presence is hard to ignore and you grip the edge of the bed, standing on your own two feet with his back turned to you.

He’d helped you again. Maybe you wanted to thank him.

Or you just wanted a distraction from the pain, the creeping loneliness.

He’s so distracted he doesn’t hear your footsteps approach him, a newly found vigor as you pull at his forearm and turn him with a sudden strength Joel wasn’t expecting, sending him tumbling on his heels to the couch. He sees it in your eyes then, the task you’re focused on, already undressed from the waist down, the length of the shirt reaching a few centimeters short of mid–thigh to cover your naked down as you climb onto his lap and Joel allows it.

He doesn’t yell or scream, there is no apprehensiveness there. Not now.

He could sit in your eyes—this was coping with whatever you couldn’t bring yourself to face, unspoken trust that you didn’t want to voice. This was a distraction for him too.

He could fight this off, but Joel never considered himself a great man. Or, really even a decent one. And, as you work at his belt, he finds his hands joining your own, struggling for a moment before he’s yanking the leather from the belt loops and unbuttoning his jeans as you pull at his zipper, lifting slightly off his lap as he pushes his jeans down to his calves—there was a beauty to how easily your bodies worked against each other, your push to his pull.

Wordless, he knew what you wanted. And you knew exactly what to give him.

He was like the bad men, but wholly different.

The wonder and admiration in his eyes told you so, even if they were quickly clouded by desire and lust, his face suddenly stoic as you grab at his cock, tugging it to full hardness within seconds before you’re dragging the tip of his cock down the center of your cunt before sinking down harshly—and the hands stilled at his sides finally act.

He’s careful of the wound on your hip, dragging his fingers over your ass and to your thighs, fingers curling around the back of your bent knees to pull and tug you in, groaning quietly into the thick, thready material of your top as you curl into him.

He couldn’t bear the idea of looking at you, watching you as you moved so eagerly against his cock, soft breaths at his ears that made him wanton for the sounds you couldn’t make, the terrible vocal paralysis like a vice anytime someone looked in your direction, especially him. Your palms press into the wall behind him, dull fingertips clawing at chipped paint as you bounced your hips fiercely, quick and efficient in the process. It was clear you’ve done this before—detached and just a means to an end, a device of pleasure.

And Joel uses it, selfishly. One hand falling to the back of your neck to curl you in further, the other at your ass as he squeezes, guiding your hips down to the sharp, pointed thrust of his own movements and Joel can already feel that familiar cole in his groin—days of staving of his own need for release from the sheer amount of guilt he felt over this, somehow ending up here again.

Using you—and maybe you could admit it yourself, it was just as much a distraction for you as for him, but the sudden warmth in your chest is startling. You could come like this, the drag of his cock hitting so deep inside of you with every thrust that your visions starts to white—a mix of delirium and pure euphoria, the gasp that leaves your mouth is broken and barely audible but Joel can hear it, feeling you tip over that cliff with a hand tangled in his hair, needing an anchor and finding that it was him in that moment.

But, you don’t stop either. Working through the crest of your orgasm with a reflexive squeeze of your cunt as you came apart and pulled him in, his balls tightening in warning as they slapped against your cunt with each drop of your hips and Joel tries to warn you, pushes gently at your hips but you don’t move—won’t. And he comes inside of you with a muffled, tired grunt as he pants into your shirt.

Whatever mutual agreement was made had become void.

“Get off,” He says after a beat, but doesn’t push.

You listen, moving off of him and turning away immediately, arms tucked around your middle as you eyed the fresh clothes and still uneaten slice of dessert, one that Joel had offered to share.

A peace offering, an act of forgiveness. But, that was all shattered and swept away now.

“You stupid, girl?” Joel asks suddenly, turning to him at the harsh words and finding him re-dressed, brow drawn in as he snatches his belt in his right hand, gripping it tight. “That your master plan, here?”

You’re confused and Joel’s eyes drag to your legs, unseen but you can feel his cum dripping down your thighs, pushing out of your cunt as it pulses from the comedown of your own orgasm.

“Gettin’ knocked up and hopin’ that a baby will keep you safe here?”

You were safe nowhere and you knew that.

Joel had no idea, but you couldn’t even begin to explain how wrong he was.

Babies, even the prospect of that idea made your skin crawl.

So, with frustration evident on his face and already anticipating your answer, you shake your head.

“You try that shit again and I’ll—”

You brow raises in anticipation and Joel opens his mouth slightly before he clenches his jaw.

“Knew it was a fuckin’ mistake taking you in.”

And it feels like a gut punch, but he was right.

Joel tosses the pill bottle on the table and you watch as it lands, rolls before hitting the floor and stopping just at your bare toes.

He departs with a deep scowl, door slamming behind him and you wait, count the steps until you hear his footsteps above the basement and you wander over toward the table.

The remnants of the items he’d brought with the intentions of a one-sided conversation, a lecture, really.

It was pointless now.

Opening the container to the uneaten dessert, you sniffed it testingly before swiping a single finger over the icing on top, pressing the sweet, sugar cream against your tongue and letting your eyes drift closed at the flavor, giving yourself a few seconds to enjoy and savor before you’re ripping into the thing with your bare hands, a fuck you the peace offering Joel was trying for.

There was no peace to be had. You would never find peace here, either.

A new emotion floods your body—not anger or rage, but jealousy, greed. You wanted him, and deep within, you knew he wanted you too. Even if just in a primal way, a means to distract.

And in your sudden, newfound boldness and curiosity you linger toward the kitchen in a fresh change of clothes for that night, snatching up the notepad Joel had left out from your previous conversation before scribbling the rest of that out and ripping off a jagged piece of paper.

It was a thank you.

Flipping it over, you continue the message.

There is no plan. I trust you.

You fold the paper up and wander down the hall, counting the steps until you land at a closed door, one that you can only assume and hope is Joel’s and slip the paper under the gap at the bottom of the door.

There was a chance, the anticipation that Joel could convince Tommy to strand you out into the forest again, forced back into harsh survival, but something tells you Joel doesn’t have it in him, not anymore.

Joel catches the sight of your departing shadow as he retreats toward his bed, the paper flying across the floor with the sudden draft and landing right at his feet, he picks it up and readies to trash it without a thought before he catches sight of that simple phrase.

thank you – no plan —

Joel pauses, reading over the final set of words with a dangerous tug in his heart.

I trust you.

That tug was guilt and the creeping sensation of doom.

Trust. You.

He’s really fucked up now.

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us #tlou #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #my writing

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ja3yun · 2 months ago

Text

Tie me in Ribbons | S.JY

sub!jake x dom!reader warnings: smut (mdni), oral (m. rec), unprotected sex, cream pie, sub!jake, edging, petnames (good boy, princess, baby), use of ribbons, choking, nipple play, praising, actually very cute, almost no plot at all, not proofread, anything else lmk! w.c: 12.2k synopsis: when jaeyun stumbles across one of your old diaries, he gets an inside look into your fantasies and decides it's time you explore them. a/n: hi! i have never written sub!enha before so please understand that it might not be great but bear with me <33 this was pure self indulgence and it won't be everyone's cuppa so feel free to skip! if you remeber love me tender, its kinda like the opposite of that! as always, comments, reblogs, and feedback is all welcome!

Jaeyun’s hands skim over the bedsheets for what feels like the umpteenth time, smoothing out creases that are barely there, his thoughts racing faster than his fingers. There’s a flutter in his chest that tilts between anxiety and excitement, and honestly, he’s uncertain which is winning.

Yesterday, while tidying up the shared apartment you moved into three years ago, Jaeyun stumbled upon something he never expected to find: the forbidden codes of your mind. Your old diary. It toppled from the top shelf of your wardrobe as he sifted through the pile of clothes that seemed to grow with every season. The impact stung as it bounced off his head, but the pain was forgotten the moment his eyes landed on the words scrawled prettily across the cover - Y/N of 2021.

Now, Jaeyun is always someone who respects your boundaries. Never has he snooped through your phone or done anything that would express distrust in you, because quite frankly, he trusts you with his entire chest.

Ever since the day he met you at university almost four years ago, he knew both of you were destined to be together until the end of time, his heart leapt straight into your chest and declared you his new home. It was love at first conversation for him. Your voice, your thoughts, your laughter - they wrapped around his soul like a warm embrace, claiming him entirely.

That diary, though - its pages whispered a possibility he couldn’t resist. It might hold the answer to the one question he’s carried since the day of dawn: Did you feel it too? That instant connection.

At first, he hesitated. But curiosity, paired with a need so tender it almost ached, won out. He flicked through its pages cautiously, skipping over pages that didn’t seem relevant to him. But even then, 70% of it turned out to be about him anyway. His breath caught in his throat with every mention of his name, every observation of his quirks, every confession of how your feelings bloom with each kiss. The remaining 30%? Literally just about the time before you met him.

You had noticed him, thought about him, written about him. You’d recorded every little moment, from your first awkward exchange to the way your heart betrayed you, beating faster in his presence. Reading those words was like holding your heart in his hands, fragile and real. It answered his question with a resounding yes. You did feel the same as him, from the very beginning.

But, as he was ready to close the diary, his heart full and his curiosity satisfied, something stopped him. A page adorned with pink hearts and misshaped bows, caught his eye…What’s one more page after sixty-four others?

August 23rd 2021.

Dear Diary,

Sim Jaeyun is sooooooo...I can’t put it into words. Every time I look at him, I want to wrap him up in pretty ribbons because he truly is a gift from the universe. Today, he met me outside of class and bought my usual lunch from Tesco - he even has a clubcard! (swoon!) And then he just spent time with me. It’s the bare minimum but I’m really enjoying having someone who loves being around me and taking the time to ask me silly questions which lead to deeper conversations. He’s perfect - and I don’t throw that word around lightly because literally nothing is perfect except maybe a cherry iced americano - which was also in his hand when he came to pick me up <33

He’s the best boyfriend ever. I’ve said it before to you, twenty times I guess by now, but I love him. I love being in love with him. I want to cherish him for the rest of my life, put pretty bows in his hair and call him my perfect boy. I want to kiss all over his chest and heart so he feels how much I adore him.

Between you and me, Diary, I had a sex dream about him last night. I came home from class and he was there, lying on my bed with ribbons all over his body. Ugh! He looked so good all I could do was pounce on him and fuck him until the cows came home. He was so needy and I was commanding and hot, and he loved it all. Of course, my alarm for today ruined it, but I don’t think it’s left my brain - or will - for the foreseeable.

I wonder if he would let me do all of that?

He’s not dominant but he definitely likes to take charge. I don’t mind that, fuck, I love it and I literally beg him to bend me over any chance we get. But wouldn’t it be fun to have him wriggling under me…to have his cock twitch because I’m teasing him. He might be into it, but we’ve also only been dating for 5 months so…maybe I’ll bring it up in a few years. Not like we won’t be together forever, right? There’s more time to look forward to.

You never know what the future holds, but I really hope it involves Jaeyun. Ribbons or not.

Anyway! I have to go to sleep; exam tomorrow :(( Speak tomorrow!

~ Y/N <33

The words he read had initially shocked him, then left him baffled, and finally sparked an idea so clever he’s spent the past few hours bringing it to life. He’s going to turn your fantasies into reality - ribbons, wriggling, and all.

He’s going to let you take control.

Is it risky, considering you wrote it four years ago? Maybe. But it could also end up being the most spectacular surprise he’s ever pulled off. Perhaps even better than the time he brought his family dog to meet you in the park after she’d been away in Australia for months - a day you still insist was the best of your life.

Your sex life is good, better than good, it’s smut on tumblr level good. You have ways to spice it up while also enjoying the familiarity of it all. The way Jaeyun pounds into you like he’s trying to break the bed in record time - and breaking the bed isn’t new for him, ask the sales rep at the bed centre who has made more commission from Jaeyun alone that he can afford to take his kids to Italy every year.

And yes, you wrote that he loves taking charge, which he can’t deny. The sheer bliss he feels when you moan his name, the delighted giggles you let out when he calls you his good girl, and those soft, shared whispers of I love you - all of it makes his heart soar. But why not shake things up at least once?

If he’d known you wanted to flip the script and take the reins, he would’ve jumped at the chance years ago. Not because he expects to enjoy being on the receiving end - though he might, the way his cock twitched at your written confession was a clear indicator - but because he’d do absolutely anything for you. If you asked him to pluck a star from the sky, he’d sign up for the NASA programme tomorrow, suit up, and bring back the brightest one he could find.

Jaeyun does one final sweep down the bed before huffing, glancing once more at the crisp pastel pink sheets that you insisted on buying. They will get wrecked as soon as you step over the flat’s threshold, so he doesn’t know why he’s so determined to make the bed look like it came straight out of a showroom.

But he knows why. The final piece of his plan involves the delicate, baby-pink ribbon he’d rushed out to buy this morning. After poring over an assortment of options - who knew ribbons came in so many varieties? - he’d settled on silk. It reminded him of that night after the university charity ball, when he tied you up with his sleek black tie, the one you’d been so complimentary about, both as a neckpiece and as a restraint. A smirk plays on his lips at the memory of that night, the way your breath hitched when his hands bound your wrists, how your eyes sparkled with mischief and trust.

He reaches into the bag, grabbing the ribbon as the softness of the material settles over his fingertips. Definitely a good choice. It’s pretty, and he has a sneaking suspicion that you’re going to lose your mind once you see him draped in it. Jaeyun can’t help but smile at the thought, a certain pride swelling in his chest, accompanied by a smirk that showcases a tint of confidence.

And if you don’t want to fuck him like you did in your diary, he’ll use the ribbons on you instead. He has always wanted to tie your hands to your legs and tease your clit until you’re a sobbing mess, bedsheets covered in your essence as he makes you cum again and again, pleads falling from your lips as he takes what he wants without giving you what you need…

Next time.

It’s this feeling of certainty that gets him stripping down until he’s naked, flicking each piece of clothing into the hamper that finds home in the corner of your room. He won’t be needing them after all of this anyway; you’re both not leaving the bed any time soon, that’s for sure.

The full-length mirror captures his reflection in the best light; the sunshine fluttering through the window kisses over his pretty, tanned skin. Jaeyun isn’t full of himself - humble to his core even when he doesn’t need to be - but right now he feels a little cocky. His stomach is toned from just enough gym sessions to make having a membership worth it, and his chest is still painted with faint claw marks from your last night of bed-bonking, your touch still engraved.

His gaze slides down, following his body's curves, and finally lands between his legs. His cock already hangs heavy and slightly hard, as if he knows what’s coming - or maybe it’s the unknown that has him bricking up.

He has always been proud of it, not just its size - though he will pat himself on the back - but the things it has done to you. The mess you make over it, how your juices honour it with each thrust and bounce. He's seen how your body reacts, how your eyes roll back as you take him, how your thighs tremble, and how your voice shakes as you moan his name. Sometimes, your pussy tries to push him out - too much, too soon you always say, but then he gets swallowed inside of you, lost as your walls welcome his impressive size. That makes him feel powerful.

But today is all about you feeling powerful.

So, he grabs his cock and squeezes it firmly. “It’s not about you today, okay?” Jaeyun begins, stroking slowly in warning rather than pleasure, speaking directly to his shaft. “It’s about our girl and what she wants.”

Jaeyun tilts his head as he feels his cock jump slightly at the mention of some planned fun, not getting the full memo. “Don’t get any ideas, mate,” he continues, tone amused but firm. “Don’t be fucking greedy and take over. And for the love of god don’t embarrass me by blowing the moment she calls you a good boy or whatever the fuck she’s going to say.”

Although he’s speaking directly to his cock, he is also saying it to himself. Talking to one head means talking to the other, or however the saying goes.

“She might tease,” he says, his grip loosening as he speaks more gently now, coaxing himself into the right mindset for the evening. “Fuck she might even be a little mean. But she doesn’t mean it, yeah? Let her have this. Let her do what she wants.”

Satisfied with his little one-sided conversation, he releases himself, taking one last glance at himself. There’s a flicker of something new in his features - a mix of anticipation and excitement. He feels ready. Speaking his thoughts out loud, to his cock no less, has somehow shifted his apprehension into eagerness, the idea of relinquishing control no longer unnerving but thrilling.

At the end of the day, this is for you. For your happiness. That’s what matters most to him, and always will.

Jaeyun starts with his chest, wrapping the ribbon carefully around him, the satin cool against the heat of his flushed skin. The first loop sits just above his nipples, taut enough to tease but not constrict, while the second layer falls just below them, framing his pecs with deliberance. With a quick tug and a messy knot at his back, he secures the binding in place.

Moving lower, he grabs another length of ribbon, this time letting it fall more loosely around his waist. He drapes it artfully across his toned tummy, arranging the fabric with a sense of carelessness that still shows intention. Each movement is calculated, designed to highlight the sharp lines of his body that you adore so much. The ribbon clings just enough to suggest the faint curve of his v-line, the rest of the fabric dipping provocatively over his hips. The tail of the ribbon hangs low, trailing down over his cock. Far from concealing, it draws attention to the main gift underneath.

Satisfied with his work, Jaeyun exhales softly, a breath of contentment escaping his plumpy lips as he steps back to take in his reflection from a new perspective. The sight staring back catches him off guard as his pulse stumbles, and he feels a flicker of heat at the tip of his dick as his gaze roams over himself.

The delicate ribbon, pale against the warmth of his skin, transforms him into something otherworldly. The soft contrast heightens the definition of his body - his abs etched deeper into his stomach, his chest broad and prominent. Yet, there’s an ethereal quality to him now, as though the juxtaposition of strength and fragility has created something almost too beautiful to be real.

Jaeyun’s trembling fingers glide over the fabric, tracing its edges, his touch reverent and curious. The sensation sends a shiver down his spine, and he exhales a shaky breath, caught in a haze of disbelief and pride. He looks good. No, better than good. He looks fucking beautiful.

It’s a new kind of beauty, one he’s never seen in himself before. He’s accustomed to being called hot, handsome, and even cute on occasion. But this…this feels different. He feels irresistible, he looks so striking it’s hard to believe it’s his own reflection. Maybe he should consider modelling for those raunchy BookTok covers with half-naked men on horses.

Swallowing thickly, Jaeyun nods to himself, as if to anchor his thoughts and settle the pounding of his heart. He’s made absolutely the right decision. This was worth every single moment of preparation. A small, knowing smile graces his lips as he mutters to himself, “She’s going to love this…”

A grin forms on his blushed face, tearing his eyes away as he reaches for his phone. Now he just needs to get you here. But how? You’re studying for exams next week and the only way you’ll come home is if there is an emergency, but he hates the idea of panicking you. You will probably rush home, get mad that he lied, and then make him sleep on the couch.

No, he needs a better way…

Then it hits him.

“I should take a picture for her!” Jaeyun exclaims to the empty room, the ghosts of your shared apartment watching him with amusement, their silent applause egging him on.

Between speaking to the ghosts and warning his cock, he’s not the most sane person in the world right now.

But regardless of sanity or not, this is a perfect plan. How could you possibly resist coming home when he’s wrapped up like this, a living, breathing gift just for you?

It’s also a safe way to test the waters. If you reply with laughing emojis, he’ll laugh it off as a joke, something he did on a whim because he was bored. But if your response holds even a whisper of desire, Jaeyun is prepared. He’ll sprawl out on the bed and let you use every inch of him, ribbons and all.

Grabbing his phone, he swipes open the camera and steps back to get himself in frame. A moment of hesitation passes as he considers the best pose. He’s sent you nudes before, sure - pictures and videos of him holding his thick cock, teasing with soft movements, or those casual, aerial shots of his toned body from his gaming chair. Those were easy to pull off. But this? A sexy, teasing shot that’s literally impossible to resist? That’s a whole new ballgame.

Jaeyun tries a few positions, starting with an over-the-shoulder shot to highlight his perky bum. But the sloppy knots from the ribbon ruin the image, and he frowns at the result. Next, he flexes his left arm, veins protruding as his bicep bulges, his torso stretching just enough to shift the ribbons higher. He studies the photo for a moment before shaking his head in frustration.

“Jesus Christ, Jaeyun,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at himself. “She wants a soft boy, not some wannabe bodybuilder fuckboy with a small cock.” He lets out a huff of exasperation, tutting as he adjusts the ribbons once again.

Switching to video, he hits record, deciding it might be easier to sift through the footage later for the perfect screengrab. He winks into the lens, a playful twinkle in his eyes as his free hand drifts from his collarbone, down his chest, and towards his stomach, ghosting his skin.

He hooks his fingers into one of the ribbon loops, tugging it just enough to make the tail of fabric covering his cock dance suggestively. The movement is subtle, but it directs all attention downward, exactly like he wants.

Turning slowly, Jaeyun angles himself just right, concealing the messy knots while ensuring his ass is perfectly framed. It looks good, not Seungcheol from Seventeen level juicy, but no one can achieve that bar the man himself. Jaeyun’s ass is just right for you, thick enough to grab and claw at when he has you in a mating press, but subtle enough that he can fit into all types of jeans.

He lightly smacks his ass, dulling the sharp sting with a gentle caress. Jaeyun imagines it’s you spanking him and suddenly, he’s ready to get on all fours.

When the recording ends, he smirks at the screen, reviewing and scrutinising his award-winning performance.

And award-winning it is because the next hurdle he has to leap over is finding the perfect shot. But why settle for one still frame when he could just…send you the entire video?

And that’s exactly what he does.

Opening up your contact, he sees the last message you sent.

I love you, baby! kisses when i get home. promise <33

Jaeyun bites his lips together, concealing the cheshire cat smile that threatens to take over his entire face. He’s hoping for a lot more than just some kisses, and he thinks he might just get what he’s wishing for.

Jaeyun: hey, my love! did you order something?

Y/N: no? not that i remember. why?

With that, he hits upload, the video takes a few minutes due to its length, and his thumbs jump across the keyboard as he writes the accompanying message.

A few moments pass and he hears nothing from you. He guesses it’s because you’re processing what you have just witnessed, but he can’t stop his brain from overthinking. His teeth gnaw at his bottom lip as he conjures up different scenarios for your reaction, some of which include disgust, embarrassment, and other not-so-nice outcomes.

Jaeyun: [1 video attachment]there’s a present here for you

Then, those three dots wipe every thought.

Y/N: baby? what…is this?

Jaeyun: come home and find out, love ;)

Y/N: omw <33

As soon as your last message is received, he realises it’s do or die, so he cleans up the bedroom once again, the nerves and excitement merging into one ball of energy inside his heart. He is ecstatic that you clearly are at least intrigued by the idea, which is better than flat-out rejection or mockery.

He now needs to make sure he’s pretty for you.

_____

The keypad beeps echo in the landing as you punch in your PIN and you swing the door open with urgency. Kicking off your shoes without care, you barely notice the way they clatter against the wall. Your focus is singular, your movements egged on by a mix of confusion and curiosity.

The video still plays in your mind in a loop, and each frame burns into your memory. Watching it in the library had been a mistake - or perhaps the best decision of your day. You had felt an overwhelming rush of emotions: surprise that Jaeyun would do something so bold, intrigue at the sheer prospect of it, and then…that flush of heat that went from your cheeks and travelled straight to your cunt.

Your steps quicken, the familiar flat blurring as you stride towards the bedroom. Your pulse thrums in your ears, and your breaths come faster with each passing second. You’re not sure what to expect, but you know you need answers.

Now.

The door to your bedroom is slightly ajar, the flicker of the dull lamp from inside might as well be compared to the white flash at the pearl gates of heaven. Taking a deep breath, your hand hovers at the door, your body waiting for you to mentally prepare yourself. Are you excited? For sure. Excitement isn’t even enough to describe the bubble in your chest. God, he looked so pretty in the video, you hope this isn’t some sick prank and he’s actually fully clothed behind the door. You shake the thought away, swallowing the lump in your throat, and push the door open.

The sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs.

Jaeyun lays on your double-sized bed like a living work of art, his body draped in ribbons that teasingly hide the parts of his body your pussy is just now crying out for, your panties soaking instantly at the sight. He’s angled perfectly, one arm resting behind his head, the other draped across his stomach, fingers brushing the fabric. The pink ribbon winds around his chest, his abs, and down his hips, teasingly concealing just enough to leave your imagination reeling. His cock is so big though, that the ribbon isn’t even covering half of it and you could cum right now as your eyes widen and mouth slacks.

The pose it cheesy, it resembles Shawn Michaels on the cover of Playgirl if you’re being honest. But just like how wrestling fans in the 90s fawned over him with just a wrestling belt hiding his dick despite the awkward pose, you’ll do the same with your boyfriend - perhaps even more shamelessly.

Jaeyun bites his lip, his teeth catching the soft flesh as his eyes dart down to himself before meeting yours again. “Surprise,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into that velvety bedroom tone he uses when describing in vivid detail how he plans to absolutely devour you. It sends a ripple of heat through your body, making it nearly impossible to focus, or rather figure out what to focus on. “So…what do you think?”

You let out a shaky breath, struggling to gather your thoughts. “I don’t even know what to think,” you manage, your words tumbling out in disbelief. Your eyes roam over him again, lingering shamelessly on the ribbon that teases more than it hides. “But I know you look so fucking hot.”

A grin spreads across his face, slow and sultry, as though your words are a symphony and he’s savouring every note. “Not pretty?” he quips, teasingly twirling the loose end of the ribbon between his fingers.

Your gaze locks onto the veins snaking up his forearms. They’re hypnotic, and you’re suddenly struck by the thought of gripping onto them, feeling their pulse under your desperate hands as he works you over with his fingers. The mere idea has your body responding, a warm ache blooming between your thighs.

Jaeyun raises an eyebrow, pulling you out of your spiralling thoughts. “Lost in there, baby?” he asks with a smirk, his teasing tone dripping with amusement.

“I mean…yeah,” you murmur, barely audible, your voice laced with awe. “You look beautiful. Perfect.” The last word is whispered, but it's easily the most earnest confession to fall from your lips.

A faint blush blooms across his cheeks, barely visible in the dim lighting, but enough to make your heart flutter. He shifts, sitting up on the bed with his legs spread and knees bent, the new position giving you an unfiltered view of his semi-hard cock. The tip is flushed, indicating that he’s been holding back as he waits for you, and the sight alone has you clenching around nothing.

“I’m glad you think so,” he says smoothly, gesturing to his body like it’s a gift he’s unwrapping just for you. “Because it’s all yours, baby. Do whatever you want.”

Your stomach tightens, a thrill shooting through you at his words. “What?” you whisper, needing to hear it again for clarification, because you’re sure your arousal is messing with your brain receptors.

“I’m yours to use,” he explains, his voice dropping into a husky murmur. “Just for tonight. Make me beg, whimper. Edge me. Tease me. Choke me. Tie me up with these ribbons. Whatever your pretty little head dreams up. I’m at your mercy.”

A gush of wetness soaks your panties, your body betraying your excitement before you can even process his offer. This has been a long-standing fantasy of yours, one you’ve never fully admitted to him, though you’d tried to hint at it countless times. The idea of taking control, of pinning him down and making him unravel beneath you, had lingered in the corners of your mind for years.

But somehow, he’d never caught on. All the subtle moments - your fingers wrapping around his throat but never squeezing, the way you’d pressed him into the mattress but let him take the reins again - had flown over his head. It seemed your silent desires had fallen flat.

Until now.

Your chest tightens at the thought. “You mean…” you trail off, your voice hesitant, hoping he’ll fill in the gaps so you won’t have to say it out loud.

His smirk grows, confidence radiating off him in waves. “I mean you have free reign,” he says, leaning back slightly, the ribbons shifting to reveal just a bit more of his toned stomach. “I’ll be your good boy the entire night.”

That does it to you.

Next thing you know, you’re pouncing on the boy, pinning him back to the bed as your lips crash against his with hunger you can’t contain, your bodies instinctively fitting together like yin and yang. His breath hitches as your mouths meld, the soft, pliant press of his lips yielding eagerly to you. You kiss him like you’ve been starving, like the taste of him is the only thing that could ever satiate you, and his low, needy moans tell you he feels the same. You would think that you hadn’t seen each other for months, deprived of touch, but in reality, you were tangled like this just last night.

Your tongue flicks against his, a bold swipe that coaxes him to open further for you. The heat between you grows with every glide of your tongue against his, every playful nip at his bottom lip that makes him shudder beneath you. His hands hover at your hips, unsure if he is allowed to touch, unfamiliar with this new dynamic, but you’re already too far gone to notice.

You pull back slightly, just enough to move your attention to his neck, dragging your lips across the sensitive skin. A breathless chuckle escapes him, quickly turning into a sharp inhale as you nip at his pulse point, your teeth leaving claims over him. The quiet gasps and whimpers that fall from his lips fuel you further, your lips and teeth trailing lower, leaving a delicate constellation of marks down the column of his throat.

When you reach his collarbone, you let your tongue dart out to taste him, revelling in the way he squirms beneath you. You’ve heard him moan, but never like this, like he’s moaning in both pleasure and pain. The pain comes from the desperate need to take control. You nip gently, then soothe the spot with a kiss, and he lets out a broken moan, his head tipping back into the plush pillows.

But it’s his chest that truly captures your attention. The ribbon wrapped snugly around him creates a pretty display, his nipples peeking out like individual presents waiting to be unwrapped. You can’t help but smirk as you dip your head lower, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the centre of his chest before trailing to one side.

You pause just above his nipple, the soft rise and fall of his breathing making it all the more tempting. Without hesitation, you brush your lips over the taut bud, then suck lightly at the sensitive skin. His reaction is immediate - a sharp intake of breath, followed by a low groan that sends a thrill straight through you. He’s into this and you’ve barely even started.

Tonight is going to be so much fun.

Straddling his lap, you take a moment to admire the way he looks beneath you, the ribbons framing him perfectly, his chest flushed and glistening from your attention. He’s exquisite, vulnerable in a way that makes your heart race. You grip the top layer of the ribbon, using it to pull him up towards you.

“Come here,” you murmur, your voice soft but commanding. His eyes flutter open, dazed and dark with arousal, and he obeys without hesitation. You kiss him again, this time slower, deeper, savouring every moment.

When you pull back, your hand drifts to his chest, your thumb brushing over his nipple, slow but with pressure. The effect is instantaneous - he hisses, his body jerking slightly as he throws his head back.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his voice shaky, the word drawn out like a plea. His reaction makes your smirk grow, confidence surging through you.

“Not used to being touched here, huh?” you tease, your voice a low purr as you circle his nipple again, watching the way his body tenses and trembles under your touch. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive, baby.”

“Neither did I,” he confesses. Considering he did most - if not all - of his sexual exploring with you, it makes sense. If you both haven’t tried something together, he doesn’t know about it. As much as this is fulfilling a fantasy for you, it’s also opening up his horizons, helping him explore his body and needs. And so far, he’s loving every second.

He flutters his eyes closed, enjoying the pressure and pull of your thumbs on his nipples, and instinctively, his hands trail up your body, dipping under your t-shirt so he can feel your soft skin under the pads on his fingers. Jaeyun tries to cup your tits, but when you feel him, you surprise him - and yourself - with something entirely new.

You pinch his nipples tight, twisting them enough to make him yelp and jerk his hands away.

“Ow!” he yelps, his hands that tried to grope you now bunched up at his sides.

“Baby, oh my god, are you okay? Did I hurt you?” you blurt out, eyes wide with worry as your hands move to cup his face. Frantically, you search his gaze for any sign of pain or discomfort. Though you find traces of both, there’s a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You caught me off guard, that’s all, princess,” he reassures you softly, his hands covering yours. The sight of your panicked expression tugs at his heartstrings, and he can’t help but pout playfully. “It’s okay. You can do whatever you want, remember?”

You nod slowly, agreeing that while yes that was the plan, you don’t want him to not enjoy it. Your fingers slide down to entwine with his, hoping to soothe him. “Maybe we should use a safeword,” you suggest tentatively, biting your lip.

Jaeyun bursts into laughter, his chest shaking as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you planning to do to me, baby, huh?” he teases, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

His reaction only makes you groan, covering your face with your hands as you shake your head. “No! Not like that,” you protest, your voice muffled by your palms. “This is new for me, and I didn’t even know I was going to… tweak your nipples…”

Jaeyun laughs again, this time with immense fondness at its base, eyes crinkling at the edges as he reaches up to pull your hands away from your face. “Baby, don’t hide,” he whispers, his thumbs brushing the back of your hands. “I can take it, I was just surprised.” His voice is warm and reassuring. He’s so considerate and loving, even after you’ve violated his nipples…what a man.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to push you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with��I mean we can just have sex like normal. You can tie me-”

“Stop,” Jaeyun cuts you off with a small laugh, his tone steady but playful. “No. You want this, and I want this. I can handle a little nipple play or whatever else that pretty mind of yours comes up with.” He punctuates his words with a gentle poke to your forehead, his grin so genuine and full of trust that you almost break down sobbing. You lean in to kiss him, melting all your apprehensions away.

As you pull back, you find your resolve again. If he wants this, and so do you, then you should do it.

“Okay… yeah…” you murmur, clearing your throat and slipping back into the role you’d started to embrace. Your voice takes on a firmer tone as you meet his gaze. “No touching me unless I say so. And no taking over. These are my only rules. I really want to try this properly.”

Jaeyun nods excitedly as his cock twitches, watching your eyes go from concern to slowly regaining that power you had earlier, the commanding presence that seems to wrap around you like a second skin. He can’t lie, it’s so fucking sexy to him - this new allure and aura that seems to overtake you when you’re on top of him. “Yes, Ma’am.”

With that, your hands grip the hem of your t-shirt and pull it over your head, discarding it without breaking eye contact with the boy underneath you. Jaeyun instantly begins to lick his lips, knowing you’re going for your lavender bra next.

When Jaeyun says he loves your tits, it means he loves your tits. Adores them. Cannot think of anything better than fondling them, sucking them, marking them, even just holding them in his hand while you both watch a movie. He’s obsessed. If you plan on depriving him, that might just be the hardest part of this.

Your hands circle to your back, grabbing the clasp and undoing it achingly slow. Jaeyun almost pants like a dog as he awaits his favourite treats.

“You can’t touch until I say so,” you warn him, already pre-empting the inevitable. He’s going to swarm in, his eyes already giving his intention away more than his prodding cock against your ass.

“Okay…don’t be mean though,” he whines, licking his lips in anticipation, hands scrunching up beside him. He wants nothing more than to pin you draw you closer to him and bury his face into your pretty, tantalising chest.

You can’t help but smirk as you see him practically drooling over your body, feeling how he wriggles underneath you as he impatiently waits for you to give him the green light. Jaeyun swipes his tongue over his bottom lip as he looks up at you, like butter wouldn’t melt, and you almost fold. The stars in his eyes set your heart racing and blood pulsing.

Your boyfriend has those eyes, the one that can make you flip your mind and give him anything he wants. You’ve spent years trying to master how to not give in, to stand your ground and finally have your way for once. Yet, all his attempts have worked. Every. Single. Time.

But not today.

Instead of giving in to his unspoken pleas, you cup your breasts in your hands, kneading them slowly and deliberately, as if moulding the softest dough. Your fingers tease your nipples, catching them just enough to send a shiver of pleasure down your spine, your breath escaping in a quiet, lustful sigh. They don’t feel nearly as good as Jaeyun’s hands do, but the expression on his face makes it all worthwhile.

Jaeyun’s gaze stays glued to you, wide and glassy, like a starving man who can see the sweetest fruit just out of reach. His eyes follow every movement, his thighs clenching and relaxing in time with the slow rhythm of your hands. His lips part slightly, and his tongue flicks out with each pinch you give your nipples, as if he can almost feel it himself.

The way he reacts - so helpless and captivated - only fuels your confidence. You wonder how much further you can push him before offering even a shred of mercy. Slowly, your hips begin to roll against him, the rough denim of your jeans grazing over his shaft. The friction pulls a sharp inhale from his lips, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard, overwhelmed by the sensation.

When soft, breathy moans escape your lips, your body moving in perfect harmony with the teasing motion of your hands, he feels caught in a torturous balance between bliss and agony. You’re divine, ethereal, and just out of reach; close enough to admire but too far to claim.

“Fuck, baby, you’re enjoying yourself, huh?” His voice is strained, his words not really a question but more of a jealous statement.

You smirk, grinding a little harder against him. While the thickness of your jeans dulls your own sensations, the way his ragged breaths hitch with every movement is more than enough to keep you going. “I love it. Don’t you?”

Jaeyun chuckles, nodding eagerly. “Yeah, I love it,” he admits, his voice breathy and filled with want. He hesitates for a moment, biting his lip as if the next words might be too bold, too risky. He’s terrified you’ll stop the intoxicating pressure against his cock. “I would love it even more if-”

“If I touched you?” you interrupt with a sly grin, your voice dripping with mischief.

It wasn’t what he was going to say - not exactly. What he wanted was to touch you, to feel your skin under his palms and reclaim even a little bit of control. But if you’re offering him pleasure, he’s not about to argue.

Your hands leave your chest, letting your breasts bounce naturally as they settle. The sight makes Jaeyun’s breath hitch, his eyes glued to the mesmerising way they jiggle. A low sound escapes his throat, almost like a purr, and you can feel the heat of his gaze travelling over every inch of you.

The corners of your lips twitch as you stand up slowly, your hips swaying slightly as you step off the bed. His eyes spark, and the loss of your weight on him is immediately missed, but his curiosity overrides his disappointment. You reach for the button of your jeans, unhooking it with teasing slowness.

“You’ve been so good for me,” you say, your voice soft yet commanding. “I think you deserve a little more, don’t you?”

Jaeyun nods frantically as he watches you with rapt attention. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as you shimmy out of your jeans, letting the fabric slide down your legs. You step out of them, kicking them to the side without breaking eye contact.

Now standing before him in nothing but your panties, you let the tension linger, watching the way his chest rises and falls with every ragged breath. His gaze drinks you in, and his jaw slacks as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing even though he has seen you in those pretty blue pants more than he can count. They’re your favourite pair after all.

“Better?” you ask, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk, relishing in how he devours you with his gaze.

“Fuck, yes.”

You climb back onto the bed, positioning yourself between his legs and you see his cock, red and hard, laying against his stomach and over those pretty ribbons. The contrast between the angry and the delicate makes your tummy flutter and pussy pulse.

Dipping your head down, you run your tongue in one slow, sensual stroke from the base of his length to the tip, tracing the prominent vein like it’s a map guiding you to treasure. Jaeyun’s reaction is instant; his hips buck up as he demands more, and a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips. The soft, wet warmth of your tongue gives him just a taste of what he craves, but it’s nowhere near enough to satisfy him.

You don’t stop there. Instead, you shift your focus, trailing your tongue up his torso, leaving a path of kisses over each ribbon he put so much effort into. Each kiss is like a silent thank you for making him look even more breathtaking than he already does. Your hands grip his hips firmly, holding him down with as much strength as you can muster to keep his excited movements in check.

Jaeyun’s breathing is erratic, his chest rising and falling rapidly as you continue your ascent. Your teeth nip at his skin playfully, just enough to make him gasp and shiver beneath you. Exactly what you want.

“You’re so needy, baby,” you tease softly, your voice laced with amusement.

His head falls back against the pillow, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as he fights the urge to take control. “And you’re a tease,” he mutters, though there’s no real bite in his words - just breathless adoration.

You hum in response, your lips curling into a smirk as you reach his collarbone, nipping and sucking gently before kissing the spot to soothe it. His body trembles under your touch, and you feel a surge of satisfaction knowing you’re driving him wild.

“Good boys don’t complain,” you murmur against his skin, your hands still firmly planted on his hips.

Jaeyun swallows hard, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. “Jesus fuck, if you keep talking like that, I’m gonna bust,” he admits, his earlier resolve crumbling under the weight of your words. The way you call him a good boy, it’s so much better than anything his imagination could have conjured.

You smirk, leaning in closer until your face is mere inches from his, your breasts hovering just above his chest. The silk ribbon brushing against your own sensitive nipples sends a spark of pleasure through you, adding to the growing fire inside. “That’s another rule, actually,” you purr. “You can’t cum until I say so.”

“Wai-”

“No talking back, baby,” you interrupt, your hand sliding to the base of his neck. Your fingers tighten just enough to send a warning, your power over him radiating through the simple touch. “Do as you’re told.”

Jaeyun’s jaw tightens, his instinct to argue bubbling up, but the glint in your eyes and the sheer joy radiating from you makes him pause. He can see how much you’re revelling in the moment, how fully you’ve stepped into this role. So he yields, nodding.

“Okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with both love and resignation. “I promise.”

His heart flutters, a mix of disappointment and excitement swirling within him. He knows you’re going to make him earn it, make him work for every ounce of pleasure. And while the thought of being denied drives him crazy, he can’t help but feel giddy seeing you so confident and in control. You’re getting everything that you wrote about, and he is so, so happy to be able to give you this.

You smile, brushing your lips over his cheek in a featherlight kiss. “Good boy,” you whisper, the praise making his body shudder beneath you. “Now, let’s see how long you can keep that promise,” you tease, your voice laced with wicked delight.

Removing your hand from his throat, you trail down his body the pads of your fingers brushing lightly over his skin and tugging at the ribbons, making his body shudder. You drum your fingers against his stomach, missing his strained cock each time. The vibrations shoot straight through him and make his dick jump, reaching out for you.

When you finally make contact with his cock, you wrap your fingers around the head with care, gripping it like it’s a joystick and playing with it teasingly.

Jaeyun sucks in a sharp breath, his hips twitching at the contact, but he holds himself back, remembering your rules, or at least trying to. You reward his restraint with a soft kiss on his lips, brief but sweet, before pulling away to make better use of your mouth.

Sliding down his body, you take your time, letting your lips graze his skin, your breath warm and whispy. His abs contract under your kisses, and his whimpers grow louder with every inch you descend. When you’re finally face-to-face with his shaft, you pause, letting the anticipation build as you glance up at him. His wide, pleading eyes meet yours, his chest heaving with each shaky breath.

“Doing so well, baby,” you murmur, your voice soft and filled with pure bliss. He is so good at this, being submissive, whether he’s playing it up to make this more enjoyable for you, or he is actually falling into his own role with the same amount of ease as you did yours, you’re thankful.

Little do you know that Jaeyun is enjoying this much more than you are at this point.

Your tongue darts out, tracing a slow, wet line along the underside of his length, starting from the base and moving toward the tip. You pause to swirl your tongue around the head, savouring the way his body jolts at the contact. His groan is high-pitched, almost desperate, and it sends a thrill through you. He’s usually such a grunter, his moans low and primal, but now he’s almost like a puppy compared to a wolf.

“Please,” he breathes out, his voice barely above a whisper, but you don’t respond. Instead, you press your lips to his shaft, kissing your way back down to the base. You alternate between featherlight kisses and gentle nips, each one drawing a new sound from him - soft gasps, low groans, and broken moans, you name it, he’s making it.

Your hands hold his hips firmly in place, ensuring he can’t move as your mouth continues its torment. You flatten your tongue against him, licking up his length in long, languid strokes, relishing in every beautiful inch. The contrast between the warmth of your mouth and the cool air in the room has him trembling beneath you. With each attempt to wiggle, the pink ribbons tighten around him, adding a new layer of lust to his loins.

“Y-you’re killing me,” Jaeyun stammers, his voice trembling as his head falls back against the pillow.

You hum against him, the vibration making him shudder. “Oh, we’re just getting started,” you purr, your lips brushing against the sensitive skin just below the head.

Finally, you take him into your mouth and begin sucking gently, your cheeks hollowing as you create the perfect amount of pressure. His hands clutch the sheets, his knuckles white as he fights the urge to reach for you. All he wants to do is grab your hair and make you go faster or to start throat fucking you until he’s pouring you a glass of his seed.

But you move slowly, taking your time, pulling off with a soft pop before returning to tease him again, your tongue flicking over the slit. Your tongue dips into him, swirling around and reaching as deep as you can. Jaeyun has never in his life experienced something so tortuous yet delicious. Somehow, you’re giving him what he wants and it still isn’t enough, like you know how to just get him on the edge before stepping back.

Jaeyun’s whimpers grow louder, his voice breaking as he pleads. His body is taut, every muscle straining as he struggles to keep his promise. “Please… please…” he chokes out, tears pricking the corners of his eyes from the sheer intensity of your teasing.

You glance up, your lips curling into a wicked smile as you meet his gaze. “Not yet, baby,” you whisper, your voice dripping with authority. “Be patient for me.”

His groan is a mix of frustration and submission, and you can’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the sight of him - completely undone, trembling, and at your mercy. He gets even more worked up once you take him completely in your mouth, his head kissing your tonsils before you quickly take it all away again. The only thing he can do is kick his legs each time your warm mouth is replaced with the cold air of the room.

To you, it’s adorable; his scrunched up, frustrated face with his bottom lip slightly pouting. You can tell he’s seconds away from picking you up and taking over, letting you have it rough and hard for being cruel like this. And as much as that sounds delightful, this is also far too much fun.

So you do it again, and again, and again, until he finally cries out, pleading incoherently. “Just let me cum, “ he mewls out, “Fuck, I’m being so good.” The end of his sentence comes with a high-pitched groan as you grab onto his balls, gripping them just enough that it’s more pleasurable than painful.

“You are being so good,” you begin, giving him a false sense of hope. “But that was before you demanded I let you cum.” And just like that, his face falls, all that hope vanishing into thin air and the grip you have on his balls tightens, transforming that euphoric pleasure into agony.

He arches off the bed and his hands grip the sheets, somehow still restraining himself from touching you. Jaeyun feels a mix of everything. Desperation from the need to cum, distress from the pressure you’re putting on his sensitive balls, and pride that you’re having a great time. Sure, it’s sort of at his expense, but he would be lying if he didn’t admit that underneath the bruising balls and edging he wasn’t having the time of his life.

No wonder you love it so much when he's in control, being at his command. It’s fun and exciting, albeit painful.

You loosen your grip, checking his face to assess how he’s feeling. Crushing his balls wasn’t a fantasy, and you don’t take great pleasure in causing him pain, but something inside you assured your worried mind that he would love it. And by the smile on his face and heaving in his ribbon-clad chest, you were right.

He is loving this.

“Now, do you want to ask again nicely?” You offer him the chance to beg, massaging his balls to ease the ache you caused which only riles him up more, his length leaping once with sheer joy.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he breathes, a pleased smile overtaking the remnants of his earlier wince. The pain is a fading memory now, overshadowed by the way your touch sends sparks through him. “Please...may I cum?”

You release a soft hum, dragging your nails lightly over his sensitive sacks, eliciting a shudder that courses through his entire body. His chest quivers, the ribbon tied around it a cruelly beautiful contrast to his helplessness. You take your time, savouring the way his voice falters in its eagerness, the desperate edge that sounds so foreign from his lips.

“Hmm,” you murmur, pretending to consider it as your hand trails upward, fingers ghosting over the base of his length. “I don’t know if you’ve earned it yet.”

His hips jerk, entirely involuntary, as though his body seeks for the permission his lips have lost confidence to beg for. That insatiable hunger in his eyes, those pupils blown wide with need and reverence - it’s intoxicating. He’s utterly yours.

“Please,” he tries again, voice cracking ever so slightly. It’s almost pitiful, but there’s no denying the thrill it sends through you. “I need to, baby. Please let me cum.”

The power in your hands feels like fire and ice, a balance of control and chaos. You grip his chin lightly, tilting his face up to meet your gaze. “Do you?” you ask softly, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

He swallows hard, the muscles in his throat bobbing against your touch. “More than anything,” he says hoarsely, his breath coming in shallow, shaky waves. “I’ll do whatever you want, anything - just let me have this.”

Your lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. “Good boy,” you praise, leaning in just enough for your breath to ghost over his lips, teasing but not quite giving him what he craves. “But I’ll decide when you’ve earned it. And you’ll wait, won’t you?”

The groan that escapes him is somewhere between frustration and ecstasy, his head falling back as he nods fervently, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. “Okay. I’ll be patient.”

You cup his cheek and bring his eyes back to yours. “Thank you, Jaeyun. For all of this.” It’s a thank you for being good, but it’s also a thank you for letting you explore this. You don’t know why he decided to do this today or how he figured your desires out, but you’re thankful for it all.

Not many men would let you crush their balls and respond with a smile.

The tenderness of your touch flows through to your boyfriend’s chest, injecting his heart with a newfound gem of love. He has a treasure chest of gold and rubies in there just for you, overflowing with gratitude and adoration. Each time you share a quiet moment like this, the treasure gets more grand, taking up much-deserved space. He carries around your love, heavy and cherished.

“Anything for you, baby,” he murmurs, smiling softly at you, the light in his eyes conveying his love. “Can I get permission to kiss you, or?”

You giggle, nodding your head. “Yes, you can kiss me.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head with exaggerated disappointment. “No. And now, thanks to your cheek, you’ve just earned yourself an even longer wait.”

And with that, Jaeyun captures your lips in his, gentle yet passionate, tentative but meaningful. His hand cups your cheek, guiding your head into a tilt as you nuzzle against his touch. Despite the roles you’re both playing there’s a window of just being Y/N and Jaeyun. It’s perfect.

"Since you're feeling generous...can I cum?" He wiggles his brows, chancing his arm that you'll say yes even though just two minutes ago you told him no.

“Oh, c’mon-”

“Shh!” you cut him off sharply, your voice laced with authority and amusement. “Or I’ll make it so you don’t cum at all.”

That shuts him up instantly. His mouth clamps shut, and his eyes widen in alarm, the threat of complete denial hitting him harder than any punishment ever could. It’s bad enough being forced to wait now, but the thought of being denied entirely? He won’t dare risk it. So, gulping down his protests, he nods meekly, slipping back into the role of the obedient sub you’ve trained him to be.

Satisfied with his compliance, you sit up, your movements unhurried as you slide your underwear down your legs. The air in the room seems to grow hotter, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that sends a rush of heat through your bloodstream. Your lips glisten under the dim light, catching his attention like a lighthouse beyond the dark sea. He stares, his throat working as he swallows hard, his desire palpable in the way his chest heaves and his hands twitch with restraint.

In an ideal world - his ideal world - he’d be between your legs right this fucking second, his face buried between your thighs, tasting you, worshipping you until you unravel on his tongue over and over again. He’d wear your pleasure like a mask, his face shining with evidence of your release, and he’d be the happiest man alive - happier than he already is if you can believe it.

But that’s not the reality - not yet. So he waits, muscles straining with anticipation, his cock twitching in sync with his heartbeat, almost wagging like the eager tail of a dog desperate to please. Even his body seems to understand the privilege of what’s coming next - the sheer joy of being buried deep inside you.

What does recognise deep down though, is the torment that comes with that privilege. Because let's face it, you’re not about to make it easy for him. Not tonight. And he’s prepared…he thinks.

Your hand strokes him again, leisurely dragging along his length, each slow pump a deliberate tease that pulls a low groan from deep within his chest. His restraint is paper-thin, and you know it. You line him up at your entrance, loving the way he shudders beneath you, every nerve ending alight with anticipation and greed.

As you begin to sink down onto him, the air between you shifts, its intensity has both of you gasping. The stretch is magical, the way he fills you inch by inch sending a flood of pleasure up your spine. A shared moan escapes, his deep and guttural, yours breathy and high-pitched, the perfect harmony of bodies fitting together, just like always.

Your hands rest on his stomach, fingers splayed over the soft ribbon binding him, and you watch as his head tips back, exposing the vulnerable column of his throat. His lips part in a silent cry, and his eyes flutter shut, overwhelmed by the way your warmth grips him, tight and unrelenting.

But you don’t rush. No, that would be too easy. He’s already so close you know that if you gave him what he wanted, you’d be full of his seed in a minute. Instead, you move torturously slowly, lifting your hips just enough to keep him on the edge before sinking back down, your walls fluttering around him in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

“Patience,” you giggle, a sly smile playing on your lips as you roll your hips just slightly, just enough to make his cock twitch inside you. “You’re supposed to be my good boy, remember?”

His hands fist the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back. “I am,” he rasps, his voice strained, desperate. “I am your good boy. Please...Y/N, I am begging you to let me move.”

But you’re not ready to give him that freedom - not yet. So you ride him at your own pace, hips moving in a soft figure eight. It’s so pretty to see him hold back. Honestly, half of this night hasn’t even been you doing anything drastic - bar the ball squeezing and nipple tweaking - it’s all about what he can’t do. He can’t touch you, pound into you the way he does oh so well. He can’t even buck up his hips right now. That is what’s making this so torturous for him.

And so, so fun for you.

Bouncing once, you slam back onto him and he strains his entire body, the way your cervix batters down on the tip of his cock makes him see stars and his balls tighten, but you don’t budge after that, letting the feeling wash away and his orgasm sits at the base of his cock, never quite able to reach the top.

Jaeyun can last hours in bed, there have been instances where he has made you cum at least four times before he even cums once. No matter how long he is inside you, he can hold out to prolong your pleasure. But because he’s relinquished all control to you, that also means holding back is proving a lot harder.

You see him shaking, breathing out like he’s trying to calm himself down. His eyes prick with tears of desperation and you take a moment to soak in the sight of him beneath you. His flushed face and sweaty skin show you just how much he’s going through even if he can’t vocalise it. You would feel bad if his cock wasn’t jumping for joy inside of you.

Lifting your hips once more, you sit so only the tip of his cock is inside of you, and you squeeze your pelvis, eliciting a sweet moan from his lips and etching a pleased smile on your face. You grip the ribbons and admire how they dance under his contracting, needy body.

“They’re so pretty, Jaeyun,” you mutter, sinking back down fully onto his length. “So pretty.”

“They look good, right?” he asks with a smirk, though there is still a need for his slight insecurity to be soothed. Since this is new territory for him, he needs to be reassured that he has done well.

You nod, rolling your hips in a slow, deliberate motion that makes him groan. His cock presses against your walls perfectly, thick and unyielding, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. Your head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you let the sensation consume you. “They look amazing, baby,” you whisper, voice heavy with satisfaction. “So pretty on you.”

Gripping the ribbons like reins, you take control, moving your body with a confidence that leaves him breathless. Your hips gyrate in a rhythm that drives him wild, his hands clutching at the sheets as his body arches beneath you. Every motion, every sound, is a testament to how completely he’s yours.

Jaeyun’s breath is uneven as he struggles to hold himself together, the way you’re clutching onto the ribbons as you bounce your pussy on his shaft, expertly squeezing at both the bottom and top of his member. You can see it in his eyes - the need, the desperation - but he doesn’t move, his hands still gripping the sheets like they’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

“Please,” he finally whispers, whining out as his hands hover in the air.

You tilt your head, slowing your movements just enough to make him squirm beneath you. “Please, what, baby?” you ask softly, though your tone carries a teasing edge.

His fingers dance in the air, begging to latch onto something - or someone - and his gaze locks onto yours, raw and pleading. “Can I touch you?” he asks with such vulnerability in his voice it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. “Please…I need to.”

You pause for a moment, letting his words hang between you as your hands trail down the ribbons, pulling them tight enough just enough to remind him who’s in control. His body tenses beneath you, his cock throbbing inside you as he waits for your response.

Leaning down, you bring your lips close to his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You have been really good for me, Jaeyun,” you murmur, your voice low and sickeningly sweet it’s hard to believe it’s honest. “So good. Maybe you do deserve a reward, huh?”

His breath hitches, hope flickering in his eyes as he nods eagerly. “I’ve been the best,” he huffs out through an excited laugh. “I’ve done everything you ask. Let me touch you? Please, baby.”

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw before straightening up again. Releasing the ribbons from your grip, you reach for his hands, guiding them slowly toward your hips. His fingers tremble as they make contact with your skin, and the moment he feels you beneath his touch, a soft, reverent sigh escapes his lips. He hadn’t realised how much he enjoyed holding you until right now.

He will never take it for granted again.

“There,” you say softly, watching the way his hands explore you like he so casually always does, but this one feels more meaningful. “You can touch me anywhere.”

And he does. His hands slide over your hips, gripping you firmly but gently as if grounding himself in the reality of you. The warmth of his palms sends shivers down your spine, and his touch grows bolder with each passing second, his desperation translating into reverence and care. He makes his way to your tits, his eyes rolling back as he squeezes your breasts, flicking your nipples much like you had done to yourself earlier.

“You feel so perfect,” he breathes, “You always do.”

You watch him, a mix of affection and desire swirling in your chest as you lean into his touch. “So do you, baby” you whisper, the words coaxing a groan from his lips as his grip tightens slightly as he realises you’re talking about the way his cock moves inside of you.

With that, you bounce on his cock with purpose. This has been fun, a lot of fun in fact, but you just want to feel him now. To just be with him and have sex. No more dom/sub, no more making him work for it.

Well…maybe there is one last thing you want to try before the night ends.

“Sit up for me, Jaeyun,” you command, and Jaeyun sits up as you instructed, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you closer. His chest presses against yours, the heat radiating between your bodies intensifying the moment. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as his breath comes out in short, ragged gasps. He doesn’t want to push it by kissing you

You tangle your fingers in his hair for a moment, letting him savour the closeness, before reaching for the ribbon tied across his chest. His body tenses slightly as he feels you undo the sloppy knot, but he doesn’t question it - to be honest, he’s too far gone, too consumed by you to do anything but follow your lead.

“You’re fucking perfect,” you murmur, the praise making him melt as you pull the ribbon free. The soft fabric slides against his skin and his eyes flicker up to meet yours, curiosity and desire swirling in their depths.

“What are you-” he starts, but his words are cut off as you loop the ribbon around his neck, pulling it by both ends just enough to make him gasp softly, the tightness cutting off his airwaves a fraction.

His lips part in surprise, his pupils blown wide as he stares at you. He expected a lot tonight, but somehow not you choking him with the ribbon he spent forever deciding upon. “You trust me, don’t you, Jaeyun?” you ask, your voice soft but commanding, your hands wrapping the ends of the ribbon between your fingers to secure your grip.

“Yes,” he breathes without hesitation, his voice barely above a whisper. “Always.”

A satisfied smile curves your lips as you tighten the ribbon just a little more, enough to make him feel strain but not enough to hurt. His hands grip your waist instinctively, his cock twitching inside you as the new sensation sends a bolt of lust through him.

Choking kink. Check.

“Good,” you reply, rolling your hips against him, the friction drawing a low moan from his throat. “Then let me take care of you.”

He nods, his head tilting back slightly as you tug on the ribbon, guiding his movements. His hands move restlessly over your body, gripping and caressing as though he can’t get enough of you.

“You look so good like this,” you whisper, your voice dripping with approval. “So pretty, Jaeyun. All mine.”

The praise makes him groan, his hips bucking up into you as he loses himself in the moment. The combination of your control and the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies leaves him utterly at your mercy, his breaths coming in shallow, needy gasps.

With every tightening of the ribbon and every bounce or roll of your hips, the tension between you builds, the air around you electric. The room is filled with the sound of your bodies moving together, his broken moans blending with your breathy sighs. Every pull of the ribbon tightens the coil of pleasure in both of you, and every bounce of your hips pushes you closer to the edge.

Jaeyun is infatuated with the way you’re choking him, how his head is getting lighter, and how you’re tightening it more and more the closer you are to coming undone. He’s choked you before, lots of times, and you always tell him you love it. But only now is he understanding why. It feels like he’s high, having an outerbody experience while still being attuned to everything around him.

It’s fucking unreal.

“I’m close, Jaeyun,” you whine, bouncing faster but rhythm faltering as you chase your release. This is where your doting boyfriend can lend a helping hand. Despite his own hazed state, he grabs your ass and guides you manually up and down his length in a rhythm he knows you love.

It’s frantic and raw, and you can feel the coil inside begin to burn. You kiss his temple and wrap your arms around his neck, the ribbon long forgotten and only the thought of cumming on your mind. Jaeyun doesn’t mind, he’s ready to pop any second so he welcomes the blood rushing back to his head so he can get you both there.

“Let go for me, princess. You did so well,” he whispers into your chest, your heart receiving the words like a love letter. “I’m cumming too, yeah?” he asks one more bought of permission to which you grant, crying out a definite ‘yes’.

Your head falls back, a cry escaping your throat as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless. Your walls pulse around him, simulating both of you in the most delicious way possible. “Fuck! Jaeyun, please cum inside me.”

The words push him over the edge. With a loud, primal moan, his body tenses beneath you, his hips jerking up as he spills inside you, the heat of his release adding an extra level of pleasure through you. The way he clings to you, the sound of your name falling from his lips, how his hands claw at your hips as if to ground him, it’s all beautiful and makes you want to cry.

For a moment, neither of you moves and the only sound in the room is your sputtered breaths and the pounding of your synced hearts. Slowly, you loosen your arms around him, the ribbon slightly tightening around him again.

Jaeyun’s hands trail up your back, holding you close as his forehead rests against yours. His eyes flutter open, and the love and adoration in his gaze make your heart leap and stomach do cartwheels.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, his voice hoarse but still soft enough to portray his awe. “That was so much fun.”

A giggle escapes your lips as you play with the ribbon. “You think I did okay?”

“Perfect.” He says it so matter-of-factly that any apprehension disappears instantly. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and kisses your nose. “We’re definitely doing this again.”

You pull him in for a kiss, exciting his cock once again, much to your happiness. “I’m glad you had fun, baby…” you trail off pulling back slightly, “How did you know I wanted to try that?”

Jaeyun blushes and contemplates whether to tell you the truth or not. But since he can’t keep anything from you, he decides to just be honest. He reaches for the diary he not-so-subtly hid under the bed. “I snooped”

“Sim Jaeyun!” You slap his chest and snatch the precious notebook from his grasp, inspecting it. “This is private!” Your ears turn bright red and your body shakes in slight shame. You know what you wrote in this, some of it innocent, some of it not so much, but every single word meant.

“Sorry! I couldn’t help it. It was from the year we met, I wanted to know what kind of impression I made.” He bites your earlobe suggestively, “Apparently it was a good one.”

You roll your eyes and flick through it, landing on the page decorated in ribbons, instantly heating up. If only you could go back to 2021 Y/N and tell her that her fantasy would become reality, even better than she imagined.

“Yknow, I’m surprised you took inspiration from this page and not the one with the swing…”

“What swing?” Jaeyun nabs the book back and skim-reads the pages he missed upon first glance, making you laugh loudly.

This won’t be the end of your diary adventures. Not by a long shot.

You wonder if you can get him to consider Page 89…pegging.

_____

#enhypen smut #enha smut #jake smut #sim jaeyun smut #aj writes #enha x reader #enhypen x reader

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heartsbyani · 3 months ago

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⋆˙⟡ ⌇ 방찬 : UNDERNEATH THE SHEETS ── aftercare with your boyfriend, after a particularly long and rough night.

𓍯 idolbf!chan ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ）0.8k ── ༯ HEADCANON, fluff, humour, care, req. by anon! . ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY . /ᐠ.ꞈ.ᐟ\ྀིྀི

yani's note ˖˙ ᰋ okay, this may have come as a surprise since i don't post any mdni content.. however it is mostly unexplicit ! thank you to my lovely anon for requesting this, hope i have written it to your expectations! (╥﹏╥). though i may have had a hard time writing this lmao. comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ! happy reading <3

“are you sure you’re okay?” his voice was soft, but there was a slight tremor in it — a clear indication of how worried he was.

the room was steeped in a comforting silence, the only sound being the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rustle of soft sheets as his girlfriend shifted slightly. the glow from the moonlight filtered through the blinds, casting silvery streaks over the rumpled bed. chan, who was nuzzled in the curve of her neck, looked up slightly to see her flushed-and-fucked-out face, breath heavy. his eyes, apologetic and half lidded, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

her hair was a mess, cheeks flushed, but her eyes sparkled with affection. she reached out, cupping his jaw in her hand, thumb brushing against his cheekbone. “i told you, i'm as good as ever, chris.”

he frowned, clearly unconvinced, his brows furrowing in that adorable way that always made her heart flip, as he lifted himself slightly to look at her better. “was i too rough? did i hurt you? can you walk? you don't need to lie i can delay my schedule tomorrow-”

"what? no, no!" y/n frowned, and leaned in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “chan, baby, i literally told you it was amazing, like, five times already. you didn’t hurt me, at all. i told you i was okay with it and i really am.”

“if anything, i’m kinda hoping for a repeat performance sometime soon.”

that made him flush a deep crimson, his ears turning a shade of pink that she absolutely adored. he groaned, burying his face in his hands, muttering, “oh my god, you’re gonna kill me.”

"really, can't believe that you're all shy now considering how you were practically cho-"

he groaned, falling back down and nuzzling into her neck as his hands covered his crimson ears, while the girl under him only laughed.

she tugs his hands away so she could see his whole face. “i mean it, though. you were incredible.” her fingers traced gentle patterns along his forearm, grounding him. “but,” she added with a small smile, “i do love seeing this side of you, too. all soft and caring and…” she paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “a little overdramatic.”

“overdramatic?” he echoed, feigning offense, though the corners of his lips twitched upward. “i’m just making sure you’re okay! is that a crime?”

“not at all,” she said, leaning in to kiss him softly. her lips lingered against his for a moment before she pulled back, resting her forehead against his. “but seriously, chan. i’m okay. i feel… happy. loved. really, really good.”

he let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing a little. “okay,” he murmured. “if you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.” she smiled, tucking herself closer to him, her head resting against his chest. his heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, a soothing rhythm that made her feel completely at ease.

chan wrapped his arms around her, pulling her even closer. his fingers trailed up and down her back in slow, gentle strokes, the gesture both comforting and intimate. “you’re amazing, you know that?” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i don’t deserve you.”

y/n tilted her head to look up at him, her expression softening. “don’t say that,” she murmured, reaching up to brush her fingers through his curls. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, chris. i’d choose you a thousand times over.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, emotion flickering in his dark eyes. “you’re too good to me.”

“i think it’s the other way around,” she teased, poking his chest lightly. “you’re literally the sweetest, most thoughtful person ever. and, not to mention, ridiculously handsome.”

he chuckled, his cheeks tinting pink again. “you’re biased.”

“maybe a little,” she admitted with a grin. “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”

they lay there for a while, wrapped up in each other. chan’s hands never stopped moving—one smoothing over her hair, the other tracing invisible shapes along her spine. y/n felt herself relaxing further, her body melting into his warmth.

“do you want some water?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the comfortable silence. “or hot cocoa to make up? i can get you something if you’re hungry.”

she laughed softly, shaking her head. “i’m good, just tired. just wanna stay here with you.”

his lips curved into a small smile as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. “okay. but if you need anything, you tell me, yeah?”

“i will,” she promised, nuzzling closer. “you’re such a worrier.”

“can you blame me?” he said, his tone light but sincere. “i just… i care about you. so much.”

her heart swelled at his words, and she tilted her head to capture his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. when she pulled back, she rested her hand against his cheek, her thumb brushing over his skin. “i care about you, too. more than you know.”

they stayed like that, tangled up in each other, sharing soft whispers and quiet laughter. chan’s initial worry had melted away, replaced by a deep sense of contentment. he held her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and to him, she was.

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d3arapril · 4 months ago

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PUSH 2 START | p.b

pushin' on my buttons with no hesitation, gas me up give me motivation

pairing: paige bueckers x f!reader word count: 5.4k words of pure filth sorry not sorry warnings/tags: sexual content. VACATION PAIGE!!!, they get drunk and nasty FRRR, dom!paige, oral, fingering, strap usage (yes i finally wrote it), squirting, doggy, spanking, overstim - bro i could literally go on and on, just read it lol. (reminder - don't like it? don't read it)‼️ ᡣ𐭩 this idea quite literally came to me in a dream. this wasn't supposed to be full on smut but obviously i got carried away & ended up writing quite possibly the dirtiest thing i've ever written.... i listened to tyla's album on repeat whilst writing hence the random title. enjoy :D as always feedback & reblogs are appreciated x

“Think I have heatstroke.”

You roll your eyes from where you’re sat on the balcony, distracted from the half eaten packet of lays sat in your lap. You shift in your seat to crane your neck around to look at Paige through the glass doors, sun beaming down onto your skin.

“We were outside for like, half an hour.”

The Greek sun was no joke. You'd both decided to treat yourselves to a last minute vacation, frantically booking one of the nicest apartments you could both find a week prior to departure. Seven days on a Greek island was your idea of heaven and Paige had willingly agreed, claiming she needed some sun.

However, what she wasn't prepared for was the sun being the hottest thing she'd ever felt in her 23 years of being alive– her words.

The blonde groans from where she’s splayed out on the bed. The crisp, white sheets are a nice contrast against her newly tanned skin, body wrapped in a white fluffy towel.

You stand up from the chair, grimacing at the sting of your legs unsticking from the plastic. The packet of lays gets abandoned on the small table before you and your toes burn against the hot tile as you hop back into the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you.

Paige doesn't flinch when she hears you come in, cheek smooshed against the sheets. She hums in the back of her throat when you scratch at her scalp as you pass her, her hair still slightly damp from the shower.

"You gonna make it to dinner, champ?"

A breath of a laugh leaves Paige as she pushes herself up with another groan, towel loosely tucked around her body. You're busy sorting through the selection of dresses you'd packed when you feel her wrap her arms around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder.

Her head juts towards the white dress hanging up in the closet. "Wear that one."

It's a fairly simple dress- plain white with a racer style neckline and ruffled skirt. You take it off the rail and hold it up in front of you, head tilting as you study it. "Really? It's kind of boring."

"Nah," Paige's hands rub up and down your sides, nose nudging against your cheek. "S'my favourite." She punctuates her sentence with a kiss to your jaw. It's seemingly innocent, but you know the girl well enough by now.

You slip out of her grip, dress in hand, before she can try anything, grabbing a pair of white strappy heels as you go.

"I'm gonna get ready in the bathroom," you're heading towards said room before she can stop you. "Reservation is at 8!"

You're sat on the couch, impatiently tapping a heel against the flooring. You tap against your phone screen to check the time for what felt like the hundredth time– you only had five minutes to get to the restaurant. Somehow, Paige always managed to take so long to get ready. You'd tried to get into the bedroom to see what was taking her so long but the door was locked so you were forced to sit and wait for her like her chauffeur.

You're scrolling through TikTok when you hear the lock click on the door. You huff, grabbing your bag from beside you. Standing up, you run a hand down your dress to flatten out any creases and when you look up Paige is stood in the doorway.

She's got her hair slicked back in her classic bun and she's wearing a white shirt with a simple black crop top underneath. The shorts she's wearing are black, too and she's wearing the Nike's you bought for her. She stands in silence, hands tucked into her pockets as she watches you take her all in.

You slink towards her, heels clicking against the tiles. You're aware you're probably staring at her like she's a piece of meat but you can't find it in you to car when she looks this good, plus it's not like she would complain.

"You're late," you hum, pulling her in by the belt loops. "What took you so long?"

She shrugs, opting to not respond. Instead, her hands reach out to rub down your back. "You look..." She pauses, leaning back. Her eyes start from your heels, trailing up your legs. Her gaze pauses on your chest for a second before meeting your eyes. "Really fucking good."

The pink of her tongue darts out to wet her lips as she takes your hand and holds it above your head. "Twirl for me."

You do as she says, giddily spinning in a circle for her. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip as she watches you, the vanilla from your perfume hitting her like some sort of pheromone. You drive her insane.

"You like?"

"You know I like. We're matching."

Before you can respond, the sudden dread of missing your reservation hits you and you're kicked into gear, eyes widening as you cast a glance at your phone in your hand.

"Fuck, we're late!"

You pull Paige by the wrist as you frantically leave the apartment, locking the door behind you and walking as fast as you could in your heels to the restaurant.

Alcohol in Europe is different to the alcohol in America– it's somehow much, much stronger.

You'd had an amazing dinner, followed by some amazing cocktails. What was supposed to only be one or two turned into arguably too many and before you knew it you were both stumbling back to the apartment.

The front door is opened and shut again faster than you can blink and you're pressed against it before your brain can catch up with you. Your head spins a little when you tilt it up to give Paige access to your neck, dazed smile spreading across your lips.

"Mmmm," Paige all but moans against your skin, licking a stripe up your neck. "Tastes good."

"Might be the alcohol." the words leave you lazily, slurred. Paige pulls back to look at you, eyes glazed over.

"Nah, s'all you."

You pull her in with a hand gripping the back of her neck, lips slotting against hers. It's hot, messy- her tongue slides against yours and you taste the alcohol on her breath. Ordinarily, you'd make a joke about her needing to brush her teeth but you're fully aware you're just as bad so you remain silent, just kiss her deeper and softly moan into her mouth.

When you part from each other you're both panting, string of spit separating the two of you. You lick your lips and it breaks, clinging to your bottom lip. Paige's thumb reaches up to wipe it away, pad of her thumb pressing against you. She just stares at you as she swipes the digit across slowly, smudging the remainder of your lip liner down your chin.

"So fucking fine," she murmurs, eyes trained on your lips. Your tongue darts out to lick at her thumb, smirk forming when she lets out a shaky breath. "You tryna kill me?"

"Maybe." you smirk at her, pushing at her shoulders until she stumbles back. You glide past her and head to the lounge, the blonde hot on your heels.

She catches you by the couch, arms caging you in from behind. You let her, of course. The cat and mouse game is usually fun but when you're this desperate, there are plenty other things you'd rather be doing.

"So many rooms to choose from," Paige whispers against the shell of your ear, "So many places to fuck you in."

Your knees almost give out and you're sure they would've if it wasn't for Paige holding you up, her chest pressed tight to your back.

"Could fuck you here," a flick of her head gestures to the couch.

Her hands find your chest, squeezing at your tits through the fabric of your dress. "Or on the counter, on the balcony."

You're abnormally quiet, nodding at whatever she says. She snickers, hands trailing down further until they reach the hem of your dress. Paige knows that when you're speechless, she's doing something right.

"You want that?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All of them."

She spins you around and you have to grab onto her to steady yourself. Her cheeks are all flushed and she's clearly just as drunk as you.

"Gonna let me?"

You feel like you're going to cry from how badly you want it.

You nod eagerly, gripping the fabric of her shirt. You want to rip it off of her, lick all over her tan lines and have your way with her but you let her have this one; you can tell she's in the mood to take control and you'd never be one to deny her of that.

She wrestles herself from your tight grip and flops down on the couch, legs spread and arms wide across the back cushions. You're still stood in your spot, hands now awkwardly by your sides as you wait for her to tell you what to do.

"Take it off."

You lean down to slip off your heels but she stops you with a cough.

"Keep 'em on, I meant your dress."

"But-"

"Off, c'mon."

You stand up straight again, gripping the hem of your dress and pulling it up and off your body. It's a bit of a struggle and you stumble around slightly but it eventually slides off of your head. It drops beside you and you're left in a simple matching white set.

Despite the alcohol coursing through your body, you still manage to feel shy under Paige's heavy gaze. She's still sat in the same position, eyes raking over your body.

"C'mere."

You toe towards her with careful steps, nothing but the sound of your heels clicking against the tile and both of your heavy breaths echoing throughout the room. You're standing between her legs, much like you were earlier, and she still doesn't move from her spot, fingers gripping at the cushions of the couch.

Paige’s gaze remains locked on yours, her lips curling into a smirk as she leans back further into the couch, making no move to close the distance between you. Her liquid confidence oozes with the weight of her stare and the longer she waits the more your heartbeat thuds in your ears.

“Closer." she murmurs, her voice low.

You inch forward until your shins hit the leather of the couch. You try to stop your hands from shaking, try to act like this is any other time you've been in this situation but there's something about having the entire space to yourself that makes this feel so different, so intense.

"Do you plan to do this all night, or?" your voice comes out quieter than you'd intended.

She lets out a laugh, arms reaching forward to pull you in by your hips. You fall into her lap, bracing yourself against her shoulders to soften the impact.

"I just like lookin' at you," Paige licks her lips, glossy eyes looking up at you. "So sexy, you know that?" Her left hand smooths up your torso, grips at the fat of your chest and squeezes.

You whimper pathetically at the contact, your hands moving from their spot on her shoulders to her hair. You mess with the hair ties and pull the bun free, fingers brushing through the blonde strands. Paige hisses when your nails scratch against her scalp, hips pushing upwards against your own.

Her right hand slides around your back and she pulls you down until your chests are pressed together. You kiss her, open mouthed and messy as your tongue laps at hers, grinding down against her. The rough metal of her zipper presses against you through the thin material of your underwear and you whimper against her mouth, eyebrows drawing together at the feeling.

Paige's left hand finds home on your ass, squeezing and guiding you to rock against her. You whimper into the kiss as she uses her hold on you to grind you down onto her harder, tongue pushing further into your mouth. You can feel the heat radiating off of her, can smell the scent of the shampoo she used in the shower this afternoon and taste the alcohol on her tongue. You're practically drunk on her let alone the alcohol, and she's definitely drunk on you, too.

You're so caught up in the moment you're not prepared for Paige to flip you around. You let out a small ah! as she does so, head spinning from the sudden movement. Your back is now against the cushions, leather sticking to your sweaty skin. The blonde slips down onto the tiles in front of you, now kneeling between your legs.

"Hold 'em." Paige's hands are at the backs of your knees, pushing them up until they're almost at your chest. The heels of your shoes knock together and it's a reminder that you're actually still wearing them. You do as she says, clammy hands gripped tight over hers. You watch with bated breath as she slips her hands from your grip, thumb coming to press against your clit through your panties. It's a soft touch but it's enough to make you gush again; what was once a thick white material now a glossy, sheer mess.

"Fuck," Paige breathes. She moves her thumb in small, gentle circles around the clothed area. Your head falls back against the cushion of the couch, mouth open in a silent moan. "This all for me?"

"Always," you murmur, licking your lips as you move your heavy head, eyes meeting hers. "It's yours."

"Yeah it is," Paige nods, her voice coming out strained. She moves to slide her hands up the backs of your thighs and hooks both thumbs into your panties, pulling them up and off your legs until they're hanging around your ankle, exposing your pussy. "So good." she purrs, leaning forward to press open mouthed kisses against you. You suck in a breath when her tongue laps up your slit, nails digging into the skin of your thighs.

She moves slowly at first, and for a moment you wonder if it's because of her own drunkenness, but the longer she goes on the more you're reminded of just how good she is at this. You feel like you're going to explode at the slightest touch, every stroke of her tongue against your clit sending shocks of pleasure through your entire body.

"Paige," you moan repeatedly, her name coming out like a prayer. She hums against you, hands pressing against the backs of your thighs to keep you spread open for her.

You gasp at the feeling of her warm, wet muscle pushing past your folds to languidly dip against your entrance. "Oh fuck, fuck- babe."

She's sloppy with it, a mixture of your juices and her spit dripping down between your ass and onto the couch. You'll scold her for doing this here tomorrow but right now it's your last concern.

Your toes curl when she shakes her head against you, tongue flicking against your clit. "Gonna make me cum," the words leave you as a sob, mouth hanging open. You feel the wetness between your thighs increase even more when you hear her moan, the vibrations shooting pleasure straight up your spine. "Feels so good."

Paige's fingers dig harder into the skin of your thighs as she continues to lap at you. She pushes her tongue into you again and then moves upwards, pressing sloppy kisses against your swollen clit.

"Yeah, right there, please-" you choke on your own words, the feeling of her nose brushing against your sensitive skin making you jolt. You can't stop the loud cry that leaves you as she sucks your clit back into her mouth, tongue massaging against it.

The room is spinning and your legs start to cramp from how hard your muscles are tensed, nails almost piercing into your skin when the chord in your stomach suddenly snaps. You're practically crying, eyes rolled back in your head when it hits you. Paige helps you ride it out, keeping you pressed to the couch whilst she drinks up your slick. You're trembling, stomach rippling from the intensity.

You expect Paige to pull away, lean up and give you a messy kiss like she normally would but instead she slides two fingers up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness on the tips before she's pushing them into you.

"Wait," you whimper, feet kicking in the air. "Babe, wait, I just- I'm-"

"You're good," she murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh as her fingers slowly pump in and out of you. "I got you, just relax."

You mewl, letting her have her way with you. She starts off slow, fingers curling up deep. The sound is obscene, with every flick of her fingers the wet sound fills the air but you feel no shame, if anything it just turns you on more.

Paige definitely feels you flood her fingers because she picks up the pace, thrusting her fingers deeper into you, curling them with each stroke. Your entire body is coated in sweat, droplets beading against your skin. Her other hand moves from its place on your thigh to spread you wider, opening you up to her even more.

It's all too much; the heat, the way you're spread open for her, the pressure building deep in your stomach. She adds a third finger and the stretch makes you sob, legs starting to shake in your grip.

"I can't," the words spill from you, incoherently. "Please, please I can't."

"Shhh," Paige coos, leaning down to kiss the back of your thigh. "You can, gonna make you cum again."

She curls her fingers and the tip of her middle finger brushes against that spot, her palm pressing down against your clit. The feeling is so intense and you can't do anything but whine, thighs shaking around her.

"So good to me," Paige breathes out, heart hammering in her chest. She watches the way your pussy clings to her fingers, the digits now glistening as she pulls them out of you before thrusting back in. "She loves me, hm?"

You nod feebly, tears slipping down your cheeks, head lolling against the cushions of the couch.

Paige is relentless, fucking her fingers into you with such force you can feel the pressure in your ass. Your legs are starting to burn and so are your hips and it feels like a balloon is being blown up in your stomach, pressure becoming harder to ignore with every pump of her fingers.

"M'gonna cum, fuck, Paige-"

You cum for the second time with a broken sob and you hear it before you feel it, the distant sound of a splash against the tiles below you followed by Paige's load groan. It hits you hard, legs quivering as you squirt around her fingers, the wetness coating the floor. She slips her fingers out quick enough for another gush to leave you, trickling down your ass and onto the leather.

She moans, watching it play out in front of her. It's the hottest thing she's ever seen, her fingers now rubbing against your clit in quick motions.

"Again, again."

"Fuck, I can't-"

"Again." she demands but the word leaves her like she's begging, voice a pitch higher.

It's embarrassing how fast the heat builds in your stomach again, and before you can stop it you're squirting all over again, pussy clenching against nothing as you cry out.

Paige leans down, tongue slipping between your folds to drink you up. You're sobbing, trying to get away from her but you can barely move.

"You're okay," Paige mumbles, soothing her hand down your quivering leg. "I got you, s'okay."

A moment passes, Paige's head resting against the back of your thigh as she strokes her soaked hand against the other. You drop your legs ungracefully, stretching your limbs and groaning when your hips and knees crack after being bent for so long.

"That sobered me up." you whisper, heavy eyelids threatening to close. "Did they put viagra in your drink?"

Paige stifles a laugh, her own knees cracking when she stands up. She holds out a hand you to help you up and you take it with a shaky one of your own. You grimace at the feeling of the wet leather sticking to your bare skin, standing up.

"You ruined the couch."

"Says the one who squirted like a fucking firehose." Paige's hand comes up to push the hair from her face, a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. "S'not my fault I do that to you."

You groan, pushing at her shoulder. "Shut up."

Paige laughs and drops her hands to your hips, walking you backwards towards the bedroom. You stumble a little, bambi-like legs struggling in your heels.

"Get on the bed."

You're pushed backwards onto the bed, bouncing slightly when you hit the sheets. Your chest is heaving, heart still thumping wildly in your chest. Paige is climbing over you, caging you in with her arms and legs. Her lips ghost the shell of your ear,

"Still gotta fuck you in here."

She ducks down and connects your lips, teeth knocking against yours as she does so. Her hips grind down against yours and your hands snake under the fabric of her shirt, pushing it off her shoulders. Paige pulls back to shrug it off of her and throw it blindly behind her, reaching back to pull her crop top off in one fluid movement. She's braless, tan lines from her bikini top prominent against her now tanned skin. The sight alone makes you moan.

You both shimmy up the bed, lips still connected, and when the back of your head hits the pillow Paige's lips are on your neck. You sigh, hand smoothing down her back. Her skin is damp and so is yours, the smell of sex filling the air.

"Please, babe," you whimper, fingers pulling at the waistband of her shorts. Paige hums, sitting up to push them down her legs and kick them off.

"Hmm," she murmurs, fingers sliding over your cheek, thumb resting against your bottom lip. You part your lips, tongue swiping out to lick the pad of her thumb. "You gonna do something for me?"

"Anything."

Wordlessly, Paige pulls off her boxers with practiced ease and begins crawling over you. Her hand rests against the headboard as she steadies herself, the other reaching down to cup her pussy. You lick your lips, eyes flickering between hers and her cunt.

"Please," the word is soft, leaving you breathlessly. "I wanna taste you, please."

"Yeah?" she tilts her head, the pad of her index finger sliding up and down her slit. You watch her gather her wetness and then bring it up to her clit, circling the bud. "Wanna make me cum?"

"Please, please." you grip at her thighs, nails digging into her skin. Paige moans at the feeling, her own hand now moving faster against herself. "Wanna make you feel good."

Paige's hand leaves her pussy and she hovers above you, holding onto the headboard. You lift your head and stick your tongue out, eager for her to sit on you. You whine when she hovers her pussy just above your mouth, tongue swiping out to lick against her folds.

"Fuck, yeah," Paige moans, head dropping forward. Her left hand grips the headboard whilst her right holds onto her pussy, spreading herself open for you. "Yeah, good girl."

The praise goes straight to your core and you moan, tongue darting out again. She's finally sat on your face and your head falls back against the pillow, licking at her cunt like a woman starved.

She starts grinding against your tongue, the slick sounds filling the air. You're making a mess of yourself, saliva dribbling down your chin as you lap at her, tongue dipping inside her.

"S'good," Paige pants, grip against the headboard tightening. "Yeah, like that-oh fuck."

Your tongue flicks against her clit, your thighs squeezing together as a you feel your pussy gush just from making her feel good. She's so warm and wet and tastes so good and you can't get enough, tongue lapping at her clit in quick, harsh motions.

"Keep- fuck- keep doing that," her head drops forward and her hips cant, her movements becoming sloppy as she chases her high. "Right there, yes-"

Her legs start shaking, the muscles quivering under your touch and her hand reaches down, smoothing against your hair. Her hips move erratically, chasing her orgasm.

"Oh fuck, m'gonna cum." she pants, a bead of sweat rolling down the valley of her breasts. "Keep- yeah, yeah-"

Paige cries out with a broken moan, her orgasm washing over her. She's shaking all over, groaning as you keep lapping at her clit. You drink her up, moaning against her pussy.

"Please," she begs, her voice high pitched. "Fuck, I can't."

She's cut off by her own sob, eyes rolling back in her head. The room is filled with her moans, the sound bouncing off the walls and mixing with the obscene sounds coming from where your mouth is.

Paige is squirming on top of you, the sensation of overstimulation sending waves of pleasure through her body. Two can play at that game, you think.

"So good to me," Paige manages to choke out between moans, teeth gritted. "My fucking girl, s'so good."

You're drunk off of her, her words of encouragement only spurring you on. You roll your tongue against her clit, nails pressing down harder into her skin. Paige fights against your grip, hips lifting up as she pants heavily, forehead pressed against the wall.

She shakily moves her hips backwards and away from your mouth, now sitting across your hips. You're breathing just as heavily, the room spinning around you. Your chest is heaving and your eyes are half lidded as you stare up at her, lips red and puffy.

"You're so hot," you mumble, eyes drifting across her chest. The words leaving you before you can even process them.

Paige snickers, running a hand through her hair. "I know."

"So fucking annoying."

"You love it."

And well, she's not wrong. You reach up, cupping her tits and giving them a firm squeeze. Her hands reach up to cover yours, leaning into your grip.

"You want it?"

It takes a moment for your brain to catch up and figure out what she's referring to but when she gestures down to her crotch with a nod of her head, the cogs turn into place.

Paige spots the excitement in your eyes because she sniggers, tongue kissing her teeth. "'Course you do."

She clambers off of you, slight wobble in her legs as she does so. The moonlight dances through the room and you can see the sweat beading against her back, muscles rippling when she digs through her suitcase.

When she turns back she's got the harness briefs dangling from her fingers, skin coloured dildo fisted in the other hand. She wiggles her eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes back at her, urging her to get on with it.

She stands at the end of the bed, slipping the boxers over her feet and up her legs. She fits the dildo into place, bottom lip pulled between her teeth in concentration when she fumbles slightly.

You watch her with bated breath, squeezing at your covered tits mindlessly.

"Keep that on," Paige mumbles, nodding towards your bra. She crawls onto the bed, stopping at your feet. "Turn over for me."

You flip over with a groan, using what little strength you had left to keep your chest flat to the mattress, ass high in the air. Just how you know she liked it.

She affirms your thoughts with a soft moan at the sight of you, moving further up the bed. You feel the plastic brush up against you and it makes your thighs twitch, ass jutting up higher for her touch.

Her hands smooth against your ass, squeezing at the fat of it when you back up against her again. "Someone's impatient."

"C'mon." you urge, shaking your ass just enough to get her to fold. It works, of course, because she moans again- deeper this time. She grips the base of the dildo and slides it between your folds, blunt head nudging your clit. You're still soaking wet, the plastic glistening before she's even put it in you.

"Damn," the word leaves Paige automatically, pupils blown out as she admires your mess. "Ask me nicely and I'll put it in."

You groan against the sheets, fits gripping the cotton tightly. "Please, Paigey."

The nickname gets you a harsh slap to the ass, the impact stinging your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth but the smirk grows across your lips despite it all.

"Fuck me Paigey, please."

"Shut the fuck up."

She slides in with one smooth motion, intrusion bringing your brows up to your hairline. It stings slightly but the familiar is welcomed, comforting almost.

"Gonna fuck you now," Paige's hands smooth down your back, coming to rest at the base of your spine. "Gonna make you fucking cry."

You strain your neck against the bed to get a peek at her and you're not sure you've ever seen her this wound up before- her eyes are wide, a red flush travelling across her chest and up to her cheeks. She's fucked.

Her hips draw back and then slam back into you, the sound of skin on skin deafening you. She's unforgiving, nails digging into your skin as she uses your hips as leverage to fuck into you. She's grunting with each thrust, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"Yeah, yeah-" you whine, eyes screwed shut as the blonde ruins you. You can just about hear how wet you are over the sound of her skin smacking against yours, the recognisable squelch of your pussy getting louder when she grants you with another slap to the ass. "You fuck me so go-ood."

"Yeah?" Paige breathes out, slapping your ass again. Her hand tingles from the force but she ignores it, slapping your other ass cheek with the same hand. "Whose pussy is this? Hm?"

You can barely respond, body jostling against the sheets.

"Is it mine, baby?"

You nod against the sheets, helpless.

Another slap.

"Tell me."

"It's yours!" you cry out, fingers practically ripping holes into the sheets. "Yoursyoursyours-"

"Fuck yeah it is."

She pistons in and out of you at an ungodly speed and it makes you dizzy- so dizzy you don't even feel your orgasm approaching until you're on the edge, threatening to tip over.

"Cumming!" is all you can let out, the word caught in your chest as your spine curls inwards, heels kicking up against your girlfriend. It hits you like a truck, legs spasming and arms stretching out against the sheets as you cream against Paige. You see spots in your vision, eyes crossing as the pleasure consumes you. You feel everything, and then all of a sudden- nothing.

"You good princess?"

You crack an eye open to see Paige laying beside you, propped up on an elbow. She's gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, hair now pulled up into a messy bun atop of her head.

"Did I die?"

She snickers, leaning across to press a kiss to your forehead. "I killed that pussy, maybe."

You release the sheets that's still gripped in your hand to shove the blonde back but she just sticks her tongue out at you, reaching behind her for a glass of water left on the bedside drawer.

"Drink some, you need it."

She holds it to your mouth and you chug it down, dry throat welcoming the fluid. "I seriously passed out?"

"Eh," Paige shrugs, rubbing down your back. "You were conscious, just about."

"Wow," you roll onto your front, ache between your thighs making itself evident. "You did a number on me."

"Same again tomorrow?"

Your palm smooshes against her face, pushing her away with a laugh.

"Your turn tomorrow, Bueckers."

#well this really is something!#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fluff #my writing #lowkey rushed the end because i just wanted to get this out lol #but enjoy nonetheless

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