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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 5 months ago

Text

Be still, my foolish heart.

Pairing/Au: Soft single dad!Joel Miller x Curvy f!reader, no outbreak

Words count: 8816 (I know, I’m sorry 💀)

Rating: +18, MDNI, NSFW

Summary: A meet cute at the clinic where you work leads to finding the best date you could ask for… our one and only Joel Miller.

Warnings: pov second person, no use of y/n, meet cute, a little bit of a slow burn, reader is curvy, has breasts and vagina and wears a dress, apart from that no other specific description is given, age gap (reader is 35, Joel is 46), Joel is a single dad and he is soft (what can I say, I’m a sucker for a soft Joel okay), reader doesn’t trust Joel immediately and she thinks he might be dangerous (he’s not, he’s cutest), Sarah is alive and well and she’s mentioned multiple times, mention of Tommy, Joel is a contractor, unprotected p in v (wrap it up IRL, folks!), pussy pronouns, mention of use of oral contraceptives (reader is on the pill), fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), dirty talks, elderly people being fragile and sick, slight mention of Joel’s prescriptions including antidepressant (game Joel took it so I put it in there), I know that prescribing medicine doesn't exactly work like that in America (not even in Italy for that matter) but allow me a poetic license (😂), reader has insecurities about her body, mention of bullying and previous toxic relationships that reader has been subjected to, internal reader’s voice inserts, pet names (pretty lady, good girl, honey, sunshine, baby, babe, angel), squirting (not specifically mentioned but still), Joel is feral and reader too.

I don't think I forgot anything but if I notice it I'll add it right away.

I made a mood board for the first time in my life, I know it's not great but I tried 💀 English is not my first language so please be gentle (I also have Covid at the moment… yeah, it’s 2024 and I caught it for the third time, lucky me), I hope there aren't too many mistakes, no beta so it's all my fault LOL, no proofreading. Title is an Hozier quote. Of course, because I love this man.

Oh sh*t, here’s what I was forgetting: the mirror scene is inspired by Polin (yep, it was a great scene ❤️) but I think I personalized and changed it enough to make it just Joel and reader's, at least I hope.

(Reader works in a clinic because I do this job so yes, she has this thing in common with me besides being curvy. Every time I write a curvy reader is so personal to me)

I might write something else about these two if you like, I really love this pairing and I hope I’m not the only one, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! Thanks to anyone who will read this 💐

Archive tags : @pedrostories

You are at your desk, absorbed in an email you are writing to a patient who is asking for prescriptions for medicines. The clinic is empty and quiet and this doesn’t happen often so you’re trying to keep up with emails and messages and phone calls that you have received in the last hour.

Suddenly the door opens and a man enters the clinic, at first you don't even look at him, you just say "Good morning" and continue typing.

He clears his throat and says “good morning” and stops in front of you, on the other side of the desk. He’s clearly waiting for you to shift your attention to him so you turn and look at him. For a moment you’re speechless. He’s a gorgeous man.

Tall and broad, dark hair slightly streaked with silver, strong aquiline nose, beard and mustache framing a pair of plump lips, perfectly designed jawline and neck.

Stunning.

You didn’t expect anyone like this ‘cause really, the doctor you work for has hundreds of elderly patients or families with children and you have never been interested in married men, you don’t even look at them but anyway, you never saw a single person that was attractive to you in this place before.

You smile politely as you ask “do you need anything?” and you want to sink into your seat because you don't even have makeup on and you're wearing the first things you found in the closet this morning. An old pair of jeans and a black top.

“Yes please, I need some prescriptions. I just changed doctor because my previous one is now retired. I always sent an email to his secretary but this is the first time I've asked for my prescriptions here so I thought I'd stop by in person especially since I was in the area. I’m working in the building next door”

Bingo.

That’s why you never saw him.

You quickly look at his hand on the desk for a ring and it’s not there.

His hands are gorgeous though, big strong working and experienced hands.

“Sure, can you tell me your name please?” you ask trying to keep your tone professional while being excited to know more about him.

“Joel Miller” he says and you find the way his tongue rolls up to pronounce the r at the end so delicious it’s almost embarrassing.

For a moment you're almost afraid he might hear your thoughts.

You turn back to the computer typing in his name and a moment later his medical records appear.

46 years old, born in late September, he lives in Austin. You look at his prescriptions and notice a reflux medication, another for high blood pressure, and an antidepressant.

Oh.

What happened to him?

“Well, Mister Miller, what do you need today?”

“You don’t have to call me Mister Miller, even if you’re younger than me I think?”

You look down in bewilderment, not expecting much familiarity from him since it’s the first time you’ve seen him but you answer anyway “Yes, actually. I’m 35”

“So you can call me Joel” he says with a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth and hopeful eyes of someone who asks not to make him feel old.

“Of course I can” you hurry to answer “So… Joel, what do you need today?”

He gives you a grateful look and replies, “I don’t remember what it’s called but… my medicine for high blood pressure.”

“Oh yes, this one” you nod and proceed to prepare it, “just a moment, Mr Miller… uhm I meant Joel, I need to get the doctor to sign it,” you tell him as the printer gurgles, spitting out the prescription paper.

You stand up from your chair, feeling your legs a little unsteady, and once you’re in front of him his height impresses you even more. He’s imposing, you’re a curvy girl and yet you feel so tiny in front of him.

You notice that he looks you up and down and seems pleased, his eyes reflecting an approval that makes you very satisfied.

You move quickly to the doctor's office, enter apologizing and have him sign the prescription. When you leave you find him standing in front of your desk waiting, he looks at you again and you notice a certain sparkle in his eyes.

"Here you go" you say and hand him the prescription.

You feel his fingers lightly brush yours and a shiver of pleasure runs down your spine.

“Thank you,” he smiles at you, “you are very kind.”

“No problem, have a good day,” and you approach the desk to sit down again. You see him hesitate for a moment, as if he wanted to add something.

“Do you need anything else?” You ask curiously and a part of you really hopes that he will ask you for your phone number or if you want to go get a drink after work.

“Oh no, no thanks, see you next time”

His gaze drops to the floor as he says this, as if he's embarrassed, which you like because it feels like you're not the only one in the room who's been pleasantly shaken up by this encounter.

He puts his hand on the door handle and turns once more, smiling shyly.

You smile back feeling a sense of tenderness so premature that you wonder if you're losing your mind.

You go back to work but all you think about is him, you want to know more.

You enter his name again in the search bar and reopen his folder. Joel Miller. You wonder who he really is and what he does but apart from his pathologies and his date of birth you don't find much else about him. His address is there but you certainly won't use it for unorthodox purposes such as accidentally ending up in his neighborhood, you would pass for a stalker as well as a very unprofessional secretary.

Nothing stops you from noticing that he lives in a very quiet residential neighborhood though.

Will he be married? There are men who do not wear a wedding ring so it might not be safe to rely only on the fact of not having seen it.

You hesitate a bit before doing so because you already feel awkward enough for someone you've only seen once but in the end you type his address in the search bar to see if other people who live with him in the same house appear, usually families tend to have the same doctor for convenience.

You hold your breath as you stare at the white screen waiting and after a few seconds a result appears.

Sarah Miller.

“There I knew it, he’s married” you think, huffing and shrugging, but then you look better and realize that this Sarah is 14 years old. “So… he has a daughter”

No one else showed up in the results so you assume he is not married but he may have been and then got divorced. Unless his wife chose another doctor but that seems very strange to you.

You contemplate trying to Google his name but then decide it's best to wait until you get home, you can't use the work computer for personal stuff.

You sigh and go back to your work, completing your search just a second before the doctor comes out and asks you if you have any urgent messages.

Today everything is strangely quiet though, even if you wasted time looking for information on Joel you finish all the work, not without thinking about him at least once an hour. You feel silly, you shouldn’t have any kind of thought about someone you don’t know and with whom you have only exchanged a few words, the fact that he seemed interested and that he was about to ask something while he was about to leave could also be false projections that you have made in your head. And yet…once home, after taking a shower and putting on clean pajamas, you throw yourself on the sofa nibbling on a sandwich and open your laptop.

You open Google and type his name and the first result that comes up is “Miller - construction company”

It could be him, now that you think about it he mentioned he was working on the building next door which is in fact under construction.

You scroll down to the bottom of the page where the owners are listed and you see two names, Joel and Tommy Miller. You assume that Tommy is his brother. You go back to the Google page for a moment and check if there are any namesakes but no one else in the city has the same name. And just like that, you know what he does.

You don’t think you can do anything with this information, you live in a new apartment and everything is in perfect working order so you just have to wait. Before leaving he said “see you next time”, so now you find yourself wondering when the next time will be. Probably in a month, when he will need a new prescription.

Such a long time. But maybe this will help you, you tell yourself. It's just a passing thing, you tell yourself. You can't be so foolish as to project your fantasies onto him. You decide that this is okay, you'll just get over it.

_____________________

After a week you almost got Joel out of your mind. You worked quietly, met the usual old people who came to the clinic to be examined, no sign of him. You'd be lying if you didn't think about it anymore but you stopped yourself from doing something foolish like contacting him for a fake construction job to try to meet him.

You are preparing some prescriptions when the doctor comes out of the office and asks if you could please take some medicine to the home of a very elderly patient. It is something you usually do not do but the caregiver cannot leave her alone and her son is away for work all week so she had no choice but asking you to do that. It will take up extra time because you will have to go to the pharmacy and then to her house, the doctor offers to pay you overtime but you know the lady and say that it is not a problem, you can do it without compensation.

Of course you can do that for Rose.

When she was better and could move around quite independently you often talked when she came to the clinic, she immediately took a liking to you and treated you like a niece, she would bring you gifts, vegetables from her garden, other times sweets cooked by her.

She is a dear lady, you are happy to be able to do her a favor.

At 5:00 you leave the office and head to the pharmacy, pick up her prescriptions, and get back in the car to drive to her neighborhood.

Rose lives in a nice street with many rather large houses, well-kept gardens and white picket fences.

You knock on the door and Georgia, the caregiver hired by Rose's family to assist her, opens it.

You already know her, she has accompanied Rose to the clinic many times but lately her health has worsened a lot and she can no longer leave the house.

“Hi, Georgia! I I brought Rose’s medicines”

“Hey! How long has it been since we saw each other? Come in!” She says with a big smile.

Georgia is a very sweet person and a great professional, she has taken great care of Rose all these years. She is a qualified nurse and the granddaughter of a long time friend of Rose. Georgia had moved to Texas from Arkansas to attend college and since then she had always lived at her grandmother's house, who lived a few miles from Rose's house.

She took the job because she loved her and when her grandmother passed away Rose was very close to her.

Georgia offers you a coffee and some chocolate cookies she has prepared, which you gladly accept.

You chat a little while Rose is resting and then when it's time to wake her up to take her evening medicine you accompany Georgia to her room to say goodbye to Rose.

She is lying motionless in a bed, now forced to ask Georgia for help with everything, she is almost 85 years old now and you are so sorry to see her like this. Until a few years ago she was an energetic, witty woman, with lots of hobbies, she loved reading, gardening, cooking and going to the movies. Now she was a ghost of herself. And the worst thing was probably that her mind was still working, so she realized what was happening to her and this made her even sadder and more helpless. Her body did not respond, while her mind understood everything.

She recognizes you right away and greets you so sweetly with her now faint voice. It breaks your heart to see her like this.

She asks you for a hug and you put your arms around her little shoulders, holding her gently. She's always been good to you, she doesn't deserve this.

You leave the room, wiping away a tear, without letting Rose see you, and say goodbye to Georgia, promising to come back and visit them soon.

You stand in the driveway feeling helpless for a moment, you would like to do so much more. Some patients have become like an extended family to you, you have known them for years and seeing some of them fold in on themselves, increasingly frail and elderly is so bad.

You look up and see a black pickup truck driving down the road. There’s a man in it and he looks familiar. He pulls into the driveway two houses down and gets out. And oh, shit.

It’s Joel.

Joel Miller.

He lives in the same neighborhood as Rose and you didn’t even registered that in your mind before.

You don't know what to do, whether to get in the car and drive away pretending nothing happened or take the opportunity and go say hello to him.

It seems silly to say hello to someone you've only seen once, no matter how attractive they are. You walk to your car, rummaging through your bag for your keys.

You're about to curse because never once do you find something in your bag, it doesn't even matter what it is. Big bag? You find nothing. Small bag? You find nothing either.

Your eyes move for a moment to the asphalt and you see two boots approaching, you look up again and you see two legs wrapped in dark jeans streaked with paint and of course to those legs is attached the rest of Joel Miller's wonderful body.

Your eyes widen and you watch him stop in front of you, beautiful as a God. Even more beautiful than the first time you saw him.

“Hi! I saw you across the street and I was pretty sure it was you. I almost made a fool of myself, but hey, I was right!”

You lose your words, it's as if they've slipped out of your brain and melted at your feet.

At least you solved a dilemma, he greeted you first.

“Hi” you say shyly.

This doesn't make you any less nervous, you were trying to sneak out of this neighborhood unnoticed and you could say that he ruined everything and you don't know him well enough to know whether to be grateful or keep running away pretending to be very busy.

He has a daughter, a respectable job, a brother, lives in a nice neighborhood, and seems to lead a regular life. Is that enough to trust these days? Probably not.

This dude can be anyone, a serial killer, a criminal, a drug dealer, a thief, whatever.

How do you know he doesn't sleep with a gun on his nightstand or keep dead bodies in his basement?

Trust no one, is something you learned from a very early age and you always stood by it, safety first.

Have you been wanting to see him again for a whole week? Yes.

Did you just realize that you know nothing and that you might be risking something? This too.

“Can I ask why you’re here?” He asks, running his hand through his curls in a way that drives you instantly wild.

God, why is he so gorgeous, this doesn’t help at all.

You can always run to Rose and call the police if he suggests something strange and you’re in the middle of the street in broad daylight so you decide to take the risk and say the truth

“I came to deliver medicines to a lady who lives here” you reply, acting like he doesn’t have any kind of effect on you.

“Oh, so this is something you do? I didn’t know that”

“No, not regularly. I actually did it because it’s Rose, you know. She’s an adorable old lady”

He nods as if he knows exactly what you're talking about and actually says, "Sure, Rose. I know her. She used to babysit my daughter many years ago."

Okay, those are some great credentials. So maybe you can trust Joel Miller? Isn't he a lunatic homicidal? Maybe not.

Obviously you pretend you don’t know anything about Sarah and ask, “Oh really? You have a daughter?” raising your voice in surprise for a better result.

“Yeah I do. She's 14 years old and she's already giving me a hard time, she’s so smart and responsible that she’s basically parenting me” he shrugs while a little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. You can see in his eyes how proud he is of her.

You giggle “well, she sounds so cool, I do love a tough girl.”

“Oh, she’s definitely your girl then”

You smile and think that after all, yes, Joel probably doesn't have any horrible skeletons in his closet.

And again he falls silent and looks uncertain and embarrassed, he lowers his eyes and then asks you, “You know, I’m going to be working in the building next to where you work for a little while longer, so I was wondering if you’d like to have a coffee with me sometime?”

It’s like every word is bouncing around in your head as you think about what to say. Would you like to get to know him better? The answer in the end is, “Yes, I would like to, thank you” you feel your face heat up as you say it.

Joel shifts his weight from one leg to the other as he looks at you, he seems nervous, excited but above all happy.

“I’m glad you accepted. So…what do you think about tomorrow?”

“Okay, I have lunch break from 12 to 2, is 1 okay for you?”

You see his face light up “sure that’s fine. See you tomorrow then”

For a moment he raises his arm as if he wants to come closer and touch you, but then he immediately lets it slide down his side.

Gentleman, you note in your head.

It is not yet the time for such confidence, but secretly you hope that it will come soon.

You say goodbye to him and get back in the car and you see him waving at you in the rearview mirror.

“God, Joel Miller, I already know you’re going to be a threat for me. In the best sense of the word.”

_________________________

In the weeks that follow, you and Joel share a lot of coffees. Every day he waits for you outside the clinic at 1:00 sharp, you go to the corner café and chat for an hour before returning to work. He tells you a lot of things about himself and his life which you adore listening about.

He also confides in you that he was in therapy and had to use antidepressants for a period of time, when Sarah's mother abandoned them. You completely understand.

And the more you talk to him the more you get convinced that he’s a great person, you don’t have any doubt about that.

He never fails to compliment you, on your clothes, on your hair, on your eyes, on your nail polish.

He laughingly admits that the compliment about the nail polish was Sarah’s suggestion. “Dad, she told me, girls like it when you notice details.”

You laugh out loud and nod. “She’s right. And you’re right, too, you have a very smart daughter.”

He shrugs “I know,” and then adds. “It’s been so long since I’ve dated anyone, I don’t even remember how to do it anymore.” You lean slightly across the table and whisper. “Well, I think you’re doing great.” And it’s true. You feel spoiled like a queen.

He gives you a mischievous smile “oh yeah?”

“Yes, definitely” And you want to kiss him right there, in that crowded café.

Yet a voice inside you still can’t understand how someone like him, who could have all the women he wants, is inviting you, a curvy girl.

You shouldn’t, but you still have those latent insecurities from when you were 15 and boys in your class made fun of you. Somewhere inside you there is still that fragile and wounded teenager who thinks it’s impossible that someone could truly love you. Or even just desire you.

And you hate it, because Joel has done nothing but show you how much he enjoys spending time with you. And his compliments have always sounded sincere, his eyes are, they send you a reassuring image, full of admiration. He seems truly interested in you.

You're still in this internal monologue where you curse yourself for being like this when he asks you, "Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?"

Oh. He did it. He took the next step.

With your heart pounding in your chest and your mouth unable to help but curl into a smile you answer “yes!” a little too loudly.

You put a hand over your mouth as he looks at you amused “well, I’m glad you’re so excited about the idea. Should I pick you up at 8?”

“Yes, that sounds perfect” you reply, quietly this time but with a little firecracker in your chest that keeps banging where your heart is.

You finish your coffee and go out and he asks for your address which he writes down on his phone. You try to say that there is no need for him to bother but he insists on picking you up.

“Do you like Italian food?”

“I love it”

“Good, see you tonight” and this time his hand wraps around your arm and squeezes lightly as he leans down to give you a kiss on the cheek.

You return to the clinic feeling like you're walking on clouds.

You come home after working as hard as you can while still feeling anxious and completely unsure of what to wear. You know you didn't do anything wrong and that's a relief because you certainly can't mess up your patients' medications.

You jump in the shower, mentally going over everything in your closet. You decide to exclude any black dress because no, simply no. It's a special day and you want to wear a color. Maybe the green dress? No, green doesn't suit you, you don't even know why you bought it. Maybe the red one? But that one is very low-cut and you've rarely felt good enough to wear it. Maybe the blue one? The blue one is low-cut, but not too low-cut, it hugs you in the right way, it doesn't highlight what you don't want. Yes, maybe it's the right choice.

You hum in the shower as you wash your hair, satisfied with your decision.

You come out feeling invincible. Joel Miller has asked you to dinner. It’s been years since anyone has asked you out. You didn’t like the ones who did, and God only knows how much you miss good sex. Someone who touches you just right. Someone who makes you sigh and whimper and feel alive in his arms.

Someone who kisses you and leaves you breathless and doesn't hesitate to make you feel simply amazing as he goes down between your thighs.

Joel seems to have all the makings and miraculously seems eager to give you exactly that.

You slip into the dress and look at yourself in the mirror. You like the image it reflects. To hell with those stupid kids who always gave you shit and made you feel horrible.

You're going out to dinner with Joel Miller tonight.

Joel fucking Miller who in the high school categorization is the equivalent of the football quarterback.

The High School Prom King.

God, that makes you feel so good.

He rings the doorbell at 8:00 sharp, just as you’ve finished putting on your favorite lipstick. You take a deep breath as you go to open the door, placing your hand on the handle, and mentally preparing yourself for what you’ll find on the other side.

Finally you open it and he’s perfect. He looks like a painting framed by your door.

You stifle a scream with all your strength and say “hello” to him in a high pitched voice.

Goddamn you.

He doesn't even seem to notice. “So, miss, are you ready?”

“Sure, thank you.”

You grab your bag from the hall table and walk out with him. He takes your hand as he walks you to his pick up truck, opens the door and helps you get in.

Once in the driver's seat he turns to you and says "you look incredible tonight"

And you're about to say that after all you could skip dinner, who cares, instead you could go to your room and fuck. But you decide to behave as well as him, this man has a daughter to take care of and it seems like he's not looking for a one night stand judging by how many coffees he's offered you and how much he's put in to get to know you, so much so that by the second time he could order for you with his eyes closed, so you just say “you too” with the biggest smile widening on your face.

And oh, it's so true. He left aside the flannel shirts and the worn jeans and with them he was already the most attractive man who had ever caught your eye.

He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a beige shirt that hugs his strong biceps. You can glimpse his soft tummy as he drives, the last button before his belt tightening in a delicious way, his meaty thighs wrapped in those jeans are mouth watering.

The work he does makes him muscular in all the right places.

The car stops in front of the restaurant and he opens the door for you again. He lets you enter the restaurant first, he addresses the waitress politely and they place you at the best table in the restaurant. You are impressed, he did all this for you.

The evening passes pleasantly, you talk a lot and chat about everything, by now there is a familiarity between you that you have built over the weeks, you feel safe and comfortable with him. Finally. After so many failed and wrong relationships you feel like you have found someone right. Joel is not ashamed of you, he doesn't try to change you, he doesn't comment on your weight, he is truly a breath of fresh air.

And you see the way he looks at you, enraptured. His eyes sparkle as he talks to you and listens to you. He listens to what you have to say and never makes inappropriate comments.

You both have a sense of humor and you like that, you manage not to take yourself too seriously and laugh together. Which is hot. Extremely hot. Every time you see that dimple on his cheek pop up, your knees buckle and your heart melts. He’s so adorable.

You also like the fact that he talks to you about Sarah, it makes you feel involved in his life, it seems like he doesn't try to keep you separate from it.

“Sarah is at a sleepover at one of her friends. So…would you like to stay over tonight?” he says it looking you straight in the eye and you already know what it means.

It’s the night.

The big night.

After all, you felt it and put on your favorite lingerie.

“Sure I want to,” you reply, taking his hand across the table and squeezing it. His hands big and strong…you can’t wait to feel them all over your body.

He insists on paying the bill despite your protests, you walk out of the restaurant and toward the truck when Joel grabs your waist and presses you against the door. He’s an inch from your lips, you can feel his warm breath on your skin.

“Can I kiss you?”

“What if I say no?” you tease him with a mischievous smile.

His body is completely on top of yours and the truth is that you can already feel your panties getting wet.

“I would quit, but it wouldn’t be easy so I hope you’ll reconsider”

You giggle “okay” and you feel his hands tighten on your hips.

He presses his lips against yours and it's a sloppy, needy kiss, urgent, all spit and tongue.

It leaves you breathless and you wonder what he will do in bed if this is the effect he has on you with just one kiss.

In fact you are touching each other really for the first time, in these weeks you have imagined many times his lips, their taste, their softness, their warmth. Now you know that he exceeds all your expectations.

He's calmer now, his lips fit perfectly between yours, he gently nibbles your lower lip and continues to lick inside your mouth.

He’s divine.

Utterly divine.

His hands run up and down your hips and he's about to lift your dress and grab your thigh when you stop him. “Joel…”

He looks at you with bated breath and eyes begging for mercy. “Yes, sweetie?”

“Not here…please, take me home” you whisper and he sighs “okay”

You don't even know how you managed to stop but you want your first time to be just for the two of you, you don't want to risk prying eyes or voices shouting obscene comments getting in the way.

You're already nervous enough that he'll see you naked for the first time.

He makes you get back in the pick up and gets into the driver's seat, while he fastens his seat belt you cast an eye at his crotch and you realize he’s semi-hard.

While he's driving, you put your hand on his thigh, because he has to know how much you want him.

You squeeze gently and hear him grunt “Babe…don’t do it, I won’t make it home.” and you giggle.

His low, raspy voice drives you crazy, and for a moment while you're stopped at the traffic light you consider sliding down your seat and straddling him but no, just no, wrecking his car on your first date wouldn't be the best way to end it.

You take a deep breath, leaving your hand quietly on his leg, but you want… oh you want so much to move it up and reach his bulge and stroke it over his pants.

When he pulls up in his driveway in the cab of his pickup truck there's an electricity between you that could power a small village, you feel it fluctuating in the air.

He quickly unbuckles his belt and leans over you to unbuckle yours, not without kissing you. “Let's go, pretty lady, I feel like I can’t wait a minute longer”

You get out and run to the door, he nervously searches for his keys in his pockets and opens it. You don't even have time to look around, it's the first time you enter his house but you only see it fleetingly because he takes your hand and immediately drag you to the bedroom.

There’s a chest of drawers in one corner and a wardrobe, both made of dark wood, probably made by him.

In the center of the room there is a large bed with a headboard of the same wood, the walls are a beautiful cerulean blue, there are three paintings hanging above the bed.

The bed has beige sheets and a light beige duvet with white stripes.

It’s a very manly cozy room, he makes you sit on the bed and you feel how comfortable it is, it's like him, warm and soft.

He starts undressing in front of you, he takes off his shirt and unbuttons his jeans without taking his eyes off you, he seems hypnotized by you.

You suddenly feel like there's an emptiness in the pit of your stomach, you wonder if you're ready to make yourself so vulnerable in front of him.

Oh fuck, where did this come from now? Why? You were so happy just a second ago.

It was easy in public places, you were able to use irony and your defense tactics.

Now there’s just the two of you and you wanted that, you insisted for that and yet you feel exposed now.

You know it's right, your insecurities right now aren't from Joel. Joel makes you feel safe.

It's you, it's just you.

Joel notices your hesitation, comes closer and caresses your face then he gently takes your chin and raises your gaze towards his

“Are you okay?”

“Yes” you reply in a small voice.

“If you don’t want to do it, that’s okay, darling.”

Your voice cracks a little as you reply “no, oh no, Joel I want it”

“So what’s wrong? Talk to me, you can trust me, you know?” He slips his hand into your hair and caresses you gently, looking you intensely in the eyes.

It's so stupid, all night you've felt hungry and lustful for him and now… you're afraid that seeing you naked he might think he made a mistake.

“I…” you try to say. You know that he at least deserves sincerity from you “I… I’m ashamed”

Joel's eyes widen and a completely confused expression appears on his face “about what?”

He really doesn't seem to understand and it makes you feel a little frustrated

“About my body, about the fact that I'm not thin, I have stretch marks and many other defects and you will see them” you say it all in one breath feeling silly.

“Oh babe…no. Listen to me carefully: you’re absolutely gorgeous. You don't have to be afraid to undress in front of me, I'm sure that whatever is under your clothes is wonderful and deserves to be worshipped. I really like you. I'm not saying this just because I want to have sex. You’re beautiful, honey”

You feel tears stinging your eyes and you fight them back with all your strength “you could have anyone you want”

“I want you. I want you if you let me” his voice is firm, his fingers caress your jaw until they reach your lips and brush them gently.

“Do you trust me?”

Sure, why shouldn’t I. He’s never given me a reason not to. you say to yourself.

“Yes” you whisper

“I want nothing more than to make you feel good and I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“I know”

“And you can always talk to me about anything, okay? I don’t want to make you regret this”

He is sincere. He is absolutely sincere and you can clearly see it in his big beautiful brown eyes.

“Okay” you smile

“And by the way…your curves make me absolutely feral” he gives you a mischievous smile.

“Yeah?” you say with a hint of surprise

“Sure. Would you let me prove it to you?” his hand is on your shoulder now and lingers on the strap of your dress.

“Yes, please Joel… yes”

Damn insecurities, they were about to make you lose the best man you've ever met.

And now you feel impatient again and want his hands everywhere.

Now you notice his broad chest, the freckles scattered across his skin, the happy trail of hair that ends up hidden by his jeans.

Now you can enjoy the view of his muscular shoulders and strong neck and you can't wait to taste his skin under your tongue.

His hands move slowly over you, he slides the straps of your dress and reveals your bra.

“Get up,” he says, “I want to show you something.”

You look at him in disbelief. “What?”

“Come with me” he takes your hand and makes you get out of bed.

He takes you to a full-length mirror in a corner of his room “Sarah made me buy this because she says I have to look at myself before I leave the house. She says I make terrible combinations when I get dressed. Sometimes I'm in a hurry and wear my shirt inside out or something like that." he says smiling and shaking his head.

You giggle and the confidential tone with which he speaks to you makes you feel special.

“Well I don't know if it's the mirror's merit but you did a good job tonight” you joke.

You are in front of the mirror and he is behind you “look at yourself”

You become serious again and observe yourself.

“Look how beautiful you are” he says in his deep and slightly hoarse voice“can I?” he asks placing his hands on the clasp of your bra. You nod.

He takes off your bra and drops it on the floor. You look at that woman in the mirror, you look at her skin and the roundness of her breasts and her hard nipples and then you look into his eyes and you see nothing but admiration “God, your breasts are amazing” you hear him say “can I touch them?” and you nod again “yes, please Joel”

He traces the outline with his fingers and then cups his hands and fills them with your tits.

You don't miss the moan of pleasure that he tries to stifle in his throat “they are so soft” he squeezes them delicately “mmm baby, they feel amazing in my hands”

He takes your nipples between his fingers and tugs on them slightly “and these? Look how sexy they are, I bet they would be delicious in my mouth”

You feel your skin heat up and your head spin, you squeeze your eyes shut at the sensation of his hands playing with yours hard buds and his words go straight to your cunt. He’s so good at this.

“Open your eyes, honey” he whispers in your ear “don't stop looking at yourself”

His hands leave your breasts and for a moment you want to take them and put them back there but you let him. He slides your dress down your hips, until you're left in your underwear in front of the mirror.

“You’re stunning” he punctuates every syllable on your skin making you tremble “absolutely gorgeous”

His hand slides over your stomach and your belly that always makes you feel insecure “Is that what worries you?” he asks as if he can read inside you “that you don't have a flat stomach? Honey, your tummy is amazing.”

He squeezes it and it seems incredible to you how delicate his big hands can be “It's full and delicious and sweet and I can't wait to bite into it”

You squirm, leaning over his broad chest “Oh my god” you moan

He caresses your hips with both hands, supporting you “and these… they feel welcoming and warm and mmm baby, so sensual. Can you see it? They fit my hands so perfectly”

You look at yourself and you've never felt this way.

Guided by his words you finally see yourself beautiful and desirable.

He slips his fingers under the edge of your panties “Can I?”

“Yes” you say in a breath

He slowly slides them off, revealing your pussy “Jesus.” He mutter “look at her. Look how perfect she is”

He just touches your mound and you feel hypnotized, his voice, his hands, the warmth of his body, it’s all too much.

“Oh baby… I love that you left that little strip of hair”

You can't hold back anymore and you whine “touch me Joel, I want more”

His voice vibrates on your soft skin again “Tell me what you want, in detail” He bites the spot where your neck meets your shoulder “I want to hear”

“Oh god… I want… I want your fingers inside me, stretching me just right” you babble “I want to feel full”

His fingers slide between your folds “God baby you’re soaking wet. It’s all for me?”

You squirm under his touch nodding repeatedly, you feel desperately needy and hungry.

“Yes. Please Joel”

“Please what, baby?” He ask maliciously

“Make me yours, make me all yours”

“Can you see how beautiful you are now?”

“Yes” you nod “yeah. Don’t make me wait any longer. I need you, Joel”

You can swear that right now you feel really beautiful and also the luckiest woman in the world.

“Oh, you're getting impatient now… I like that” he says in a hushed tone.

He's still behind you and holding you close, he's still wearing his jeans but you can feel his hard cock pressing against your ass.

You look small in his arms, he surrounds you completely.

He brings you back to the bed and makes you lie down, you are completely naked and yet you no longer feel ashamed and inadequate.

He takes off his jeans, remaining in a pair of black boxers.

At the sight of his erection poking out against the fabric you lick your lips in anticipation.

He lies on top of you, his eyes on yours, looking at you intently “You’re perfect, honey” and then his mouth crash into your neck, kissing and licking everything he can, he takes your skin between his lips sucking and biting like he was starving for you.

“Your skin is like velvet and you smell so good, fuck”

And you whimper and cry and clasp your hands on his shoulder digging your nails in them and you feel like you don’t need anything else in this life.

He lowers himself on your body, grazing at your skin with his lips, lingering for a while on your nipples and mumbling at how good they are.

“I love touching you with my mouth, tasting your curves against my lips” until he reaches your tummy giving sloppy kisses at it and then he bites it. His teeth are attentive and gentle but at the same time eager, like he wants to taste your whole being.

And then he come to your mound and traces your thin strip of hair with his tongue and you buck your hips and move one of your hands through his curls and you plead “more, Joel, please”

He grunts at you when you tug his hair and you look at him with the most miserable begging eyes you can pull out “You want it so bad, babe? Want me to eat you out?”

You mewl a yes and he smirk “want to come on my tongue?”

You nod again “yes”

He places himself between your thighs “God, she seems made for this. So sweet scented and pretty. I bet she tastes so good”

And in an instant he dives into your pussy and his nose bumps your clit as his tongue begins to lick you up and down, delving your folds and making your hips jerk.

Your legs are wrapped around his back and his hand is on your tummy holding you in place “god, you look so beautiful like that, my precious angel, all spread and ravenous for me” every word vibrates on your clit and make you moan loudly. It’s like a demon took possession of your body, an insatiable and aching demon that wants nothing but pleasure.

He nudges at your entrance with his tongue and you cry again for more “your fingers, Joel, please, give them to me”

He pushes two fingers inside your soaking wet hole, they enter just easily and he curls them up inside you reaching for your sweetest spot.

“fuck, yes” you howl “god they feel so good, they feel so fucking good, Joel”

“I know baby, I know, you’re taking them so perfectly”

He continues to swirl his tongue over your clit as he pump his fingers in and out of you, increasing the pace when you can’t hold your moans anymore and you’re so loud you almost fear his neighbors can hear you “God, Joel, I’m coming - I’m - coming ah- god you’re incr- ah” you’re totally babbling trying to get a complete sentence out of your mouth and you can’t, you just can’t because he’s too much and you never felt that good before.

“Soak my fingers, babe, soak my face, give it all to me”

Your pussy clench around his fingers and you feel breathless as your orgasm washes all over you, his dirty talk made you over the edge.

You whine his name as you come, again and again and he doesn’t stop lapping at you until you’re calm.

He lies down next to you, wrapping his arms around you, you bury your head in the crook of his neck and sigh, “Oh, Joel.”

His hand sits on your ass squeezing gently “Such a good girl for me. I can’t believe you almost called yourself out from this”

You playfully pinch one his nipples “don’t make a fool of me”

“I would never” he says, kissing your hair “I’m just saying that you’re too good to not be taken care of. Your body deserves to feel passion and lust and all of that”

“On that note… there’s something else I’d like to do” you look at him maliciously

“What, baby?”

“I would love to… uhm… fuck, I would love to give you head”

He tilt his head “excuse me miss? Watch your mouth!” You giggle hiding your face in his chest and he laugh, and then he goes serious and ask “You sure? You don’t have to do that if you don’t want to”

“Yeah, I know” and you raise your face to kiss the lovely bald patch in his beard and you move to his ear and you whisper “I really want that though”

“As you please, sunshine”

You cup his bulge in his boxer and stroke it gently over the fabric “someone else here needs to be taken care of too”

He grunts “yeah, baby, keep going like that”

“Actually… I can make it even better” and you move from his side getting on your knees on the bed and then sitting on your heels as you keep stroking him.

You lower his boxer and his cock spring free, he’s already hard as rock. You lick your lips “delicious” and he looks at you mischievously “I guess you can be naughtier than I thought, baby”

You smirk back at him, lowering yourself on his groin and kissing the tip of his cock, just the tip, gently as a feather.

You giggle and pull back as he bucks up his hips to your mouth “so impatient, aren’t you?”

“It’s just… I didn’t have anyone giving me head in a very long time”

You open your eyes wide “I don't believe it”

“I swear” he says in a lower hoarse tone “I didn’t… I had some one night stand here and there but nothing serious, you know, I needed to be focused on Sarah and my work. so everything was quick and meaningless”

You can’t imagine Joel having meaningless sex with anybody, he’s so respectful and attentive with you.

You raise an eyebrow. “Joel Miller, do you mean to make me believe that all the women in the neighborhood aren’t in love with you?”

“Oh Rose loves me for sure” and you laugh “but about the others… I don’t know, some of them tried a couple of times but I always rejected them. I told you, I didn’t have time for complications”

“Then why you’ve changed your mind now?”

“Sarah threatened to sign me up for Tinder if I didn't find someone. And then I met you”

You giggle “so you went out with me to be safe from Tinder”

“At first, maybe. But now you know that it's not just that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

What he just did speaks volumes about how much he likes you.

And you’re even more convinced now.

You lower your head and lick the tip again swirling your tongue around it and he moans.

You slide your tongue flat along his length and wrap your hand around the base. It's big, bigger than you expected but you don't feel intimidated.

“Oh baby, you’re so good to me, what have I done to deserve such a perfect girl?”

He gasps when you took all you can of his cock in your mouth, feeling his length sliding over your tongue and his musky taste invading your palate, you whine beginning to suck like you’re desperate, stroking the rest of it with your fingers.

It doesn’t take too much before you start feeling him throbbing between your lips, he’s right on the edge as you suck and lick and kiss him like the most delicious lollipop you’ve ever had.

He pants loudly bucking his hips “Baby I’m almost - AH- almost there”

You make his cock pop out of your mouth “finish inside me, then”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m on the pill” you nod straddling his crotch and positioning his cock at your entrance.

You slowly lower yourself feeling the tip force its way into your hole and you moan with every inch that pushes its way inside you.

You stay still for a moment feeling his cock fill you up completely.

He says nothing but he looks you in the eyes and the brown of his pupils has become incredibly dark.

Eventually you start moving on top of him, placing your hands on his chest, your pussy making lewd sounds and your tits bouncing, he takes them in his hands squeezing them as he sinks into you, deeper and deeper and harder and harder.

You’re basically riding him and you've never felt so wild and free, your insecurities just disappeared clouded by your pleasure.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so gorgeous like this, look at the way your hips move, it’s so fucking amazing”

You throw yourself onto his chest as you feel his seed paint your walls, you take his mouth with yours stifling his moans that echo inside you.

He slides a hand between you, searching for your clit, and his calloused fingers begin to move over it. You end the kiss to look into his eyes, “don’t stop” he whispers “come for me baby.”

Your head feels light and your vision blurs as you feel your orgasm building up from the depths of your tummy, your pussy clenching and squeezing his cock.

You gush all over him like never before, making a mess of his crotch and the sheets underneath, crying his name so hard.

You rest your head next to his, inhaling the smell of tobacco, wood and the sweat of his neck, and you laugh, you laugh joyfully, “God,” and he does the same, wrapping his arms around you and caressing your back “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, I'm sorry”

He holds you tighter “you don't have to be sorry, darling, it was wonderful”

“I made such a mess” you murmur

“So what? Nothing that laundry can’t fix. And I’m good at laundry, you know?”

He kisses your forehead and stroke your cheek “I haven't felt this good in ages”

“Yeah, me too” you kiss him wrapping one your leg around his.

You both stay quiet for a while, enjoying each other’s warmth, kissing every now and then suddenly it hits you and you say, “Do you know who we owe all this to?”

“No, I don’t honey, to whom?” he asks confused.

“Rose” you say “Think about it, if I hadn't brought her medicines that day we wouldn't be here now."

“That’s true. I think we should go visit her and bring her a nice present.”

“Yes. She will love the story of how we met.”

You kiss him again and think about what gift could match this. Probably none, because it's the best thing that's ever happened to you.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #fanfic #joel the last of us #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller x oc #joel miller au #joel miller one shot #joel miller fluff #the last of us hbo #joel miller comfort #joel miller x curvy reader #joel miller x f!reader

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ambrosialdesire · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request yandere porco x reader who doesn't take him seriously/ isn't afraid of him or being bratty or whatever so he transforms to scare her

hellion

18+ DARK CONTENT BELOW, MINORS + BLANK BLOGS DNI

pairing: s4 porco x fem!reader word count: 5.9k warnings + tags: general yandere and obsessive themes, unhealthy relationships, past + current human-trafficking/purchase mentions, forced feminization/infantilization, stockholm syndrome development, forced proximity, torture/violence mentions (choking, starvation, drowning, tying up), drugging (sedation), prey & predator vibes, kinda psychological horror?, humiliation, slight praise, degradation, slight gaslighting, kinda mindbreaky, all characters are 18+ synopsis: you were an impulse purchase that he never thought he'd make before, and although he doesn't regret it, he's having a difficult time trying to soothe your feisty spirit. who knew that all it took was one transformation and a chase you'll never forget? a/n: i'm gonna be so fr idk how to write bratty characters LOL i rarely read bratty readers in general so i'm really free-balling this 💀 kinda simple and to the point compared to my other fics, esp since i've never wrote for porco before so this is like testing the waters and most likely SUPER ooc. it's also more of a psychological fic since i'm not in the mood of writing complete nsfw haha but i hope you enjoyed this anon! sorry it also took so long to be done but then took me like three days to make and edit 😅 (i still think it's a little sloppy, esp the end BUT that's what anon questions are for so i can sorta explain and piece it together more lol) again, hope y'all enjoy!! note: please keep in mind of the tags above and do not proceed if triggering or uncomfortable, especially if you are a minor!! do not read my or any other writers' dark content if you are underaged. this is a fictional work and does not reflect irl morals, do not believe this is how a real romance works or functions.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.───

He hated when you got like this, putting up a constant nonsensical fight against him.

You'd be a perfect candidate to be his successor from the way you bite down into his skin when he tried to touch you, scratching up his face when he got too close, and always almost managing to slip through his grasp to dash towards the open basement door before he tugged the chain wrapped around your throat back towards him, watching you bare your teeth at him angrily. You were truly a wild animal, that's why he chose you in the first place.

Porco wanted to tame this wild spirit of yours, simply for the fact to see if he could.

Little progress was made, he made your purchase not long ago in the slums of Liberio, where the truly wicked and evil roamed to sell and purchase anything deemed illegal by the Marleyan government. As much as he refused to take these kinds of assignments, preferring to be back on the battlefield with Zeke and Pieck, Porco was already in deep waters for fighting with Reiner again. Not his fault that the Vice Captain's face was so punchable. Thus, here he was, being forced to shut one of the operations down that was said to involve a human-trafficking ring. Down he went alone in disguise, shuffling through the disgusting sweaty bodies of devil scum drooling over a piece of fresh meat on the stage.

He remembered got a good view of the bidding, eyeing each fearful chained-up person with boredom until you were pulled up. God, you really were the star of the stage. Two burly men had to tug your fighting body onto the crumbling wooden stage, a mixed sound of what could be a snarl and screech emerging through your cracked and bruised lips as you refused to move any further. You put up a good fight against the henchmen, the crowd jeering at the display of tug-o-war.

Once they managed to get you to the middle, the auctioneer started to ramble on about your pricing. Your hands may be wrapped in cloth and tied together, but the minute he neared you to show you off, you struck him with a mean uppercut, almost pouncing on him once he fell over before the two men held you back. Even then, you were thrashing around on your wounded feet, spitting out curses and howls at the fuckers beneath you, telling them that you'd hope they'd all burn and rot in hell.

He's the only one that snorted at that statement, feeling all eyes on him.

Porco really wasn't any different from those around him as he raised his hand up, offering over a thousand for the wild girl, more than what the other fucks around him could possibly afford. It won't make a dent in his bank account either because once he takes you home, the authorities would've already been called to the place. He gets to keep his money and you, while Marley gets rid of more scum; a two in one deal. You glared down at him, a burning fire settling deep within the darks of your pupils as he grinned back in return.

You were going to be a fun little purchase, that he's sure of.

He didn't really want to, but considering that you were a snappy little thing, you had to be down in the basement of his home until he managed to get your temper under control. The chain was long enough for you to reach the bathroom down there from the bed, but not long enough to reach the door. Once you managed to slightly calm down, realizing that your new "owner" was unfazed by your act as he leaned against the wall, you cautiously settled on the bed. You were still tense, unsure of what his intentions are.

"You got a name?" Porco started, finally breaking the silence as he crossed over his arms.

"You have my papers, don't you?" Your eyes squinted at him, the raspy retort coming quick out your mouth. He did, but he didn't bother looking at them just yet.

He scoffed, pushing himself off the wall, slowly stepping closer to you. "Snarky one, aren'tcha? Just tryna be a little civil here."

"Civility? Don't make me laugh. Buddy, you're the one that bought me. I think we both know that any sort of civility you had has been long gone the moment you raised your stinkin' fucking hand in the auction and brought me down here." If your temper wasn't enough indication of a need of reformation, your mouth definitely was.

"I'm surprised you even lasted that long in the slums with that tongue and attitude of yours, most would've been turned into chopped meat without even a second thought." You were about to say something back before he slammed his hand into your face, pushing your head into the bed and prying your mouth open with his fingers. A gurgle of a scream erupted out of your throat as you struggled to push him off you, but no dice.

"But I'm not like most. Me? I could crush your skull whenever I want, maybe slowly pull each of your limbs apart so you'll feel each tendon and ligament rip away from your sorry torso." Porco pushed harder until you got the message, silencing yourself as your face ached and throbbed from the pressure, yet your eyes still held that same vindictiveness from the auction that never seemed to quite be quenched. Your jaw abruptly closed around his fingers, a pained hiss slipping out of his lips as the pearly whites grinded into his skin.

He's going to relish seeing that light die from you, when you finally realize that he's the sole reason of your living, that you should've been grateful from the start that he's the one that bought you instead of the beer-gut ridden trash that wasted away in the slums.

Porco finally removed his hand out of your mouth, drool and teeth indentations staining his fingers. Light steam was coming off of them, the superficial wounds closing up. He knew you caught that, eyes focused on his hand.

"Now, get some rest. Training begins tomorrow."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

When he said training, he meant torture.

That's what you thought as you experienced every debilitating and humiliating ritual he forced onto you every day. You eventually learned his name because of someone saying it upstairs — God you wished that the floors above were as soundproof as the basement's walls— Porco, but you called him 'piggy' sometimes, despite him trying to train you into saying sir. Simple, but it got him irritated real fast.

Porco was a strange man, you knew he was definitely not like the other men you've came across in your imprisoned life. Every wound you made on his person, no matter how deep you curled your nails into him or bite down as hard as you possibly could, he was left unblemished. Not even a fading scar or lasting indent, it was as if you've never injured him in the first place.

He bled, the taste of iron familiar on your tastebuds, but it really was like nothing occurred after a few minutes. You knew that he healed fast too, that weird steam came out of the wounds right after you inflicted it from what you could see with the lantern light, but you don't know why it did. Were you so out of touch from the outside for so long that new medical advancements were made?

He also disappeared for short periods of time, leaving you occasionally starving if he didn't leave enough food beforehand and surprisingly bored; he was really your only company nowadays, so it was quite frustrating to come to the conclusion that you'd even miss the bastard despite the shit he's made you go through. Once Porco came back though, he'd be a little nicer to you but that would last for roughly a week once you gotten sick of his company again.

He only sedated you when he needed your complete compliance or when he deemed you too much, your head rolling around weakly as he undresses and bathes you with him in the tub, the heightened sensation of calloused hands brushing against every inch of your skin. You may be out of it, but every other sensation was magnified. It was the only peace the two of you got with each other, even if you weren't a truly willing participant.

Porco was also quiet when it came to this activity, the steam and heat of the tub creating a slight flush on his tanned cheeks as he leaned back against the porcelain. His normally gelled-back blond hair would be damp and falling over his face, expression lax. You thought he was on the completely lankier side before since you rarely see him without the green coat, but no, he was quite muscular despite being pretty slender.

It made sense, he's lifted and thrown you like you weighed absolutely nothing, holding you down without much struggle, and letting you exhaust yourself while he looked completely normal.

He seemed disinterested in each other's nudity, though you did notice the first few times when he started the bathing routine that he took in every little detail of your body, eyes wandering more than usual. It's not like you could've stopped him and he never touched you sexually, only touching your privates to clean those areas. You've accidentally let out a quietly hitched breath here and there when he brushed those digits of his in-between your pussy, your drugged mind struggling to comprehend the feeling. You believed that he never noticed during those mishaps, not bothered in the slightest during it but whenever he got out of the tub first, it was pretty obvious he'd be partially aroused.

You wouldn't say that you were completely innocent in the act of staring at the other either, you've spotted his cock more than a few times and were slightly internally glad that he never took it for a spin against you. He must be a show-er more than a grower (if he was any lengthier hard, you might be in trouble), but he was notably bigger than the other disgusting men you've came across. Thank god for that, at least. It was finally nice looking at a man that wasn't built like a water buffalo in denial of balding and having the smallest dick around.

As time passed by, you feel like you confirmed your suspicions that he never really was interested in using you for any sexual needs, he was more into seeing how much it would take for you to break. Maybe he's done this to others to get his rocks off, but you'd never give into the sick man's perversions.

One thing that was prominent you've noticed while in his care was that he rarely made you do anything by yourself. He's the one that fed you with you on his lap, clothed you in stupidly feminine outfits from the start of the day to the night, bathed you alongside him. He cleaned and dressed any wounds you inflicted on yourself, but left surface scratches and bruises alone. Porco was in complete control and if you didn't let him take the reins, that's when the punishments rolled in.

Balancing books on your head as you stood on your tiptoes, if any of them fell or if you went back on your heels, he'd hit the back of your calves hard with a riding crop and restart the entire thing. Forcing your head over a bucket of freezing cold water, asking you difficult questions with no right answers to them, and pushing you down into it when you said anything that he didn't want to hear. He choked you out and left you intentionally starved for days when you refused to eat what he made, tied up and blindfolded in a tight closet with no indication of how long time had passed because you didn't want to wear what he chose, anything to ensure that you've learned your lesson.

You didn't, of course you never did. Whenever he asked if you had enough, you only just laughed at him and spat at his face, the punishments only ending once he got tired of it. Your stubborn attitude was the only thing keeping you sane in this world of yours.

No matter how much you were forced to endure endless embarrassment and shame, you'll never grovel or beg for mercy, not even shedding a tear for the agonizing pain you felt as you laid on the scratchy mattress every night. And besides, he wasn't the only one who tried and he most certainly would be the last once you figured out how to get out of here.

You felt a jab to your stomach, abruptly waking you from your short rest. The lights weren't even turned on, but even you knew that the next horrid day has just begun, a flashlight blinding you next.

"Morning sweetheart, you know what time it is? It's 3 in the morning, nice and early for our next session. Are you going to be good and let me put your outfit on?" The nicknames only started a few weeks ago, just because you were being obedient and compliant to his demands. It's to make you feel nice, to think that's what you should be doing to get on his good side.

Fuck, he's really insane.

Obviously since you were completely exhausted, you might as well let him take control again until you regained more strength. You nodded slowly, rubbing your eyes as he finally moved the light off of your eyes. He murmured something of a praise, stroking your head gently before going upstairs to retrieve the outfit. You sat there in silence, partially nodding off until you heard his footsteps near the door, body slightly stiffening.

You may not be outwardly afraid of him, but unconsciously, he made you become unintentionally afraid of the new fucked up punishments that he created. At a certain point in this life, it was undeniable not be terrified of something unexpected.

"A friend recommended this new place for women clothes since she noticed I've been in a good mood lately." Porco pushed the door open, a light pink babydoll dress in his hands. "Ain't it nice? Might be better than all the other ones I've put you in, the seamstress really has outdone herself, don't you think sweetie?"

Everything about it looked too short, ruffles and lace making most of the skirt and the sleeves overtly puffy. He may think he's putting you into something cute, but it was obviously something uncomfortable to wear. It's intentionally supposed to make you tick, you knew it was.

"It's..." You started, thinking about how to go around this without sounding offensive. "Pink."

He frowned, obviously expecting more from you but simply shook his head. Alright, that was a somewhat valid response.

"Still tired huh? Yes, most of your clothes are pink, but this one," He placed the dress next to you, along with the undergarments and shoes. "This one is for a special occasion."

Special occasion? A year must've already passed by since he purchased you, it wouldn't be all that surprising if he was celebrating that. You lifted your arms up and let him remove your nightgown, leaving you only in your underwear. Porco removed the dress from the hanger, turning towards you and pulling the dress over your head and arms, organizing it properly over your body.

Definitely too small now that you were wearing it, the bands around the arms making it feel like you were gonna lose circulation on them and your breasts nearly spilling out of the top of the dress, no matter how much he was adjusting it. The skirt was also way too revealing, just barely covering your panties but he soon tugged those off, putting on an even more scantily clad pair. He brushed out your hair, taking a few pieces and attaching a bow with it behind your head. The shoes were just simply white flats, the only part of the outfit that you had no problem with.

"There. Such a beautiful girl, wouldn't you agree?"

He cooed as he stood you up and dragged you to the bathroom, pulling off the drape that covered the mirror. You weren't allowed to use the mirror, that was what he said as one of the rules way back then. You didn't know why he asked that of you, but you've never seen yourself in years anyways, the details of your appearance foggy in each glimpse of a reflecting surface. The basement was dark too, the only sources of light being the flashlight or lanterns that Porco brings down here to see you. But this?

This was the first time you truly felt horrified at anything, bruises of varying colors littering around your skin, most prominently around your neck. You looked sickly, a pale complexion covering your skin, and bone-dead tired, eyebags weighing under your lower eyelids heavily. The only thing that looked decent on you was your brushed out hair and dress, despite how it squeezed at your almost feeble body.

"What... what did you do to me?" Your hands went over your face, feeling your very soul crumple into itself.

Porco snorted, his hand wrapping around your jaw and forcing you to look at the reflection. "Nothing. This is you, all you. The only thing I've done is the bruises but everything else is your fault."

You pushed him back, his body hitting the wooden door with a thud. Tears were starting to well up in your eyes since the first time in forever as you balled your fists at your side. You started wailing, curses slipping through your lips.

"Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!"

"Y/N—" His tone was becoming angry, a warning.

Porco never said your name before.

You took off one of the flats and quickly threw it hard at the mirror, multiple fragments shattering off the wall. You grabbed the biggest piece that landed on the ground, feeling the palm of your hand cut open, warm blood spilling down your fingertips. Without a second thought, you lunged at your captor. Porco was stronger as he stopped you midway of your attack, but his hands slipped from the grip he had on your bloody hands and wrists, it was almost unnoticeable but not to you.

With the little strength you had left, you gave it your all, letting out a wrathful shriek as you jabbed the piece into his stomach, twisting it in as deeply as you could.

The world fell silent as you watched his blood seep through his shirt.

This was the first time you've looked into his eyes in the light and this close in general, the hazel color showing nothing but displeasure. You heaved slowly, taking in shaky breaths through your nose. Slowly, you released the shard and backed away from his still-standing body, the chain connected to you rattling along on the stony ground with your movements. Your eyes were still locked onto him, impatiently waiting for him to collapse so you can take the key out of his dying cold body.

Yet, that didn't happen.

"You're fucking pathetic, stupid even." Porco's hand reached for the mirror shard embedded in his gut, pulling it out with a slight hiss, as if it was nothing but a splinter. "If only, just only, you remembered that I can heal from any wound that your dumbass places on me, we wouldn't have this issue but I guess I gave your slow little brain one too many hits."

The steam was coming off of him again as he threw the bloody shard pack into the broken pile, your teeth baring at him.

"What the hell are you? Some kind of monster?" He laughed, pushing his hair back with blood, the red mixing in with the dark blond.

"Worse," Porco charged at you with inhumane speed, grabbing your throat and lifting you up in the air with one hand, your hands clawing at his forearm as black spots began to form in your vision. "I'm one of the worst monsters of them all. A Titan."

‘•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•’

You awoke to find yourself in a forest.

Originally, you thought you died. It's been years since you've last seen the outside, even felt the wind's breeze go against your face and feel the rising sun's rays warm up your skin. Yet, as you opened your eyes, you reached out to the grass, feeling the smooth blades brush up against your fingers, you knew you were still alive.

Sitting up, you slowly took in the surrounding environment. Did Porco abandon you because he thought you were dead? A giddy feeling rose up from within, excited about the possibility of finally, finally having the freedom that you've desired for so long. You wobbly stood up, realizing that you were still in the outfit he made you wear, now stained with dried blood. Ugh, at least he should've had the decency to put you back in rags or something before dumping your 'corpse'.

How far were you from the nearest civilization? You'd be lucky if you managed to come across one before either dying of dehydration or starvation, hoping you'd run into an Eldian internment zone rather than a major Marleyan city. Maybe even dying here in the wilderness would be a better death than being around people again, considering that all of them would just disappoint you once more.

There was a sound of grass crunching, small branches breaking from behind you as footsteps drew closer.

"Awake aren't we?" Fuck. You turned around, seeing him standing back at a distance, still wearing his bloody clothes.

"I wish I wasn't now that I know you're here piggy. Goddamnit, why didn't you just fall over and die when I stabbed you?" You grumbled the last half, tugging at the bottom of the skirt dejectedly. From afar, you could imagine that his eyebrow was twitching in irritation once you mentioned the nickname.

"You're so annoying, you know that? It's been a year and no matter what I do to you, you still persist. Still convincing yourself that you can't be broken. You've really ran me dry to figure out what I can do to make that pretty little head internally pop, well, I got one more thing that'll make you finally listen to me." Porco fished out a small pocket knife out of his jacket, holding out his palm for you to see before he sliced the middle of it, blood immediately gushing out.

"I'll give you a 15 minute head start, timer starts when I transform. If you can hide or outrun me, I'll let you go free. No catches, you'll simply be free to walk among us again. But if I find and catch you," A cocky smile grew on his face, pointing the knife down at you. "You're going back to the fucking basement."

Wait. What does he mean by transform?

A flash of blinding lightning appeared abruptly right in front of you, gusts of wind nearly knocking you over. You covered your face to try and shield yourself from the sudden weather change onslaught, the sound of something crunching forming loud in your ears. The light finally faded away after a few minutes gone by, a huge shadow hovering over you instead. Hesitantly, you peered up out of your arms and gaped in horror as you stared at the monster in front of you.

Where Porco once stood, a bony skull-like faced Titan stood before you on all fours, a mane of familiar blonde hair wrapping around its head like a lion. It had a shorter and muscular stature than most Titans you've seen in books before your kidnapping, still towering over you but not as much as a normal Titan would. White-tipped claws on each of its digits were prominent on both its hands and feet, digging into the soft grassy ground beneath it.

What the fuck? What the fuck?! Your captor was the Jaw Titan user the entire time? Is that why he disappeared every now and then? Holy shit, you knew what the Jaw Titan user's dick looks like.

Its small hazel eyes glared down at you through the skull-like mask and you felt frozen to the spot, too afraid to make any move. Was he even still in control of himself in there? A guttural growl came out of it then, snapping you out of it.

Porco's waiting for you to move, he... he wants to chase you down. You have no other choice, and you'd rather put up another fight than to lay down belly-up.

You took off the other flat that still remained on your foot and threw it at the face of the creature, soon dashing as quickly as possible into the lush forest. In your head, you knew your outfit was going to be an immediate sore thumb in the surrounding greens and browns so you started to rip it apart as you ran, trying to scatter the pieces as much as you possibly could to throw off the trail. All you were left in was your thin underwear and even that was a risk to keep on, but it was all you had left to preserve the dignity you were barely holding onto.

As you ran, you felt every stray branch dig into your already-damaged skin and every breath you took in felt like needles in your nostrils. It was better than nothing, better than getting immediately caught by that thing. You don't know how much time has passed since you started running, all you knew was that you must've wasted precious seconds when you gawked at the atrocity of a Titan.

There was a whipping sound and then a thud, trees cracking and breaking behind you. The echo of birds flapping away from the source, cawing in alarm rang loudly in your ears and you felt immediate dread crawl up your spine. Your head start was up, he's coming.

You still ran as fast as you could despite the burning in your underused muscles, trying to find somewhere decent to hide in. An overgrowth, a bush, anything at this point. The sounds of whipping and cracking were getting closer and closer, panic bubbling in your stomach until you missed a step, falling over and knocking the wind out of yourself.

You cried out as quietly as possible once you got air back in your lungs, slowly sitting up with damp dirt clinging onto your bare skin. Taking a glance at the ledge you fell from, an idea popped in your mind. Underneath, it was wide enough to fit your body and deep enough for you to hide in, so long as you could cover yourself up with leaves and dirt. The sound of a gurgling snarl close by meant that you had little time to put your plan into action, and you grabbed the nearby shrubbery in handfuls, crawling into the space as fast as you could.

Laying on your back, your place the gathered materials on your body, completely covered from head to toe. You didn't know how it looked on the outside, but it had to be something that could be overlooked when he was searching around. It had to be because you were not going back, you refused to.

The close rumble of the ground almost had you scream out in terror, but you put your hands over your mouth as tightly as you could, your breaths shaky out of your nose. The thuds grew closer and closer, body jumping with each passing step, and then it stilled. You could slightly see what was going on outside, heart dropping when you immediately spotted him.

The Titan was just standing there, completely still besides his head moving around to scan the area. He must've figured out that your clothing trail had gone cold or that it was fake the entire time, but the one thing you knew was that he was quick to catch up either way. A hissing sound, almost sizzling, broke the silence. You watched as Porco's original body appear out of the creature's upper back, right near the neck.

What. The. Hell.

"You're here, aren't you?" His voice was calm, no hint of frustration or irritation. Porco had too much pride to proven wrong, he was confident that he tracked you in the right spot and you hate that he was correctly onto you.

"Your footsteps stopped not too far from here, y'know. You tryna hide now? Ran out of stamina? Twisted your ankle?"

You clenched your eyes tightly together, praying that he'll give up, that he won't find you. Never in your wretched life have prayed before, but you'd start worshipping the very god that'll manage to make sure that Porco won't look in this shallow cavern.

"Fine. If you don't want to reveal yourself—"

There was another sizzling sound, your eyes opening and seeing that he went back into the body, the creature beginning to move once more. The Titan then opened its bony maw, revealing a second pair of sharper teeth before an ear-bursting screech projected out of it, your hands shooting to your ears to try and cancel out the horrid sound. The scream kept wailing aloud like a never-ending storm alarm, your head beginning to ache. It felt like it was going to pop the longer it went on, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

Stop it, stop it, stop it!

Silence.

There was a slight ringing in your ears, but the screaming was gone and when you looked out of your hidey-hole, he was no longer standing there. Did he actually give up? You stayed still in the divot, head throbbing and heart pounding against your ribcage. You'll even wait until the next morning if it meant for any kind of confirmation that he was gone.

Suddenly, a claw came down on the roof of your cavern, the sharp tips just barely missing your body. It ripped away the dirt and rock, the sunlight blinding you as you sputtered out the pieces that came down on your face from the removal. Complete fear radiated off your expression as its unnerving mask stared down at your trembling form. You... lost.

You think that its — his — eyes were gleaming with glee right now, seeing how pitiful you looked, filthy and damaged. His hand reached for you, body stiffening as the fingers curled around you, picking you out of the hole carefully. The body of the Titan slumped down and the same hissing sound came out of the back of it, Porco reappearing once more.

"Took me only 30 minutes to find you, what a pathetic attempt of a run," He insulted, leaning his body over the fuzzy head of the creature. "Though, I will have to give props to you with the hiding. I wouldn't have spotted you until you moved in the hole from the scream."

"P-please... make this th... thing stop touching me." You almost whispered, the coldness and rough texture of its grip tight around your body. You hated that you were directly forced to stare at it, its eyes blank but still glaring deep within your soul.

"You afraid of it? You scared of the big bad Titan?" Porco taunted, his arm slightly moving and the grip tightening around you even more. You let out a strangled cry, your breathing becoming erratic. The feeling of the jagged bones jutting into your flesh like squeezing a balloon to its limit, the imagery of your organs bursting out of you, began to make you hysterical.

"Please s-st... stop! P-please! I... I don't want to die! Porco, I'm begging you! Get me out!" You started sobbing, blobs of tears flowing down your cheeks. You hated him, but you hated this monster even more. To think that they were truly real, a true threat to your fragile existence, it was something that was horrifyingly difficult to mentally process.

Porco gawked at your sniveling body, not even trying to wiggle out of the Jaw Titan's hand but still crying out to him for his help. This is what he wanted right? To see you completely give up, to depend on his assistance, to save you. He felt so fuzzy and dizzy on the feeling, almost like he drank too much liquor. Just to play around with you a little more, his hand twitched, causing the Titan to squeeze you even more.

You screamed out in fear once the pressure got even more narrow, your cries resonating louder within the deep forest as you simultaneously begged him to stop. Aw, how adorable but alright, he's had his fun for the day. This might've gotten the message across, let's see how long it'll last or else he'll have to do this again and again if he had to.

"Will you finally listen to me?" He finally spoke up, your teary eyes immediately meeting his and nodding furiously without hesitation.

"Yes! Y-yes I will!"

"And what do I want to hear from you?" You sniffled, looking completely drained of all fight.

"I-I'm sorry... s... s-sir. I wo... won't ever do i-it again."

Porco thought he never felt such euphoria in his life until he heard your apology, a wickedly proud grin growing on his face. He pulled himself out of the Jaw Titan's back, watching the creature start to steam and deflate as he reached for you, peeling its fingers off of your body and helping you down. Unexpectedly, you latched onto Porco once you got on the ground, your arms wrapped around him tightly in a vice hug. You... never did that before.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" You repeated over and over again, your tears wetting his coat. "I won't fight you again, I-I promise sir."

His hand reached over to your head, light stroking the tangled strands as you trembled against his body. "That's what you get for being a bitchy brat, you don't want me to do it again right?"

You shook your head in response, gripping onto his clothes even tighter at the thought of being chased by that thing again.

"Then you gotta listen to me better, okay? You listen, no Titan. And now that I'm reminded of your bad manners, you've torn up that pretty dress of yours earlier. That wasn't cheap, you ungrateful bitch. How are you going to make it up to me?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." Worry began to fill up your still-teary expression as you pulled your face out of his shoulder. You were taking every insult with a grain of salt, dismissing them completely. "I-I'll do anything to make it up to you, sir."

Porco really wasn't any different from the devil nuisances down in the slums, an excited shiver going through his system. If you're really offering anything, then he might as well get what he deserved out of you, he's been waiting a year for it after all. He lifted your face with one hand, rubbing away a smudge of dirt off of your skin with his thumb.

"We'll discuss what you can do about it later. Now, let's go home and get ourselves cleaned up, you smell like mud and look like shit." Another apology slipped through your lips as he moved forward with your hand in his, the corners of his mouth curling upwards with pure joy.

The animal within you has become neutralized, the flame dying and being left behind with the fading Titan behind the two of you.

Porco finally got what he paid for.

128 notes · View notes

justbelievinginmagic · 23 days ago

Text

like a waltz⎯ part 2: fondu.

pairing(s): ateez ot8 x fem!reader; this chapter is heavily wooyoung x reader focused with a bit of san x reader & yeosang x reader! series summary: when 8 mysterious bachelors arrive to town and fall for your charms, will you be able to reach your goal to be prima ballerina or be dragged into a selfish waltz between love and obsession? glimpse: wooyoung and you dance around one another for a month - will he commit to being your patron or will it all be a fun game for the mysterious stranger? somewhere in the distant future, you wake up. warnings/tags: inspired by Ateez’s Ice on my Teeth MV & Teasers, Mafia AU, Ballet AU, early 1900’s AU with some divergences in tech advancements (i.e if i think itd be cool to include, this world has it earlier than irl), 3rd person POV, use of YN, mxm, polyteez, MATURE topics, allusions to sex work in ballet, allusions to exploitation in ballet, implied sexual themes (not really for reader x ateez), strong language, ballet lore, angst, fluff, flirting, suggestive topics, lies, manipulation, wooyoung is a sweet gentleman, medical drugs, traumatic foot injury, unequal power dynamics, injuries, alcohol mention, reader discretion advised, +18 readers only. let me know if there are any more tags i should add. a/n: hi! i'm not completely happy with this chapter (mostly the ending) but it has doubled in word count so I thought itd be good enough lol. i love woo in this fic, he's sweet and flirty. he is the glue for the entire polyteez x reader later on. let me know what you thought of this chapter plssss. next chapter will probably have yunho x reader :) word count: 11k first chapter <- -> next chapter series masterlist

fondu; french pronunciation: [fawn-DEW]; sinking down, melting.

That wasn’t the last time she saw Wooyoung in the ballet boudoir. No, for the next seven days, he was there for every show whether it was a matinee or evening performance. He’d be there, sitting in his box - the cursed box number eight – dressed to the nines. She swore his eyes only watched her when she was performing; it felt like her own shining spotlight, chasing after her back and forth, back and forth, back and forth across the stage. It felt electric as she took glances up at his box to see his curled lips and opera glasses peering down at her. YN didn’t wonder where he looked when she was in the wings, because no matter what he’d visit her.

Her.

Not the other girls.

Not the Prima Ballerina.

Her.

During intermission and after the show, he’d be waiting beside the small vanity (the one she shared with four other ensemble members.) Never did his gaze stray to the other girls – and some tried to tempt. He was one of the most attractive men they’ve had in a long time, and the air of mystery he held was intoxicating. A viable bachelor, a way to climb. Ballerinas were hard-workers after all; they loved and knew the long game.

They’d swish past him in their enticing leotards, skin-tight with no tutu to complete their look. They would bare their neck as they gathered their long hair into a bun. Glance at him through their lashes as they stretched.

Still, he waited patiently, arms crossed as he leaned back against the white vanity’s desk. His brooding eyes zeroed in on the boudoir’s doors. Only when he caught her in his sight did he light up like a firework across the night sky.

“Hello swanette,” he’d coo out with the sweetest grin, hand outstretched to her.

“Hello Wooyoung,” it felt dangerous to call him by his first name, intimate. None of the others ballerinas called their patron by their first name – even the ones fucking one another.

YN wasn’t stupid or oblivious. She knew what this was – what this could end up being. She’d watch the prima ballerina, the principal dancers, really all of the rising starlets of the ballet over the years. They all covered their kiss-bruised skin with make-up, tugged on thick nylon tights that would hide their patron’s affections from audience’s view. She wasn’t sure if she wanted that – even with Wooyoung’s handsomeness. In some ways, her pride bit at the thought with rabid hatred; sourness on her tongue at the thought of not truly being different, not truly earning her way to the top.

Regardless of her conflicted feelings, Wooyoung hadn’t hinted at any of that – even after a week. He hadn’t provided monetary aid either so perhaps he was waiting. A bittered part of YN never understood patrons who didn’t sleep with their proteges. (But then again, it was rare to begin with. She hadn’t met one prima ballerina, one feature dancer who hadn’t slept with their patron.) She was always half-expecting him to let his hands dip lower and lower or high and higher, but, to her surprise, they remained fairly decent. He liked grabbing her waist, his thumb would rub circles over the boning over her bodice but it’d stay relatively far from anything intimate. (Any touch from a man in the public society was intimate though. She still flushed and felt the rush of feelings she didn’t quite understand how to place.) In her mind, he had yet to make a move.

Not even a cheeky kiss.

…

It was nice.

He was nice. She could sometimes forget that he paid to sit and talk to her in-between dances. He smelt nice; he looked nice; he acted nice. The fancy-free touches he gave with little thought were something she could enjoy considering the worser options. (Julia had covered up a nasty bite mark on her collarbone the other night.)

Wooyoung and her would speak of nonsense most nights – idle gossip, comments about the show, the dancers, the town-folk, and the bourgeoise that sat in the seats of the theatre. Who’s who in this town? He’d wonder, and she’s point them out under her breath; the men of the high-class with their wandering eyes and their wandering hands all over their own ballerina. Far cruder touches than Wooyoung’s reverent gentleness as he leaned close into her bubble to hear her whispers.

“That man is the owner of the factories popping up across the port,” she’d tell him, pointing with a lithe finger. (Luckily, all the men had one thing in common; they’d never glance upon another patron’s ballerina; they’d never look their way as long as Wooyoung remained distant.)

“Shohei Takahashi.” YN said, watching as the rich factory-owner pressed a greedy kiss to the mouth of the ballerina of his choice. “Huge factories with little pay. I blame the winter gloom on him.”

Shifting her gaze, Wooyoung followed her eyeline easily as he raised his drink to his mouth.

“That’s Lord Frederickson; he’s the biggest importer of goods. Owns the port and its processing factories. Anything coming in and out goes through him. He’s favored by the King – if you believe the King still has a say around these parts.” Wooyoung smirked at that as he watched her jump to the next.

“Kim Dohyun – big shot in the banks,” she said. “I think he’s trying to start a monopoly, but what do I know?”

“A lot,” Wooyoung replied, quickly, before taking a swig of his drink. His dark eyes slid over each man with a snake’s laziness before he locked his attention on her. “Brilliance and beauty.”

“Charmer.” She teased.

“Only for you.”

He’d flatter, flirt, and call her all sorts of sweet names. Beautiful, swanette, little swan, pretty swan, pretty.

The ballet was good for two things – pretty art and petty gossip. And despite her claiming she was an artist, first and foremost, she liked gossip just like anyone else. She was used to listening in, eavesdropping, or being told the news by the youngers. It wasn’t often she was the one gossiping.

“C’mon, he didn’t comment at all about Wooyoung?” YN asked one of the older ballerinas before a show.

“No, YN. He didn’t.”

It was a snap of an answer, but she couldn’t blame her. It was the third time she had asked. (Tiny had gotten her habits from someone after all.)

“I heard from someone that he was, like, like, a runaway prince,” said a younger girl, sighing out as she clung to the barre. “He’s as handsome as one.”

“Princes don’t run to Cromer,” Julia commented, tying her hair into a bun.

“But Lords do?” Everly snorted.

“Ha-ha-ha,” she sarcasmed out. “At least I’m getting my costume paid for next season,” Julia countered, tossing a sweater towards the other girl.

“So, none of the other patrons know him?” YN tried again, falling into a full stretch in frustration. Hunched over, she huffed.

“Nope – could be a traveler. You haven’t asked him?” Mina retorted.

YN struck a nasty face at that, scrunching up her nose. As if. Of course she has. All she had gotten was basics. He was from Aurora. He was in town for a while. That’s all she ever got from him.

Did he like the show? Of course, you were in it.

How was his day? Better now that he was here.

How was his stay in Cromer? Was it always this cold? He was too used to Aurora’s temperatures; he missed the bright sun and humidity.

What did he do for a living? Charm you.

It was like a game of chess, trying to get actual answers out of him. If he wasn’t so fun to talk to about other things, she’d be frustrated. Or more frustrated. After all, Wooyoung wasn’t like the other men in town – he was new and exciting. Despite all his mystery, despite the tell-tale hints of tragedy as a protégé and patron, she couldn’t help but begin to fall for the bright smile that greeted her at intermission.

It had been two weeks. He’s slowed his attendance to only every other night, warning her that he had other business to attend to on certain days. But he’d still hover around her vanity when he did show. He’d gotten more nosy she noticed. Not in a bad way. Fingers prodded at the make-up containers; he’d peer into her bag, spotting her folded clothes and sometimes a book or two in it. She noticed from the corner of her eye as she’d get ready for the next act, shimming into another feathered costume.

He’d lean on the edge of the vanity, giving her more room than usual and talking but not saying much and always, always, averting his eyes. It made a warmth bubble in her chest. Respect. He respected her. It was rare here. In under a few seconds, she had the new bodice on, snapped and tied with ease. Her skirt shimmied on and fluffed.

“Decent, little swan?” he queried, eyes still facing towards the ceiling.

With a true smile, she’d nod. Tonight, with affection bubbling in her chest, she reached out to cup his chin with gentle fingers and guide his face down to meet her gaze. His skin felt electric-hot beneath her fingertips like the hum of new-powered light bulbs at the cinema.

“Hello pretty,” he crooned. A tempting smile crossed his face as he shifted forward at her guidance. His fingers pressed against the vanity shifted to land on her waist. He liked the way the feathers felt, the beads he could fiddle with, and the warmth radiating from her.

“Spin for me?” he encouraged.

She held back an eye roll of fondness; when had she grown so fond?; he had seen this costume far too many times, but each time he had her spin about, and he’d grin and flatter and flirt. And she’d flush and flutter.

As she twirled, his fingers barely left her waist, feeling the fabric, feathers and beading twist and tug at him with her movement. He wished her hair would be out of the perfect tight bun, so it’d flow down freely. But Wooyoung didnt encourage such a thought – he was a reasonable man. For now.

“Beautiful,” he complimented, tugging her by her waist to stand in between his legs.

His fine velvet pants brushed against her nylon-tight clad legs. His fingers fiddled over her waist, dancing across beads and sequins, handsewn and delicate. Just like every night. He didn’t climb higher or lower, simply thrummed his fingers across her mid-section as he smiled at her pleasantly.

“She makes it, you know,” there was an exclamation from a local eavesdropper, Tiny.

The youngster grinned over at Wooyoung from her spot, warming up on the floor. The little girl was cute in the eyes of Wooyoung; the tiny ballerina flashed him an innocent smile even when YN glared at the younger with a clear look of ‘shut up.’

“Makes what, kid?” he queried, glancing her way.

“Her costumes! We all do – or well, we all pay for them. Not YN though! She sews ‘em; all of hers are made by her!”

“Tiny,” YN tried to hush, but Wooyoung squeezed her waist playfully firm.

“Really?”

His tone was melodic as his gaze trailed from the tips of YN’s ballet shoes over her long-toned legs clad in white stockings with the smallest of rhinestones sewn into the fabric… over the white tutu before trailing around her bejeweled waist of beads, false pearls, and feathers. The feathers curved around her, hugging her chest. Everything was tied together with the pretty white-feathered clips in her hair. Everything looked exquisite.

“You never told me that,” Wooyoung commented. He pouted at her.

That wasn’t the reaction she expected. Surprise, yes. Perhaps pity? Perhaps disgust? She couldn’t afford a seamstress after all. It was embarrassing.

“You never asked,” YN retorted.

He smirked, a rumble of a pleased laugh bubbling in his chest.

“I guess I hadn’t,” he admitted.

Had he asked anything about her… other than her dancing talent and the daily gossip of the theatrical world? He tilted his head as he took her in again. How much did she know about him?

Some questions he answered; others he twisted words until they were onto another conversation. His questions remained on her work. How long had she been in the ballet? How did a beautiful talented woman not have a starring role? Did she like it here? Did she like him?

Their conversations always ended back to that. More times than not she thought he was playing her like a cat would play with a mouse. While he paid for entrance to the foyer de la danse, like most of her suitors, he had not taken her up as a protégé. Most of the girls who had a patron reassured her that it took time. Some had to fall to their knees first before he agreed.

So, now when his head tilted as he examined her, it felt like the air changed. Ever magnetic but something deeper as his finger picked at a bead with his fingernail.

“You made this?” he asked again, fingering at the beadwork.

Its intricate pattern caught the light on stage beautifully, but he never noticed it made a pattern of a lily pad, ‘til now.

“Yes,” she said, shivering as his touch tickled her ribs.

He noticed her glancing aside, almost shy.

“What other talents do you have, swanette?” He queried, voice low.

“Far too many,” she teased before she escaped his grasp to go towards the now empty-vanity.

Tease them, the older ballerinas had advised. They like a chase, just be sure to let them catch you every now and then. Julia had told her.

There was the stain from their first meeting. A remnant of his rouge-covered fingers in the fine-wood of the ivory vanity. It never seemed to leave despite her scrubbing. Her finger brushed over it on its way to pick up a powder puff to press it into her skin. Wooyoung’s fingers trailed over her arm, looking over her shoulder in the mirror.

“You surprise me,” he admitted. “You know my hyungs love fashion – they’d love to meet you.”

“You don’t know my fashion-taste, Mr. Jung,” she told him, raising a brow. “Just my costumier’s taste.”

“Oh, Mr. Jung, hm,” he repeated in a tut. His chin pressed into her shoulder, face tilting ‘til his lips nearly pressed against her skin. Hot breath fanned over her shoulder down her chest. Gooseflesh tickled up her spin.

“Did I upset you?” he teased before whispering in her ear. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask about your pretty costume.”

She snorted, a bit unlady-like but it made his own lips twitch into a smile. He liked her smiling.

“It’s okay, Wooyoung,” she replied simply. “I didn’t expect you to.”

This wasn’t what the patrons wanted to talk about. Men never spoke of such things.

“I should’ve,” he corrected her. “I want to know about you.”

The air burned for a moment between them, his dark eyes settled on her in the mirror with the pull that only gravity had on someone. There was more here. In these moments, it didn’t feel like a game or an agreement or a partnership of exchange. Not when he looked at her like that.

“So, you sew?” he asked, still closer than acceptable for their society. Pressed into her back, his arms trapping her in. He urged her to lean into him, his chest broad against her back.

“My mother is a seamstress – was. She’s now in a factory rather than an independent shop.” She admitted. “I learned from her.”

“What about your dad?” he asked.

She shook her head before going to pressing powder into her skin with a puff. He huffed a bit as the perfumed thing invaded his nose.

“Not around anymore.”

“What did he do? Did he leave some coin around for you and your ma’?” he asked.

YN sighed out, reaching for the rouge pot next. “Miner. There used to be diamond and gold mines outside of town. I mean, there still are, but they aren’t like they were before. He never found anything worth anything – and when there was a cave in,” she sighed again. “My mother had always provided more; he didn’t leave much. Except me…”

Wooyoung’s hand soothed up and down her arm

“I can’t remember my ‘ma or ‘pa. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t define me. Don’t know much about them - if they sewed or worked at all. I just knew I had to work to survive.” He stated casually. “But Hongjoong, he’s like my brother - he sews in his free time. He’s made all sorts of things for us. So, I know a bit about that.”

Us… it was the first time Wooyoung had mentioned others. This was the first time she had learned anything about the mysterious man. YN itched to ask more about who us were, more about Hongjoong, more about what he had done growing up. How did he end up here, dripping in enough coin to go to countless shows, countless ballet boudoir meetings. But she didn’t know if she could. She didn’t want to pressure him. Push him.

“Maybe I’ll meet him one day?” she instead led, following his thought from moments ago. “Hongjoong and your hyungs?” she added. C’mon, tell me more, tell me more.

Wooyoung smiled bright, almost excitedly before his face fell dramatically. He was prone to that she’d noticed, ever expressive despite the stony gaze that fell over him when he didn’t know she was looking. His grin tumbled into a pout, big lips pressing out and puppy dog eyes gleaming in the gas-light.

He held her closer. “Not yet. I like having you to myself. They love the ballet – they’d love you.”

They. Us. Again, he spoke of others.

Who were they?

They’d love her?

In the third week, Wooyoung offered to buy her drinks from the Opera House’s bar, and she always refused. She didn’t want to fall into his arms intoxicated – especially with her aching muscles already. Alcohol wouldn’t help recovery. Instead, he made a game of bringing back a sweet from the concessions. Ones that the kids in the audience would nibble on. It’d always be half-eaten by the time he joined her in the boudoir – which made her smile. It felt intimate as she snacked on the other half of a cookie or taffy after the show. She’d sit on top of the vanity as he watched her eat.

It was during these times they began to talk about what they liked. Sweet or sour? Spicy or mild? What’s your favorite color? Hot or cold? What’s your favorite food? Favorite season? Favorite song?

She learned a lot about him. And he was sweet. His answers were sentimental as he yapped and yapped.

“I like seafood more than anything,” he said in between bites of the cookie she shared with him.

The boudoir was growing colder; the radiator had been turned off for the night. The hallway outside of the room was dim. She was in her own clothes for the first time; her costume hung in the costumier’s closet. Her worn-brown jacket was drawn tight as she and him sat on the vanity.

“Meat over vegetables for sure. But, any stew needs to have vegetables to feel right. But shrimp, mussels, clams, oh, tofu is needed too! Seonghwa makes the best stew – it reminds me of Aurora.”

He could ramble on and on, and YN didn’t mind it was so late as she made mental notes. Not just of the names he’d drop every now and then but his favorites. His preferences. She’d think about it as she made her own meals late at night – while she stood in front of the stove and stirred her potatoes and gravy. Was Aurora seafood better than Cromer’s? She’s only ever had the smallest of fish if they could afford one.

They were the last to leave the opera house that night, practically kicked out by the Madame who insisted upon the time. The moon hung high above them as they walked onto the main street of Cromer. The streetlights were lit; some flickered in the cold air; after all, not all lamps were gas yet. The cobblestones were wet with rain from earlier in the night.

“Let me walk you home?” Wooyoung asked. He was haloed in a gentle lamplight. His cheeks were round from eating the last of their shared treat and his eyes almost sparkled.

She swallowed. Don’t let them into your house; their house is the only fair game. She had heard the ballerinas warn her. Some even insisted on not letting them take you anywhere beyond the Opera House’s porch. There were plenty of spare rooms, they said.

Wooyoung was able to read her easier by the day.

“It’s late, YN. Please.” He insisted. “I’m a gentleman.”

His arm was offered, politely.

It was cold; rain was clinging to the clouds, tempting to pour.

He gave her another look, half-stern… half bratty? Wooyoung nudged his arm again in her direction.

“O—kay,” she conceded after a moment, taking his arm. He was warm against the cold.

But that was just Wooyoung after all.

“I saw YN walking home with her patron!” The gossip was electric the next morning.

“They’re in love,” Tiny swooned.

“They don’t know each other!” Another chimed.

“Did you—” there was a question on the tip of their tongues.

“Was he-“

“Had they-“

“No, no; he was a perfect gentleman,” YN reassured. “He stayed on the street as I entered my apartment. My mother had been watching from the windowsill. He simply waved and was off.”

Some of the ballerinas hummed their relief; others huffed their discontent.

“He’ll declare his patronage any day,” Julia whispered to her. “He has to.”

On the next Saturday, Wooyoung had ‘snuck’ in before the show. It was not often a patron was allowed before the show – it wasn’t as ‘exciting’ as intermission or after the show. The girls would be in their own clothes, usually warming up or trying to stay warm in the chilly room. His cheeks were flushed from the falling snow; he looked youthful as he bounded up to her, surprising her. Cold hands grasped hers as he spun her about.

Her hair was down. Her costume on, but her feet were in thick wool socks, and her face bare of makeup. It was a surprise he was here, and she felt the flare of insecurity, of worry, flush over her. He hadn’t seen her not so imperfect. Ballerinas were meant to be perfect. Wooyoung didn’t seem concerned as he lifted her into his arms to twirl her again as he chuckled and giggled. He sounded a bit like a hyena but it only made contagious giggles tumble from her own lips.

“Wooyoung,” she giggled nervously as he whirled them about.

All eyes watched her and him; some girls whispered in each other’s ears.

“Happy anniversary, pretty swan,” he chimed out as he finally set her back on the ground.

He looked at her with such innocent joy. His hands shifted from her form to cup her jaw and squeeze her cheeks. Over the past few weeks, his touchiness had grown. His favorite was to do just this, squish her cheeks fondly.

Dark eyes stroked over her features; her cheeks were pink beneath his fingers. Her eyes were bare of charcoal. Her lips were a nude shade. He noticed that despite his cold hands from the wintery outside that she was equally chilly… the entire boudoir felt cold at this time actually. A miniscule purse of his brow crinkled his forehead.

“Anniversary?” YN queried, raising a brow. Her hand rose to stroke the back of his hand softly, her blunt nails circling his skin.

The butterflies fluttered in her ribs, nibbling at her bones warningly. He was celebrating their anniversary? Had any patron done that? She’d have to ask the others.

He looked almost annoyed as if shocked she’d forget the day they met. The glower on his brow was handsome and statuesque before he frowned at her seriously. Her blood felt like fire, then; the skin on the back of her neck turned a clammy hot.

“It’s been a month,” he said, the words not as strict as his face. Instead, it sounded like a reprimanded child’s voice.

“Oh! I know that; I didn’t know you’d celebrate it,” she admitted, warm eared.

And she did. She hadn’t had a patron-suitor this long before but she kept count of the days. Noting them down with precision as she did with everything in her life.

He huffed; perfectly gelled hair fluttering with the action. Grumbling under his breath childishly of this and that, he took a too-close step into their embrace. His leg found a way between hers. He was so warm despite the melting snow on his outer coat.

“Of course I would,” he grumbled, thumbs going over the apples of her cheeks. “I’ve enjoyed getting to know you. I do like it! I assume you’d-”

He was babbling at this point, grumbling about this and that quickly. She giggled, and his frustrations eased at its sound.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, hand squeezing one of his hands gently. “I’ve liked getting to know you, too.”

And she had gotten to know him… somewhat. His favorite foods, books, art, and whatnot. She knew that he had moved here over the past month, that he liked the ballet but loved theatre more. Singing was his favorite thing. He had money. He had asked her far more about herself. He knew she’d lived here her entire life, practiced at the company for nearly just as long as she’s breathed. He knew about her family and her mother’s-tired rants after a day at the factory. He knew what treat she favored; he knew that she got cold easily. He still felt like a stranger despite their closeness. Like all she saw was what he wanted her to.

“Of course, you have,” he preened before stepping back.

His hands left her cheeks to present a small velveteen gift box, almost magically.

“Now, accept my gift, pretty.”

She awed at it, insisting he didn’t need to while equally feeling chuffed that he got her something. It was a small box, and her mind raced to think of what could be within. Jewels, diamonds, perhaps it was just a trick… or a treat. Whatever it was she felt a hum of excitement. With a fond look at him, she took the box and opened it.

A pretty pearl necklace rested on a crushed-velveteen cushion. Polished silver-white pearls. She had never had pearls before. Never seen them so up close. Only replica pearls made of melted plastic were what she knew. These had a different sheen, a prettiness to them that felt ethereal.

Pearls were expensive; pearls are things upper-class women wore in multiple loops across their bared throats to tempt their partners to glance down at their bosom. They are status-symbols. She would’ve never been able to afford these – not even just one pearl. Meanwhile, he had bought her a long, long strand, long enough she could wear it in multiple loops. They glimmered and shined in the lamp-light as she carefully reached out to graze their pearlescent surfaces.

“Woo,” she breathed out. “They’re beautiful.”

She hadn’t expected this sort of gift – especially after how little monetary incentive came from him. Her eyes rose from the gift to meet his eyes. They were watching her face with tenderness. His smile curled on his lips, and he couldn’t help the rumble of a fond chuckle from bubbling up in his chest.

“To match you,” he said, easily, before his fingers grazed hers to lift the necklace. “Turn around, baby.”

Baby… he hadn’t called her that yet – just as she hadn’t ever called him Woo. He noticed that and couldn’t help the thrum of excitement, puppy love, adoration, whatever you call it, go through his veins.

YN did turn. Her hair was pushed aside by now-warm hands. Frowning, he felt how icy her skin was; she shivered as the pearls caressed her bare skin. Carefully, he clasped the pearls about her throat ‘til they rested across her decolletage in a double string of pearls.

She stared into the vanity’s mirror. Wooyoung smiled over her shoulder, content as a cat as he watched her admire herself. He sighed, fingers rearranging her hair to rest around her attractively. His fingertips grazed her hair for the first time, fondly, and playfully as he tousled her strands. His hands landed on her shoulders; she was cold, cold, cold. His hands slid from her shoulders to her biceps slow.

“So beautiful,” he sighed. “The necklace looks good, too,” he teased as an afterword, close to her ear.

Her cheeks flushed. A hand rose to stroke over the gift admiringly.

“It is pretty, thank you,” she turned around in his embrace, his hands sliding over her shoulders as she did so. He cornered her to the table. Her hands rested on his forearms, thumb brushing over his coat. She wiped away at some fallen snow, melting on the rich fabric. Glancing up with a genuine smile, she asked him: “What shall I gift you?”

He hummed low. Fingers slid up her arms slowly, eyes grazing over her face thoughtfully. Before he proceeded to unbutton his fine-woven coat-jacket. Her breath caught. What was he doing? Her eyes flickered from him to the room around them. Many of the girls were watching them brazenly. Some with lovestruck eyes as if witnessing some penny film in the nickelodeon; some were looking with jealous-ridden eyes.

She licked her lips, a flash nervous as he shook off his jacket with ease to reveal a fine silk tunic. It was a dark color; she realized he had worn nothing but black each night. Like a night sky shining with starlit clouds, the fabrics clung to his frame temptingly. She glanced up to his face as he swooshed his jacket over her bared shoulders.

It engulfed her in warmth, his warmth. The intoxicating smell she had begun to recognize as Wooyoung smothered her. The deep spiced-floral cologne filled her senses of him, him, him.

She couldn’t help but let out a jittery breath, not expecting this from him as he smiled down at her, satisfied. He didn’t do much more. She wasn’t sure what she was worried he was going to do in first place.

“Wear them for me during the performance?” he requested.

YN shifted her arms, a hand raising to touch the pearls around her throat again before her other hand rose to catch the coat from slipping off her shoulders. His own hands rose to rearrange the jacket over her, rubbing her arms up and down slowly.

That was all he asked for? Even now, she knew other patrons would request far more. A kiss even wouldn’t have surprised her to be honest – he could’ve stolen one from her lips and not a person would’ve batted an eye in the boudoir. Instead, he warmed her, thumb grazing up and down her now-jacketed arm.

“I will,” she acquiesced. “The Madame might be upset at the costume violation,” she teased lightly. “But, I will do it for you.”

He laughed, the thing a crow-like tone. He hadn’t shifted from her, hands rubbing up and down still. “If she does, I’ll handle it. A pretty girl like you deserves pretty things. And to show off those pretty things.”

She smiled at him. She shocked herself as she rose up onto the tips of her toes, easily with her experience on-pointe, and pressed a sweet fleeting kiss to his cheek. She could smell his after-shave; his skin was soft and warm and inviting before she pulled away to smile up at him.

“Happy month of knowing you, Wooyoung.”

“Here’s to many more,” he smiled warmly.

The pearls clung to her neck tightly, tighter than how Wooyoung had clasped them. They needed to be so they wouldn’t clank and clink into her face with each pirouette and jete. She stood out in the ensemble with the pearls gleaming on her throat. No other ballerina bore real pearls except her. No one – not even Odette. And for once, she felt the eyes of the crowd on her. There was a murmur in the crowd; some pointed. But all she could do was search for Wooyoung’s eyes.

She had a bad habit of looking up at Box 8 in general now. Her gaze would flicker up and up, head tilting as she snuck small glances towards the private box Wooyoung had claimed. Usually, she’d catch his eyes, staring at her solely and smiling a small smirk in the shadows of the theatre.

But it wasn’t just him today. In the shadows of the theatre, she could see his familiar form, his opera glasses glinting in the low gas light of the grand chandelier. But behind him, dark blurs of shades, were other figures. She squinted.

It shocked her at first, doing a double take as she performed a jete.

What? Who?

There were others with him; he turned to say something to the one beside him.

It surprised her that she knew the form of him so well to know even in darkness and distance that he sat in the front. But she knew in her core as the figure turned back to look at the stage. Wooyoung sat in the front in his usual spot. A figure sat beside him, shadowed in a brimmed hat. And one, or was it two, figures shifted behind him.

When she left the stage, she remained waiting in the wings, peering and squinting at his box.

“He has guests,” an older ballerina whispered in her ear, startling her.

“Is there a woman?” she whispered back, trying to get a good sense of the forms.

It looked like ghosts behind him, two…or maybe three shifting figures. She saw one lean forward and cup a large looking hand against Wooyoung’s ear. Glinting rings winked at her, taunting her as fingers hid the stranger’s face from view.

“That one looks like a man,” the same ballerina advised to her.

They both squinted as a reflection from the Odette’s glamourized costume glared into their eyes. Looking away, YN rubbed her eyes before looking back at the box. It looked like only three figures now.

“What of the other… others?” she asked.

“I can’t see.”

“Neither can I.”

All she knew was Wooyoung was not alone.

She tried asking about as they waited for the next cue – was there men? Was there women? What can you see? But when they crept onstage once more for their small promenade across the stage as a ‘flock’ of swans, her stomach dropped.

Box 8 was empty.

He didn’t come visit during intermission, and she felt uneasy. Had he left? Why? A childish part of her cried out it was their anniversary. Her fingers fiddled with her pearls. The Madame glared at her addition as she passed the large open doors of the boudoir but said nothing.

He didn’t come after the show either.

When she crept out of the Opera House, her pearls were hidden beneath a coat. And there was no sight of Wooyoung outside. A fragile thing in her heart peeked out and she swallowed down the disappointment as she began her walk home in the cold snow.

Why had he left? He left mid-show with his friends? It burned despite the chill.

The next day, YN felt nerves eating up her stomach. She was a creature of habit, a person of rehearsals and repetition. Why hadn’t he shown? Why did he leave? Was he unhappy she hadn’t gotten him something? Was it due to the kiss? Was she too forward? Was he unhappy with her? He had never not shown up to the boudoir after a show. He had never left during a show, and he’d seen the show countless times now.

YN had arrived early to the boudoir, hoping to practice away her worries. Clad in her warmest clothes, she began to warm up on the floor. She only got so far when she heard a voice.

“YN!”

It was Tiny. Her footsteps were a flurry of tip-tap-tapping as she rushed towards her. “YN!”

The little one hadn’t changed into her costume yet, wearing a dark brown skirt and matching orange blouse. A hooded cape kept her warm.

“He’s one of the new bachelors! He’s one of the bachelors!” the young girl cried out in excitement as she charged into the room. Her giggles were light and fluttery as she bounced on her toes. “The ones who have taken over the Ateez Mansion. He’s one of them! He’s one of them!”

“What?” She paused in her movements.

“Your patron! Your patron! It’s in the paper! Remember his box had more folk last night, right? It was the other bachelors!” she squealed. “I heard from the newsie! ‘Kim Yeosang, the finest tennis player this side of the Atiny Sea, spotted at the grand Cromer Opera House last night accompanied by frequent ballet goer Kim Wooyoung and others. This is the athlete’s first public appearance in Cromer since his move into the famed Ateez Mansion.’”

“Kim?” she queried.

Wooyoung had introduced himself by Jung Wooyoung.

“Maybe they’re brothers!” Tiny exclaimed. “An athlete, YN! He must be fit. And handsome!”

“And rich,” another ballerina commented from across the boudoir.

YN was still confused. “He’s never mentioned brothers – I mean, he mentioned he had friends that were like his brothers. But the only name I’ve heard has been Hongjoong… Seonghwa.”

Tiny repeated the names curiously. “I didn’t hear the newsies say those names. Just Yeosang and Wooyoung! Maybe it’s in the paper. Do you have 5 coins?”

5 coins! It made her splutter. When did she have money to toss at papers?

“No,” she laughed.

“Well, I just thought with the necklace and all – he hasn’t paid anything?” Tiny gossiped.

Her cheeks flushed as she shoved the tiny ballerina away. “Not yet.”

Her hand self-consciously fiddled with the pearl necklace. Kim Wooyoung. It felt weird to think rather than Jung Wooyoung. And, Kim Yeosang, she wondered. She hadn’t heard the name but she wasn’t privy to most sports. Who had time for sportly leisure in this age – especially as a trained ballerina? But a world-known tennis player… it made sense how he’d have money. Why move here? Sure, it was a major port, crawling with trade, but it was just Cromer.

Hongjoong. Seonghwa Yeosang. Wooyoung.

Who were they to Wooyoung?

Were they here last night? Were they the reason he left without even a note of warning?

That night he didn’t appear in his box. There was gossip amongst the girls.

“Maybe it was too good to be true.” A dancer taunted

YN. Jealous and envy were bitter dregs of ballet society.

She found herself playing with his necklace more and more.

“Miss YN, if you continue to fiddle with that god-forsaken necklace on stage, I’ll rip it off your neck myself.” The Madame croaked, her cane thudding against the floor during their debrief of the latest performance.

“Sorry,” YN managed to get out.

“Sorry doesn’t fix mistakes. Which you’ve been making. Your pirouettes were sloppy all evening; improve or else I shall remove you from the scene.” Her words went in one ear and out the other. Like they had all night. She was just in her head.

She had thought it was different between them – why had he given the cold shoulder? Was it the cold shoulder? She wasn’t sure. Weren’t things fine between them? He had gifted her pearls for goodness sake.

When had she begun to care about the relationship? YN had never cared for her patron-suitors but… she did like Wooyoung. Had she disappointed him? Had his guests warned him away?

She licked her lips, barely hearing the criticism pouring out of the mouth of the Madame of the Opera House.

The next day at intermission, there was a white-papered note on her vanity. Bounding up to it excitedly, hope in her stomach, she unfolded it to reveal the too-neat cursive script of the Madame.

‘Remove the necklace or face a fee for costume violations.’

Her necklace was gone the next act. She couldn’t face any more costs.

It was two weeks before she’d see Wooyoung again.

When he did return to the Opera House, it was done in a Wooyoung style. Rather than waiting until intermission, he strode through the boudoir’s door with the confidence of someone who owned the place like he had on their ‘anniversary’. YN was by the vanity per usual; make up caked on her face and her neck bare.

“Hello, pretty swanette,” he greeted, his arms wrapping around her waist in an embrace. The scent of him hit her like a train – she hadn’t realized she missed it. Missed him. Her jaw tightened in annoyance.

No, she didn’t want to miss him. He was the one disappearing like a ghost. No wonder he stayed at the Ateez Mansion; he fits right in with the phantom stories there. Her lips were stern as she painted on her rouge with a fine-precision brush. She tried to not to make eye contact with him, tried to not to seek out what he looked like tonight. Were his cheeks rose-flushed from the cold? Was he wearing the silken tunic or a warmer velvet?

“Swanette,” he repeated, shifting her in his arms. Swaying her softly.

Her head tilted; her face twitched as she placed the brush down and grabbed the coal-eyeliner pot.

“Oooh,” Wooyoung cooed out. Minty breath fanned over her neck. “You missed me.”

His voice wasn’t pleading or angry or upset. In fact, it was almost giddy. He took pleasure in her displeasure. It wasn’t like she was giving him attention – or perhaps the lack of attention was so obvious, it was simply attention all over again. Intentionally ignoring someone meant they were on your mind. He was on her mind. She wondered for a moment was he like her – searching for the spotlight.

She finished applying her eyeliner as she felt his lips almost touch her bared shoulder. Her jitter was clear and he chuckled. Dark eyes watched from over her shoulder.

“Your necklace is gone.” He commented, pouting. Long fingers tickled at her neck, as if the pearls were simply invisible around the column of it.

No reply as she placed the make-up down, shifting in his tight embrace but never leaving it, never breaking the bond of his arm around her midsection. He smiled at that. So, for a moment, he simply laid his chin on her shoulder – waiting. He was an optimistic man and, even if she was frustrated, she didn’t pull away from him.

“Your left brow twitches,” he noted casually after a while, making her brow furrow.

“When you’re angry.” He clarified.

“How do you know that?” she countered, breaking her silence with a bite.

He smiled at her words. He got her to talk.

“I know you, swanette – which is how I know you are upset with me. I’m sorry I was gone.” He apologized.

She swallowed and glanced to the side. It was silly to be angry at him. He’s just--- a man. A rich boy with too much money to flaunt. This entire situation was stupid. She never pined after a man, after a stupid patron, too. She focused on her work not men. When had seeing him made her so… excited? And when had not seeing him ruin her day?

His pout came into view as he reached out to tip her chin his way.

“What else, hm?” he urged, thumb petting at her chin. “I was gone for days unannounced but what else could be making you distant?” He sighed, searching her eyes. “Was your necklace not pretty enough? Were the girls cruel? Were-“

“You had guests that Saturday.”

His eyes sparkled at that almost like the gleam of ice in a whiskey glass. He smirked. “Yes, I wanted them to see you.”

“They - you didn’t come to the boudoir.” She followed up her statement, shifting her head from his grasp.

He paused before like a cat prowling his gaze fell into a lazy leer. “Is that why you’re upset with me?” he crooned.

“I’m not—”

“Don’t.” he cut her off, sharp but not cruel. There was a jingle of a singsong in his next words. “You were jealous.”

Now, that made her splutter. “I was not jealous!” she turned around to face him fully. “You left before intermission and then stayed away. I saw you whispering to them!”

“You didn’t like someone stealing me away from you,” Wooyoung continued, smirk on his lips.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she accused him. He was acting like he was the one being courted after not herself. “I-I just wanted—”

“You wanted to meet them, hm?” he swept in a step to wrap an arm about her waist. It was strangely comforting despite their conversation taking a bubbling turn. Almost as if he was reassuring her with his closeness. “Wanted me to show you off?”

She grimaced, not meeting his eyes. Did she? Over the weeks, she had felt a lot, conflicting and confusing.

“I got your hopes up, hm?” he continued to tease.

“Are they your brothers?” she countered, seriousness to his teasing. “Hongjoong? Yeosang? Seonghwa?”

“I told you I don’t know my family, no brothers to my name,” Wooyoung replied easily.

“Your name maybe, but what is your name? Mr. Kim Wooyoung?” she said, raising a brow. Wooyoung’s tongue licked over his teeth as a low bittered rumble of a chuckle built. “Or is it Mr. Jung Wooyoung?”

“Jung Wooyoung to you,” he hummed. “Hongjoong and Seonghwa got me out of a tight spot. Yeosang is like my brother; I trust him like one. You remember a lot, don’t you, swanette?”

She nodded tentatively. It didn’t answer her burning questions of why were they there with him and why did he give her a false last name or did the papers have the wrong one?

“He said you were the prettiest there. He had wanted to meet you – I wanted to show you off, swanette.” Wooyoung reassured.

“Why didn’t you?” it sounded of a whine and her cheeks burned in humiliation. Why did she want him? Was she so used to his praise and attention?

Thumbs went up and down her sides reassuringly. “We got pulled away, is all. It wasn’t intentional. I had wanted them to meet you. I swear it.”

Wooyoung was a charmer, she knew this. But his words tasted so sweet, so honey-sweet. It was hard to question him when it felt real.

“You didn’t mean to leave?” she asked, feeling foolish. Foolish for wanting to know, foolish for asking, foolish for caring at all.

“No,” he laughed out. “Trust me, I’d rather spend time with you than what I got caught up in.”

There was a pause as she took in his face. He had a faint cut over his brow, covered by his perfectly styled hair. Her eyes fell back to meet his gaze.

“Say you missed me?” he encouraged, leaning forward with a smirk. “It’s been weeks; you had to miss me?”

Was this a game? Was this the way patronage felt? A tug back and forth between enjoying their presence while being dreadfully aware that this was all paid pretty folly for them.

“I missed you,” he said when she took a moment too long.

Another beat hung in the air as she pressed her lips together, trying to decipher her confused emotions. There was just one emotion she could figure out.

“I missed you, Wooyoung.”

“What happened to your pretty pearl necklace?” He asked later that night. Their tension had eased only a smidge. He sat on the corner of the vanity; multiple treats sat beside him on a silver platter. An apology he said. It had all of her favorites.

“Madame requested I no longer wear it. I’d receive a fee to my costs.”

He scoffed. “Stupid. I’ll talk to her.”

“She won’t take to talking,” she laughed. “She’s the worst woman I’ve ever met.”

“Does she give you a hard time?” he queried.

YN nodded her head as she took a bite out of brownie.

“She’s always disliked me,” she admitted. “I wasn’t as dedicated to dance when I was young. I liked reading and wanted to go to school like the rich girls in the audience. Madame thought I was disobedient.”

“You were just carving your way,” he said.

She shrugged as she offered the other half of the brownie to Wooyoung. He took a nibble, his mouth forming over her own bite.

“I’ll pay the fee,” he said softly after a moment. “Wear it tomorrow.”

He reached up to tuck a strand of her free hair behind her ear.

There was someone with him once more. Box #8 looked cramped with Wooyoung and this mysterious man sitting side by side. Throughout the entire act, all she could see was them. Wooyoung grinning and whispering to the mystery man.

Waiting in the boudoir, the pearl necklace around her neck felt hot, like it was on fire. When Wooyoung bounded inside, he looked ecstatic.

“I brought someone to see you,” Wooyoung revealed in a false whisper, the tone muddled loud with excitement like a child keeping a secret. “I told you I wanted to show you off.”

His hands squeezed hers before with a flourish he spun her around. Hands leaving hers only to find home on her waist. Holding her steady as she was faced with the broad chest of a suited man. Fine fabric draped over his form, tailored from his large shoulders to his lean waist. Spectacles rested on the bridge of his nose, a gleam over his eyes. His hair neatly gelled back into a pompadour.

“Swanette,” Wooyoung’s timbre of a voice was close to her ear; so close, that he could smell her perfume, her hairspray, her hair gel – all aromas that made up the blossoming scent that was uniquely her. Intoxicating. His breath kissed her skin and made her shiver. She could feel the pearly white of his teeth smile against her. “YN, this is San.”

San smiled a smirk down at the dancer, his amber brown eyes flickering to look at Wooyoung. Approval burned in his eyes, and Wooyoung’s grin grew.

San’s hands weren’t large or imposing like his form as he reached for her hand. With gentleness, he clasped her hand and raised it to his mouth. The cat-like smirk didn’t fade even as he pressed a short kiss to her knuckles.

“Miss Y/N, Wooyoung has spoken so much about you,” San’s voice was lower than Wooyoung’s, and it held a honey sweet tone. He hadn’t let go of her hand. “You are a beautiful, talented dancer.”

“Thank you,” she shook his hand softly. “I appreciate your kind words. And it’s nice to meet one of Wooyoung’s friends.”

Wooyoung’s chest rumbled against her back. He squeezed her hips, fingering the place where the beads of her bodice meet her tutu.

“Sannie is my best friend,” he whispered close to her ear. “And he isn’t a kind-worded man; you must’ve really wooed him, swanette.”

San rolled his eyes, hearing Wooyoung’s words. His fingers twitched in her grasp before he let go of her hand carefully.

“Don’t slander me.” He warned before his eyes settled back fondly on her. “I’m a very nice person, little bird.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “How do you know Woo – did you grow up in Aurora?”

San’s face twitched at the mention of Wooyoung’s previous hometown. “I’ve known Wooyoung since we were tots.” he said, agreeing.

“Do you stay at the Ateez Mansion as well?” she queried.

San nodded. “I do.”

“He likes to decorate the place. He like shiny things.” Wooyoung added, half nuzzling into her shoulder.

“And he likes to blab, if you haven’t noticed,” San countered. “I thought this was time for me to meet the woman you couldn’t shut up about?”

Wooyoung’s hands rose off of her waist in defense at his friend. A curling smirk on his lips, teasing… bratty.

“Excuse me,” he snarked. “I’ll leave you two to it then.”

He stepped away, making her turn to glance at Wooyoung. His face looked serious but there was the air of teasing that Wooyoung just had. His dark eyes shifted from his friend to her with a cat-like slowness.

“I’ll be back,” he pressed a quick kiss to her temple, surprising her.

Her heart jumped and stuttered. He had never done that before. Her ears turned bright red to rival her rouge lipstick.

San smiled at her, his first true smile. It wasn’t curling or seductive but boyish. A grin that made his eyes shut and his nose scrunch. A soft laugh rumbled from his chest. He eyed her with that same grin as she rubbed her temple where his lips had touched, shocked.

She looked after Wooyoung as he scurried away, a rhythm to his steps. His hands tucked cooly into his jacket. If he had been facing her, she’d see the coy grin, boyishly spread on his face. Maybe a cocked eyebrow.

“He’s affectionate,” San revealed. “I’m surprised he hadn’t stolen a kiss yet.”

“He’s a gentleman,” she defended, blushing.

“Gentleman, huh?” the broad-shouldered man repeated with a lilting brow. He glanced towards the multi-storied doors that he just passed through.

“As much as a man can be while spending money for the boudoir,” she commented. She blinked once and then twice. “I mean— all the men here are gentlemen. . . “ Her laugh was awkward, fumbling.

Perhaps the kiss shook her up a bit too much or YN was surprisingly too comfortable around San already – loose lipped enough to break the allusion of the foyer de la danse. There was a pause before he leaned in. She leaned away out of instinct, hands and form pressing backwards into the vanity. San’s smile hadn’t shifted from his lips nor did the playful grin change to anything offended. He kept her trapped there.

“I don’t know much about this opera or ballet shit,” San admitted, his voice bashful despite his profanity as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “While my household have plenty of enthusiasts... I’m a bit of a novice at this, Miss YN.”

It was charming his confidence in not knowing. It was also charming how he covered for her insult, shifting the attention.

“I see,” she murmured.

“This is all new to me,” he glanced this way and that at the room. “Wooyo had said he had befriended the prettiest dancer, not that he came to this. What is this place?”

He didn’t sound cruel or tricking. He sounded curious if anything. He leaned forward on the vanity, one arm pressing into the wood to hold his weight as he leaned in close. It reminded her of when she and Wooyoung met. The closeness, the intimacy, the magnetic energy. She thought it was strange to have it with one person, let alone two, but here they were.

She licked her lips as she ghosted after his gaze around the room. The boudoir in front of her looked like its own scene out of an opera or play. Every girl in their spot; every patron a leading role in their own fantasy.

“Ballet is costly, Mr. San,” she started, her tone low and quiet. He hummed in response.

“These gentlemen-” she continued her post-humous correction through gritted teeth. She saw one of the regular patrons slide a hand over a ballerina’s thigh lower and lower. YN scowled, looking away for the benefit of the girl. “-pay. They pay to see us up close, to talk to us. Our time is theirs.”

“And?” he continued, tearing his eyes away from another patron and his ballerina.

“And anything else they want is theirs,” she managed to get out.

San frowned before spotting Wooyoung returning from where-ever he had ran off to, now carrying back three glasses. One was precariously balanced in between his ring-covered knuckles as he hurried back with careful steps.

“Hello, love birds,” he called, raising his brows playfully. His eyes darted at the closeness between the two of them. San shifted politely away from her.

“Love bird?” he repeated to his friend. “Says the peacock fluffing its feathers.”

Wooyoung crowed out a laugh. It caught the attention of a few ballerinas.

“I’ll take that. I’m handsome.” He flipped his head back to push away his hair that has swung in front of his eyes.

San’s smile returned with ease as he swooped in to grasp one of the glasses before anything more spilled to the wood planks below.

“Swanette?” Wooyoung offered one of the glasses her way. In the glass was no amber liquid but water? She raised it to her nose and sniffed suspiciously.

“It’s just water, baby-doll,” the smaller man reassured.

“She’s a smart one,” San commented.

He smiled politely before taking a sip of his drink. His actions were slow around her she noticed. Or maybe Wooyoung was so high-energy that his friend felt slower in comparison. He moved with intention. Careful. Concise.

“What were you chatting about?”

“Nothing.” They both said at the same time.

“Intriguing,” Wooyoung countered before smiling wide.

He looked so happy. His smile was so comfortable and yet beaming. She didn’t know it but she was matching the look on her own face. San glanced between them, fondness crinkling his eyes. He cleared his throat.

“Miss YN was just explaining the boudoir to me.” He repeated.

“Boudoir… isn’t this the foyer de la danse?” Wooyoung queried.

“Nickname,” she tried to reassure.

“And what did she say?”

“It’s a whore house,” San said cooly, taking a sip.

Her face flushed at that. “No, I did not!” she exclaimed. Wooyoung glanced between them, amused.

“She wouldn’t have,” he snorted in agreement. “She’s a lady.”

“Its essentially what she said,” San sighed out, raising a brow at his friend.

There was a long moment between the two men before the smaller man looked to her. Wooyoung glanced her up and down.

“Is that true?” he whispered. Concern flashed in his eyes.

“Woo, I – “ she glanced aside, anxiety tumbling. Like theatre, the façade of the boudoir worked only when there were the illusions in place. But now Wooyoung’s careful concerned gaze made her feel like something was wrong. Trouble. Like the theatre was aflame. Like something was changing. “I’ve never- Wooyoung has been my first patron.”

“I’m your patron?” he bumbled out, brows pursing.

Had he thought… they were something else? San had called her his friend. The woman he wouldn’t stop talking about.

She nodded nervously.

“I thought so – you hadn’t paid but the necklace, the treats, everything-“

“Swanette-“ he started, talking over her as he took a step forward. But she didn’t have another chance to voice her words. San’s arm curled over Wooyoung’s shoulder.

“It’s a good thing we’re her patrons,” San insisted. “Patrons like them-” he glanced around at the men in the foyer de la danse with disdain, taking a protective step forward as well. “-aren’t to be trusted.”

YN was shielded from the boudoir in that moment. Like a bird caged in, but was she truly caught? Or was she in the warm embrace of a nest?

San looked at Wooyoung with a little nod, and, with that, the shorter smiled.

San grinned at her, and it sent a zing up her spine, electric.

“I’ve got you, honey. We’ve got you.”

And YN believed them that night.

In the dark of another night, her eyes flickered open. She wasn’t in the expensive automobile, nor cradled in Seonghwa’s arms. The last thing she remembered was the gentle rise and fall of his chest and the smell of everything that made Seonghwa Seonghwa. Bittered ground coffee beans, warm vanilla, and a hint of something deeper, something like burnt florals. Elegant and strict-cut like him. How many nights had she spent consumed by that scent in his sheets?

Now, she felt a strange conflicted fondness for his scent. It comforted her as much as it made her stomach churn. A bittersweet situation.

Even now as she blinked her crusty eyes, YN sought it out. Sought him out. It itched at her anger. He wasn’t safe now. Were any of them?

She went to move, push off the too-warm sheets from her form. The room crackled with a lit fire-place; the smell of smoke was heady in the air. She could barely move. Her body didn’t hurt, but her limbs felt slow and sticky like she was submerged in honey, melting into molasses. With a small whine, she shifted under the luxurious covers of the bed restlessly, rustling them as she tried to push herself up.

“Be careful, sweetheart,” a voice rumbled out.

Her bleary eyes shifted to look around the room. Ah, of course, it wasn’t her room. Her sheets were never so heavied. Her fire-place wasn’t ever lit. He stood in front of the flames, a pick prodding at the logs.

Her face sturdied, frowning at him as she tried to move again.

“Don’t move too quickly, sweetheart,” he sounded soft as he put back the pick and approached the fluffed bed.

“Are you in pain?” the man asked, kneeling beside her.

He smiled fondly at her, a hand going to wipe hair out of her face. She wanted to turn away from the love written over his face. Her numb legs reminded her of what had happened. It hadn’t been a nightmare.

“Don’t touch me,” she mumbled, blearily.

“Are you in pain?” he pressed again.

He petted her hair back, tucking it behind her ears. She felt coddled like a pet. Her brow twitched.

“I can get Yunho; the doctor promised him that he gave you enough medicine that you wouldn’t feel a thing until tomorrow’s check-up. If you are –” the man chuckled lowly. “He’ll have hell to pay.”

She glared. The mention of doctors, of Yunho, of everything made the flickers of her rage burn.

“Yeosang, stop,” she bit out. The haze of sleep was fading and as she took deep breaths of the smokey air she felt her anger grow.

His smile faded for a moment at her abrupt command. He licked his lips as his hands mother-henned about her. Fixing the covers to lay lower, fluffing a pillow. She wanted to wiggle away.

“Yeosang!” she snapped again as he continued to fuss.

“YN.” His voice rumbled out warningly.

There were footsteps outside his door. He glanced towards it before, with a deep sigh, he shook his head.

“I know you’re upset.” Yeosang sympathized softly. His hands slid from the comforters to rearrange her hands to rest on her stomach. His fingers intertwined with hers. “But you don’t need to be hurting on top of that. So, I’m going to ask again – are you in pain?”

She glared at him. Why did he have to look at her with such softness? Such devotion. Did he plot her injury? Did he know? No, for some reason, she felt like Yeosang couldn’t manage such cruelty – even if he was cruel on the court. And there was the glaring obvious fact that he hadn’t been in the mansion for some days.

“YN,” he pushed again.

“No,” she admitted.

Her gaze fell to their interlocked hands. His thumb brushed soothing circles and the occasional ‘x’ across the back of her hand. He smiled, small and kind. Relieved, she realized.

“Good,” he breathed before he leaned forward to press a warm kiss to the back of knuckles.

Her fingers twitched. He didn’t move after the kiss. His chin rested there on her stomach as he stared up at her. Yeosang always held this reverence, similar to Wooyoung. Eyes of devotion she used to think, but unlike Wooyoung’s playful gleam, Yeosang’s had a look to his eyes. Of seriousness. It wasn’t a darkness, no, his eyes were the most honeyed-ambered of the bunch, soft and gleaming like a fire-place’s embers. There was no humor, no teasing, when it came to her. Steadfast, knowing.

He breathed in her skin, lips hot against her skin.

“Why are you here?” she asked after a moment.

He frowned at her, head unmoving.

“You were away on business – you had been gone for days,” she continued. “And now you are just back?”

“I heard what happened to you, sweetheart,” he offered. “I had to come back.”

“How did you hear? It’s only been hours – no letters could reach you that quick.” She retorted.

Yeosang’s smiled against her knuckles. “I had a feeling.”

It felt like he was painting an ‘x’ on a treasure map – all pointing to the fact that she was right. They had done something – they had known something; they had planned this. Her own lovers. The same men who had made her melt into the idea that she was safe with them.

She scoffed and, with the little energy she had, she pushed his cheek away from her. It didn’t do much. How much pain medication was she on to be so weak, so drowsy?

“Seonghwa had mentioned you were upset, but not this upset,” he pouted as if she had slapped him.

“How would you handle this, Yeosang?” she bit back. “If someone had broken your arms? Your wrists?”

He’d understand; he had to understand. He was dedicated to his sport; the fearsome Kim Yeosang. Awarded countless first-places and countless prizes for his talent on the court. But instead, she saw this sadness flood his gaze. Not tears, no, he never cried.

Yeosang’s hand rose to stroke her cheek with a gentle forefinger. Far too gentle compared to the harsh words, he spoke next.

“I would have never tried to leave, sweetheart. I know better; I wouldn’t have tried it ever.”

#wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung x reader #ateez x reader #san x reader #yeosang x reader #atz x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez fic #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #written by haley

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jeonqkooks · 2 years ago

Text

a little taste | jjk (m.)

the one with just the tip.

[ ‘ a little taste ’ series masterpost ]

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: established relationship, smut (pwp), unprotected s✩x (this is fictional, don't do it irl folks), cre✩mpie, jungoo is an ✩ss grabber, he's also a lil shit, 2 secs of dirty talk?, swearing, they're both frustrated lol, zero editing pls forgive me

word count: 1.3k

note: happy sunday errbody! we got a surprise ALT drop 🥳 i have no excuse, i woke up this morning and wrote this in one sitting before i even got out of bed lmao. have fun all u horndawgs <3

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

You know how you got here, and the reason is very stupid.

It always starts with a meaningless discussion, really.

You two were having a quiet night in, cuddling on the couch and watching a rerun of your favorite TV show when a raunchy joke popped up, which somehow (because bless Jungkook’s brain and his useless ability to jump from point A all the way to point Z in a blink of an eye) led to the infamous “Just the Tip” debate.

You were taking the Negative, for obvious reasons, and he was on the Affirmative side. Jungkook wasn’t arguing that all men could handle themselves when their literal dick is inside of a woman; more so that he, this one specific individual, easily could.

And you suppose that’s why you’re here, trying to settle the argument, the both of you naked from the waist down. His hard cock pokes at your entrance as his eyes twinkle with a mischievous glint. Jungkook is always so competitive, but he sometimes forgets that you are too, and you’ll try your goddamn hardest to make sure he loses this one.

Okay, maybe it’s not just a silly little debate. It might have escalated into a silly little bet, one that involves the loser having to fold the laundry for a whole month.

Which so happens to be your least favorite chore.

Which only gives you more incentive to win.

Men are simple creatures, how hard can this be?

You bite your lip as he pushes in, just the tip, then stills. The stretch is a little dry at first, and a tad uncomfortable. You barely prepped before both of your shorts flew off somewhere in favor of you wanting to prove a point. Jungkook’s fingers slip through your folds to find your clit, fondling the nub until he could feel you getting wetter by the second, coating the tip of his cock in your slick.

“Ready to lose?” you ask coyly, to which he only responds with a playful scoff before he pulls his hips back, nearly slipping out of you in the process. He bucks forward again, and you can already tell that he’s trying to hold back, to be mindful of how shallow his thrusts have to be lest he wants to give you a few more inches than necessary.

“Fuck,” a tiny, whiny, moan escapes your lips, barely audible to your own ears but Jungkook catches it. He smirks at you triumphantly, never stopping his movements down there. God, you’re really not used to this. Whenever you two are on each other, it’s always hard and unrestrained, purely focused on making the other feel as good as possible.

How the hell is he so good at this?

Maybe you should’ve known. What can’t Jungkook do?

You keep expecting more every time he pulls back, anticipating that his cock will fill you to the brim like it always does. But then he gives you just the fucking tip - which you suppose is fair; that’s the whole point of this idiotic bet after all - and you swear you could burst from frustration.

Jungkook senses your inner turmoil, how you’re trying to keep yourself from begging him to fuck you silly. You can’t say you’re surprised when he tugs his t-shirt over his head - in that insanely hot way that guys do! - and throws it recklessly across the room, flexing his abs and biceps at you. It’s like his tattoos have a mind of their own, the intricate ink winking at you with his every move like it’s mocking you, tempting you.

What’s on the line again?

Oh, right, laundry. Fuck!

You’re positively dripping with arousal, a want - no, a need - that he just won’t satiate. “That’s not fair,” you complain, even though your hands are already reaching for him, pulling him closer so you could touch him all over.

“Who said anything about fair?” he says before he kisses you, his tongue slipping past the seal of your lips to taste you. He moans against your mouth as his fingers sneak down to squeeze your bare ass.

So he wants to play dirty? Well, you can do dirty too.

You time his thrusts so that when he ruts forward, you clench around his cock.

That’s when you feel it. Him, deeper and throbbing inside of you.

For the first time since this started, you have the upper hand.

You break the kiss only to narrow your eyes at him. “That felt like more than just the tip,” you purr.

Jungkook groans, but it sounds more like a growl than anything. Okay, he’s really competitive. His hands dig into your ass so roughly that you’re pretty sure it will bruise in the morning. His hips stop moving entirely, trapping his cock within your walls where it’s achingly, deliciously hard.

You can practically feel his self-control slipping away, and all over a single clench?!

It might’ve taken you a bit longer than expected but alas, men are simple creatures.

You squeeze around him again, just for kicks. “What’s the matter, baby?” you tease, enjoying the way his eyebrows knit together tightly, almost like he’s angry. “Ready to admit defea– Oh!”

Then, that motherfucker shuts you right up. Jungkook shoves his whole length inside of you until he bottoms out, aided by the wetness that gushes out of you. He gives you a single grunt as the base of his cock rubs against your clit, the tension in your belly amping up tenfold when you feel him, so fucking deep in you because that’s where he belongs. This is what you wanted.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he mocks you with a sly smirk, though he doesn’t give you any time to answer before he starts fucking you with fervor, pounding you into the couch - or the next dimension - like he’s got a personal vendetta.

“I– fuck–!” If you could formulate a coherent response, you would shoot him back a retort - You lost! - but whoops, all rational thought flew out the window the second he rewarded you with his cock. It’s absolutely insane how easily he’s able to render you speechless just like that.

You struggle to even moan his name, for crying out loud. Jungkook holds your legs open so he could fuck you better, the tip of his cock kissing your g-spot with every thrust, sending you embarrassingly quickly to the edge you’ve been looking for. You hold onto him for dear life, nails digging into his shoulders and making him grunt from the added pain. It’s right there, you’re so close…

“C’mon,” he purrs, ducking down to suck a mark into the skin of your neck, “come for me. I know you want to.”

Just a few more thrusts and you’re falling right into that sea of bliss that awaits you at the bottom of the cliff. You come hard around his cock as a shout rips itself free from your throat - not even of his name, or anything in particular - and Jungkook is falling right behind you. He empties himself inside of you with a broken moan, warm ropes of his cum painting your velvety walls white.

You hold onto each other like that for a while longer, neither of you caring about how his softening cock is letting your combined release trickle out of you and onto the material of the couch. You play with his hair as he kisses your neck softly, and when he finally props himself up on his forearms to look down at you, there’s something so sweet in his gaze that makes you flush all over.

It almost makes you forget about what you’ve been playing for. Rationality starts crawling back in again after the dicking down you just had.

Almost being the keyword. Too bad for your boyfriend though.

“I won,” you say happily, giving him your brightest grin.

“Did you really win though?” he asks, eyes narrowing playfully at you. Always the negotiator, this one. “Or did you want me to fuck you so badly that I let you win?”

“I won. You said just the tip and then you gave me your whole dick. Now prepare to fold the laundry for a whole month.”

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lycandrophile · 1 year ago

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hi tiffany. you're such a feminine woman lol.

this shit is so funny to me because absolutely no one who has actually seen me irl would call me “such a feminine” anything.

i had a patient at work greet me and a few of my coworkers (all cis women) by saying “hey pretty ladies…and…you’re a girl, right?” with the last part directed at me. i’m so aggressively non-feminine by traditional standards that even the people who assume i’m a woman cannot in good conscience include me in “pretty ladies”. if anything, the way i present myself is so ambiguous that you can almost see people flip a coin in their head when they meet me to decide what gender they think i am, and i’ve been existing in that androgynous space for so long that when i initially came out to my dad as agender 8 years ago, he basically just said “yeah, that makes sense, you never did like all the girly stuff.” so you’re just wrong, and you’d be wrong even if i was a woman because i would absolutely not be a feminine one.

and honestly, the fact that you assume i’m super feminine just because you see me as a woman is just misogyny wrapped in a layer of transphobia to justify it. experience tells me that you’re the kind of person who also goes around telling trans men&mascs that we “can just be masculine women”, so which is it? can we be masculine and still be women, or is anyone you see as a woman automatically such a feminine one? are your ideas about gender really so regressive that you think you can tell whether or not someone is feminine simply by finding out what genitals they were born with? because i thought we could all at least agree that masculinity isn’t something exclusive to one kind of body.

either way, i know your goal was to upset me, to push me a little closer to detransitioning or killing myself or just living in self-hatred and misery, and you failed at that much. i’m not offended by being called a feminine woman because that’s not a bad thing to be, you’re just wrong and i think you’re an asshole for doing it with the obvious intention of hurting me. you’re only making yourself look bad.

#as you can see the circus is still in town in my inbox #anon hate #examples of transandrophobia #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #trans men #transmascs

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starryficsfinishwen · 10 months ago

Text

✧。◟ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ! — PGR Men x reader

last night, I laid in bed so blue / then I realized the truth!

summary // how do your favorite constructs kiss you?

a.n. - post Valentine's post :D I've been so busy with irl lately, I only just got back on my Tumblr 🫠 how'd your valentine's go?(I had a date with my school project :'D so peinful)

pairing(s) - lee, chrome, wanshi, kamui, camu, watanabe, noan, roland, noctis x f!commandant (and can be gender neutral!) (separate!)

content // suggestive LOL basically how your favorite playable characters would kiss you scenarios~

dividers by @/saradika-graphics!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Lee: Hyperreal

Kissing Lee is like breathing.

Inhaling, in the way his hands are on your jaw, the little smile on your lips when his breath fans yours. Breathing in, the smell of the cologne you've gifted him makes you dizzy in a good way, the softest brush of his mouth on the corner of your lips. Taking in, the taste of chocolate; bitter as the coffee you made the first time, yet morphs into something so sweet as sugar cookies, and you can feel him smiling as your lips meet, savoring every drop he offers—

Exhaling, as Lee pulls away to give you air, foreheads touching, because you are both too intertwined to move away from one another.

“We made quite a mess here,” you giggled.

The newly-made kitchen of the Gray Raven base is as messy as a child's breakfast: pots and pans strung everywhere, chocolates and other liquids splattered all over the counter, the drain is probably clogging for some reason (it was Lee's fault), and there was a burnt cake placed somewhere (your fault) but you both never minded those.

“I told you to let me handle all the baking,” Lee huffs, thumbs unconsciously caressing your jaw, “You had to be so stubborn.”

“I knew what I was doing,” you pout, “You always follow the recipe, even though you could just do some feeling!”

“I am starting to doubt your feelings. Remember the first-”

“-not another word.”

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry to burst your bubble.” Lee smiles at you, hands now placed beside your legs on the table you sat on, “We might as well clean up and just order something else.”

“Nooo,” you whine, tugging on his 'Kiss the Cook' apron, “The last cake is in the oven. It'll be done. I promise, it will taste yummy.”

Your lover laughs, his head rubbing your cheek, “Remind me again why we are baking?”

“It was supposed to be my surprise for you for Valentine's.” You admit, sighing, “You had to come and ruin it.”

Everything feels natural; his body fills in the gaps in yours. His head rests on your neck, your hand on his cheek and hair, his arms on your waist. You breathe in the same air, laughing off the smell of the burnt cake from earlier.

“I'm sorry,” he softly murmurs, his lips lightly kissing your neck, “...at least I get to take you out tonight.”

“Tonight?” Did you have a plan for tonight?

“Yes. I reserved a table for us at the restaurant you like.”

What a surprise. Pulling away to look at Lee's cerulean eyes, you somehow realized something:

“I thought you hated dining outside of our lounge.”

“I do,” Lee purses his lips, before sighing, “but I know we've been busy and you wanted to eat outside. Besides, it's still practical because of the restaurant's offer for Valentine's.”

Ah, this man is so smooth. You already knew that it wasn't just for that reason. Leaning to press your lips into his, you could feel your heart leap out of joy. You could hear the ting of the oven, but you never cared. You only wanted Lee's kiss— Lee's love, in the form of inhaling, taking in, exhaling.

“Commandant,” Lee pulls away slightly, whispering, “the cake-”

“I love you, Lee,” you giggled, hands threading in his hair as you purposely let your leg catch that particular spot that made him shudder, “You're so sly.”

“...You better finish what you've started, Commandant.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Chrome: Glory

Kissing Chrome is needy.

It's hot, it's heavy— his hands that grasped your shoulders, almost afraid you'd disappear if he wasn't careful; yet, still so gentle— his lips on yours are so soft, you feel like you'd melt if he wasn't holding you.

“I missed you,” Chrome mumbles when he parted from yours for air, “I missed you so damn much.”

It's not a common occurrence for the both of you to be away from each other. He was the Captain of Strike Hawk, and you had your own team. But to be away from the public eye, to be in some random corner of the streets, as your heavy breathing mingled with one another and your bodies touching, you remember that you couldn't be away from your lover far too long now.

“I missed you, Chrome, I missed you, too.” You could sob from the intensity of your situation, hands reaching for whatever part of him—his shoulders, his arms, his cheek— “Thank God, I can finally see you.”

“Me too,” Chrome breathes, placing a kiss on the crown of your head, “I couldn't wait any longer.”

“Do you still have more appointments?”

“I do,” he groans, frustration evident on his pretty face, “I still have to meet a few more people...”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” Chrome is the one who apologizes instead, starry eyed twinkling that made you frown instead.

It's always busy and no rest days. Apart from your lover being such a dependable leader, sometimes, your greed makes you want to steal him away. But alas, as you caress his cheek, the cool touch of his skin underneath your fingertips, it makes you lean onto him, lips kissing his jaw.

“[Y/N]...?”

“I missed your touch,” You admit, hands now on his cheeks, “I missed your face. I missed your hands, your kisses— I don't want to be away from you longer.”

Was it your position that somehow made you hot? Or was it the way Chrome leaned more into you, kisses reaching every inch of your face, to your chin, to your exposed jaw— you stifle a quiet moan, as Chrome nips at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, something that you've never touched before, something that was a step closer into your relationship.

“I am trying so hard not to overwhelm you, [Y/N]. I missed you so badly,” Chrome groans, “but finally seeing you, finally being able to touch you...I want to show you how much I missed you, but I'm afraid it'll be too much...”

“Don't stop,” Boldly, you proclaimed, hands running through his hair, disrupting it into a messy one, “Let's go home, Chrome. Show me how much you've missed me, and I'll show you mine.”

Pulling away so slightly, Chrome's turquoise irises reflecting a darker shade amidst the light from the crack of the corner. In between those eyes and your pending responsibilities, you already made your decision. As you feel Chrome's hold on your hips, you pressed your lips to him.

“I hope you'll stay true to that offer, [Y/N].”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Wanshi: Hypnos

Kissing Wanshi is dreamy.

In the tender tones of daylight, the artificial sun bleeding into your skin. There are too many touches all at once, but neither the two of you bother to pull away. Wanshi's lips find your skin without a hassle, humming when you swallow your laughs. He's everywhere— your hand, your arm, your shoulder, the dip of your breasts, your clavicle— everywhere but your face.

“Wanshi,” you purred, never bothering to open your eyes, “you're so needy...”

“Hush, let me dream a bit longer,” your lover sighs in your neck, nibbling your skin, “it's not everyday I get to kiss you like this.”

“We'll both be late at this point. Didn't you say Captain Chrome warned you already?”

“He already put those rules before,” he pauses, yawning, arms now wrapped possessively around your waist, “I'm exempted.”

“I won't be surprised if you get to be deprived of your capsule for another week...”

“Hey, this is about us today,” he murmurs, lightly kissing the side of your neck, “I don't want to hear another man's name in our bed...”

Your lover never learns. But still, you couldn't help but laugh at his antics. It's his problem anyways, not yours. As you giggle, your hand finds itself cupping Wanshi's soft cheeks, squeezing it.

“Wanshi, darling, we really need to get up soon. I also have work.”

You could feel Wanshi pouting against your skin. Without a warning, he gets on top of you, golden eyes looking at you. “Five minutes. Give me five more minutes, and I'll let you go.”

As you were about to ask what he meant, Wanshi leans down to capture your lips with his. You squeak from surprise, but in the end, you couldn't help but submit to his whims. His soft lips, the love that permeates from him, slipping in so deeply into you as you felt yourself buried deeper into the sheets. Your hand finds his, intertwining as he leads it above your head. Forget your job, forget that it's another shitty work day; it's only you and Wanshi, in your bed, and his dreamy kisses.

You love Wanshi, and you'd always pick him, despite his sleepy circumstances, despite everything else.

“Mm...Wanshi, give me more than five minutes.” You mutter, letting your legs wrap around his waist, pressing into him.

“Oh?”

“Yes, nngh, you win this time. Now, give me more kisses.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ Kamui: Tenebrion

Kissing Kamui is like catching the sun in both hands.

More like a surprise; playful shouting as he wins another round of your favorite game, leaving you dumbfounded in your chair. You love your man so much that you'd rather see him with that goofy smile on his face. But sometimes, some victories feel like they are being rubbed hard on your face.

“Haha! This is the third time now!”

“Alright, alright,” you shrug, placing the controller down, watching Kamui lead out of his seat, “You win.”

“Does this mean I get to have the seat for a week?”

“A month, too, if you want,” you shrug again, “Congratulations, Kamui.”

It's his playful character that made you fall for him in the first place— a unique laughter, the way his eyes crinkled with delight, how Kamui's feet would curl. But unbeknownst to him, however, you had another trick on your sleeve.

“Time for a free round!”

“No, thank you,” you flutter your eyes at him, “I'd like to see you play for now. I might get you next time if I watch your movements.”

Kamui laughs instead, making your stomach jump, “Babe, just watch, then. But I'm sure that I'll win again like always.”

As Kamui positions, your plan goes into play. He won't win against you, the real mastermind of the game.

Kamui's eyes glimmer as he focuses intently on the game. Somehow, in the middle of scoring another new record, his mind lands on you.

“[Y/N]? You seem qui-”

When he turns his head, he is met with a surprise kiss on his lips. Kissing Kamui always felt like reaching for the sun in your hands, especially this way: the surprised sound from his lips when they met yours, the softest yet so hot as he absentmindedly drops his console, reaching to hold you; Kamui doesn't hesitate to kiss you back with the same intensity— tongue tasting his favorite drink on yours, the smell of your perfume, and the dizzying heat when he refuses the pull away, in spite of your little plan.

You squeak when Kamui gently pushes you onto the sofa, him breaking away to find your saliva strung together on both of your lips. The game plays in the background, forgotten as Kamui straddles you. Looking back at his glinting eyes, you seem to miss this in your equation.

“Really, [Y/N]?”

“Y-you didn't have to- I-I thought you'd-”

“Tsk, tsk,” Kamui laughs, thumb caressing your swollen lips, “[Y/N], you already knew I'd let you win. I guess you'll be getting your present early, then~”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Camu: Crocotta

Kissing Camu is like snow on the beach.

So rare, so sudden. It's the rumble of the vending machine of some unknown brand, dropping a new kind of food. Was it edible?

“So they really did put up these things.”

It's the low sound of Camu's husky voice surprising you on a random sunny afternoon. You quickly pick up the food, presenting it in front of him, “Do you mean this?”

Camu takes the food from your hand. It's a cake in a can, you presume, as it is written boldly on the cover. Squinting his eyes, Camu effortlessly tears off the lid without the use of the safety pin. At this point, such a scenario no longer surprises you.

“A cake in the can?”

“A cake in the can.” Camu affirms, giving it back to you, “It was a staple for the Japanese vending machines back in the Golden Age.”

The little treat (although forced open) seemed cute. Using the spoon provided, you took a few bites. Immediately, a yummy flavor pours into your mouth, making you squeal with joy. You quickly taste more.

“Mmh! It's so sweet~!”

“Yeah, they're usually really sweet.”

Taking a large spoonful, you hold it out to Camu. “Would you like some?”

Hesitant. Camu looks at you, somehow judging you (do you usually hold out food to random people?), yet cautiously leans down to your height. His eyes never leave yours as he takes a bite, even until he gulps it down. Your eyes twinkle as you notice your joy reflected in his, signaling the sweet taste of the dessert.

“What do you think?”

“...it is very sweet.”

“I really want to eat more of this~” you grin, “let me order-”

Camu holds your shoulder, causing you to stop. When you turned to look back at him, focused dark eyes looked at you.

“Wait.”

Camu leans forward, his face inches away from yours. As you feel your temperature grow higher, you only notice Camu's thumb caress the corner of your mouth.

“...you had a bit of cream there.”

Did you only notice Camu's handsomeness just now? Or was it because of the close proximity? His breath is cool on your lips, pretty dark eyes devoid of any harshness that he usually portrays, yet the subtle softness of his features somehow made him look more handsome up close. It makes you want to kiss him.

“I'm sorry?”

Snapping out of your reverie, you blink at him, “Huh?”

“You said you wanted to kiss me.”

Crap. You and your thoughts! You groan, trying to mask your reddening embarrassment, “Ah, Camu, I'm so sorry, I didn't-”

But Camu closes the gap anyways. It catches you off guard at first, but his kiss is cool and warm at the same time, almost felt like bathing in the sea amidst the snow. You taste the sweet cake on his lips, the smell of peppermint invading your senses. It is only a short while, ending as fast as it started. When he pulls away, you find dark eyes reflecting your emotion: curiosity.

“...ah-!”

“Technically, we indirectly kissed already.”

Camu points at the spoon, realization dawning on you. You squeak, trying to assess more of the situation. But Camu, with a small smile on his lips despite the deepening blush on his cheeks, coughs, “...I guess it's time for me to ask you out later during the Valentine's event, then.”

You were about to ask what the deal was about, until your mind whirred back to his initial words.

“I thought you don't like Valentine's?”

“I don't like Valentines.” He said.

“So why...?”

Camu, turning away from you, before looking back with a smile on his face, “I like you, obviously.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Watanabe: Epitaph

Kissing Watanabe is always a surprise.

It's when you least expected it. From the sudden kisses in front of children, to meet ups in the warehouse, and even in random times of the day. Watanabe would always keep surprising you, you almost think it's a routine at this point (God Bless your heart; hopefully his antics won't kill you before your fated day).

However, lately, it's almost not happening.

“Hello, [Y/N],” your lover greets you as he passes by, opting to continue talking to the man beside him. You retract your expectant hands.

“Watch out, [Y/N].” Watanabe calmly catches you by your hips, when a child nearly hits you with the ball. You wanted to reach out, but he was already walking away.

“I'll be taking that.” And gone was the playful kiss on your shoulder, instead, it was a smile on his lips as he took the supplies and left you in the dark. What the hell was going on?

On a random evening, he started to avoid you on purpose.

“Watanabe!” You cried out as you watched him disappear from the sea of people.

It was the nth time of you trying to track him down that day. Tired from running around, you slump against the wall, tears filling your eyes. Your tears began to escape your eyes as the atmosphere around you, despite it being Valentine's, was full of love and laughter.

What did you do wrong? Watanabe is your lover, one you've long promised to be with forever. But what was forever if he no longer looked at your way?

“Miss [Y/N]?”

Sniffling away your tears, you looked up to see one of the Forsaken soldiers. “Y-yes?”

“...are you alright?”

“Y-yes, yes,” you were not, but you still stood up, facing the soldier, “What do you need?”

“Could you kindly come with me to the warehouse? I need someone to inspect the weapons before we head out tomorrow.”

Wordlessly, you follow the construct. Your mind swims in a hazy sea of doubts and self depreciation. Should you leave this place? Go back to Babylonia? You are still welcome there, last time you checked. But the people...

It didn't take a while before you both arrived at the destination. Stepping inside the dark warehouse, you failed to notice that the door behind you closed. As you ran to pry it open, from the corner of your eyes, you saw a lone light shine in the middle of the dark warehouse.

It's Watanabe.

All of your anger rushes to your brain. Your legs move quicker, however, sprinting to reach out to the estranged man.

“You selfish little-”

“[Y/N]-”

Anything Watanabe says is fast, but your reflexes are faster. You held onto his arms, your tears of anger flowing as you cried out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I know, I know-”

“Do you know how sad and angry I am at you? For leaving me with no answers?”

Watanabe does not answer. He lets you speak.

“Why? What did I do wrong? Why are you ignoring me?”

“I am aware, yes.” He answers, sorrowful, “I am sorry for treating you that way, [Y/N]. I know I shouldn't have done that, but my actions hurt you instead.”

“Then why did you do it?”

Watanabe doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches out to cup your cheeks, genuine sadness reflecting in his expression.

“I have been thinking. And I made up my mind.”

He caresses your cheeks with such reverence, it almost makes you melt. “...being away from you is so cruel. I wanted to make such a heavy decision, to leave you so you could be with another human, but I realized that I was just like you— I would be angry, too.”

Watanabe leans down, your forehead touching, “I want to be greedy for you, [Y/N]. Please, let me make it up to you.”

Suddenly, you were aware of the weight of your words from earlier. You weren't mad; you were devastated. Should this man, the love of your life, leave you, what becomes of you, then?

“Watanabe...”

You tug on his collar, whispering, “Don't go. Kiss me, please.”

Kissing Watanabe really is a surprise. It's fulfilling, in a way that completes you like a puzzle, his warm lips on yours. You love him just as much as he loves you, perhaps more— it's agonizing, it's too much, yet you crave for him; he is all you have. When he reluctantly pulls away, he whispers your name.

The lights of the warehouse turn on. And behind him, a dazzling display of flowers and pictures are shown.

“What-”

“I know it's not much, unlike the luxuries in Babylonia,” Watanabe kneels down, the glittering stone on the engraved jewelry in his hand, “But this is all from every corner of my heart; I love you, my [Y/N]. Please accept my proposal.”

You couldn't hold your tears anymore— from anger, they turned into immense joy. The answer has long been spoken.

“Marry me, my [Y/N].”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noan: Arca

Kissing Noan is sweet.

Little kisses and noises of joy as you take breaks in between your book reading. It's his warm hand on top of yours, the other busy flipping through the pages. Noan's voice is a soothing lullaby, a gentle lull as he reads the passages for you.

“It's quite ironic,” Noan breaks away from the book, putting it aside as he brushes away the hair covering your face, “I thought you wanted me to read to you.”

There you were, comfortably laying on his lap, watching him with tired eyes. Slightly pouting, you weakly tugged on his scarf, “Noan, why did you stop...”

“My lap isn't very comfortable to sleep in. Let's move you back to your base.”

“Nooo,” you stubbornly shook your head, trying not to let Noan stand, “Finish reading the book, please? You're almost at the exciting part...”

Sighing, Noan picks up the book. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, one of the books that caught Noan's attention. Driven by your immense curiosity and how Noan was itching to read the story, judging by its summary, you thought it was a nice idea to let him read to you. It's hitting two birds with one stone!

“I don't get how you're so interested in the book,” Noan asks, flipping back to the page where he left, “You're already falling asleep.”

You don't have the heart to tell him you've already read it while you were still in the F.O.S. “Well, I think the concept is neat.”

“The concept of a man who has the body parts of dead people off killing people just to appease his creator?”

You shrugged, “I mean...”

Noan laughs, fingers idly drifting and drawing circles on your cheek, “Just tell me that you're just doing this because you think that I'm interested in it.”

“Are you not?” You turned to catch brown eyes looking at you with mirth.

“In a way, yeah.”

You pondered for a bit, trying to remember the contents of the book. Lifting your hand to cup Noan's cheeks, you huffed, “Y'know, you remind me a bit of the monster.”

Quickly catching yourself with your words (to which Noan laughs), “I mean, minus the killing. Wait, no, I mean-”

“Okay, okay, something related to that?”

“Yes, that.” You grinned, “the monster wasn't supposed to mean any harm. He simply wanted the attention and love from his creator.”

Your lover, in a way, was similar to the monster of the book. Rebuilt and revived, nearly as a killing machine. But does a killing machine have to look this beautiful in the hazy afternoon glow? Noan's lips parted for a bit, before pursing them. Lifting your head, you snuck in a short kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“You're similar yet different from the monster, Noan.” You murmured, closing your eyes as you inhaled his smell, “Thus strangely are our souls constructed, and by slight ligaments are we bound to prosperity and ruin.”

Noan chuckles, lightly squeezing your cheeks, “and you tell me you've never read the book before-”

“I didn't disagree, didn't I?”

“Hmm...”

“Noan,” you whispered, “Unlike Frankenstein's story, you are never feared, nor despised.”

You kissed Noan. It's sweet— the taste of the cookies you gave, the herbal tea; his lips that were made to kiss yours, to fit; and Noan, who went through too much, was yours to protect forevermore.

“You are loved, even more than your creator.”

When you pull away, deep red tinted his cheeks and ears, which made you laugh. “Well, Noan?”

“Mm...I should stop reading the book since you already know-”

“Keep going, please?” You purred, “I like you reading to me.”

“...mh, fine, you're lucky I like you.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Roland: Flambeau

Kissing Roland is, well, comedic.

He's laughing; the crescendo plays a melodic tune, as he plays his role. Your lover is a clown at this point, laughing manically with every step he takes.

But you love him anyway. You love your clown.

“Roland, dear,” you giggle, “Remind me again what's my role?”

He pauses, before approaching you. “Mi amor,” Roland reaches out to your hand, kissing it, “You are the lead of this play!”

As he continues to play his role, you are sitting in front of him, on a fancy chair. For Valentine's, you half-expected Roland to join the theatre, however, he was here in front of you— with only you as the audience and apparently the lead as well.

“What do I do?”

“Sit prettily there,” Roland winks, “That's your role.”

“Alright. Do I still get compensated?”

“Hush, the climax of this story is now nearly in full bloom.”

With a crisp spin, Roland turns to face you, the spotlight hitting every nice angle he had. In his hand, a single, beautifully blooming rose.

“Mi amor, my love, my light,” Roland began his monologue, “Though it has been a very long journey and story, here we are, still alive.”

Ah, you realized this scene now. The first proper confession.

Roland walks to you, despite his clownish appearance, he genuinely had a sweet smile on his face. “Damned by those who defy our circumstances; from this day forward, I am yours, as much as you are mine.”

He looks at you, with gentle hands holding your cheek, “What do you say, mi amor?”

In the original story, you ran away out of fear. But you were in a new scenario with him now. Smiling, you dragged him to you with his shirt, “Hmm, sounds missing.”

You wink at Roland, “Ah, I know now.”

Without a warning, you closed the gap in between your lips. Roland eases into you easily; grasping at hands, responding to your move. It's still soft, his lips that make you dream of oceans and theatre plays— it makes you want more.

But Roland pulls away, chuckling, “Well, that certainly wasn't part of the script.”

“You kept missing the cues,” you stuck your tongue out, “I merely filled in the gaps.”

“That's my girl,” Roland praises, “My perfect muse, my perfect actress.”

Comedic, in a way that it's the perfect timing. You leaned further to kiss him more.

“Mm, I still have a few ideas you can add to your script.”

Roland's hand in your hips tightened, mirroring your smile, “Do tell, we should execute it afterwards.”

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚Noctis: Indomitus

Kissing Noctis is wild.

In how he holds you effortlessly in one hand. You grasp where your hands could reach, but you could only breathe in. In how Noctis's voice sends shivers. A melody that echoes so long.

His lips are begging to be with you. It's almost painful.

“[Y/N], [Y/N],” Noctis whines, “Please, let me touch you.”

“We are in a public area, Noctis,” you whisper, aware of his creeping fingers on your pants, “Mmh, it's not just me...”

Your lover was supposed to be a grown man, but who knew his neediness could make him such a needy child?

“Please, please, I promise it won't take long,” He groaned as his fingers rubbed your thighs, “I'll be very quick.”

Sighing, you try to look around you. Making sure that no one else could see, you pulled Noctis closer, lips mere inches away from one another.

“Be quick, okay?”

And you trust Noctis. Kissing him is wild— as if asking to be breathed back to life, he kisses you with such fervor. Never minding touchy hands, it's so hot that you unconsciously opened the buttons on your shirt. Noctis loves hard and harder, the beating of his heart a testament. His tongue on yours, hands everywhere else.

“Thank you,” he cries out, making you throb, “I owe you so much...”

“How about pushing it past my limits today, Noctis?”

Without a word, Noctis slips into you for one more stolen kiss. “You have my word, then, [Y/N].”

Writing this half asleep HAHAHAHAHSHSHA

— starry

#pgr #punishing gray raven #punishing gray raven imagines #pgr commandant #pgr global #pgr lee #pgr chrome #pgr chrome glory #pgr hyperreal #pgr wanshi #pgr kamui #pgr camu #pgr watanabe #pgr noan #pgr roland #pgr noctis #pgr valentines

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