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becauseicantthinkwritings · 8 months ago

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To Love and To Cherish (II)

Part 10 of my Accidentally on Purpose Series!

Warnings: CNC, oral (f), knife play (he fucks her with the hilt of his knife), bondage, threats, chasing, creepy phonecalls, mild mirror sex, somnophilia, anxiety, fear, angst, cliffhanger.

A/N: Please keep in mind that though this is dark play, everything has been discussed and even practised in advance and is fully consensual.

Hehe

@icannotbetrustedalone 😘

A late lunch is brought to your door after you wake up. You have no idea how Sam knew you were awake, perhaps she'd timed your jet lag that well.

She tells you to enjoy, that her team will be here around dusk to get you dressed for your date.

You smile at that word, knowing that she had no real clue what your husband was really up to.

Later in the day, there’s a knock on your door.

You open it to Sam, with her binder, looking eager.

“Are you ready?” She asks with a smile.

When you nod and open the door wider, she turns her head and nods too, and you blink in surprise when four other women follow her into your room with a lot of different things in hand.

You spot a garment bag, and a makeup kit, another bag has a hair curler sticking out.

They introduce themselves, their specialties are in hairstyles, makeup and nails.

You're out of your depth and you say so, glancing over at Sam for some kind of help.

“Don't worry, we already know what to do based off your preferences.” She explains, “You just have to sit back and enjoy being pampered.”

You guess you could try.

When they're done, you're surprised to see so much of yourself there.

There's a lovely little tiara on your head, your hair in a delicate updo with strands framing your face. The dress- is beyond beautiful, white shimmering fabric, an off shoulder design that makes you feel like a princess.

Your fingers and toes are freshly done in a dark red like you'd requested, so that they can match the red on your lips.

There's a small heel on your silver shoes- safe to run in while still being pretty.

“You guys are amazing.” You say in wonder as you fully assess yourself.

They laugh, happy that you're satisfied.

Sam presents one final thing to you, the one odd thing you'd asked for that wasn't in your binder.

You grin at her, ducking into the ensuite bathroom and tugging the garter out of the box, sliding it on.

There's a small knife attached to it, and you make sure it's concealed, and easily reachable through the slit in your dress before you step out again.

When they’re finished with some last minute makeup retouches, Sam smiles proudly, and wishes you a very good night, letting you know that they’ll all be leaving you soon, here alone with your husband.

You can’t help the excited pulse your nether regions give at the reminder, dressed pristinely from head to toe, all for Billy to tear off.

You grin at Sam, walking the small group of women to the door, listening quietly to their plans for the night, encouraging and enjoying their banter, sending them off with a wave into a car waiting for them.

The heavy wooden door closes with a dull sound that echoes through the castle, emphasising your desolation.

You turn, leaning against the door in your shimmery dress, taking in the quiet silence of the place.

There’s a little bit of fear tingling down your spine, the feeling of being truly alone in such a big place, not really knowing where you are, with no means of escape.

You find that it turns you on.

All dressed up, all for him, and you can’t even really leave, a headiness to the realisation, your fear is an aphrodisiac all on its own.

You bite down on the corner of your lip, smiling, pushing yourself away from the door, and decidedly picking a direction to begin your exploration.

You touch everything you see, trailing your freshly done fingertips over every item, examining the feel, appreciating the textures.

The curtains, the lighting fixtures, you examine all of it, a crown on your head that makes you almost feel like you own it all.

You get into the fantasy he’s weaved, becoming the role of the princess he’s cast you in.

You find the throne room first, a flourish of plum and golds, a large red carpet leading to the thrones in question- two- sitting side by side, beckoning you closer.

You squint, looking up at the massive chandelier that sits in the middle of the room, with little pieces of glass that if cleaned properly, would probably reflect little shards of light.

You pick the chair on the right, and settle yourself onto it, sighing happily at how comfortable it is, relaxing for a moment, before standing to continue your exploration.

You’re passing the dining room when a phone begins to ring in the distance.

It sends a shiver of fear over you, the dated sound echoing through the halls. You begin searching for it, following the rings of what you assume is an old era phone.

You find the phone on a table at the bottom of the staircase, ruby red, sitting beside a marble statue of a woman, posed with her hand in the air as if to block the light from her eyes.

It keeps ringing until you tentatively pick it up, bringing it to your ear.

“Hello?” You say softly into it.

There’s a voice on the other end, modulated to be unrecognizeable to you, but even that sends a shiver of excitement through you.

“Princess.” The voice says calmly.

You swallow.

“Who is this?”

The voice is deep, each grovel is a tremor in your body.

“I’m just a nightmare, sweetheart. I hope you’re ready for me.”

You shudder, shaking your head.

“Ready for what?”

He doesn’t answer your question.

“You look gorgeous. Prettier than I expected. It’s making me… want.”

You stiffen, taking a breath and looking around, searching the shadows for some sign of a man, lurking in the darkness.

“You can see me?” You ask in a soft whisper, laying the fear on thickly.

“Of course, princess. I’ll be inside soon, we’ll get a nice, long introduction to each other.”

You gasp in surprise, dropping the phone and moving quickly to the doors you passed during your exploration, making sure that they’re locked.

Your hand is on the door separating the kitchen from the gardens- when the lights go out.

You hear your own breath of surprise, your heart pattering in your chest, real fear being awakened inside of you when you realise that this is actually happening.

Everything is still, you’re afraid to move, the darkness becoming honey thick all around you.

Eventually, being still is too much, and you have to force your body to break the stillness around you.

There’s barely a sliver of light, the moon, casting pale streams through the windows. Instinct tells you to stay where you can see, your body backed against the window, eyes peering into the darkness as if it’s alive and coming for you.

You glance down when something shimmery catches your eye, gasping, you realise that the moonlight makes you a bigger target, your dress reflecting its beams in every direction.

It leaves you no choice but to step into the darkness.

You wonder where he is, if hands will just reach out and grab you at any given moment.

It makes your stomach tight, that what you’ve been yearning for is almost within reach.

“Hello?” You call out shyly, voice shaking just a little. You walk softly out of the kitchen, one hand against the wall to guide you, unsure of exactly where you’re going.

Suddenly, a chill runs over the back of your neck, like a soft breath from someone standing just behind you. You turn, waving your hand into the darkness, and finding nothing but air.

You feel so much like prey in that moment, searching for a predator with hunting skills beyond your comprehension.

You’re passing the dining room when your heart freezes in your chest. In the corner of your eye, you can see the silhouette of a dark figure, standing in the moonlit window.

Your breath halts in your throat, turning to face him, the swishing of your dress is louder in your ears.

The mask is- terrifying- white, with the appearance of fractured glass across it, some pieces missing over the cheek area, his real face peeking through.

He raises a hand, and presses a gloved finger to the mouth of the mask.

You turn, and run.

Fuck, this was it, it was really happening. He was here, and he was going to do all the things he promised he would, all the things you’d practised together so that he was sure you were always one hundred percent safe and comfortable.

You’re not very fast, the dress and heels slowing you down

He grabs you at the very moment the lights flick on.

It takes a moment for your eyes to get adjusted, and then you gasp when your back is slammed to a wooden wall behind you, the intricate carvings pressing uncomfortably to your spine.

His hands are on your shoulders, keeping you in place as you look up at him with fear in your eyes.

You finally get a chance to see him fully, all masked up, covered from head to toe in what can only be the most mouth watering look on the planet.

Sure, his suits were divine, but seeing him dressed down like this was a cherry on top of a malevolent cake.

It clings to his skin, the cut of his chest and arms showing through the tight, long- sleeved shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of navy combat pants, and further into boots.

It’s much easier to note where you can see his skin- on his wrists between the sleeve and the glove, his neck, and parts of his face that show through the fractured pieces of his mask.

He’s a work of devastating art, lust incarnate, bringing forth so much delight that you struggle to hide it.

“Please,” you whisper shakily, getting into character, feeling it spark arousal, “Don't hurt me.”

You watch the darkness clouds his eyes, a predator, hidden beneath layers of humanity, finally being set free.

“Oh, princess,” he whispers, leaning in, trailing his gloved thumb over your jaw and cheekbone lovingly, “I am definitely going to hurt you.”

You gasp at his words, reaching for the weapon strapped to your thigh. It was your turn to give him a surprise.

The dagger is sharp, you made sure of it, wanted it to be real, you wanted to see a genuine look of surprise in his eyes when you finally pressed it to his neck.

Except, he doesn't look surprised at all.

“Leave.” You say, with so much command in your voice that you almost believe you have the power to say something like that to him.

He studies you for a lengthy moment, before he tilts his head back and lets out a deep laugh, and even that, works to seduce you.

His hold is an iron grip on your wrist, and it was a mistake letting him grab you, he’s too strong, and no matter how hard you struggle, you can’t get your hand back.

“This knife is pathetic, princess.” He grabs the hilt, twisting it so that you’re forced to release it or have your wrist twisted too, it clatters loudly in the empty space.

“Is that all you have to fight me off with? No wonder this is so easy.”

You exhale angrily, trying to push him away, your freshly done nails digging into his arms.

He grips your hands, pulling them above your head and pinning them there with one of his.

A soft sound of distress leaves your lips, struggling to get away but your dress is too much of a hindrance, keeping your legs pressed in one place when he moves closer.

“Here, why don’t I show you mine?” He murmurs, reaching with his free hand to pull a significantly larger knife out of his boot.

You gulp, eyeing it wearily as he rubs the handle roughly against your cheek, the hilt is coated in a rubber, with indents to help with grip. He slides it around till it’s pressed to your lips, smearing your lipstick, you angle your head away to avoid it.

“I’m going to fuck you with this,” He promises, leaning in till the mouth of his mask is on your ear, “Gonna use it to get you ready for my cock.”

“No.” you murmur weakly.

“No?” He teases, “Well why don’t you try stopping me then?” He murmurs, pulling back a little to free you from his hold.

You’re surprised to be free, knowing that it’s just a trick, knowing that he wants to chase you.

You keep your eyes on his form, watching him observe you as you slowly back away.

“Go on, princess,” He says in such a condescending tone that your knees wobble, “Run away from me.”

When you're far enough away that you know he won't grab you, you turn, pulling your skirts up a little so that you can run.

Heart pounding in your chest you have no idea where you're going or what your plan is beyond running away. You couldn't very well hide in a dress that glimmers when you breathe, you couldn't fight- all you really had in your arsenal was your capacity to get him angrier.

With that in mind, you grab the first heavy thing you can find- the telephone directory- turning and chucking it in his approximate vicinity.

It doesn't slow him down at all, because he grabs your wrist in the next second, pulling you into him.

“No!” You exclaim, swiping your nails across his mask, knocking it askew so that he can't see.

You’re not proud of how hard you stomp his foot next, watching him double over with a low grunt, allowing you to get some distance.

The phone, you decide, angling your run to get you to the base of the main stairs.

You just make it to the phone- grabbing the glossy handset and raising it to your ear- before he grabs it roughly from you, reaching behind to rip all the important wires out of the back.

You almost can’t do it, wanting to drop to your knees right there and beg him to take you- but you know that deep down you had to see this fantasy fully play out.

He’s angry now, and he shows it by grabbing the entire phone and slamming it to the floor while you watch, backing away in horror, his sleek boot slamming the broken pieces until it’s nothing but ruby shards.

“Who were you going to call, princess? You don’t even know where you are.”

Jesus, you think, helplessly aroused.

The next time you turn away, he wraps an arm around your waist and picks you up.

You kick your feet in protest, scratching at his arms, trying to pry his iron grip off of you but it’s no help, you grunt, and you kick and you wriggle and still he drags your body wherever.

He drops you below the chandelier of the throne room.

It glitters in your eyes as you try to catch your bearings, sitting up you watch him grab a length of rope from his belt.

You try to scramble back but your dress catches under your feet, making you slip, falling back even more.

He grips one of your wrists while you’re disoriented, and you feel the rope wrap tightly around it. You try to push him off, but he just catches your other hand, wrapping them securely in front of you, knotting them easily.

He stands, and with a strong arm, throws the other end of the rope through a support rung of the chandelier, catching it as it swings toward him.

Then, he pulls, forcing you up onto your knees, your hands suspended in the air, as he moves to secure the rope to the throne nearby.

You struggle, trying to tug your way out, your legs tangled in your dress, stopping you from standing.

“I wouldn’t.” He warns softly, “Pull too hard and it might fall, carving up that pretty body before I’m done.”

He kneels beside you, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“That would make me, real upset.” He breathes through the mask.

“P-lease.” You beg, turning your head to look at him, relaxing when you realise there was no escaping without hurting yourself.

“God, you're so pretty.” He trails a gloved hand over your cheek, down your chest, the leather is smooth on your skin, you shiver when his hand reaches the top of your dress.

“I almost don't want to hurt you.” his hand smooths over the front of the dress, slipping lower to gently untangle the skirts from your legs, you adjust to let him do so, thinking that it will allow you to stand up.

You turn your head to look at him, examining his eyes through the mask, the way they linger on your body, you don’t even realise what’s been done until you feel his gloved hand slip under your panties and press right to your clit.

The friction is delicious, the smooth leather providing an interesting feel between your thighs. You look down, realising he’s used the high slit of your dress to get under your skirts easily.

“Don’t.” You beg, trying to inch away, “Please.”

“I don’t fucking care what you want, princess.” He grits out harshly, his finger pressing down more firmly, slipping from side to side, the pleasure, trying to force you to shut down your resistance.

“I’m here to steal from you, and I’m going to take everything I want.”

Your breaths become shallow when his finger starts circling your aching bud, you’ve been denying yourself for so long that you feel the sweet burn of pleasure the longer he does it.

You can even feel how wet you are, in the fluidness of his movements. He breathes into your ear, and you find yourself leaning into him to take the weight off of your knees.

“Don’t do this,” You murmur weakly, “Please I’ll do anything.”

He laughs in your ear, slowing his movements to torment you.

“I’m doing you a favour, sweetheart, you should be grateful. At least I have the decency to let you cum before I fuck you with my knife.”

You make a sound of protest, angling away from him.

“No!” You cry.

He doesn’t let you move far, gripping the back of your head, till it’s tilted back, hands suspended above you, his fingers resume their fast movement on your clit.

He’s dextrous, even with gloves on, you can feel the micromovements that succeed in bringing you right up to that edge even faster.

Your eyes roll back in your head, surprised that he’s got you right on edge so soon, though you know you shouldn’t be, this is your husband after all, he knows exactly how to get you off.

The weeks of denial burn, your body not accustomed to orgasm needs an extra push getting there, he presses down even firmer, speeding up.

You groan, unable to stop it, or resist it, your stomach clenched tight with nothing in sight but the precipice of orgasm.

Don’t stop, you beg internally, please don’t stop.

It’s a hollow thing, but strong nonetheless. You breathe shallowly through gritted teeth as you reach your peak, thighs trembling, as you rut yourself helplessly on his gloved fingers.

Too good, needing just a little bit more, thighs sticky with your orgasm, his fingers growing even more messy as you come.

Your vision whites out for a moment, senses evaporating temporarily, you come back to the sound of your own panting, heavy in the room.

You don’t get a chance to look over at him with desperate eyes, he pulls his hand from between your thighs and promptly shoves his drenched fingers into your mouth.

You hum in protest, trying to pull away, but he’s still got that iron grip on the back of your head.

“Taste that slutty little cunt, princess. Remember how wet you get for me when you’re begging me to stop later.”

You can only grunt your denial, with his fingers in your mouth, the taste of leather and your arousal making its point on your tongue.

When he draws his hand back, they come out with heavy strings of saliva that cling to your bottom lip.

“You’ll pay for this.” You whisper hoarsely, your head hanging low. Your arms start to ache a little from the way they’re held above your head.

It’s the wrong thing to say, he grips your hair once more, tugging your head back to an almost uncomfortable position.

“What was that?”

You make a little sound at the way he manhandles you, tilting your head, you look him in the face.

“I said, ‘You'll pay for this.”

He studies you slowly, you watch his eyes flicker as he studies your face. You curl your hands into fists, hoping he lets you down soon.

His laughter doesn't surprise you, but it does make your stomach twist.

“Yeah? Who’s gonna make me pay? You?” He says between small sounds of amusement, reaching back, he pulls the knife from before out of his pocket.

You eye it warily, as he brings the blade up to your line of sight, you swallow, trying to breathe as you examine the wicked edge of the serrated blade.

You go perfectly still when the cool metal of the blade touches your cheek.

“You might be a pretty little thing, but you have no power to make me pay. You’re all mine to do what I want. You can’t stop me.”

You whine pitifully, knowing that his words were true.

He reaches up, cutting the rope and guiding your hands into your lap. By now, they tingle, almost numb but not quite, you sigh in relief, watching him quietly squeeze your arms.

“Don’t be scared,” He says, surprisingly soft for someone who was just running the sharp edge of a knife over your cheek, “I'm sure you'll learn to love taking my cock. Maybe with time, you'll beg me for it.”

“Go to hell.” You utter with as much venom as you can muster.

Behind the mask, you hear his laugh, watching the way he lowers his hand, flipping the knife around so that the hilt points toward you.

You lean away, your dress glittering as you move, feeble bound arms raising to push his hand back as he draws closer.

You don’t get far in stopping him, and in the next moment, you feel the hilt of his blade pressed between your thighs.

Fuck, this was too good.

Your head tips back in bliss, torn between fighting him and begging him to just take you in any way he wanted.

Your husband, the man you loved with almost every atom in your body.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You whisper on a shaky breath, turning to look at him.

Behind the mask, he huffs, the hand in your hair wraps neatly around your throat.

Pulling you close, looking into your eyes, you can hear his angry breaths behind his mask.

He wriggles the hilt of his knife against your cunt, pleasure swelling in your head at the very touch.

He stands suddenly, sheathing his knife, grips your arm to haul you up. Your legs wobble, almost giving out beneath you before he’s wrapping his hands around your hips to lift you.

With your hands tied together, there’s nothing more you can do than wiggle, shifting your body this way and that, but he doesn’t say a word, dropping you onto one of the thrones in the next moment.

He grabs the rope that's tied to the throne- the one that had been used to pull you onto your knees just moments before- and uses it to secure each hand to either side of you.

You kick your foot out at him, and he simply grabs your ankle, gloved hand trailing up to your thigh for a moment before he bends your knee, pulling your leg over the arm of the throne, and securing your ankle to a point somewhere between the base and the foot that you can't really see.

From there, it's over for you, your other foot is caught just as swiftly, and the next thing you know, you’re tied securely to the throne with your legs opened wide, draped across the arms of the intricately carved seat.

He's silent for a moment, appreciating his work, you tug at the restraints to further reinforce his satisfaction that you can't move.

“Damn. You look like a work of art.”

You frown up at him.

He leans over you, and you finally understand the versatility he has with you in this position. He could fuck your cunt, or your mouth, or even your breasts if he so wanted and you couldn't do a damn thing.

He grips your jaw with one hand, tilting your head up, coming closer, pressing a knee into the open space between your thighs for balance. When he gets close enough, he covers your eyes, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

It gives you butterflies, the way he presses in firmly, taking with his mouth, his beard scratching softly at your chin and lips. You hum against his mouth, feeling his hold on your jaw tighten for a second before he's shoving his tongue past your lips.

Like he owns you, his kiss consumes your senses, your bound fingers curling into little fists as you enjoy kissing him for a few moments more.

Before you bite down harshly on his tongue.

He pulls away in a split second, back to you as he presses his hand to his mouth. You grin in victory as he tugs the mask sitting on his head back down to his face before turning to face you angrily.

He's slow when he approaches, predatory with his long legs and his cocky attitude.

He drops to one knee in front of you, tilts his head, leaning in.

You hear the loud thud of his hand slamming into the space beside your head long before you've registered what's happened.

It makes you flinch in surprise, despite the fact that he'd practised it with you before. It seems way more sinister now, with his masked persona feeling like a different person altogether.

Naturally, the fear spinning inside of you, only succeeds in making you more aroused.

“You're such a brat, I almost want to fuck you right now with no prep.” He presses his thumb between your spread legs, ambling slowly over your clothed clit, “I bet I'd make that little cunt cry with how much I stretch her.”

You suck in a slow breath.

“Please don't.”

He pulls his knife out again.

“You don’t really have a choice.” He answers, carefully angling the cool blade between the seam of your panties.

“Don’t move, little girl, or I might accidentally hurt you- on purpose.” He teases, tugging the knife toward him so that your panties are cut through with zero effort.

You sigh in relief when your cunt is finally exposed to the cool air, sticky with arousal, you groan when he tugs your undergarment free.

“Look at that weepy little hole princess- fuck- she’s so empty, isn’t she?”

“Noo” You hum softly, clenching around nothing as he studies your most delicate area.

He moves slowly, almost reverent in his actions, notching the tip of his hilt against your entrance, you feel your lungs seize as the pleasure hits you.

You hiss when he presses in, the ridged hilt stretching you open, not as big as his cock, but certainly larger than his fingers.

You take it as best as you can, relaxing, eyes watering with an abundance of pleasure.

He tilts his head, makes a single click of his tongue.

“She’s so greedy,” He says breathlessly, “Look at that.” He sinks more of the hilt in.

You bite your lip, moaning when he pulls slowly out, pushing in again.

He starts slow, moving softly until you can take all of the hilt. He grips the blade, you wonder if the glove protects him from the sharp edge.

You want to say his name, but he hasn’t given it, so you settle for sniffling, your bottom lip wobbling wetly as he takes his time.

“Stop.” You mewl, trying to stay in character, looking at his masked face, watching his dark eyes look back.

“No, sweetheart,” He says evenly, “I’m going to play with you, until I’m done.”

You suck in a deep breath, holding it.

He quickens his pace just a little, and before you know it, your cunt has locked tight around the hilt of his knife, every blunted ridge of it being imprinted into your head as you see stars.

It’s unexpected, you hadn’t meant to cum, your body jerking helplessly against the restraints, you pant, unable to see straight for a few moments.

You gulp in air, coming back to your senses. He waits patiently for your orgasm to subside, your body to relax before he works the hilt out of your eager cunt.

“You’re so pretty when you do that.” He says, tucking his knife back into his belt, studying you for a moment before reaching up to shove two of his fingers past your lips.

You can’t go anywhere, simply forced to feel him carefully push and pull his fingers in and out of your mouth, the weight on your tongue encouraging your brain to surrender to him.

When he determines his fingers are wet enough, he glides them down your chest, and tugs at the front of your dress.

It takes a little work before his thumb and index find your pert nipple.

A breath of air leaves you, and your back arches involuntarily, begging for more of his touch.

“You like it, huh? Kinda pathetic.”

“Rot in- f- hell.” You grunt, eyes rolling back as pleasure swims in your head from the way he takes his time to play with your nipples.

You feel his hand, drag over your stomach as he chuckles, the rushing sound as he disturbs the fabric of your skirts. Deft fingers rub circles into your inner thigh before a lone finger slips under the silky elastic garter that was holding your little knife.

You watch him assess you, bound arms and spread thighs and his masked face tilts as his eyes meet your centre.

“So pretty.” He mumbles, before he leans in, lifts his mask to the top of his head and lays a gentle lick to the seam of your cunt.

You gasp in surprise, unable to see his face with the mask atop his head, all you can do is feel- the way he licks gently at you, softly, the need burning white hot with each moment he teases. His tongue trails up to your clit, offers you a preview of the pleasure he can give, before placing slow swipes of his tongue over you.

You sigh, the fight leaves your limbs, you feel like jelly above him, with a tongue that can only be described as godly.

There’s no way you can continue fighting past this, his tongue pulls obedience from you, compliance, it makes you willing and eager to let him do whatever he wanted, helpless for your perfect husband.

You let out a slow moan, head tipping back, thighs trembling with the way his tongue moves, gliding over your clit, showing you exactly what he was capable of without ever actually giving you anything.

“Please,” You simper, unable to resist, with the tongue of such a dextrous man working on you.

If he wants to ask you about where your fight went, he doesn’t bother, merely laughing into your heated cunt, the fractures of his pale mask staring back at you.

Almost there, your fingers curl tight, nails pressed to the flesh of your palms as your breathing hastens.

There’s a rushing in your head, pressure all over, threatening to make you burst apart.

You’re not sure if he knows or cares, his mask moving slightly when his head does, when his tongue, the raving appendage it is, delves through you.

Faster and yet faster, slippery tongue gliding over you, aimed at your oversensitive bundle of nerves, delicate movements of his tongue that are going to unravel you.

His beard rough against your thighs, a wet smacking sound, warm air brushing over you as he exhales, the reminder that he's there, enjoying his time on his knees, unwilling to stop until you've hit that peak.

He presses in closer, his grip on your thighs tightening, firm in their reminder that he’s there- as if you could forget. Your body shakes, soft whines leave your throat, his tongue harsher on your clit.

“I-” You try to say, but your body decides that you’ve spoken enough, you bite down on your bottom lip, every muscle in your body pulled tight.

The first thing you do when your orgasm hits, is tremble.

A sweet fire erupts inside of you, an insurmountable amount of pleasure spreading over you. Your breathing is harsh, heaving, his soft tongue licks you through it, gentle now and soothing between your thighs, no doubt drinking deep of your orgasm.

You press your hips into his face, unable to stop yourself, and he rewards the movement with more careful touches of his tongue.

The rope holding your arms and legs down chafes slightly, protesting your movement, and after a minute, you slump into the chair, boneless and sated.

Your breathing remains harsh, lips wet from being trapped between your teeth, your face is hot, you can feel each time the blood reaches your cheeks, each time your heart contracts in your chest.

You can't hold yourself up and you know it. If you weren't tied up you'd be in a boneless pile.

“Not bad, princess.” He says, warm breath on your thighs. He raises his body to be in your line of sight, the mask still covering his face.

You feel your nipples tingle, excitement stiffening them as he hovers above you.

He tilts his head to study you, his gloved finger tapping the tip of your nose, sliding down to your parted lips.

“You look real pretty when you come. Your mouth opens and your eyes roll back sometimes- makes me want to do it again and again so I can memorise the way you look.”

It's hard to respond, brain hazy with post-orgasmic bliss, but you have to- you need to.

“Please,” You whisper, “You're not the first man to make me come, and you won't be the last.”

You know you're in real trouble when his hand wraps around your throat.

Your eyes widen, he squeezes hard for a moment, which only succeeds in filling your brain with mindless pleasure. You don't bother trying to breathe, waiting till his grip loosens to take a small breath.

“If you think,” He grunts angrily, leaning in till he hovers over you, “that another man is ever going to touch you, you're more delusional than I thought, princess.”

You can only make a small grunt of protest, gazing angrily up at him.

“And maybe I can't control who touched you before I met you, but I can still gift you their heads.”

It makes your breath stutter in shock.

He releases your throat, pressing the tip of his gloved finger to your bottom lip.

“Tug this off. I want to really touch you now.”

You hold his eyes while your teeth sink into the tip of his glove, biting down on his finger too. He pulls down, dislodging his finger from the glove. You release it, and repeat the process with all five of his fingers, and finally, when they're all loose, you clamp your teeth down on the middle finger of his glove and he pulls his hand free easily.

It smears your lipstick no doubt, and you probably look quite messy by now, no doubt your hair is askew as well.

He reaches down after he makes you help with his other glove, and you hear the slow drag of his zipper. Nothing has ever sounded so euphoric.

You look up at him with wide eyes to find that he's already looking at you.

His eyes terrify you, so much darkness in them, you wonder how you'd never seen it before.

“Don't do this.” You beg, startling when you feel his hot cock brush your inner thigh.

At the same time, the main lights flicker off, only the small auxiliary lights on the walls glow softly.

The darkness in his eyes grow, until it becomes an extension of the room.

“Just breathe, princess, this is going to hurt.”

It does at first.

Even though you've come three times so far, and he's used the hilt of his knife on you, and also his tongue to help further your wetness, his size still pinches.

It's been a while, and you feel it in the way he stretches you open, going slow because he knows he's not an easy man to take.

But God, he feels so good.

The pain comes with double the pleasure, that makes your eyes roll back in your head, bound hands curling into fists, nails digging into your palm in an attempt to process the feeling.

He pushes the tip of his cock in, works carefully to fill you, slows down when he encounters resistance.

You take a shallow breath, coming back to your senses a little, looking up at him as he works himself into you.

He rocks his hips, encouraging your body to feel him, to welcome him in, and you have no control over it, surrendering to him easily.

He's so deep you feel it in your throat, a shuddering mess as he bottoms out, you feel tears spring to your eyes, a fullness you've been craving.

Your lips tremble, watery vision glued to the mask, you couldn't look away if you wanted to.

“Should I stop?” He asks, a minuscule tremor of his voice that gives away that he's not as unaffected as he seems.

You can't say the words, the lie too big to be voiced, but you want to keep playing despite how desperately you need him.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding softly.

He blinks behind the mask, a tilt of his head to study you.

Arms braced on either side of you, he leans in till the mask touches your cheek.

“That's too bad.” He murmurs.

Then, he draws out, before pressing into you once more.

You make a small sound, and then another when he does it again, the slow drag of his cock is torture, but that's the best part.

You whine, unable to speak, or voice your frustrations, but he chuckles above you, already knowing that he's not giving you what you need.

It's slow, so fucking slow and yet deep enough to create spots of black in your vision.

He grunts above you, and the sound goes right down to your cunt, clamping around him for a second before releasing.

“Fuck.” He growls, “You're so tight. I'm going to love coming in you.”

This was it, time to be the best actress possible.

“N-no, you can't! I'm- I'm not-”

His laugh is so dark it sends shivers down your spine.

Deep and low, devastatingly malicious.

“I can’t?” He teases.

You shake your head no quickly, eyes wide in shock and fear.

He pauses his slow movements to look down at you, too enraptured to focus on two things at once.

“Who’s going to stop me, princess? You?”

You struggle against your bindings helplessly.

“It's okay, we both know you'll learn to like it.”

With those words, he resumes his slow pace.

It's not fair, barely realistic you've never had an orgasm creep up on you like this.

You don't understand, his cock is moving slow, and yet all your pleasure spots are sparking. Is it his size? Or maybe he just knows your body so well that he can force an orgasm so sweet out of you that it almost hurts.

But you can feel every spark, every short circuit of your brain, your toes curl, and your back stiffens, and the dangerous man above you draws it out, wringing each drop of pleasure before moving to the next.

“Perfect.” He whispers, almost sounding out of breath, and when your chest begins to burn, he delivers one harsh thrust of his cock that makes you topple like a house of cards.

A moan leaves your mouth on every other breath, unable to control your vocalisations, or even your breathing, clamped so tightly around him that he makes a low grunt before you feel him spill inside of you. It makes it that much better, knowing that he's hit his peak at the same time you have.

You come back to your senses slowly, his mask coming into focus.

Each breath eases the burning pleasure, replacing it with sweet euphoria, a drug like never before.

He’s panting too, trembling a little, no doubt struggling to stay upright after his first orgasm in six weeks.

And here you are, about to taunt him for it.

“Is that it?” You ask softly.

You’re a little unprepared for the way his eyes scald you.

“Is my cunt that good?” You continue to tease.

He closes his eyes, takes a slow breath to calm himself.

When he looks at you again, you know you're in a lot of trouble.

He leans away, reaches for his knife before slowly cutting the ropes free from around your ankles.

You hiss when he frees your arms, noticing that there's the impression of the rope on your wrists, you rub them as you right your legs, moving them from their previously spread state.

He watches you, and you do the same warily.

“Stand up.”

You gulp, pushing yourself onto wobbly legs, you sway for a moment, before looking over at him expectantly.

He’s still wearing the mask, but by now you’re aching to see his face, you wanted to see your husband while he did these wicked things to you.

He tilts his head toward the door, and your eyes follow the motion, not understanding until he speaks.

“Get out.”

Your head swivels back to him.

“Go, before I change my mind.”

This was another game, you realise, you’d made him mad, and he was going to show you exactly how helpless you were.

You back away, like always, keeping your eyes on his. You can feel his cum, smearing the inside of your thighs as you move. It only makes you more aroused.

You smooth your dress out anxiously, looking down at the shimmery material, and then back up at him, slowly backing away until you’re far enough that he won’t grab you from behind.

When you make it to the door, he’s still standing where he was, looking at you in the dimly lit room.

You can feel your heart in your throat with the fear of everything around you, a sinister ambience, the thrill of being chased.

Outside is dim as well.

The main lights are off. All you have to go on are the smaller lights along the walls.

You don’t get too far from the throne room before all the auxiliary lights flicker off as well.

The darkness squeezes at your heart, a shiver going down your spine. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the distinct nothingness.

The room is still, quiet around you but you can feel him everywhere. It’s like he’s the darkness surrounding you, touching your skin, depriving you of everything except himself.

It’s why you’re not surprised when you feel him at your back.

His hand reaches around, grips your throat and uses the leverage to pull you back. He isn’t gentle, squeezing at the sides harshly to ensure you’re paying attention to him, as if you could ever be distracted.

His bare hand, warm, coarse, thumb and middle finger pressed to either side of your neck. You go lightheaded at the sensation.

You feel his nose press into your hair, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear and you realise he’s taken his mask off.

“I change my mind.” He whispers darkly, laughs when you struggle.

You pull out of his grip, and you run as fast as your legs can take you.

He doesn’t chase, and you make it a good distance away, tucking your body behind a wall to catch your breath. You don’t know where you are, but you assume it’s somewhere near the front doors. The pins in your hair are uncomfortable, and you take your time tugging the little tiara out of your hair, dropping it to the floor.

You can feel his cum, making an even bigger mess, and the implications of that only succeed in heightening your arousal.

The sound of his knife, dragging against the wooden panels on the walls catch your attention. You lift your head, a tug of desire pulls below your navel.

“You know, the first time I met you, really met you, I couldn't believe you were real.” He says, his voice carrying through the quiet hallway.

“You looked at me, and you listened, and all I could think about was how to get you alone, away from that useless boyfriend of yours.”

Your lips part, head pressed to the wall, eager to hear his words, your heart drumming in your chest.

“And when you left me that night, I went back to my lonely apartment, and I found out everything I could about you. I didn’t sleep. I needed to find something to hate- something that would help me stop obsessing over a girl I’d met one time.”

His voice gets closer and you know you have to move, or else he was going to find you.

Quietly, you kick your shoes off, abandoning them so that your steps can be quieter, you lift your skirts slowly, trying to stop the swishing sound it makes.

“You know what I found? Nothing. Nothing could make me hate you, nothing could stop what you started when you smiled at me, all of it made me want you.”

Your heart hammers even more with his words.

“And while I was trying to come up with a plan to make you mine, I’d been yours for ages.”

You stop, turning to his voice as he says that last part, wanting to go to him, to hold him, to tell him the secret you’d been keeping for weeks- that you were his too.

“Don’t fret too much about it though, princess. There’s no need to worry, I’ll feel all better once you come on my cock.”

You gasp, backing away, one hand behind you to stop you from bumping into anything. He was absolutely insane in the best way.

You can’t see a damn thing, feeling your way around to find the entrance you’d come through, your breathing is loud in your ears, you’re sure he can hear you.

You were conflicted. You wanted to run towards the scary man hiding in the darkness, though you know it would be worth your while to run away.

“You want me so bad?” You taunt into the darkness, “You’ll have to catch me first.”

Skirts in hand, you follow the first light you see- the moonlight streaming through the kitchen windows, the feel of the carpet runner helps you move in a straight line, and the next thing you know is that you’re at the foot of the stairs.

You look back, trying to make shapes out of the darkness, but there’s nothing there, you turn and begin your ascent.

You don’t know where he is, he could be two feet or two inches behind you and you wouldn’t know.

Your body is warm from the adrenaline, the dress constricts your breathing.

You stop for a second time when you find what you think is a tea room.

There’s a large wooden table sitting in front of an equally large window, the moonlight streaming in allows you to see that there’s a wall of mirrors on one side of the room. On the other side, is a smaller round table with a porcelain teapot, and other matching dishes.

“Surprise.” He says from right behind you, and you swear your heart jumps right out of your chest.

Before you can turn to look at him, your cheek is pressed to the large table, one hand behind your neck, the other pulls your skirts up.

When he has your ass exposed, his hand comes down hard on your soft flesh. You cry out.

“That’s for all your mouthing back.” He grunts, before spanking you again.

It hurts, stings so sweetly, you try to rise but his hand is firm on the spot between your neck and shoulder.

When he’s satisfied, he reaches down between your legs.

He clicks his tongue, his fingers swiping through the mess between your thighs.

“Look at the mess you made. Don't you have any kind of consideration for how hard I worked to put my cum in you?”

You feel him move, you assume to take his cock out. Your suspicions are confirmed when you feel him kick your legs wider, pressing his tip to your entrance.

You mewl helplessly when he enters you.

Stretched once more, he feels bigger in this position, his pace is harsh, fucking into you meaningfully, your eyes roll back in your head, spit slipping from past your lips as your face is kept pressed to the table.

You feel a sharp tug and your dress loosens, too pleasure drunk to figure out why.

The glide of his cock quells your urge to fight, your body sparking, electrified at the feeling of him.

He pulls you upwards, and the front of the dress sags, exposing your front to the air.

“Look at us.” He growls into your ear, turning your head to the mirror, you see your bodies reflecting back. Him, in his tight shirt and open pants, you with your beautiful shimmering dress caught between your bodies and hanging off your shoulders. It’s the first time for the night that you see his face, and your eyes are locked on how handsome he looks, hair askew, filling you with his magnificent erection.

He’d cut the back of your dress, you realise absentmindedly, your full breasts on display for him because of that, a small sound leaving your chest as he enters you again.

“We’re perfect together.” He acknowledges, you internally agree.

He presses his lips to your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the mirror, his teeth flashing for a second before he bites you.

You cry out, the sweet burn of it only succeeds in making you want him more and more.

He doesn’t stop when you come, only slows for a moment to help you catch your breath before he continues.

“All mine now, princess.” He affirms, his hips slapping against yours, filling you till your vision blurs.

Deeper than ever, you feel his cock press securely to your cervix, eager to have him fill you with his cum.

You take a shuddering breath, so close to another orgasm, unable to think about anything with the way he feels.

Your nails claw at the table, willing your body to take him, your perfect husband, giving you just what you need. He groans above you, enjoying you almost as much as you enjoy him.

The pleasure builds, swimming in your head, worsening with each move of his cock inside of you. He holds nothing back, all of his energy is focused on filling you as hard and as fast as he can, leaving nothing behind but hot, near blistering, rapture.

You cry out when you come, body shuddering, a loud roaring in your head. He grunts loudly, following you over the edge, filling you with even more of his hot cum.

After a moment, he draws out of you, helping you stand, he gently pulls your dress off, discarding it on the ground, he reaches to scoop your swaying body into his arms.

You’re sated, unable to lift your head. You feel him rest you gently on a soft, cool bed.

The sheets are amazing on your overstimulated skin, and you peek your eyes open to watch him pull his tight fitting shirt over his head.

In the low light, your eyes find his tattoo, you smile softly as it ripples, watching him kick his shoes and pants off too, until he’s hovering above you, naked.

“You’re so gorgeous.” You whisper dreamily, raising a hand to press it to his cheek.

He lets out an air of amusement, he reaches around, gripping one of your legs to wrap it around his hip.

“Only the best for you, princess.” He hums, before you feel him push his cock into you once more.

You fall asleep to him fucking you, your adrenaline crashes after countless orgasms, and before you know it you’re out. You wake a few hours later to find him inside you once more.

You moan his name, your body still eager and receptive to him, having craved this side of him for so long.

“Messy pile of wife.” He grunts into your ear mid-thrust, “Just like I promised.”

There’s so much of his cum slipping out, you can feel it, you can’t wait for him to top you up with more.

He kisses your cheek, licks a stripe through the tears slipping from the corner of your eyes.

“Cum for me. One more time, baby.”

You gasp, nodding, head filled with cotton, floating in the clouds, lost in his essence.

You blink hazily after you feel the smooth metal plug slip in, soothing you with its coolness, arousing you with the reminder that he’s filled you to the brim.

You’re pressed against him, his hand wrapped securely around you. He stretches to reach something on the bedside table.

You’re almost asleep when you feel him slip your ring back onto your finger.

It makes you complete, eases any lingering worry.

“I love you, Billy.” You murmur, before you finally let sleep take you.

It wakes him up.

He blinks in shock, turning to look at you.

You’ve already fallen asleep, breaths even with your left hand pressed to his chest.

Had you really just said what he thinks you just said?

He considers shaking you awake, desperate to hear you say it again. To tell him what he’s been dreaming of for years.

What if it was a mistake? His mind asks.

His stomach drops.

What if you didn’t really mean it?

He swears he breaks his own heart in the moments after you say those four words.

He stays awake for a while, trying to memorise your words, the way you said them, the way they made him feel. He tries to learn the hour and the minute and the position of the moon in the sky at the very moment the words left your mouth.

He wonders if he’ll ever hear them again, wonders if this would be the only time in his life that you say these words to him.

If this is all he gets, he decides he’s going to cherish it.

“I love you too.” He whispers, with everything he has.

You’re curled up against him the next morning having breakfast when you finally take the time to examine your ring.

Your body is sore, having been fucked thoroughly, but you were a little proud to see the litany of scratches over the expanse of Billy’s back. You weren’t the only one marked last night.

You raise your hand to offer him a piece of your buttered croissant, he eagerly takes a bite.

“My ring looks the same. What did you change?” You ask, reaching for more jam.

“The inside.” He says with his mouth full.

You smile, pulling it off your finger to see what’s there. On the silver surface on the inside, you can see something engraved. At first you think it’s words, but as you bring the ring closer to your face you realise it’s numbers.

“I’m still confused.” You state.

He makes a little hum, having just swallowed his food.

“If you go to my bank, and show them this ring, and give them your fingerprint, you can withdraw from any of my personal accounts.”

You blink, your eyebrows drawing together.

After a moment you give him a confused look.

He chuckles, reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing over your tense eyebrows, encouraging them to relax.

“Any amount, little wife, any time.” He elaborates.

You blink in shock.

He was… giving you access to his money?

“Is that safe?” You ask warily.

“Planning to take all my money?” He teases.

“No! But- what if someone steals the ring… or… kidnaps me and forces me to take it?”

“That will never happen.” He promises, his fingers tightening on your cheek to reinforce his words, “As long as I’m breathing, and even if I’m not, you will always be safe.”

“You can’t stop breathing,” You fight back, leaning in to wrap your arms around him, “I won’t let you.” The words are muffled against his shirt.

He laughs.

“Noted.”

He grunts, his fingers curling over yours as they grip the back of the soft couch.

“Hold on.” He commands, just as he slides his amazing cock into your body.

You make a soft sound of delight, tipping your head back to rest on his chest. He groans into your ear, fucking up into you slowly and thoroughly.

His skin is hot, having spent the morning of the second day exploring the gardens outside, only to come back in and ravish you on the sitting room couch.

His left hand drops down, thick fingers find your swollen clit.

“Sing for me. Let me hear you, wife.”

You whine, the sensation of his fingers rolling over your clit makes your legs shake.

“Gonna take my cum like a good girl?” He grovels in your ear.

You bite down on your bottom lip, nodding, seeing stars as he rubs your clit with more fervour.

“Fucking perfect.” He moans, and the words go right to your cunt, setting you off.

He growls in your ear when you clench around him, it only makes your orgasm last that much longer, eager to have him cum, you roll your hips on his cock.

It succeeds in working him into a frenzy, and you’re face down, with your ass in the air in the next moment.

He licks your slit harshly before his cock slides right back in, moving faster, his hips set a brutal pace, your next orgasm is like a gunshot.

He falls beside you after he comes, out of breath with a dopey grin on his face.

“What is it?” You ask curiously.

“Nothing really,” He gasps, “I just feel really fucking good.”

You smile shyly, leaning up to kiss him.

You’re whisking eggs for french toast when his arms wrap around you.

He presses his nose into your hair, breathing in your soft smell.

“Morning.” He grovels into your ear, feels your body shiver.

“Hello Mister Russo. Sleep okay?’

He chuckles, remembering the feel of your lips around his cock as he came last night. Fuck, you were delightfully insatiable.

“Like a rock,” He confirms, “Join me for a bath?”

“Yeah,” You agree, “Let me finish this batch and I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t keep me waiting, little wife.” He whispers as he pulls back, reaches for an apple sitting in the basket nearby, taking a slow bite.

“I won’t. Love you.” You say absentmindedly.

Billy stops.

He turns to stare at your back in shock. You continue moving as if you haven’t said anything strange.

“What was that?” He asks.

You raise your head to glance at him.

“I’ll be right there.”

“No, the last part.”

You blink, a look of confusion on your face.

“I… love you?”

The room goes still, the only sound is the french toast as it sizzles.

“You love me?” He asks, his heart getting heavier and lighter at an alarming rate.

“Yeah? I-I said it to you on our first night. You- you said it back.”

He did remember saying it back.

“I thought you said it accidentally.”

You pause, reaching to turn the stove off, before facing him.

“You thought my tongue slipped and I told you I loved you without meaning it?”

Billy swallows.

“I thought the number of orgasms had gotten to your head and you were saying things that might not be totally true.”

Your eyebrows raise in realisation.

“It was true. I’ve been… feeling like that for a while.”

“Like you love me.” He says dumbly.

You nod your head.

“Like I love you.” You confirm.

This wasn’t an outcome Billy had ever seen coming. Sure, he’d been hoping for fondness, that he could give you a comfortable life and you could be content by his side.

But love?

Unthought of.

“Why the fuck would you love me?” He whispers, horrified.

He’d done so many bad things, ruined your life in so many ways.

You take a careful step in his direction.

“What’s not to love? You’re smart, and strong and you go after what you want-”

“-One of those things was you.” He argues.

You laugh. He wasn’t joking.

“Yeah, how I got here wasn’t the best, but, I’m glad I am, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

He takes a step toward you, and then another, and then his arms are pulling you into a soul crushing hug.

“You love me.” He murmurs into the top of your head.

“Yes,” You reply, holding him just as tightly, “I do.”

“Where are we anyway?” You ask on the fourth night.

He raises his head from between your thighs.

“Europe.” He answers vaguely, before dropping his head to lap gently at your clit once more.

You smile happily, leaning back against the library desk.

“Billy?”

“Mmm?” He hums from between your thighs.

“I love you.”

You feel the breath he lets out before he pulls back.

He kisses you, lips wet with your arousal, a tart taste on your tongue that makes you smile when he pulls away.

“I’ll show you how much I love you.” He mumbles, dropping to his knees once more.

Coming back to his apartment after that had felt surreal.

Like it was all a dream, the fucking best dream you’d ever had.

You’d been given a letter from your mother at the front desk, and you’d happily dropped it to the floor the minute Billy had pulled you into his arms for a slow kiss.

It was… magical, your fingers glazing through his beard, gripping his hair, the next thing you know you’re being lifted and taken to his bedroom.

The fire hadn’t left either of you, burning, sizzling sparks each time you touched, each time you held his hand or kissed his cheek.

He was all over you, inside and out, claiming you in a way you knew deep down would never be done by another.

“My wife.” He groans into your ear when he comes.

You pant, reaching up to kiss him, legs wrapped tightly around his hips to keep him inside of you for as long as possible.

Your husband.

He leaves you in the early morning of the next day. It’s training day and he wants to get there early to get a jump on what he’s missed.

He kisses a path between the valley of your breasts down to your womb before he leaves, dressed in a crisp charcoal suit. You grin happily as you fall back asleep.

Later, when it’s time for you to leave for work, you find that manila envelope your mom had sent you sitting on the kitchen counter. Billy had probably picked it up from the floor where you had left it yesterday when he was leaving for work earlier.

You reach for it after you’re done hopping around to tug your heel on.

It’s unopened, so you take your time peeling it open, wondering what it was. Last time it had been a bunch of recoloured family photos, you assumed this was probably more of the same.

It’s not, it’s a stack of papers. At first, it’s odd things like flyers for bikes, and a bouncy castle rental ad. You flip through, a little concerned that your mother might be losing her mind.

Your face falls when you flip another page, and find what’s really been sent.

SUPREME COURT OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK

You could feel your heart turn to ice.

You see your name printed under Plaintiff, and under Defendant, is Billy’s. Most of your information has been filled out, including your fucking social security number. Most of Billy’s information is missing, only his real name is there.

Then you see it.

‘The grounds for dissolution of the marriage are as follows:��

Divorce papers.

These were divorce papers.

A/N: DON'T HURT ME THANKS

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #accidentally on purpose #accidentally on purpose married billy #billy russo x female reader #my writings #the punisher #billy russo smut #dark!billy russo

213 notes · View notes

ash76cod · 9 months ago

Text

you messed up on mission and Capt is mad!

Tw: rough sex, crying while having sex,praise and degradation.(Sorry if I missed any!!)

NSFW BELOW THE CUT!!

Its late,you just got off the heli that brought you back to base,you messed up! It was supposed to be a simple mission,go in get the Intel and get out,but you were seen and it was a mess.

You made your way down the hall to John's office,and stay a bit in front of the door before you decide to knocked

"come in..." a rough voice was heard from inside,John's voice.

you enter his office and he looks mad, angry.

"explain yourself! How could you fuck up so bad?!" John yelled at you through gritted teeth.

"captain I-" you start talking but you're cut off by him

"I don't even want to hear it! You're supposed to be a skilled solider! What the fuck is wrong with you?!..you could have gotten yourself killed!" He yelled at you and put his head in his rough palms.

He slammed his laptop shut and out the few rest of papers from his desk inside some drawers.

You could see on his face that he was stressed,and you wanted to help..but not now..

"go..get out of my face." He says as he pulled out his phone and took a phonecall.

you do as you're told and went to your barrack,but you keep thinking about his stressed out face,and later at night you find yourself opening his office door without knocking,to find John,his laptop on some shitty porn site as he jerks off,his palm going up and down his length faster each time,his eyes were locked on the laptop,but he looks frustrated..he just can't get himself to cum..he just can't..he almost jumps out of his own skin as you start talking.

"Capt,I wanted to say-.." you're shocked,he's massive,and thick too!

"I,fuck! Wait fuck-" he struggles to shove his cock back in his pants as he slapped the laptop shut AGAIN.

"I'm uh..sorry I didn't mean to intrude.." you try to be apologetic but your eyes keep finding themselves down at his croch,where you can see he's still hard and pretty much uncomfortable in his tight confinement.

"may I help..?" You asked shyly as his frustrated face contorts in a frown.

"fuck..id do anything to get off,I'm so pemt up it hurts.." he muttured,you went and locked the door then went next to him.

"down..on your knees.." he said as he took that monster of a cock out again,your mouth watered,you knew you couldn't take all of it,he was too big.

You went on to leave soft kisses on his red and angry tip,then you softly opened your mouth taking just a fraction of him before a beaffy hand is at the back of your head,tangled in your hair and he shoves his member down your throat,the stretch is much,it hurts,you feel the tears well up in your eyes,as he fuck your throat. Your hands went on his thick thighs,covered in the uniform material,you grabbed them for support as you felt the tears going down your cheeks.

You gag and choke on his dickand he laughed! The man has the audacity to laugh??

"a bit more..fuck you're so tight.." he said,but in a few minutes he threw his head back and you felt that warm liquid going down your throat,and spilling from the sides of your mouth,creating a white ring at the base of his cock,then he pulls out.

"ahh..fuck that felt good..." his cock is dripping with juices and to his despair,he's getting hard again from seeing your crying face,he slapped his thick cock on the side of your face then helped you up and onto the desk, almost ripping your pants off in trying to get them off you.

"John i-wait!"you try to argue but your pleading goes to deaf ears.

He takes your pants and knickers off,and pockets the underwear,then he unbuttoned your shirt to see your perky tits.

His mouth latched on one of your boobs while his hand rubbed small circles on your other nub,he sucked hard, almost like he was expecting some kind of milk to come out. Them he moves, biting downward s until he's face to face with your pussy,you're dripping wet and you're embarrased!

"fuck princess,I didn't think you'd be so excited..like a fucking slut.." he muttured in your pussy as he began his assult,his tounge working inside of you alongside two of his thick fingers,he curls them in and you jolt up,fut you feel one of his hands on your lower abdomen, holding you down as he ate you like a starved man.

After he decided you're stretched enough,he sat back in his chair and pulled you on his cock,he slammed you down and you moaned and cried but he kept moving his hips faster and faster,he changed positions, putting you back on the desk and slamming his hips into yours,his hands got a bruising grip on your waist,you feel the coil in your lower stomach rip and you cum all over his cock,he feels you squizing him up and he went over the edge, spilling his own cum deep inside you.

"pull out....fuck." you say,you're exhausted and you feel full

"a bit..wait." Fe stays there, until he he pulled out and your combined juices spilled out,he unsed his fingers to stuff them back inside you,then he helped you get dressed,and told you..

"next time knock."

Then you left his office, feeling full and his cum going down your inner thighs.

((hii! This is unedited and it's my first fic! Hope yall like it! Give me ideas for the next ones and tell me if I should fix anything!!))

#captain john price #john price cod #john price fanfiction #john price x you #john price x reader #john price smut

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covetyou · 1 year ago

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homecoming

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three

pairing: cuck!Joel x f!reader, brief M!OC x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: cuckolding, daddy kink, protected and unprotected PIV, creampie, cum kink, pet names, ddlg vibes, questionable text message formatting word count: 3.8k summary: you follow through with plans to see Andrew for the first time

A/N: cuck!Joel was only ever going to consist of oneshots, but now this is a three part intro to cuck!Joel and Andrew.

dividers by @saradika-graphics

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He felt like he was making some kind of illicit deal, hanging around the parking lot waiting for people to file out at the end of the day. In a way, he was.

"Hey buddy! Wait up."

It had been as simple as that to stop him. A little small talk here, a little work talk there. Never one for elegance, Joel quickly cut to the chase. "I saw you looking at my girl on Friday."

Andrew startles, nervously rattling his car keys in his hand. There was no denying it, he wasn't stupid enough to even try. He knew he'd been too obvious. And he knew a man the size of Joel could easily deck him if he wanted to.

"She... I- I'm sorry, man, she looked amazing. I promise, meant nothing by it."

Tell Joel something he didn't know. "Look, I'll keep this simple. I'm out of town next weekend, she'd like it if you kept her company."

Keys drop to the gravel below.

"What are you -" Andrew is confused. Very confused. He was ready to apologize for overstepping an obvious mark, flirting with another man's girl right in front of him, and now this?

"Think you know what I'm sayin'."

Andrew did. He'd gone home Friday night and fisted his cock to thoughts of that silky dress wrapped around your body, your nipples so obvious beneath the fabric, dreaming that they were hard for him instead of Joel, his boss. He should not have been fantasizing about his boss's girl at all, but there was no stopping it.

"Don't have to be nothin', but," Joel shrugs, "If you both want it to be somethin'... I ain't got a problem with it."

It had been simple as that. Joel had handed over your phone number, telling him to get in touch, and it had all gone from there.

You were nervous.

Outwardly you probably looked the same as you always did, legs curled under, eyes focused on the TV ahead, occasionally checking your phone. No. The only outward sign that anything was different were the occasional deep breaths you had to take - deep sighs to stave off the hammering in your heart that little bit longer.

You didn't know how to do any of this. It had been a long time since you properly dated - Could this even be called a date? - and whilst there was no pressure and minimal expectation, you still felt the familiar bubble of nerves in your belly.

You'd texted back and forth from the day Joel gave him your number. You had one anxious phonecall to talk it out, a call that became both easier and harder the longer it went on. When it was over, Joel made you come on his fingers, before sliding the tip of his cock into your mouth for you to quickly swallow down his come. It seemed Joel was coming quicker and quicker lately, and you can't say you blamed him.

There was a knock at the door just as you took your next deep, calming, breath, and you choked on it as it was halfway down, making you cough and splutter for a second as you gasped in air.

Opening the door, it was clear to see he was as nervous as you.

It had felt awkward at first, and you briefly thought about running to the bathroom and calling Joel. Then you'd caught him looking at you, raking his eyes down your body, making him blush when his eyes caught yours, sparkling with laughter. He smiled at you sheepishly, and you openly dragged your own eyes across his body in return, his legs spread and arm thrown back on the couch, and that was the tension broken.

You both spent a long hour on the sofa of Joel's living room, ignoring the TV as you talked, working your way closer and closer to him, short touches getting longer and longer until his hand was resting on your knee. You'd made the first move, shutting him up with a kiss as he talked animatedly about a movie he'd watched with his nephew. It hadn't taken long for your clothes to be discarded around the living room and for you to be dragging Andrew up the stairs to Joel's bedroom.

He hesitated for a moment, asking if this was really okay, if you really wanted it, if Joel really wouldn't mind, before succumbing to his own desires and falling into bed with you. You had forgotten what it was like to get to know a new body, and to have unfamiliar hands on yours.

Still, it felt good, and fumbling hands quickly brought you to your first release of the night.

His tongue, and a quick look downward to the foreign face between your legs, had brought you to your second.

You tried to hold back your disappointment when he covered his cock with a condom. You understood, as much as you disliked it, and you didn't try to convince him otherwise.

Your third had been around his cock as it pumped in and out of you, the curve dragging across your walls in a way Joel's didn't.

You couldn't take a fourth, and he was coming into the condom inside you with your nails raking down his back just as it all started becoming too much.

He had held you afterward, talking and laughing into your mouth as you let your hands wander over one another until the early hours of the morning.

You couldn't wait for Joel to get home.

His truck is pulling into the driveway, replacing where Andrew's had been the night before. You run to the door, throwing yourself at him as soon as it clicks open to reveal his beautiful face.

You kiss him all over - his plush lips, the curve of his nose, the crinkles by his eyes as he laughs at you and tells you to calm down.

“Someone missed me,” he says, thinking how lucky he is to come home to you. You didn't live here, not yet, but he loved how you'd worn down his torn edges and leaked into every part of his life, slotting into the gaps he'd left for you to inhabit.

“Always,” you mumble, still dotting kisses all over him. He finally finds your mouth again, calming you with a deep kiss and sturdy hands, pressing you up against his warm body. He tastes like coffee, even this late in the day, and the bitter familiarity of it stirs something in your belly.

When he pulls back, he's searching your face, looking for any trace of worry, any upset that he may have to deal with. Finding nothing but unbridled joy, he smiles softly, throwing his keys onto the table by the door, the other still kept firmly wrapped around you.

“You have a good night without me?”

A laugh tumbles out of you. You're glad he asked so soon, having been eager to tell him all about it since the moment Andrew left. Still, you can't help but grin at the memory of Andrew and your evening wrapped up in Joel's sheets with him.

“I did.”

“S’good,” he says, knowing that the smiling tearing across your face is for more than just him. He's curious, painfully so, at what another man could've been doing with you to make you so happy. He wishes he could've been there to see it first hand.

“He make you come?” he asks, pulling you along to the couch with you still folded into his arms. You nod, the grin already hurting your cheeks, glad to let Joel know of the fun you had.

“S’good baby, so good.”

He kisses you again before he sits down, pulling you on top of him to straddle his thighs. His hands are roaming all over you, tracing the same trails over you that Andrew's had. The stroke of his fingers drag goosebumps across your flesh as he scrapes them down your hips to rest heavily on your legs.

Pushing his hands firmer into your thighs, you make him hold you tighter, relishing the feeling of his hands being back on you. Andrew had been hesitant to hold you at first, tentative to mark you or grip you too tight. Joel's hands were sure and steady, they knew you in ways that Andrew's were only just starting to know. The new and the old, you were excited for both.

“His hands feel different, baby?”

Joel's cupping your breasts now, gently squeezing and running thumbs over your nipples, making you arch into him with a soft whine. “Yes. Yours are bigger.”

Your hips start to move, first with the arch of your back as you push into his hands, but then with the realization there's a distinct hard shape below you, covered by the rough fabric of his jeans.

"Grind on me baby, that's it. I know your pussy's been all used up, but Daddy needs somethin' too."

“I need it too Daddy.”

“Y’always do baby. Always do.”

You're rocking your hips into him, his hardening erection pressing into your core through the thick denim. His hands reach under your shirt, dragging the fabric up as he moves, exposing your breasts and immediately capturing a nipple in his mouth with a scrape of his teeth.

"What did you like about him? What made you come the hardest baby?"

"His tongue. Uhhh. Came so hard on his tongue, Daddy."

“Oh fuck, I bet he ate this pussy nice and good.” His fingers are tickling up the legs of your shorts, stroking the sensitive apex of your thighs as you rock your body over him.

“You like his cock?” Joel finally asks, curiosity winning over his patience. The question makes you smile, your closed eyes helping you picture the shape of it all over again.

“Yes, Daddy. It was so pretty.”

Joel holds back a laugh. He'd been taken aback when you'd first called his own cock pretty, and when you'd explained in detail what you meant, he understood. If anything, it sparked a new found appreciation for his own dick that he didn't know he could have. If you loved it as much as you did then, damn, it must be pretty. It was no less funny now that you were using the same word to describe another man's cock. If he wasn't so pent up, he'd have you sit here and describe every little thing you liked about it too, but right now he needed to be inside you. He'd held himself back from coming at the thought of you two fucking in his bed last night, and he couldn't hold off any longer.

“That's so good baby. A pretty cock for my pretty girl.”

Joel talking about Andrew's cock makes your head spin in the best way. You lean forward and latch your lips to his just for another surface to find purchase on and stop you drifting off into space.

“Did he come too?”

It's a stupid question, Joel knows this, but one he wanted to hear the answer to anyway. There was something about his girl getting another man off that made pride swell inside him, pumping his cock up to near impossible levels of hardness.

You moan a yes into his mouth as you rub your cunt over the zipper if his jeans. His own fingers trail higher, making you pause your grinding as his index finger finds your hole, dipping in with ease at the excess moisture gathered there.

“He come in here?”

You bite your lip.

“Not like that."

Disappointment flickers across your face, and Joel sees it, well versed in the telltale twitch of your brow as you fight off a frown. He'll press the issue more later, you know, but for now he has one goal in mind.

“You suck his dick?”

“A little bit.”

Joel groans then, bucking up into you at the admission. Knowing his own mouth had been on yours, right where Andrew's cock had been not too long ago was sending him into a frenzy - he needs to calm down or get inside you, and quickly. He pulls you up and off of him, needing more than the heat of your cunt grinding in him over so many layers, and unzips his jeans, pulling out his weeping cock. He's so hard he almost feels bruised. It's okay, he reasons, he knows the perfect thing to ease an aching cock.

Pulling you back over him, he tugs down your shorts and panties, drawing them to the side so he can hook his cock through the gusset, trapping his bare cock against your bare pussy.

You could almost cry feeling his skin on yours and you want to claw your clothes off just to feel more of him on you. You know there's probably not time - Joel's cock is red and angry and it already feels so hot against your dripping slit. You'll have to make do with later, for now you'll just take him any way you can get him.

“Can I sit on it, Daddy? Please?” You plead with him, eyes pointlessly begging when you already know the answer.

“Rub that juicy pussy all over me first baby, gotta get it wet. I know you're all stretched out already, but I don't wanna hurt you.”

Your hips buck, sliding your cunt easily over his length, coating him in your arousal. His cock drags against your clit, jerking the sensitive bundle of nerves with each roll of your hips.

Your patience doesn't last long, and choosing to ask for forgiveness later rather than permission now, you waste no time in lifting yourself up, pushing his cock head to line up with your hole, and sinking down smoothly onto his rock hard length.

“Ohhhh, Daddy,” you groan as you take him to the root in one.

“Oh, shit, atta girl. Good fuckin' girl.” His hands grip your ass, pulling you flush to him. You fall forward, steading yourself on his shoulders. When his lips capture yours, you let out a moan, opening your mouth to the plundering of his tongue.

“Needed this so fuckin' bad, baby,” he grunts into your mouth, thrusting up now to prompt you to move. You start to rock on him, his cock sliding against a spongy spot on your inner walls, dragging back and forth over it in a way that makes your bottom lip quiver.

“Need you, Daddy.”

"Rock on me baby. Want you comin' on my cock before I fill you up."

“Oh, god, please.”

You'd gone without it from Andrew last night, and now all you could think about was being filled with Joel's cum.

You let your hips rock forward, the drag of your clit against the hair on his pubic bone pulling a sigh of relief from you as you move. He kept it trimmed short, all the more for you to grind against when you took him deep. It won't be long until you're falling apart over him, your brain had already been half way there before he'd even got through the door.

You rock faster, screwing your eyes shut as your moans get more desperate.

“Daddy, please.”

He knows what you need, he always does. He holds you tight in one arm, planting his other on your ass to encourage you on and on with your movements. You come with him whispering words of encouragement into your ear, shaking and stuttering on his lap, slick gushing around his cock and coating every glorious inch of him.

The remnants of your orgasm are still shuddering through you when he's pulling you to the side, keeping his cock seated deep in you, to lay you back on the couch. From this angle he can fuck into you on his terms, keep you covered and protected with his entire body as he claims your pussy.

He pulls his hips back, the head of his cock coming to rest just at your entrance, before sliding home. You squeal, gripping hold of his arms tightly as he sets a brutal pace fucking into you. Before Joel you're not sure you ever really knew what full meant. At this very moment, in this room, you didn't know what anything meant anymore as he fucked you with a determination that sent you stupid.

You can't help the loud moans that come from your mouth with each thrust of Joel's hips, the wet slap of his skin against yours rattling through your bones and echoing in your empty head.

“Talk to me,” he gasps into your ear. “Talk to me baby.”

“C-can’t Daddy. S’too- s'too good.”

He slows, hips still snapping into yours, but with a force that actually allows you to catch your breath. Not that you wanted to. You were ready to scream for him, but Joel wants more words from you than the shrill cries he'd have otherwise been tearing from your chest.

Joel lathes his tongue down your neck, tracing the faint marks Andrew had left on you. He sucks and nips on them, trying to taste him on you.

“You're so beautiful baby,” he praises. “All fucked out and used up and so fuckin' beautiful.”

"Mm. He was so good, Daddy. Felt so, so good."

You feel fuzzy thinking about it, and fuzzier still with the feeling of Joel's bare cock moving in you. You snap your eyes closed again, gripping Joel's thick arms tightly. His mouth is close to your ear. You can feel it. His breathing is loud, the smell of coffee and clean hair and Joel taking over your senses.

"You want his cum in you, don't you? Come on, no lying now. I know you do, it's okay. Tell me. Saw your face when I asked, baby. Need to hear it."

"Yes, Daddy," you whine into his neck. "I want his cum in me so bad."

Joel's heart hammers in his chest, his balls are so tight they could burst, but he's determined to last longer this time. He's waited two days for you, for this. All week he'd been coming in what felt like seconds, unable to keep the thought of your weekend activities out of his mind. He was worse than a damn teenager.

"I could be fucking it deeper into you right now. My dick would be covered in it. Could have it dripping off my balls. You'd lick it off and clean me up, wouldn't you baby?"

"Please."

You would, and you wished for nothing more than to be doing that right now. The need for it makes your eyes water, and Joel spots the signs, quickly capturing a small tear with the pad of his thumb.

“S’okay sweetheart. We'll get you filled up.”

His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly to him as pounds into you, whispering filthy promises in your ear before you finally get your fill. It doesn't take him long, relishing in the sounds of your moans in his ears, the pretty sounds of you begging for him, needing your Daddy so much you were crying for it. He whispers right back to you, telling you how much of a good girl you are, how beautiful you look when you're desperate, how much Andrew must have wanted you to have come to another man's house, to have fucked you in another man's bed, how very much he loves you, and you're his, you're his, you're his.

Your combined voices egging each other on and the wet grip of your cunt get him there, pulling him into you and painting your insides with his cum. Swollen lips find yours, and you swallow down his grunts as he jerks into you.

You feel warmed from the inside out when Joel finally looks at you again, taking your head in his hands and kissing you softly.

"Missed you," he mumbles into your mouth, and the warmth in your bones melts them, turning you to liquid right there on the couch.

"Missed you too, Joel."

Joel slips out from between your legs, stuffing a hand between you to quickly pull the fabric of your panties and shorts over your dripping center. He cups you there, holding you gently, soaking through your panties and shorts with cum as it leaks out of you. With his hand still between you, he rests his sweaty forehead against yours, letting your hands stroke soothing patterns up and down his back

A loud gurgle breaks the comfortable silence, and you both laugh. It was late in the day, neither of you had eaten but both had worked up quite the appetite.

"I made lasagna," you say, Joel's weight shifting off of you, removing the shroud of his body from over the top of yours. You'd spent half the day making it, needing something to keep you occupied as you waited for Joel to come back from his work trip.

Sitting back on the sofa, he assesses your relaxed form - legs still spread, dark patch forming on the front of your panties from your combined fluids leaking out of you, lips swollen and eyes glassy.

"S'perfect," he says, and you're not entirely sure he's talking about the food.

You'd eaten dinner together, finally peeling yourselves apart when the 40 minute timer had gone off. Afterwards, Joel had taken you upstairs, spotting the same sheets that were on his bed when he left you here on Saturday morning. You go to change them, cursing yourself for the oversight, but he tells you to leave it, pulling you in for a kiss before dragging you into the shower with him. You fall asleep soundly in his sheets that night, the smell of you and him and Andrew mingled together on the soft linens.

Joel, however, can't sleep. He can't get your face out of his head - the twitch in your eyebrow, the tear escaping your eye with how much you wanted something you didn't get. He knows you - he knows you would never ask, never make that kind of request of anyone. But he is not you.

So, at some time gone 11, cradling your sleeping form in one arm, he pulls out his phone.

Joel M. (11:13 p.m.): You seeing anyone else?

A. (11:20 p.m.): What?

Joel M. (11:21 p.m.): Are you fucking anyone other than my girl.

A. (11:21 p.m.): No.

Joel M. (11:28 p.m.): Good. Get tested. If you're gonna fuck her, you're gonna fuck her properly. She's on birth control, so no more of that condom shit.

A. (11:32 p.m.): You sure? She okay with it?

Joel M. (11:32 p.m.): She wants it. Too damn nice to ask for it.

Joel M. (11:33 p.m.): Just get yourself tested. Let me know the results.

Somewhere in an apartment across town, Andrew is rubbing a hand over his face, not quite believing his luck but not quite knowing what he's got himself into.

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clubdionysus · 5 months ago

Text

[BAD DECISION #57] Buttons

warnings: the big gallery auction!!! wahooo!!! the entire plot was building to this!!!!!! he is on his knees begging!! rooftop escapades <3, semi-public, oral (f), fingering, phonecall??? during??? jungkook is insane????, readers underwear in jungkooks mouth?? readers underwear in jungkooks... underwear?, a v horny jk lmao

a/n: all currency is in korean won!

wc: 11K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Gallery days always feel a little more placid than they really should do.

Where you think there should be chaos, there is calm; testament to how meticulously you plan. It's the weeks leading up to the shows that are the real stress. Endless errands are run, and countless logistical issues are checked. You work damn hard. The fact you can breathe normally right now, a few hours before doors open, is proof of it.

"You're a lifesaver," Shinwon, Jina's assistant (and Ryu Gallery's stand-in head coordinator), breathes out a sigh of relief. Having taken over her role since Jina left for maternity leave, he's been finding the adjustment hard. The responsibility of orchestrating shows weighs heavily on his shoulders. He hadn't realised quite how much of the heavy lifting Jina had been doing. "I don't know how you do it."

Shaking your head, you laugh. "Ah, it's easy once you get used to it. Get a few more shows under your belt, and you'll be grand."

It's not like you're vastly more experienced than him, it's just that you've built your way up to this. Started small. Learnt the ropes.

Shinwon had connections that put him on a high rung in the ladder, not accounting for the fact that it's damn well scary up near the top. The fall from grace is far less forgiving. Don't look down is the advice he'd always been given for this very reason.

You've had the luxury (or misfortune) of working your way up.

The levels beneath you don't scare you in the same way they scare Shinwon. If you end up back down there, you know how to climb back up. He ran before he could walk; just a product of his privilege. It's nothing you can really hold against him.

Still, it does fill you with a little bit of pride. You've worked hard, and it's paying off.

"Doors are in an hour and a half," you tell him, passing over a stack of auction guides. "Can you be an angel and put these around the place?"

Everyone in attendance will get one upon their arrival, but you know what people are like once a flute of champagne has passed their lips. Won't hurt to have spares available.

With a nod and smile that says a silent thank you for taking the lead, Shinwon is on his merry way.

Looking around the place, you take a second to appreciate all the work that has gone into this show. In the middle of the main gallery area is an empty easel and Taehyung's supplies. A pole is set up directly opposite it.

The idea is simple: Taehyung will do a live work inspired by a routine performed by Danbi. It's all very romantic, how terribly besotted with her he is. Destined to be a muse, nothing could make you happier for her. It'll also be a good money maker—people will be blind bidding throughout the night. The highest bid at the end of the auction will win the work.

It's one of multiple Kim Taehyung originals on offer tonight. He's been making waves on the art circuit lately—you've even got an international line set up for foreign bidders. The fact he's giving up his time and his art to help Jeongguk out is selfless.

"DB, I wouldn't even have international fans had it not been for you pushing me so hard to expand myself," he had reminded you after you'd thanked him for the hundredth time that afternoon. "It's the least I can do—plus Jeongguk has promised he'll import my favourite wine for the restaurant once it opens, so it's a win for me, too."

Maybe you're being greedy, but you hope the night will be a win for you, too. A lot of hard work has gone into this. With Shinwon's continuous second-guessing of himself, you know that the likelihood of a spot opening up on the Ryu's curation team is high. Think that perhaps this could be the thing that really solidifies your presence; that you can not only draw in punters, but profits, too.

You're taking in the room around you when a hand sneaks around your waist, a familiar presence intruding on your personal space in a way that never really feels like an intrusion at all.

"Hey," you whisper, not needing to turn around as Jeongguk presses a kiss to your hair, squeezing you tightly against him. "You're early."

Having been caught up at Dionysus, Jeongguk had wanted to finally finish off the renovations he had been doing to the outdoor area of the bar. Once that was done, he'd have no more obligations with the bar other than casual shifts.

The tides really are turning. It scares him. Excites him, too.

"Managed to rope Yoongi in," Jeongguk says softly, punctuating his sentences with even more kisses pressed against your hair. Told you once that if you were his girlfriend, he'd kiss you in this room, right in front of everyone. The room is empty, now, but you are his girlfriend, so he'll take his victories when he can. "Got everything sorted in, like half the time."

There's a tenderness to the way he holds onto you. Close is never close enough. It's not like he gives it much considered thought; is just how he naturally gravitates towards you.

"Does it look good?" You ask of the bar. "Happy with it?"

Nodding, Jeongguk smiles. "Unrecognisable. Kinda sad, though."

"Hm?" You question. "How come?"

"I just... I've spent a lot of time in that courtyard," he mumbles. "Always makes me think of you, though."

"Of me?" You chirp with a little confusion, as if you don't also have incredibly poignant memories there that linger like the silage of Jeongguk's aftershave through the hazy smoulder of freshly cracked fireworks.

"Of you," he doubles down. Pulls away a little, turning you to face him, and you sort of wish he hadn't. How you'll ever be able to focus now that he's here is beyond you.

Smart in his dark slacks and leather shoes, Jeongguk's white shirt is buttoned mid-way up his chest. The silver chain he so often sports rests against his skin like it was made to adorn his body; so inherently his that it's unfathomable he's ever without it.

In the corner of his charming smile lays his silver lip ring, sparkling under the gallery lights.

It's his eyes though, framed by loose strands of his lightly waved hair, that always render you a little speechless. No other artwork compares.

"New Years," he simply offers. "It's all I can ever think about when I'm there."

So imperative is the memory of time spent with you, it eradicates any memory of Hayun there. He simply doesn't consider it. Now that the dust has settled, you don't think of it, either.

"Maybe there's a little magic in that courtyard," you offer. "Now that it will be open to punters, maybe they'll have their own version of our new year in it."

A lovely thought, it is, that perhaps there's something spectacular about that little space.

In reality, the magic came from stardust that had settled on your skin like glitter, and wrapped Jeongguk up in your cosmic chaos, too.

And so he just shakes his head. Smiles. His lip ring does the thing. You die a little inside, in the most pathetic of ways. "Impossible."

With a laugh, you swot him away. "I've still got a few things to sort out."

"Need a hand with anything?" He asks, always happy to help out.

Shaking your head, you really don't think there is anything he needs to do. "Tae will be here, in, like, five. See if he needs a hand with anything? I need to go and get changed."

In all black, you're casually dressed but know that the night ahead demands something a bit more spectacular. You've a few options with you, but one particular dress is in the forefront of your mind—just worry that it's a little too much.

The thing is, you're playing multiple roles tonight. You're not simply a curator, or a hostess. You're responsible for making people open their purse strings. Looking the part is important.

"Alright," he nods, dark eyes soft. There's a tenderness to Jungook today; his adoration for you quite literally pouring from his very being. "Go. I'll keep myself busy."

Pulling you in for a quick kiss, he sends you on your way. Regrets not telling you he loves you. Will just do it when he sees you next. Revels in the fact that he can just do that now. Doesn't have to go back and forth between his feelings. Is forward with them, 'cause he's secure.

Being together is just easy. It works. Makes sense in a way that nothing else has ever done before. You could chalk it up to the stars, or to some sort of invisible string that had looped itself around you both with a pretty little bow, but nothing would ever do it justice. Not divine intervention, not destiny nor manifestation.

No romance film has ever portrayed a love like the way he feels for you, and no love song could ever soundtrack the way you laugh together. Both holy and unholy in the same breath, no religion could ever make him worship in the way that he devotes himself to you.

If he were alive in the ancient times, he would have made shrines for you. Temples. Castles. Gilded in gold, everyone who visited would have known the sincerity of how he felt.

Instead, he has to settle with modern conventions of dating. Will give you a bouquet of flowers when he really wishes he could plant you a garden full of wildflowers; beautiful unconventional blooms that everyone will adore.

He half figures that maybe he should just blow caution to the wind. Build you a temple anyway. Fill it with glitter and gacha machines. Anyone who ever visited would leave with just as much admiration for you as he has.

By the time you've changed your outfit and checked yourself over a hundred times, Jeongguk is nowhere to be seen, but the door leading up to the rooftop has been left on the latch, so you take it as a safe bet.

Much like you hadn't turned to face the sound of Jeongguk's footsteps earlier, Jeongguk doesn't turn to face yours. The click of your heels echoes on the flat roof of the ceiling, and he knows that to take in the sight of you would be incredibly dangerous. His eyes remain on the city ahead of him. He knows the direction of home. His. Yours, too. Wonders if one day you'll share a home together.

Slinking your arm around his back, you hold onto his waist as his arm drapes over your shoulders. The city is growing darker as the dusky light of late spring sunset lays a thin curtain of pink over the skyline.

"Watcha doing up here?" You ask, squeezing his waist.

He doesn't reply immediately. Could tell you about his mindless thoughts about building a home with you. Could tell you he feels nervous about the night ahead; about whether or not they'll hit their goal, or if your ex will show up.

"Just wanted some air," he says, conveying everything that he needs to. There's a lot on his mind, and you aren't gonna push him to open up so close to the big event.

"Want me to leave you be for a little bit?" You offer, knowing that he seems to be hung up on his thoughts.

Jeongguk's grip on you doesn't ease, even as he shakes his head. "No."

A comfortable silence settles between you both, neither of you needing to say any words. You understand that Jeongguk shares when he's ready. Know that he's probably thinking of the right way to phrase his worries, or deliberating whether or not he even wants to share them at all.

"What if it doesn't work?" He quietly says as the light-speckled horizon glistens in front of you both.

With a small frown, you press your lips together. Know that he doesn't mean to be pessimistic, but it's natural to have worries.

"There's no reason why it shouldn't. Anything we earn tonight will help, even if we don't reach the total goal, Gguk." Turning your head to the side, you press a kiss to the side of his hand that's draped over your shoulder. Instinct-driven, he strokes against the side of your neck with his thumb. "We've got this."

Grouping yourself in with him, the responsibility is shared. The burden falls not on him, but on the both of you. It's always been this way. From the very inception of your birds, you've been a team.

Jeongguk takes solace in this. Has never really felt alone since that first night in Dionysus. Has been consumed by you ever since.

Pressing a kiss to the side of your head Jeongguk quietly admits, "I think I'm scared, B."

"Of course you are," you say softly. "You really care about this. I'd be surprised if you weren't a little scared."

Pulling back from him, you clasp his hand and begin to lead him away from the edge of the roof.

As he takes you in for the first time, Jeongguk thinks he might just die.

The dress you're wearing is one he knows well. One he picked out. One you've been saving for a special occasion.

You're sparkling in a way you never really have done before. Look like that damn disco ball he always used to tell you that you were, except far prettier than he could ever describe.

The fabric slinks over your body, and finishes a little higher up on your thighs than it really should. Your cleavage—dusted in shimmer—is visible, and Jeongguk might just choke when he remembers you're his girlfriend. It doesn't seem possible. How he managed to catch his very own shooting star is beyond him.

It's a dress that doesn't beg for attention—it commands it.

And if there's one thing Jeongguk is good at, it's following your orders.

Shaking his head, a grin blossoms on his pretty pink lips. In the corner of his mouth, his lip ring flips ever so gently. Light glistens on him in the most gorgeous fashion, your disco ball aura dousing him in eclectic energy that neither of you quite understand. Jeongguk just knows he's better when he's with you.

He encourages you to spin beneath his raised arm, fingers still loosely clasped together. Letting out a soft whistle, Jeongguk is speechless as the dress shines even under a dusky veil of early evening skies.

The fabric drapes over your body in a way that he's almost jealous of. Shorter than he thought it would be, but also far sexier than he'd realised, Jeongguk is certain that death will be the only outcome for him if he has to watch you schmooze other men while wearing it.

"You're gonna be breaking hearts tonight, Byeol," he promises you with eyes just as sparkly as your dress.

"So?" You grin. "There's only one I care about."

He could think of some flirtatious retort. Could joke with you. Could banter in the way that he usually would.

But he knows you'll have other men leering at you tonight.

Wants you to know that none of them compare to him.

Pulling you in for a kiss, hands on either side of your jaw, Jeongguk is so incredibly sincere as he mumbles against your lips, "I love you so much." He doesn't let you reply. Kisses you again. And again. Again, again, again. "So fuckin' lucky."

He's a little careless in how often he tells you of his affection. Doesn't care to hide it, nor pretend like it isn't how he feels. Spent so long denying himself of such simple human pleasures. Revels in it, now.

"Shush," you hush him with a smile. "Love you, too—but do you not think the dress is too much?"

You're a little cautious as you pull away. Feel insecure, even with his constant praising. Know that no one else will be dressed quite like this. It's a black-tie event, and most women will be in cocktail dresses, so it's not like you'll be totally out of place; you'll just be demanding attention.

"Since when do you ever care about being too much?" Jeongguk grins. Knows he's never given you any reason to feel that way. If anything, he'll always encourage you to demand more attention. "And no. You look gorgeous, B."

Rolling your eyes to hide the way you blush, you can't help but get a little smiley at such a compliment. "Yeah, but you have to say that."

"No, I don't," he says firmly. "You think I'd lie to you?"

"No."

"Exactly. So, stop fretting."

Tugging on your hand, Jeongguk encourages you towards the staircase leading back down to the gallery.

He guides you until you reach the very top of the stairs—then groans. Tilts his head back and squeezes your hand. Laughs through his wailing, standing totally still.

He'd been so confident, so keen, and now it seems like he's faltering. Squeezing his hand back, you silently let him know you're with him, no matter what.

"It's just... God, it's all out of my control, isn't it?" He asks when you question his sudden change in demeanour.

"Well, yeah," you reply. "But it doesn't have to be a bad thing, Gguk. Letting go of control is healthy."

He shakes his head. Realises now that his stomach is in absolute bits. The butterflies he got when he looked at you had disguised it for a moment. He much prefers the butterflies. Cast his eyes back to you, and finds himself cured.

Tucking some loose strands of hair behind your ear, Jeongguk is ever so gentle. Isn't looking in your eyes as such, just at your face. At his hands. At how perfectly poised you are for him, like his very own star suspended in the cosmos for him.

"Hey," you say quietly, the silence between you not uncomfortable but indicative of the fact that Jeongguk isn't entirely at ease.

"Hi," he whispers back.

Edging away from him, but keeping your hands clasped, you get your back up against the wall. Pull him close.

Brows furrowed, there's a haze of confusion haloing around him. He's curious about what you're doing, but trusts you in such a way that requires no clarification.

As you lift your wrist above your head and delicately cross them over, you keep your eyes on his. Whisper, "Take back control."

The way that Jeongguk's large hand wraps around your wrists and keeps them pinned above your head is innate; as if he was put on the early to catch a star.

His hips press against your tummy as his nose nudges down to stroke against yours.

"Yeah?"

Nodding, you let your lips brush against his. "Yeah."

The weight of his hips traps you in place, your body naturally succumbing to what feels right. His aftershave seems stronger, grip tighter. Everything about him is amplified, yet it doesn't come close to the chorus your heart is just dying to cry; declarations of love wrapped up in the sweetest of melodies.

A whisper would be enough. He's the only one who needs to know.

The pressure of his piercing against your lips as he presses down into a kiss always sends you a little bit insane. Today is no exception.

His tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you give him the access he so desperately craves. Whimper into the sensation of being with him. Reciprocate his hard kisses with your soft lips.

Once upon a time, when the tigers still smoked, this was forbidden; folklore of your former selves. Funny, how you know a love like this will become the stuff of legends. Eternal. Written in the stars to be marvelled upon by mature astronomers for decades to come.

No one will know who put the constellation of you in the sky. They'll study your shine for years, yet won't be able to fathom that you were willed to be that way by a mere mortal man; loved so purely that your legacy will remain in the cosmos forever. It's a beautifully foolish idea. Whimsical Impossible. Implausible, even. But with him? Somehow it feels feasible.

Though his kisses have strength behind them, Jeongguk's tongue is gentle as it strokes against yours. A mess of lips, and meeting of tongues, neither of you care to keep quiet. No one's gonna find you up here. This is a space in time reserved for you and Jeongguk alone. The rest of the world can wait a moment longer.

You'll retrograde, and unlike Saturn or Pluto, it'll be better for everyone—'cause you'll also inevitably go direct again, and it'll be so much more fruitful if Jeongguk's mind is at ease.

You do, however, regret giving him leverage, 'cause all you want is your hands in his hair. The hand of his that isn't keeping you secure squeezes at your waist, and you're reminded of just how much you like giving up control to him.

Curved into a smile, Jeongguk's lips leave yours far quicker than you hoped they would. With a casual shake of his head, he decides that he's ready for the orbit to continue. Doesn't mind if he gets a little dizzy in the process.

"C'mon, B," he says as he positions you in front of his body, and encourages you down the stairs. "Save it for later. Best behaviour tonight."

You whine a little, regretfully far too turned on than you really should be at a time like this.

Still, you accept his encouragement down the stairs, and make sure your fingers are intertwined with his as you walk on down to the exhibition hall.

"Oh, I can pop this in the cloakroom for you," you chirp without much thought when you notice his bag tossed down by the podium at which you'll be conducting the auction later on that evening. Black leather, you recognise it from your time spent in his room. It's usually tucked beneath his desk.

"Actually," he interjects. "There's something I wanna talk to you about—we don't have to do it, but I kinda just had a passing thought, and maybe it could be helpful—"

He begins to ramble, but it's cut off by your laugh. "Just tell me."

A little bashful, and somewhat nervous, Jeongguk reaches for his bag. The zip scrapes open, and he retrieves a small box from a nearby printing shop. "Now they're nothing fancy, and I just kinda mocked them up because I wasn't sure if we—"

"Gguk," you laugh. "You're rambling. Tell me."

"Sorry," he grins, passing you over the box, figuring that he may as well just show you his idea.

Lifting open the box, you're greeted with the familiar scent of fresh ink. It's always been one that you've loved: newspapers, books, magazines. There's a nostalgia to it. Inside sit a wedge of business cards—except when you pull them out, you realise they're something different entirely.

"So what I'm thinking," he begins as you study one of the cards. "Is that people can buy these cards, right—" he points to an empty space on the back of the card "—and however much they spend is written on here. When the restaurant opens, it can be redeemed. So, like, put in 50,000 now, and then in like six months' time, if they come for a meal, we comp through however much is on their token. Like a gift card, or a voucher, or I dunno, even a bar tab. Just to build a little extra capital up and also give them something tangible in return. Build brand loyalty."

"This is smart," you tell him with a smile.

"It's just something we discussed at uni once," he says a little sheepishly. "Some festival did it to raise funds for booking acts. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try?"

"It wouldn't hurt at all," you tell him, wanting him to know that his ideas are just as valid and worthwhile as yours. Feel guilty for not just including him right from the start. "We could set up a stand near the cloakroom? There's space for it, and it'll mean everyone will pass it."

"Yeah?" He says, a little unsure of himself.

"Yeah, Gguk," you encourage. Stand on your tiptoes and give him a gentle kiss before pressing the box to his chest. "Go. Tae is near the cloakroom. You guys have full control. Set it up how you like."

"Are you—"

"I'm sure," you promise. "Go. I'll see you in a bit."

With a silent nod but a smile so bright it's practically blinding you, Jeongguk walks backwards for a few steps. Doesn't want to take his eyes off you. Pursing your lips, suppressing a grin, you blow a kiss in his direction, which is enough to satisfy him. He blows one back, then turns to head down the hallway.

Sighing so deeply the tides could change, you look around the room. Mutter to yourself, "Let's do this."

You always think you're not quite right for the glitz and glam that comes with the artistic industry, but come show nights, it's a surprise just how at home you feel.

Surrounded by art, and people who appreciate it, you're able to discuss your passion at length. As much as you love the art cafe, there's so much you can say about paint strokes with couples who come in for a fun date activity.

Watching on from across the room, Jeongguk thinks you shine brightest like this.

His view of you is obscured by the easel Taehyung is working at, and the routine Danbi is performing on the pole. Though Taehyung has seen Danbi like this a hundred times over—how her muscles work and flex beneath her skin, and the concentration yet serenity on her pretty face—he's never painted it so explicitly.

The stroke of his brush comes with ease, just like Danbi's movements appear to be. They really do make the perfect match, Jeongguk thinks.

When he glances back over to you, noticing how you're holding the little charm on your necklace, he wonders what people think when they see you together. It doesn't matter, really, but he hopes you're the kind of couple people grow envious of. He knows damn well he'd be jealous of himself.

And as the space beside him fills with a looming presence he would rather not acknowledge, he knows he's not the only one.

"Cleans up well, doesn't she?" A voice that Jeongguk had forgotten was quite so arrogant says.

Swigging back his drink, Jeongguk deliberates whether or not a reply is owed. If he felt like the dig was about him, he'd ignore it, but you're the one being spoken about. Of course he's not gonna just let it slide. Will be a petulant little brat about it.

"Seokmin," Jeongguk grimaces, deliberately getting his name wrong again.

"We both know you know my name," Seokjin smirks, adjusting his posture and broadening his shoulders. Lowering his voice, there's something sinister about the way he mutters, "No doubt you hear it in her sheets from time to time."

It's sort of funny how you considered roundhousing Hayun with a chair the last time you saw her. Jeongguk is thinking of doing something very similar to Seokjin.

"I know your name 'cause you're a clingy ex who won't stop sending her flowers," Jeongguk scoffs. Considers being vulgar. Mentioning the way you whine his name. Respects you too much to do it, though. All he really wants is for Seokjin to leave, so he lays it straight. "The auction tonight is for my start-up, so don't waste your time. I'm sure you won't want to lose your money to me, and frankly, I don't want it."

"You're right," Seokjin nods. "I'd rather not give you a penny, but I'm particularly interested in one of the listings."

Opening up the pamphlet, Seokjin pretends to skim through it until he finds the listing. Doesn't need to. Already knows which number it is. It's also right at the front. He's making a big old song and dance out of things just to piss Jeongguk off.

"Ah!" He continues. "That's it. Number one."

Jeongguk grates his jaw. Keeps his eyes on you. Is hard in his gaze. He doesn't want you to look his way and see the state of him, but he knows that his breathing exercises only calm him so much. You're the one thing that really grounds him.

" Experience for two at Pot & Paint Art Cafe ," Seokjin reads aloud. " Expertly hosted, it says, but we both know who'll be looking after the winners, don't we? Would be a waste for me not to win it."

He's deliberately trying to push Jeongguk's buttons. A few months ago, it might have worked.

But a lot can change in a few months.

"I might not bother taking anyone with me," Seokjin continues like the vapid narcissist he is. "Just me and her. I always hated that cafe, but there's that chair of hers—the one in the corner, her favourite..." he trails off. Smirks. "Yeah, I hate that cafe, but it can be fun when it's just me and her."

Jeongguk knows he should be angry. Knows that the 'correct' response to Seokjin's baiting should be red-hot fury.

But instead, Jeongguk just laughs .

It's not sarcastic. Not cruel.

If anything, it's hearty. Loud. Makes his head lean back, shoulders lifting to his ears. Has you glancing in his direction, smiling too—until you notice who is standing directly beside him.

Brows raised, you recognise the expression on Seokjin's face well. Knows that he'll be scoffing soon. Rolling his eyes, maybe. A year ago, you might have cared.

Now, all you can do is find your eyes dragged back home to a smile you never want to lose.

"Ah, that's funny, man," Jeongguk says with a shake of his head. "No, really. That's, like, the most deluded shit I've heard in weeks, and trust me, you should meet my ex. You'd get on like a house on fire. 'It can be fun,' " he imitates Seokjin, voice all goofy. Laughs, again. "Oh, fuckin' hell, man. That really tickled me. Good joke."

If he were to psychoanalyse himself—which he won't, not now that he has a therapist to do it for him—he'd probably realise he's developed a nervous response to stressful situations. Did the same exact thing when you told him you wanted to end things back in the Dionysus cloakroom. Had laughed and told you no.

The idea of Seokjin being with you, especially in the art cafe, makes Jeongguk feel sick, quite frankly.

And so, even if he seems unphased, Jeongguk has no qualms in asserting his dominance. Sure, he may be younger. Might not have his shit together.

But you love him in spite of it all.

He doesn't need Seokjin's approval.

"Look, I dunno why you insist on chasing around a girl half your age," Jeongguk says with a flippant arrogancy that can only ever be charming from a man like him. Though you're only a couple of years younger than Seokjin, Jeongguk reckons it's his youth that Seokjin is really envious of, so he plays into it. After all, it's the only thing money can't buy. "But I've been doing exactly what I said I would back at the tennis club: putting that youth of mine to good use. She's not interested, mate. So, if you don't mind, old man, stop looking at my girlfriend like she's yours."

Patting Seokjin's arm just to ensure that salt is rubbed into the wound, Jeongguk smiles as he walks away. Doesn't care to play nice. In fact, he doesn't care to play at all. Whatever game Seokjin wants to play, he can play alone.

Jeongguk slinks through the crowd that's watching Taehyung paint, and heads straight for you. He places his hand on the small of your back, joining your conversation. His spare hand reaches out to shake hands with the associate you've been talking with.

You're all smiles as you introduce him.

" Ah, the man of the hour graces us with his presence," You beam. "This is Jeon Jeongguk, the founder of the restaurant we're raising funds for this evening."

"Unique," the older gentleman you've been speaking with says as he shakes Jeongguk's hand. "It's an innovative way to get investments. I'm impressed."

Knowing him as well as you do, you're sure Jeongguk will throw it all back to you, so you don't let him.

"He's a sure bet," you assure the gentleman. "Hands of Midas, this one."

"Oh, I'm sure," he kindly agrees before you excuse yourself and leave Jeongguk to chat with potential investors.

As you depart, you subtly rub his back just to give him a little boost. He doesn't need you hanging on his side for the whole night. Will do well to speak with the art snobs independently of you.

After all, he's building a brand and needs to be the face of it—not just known as the curator's partner.

"Doing well, isn't he?" Seoyeon purrs, passing you a champagne flute as you join her by the bar.

Taking a sip, your eyes are locked in on him. He's laughing, now. Cracking jokes. Is so charismatic it's hard to forget how shy he can be.

"Incredibly well," you fondly praise. "He never would have done this a year ago."

"And who do we have to thank for that?" Seoyeon giggles, nudging against your shoulder. Her hair is loose, tiny plaits scattered throughout. Yoongi is across the room with the boys, a single plait secured in his hair, too. They really are a perfect couple.

It's interesting that you'd think that of them.

You, a cosmic entity; Jeongguk, stars for eyes. You're just as perfectly aligned as the Mins are.

"He'd have done it eventually," you smile. "Just needed a little push."

"Well, aren't we glad you were there to do it," she kindly says, then begins to ask about some of the auction listings.

You're thankful for the excuse to ramble on about it.

In a way, you're practising your pitches. Are a little bit nervous about standing on stage in front of everyone there and beginning an auction. While you won't be the one actually calling the bids in—you've hired someone from the local auction house for that—you still have the duty to present all of the items first.

It doesn't take long for Jeongguk to excuse himself from his conversation. Had gone in search of you earlier, but like the shooting star you are, you'd evaded him. Seoyeon squeezes your arms as he approaches you and makes her own excuses. Wants to give you this moment with Jeongguk alone.

His eyebrows raise upon seeing this, but a smile also graces his lips.

"Am I really such terrible company?" He playfully asks you, reaching for your hand. He lifts your knuckles to his lips and presses a sweet kiss against them, knowing better than to be so outwardly affectionate with you in a professional environment.

"Oh, the worst," you nod. "I only stick around for the money."

"A gold digger and a man without a penny to his name," he assesses, standing shoulder to shoulder beside you. Both looking out to the sea of people in front of you, it feels like you're on dry land when you're together. "What a pair we make."

"The stuff of Hollywood films," you hum in agreement. "Next time we're at a motel, that can be our cover story."

"Next time?" He smirks. "Thought you said it'd never happen again?"

"Well, beggars can't be choosers now, can they?" You sigh as if you're really bothered by the lack of financial stability your relationship offers you. Maybe it's naive, but you really think it's inconsequential. You'll be stable one day; for now, you're stable in so many other ways. "If it's the only way we can afford to hook up, then I guess we'll have to."

"And they say romance is dead."

Glancing up to him, you're amazed at how flippantly you speak of such matters, now.

"Let's not pretend like it's the worst place we've ever—"

"Byeol," he quietly scolds you, but he just can't help that damn smile of his. "We're here for business, not pleasure."

"Tell that to Jeongguk up by the roof a couple of hours ago."

"Still thinking about it?"

Your subtle grimace is hidden well. "Regretfully."

He smiles when he hears this. Is vindicated by your relentless desire to be with him. You're so flippantly vulgar when it comes to your desperation, and he finds it far hotter than he thinks he should, as if human attraction has never known such a karmic pull before.

Gaze hard on the crowd of people all mingling and chatting, he wonders how long it would take for anyone to notice you weren't around. If anyone would look for you, and upon failure, would look for him too. How easy it would be to work out exactly what's going on.

And yet he can't help but ask, "How long until the auction?"

"About twenty minutes," you guess. Haven't checked the time in a little while, but pride yourself in your judgement of time passing. Still, you reach for his wrist. Check his watch. Smile. "Yeah, twenty minutes."

Jeongguk weighs up his pros and cons. Tries to give it considered thought. Clasps your fingers with his, then says, "I need your opinion on something."

The way you let him guide you out of the room is damn near comical. Anything he asks of you, he'll likely get. Plus, you like that he values your opinion. Makes you feel seen. Heard. A lot of the things he does make you feel that way.

He's dastardly confident as he leads you down the hallway and back to the stairwell that takes you up to the rooftop.

"Something out here," he tells you over his shoulder.

You're not really sure why you don't protest. Don't tell him that now isn't the time to be going up there; that you're expected to be in the main hall very shortly.

His pied-piper grip on your attention has you following him regardless. Off you trot, up and away.

The inky-black skies have already spilt into the horizon. Lights spread through the valleys that surround the city, like whispers spreading far and wide. Rumours. Much the ones you could envisage trickling through the city's artistic elite if they noticed the Ryu's darling and some rogue tattooed charmer galavanting away together.

In all likelihood, no one would care.

It's just fun to pretend like you and Jeongguk are something worthy of the story books; as if the New York Times would have to cease its chart, for all the tales would be of Jeongguk and his star. Your adventures, far and wide. Paperback, hardback, special editions. Devoured by masses, adored by those who just got it.

But you're none of those silly little stories you dream up together. You're not wanted by Interpol, you're not star-crossed lovers, and you're definitely super spies, either.

You're just a guy and a girl.

Yet when Jeongguk has you alone on that roof, back pressed to the far wall, and his kisses feel as cosmic as they do, it'd be easy to pretend you're so much more.

"My opinion?" You mumble through the kisses you really don't want to stop. Whine a little as his strong hands begin to roam your body, squeezing and stroking wherever they can with little regard for the dress you're wearing. He might've been the one who bought it, but he wants it off just as much as he wanted to see it on. "You wanted it? On what?"

"On how quickly you think it'll take for me to make you cum."

"Gguk," you groan, as if your hands aren't working your way down his shirt. Miraculously, through no fault of your own, his buttons end up threaded through their loops. Undone. Oh, no . His chest is far more exposed than it was. Totally has nothing to do with you, or the fact that you like his chest just as much as he likes yours. "We can't."

"We shouldn't ," he corrects you. "But we most definitely can ."

As you laugh, he pulls back slightly. Tucks hair behind your ear. Gets his eyes on yours, and it's only then that you realise he must have planets in them now. Entire solarsystems. They just shine in a way that can't be earthly.

"You know how pretty you are after we fuck? You literally glow, Byeol," he praises. "I reckon people will want to bid more if they see you like that."

"What?" You laugh, bashful at the idea of people seeing you in a way that's reserved for Jeongguk and Jeongguk alone. "Fucked out?"

"Nah," he smirks into your lips, pressing down into a soft kiss. "Just pretty—but I can make a real mess of you if you'd rather? Ruin you, if you want."

"They'd never let me back here," you assure him, pushing him away, and then pulling him right back.

"Fine," he smiles, his body moving entirely up to your will. If you want him away, he'll go. Will respect your wishes. Be the gentleman you know him to be. But you haven't told him 'no', yet. Chess remains unspoken.

As his lips find a new home in the crook of your neck, chess is the last thing on your mind.

"I can play nice, too," he mumbles against your throat, wet kisses being pressed to your skin. He's obsessed with the scent of your hair, nose stroking against you. Groaning as he does so, Jeongguk doesn't care to hide the way you make him come undone. He's weak, and he wants you to know it. You gave him control earlier, but he doesn't want it. "I can be a good boy for you, hmm? Would you like that baby? Like me on my knees for you?"

Tall, broad, Cruel Summer-coded Devil; Jeongguk on his knees for you is the last thing you need at this moment.

Yet somehow it feels like it's the only thing you need, now that the thoughts have been planted.

They'll blossom in your head. Ideas of him, and his catastrophic eyes looking up at you. The feeling of him taking ownership of your sex with his mouth, and your heart with his eyes. Like vines of ivy, you'll become ensnared by him. Will realise too late that it's poisonous—and by that point, what else is there to do but succumb to a little death?

"You're literally gonna make me cum in like 5 seconds if you keep that up," you tell him. "I might die."

He doesn't mention it, but he does smile when he realises you've started talking like him. So integrated into one another's lives, it's getting harder to remember a time when you weren't utterly besotted.

"Keep what up?" He plays dumb, just as bratty as you so often like to be. You're not the only one mirroring. He's just as influenced by you as you are by him. "I just wanna make you feel good."

"You do," you softly moan into his touch. His lips are intentional against your throat, but it worries you. "No hickies, Gguk."

He nods, sucking just a little longer than he should but not hard enough to leave a mark.

Though he apologises, he's boyish and brass when his vulgar lips beg, "Just let me suck on your clit, instead. Please . I'll be so quick. I promise."

"Gguk," you whine, as if your body isn't one or two terms of endearment away from folding.

"I'll make you cum so hard," he whispers against your lips. "All on my tongue. You want that, huh, baby? You want the taste of your gorgeous cunt in my mouth?"

"I don't think you'll be quick enough," you reply between frantic kisses. This is a blatant lie, and you both know it.

"Let me try," he pleads.

Pressing kisses along your jaw, Jeongguk skillfully works his lips down your throat, chest, valley of your breasts. Is interrupted by your dress, and takes it as an invitation to skip it entirely. Crouches. Holds your hips as he kisses up your thighs.

The rooftop isn't private. Anyone could walk up at any second. The danger of it all excites you just as much as it terrifies you.

"I'm on my knees," he states the obvious, his hands creeping up the front of your dress. "I'm begging ."

Pathetically, all you can do is gasp a little as he pushes the fabric up. Curses when he's greeted with your lace-covered cunt. Lets his nose nudge up against you, just 'cause he can think of few scents he loves more. He knows it's the pheromones that make him this insatiable, but he doesn't give a fuck. Would wear you like a perfume if he could.

"Five seconds," you compromise. "That's all you get. Just a taste."

He doesn't argue against it. Knows you well enough now to know that timing just isn't your thing.

Instead, he pulls back. Hooks a finger beneath the fabric of your underwear, and tugs it to the side. Almost fuckin' whimpers as he watches strings of slick arousal cling to the lace.

He spreads your pussy apart with his fingers, and swears he might die at the sight of it.

Desperately wet, Jeongguk loves just how keenly your body responds to him.

If you had control over it, you'd hold back. Wouldn't give him such satisfaction—but you can't, and so you both have to live with the knowledge that sex will only ever be this good with him. You'll just have to stay with him forever, or something dumb like that, you guess. Shame.

"Gonna waste your time," you warn him.

"Just looking," he mumbles while his nose strokes up against your clit. "Doesn't count yet."

"You're bending the rules, Koo," you gently tell him. "Behave yourself, or you won't get anything."

"No," he whines. "Please. I just... God, B. You don't understand how fuckin' hot you are." And then he smiles. Shakes his head. Presses a single pouty kiss just above your clit. "My pretty girlfriend and her gorgeous cunt. Fuck. I love you."

Part of you thinks he's just saying it to buy time.

But you know it to be true, too.

"I love you, too," you whisper, stroking your fingers through his hair.

His tongue gently traces against your clit. Once. Twice.

"Doesn't count," he says again, voice hushed against you, the warmth of his breath cooling his spit.

"Five," you begin to count down.

Afraid he'll miss his chance, Jeongguk wraps his lips around your clit, latching onto you with such incredible force it's impossible to keep counting. Immediately, he just sort of takes your breath away. It'd be romantic if it weren't so sordid. Hands tangled in his hair, you keep him pressed to your pussy.

"Oh, fuck," you moan. "Feels so good."

But Jeongguk is dressed like a gentleman tonight. Will follow your rules, just like he always has done.

He pulls away before you've even really begun to acknowledge the sensation of pleasure he commands through your body. He's catching a quick breath, too. Looks up at you, eyes devastatingly doe-like.

"More?" he poutily asks.

And you just can't stop yourself from nodding, fingers still raked in his hair. "Yeah, baby. More, please."

He doesn't need telling twice. His lips press kisses against you, tongue stroking. With long, flat licks, and sharp, direct flicks, he varies his rhythm like there's music in his veins. Is an expert at the melody of you. Can play along without any sheet music. Just needs you as his conductor.

And conduct, you do.

"Fingers," you whimper after no more than a minute.

"Hm?" Hums against you as if he isn't desperate to do more. He just wants you begging, now.

"Finger me, Gguk."

Again, he doesn't need telling twice. His long middle finger pushes into you, curving instantly. He knows your body well enough now to know all your weak points. When your legs do a little involuntary shake, he knows he's found what he's after.

"So fuckin' good," you whine, head tipping back, one of your hands reaching back to hold onto the wall for support. "Keep going."

A second thick finger is pushed into you with ease. So desperate for him, you know that you'd probably even be fine with three. It'd be no match for his cock, and how perfectly it stretches you out. The thought of it alone is enough to make you moan.

"Oh, god," you breathe out as the sensation of building pleasure washes over you. You're so much closer than you really ought to be. Just a natural consequence of the honour you think comes with fucking a man like him; knowing that you make an earth-bound deity like him weak, too.

"Hold that thought, baby," Jeongguk whispers, pulling away from you, fingers still stroking up against your g-spot. His lips are covered in your arousal, the sheen of moonlight making him look ever so pretty. "Phone."

Your eyes are locked on him, even as he takes his phone from his pocket to check the caller ID.

And to your fucking shock, he answers it.

It's more than that, though.

He answers with a smirk. Looks up at you as he says hello—and then silently lets his tongue slowly drag up your cunt.

"B?" He questions down the phone a second later, the pace of his fingers increasing. "She's just walking off some nerves, I think."

And his tongue is back on you, phone held an inch or so away until he hears the person on the other end finish. You're so scared that the stop-start nature of his teasing will push you over the edge. It's the textbook play to make you cum just that little bit harder, just how Jeongguk really loves it. He's already had a few glasses of champagne tonight, but he'd rather have yours any day of the week. There's just no way in hell you can let it happen, not when he needs to go and face people afterwards.

"The rooftop, yeah," he says, smirking as you widen your eyes. "Nah, you don't need to grab her, I'll go."

He mouths at you to shush, his pretty smile shining just for you.

"Yeah, I'm sure," he says down the phone. "Typical isn't it? Climax of the evening, and she's nowhere to be found. Don't worry, though; I've got this, Hobbes. Yeah, yeah, I'll make her come. No worries."

When he hangs up, his lopsided grins doesn't even think to utter an apology.

"Hear that?" he teases. "Gotta hurry up and cum, baby."

"He's gonna disown us both," you tell him, but Jeongguk just shakes his head. Nudges his nose up against you. Presses a kiss to your clit, then gets back to business.

It's like an old dance at this point. Jeongguk knows all the steps. He could make you cum so easily if he wanted to—and now, he does want to. He's had his fun. Knows that no matter how hard you cum, you won't be fully satisfied until he fucks you.

"Cum before he starts looking for you, and he'll never know," Jeongguk shrugs his shoulders, then begins to rub small circles on your clit with his other hand. It's a combination he knows has lethal outcomes.

Your legs are frail and limp as he begins his relentless pursuit of your pleasure.

"That's it, babe," he husk. "Cum for for me."

Like the collapse of a damn, the sensation of Jeongguk's fingers spills you over the edge. The trembling of your whines and the shaking of your legs give it away. Your grip on his hair is painfully tight, but he kinda likes it.

"Attagirl, baby," he praises, then wraps his lips around your clit for the final few pulses of your orgasm. Moans against you. Nods. Pulls away from you slowly. Laughs. Rests his head against your thigh. "Just cancel the auction. Let me fuck you, instead."

Laughing now, too, you shake your head and encourage him to his feet. He's about to nudge his nose against yours when you stop him in his tracks.

"Uh-uh," you shake your head. "I've gotta go schmooze people."

"But I just made you cum."

"And you know I love you for it," you promise. Hold his chin so he can't sneakily divert his lips as you press a kiss to his cheek, then whisper in his ear, "But you also know I'm gonna return the favour later, Gguk."

"I'll die before you get the chance," he whines.

You sigh with a smile. Glance behind yourself to check that the coast is clear, before you do something you would have never dreamt of doing with anyone else.

Hooking your thumbs beneath either side of your underwear, you quickly shimmy them down your legs, until they're by your ankles. Stepping out of them before they reach the floor, your elevated heels act as a saving grace, you're sin dressed up in a pretty dress.

Jeongguk watches on, wholly bemused. Licks his lips when you stand directly in front of him, then silently lets them part as you press the soaked fabric against them.

He welcomes your underwear in his mouth. Sucks the taste of you from lace, his heavenly eyes closed, lashes splaying on his cheeks.

Without a word, you pull them back. Begin to fiddle with his belt buckle and find it incredibly easy to loosen. Unbuttoning his trousers, you're well aware that you're pressed for time, but you don't care. Nothing else matters.

He groans as your hand dips down into his boxers. He's so hard. It's gonna be damn hard for him to hide it. Might have to send you back down alone.

But when you start jerking him off with the same hand that's holding your soaked underwear? The wet fabric pressed against him as your other hand grips his hair to keep his eyes on yours?

God, he thinks he'll die .

But then you've got that look on your face—the one that Jeongguk know means no good. Wrapping the fabric around his thick shaft, you pump his cock once more. Twice, because you just can't help it. Readjust him. Get his desperate desire for you obscured. He's in boxer briefs, which helps. They're tight, and if you angle things just right, he can hide the fact he's two damn strokes away from coming undone.

You do his trousers back up. Belt, too.

"I'm literally gonna cum in my pants," Jeongguk groans, all pathetic and stroppy.

"No, you won't," you grin, though you'd kind of love it if he did. Turning to walk away, you call after him. "C'mon! I need to run to the bathroom, quickly. Can you tell Hobes I'll just be a minute?"

Jeongguk is right behind you. Lifts your dress as you walk ahead of him just to squeeze your ass cheeks. You let him. Just sort of ignore it, because it's not exactly an unusual occurrence with him.

Part of you is worried about this whole no-underwear thing. It's a short dress; all it'll take is a little stumble to flash an entire room of people you're trying to impress.

It's painfully clear that your desperate need to fuck Jeongguk at all times will surely one day be detrimental, but for now, you'll hope for the best.

"I'm so fuckin' hard I'm gonna die," he tells you again. Is a little sterner. A little more convicted. Has fully convinced himself that mortality lingers on undelivered orgasms. "I can't talk to Hoseok like this. What if he thinks it's for him ?"

"He'd probably be up for it as long as Joon could join in, too," you tease him, then add, "But it'll probably help if you stop touching my ass."

"Okay, firstly, what's yours is mine. And secondly, please don't put that mental image of Joon into my head—"

"Kinda hot."

"Byeol."

"What? He's got great thighs."

"Keep this up, and I'll bend you over mine," he threatens, as if the prospect of getting spanked doesn't excite you even more.

"Oh, nooo," you feign distress. "Please, don't do that! I hate it when you do that!"

Laughing, Jeongguk does give you a light spank just before you start heading down the stairs. "You're the fuckin' worst."

"S'why you're with me," you beam. Even if Jeongguk can't see your smile, he can hear it. Knows how radiant you must look right now.

Gently brushing the front of his trousers, Jeongguk checks to make sure his cock is as disguised as it can be. Hopes it just looks like he's packing—of which he most definitely is, but that's beyond the point.

Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, Jeongguk squeezes your side just before you head in opposite directions. It's a silent comfort. He touches you so often, not because he likes to be a nuisance, but because it eases that part of his brain that really is a nuisance.

Picking up one of the complimentary mints by the front desk, Jeongguk bites into it as he heads towards the main gallery hall. He knows that as much as your taste is his favourite thing in the world, it's not exactly appropriate for such an occasion.

Then again, nor is having your wet thong wrapped around his cock, but that's neither here nor there.

"Find her?" Hoseok asks as Jeongguk tries to slip into the room unnoticed.

Nodding, Jeongguk also reaches for a champagne flute on the tray being carried by a server.

"Yeah, she's just checking herself over in the bathroom."

"Okay, good. Oh, also—" Hoseok reaches over to tweak one of the buttons on Jeongguk's shirt. Looking down, Jeongguk realises he'd left far more undone than he thought he had. "—If you're gonna tell white lies about what you're up to, don't get caught red-handed. Or glitter-handed, would be better, I suppose. Maybe you should have gone to the bathroom, too. Checked yourself over, Cassanova."

Scrunching his face up, Jeongguk doesn't have time to respond before Hoseok swans off again. It's far better than his boner being noticeable, but it's embarrassing nonetheless. Better Hoseok notice rather than anyone else, though.

One day, the pair of you will be able to control yourselves, but it is not today. Likely won't be tomorrow, or the next day, either. In fact, it probably won't ever happen, but you can pretend like dignity will one day be a trait in your repertoire.

Still, when Jeongguk notices you smiling and chatting with important people in suits a few minutes later, he can't help but think you look incredibly dignified.

Then he remembers you're without your underwear. Considers dying again.

Through the speaker system, Shinwon's voice calls the room to attention. Unbeknownst to you both, it's perhaps the third time he's given a small indication for people to gather in the main hall.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the skills auction is about to commence. Please join us in the main Gallery Hall. Auction directories are available at the back of the room."

The chatter quietens down, and it's up to you to lead command of the room.

There's no stage, thank god, just a podium for the auctioneer to stand behind. The underwear situation would have been dreadful otherwise.

Jeongguk watches on with unbridled adoration as you work the room. It's one thing to see you command a conversation amongst friends. Another, amongst professionals. But this? All eyes on you? Everyone sparkling in your presence? It's an honour.

He wonders how many people will begin to adorn themselves in glitter as a result of you. Wonders if you realise just how captivating you truly are.

The audience laughs when you're a little bit awkward in the most charming of ways, and they cheer when you reveal the first ticket item to be one you personally submitted.

"Now, I may be slightly biased, but even though this is the first item of the night, I think it's just as valuable as some of our later items. Someone always has to go first, though. It's an honour to kick off the auction with a private evening for two at Pot & Paint—arguably the city's finest artist establishment," you joke, knowing damn well that you've got nothing on the Ryu. The audience laughs with you, which does settle your nerves a little bit.

"Hosted by yours truly," you continue, "It's the perfect opportunity to unwind and indulge in your own artistic talents. Included are all the materials you'll need, four hours reserved off just for you, and complimentary drinks throughout the evening. Hosted by yours truly, I'll be there to assist throughout the night. Perfect for a date, for friends, or family. This is a money can't buy experience, as we don't typically do private rentals. There's a reserve of 50 thousand won."

Pitch complete, you pass control over the auctioneer to kick off the bidding process. Taking a deep breath, you'd been able to hide just how nervous you were while you were speaking. Your body language is far more reserved now that you're no longer performing.

Glancing up, you find Jeongguk in the crowd, and it all just sort of melts away.

He pouts his lips together. Presses a kiss into the air. Smiles, when you smile, too. Nods. You did good, B.

The auction starts with ease. Ten thousand, then twenty. Before you know it, the fifty thousand threshold has been hit. Your first real victory of the night. Sure, fifty thousand won won't buy you much—some cutlery, or maybe just a couple of pizzas for the team after a hard day of working at the restaurant—but it's a start.

You haven't been keeping an eye on Jeongguk's bar tab idea, wanting to leave that to him, so you really have no idea how things stand at the moment.

The bidders are random audience members. There's not much buzz around this listing—after all, people are here for the big items like Yoogni's custom furniture and Taehyung's art—but it's a nice way to ease the crowd into bidding.

Your eyes follow the raised papers when new bids are called.

But then eighty thousand won is called, and the elation that's been simmering in your veins freezes over.

Standing towards the back of the crowd, hand raised, smirk present, is Kim Seokjin. Every bit the asshole he always has been. Has that look upon his face you always used to hate; I win.

"Ninety thousand," calls a far more comforting voice from across the room, and just like that, your blood feels warm once more.

Gaze hard; Jeongguk is locked in on you. There are stars in the space between you, but it feels like a black hole is about to swallow you right up.

"A hundred thousand." Seokjin's voice booms through the room, but it isn't enough to shatter the vibrational pull Jeongguk has on you.

"A hundred and fifty thousand," Jeongguk calls out, raising his hand. Doesn't care how ridiculous the price might be. What he's doing isn't making a bet. Not really. He's making a promise.

I've got you, baby, his slow nod and furrowed brows tell you.

"Two hundred," Seokjin calls without missing a beat.

Jeongguk glances across to Seokjin. Glares. Briefly considers throwing his champagne flute at Seokjin's head.

Instead, he refocuses on you. Ups his bid. "Two fifty."

"Three hundred."

"Three fifty."

Anyone who doesn't know you would most likely think nothing much of the unfolding bidding battle. It's an auction. It's what happens. They just really love painting, apparently. The best—or should that be the wealthiest—man always wins.

The issue is that Jeongguk can bid all he likes, but you both know he doesn't have the money to pay for it. The only person he'll be cheating is himself when the night's earnings are tallied, and he'll have lost out on however much a genuine bid could have been for the private use of the art cafe.

This place is full of art lovers, critics, and collectors. Though it was never a high-ticket item, it was still one that you know you could have made money from.

Everyone can see Jeongguk and Seokjin battling it out. Nobody else is even gonna bother.

Their bids inch up and up and up. You wish you had never mentioned that you'd personally be at the winners' beck and call for the duration of their time spent in the cafe. You know that's what's motivating Seokjin right now.

"Five hundred thousand," he says, hand raised, an arrogant smirk being rightfully ignored by you.

"Six hundred," Jeongguk counters, growing impatient with this stupid fuckin' game of cat and mouse.

And so Seokjin decides to really rub salt in the wounds of Jeongguk's financial instability. He doesn't know much about him, but he knows he's just finished school and is relying on fundraising for his business.

It's cute, Seokjin thinks, that Jeongguk believes he can satisfy a girl like you.

"One million won."

There's silence. A gasp or two.

Until, all rather suddenly, there's a sigh. A cough. A hand raised towards the back of the room, far behind both Jeongguk and Seokjin.

Husky as he speaks, the new bidder draws a stunned silence from the room when he simply says, "One hundred million won."

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raspberryslxt · 11 months ago

Note

Pls write about y/n x Damon… with lots of fluff and smut and maybe even ft. daddy kink

————————————————————————

Damon Salvatore headcanon

info: damon x reader(female)

warnings: mentions of alcohol usage, mentions of blood, eventual smut

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You were cousin to Elena Gilbert, Jenna was your mum.

You met Damon when you decided to quit collage and started working online. You did it because you wanted to help your mum with Elena and Jeremy. Death of her sister was hard on her, and you wanted to be there to support her.

At first you didn’t like him, he appared as a giant asshole and a man whore.

Just so you know, he didn’t liked you either at the beggining, he tought you are just another stupid human he can use for his own pleases.

Another reason why he didn’t like you was because Stefan liked you, and how he loves to make his brother life so misarable.

You remember when you saw him with Caroline for the first time, you didn’t know if u were more confused or jealous.

It’s not like you liked him or smth, but why Caroline and not you?

Oh boy, if u only knew what he did to her.

The dinner night at the Gilbert’s house was the first time u started warming up to him. He told you about Katherine( not full story obviously) and how they both lost her. You felt pity, but also u knew how he felt.

It’s not like you became besties after that, but you indeed started talking, and things were going pretty well. But everything must come to an end.

You remember this night to well, the night when u found out.

This was Stefan’s bday u went to grill to wish him happy bday and spent some time with him and your cousin. You met Lexi who seemed nice, she looked like she knew a lot.

Than the next thing u remember is Damon killing her.

You were so lost in what happend.

Stefan tried compelling you to forget, but for some reason his compulsion didn’t work, so he and Elena tried explaining it all to you

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing so u decided to leave town for few days.

You remember being in a nightclub in Atlanta when you got a phonecall from unknown caller.

Turns out the caller wasn’t unknown, and it was Damon calling you. He was clearly tipsy or out of his mind, but he told you he wanted you, that you make him go crazy and that he didn’t feel that way since Katherine.

You were so confused.

Just few weeks ago you saw him kill someone, and now you were considering coming back for him.

You were telling yourself that it was obviously your family that you came back for, but deep down you knew the truth.

Especially, when first thing you saw was him kissing your cousin, or so you tought your cousin.

He was so desspered to explain to you that the mistake but you weren’t having it.

„It’s not like we ever liked each other Damon, right?” Because you two never were even friends right? And who believes in love from first sight.

You felt way worse tho when you found out it was indeed Katherine, you knew that he woudl try to win her back. And that it’s too late now.

Till the day Katherine lives you will always be second choice.

What made u change your mind was the night that Katherine payed you a little visit. You were suppossed to be scared of her, but you were a brave one, and she liked it a lot.

She told you about how Damon just rejected her, and that she had to know the person who was behind it, so here you were.

For some people this might seem weird, but u liked her. She looked like a strong woman and were a feminist. You listened to her story about why she left them, and in some twisted way you understood her.

But this wasn't the point behind your talk, the point was that Damon did really liked you, and you had to do something about it.

You drove to Salvatore house and hoped that you will be meet with similiar face that you were looking for.

And you did.

Damon being Damon ofc couldn't just admit to all of that, so he said that he don't remember what he said and even if he did it wouldn't matter. But you knew better and it was no time for being a coward so you went for it.

You kissed him.

He responded automaticlly, by kissing you back, and you both knew what you wanted. He speeded you up to his bedroom.

You weren't very sure of it, u met him just few months ago and now this was happening. You didn't even knew him well, most of the time u spent togather was because Elena and Stefan was with you.

But it was no time for thinking, you two spend the night togather, and you sure as hell did not regret it.

Neither of you knew what was coming soon, but it didn't matter, because for now it was like there was only you two in whole universe. And you weren't complaining

#damon salvatore #damon salvatore x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries x reader #tvd x reader

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smiley-mcdoggington · 1 month ago

Text

Part 2 to this kinda because it kinda left with an implied ending but this one is a good ending ANYWAYS TW SUICIDAL TW STANCEST--

"You deserve a reward, Fordsy." Bill crooned while he moved his pawn forward - Albin Countergambit, damn. The sting of being out-maneuvered didn't gloss over Bill's words, though.

"A reward? I couldn't possibly request a reward when you've done so much for me, my Muse." He said, though the words were empty. His posture had straightened politely and he waited for Bill to argue.

"No, you deserve it." Bill argued, and a curl of satisfaction warmed him. "You solved that equation so quickly, sped up construction on the portal by weeks on your planetary measure. Your mind is doing wonders with me here, I love to see it." His voice dipped a little. "Watching all those neurons firing, you're a piece of art, Sixer." He purred.

Ford blushed. Bill knew what that nickname did to him. "Thank you, my Muse... " He said, hot under the collar and voice maybe a pitch lower than before.

"Don't you wanna hear your reward, Sixer? I hope you don't think I'd cheap out by only giving you well-deserved praise." His heavy eyelashes cut into his pupils. He knew what he was doing.

Ford cleared his throat. "Of course not, my Muse, I wo-would never think of you as cheap." He cursed the slip and quickly tried to refocus on their game - his king was open. Ford moved his knight. "Check." He could imagine what rewards his Muse would have for him - turning every nerve in his body into an erogenous zone, using that sinfully large tongue, going until Ford cried from it--

"All good ideas, Fordsy." Bill knocked over his king with a flick of his fingers, before melting all the pieces into a puddle on the table. "But I've done something different. You know your phone problem?"

Ford's fingers itched for his journal and in the dreamscape a journal appeared. "The ghost haunting my phone? You've found it?"

"No, not a ghost yet, give him a minute." He joked - probably joked. "Really, Braniac, sometimes of all the answers it really is the simplest one. The silent phonecalls weren't any weirdness, they were just your inferior copy."

"Stanley?" Ford blurted. "Why would he be..." Ford had been getting those silent phonecalls since college at least, why would he never say anything? Why would he always call? He felt a flicker of annoyance that it wasn't even an anomaly.

"I know, I know that little mystery had been distracting you, so I even dealt with it for you. No more late-night phonecalls dragging you away, you can even rip the page about them from your journal."

Unease sank into Ford's mind. What had Bill said to make Stanley stop calling? He can't have simply asked, Stan was far too stubborn. Had he threatened Stan?

Had he used Ford's voice?

Dread simmered like nausea. "How, might I ask, did you convince him to him to leave me be?"

"No way but with the truth - Scout's honor. Aren't you happy, Sixer?" Suddenly Stan's old name for him sounded wrong coming from Bill. "I took care of him, he couldn't bother you again if he wanted to. You deserved it, for being so good." His praises sounded like the ones you'd give a child. Ford's stomach twisted.

"Would you show me, Bill?" He asked tightly.

Bill sighed and snapped his fingers. The puddle on the table between them turned clear.

Stanley was sitting in a car on the other side. A gun in his hand shaking minutely. The safety was off, but the gun wasn't turned outward against a threat.

He clicked the chamber out of place and span it before clicking it back into place.

He lifted it until the nozzle buried into his overgrown hair. Ford screamed when his finger flexed - one-in-six odds, 16.666...% chance he never saw his brother again because Bill used his voice to say something so terrible it made him - made him--

The gun clicked uselessly and Ford sobbed. Then Stan drew back the hammer again. One-in-five, 20%, the mindscape around him trembled in his panic, and then his view was taken, back to the puddle of black and white that remained of their game of chess.

"Take it easy, Sixer, you're starting to make me think you're ungrateful."

Ford's eyes snapped to Bill to the - the monster.

He needed to get out. His mind, once a vast expance, folded and curled inwards, stars burning out, glass shattering, the longer he stayed here with Bill the more time passed between hammer pulls, his brain counted up percentages for the chance that Stan was dead and Bill had the gall to call Ford ungrateful? Had the audacity to use Stan's name for him when he'd--

"I don't know what you're trying to pull here, Sixer, but your brother's gone. What's the difference if he's dead or not?"

Ford lunged over the table at him while the sky imploded.

The next second he was snapping awake - on the floor, a fork in his hand just within reach of his old rotary phone. He scrambled to his feet, hand on the receiver and bloody, shaking hand dragging the dial, trying to will the damn thing to roll back faster as he slowly dragged out '*69'.

The phone rang.

And rang.

"Come on Stanley - come on - you've gotta be close to a phone." His voice warbled into the large, empty house. "Come on, Stanley." He pleaded. And then, the ringing cut.

"Stanley?!"

The line was quiet - not dead, but quiet.

"Please - Stanley just say something." He sobbed.

"What the fuck do you want from me, Stanford?" His voice was rougher than he remembered, haggard and worn in a way Ford had never imagined it.

He could have said a million things, words clammered for first in his throat but all he could blurt was "Come home, damn it!"

The line was silent long after he'd spoken, his mind scrambling for anything to say - Stanley was always the one that knew what to say while he scrambled to speak at all. Then Stanley spoke again. "First you tell me I'm not worth the time it takes to hang up, now you're acting like I'm a damn teenage runaway - we're more than halfway to thirty, Stanford, if you're done jerking me around I've got things to get back to--"

"It wasn't me! I didn't say any of the things that previous call was - it was - well, it was an entity that can mimick my voice."

"Yeah? And I bet you're so fucking eager to share the details of how you fucked your brother a decade ago."

"I never--"

"So you never told anyone but the thing that isn't you but has your voice was just also there in our bedroom when we were kids, is that right? And they called me the liar."

"He can read my memories, Stanley, it's not that simple." Agitation seeped in to replace the cold fear. Bill may have been... Encouraged... By Ford to look into that certain childhood experimentation, which was now coming back to haunt him. "Just - just don't go back in the car. Please."

"... What?" Stanley sounded scared, for a second. "You can see me? How can you see me - wh--" his voice left the receiver, too far away.

"Stanley!" Ford called, and the voice came back.

"What kinda voodoo shit are you pulling, there ain't a camera for miles." He demanded more than asked.

"It's - the entity. He showed me you in the car - he - Stanley why the hell do you have a revolver?" The question took the energy out of Ford. He felt like the world under him was fake. His hand throbbed, still with a fork in it.

"Doesn't matter, you weren't bullshitting me?"

"No, Stanley, I wasn't lying. I promise I can explain everything in-depth once I get there." He said firmly.

"Get here? You ain't coming down here, bub."

Ford sighed. "Do you always have to be so stubborn? Just tell me where you are."

"Florida."

"I'll pay for the plane."

"Not happening."

"Stanley! You scared the shit out of me, there's a fork in my hand, and if I don't see your stupid face in the next few hours I'm going to pull my hair out, would you work with me here?"

"... Our stupid face. "

Ford snorted. "Yes, precisely. What if I take a plane down and we drive up to Oregon together? Road trip like we did that summer of 61'?"

"Waste of money."

"Not if it's you."

The line went quiet.

"... Stanley..?"

"Fuck, fine, whatever, we're grown men no need to get sappy - shit. Fine" He said with a small warble in his voice.

Ford smiled. "I can't wait."

#stancest #Can't believe I used my lunch break for this #I hate them <3 #drafts

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229zmi · 1 year ago

Text

AU REVOIR

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader

CONTENT: embarrassing moments, you and kuroo are #strangers, kuroo is late to a job interview, phonecall with kenma

WORD COUNT: 1.9k

“Hey, uh. Can I help you?”

Oh, god. Kuroo Tetsurō has never been more embarrassed.

Not even when he was suffering from a particularly bad case of borborygmus in a completely silent lecture hall, or when he accidentally liked someone’s post from 176 weeks ago. Nor was he this embarrassed the time his umbrella turned inside out and cartwheeled out of his hand into a ditch in front of several cars stopped at a traffic light. And who knows how many embarrassing moments he’s had throughout all his years of volleyball— but this moment right here. It still takes the cake.

Pause, rewind, play: this morning, ten minutes ago. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, and Kuroo Tetsurō? Ten minutes ago, he was suddenly woken up by a loud sound, although it wasn’t the sound of an alarm, no, for there was no alarm to wake up to. What woke him up was actually a call from Kenma, who almost never called him, so he figured it had to be important.

“Hello? Everything okay?”

“Are you on your way to your interview?”

Of course. How typical of Kenma, always straight to the point, no pleasantries or—

Wait.

“Wh—“ Kuroo blinks a couple times to wake himself up, groggily rubbing his eyes. He lets out a yawn loud enough to shift earth’s tectonics before continuing his sentence, “What’d you say?”

“Your job interview,” Kenma repeats from his phone, “it starts at eight-thirty, doesn’t it?”

Silence fills the conversation for a while. Kuroo’s eyes begin to flutter shut, lulled by the faint sound of static emitted by the call. It isn’t until his phone slips out of his hand and hits the sheets with soft thud! that Kenma speaks up, impeding the drowsy man’s short-lived slumber.

“Hello?”

“Hm,” Kuroo hums.

“You are ready, right?” His best friend’s starting to sound concerned. “Like, all dressed up and halfway out the door ready. Right?”

“Mm… hm.”

Kenma restrains himself from somehow reaching his hands through the phone and violently shaking Kuroo by the shoulders. “That does not sound convincing. Please don’t tell me you’re still in bed.”

Still clueless, Kuroo yawns again, rolling over onto his other side. “And if I am? I set an alarm last night, you didn’t need to call me. I can handle it myself.”

“Kuro,” Kenma says. Now he sounds dead serious, like he’s about to be the deliverer of either some grave news or an overdue love confession. Unfortunately for Kuroo, it’s the former; Kenma drops the bomb without hesitation: “You have twenty minutes before your interview starts.”

“I didn’t realise you were so punctual, Kenma. Twenty minutes, that’s plenty of t—“

Oh.

(Pause, rewind, play: the night before. Kuroo turned off all the lights. Hopped under the covers. Went straight to sleep. He did not set his alarm.)

Shit.

“I swear I set my alarm last night,” Kuroo speaks into the phone, running a hand through his hair out of frustration. In the past seven minutes, he’s managed to brush his teeth, get dressed, and exit his apartment without any major troubles. Sure, his hair’s a little… controversial in the back, and there’s some noticeable creases in his button-up shirt, but clearly, a bigger issue lies at hand — and no, it’s not the judging stares that the other pedestrians are giving him as he power-walks through the city. “You don’t think they’ll mind if I’m a few minutes late, do ya?”

Kenma audibly sighs.

“I don’t know what that means, so I’m taking that as you telling me they’ll one hundred-percent hire me on the spot.”

This time, Kenma doesn’t make a sound, though Kuroo senses he may have rolled his eyes. Either that, or he made a face akin to someone tasting a lemon.

“I’m hanging up,” his friend finally says, deciding he’s done enough to help today. Even this is something he considers charitable in their friendship; usually, Kenma prefers to treat calls with his friends like another app on his phone and close out of the call without warning, so maybe Kuroo should be grateful on this glorious day, he thinks.

“What? No, you can’t do that. That’s.”

“…That’s what?”

“Treason,” Kuroo finishes. “I still need your moral support. So—“

There’s a dull beep coming from the other end. Betrayed, Kuroo pulls his phone away from his ear only to be met with the image on his lockscreen — a photo of an outing with his friends some weeks ago — and the ever-daunting time, which currently reads: 08:19. A second later, the screen turns black and he catches sight of his reflection, including his unfortunately dishevelled hair and his wrinkled shirt and—

He winces.

His tie needs serious fixing.

The building where his interview will be at is only a few blocks away. After only a moment’s contemplation, he decides it won’t hurt to spend a minute or two trying to fix whatever fucked up knot he made while he was still dealing with the effects of being just woken up several minutes ago, veering away from his line of travel toward a car parked along the side of the street. Using the tinted window as a mirror, he tugs at the fabric in an attempt to undo it, although to no avail.

Then, the window rolls down.

“Hey, uh.” Concerned eyes lock with his. Kuroo short-circuits, his face turning a sickly colour as his mouth drops in horror, giving the illusion of a fish out of water. “Can I help you?”

Tapping along the rim of your steering wheel, you wait for a response. It isn’t that you’re annoyed or mad or anything along those lines; rather, you were almost flattered at first by the sight of a handsome yet serious-looking man speed-walking past your car before doubling back and staring at you through your window with what you misunderstood as passion in his eyes. But after watching him fidget with his tie for a solid minute, the realisation crashed onto you like tidal waves: he was in fact not nervously blown away by your copious amount of beauty, and now you’re more disappointed than anything.

“I’m so sorry,” Kuroo says with an apologetic smile, straightening from his previously hunched position over your window after realising how creepily close he is. A voice in the back of his mind tells him you have pretty eyes — and pretty hands, he notes a moment later as he steps back to put more distance between the two of you — but he pushes back both thoughts. “Really, I didn’t know you were there.”

“Were you planning to steal my car or something if I wasn’t inside?” You intend for this to be a light-hearted joke, but maybe your tone comes off too bland for him to get it, and now that enough time has passed for you to think about it, you’re not sure what you were trying to do with this ‘joke’ either. Nonetheless, you find amusement in the way his expression swiftly switches from aghast to frantic and even more in the transition of his face to a deeper shade of pink.

However, there’s a part of you that feels bad, so you eventually reassure him, “I’m joking. Would you like some help with your tie?”

Out of the benevolence of your heart, you decide to leave out the part where you mention how it looks like a three year old trying to tie their shoes for the very first time.

Kuroo looks grateful, relieved almost. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“C’mere, then.”

You motion for him to come closer and reach your hands out the window. Kuroo takes a tentative step forth, though that’s not near close enough for you, so you extend your arm and gently tug on the tie, pulling him forward until your elbows are barely past the window. To make things a little easier, Kuroo spreads his knees slightly, creating a wide triangle with the ground and lowering himself so that he’s level with you. For a brief moment, your eyes drift to meet each other’s before immediately looking away. You focus on fixing his tie, and Kuroo acts interested in a crack in the ground all of sudden.

Even if he does look a bit odd standing like this, he supposes it’s worth the judgmental stares from passers-by once again because in only a matter of a minute, you somehow manage to untie the hideous knot. As you begin retying it, you make an attempt to start up conversation.

“Got something important today?”

“Just a job interview.”

You hum, mildly intrigued. “Where?”

He tells you the company and building, and you beam in recognition of the name.

“I work there! Today’s my day off,” you tell him. Once you’re done, you tug at the tie one last time before, without thinking, moving to brush the dust off his suit jacket with your hands. You freeze up as soon as you realise. (Whatever deity of embarrassment that exists up there must be having a field day with the two of you today.)

“Sorry. That was. Force of habit. I mean, I’ve never done that before— sorry, again. I really don’t know why I did that,” you say honestly. Maybe it’s a thing you’ve seen married couples do on television and subconsciously kept inside your brain like some kind of secret weapon to only be unleashed when you want to woo someone, but you think it’ll be more humiliating if you admit that.

Kuroo laughs. It’s a unique sound, and you find yourself liking it a lot, unable to keep yourself from returning a small smile at him. “It’s fine. We all have our moments.”

“What time’s your interview at?” you ask out of curiosity, leaning an arm out the window.

“Eight-thirty.”

The both of you stare at each other in silence for a couple of seconds.

You purse your lips. “Isn’t that…”

“Yeah.” He glances down the street, then back at you, and it looks like he doesn’t really want to leave yet. Even though he really should. Pulling out his phone from his pocket, he reads the time: 08:26. “I probably should get going.”

“Well, it was nice talking to you. Good luck with your interview,” you say, trying your best to not sound dismayed. Right before he leaves, however, something — perhaps the prospect of him not getting the job and you never getting to see him again — urges you to call out to him, “Wait.”

He turns back.

“I, um. Parked here ‘cause I was searching up directions to this café that opened up recently. If you’d like, after your interview, we could go get coffee together. You can tell me all about it if it goes well… or complain if it doesn’t.”

“Of course,” he says immediately. He can’t help but feel giddy inside, internally wanting to kick his feet, twirl his hair, and giggle and squeal like a pig all at once. If he was inside a building or a room, maybe he’d also be comically bouncing off the walls like in cartoons. Regardless of these overwhelming compulsions, he retains his composure, cooly adding, “I’d love that.”

“I’ll wait for you here, then,” you affirm with a smile. “See ya later…” Oh, right. You’ve yet to exchange names, but you suppose that can wait for now. “…stranger.”

Amused, he returns, “Later, stranger.”

As he walks away, a voice in the back of his mind makes note yet again of the fact that you have pretty eyes, pretty hands, and, just now, a pretty smile. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll tell you after the interview.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x y/n #kuroo tetsuro x reader #229ZMI

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kookslastbutton · 1 year ago

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high tide ༓ kth (m)

✑ Summary: Due to Taehyung's job as a cruise ship Captain, you are constantly miles away from each other. Weekly phonecalls help and this one gets a little nasty and a lot sweet.

Pairing: cruise ship captain!taehyung x fem!reader (feat. Yeontan)

AU/genre: PWP, fluff, smut, tiny angst, established relationship, aged-up, oneshot

Rating: M, 18+

Word Count: 2,001

Warnings: dom!taehyung, slight brat!reader, phone s*x, f*ngering, handj*b, mutual m*sturbation, taehyung calls oc sl*t once, some d*rty talk, mentions of v*berator, crying, missing each other, + taehyung has a special suprise for oc vv sweet

Now Playing: Beautiful, Versace on the Floor, Photograph…

A/N: wrote this on a whim after I saw Taehyung in that white captian outfit. Took a slightly different direction than planned but i like it. Hope you do too! 💞

“Two more days baby,” he says through the phone, loosening the tie from around his neck. “Then I’ll be home.”

“I miss you.” You nearly whine the words but who could blame you? Taehyung’s been at sea for 10 weeks straight. You’ve been calling as much as you can but they’re never as long as you’d like. Between the ship, the crew, and countless other responsibilities to keep track of, plus sleeping when he can–which never amounted to more than six hours a night, your boyfriend had a tight schedule.

Of course, he wouldn’t be able to talk to you for more than fifteen minutes a few nights a week.

You expected it.

“Someone wants to say hi.” You glance beside you, and a pair of beady dark eyes stare up at you. You’re boyfriend’s dog rests his head on your lap. “Say hi to daddy Yeontan.” You hold your phone near him.

“Yeontan,” Taehyung’s deep voice rumbles. “Yeontan, are you behaving for mommy?” Yeontan quirks his head, unsure of the sudden noise. “Yeontan,” he tries again, this time making light kissing sounds.

At that, Yeontan lets out a yip, then another. You roll your eyes hearing Taehyung chuckle. “Good boy.”

Yeontan lets another yip and sits up on high alert. You bring a hand down to stroke his fur, calming him before you bring the phone up to your ear. “I think you got him too excited. He thinks you’re coming back tonight.”

“Well, you did use the D word.” Taehyung plays with the small box next to him. The sharp flipping and snapping of the lid cracks through the speaker.

“What are you doing?” You’re unable to ignore the sound. It’s harsh on your ear. “Are you doing something?”

Taehyung sets the box down instantly. You hear it squeak against a glass surface. “Sorry,” he coos. “It’s just an empty box that held cufflinks the crew surprised me with the other day. Messing around with it has become a habit I’ve developed recently.”

You hum. “Like a fidget spinner?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung replies. He smiles at the dainty box. “Something like that.”

“Oh, well that was nice of them to get you. Though I’m not shocked. You’ve been taking good care of them over the last seven years.”

Taehyung hears your words but falls silent. He whips his head towards his nightstand, viewing the photo of him and you in a burgundy-red picture frame. It was a gorgeous day out. Taehyung had just gotten promoted to captain and you were right by his side, arms around his waist with that knock-out smile he loves so much.

You’ve been together for eight years now and eight magnificent years they’ve been. Fancy dinners, late-night movies, going to the jazz, along with a handful of quarrels soon followed by make-up sex–you’ve done it all. And while neither of you could fathom being without the other, eight years have quickly turned into eight minutes with the amount of time the seas called him.

He hasn’t told you but every time he boarded the ship, watching your form get smaller and smaller, he felt gut-wrenching guilt settle in the pit of his stomach.

Taehyung didn’t want you waiting and yet he knew you were. Every ten weeks, he’d go to sea and then return for ten weeks. The worst part was that even when he was home, it was like a countdown until the process repeated itself.

Yes, you were constantly in limbo, waiting for the next step.

He hated it.

“Hey are you still with me?” It’s your stark voice that shakes Taehyung back into the conversation. He blinks away from the framed photo, clutching his phone.

“I’m still here,” he replies. “Listen __, I want you to know that in a couple of days, I’ll have something for you…to make up for all our lost time.”

“Hmm, is that so…” Your voice lowers, a sultry undertone with it. “Can I know what it is, Captain?”

Taehyung clears his throat thickly, palms feeling a tad sweaty and pants tight. “No, no you can’t,” he murmurs. “You’ll find out when you’re supposed to.”

“Two days is too long. Tell me now and maybe I’ll give you something in return unless you wanna risk it.”

Taehyung smirks, aware of your taunting. “Stick your fingers anywhere near your sopping cunt and that’s all you’ll be getting for a week.”

“Being that it’s the only thing I have gotten for the last ten weeks, fine by me,” you counter. “Oh, except for that pretty pink vibrator I got the other day. Does wonders for the female body.”

“Fucking brat.” Taehyung grips his thigh, struggling to repulse images of your sprawled-out body on your shared bed, broken moans leaving your lips. He hasn’t touched your soft skin or felt the burn of your fingers on his skull for weeks.

Somehow you’ve been perfectly satisfied though, which isn’t necessarily a huge problem due to his absence, but he’d rather not be reminded. Especially when it’s coming from a toy that likely couldn’t make you scream as loud as he could. “When I get home, that damn vibrator is the first to go. So enjoy yourself for a couple more days because it isn’t going to last.“

“Uh huh, uh huh.” You feign disinterest. “Same threats as usual. The sea has made you so dull and boring.”

“Yeah, think so? Well go ahead then slut. Make yourself come any way you’d like right now.” Taehyung waits for you to own up to your shit but you hesitate. “What’s the matter? Wanna take it all back?”

“Taehyung…I was just–”

“Uh uh,” he interrupts. “It’s far too late for any of that. You made a statement and you made me horny. So you know what we’re gonna do?” He reaches down his pants, unbuckling the leather belt around his waist. The sound of metal clangs against each other, before you hear a zipper gliding down.

“I swear Taehyung, if you make me listen to you jerk off right now I’m hanging up and not calling back.”

“Oh and I believe you so much,” he snickers, pushing his pants down enough to take his erect cock in hand. Taehyung has a massive cock so the push was generous, let’s say. “I think you want me to get off for you don’t you?”

His deep, thick voice rings through your entire body. Arousal slowly pooling between your thighs. It’s been a good six weeks since you and Taehyung last did anything like this. He’d either have to go to bed or your phone call would typically cut out before you got the chance.

Taehyung spits on his hands before taking his length in his palm. “Answer me,” he says but you’re too preoccupied with picturing his beautifully sleek fingers gripping his big, hard cock so tight it makes you drool. All you reply with is a weak ‘uh’.

His groans are hot and rough as he starts a steady pace. You ask if he’ll turn his camera on and make this a video call instead but he only laughs wickedly in response. “You think this is for you sweetheart? For your pleasure?” His breaths quicken, cock leaking precum you bet. If only you could be there. “Well it’s not,” he quips with a broken grunt.

“Please, Tae.” You lean your head back on the headboard, closing your eyes. A hand slips up your bare thigh and slips under your shirt to settle on your abdomen.

“Oh god–fuck!” Taehyung cusses loudly and your knuckles tense. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he curses again. When you draw the same hand down your core and straight to your wet center, you let out a satisfied moan. Taehyung doesn’t miss it, however.

“No, no–no, I don’t want,” he struggles to form the simple words, not stopping his ruthless movements. “Shit–“

You bite your lip and stuff two fingers inside, curling them as far as you can. It shoots spikes of pleasure up your spine and your hips buck up in response. “Taehyung, I wish I could see you. I wish I could be there.” Wetness pricks the corner of your eyes as you push into yourself and thumb your clit. Your thoughts are consumed by your boyfriend doing nearly the exact same hundreds of miles away. “I miss you so much Tae,” you gasp.

Taehyungs sweating bullets. His hair has gotten messy, a few strands stick to his forehead. He’s inches away from his high and he’s so pissed that you’re touching yourself when this was supposed to be him punishing you or some shit but he can’t stop either of you from continuing.

“God I miss you too baby. I miss seeing your gorgeous face and making you laugh. Your laugh is so goddamn pretty. I miss waking up beside you, my arms wrapped around you as I think to myself how lucky I am to have you with me for so long. And I really fucking wish it was your hands getting me off instead of my own. I’m so sorry I’m away so much and for so long.”

“Don’t apolo–apologize.” You add another finger, hot liquid coating them and already running down your thighs. “I understand your job is important to you. We’ll see each other soon and I’ll have you back to myself.”

“No, baby listen to me. Was gonna tell you in person but I’m stepping down. Fuck I’m there!” Taehyung releases on himself, his cum dripping down the length of his cock.

"What?" Pleasure washes over you as you release soon after, hands sticky and out of breath. "You're doing what?"

"Jimin's gonna be the new captain sweetheart. I can't keep going away every two to three months. I'm gone for half the year and I just cant keep doing it. I'll get a job closer to home somewhere. I just wanna be with you. I wanna..." Taehyung pauses. "__, I wanted this to be all romantic and grand but I don't think I can wait. That box I told you that were cufflinks the crew gave me? I lied. It's a ring. I bought it in Toulouse, France for you because I wanna stay with you as long as possible—"

"Oh my God oh my god Taehyung...." More tears cover your cheeks. You didn't think the day would come.

"Eight years is long enough isn't it? What do you say?" Taehyung's voice is shaky. He glances at the tiny box again, the one with your ring it. He doesnt reach for it because, well you know. But he can't wait to put it on your finger if you say what he hopes you will.

"Mhm, yes yes I'll marry you! Fuck you make me so happy." You really, really can't wait to see Taehyung in two days—he's your fiancee now.

"You dont know how happy you make me __. And when I see you in two day, I'm doing this again just so you know. The way I planned."

You smile through the phone, overwhelmed with emotions. "You don't have to. This was more than enough. And you don't have to quit being a captain really, its what you've wanted for so long."

"I want something different now," Taehyung says. "We deserve this __. Something new and not from miles away where we only communicate over the phone. Plus, now that you're my fiancee....soon bride and all—"

"Okay slow down tiger," you drawl, sneaky suspicion in your tone. "No babies for the first year or two, at least."

Taehyung fakes a loud sigh. "If my fiancee insists. No TaeTae juniors, yet."

"Hey! They'll also be mine, thank you very much!" You pound the bed with your fist. Taehyung laughs wholeheartedly.

"Okay, ours," he replies. "By the way, thank you for tonight. It was really hot, you were really hot."

"Back at you, Captain."

You giggle to yourself, thoughts wandering— you're getting married. Who are you telling first? The wedding planner duh!

A/N: uhm idk why but writing this couple gave me different feelings than usual...anyway Lmk your thoughts otherwise thanks for reading lovlies 💞

Masterlist

#taehyung smut #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #bts smut #bts au #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts imagines #fic:hightide #kookslastbutton

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