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mrsbarnesblog · 1 year ago

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firewood

masterlist ko-fi ao3

Lumberjack! Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When you decide to chop wood in your backyard, your hot neighbor, who happens to be a lumberjack, offers you some help.

Word count: 4.8K

Warnings: +18❗️smut, hot neighbor bucky is a fucking warning, kinda size kink, rough sex, protected sex, dirty talk, pet names

Author's note: this is one of my favorite works, so I hope everyone who hasn't read it before will like it too (it's hard to not fall for lumberjack Bucky, tbh🤷‍♀️)

“Hey, do you need help?” You stopped what you were doing. You breathed heavily, your arms ached, and you were already sweating. The man, your neighbor, whom you already saw a few times when you arrived home, was standing before you with his hands in his jeans pockets.

He was attractive. Really handsome. Probably 6 feet tall, with broad shoulders and visibly a lot of muscles under the clothes. Yeah, that red henley left nothing for your imagination. His dark hair was put in a low bun, and he had a little stubble on his face. But you mostly noticed his bright blue eyes, which looked straight at you very attentively.

“Sorry, what?” You said as you wiped sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your shirt.

“I asked if you needed help. Sorry, but it seems like you have some troubles.” He smiled at you almost shyly, and you couldn’t even make yourself mad at his words.

“Um, It’s my first time doing it.” You awkwardly smiled back, finally putting a big ax to the ground. “But I need wood for my fireplace, so I have to work with what I have.”

“I see… but don’t you have a boyfriend or a husband? I mean, it’s not really easy to do for a woman, and you seem pretty... petite for this?” It almost sounded like a question. “I wanted to say that I can help you if you allow me, because that thing might be really dangerous if you don’t know how to work with it, and I'm a lumberjack, so... it’s not a problem for me.” He awkwardly started to rub his neck. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“For a woman?” You playfully arched an eyebrow. “So you think that only men can do this?” You saw how his eyes widened, and you tried to hold your laughter.

“No, no! That’s not what I meant!” He lifted both hands in the air. “It’s just gonna take you forever to do, and as I said before, It’s not the safest work. And since this is my job, I could’ve helped you. As a neighbor, you know?”

“Relax, I’m just joking.” You softly smiled at him. “Nice to finally meet you. I’m Y/N.” You reached out your hand. Bucky’s face relaxed, but then his lips curled into a mischievous smile.

“I like you.” He said, as he shook your hand. His grip was tight, and you felt that he really did a lot of physical work with his hands.

“Oh… thanks?”

“Soo, do you need help?” He asked again.

“Um, honestly, I don’t know. I can’t just let you work for me for free. Can I pay you?”

“Doll, I have enough money, and I don’t need yours. I don’t think that you need tons of firewood, so it would be easy work for me.”

“Okay, but maybe I can give you food? Pastry? I really love to cook, and everyone said that I’m good at it.” You nervously played with your sleeve while Bucky was staring directly at you.

“Deal. I would honestly die for homemade food, ‘cause last time I ate it was at my ma’s and I really miss it. But you don’t have to do this, okay?”

“And you don’t have to help me.” You shot back.

Bucky’s smile grew wider, and he started shaking his head. “You have some temper, doll... Friday is okay?”

“Yeah, totally, any time you’re free.”

“Deal. I should probably go, and you better start training to cook food for me. I am really picky, and you insisted on paying me with it.” He said and started to walk back.

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed. “I know what I’m doing; don’t underestimate me!”

“Fine. See ya, doll.” Bucky waved at you with the biggest smile on his face and finally walked away.

Well, it’s gonna be interesting.

For the next almost two months, Bucky had been “working” for you, and you paid him with your food every single time because you couldn’t leave that man starving after he just got home from work and then willingly helped you.

You two got closer. Bucky was a really good man; you found out it while you were sitting in your backyard looking at how his muscles were moving with every swing of the ax. He was right that it wasn't a big deal for him—the job that you would’ve been doing for several hours he did in twenty or thirty minutes.

The conversation with Bucky was easy, he was a pretty reserved person, but he still told you everything about his job and his friends and asked you things about your life. It was hard not to fall for him. Especially when he gave you this boyish smile every time it was time to say goodbye or when you brought him your homemade food.

Usually he comes to your house every Friday after work around 6 p.m., but today it was already 8 and he still didn’t show up. There was no light in his windows either, so you became really worried that something serious had happened.

You were nervously sitting on the bar stool in your kitchen while your dinner was getting cold on the stove. You really had no appetite. What if he got injured from his dangerous work? Or maybe you were just overreacting and he went on a date with someone? You really had no reason to be worried that much because Bucky probably didn’t even think of you as a close friend, and you were just a too dramatic person with attachment issues.

The light knock on the door scared you a little bit, but you still jumped out of your seat to open it.

Bucky was standing there, visually perfectly fine and without any injuries, and you sighed with relief.

“Bucky, oh my god, hi. Are you okay? I was really worried about you, and I don’t even have your phone number to text or call.” You mumbled as your eyes studied his face.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky softly smiled at you, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really in the mood. “I’m fine. Just a shitty day at work. My boss went fucking crazy over nothing, and it was just a mess.” He ran a hand through his long hair. “But I have to do your firewood, so I'll go change and be back in a few minutes, ‘kay?”

He started to go back, but you caught him by his wrist. “No, Buck, wait. You don’t have to do it right now, really. I have enough wood, and you’re really exhausted. Come in; I have fresh lasagna and chocolate muffins.”

“Um—are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to.” He mumbled. You noticed that you were still holding his wrist, but decided to leave it that way.

“Don’t worry, I have enough food, and you look like you really need it. C’mon, don’t you want to eat something homemade and still hot after a bad day at work?” You gave him your best smile, and it was obvious in his eyes that he already agreed to your idea.

“Okay, we can do that. Honestly, I feel like I’m able to eat a fucking elephant.”

You both shared a laugh before you almost dragged him into your house and closed the door. Only at that moment did you realize that even though you gave Bucky a lot of food, he had never been at your place before. For some reason, you felt really excited to feed him and spend some time together.

“Sit here while I’m heating the food.” Bucky obediently took a seat, looking with a soft smile at how you were moving around in your little kitchen.

You looked so domestic and soft in the warm yellow lights of the room in the cute pink cotton dress with little flowers all over it. The concentration was written all over your face as you tried to perfectly set plates and cutlery on the table and then put steaming lasagna on it.

“Fuck, it smells so good; you’re going to kill me, doll.” He wasn’t able to handle the amazing smell of food right in front of him.

Your cheeks heated, and you waved your hand at him. “It’s just lasagna, Buck; don’t be dramatic.” You took a place near him, and you both started to eat your food.

“I’m not being dramatic. I already told you that, besides my ma, you have the best food in the world. I could’ve eaten it three times a day for the rest of my life and not gotten tired of it.” He took another big bite, moaning as the taste filled his mouth.

“You’re making me blush. No one ever told me this.”

“That’s my intention, doll. What, none of your boyfriends complemented your skills? Because I would’ve put the ring on that finger way too fast.” You looked at each other for a few seconds until you noticed that he had already finished his portion.

“Do you want more?” Ignoring his previous words, you stood up and took his plate to give him some extra food. The dress gently flew around your thighs, drawing Bucky’s attention to your legs when you turned around. “Anyway, what happened at work? You mentioned your boss.”

“Ugh, Pierce is a fucking dipshit. Everyone there hates him, but he has too much money, so we can’t do anything. Me and Steve have really been on bad terms with him since the first day. He tries to tell us how to do our work, but his head is so far up in his ass that he can’t even listen to what we say.” You returned to your place and put a plate in front of Bucky again. The frown took place on his face while he was talking about Pierce, so you put a hand on top of his without even thinking.

“He sounds like a total asshole. I’m sorry that you guys have to work for him.” Bucky’s face softened at your action. He flipped his hand so he could interlace your fingers, and you felt the warm feeling all over your body.

You both definitely felt something, but you still stayed silent, enjoying the connection. It was obvious that you had feelings for each other. It was just hard to admit out loud, and, honestly, Bucky was so scared that you might think that he did all of this just to get into your pants. Which is not true. Well, he doesn’t mind, but it’s not his only intention. He wants to treat you right and ask you out on a date.

Back then, he felt so bold and offered to help you with the firewood with the hope of getting to know you better. Steve and Sam obviously knew about his new “work” and teased him about it all day long. Unfortunately, he still didn’t find the right moment to ask you out. Those times when he came to you on Friday evenings and you were watching him work in your cute dresses or little pajamas were Bucky’s favorites. You looked so soft, cozy, and domestic that he wished to see you like this every day.

After the last piece of a chocolate muffin disappeared in Bucky’s mouth and he let out a moan of satisfaction, he sat in your kitchen with closed eyes and a smile on his face.

“If I had to have a shitty day just to get this type of meal at the end of the day, I’m ready for it.”

“Bucky!” You laughed at his dramatic words. “You don’t have to have a bad day. I can feed you just because.”

“Well, you said it yourself. Now you won’t get rid of me.” You both laughed. Then he suddenly got up and started to put plates in the sink. “You sit, and I’ll wash the dishes.”

“No, Bucky, that’s not how it works!” You got up and caught him by his bicep. Really hard and big bicep.

“Yes, it is. You’re cooking, then I’m cleaning.” He tried to get away from your grip to turn on the water, but you only held him stronger, now with both of your hands on his arms.

“Bucky.” When he was standing so close to you, you realized your size and height difference, and it made you shiver. You turned your head up to look him in the eyes. “You are my guest; you shouldn’t do this.”

“My mother taught me to always help women because they are not our maids.” He stepped a little bit closer. “But if you’re saying this only because you want me to leave, I can do that.”

You were both looking at each other, and what you saw in his eyes made you weak in the knees.

“No, no, I don’t want you to leave.” Your hands moved higher and fell on the sides of his neck. It was everything Bucky needed to finally kiss you.

Two large and rough hands took your face to bring your lips closer to Bucky’s height. He was gentle yet so passionate, and he slowly moved his lips against yours. It was mind-blowing how desperately you wanted him to devour you, to destroy you. While your hands were discovering his broad chest and shoulders, you felt that your body was suddenly lifted in the air and then placed on the kitchen counter.

Now that Bucky didn’t have to lean over to your height, it was easier to kiss you properly. His tongue brushed over your lips to ask for entrance, which you happily gave. Bucky felt too addicted to your taste, your smell, and the feeling of your smaller body against him. It drove him crazy.

“I've wanted to do that since the day I looked at you.” The hands on your hips tightened and moved you closer to his body. “You look so pretty, God.” Bucky’s eyes are running all over your face, trying to memorize every little thing.

“Bucky...” You dragged him closer again, desperate to connect your lips. His large hands wandered all over your body, slightly pulling up your dress and then moving higher and cupping your breasts in them. “I thought you were tired.” His large erection was obvious through his jeans, and you wanted to tease him.

“I’m never tired for you, doll.” He mumbled against your lips. “I could’ve fucked you right on this table, but I’ll leave it for the next time. Where’s your bedroom?” You didn’t miss the promise to fuck you again, and your body felt ecstatic just because of this thought.

“Up the stairs, second door from the right.”

Bucky didn’t say a word before your world suddenly moved, and you ended up hanging from his shoulder. Your bare ass was probably right near his face, and you couldn’t help but blush.

He stormed up the stairs with one hand on your thigh, as if your weight on his shoulder was nothing, and then walked into your main bedroom.

You were thrown onto your bed, and Bucky stayed in front of you for a few seconds to remember this picture. Swollen lips, eyes full of need, a short dress that pulled up and showed a glimpsing of your white underwear. Yes, you were perfect, and only for him.

“Come here, Buck.” You raised your hands in his direction, and he obediently climbed on top of you with a smirk on his face.

He sat between your legs, moving his hands up and down the soft skin of your thighs.

“Such a pretty doll for me, in this cute lil’ dress, mm?” His body was hovering over you, and when he found a zipper on the back of your dress, you ended up lying under him only in your white lingerie set in less than a minute.

The pair of the most beautiful blue eyes devoured your naked body as soon as the piece of clothing was removed, and you had never seen a man look at you this way. Like you were the most beautiful, delicious, and priceless thing in the world. Bucky’s hands gently touched your body from the shoulders to your legs, and you swear that you heard a moan while he was doing it.

“Sweetheart.” He mumbled and leaned to gently kiss the soft skin of your belly, moving with little kisses higher until he reached your lips. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Barnes.” It was impossible to think straight when his pretty face was right in front of you and his muscular body pushed you deeper into the mattress of your bed. He kissed you as you asked, but it didn’t last long before he pulled away with a grin on his face. You gently brushed his brown locks out of his face and tucked them behind his ears.

“So bossy, dollface... Do I have to fuck this attitude out of you?”

“Mmm, undress, and we’ll see what you are capable of.” You shot back at him, and he just moved away with a smirk on his face.

In a few seconds, a red henley was thrown somewhere on the floor, and you were face to face with a body that was probably made by the Greek gods. Muscles on muscles, with tanned skin and freckles from the work under the sun. Now you wanted to climb him like a fucking tree.

“Like what you see?” His smirk became wider as he saw the look on your face: slightly parted lips and darkened eyes that were looking at him up and down. Bucky's hands went straight to the belt of his pants, and with the last movement, he was standing in your almost dark bedroom completely naked.

You almost choked on your saliva when he pulled down his pants and boxers at the same time. He was thick and long, with an angry red head.

“No way this is gonna fit me…”

“It will, doll. I’ll take care of it. I bet this pretty little pussy will just suck me in.”

It was over for you. You knew that. A handsome, respectful man with a perfect body and dirty mouth? Yes, he can do whatever he wants with you.

He returned to your bed, sitting in between your spread legs. He didn’t waste any more time when he reached behind your back and unbuttoned your bra. Bucky stood on his knees so perfectly that his dick landed on your covered pussy, and it made you both moan out loud.

“Look at this, doll. ‘M gonna destroy her.” His hips slightly moved, and because your panties were soaking wet, it was so smooth and perfect. “Can you imagine that? I will stretch you out so well that I’ll ruin any other men for you. Make you–and her– mine.” He reached with one of his hands to your tits and squeezed your nipple between his fingers, while the other one was keeping your legs apart so he would be able to move his hips.

You tried to close your legs by instinct. The tip of his cock again and again brushed right on your clit, and the slight pain from your nipple made you desperately moan and clench your bedsheets.

“Are you going to cum, pretty girl? Im not even inside of you, and you’re already a fucking mess.” Bucky’s rough voice was so sexy that it made you even wetter, if that was possible. He saw that you were close: by the way your breathing changed and how your eyes rolled back in your head. “C'mon, just let it go. Soak those panties even more.” His movements on your most sensitive parts of the body didn’t stop, and it threw you over the edge.

You were squeezing around nothing, and the most inappropriate and dirty moan escaped your mouth. It was something that you'd never experienced before, and it was so intense that you needed some time to get over it.

“Good girl.” Bucky grabbed your face and connected your lips, giving you another wet and sloppy kiss.

Then, without hesitation, Bucky’s hands took off the last piece of your clothing, leaving you completely naked for his hungry eyes. He stared at your body up and down for a few seconds and then closed his eyes to take a deep breath and calm himself down.

“Bucky, please, I need you so much.” You almost cried, trying to grab him and put his body on top of yours, but Bucky was much larger than you, so it was almost impossible.

Bucky finally calmed down a little bit, and he interlaced his right hand with your left, pinning it above your head. His body softly landed on you, and skin-to-skin contact sent shivers down your spine. He was now looking you right in the eyes, and judging by his facial expressions, he either wanted to fuck you lifeless or cuddle and hold you closely.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?” Bucky’s soft side came out again, and you slightly nodded, giving him permission to continue. The little silver square appeared in his hand out of nowhere before he ripped the package with his teeth and put a condom on.

You honestly tried to hold back the little bit of disappointment you felt when he decided to use protection. It was smart. You weren’t longtime partners, it was a question of your safety. But the tiny voice in your head told you that you would’ve let him fuck you without it. To feel his perfect d–

Your thoughts were cut off with a deep chuckle. “You look like you’re sad that I put on a condom, doll.” You swear that his eyes darkened when you stayed silent. “If you want it later, I’ll fuck you raw, ‘kay? But now neither of us can think straight.”

“Are you a perfect man?” You laughed.

“I don’t know, let’s find out.” Your smile faded as soon as you felt the head of his dick at your entrance.

You were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, so when Bucky started teasing you again, rubbing you up and down to cover himself in your slick, you nearly lost it.

“Bucky, please.” You whine, grabbing the side of his torso with your free hand. “Don’t tease me, please, I can’t—”

Your words died as Bucky finally pushed inside of you. Your head fell deeper into your soft bed, and Bucky’s body tensed on top of you, trying to hold back a deep moan.

It was overwhelming. He stretched you out so deliciously that you felt pain and inexplicable pleasure. No one ever made you feel this way—like you were on cloud nine and the man on top of you didn’t even actually fuck you yet.

“You’re squeezing me so hard that I might cum like a teenager—fuck!” He groaned, squeezing your hand harder. “Relax, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

You tried to relax as much as you could with a dick buried deep inside of you, and Bucky was finally able to move.

Well, if it felt good earlier, then the first movement of his hips probably sent you right to heaven. Bucky cupped your face with his left hand, locking your eyes together, when he started thrusting at a slow pace.

“So pretty for me, doll. You feel my cock in your stomach, huh?” Bucky’s lips almost touched yours when he talked, but it felt like he was too far away from you. “Good girl, take me so well. Knew that this pussy would be my death.”

“More... harder, please, fuck me harder.” You spoke in between moans, gazing intently at Bucky's pretty face.

He started fucking you harder. Your bed was slamming your wall, but it didn’t bother you as much as the fact that he was hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You were a fucking whining mess under him, with a slightly open mouth and a drunk-looking face.

“Suck it like a good girl you are.” His thumb slipped into your mouth, and you moaned, doing as he said. “Your pussy is already sucking the shit out of me. Are you going to cum, baby? Going to make a mess on my cock while I fuck you? Imagine if I fucked you raw and filled you up with my load. I bet you’d like that.” The finger went deeper into your mouth, making you gag. You nodded your head as much as you could at Bucky’s words because you were already ready to cum.

“Give it to me, baby.” Bucky growled, sucking on your neck. His hips slammed into yours, making the nastiest noise, but it turned you on even more. A finger slipped out of your mouth, and Bucky’s face was in front of you again. “Fuuuck, I’m gonna cum.”

“M-m, B-bucky! Don't stop, pl– ahhh!” The wave of the best orgasm of your fucking life washed over you. You swear the stars started dancing behind your closed eyes as you endlessly squeezed Bucky’s cock and his body.

The way you were moaning, how your eyes rolled back, and how your whole body trembled pushed Bucky over the edge. A few last movements in your soaking wet pussy and he came, feeling almost lifeless, as if you had sucked the whole energy out of him.

He let go of your hand, which this whole time he held above your head, and cupped your face with both of his hands, kissing away the tears you didn’t even notice.

“Y/N? Baby? Are you okay?” He whispered and moved your head a little bit so your eyes were directed at him. You looked like you were high or really drunk, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that you were the prettiest woman on earth.

“I– it’s like I don't feel my body anymore.” You lazily mumbled and closed your eyes. “No one ever fucked me like this.”

“Glad to hear that, doll.” Bucky leaned closer and kissed your soft lips with more delicacy and tenderness. “Do you need anything? Food, water, bath?”

“No… Can you just hug me and stay here for the night?” You asked, now afraid that he would leave since he got what he wanted.

“Sure, just let me get rid of this thing, and I’ll still get you some water.” He kissed you on the forehead before carefully untangling his body from yours. You hissed at the new empty and a little bit aching feeling inside of you. “I’m sorry, baby.”

Bucky threw a condom in the basket under your table and, putting on only his boxers, came down to the kitchen to get you a bottle of water. But when he came back, he saw that you had already fallen asleep.

You looked so cute—still naked, with a peaceful expression on your face, laying in the middle of your messy bed. He thought about whether he should disturb your sleep or not, but you asked him to stay, right? Bucky hesitated for a few seconds, but then came closer to you, placed the bottle on the nightstand, and carefully scooped you into his hands, pushing away the covers. He put you back down, and then you opened your eyes.

“C’mere…” You mumbled, still sleepy, and grabbed his hand.

Bucky quietly chuckled and got under the cover, hugging you from the back. You happily sighed before drifting back to sleep. Bucky kissed you in the hair, hugged you harder, and fell to sleep with you in his arms.

You woke up a little bit disoriented, trying to figure out what happened last night.

The bed beside you was empty, but the aching feeling between your legs proved that it wasn’t a dream. You, in fact, fucked your hot lumberjack neighbor. But where did he go?

You found some random oversized t-shirt and walked down the stairs. Everything was silent; your kitchen was empty but crystal clean. Did Bucky just leave?

Wait a minute.

Yesterday there was a mess from your cooking and dinner with Bucky.

Now the room was almost shining.

You looked around in confusion until you noticed a piece of paper on the table.

All of your bad thoughts disappeared as soon as you read it, and you felt butterflies go crazy in your stomach.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #marvel smut #james buchanan barnes #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #lumberjack! bucky barnes

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k-hotchoisan · 1 month ago

Note

Hear me out... yeosang greek mythology-esque AU where every few decades a maiden is sent as a sacrifice to the one they believe is the god of love and fertility. A very confused deity yeosang usually just rolls with it and puts these young ladies to sleep for a night ot two before returning them to their people (cuz that one time he just sent someone back the entire village panicked and blamed her for not being a "good enough offering" and he felt bad for a century). But this time... for some reason... he just can't take his eyes off the sleeping girl before him (there can be backstory here like he's met her before while parading as a mortal or sumin idk) and decides... maybe this time he'll keep her...

alrighty aphrodite

every eleven years, a young maiden is chosen as sacrifice for the god of love and fertility, at least they think they do, only for Yeosang to put the sacrificed maiden to sleep because he doesn't want to deal with them.

but when it’s you being chosen to be the next maiden, Yeosang decides, maybe this time, he’s gonna keep you for himself instead.

Genre/warnings: smut with plot, (kinda) Greek god au deity yeosang x maiden!reader, mentioned elements of sacrifice (though not too heavy nor gory), unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, masturbation (m), obsessive softdom! Yeosang, he’s actually fucking whipped for you, praise kink, mentions of virginity (where reader is NOT but it’s not elaborated further), yearning!yeosang

wc: 6k

a/n: I’m sorry this took SO long to develop. Truth to be told, this prompt has been stuck at the back of my mind and boy, I really wanted to make this beauty work. Also a special thanks to @bro-atz for helping me develop (this is for you as well hehe) Enjoy! 🩷

Walking through the cold and pale marble temple, you watch the way the vines curl around the pillars, creeping its way up to get some sun. The temple is insanely huge, standing tall thanks to blocky pillars, with intricate carvings, which you identify as white marble being slowly overtaken by soft moss and stubborn vines.

You know, despite the gorgeous temple, its practices to serve Aphrodite were but.

Despite the anxiety you feel, you know you could do not much to fight against the elders and their ridiculous traditions. For centuries, chosen maidens by the fertility deity have been offered to appease the gods for the blessings of fertility of the town’s land and women every 11 years. No one knew how the gods looked like, but it seemed that every time a maiden was sent, the fields would bloom and flourish, couples would be blessed with a pregnancy.

Of course, why wouldn’t they continue this ridiculous tradition?

And this year, you were chosen.

You remember the last conversation you had with your mother before you had stepped foot into the temple.

“I’ll come back mother. Weren’t there rumours that one of the maidens managed to come back?”

Your mother’s index finger flew to her lips. “Be careful of what you utter, my daughter. They don’t like the reminder that their choice was rejected.”

You blinked at her, recalling the incident where one of the maidens got “returned” right after the ceremony and from what you could remember, led the elders to grow furious on top of anxious, then demanding that another sacrifice to be made, since the maiden was now considered “rejected” by the deity. The poor girl. Surely this deity couldn’t be that picky, right?

You continue to thread the path before you, the soles of your feet getting used to the coldness of the marble floor by now.

You enter the fountain room, and as its title, sits a large marble fountain, a statue lady draped over with a long piece of fabric looking down onto three cupids that spit out water, while she, herself pours water out of a vase.

The sound of flowing water could honestly put you to sleep, if it wasn’t a curt reminder that you’re meant to drown here. Rose petals decorate and almost fully cover the surface of the bottomless fountain. Maybe it was a ploy to at least relax the previous maidens. There are a handful of people, all dressed in white robes that hide their faces, while the elders are dressed in ivory.

“There she is. Beautiful y/n”, the elder woman smiles, the emotion not reaching her eyes. You force a smile back. “Come, the water’s not cold.”

You dip your toes in.

The water is fucking cold.

“Think of it as a blessing to us, that you’re doing a gracious service to the village”, another elder curtly reminds you while she tosses more rose petals into the fountain.

Two other women lie you down onto the water and more petals are strewn across the surface. Your hair is wet by now and so is your dress. You cringe at how cold the water is biting against your skin but you bear with it.

The older woman turns around.

“We are gathered here today to witness the blessing Aphrodite will be giving us. We pray that the maiden reaches the goddess safely and may she stay in good hands”, she announces with clasped hands.

“May Aphrodite bless us all.” She yells, her hands raised to the heavens, before the two hooded elders beside her shove your body into the fountain, sinking you to the depths, the last thing you’re hearing are loud chants that gradually become muted as you slowly accept your fate.

A familiar hymn plays, and it catches Yeosang’s attention.

“The maiden offering is here”, his Cupid announces.

Yeosang only sighs in defeat, annoyed that his rose gardening has been interrupted, muttering how these mortals were being ridiculous, while still walking over to his marble foundation, careful not the crush the roses that had fallen onto the grass.

“I genuinely have no idea how to stop these people from sending women down the fountain”, he complains to nobody in particular.

“Why not just appear in front of them and tell them you’re the deity?” The little Cupid suggests as he floats beside Yeosang.

He turns to his minion with folded arms. “No way. These people would pelt me with stones before they even decide to give me a chance to prove that I am. I’ll just do the usual.”

“Put them to sleep and then tie a red string on their ankles?”

“-to make sure they don’t get hurt or freak out or something. Then send them back up when enough time has passed.”, he continues with a small pout. “I’m still shocked at the way they freaked out when I sent the previous one back four decades ago.”

The Cupid purses his lips, listening to Yeosang rant about this for the nth time ever since he took over the temple and the rituals started every 11 decades as they near the fountain.

He continues his rant up till he reaches the fountain. “Besides, none of them they send are ever my cup of tea. I’m sure this one’s not any-“

Then Yeosang immediately quietens down when his eyes land on the sleeping maiden before him. His Cupid casts him a confused glance, then back to the maiden on the fountain, wondering what suddenly silenced Yeosang.

It’s just another maiden, his Cupid thinks.

On the contrary, Yeosang can’t seem to keep his eyes off the maiden who’s unconscious, covered in rose petals like the previous maidens. What made her so different? He doesn’t know, but there’s a strange tinge of familiarity when he rests his eyes on your sleeping figure.

The cupid’s eyes widen when Yeosang personally picks you up from the water with his bare hands. He never did that to the previous maidens, for he would complain about getting his robes wet.

He sets you down on the cloud bed, watching how you’re breathing softly while he waits for the cupids to hand him a spare robe for you to change into.

“Yeosang, aren’t you gonna change out?” His Cupid asks as he hands Yeosang the fresh set of robes.

You stir from your slumber, feeling softness against your skin. You slowly open your eyes, before you remember what happened, and you shoot up, soaking in the unfamiliar environment surrounding you. It’s a beautiful, spacious, and airy room. Your eyes land on a male who’s fitting stalks of roses into a glass vase.

“In a bit”, Yeosang replies, his eyes not lifting from you.

He turns to you just in time, and you freeze.

Oh gods, he’s stunning. His eyes are a shade of gray that makes him look all the more dreamy, and his lashes are long. His hair is a soft platinum blonde, contrasted by the bright red roses that rest on his hair. He looks like a statue himself.

“You’re awake”, he greets with a curt nod.

“You’re-“

“—Aphrodite‘s descendant, Deity Kang Yeosang”, the flying child announces.

“Oh! Pardon my rudeness, Deity”, you squeak, going on your knees, your hands on the cold, marble ground.

But Yeosang has his hands around you, lifting you up. “You don’t need to-“

“Oh but I should. You’ve been blessing our village with bountiful fields and beautiful children. It’s only right that I bow on their behalf”, you insist. Yeosang is speechless, mostly because it’s the first time that he has allowed a maiden to be conscious around his quarters, and that he’s speaking to one. He doesn’t really know what to do, let alone why he even did that in the first place.

Yeosang looks away sheepishly. “It’s part of my job. Please, you may rise.” Despite his seemingly soft demeanour, you realise how chiseled his arms are, his muscles lifting you up together with him. When you’re finally facing him, you can’t help but wonder if this was the view that every maiden had—and that maybe it’s not so bad after all.

Yeosang practically gave you the living quarters you woke up in, in which you were obviously thankful, offering for any help in exchange for it. Yeosang declined but you insisted, telling him you should repay him, so he decides to let you tend to one of his rose gardens around the temple.

It had been a few days since.

By then, you had warmed up to the deity, spending time with him in the gardens, exchanging stories. Through these interactions, you realise how mellow and soft Yeosang is—usually stories of gods warn of them being picky, petty and sometimes, even wrathful. Yeosang didn’t seem to tick all of these boxes. It seemed like he would rather tend to his myriad rose gardens and caring for his cupids.

“Has anyone told you you’re absolutely beautiful, Yeosang?” You say, missing the way his ears are turning as pink like the roses that lie on his head. The both of you are cutting off the fresh buds that bloomed to collect the petals that afternoon.

Yeosang’s cheeks flushes, rubbing the nape of his neck with a smile. It’s no different from what he always hears, especially as Aphrodite’s descendant, but to hear it from you makes him feel flustered for some reason.

“I mean not just how you look, but the way you treat the things around you.”

“I’m not following”, a confused Yeosang replies, and it makes you giggle.

“I’m saying, you’re gentle and kind too.”

Gentle and kind. Of course he is, considering that has been something he’s been his whole life. It’s well known how much of a temperamental and petty his ascendant had been known to be, and he knows he’s not like that.

Distracted by his thoughts, he feels a sharp pain shoot in his finger. He flinches and pulls his hand away, realising his finger has been cut by a rose thorn.

This has never happened before.

"Are you okay? Let me see-" you interject, taking his hand to inspect if the cut was deep, and you instinctually place his finger against your lips to suck on his skin.

Yeosang's heartbeat is climbing at an exponential rate right now, wondering why do your lips feel so soft. Would it feel as soft if it wasn't just on his fingers? How would you taste against him?

"Are you okay, Yeosang?" your voice snaps him out of his rapidly growing crooked thoughts. His eyes meet yours and he forces a smile, letting himself enjoy the way you're gently stroking his fingers. He thinks it feels nice.

"It doesn't hurt. Don't worry", his voice lowers a pitch, his gaze softening as he watches the way your hands go from stroking his injured finger to playing around with the rest of his fingers, thinking it would help ease the sting.

Yeosang places his hand on your cheek, gently stroking against your skin and his smile spreads to you.

“Thank you. I’ll go and wash the wound. Don’t worry about it, really. It’s just a small cut”, he assures, almost reluctant to leave your side when you let him go, and he walks back to his chambers.

As he rinses his hands, Yeosang's cupid floats to his side, watching the way his deity has his eyes locked onto the maiden.

“You haven't sent her back up, Yeosang. I’ve never seen you do that.”

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to reply.

There is silence for a while, as the Cupid watches Yeosang bloom the roses.

“How long will you keep her?”

Yeosang watches the way you smell the roses from his bedroom window. His heart flutters.

“For a little longer.”

You watch the rain fall and hit the leaves from the window of your room. The room is spacious, much too spacious for your liking. It wasn't you that you didn't hate being in the temple, having Yeosang and his little Cupids around were comforting, but during some days, the thorns of being home sick would prick you.

Something is starting to bubble in Yeosang when his thoughts drift to you as night falls. Unfortunately, he seems to have realised it too late.

Undoubtedly, the incident of Yeosang getting pricked by his rose bushes closed the distance between the both you. And that night, you realise you didn’t want to sleep alone.

That night, Yeosang is still up, his concentration on finishing a book he had bought from the mortal realm. Then he hears a soft knock on his open door.

His gazes flies to his door, his heart speeding up when he sees that it’s you standing at his doorway.

“Is it okay for me to intrude?” You ask. “I feel lonely in such a big room.”

Yeosang blinks before remembering to respond.

“Sure. There’s plenty of space on the bed”, he offers, shifting uselessly on the large bed to make space for you. You break into a smile, crawling into his shared space, the comfort of having Yeosang by your side already easing your worries.

“What are you reading?” You ask, peeking over to his book trapped in his long fingers.

He tips the book to show you the cover.

“I got it at the marketplace.”

Your eyes brighten.

“Right! You can travel to the mortal realm”, you remember him briefly mentioning it to you.

He nods. “I can bring you back to the village from time to time to get stuff if you want.”

“You can bring me back?”

“I try to, discreetly, I guess. The mortals in the village for some reason didn’t like it when I brought back one of the maidens back directly once.”

Suddenly, the pieces start to fall into place. It’s all starting to make sense.

Yeosang doesn’t realise he’s frowning. “You…yearn to go back there?” The words taste bitter in his mouth while he waits for your answer.

“Well, I’ve grown rather attached to this place actually. But I guess it wouldn’t hurt to go back from time to time. You can send me back whenever you’re ready to, Yeosang”, you reply.

Oh gods. Yeosang was internally preparing for the worst but for now, he’s satisfied with whatever arrangement he has with you. He’s never had a maiden stay longer than this, and he’s getting very comfortable with your companionship.

You stifle a yawn, eyelids growing heavy. Your fingers brush against his playfully, and it gets his attention even though his eyes are empty on the pages of his book.

“You’re my favourite thing about this temple”, you mutter, shutting your eyes. Yeosang freezes in his spot, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I think you’re my favourite thing about being a deity”, is his delayed reply. When he turns to gaze upon you, you’re asleep—comfortable and calm—just a hair’s breadth away from him.

That night, he had the most comfortable night of sleep since the past few decades.

Since then, your own bed in your quarters grew cold, and Yeosang’s bed only grew warmer as you continued to seek comfort with the deity.

Yeosang wouldn’t lay his hands on you, even though he was fine with your small touches. He’d grown accustomed to it.

Nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that his heartbeat accelerates when he feels you shift closer to him and lean your head against his arm or shoulder—whichever you felt like it—while you join him in reading whatever novel he has his nose buried into.

Your hair brushes gently against his skin again, and it’s making him more jumpy than usual for some reason. Is it the way that he’s conscious of how physically close you are to him? Is it the way that your scent surrounds him like a veil recently? Is it the way your laughter sounds more beautiful than the hymns the harps could play?

He glances down at you, realising you’ve fallen into slumber, your breathing light. Yeosang smiles, his gaze landing on your face.

Then the scent of you hits—sweet and intense—it makes Yeosang’s mind cloud. He feels his body warm up, and his eyes trail down from your face to your bare shoulders—where the strap of your nightgown had slipped past your shoulder—the lace trimming of your nightwear had lowered down your chest, revealing your soft breasts just shy of your nipples—

Fuck. Yeosang’s mind is on its road to being a goner. The discomfort that’s starting to bulge against his robes being the biggest indicator.

He seeps deeper into his twisted fantasies, letting his hand slip down to palm his thickness, groans leaving his lips soft and controlled enough so that he doesn’t wake you up. His suppressed fantasies start to bubble to the surface—flashes of you in between his legs, your tongue lapping his nectar from his base to the tip, then struggling to take his cock full into your pretty mouth. Shit. It’s driving him to the edge. Yeosang swallows hard. He knows that everything about this is so wrong, but he can’t help it. The pleasure trickling into his veins and the risk of getting caught if he’s too loud—it only adds onto the rush that his cock is feeling, and he’s fucking loving it.

The robe is slowly shed off his chiseled body, the speed of his hand fucking his cock increasing when his fantasies start turning to you above him, settling onto his cock, eyes so glazed out and pretty for him while he spilts you open. He dreams of melting into your velvet heat and it only makes more precum leak out of his cockhead while he struggles to keep his breathing slow.

He eyes flutter shut, a strained moan slipping past his lips. He doesn’t know how you’re not being awoken by now, but frankly, he doesn’t care.

And when you shift in your sleep slightly, accompanying your movements with a sleepy groan, it only makes Yeosang’s predicament worse. He watches the way your top has completely slipped down, your nipple growing perky and hard from the cool air. Oh, what he’d do get a taste of it between his lips.

The sounds of his hand fucking grow louder when his thoughts grow wilder when he wonders how you’d taste between your legs—sweet like the nectar of the roses you grow for him maybe.

The precum seeping only grows white and thicker, the sensitivity burning through his body, making Yeosang press his head deeper against his pillows, his hand movements more desperate.

When his fantasies reach to one of you cumming and fluttering with tears in your eyes on his cock, Yeosang bursts with a broken cry of your name, his white and thick cum making a mess of his body and undone robe. His breathing is shaky, staring at the thick cum that stained his hand under the silver moonlight.

It was then the realisation looms over him--there's no way it's possible to send you back up. Not when the need to hear you scream and cry his name is creeping into his veins like the thorny vines of his rose bush.

“With all these roses around, doesn’t Yeosang get sick of the smell?” You ask the Cupid while your hands are busy snipping off the buds.

He shrugs. “I guess he’s used to it.”

The Cupid casts another glance to the rose bush, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly reflecting his confusion.

“Although, you’re not wrong—the roses recently seem to smell stronger, and I’ve never seen buds this dark before.”

“Something wrong with the roses?” You hear the soft deep voice echo through your ears.

“Yeosang!”, you exclaim, realising the subtle change in him—the roses that sit around his pale hair like flower crown are now as dark as the roses on the rose bush.

You absentmindedly reach out to touch the roses on his hair, amazed by the deep crimson hue. “No, Cupid and I were just mesmerised at how pretty the dark roses are, actually.”

His smile fills your stomach with butterflies.

“Were you? I’m glad you and Cupid seem to like them.”

Yeosang lets his hands linger on your cheek for a moment longer, his warm spreading through your skin.

“I’ll see you tonight as usual, y/n?”

You nod, but for some reason, the expression Yeosang casts you sets a whole cage of butterflies into your stomach.

He’s satisfied with your answer and he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips to your temple, the smell of roses floating around you, before he strolls back to his quarters, humming to himself.

For some reason, something feels a little different that night.

You walk into Yeosang’s chambers as usual, as you always do. He has his novel in his hands, but his eyes glance at you at his doorway the moment he feels your presence.

You slide into his bed, like you always have done, noticing the comforting warmth that the deity radiated seemed slightly a little hotter than usual. But you attribute it to the fact that it had been pouring quite a bit lately, including tonight.

The moment you crawled into Yeosang's space, he has his palm spread over your exposed thigh, his warmth spreading across your skin.

“Isn't someone eager today”, you tease, absentmindedly returning his touch, much to Yeosang's surprise.

“It's been cold lately, and your warmth is the only thing I've grown used to”, Yeosang replies with a gentle smile, and it makes your stomach burst with butterflies.

“As with you”, you giggle, inching closer to the male.

Yeosang reflects your bloom with a soft smile, before his attention returns to his book. You rest yourself against his arm, as you always do.

This night, Yeosang realises he can't concentrate on reading, not when he's hyper aware of the floral shampoo that's emitting off you. You've always been using the same floral shampoo, so why does the smell seem to come off stronger this time?

His thoughts are then interrupted when he hears you soft sigh as you shift your weight against his arm, his eyes locked at the way the strap of your nightgown slips past your shoulder once more, the gown dropping slightly lower, barely revealing your soft and perky nipples.

Yeosang doesn't realise his fingers are clamping onto the pages, hard.

He averts his gaze back to the book that he knows it's pointless to get back to, so he shuts it.

Your eyes rake over his bothered expression, and your mind swims with worry.

“Are you okay, Yeosang?”

Yeosang turns his attention to you, forcing a smile. His words come out uncertain, “of course. I just need a breather. Give me a second, y/n.” He drops the book onto his nightstand before he leaves the bed to the balcony. You decide it's best to leave him be, while you keep yourself busy with the pile of books Yeosang bought for you on his nightstand.

Yeosang is barely confident that he's finally composed himself, but he decides to enter his room once he feels his heart gradually slow. He brushes off the crimson rose petals that had landed on his shoulder.

Since when have his petals gotten this red?

He returns back to his room, and all of that self preservation immediately falls apart when the view before him on his bed is you–relaxed, with the sheets off you, your bare legs in full view for him to take in, your sheer nightgown bunched up to your thighs as your nose is deep into your novel.

Yeosang remains silent as he inches towards to your side of the bed, and his movements definitely catch your attention. You look up and your eyes meet his, trailing him as he slowly settles down right in front of you.

“Can I help you?” You tease, shutting the book. Yeosang doesn't answer, but rather, he lets his fingers dance along your leg, and up until he pauses at your knee.

You watch the way his eyes glimmer against the moonlight, then how it highlights his features like a marble statue.

He's leaning closer.

His eyes are downcast for a second before they find the resolve to meet yours.

“Could I…?” he mutters, shyness reflected in his gaze.

His palm is flat against your knee now, and he's warm to the touch.

You're suddenly feeling curious yet shy. You lower your gaze when you feel his palm press against your cheek, then lean in. His hands feel like comfort. Your eyes flutter open and you meet Yeosang’s stare.

His mind is going haywire when you look at him like that.

There is tension in the air, silence so loud you could hear two hearts fluttering if you listened hard enough.

“Please”, you reply softly, loud enough for him to hear.

Before you could process it, Yeosang leans in for a deep kiss, determined to steal your breath and heart away as his lips collide against yours. He traps you against the bed, and your hands are around his neck, slowly lingering on his soft locks of hair.

Red petals are slowly filling up the white spaces on the white sheets as Yeosang grows greedy–he’s pulled away from your lips, now he's messing with your cheek, then your jawline, then down your neck. His hands are going down. You gasp when you feel him cup your breasts. There's no way he doesn't feel your nipples grow harder through the thin fabric, and he makes full use of it to pinch and roll in between his fingertips, the sparks going right to your soaked pussy.

Yeosang lets you off momentarily, and the strange glint in his eyes don't go unnoticed by you. Too caught up in the moment though, you let him continue with whatever he wants to do. He continues kissing down south, teasing you with the fact that he's not letting his lips touch your skin directly. Every soft gasp and sigh he hears from you is his reward.

Then, he stops right at the wet patch of fabric in between your legs.

You swear his eyes form hearts.

“You're already so wet for me?” He asks, which doesn't come off much as a question. His finger grazes along the damp fabric, and the wetness spreads even more. It’s driving Yeosang off the edge. You're driving Yeosang off the edge.

All Yeosang is thinking is that you're such a perfect gift. He wouldn't have asked for more.

The perfect offering.

Perfect for him to ruin.

A thought crosses Yeosang’s mind–how far can he get your thin and useless panties soaked? He nuzzles against the warm and sticky fabric, trying his best to ignore the way his cock is just painfully throbbing to be let out.

“Yeosang–!” You cry out, accidentally flattening some of the roses in his hair when the sensitivity bursts dully in your pussy.

You're suddenly feeling self-conscious even though your mind is slowly sinking into the sins Yeosang is gravitating you into.

Your cunt is getting soaked by the second, to the point your panties have pretty much grown transparent, so sticky and wet from your cream.

It doesn't change the fact that worries still flicker in and out of your mind.

You're not a virgin. Would Yeosang approve of that? Would he be disgusted that you aren't?

You feel his fingers slither up your thighs, his thump hooking onto the waistband of your panties before he completely pulls your panties off, your pulsing wet pussy blooming like the most gorgeous flower Yeosang's ever seen.

Before Yeosang’s ready to reward himself, you squeeze your thighs, stopping him.

He looks up at you, his eyes slowly glazed over, waiting for you to let him.

How is he so patient?

“I’m not a virgin—“

“It doesn't matter, darling”, Yeosang cuts you off while he presses his nose against your supple thighs, taking in a sharp inhale, letting your scent turn him dizzy. “I’ve always dreamed of hearing you scream my name when I’m fucking you.”

You struggle to keep your breathing in check, dazed and taking in this newfound side of Yeosang that seemingly bloomed from nowhere.

“I'll make you feel so good, darling”, he promises, a teasing lick just to the side of your pussy, and your rationale completely dissolves.

Yeosang pulls your legs apart, smiling against your skin when you don't offer resistance, then he presses his tongue against your wet cunt.

You taste like heaven, is what is repeating in Yeosang’s head, over and over. He wants to make sure he sucks you dry. You squirm against him, the pleasure building recklessly whenever Yeosang drives his tongue against your clit, your moans turning into a mix of cries. Your wetness isn't drying up anytime soon, that's for sure.

“So fucking good. Y-Yeosang…”, your lashes are wet, and with every flick of his tongue on your clit, it builds so fucking good that your legs have completely spread open for Yeosang, your cunt shamelessly leaking more creamy nectar for Yeosang to indulge in. He brings his tongue up to your clit once more, dragging the soft muscle against it.

“You're so close, aren't you? Your sweetness is just getting better”, Yeosang hums.

Your fingers clutch against the soft pillows under you, your mind slowly starts to blank and break. It feels so fucking good that Yeosang has to hold your hips down so he can tongue fuck you better.

“Be a good girl for me–cum as hard as you want.”

A choked sob echoes in his chambers while you go completely undone–shaking and pulsing against his tongue, your vision washed out by white as the pleasure seeps into each nerve and crevice of your brain.

Yeosang is still lapping your cream up, dizzy from how you cummed all over his face. He really wants to make you do that over and over again until you break.

The remnants of your orgasm and the overstimulation has you twitching in the best ways possible. You halt Yeosang–stealing his attention with your fingers under his chin. Yeosang looks up at you, burying his cheek against your palm while his tongue peeks out past his lips to lick the off the remainder of your cream on his face. Your thumb caresses his soft cheek and Yeosang appeases you for a moment before he climbs over you, his palm covering your wrist, guiding you down to the knot of his robe. Your fingers grab onto the loose end and you tug–his robe completely loosens. He leans in closer, letting your hands wander his body, flicking the robe away until Yeosang is fully naked before you.

He's nothing short of a marble statue–everything about him is completely ethereal. As much as you’re admiring his bare body, your eyes can't help but wander to his thick cock. Even his cock is so pretty especially when it's glistening and hard, in a sheen of precum.

His voice is deeper now and it tickles your ears.

“I don't think I can go slow on you, my love”, Yeosang mutters, before he presses his lips onto the back of your hand. His crimson eyes meet yours, and your heart skips a beat.

“I don't wanna.”

He fits a pillow under your hips, and his cock is easily resting right at your pulsing, wet hole.

“Wanna feel you all the way, Yeosang. You can go as deep as you want”, you whisper, just craving to be fucked now.

Yeosang smiles in reply, before he lines himself to your cunt and pushes himself in an inch or two.

A curt “fuck” slips past your lips, and your abdomen tenses once Yeosang starts fitting more of himself into your tight hole.

“Gods, you feel so fucking amazing. So fucking warm for me”, Yeosang curses, his fingertips pressing onto your hips to keep any remainder of his sanity intact.

When he finally has his dick fully fit in you, you look like you're about to cry.

His fingers brush your cheek.

“Are you okay there?”

You nod. “You just feel so full in me.” Yeosang laughs, then groans when you squeeze him again.

“I'm gonna start moving.”

The lewd sounds of skin slapping start filling up the room once more, one wetter than the other.

His thrusts have you clawing the sheets once more, eyes rolled back and pussy clamping him down for more.

He grunts at the way you're squeezing him.

“I'll fill you up so good, my love. Make you so swollen–full of my pretty little offspring just for you to bear”, he mutters in your ear.

Your head is spinning as the pleasure builds up in your abdomen once more every time his cock hits your g-spot. The thought of Yeosang making sure you're leaking full of his seed, that he wants to breed you so badly throws out any rational thought out of your head. You want it so fucking bad too.

“You feel so better than heaven, you know?” He manages, the thread of his rationale thinning the more he's fucking into you. “I really want you all to myself.”

His thrusts are getting heavier and every time his cockhead presses onto your g-spot, it sends you into an orbit. You're seeing fucking stars or flowers–they’re starting to look the fucking same at this rate.

“Yeosang!”, you cry out, your toes curling from the pleasure hitting you over and over again. You leave light marks down his pale skin. Your cunt has him tight in you, and it makes him dazed. His moans are filling up your ears while his cum fills up your pussy.

The high slowly descends, leaving both of you catching your breaths, his face in your hands, eyes locked onto each other. You watch the dark red in his eyes slowly lighten but still remain red.

Had he always donned such deep red eyes?

“How are you feeling?” He asks, letting his fingers travel down the curves of your body.

You giggle tiredly, “a little sleepy.”

He covers your eyes with his slender fingers. “Then rest

Yeosang stares at the way you slowly sink into your slumber, huddled close to him.

He brushes away the blood red rose petals that fall on your shoulders.

I can’t help it if I adore you this much. I’m keeping you for a little longer. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind, right?

💘bonus epilogue💘

Yeosang knew he was about to be chided for always escaping his duties by hiding in the mortal world. Not that Eros would care anyway.

No human comes around here, and that’s another reason why Yeosang loves this specific spot. If he’s feeling slightly more daring, he might hide himself amongst the mortals while he window shops at the marketplace, but for today, relaxing is on itinerary instead.

He walks over to his usual tree, humming to himself.

Then he stops himself in his tracks, his eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. Someone is already occupying his tree. He watches the maiden hum to herself, her hands busy with picking flowers and she sits the stalks on her lap.

Unfortunately, Yeosang is the last deity to be confrontational, and he’s ready to just turn and leave—

“Oh gods! You’re breathtaking.”

He stops in his tracks, and turns back slowly.

His finger points to himself accompanied with a confused expression he wears.

“Me?”

He’s only met with laughter that sounded like sun rays when dawn first breaks.

“I’m sorry. I probably scared you. It’s just, I’ve seen you a couple of times here, and I’ve always wanted ask—has anyone told you that you’re beautiful?”

Plenty.

You laugh again. It tickles Yeosang’s ears.

“You’ve probably heard it many times. But I still want to say it—you’re beautiful.”

That day Yeosang hums a wonderful tune that even Cupid has never heard before. His attention goes back to tending his rose garden, his slender fingers getting busy, brushing against the bud of the roses, blooming them full.

He notices Cupid's surprised gaze, before he plucks a rose bud out to hand it to him.

“What's wrong, Cupid? Never seen a red rose before?”

Cupid furrows his eyebrows, his gaze reflecting confusion on top of curiosity before he shakes his head in reply.

“Yeosang…this is the first time I'm seeing you bloom red roses.”

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literaila · 3 months ago

Note

kid megumi and gojo definitely took bubble baths together while megumi washes his hair and satoru's just yapping about how much he loves reader

“megumi,” gojo says, not even bothering to knock on the door.

it’s the boys fault, really, for leaving it open in the first place.

megumi stills, brows furrowing as his hands stop foaming the soap in his hair. “gojo?” he asks, a bit disbelieving.

he might be going crazy—it’s not uncommon for sorcerers. and megumi barely thought he would make it to fourteen and here he is, so. he should probably tell someone about the hallucinations but—

“you got it,” gojo answers, predictably, sitting on the toilet seat. “i need to talk to you.”

megumi peaks his head around the shower curtain slowly, blinking a few times to make sure the man is really there.

but he is, grinning at the tiny bit of megumi he can see, tapping his fingers on his knees obnoxiously.

megumi points a hand towards the door. “this is an invasion of privacy.”

“megumi,” gojo gives him a bland look. “i’ve seen you naked.”

“that’s creepy.”

gojo sighs, hanging his head. “we’ve known each other for so long now, and you still don’t trust me.”

“you still haven’t given me a reason to. can’t this wait? or not happen? i don’t want to talk to you.”

yes, megumi is still hanging halfway out of the shower. yes, his hair is dripping water on the floor. no, he does not care—it’s gojo’s house anyway. he can fix the ruined floorboards.

“it’s about your mother.”

at that megumi blinks. “what’d you do?“

“i didn’t do anything.”

“are you sure?”

“yes, i’m sure,” gojo scoffs, reaching out to pull his ear—which megumi expertly deflects (he almost slips and dies in the process). “am i crying on the floor right now?”

megumi considers it. then he recalls the last time you and gojo had a fight. he had to check gojo’s pulse every time he walked past the couch.

“good point. what is it?”

“as you know, her birthday is coming up—“

“are you serious?”

“megumi.” gojo’s eyes are dubious, his voice is disapproving. “your mothers birthday is very important.”

megumi rolls his eyes. “i know. i mean, are you seriously asking me about this right now? im in the shower. there’s shampoo in my hair.”

gojo nods very seriously. “it’s the only place she won’t hear.”

“she’s not even home.”

“she’s hidden cameras, megumi, i know it.”

“no she hasn’t.”

gojo pouts. “i want it to be a surprise. she always finds out about her gifts before i can give them to her.”

“that’s because you tell her.”

“the suspense is too much. i need you to buy her something for me and hide it so i don’t know what it is.”

he sounds absolutely serious, which might be the worst part of that request, actually.

and when has megumi ever done gojo a favor?

“gojo,” megumi gives him a little smirk, tilting his head. “i’m not doing that.”

gojo groans, falling onto the floor. “c’mon, megumi, we’re supposed to be friends.”

“you’re my teacher, if anything.”

“and your father,” he juts his chin, “favoritism is not cute.”

“good.”

megumi finally turns around. gojo was never going to leave, even if he’d attempted to tackle him out of the door.

and he’s used to this, anyway. there hasn’t been a day in seven years that he’s gotten some peace.

“okay,” gojo begins again, sounding like he’s won—which he hasn’t. “i was thinking some jewelry, but you know how picky she is. and besides, she’s too rough for something small. tsumiki is already getting her that chibi mug we saw in that corner store last weekend, and whatever you’re getting is off of the table too.”

“i’m not listening to this.”

“i could take her out to dinner, but that’s not a gift. and i do that anyway. maybe i should buy her a car—what kind do you think she’d like? something blue, like my eyes—“

megumi groans.

gojo pauses. “did you get soap in your eye?”

honestly, banging his head against the wall might be better than this. at least they have pain killers at the hospital.

megumi doesnt answer, no longer entertaining this, but gojo continues anyway.

“maybe we should re-do the bathroom, you know how she’s always saying that—“

god, when will it end?

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froggiewrites · 2 months ago

Note

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law #one piece

375 notes · View notes

freedomfireflies · 1 year ago

Text

Four to Go*

Summary: The fourth part to One for the Money*

Mr. Styles, your boss (and the CEO of the company you work for), offers to help you expand your OnlyFans business.

But can he watch you sleep with someone else?

Word Count: 7.8k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

Mr. Styles is calm as he slips off his jacket, unfazed by the curious look on Max’s face.

“Uh…all right,” Max replies, sneaking a second glance at you for confirmation. “So, you…you’re just gonna…be here? Or…?”

Mr. Styles nods, taking a seat on the lounge chair near the wall, loosening his tie as he sits. “See, Peach always tends to need a little…encouragement. So, that’s why I’m here.”

He smiles at you, and your heart leaps.

“To give it to her.”

You have absolutely no idea what to say. What to think or feel. Part of you is somewhat comforted by his presence and the other part is wildly confused by it.

“Okay…” Max clears his throat and cocks an eyebrow up. “Well…we were just gonna go over some ground rules—”

“Excellent.” Mr. Styles beams as he leans back. A hand is waved as instruction to continue. “By all means.”

Your lips press together into a thin line.

“All right. I was just gonna ask how you feel about kissing,” Max begins, returning his attention to you. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Sometimes it can make things feel less serious, but it’s up to you.”

“Oh, I’m fine with it,” you say, shrugging once. “It’s just a kiss.”

Out of your peripheral, you catch Mr. Styles tilt his head.

“Okay. And condoms?”

“Yeah, I brought some.”

“Perfect, and I’ve got some, too.” Max looks around the room in thought. “Uh—oh. The safe word. I know we agreed on the color system, but if you have a particular word that feels best…?”

“Color system is fine,” you agree. “I trust you.”

Mr. Styles coughs under his breath.

You look over.

He smirks.

Amused, Max moves for his camera. “All right, then. Do you wanna go over the scene one more time?”

“Uh…honestly? Maybe we just…get right into it,” you answer, slowly slipping your coat off. “I have a tendency to overthink.”

You hear a snort from behind you, and you don’t even have to look to know who it came from.

“Got it,” Max chuckles, surveying the room one last time. “Well, then…I guess I’m ready when you are?”

Your pulse skips a time or two as you nod and allow your covering to fall away, revealing the outfit underneath.

Another one of Mr. Styles' sets. A soft, pastel peach color. It felt fitting, and the room grows oddly quiet as both men take a moment to drink you in.

Max is the only one with a comment to make, smiling gently as he says, “Nice. And it’s comfortable?”

“Very. Yeah, my investor did an excellent job.”

Mr. Styles smirks at your sly comment while Max laughs.

“Ah, so this is the work of the mysterious gentleman in the corner?”

“Indeed.” You nod as you step closer to the bed. “Turns out, he’s incredibly picky.”

Another scoff but you pay it no mind as you shoot Max an innocent grin and take a seat on the edge of the mattress.

Max fiddles with the camera and the lights a moment more before he clears his throat and claps his hands together once. “All right, I think we’re ready.”

There’s a weird flutter in your stomach as you straighten up and prepare to begin, unable to resist sneaking a glance at your boss.

He’s expressionless. Stoically sitting in his chair, relaxed, yet seemingly uninterested.

It’s not unusual for him, but even still, you wonder where the man who dominated you in your bedroom has disappeared to.

And if you’ll ever see him again.

“You ready?” Max calls gently, smiling his encouragement.

“Yes,” you reply, voice oddly timid as you scoot back toward the pillows. “Ready.”

With that, a little red dot begins to blink from the device, signaling the start to the video.

No going back now.

Max makes his way around the tripod, approaching the bed with a confident gleam in his eye. “Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, rather seductively, and your breath catches. “’S’about time we found our way here, yeah?”

You nod again, lip disappearing between your teeth as he kneels onto the mattress and begins to crawl closer.

“Look so fucking sweet,” he continues, letting his eyes trail from your face to your thighs, appreciating every thread on your lingerie set. “Did you dress up just for me?”

You fight the urge to look toward your boss, swallowing thickly as you whisper, “Yes.”

His hands find your hips, smoothing over the curves and dips with ease before slowly guiding your legs apart. “Gonna let me have a taste?”

You feel breathless. Wonderstruck by the fingers inching closer to you, the anticipation building in your gut.

“Yes,” you repeat, nails curling into the silk bedding beneath you as he moves in.

He hooks onto the material and slowly begins to pull it aside, allowing him access to your cunt. Then, his thumb outstretches, ready to swipe across your clit when the sound of a throat clearing echoes across the room.

You and Max both still, exchanging a curious look before turning to sneak a glimpse of the man responsible for the interruption.

Mr. Styles stares back, eyebrow raised. “I’m sorry, is that it, then?”

Max pushes up onto his knees. “Pardon?”

Your boss leans forward. “You have her all spread out, ready and willing, and this is the best you can do?”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as Max tosses you a curious expression.

“I mean…this is what we agreed on,” Max replies slowly. “A little foreplay before the rest of it.”

“And this is your idea of foreplay?”

Max blinks. “Uh…yes?”

“Interesting.” His fingers strum against the arm of the chair but he says nothing more.

A little rattled, you shift beneath Max and wait for him to continue.

Tentatively, he does, pushing through your folds with intense focus. He’s slow with it, letting the air hit you just so until you squirm, hand pushing your thigh open.

Vaguely, you feel a pair of eyes studying you from the corner of the room, taking note of each breath and quiver of your limbs.

And you know he’s watching you. Know he’s observing the technique. And while you don’t mind being watched by him, something about this feels odd.

Max straightens up and moves in to kiss you, slotting his knee between your legs as a hand wraps around the back of your neck.

His tongue is in your mouth before your eyes can close, and you whimper a bit at the aggressive force behind his touch.

He’s quite good. One of the better men you’ve been with, and nothing has even happened yet. You take this as a good sign, allowing yourself to melt into the gesture as his fingers fiddle with the buckle on his belt.

There’s another condescending snort near the wall, and Max sighs against your cheek before turning around. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” There’s a touch of innocence behind his response but the look in his eye reads anything but. “That’s just not how she likes it.”

You feel the blood drain from your face as Max smirks and looks back at you. “Sorry, Peach. Is that not how you like it?”

“It is,” you confirm, shooting a peeved look toward the chair. “Ignore him, I’m sorry.”

Max smiles gently before pressing another kiss to your bottom lip while tugging his pants down.

He manages to get his boxers around his knees before there’s another noise, and you audibly groan.

“Now what?” Max calls, slightly annoyed but attempting to maintain a bit of calm.

Mr. Styles lifts one shoulder in a relaxed shrug. “Just think it wouldn’t hurt to slow down.”

Max lets his head drop, chin meeting his chest as he sighs before replying, “Is that right?”

“Nobody is watching this video for you,” Mr. Styles continues. “They’re watching it for her. They want to see the way she reacts. How she feels. Your cock is nothing more than the sideshow. She…is the main event.”

There’s a weird sort of flutter in your stomach as you let your focus drift to the man near the wall.

Max exhales beneath his breath before straightening up. “All right. Then how do you suggest we proceed?”

Not needing to be asked twice, Mr. Styles stands to his feet and saunters toward the bed. “For starters…” A hand comes out to grasp onto Max’s jaw, tugging his face to the side. “…that’s not how she likes to be kissed.”

Wincing some, Max shoots him a glare while attempting to yank himself free. “Yeah? And how would you know?”

A rather excellent question, and your breath hitches as you await the response.

Mr. Styles doesn’t even look at you as he says, “I’m her fucking partner.”

Another tense silence flitters around the room before Max is finally released.

“And let me guess…I’m touching her wrong, too?” he counters, leaning away from you as Mr. Styles straightens up.

“Yes.” A simple response but the bite behind his tone makes you shiver.

Max scoffs to himself, head shaking with disbelief as he pulls his boxers back up. “Well, maybe it would just be easier if you did it, hm?”

“It would. But then it wouldn’t be your video, now, would it?”

“Mr. Styles,” you begin in a gentle murmur, “please…it’s fine—”

“Doesn’t look fine,” is his only retort, nodding at the gentleman still kneeling above you. “Is this what they pay you for, then? Mediocre sex and cheap camera work?”

“This is what Peach and I agreed on,” Max reminds him. “All right? This is the scene that we created—”

“Nothing about this scene was constructed for her benefit,” Mr. Styles replies. “And if you knew anything about her content, you would know that her audience likes to see her squirm.”

“Well we’re not just catering to her audience, okay? This is about my audience, too—”

“Last time I checked, her subscriber count doubled yours. The majority of viewers won’t be for you. They’ll be for her—”

“Right, and that’s why she’s the one in the frame, all right? I know what I’m fucking doing—”

“No.” Another straightforward answer, and it makes your head spin. “No, you don’t. And I don’t think that’s fair to her or her subscribers. They shouldn’t have to pay for your incompetence.”

Max looks to you. “Is he fucking serious?”

“I—” You push up onto your elbows, feeling a little exposed in your see-through garment. “Mr. Styles, I appreciate the thought. But he’s right. This was part of the plan—”

“Your plan was to fake your orgasm just so he could nut on film?”

Both you and Max still as this reply hangs in the air.

Then, Max crawls off the mattress, and stands to his feet. “Okay, you know what? I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

“Max…” you attempt to call, feeling rather embarrassed as he begins gathering his things. “Look, he doesn’t mean it—”

“No, I do,” Mr. Styles interjects, ignoring your peeved look of warning.

Max ignores you both.

He strides around the hotel room, throwing things into his duffel before turning the camera off and packing it up.

You attempt to shoot daggers toward your boss, a silent scold, but he simply meets your eye with relaxed indifference.

“Listen, Peach, you seem nice,” Max sighs, moving for the door with his things while shooting you a sympathetic grin. “And I appreciate you for even meeting with me. But…these things never work when the boyfriend gets involved. So, just…enjoy the room. It’s all yours for the night if you’d like it. And…I look forward to maybe working with you in the future.”

Your stomach drops as you nod and watch him exit the room, disappearing into the hallway until you’re left with the perpetrator.

All of fifteen minutes he’d managed to keep his mouth shut, and you huff as you sit up. “Seriously?” you mumble the moment the door is closed.

He leans back against the dresser, regarding you with ease. “That was pathetic, and you know it.”

“How? He hadn’t even done anything yet.”

“Exactly.”

You frown. “Mr. Styles, I really appreciate all of your help. But you were the one that told me this would be good for my account.”

“And it could have been. Just not with him.”

“What was so wrong with him?”

“He wasn’t doing it right.”

“Why? Just because he wasn’t doing it like you?”

“If he’s not doing it the way I would have, he’s doing it wrong.”

Your lips part but you find yourself without a response. After all, what exactly does he expect you to say?

He sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. But you can do better than him. Even in porn.”

“Right,” you snort under your breath, settling against the headboard and pulling your knees to your chest. “Well…guess it doesn’t matter now. I’ll just go back to my vibrating cock. Seems to be the only thing people really like.”

You’re attempting to lighten the mood, but Mr. Styles only offers you a rather contemplative look.

“Is that right?” he calls.

You suck in a quiet inhale and nod once. “Yeah. I mean, technically that wasn’t the only thing they liked, but…”

His brow raises.

You clear your throat. “You. They liked you.”

This seems to amuse him, his perfectly pink lips pulling up into a coy grin. “Me.”

“Yeah.” You glance down at your nails. “They, uh…liked your voice? And your…hands? And the way you talked? I guess? It was, um…the main feedback. They wanted to see you in more videos.”

The smug bastard is much too pleased to hear this, practically beaming as he studies you. “They did, did they?”

“Mhm.” You nod, cheeks warming. “So…you’ve got fans.”

“How nice.” He runs a hand along his jaw in thought, smile still much too wide. “And were you happy with the video?”

The million-dollar question. Truth be told, it’s the first video of yours that you’ve ever willingly watched more than once. You can still hear his instructions ring between your ears. Can feel his hands on your thighs. Can taste yourself on his fingers.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, shifting a bit in your spot. “It was…it was really good. I like how it came together.”

“You watched it?”

“…yes.”

“I thought you didn’t like to watch yourself come.”

“Yeah, well…this was different.”

His head tilts. “How so?”

You toss him a frown. He knows exactly why, and you hate his insistence on making you spell it out. “Why do you think?”

“Could be a number of reasons.”

“Except it’s not, and you know it.”

“Perhaps. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You huff again. “I just like what we did, okay? It was a nice video, a nice scene, and a nice sound bite. Happy?”

Once again, that dark eyebrow dances up, his expression twisting into one of curious intrigue. “Sound bite?”

Shit. Your eyes flicker back down to your hands. “I mean…yeah. You do have a nice voice. Sounds…sounds great on film.”

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “You like listening to me talk?”

Again, you feel your pulse skip over its own rhythm as you attempt to convey nonchalance. “Sure.”

But he’s unconvinced by your casualness, pushing off the dresser to step closer to you. “Is that why you were watching the video, then? To listen to me?”

You want to respond but your whole mouth has gone numb.

“Were you using my voice to get off, Peach?” he murmurs, the scent of his cologne finally reaching you as he approaches the bed.

You don’t have to answer for him to know that he’s right. And perhaps you ought to be ashamed of such an admittance, yet…the strange darkness in his expression suggests otherwise.

“Yes,” you breathe, moving your gaze to the white button up clinging to his chest. It’s a rather sheer material, allowing you to see just a taste of his tan skin beneath, and the faint markings of ink from potential tattoos. “Couldn’t help it.”

“No?” He reaches the side of the mattress where you reside, sitting near your feet as he watches you. “Just had to listen to me while you touched yourself, hm?”

He’s so close. So fucking close to you, and the adrenaline you felt that day in your bedroom triples until you feel a bit faint.

“Yes,” you repeat, but it’s strained and airy. You don’t mean to sound so weak, but he always seems to leave you this way.

“How?” His attention to your face pulls you back. “How did you touch yourself? Did you do it the way you always do? Or did you do it the way I do?”

Your focus falls to your lap but he quickly takes hold of your chin to hoist your eyes back up.

“Peach,” he warns, “need you to tell me, yeah? Need to hear you say it.”

And you want to huff. Or scream. Or ball your hands into fists and pound on his chest in retaliation.

Instead, you whisper, “Touched myself the way you told me to.”

A look of pride flashes across his face. “Did you?”

A soft nod. “Yes. Imagined you there with me.”

He drops his attention to your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sit up, desperate to bring yourself closer to him. Magnetized by this invisible pull. “Thought about your voice. Your hands. What you would have asked me to do. Wanted to make you proud…be good for you.”

He releases a deep breath, lashes fluttering as if working to keep his grip on his self-control. “Peach…”

“Almost called you,” you admit, fingers outstretching for his knee. “Almost asked for your business advice.”

He tightens his grip on your jaw, leg pushing into your touch.

“Watched it over and over and over.” Your palm glides up his thigh. “Thought about you through every fucking second.”

His expression grows stern as the vile language leaves your mouth, and you can see his dominant demeanor slip through the cracks.

“Just wanted to feel you, Sir,” you whimper, and his breath hitches. “Wanted your cock. Not the toy. Not his. Just you.”

It’s dizzying how quickly he manages to take hold of your hips and force you onto his lap, lacy cunt grinding against his covered bulge.

You both make a noise of approval, your forehead meeting his as you steady yourself by his shoulders.

“Is that right?” he finally speaks, but it’s coarse like gravel.

“Yes.” Your nails dig into his jacket. “It’s not the same when it’s just me.”

“No,” he agrees instantly. “No, how can it be? Such a pretty little thing doesn’t know what she’s doing. Needs someone to do it for her.”

You’re tugging on your lip to cover a whine, nodding quickly in agreement.

“Needs someone to take care of her, yeah?” His nose nudges into yours, taunting you with a kiss that you aren’t sure he’ll actually give you. “Tell her how to make Daddy happy?”

Your thighs are dragged over his for a second time as he grinds you down, forcing another wave of pleasure to roll over you.

“Wanna make me happy, don’t you?” he asks, and it’s so cruel of him to expect your coherence in a moment like this. “Always want my approval. My permission. Wanna do anything I fucking tell you, hm?”

“Yes…yes, please—”

“Please what, hm?” A beat as he inhales you. “What do you want, honey?”

You press your chest into his, gasping when the rings in your nipples are harshly stimulated. “Want you to tell me what I want.”

And he grins like this is the best thing he’s ever heard, hands tightening around your hips rather possessively. “Think you want my cock, don’t you? Want someone to do it right.”

You do. Have never wanted anything more, and it nearly makes your stomach ache from the thought of finally having him in a way you never thought you could.

There’s a brief moment of pause, the implication of your position and request dangling in the already tense air.

His lips are so close, taunting you with a taste, and it takes everything in you not to surge forward and take him for yourself.

He shifts, cock bucking up into your cunt as you sigh again, and just when you think this is the moment the dam breaks, he says, “Did you bring your camera?”

With a racing heart, you nod quickly, glancing toward your bag in the corner of the room.

He doesn’t move, at least not for a moment, instead breathing you in as he thinks. “Where is it?”

“There,” mumble, chin jutting toward the wall.

This time, he nods, squeezing your hips once more before taking a deep inhale and moving you off his lap.

It feels like the end of the goddamn world to have him rip his body from yours, and your chest nearly caves in as you watch him move for your things.

He rummages around in the bag until he finds the camera and tripod, moving to the other side of the bed to begin setting up.

It’s a different angle than Max had picked, and something tells you this is intentional. Whether this is out of spite or because he genuinely disapproved of Max’s camerawork, you aren’t sure.

You study him as he straightens the device and faces the lens toward the bed. Wonder yet again who this man really is. What his motivation is. What his intentions are. You’ve seen a side of him today you weren’t sure existed and despite yourself, you’re becoming addicted to it.

But is this just a ruse? Or is this who he really is?

“Look at me,” he calls, and it’s a dark, sensual instruction. “Good girl.”

He focuses on your face, making sure everything that needs to be in the frame is, and once he’s satisfied, he straightens up.

“I’m gonna hit record,” he tells you while your heart leaps into your throat. “What you choose to do with it is up to you.”

Your lips roll into your mouth, and you scoot back into the pillows. “Okay.”

The moment the red dot begins to flash, the air in the room shifts.

Your pussy practically comes to life as he side-steps into frame, slowly pulling his suit jacket off.

“Hi, Peach,” he murmurs, and your eyes zero in on his shoulders as they’re revealed to you. “Been a while, hm?”

Exactly one week and two days.

Not that you’ve been counting.

You stay silent as he approaches, desperately enthralled by his body as more and more of it is exposed.

He tosses the covering toward the other side of the bed before flicking the first couple of buttons on his shirt open.

“Know you missed me, haven’t you?” he continues, his back to the camera as he kneels on the bed. “Needed someone to take care of you.”

Your chest rises and falls with labored, anxious breaths. It’s torture the way he slowly crawls from the end of the bed to where you wait, taking his sweet time like if you aren’t about to pass out from anticipation.

Glimpses of his tattoos peek from beneath the collar of the white cotton fabric, teasing you with ideas as he finally reaches your legs, forcing your attention back.

“Isn’t that right?” he asks, just loud enough for the mic to pick him up.

“Yes,” you mewl, correcting yourself when you see his stern expression. “Yes, sir.”

“I know.” His fingers curl around your ankles, tugging your thighs apart to make room for his body. “Shame you didn’t ask me sooner.”

You consider this. Consider if this is part of the scene or an actual comment from Mr. Styles himself.

Either way, it makes you pout. “Should have,” you agree. “M’sorry, sir.”

The extra helping of compliance in your tone makes his mouth dance up into a proud grin.

He settles himself between your legs, reaching now for your wrists to bring them to his chest. “Take off my shirt.”

And it’s an instruction you don’t need to hear twice as you shoot up and begin pawing at his buttons.

Despite your shaky fingers, you manage to pull the tie over his head and free the shirt from his body, anxious to shove it down his arms until you can see his chest in full.

When you do…the world changes.

Colors are brighter, sights are sweeter, life is fuller. The body before you is that of real beauty. Sketched by the steady hand of an artist, each line, and ridge, and curve telling a story you desperately want to read.

It’s as if he were painted on a canvas and brought to life, your own work of art sitting right before you on this bed, asking you to indulge him.

Without thought, your palms sweep down his tan skin, drinking in the dips and edges that make up his torso.

He’s strong, and warm, and effortlessly sturdy. The ink littering his collarbone is delicate yet expressive. Two sparrows on each side with a butterfly just below his sternum.

It moves when he breathes, wings fluttering with the rhythm of his heart. You can’t tear your eyes away, and even though you feel him watching, you can’t move past this moment. Can’t fathom anything else but the divinity of the man between your thighs.

He smiles, pushing his body into your hands before grabbing hold of your hip. “Gonna show them your little surprise?”

Your head moves up and down wordlessly as he takes hold of your lingerie set and pulls the material down.

As it falls, he scoots to the side, allowing the camera to find you as your tits are revealed to the audience.

The rings shimmer in the light flittering through the hotel curtains, the initials—his initials—like a badge of honor to claim you to the world.

“So pretty, Peach,” he tells you, not for the first time, yet it makes your ego swell the same way it had before. “Like being mine, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you say without pause. “Wanna be yours. Always.”

He hums, and it’s delicious. Soft green eyes like grass on a summer day.

He kneads your breast in his palm, letting his thumb ghost over the piercing until you keen, back arching from the bed.

He makes another noise, soft but urgent, and you can see that his attempt at dragging the scene out is all for not.

His other hand moves to your cunt, rough fingertip pressing into your clit through the lacy fabric until you’re squirming. He swallows your whispers for more, for mercy, and his brows furrow when he feels how wet you’ve become.

“Lay down,” he nearly grits, practically tugging you onto your back. “Let me see you.”

You settle into the mattress with ease, lashes fluttering when he maneuvers onto his stomach. His hands curl around your legs, forcing them further open to make room for his head as his nose brushes down the fabric on your stomach.

He’s moving for your pussy, lips sweeping across every inch of you he can reach before hovering over where your clit lies.

His tongue comes out and presses into your cunt, despite the covering in the way, and you whine when you feel him. Warm, and wet, and pointed as the tip slides up just to tease you.

“Sir,” you gasp, but it’s his name you’re desperate to say. His real name, the beautiful H still shimmering from your chest, seeming to taunt you.

He hums, and the vibrations echo into your nerve endings, setting each sense on fire. You attempt to move away from his mouth, but his strong hold keeps you cemented to the bed and his firm expression keeps you submissive.

He creates a pattern of licking and sucking. Rhythmic yet purposeful. And the skill behind each nudge of his nose or flick of his tongue far exceeds what you expected of him.

His nails sink into your heated skin, practically forcing you against his lips until the flesh tears, crescent-shaped indents now littering your thighs.

And he’s so close to tasting you but not quite close enough. You’re not sure who this tortures more, but you hate the way he keeps you from what you truly want. What you need.

Your hands find his curls, sweeping through the auburn strands as he makes another noise and nuzzles into your touch.

“Please,” you whimper, and it’s a futile attempt at begging but even still, Mr. Styles seems pleased.

More than that, he seems just as unhinged as you feel, rutting into the bed beneath him as he squeezes his eyes shut.

You imagine he might come just from this little act of foreplay, spurred on by your sounds and pleas. But you need to feel him, and he needs to feel you, and there’s no goddamn way either one of you will be leaving this room until his cock has been inside your cunt.

“Sir,” you try again, tugging on his hair until he looks up. “Please…need you to fuck me. Need it, please—”

He shoots you a displeased sneer, palm slapping into your thigh as punishment for the choice in language.

But you don’t care. Not when he’s this close to conceding, and you know it’s hurting him just as much as it’s hurting you.

Despite his disapproval, he sits up and begins tugging on his belt, yanking it through the loops before ripping the zipper down.

Your greedy hands reach for him, trailing across his large arms and broad shoulders. Fumbling with his pants in an effort to push them down his legs. Slipping into his briefs just so you can get the faintest feel of his cock.

He’s outrageously hard, already leaking when you find him, and despite his conviction, he bucks into your palm.

The slight twitch makes your head spin, and you whine as you scoot closer.

“Please, please, please,” you beg breathlessly, legs spreading once more as he pulls himself free.

The cool air sends a wave of goosebumps from your neck to your toes, but it’s the sight of him in his own hand that really does it.

Pumping himself with delicate precision, he hisses between clenched teeth, “S’this what you want, Peach? Want Daddy’s cock?”

The voice inside your head is screaming but your mouth merely mumbles, “So bad, sir. Need you to make it better.”

He pushes on your leg, cementing it to the mattress while his other fingers hook onto your outfit to pull it away from your dripping pussy.

He seems mesmerized by the way your body reacts to him, and you have to wonder why he’s so surprised. You imagine it should be obvious the effect he has on you, yet the fascination in his eye leads you to believe he never considered this to be a possibility.

“My perfect peach,” he whispers, letting his finger drag through you. You jolt, moaning deep within the back of your throat as he brings his cock closer. “Gonna feel so fucking good for me, aren’t you? Can already tell. Gonna be my good girl.”

He spreads you, studying your pussy with fascination. Allowing his touch to move up and down your soaked folds while he plays with you. As though you’re a toy, meant only for his amusement.

And he’s so wonderstruck as he moves your arousal around, letting it web between his fingers before teasing your hole.

One digit is sweet, but two is ecstasy. Reminding you of just how empty you really are. How badly you need him. All of him.

He works himself in and out for at least two minutes, just to see you stretch for him. And the way he watches you makes your ears ring, your cheeks growing hot.

He could keep you here forever, you imagine. Could make you come from this alone, and you have half a mind to let him.

But you enjoy the feeling of his fingers curling inside your soft walls. Enjoy the way he strokes you, pets you, presses into you. You want to kiss his hand for being so wonderful. For being so generous, and maybe you want to kiss him, too.

The faster his fingers move, the harder you sink. Your muscles dissolve into jelly, and you nearly disappear through the bed when he places a knee onto your thigh.

He’s using his weight to trap you, keep you pliable, keep you submissive. And it works because you don’t consider doing anything else as he finally removes his hand and lines himself up.

“Breathe,” he orders, taking hold of your hip to steady you and angle you up. “Easy, honey. Gotta open you up for me, yeah?”

He pushes in slowly, inching forward with great restraint as your walls stretch around him, mold to him, invite him in. You’ve gone quiet, jaw dropped open in an empty, soundless pant. But he knows what this means, and the bastard smirks as he continues.

Halfway in, and your cunt has latched onto him. Squeezing him so tight, you can see the torture of it on his face. He’s trying to take it easy, be gentle. Make this at least somewhat pleasurable for you but he’s only a man. An older gentleman at that, and it seems as though he wasn’t expecting to lose himself so fast.

“More,” you mewl, wiggling down. “More, sir, please….please, just…go.”

You greedily reach for his shoulders, his neck, his hair. Wanting to wrap your arms and legs around his body and hold him inside of you until this ache goes away.

And he seems to want this, too, driving in a bit faster than before as if to satiate you.

“M’almost there, Peach, be patient,” he scolds, but you can tell the threat is empty. “Gotta make this pretty pussy mine, yeah? Gotta show you what a real cock feels like.”

And maybe his cock isn’t purple, and maybe it doesn’t vibrate, but my god does it scratch that itch. Reaches places inside of you that a silicone one never could and it’s his. The only thing that really matters.

He smells like money and expensive aftershave. Addicting in every sense of the word, and you whine again when he stills.

“Easy,” he warns, attempting to shoot you a stern look, but it dissipates when he sees how ruined you are. “Be good, my love, come on.”

And this nickname makes your heart burst as you whimper and melt into the silk sheets.

He’s almost there, maybe an inch or two from being completely sheathed within your cunt. But he throws all decorum to the side when he decides to ram himself forward, filling you to the hilt as his lips suddenly crash into yours.

The kiss is salty yet oddly sweet. His tongue has traces of you, but it also tastes like him, and both of you together is something you couldn’t have anticipated.

It’s a messy connection, wet and a bit uncoordinated for only a moment before he figures out a rhythm he likes.

You scratch down his scalp almost as if to discourage him from leaving you, moaning while your body works to accommodate his size.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t attempt to pull back before you’re ready, and you’re grateful for this courtesy in a moment so heated. You aren’t sure if you’re in control of your own mind anymore, but you enjoy following his lead.

You always have.

When he nips at your bottom lip, you’re reminded of how bad you need him. Need that release, and you slip your free leg around his bare hip. “Please,” you whisper, nose nudging into his cheek. “Please, Daddy.”

He groans at the nickname, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he eases back, just gentle enough to torture you.

And so begins the languid but deviously hard pace. A cadenced set of thrusts so deliciously slow, it makes your lungs ache.

Each pull out and push in seems to rip you in half, introducing you to the kind of pleasure you’d only ever heard about.

It feels as though this is what has always been missing from your life. This kind of sex, this kind of understanding, this kind of prowess.

And maybe it’s just his cock, or maybe it’s him, but it doesn’t matter because you’ll take it. Take anything this man offers you, and you’ll thank him for it.

Perhaps a rather uncouth thought, but you’ll correct yourself tomorrow.

Today, you’re his.

“Taking me so well, Peach,” he grunts, hips knocking into yours as he slips an arm beneath your waist. “Look at you, honey. So fucking wet, you hear that? Hear the way you sound for me?”

And you do. How could you not? It echoes around the room, bounces between the walls, and fills your ears like a harmony.

You imagine this might be your favorite part. Listening to the way your body has welcomed him in. You can feel it dripping down to your ass, can see it on his skin, can practically taste it still on his tongue.

Your back arches, chest knocking into his, and the brush of the rings makes you writhe. A squirmy movement that benefits you both as he growls beneath a strained breath and drives in at a harder pace.

“Bet it feels good, yeah?” He captures your mouth with his. “Bet it’s so fucking good. Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you like this, have you?”

With a fervent shake of your head, you wrap your arms around his neck and move to kiss down his jaw. “No, Daddy.”

The arm beneath you coils a bit tighter. “I can tell. This poor, pretty pussy just doesn’t know what to do, hm? Can’t do anything but take it.”

Sweat trickles between your bodies, and it’s salty on your taste buds as you lick the spot below his ear.

You almost swear you hear him purr from the feel of your lips, and it makes your heart soar to know he’s so enamored.

“Show them,” he seethes, the blades of his shoulders rippling beneath your hands. “Show them how good it feels to be fucked right.”

Your head drops back, heavy from the weight of your lust before you manage to look toward the camera.

Already you can see the influx of comments about the man between your legs. Praising him, idolizing him, thirsting after him.

And with your eyes on the lens, you lift your mouth to his, sucking on his tongue with great purpose as you remind the audience who he really belongs to.

After all, his initials are emblazoned across your chest. His mark, his claim, his property.

Whether or not that follows you both outside of this room doesn’t matter. Right now, right here, in this moment…he is yours.

His hips snap forward and he’s losing the battle fast, unable to keep himself from fucking into you with a fervent need for release.

But you certainly don’t mind because the angrier he gets, the harder he goes…the more infatuated you become.

And he’s hitting that spot over and over and over. Like it’s his job, like he always knew where to find it, how to please you. Stars scatter behind your eyelids and you’re drenching his cock and the sheets and his fingers the moment they attach to your clit.

The room fills with sex and whimpers and determined thrusts that have the bed shaking. Nothing else exists but this. Just this. Just him.

“Come on,” he breathes, pinching you between his fingers, tweaking the sensitive nerves until you nearly scream. “Come on, Peach. Let go for Daddy. Let me feel you come on my cock.”

“Please,” you cry because it’s far too overstimulating for you to think straight. It almost hurts, and you writhe beneath his hand. “Please, can’t—”

“But you will,” he tuts, thumb pressing into your clit as though punishing it. “You will because you’re my good girl. Aren’t you? Do exactly what I say, don’t you?”

Your head rolls back into the pillows, spine arching as you whisper, “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He removes his arm from under your waist so he can go back up to your chest, pulling on your tit until tears actually gather in your lashes. “Go on, then. Fucking give it to me.”

You can feel the cool brush of his rings against your skin, but the moment you look down at his hands, it hits you.

Unraveling faster than you ever have, you clench around him, and finally release that scream. It’s the strongest one you believe you’ve ever experienced, and it seems to last an eternity as he continues fucking into you.

Then, his hand is on your jaw, tugging something fierce until your eyes meet.

“Look at me,” he whispers, knee still digging into your thigh as his weight keeps you caught in the pleasure. “Look at me, honey. Let me see you come.”

Tears fall from your cheeks and into his hands, almost burning your skin as you shudder around his cock.

You can see the repercussions of it on his face. Can see how connected you two have become in this singular moment.

He’s seconds away from following, and just when you begin to revel in the thought of feeling him fill you…he pulls out.

Straightening up, he takes his cock in his hand, and with a quick, firm pump, he comes all over your tits.

Nothing will ever be able to describe the wave of adoration you feel as you watch him release himself. The knitting of his eyebrows together in pure, unadulterated bliss or the flush in his cheeks as he groans.

His lips are so very pink and swollen, and the expression on his face, like something out of a museum. Structured and beautiful and the perfect showcase of exactly how good he feels right now.

And you watch as the nipple rings—his initials—are drenched in the sticky substance. It looks like art, painted across your chest in featherlike strokes.

The camera catches everything, allowing the audience the best view of his contribution. You imagine it’ll be something you’ll rewatch for years to come. A screenshot engraved in your mind for the rest of time.

You hum contently, eyelids growing heavy as you admire his work, and just when you think the moment is dwindling down, he dips down.

His tongue swipes over your breast, collecting himself on his lips as you groan and push up into his mouth.

He makes a noise himself, both hands gluing to your ribcage as he pulls you closer and keeps you still.

He licks at you like you’re a popsicle on a hot day, smearing his come over your skin, your lingerie set, and his chin.

“So good, Peach,” he murmurs between sucking your nipple into his mouth. “Could fucking stay here all day.”

Once again, your fingers brush through his curls, lazily this time. Almost as if trying to relax him. Thank him.

“Please do,” you whisper, almost as if to yourself, but the softening of his expression tells you he heard.

With one final kiss to your tit, he moves back up and takes hold of your jaw.

His fingers press into your cheeks, right beside your lips as a silent instruction for you to open.

You do, immediately sticking out your tongue for his offering as he leans down.

The spit and come dribble down deliciously slow but the moment they make contact, you whimper.

He keeps his hold on your face, watching as it sits in your mouth, seeming to enjoy the sight of your full submission.

Then, he squeezes. “Swallow.”

You do, quite greedily, and the second it’s down your throat, he’s kissing you again.

And it’s different this time because he’s no longer inside of you. No longer fucking you or showing off for the camera.

He’s kissing you just to kiss you and it makes your head spin as you disappear into his unspoken display of affection.

“My sweet girl,” he says against your lips, and it makes you smile. “Sweet like a peach, hm?”

You giggle into his cheek, nuzzling into him as though his touch is the only thing that can save you.

And maybe it is.

“Thank you,” you finally say, nipping at his earlobe until he smirks.

“For what?”

“I don’t know. Fucking me?”

He laughs as he smooths his palm down your side, drinking in your feverish body as the camera watches.

“Just trying to be a good business partner,” he retorts, and it makes your stomach flutter.

You lean back to meet his eye, already feeling sheepish. “Mr. Styles?”

“Hm?” His focus drifts to your forehead as he absentmindedly brushes back your hair.

“I wouldn’t be…opposed to doing that again,” you admit with a sheepish grin.

And for a moment, he’s amused, staring at you with a look you aren’t sure you recognize but absolutely adore.

Then, his smile falls, and a frown settles over his face. A sad kind of expression that changes the afternoon on a dime.

Suddenly, he’s sitting up and scooting back, tucking himself into his pants before snatching his shirt from the bed.

You watch, confused and a little unsure as he begins packing his things in the same way Max had.

“I’m…I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” you venture timidly, arms crossing over your chest in an attempt at covering.

He doesn’t reply. He simply turns off the camera and redoes his belt, eyes trained everywhere but you.

“I was just…I was kidding. We don’t have to do that again, I just…I thought—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is clipped. Short and straight to the point. He sounds the way he always does yet it makes your heart sink.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” you try again, but his head merely shakes.

“You didn’t.” Another vague and frustrating answer. “I just have somewhere I need to be.”

However, you know his schedule inside and out, personal and professional, and you know that he specifically kept today wide open.

Still, he pulls on his jacket and runs a hand through his hair, attention drifting toward the door. Eyeing his escape.

You bite back a sigh. “Uh…okay, well, thank you. Again. For your help.”

He nods, finally glancing over. But he’s not looking at you the way he was before. Now, it’s hollow. Void of any understanding and care. “I told you I’d help, and I meant it.”

“Right.” And now he’s done. “Sure, yeah. Okay. So I’ll…see you Monday?”

Another nod, this time quiet. You can see that he’d like to add something else, but his lips purse together, keeping his secrets locked away.

“Monday,” he finally repeats, moving for the exit. “I expect you to be on time.”

You stare at his back as he opens the door, silently pleading with him to turn around. To look at you one last time. Not leave like this.

He hesitates, hand gripping the handle, knuckles going white. He’s halfway into the hallway and your breath hitches.

Then, he disappears through the frame.

And the door slams shut.

ONE MORE PART, I WILL BE SOBBING TBH

Next Part:

~ Five to Go Live*

Previous Part:

~ Three to Make Ready*

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

~ Other Harry Blurbs

~ Full Masterlist

Credit for the incredible and perfectly peachy dividers to @firefly-graphics!!

And a shout-out to @fkinavocado for helping me plan! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobi @indierockgirrl @narry-heart @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @likeapplejuicenpeach @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever

(If your name is highlighted it's because Tumblr won't let me tag you, it's very weird and I don't understand it but I tried, I promise 😭💞)

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steviewashere · 3 months ago

Text

What's A Boy in Love Supposed To Do?

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Biphobia, Eddie Being Kind of an Asshole at First, Use of the Word Queer (But not as a Slur) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angry Steve Harrington, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Temporary Unrequited Love/Feeligns, Rejection, (But not completely because Eddie doesn't know how he feels yet), Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Confident Steve Harrington, Bitchy Steve Harrington, (And he deserves to be here), Eddie Munson Being an Idiot, Eddie Munson Figuring Things Out, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, (But He's Not in Love Yet), Mild Resolve, Dialogue Heavy, Author is Bisexual For @steddieangstyaugust Day 24 Prompt: "Go, see if I care." Title from "Oh l'amour" by Erasure

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈 “As flattered as I am, Steve, I don’t want to be somebody’s experiment.”

He blinks at Eddie. Rigid to the cushion he sits on. It’s an instantaneous reaction: the flush of his cheeks, the pull to his lips, the narrowing of his eyes. A rage, he doesn’t think he’s felt since Jonathan Byers and his camera, begins to fill him. Can feel it low in the pit of his stomach and pulsing in the center of his forehead.

The gall of this asshole, Steve thinks, I can’t believe this shit.

Steve clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. “Excuse me?” he asks thinly, “what the hell are you talking about?” His hands lay on his knees and squeeze harshly, fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth twists. A sharp breath shoots through his nose. He looks away from Steve’s face, shrugging. “I mean,” he says slowly, “I mean…you like girls, Steve. This could just be a fluke. Like a…like maybe you should put more thought into this.”

Can’t help himself, Steve scoffs loudly. “Genuinely, Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about? I come out to you, I tell you that I like you, and you—what—turn this around as if I’m stupid about my feelings?”

“I guess?” Eddie answers, honest in a way Steve thinks he shouldn’t be. “You’re just…you’re confused. You’ve got some wires crossed or something. Maybe it’s just because I share some features with Nancy. But you don’t like me, Steve. Not really.”

He’s honestly not sure how to respond to that. Part of him is wilted. Part of him is alive with fury and flames, with tension, and unease. This feeling through him is the thing he doesn’t know. Steve falls back into his seat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, and avoiding all of Eddie he’d be able to see.

“Can’t believe this,” Steve mutters, “can’t believe you’re treating me like this, too. Why does everybody think that.”

“What do you”—

“I’ve been to queer bars, y’know,” he explains bitterly, “been in there searching for people who catch my eye. Because, get this if you can, I’m not a picky person.” Steve glares daggers at Eddie. “Because, and if you can believe me on this, I know what I want. Surprising, I know. But you wouldn’t know that because you treat me like everybody does—like I’m some brainless fucking low-life who only knows how to use his dick and bat his eyes.

“I go out and tell these people at the bars that I’m bisexual. That I’m into guys, that I’m into girls. Tell ‘em that, yeah, I only have experience getting in bed with a girl. But it’s not like I’m not interested in that aspect with guys, too—I just haven’t had the chance, you understand me on that, I’m sure.” And that maybe hits a little too hard; knowing that Eddie’s gay and that his experience with sex is very limited. He continues, though, “Yet, as soon as I try and explain myself, I get pushed away. I get looked at all weird. One time, a guy told me I wasn’t queer enough to be with him. Like…what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Steve, I”—

He points a finger in Eddie’s face, hand shaking and palm sweating. “Don’t interrupt me. You came out to me and I listened all the way through; you get to hear me out, too.” Steve huffs. Draws his hand back towards his lap, immediately going to his habit of picking at his fingers. Trying to allocate the nerves he has, the ones that were so intense a few moments ago. “How queer do I have to be to want to kiss a guy?” he speaks rhetorically and quietly, “how queer do I have to be to appreciate the way they smile at me? Or…or how queer do I have to be to want to hold your hand, Eddie? Seriously. What’s it gonna take? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know that I want it? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know how much I already love you?

“Because I do, if you can believe that. I fell in love with you before I really had the words. And I fell in love with you before I came to the realization that I like guys, too. But I know my own feelings. I’ve been in love before, I think I can understand that part of me.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, eyes burning, throat stinging, and face flushing hot. “I wish I didn’t have to explain something I already know. But I guess I will for however long people question the authenticity of my sexuality. Including you, I guess.”

The room fills with tense silence after that. Air so hot and so thick, he can feel it heavy on his shoulders, weighing him further and further, and making him sink deep into the cushion underneath him.

Sure, this isn’t the first time he’s been rejected. Nancy did. Robin did. Now Eddie is. He’s been rejected by guys at the bars and clubs. Maybe he doesn’t have the whole knowledge or ‘etiquette’ to this yet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to learn. He wants to call a guy his baby, hook his finger into their belt loop, drag them into a dark corner and kiss them soundly and breathlessly. Wants to take a guy home at the end of the night and hold his hand as they figure out each other’s bodies. Kiss him in the morning, if the guy sticks around. Wants to relish in the scratch of facial hair on his sensitive skin.

He could see himself with men, that’s the thing. He knows that in his fantasies—whether it be imagining himself with the men in the centerfolds of gay magazines, or the daydreams of being in love with Freddie Mercury—that he’s completely comfortable with the thought of being with a man. Loves the thought of it so much, that he finally realized he wanted that with Eddie especially. Because a night-in with Eddie, watching a movie, arm around his back, cushioning his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, kissing each other slow and soft—all of that sounds like heaven, a dream that could animate and he could make real.

On the couch, distance between them, Steve’s never felt so far away from a dream of his. Even that initial daydream with Nancy sounds more probable than falling in love with Eddie slowly and surely. He sort of, really, hates that.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. “I don’t know what to say.”

An apology might be nice, Steve sourly thinks. He just shrugs, though. “I don’t know what I want you to say, so,” he states quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie give one sharp nod. “This is…a lot to take in. I should just leave.”

Of course. Run away, Eds. Run away like you always do. “Go. See if I care,” Steve murmurs. Face at his lap still, tears ready to spill down his cheeks. A part of him thinks that he’ll never see Eddie again. He doesn’t want that. But maybe…maybe it’s for the best? It’s the one thing he doesn’t know.

Eddie stands up, walks towards the door, but stops in the doorway to the living room. He raps his knuckles on the doorframe. Steve can’t help but look up. “I accept you,” Eddie says quietly, “even if it’s too easy to say or too easy to hear, but I do. Just let me have a little bit of time to think about your confession, Steve. I think I feel the same, but I want to be confident like you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

He inhales slowly and lets out a soft breath through his mouth. Steve wants a better apology, but one thing at a time, he supposes. It was hard when he figured things out for himself; it’s harder to hold a grudge against somebody doing the exact same thing. “If you find out you feel the same,” Steve says hopefully, “can we hold hands?”

“Stevie, when I’m confident about how I feel, we can do whatever you want. I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll have better words and a better apology, too.” He lets go of the doorframe, where he rested his hand after knocking on it. But before he can leave, he looks Steve directly in the eyes. Says, “And there’s no such thing as ‘queer enough’. You’re perfect as-is, Steve. I’m just stupid. And those other guys are complete assholes for not even attempting to get their heads out of their asses and go out with you.

“You deserve the world. And I want to give that to you.”

“Let’s cool off first.”

Eddie nods again, smiles small, and Steve returns it. “Yeah, we should do that,” he whispers. Lets out a deep sigh. Softly, “Take care of yourself tonight, okay? I’m sorry for…I’m sorry for being an ignorant pile of shit. I’m gonna do better, no matter how long it takes to prove myself to you.”

After that, Eddie lets himself out. And Steve lets him leave, doesn’t chase after him, even when every part of him panics about letting Eddie get away. But this is for the better, he thinks. Knows that not everything works itself better overnight. It’s a start, though. Not a satisfying one, but it’s the beginning of something.

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈

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