#my five-fingered hand was not prepared

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

ford pines would be so good at guitar hero though. if you've played guitar hero/rock band on difficulty level hard or above you know what I'm talking about

[voyter]

NNN (NO NUT NOVEMBER) ! ... thanksgiving special

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

jungkook and his friends are all in on the internet's most ridiculous trend: no nut november. but you’re determined to make your boyfriend lose — and you know just how to do it.

word count. 8.9k warnings. stupid fucking nnn challenge. JUNGKOOK IS SOOO DRAMATIC IN THIS OML. competitive koo. oc being petty as fuck. oc a brat hehe. jungkook cannot lie to save his life. he fighting demons in his head. needy koo. slight crack. smut. oral (fem!receiving). MUNCH JK. dry humping. blindfolding (very brief lasts like five seconds). koo loves her boobies. unprotected sex. dom!jk (i dont usually like writing him like this but i didnt hate it).

ana's notes. happy (very late) thanksgiving !!! BETTER LATE THAN NEVER RIGHT. this was supposed to be posted after thanksgiving but i got so busy and then the writers block crept up on me :\ .. ANYWAYS i am so grateful for you guys and the support you have shown for my writing, it means a lot since this is a hobby that i love. heres a little silly smutty fic for the holidays !! keep your comments positive or say nothing at all <3

There was this utterly ridiculous trend that resurfaced on the internet like clockwork every year – No Nut November.

The viral phenomenon was a joke. Honestly, who in their right mind would actually take part in such a thing?  

Well... Jungkook and his friends would. 

Never ones to back down from a challenge, they had turned the trend into a full-blown competition: the last man standing would walk away with a cash prize collected from everyone who failed. And Jungkook? He wasn’t about to lose. Not to his friends. Not to anyone.  

It wasn’t like he needed the money. Jungkook was doing just fine in that department, thank you very much. But the satisfaction of watching his friends begrudgingly hand over their hard earned cash, faces red with defeat? Fucking priceless. Count him in.

Unbeknownst to you, the bet was in full effect. Therefore, in preparation for what promised to be a painfully unfulfilling month, Jungkook made the most of Halloween night. His desire was overwhelming as he pulled you into his arms again and again. By the time you were both utterly spent, he’d taken you three times — round after relentless round, ensuring he had no regrets before the clock struck midnight.

It was all part of his plan: to have you as many times as he possibly could before November hit and he couldn’t have you at all. He was dead serious about this challenge. Winning was secondary — what mattered most was that he didn’t lose.  

By the first week of November — just five days in — Jungkook had been doing surprisingly well. His restraint was impressive, and he’d managed to keep his touches brief and calculated. The physical contact between you two had been limited to sweet, innocent moments: the kisses you shared when he left and came home from work, the soft pecks exchanged before falling asleep, or the comforting warmth of cuddling. None of it lingered too long, and Jungkook was acutely aware of how easily even the smallest touch could spiral into something much harder to resist.  

But Jungkook’s plan didn’t seem to work so well after all. As the week drew closer to its end, you began to get eager.  

Your arms would wrap around his waist from behind, your chest pressing against his back as you left featherlight kisses against the nape of his neck. Each one sent a shiver down his spine, your breath warm and teasing against his skin. Your fingers trailed along his arms and shoulders a little longer than usual, like they couldn’t bear to part from him. When you kissed him, your lips lingered just a second too long, brushing against his with a softness that made his heart pound and his resolve crumble.  

And Jungkook — poor, stubborn Jungkook — felt the strain of holding himself back with every passing moment.  

The tension in his body was unmistakable. His jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides, as if anchoring himself in place was the only way to resist you. But it was getting harder. Your every move — a tilt of your head, a brush of your fingers, the soft hum of your laughter — was a calculated test of his willpower.

There were times where his thumb hovered over the group chat. His mind screamed at him to type out the words, to admit defeat, to let it all go so he could have you the way he so desperately craved.  

But he didn’t.  

He kept his composure, though it was a battle he felt he was losing by the second. Temptation clung to him like a warm, enticing embrace, your every move a test of his self control. You were irresistible, and he knew it. Hell, even the fucking dickwad of a neighbor — the one who always found a reason to greet you while mugging Jungkook — knew it. But as much as he wanted to give in, Jungkook had to tread carefully. Ignoring you completely would be suspicious, and pulling away would be totally out of character. You’d see right through him.  

So he found a fine line to walk, a delicate balance: giving you just enough to keep you satisfied while keeping his own burning desires tightly in check. A heated makeout session here, his hand squeezing your ass there — little gestures that made everything feel normal. Just enough to keep you from noticing anything was off, but never enough to let things spiral out of control.  

The thought of explaining the ridiculous bet to you was out of the question — he wasn’t about to tell you he’d willingly signed up to not get his cock wet for a whole month. So instead, he silently resolved to endure.  

It wasn’t easy. Hell, it was torture. But the thought of losing to his friends? That was even worse. Their smug faces, the relentless teasing — it was unthinkable. Jungkook would rather give himself the worst case of blue balls imaginable than admit defeat.  

But just as the next week was about to begin, Jungkook’s willpower met its match.

At night, Jungkook stuck to his usual routine. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and climbed into bed. He scrolled aimlessly through his TikTok for you page, waiting for you to finish up in the bathroom and join him. It was the same comforting ritual as always.  

Usually, when you slipped into bed, he’d put his phone down immediately. Without a word, he’d shift closer, press his chest to your back, tangle your legs together, and throw a protective arm over your waist. It was an unspoken rhythm you both loved, the closeness of his warmth pulling you both into peaceful sleep.  

But tonight, something felt different.  

It had been a long week — too long. You hadn’t had him, hadn’t felt his touch, hadn’t been able to drown in the comfort of him. And tonight, the ache of missing him was unbearable. You needed him, desperately.  

As you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft light from the lamp illuminated him sprawled across the bed. His focus was on his phone, completely oblivious to you — but your attention was elsewhere.  

The thin material of his sweatpants did nothing to hide the outline of his cock, pressing firmly against the fabric as he lay there in complete ease. It was almost unfair how effortlessly attractive he looked.  

And just like that, the last of your restraint snapped.  

You didn’t even try to play coy. Not tonight. Not when every fiber of your being screamed for him, for his touch, for his warmth.  

You crawled onto the bed with purpose, straddling his hips in one smooth motion. Jungkook tensed beneath you, his phone slipping from his hand onto the mattress. His dark eyes met yours, wide with surprise, but the second your lips captured his, you felt him relax into the kiss.

It didn’t take long for your lips to wander. From his mouth to his jaw, each kiss slower and deeper than the last. That’s when he knew.  

This wasn’t going to end with a few kisses.  

“It’s getting late,” he murmured, his voice breathy, like he was trying to convince himself more than you.  

“Mhm,” you hummed, your lips trailing down his neck, suckling gently at the spot you knew made him shudder.  

“We should go to sleep,” he tried again, though his words sounded more like a plea than an order.  

“Don’t wanna,” you whispered against his skin, your hand sliding down between your bodies, cupping the hardening length beneath his sweatpants.  

The guttural moan that tore from his lips was instant, raw, and uncontrollable. His reaction was visceral, his hands flying to your hips to still you, but it was too late. That single touch had ignited something primal in him.  

With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back, his hands capturing your wrists and pinning them firmly above your head.

“Why do you never listen to me?” he said through clenched teeth. His frustration of trying to compose his restraint thinning. Why won’t you let him win? His face was so close to yours that the tip of his nose brushed against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips.  

“Love pissing you off,” you shot back, your grin wicked as your eyes gleamed with mischief. You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping into something softer, sultrier. “Makes me wet.”  

“Brat,” he spat. His grip on your wrists tightened just slightly, his jaw clenching as if holding himself back took everything he had.

To you, it was all in good fun — a playful game, harmless teasing. But to Jungkook? It was sweet, unrelenting torment. Every kiss you pressed to his skin, every soft laugh that spilled from your lips, and every calculated touch you offered worked to chip away at his resolve, unraveling him one agonizing piece at a time.  

He wanted to be strong, to resist, to uphold his own ridiculous self imposed boundaries. But how could he? How could he lay down beside you and simply go to sleep when your every movement, every sound, every look begged him to surrender? His body betrayed him first, drawn to you like a magnet, unable to keep his distance. The tension in his muscles, the sharp hitch of his breath every time you touched him — it all screamed of a man teetering on the edge of self control.  

Jungkook swallowed hard, his gaze flickering over you, taking in the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts innocent and dangerous. He hated how much you affected him, but at the same time, he craved it. Every fiber of his being ached for you — your warmth, your softness, the way you felt against him. He knew he was doomed the second you whispered his name, voice laced with need.  

Giving in wasn’t just inevitable; it was everything he wanted. And as much as he’d tried to fight it, there was no denying you. Not now, not ever.

“Fuck,” he whispers, his voice raw, laced with a pain so desperate it borders on pitiful. His head drops, forehead pressing against your sternum, his breath hot and uneven against your skin. It’s as if he’s trying to ground himself, clinging to the fragile threads of control slipping through his fingers.

For a moment, he stays there, his breath warm against your skin, his body taut with tension. Then, slowly, he lifts his head, meeting your gaze with eyes darkened by lust and want, swirling with a need so intense it makes your stomach all jittery. His cheeks are flushed, the faintest rosy tint blooming across his face and staining the tips of his ears. He looks utterly undone, vulnerable in a way that steals the air from your lungs.  

Before he could think twice, his lips crashed against yours in a feverish kiss, devouring you like you were his favorite candy — sweet, irresistible, and utterly addictive. He poured everything into that kiss, every ounce of frustration and need, as if losing himself in you was the only thing that mattered.  

His lips began to trail south, brushing along the curve of your jaw before dipping down to the sensitive hollow of your neck. Each press of his lips left a trail of heat on your skin, and your breath hitched, a soft sound that sent a rush of satisfaction through him. He didn’t stop, didn’t falter as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt — no, his shirt. You always stole his shirts for bed, and as much as he teased you about it, he loved seeing you in them.  

He pulled the fabric up, lifting it just beneath your chin and exposing your bare chest. Your breasts, freed from the confines of the shirt, bounced softly back into place, and Jungkook’s breath caught. His dark eyes locked onto the sight, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his hands instinctively cupped them, squeezing gently, pushing them together as if appreciating every inch of you.  

Unable to stop himself, he buried his face in the softness, his nose stuffed in between your tits, breathing you in like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.  

“Kook!” you giggled, your voice light and teasing, pulling him back just slightly from the haze of his desire. Your hands reached down, cupping his face and tilting it upward until his eyes met yours.

“Prettiest titties ever,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. He leaned forward to press a tender kiss to one breast, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your lips curved into a warm smile, and your thumb traced softly over the scar on the apple of his cheek. The tender moment was fleeting, though, as Jungkook’s mouth found its way to your chest, his lips wrapping around one of your nipples. His tongue flicked against the sensitive peak, drawing a sharp wave of pleasure through your body. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying — and failing — to stifle the moan that bubbled in your throat.  

Your hands moved instinctively, brushing back the dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. Your touch was soft, almost reverent, as you gazed down at him. The sight of Jungkook — cheeks flushed, lashes kissing his cheeks as he lost himself in you, his lips tugging gently at your sensitive flesh — made your heart race and your body ache with want.  

He let out a low hum against your skin, the vibration sending a delicious shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue swirled around your nipple with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion igniting sparks of pleasure that left you breathless. His focus was unrelenting, his attention on you so singular it made your toes curl. The warmth of his saliva mixed with the heat of your skin, creating a sensation that was utterly intoxicating.  

You let out a quiet gasp, your fingers tugging gently at his raven hair, earning a soft groan from him in response. Jungkook didn’t stop, his lips worshiping you like you were the only thing that mattered.  

But as his mouth continued its ministrations, Jungkook couldn’t ignore the ache building in him. His cock throbbed, painfully hard and straining against his sweats, begging for relief. The urge to push everything aside and lose himself in you was overwhelming.  

Maybe he could lose. Maybe he could just not tell them.

No. That wasn’t fair, and Jungkook hated lying — especially to his best friends.

But fuck, you weren’t making this easy for him.  

With your pretty, soft boobs. Your sweet, irresistible lips. The way you tasted, the way you sounded.

He released your nipple with an audible pop, leaving your skin glistening and flushed from his attention. His lips lingered, warm and damp, as if tethered by an invisible string, reluctant to part. Then, slowly, he began his descent, tracing a line of soft, deliberate kisses down your stomach. Each press of his lips was unhurried, almost worshipful, leaving a trail of fire in its wake as anticipation tightened in your core.  

When he reached the waistband of your panties, his movements paused. His lips hovered just above the fabric, warm breath teasing your skin. He glanced up at you, eyes hooded and dark with want, as if searching your face for permission to continue. The moment felt suspended, heavy with tension, before he shifted his attention lower, redirecting his kisses to the delicate, sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  

His pace was maddening, each kiss a whisper against your skin, igniting every nerve and sending shivers rippling through you. His lips barely grazed you, his touch so featherlight it felt almost cruel, building the pressure inside you until it was nearly unbearable.  

Then he saw it. The damp patch on your panties. His movements stilled for a moment, the sight pulling a soft moan from his lips, thick with need.  

"Fuck me," he muttered under his breath, as if meant more for himself than for you. His voice was strained, low and raw, betraying the war raging inside him.  

You were blissfully unaware of the full weight of his internal struggle, the impossible battle between his ironclad resolve and the magnetic pull of you beneath him. But for Jungkook, this wasn’t just lust; it was a consuming craving, threatening to shatter the very challenge he'd sworn to uphold.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his touch firm yet tantalizingly gentle as he began to slide them down your thighs. The soft fabric dragged against your skin with agonizing slowness, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. When the panties finally slipped off and landed somewhere forgotten on the floor, his gaze dropped to the apex of your thighs, and a deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest.

Your pussy glistened in the dim light, your slick coating your folds, the evidence of your desire laid bare before him. Jungkook's tongue darted out to wet his lips as impatience flickered in his eyes. Without hesitation, he leaned in, starting with slow, deliberate licks, savoring the taste of you like a man starving.

Your breath hitched, a shudder racing through you as you glanced down at him. His dark eyes locked with yours for a brief, smoldering moment before he closed his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently yet firmly.

A moan tore from your throat as your head tipped back, your fingers instinctively finding one of your breasts. You cupped the soft mound, your palm pressing into the supple flesh. The room filled with the sounds of your ragged breaths and the wet, sinful noises of his tongue working you over.

Jungkook's hand shot up, his fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist as he yanked it away from your breast. He possessively replaced your hand with his own. His large, tattooed hand cupped your tit, kneading the soft flesh with a firm yet reverent touch.

He lifted his head from between your thighs, his lips glistening with your slick, and his heated gaze met yours. Without a word, his free hand slid down, his middle and ring fingers gliding through your folds with expert precision. He paused for a moment, his fingers coated in your arousal, before pressing them slowly inside you.

Your breath hitched at the delicious stretch, your sopping wet heat greedily sucking him in with ease. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his throat as he watched your body respond to his touch.

“So fucking wet," he whispered, voice thick with lust. His fingers curled slightly, stroking your walls with an unrelenting precision that had your thighs trembling.

Jungkook leaned back down, his lips latching onto your clit with a hunger that made your thighs quiver. He sucked and flicked his tongue over your sensitive bud, the wet, rhythmic sounds driving you wild. His fingers continued to thrust in and out of you, the steady, deliberate pace sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as he curled them just right, hitting that spot that made you see stars.  

His other hand stayed on your breast, groping and kneading with a firm possessiveness that left you aching for more. His thumb brushed over your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.  

He was everywhere — on you, in you, surrounding you. The intensity of his touch, his mouth, and his presence consumed you entirely, leaving you trembling under him as he worked your body like he was born to do it. You could feel the tension building, the coiling heat low in your belly threatening to snap as he devoured you like a man obsessed.

“Baby,” you whimper, your voice trembling, raw with need as your fingers twist into the sheets beneath you. “G- gonna cum.”  

Jungkook doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down or falter. If anything, your words fuel him, igniting something feral inside him. He needs this — needs to feel you fall apart on his tongue, to taste every shiver and moan you can give him before he has to deny you for the rest of this painfully long month.  

A low hum vibrates against your clit, and the sensation sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your body arching instinctively toward him. His tongue moves faster now, precise and unrelenting, flicking and circling as if the very act is his lifeline.  

His fingers thrust into you, curling just right, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs tremble and your vision blur. The rhythm is perfect, practiced, like he’s mapping your body by memory, knowing exactly how to coax you to the edge.  

Another hum escapes his throat, deeper this time, resonating against you with an intensity that feels almost like a plea — an unspoken command for you to let go, to surrender completely to the pressure building inside you.  

And with each stroke of his tongue and every curl of his fingers, he pushes you closer, until you’re teetering on the brink, your body burning with the promise of release.

His hand on your breast squeezes more firmly, his thumb flicking and pinching your nipple with just the right pressure, as if he knows exactly how to push you over the edge. Your hand shoots up to grab his wrist, your nails digging into his skin, while your other hand fists the sheets desperately.  

Your head tips back, lips parting in a silent, breathless moan as the tension inside you finally snaps. Your thighs instinctively begin to close around Jungkook’s head, trembling as your release crashes over you in wave after blissful wave.  

Your body shakes beneath him, overcome by the force of your orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t stop. His mouth continues its sinful work on your clit, sucking and licking with unrelenting precision, while his fingers maintain their steady thrusts.

Despite the painful, throbbing ache of his cock, Jungkook finds a twisted kind of satisfaction in giving you pleasure. The way your body arches, the sounds you make, the way your nails dig into the sheets — it’s intoxicating. It fuels him, spurring him on as though your ecstasy alone is enough to soothe his own torment.  

He doesn’t want to stop. Not when you’re trembling beneath him, your body so responsive to his every touch. But there’s a limit to how much you can take, and he knows it. As much as he loves pushing you to the edge, watching as you surrender completely to him, overstimulation begins to creep in, your soft whimpers turning into desperate little gasps.  

Still, there’s a reluctance in him, a battle between the unyielding need to give you more and the understanding that your body can only handle so much. Even as you writhe beneath him, pleading for reprieve, there’s a part of him that aches to keep going, to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer.  

But he’s Jungkook, and if there’s one thing he values more than his own desires, it’s you. The sight of you trembling, your chest heaving as you fight to steady your breath, tugs at something deeper within him. He takes a deep breath, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, and finally, he pulls back.  

His lips and chin are glistening with your slick, a sinful testament to his devotion. He doesn’t bother wiping it away; instead, he leans over you, his eyes dark and heavy with satisfaction as they roam your flushed face. 

“Munch,” you giggle, your voice soft and teasing as your fingers brush his hair back from his forehead.  

Jungkook chuckles, the sound deep and warm, scrunching his nose in playful protest. His pretty bunny-like teeth peek out in a smile so endearing it makes your heart skip a beat.  

Unable to resist, you lean in, pressing your lips against his. Your tongue brushes against his, exploring him as the taste of you still lingers on his lips. The kiss grows deeper, more heated, and you feel his hard-on pressing insistently against your thigh.  

Without a second thought, your hand slides down, grabbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. He groans softly against your mouth, the sound vibrating between you.  

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, breaking the kiss as he pulls away, the warmth of his lip still lingering on yours. He stands, his movements abrupt, leaving you breathless on the bed. His lips, swollen and glistening faintly in the dim light, speak to the intensity of your embrace, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours. Instead, it darts away, like a guilty child caught red-handed. He scratches the back of his head, his posture stiff as he moves toward the bathroom door. “I think I’m gonna go shower,” he blurts out, the tension in his voice betraying his attempt at casualness.

Shower? Now? Really? His dick is literally straining against his sweats, the outline unmistakable, practically begging for attention. You can still feel the heat of him pressed against you, the way he twitched beneath you just moments ago.

He’s not serious. There’s absolutely no fucking way.

“What?” Genuine confusion coats your tone, your brows furrowed. “You always shower in the mornings.”  

“I- I know, baby,” he stammers, his pitch climbing an octave as his composure unravels faster than a poorly wrapped gift. Panic flashes in his wide eyes, and his mouth hangs open, grasping for an excuse he clearly doesn’t have.  

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask, your softer now, a thread of worry weaving through your tone. You sit up, the oversized shirt you’d stolen from him slipping down your chest, covering your boobs he wished he could stare at for just a second longer. “Is something going on?”

“I-” His eyes dart around the room like the answer might be written on the walls. “I’m just tired.”  

Your brow arches, skepticism written all over your face. “Tired?” you echo, your face scrunching in disbelief. “You’ve never not wanted to have sex.”  

Jungkook visibly winces, his ears turning a bright shade of red. Rising from the bed like it might help, he sits at the edge, his hand nervously brushing your shin. “I- I had a long day at work.”

You tilt your head. “But you love having sex after a long day,” you say, your voice tinged with confusion. “Jungkook, seriously… what’s wrong?”  

He freezes, like a deer caught in headlights, his lips parting in silent panic. “Nothing!” he squeaks, his voice cracking. 

You lean closer, your suspicion mounting. “Well it’s clearly something! Do I not smell good?”  

His head whips toward you, his face a mixture of offense and horror. “What? You smell amazing!” he practically yells, his voice high-pitched. “Honey, I could eat you all day if you’d let me!” 

“Then why are you running off like this?”  

“I’m not running!” he protests, though the crack in his voice suggests otherwise. “I just- uh- need to clear my head!”  

“Clear your head?” you ask, squinting at him. “From what?”  

“All the thinking I’ve been doing!” he exclaims, clearly grasping at straws. “It’s... exhausting.”  

You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “Thinking about what?”  

His mouth opens, but words fail him. After a moment of floundering, he groans, throwing his head back and covering his face with his hands. “You’re impossible,” he mumbles, his voice muffled behind his palms.  

“And you’re a terrible liar,” you fire back. “Spill it. What’s really going on?”  

He exhales deeply, dragging his hands down his face in defeat before clasping them together in front of him as if in prayer. His eyes squeeze shut, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’m trying so hard right now,” he mutters finally, his voice low and desperate, “and you’re not making it easy.”  

“Trying hard to what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued. 

“To not combust right now!” he exclaims, his voice rough with need. His eyes snap open, locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “You’re killing me, babe. Just... let me shower first, and then let’s just have a good night, okay?” His breath hitches, barely able to keep his composure as he watches you, a mixture of desperation and affection in his gaze. 

You blink at him, your mouth slightly open, trying to piece together his words. Before you can say anything, he kisses you once more, the movement rushed and almost sheepish.  

“Go to bed, honey,” he says, practically bolting for the bathroom. “I love you!”  

The door shut behind him with a sharp, decisive click, followed by the distinct sound of the lock turning. It was jarring — Jungkook never locked the door. There was no reason to; it was just the two of you living together, no one else to intrude. The realization sank in quickly, a bitter confirmation that this time, he was actively shutting you out, trying to keep you from coming in and uncovering whatever was weighing on him. You sat there, frozen, staring at the closed door in stunned silence.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear — you weren’t letting this slide. You were going to figure out what was going on with your boyfriend if it was the last thing you did.

After that night, you kept your distance.

Jungkook hated it. He hated the silence, the lack of your warmth, the way you avoided his touch. But he couldn’t blame you. He knew he was the root of the problem — he had fucked up that night. He should’ve been smoother, handled it better, but he completely blew it. Jungkook was good at many things. Lying was not one of them.

For a few days, you gave him the silent treatment. When he leaned in for a kiss before heading to work, you turned your face, leaving him with nothing but a peck on your cheek. The lack of communication was agonizing, eating away at him every time he caught your cold glances. But you were petty as fuck, and he knew it. You weren’t about to kiss his ass — not when it was obvious he’d lied to you that night. If he didn’t want to talk to you, then you weren’t going to talk to him.

When you were alone — at work, lying in bed, or just lost in thought — your mind spiraled. What could he possibly be hiding? The thought haunted you, gnawing at the edges of your sanity. Was he cheating on you? The idea felt impossible, unthinkable. Your Jungkook would never… or at least, that’s what you wanted to believe. But his strange behavior, the evasiveness, planted seeds of doubt you couldn’t ignore. The very thought made you feel sick to your stomach, but the ache of curiosity refused to leave you alone.

You needed answers. And if Jungkook wasn’t going to give them to you, you decided to go to the one person who knew him best.

you [3:15 pm]: what is wrong with my boyfriend ??

jimin [3:17 pm]: That sounds like a question you should be asking your boyfriend, don't you think?

you [3:17 pm]: I KNOW YOU KNOW SOMETHING.

jimin [3:18 pm]: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???

you [3:18 pm]: whats her name

jimin [3:18 pm]: Who??

you [3:19 pm]: HIS SIDE BITCH

jimin [3:19 pm]: GIRL WHAT

jimin [3:19 pm]: You think he’s cheating on you?

you [3:23 pm]: is he ?? just tell me so i can save myself the humiliation pls

jimin [3:23 pm]: Bro no he would never

jimin [3:23 pm]: I’d chop his dick off and then kill the girl if he did

jimin [3:23 pm]: What makes you even think that in the first place?

you [3:24 pm]: hes acting weirdddd :(

you [3:24 pm]: i was trying to fuck him a few nights ago but he wouldnt let me touch him

jimin [3:25 pm]: First of all ew

jimin [3:25 pm]: Second of all

you [3:28 pm]: SECOND OF ALL ????

jimin [3:30 pm]: 😂😂😂

If you weren’t pissed at Jungkook before, you definitely were now.

After talking to Jimin, you finally learned the truth about the challenge. It wasn’t even the fact that Jungkook had hidden it from you that irritated you most — it was the challenge itself and his ridiculous competitive spirit. Why did he have to be such a sore loser?

According to Jimin, five of the seven participants had already been knocked out. Seokjin and Yoongi, being married men, didn’t stand a chance — they were bound to lose. Namjoon, like Jungkook, was in a committed relationship, but unlike him, Namjoon had the good sense not to put himself through that kind of pain just to preserve his pride. Hoseok and Taehyung? They were notorious party addicts — losing was inevitable for them. 

Now, it was down to just Jungkook and Jimin. And, of course, Jungkook’s competitive streak wouldn’t let him back down, no matter how ridiculous the stakes were. The thought made your blood boil. How could he have dragged himself — and by extension, you — into this mess?

You didn’t confront Jungkook about what you’d learned from Jimin, though you did drop the silent treatment act. Instead, you decided to take a different approach — one far more devious than simply ignoring him.  

Even with the heater running, the November chill still lingered in the air, but it didn’t stop you from dressing provocatively around the apartment. You roamed in short shorts, sometimes just your underwear, paired with a silk camisole that left little to the imagination. The thin fabric did nothing to hide your hard nipples, which poked against the material as you moved about. Jungkook would notice, of course — he’d grope your ass or give you a quick kiss goodbye before heading to work — but that was it.  

When he was away, whether at work or hanging out with his friends, you upped the ante. You sent him pictures of yourself in matching lingerie sets, always in his favorite color, knowing how much he loved them. Sometimes you sent something more daring — nudes that left nothing to the imagination. Usually, those photos had him texting back immediately, promising to deal with you as soon as he got home.  

But this time, his responses were different. Short. Terse. Instead of giving in, he’d simply tell you to stop.  

Frustration boiled over each time you read his dismissive replies. You groaned and threw your phone onto the bed in defeat. Why wouldn’t he just give in already? You wanted him so badly, and you refused to even touch yourself because what you craved was him — his hands, his mouth, his dick.  

If teasing him over the phone wasn’t working, you decided it was time to take things up a notch. One night, when you heard the shower running, you didn’t hesitate. Stripping off your clothes, you quietly stepped into the bathroom. The steam swirled around you as you opened the shower door and stepped in.  

Jungkook froze the moment he saw you. His wide eyes scanned you from head to toe, lingering on your curves as if he hadn’t seen them countless times before. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving as his restraint wavered. Then, with a groan of frustration, he threw his head back against the shower wall, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the temptation in front of him.  

Don’t give in. Don’t give in. Don’t give in. 

Despite his impressive self-control, his body betrayed him. His cock stood stiff and proud between you, a silent plea for attention. But no matter how much you pressed closer, your skin grazing his, or how boldly you touched yourself in front of him, he didn’t break.  

With a stoic determination that only fueled your frustration, he focused on washing off, his movements precise and distant, as though ignoring the tension hanging thick in the air. And just when you hoped he’d finally push past his limits, he’d step out of the shower, leaving you behind in the steam, your desire unfulfilled.

It was maddening. Teasing him was supposed to work — it always worked. And while you were determined to push him until he snapped, you had to admit, his composure was far better than you’d anticipated.

It was just days before Thanksgiving, which meant this painfully long month was finally nearing its end. But you were done waiting. Done teasing. The ache in your body had grown unbearable, a constant, gnawing need for him that no amount of patience could soothe.  

You were going to have him tonight, or you were going to actually die.  

Jungkook had a day off tomorrow, so he was sprawled on the couch, completely absorbed in his Nintendo game. His focus was unwavering, his brows furrowed in concentration as the soft clicks of the buttons filled the room.  

Dressed in a matching lacy black set that left little to the imagination, you moved silently behind him, your determination unwavering. Gently, you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, your fingertips tracing soft patterns over the fabric of his shirt. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance up, much too engrossed in the virtual world on his screen.  

But then you leaned down, your lips brushing against the side of his neck. The soft, teasing kisses trailed along his skin, featherlight yet deliberate, leaving a warm path behind. You felt the slightest hitch in his breathing, a telltale sign that despite his effort to remain focused, you were beginning to unravel him.

His eyes fluttered shut, his focus on the game completely shattered as his head tipped to the side, exposing more of his neck to your eager lips. His lips parted, heavy breaths escaping him, each exhale laced with a vulnerability you rarely saw.  

“Baby…” he moaned breathily, his voice low and strained, warning you.  

“Shh,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. Your voice was soft, commanding, and it sent a shiver rippling through him. You felt his resolve beginning to crack, the tension in his body shifting as your hands slid down, teasing the line between tenderness and temptation.

Pulling away, you reached for the tie you had stolen from his drawer earlier. With a deliberate slowness, you brought it up to his eyes, slipping it over and covering his vision.  

“What-” he began, his voice tinged with confusion as his hands instinctively moved to stop you.  

But you were quicker, gripping his wrists to still him. Leaning in close, your lips brushed against his ear as you whispered, “I know about your stupid challenge, Jungkook.”  

His body tensed beneath you, the air between you heavy with tension. His breaths came uneven now, a mixture of guilt, surprise, and something else simmering just beneath the surface.  

“Let me explain-” he started, his voice edged with desperation.  

“No,” you cut him off, your tone firm but quiet. “It’s too late for that now.”  

You secured the tie around his eyes, knotting it with careful precision. The soft fabric sat snugly against his skin, cloaking his vision completely. His lips parted as if to protest, but he stopped himself, seemingly caught between resisting and surrendering to whatever you had planned.

Rounding the couch, you reached down and plucked the device from his hands, setting it aside on the coffee table without a second thought. His body went rigid beneath you, his breath hitching as you settled in. The unmistakable hardness of his cock pressed against you, igniting a spark of satisfaction that curled your lips into a smirk. Slowly, you began to move, rocking your hips against his in steady, purposeful motions, grinding into him just enough to draw a reaction. 

“Do you know how much I missed you, Kook?” you murmured, your voice dripping with need as your lips hovered near his ear. “Missed your pretty cock… my fingers could never give me the satisfaction you do.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the silver of his piercings glinting under the warm light, drawing your eyes like a magnet. That perfect little mole just beneath his lip was on full display, a teasing reminder of how irresistible he looked like this — teetering on the edge of control.  

His lips parted as a soft, breathy moan escaped, the sound low and unrestrained. It sent a shiver straight through you. His hands, no longer hesitant, slid to your hips, gripping firmly as he guided your movements. Each roll of your hips against his was deliberate, his touch coaxing you to grind harder, deeper, until the friction was almost too much to bear.

You hooked a finger into the fabric covering his eyes, tugging it free with a teasing slowness. His lashes fluttered as he blinked, his vision gradually clearing — and then he saw you. Nothing but his favorite set of yours graced your body, clinging to your curves in all the right ways.  

A low, breathless please escaped his lips, muttered more to himself than to you, as if trying desperately to maintain his composure. His eyes squeezed shut, and he turned his head away, a feeble attempt to resist you.  

But you weren’t having that. Your hand shot out, firm but gentle, cupping his chin and turning his face back toward you. His eyes snapped open, dark and hungry, as you reached behind you, unclasping the delicate hook of your bra. The straps slipped from your arms, the fabric discarded behind you without a care.  

Your hands came up, cupping your bare breasts, teasing yourself as his gaze darkened. His restraint frayed before your eyes as his hips bucked up into yours, seeking friction, a desperate need taking over. His jaw tightened, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips, a clear sign of how much he craved you.  

Those should be his hands, not yours.

His hand twitched, reaching out instinctively, but you caught his wrist, guiding it purposefully down your body. Your gaze never wavered from his, locking him in place as you slid his hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. His fingers pressed against the soaked fabric, and his breath hitched when he felt just how wet you were. The slickness coated your plush lips, a testament to how badly you wanted him.  

“Honey…” he warned, his voice shaky and breathless, teetering on the edge of control.  

“Please, Kook,” you whispered, your tone laced with desperation. “Fuck me tonight, or I’ll lose my mind. It’s been weeks. Don’t you miss me as much as I miss you?”  

Your plea hung between you, thick with need and longing. His jaw clenched, and you could see the internal battle playing out in his dark eyes as his fingers twitched against you, his restraint unraveling with each passing second.

How was he supposed to get up and walk away with his cock straining painfully against his sweats, and you like this, laid out before him? His hand was still buried in your underwear, fingers sliding effortlessly over your slick folds, forming a V as they trailed up and found your clit. His jaw clenched at the way your body shuddered beneath his touch, the quiet moan slipping from your lips like a siren’s call.  

And then there was you — your smaller hands kneading your soft, perfect tits, the ones he loved so much, the sight alone nearly undoing him. The way you whimpered, the way your body responded to him, had his restraint crumbling to dust.  

This was it — his breaking point.  

He didn’t care about the fucking challenge anymore. Nothing mattered except you.

It was like a switch flipped inside him. In a sudden, fluid motion, he grabbed your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he laid you down on the couch. His broad frame hovered above you, the way you’d missed for so long. His dark eyes were locked onto yours, blazing with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. 

He didn’t waste time. You were already soaked, your body more than ready for him. No need for extra preparation — he knew he’d slide right in. With one hand, he freed his cock, giving it a few languid strokes, his eyes never leaving yours. He hooked a finger under the edge of your panties, tugging them to the side, baring your pretty, dripping pussy. He couldn’t wait to get inside it. The flushed tip glistened, teasing your entrance for a heartbeat before he pressed forward, the head sinking in.  

A sharp gasp escaped both your lips, the shared sensation so overwhelming it felt as if you were experiencing each other for the first time all over again. Jungkook moved slowly at first, his cock stretching you inch by inch, filling you with deliberate care. His brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as he savored every moment, every inch of warmth he’d been denying himself for far too long. 

But restraint wasn’t his strong suit tonight. The need coursing through him was too much to bear. His movements quickened, his hips snapping forward with purpose. The wet, obscene sounds of skin meeting skin filled the room as his pelvis slapped against the back of your thighs. The steady rhythm of his thrusts deepened, each one more urgent than the last, driving both of you closer to the edge.

His upper body lifted off of you, and with a swift motion, he pulled his shirt over his head. The sight of his broad, muscular frame sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. He was absolutely stunning, every inch of him on display — his skin glowing under the dim light.  

His arm was covered in intricate tattoos, the ink curling around his bicep like a story you wanted to read. His chest was thick and broad, with a layer of muscle that made your fingers itch to trace every curve. His arms were solid and meaty, a strength you could feel even from just looking at him.  

You couldn’t help yourself. Your hand moved instinctively, running down the defined lines of his chest, your fingers grazing over the hard muscles of his stomach. His abs flexed beneath your touch, tense and firm, the warmth of his skin sending a wave of desire crashing through you. The simple touch made you want more, made you crave everything he had to offer.

But now it was Jungkook's turn to take control. With a swift motion, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he seized your other arm and pinned it above your head. The dominance in his touch was undeniable, and you knew exactly what that meant. He always did this when he wanted to take over, to remind you who was in charge.  

His hands moved quickly, grabbing one of your legs and effortlessly throwing it over his shoulder. You gasped at the sudden shift, your body bent in half, your chest pressed against him, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. His face hovered just inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin as he studied you.  

A small whimper escaped your lips at the stretch, your body not as flexible as you'd like, but that discomfort was fleeting. It quickly morphed into something else — pleasure, intense and consuming — as his brutal thrusts began again, filling you completely.  

He was relentless, each movement pulling another gasp from you. His breath came out in ragged bursts, his voice low and laced with command. "You never listen to me, do you? Huh, you brat?" His words were a breathy growl, like a warning. "Just had to get fucked."

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your mind completely consumed by the overwhelming pleasure. Every inch of your body was alive with sensation, making it impossible to form coherent thoughts. Instead, soft moans and breathless hums spilled from your lips, your chest rising and falling rapidly as his thrusts deepened, each one hitting you harder than the last.  

Your body arched into him instinctively, eager to feel more, to give in to the rhythm he set. The tension was building, spiraling higher and higher with each movement, each sound leaving your mouth a mix of pleasure and need. You couldn’t think, couldn’t focus on anything but the way he was making you feel, his hands and his body taking you exactly how he wanted.

"You made this so hard for me, baby." His voice was breathless, low and laced with desire as his thrusts didn’t falter. "Can’t resist you. Too fucking pretty to not touch." He spoke as though he couldn’t control himself, his words slipping out between harsh breaths, his hands gripping your body with barely restrained urgency.

“M’already so close, Kook,” you moaned, your voice shaky with the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you. The pressure inside you was building, so close to release, but you needed him to push you over the edge.

“Yeah?” His gaze darkened, his hips snapping into yours with even more force. “Show me. Let me feel you, please.” His words were more than a plea — they were a command, a desperate need for you to let go so he could feel every inch of your pleasure. It’s been so long since he felt you. He wants to feel you. Needs to feel you.

With each punishing thrust, your breasts bounce uncontrollably, catching Jungkook's undivided attention. His hooded eyes are glued to them, pupils blown wide with lust, as if he's seeing something so utterly captivating it leaves him in a trance. The way they move, the way your body responds to him — it’s driving him wild. His tongue flicks over his lips as he lets out a low groan, jaw tightening, the need to mark you overwhelming every coherent thought.  

You gasp sharply, a broken moan escaping your lips as your orgasm slams into you with ferocious intensity. Your body arches off the couch, your hands still pinned above your head as waves of euphoria ripple through you. Your head tilts back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of your neck, and your chest heaves as you ride out the high.  

Jungkook growls when he feels your walls clench down on him, the tight grip almost sending him over the edge. “Oh, yeah,” he rasps, voice rough and deep, his hips grinding against you. “That’s it. Just like that... so fucking good.”  

But he doesn’t slow down. If anything, his pace quickens, the desperate need for his own release taking over. Each thrust is brutal, precise, and deliberate, as if he’s claiming every part of you, chasing that high he knows is just within reach. His grip on your hips is bruising, holding you in place as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing in the room.  

Finally, with a strained groan, he pulls out abruptly, his cock slick and throbbing in his hand. He strokes himself hard, the sight of your trembling, sweat slick body beneath him sending him over the edge. His release comes in hot, thick ropes, splattering across your stomach and tits in messy, deliberate streaks.  

He lets out a guttural moan, chest heaving as he watches his cum paint you like a masterpiece, dripping down your skin in glistening trails. His hand slows, and his eyes never leave the sight of you — glistening, marked, and utterly his.

Once he milks every last drop of his release, he does something that shouldn't be as devastatingly sexy as it is. Leaning down, his gaze locked onto yours with a feral intensity, he drags his tongue in a slow, deliberate stripe up your stomach, collecting his own cum. The heat of his mouth follows, traveling upward until he captures a nipple between his lips, sucking and swirling his tongue with maddening precision.

You giggle, your face flushing with heat as he releases your nipple and makes his way up to your lips. The moment his mouth connects with yours, you taste his cum on his tongue, and you can't help but moan softly into the kiss. He pulls back, resting his head on your chest with a contented sigh.

“Can’t believe you made me lose. I was so close,” he sulks, his voice laced with playful frustration.

“Jimin texted me. He gave in yesterday. You won,” you tease, your fingers softly running through his hair.

His head shoots up quickly, eyes wide like a dog hearing its name. “Seriously?”

You nod, giggling softly at his excitement.

Without warning, he stands up from the couch, pulling you with him. He scoops you up by your thighs, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

You squeal, half-laughing, half-terrified, “What are you doing?!”

“Making up,” he grins, his voice low with promise as he strides toward the bedroom. “I’m gonna fuck you all night.”

The door clicks shut behind you, the remnants of your clothes scattered haphazardly in the living room, and the night unfurls into a whirlwind of heated kisses and passion that sweeps you both away. Jungkook’s teasing words and touch keep you on edge, but it’s the way he makes you feel — desired, cherished, and completely consumed by him — that transforms the night into something unforgettable. 

You knew that this Friendsgiving would be one for the books. Jungkook wasn’t going to let any of the guys forget it. Always the bragger, that one. He’d be sure to shove it in their faces every chance he got.

And he might have won the bet, but it’s you who’s the true victor tonight.

© voyter 2024, all rights reserved.

[simpjaes]

EROTIC EMPATHY (s.jy)

Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Nope. Are you about to? Yep. or the one where jake has a streak of bad luck in bed and his friends make fun of him for it, you find him advertising himself on a dating app and decide to help him out. 

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it

WORDCOUNT― 12.7k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader 

CONTENT― virgin guy who lives with his parents!jake, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that, facetime-sex, real life sex

SIDE CHARACTERS― jay as reader’s best friend and roommate, heeseung briefly as jake’s friend.

NOTE― if you've read this before it's because im the person who wrote it [ncteez] and im revamping it for jake, pls don't send me messages on either account about stealing a work that's already mine!

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags―big huge dick jake, phone sex (ish), face time sex,  masturbation, pet name: baby, making out, he eats you out twice, fingering, whining and whimpering, deep throating, premature ejaculation, desperate man wants his dick wet lmao, grinding, tit fondling/licking, clit stimulation, he bites the fuck out of his tongue to try and distract himself from coming too soon again,  no condom aka cream pie, jake gets feelings like immediately when u touch him

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Check this shit out,” you laugh, presenting your phone to Jay with a chuckle. “yes or no?”

Jay snorts, nearly spitting out the bite of food in his mouth as he reads the bio of the man you’re showing to him.

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend. 

You wave him off with an apologetic look. To be fair, the dude from before knew how to make a girl moan, it’s not your fault that you managed to find a decent lay in this city. Even if he ghosted you, you assume you may have been a bad lay for him, if anything. 

“I wouldn’t mind trying something new, dude seems desperate.” You swipe through his photos, seeing that he appears to be just a normal dude with normal interests. “He’s cute too, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Jay groans this time, slapping a hand to his forehead and glaring at you. 

“You’d better warn me if you end up bringing him home, I’m not about to listen to some guy start crying over a blowjob.”

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you’re out of the apartment if I invite him over,” You wiggle your brows as you stand to your feet and turn toward your room, eyes now glued to the open dating app’s messages. “Maybe you should go out and find a nice girl to rail to get back at me.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Jay laughs but feels kind of shitty because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get back at you for the loud sex. Guess he just doesn’t have the magic dick to make girls moan the same way you do.

Not that he wants to make you moan or anything, he definitely doesn’t. If anything, he wishes you were more like the girls he brings home.

Fucking quiet.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i’ve never seen a virgin grandpa on this app before 

Jake: ….i’m 21, it says that in my bio

You: I think you’re lying. 

Jake: do u know how to change it, my bitch friends won't tell me lol

You: why would i help you lie to other women

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

You laugh to yourself as you text the new sex interest in your life, wondering if he’s lying about his presumed virginity. 

You: ok, twenty-one-year-old “jaeyun” who is five miles away from me, you’re actually a virgin? Like for real?

Jake: yea….are u here to make fun of me for it too? all the girls here just turn me down even if i offer to cook for them after

Jake: maybe it's the playlists idk

You: send me the playlist

Jake: [spotify link to a playlist titled “NUT”] 

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you. 

You: surely it’s not your playlist…….

You: anyway

You: you’re really just looking to get laid for the first time, like, ever? and you’re offering to cook dinner too?

Jake: yea

You: you’ve never had a blowjob or anything like that? you can’t seriously think I can believe you’ve never been laid, it’s not like you’re ugly or anything

Jake: u don’t think im ugly? :) 

Jake: and yea I’ve had a blowjob before

You: why didn’t you sleep with her then?

Jake: can we stop talking about why im a virgin

You: sure but you know im gonna bring it up again, right?

You’re smiling at your phone, finding him charming and awkward in how he communicates with you via messenger. Of course, you’re curious as to why he’s a virgin, even more, curious as to why he’s on a dating app looking to lose said virginity. 

You: do you want my number? it’s embarrassing to have the app open in public if i wanna talk to you.

Jake, on the other hand, is quite literally kicking his feet and checking your profile every few minutes just to look at you. He didn’t even think too hard about you calling him attractive then not following up on it, because the fact that you just offered your number to him in case you want to talk to him? Butterflies. Given, it’s juvenile for someone of his age to still be experiencing the typical high-school crush feelings, would anyone blame him? It’s just how he is, with or without having had sex. He can’t imagine not feeling giddy inside when he’s talking to someone that he thinks is pretty. 

Jake: yea :) u can text me whenever [redacted phone number] 

You respond to him by texting his number rather than using the app messenger, screenshotting his contact info, and sending it to him with a sly smile. 

You: [screen shot// contact name: grandpa jake] 

Grandpa Jake: :| 

Grandpa Jake: im 21

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him. 

You: it’s been like four days since we started talking

Grandpa Jake: yep, almost five

You: four days of being friends but no mention of your bio on the app, yknow, where you’re begging to have sex for the first time ever?

Grandpa Jake: right, yea. you wanna do it? i didn’t wanna assume lol

You: not answering that til you explain why. i mean, it’s totally ok that you are but like, you’re a green flag all around so im a little worried you might have like a micropenis or something

Disclaimer, if he had a micropenis, you’d still let him use it on you. After all, hooking up is something you enjoy doing regardless of size.

Grandpa Jake: i do NOT have a micropenis

You: prove it

Grandpa Jake: right now???

You laugh to yourself but also like, it’s the first time the two of you have done anything more than bully each other. Or rather, you bully him and he defends himself constantly. 

You: answer my question first

It takes a few minutes for him to respond, but you’re doing coursework anyway so it’s not a huge deal. Totally not like your ears perk up and a smile creeps across your face every time your phone goes off or anything. Definitely not. 

Grandpa Jake: um… i still live with my parents and before u make fun of me for that pls understand that its not like i wanna be here 

Grandpa Jake: i have a job and everything!!! im not a mooch!

He’s getting off track again. You could honestly care less if he still lives with his parents. You wish you still lived with yours, to save money at least. 

You: they won’t let you have anyone over? 

Grandpa Jake: well, that too but 

Grandpa Jake: listen this sounds real stupid but it just never happened? even when i tried or things almost happened, it never did

You: damn, you’re unlucky. so what happened with the girl who gave you a blowjob?

Grandpa Jake: her boyfriend walked in

You: WHAT

You’re trying to pity him, honestly, but damn. Did he go for a taken girl? Yikes. You hate to admit the ick that just flooded your mind. 

Grandpa Jake: its not like i knew she had a boyfriend

You: phew 

Grandpa Jake: so yea. do u wanna help me out or not? 

The whole reason you started talking to him was specifically to help him out. Now that you know he’s not some weirdo, and is definitely super hot and funny, hell yes. 

You: yeah, sure. 

You: about the micropenis though, 

Grandpa Jake: right…um

A few minutes of silence, your coursework is long forgotten in the anticipation of receiving your first dick pic from Jake. You wait, and you wait, and you wait.

You: i mean if you can’t prove it that's ok 

Grandpa Jake:  just give me a sec damn

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic? 

Of course, as he’s taking several pictures of his length to try and impress you, he had to get hard first. He can’t imagine you’d want a flaccid cock pic in your inbox, and that would also mean that he’s working himself up with the amount of touching, holding, and groping throughout the past sixteen photos he’s taken and deleted. It’s at the point that now it’s actually hard to care about taking a photo, pre-cum already dripping out of him as he continues to try.

He’s entered the realm of his regular horny self, only this time he’s texting you. Someone who wants to see what he’s packing. Taking a dick pic is insanely easy once he stops thinking with his brain, and he’s quick to send you a photo of himself this time. His chin at the top of the picture, face entirely hidden, hand wrapped around his thick and leaking cock, sweatpants shoved down. 

Grandpa Jake: [image attachment] 

In all fairness, you’ve never actually cared much for dick pics. Men always look too confident even with the smallest of girth being offered through the pixels. Jake though. He looks a bit desperate even with his face hidden. His cock looks desperate, his fingers wrapped around it look desperate, the way his sweatpants hug against his thighs look desperate. And now, you feel desperate. You keep your cool though.

You: oh, you were jerking off, got it. 

Grandpa Jake: sorry can’t help it 

Then he doesn’t text you back. Which is kind of a drag because he looks to be quite big in the photo alone. Maybe you’d be okay just this once to look like the desperate one. Mostly because you’re about ten seconds from trying to figure out which direction five miles away he resides so you can go palm his cock for him. Plus, the idea of an absolute simp virgin like him seeing you act a little desperate would probably be one for the books. 

You: you know i can help you out with that, right? especially since you definitely don’t have a micropenis

You’re still being ignored. The silence from your phone makes your belly flip around inside of you at the image of him doing it too. He probably does it a lot. He’s probably desperate to feel good and watches porn like 24/7. You can imagine how he’d act if you were in front of him right now, the very idea of taking his virginity becoming entirely too attractive.

Shrugging, knowing full well what he’s doing right now that’s causing him to ignore you, you press the call button and wait. You’re a little bit nervous, mostly because you’ve never actually heard his voice before, or better yet how he sounds when he’s getting off. You’re shocked that he actually answers. 

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

“Don’t hello me,” You gripe, narrowing your eyes at yourself in your mirror. “You’re just gonna jerk off without me after I agreed to help you fix your little problem?” 

The silence on his end is a bit nerve-wracking until you hear the frantic sound of his palm clearly wreaking havoc on him. You smirk, leaning back on your chair and sighing. On his end, processing that it’s you on the other line sends his entire body into a state of burning with arousal. Your voice is sweet even when you speak with the same sarcasm as you do via text. 

God, this alone is enough for him right now. 

“Were you at least thinking of me?”

He hums into the phone, indicating that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. His voice is kind of soft despite only hearing one word and a hum, you want to actually hear him talk to you, or moan, whichever he decides. 

“Were you looking at my pictures?”

He nods his head, forgetting that you’re not able to see him and instantly responds with a small and breathy yes instead. It’s a bit difficult for him to talk right now, especially now that he can put a voice to the photos he’s been jerking off to. It’s a bit overwhelming, actually.

“Do you want better ones?” You ask, encouraging him to speak a bit more. 

“Oh god, really?” He asks through the speaker, his hand pausing on his length as if to hold off until you confirm. “Like, nudes?”

“Mhm, yeah. If you want.” You smile as you speak to him, already standing to shimmy your pajamas off of you and stand in front of the mirror. “Or, you know what would be better?”

“Letting me come over and actually do it?” That’s what he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t, he simply raises a brow and bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” He asks, still keeping his responses short because despite how into this he is, he’s a bit shy about it. 

“I can facetime you.” 

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You backtrack at his silence, but you’re cut off almost immediately. 

“No! no, we can facetime–”

Your stomach flips again as you fix yourself quickly in the mirror before setting your phone against your desk and rolling back a bit in your chair to determine if it’ll work this way or not. It’s not like he’s expecting you to do it too, he probably just thinks you’re gonna sit here naked for him to stare at. You’re kind of excited to see him in action, to hear him in action for you.

You hit the button to switch the call over to facetime and once again adjust your phone as you stare at yourself in the camera. Then you’re needing to catch your breath at the image of him.

Oh fuck.

There he is, his camera angled towards his face and not at all toward what's going on below his waist, but you don’t mind at first. Looking at him, the lighting clearly shows that he’s a fan of mood lighting. You watch his eyes briefly, staring through the screen at you before moving your eyes to his arm, the one that clearly isn’t holding his phone because you can see it moving as he continues to jerk himself off. It’s an interesting feeling to have only seen him in photos until this moment, and it’s insanely attractive for some reason. Seeing him in motion, knowing what he’s doing, knowing that he feels good right now because of you.

“Let me see,” you say quietly, adjusting your bra strap and preparing to slip it off of you if he so much as asks. “Prop your phone up somewhere like I did.”

He nods, his eyes still staring straight through his screen at you as he moves around and the image becomes a blur of movement rather than his face. He settles in quickly, somehow looking even more attractive with the way his eyes no longer stare at the screen. You can almost sense a hint of shyness from him at this moment and it kind of floors you, given how easy he is to talk to and how easily he sent a dick pic to you.

“Feeling shy?” You ask, spreading your legs wide and cupping the seat of your panties, hiding the small spot of wetness forming there. “You act like I’m not going to be touching you at some point soon.”

You see him perk up, his eyes looking to you on the screen with more fondness than arousal. At the same time, his hand grips the base of his cock as he holds it straight up, erect and glistening proudly for you to look at. 

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

“Oh god,” He groans, hearing his name come from your mouth for the first time. His hand jerks up his length once, almost aggressively as he winces at it. “This is going to be so embarrassing.” He admits now, sliding his palm up and down shamelessly as he watches between your spread legs. 

In a way, he wonders if you can see how desperate he is. There’s no way you can’t, right? Like, you can see how badly he wants you, right?

“Embarrassing, why?” You chuckle, tapping now at the spot between your legs. “Can you not see that I’m just as turned on right now?”

He groans again with deep breaths, releasing his length and using that same hand to swipe his hair out of his face, then immediately grimacing at the fact that he now has pre-cum in his hair. Embarrassing, all of it. 

“Well,” He tries to avoid you bringing up the fact that he just did that and only shoots his hand back to his cock in order to distract whatever off-hand shit you’re about to say. “You don’t even have your panties off yet, and I could probably get off right now.”

You laugh, not wanting to ruin the mood with the whole cum on his own face thing, so you save that for later. Instead, you instantly slip your panties off and present yourself to him much like he’s doing for you. 

“Better?”

Jake watched with his breath stuck in his throat, now finding it harder to breathe at the image of your pussy and the way he hopes he can touch it one day. 

“Can you–” He pauses, not being used to dirty talk towards anything other than the porn playing on his phone. He thinks hard, and you can see it based on the way he, once again, neglects his cock with an unmoving palm.

“Can I do what?  Go on,” You urge him, running a hand up to your chest and fondling your nipples right there in front of him, but not yet moving the fabric. “What do you want me to do for you, baby?”

Baby. You called him baby. Not that he’s into that but the fact that you did it makes him wonder if he is now. Maybe it’s because he wants you to take him for all he’s worth at this point. One, to get rid of the virginity looming over his head, and two, because you sound so fucking smooth when you’re watching him get off. 

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan. 

His eyes are boring a hole through his screen as he watches one of your hands tease at your hidden nipples, and the other hand sliding up and down the wet folds there. So badly does he want to see it. He wants to see your hole pulsing for him, leaking, needy. Just like him.

His cock twitches wildly the second you do it for him. Two fingers spreading your pussy open and tensing your hips just to move it closer to the screen for him. 

“Is this what you want?” You start, making damn sure he can see every part of your glistening cunt. “You want to fuck this?” You chuckle now, slowly dipping a finger into yourself and pulling it back out to present the wetness for him.

“Oh,” he sighs, now fucking into his fist at a pace that proves he’s most definitely never fucked a woman before. “Fuck.”

You nod at him, urging him to keep admitting his attraction to you. You’re aware he doesn’t see it though, as his hips continue to move quicker and quicker each time you press your finger into yourself. 

“You gonna act like this when I’m riding you?” You ask with a tilted head, studying how hard he’s fucking against his hand. You can imagine how good it would feel if it were you, and quite frankly, this one finger isn’t enough at this point. 

“God. You’re gonna ride me?” He moans, eyes rolling only slightly as he imagines it, mouth falling open at the mere thought of it. 

“Mhm,” you hum, now sliding in another finger and scissoring yourself open with them. “Would you want that?”

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

You’re not even upset that he didn’t make it into the knitty gritty, considering he’s a virgin and all and you’re literally fucking yourself in front of him while implying riding him. You’re actually flattered. 

His release caused him to see white for several moments, forgetting he’s even on camera for you. When he comes back to reality, watching you continue to finger yourself as your eyes scan your screen, all he can do is feel bashful. 

“S-shit, sorry,” He comments with a half laugh, looking down at his cum covered chest before looking at you again. Honestly, he could probably go again if you let him watch for a bit longer, but he’s embarrassed now. “I uh, didn’t mean to come that fast. It just kind of happened.”

“It’s okay,” You comfort him, slightly out of breath as you wonder if this is all you’re gonna get tonight. “It was cute.”

After a few moments, you sense his embarrassment and slowly slip yourself back into a sobering headspace, closing your legs and trying to ignore how wet you still are.

“Are you, um, done?” Jake says, disappointed.

“Mm, no.” You smile. “But it’s okay, I’d rather make you come first anyway.”

His face lights up despite the disappointment in his gut of not being able to see you get off. 

“You still wanna see me after this?”

You nod with a smile, endeared by his need to give, but inability to do it.

“When are you free?” You ask, wondering if he’s ever going to clean himself up. 

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand. 

“I’ll text you later then,” You smile through the screen and give a small wave before your genuine smile turns into a smirk. “After I take care of my little problem though.”

You notice him sitting up in protest, but you hang up with a satisfied laugh and head to the shower to both finish yourself off and clean up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Grandpa Jake: what about 3pm on thurs?

You: you want to lose your virginity at 3pm….on a thursday???

Grandpa Jake: my parents have plans so ill have the house to myself for a few hours

You: or you could just come here? 

Grandpa Jake: if ur comfortable with that? i thought u were supposed to come here lol

You: im comfortable, plus my roommate will kick your ass if you’re weird

Jake contemplates hard on that last part but shrugs over it. Probably a girl thing, and it’s not like he’s an actual creep or anything. You’d be the one with power over him when the two of you are alone anyway. 

You: what about tomorrow, 8pm? 

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car. 

Grandpa Jake: send ur address, ill be there :) 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Tomorrow, you’ll be a man.” Heeseung croaks through the speaker at Jake, totally assuming that this whole virginity loss dating app plan was actually just a joke. 

“Why do you have to say it that way?” Jake groans back, slapping his hand over his forehead and rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna come through, she’s the first one.”

“What makes you think she’s actually gonna send you her address?” Heeseung laughs, once again placing more pity onto his best friend than anything else. “She’s probably not even a real person, you’re gonna end up at some old guy’s house.”

Jake laughs, or snorts really. 

“Oh, she’s real.”

Heeseung sits up in curiosity this time, switching his phone to the other ear with interest. 

“Hm? Have you already met her?”

“Kind of. We like, um,” Jake pauses, wondering if he sounds way too excited to tell him or not. “We facetimed a few hours ago.”

Silence.

“She got naked.”

“Oh ho ho!” Heeseung encourages him. “So you guys did some stuff on facetime and she still wants to meet you?” 

“That’s what I said–wait,” Jake smiles to himself, about two seconds from kicking his feet before realizing what Heeseung just said. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re kind of a loser, we’ve been over this.” Heeseung laughs yet again. “Call me when you get your cherry popped or whatever.”

Then he hangs up. 

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

You: yeah kinda

You’re laughing at his text as you sit across the table from Jay.

“That him texting?” Jay quirks a brow, watching you smile at your phone and practically ignore him. 

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night. 

“So,” You clap your hands in front of yourself, glaring at Jay. “You’re gonna have to be gone tomorrow at eight because I'm about to literally obliterate this guy.”

“Jesus, I’m scared for him.”

“You should be scared for me. Because, well…” You trail off for a second, scrolling up your texts to see the dick pic Jake sent before the facetime call. “He’s huge and–”

“I did not need to know that.” Jay sighs, scooting back in his chair and standing to his feet. 

“You act like you don’t ask every time I fuck someone.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Weirdo.”

Jay stands there awkwardly before shrugging and lunging for your phone. 

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend. 

“Stop prying, you’ll get jealous.”

He scoffs, brushing off his pants of invisible dust and crossing his arms. 

“I’ll have you know, my dick is perfectly sized.”

“I’m sure it is. Anyway, tomorrow, be gone.” 

He nods, sauntering to the living room and flopping down on the couch. 

“Keep it in your room, please. I don’t want to sit on any cum when I get home.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s Thursday. It’s approximately seven in the evening on Thursday and you’re well aware that Jake is probably bubbling with anxiety if his texts are anything to go by. 

So many “are you sures,” so many “you can tell me to leave if you decide you don’t want tos,” and even more “i can’t wait to see yous.”

“Jay, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” You ask, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of water. 

You’ve already showered again today, primped yourself up for him really. Everything smooth, soft, and ready to be touched. You wonder if Jake is doing the same, and smile.

“Hm, yeah. But I kinda wanna see him before I leave.”

You turn your head to him with a curious look, glaring only slightly.

“I swear to god if you scare him off, I’m kicking you out.”

Jay laughs, patting the couch as if to invite you to sit with him to ease your own anxiety. He can smell the familiar lotion you use before dates, and he notes that you’ve really tried to look good today. 

“I think you might kill him, if I’m being honest.” Your best friend laughs softly, complimenting you. 

“Thanks, that’s the plan.”

And so, the two of you sit together laughing at stupid comedy shows until your phone lights up at around seven thirty. 

Grandpa Jake: i’m a little early, is that ok? 

“Oh shit, he’s here.” You immediately feel nervous, which is pretty normal for you anyway so it’s easily overlooked by Jay. 

He jumps up, brushing off his clothes and walking toward the kitchen to grab his keys and wallet. 

“Let him in then, I’ll leave when he gets here.”

You give him a knowing look before nodding. 

You: second floor, take a left when you get to the top of the stairs, third apartment on the left.

Within minutes, there’s a very gentle knock on the door and Jay is throwing himself at it to get a look at him. Unfortunately it’s a bit more awkward than he expected it to be. 

Not only did Jake think your roommate was a woman, but he, at the very least, expected you to answer the door. He was preparing himself all day for this moment, to knock on your door and have you open it. At first he thought that maybe he even got the wrong apartment. 

“Oh, I think I got the wrong place, sorry–” 

“Nope, you’re in the right place.” Jay smiles, stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him. “You can come in.”

Jake does, awkwardly. Avoiding eye contact with Jay and barely even looking into the apartment before stepping inside. 

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Jake still hasn’t really looked up from the floor yet, and you make quick work to make him feel more comfortable. 

“Don’t mind him, that’s my roommate.” You say, making your way toward him and trying your best not to stare because, okay, wow. He’s kind of ten times more attractive in person, which is fucking insane considering how good he looked through a screen. 

“Have you and him ever like…” Jake immediately starts, realizing he might have made things weird. 

“Jay?! Oh, god no.” You laugh, reaching for his arm and feeling him lean into it with relief. “You’re allowed to look up by the way. You’ve been staring at that crack in my floor since you got here.”

Immediately Jake moves his eyes up to you, the eye contact feeling more intense than it should, but you’re locked in too. The awkwardness dissolves almost instantly, he feels no need to question you further about anything really, especially with the way he feels his throat run dry at the very idea of this whole plan actually happening at some point.

When he made his profile on that app, it was kind of a half joke until like, people started talking to him. Given, no one ever followed through but you, he’s happy he stuck with it. Happy you came out of the works from said dating app, happy you picked him. 

Really though, he picked you. Part of you wonders about why you want to take this from him. For power, for control, to be praised, to feel like you’re his entire world of desire for a brief time? All of those things, yes, but you can admit now that he’s in front of you that it’s a bit intimidating. 

He’s not shy at all, just a bit awkward. He seems confident, he seems ready, and you find yourself lucky for being the one to get to do this for him, or with him. If at all, Jake is the type of man you could see yourself hanging out with often, with or without having sex. 

Given, upon seeing him face to face for the first time, the only thing you thought about was how attractive he is. Now though, as you look back at him along with the silence of this apartment offering nothing more than awkwardness, it’s not. Because you’re seeing him for all he is and he appears to not be able to help it. Is this what people mean when they say there’s an instant spark between two people? Despite how attractive he is, you find yourself thinking of how many times he’s made you laugh in the short period of time you’ve known him along with how many times he’s willingly embarrassed himself

And now for the first time, he’s right there and all you want to do is…give him exactly what he wants.

“Okay, listen,” You start, swallowing around a lump in your throat as you feel your body heat up at record speed by just having his eyes looking into yours. You know by this point that you’re not going to be keeping your hands to yourself at all. And for his sake, he’d probably prefer it that way. “If I move too fast, just tell me to stop.”

Jake tilts his head with a dopey smile, eyes still fixed on you, scanning you, coming to terms with the fact that you’re absolutely everything he thought you would be and more. 

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks. 

You find that painfully adorable. No man would ever admit that to you. Especially after just a few minutes of meeting in person for the first time, but this is Jake and in the short amount of time you’ve known him, you’re kind of expecting him to be really forward and say things that will have you frozen in thought.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen. You’re pretending that his apparent inexperience isn’t getting to you, but you’re not really fooling anyone. “Let’s get you some water or something, I can see you drooling.”

Jake laughs, shrugging because yeah maybe he’s drooling a little bit. You smell fucking immaculate, your hand is small in his but still manages to overpower him, your skin feels soft and slightly cold. Honestly, it’s dangerous just having you stand in front of him right now because he could absolutely blow his load just by you looking at him. Embarrassing? Always.

He follows after you, very nearly crowding up to you as the comfort sets in and the last bit of awkwardness leaves his mind. All he can think about is how you sounded over that facetime call. He’s seen what’s between your legs, and during that night all he could think about was touching you, fucking you. 

Now he’s here, and you’re right there. 

It’s hard not to crowd up, it’s hard not to cling to you, it’s hard not to be excited. Seeing your hand wrapping around that bottle of water to give to him, seeing you lean just before grabbing it– of course he’s staring. Of course he’s crowding closer, almost to the point that he’s up against your ass when you lean back up from the fridge.

You turn after grabbing him the bottle and are shocked by his close proximity when you face him. He looks down at you with a soft face, one that shows he’s not embarrassed by how he immediately attaches to you. His smile is just as clumsy as he is, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing too. You’re glad, because it makes it entirely too easy to drop the water bottle, grab his face, and chase his lips all the way until he’s against the counter and kissing you back. 

He sighs instantly into it, wincing at the way the kitchen counter hits his back, you pressing against him so harshly just to get that first taste of his lips. He’s excited that you seem as eager as him, maybe even as desperate as him. 

For you, a man has never been this eager just to kiss you, nor has a man ever kissed you this good. You can imagine that he’s probably got a lot of experience in terms of kissing, not much elsewhere though. You can tell by the way he moves his hands to all of the right places, but his blatant virginity shows through all of it as he becomes a horny mess almost instantly. 

His tongue is warm and wet, small whining sounds coming from his throat as you press yourself against him briefly. His hands never leave your body and he shows no shame in touching where he wants to touch. Rubbing, groping, and caressing every inch of your waist, ass, and even moving up to your face to deepen the kiss. His hips press forward almost constantly, and all you can do is brace yourself on the counter behind him to try and tame his relentless hips and obvious attempts at rushing what he wants right now. 

If you’re going to sleep with him though, he’s gonna get the full experience, not a quickie. Plus, you agreed to keep it in your room for Jay’s sake. 

“Hey,” you sigh, trying to pull back from the kiss but he isn’t having it. Still kissing against you and running his lips down to your neck when you continue to speak. “We should go to my room, your first time isn’t about to be in my kitchen.”

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

Still, his lips don’t leave you, nor do his hands. You find yourself giggling against him with a shake of your head at the way he protests when you pry yourself from his grip. Of course, though, he’s immediately clinging to you and chasing after you to your bedroom before practically throwing himself at you again.

You barely get the door closed before he’s pressing you against the wall, hand running down again to your waist and easily snaking up your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. You let him, enjoying the way he kisses you for just the second time, enjoying more the way you can feel him lose his composure every few minutes from this alone. 

You’re kind of in love with the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to pull back even for a breath. He seems to love kissing, and you wonder what else he’ll come to love doing tonight too. From the way he moves his tongue and his lips on you, you can imagine he’d be fucking heavenly at eating pussy.

Successfully you push him away again, rushing to your bed before he can make you melt against his lips for a third time, and you’re instantly trying to present yourself to him much like you did over camera. 

“You’re really going to let me?” He asks with a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping his mouth. His brain malfunctions at your presumed answer to that question, watching you take your panties and shorts off in one go and leaning back to spread your legs for him. 

At this moment, you’re all his and you make it a point to spread your pussy out for him like he asked you to do before. You can practically see his knees buckle that very instant.

“To think I wouldn’t want to do this is insane,” You say, wiggling your hips for him to see. “Look how wet I am.” You pause, studying the hungry look in his eyes. “Do you wanna try eating me out?”

He doesn’t even nod. He’s immediately on his knees against your bed and gripping your thighs to pull you toward his face. You yelp only slightly at the movement, a chuckle coming out shortly after as you sit yourself up properly to take in the image of his eyes sparkling up at you. 

It looks like he’s been wanting to do this to someone all his life, with his needy body proving it time and time again. Your breath is caught in your throat, a small groan coming out at the image alone before you’re able to process words again. 

“Can’t believe how good you look down there,” You say softly, brushing his hair out of his face for him like he did to himself earlier. “Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. You can feel his nervous yet eager breath against you, making your eyelashes flutter at even that slight sensation. 

“Go on then.” You sigh out, trying to prepare for what he can manage with that pretty mouth of his.

You watch him and the way he doesn’t seem to think at all when he does it. Once again, he’s adorable. His tongue goes everywhere, only grazing your clit briefly every few licks, never staying on it presumably because he’s in the process of finding the clit based on how your body reacts. 

He has a general idea of where it is, but the feeling of having your pussy spread out like this on his lips alone is enough to overwhelm him with arousal, to the point he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he can do is taste and smell the mixture of your warmth along with the soap and lotion you must have used before he came here. 

He’s quite literally tasting the entirety of you and loving every second of it. The way his hands grip your legs, both spreading them further open so that he can tilt his head and lick at different angles, and then hugging them to where they almost lock his head in place. 

It feels like he does this for ages, learning your body and what makes your legs shake. He sucks in different places, kissing your entire pussy to the point that it’s almost impossible for your legs not to shake in a reaction at what he’s doing to you.

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go. 

“Fuck, knew you’d be good at this,” You compliment with a shaky voice, reaching down to his hair and holding his head in place. “Keep licking there, and use your fingers too.” 

He hums without stopping, taking note of where you place his lips and reminding himself that this is the clit, just as suspected. He attaches his lips there, kissing it much like he kissed you in the kitchen. 

You can feel his fingers make their way into you shortly after, each bump of his knuckle sending a delicious sensation throughout your body. You’re tingling from your head to your toes at this point and your face heats up beyond what you thought it would. Your hips move on their own in response, experimentally fucking against his fingers as he keeps his tongue flicking at you. 

“Just like that,” You encourage him, running your hands through his hair and looking down at him. Seeing his head move with each little thrust of your hips is only more arousing in this moment. His eyes half open, watching you, tasting you, almost smiling around your clit when he makes eye contact with you. 

It almost seems like he’s asking if he’s doing well, and goddamn is he. He’s doing amazing.

“So good,” You say shortly, trying to give him the praise he needs while scratching against his scalp as a thank you, still fucking your hips up just to feel his fingers plunge deeper. 

He, on the other hand, is fucking feral right now. Tasting you, dipping his fingers into you, feeling that warmth for the first time, the small clenches— he’s swimming in a fantasy. Every time you move your hips up, he can smell the entirety of you, he can feel your pussy squeeze his fingers, and god. He doesn’t think he ever wants this to end.

All day. He could do this all fucking day. No wonder men make fun of other guys for not giving head. Why wouldn’t they? He can feel your legs tensing up around his head, your gentle fingers running through his hair, the sounds coming from your lips. He’s in love, he’s in love.

He doesn’t stop, tongue flicking your clit so beautifully, fingers slowly fucking in and out of you, not even in time with your jerking hips. Shockingly, you approach orgasm so fucking fast that you can barely warn him, you’re not even thinking when you put pressure on his head, pressing his lips so harshly against your clit— his moan sending a vibration straight through you.

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say. 

There, you release with his fingers plunging in and out of you, the wet sound of your pussy only sounding more messy by the time you begin to release. In the midst of it all, you feel him pull his lips from your clit and lick around his fingers before coming back up and continuing his ministrations, working you through an orgasm you’re not even sure he knows you’re having right now.

Insane, really, that he needed to taste the messy relief before resuming. 

Strings of curses, little tugs against his hair, legs shaking, all of it happens at once until the feeling of his fingers become sensitive inside of you, until his tongue is flicking a bundle of nerves begging to be left alone. 

You swat him away with a smile, leaning up quickly and grabbing him by the shirt. 

He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on but he laughs with you, being pulled to his feet and falling onto the bed on top of you. You can feel his cock in his pants, so fucking hard, probably leaking and feeling quite neglected.

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

You smile at him, leaning up to kiss him square on the mouth before you flip him over and get between his legs. 

“I did,” You laugh in a daze, starting to work on his button and zipper. You’re reeling from the recent orgasm and want nothing more than to let him feel the same way you do right now. “And now, I'm gonna do the same for you.”

He chokes out a nervous laugh, holding your hand in place from pulling his pants down.

“Unless, you don’t want that?” You ask, tilting your head with a bit of a frown.

“N-No!  It’s not that!” He reassures you, cheeks flushing more than they already were. “It’s just that– like, what if I don’t last very long? I’m kind of sensitive.”

His eyes avoid yours when he says it and once again, most adorable man award goes to fucking Jake.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?” You lean forward, kissing him again. “You just gave me some of the best head in my life.”

The light in his eyes returns and instantly he’s flashing a nervous smile at you. 

“Jake, I’ve never gotten off that fast from being eaten out.” You reassure him again, making a point to use his name loud and clear. “If you don’t get off from me sucking your cock, I might actually cry.” 

Well, he can’t have that now, can he? 

He releases your grip on his jeans, allowing you to pull them down. For some reason unable to look at you despite knowing you’ve seen him jerk off before. It’s the fact that like, what if it’s suddenly not big enough? What if his cock is ugly or curved in a way you don’t like?

Before he can even start to doubt himself more, he feels your lips on the tip and instantly his eyes are looking down at you. You’re the one smiling now, using one hand to hold his base and the other hand already scooping up his balls for added pleasure. 

You make a point to look him in the eye as you let the saliva collect in your mouth when you pull back slightly. There, you let it fall from the tip of your tongue, all the way until you feel the wetness against your fingers wrapped around his base. 

He thinks he’s going to go fucking insane watching you like this, and god, does he. You don’t even show him your struggle of taking in the sheer size of him. Lowering your mouth until you’re taking him in as much as you can. You try to keep eye contact up until you have to close your eyes. 

It’s not shocking that by the point you get half of his length into your mouth, he’s fucking up without full intention and letting out a choked apology. Still, you try to force your stretched lips to smile for him, even through the gag, even through the harsh feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat. 

How the fuck has a cock this good not been worshiped before? By a mouth? A hand? A pussy? You’ll be damned not to choke on it. You’d rather eat glass than to let him leave this apartment without being completely emptied and praised for every drop. 

He’s actually struggling already not to come, holding himself back but failing each time his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Each time you gag, it stimulates the fuck out of his cock and he nearly wants to cry each time it happens. Even with that other girl who went down on him, she didn’t even attempt to fit this much in her mouth. Most of the pleasure came from her hand jerking him off while she suckled against his head, but you. You’re down there, slipping your mouth up and down on him like that, gagging, tearing up, and still fucking smiling about it. 

He’s in love.

He holds his hands back at least, keeping them against your sheets and gripping them so hard that he fears he’s ripping through them. Everything feels hot, you look hot, you sound hot, your tongue still manages to move against the base of his cock with what little room it does have, and god– your other hand, massaging his balls. 

“Wait, wait wait–” Jake groans, fucking his hips into your mouth once again until you pull off with a concerned look. 

“Were my teeth hurting you?” You ask, gasping a bit for air.

“No!” He heaves out with fluttering lashes, trying to regain sanity. “I was just getting really close.”

“Hm?” You sigh in disappointment, this time going all in at once and not letting yourself stop until he’s releasing into your mouth. 

You feel his shaking fingers brush your cheek when you do it, hollowing it out just to fit more, more, more into your mouth before lapping your tongue against his base again. 

His groaning turns into frantic moans, his hips jerking wildly, unable to escape the clenching muscles of your gagging throat, and he’s honestly in heaven once again. 

“Ah–wait–fuck.” He tries to protest, not wanting to finish so quickly, but there it goes. There he goes.

Never in his life has he felt an orgasm so satisfying. His eyes roll back and his fingers go numb when he releases, pumping himself deep into your throat and not stopping until he’s dizzy. The fact that you kept your mouth on him through it, the fact that he could still feel you gagging, swallowing, and moaning all at once through it– how?

“How–” he takes a breath, pulling you off of him so you can breathe. “How did you do that?”

You shrug with a confident smile, wiping your tears and crawling up to meet his face. 

“I don’t normally do that for guys.” You say with a rasp in your voice. “I certainly don’t just swallow for anyone.”

He feels special, and fucking spent but god does he want to keep going. His softening cock twitching in a relieving way, probably glad to have finally been touched by something other than his own hand. Part of him wonders if you’re done though, because by now you’ve both gotten off and usually that’s the end goal, right?

But he hasn’t lost his virginity yet, and when he looks at you hovering above him, he already knows you’re not done with him. 

“We need to let you rest until you can get hard again,” You say, kissing him more easily than before and letting him taste himself, letting you taste yourself mixed with him. “What’s something you wanna do to get you back into the game?”

He sighs out a laugh, fucking amazed that you’re his first. How lucky is that? He thinks hard, watching the way you lift your shirt off of yourself. God, he forgot tits existed for a solid part of this day and that’s a shame because instantly his sensitive cock throbs at the image of them coming into view. 

You watch him stare, trailing your hands down and lifting his shirt off of him as well. 

“I– I don’t even know at this point.” He admits with a stammer, ignoring the fact that his hair is definitely sticking up all over from you taking his shirt off of him.

“I’ll just love on you while you think, then.”

He gives a short nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the way your gentle hands caress his chest and abs before you start kissing against the muscles and soft skin there.

He relaxes his body, feeling your hands and lips on him. You were right when you said you’d love on him as he thinks about it. The hard part of it is actually thinking about what’s going to get him harder the fastest. You doing this could be enough, but your tits. And fuck, your pussy.

He lets out a whine, one that feels entirely out of character and it causes you to pause your gentle kiss against his nipple and pull back.

“Already?” 

He shakes his head, staring straight at your chest and then down to what's between your legs. 

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

That’s new. Twice in one session?

“Oh yeah? Did that get you going?”

You receive a small nod from him before his hands are reaching out for your tits and warming them up. 

You relax into the feeling of his fingers on your chest only for a moment before you pull back again, this time adjusting yourself onto the bed face down, ass up in front of him. Might as well try a bunch of different positions for him too, right?

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sigh, already grabbing a pillow to hug through this. 

You can feel the bed shift behind you, the weight of his body dipping right behind you before you feel his warm breath against your core. Only now do you realize that you already missed the way he ate you out the first time, you can barely contain yourself knowing he’s going to do it again. 

His hands snake between your legs before his lips get any closer, spreading them before pulling his hand back up and spreading your pussy open with his fingers on his own this time. 

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

You’d tell him to shut up, but you’re not gonna because it’s cute how forward he is with his thoughts. If anything, he’s treating you right now by doing this, so he can say whatever he fucking wants right now. 

“Yeah? You just gonna stare at it?” You try to urge him, and it works.

Because of course it works. 

You do your best to contain any rising orgasm, solely because you don’t want to spend yourself before you actually let him inside of you in full. But goddamn, he’s just as eager now as he was the first time…if not more. 

He thinks back to the things he did before, mimicking that and hitting all of the perfect spots without fail. Still, you hold back, pushing and pulling yourself away and toward him just to feel his tongue chase. He eventually holds you in place against him, big hands holding you firmly against his face with a bit of force. And now? He’s licking you deeper than you’ve ever been licked before. It’s a different kind of sensation, and the way he groans into it is entirely too much for you right now. 

You need more, you want more. You want all of him by now, so aroused by every touch, breath, and moan that it’s becoming unbearable to just be eaten out. The thought that he’s doing this to get himself hard again is flooring, and the feeling of his fingers replacing his tongue much like before is intense. 

After just that one time, he knows exactly how to make you cum this way and it’s dangerously attractive to realize that. He goes straight for it too, pulling back to watch his fingers slip into you up to the knuckle. 

He hums out a rumbled moan at the sound of your cunt squelching around his fingers. So wet. More wet than any of the girls in the porn he’s watched for years. You’re dripping around his fingers, and the smacking sound is so fucking arousing to him.

And yeah, he can’t reach your clit with his mouth this time so he thinks hard about how to fix this little dilemma and you’re floored even more by the fact that he solves problems without questioning. You feel his fingers leave you and land on your clit, and right then you feel his tongue again, just as deep, licking into you and all over you. 

The sound of your pussy amplifies when it’s against his tongue, and honestly, he could cum right now if he really wanted to. Already he’s hard again, but god feeling you, hearing you, seeing you like this for him? For some guy who has never once been able to give a girl his all like this? 

He’s so focused on you.

Which for you, is a bit of an issue because he’s really not going to let you hold it in, he’s going to have you fucking unravelling again and it’s too good. Thankfully, when you try to lift to look behind yourself, you take note of his other hand working himself. 

He’s hard again, and god knows how long he’s been doing that. 

You pull your body away from him quickly to let your rising orgasm subside, his protesting moan doing nothing but heating your body up more when you flip over and watch him. 

“You were really just going to get me off again and not try to fuck me yet?”

He looks down at himself and then back at you, smiling and running his hand through his hair. 

“I like doing it, I wanted to see if I could make you–”

“You absolutely could have but I’m going to be honest,” You start, interrupting him and pulling yourself up to crawl over him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to live up to my promise.”

His eyes are much sharper than they were before when you say those words. This is actually it. He would have been perfectly happy just eating you out, getting head himself, or whatever. Over and over again. Any and all of it is better than being in his room alone, but you’re really–

“Really?” He asks, knowing full well the answer.. 

“Lay back, get comfortable,” You instruct with deep breaths, scooting up the bed with him, keeping yourself planted on his legs despite the discomfort. “You still want me to ride you, yeah?”

He nods almost frantically, landing his hands on your tits without hesitation and groping them in a blatant show of how ready he’s managed to get himself for this. 

Not that you want to rush, but you’re so fucking turned on by this point, the only thing you want is to be filled by him. His is cock likely bigger than any you’ve taken before, and to be fair, you don’t even care if you’re the desperate one at this point. You’ve almost forgotten he’s a virgin.

“Wait,” He stops you when you slide over his cock, bare pussy coating his length in a languid grind. “Oh, fuck, wait- no,” He breathes in a sharp breath and grips your hips. ”Do that again.” 

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard. 

You groan as you grind, feeling the head of his now, fully hard, cock bumping against your previously stimulated clit. He groans with you, almost at the exact same time but continues to try and leave his mark on you. In love with finally getting your tits in his mouth, your pussy on his cock, and most of all, in love with the fact that you’re not laughing at him for any of it. You seem to melt into it much like he does and he can’t help but want to email the creator of that fucking app and personally thank them for this. 

You rub yourself against him until it’s even more unbearable than before. By now, you’ve completely soaked his length and he’s completely soaked your chest in saliva and tiny swollen bite marks. Not that you mind the biting, his little rumbled grow-like moans only made this all the more arousing.

“Ready?” You finally sigh out, deliberately grinding against him slowly now, with almost your entire weight behind the grinds. 

He groans out a “please” before immediately gripping your hips and stopping you. Pulling his head back so hard and so quickly– he kind of forgot to unlatch from your nipple and it sends a sharp pain throughout your body, one that only makes you want to ride him hard. Right now. 

“Hold on, there’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans–”

“Okay, and?” You laugh, sliding forward again and grinding your clit against him. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.” 

He looks at you, his sharp eyes falling back into the sparkling doe eyes as his mouth falls open at the very idea that he gets to hit is fucking raw for the first time? 

“Unless you’re lying, and you’re not really a virgin?”

He’s quick to silence your doubt. He’s 100% never had his cock inside of anything other than his own palm and– malfunction. He’s blank again, staring up at you and wincing at the feeling of you pleasuring yourself on top of him. 

“Please?” He manages to get out, gripping your hips so tightly by now that he’s sure it’s hurting you. 

You smile, humming at him when you lift from him, standing on your knees to grab his cock and position him in the right place. 

“You sure you want it too?” You ask, only now realizing that you’re genuinely about to take a man’s virginity, and it’s only fair that you give him one last time to decide if he wants you to take it from him. Despite how turned on you are, and regardless of how badly you want to fuck him, it’s not right to just do it without making him really think about it. 

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.” 

You can’t help but smile at him when you do. Lowering yourself slowly on him and feeling the stretch of it. His face is something that you don’t think you’ll ever forget. He appears to be lost in it, eyes rolling back, his chest heaving, his teeth showing through a half-smile as he moans out at the sensation. 

He can’t get over how warm it is inside of you, the constant clenching of your pussy dragging along his entire length. He can’t help it when he moans, he doesn’t care that his voice cracks, or that it sounds like a pathetic sob. 

By the time you bottom out and sit like that for a moment, you almost feel like he’s the one who needs to adjust. Of course, you’re needing this moment to adjust too but god– just watching him makes you that much more wet and it’s insane how into him you are right now. As if you haven’t been since you started talking to him.

“Feels good?” You ask, involuntary clenching around his size, letting out a small sigh yourself at the feeling of his leaking cock inside of you. 

He hums at you and then takes in a deep breath before fully opening his eyes again and looking at you. Technically, he’s no longer a virgin now. It’s fucking happening, and you’re hot? So fucking hot? You feel so good? You smell so good. You sound so fucking good. 

Everything is overwhelmingly good, all he can do now is press his hips up and instantly moan out at the new feeling. 

You take that as an invitation to absolutely obliterate him, much like you knew you would. So, you do. Lifting yourself up and sliding him almost entirely out of you before sinking down again. 

His hands shoot to your waist, then he lifts slightly to grab your ass from behind you, and then he flops himself back– seemingly unable to know what the fuck to do with himself at this feeling. 

You opt to grab his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and holding them above his head, all so you can lay chest to chest with him, lips right at his neck. You start kissing, riding him so smoothly and doing nothing but listening to his little sounds that he tries to keep inside. 

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You whisper against his ear, kissing there too before pulling back to look at his face.

That half-smile never leaves his face, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tightly that you actually start to worry that he may break them. Thankfully, he begins to relax after a few minutes. Adjusting to the overwhelming pleasure and now losing himself to the arousal rather than fighting it. 

You nearly squeak when you feel him release your hands and grab your face, pulling you up to him as he kisses you mindlessly. Breathlessly, moaning into your mouth all while moving his own hips now. You can feel him jerk his hips, imagining how he fucked his hand through facetime. This is better than that.

You prop to stand up on your knees, offering him the space to fuck you as hard as he’d like, and god. It’s hard. It’s deep, and it’s so clumsy. No rhythm, no thought behind it at all, you can fucking tell he’s purely running on adrenaline as he plunges into you. 

He’s actually going so hard, that your moans sound more pained than pleasurable, but that’s not the case at all. You actually can’t stop moaning, it’s just the fact that each time he slams into you, your throat lets out a broken sound. 

For a moment, you think you can actually hear him unintentionally growl against your slack lips as he does it. Already he’s lasted longer than you thought he would, especially without a condom, and you’re so fucking impressed by it. 

You slide your hand between your bodies, easily rubbing your own clit and drying out your throat even more with the consistent loud moans of how good he’s doing. After a few moments though, his hips stutter and you take that as a sign that you should take over again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this to me,” You laugh out of pity for yourself, “I really thought I could last longer than this.”

He barely hears you through his ringing ears and rapid heartbeat, but he chuckles at the compliment. Feeling like he must be doing something right to have a woman say that to him. There’s one issue. He’s about two thrusts from cumming again and he will be damned to ruin this for you. 

You take over, riding him harshly and rubbing your clit even harder. He takes a moment to try and distract himself from how good your pussy feels clenching him and takes it upon himself to bite down hard against his tongue. Something to hurt enough to keep his orgasm from bubbling over, but also not something so awful that he’d lose his arousal entirely. 

You continue, pushing yourself back up from him and watching the way he tries to focus on anything but what’s happening. You ride deliberately to get him off though, knowing that the second he does, you’ll let yourself go too. He doesn’t seem to be picking up the hints. 

“Are you close?” You ask, out of breath and riding him so consistently that it’s becoming more and more difficult to hold your own orgasm. “Let it go, do it with me–”

Instantly, you hear him whimper out a moan as he releases the bite on his tongue. Shooting himself forward and hugging you so tightly that the pressure of your fingers against your clit is entirely unbearable. 

“Oh, god. I’m–” You start, moaning against his hair as he hugs against you.

He’s so fucking relieved, already releasing into you as you say those words. All he can do is breathe through it, feeling your pussy pulse around him as he continues to empty himself into you. 

It’s entirely too intense, his ears popping and heart threatening to send him to a hospital. Never did he think having sex was this intense. 

Little does he know… it’s not. But even you, for some reason, find yourself wondering why the fuck that was so good. 

By the time you pull yourself off of him, both of you wincing and trying to ignore the mixture of cum running down your legs, all you can do is look at him with curiosity. 

He can barely open his eyes to look back at you, but he tries, he really does. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

In fact, you made him some food, wobbling on spent legs throughout the kitchen as he lays on his death bed in your room. (He’s being dramatic.)

All he can do is listen to the sounds of you in the other room and think hard about how he just felt. Physically, it was a lot. Surely if sex is like that all the time, he’d rather not do it as often as Heeseung does. Honestly, his sanity would be at stake. 

But like, you’re kind of amazing. Given, the two of you barely know each other past lame texts and bullying each other. Physically, you know him more than any other woman and that’s a block he didn’t think would be an issue until it became one.

You made him cum twice. And he thinks you did too, unless you’re lying just to make him feel better. There’s no way you didn’t feel the intensity of that though. There’s no way your wobbling legs were lying to him when you got up and told him you wanted to have a snack before bed.

There’s no way you would let him sleep over if you didn’t feel the same way he does right now.

And by the time you’re back, handing him a plate of food, he can’t help but believe that nothing will ever taste as good as you.

The thing is, that’s one of the main reasons you did this. To be praised, to have a man think you’d be the best he will ever have until he eventually meets someone else and they do better than you did. Now though, you feel weird. 

This is a one night stand. A charity-fuck, as it still stands at least. 

“So,” You start, taking a bite of your food still as naked as can be regardless of how stupid it must look to be eating in a cum-soaked bed like this. “I guess you should change your bio in the app now.”

He looks at you, and then at his food.

“Yeah, I guess I should…” 

“I’ll help you fix your age on it. Now that you know what you’re doing with a woman and all.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

Thank fuck Jake is forward and embarrassing with it. You’re not ready to give up the single life but on the other hand, after that, you’re not exactly ready to share him with other women just yet either. If he wants to attach himself for a while, you’re going to let him. Purely because, like, look at him. Everything is endearing, and when he’s not being adorable he’s just being fucking hot.

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake. 

You nod with a smile, wondering if he expects you to delete the app too. Because you’re not so sure about that, but also you think you probably would if he asks with those stupid doe eyes. 

Strangely enough, he doesn’t even ask. He just starts eating the food with a content look on his face. Sweat having dried up but left his hair a mess, his skin is glowing– you think…oh no. Why are you looking at him like this?

“Hey, I should probably call Jay and tell him not to come home until late tomorrow or something.”

Jake nods, lifting his eyes to you and watching you take your phone out. 

“I should call my friend too, he told me to let him know when I get my cherry popped.”

You snort at him with a laugh right as Jay answers the phone, and honestly, you’d rather listen to Jake’s friend than Jay whining about having to spend even more time with his overbearing parents. 

“Hey Jay, don’t come home 'til I call you tomorrow, bye.” You say quickly before hanging up. 

Instantly you’re setting your plate on your table and launching yourself at Jake and his phone. 

“Put him on speaker.”

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[sleepyhoon]

BAJA BLAST - S.JY

pairing. religious stepbro!jake x fem reader genre. drabble, porn w plot warnings. virgin perv jake, stepcest, religious themes, brief mention of alcoholism & death word count. 3.5k smut tags. degradation, dry humping (i guess…), handjob, jake sucks reader’s tits thru her shirt, p in v for like 30 seconds.

a/n. hmm trying to get into darker themes to expand my genres a bit more … not too sure how i feel abt it yet but it was interesting to explore a new trope! i understand darker tropes aren’t for everyone sooo feel free to skip over if this isn’t for you!! <3

———

“You’re disgusting, and you’re not gonna find a God-fearing husband if you keep parading yourself like a slut.”

Jake pries your legs open a little wider, further situating himself between your thighs as he smears his precum on the core of your panties. He glances up at you when you scoff, knees digging into the mattress as he drags the tip of his cock along your clothed cunt. “What?” he sneers, raising a brow at you.

“You have a girlfriend and you’re getting yourself off between someone else’s legs; you’re the slut,” Jake’s cock twitches in the palm of his hand at your insult, you take a mental note of this, “and, I don’t even want a God-fearing husband, whatever that is.”

“It means a religious husband, genius. None of them probably want you anyway, so the feeling is mutual.”

Degrading as it may be, this is the shit that gets Jake off; certainly not his prude, preacher’s daughter girlfriend who only allows him to kiss her for a few seconds at a time, because anything longer than that could be “too tempting”.

He didn’t hate Chaeyoung in the slightest, but he likely wouldn’t have made all that effort to court her had he known she was saving herself for marriage in every aspect. No lingering touches, no suggestive comments, and certainly no racy photos; the poor boy would’ve been fine with her sitting on his lap every now and then if it meant he’d get to jerk off from the weight of someone on top of him.

Much like Chaeyoung, Jake was on the treacherous path of saving himself for marriage, but even he allowed himself a bit of wiggle room. Saving himself entirely for marriage was beyond unrealistic, but he was willing to at least avoid shoving his dick in someone before there was a ring on his finger if it meant he could get off in other ways.

Jake didn’t have the heart to break up with Chaeyoung just because she wanted to stay pure until marriage, but he wasn’t planning on waiting that long to finally get his dick wet. Besides, breaking up with the preacher’s daughter for seemingly no reason was a bad look, especially considering that Jake was the youth pastor at the same exact church.

Aside from the pastor and his wife, Jake and Chaeyoung were the only couple treated as royalty in their church community. They were seen as devoted followers of Christ whilst showcasing what an appropriate, God-fearing, young, Christian couple should look like. From the outside looking in (or even just looking from his girlfriend’s perspective), they truly did resemble a perfect couple.

How Jake got into jerking off between his step-sister’s thighs was a long story.

His original plan was to keep his distance when he first met you a little over a year ago, a few months before his father was preparing to marry your mother. Jake didn’t take kindly to you at first, bewildered on how such a respectful, faith-driven woman such as your mother could produce a daughter the exact opposite of her. Your outfits were entirely too skimpy, you had a horrible attitude, and you had tattoos. In Jake’s eyes, you were the definition of sin.

And that’s exactly why he felt disgusted with himself when he realized he was desperately attracted to you.

It was horrible, the countless nights he’d spent jerking himself off to the thought of you sinking down on his cock and riding him until he passed out. He’s certain his stamina is low and would probably finish in under five minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to dream; and that he does.

Until you showed up to his apartment one Monday morning with a large Baja Blast from Taco Bell and a proposition.

“Taco Bell at ten in the morning, seriously?”

You hadn’t greeted him with a “Good morning!” or “Hey, how are you?” and instead jumped the gun and went straight into, “Hey, you know how my dad died?”

Jake held his front door open, running a hand through his messy, morning hair in confusion as he responded, “Wasn’t it from, like, alcoholism?”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Yeah, but I meant like… you know that he’s dead, right? Also, Taco Bell serves breakfast, genius.”

“YN, it’s too early for this.” Jake says with a frustrated sigh, prepared to close the door in your face because it’s way too early to deal with your bullshit.

“I’m getting his inheritance from my grandmother, a huge one.”

Jake tried his best at attempting to hide the look of shock on his face. From his knowledge, your grandparents were loaded; practically rolling in money since the moment they were born. Having your father’s inheritance transferred to you was a blessing, Jake didn’t even want to imagine the useless crap you’d waste that money on.

“Congrats, did you come here to rub it in my face?”

You sighed, slightly embarrassed and a little defeated knowing you’d need Jake’s help. You felt entirely guilty for even coming to him in the first place, the two of you weren’t close and hardly spoke outside of gatherings, the only reason you showed up to his apartment was because you didn’t have his phone number; only his address you had to scroll in your GPS to find from the one time you drove him home.

“No, I’m not here to brag. I need your help.”

Jake hesitantly opened his door wider, allowing you into his home that you nervously pace around in. “Help with what?” he asked, locking the door behind him.

“I don’t get the inheritance until after my grandma dies.”

“YN, are you crazy?! I am not helping you kill your grandmother!”

“What?! Jake, no! God, just let me finish.” An awkward beat of silence passed before you continued, “She says I’m not getting the inheritance unless I get into religion and be involved in church.”

“Yeah, can’t help with that.” Jake took a moment to look you up and down, eyes focusing on the fresh tattoo right under your knee, “You’re gonna need a miracle.”

You followed behind Jake like a helpless puppy as he entered his kitchen, nervously toying with your fingers as you set your drink down on the kitchen counter, “I know we aren’t really close, and that’s partially my fault, but I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out with this.”

“With what, YN? You haven’t said what you’d need me to do.”

“Just, every so often, tell my family that I’m involved in church and help out. Shit like that.”

Jake chuckled, powering on his Nespresso, “As if that’s gonna work. You know your family goes to church, right? What are they gonna think if they don’t see you there but I’m telling them you showed up? They’d see right through it.”

“They don’t go every Sunday! I’ll just check ahead of time and go with them whenever they do go, and on the days they don’t go you’d be able to cover for me.”

Jake sighed with a shake of his head, reaching into his cabinet to retrieve a coffee mug, “It’s not just Sunday service, YN. They also go to bible study and help plan church events. Your family is very involved in the community.”

“Again, they don’t attend every event, right? I’ll go when they go and you cover when I can’t! And, besides, it’s not like they’re expecting me to go to every single event; as long as they think I’m putting in effort I’ll be fine.”

You seemed proud of yourself and your plan, which only annoyed your step-brother even further, because you clearly hadn’t thought this through.

“What’s in it for me?”

You paused, quirking a brow at Jake, “What do you mean?”

“We barely even know each other and you expect me to do this big favor for you for free? Be realistic.”

“Well, what do you want?”

“I want…half of the inheritance.”

“Jake, even you know that’s too much.”

Yeah, maybe he was being a little petty, but it was your own fault for asking for a favor like this and not offering him anything in return. He may not know the exact amount of your inheritance, but based on your reaction, it had to be a life changing amount of money; enough to give him a portion of.

“I’d rather not say what the exact amount is,” you start, looking down at your sneakers, “but it’s a lot, and I’m definitely willing to give you a fraction of it if you help me out. Just not half.”

“How much?”

“For you? Fifty-thousand.”

Jake dropped the ceramic mug to the ground, eyes widening as the cup broke and scattered across the kitchen floor. You flinched, jumping back on instinct while he remained frozen in place. “Fifty-thousand dollars?”

You wanted to tell him it’s truly nothing compared to the amount you’d have leftover, and that you’d offer him more if he insisted on it, but fifty-thousand seems to be enough for him. Instead, you nodded, carefully backing into the living room to avoid accidentally stepping on the ceramic shards.

“Does that work?”

It was too late to pretend your offer wasn’t more than he’d been expecting, but still, Jake had no reason to believe you’d hold up to your end of the deal; even if giving him fifty-thousand dollars would hardly make a dent in what you’d be receiving.

Jake shook his head, “I don’t know you, how can I trust you’ll actually give it to me?”

“You can’t just take my word?”

“The only word I take is the word of God.”

You should’ve seen that one coming.

Jake continued, “I want a down payment that I can receive now; something so that if you don’t pay me, I still got something out of our agreement.”

Intrigued, and a little frightened, you tilted your head at him, “Money?”

Jake shrugged in response, carefully stepping over the shards of ceramic, “Doesn’t have to be, your mom says you don’t have much of it.”

“I have money!”

Jake rolled his eyes, retrieving a broom and dustpan from the hallway closet, “Right, because your part-time barista job pays so much.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I really don’t know what else to offer you.”

“Better think of something or you’re on your own.”

The sound of ceramic clicking together as Jake cleans filled the silence, leaving you to brainstorm on what he would accept as a down payment offer. Money wasn’t an option, and you didn’t know enough about Jake’s interests to offer him some sort of bribe.

However, Jake is a man. Yes, a religious one, but still a man. If you’re lucky enough, there’s one thing you could offer that no man, not even Jake, would pass up.

“Chaeyoung is saving herself for marriage, right?”

Jake paused, suspiciously glancing at you over his shoulder, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but yes.”

You nodded, “Are you?”

“Again, not your business, but yes.”

“What about loopholes?”

Jake fully turned around this time, narrowing his eyes at you, “YN, where are you going with this?”

You shrugged, defensively raising your hands, “What if I was your loophole? Like, I help you get off however you want without actually having sex, so it won’t count as sinning. And, trust me, I won’t tell anyone.”

Jesus Christ, you seriously wanted the inheritance that bad?

Jake immediately wanted to accept the offer and drag you straight into his room, but he couldn’t; he had to be nonchalant about this or risk you revoking your suggestion.

He faked a look of disgust, a confused, twisted snarl on his face as he responded, “But, you’re my step-sister; isn’t that wrong?”

You shrugged, “I don’t care if you don’t. Plus, we’re adults and we barely even know each other, it’s not like our parents married years ago and we grew up as siblings.”

Fair point, not that Jake needed any further convincing.

“I’m not offering you this again, by the way. You either accept it now or you’ll never get the chance again,” you warn Jake, taking a seat down on the edge of his couch.

After a few long moments of pretending to weigh his options, Jake extended the end of the broomstick in your direction, slowly using the handle of it to lift your skirt. You didn’t react, your eyes following the edge of the broomstick as Jake continued his actions. He lowered his head slightly, confused as to why he couldn’t see your panties, until he realized.

You weren’t wearing any.

He cleared his throat, quickly pulling the broom away before leaning it up against the wall. “Sure, whatever, I guess. As long as you don’t tell anyone.”

Easiest deal of his life.

Jake made sure you kept to your end of the deal, and maybe took some advantage of it.

The first incident occurred a few weeks after the agreement, when Jake had to cover for you upon missing Sunday service due to you being hungover.

“She was up all night designing flyers for the coat drive next week,” Jake addressed your mother’s concerns, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder, “she really wanted to come to today’s service, but I told her she should get some rest.”

Your mother clutched her heart, staring up at Jake in complete awe, “YN? My YN?”

Jake nodded, a sheepish grin on his face as he responded, “The one and only.”

Your mother was skeptical, tilting her head at her stepson with her brows furrowed, “Just doesn’t sound like something she would do, unless there was something in it for her, of course. You’re not covering for her, are you?”

Jake faked a laugh, “The only thing YN is covered in is the blood of Jesus Christ.”

…And apparently Jake’s cum only a few hours later.

“…Now, guess who’s stuck designing flyers for the coat drive? Me!”

“I told you I would do it, you little brat,” your fist tightens around Jake’s clothed cock and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut at the new, uncomfortable, yet pleasant sensation.

You were slightly off-put and a little humored when Jake showed up to your apartment requesting, “A handjob but I, like, keep my boxers on. Like, just do it through my clothes.”

“Wouldn’t you rather…have your boxers off?”

“Are you nuts? I’m not letting you touch me,” he’d said, unbuttoning his dress pants as he lowered himself on your mattress.

You obliged his request, awkwardly rubbing him through his boxers, watching as his facial expressions changed so quickly and constantly. His brows would furrow then relax, lips would twitch before sinking his teeth in them, all while he tried his best not to finish embarrassingly quick.

Which didn’t work.

Jake was already on the edge of cumming when you lowered your head down to his groin, placing a small peck against the head of his clothed cock, the material sticky and wet from his precum.

His body jolts at the touch, arching off the mattress with swears spewing from his lips as his orgasm washed over him. He shoves his boxers down in record time, grinning to himself when you groan in agony when his cum lands on your cheek.

Had you been literally anyone else, maybe Jake would’ve felt bad that he came so quickly and didn’t have the energy nor interest to give you anything in return; but he didn’t. This was an agreement, and as long as the two of you held to both your ends of the deal, there was nothing to feel bad about. He didn’t owe you anything else.

Surprisingly enough, the arrangements weren’t happening as frequently as Jake hoped they would.

You immersed yourself into the church community, showing up to Sunday Worship and Bible Study as if it were a second nature. Jake should be proud, really, that you’re serious about being devoted; even if it was under the premise of obtaining your father’s inheritance, but he’s pissed.

He waited weeks for you to slip up, intentionally scheduling a Bible Study session or some church fundraiser at a time where he knows you’ll be busy and have no choice to skip, but you show up.

To every fucking event. Until you don’t.

Your younger cousin was getting baptized and you missed it, and if it weren’t for Jake making up some lame excuse and covering for your ass, your mother would’ve gone ballistic on you.

Jake’s happy to cover for you, though, knowing he’d be getting something in return not too long afterwards.

After weeks of feigning, that simple slip up was how Jake found him back between your thighs, pumping his cock along the outline of your cunt through your thin panties.

“Whatever,” you sneer, propping yourself up on your elbows, “marriage is the last thing on my mind right now.”

Jake rolls his eyes, pausing and grateful at the fact that he has a better of your tits. For some godforsaken reason, the air conditioner in your home is always on full blast, and despite assuring your guests that you don’t feel that cold, your body certainly says otherwise; if the way your hardened nippled poke through your shirt is anything to go by.

He licks his lips, pumping his dick a little faster as he leans down and traces his tongue along your clothed nipple. You’re saying something, maybe asking him what he’s doing or to keep going, but he can’t hear you; having you like this is new territory for him, nothing else in the world mattered at this moment.

His saliva stains your t-shirt as he continues, moaning against your chest as he flicks his tongue against your bud. Jake lightly traps your nipple between his teeth, tugging on it just enough to sting before releasing it once again, lapping his tongue against it as if to apologize.

Your hand moves to his hair, giving it a tight grip as Jake moans before shoving your arm away entirely. “Are you insane?! Don’t touch me!”

“But-”

“Wait.”

Fuck, that felt good. It wasn’t much but it felt so fucking good.

He needed more of you, fuck all this waiting for marriage bullshit. He tried his best for as long as he could, and he doesn’t want to fucking wait anymore.

“I wanna try something,” he mumbles, wasting no time in pushing your panties to the side. The sight of your glistening cunt is enough to make his mouth water, and Jake swears he can hear a choir of angels singing as he stares down at it in awe.

“Jake, I thought-”

“Fuck that,” Jake is quick to cut you off, already knowing what your next words were, “I don’t wanna wait anymore; show me how.”

“How to what?”

“The one thing you know how to do.”

“Oh, fuck you. You’re such an asshole.” You say, but it doesn’t stop you from maneuvering your right hand between your bodies and gripping the base of Jake’s cock, encouraging him to scoot forward as you guide him directly to your hole.

You don’t move him any further, making the choice of letting Jake decide whether he’s serious about this.

He is.

He presses the head of his cock further into you, squeezing his eyes shut as you wrap around him so snug and perfect. He stills his movements, head dropping to your shoulder with a groan.

It’s already too much and he’s not even halfway in. It feels too good, so wet and warm and tight, better than he could’ve ever imagined.

“Fuck…”, he mumbles into your shoulder, taking note of how none of this barely had an effect on you.

“It’s okay,” you assure him in an oddly sweet tone, “try moving.”

“I can’t, think I’m gonna come if I do.”

“You’ll be fine, just-”

Jake lets out a loud, frustrated groan as he raises his head away from your shoulder, “You wouldn’t fucking get it.”

Jake spent too many countless nights imagining this very scenario, and now that it’s finally happening he can barely even handle it. Everything feels too good and it’s all too much for him to bear.

He pulls his dick out of you entirely, giving himself a few hard pumps as his impending orgasm approaches. It looks almost painful, the way he’s gripping and pumping his cock, how red his tip is, you’re surprised a few tears don’t slip from his eyes when he finally does finish, painting your thighs with his cum as his body trembles.

He rests a shaky hand on your knee, grip on his cock softening as he makes a mess across your panties, thick, white ropes of cum staining your underwear.

“Fuck,” Jake mumbles to himself as he steadies his breathing. He’s never came this hard before, to the point where he feels exhausted and genuinely empty.

“Are you…okay?” You ask, cringing at the sticky feeling between your thighs.

Jake nods slowly, sitting himself up as he tucks his now-softened cock back into his boxers, “Let’s, uh, get cleaned up so we can go.”

His head his spinning as he rises from your bed, a dizzy feeling coming over him as he stands. Fuck, maybe this is why he should’ve waited for marriage.

“Go where?”

“Bible study is starting soon,” he explains, “if we leave now we can stop by Taco Bell beforehand, I need a Baja Blast.”

[leviismybby]

"Again?" You ask as Levi starts plating kisses down your shoudler. The two of you just had the hottest sex but Levi doesn't seem to be satisfied. "I haven't seen you in fucking weeks. Of course I want more." Being a civilian and dating him was hard, any free time he had he used to see you, sometimes you two wouldn't see one another for weeks. Levi let's his hand slide down your body again, his fingers ghost over you pussy. You bite your lip as he starts biting in your neck, his hard cock pressing against you as his fingers rub your heat. "Look at that. You're so wet like I didn't just fuck you five minutes ago." His voice was filled with lust as his hand continued to work, you turn your head a little and he kisses you immediately. Moaning against his mouth, you grip the sheets as he easily slides a finger into you. "Atta girl. We have to prepare you for my cock don't we?" Your pussy starts clenching around his fingers, he groans, it didn't take long at all for you cum like his. You gasp softly, he holds your tightly against him as you reach you high. "That's it. Good girl, such a good girl." He nibbles your ear as you calm down before getting on top of you and between your legs. "I'll make sure to leave you sore for weeks, sweetheart."

[d3arapril]

PUSH 2 START | p.b

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

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

“Think I have heatstroke.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You gonna make it to dinner, champ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You like?"

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

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

"Fuck, we're late!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nah, s'all you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You want that?"

"Yes."

"Which?"

"All of them."

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

"Gonna let me?"

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

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

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

"Take it off."

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

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

"But-"

"Off, c'mon."

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

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

"C'mere."

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

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

“Closer." she murmurs, her voice low.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"M'gonna cum, fuck, Paige-"

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

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

"Again, again."

"Fuck, I can't-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You ruined the couch."

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

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

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

"Get on the bed."

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

"Still gotta fuck you in here."

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

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

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

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

"Anything."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So fucking annoying."

"You love it."

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

"You want it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Keep that on," Paige mumbles, nodding towards your bra. She crawls onto the bed, stopping at your feet. "Turn over for me."

You flip over with a groan, using what little strength you had left to keep your chest flat to the mattress, ass high in the air. Just how you know she liked it.

She affirms your thoughts with a soft moan at the sight of you, moving further up the bed. You feel the plastic brush up against you and it makes your thighs twitch, ass jutting up higher for her touch.

Her hands smooth against your ass, squeezing at the fat of it when you back up against her again. "Someone's impatient."

"C'mon." you urge, shaking your ass just enough to get her to fold. It works, of course, because she moans again- deeper this time. She grips the base of the dildo and slides it between your folds, blunt head nudging your clit. You're still soaking wet, the plastic glistening before she's even put it in you.

"Damn," the word leaves Paige automatically, pupils blown out as she admires your mess. "Ask me nicely and I'll put it in."

You groan against the sheets, fits gripping the cotton tightly. "Please, Paigey."

The nickname gets you a harsh slap to the ass, the impact stinging your skin. You suck in a breath through your teeth but the smirk grows across your lips despite it all.

"Fuck me Paigey, please."

"Shut the fuck up."

She slides in with one smooth motion, intrusion bringing your brows up to your hairline. It stings slightly but the familiar is welcomed, comforting almost.

"Gonna fuck you now," Paige's hands smooth down your back, coming to rest at the base of your spine. "Gonna make you fucking cry."

You strain your neck against the bed to get a peek at her and you're not sure you've ever seen her this wound up before- her eyes are wide, a red flush travelling across her chest and up to her cheeks. She's fucked.

Her hips draw back and then slam back into you, the sound of skin on skin deafening you. She's unforgiving, nails digging into your skin as she uses your hips as leverage to fuck into you. She's grunting with each thrust, bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"Yeah, yeah-" you whine, eyes screwed shut as the blonde ruins you. You can just about hear how wet you are over the sound of her skin smacking against yours, the recognisable squelch of your pussy getting louder when she grants you with another slap to the ass. "You fuck me so go-ood."

"Yeah?" Paige breathes out, slapping your ass again. Her hand tingles from the force but she ignores it, slapping your other ass cheek with the same hand. "Whose pussy is this? Hm?"

You can barely respond, body jostling against the sheets.

"Is it mine, baby?"

You nod against the sheets, helpless.

Another slap.

"Tell me."

"It's yours!" you cry out, fingers practically ripping holes into the sheets. "Yoursyoursyours-"

"Fuck yeah it is."

She pistons in and out of you at an ungodly speed and it makes you dizzy- so dizzy you don't even feel your orgasm approaching until you're on the edge, threatening to tip over.

"Cumming!" is all you can let out, the word caught in your chest as your spine curls inwards, heels kicking up against your girlfriend. It hits you like a truck, legs spasming and arms stretching out against the sheets as you cream against Paige. You see spots in your vision, eyes crossing as the pleasure consumes you. You feel everything, and then all of a sudden- nothing.

"You good princess?"

You crack an eye open to see Paige laying beside you, propped up on an elbow. She's gently stroking your cheek with her thumb, hair now pulled up into a messy bun atop of her head.

"Did I die?"

She snickers, leaning across to press a kiss to your forehead. "I killed that pussy, maybe."

You release the sheets that's still gripped in your hand to shove the blonde back but she just sticks her tongue out at you, reaching behind her for a glass of water left on the bedside drawer.

"Drink some, you need it."

She holds it to your mouth and you chug it down, dry throat welcoming the fluid. "I seriously passed out?"

"Eh," Paige shrugs, rubbing down your back. "You were conscious, just about."

"Wow," you roll onto your front, ache between your thighs making itself evident. "You did a number on me."

"Same again tomorrow?"

Your palm smooshes against her face, pushing her away with a laugh.

"Your turn tomorrow, Bueckers."

[jezebelblues]

𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 | 𝐇.𝐒 ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐭 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐧’𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐬. [nov’18–may’19]

requested!! thank u anon, i hope u enjoy :)

𝐂𝐖: unexpected pregnancy, labor + labor pains, fem!reader. i think that’s it!!

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 12.3k

❏ hope yall don’t mind that i included louis in this. i miss him fr. also, thank u again anon <3 hope this wasn’t too long

not my gif. if u have the info of the original creator, lmk so i can appropriately credit them.

Life had slowed, but only just—somehow still breezy with that undercurrent of momentum that carried him from One Direction fevered heights, to the steady rhythm of his own solo journey. Fame was no stranger, but this? These moments were the ones he cherished most. He glanced at his wife, her eyes twinkling as she sat with their son. The simple joy of this evening reminded him of how far they had come. The quiet, intimate wedding in Holmes Chapel five years ago, the shockwaves it sent through the internet because they had managed to keep it so private, and then, only a year later, the unexpected news that YN was pregnant with Atlas.

He could still remember the exact moment he found out about their little surprise, how the world had seemed to tilt on its axis when she told him. It had been unplanned, a complete shock, but one that had filled him with a profound sense of love and responsibility.

Five years ago felt like a lifetime ago, yet it also felt like yesterday.

Five Years Earlier – November first, Holmes Chapel

The cold was sharp outside, but the small cottage Harry and YN had rented for the holiday season felt warm, cozy even. A fire crackled softly in the fireplace, and YN sat curled up on the couch, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. Outside, a gentle snow, the first of the season, had started to fall, covering the village in a blanket of white.

Harry had been out all day, helping his mother with some last-minute holiday preparations. The quiet of the house felt calming to YN, but there was something on her mind, something that had been gnawing at her for the past month. Her period was late—later than it had ever been.

She had noticed other small things too. A slight queasiness in the mornings that she initially brushed off as stress from the hectic, upcoming holiday season. But now, as she sat there, the weight of realization started to sink in. She might be pregnant.

Her heart pounded as she thought about it. They hadn’t planned for this. They had only been married for about a year, and though they had talked about children, it had always been a vague, distant future sort of conversation. But now, the possibility was staring her in the face, and she wasn’t sure how Harry would react.

Would he be excited? Nervous? Overwhelmed?

She glanced at her phone, considering whether to text him and ask him to pick up a pregnancy test on his way home. No, that felt too impersonal.

She had paced the empty hallways of the cottage, occasionally texting her husband back or scrolling through instagram. She knew Harry like the back of her hand, he wouldn’t be upset—perhaps a bit overwhelmed, but upset? No, from the years they’ve known each other, he loved children. She couldn’t count on her fingers the amount of dance sessions, hide and go seeks, and cartoon watching she’d walk in on when he was with the children of his family or friends. And from the discussions they’ve shared of their own future children, she knew he’d be ecstatic—she just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

A few hours later, the front door creaked open, and Harry’s voice echoed through the small cottage. “Lovey, y’here? S’cold as hell out there.”

She stood, wrapping Harry’s sweater tighter around her frame, trying to keep her nerves in check as she walked towards him. He looked so carefree, a light dusting of snow in his hair, his cheeks rosy from the cold, a grin already stretching across his face when he saw her.

“Got y’favorite mince pies from the bakery,” he announced, holding up a small paper bag as he walked towards her. “Mum says we need to fatten you up f’the winter.”

YN laughed softly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, but she didn’t know how to say them. Instead, she took the bag from him and set it on the counter.

He began to shuffle around the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a few glasses. He absentmindedly hummed a tune his wife didn’t quite recognize as he floated toward the freezer, pulling out a frosted glass bottle of rum with a smile. “Mum said she would’ve made it herself but–” He laughed, shaking his head as he set the bottle down on the counter with a heavy clank. “She’s decorating the house. Looks like autumn threw up in there.”

YN only responded in a gentle chuckle, one that made him look up with his eyebrows furrowed. Harry frowned, immediately noticing the shift in her demeanor. He paused, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Everything alright, sweet girl?”

She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. Her eyes burrowed into his, shifting gaze from one eye to the other. Her lips parted, unsure of how to form the words that sat heavily in her throat. She exhaled, managing a smile as she shook her head. “Just a bit tired, thats all.”

She couldn’t tell him until she was sure. If he were to be overjoyed, she didn’t want to get his hopes up on the off-chance she wasn’t pregnant.

Harry paused for a moment, not fully convinced, but he didn’t want to push. If something was wrong, she’d tell him when she felt ready. So, he only smiled back as he unscrewed the rum and poured into the square glasses. He looked at her expectantly as he raised his eyebrows, bringing her a glass.

She stared at it as if it would jump out at her, her reflection waning in the amber liquid. She pulled her lips between her teeth, shaking her head as her cheeks flushed. “Not feeling it tonight.”

At that point, Harry knew something was wrong. He furrowed his eyebrows, setting her—well, what was supposed to be hers—drink on the counter before he took a sip of his. “You sure y’alright?”

She brushed it off with a laugh, stepping toward him as he remained leaning against the counter. YN pressed a gentle kiss on his rum-slicked lips, cold to the touch. “You worry too much.”

He wrapped his arm around her head, pulling her into his chest with a sigh. “Rightfully so, m’love. Stubborn as a mule, you are.”

She scoffed, though only humor was laced in her tone. She pushed back from him, folding her arms over her chest with a feigned frown.

“What?” He smiled, taking another sip. “Should be titled an archeologist the way I dig for your heart.”

“Oh shut it, Styles. You’ve done no such thing.”

He laughed, placing his glass on the counter behind him and gently holding onto the edges. “You’re only proving my point, lovey.”

She rolled her eyes, flicking his chest before she began to step off toward the bedroom. YN looked over her shoulder expectantly with a sly smile. “You’re not gonna join me?”

She didn’t need to ask him twice.

He tugged his shirt off, tossing it aside as his wife’s laughter echoed down the hallway. She darted toward their bedroom, her giggles trailing behind her like music. Grabbing his glass from the counter and kicking off his shoes, he chased after her, a wide, mischievous grin lighting up his face.

There was a gloomy, gray sky the next morning, the kind where the clouds stretched thick across the sky, holding back any hint of sun. YN had woken up before dawn with a gnawing queasiness—a feeling that had been creeping up more often lately. She pressed her hand to her stomach, trying to calm the discomfort.

She reached into the plastic bag, pulling out the small pregnancy test she ordered from doordash before the sun rose. She had tipped the dasher generously before staring at it in the restroom for what felt like hours. Her mind buzzed, unsteady with thoughts she couldn’t quite wrangle. The idea of being pregnant had only crossed her mind like a shooting star. She was nervous. They were still basking in the simplicity of their life, the unexpected quiet of their year-old marriage. This hadn’t been in the plan.

But here she was, two minutes ticking by like hours as she stared at the test resting on the edge of the sink.

And then, there it was.

Two blue lines.

Her heart raced, a mix of emotions she could barely process flooded her chest. She didn’t know what she was supposed to feel—excitement, worry, fear? It was all tangled together in a knot she didn’t have the strength to untangle. She felt a hint of guilt wash over her; how could she feel uncertain about something so beautiful? But it was real, and she knew it. This was so real.

She sank to the edge of the clawfoot tub in the small bathroom, hugging her arms around herself. She let herself sit there for a while, just breathing in and out, letting the realization wash over her like waves on a shore, eroding her hesitation bit by bit. Eventually, she felt a warmth begin to spread, a tentative but growing love, a sense that maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

Oh, god—but Harry.

Mere discussions about a hazy future never felt so prophetic.

Footsteps on the old wooden floor outside the bathroom brought her back to reality. Harry’s voice called from the kitchen, warm and sleepy, a mug clinking on the counter. “Love, you up?”

Her stomach twisted again, this time more with nerves than nausea. She took a deep breath, tucking the test in her hand and opening the door. As she stepped out, she found her husband leaning against the counter, his hair tousled from sleep, a soft smile on his face as he sipped from his mug.

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” she murmured, her voice just above a whisper.

Harry raised an eyebrow, setting down his mug as he studied her face, his expression shifting to one of gentle concern. ”You’ve been off since yesterday, please, just tell me what’s wrong?”

YN took a breath, feeling the weight of the words she was about to speak. She crossed the small space between them, the floorboards creaking softly under her bare feet. Her hands trembled as she reached for his, and he immediately stilled, sensing her unease.

“Don’t freak out, okay?“ She said, her voice breaking ever so slightly.

Harry’s gaze softened, his fingers curling around hers. “Alright,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles. “Swear it.”

She swallowed, her eyes dropping to where their hands joined, and finally, she managed to say it. “I’m–” she sighed, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hung in the air between them, and she felt his hand go still, his thumb pausing mid-stroke. She dared a glance up at his face, and in his eyes, she saw the shock she’d been expecting. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

It was the longest silence she’d ever felt.

And then, slowly, a smile began to break across his face, soft at first, hesitant, but growing. His eyes sparkled with something she hadn’t expected—something gentle and pure, and so, so warm. “You’re… serious?”

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips, a mix of nerves and relief. “Yeah. I know it’s not what we planned, and I—”

Harry pulled her into his arms, wrapping her up tightly as if he never wanted to let go. She felt his heartbeat racing against her cheek, felt the slight tremor in his breath as he held her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes glassy with emotion. “This is… I mean, I wasn’t expecting this, but…” He paused, his voice catching. “But, YN, this—this is everything.”

A smile broke across her face, the warmth in her chest growing, all her fears melting as she looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

Harry laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “I’m sure.” His eyes held hers, full of something she could only describe as love beyond anything she’d known before. “I mean, look at us. We’ve done everything backwards and upside down, haven’t we?” He chuckled, his dimples deepening. “Why not this too?”

They laughed together, and in that moment, all her worries felt so small, so distant. Harry pressed his forehead against hers, his hands holding her gently. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “We’re going to be parents?”

YN nodded, her own laughter mingling with tears she hadn’t realized were there. “I guess we are.”

Harry wrapped her up again, his arms strong and sure around her. “Our little family.” He looked around, a spark of excitement lighting his gaze. “The start of everything, right here.”

They stood there, wrapped up in each other, in the quiet of the small cottage, a peacefulness settling over them. The morning light had started to creep in through the windows, casting a soft glow over them, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still.

But as the initial excitement settled, the reality of the situation hit her hard. Morning sickness, which was more like all day sickness for YN, kicked in with a vengeance. She wondered what crime she may have committed in a past life to deserve such a karma.

She spent most of her mornings hunched over the toilet, her stomach in knots, while Harry hovered nearby, rubbing her back and murmuring soothing words. “It’ll pass, baby.” He would say, though there was a flicker of worry in his eyes every time she retched.

The first trimester was rough. YN felt exhausted all the time, her body aching and her emotions all over the place. There were days when she could barely keep food down, and the nausea was so overwhelming that she couldn’t even stand the smell of Harry’s cologne.

But through it all, he was a constant source of support. He made her ginger tea in the mornings, rubbed her feet when they swelled, and stayed up late with her on the nights when she couldn’t sleep. He even held her hair back during the worst bouts of sickness, never once complaining or losing his patience.

Still, telling their friends and family was daunting. Anne had been thrilled, of course, immediately launching into grandma mode, talking about knitting booties and baby blankets. But YN worried about telling the public. Harry had always been fiercely protective of their privacy, and the idea of sharing something so intimate with the world felt overwhelming.

“I don’t want people to think anything bad of me.” She admitted to him one night as they lay in bed. She had spent the entire day feeling nauseous, and her nerves were frayed.

Harry propped himself up on one elbow, looking at her with a gentle smile. “No one’s going to think like that, baby.. And if they do, then screw ‘em. This is our family. No one else’s.”

His words, simple as they were, helped ease some of the anxiety gnawing at her. They would announce it when they were ready, and in the meantime, they would enjoy these private, intimate moments together.

A few weeks later, when YN was finally starting to feel a little better, they gathered their closest friends and family to tell them the news. Harry’s friend’s were among the first to know. They had gathered at their place in London, a casual get-together that didn’t feel too obvious or formal.

Jeff had been the first to catch on, his brow furrowing as he noticed YN sipping ginger ale instead of her usual glass of wine on occasions like these. “Wait a minute…” he began, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he glanced between them. Oh God, you’re pregnant aren’t you?”

The room fell silent for a moment as Harry and YN exchanged a glance, a grin tugging at Harry’s lips. “Surprise!”

The room erupted into chaos. Mitch nearly fell out of his chair, laughing and shouting congratulations at the same time. Pauli looked like he might cry, and Sarah immediately started teasing Harry about how he’d better get used to sleepless nights.

“You two are gonna be knackered for the next eighteen years,” she quipped, though there was a deep affection in her eyes as she clapped Harry on the back. “But you’ll be great parents. I know it.”

As the weeks continued to pass and YN’s belly began to show, Harry’s excitement seemed to grow right along with it. He took over more and more of the household chores, practically hovering over her with a devotion that was both endearing and—just occasionally—a little over the top. But that was Harry; he never did anything halfway, and preparing to become a dad was no exception.

One evening, after a long day, they lay in bed, YN nestled against Harry’s chest as he rested a hand on her belly. His fingers traced slow, absentminded circles over her small bump, his gaze softening as he looked down at her.

“Have y’thought about names?” he asked quietly, voice almost a murmur. There was a trace of wonder in his eyes, as if he were asking the question for the first time.

She smiled, shrugging lightly. The idea of names had been floating around in her mind for a while, but nothing had quite felt right yet. “Mm, I’ve got a few in mind,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “Think I’m just gonna call ’em Fetus for now.”

Harry let out a laugh, his face lighting up as he shook his head. “Poor kid,” he said, voice full of warmth. He shifted lower, pressing a soft kiss to her belly. “Fetus Styles,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her gently, sending a spark of laughter through her.

Her smile never faltered, fingers combing through his curls as he settled his head on her bump, gazing up at her through his lashes. He held her gaze for a moment, then suddenly broke into a grin, blowing raspberries onto her belly with glint in his eye.

She laughed, Harry faltering into her growing tummy as his phone began to ting with a mess of texts. He grabbed his phone that lay upon his wife’s thighs, sitting up beside her against the headboard with a wide smile as the phone illuminated his face.

She knit her eyebrows together, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Who has you smiling?”

He unlocked his phone, “Lou. I told him I had to talk to him tonight.”

She laughed as Harry clicked on the contact, pressing the facetime icon as the ringing filled the air. “It’s what..?” She trailed off, flickering her eyes in thought. “Noon in LA? Surprised he’s even up.”

After a beat, the screen flashed to life, and there he was—Louis, bleary-eyed, half-sprawled across his couch, nursing a mug of tea. He squinted at the screen, a smirk forming as he took them both in.

“Bloody ‘ell, look at you two all cozy!” He drawled, taking a sip. “Thought I was interrupting somethin’.” He chuckled, giving them a teasing wink.

Harry rolled his eyes, holding the phone between them. “Shut up. We’re just havin’ a quiet night in.” He glanced over at YN, then back at the screen, his grin a little wider. “‘Nd I needed to talk t’you, yeah?”

Louis’s smirk softened, curiosity lighting up his expression. “Right. What’s this then?”

He took a quick breath, almost unable to keep the smile off his face as he turned the phone back to YN, who gave Louis a warm smile before glancing at Harry. He squeezed her shoulder, then looked back to the screen, letting the words tumble out. “We’re havin’ a baby!”

For a moment, Louis just stared, the mug paused halfway to his lips as he absorbed the words. His mouth broke into a grin, and he let out a laugh. “Oi, you’re pullin’ my leg!” He leaned closer, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, you’re serious, aren’t ya?”

“Dead serious,” YN said, her voice gentle as she leaned in closer to Harry. “We’ve known for a few weeks now, but wanted to tell you ourselves.”

He sat up straighter, rubbing a hand over his face as he took it in, his grin somehow widening. “Jesus, Haz. A dad,” he mused, a playful sparkle in his eye. “I mean, didn’t see this comin’ back when you were too busy worryin’ about a pair of blue suede shoes to think about nappies.”

Harry let out a laugh, playfully nudging YN. “See, I’m just followin’ y’example, mate.”

Louis snorted, giving a mock scowl. “Better be—Freddie’s halfway to graduating high school it feels like. You’ve got some catchin’ up to do.” He settled back into the couch, softening as he looked at them both. “But seriously, this is brilliant, you two. Gonna make one hell of a mum and dad, aren’t ya?”

Harry glanced over at YN, his gaze lingering, soft and full of a quiet pride. “Hope so,” he said, smiling down at her before turning back to Louis. “Just been… sittin’ with it. So many things I wanna teach ’em, y’know?”

“Best get started on that lullaby playlist, then,” Lou teased, though there was warmth in his tone. “Bet you’re already plannin’ that first guitar lesson.”

YN laughed, rubbing a hand over her belly. “It’s just been a whirlwind, honestly. We haven’t even found out the gender yet.”

Louis grinned, raising an eyebrow. “Surprise ’n all? Makes it even better. Though if y’need tips on anythin’, I’ve got all the dad tricks—like what not to say when they’re askin’ questions in front of their mum.”

“Great,” Harry chuckled. “Start a whole book for me, will ya?”

Lou winked, lifting his mug. “Already makin’ notes. First chapter’s on nappies and the art of avoidin’ baby food on your shirt.” Then, his expression softened as he leaned closer. “Nah, for real. Couldn’t be happier for you two. And for that kid, too. Already got the best start with you both.”

Harry swallowed, his hand finding YN’s, giving it a gentle squeeze as he held his friend’s gaze through the screen. “Means a lot, you’ll be his grumpy, old uncle, yeah?”

Louis grinned, nodding with a playful glint in his eye. “Best be—I’ll have ’em singin’ the chorus to No Control by the time I’m done. YN, darling, don’t you worry—I’ll keep him in line.”

YN chuckled, leaning her head on Harry’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that, Lou.”

“Damn right you will,” Louis shot back, settling back against his couch, eyes full of pride and a mischievous excitement. “And when I’m back over, s’gonna be you two doin’ the nappies, while I teach that kid how to annoy his dad.”

Harry feigned a groan, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Cheers, mate.” Louis raised his mug, a glimmer of something genuine in his gaze. “Can’t wait. Love you both, yeah?”

Harry grinned, feeling the weight of Louis’s words. “Love you, too, Lou. Cheers.”

And as they hung up, YN nestled closer, both of them feeling the joy of sharing their secret with someone who’d been there for it all.

A few months had passed, and YN was officially eighteen weeks pregnant. The kitchen was quiet, filled with the warm scent of vanilla as Harry carefully set a single white cupcake on the counter. He’d insisted on something private, just the two of them. No big reveal party or confetti—just a simple cupcake with the surprise hidden inside. YN stood beside him, hands resting on her bump, a grin tugging at her lips as she watched him fuss over it.

“You’re really gonna make me cry over a cupcake, aren’t you?” she teased, nudging him lightly.

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he looked over at her, dimples deepening. “Just y’wait.” He handed her the small knife, his fingers brushing hers, and his voice softened. “Ready?”

She nodded, her heartbeat picking up as she sliced through the cupcake. Slowly, she pulled the two halves apart, then stared down at the filling inside.

Bright green.

For a moment, they both froze, staring down in complete confusion. Harry tilted his head, mouth slightly open, brow furrowed as he looked at her, then back at the cupcake. “Uh… m’pretty sure green wasn’t one of the options.”

YN snorted, a laugh bubbling out as she lifted the cupcake up to inspect it. “Maybe they’re tellin’ us we’re having a little Niall?”

Harry’s eyes crinkled as he burst into laughter, clutching his chest. “God help us if there’s a little Irish guitar player in there.”

She grinned, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “You think they’ll come out singin’ ‘Mull of Kintyre’?”

Harry laughed, covering his face with his hand. “First words’ll be potato, just y’watch.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “This is what we get for trustin’ a bloody cupcake.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her bag on the counter. “Should’ve gone with the doctor’s letter instead of dessert.” After a moment of rummaging, she triumphantly held up the small, folded envelope, smiling. “Alright, now you ready?”

Harry nodded, moving closer, his hand resting gently over hers as she slowly unfolded the paper. They both took a breath, glancing at each other before reading the bold, printed words inside.

Right underneath a blurry ultrasound picture printed onto the visit summary, there it was written.

Fetal sex: Male

For a heartbeat, they both just stared at the words, the realization washing over them like a warm tide.

“A little boy,” Harry murmured, his voice filled with awe as he shook his head in disbelief. “We’re gonna have a son.”

YN’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him, a wide smile breaking across her face. “A son,” she repeated softly, her hand covering his on her belly. Already, she could see him—a little boy with Harry’s eyes, his laughter, his kindness.

Harry swallowed, his own eyes misty as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, then resting his against hers. “Think we’re ready for him?”

She let out a soft laugh, brushing away a tear. “Not even close,” she whispered, her fingers lacing with his over her belly. “But I think we’ll do just fine.”

It was mid February by this point, a few weeks after celebrating Harry’s twenty-fifth birthday. The air had a sharp chill, and YN readjusted Harry’s oversized hoodie that hung off her growing frame, something that hid her bump well. They were dressed comfy and warm, Harry in a pair of sunnies with his hoodie pulled over his head. She nestled closer into her husband as they walked through the quiet side streets of London. They’d just finished lunch at their favorite café, savoring the rare chance to slip out together unnoticed. She pulled the hoodie over her head as a gust of wind brushed by.

“Wish we had days like this more often,” Harry murmured, his fingers lacing through hers as they made their way back to the car. “Just us, y’know?”

She smiled, leaning into him. “You mean just the two of us and fetus?”

Harry squeaked out a laugh that sounded like the ones from his early days in the x-factor, squeezing her hand. “Right, fetus. Can’t forget our little tagalong now.”

But as they turned onto the next street, something shifted—a distant hum of voices, then a sharp click of a camera. Before they could react, the quiet street filled with flashes, and a group of paparazzi materialized around them, spilling onto the sidewalk.

It wasn’t a swarm, just about five or so that were tipped off about Harry walking about the city in a pair of sunnies, as if that could keep him hidden.

“Harry! Harry! Just one photo!” A bald man shouted, pushing forward. The camera flashes came in rapid succession, blinding in the midday light.

He immediately shifted, drawing YN closer to his side, his hand protectively resting into her waist as he tried to steer her forward. “Alright, mate, that’s close enough,” he called out, his voice tense but calm.

“Harry, are the rumors true?” another voice shouted, barely inches from them, more cameras held up like a barrier.

“Just please let us through, yeah?” Harry’s voice was firmer now, his hand moving to shield YN’s face, pressing her into his chest as the crowd closed in tighter.

A jostle from the side sent her stumbling, and Harry’s arm tightened around her, his jaw clenched. “Hey, enough!” he barked, his voice sharper than she’d ever heard it. He guided her forward, his body acting as a buffer as he tried to clear a path.

“Just one shot, Harry!” a paparazzo persisted, his lens pointed squarely at YN, his hand cupping her cheek as he pressed her face further into his chest, her heart pounding as she held onto Harry.

He shot a glare of his shoulder, jaw clenched as he remained silent, maneuvering his wife past the cameras, his hand never leaving her. He kept his eyes trained ahead as he led her through the last stretch to his car.

Finally reaching the door, he opened it for her, a quick but steady gesture, ushering her in and following right after. The cameras pressed in one last time as he shut the door firmly, finally sealing them off from the swarm outside.

Inside, the car was quiet, insulated from the chaos that still buzzed outside, windows tinted as legally possible. YN let out a shaky breath, her hands in her hoodie pocket as she glanced over at Harry. His face was flushed, a mix of worry and lingering frustration in his eyes.

“You okay?” He asked, his voice gentler now, his hand pulling hers out of the pocket, thumb brushing over her knuckles as he studied her face.

She nodded with a faint smile, trying to steady herself. “Not our first rodeo, H.” She tried to joke. And it was true, it surely wasn’t the first time they’ve been bombarded by paps. YN wasn’t famous prior to meeting Harry, a smart girl as beautiful as she, he simply couldn’t ignore.

She was a friend of Anne’s best friend’s daughter, bumping into each other at a family gathering in 2014, immediately becoming close friends. He offered her a ride home that night, and when she thanked him profusely and offered to give him gas money, he knew then and there he was going to fall in love with this woman.

Fans and paps galore started delving into her life in late 2015, when a grainy picture of them kissing at a bar after a London show exploded on twitter. Since then, she always known about the lack of privacy in Harry’s life. And honestly, she’s still trying to adjust to it.

He exhaled, his fingers tightening around hers. “Hate that they got that close to you. Wish they’d just..” He trailed off, clenching his jaw as he glanced out the window, his gaze hardening when he saw the cameras still lingering in the distance.

She squeezed his hand, her voice soft. “It’s alright, baby. I’m alright.” She could see the tension in his shoulders slowly easing, though he still held her hand as if anchoring himself. “They don’t know, and that’s okay for now. It’s just us, remember?”

Harry nodded as he pulled from the curb, driving down the narrow street toward the red light. He turned back to her, his green eyes softening, and he nodded slowly. “Just us. Right.” His shoulders relaxed a little more, a trace of a smile returning to his face as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead while the light was still red.

But before he could pull away, she let out a small gasp, eyes widening as she felt a firm, insistent little nudge low on her belly. She looked up at him, her own hand moving instinctively to her bump.

Green illuminated over them, a honking echoing from behind as he froze in concern. “What?” He breathed, turning a corner to head to the grocery store in the distance, seeking a temporary refuge in the parking lot. He glanced between YN and the road, heart beating in his ears. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He raised his voice, though it wasn’t out of anger, just an anxiety that threatened to boil over.

She shook her head, her face breaking into a soft smile. “Nothing’s wrong, Harry. He just kicked.”

Harry’s eyes lit up instantly, his frustration melting away as he stared at her, a grin forming slowly. “He did?”

She nodded, pulling his hand to her belly as he parked. “Right here. Just now.”

He held his breath, his palm pressed against her bump, waiting. And there it was again—a tiny but unmistakable kick, nudging firmly against his hand.

Harry’s face broke into a radiant smile, his whole expression softening with awe. “Oi, there’s my little striker,” he mused, his voice thick with affection as he looked down at her belly. “We’ll have you in a Man United kit before you’re out of nappies, won’t we?”

She laughed, his words melting away the last traces of tension from the encounter outside. “Getting a bit ahead of yourself, aren’t you? Picking his team and all?”

He grinned, his eyes crinkling with pure excitement. “No chance he’ll be an Arsenal player.. First kicks mean we’ve got a future midfielder on our hands, yeah?” He grinned, “Dads gonna make sure y’got the right colors on you, bub.”

YN couldn’t help but laugh, her heart swelling as she watched the joy take over his face. She reached up, tucking a curl behind his ear, her fingers lingering against his cheek. “He’s already got you wrapped around his tiny little foot.”

Harry chuckled, leaning in to kiss her, his hand still resting against her belly, feeling another small nudge. “S’pose I’ll let him get away with it. Just this once.”

*

March arrived in a blink.

It was early, the kind of early that still belonged to the night, when Harry’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. The world outside was still draped in darkness, the streets silent, as if London itself hadn’t quite woken up. Harry stirred, slowly pulled from the depths of sleep by the vibration of his phone. He squinted in the dim light, his vision blurry, barely able to make out the name on the screen. Jeff.

With a quiet sigh, Harry picked up the phone, pressing it to his ear and trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that clung to him. He glanced over to YN, who lay nestled beside him, her breathing soft and even, lost in a peaceful slumber. Gently, he reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, a tired but adoring smile tugging at his lips. She stirred slightly, her head nuzzling into his hand, and he felt a warmth rise in his chest. Moments like this felt sacred, untouched by the outside world.

But then Jeff’s voice broke through the stillness, sharp and apologetic.

“Harry,” Jeff said, his tone low and serious, as if he wished he were calling for any other reason. “Listen, I hate to do this to you, but we’ve got a situation.”

Harry straightened, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. “What is it, mate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to wake YN just yet. He kept his hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing gently along her skin, grounding himself as he listened.

“There’s a magazine,” Jeff continued with a hesitant sigh. “They got photos of you and YN leaving the clinic yesterday after the ultrasound. They’re planning to release them tomorrow—noon sharp.”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Harry’s jaw tightened after he took a shaky breath, his eyes falling back on YN, still blissfully asleep. They’d planned everything so carefully, wanting to share the news of their son on their own terms. They’d waited for the perfect moment, wanting to protect this piece of their life from the relentless intrusion of the outside world. And now, it was slipping out of their hands.

“Tomorrow?” he murmured, his heart pounding. He felt a surge of anger rising, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. Jeff waited in silence on the other end of the line, letting him process the news.

“Yeah,” Jeff said softly. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. Figured you’d want to tell people yourselves, do it in a way that feels right.”

Harry nodded, even though Jeff couldn’t see him, his fingers still resting on YN’s cheek, feeling the soft warmth of her skin. “Thanks, Jeff,” he finally whispered, his voice tight. “I’ll–erm–we’ll figure it out.”

He ended the call and placed the phone back on the table, his shoulders slumping as he tried to process what to do next. He looked down at YN, her face peaceful in the darkness, and he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of waking her. She deserved this moment of rest, free from worry and the weight of the world pressing in on them. But he knew he couldn’t keep this from her. Not when it was about their son.

Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his hand moving to cradle her cheek as he murmured softly, “Baby, wake up.”

She stirred, her brows knitting together as she blinked up at him, still half-asleep, a faint smile gracing her lips as she registered his face. “H?” she whispered, her voice groggy and warm. “What time is it?”

“Too early,” he murmured, his own voice weighed down by the news he had to deliver. “Sorry t’wake you, but there’s something we need t‘talk about.”

Her eyes focused, a flicker of concern replacing the drowsiness as she sat up a bit, her hand resting on his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry took a deep breath, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “It’s the pictures,” he paused with a sigh, “from yesterday, after our appointment. Paparazzi took photos, and they’re planning to release them by noon tomorrow.”

The weight of his words settled over her, and she let out a quiet sigh, her gaze dropping to the bed. They’d known this was a possibility—their lives were never entirely private—but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. She leaned into his touch, her fingers lacing through his as they both sat there in the stillness of the early morning, grappling with the realization that their hand was being forced.

“What do we do?” she asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of worry and sadness.

Harry’s hand moved to hold hers, his grip gentle but steady. “We tell everyone ourselves. Today. We’ll release it before they can, on our own terms.” He paused, his voice softening. “It’s not what we planned, but, at least we can still share him with the world our way.”

YN gave him a small nod, her eyes meeting his with a quiet resilience. They both knew they didn’t have any other choice. She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as they took a moment to steady themselves, finding strength in each other.

“Okay,” she murmured after a beat. “I trust you.”

They spent the next hour in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom, talking about how to share the news. Eventually, Harry decided on something simple, something that would feel personal without giving too much away. He reached for his phone and opened the photo gallery, scrolling until he found the ultrasound image from their last appointment. It was a grainy black-and-white shot, but to him, it was beautiful—a glimpse of their son, small and precious, already loved beyond measure.

He glanced at YN, who gave him a reassuring nod, and then he took a deep breath, opening Instagram. With his fingers hovering over the screen, he crafted the caption, choosing each word carefully, his heart pounding in his chest.

I’ve been waiting to share this part of our journey with you all for a while now. YN and I are expecting a son, and we couldn’t be happier to welcome him into the world soon. Thank you for your love and support—can’t wait for you to meet him.

Love, H

He read it over, then looked at YN, who leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. She gave him a small smile, her fingers brushing his arm. “It’s perfect, baby”

With a final deep breath, he hit post, setting the phone down and letting out a long, steadying exhale. They sat there in the quiet of their room, wrapped up in each other as the reality of what they’d just done settled over them. This was the first time they were sharing their son with the world, and it felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

Within moments, notifications began to flood in, messages of excitement, love, and support from fans around the world who had been waiting eagerly for news like this. Harry glanced at YN, his hand finding hers once more as he gave her a small, relieved smile.

”Cats out’v the bag.” He laughed softly.

She leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “They love you, H. They’ll love him, too.” She reassured.

As the sun finally began to rise outside their window, casting a gentle warmth over the room, Harry held her close, feeling a sense of peace he hadn’t expected. Despite the forced timing, despite the circumstances, they had done this together. And from this moment on, they would continue this journ, hand in hand, as a family.

Weeks passed by, and it another chilly March evening, and soft candlelight flickered in the bathroom, casting a warm glow over the walls as steam rose lazily from the tub. The couple sat tucked into the water, surrounded by a mountain of bubbles that floated between them. The bathroom was cozy as Harry’s arms wrapped around her from behind, she leaned back against his chest, her bump nestled between them.

He’d insisted on running the bath for her, adding just the right amount of lavender oil to soothe her muscles, and now they were enveloped in that warm, calming scent, the soft sounds of water lapping around them. Harry’s hands rested gently on her belly, his fingers tracing light circles over the stretched skin as he hummed contentedly, clearly lost in thought.

After a few minutes of quiet, he dipped his head to press a kiss to her shoulder, murmuring, “You know, we haven’t really settled on a name yet.”

YN grinned, biting back a laugh. "Sure we have. Fetus Styles—don’t you remember?”

Harry groaned dramatically, his head falling back against the tub. "God help this boy."

She chuckled, turning her head to look at him. "Fine, fine. So, what do you have in mind, love?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his fingers still tracing light circles over her bump. "I dunno. Something that isn’t Fetus or something basic, like David.”

"Otis?" she suggested with a playful smirk. She knew he hated the name.

He snorted, his chest vibrating against her back, shaking his head. "Baby, Otis is the name of that big slobbery dog at the park. Our son deserves better than being named after a drool machine."

She playfully splashed a few bubbles toward him, her laughter filling the room.. "Alright, alright. So, we're vetoing Otis and Fetus, oh wise one.”

“Good,” he said, lowering his head ever so slightly and nibbling her shoulders gently. “So, what else is on your list, then?”

She leaned her head back against his shoulder, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to recall some of the names she’d been turning over in her mind. “I do like Ezra.”

“Ezra,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. “It’s alright. But it sounds like he’d be in a jazz band or something.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a jazz band,” she countered, grinning as she nudged his arm. “A little musician just like his dad.”

Harry hummed, his fingers lightly drumming a rhythm against her belly. “Alright, fair point. Ezra can be a maybe. What else?”

She let out a thoughtful hum, swirling her hand through the bubbles. “What about August?”

“August’s alright I guess,” he said slowly, tilting his head as he considered it. “But I don’t know. August Styles..feels like he’d be a mischievous little troublemaker.”

“Like his dad, you mean?” she teased, glancing up at him with a knowing smile.

He grinned, shrugging. “If he takes after me, he’ll definitely be one,” he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. “But I dunno. Still doesn’t feel quite right. But I do like the idea of an A name.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each of them lost in their thoughts as the water lapped softly around them. Harry’s hands moved back to her belly, his touch gentle and reverent, as if he were trying to connect with their son through the warm water and the growing curve of her bump. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the bath and the feeling of his arms around her.

After a while, Harry spoke again, his voice soft and thoughtful. “What about Atlas?”

YN opened her eyes, blinking up at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Atlas?”

“Yeah.” He shifted slightly, his hand still resting on her belly as he looked at her, his eyes warm. “It’s strong, y’know? Unique. I like the idea of him having a name that feels like he could carry the world if he wanted to.”

YN let the name settle, repeating it to herself, and feeling it take root, becoming more than just a word. “Atlas Styles,” she said softly, letting the sound roll off her tongue. “It fits him, I think. Strong like his kicks.” She giggled.

Harry’s face lit up as he grinned down at her, his dimples deepening, a twinkle of something unspoken sparking in his eyes. “Exactly,” he murmured, trailing a hand gently over her bump. “Atlas Styles. Got the name of a proper legend already. Manchester United should be countin’ themselves lucky.”

YN laughed again, rolling her eyes as she turned to face him. “Oh, really? Our boy is still going to save Manchester United, is he?”

“Obviously,” Harry said, his grin widening. “Just imagine it—Atlas Styles, midfield maestro, dominating the pitch. The crowd chanting his name.” He mimics the sound of a roaring crowd in a hush, “‘Atlas! Atlas!” He chanted in a whisper, “United will have never seen anything like him. They’d be winning the league every season with a name like that.”

She shook her head, fighting a laugh as she slipped a few bubbles onto his nose. “Right, because he won’t be busy enough carrying the world. He’ll just take Manchester United on his back too?”

Harry shrugged, brushing the bubbles away with a look of mock seriousness. “Our little Atlas can handle it all. With a name like that, he’ll be unstoppable.” He leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “But, if he’s not into football, I s’pose that’s alright too.”

YN smiled, squeezing his hand, warmth spreading through her as she thought of their little Atlas and all the dreams they had for him—footballer or not, world-bearer or not, he would be loved beyond measure.

*

The rain pattered softly against the window as April rolled in, casting a gentle gray light over the nursery. YN stood by the door, watching Harry wrestle with the crib pieces scattered across the floor. She cradled her belly, which had grown significantly in the last month. Her due date was set for mid-May, only a few weeks away, and she could feel the weight of their son settling lower, as if he, too, was getting ready for the journey ahead.

Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, brow furrowed in intense concentration as he squinted at the instruction manual. The crib, which he had eagerly declared would be a breeze to assemble, now looked more like puzzle pieces that lay scattered around him, screws and wooden slats in disarray, as he muttered under his breath.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” YN asked with a soft grin, leaning against the doorway as she watched him struggle.

He looked up, shooting her a playful glare. “I’ve got it, thanks,” he insisted, though he seemed far from convinced himself. He twisted a screwdriver, only for the wood to creak ominously in protest. Harry’s cheeks flushed, and YN bit her lip, stifling a laugh.

“Sure you do,” she teased, crossing her arms over her bump. “Maybe our son will be crawling by the time you figure that out.”

Harry chuckled, dropping the screwdriver with a resigned sigh. “Alright, alright,” he said, running a hand through his curls as he gave her a dramatic pout. “Go on, laugh at the man trying his best to be a good dad. Just what I need, huh?”

She laughed, stepping into the room to get a closer look at his progress—or lack thereof. “You’re doing great, honey,” she said, her tone light. “Maybe just… not great at building cribs?”

He rolled his eyes, but the hint of a grin played at the corners of his mouth. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” he mumbled. Then, before she could respond, he reached out, gently tugging her down to sit beside him.

“Hey!” she gasped, though she let him guide her down, leaning into his arms. Her back rested against his chest, and Harry wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

He maneuvered her gently onto the carpet, hovering over as his hands resting on either side of her, leaning close, his face only inches from hers, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Maybe I should distract you so y’can’t mock me,” he murmured, his voice teasing.

Before she could respond, he started peppering her face with kisses—one on her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, her chin. She squealed, laughing as he continued, his lips brushing against her skin, his stubble tickling her and sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Harry!” she gasped between breaths, her hands on his shoulders as she tried to squirm away. “You’re ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, grinning as he planted a kiss just above her lips. “Maybe. But it’s working, isn’t it?”

She gave him a playful shove, but he only laughed, pulling her closer as he trailed his kisses down to her neck, the weight of him comforting as he hovered over her, his hands gentle on her sides. Finally, when her laughter had softened, he leaned back just enough to look into her eyes, his gaze warm and full of affection.

God, how he loved her.

After a moment, he brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, his thumb lingering on her cheek. “Alright,” he said with a sigh, glancing over at the mess of crib parts. “Maybe I could use those hands of yours.”

YN smiled, brushing her hand down his chest. “Hm,” she hummed, “where?”

“Oi!” The brunette giggled, swatting her wandering hand away as he sat up, shifting to be beside her. “Wicked woman, you are. Get to work.”

She huffed, although there was no anger residing in her. Maybe an ache between her thighs, but that’s something she could sort out with her husband later. She sat up, sitting cross legged beside Harry as he reached for the instruction manual.

The two of them sat side by side on the nursery floor, her hand resting over his as they sorted through the crib parts. Harry studied the instructions once more, pointing out the next few steps with a renewed confidence that was helped by her steady presence beside him. YN held the pieces steady while Harry carefully tightened each screw, the two of them working together, their laughter filling the room whenever something went slightly wrong.

Finally, after some teamwork, a bit of trial and error, and more than a few shared smiles, they placed the last piece into place, and the crib stood finished in front of them. They both sat back, admiring their handiwork, their hands intertwined as they took in the sight of the nursery coming together, piece by piece.

Harry looked over at YN, his gaze soft as he took in her face, still flushed from laughter. “Not bad for a couple of first-timers, huh?”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, holding her hands out in front of them and wiggling her fingers. “Thanks to these.”

He snorted, gently taking her chin in his grasp to force her to look at him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

As time passed by quicker than ever, spring took the city by full force, it was finally May. Flowers bloomed in their garden, trees shook with the delicate breeze of a looming summer. The sun fell behind the hills later and later, still offering a golden glow as they ate dinner.

A gentle rain drummed against the windows as YN and Harry shared a cozy dinner on the sofa, the warm light of a movie and fading sunlight flickering across their faces. They were nestled together, plates balanced on laps (and bump) as they laughed at an old comedy. Outside, the world felt comfortably distant. Everything about this moment felt ordinary, like the calm before a long-anticipated storm.

But YN hadn’t been entirely honest with Harry tonight. She had felt a dull ache creeping into her lower back and belly since late afternoon, a sensation she had brushed off as yet another round of Braxton Hicks contractions. Her OB had warned her that false alarms would be common in these final weeks, and she’d already had a few where they’d rushed to the hospital only to be sent back home. So tonight, she’d told herself that it was nothing—just her body practicing, nothing more. But as they watched the movie, she found herself shifting uncomfortably, her breaths deepening whenever another wave rolled through her.

The contractions had grown stronger as they ate, each one hitting her lower back with a dull, throbbing ache before tightening sharply across her belly. She bit her lip, forcing a smile whenever Harry glanced her way, trying to play it off. But she couldn’t ignore the way her body tensed or the cold bead of sweat she felt on her brow as she worked to stay composed.

As they finished their dinner, Harry stretched and stood, gathering their plates with a grin. “Think I’ll wash these up. You just sit there and relax, yeah?”

She smiled, nodding as he carried their dishes into the kitchen. He hummed softly to himself as he washed the plates, oblivious to the intensity of the pain building within her. She took a deep breath, gripping the edge of the sofa as a new wave hit, this one sharper than before, radiating from her lower back and spreading between her hips, each pulse making her muscles contract and tighten. She fought to keep her breathing steady, her mind racing as she tried to convince herself it was nothing.

But then, as she watched Harry rinse a glass, her vision blurred with another wave of pain—deeper, sharper, as if her body was tightening from the inside out. Her breath hitched, and this time she couldn’t hide the small gasp that escaped her. She braced herself against the sofa, her fingers digging into the fabric as she fought to breathe through it.

Harry looked over, his brow furrowing as he noticed the tension on her face. He set the glass down in the sink, wiping his hands on a towel as he stepped back into the living room. “Love?” he asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. “You alright?”

She forced a smile, trying to play it off, but her voice came out strained. “I’m fine. Just–“ She grunted, “Braxton Hicks, I think.” But even as she spoke, it was like an aftershock of an earthquake, stealing her breath, the pain sharper than before. Her hand flew to her belly, fingers pressing down instinctively, and she had to close her eyes, focusing all her energy on breathing through it.

Harry’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he knelt beside her, his hand moving to rest on her knee. “That doesn’t look like Braxton Hicks,” he said gently, his voice laced with concern. “How long’s this been going on?”

She hesitated, looking down as she tried to keep her breathing composed. “Since– since earlier this afternoon,” she admitted, wincing as the pain reached its peak, leaving her feeling helpless and raw. “I thought it was nothing, really. But it’s–I dunno– it’s getting worse.”

Harry’s face shifted from concern to something closer to alarm. He was quiet for a moment, clearly trying to process her words, before his gaze softened, and he slid his hand to hers, squeezing it gently. “Alright,” he murmured, his voice steadying. “We’re not going to take any chances.”

YN nodded, relief flooding her at the calm resolve in his voice, but as she tried to stand, another contraction gripped her—this time harder than any before. It started as a dull ache that quickly sharpened into an almost searing pressure, as though her whole belly was clenching in waves she couldn’t control. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly as she clutched Harry’s arm.

Harry’s eyes widened as he caught her, his face shifting into a worried frown. “It’s happening, isn’t it?” he whispered, almost to himself, before shaking off the shock and focusing on her. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her back down to the sofa with a gentle firmness. “We’re going t’breathe through this one, yeah? Just like we practiced.”

She clung to his hand, squeezing hard as she fought to steady her breathing, but the pain was relentless, each wave feeling sharper than the last. Her body felt like it was working against her, every muscle tightening until she was gasping, unable to fully catch her breath. She buried her face against his shoulder, her voice a shaky whisper. “H, this hurts more than I thought it would.”

He brushed a hand through her hair, his voice soft but unwavering as he held her close. “I know, baby. You’re doing so well. Just focus on breathing, alright? I’ve got you.”

As the contraction faded, she managed to catch her breath, slumping slightly against him, feeling a mix of exhaustion and dread for what was coming next. She felt his hand at the small of her back, steadying her, and she was grateful for the warmth of his touch, the calm he radiated even as she could see the worry flickering in his eyes.

“We’re calling the OB,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “This doesn’t feel like false labor, does it?”

She shook her head, unable to deny the reality that had settled in. “No..I think this is real.”

Harry’s face softened, a mix of pride and worry as he watched her breathe through everything. When the pain passed, he took her face in his hands, his thumb brushing lightly over her cheek. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice steady. “We’re going to get you through this, love. One breath at a time.”

With that, he stood, reaching for his phone and dialing their OB, staying right by her side as the call connected. He answered each of the doctor’s questions carefully, glancing at YN between each answer, his hand never leaving hers. After a few minutes, he hung up and turned back to her, a mixture of excitement and resolve in his gaze.

“She says it sounds like early labor,” he told her softly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re going t’the hospital. Just you and me, hm?”

YN nodded, taking a steadying breath as she leaned into him, his strength anchoring her. With Harry’s arms wrapped around her, she knew that she had everything she needed to get through this.

The rain had softened to a gentle drizzle as Harry helped YN into the car, settling her carefully into the passenger seat, his hands gentle but steady. Her breaths were deep and focused, each one an effort to keep herself calm as the contractions continued, not close enough to urge a rush but strong enough to leave her nerves buzzing with anticipation. Harry buckled her in, his gaze warm and reassuring as he brushed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re doing great, sweet girl,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Next stop, hospital. Just you, me, and our little Atlas.”

YN managed a faint smile, squeezing his hand as he lingered beside her for a moment before closing the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The car pulled away from their quiet street, its headlights cutting through the misty drizzle, as they made their way into the city. She leaned her head back against the seat, focusing on the rhythm of the rain tapping against the windows, letting the steady sound settle her mind.

As they drove, Harry glanced over at her frequently, his hand occasionally drifting from the wheel to hold hers. “Let me know if you need anything, yeah?” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Or if I need to pull over. Anything at all.”

He rambled when he was nervous.

YN nodded, keeping her eyes closed, breathing slowly. Another contraction started, gripping her with that same deep ache that radiated from her back to her belly. She clenched his hand, squeezing as she focused on her breathing, her fingers white-knuckling against his. It was painful, but she willed herself to relax, to breathe through the intensity, letting her breath match the gentle rhythm of the rain.

Harry squeezed her hand back, his thumb tracing small circles on her skin. “Out of all women in the world who gave birth, you’re the most beautiful.” He smiled warily. His stupid compliment even made him want to smack himself upside the head. But he looked at his wife expectantly.

When the contraction passed, she released a shaky breath. Part of her wanted to shoot daggers into him with a glare, but looking at that goofy smile she fell in love with, the way his cheeks flushed pink and eyes looked unsure, she couldn’t. She mustered out a weak, breathy laugh.”Shut up.” She whispered.

They reached the hospital, and Harry pulled up to the lot, parking the car before rushing around to help her out. He wrapped an arm around her, guiding her through the automatic doors, his gaze steady and protective as he led her to the reception desk. The lobby was quiet, lit by soft fluorescent lights that made the polished floors gleam. Harry gently rubbed her back as they reached the counter, where a man with glasses and a walkie looked up with a polite smile.

“Hi,” Harry said, his voice calm but firm, “we’re here for an admission. Our OB requested it.” He grinned lightly, seeking to be polite despite his nerves. He gave his wife’s name through his smile.

The receptionist nodded, typing something into the computer before glancing back at YN, who was gripping Harry’s hand, her face pale and tense. After a moment, the man looked up. “Alright, we have you here. Just a moment.”

He picked up the phone, speaking briefly with someone before hanging up and nodding toward them. “Patient transport is on the way. We’ll get you into a wheelchair and up to the maternity ward to get settled.”

Harry thanked him, his hand resting on the small of her back, he murmured, “y’doing so well, my sweet girl.”

She leaned into him, exhaling a shaky breath as another mild contraction started to creep in, but before she could fully brace herself, a transport worker arrived with a wheelchair.

Harry helped her ease down into it, kneeling beside her and brushing his thumb over her hand. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of pain and determination. “I’m alright,” she whispered, her words braver than she felt.

He met her gaze, his eyes full of pride and unwavering support. “I know you are,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to her knuckles before he stood and walked beside her as they made their way to the elevator. The ride up was quiet, each floor lighting up in sequence as they ascended to the maternity ward, and she found herself counting each breath, each second, each floor, until they finally reached the unit.

Once inside the labor and delivery ward, they were greeted by a nurse who led them into a dimly lit room that felt strangely peaceful, its walls painted a soft pink, the lights warm and low. The nurse introduced herself, her voice calm and soothing as she helped YN settle onto the bed, helping her into a hospital gown before taking her vital signs and asking a series of questions, jotting down notes while Harry sat by her side, holding her hand.

“Let’s get you as comfortable as we can,” the nurse said gently, adjusting the bed’s settings. “Now, you’re still in early labor, so we’re going to monitor you closely, but it could be a while yet.”

YN nodded, feeling both grateful and anxious at the prospect of waiting. The contractions continued, rolling in like waves, growing in intensity but not yet regular enough to signal active labor. Each one required her full focus; she found herself closing her eyes, breathing deeply as she squeezed Harry’s hand, centering herself with each wave of pain.

Hours passed, the pain deepening with each contraction as her body adjusted, stretching and preparing for the arrival of their son. The nurse checked in periodically, taking notes, adjusting her position, and checking her dilation with gentle reassurance, but progress was slow. The contractions were more frequent now, each one a sharp, relentless pressure that seemed to radiate from deep within her, pulling her to the very edge of her endurance.

Harry never left her side, his hand a steady anchor as he held hers, his voice low and soothing, guiding her through each breath. “I love you,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers as they breathed together. “Just a bit longer, yeah? You got it.”

At one point, the pain became so overwhelming that she couldn’t bear to sit still. Harry helped her stand, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned into him, her face pressed against his chest. Her arms draped over his shoulders, clinging to him as she rocked back and forth, swaying through each contraction, finding relief in the gentle rhythm. He whispered words of encouragement, his hands rubbing her back as she trembled against him, each wave of pain stealing her breath and leaving her gasping.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice a steady hum that she latched onto, focusing on the warmth of his words as the pain pulsed through her. “Just lean on me. I’ve got you.”

She clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as the pain reached a peak, her knees weakening under the weight of it. But Harry held her up, his arms strong and steady, supporting her fully as she swayed, letting the movement carry her through each contraction. She pressed her forehead into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek, grounding her, keeping her anchored in the storm of pain.

When the nurse checked again, the news was disheartening—only a few more centimeters dilated. YN felt exhaustion beginning to creep in, the hours of labor sapping her strength, but Harry was there, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, whispering soft reassurances as she closed her eyes, her head resting against his shoulder.

As the hours ticked by, the contractions grew sharper, more intense, each one like a wave crashing against her, forcing her to draw deeper into herself just to withstand the pain. Harry eased her back onto the bed, pulling a mask toward her face, releasing a gas that would help the pain. Her mind blurred under the relentless rhythm of labor. Yet, every time she opened her eyes, he was there—his gaze steady, his hand in hers, his words like an anchor.

She held the mask to her face with her other hand, breathing it in deeply. As backward as it sounded, even laboring and pushing out a baby, the thought of a seven inch needle being put into her spine scared her even more. The thought of an epidural was tempting, being numbed from the waist down—but it made her stomach churn with anxiety, too. She had enough of that already, so she stuck to the gas.

YN lifted the gas from her nose, staring at Harry through half lidded eyes. “Can’t wait to have sex with you in six weeks.” She mumbled, her voice hazy.

Harry eased the mask back onto her, his cheeks growing red from her clouded words. He let out a breathy laugh, “Okay, one step at a time, hm?”

At last, as dawn began to break outside, the sunlight bleak, barely there. The nurse’s expression shifted as she checked YN’s progress. She smiled, looking up with gentle relief. “We’re almost there,” she said softly. “Just a little bit longer.”

Harry’s face lit up, his eyes shining as he looked down at YN, his voice soft and full of pride. He pressed a kiss to her sweaty forehead, brushing strands of her hair back. “Hear that? Final stretch, baby.”

YN nodded, too exhausted to respond, but the warmth in his eyes gave her the strength to keep going. With every ounce of willpower she had left, she faced the final contractions, the pain almost blinding but her determination carrying her through, and Harry’s voice guiding her every step of the way.

Once she was ten centimeters, a team rushed in. Two nurses and the OB. Her legs were placed into stirrups, her gown bunched up over her tummy.

It was the longest, most intense thirteen hours of her life, but as she felt the final waves of pain, the medical staff guided her through the last moments, she clung to Harry, his hand a lifeline, his presence a comfort that wrapped around her like a shield. And with one last surge, a cry filled the room, and she knew it was all worth it.

“Oh.” She whimpered, her own cry emitting from her as her son was placed onto her bare chest for the first time. A nurse wiped him down as he wriggled against YN, Harry leaning down by her shoulder, staring in awe.

That was his boy, his son. A piece of him and the love of his life brought forth into the world. He wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling he felt as he flickered his gaze between his wife’s and Atlas’s.

Sparse stands of brown locks sat atop his head, a color matching his fathers. He gently placed his hand atop it, his thumb rubbing against his forehead as the little boy continued to cry.

His eyes resembled his mothers, as did his nose. But everything else? That was all Harry. He cooed at him, whispering soft nothings to to his baby boy before the nurse approached him with medical scissors. “Would you like to cut the cord, dad?”

Dad.

Butterflies surged through his tummy.

He drew a deep breath, looking at YN for silent encouragement, to which she only smiled at him. Her husband, the father of her son.

He gently grabbed the scissors from the nurse, hesitantly approaching where he was told to cut. He looked at his Atlas who seemed to calm down a bit, slowly coming to terms with being brought out into the world. He steadied himself, and then with a delicate snip, he cut the cord.

As he handed them back to the nurse, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the enormity of the moment settling over him. He looked down at the two he loved most in the world, lightly grasping onto his little feet and silently counting his tiny toes.

“Sit.” YN softly ordered, holding the boy against her chest with one hand and patting the small spot beside her with the other.

He nodded slowly, easing himself down into the spot after lowering the right side bar so he’d fit. He leaned against YN, his feet still upon the floor.

The baby was swaddled into a pale blue blanket before she handed him over to Harry, his heart melting instantly. He cradled him against his chest, tucking his head down to place delicate kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose. “I love you so much.” He whispered, hesitantly ripping his gaze away from his son onto his wife.

His lip quivered as he placed a kiss against her sweaty hair, “Thank you so much.” His voice was delicate, a murmur. “I owe you everything.”

This was all he needed. His heart swelled with a love so profound, it felt almost overwhelming, as if the sheer depth of it might consume him. It was a love that stretched beyond anything he’d known, powerful enough to break him apart and put him back together all at once. But he embraced it, letting it fill every part of him, savoring each precious drop. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt exactly where he was meant to be.

This was home.

[uhohdad]

Meine Perle

Octo!Konig x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader is tasked with feeding enemy prisoner Octo!Konig

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.” AO3

Inspired by this fanart by @numelu that I have not been able to stop thinking about since I laid my sinful little eyes on it.

Word Count: 25.7k

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, porn with plot, tentacles, restraints, bondage, orgasm torture, tentacle fucking, light anal, light spanking, dw he uses all of his tentacles, corked like you got the suds, dom!konig, hood stays on, choking, injury, holy trinity of fluff angst and smut, no use of y/n, story and smut kinda read like two different stories, that’s my bad, i’ve never seen the shape of water but i’m assuming this is the exact plot, reader gender is obscured but afab during the sex bits for sure, women in stem

Biowarefare has made incredible strides in the last few decades, unbeknownst to the public. Experimental creatures of nightmarish horrors engineered to inflict both psychological and physical damage to enemies live in the darker shadows of war. You’d been sworn to secrecy, but remain haunted by these creatures. You’d rather not get close to them - you were just a biologist. A consultant really, meant to answer questions about organic matter and DNA. You were to assist in the designing process, but this was not a part of the job description.

“It still needs to eat in the meantime,” Your supervisor had delivered around a cheeky smile, as if he was telling a joke. Your face, however, had not shown amusement.

“Just don’t step over the tape, don’t talk to it, and try not to spend too much time in there. Oh, and don’t forget the bucket.”

With only two hours to prepare yourself before dinnertime, you weren’t able to accomplish much work. Nerves escape through bouncing legs and fidgeting fingers.

The fridge smelled putrid. A cesspool of meats and seafood, all untreated and unprocessed, some on the brink of expiration, others completely rotten. You try not to breathe as you remove the top of a crate of fish, your fingers surviving any splinters and unpleasant scents with the protection of thick rubber gloves. The mackerel are large, four to five pounds, you’d guess, just shorter than the length of your arm. You grab two, placing them in the large yellow bucket your supervisor reminded you about. Seawater and fish guts drip from your rubber gloves as you step through the empty sterile hallways.

The involuntary shake of your hands causes the handle of the bucket to rattle against the plastic as you step up to the creature’s holding cell. In front of the large metal door you take a moment to steady yourself with a few deep breaths, but the stench of dead mackerel does little to ease your nerves.

You reach to the lanyard around your neck that secured your badge, trembling fingers hesitant to place it against the reader. The usually stagnant red light flicks green, and a grating alarm sounds followed by the sturdy clunk of the lock. You’re forced to use both hands, setting the bucket down before you grip the heavy metal door. You’re lean your entire weight against it, teeth grit as your heels dig into the tile. Your foot holds the door in place as you reach for the bucket. Once in the containment unit, the big metal door slams closed behind you with a mechanical clunk. The alarm buzzes again, making you flinch, shifting hesitantly in your spot by the door as you take in the sight before you.

It’s huge, bigger than any man you’ve ever seen. It looked like a man. Seven feet tall, you think. Muscles engineered for the purpose of destroying, the purpose of killing. Its arms are bent at the elbows and positioned behind its head, restrained by ropes. The restraints looped thoroughly around massive biceps and forearms, secured to the walls on either of his sides. Another rope had suspended from a mount on the ceiling, securing his wrists in place.

Glowing eyes stare menacingly at you from under a hood that cover its face. The black hood spilled from under a tactical helmet and down his chest, hem brushing up against exposed collarbones.

Slick black tentacles protrude from underneath the hood that hangs over its face, each slithering and curling in their own direction.

Eight larger tentacles resembled that of an octopus. As thick as tree trunks at the bases and gradually thinning towards the ends, four on each side of his spine and spread from its back like wings. Each one moves independently, spread and primed as they writhe in the air.

Mesmerized by the creature before you, you find yourself frozen under its gaze. Taking in such a miraculous sight. Sure, you assist in the design, but you’ve never seen one in person before. Pondering its capabilities, knowing full well without the restraints in place you wouldn’t stand a chance against such a well engineered design. Wondering what horror the hood hides, something so awful it had to be covered. Or perhaps the creature was designed that way, the hood itself intended to further off put its victims.

When you finally break eye contact with it, your eyes find the floor. A red line of tape separates you from the creature, signifying its reach within the cell. Its got a large radius, you’re surprised by how much distance he’s capable of covering even while restrained in place.

You swallow hesitantly, taking a couple steps closer, still leaving a healthy distance between you and the glossy red tape.

“Fresh meat?” It asks, in a harsh and gravely voice that sends a chill up your spine. You weren’t sure if he had been referring to you or the fish.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Your voice is broken and hesitant as you eye the tentacles writhing and twisting alluringly in the air.

You carefully get down on one knee and set the bucket on the ground, your hands shaking. With a calculated push you slide the bucket across the concrete floor and into the creature’s reach. The bucket slides over the boundary a few feet before it skids and tips over, rolling in a semi circle on its side as the fish spill out of the rim one after another.

The creature laughs, a loud and wicked laugh that raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Your expression is seeped in worry as you stand, watching it eye the mess before it, cruel laugh still echoing in your ears.

“The new ones always forget the bucket.” It says, low and sinful with eyes half-lidded in menace. It coils a larger tentacle around the middle of the container and whips it back in your direction without warning.

You let out a yelp and dive to the floor, just barely missing the bucket that crashed into the cell door behind you. It bounces back, pieces of the plastic rim snapping off and scattering to the ground.

You scramble for the container, your other hand desperately clawing for your badge before slamming it against the receiver and exiting the cell in a panicked scramble.

The creature’s depraved laugh could be heard up until the door slammed shut behind you, the lock securing into place with the grating alarm. Your breaths are shallow, fishy rubber gloves pressed to your beating heart as you quickly distance yourself from the cell.

———————————————————

You had tried to convince your supervisor to give the task to someone else, anyone else, but to no avail.

“It’s your fault for forgetting the bucket!”

You mocked your supervisor’s inflection once out of earshot before burying your face into your palms with a groan.

You thought about putting in your two weeks. No! No two weeks. You’ll just leave and never look back.

You remember that the government doesn’t look very kindly upon disgruntled ex-employees holding classified information, and opt to run a hand through your hair with a huff instead.

You’ll be quick today, in and out, and then it’s done. Once a day for thirty seconds, until they find a replacement. That’s not so bad.

The second time was easier. You knew what to expect, and the spite against your supervisor, against the creature, only fueled your confidence. Features stone cold as you open the door, the grating alarm having stirred the creature. You step into the room assuredly, returning the creature’s harsh stare with one of your own.

You close more of the gap between you and the tape this time, holding the handle of the bucket with one hand and securing the bottom with your other. You wind it up behind you before using your arms to propel it forward with a huff, grip still steady on the bucket as the fish fly. The creature’s eyes follow the trajectory of the fish until they land at its feet. You had wasted no time turning on your heels and leaving, bucket still in hand.

“Someone learned their lesson.” You hear, and you grit your teeth as you let the door slam harshly behind you.

The creature left a lasting impression in your memory. Its taunts echo in your mind, and you can tell he was designed to get under the victim’s skin. To haunt them, inflicting emotional warfare in addition to physical, torturing them without even being in the same room as them.

You dreamt of it last night. You wondered if that was something that it had done to you. If he had the ability to inflict nightmares, or if he was just intimidating enough to let your subconscious run wild after only a few seconds of exposure.

In the dream, you had been caught in a sea of black tentacles, suffocating you as they wrapped around your mouth, robbing you of air while restraining your limbs from fighting back. The tentacles had wriggled until they transformed into the shape of the creature’s hood, glowing eyes staring tauntingly, but your dream had equipped him with a horrific mouth that laid over its hood, filled with sharp carnivorous teeth spread into a sickening smile. With his wicked laugh, blood spilled from the gaps of his endless rows of teeth.

You had woke up covered in sweat, gasping for air as you kicked free from the hold of your blankets.

The dream had stuck with you, the residual unease not allowing you to fall back asleep. You decided to start research on the creature although you weren’t instructed to - your way of controlling the fear of the unknown by making it known.

Detailed sketches and logs of your encounters with him quickly buried your work assignments. You were recording every detail from the number of visual abdominal muscles to his bluff behavior when encountering a threat, branching its tentacles out just like animals to in the wild do to appear bigger.

You couldn’t help the way your eyes lingered on it during feedings. To gather data, you told yourself, to understand the creature’s physiology. You’re a biologist, after all. Research is the foundation of your beliefs.

You had been able to refrain from speaking with it, even if he was rather chatty. Arrogant, he loved to push your buttons.

You didn’t let him get to you, at least as far as he was concerned. You never let your irritation show when under his watchful gaze, but grit your teeth once you turned your back.

It’s about a week and a half into your new duty when he finally makes you falter.

“You’re starving me, you know.”

Your stride stills, not yet turning towards him as your hand grips your badge. You consider his words, shed of his usually cocky tone.

He could be lying, who knows what his true intentions actually are. On the other hand, you’ve only been feeding him what you’ve been tasked to.

You slowly turn towards him, your eyes squinted as you stare at him. You’re trying to deduce his weight, but it’s hard since you’re not used to estimating in terms of seven foot creatures with tentacles. He looks like he’s made of pure muscle, and those tentacles look heavy. 300 pounds? 400? You’re trying to decide if you should be feeding him in terms of his body weight percentage in regards to a human, an octopus, or a monster.

You should have kept walking, you think. He has your attention now, and not only that, you’ve revealed from hesitation alone that you possess a moral standard to uphold a basic level of decency for a prisoner of war. Now he knows you’re soft.

He can tell you’re trying to figure out if he’s deceiving you.

“If I had food to spare, I’d have used it as a weapon by now.” His low voice drips off arrogance again, and a tentacle reaches down to grab a mackerel, curling as he brings it to the appendages pouring from beneath his hood. You watch carefully as the fish disappears, and wonder if your dream was accurate about the mouth he hides under his hood.

You take a deep breath and turn from him, gripping your badge tighter and exiting the cell as you latch the door shut with a loud clunk.

The next time you’re in that awful fridge that reeks of postmortem and cheap seafood, you add two extra mackerel into the yellow bucket with the jagged broken edges.

When he counts the fish that land at his feet during your next feeding, his tone is still gruff, but softer, “Thank you.”

He leaves it without a witty remark. He caught you off guard again, shown by the slowing in your steps. You didn’t turn back to him this time, but you wanted to believe that he was genuinely appreciative of your kindness. Even if it was just enough not to make an attempt to get under your skin this time.

Your dreams have only become more vivid. You can hear the clunk of the lock on the heavy metal door, the alarm that blares identical to reality. You’ll be having a typical day at work, fully immersed in dry research and black tentacles will emerge from every entrance, every crevice. Holding you still and swallowing you up.

It’s getting difficult to differentiate the events in the dreams to those in real life. It takes hours to reorient yourself enough to fall back asleep.

Circles develop around your eyes from the lack of rest. Your productivity had come to a halt, your thoughts and research now surrounding the creature you feed.

He refrains from making comments at you, now that you’re feeding him enough. The next few visits he doesn’t say anything, the two of you sharing the silence. You’re not sure, but you think you have come to an understanding. You feed him a little extra, and in return he doesn’t say anything about the long stares. Not even a snide remark as you leave.

“What are you?” You finally ask during a feeding, curiously eyeing the tentacles delivering a fish to his obscured mouth.

He takes a moment to consider it, or maybe he takes a moment to swallow the mackerel.

“I am what I am, same as you.”

You look down, a little ashamed at your question. Maybe you have been too judgmental. He’s displayed his intelligence from the start, he’s obviously much more than just an it or a creature.

He was just a being who never asked to be created, same as you. His potential locked away in enemy care, his conscious trapped between these four walls, restricted from moving.

“I’m sorry.” You say, standing tall with your brows pinched and eyes looking up to meet his intimidating gaze.

“For what?” He asks after considering it for a moment, voice holding a slight edge.

“That you’re here.”

You pause before continuing, “That you were made for what you were made for. That you never got a chance to just be.”

His eyes watch you carefully, narrowing underneath his hood. A tentacle curls in your direction while your eyes are trained carefully on him, and you can’t help the shake of your hands as you get a closer look at his slick tentacle.

“I’m sorry you’re here too.” He says, and you’re not sure how to take it. You nod your head anyway, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Me too.” Your voice is strained with remorse, as if you’re personally responsible for holding him hostage. “I’m not like them.” You say, desperate for him to believe you, “I’m just a biologist, I’m meant to answer questions about DNA and nature. I didn’t- it just got out of hand.”

He studies you carefully, his muscles tensing underneath his restraints. “But you help them.” He says, dangerously and definitive.

“No! I- well, yes.” You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you did, “This is just a job.”

You look back to him. Could you even say it’s just a job anymore? When you’re assisting and encouraging the creation of beings like him? Forced into this world without regard of their wants, made for a purpose to kill and destroy and equipped with consciousness, without given the chance to discover themselves. Destined to a fate of being slain, captured, terrorized, experimented on, or worse.

You close your eyes again, “No, I didn’t mean-“ Your moral compass is spinning now, and you don’t feel capable enough to articulate your feelings on the matter. So instead you just look at him, eyes begging for him to give you a little grace.

He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but watch his chest rise and fall, tentacles wriggling idly behind him. He doesn’t speak, just studies you, those intense eyes boring into you.

“Do you have a name?” You ask gently.

The tentacles on his back curl, his menacing frame shrinking a bit.

He hesitates before speaking.

“Konig.”

“Konig,” You repeat. You give him your name before asking, “Do you need anything?”

He looks down his hood at you, tentacles itching with curiosity. “Water.”

You give a slow nod and gesture to the cell door behind you, “Yeah, I can, yeah.”

You go through the process of opening his cell door, sneaking the bucket into the nearest bathroom and filling it as high as you can with water, but it’s awkward with the sink’s base in the way. The bucket is a lot heavier when it’s filled and you have to waddle on your way back.

Back in the cell, water sloshes out of the bucket as you use your body to hold open the heavy cell door. You hover the bucket a few inches from the ground, the handle straining under the weight as you waddle it up just before the red tape and set it down. You look at him, slightly out of breath with your hands on your hips.

“Now - you can have this, but-“ You take a hand off your hip to point at him, pausing to take a tired breath, “You have to promise me you won’t throw it at me.”

His tentacles curl again, his hood tilting down. “I promise.”

You look hesitantly down at the red tape, kneeling behind the bucket and using your weight to slide it across the floor and over the boundary. He watches you carefully, studying the way your body moved as you kneel before him. As you work for him.

Once the bucket is over the barrier you stand and hesitantly take a step back, bracing yourself in case he launches this one at your head.

Instead he wraps a large tentacle around the jagged edge of the bucket, dragging it closer in order to get a better grip. You watch as two appendages work to bring it to his feet with ease. He takes turns eagerly soaking his tentacles in the water.

You’re not sure if he’s cleaning, drinking, or moisturizing, but you don’t ask. You watch as his tentacles smoothly work, picking up what remains in the bucket and dumping it over himself, letting it drip over his front and staining his pants a shade darker. He heaves a sigh of relief, his eyes closing and his glistening muscles relaxing against the restraints.

“Thank you.” He says, low and quiet. A tentacle grips the empty bucket and extends to its full reach, placing it carefully at the boundary.

After his tentacle retracts you reach for the jagged rim, scraping the bottom of the bucket along the concrete as you pull it back into the safe zone with two fingers. “Thank you.” You give a weak smile and gesture to the empty container in your hands. “I can keep bringing you water, if you continue to refrain from throwing?”

He nods, voice bordering on patronizing as his tentacles curl, “I promise.”

When you return the next day, you’ve got a new bucket and a small hose curled up and hanging off your shoulder.

You figured if he was being held prisoner, he at least deserved a full bucket of water and one that didn’t reek of dead mackerel. Konig watched as your struggle to manage to drag in both buckets while holding the heavy door open. When the door closes behind you with its noisy thud and grating alarm, you toss the fish over first, doubling back to haul the water closer. After getting it near the tape, you have to use your back and dig the heels of your feet against the concrete to slide it the rest of the way across the tape. The water sloshes onto your hair and down the back of your shirt as the bucket slides out from under your weight. You nearly fall back into his radius, but catch yourself with a nervous laugh.

You turn to get a glimpse of his tentacle as it pulls the water bucket closer. From here you get a peek at the suckers on his tentacles, each working independently as it grips around the rim and drags the bucket closer with ease. Just one of his larger appendages was stronger than your whole body. It gave you an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach, but you continued to sit on the ground inches from the boundary, your legs crossed as you watch him eat and bathe.

“Thank you.” He says, and you’re unable to decipher his tone over his harsh voice.

“It’s uh, it’s no problem.” You’re memorized by the way his tentacles move, each working independently. It’s a lot of multi-tasking, you think, but it looks like it’s second nature for him, as natural to you as walking and talking at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” He says, in between bites.

“For what?” You ask, head tilting to the side.

“For throwing the bucket at you.” He keeps his gaze to his meal, “Your first day.”

You’re caught off guard by his apology. You hadn’t expected to see self-reflection and regret from him.

You shrug, “I get it. I mean, imprisoned by enemies of war? Restrained against your will? I think everyone has a right to be a little feisty in that situation.” You give another weak smile, fingers absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on your lab coat.

He huffs, wrapping around another mackerel and letting it disappear under his hood.

He lets the silence sit, but the biologist in you can’t help but analyze his diet, “You gettin’ tired of eating the same thing everyday?”

A tentacle reaches up to pick a fish bone from his teeth before flicking it casually to the floor. He considers your question carefully, a habit of his you’ve already logged.

“I’m tired of everything,” he says, and the exhaustion in his voice makes you look to the floor in shame.

Your arm crosses over your chest, thumb anxiously running over your opposing bicep, “How long have you been here?”

“I’ve lost count.” He says.

You wonder if he actually wants to be in conversation with you, or if any stimulation is a better alternative to staring at these four walls, alone with nothing but his own thoughts.

You take another deep breath, accustomed to the overwhelming smell of fish by now.

You’re not sure what to say to him. No words could offer someone in his situation comfort. Instead you watch as he finishes his meal and simultaneously bathes his appendages. It’s oddly alluring, how he moves. You wonder just how many things he’s capable of doing at once. Such a being must be very efficient.

He doesn’t seem to mind your company or curious stares. If he does, he certainly doesn’t voice them. You think he must be used to staring by now, and you wonder if you’re no better than the rest.

When you return the next day, you’ve brought a door jam. You’ve got too many things in your arms to carry in to be able to manage the door all at once. Konig watches from his restrained position as your cluttered silhouette stumbled into the cell. You set the buckets down with a thud, letting the extra bags roll off your shoulders. You have to huff, the trek down the hall weighed down supplies stealing your breath from you. Once you’ve removed the door jammer, silencing the annoying alarm and leaving you both with privacy, you return to his meal.

“I brought you some stuff.” You say as you shake the food bucket before tossing the contents in his direction. Various seafoods you could scrounge up in the fridge scatter to the floor. Shrimp, clams, oysters, a few different species of fish. Whatever seafood hadn’t turned rotten in the walk-in fridge.

His tentacles wriggle and reach out, suckers gripping to the food before him as he brings it to his mouth.

You’re not sure, but by the way his tentacles are wiggling you think you’ve won at least a few brownie points.

You turn from him to walk the bucket of water to the boundary, letting it dangle between your legs in an awkward waddle.

“I brought something else, too.” You say with a hint of hesitance, straining a bit as you set the bucket on the concrete.

His tentacles curl in… anticipation? Curiosity? Hatred? You’re not sure, but you’ve been trying to piece together his body language back in your lab for quite some time.

He doesn’t say anything, so once you’ve got the water bucket over the boundary, you cross back to the discarded bag and rummage through it.

You reveal a small black box, setting your bag down as you extend the antennae.

“A radio.” You say with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t say anything and you look to your gift with uncertainty, “I just thought - well y’know, I wouldn’t want to be trapped with my own thoughts. Everyone deserves some sort of distraction, yeah?” You say, kneeling on the floor as you set the it into his radius.

His glowing eyes stare down the present, and you’re not sure what he’s thinking. “Not a music guy?” You ask tentatively, a hand finding the back of your neck.

A tentacle slowly extends in your direction, carefully wrapping the radio in its grip. He brings it to his face, examining it with his glowing eyes. He sets it down carefully, and while he doesn’t say anything, you’ll take it as a win that he didn’t immediately fling it into the wall, shattering it to a thousand pieces.

You stare down at the floor for awhile, the only sound filling the room is his slick tentacles tending to his meal and bath, clam shells clattering to the ground as he quickly works the meat from them.

“Thank you.” He says, in between bites. It comes out low and vulnerable, as if the words were foreign to him, or possibly held down by the weight of things unsaid. Maybe it’s because he’s having to be kind to a captor, forced to be cordial to someone holding him prisoner here - and for what? Meeting his basic nutritional requirements?

He could be playing the long con, hiding his deep hatred for you so he can lure you into trusting him. You’ll end up like the ones before you, destined to the fate of a sudden and unfortunate accident.

Your stomach turns at your predicament. You could be educating the future about the miracle that is the powerhouse of the cell, but no, you just had to take the government research job, flashy paycheck and hopes of changing the world.

He tenses for a moment, tentacles stilling except for one that loops up underneath his hood, picking something from his teeth. He holds it in front of his eyes to get a better look at his find.

His gaze flicks to you, another undecipherable stare that sends a chill up your spine. You watch with bated breath as his gaze returns to the item in his grip, tentacle moving in your direction before carefully placing it at the boundary. You watch as his appendage curls like a snake to gently nudge it in your direction. Like a marble it rolls to you, over the red tape and bouncing off your shoe. Shaking hands stop its slowing roll before you pick it up between your fingers.

A pearl, from one of the oysters you’d given him. It’s uneven, not a perfect sphere, but its texture is still smooth in your fingers. You wipe the spit and oyster remains on your lab coat before letting the pearl rest in your palm, tilting it in the light to get a better look at it. It’s a purplish gray, iridescent colors shifting as you move it.

“How neat.” You say, tone that of an interested biologist, “Poor guy must of had a splinter.”

Once you get a good look at it, you set the small treasure back across the tape to return it to him, but he stops you.

“For you.” He says, definitively enough that you can’t argue.

You lips part as you look to him, stunned and wide-eyed at his gesture.

Maybe he hadn’t hated you.

You wrap your hands carefully around the pearl, bringing it close to your chest.

“Thank you,” You say, voice breathy in awe.

You unwrap your hand to study it carefully in your hands, your little pearl. Cradling it as if it’s a fragile being if it’s own, not a resilient clump of calcium carbonate that survived both a life in an oyster at the bottom of the ocean and engineered predator teeth capable of cleaning the meat off a skeleton in seconds.

He watches you study your gift, the same way you had studied him with eyes wide in amazement and curiously. You don’t see his muscles relax against his restraints. He continues to eat, slowing his pace as his stare stays on you.

You hadn’t exchanged any other words during that interaction, but you think the silence that encompassed the cell was comfortable. At least on your end, you’re not sure about Konig.

He passes the empty water bucket back you, and before you gather all of your things, you tuck your precious pearl away in a pocket of your lab coat.

Back in the lab, you rolled the pearl in your fingers, wondering if Konig’s gesture had meant the same to you as it had to him.

Humans regard pearls as highly as a precious gem, but maybe to him it was no different than discarding trash, just as he had flung the fish bones that got stuck in his teeth. He may have even been demonstrating his annoyance with you.

How dare you not clean his oysters before you serve him, do you want him to choke?

Does he know the rarity of a pearl? How we string them into necklaces? Adorn ourselves with them to elevate our look? How we gift them to our loved ones?

There was so much you didn’t know about him. His mystique kept you up at night and your mind wondered with the possibilities. You were a researcher at heart, aching to get an understanding of him from the inside out. Endless analyses filled your days and black tentacles swarmed your dreams. In the hours between night and dusk you considered your own morality. You’d never met one of the biowarfare creations up close before. You didn’t realize they were capable of sentient thought. That they are truly beings of their own freewill instead of a programmed organic weapon.

You think you’ve already crossed too far over the line, that there was nothing you could do to make it right.

The next time you visit Konig, the sound of the radio floods the cell between the calls of the grating alarm. Once the door secures behind you, you can make out a talk show. The news or perhaps something educational, judging by the dry voices and even tones you hear before he turns the dial off with a tentacle, his glowing eyes giving you his full attention. You don’t say anything, but it does make your chest fill with a slight warmth to know he’s using your gift.

“I took a trip to the dock this morning,” You start as you drag the bucket of seafood to the tape, “I don’t think I’ll be able to get the smell out of my car, but it’s crab season, so, I got some. Got a tuna, too. Oh, and scallops, you eat those?”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes narrow and his tentacles twitch and curl behind him.

“Lobster was a bit steep, but I can keep my eye out.” You say, setting the entire bucket just over the boundary. He had earned his trust with the bucket, and it was too demeaning to force him to eat his food off the filthy concrete floors.

His eager tentacles pull the bucket to his feet, digging into it to uncover your gifts. He wastes no time getting them underneath his hood, you can see his arms tense and steady beneath his restraints as his teeth sink into his meal.

You slide him the bucket of water and then stand back to observe as his slick tentacles take it from you. Simultaneously he’s able to clean multiple crabs at once, expertly working the meat out of its complex exoskeleton and leaving nothing but shell. Much faster than you’ve ever seen any octopus feed.

You think briefly to the feeders before you, wondering if their sudden and unfortunate accidents were just Konig cleaning the meat off a skeleton. You wonder if he was designed to feast on his enemies, if his diet had held space for human.

Another meal.

You look down to the space between you and the red tape. Three paces away. You casually make it four, just for good measure.

“Thank you.” He says, and it’s slowly becoming your language. The words thank you uttered a thousand different ways, each with a different meaning, weight, and inflection, neither of you fluent or able to decipher the other.

You don’t feel comfortable prodding, instead you steady your feet and watch him mesmerizingly tear apart his meal, body restrained but tentacles still fully dexterous. You wondered if he minds you watching him eat, or if he felt like a zoo animal under your watch. Your hand creeps into your pocket to nervously play with the pearl, fingers running over the smooth surface.

After he clears a few more crabs, he looks up from his meal to eye you carefully. He noticed the dark circles under your eyes, how disheveled you look.

“Tired?” He asks.

One hand stays with the pearl while the other rubs the back of your neck. “Yeah, I couldn’t sleep last night, uh, so I went to the docks early this morning.”

He flicks another shell into his pile, studying you carefully. After a few moments his tentacles outstretch welcomely, some resting against the concrete floor, “You can rest here.”

You tense under his stare, your eyes shifting hesitantly to his tentacles. “Oh, no - I just have a lot of work to do.” You eye his core for a moment before returning to his gaze, “I can sit for a little, though.”

He gives a pleased hum as you do, eyes narrowing as he watches you prop yourself against a wall on his side, leaving about three feet between you and the red tape. His gaze turns back to the seafood as he works. You observe him, resting your head against the cool concrete and staring down your nose. You can’t help but close your heavily eyelids, listening to the sound of shells snapping and being tossed to the floor.

Your fingers continue to smooth over the pearl in your pocket. It became a habit of yours, fingers finding the pearl absentmindedly, rolling it between your touch to soothe yourself.

You’re thinking about all the things you want to ask him. About his physiology, his full capabilities. About how he feels, what thoughts and emotions exist in a brain engineered for warfare. About his opinion of you, if he’s disgusted with you or if he understands that you’re both just products of a horrific environment.

Is he capable of empathy?

You couldn’t ask. Your relationship seemed so fragile and delicate as it was, so you both opt for silence.

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you open your eyes again, but he’s done his feeding and bathing, both buckets emptied and placed at the boundary in the center of the room. He’d tidied his cell, the floor cleared and the food bucket now holding his cleaned crabs, various shells, and fish bones.

His tentacles stir when your eyes meet his, and you take a sharp inhale as you rouse. You touch a hand to your heart, the other feeling for the pearl through your pocket. Your eyes find the red tape, and you’re still in your spot, propped up on the wall three feet from the boundary.

“Did I fall asleep?” You say, touching your forehead. If you had, you don’t remember having a nightmare.

His hood tilts up and he shrugs.

“How long’s it been?”

After a moment he shrugs again, tentacles working in rhythm to his movements.

Right, he wouldn’t know. You give a small nervous laugh at your foolish question, leaning forward and resting your arms on your knees.

“I should probably get going.” You say, but you don’t move from your spot, and he doesn’t wish you goodbye.

You stare at the floor on your side of the red tape. You can see his larger tentacles wriggling in the corner of your eyes, along with the glow of his stare.

Your back ached from sitting on concrete for an extended period. It made you wonder how sore Konig was, his arms having been restrained to their position bent behind his head for ages, forced into a standing position every hour of the day.

“I’ve made a huge mistake.” You say with a laugh, one in disbelief of yourself. You lay your palm flat on your forehead again. “I don’t know how it got this far, really.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing at you. He doesn’t say anything, and you continue.

“I’m just in too deep, right?” You huff, throwing your hand back down to your thigh. “I’m all torn up about this. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m just thinking about this nightmare of a job I’ve got myself in. You get so caught up in the paperwork and day-to-day, you forget what the end result is. I didn’t realize you were so sentient.” You give another nervous laugh, exasperated.

“Now I don’t know what to do.” A hand moves to your pocket and pulls out your pearl, holding it tightly in a closed palm by your side. “I’d try to make it right, but I don’t know how, okay? I really don’t know what the right thing to do is. I don’t know if there is a right thing to do, I think that ship has sailed.”

The right thing would have been never getting involved in this line of work, to never have learned of or aided in the creation of beings like him in the first place. But you’re both here, together, and there’s no way out.

You gnaw on your lip, looking to the ground. His eyes don’t leave you. Silence drapes over the cell as your words echo through both of you.

After the long pause he speaks, harsh voice layered with a hint of optimism, and his tentacles twitch and curl with his words.

“It’s not too late.”

You’re not able to meet his gaze, so you solemnly shake your head at the floor. You already know what he’s suggesting.

“You understand why I can’t do that, right?” You ask, soft and defeated.

He tenses under his restraints. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push. You hope that means he understands. That he understands the risks he’s asking you to take. The threat of your employers, the threat of him, fully realized and unrestrained. That you wouldn’t stand a chance against a powerful being like him. That no matter how many gifts and thank yous are exchanged, your actions will always layered with a high probability of deceit. That trust is inherently not possible in a relationship between a prisoner and the keeper. Between a being made for killing and the target he’s designed to kill.

The silence falls over you both again.

When you finally stand to retrieve the buckets, his gaze follows you.

“Perhaps in another life, we’ll get it right.”

Your shoulders tense at his words, your pace slowing. You don’t meet his eyes as you leave to discard his scraps, the harsh alarm and clunk of the door concealing your exhausted sigh.

The next few visits, you wordlessly hand over his meals and water before sitting on your spot against the wall, resting as you wait for him to return the buckets. It feels so nice to close your eyes, and it’s hard for him to haunt your thoughts when you know exactly what he’s doing. Your subconscious has a difficult time running wild when presented face to face with reality. It’s the best rest you’ve gotten in weeks, even if the concrete hurts your back and leaves your neck stiff. You feel oddly comforted being in the presence of the only other being who understands your struggle, even if he was the heart of your conflict.

Konig doesn’t seem to mind when you doze off, at least he doesn’t complain. He may just not want to bite the hand that feeds him anything other than mackerel on the brink of decomposition. Sometimes you’re out for a few minutes, sometimes hours, not waking up until well into the evening, long after you should have left the building.

He never disturbs you, letting you rest as long as you need. Listening to the light snores you make, his gaze fixed on the rise and fall of your chest.

He can tell you’re still afraid of him, when the first thing you do as you stir is search with wide eyes for the red tape to ensure you’re still safely outside his radius. You always relax when you meet his stare, though, watching his tentacles curl as you rouse.

You always run your hand over your left coat pocket, usually at the same time you’re searching for the red tape in a panic.

He wonders if you’ve brought something to defend yourself if things go wrong for you. If your hand reaches for the outline of a weapon in your pocket, some feeble defense to soothe your fears of him.

You usually offer an embarrassed laugh or coy smile as you adjust, usually while rubbing out a knot on your back.

Sometimes, especially if you haven’t gotten a lick of sleep the night prior, you’ll readjust from your spot against the wall to the floor, curling up on the concrete and positioning your arm underneath you as a pillow. You’ll rub the sleep from your eyes when you wake, propping yourself up on your elbow to look for a watch that doesn’t exist.

Little words are exchanged. What words could be shared to offer either of you comfort? Anything he says could just be a ploy to gain your trust. Anything you say does little to aid his position as prisoner.

There’s one visit, when you stir, where your back is fully flush to the concrete and you get a view of the ceiling of his cell. Your eyes widen, always with a sharp inhale, as you turn over and prop yourself up to search for the red tape. It takes you too long to find it, having to press your chin to your chest to get it in your view.

You had rolled over in your sleep, bust having crossed over the boundary, forearms propping yourself up in Konig’s radius.

You freeze, eyes wide as you look to him, wondering if he was aware of the easy prey ready for the taking.

He stares at you, tentacles still wriggling, but not outstretched. He keeps them pulled close to him, unlike his usual intimidating posture.

You’re still frozen in your spot, eyes wide and locked onto him as you process.

He could have easily wrapped a tentacle around your neck and ended your life before you had even woken up. Or worse, he could have restrained you, tortured you, and held you hostage as a mean to earn his freedom.

But he didn’t.

He’d left you undisturbed while you rested, as he always does.

Your heartbeat has made its way to your ears, muffling the sounds of hitched breaths escaping your parted lips. You two haven’t broken eye contact as you lay paralyzed on the floor.

He had spared your life, that was clear to you. He had resisted the urge to effortlessly snap your neck or get revenge on you for assisting in holding him prisoner.

You slowly sit up, locked on to his gaze.

Another trick to gain for your trust, you wonder. Spare your life now and stab you in the back later.

You slowly scoot outside his radius, not turning your back on him as you hesitantly stand and clear your throat.

Once you’re outside of his reach, you feel for the pearl through your pocket, but you can’t find the telling bump through the fabric of your lab coat. You reach into your pocket, finally taking your eyes off Konig’s glowing stare. Your fingers come up empty and you look to the floor where you had fallen asleep, and your eyes find it a few paces from the boundary.

When Konig sees what you had been hiding in your pocket all this time, and your hesitance to step back over the red tape, a tentacle carefully reaches to pick up your pearl. Instead of nudging the pearl back over to the tape and letting it roll to you as he did the first time, he flips his tentacles over so it’s sucker-up, unfurling it to his maximum length to present the pearl to you at waist height.

You can’t help the way your brows retract and your mouth parts as you study his slick appendage. You’ve never gotten this close of a look at his tentacles before. Each sucker wriggles independently, just as his tentacles did. You wonder if it’s autonomous to him, or if he has control over each one. Your shoes scrape the concrete as you shuffle nervously to the boundary, toes pressed up on the red tape to take the pearl from him. He could easily wrap his appendage around your wrist and pull you fully into his reach, just as he does with the buckets. Your fingers tremble as you reach for your possession, the involuntary shaking causes you to brush against his tentacle, leaving behind a clear slick on both you and your pearl.

His appendage retracts once you’ve taken it from him. A heat creeps up your cheeks, embarrassed that you’ve been caught hanging onto his gift like this. Carrying it around with you and visibly worried when you lose it.

If he had been simply discarding his trash instead of giving you a gift, unaware of the value of such an item, he probably thinks it’s strange of you to continue carrying it around.

He doesn’t voice his thoughts if he has any, just watched quietly as you tuck the pearl back into your pocket, smoothing over it once it’s secured.

“Thank you.” You say sheepishly, your eyes still wide as you digest his actions and lack there of. You’re not sure if you’re thanking him for returning your belonging or for refraining from killing you.

You have trouble making eye contact with him, eyes glued to the floor.

You’re thinking that maybe there might be some trust between you two after all. You’re thinking about the new details you noticed on his tentacles from your close view that you’ll surely record later. About gifts and thank yous and curious states and defined muscles engineered to kill. About how you can only get rest when you sleep under his watch. About what’s hidden under that hood. About how he didn’t kill you when given the opportunity like you had suspected he would.

You think about what he’s thinking.

Then you look to the buckets, still at his feet and not emptied and placed back at the boundary like your usual routine follows. Your brows furrow as you meet his glowing eyes.

Your chest rises and falls as you study him.

“I should probably get going.” You say, nodding to the buckets in an attempt to get him to pass them back over to you.

His tentacles curl and writhe at your statement, and his head tilts upwards. He lets your words hang in the air before he responds.

“Not finished.” He says evenly.

Your brow quirks at the unusual occurrence. It’s not like him to leave a meal unfinished, to stray from the routine.

You give him the benefit of the doubt, choosing to remain optimistic about your new step in trust, “I’ll come by for it later, then.”

You turn on your feet to leave, hands reaching for the lanyard of your badge like muscle memory. You swipe for it a few times, fingers coming up empty. Your chin meets sternum as you look down to confirm its absence, patting pockets and swiveling on your feet to look to the floor where you had lost your pearl.

You don’t see it, so you eye Konig, stare narrowed.

Time slowed as a tentacle, previously obscured behind his back, unfurls and stretches far above his head. The end of his appendage loops around your lanyard, light reflecting off the lamination of your ID as it rotates in the air. He dangles it above you both tauntingly.

Your gaze switches between Konig’s stare and the badge. It feels as if the air has been sucked out of the room. You don’t want to believe it - you’re in denial waiting for him to pass it back to you just as he did the pearl. He doesn’t, keeping your badge far on his side of the boundary a few feet above his head, playing keep-away with your freedom.

You shift in your spot and swallow.

“Yeah?” You ask, voice breathy but with an edge. You need him to verbally confirm he was stabbing you in the back, hoping he says anything to clear up the misunderstanding.

The tentacle holding the badge shakes, and the rest of his appendages outstretch, just as he had when you approached his cell the first time.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He says definitively, a few of his tentacles curling inwards with his words.

You rub your lips together and nod your head, digesting your predicament. He must have worked the badge off your neck when you rolled into his reach, delicately enough not to wake you.

You’re not scared, surprisingly, not afraid that you’re locked in here with him, most likely on a path to a sudden and unfortunate accident.

You’re more shocked at his betrayal, though you understand you probably shouldn’t have been. You’d been predicting this outcome from the beginning, that he was just hedging his bets and getting on your good side until you let your guard down. It appears your heart still bleeds regardless of your logical analysis, and you can’t help the lump that forms in your throat. You really had wanted to believe you two had an unspoken friendship, that regardless of the circumstances, you had his trust. You felt naive that some part of you had fallen for it. That you had invested enough of yourself to him to be hurt by his betrayal.

Your face burns as tears well in your eyes. You shift in your spot, sure the pain is obvious on your features.

“Don’t do that.” He pleads, tone a lot softer than his words. A few empty tentacles reach in your direction to offer comfort.

You don’t take it, your hand covering your mouth as you screw your eyes shut, tears escaping down your cheeks. You sink to your knees in defeat, almost perfectly between the middle of the cell door and your side of the red tape. All of the worry and ache and exhaustion you’ve experienced in the last few weeks involuntarily floods out of you in broken sobs.

Konig’s tentacles writhe as he watches you cry.

After a few moments, you sniff, wiping snot and tears from your nose with your coat sleeve, “Just give it back, please.” You plead at a whisper, stare desperate, “We can pretend this never happened, it can go back to how it was before.” You look up at him, face red and eyes brimmed with tears, “Please.”

It takes him a moment to consider your proposition. He lowered the tentacle holding your badge, but keeps it close to him. His words come out strained.

“You understand why I can’t do that, right?”

A loud sob escapes you at having your words thrown back at you. Without much other choice, you bury your face into your knees.

You cry for the better part of an hour, muffling your sobs into your thighs, curled up in a ball on the concrete.

When you’ve finally regained some composure, you wipe your face for the final time with a sniff.

When you speak again, your voice is forceful but nasally from the congestion of crying. Your head cocks back and you put your palm flush to the concrete, leaning back almost casually to support yourself.

“So what’s the plan?”

He tilts his head at you, and you don’t wait for him to answer before you continue.

“I don’t get the badge until I let you out, right? We both wait, you waiting for me to give in to starvation, and me waiting for someone to come to my rescue before it gets to that point - is that it?” It’s obvious you’re angry with him, words dripping with malice.

He huffs, muscles tensing against his restraints. His eyes narrow at you, tentacles outstretching to fill the space of his cell. You’ve grown accustomed to his bluffing behavioral response and it does little to intimidate you now.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” He says, appendages curling inwards. “We can work together.”

You give your own huff, breaking eye contact with him. “It’s a little late for that.”

“I tried.” He said firmly, “I tried to do it the right way.”

You think back to your rebuff of his first proposal and groan.

“What choice did I have?” He asks, leaning against his restraints, ropes digging into his arms as the badge lowered to his side, “You wouldn’t have done the same if you were me?”

Your lips purse as you mull it over. Your eyes are still locked on to the floor and another frustrated groan leaves you. You didn’t want to put yourself in his shoes, you just wanted to be mad.

You do what you can to be spiteful with your limited resources, lying to the floor with your back facing him. Your arm is propped under you and your legs curled up. You stare at the cell door, brows pinched as you fume.

Rationally, you know you won’t last long. That you just cried all the hydration out of your body and haven’t been feeding yourself well in the past few weeks, including today. Meanwhile Konig’s been consistently eating full meals with your help and kept his buckets of food and water unemptied and close for him to ration over the coming days. You’re not in the best shape mentally, either, compared to Konig who has absolutely nothing to lose in his position. Even if soldiers bust down the cell door and filled him with lead, would it really be a worse fate than locked and bound in these four concrete walls?

Regardless of your long lists of disadvantages, you’re too upset with him to even consider giving into his demands at the moment.

You stew for hours.

You’ll occasionally adjust in your spot, sitting up to stretch the ache in your muscles before switching to lay on your other side, never facing Konig or even so much as sneaking a glance in his direction. You’re too upset with him to look at him.

Your mind is swirling, thoughts interject thoughts, throwing you new details to fuss over. You’re angry that he stole from you, that he took advantage of your vulnerability, the restlessness he was responsible for. You’re angry that he trapped you in here, imprisoned you even though he knows how awful it feels to be a prisoner. You’re angry that he can stomach sitting back and watching you starve and dehydrate yourself out of spite. You’re angry that he had plotted against you, made you out to be the fool, even if you’d suspected he had been doing so this whole time.

Mostly you’re just upset that you got your hopes up.

Instead of thank yous, your new shared language becomes silence.

You wonder if he can tell the difference. Between the solemn silence, the seething silence, the desolate silence. The thoughtless silences that come after running your mind in circles enough to physically exhaust yourself. The silence that falls on you when you finally shut your eyes, slipping into the comforting arms of unconsciousness.

You wake with a sharp inhale, desperately searching for your precious red tape. It takes you a moment, when you stir, to remember the events of yesterday. Or today, you’re not sure how long you were asleep and you have no way to tell the time.

You had already locked eyes with Konig. His tentacles wriggled and stretched when you looked at him for the first time since his betrayal, but when you see your damned badge on his side of the boundary it comes flooding back to you. An audible groan leaves you as you roll back over to face the wall.

You try to fall back asleep, desperate to escape from reality, but the dryness in your mouth is impossible to ignore.

Your mouth is begging for moisture and your joints are stiff. A dehydration headache had settled behind your eyebrows.

You need water.

You have two options.

Beg Konig to share his water bucket, or let Konig free and you’re free to get your own.

You decide you’ll just rot on the floor, instead.

You close your eyes and try to ignore the sandpaper feeling in your mouth enough to lull yourself back to sleep. You’re mulling over your options for water, and a detail you can’t believe you’d missed makes you sit up to look at Konig for the first time intentionally. Your head had swiveled around quickly, brows lowered in offense, “How do you expect me to get you out of here without giving me my badge back?”

He lets your question hang as his glowing eyes meet yours. His stare is intense, but yours doesn’t falter.

“I asked you a question, Konig. I don’t have anything to free you with. I know you don’t have anything to free yourself with.”

Your words are sharp and dangerous.

“So what’s the plan? You’ll have to give me my badge back to get something to cut you free.”

He looks to the pocket that held your pearl. His plan had one flaw - that he had not accounted for the outline in your pocket you’d reached for whenever you stirred being anything other than a weapon. He was sure you had brought something to defend yourself with if he had attacked you. Something that you could use to cut his restraints once you gave in to your starvation. He miscalculated the amount of trust you’d placed in him and it should have become obvious to him the moment you had looked to the pearl after finding your pockets empty.

He eyes the mounts that hold his restraints, two on the floor to his left and right and one in the ceiling directly above his head, all out of his reach.

“You’ll untie it at the base.” He says definitively.

Your teeth grit as you look to the ceiling, “How do you expect me to get-“ You cut yourself off when you realize what he’s suggesting, “No! No.”

His head tilts down but his stare says on you.

“No. Too far.”

A few of his tentacles curl, “I don’t want to watch you starve.”

“Then give me my badge back, Konig!”

His body tenses at the way you say his name. Coated in wrath and following a harsh demand. Your aggressive volume and fists clenching by your sides trigger his bluff behavior, tentacles stretching to fill the space of his cell.

He says nothing, and your eyes dart around his features before you let out a huff, turning away from him again.

You regretted saying anything to him. You’d wished you’d just swallowed your realization a little longer to mull it over before your compulsive outburst.

You hadn’t had a chance to consider that he would offer to give you a lift. You had been so focused on avoiding his reach that the thought of him wrapping around you and lifting you up in a tentacle was foreign to you. You’re not sure you would have thought of it even if you had taken time to consider it. The idea of getting close to him once he was cut free from his restraints was nerve wracking enough, let alone trusting him enough to hold you steady a story in the air as you free him.

You manage to sit with your spite and dehydration for a few more hours, even sneaking in short nap before you break.

You sit up slowly, head pounding as you prop yourself up with a palm flush to the concrete. You look at him, eyes pleading.

“Konig,” You say, so much softer than the last time you said his name, “I need water.”

His tentacles twitch, but he says nothing, glowing eyes staring you down.

“Please, Konig.” You say, voice broken.

He doesn’t respond, and you can’t help but sob, no tears escaping your dry tear ducts.

Your voice raises in desperation.

“Konig, don’t do this to me!”

He closes his eyes, the glow of his stare disappearing behind black eyelids. A tentacle reaches down to turn on his radio, and he dials the volume up to drown out your pleads.

A heartbroken expression spreads on your features. How could he do this to you? How could he put you in this position, after everything?

Your eye catches the water bucket by his side.

He doesn’t want to give it to you?

He thinks he can make you beg and plead for your lifeblood?

Fine.

You’ll just get the damn water yourself.

Your brows pinch as you check on Konig, who still has his eyes closed to rid the visual of your crying.

Your palms have already sprung yourself forward before your feet catch up to you, having to straighten your upper half as your shoes scrambled for concrete. After light fumbling you quickly pass over the red tape, beelining for the water bucket. You’re running so fast you overshoot, having to extend your leg to skid the sole of your shoe on the floor to slow yourself. Your body lowers to the ground with your extended leg as fingers wrap around the handle of the bucket. You’d looked to Konig, whose glowing eyes had snapped open and darted straight to you at the sound of your shoe skidding and plastic scraping against the concrete as you struggled with the bucket.

You catch a glimpse of his tentacles writhing furiously before starting your dash back to safety. You’re reminded of the heavy weight of the water bucket, stumbling over yourself as you struggle to manage both its heft and your panic at the same time. You’re inches from safety when a tentacle shoots out and loops around your ankle, pulling your leg out from under you when you go to take your final leap over the red tape. Your palms extend to brace the concrete, and while you manage to narrowly avoid hitting your head, you hear an internal rip that makes your stomach turn and a blinding hot pain bracelets around your wrist, stunning you. The bucket had crashed to the ground on its side, water spilling to the floor and soaking your clothes.

“No!” You grit, but you don’t have time to think about the water or your wrist because Konig starts to drag you backwards through the puddle and into the air with the tentacle wrapped firmly around your ankle.

A gasp escapes you and fingers desperately scratch at wet concrete until you’re fully airborne, hanging upside down and clawing for the ground.

You curl up in an attempt to rip his firm grip off your ankle, but your core isn’t strong enough to reach, so you end up just wriggling in his grasp like a fish out of water.

Another meal.

You hear the radio turn off, and your eyes find the ground, partially curtained by the tail of your lab coat. Your soaked shirt has slipped down, revealing your core. Water drips from your soaked clothes and splash onto the concrete. You can tell the ground is a long fall away and when you give up reaching for your ankle, your hands stretch out towards the ground and preemptively brace your fall, injured wrist pulsing as you follow your instincts. Involuntarily squeals are leaving your parted lips as he stills, dangling you so your body is above both of your heads and you’re eye to eye with him as you hang.

You look at him with fear swelling in your eyes. You’ve never seen him up close before like this, even if upside down. You’re inches from the hood that covers his face, glowing eyes reflecting off yours. You still, free limbs falling in line with gravity as you stare into his narrowed gaze with wide eyes. Your headache is severely exacerbated by hanging upside down, feeling your own pulse in your head as the blood drains to it.

When he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous, and he gives you a slight shake with his tentacle for emphasis.

“I think it’s time for you to let me out.”

His growled yet arrogant words send a chill up your spine. Reminded you the being you’ve come to feel so much for was still a monster.

He’s left no room for argument. He’s given you plenty of chances to let you make the choice yourself, and yet you resisted. You had opted for the hard way, and you had left him no choice.

Release him, or suffer a sudden and unfortunate accident.

“Okay! Okay!” You squeak out with a slight flail, hoping it pleases him enough to prevent him from slamming you as hard as he can into the concrete.

You still again, slowly holding your hands up, palms showing. You calmly let out one more, “Okay.”

His head tilts backwards slightly, silently keeping your stare.

“Can I at least be upside-right? Please?” You squeak out, heart racing intensely enough you can hear it in your ears.

He lets you dangle for a few more moments before a tentacle curls around your waist. Instead of using the end of his tentacle like the one around your ankle, he had secured around your bare waist with the middle part of another appendage, the thicker grip giving him a sturdier hold on you. You think this must what it be like to be in the hold of a boa constrictor, trapping you and reminding you of its strength but not yet squeezing the breath from you.

He slowly flips you upside right, but keeps your flushed face inches from his. Your feet are only a few feet from the floor now, but you don’t bother trying to remove the tentacle on your waist. You’re well aware of his strength and you can feel his grip threatening to tighten around you. You won’t stand a chance against even one of his appendages, let alone all the others at attention behind him.

He takes his time looking you over, watching your eyes flick nervously between him, the tentacle firmly coiled around your waist, and the floor beneath you. Your mouth was stretched in fear and unease, breath hitched. You weren’t flailing anymore, but your feet did still mindlessly search for foundation and your hands had gripped on to his slick tentacle in an attempt to steady yourself.

He gives a huff before moving you through the air again. He goes slow, extending you out to the wall to his right. He has to pass you off to the end of another tentacle in order to use his full reach. You can’t help but feel felt up as he wraps and curls around you to keep you steady in the air.

He has to lay you almost diagonally with your head tilted towards the floor to get you close enough to the mount that tied off his binds. He uses some extra appendages to secure around your lower thighs and hips.

You let out a few breathy expletives as he adjusts you, grabbing and moving you against your will through the air.

You had to reach your arms out in a full extend, and even then the cool metal of the mount is just barely grazing your fingertips.

You wriggle in his grip, swiping at the post, grunting as you do so. He does his best to use the very end of his appendages to hold you in order to get you closer.

“Got it.” You say breathily as your hand grabs the mount. You give a light huff as you try and pull yourself closer, but Konig is extended his full range and instead you yank against his tentacles.

The knot of his ropes are tight around the loops of the metal post. You’re not sure if you’ll even be able to untie them with just your fingernails, but you don’t think Konig will accept an excuse.

He’s not hurting you, but his grip is definitively still tight, putting an uncomfortable pressure on your ribs. Had your clothes not already been soaked with water he would have left stains on your lab coat from the slick of his tentacles.

Your hands shake violently as you fuss with the knot. You’re forced to stretch, already sore muscles aching as you overextend them. Involuntary grunts escape through your gritted teeth as you dig at the knot, feet kicking as if you’re trying to swim closer to it. You try for minutes, but the knot is way too tight for you to even get a fingernail into. It doesn’t help that you’re being suspended, squished, and held at an angle, and your hands are soaked with water and Konig’s slick. You think your wrist is most definitely sprained, possibly broken, judging by the sharp decline in dexterity and searing pain that’s impossible to ignore as you fidget with the ropes.

The panic bubbles quickly, fingers scratching desperately at all of the loops of rope. You’re pleading under your breath for one of them to loosen, loosen just enough you can slip a finger in - but it doesn’t budge. One of your nails snap as you force it against a crease in the taught knot.

You’re guessing every time Konig has ever pulled against or leaned on the restraints it only forced the knot tighter, and with how long he’s been in this cell the rope has fused together with friction and time.

The panic isn’t on your side, causing you to thrash at the ropes and undo whatever insignificant progress you had made. Your whines would be matched with tears of irritation and fear if you had any water left in you.

“Konig?” You sob, “I can’t do it! I’m trying, really - the knot’s too tight!” You give the knot another frustrated claw with your broken nail, “I need a knife, scissors, something!”

You sigh and go limp, arms and top half dangling as his tentacles support you.

“Just kill me,” You whisper through your dry throat, eyes screwed shut and voice cracking.

You pause, and when you speak again your voice is quiet in defeat, but still holds an edge of malice, “Just do it and get it over with, hopefully the next feeder will be smart enough to bring a weapon.”

You’re still facing the wall, but you can feel his tentacles tense around your middle and lower limbs.

You both still, aside from the involuntarily and uneven heaving of your chest as you sob and wait for death.

All the appendages wrapped around you pull you closer to him. Two additional tentacles move to coil around your upper arms, and he tilts you so you’re upright instead of diagonal. You stay limp, feet and sprained wrist dangling. You let him move your body like a marionette, with your head tilted all the way forward and hair obscuring parts of your face.

He stops when you’re right in front of him again, you would be eye to eye if your chin hadn’t been pressed to your chest, feet only a few feet from the ground.

He holds you steady.

Considering how he wants to kill you, probably. Drag it out a little perhaps? Get a little torture in before he does it maybe?

Maybe your kindness will have not been for nothing, maybe he’s thinking about all the food and gifts and thank yous and he’ll repay you by making it quick. One swift snap of the neck or extra hard hit to the concrete, maybe.

He doesn’t do either.

He slowly lowers you to the ground. When your feet touch the floor and they don’t move to support your weight, he lifts you up an inch and comes in a second time at an angle, gently lying you on the ground so you’re flush with the concrete. His tentacles gently release from you and retract to his sides. Your badge gets placed gently on your stomach, and then all of his tentacles are off of you.

You don’t rush for the badge or the exit. You had already given up, and you weren’t about to give up on giving up, too. Your ass backwards way of maintaining some scrap of dignity.

You continue to lay limp on the floor, ignoring the badge he’d returned to you and keeping your eyes closed, tearlessly crying.

You’re not sure how long you lay on the floor, waiting for him to change his mind and kill you.

You think maybe he wants a challenge, maybe he likes a hunt. Or maybe he just wants to look you in the eyes while he does it.

So once your sobs subside you slowly sit up, your red and puffy eyes staring into his glowing eyes. His whole body is tensed, but he keeps all of his appendages close to him as they curl and twist alluringly.

You’re slouched as you stand, arms hung in front of you before you shift sloppily on your shoes, badge hitting the floor as it falls from your stomach.

You cock your head back to look at him and lick your chapped lips before giving a broken hum. You hold your arms out on either of your sides, as if inviting him to a fight, but you’re weak from dehydration, starvation, and your injury, so your movements are slowed.

You don’t speak, but your face reads Come on, kill me! What are you waiting for?!

He just stares at you, a look you’re unable to decipher from under his hood. His tentacles are writhing, but he keeps them close to his body, even if your stance is aggressive.

You let out a huff and roll your eyes, breaking the stare off. You walk over to his food bucket and empty out its contents onto the floor before stepping over to water bucket, shoes splashing in the puddle it sat in. You stack both buckets so you can carry them with one hand, before doubling back and swiping your badge off the floor with your broken nail, not so much as looking at Konig before you exit the cell.

Your first stop is to the bathroom, where you shed your lab coat, its thick fabric still wet.

You bend your aching muscles to awkwardly crane your head underneath the faucet, gulping down the streaming water. The sweet, precious water. Bathroom sink tap water has never tasted so good.

You’re drinking so fast you don’t even stop for breath. When you pull away, chin dripping and face puffy, you’re gasping for air. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror behind the sink you had drank from.

Your hair was disheveled from being dragged and hung in the air, face puffy and swollen from crying, and skin showing your dehydration. Clothes soaked from the water bucket and Konig’s slick, face still dripping as you breathe deep.

You take a few more sips from the sink for good measure before turning the faucet off with force. You drape your coat over your injured arm and grab the buckets with the other before you march out of the bathroom and straight to your supervisor’s office.

Oh, the speech you were going to give him was going to be therapeutic. You are planning on letting him have it, telling him to post your position because you’re done, and then you’re going to tell him where he can shove his buckets.

You open his door hard enough the doorknob slams into the wall and bounces back with a shake, but his office is empty, and you let out another groan at the discovery through gritted teeth.

You go back to the lab, gather your things and leave, regardless of the time. You’re caught off guard when you get to the nearest window and see the dark sky. Nighttime.

You cry the entire ride home, not yet ready to process the events but stuck with an overwhelming feeling of dread and exhaustion in the pit of your stomach.

Your wrist was red and swollen and the movements of your steering wheel turned the pain to a cruel pulsing throb.

Once back in your home, you think about a list of things to do to take care of yourself, but opt for wrapping your wrist and popping a few over-the-counter pain relief pills while finishing a bottle of water at the same time. You crawl into bed and pass out without even getting under the covers.

—————————————————————-

You hadn’t set an alarm, so you wake to a tentacle-ridden nightmare with a sharp gasp. You jolt to a sit, wincing when you feel the searing hot pain that bracelets around the sprained wrist you’d used to support yourself.

You get your weight off of it, holding your wrapped arm in front of your face. It triggers the memories of Konig tripping you and your wrist hitting the concrete. Of him dragging you across the concrete floor by your ankle. Holding you prisoner. Starving you. Making you cry. Betraying you.

Threatening your life and then sparing it.

Had it all just been another one of his bluffs? Had he known from the beginning he wouldn’t be able to follow through with his plan, or did he change his mind about killing you once you’d pathetically given up, going limp in his tentacles?

When had he changed his mind?

Somewhere between the first day when he threw that bucket at your head and the moment he’d laid your limp body down on the ground he had changed his mind about killing you, that you knew.

He wasn’t just a mindless programmed weapon, he was capable of some amount mercy. Control.

Unless he knew that if he had killed you, he wouldn’t have been able to get his varied meals and water buckets. Maybe he had kept you alive as just another means to an end.

But he had kept you alive, that was understood.

You close your eyes, falling back onto your mattress. You’d been thinking about Konig non-stop these past few weeks. Obsessing, even. It was exhausting, him and you and both of your mortalities and the constant threat haunting you in and out of your dreams.

You decided you weren’t going to think about him now, that for the sake of your own sanity you needed to focus on yourself.

You treat yourself to a full breakfast for the first time in awhile, topping it off with more pain reliever and water. A long shower eases your aching muscles, but the one-handedness makes it awkward to bathe yourself.

You put on loungewear after you towel off and reapply your wrist wrap, in need of the extra comfort. You leave your dirty lab coat at home before you head back to the office, still in your lounge clothes. You won’t be there long, you decide. You’re going to tell your supervisor what happened, chew him out a little bit, and then let him know he’ll need someone to feed Konig while you take time off to heal and process.

You stop by the lab to pick up your buckets before heading straight to your supervisors office.

You open his office door without knocking and when his eyes meet yours his brows furrow as he gives your clothes a scan.

“I’m going to need some time off,” You say firmly, gesturing to your wrapped arm.

“What happened?” He says, brow quirking.

You laugh, “What happened? What happened?” You use your uninjured hand to shove the buckets to the ground forcefully, your tone dangerous, “Is that I accepted this shitty job offer in the first place. What were you thinking?”

He’s sweating now, eyes wide with shock as you raise your voice to him.

You continue, “You saddled me with feeding him. You gambled with my life.” Your tone goes from angry to quiet and stern, “He almost killed me.” Your gaze flicks to between each of his nervous eyes.

He sputters, “What- What do you mean? What happened?”

“He stole my badge and trapped me in that cell with him! He starved me! NONE of you came for me, NONE of you checked on me.” Your animated tone lowers to one of cold malice, “You saddled me with a deadly job and then left me to die. Not a single reinforcement.”

“How did he steal your badge?” He asks, face stretched in confusion.

You hesitate, “I-“ You cut yourself off. You can’t tell him you fell asleep in there. Because then you’d have to tell him about how you had fallen asleep waiting for him to empty his bucket. The bucket he wasn’t supposed to have. The loitering you were instructed not to do. The conversations you were forbidden from having. The unauthorized tape crossing.

“It doesn’t matter! I’m-“ You’re frazzled now, face reddening, “I’m leaving! Just make sure someone feeds him!” You fumble for the doorknob, leaving him with a bewildered expression and two colorful buckets.

“Are you quitting?!” He yells out after you’re already down the hall.

“Yes! No! I mean - maybe! I’ll let you know!”

You take three days off to take it easy, catch up on sleep, and ice your injuries. It’s been awhile since you’ve been able to relax, just getting lost in a mindless TV show and forgetting your worries for awhile. You didn’t want to think about Konig, it was too painful, but your thoughts kept leading you to him and you had to often remind yourself that you were supposed to be taking a break from him.

After three days, you’ve managed to steady yourself enough to get back to your research. The work had piled up during your stint as a feeder and you thought your normal work would be a good distraction.

The first time your supervisor catches a glimpse of you, he does a double take through the circular glass pane of the lab’s swinging doors before he enters.

He says your name, surprised but still cheerful, “It’s good to see you! Lab coat and all.” He lowers his voice, “I, uh, I didn’t think you’d be back.”

You don’t say anything, attention still to your work.

He clears his throat before continuing, “How’s your wrist?”

“Still sprained,” You say dryly, still not turning to him.

He sputters a bit, “Hope you feel better soon, uh.” He clears his throat again, “You’ll be happy to hear that,” he trails off for a moment before continuing, “It’s being put down.”

Your eyes finally find him, darting over quickly as you set down your notes.

“What’s being put down?”

“The creature.” He says with a smile, as if he’s offering his saving grace.

“No!” Leaves you involuntarily. The wrist with the bandage finds your heart as you stand, shaking your head at your supervisor, “You can’t do that!”

His brows pinch, “What do you mean? I thought you’d be happy about this. He tried to kill you.”

“No, if he tried to kill me I’d be dead, he almost killed me, he spared me!”

Your supervisor steps closer you, holding his palms up in a weak attempt to calm you. You back away from him with each step he takes, still shaking your head.

“He hurt you!”

“That was an accident!” You say, angrily. The edge in your tone causes him to still his stride. You don’t usually speak to him like this.

He says your name again, voice soft and eyes full of pity, “He put your replacement in the hospital.”

Your face goes slack as you look at him with wide eyes, shaking your head slowly, “No!”

He says your name again, “Yes. Listen, I see this has left you on edge. Maybe you should take some more time off, no problem. We can even get you in touch with a counselor specialized in war trauma.”

“No, listen to me, you can’t kill him!”

“How many more sudden and unfortunate accidents do you think we can continue reporting before the wrong person starts asking questions?!” His voice has lost his pity, obviously frustrated with your disapproval.

“You can’t be mad at a wasp for stinging when you whack its nest, can you?! He was made for that purpose!”

He raises his voice, stern enough it stuns you, “And what do you expect us to do with a monster made for the purpose of killing? Let it out into the public? Let it rot in a jail cell while we keep feeding him our employees?!”

“He didn’t kill me!” You say exasperatedly, “He didn’t kill me because you guys are starving him! You’re not feeding him enough. That’s enough to make any man kill.”

“Why are you sympathizing with it? It’s a monster!”

You look at him with squinted eyes and mouth parted in disgust, “He’s not a monster! He’s-“ You cut yourself off.

Your supervisor lowers his head in your direction and crosses his arms over his chest. “Go on.” He says.

You put your palms together gently in front of you, careful not to bend your injured wrist. A sigh leaves you.

“Look, I’ve been doing research on him, okay? He’s rather remarkable and he’s surprised me more time than I can count.”

He scoffs, “I’m sure it has.”

Your eyes screw shut for a moment as you groan in frustration, “No! I mean, sure, he is a miraculous biowarfare weapon equipped with superior predator features, that’s a given, but in addition to that he’s an intelligent creature capable of independent thought! He is capable of being kind and showing mercy. You don’t understand!”

He cocks a brow at you and sighs, “I guess I don’t.” He reaches out, as if he’s going to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, but stops himself. “Look, it’s been a rough week for everyone here, okay? Why don’t you take some more time off and we’ll take care of things here.”

You realized there was going to be no getting through to him. That there would be no way to get him to see that Konig was an intelligent being capable of restraint, that he had no say in his creation as a weapon, that he was misunderstood due to the weight of being a prisoner, and that even the worst behaving prisoner deserved not to starve.

“You’re still going to kill him, aren’t you?” You say, more of a statement than a question.

He doesn’t say a word, pity still flooding his stare. He turns slowly, stopping once he’s got the lab door ajar at his finger tips,“I’ll see you when you’re feeling better.” He slips out, and you watch the lab door swing to a still as you swallow his words.

It doesn’t matter how you feel about Konig right now, all of your complex feelings have been pushed to the side. They can’t kill him, he doesn’t deserve that fate, that’s for sure. You can’t hold a being prisoner, underfeed him, and then expect him not to act on his primal urges. Not even a human would pass that test.

That and the idea of him disappearing from your life permanently is enough to make your heart pound and your head spin, having to press your uninjured hand to your forehead to wipe away your sweat.

This is your fault, you’re thinking. That if you hadn’t let a substitute go in there after you left things so messy with him maybe this fate would have been spared.

No, no. You can’t afford to think like that. You can’t afford to blame yourself for his actions.

But your actions could save his life.

“Yes,” you say, out loud frantically to yourself at your own idea, “Yes!”

You’re searching the lab, pulling open cabinets hard enough they slam against their holds, leaving their doors open as you dig out their contents and leave them scattered on the floor.

You find what you’re looking for, the sharpest object you could think of in the lab, a scalpel.

You had grabbed the entire dissecting kit with the firm grip of your uninjured hand, finding a sprint as soon as it’s in your grasp. As you run you lay your injured arm across your chest, setting the pouch on top of it like a makeshift table as you pry the zipper open and dig for the scalpel. Your feet are hitting the tile hard and each step jostles your injured wrist but you’re not sure how much time you have.

You have the horrible thought that it might be too late, that when you get there you’ll find an empty cell and you’ll never have the chance to say goodbye, I’m sorry, or thank you again. The lump in your throat and the prick of tears in your eyes makes you stumble, and you use the opportunity to slow to find the scalpel, pulling it from the hold of the pouch through blurry vision. You let the pouch slide off your bandaged arm and crash to the hall floor, returning to your quick pace, damned be lab rules of running with sharp instruments.

You slam your badge into the receiver in a panic, the tears already threatening to spill over at the thought of never seeing Konig again. The scalpel scratches against your badge and when the alarm sounds, you’re looking frantically down the halls to see if anyone is going to try and stop you. When you pry open the heavy metal door enough you stumble into his cell.

He’s still in there, alive, and your tears quickly turn to that of relief.

You’re don’t hesitate, crossing the red tape and closing the distance between you, scalpel in hand.

His tentacles are at a bluff, writhing and fully extended as you dash at him. You realize that sprinting at him full speed with a weapon after the way you left things was probably not the best way to approach the situation.

“Konig!” You say, out of breath and slowing to turn your direction towards the ropes instead of him. You waste no time scraping the scalpel against the taught restraint with your uninjured hand, “We got'ta get you out of here - they’re going to kill you!” The tears are flowing down your cheeks again. You’re not sure if it’s the panic, your upset feelings of him bubbling up at seeing him, or the thought of him being killed.

“We gotta get out of here, we have to go!”

You struggle through the first rope, handicapped by your injury and fraying it in multiple spots as your hand shakes. The scalpel slices all the way through, and the rope snaps back, the loops around Konig’s bicep releasing in large coils.

You make a dash for the rope restraining his other arm, out of breath and tears blurring your vision. Your hands shake as your uninjured hand slices the ropes, unable to grip the restraint with your other hand. You fumble it for moment, panic slowing you down. Something grazes your hand and you flinch, but relax when you see Konig’s tentacle gently tapping your palm. He flips it sucker up, offering to take the scalpel from you.

“Oh, yeah.” You say, a dizzy heat creeping up your cheeks. You hand him the scalpel, blade facing your chest so the end of his appendage can safely coil around it.

He takes slices precisely through one of the indents you started in the rope with ease.

You can’t help the awe as you watch him, mouth slightly part as your eyes follow the tentacle slice through the rope securing his wrists to the ceiling. You take a step back, hands slightly braced at your sides.

His free tentacles are curling and writhing in excitement as he gets the final swipe through his restraints, the slack releasing and dropping to the ground in loops. Once fully unrestrained, he takes his time stretching his muscles, eyes closed and small grunts leaving his lips as his tentacles move in synchronization with his movements. He rubs out the red and irritated lines the ropes left behind on his arms.

You’re still in awe as you watch him, eyes wide and slack jawed. You hadn’t given yourself time to prepare for being in a the same room as a fully unrestrained superbeing designed for killing.

Had he just been being nice to you for his own benefit, you’re thinking this would be the time for him to kill you.

Once he’s done working out his muscles, he steps over to you slowly, eyes not leaving you as his boots make their commanding presence known on the concrete.

“Oh, I-“ You cut yourself off, looking to the side as you take a few steps back. Your palms are out, and you’re thinking maybe you should have thought this through a bit more.

He says nothing, his glowing gaze boring into you as he closes the gap, leaving only inches between you two.

The nerves are apparent on your face as you stare up at him, having to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. He frame towered over you and his tentacles curled behind him alluringly. You flinched when the end of a tentacle came up to brush your cheek, leaving behind a small line of clear slick.

“Thank you.” He says, and for once you know what he means.

“Thank you.” You respond with a shaky voice, eyes flicking around his features nervously.

“Are you ready?” He says, nodding to your badge.

You’d forgotten he’s being hunted. Your unease of him is overtaken by the panic to save him.

“Yes, yes! We should hurry.�� You say, starting a sprint for the door, but a tentacle loops firmly around your waist and lifts you up, your feet still searching for floor. Another tentacles comes underneath you like a swing, allowing you to place to weight on it. You can’t help but let out a few nervous squeaks as you’re adjusted in the air. Once you get your bearings you he puts you close to his back, letting your head sit next to his so you’re looking over his shoulder. You’re in a nest of slick tentacles, securing around you to keep you steady, and you’re reminded of the nightmares you’d experienced with a sea of tentacles swallowing you whole.

One appendage is offered to your injured wrist so you could rest it. He does all of this without looking at you, his focus on carrying your through the cell.

He stills and a tentacle reaches out, sucker up, and it takes you a moment to understand he’s asking for your badge. You give a nervous laugh when you realize, pulling it from your neck and ruffling your hair with the lanyard as you do. His tentacle curls around the badge and it disappears from your view.

You hear the grating alarm and the clunk of the lock. Two tentacles return instead of one, opening the lanyard of the badge to place it gently around your neck so you don’t have to. He simultaneously gets the door you struggled so much with opened with ease, and he’s careful as he gets both of you through the doorway.

“Which way?” He whispers through his harsh voice.

You point over his shoulder so he can see your arm from behind him. “That way, I need to grab my keys.”

As soon as he’s starts moving you realize why he didn’t let you run. He’s scarily fast, moving efficiently through the hallways as his tentacles allow him lengthier strides. You’re mesmerized by the way they shoot out, using the walls, floor, and ceiling to support himself as he moves. It’s like something from a horror movie, you think, and you can’t help imagine the fear a victim would feel being charged at like this.

“In here!” You point to the swinging doors of the lab. He’s got you smoothly inside, careful to make sure the doors don’t hit you on the recoil. His tentacles place you down gently, ensuring your feet are steady on the tile before removing his support.

You’re quick once on your feet, running to one of the undisturbed cabinets and shoving your stuff into your lab coat pockets with your good hand before dashing back to him.

“Okay, let’s go!”

But he doesn’t move, because some papers strewn on the lab table had caught his attention. He picks up a piece of paper with his hands and holds it up. The light shining through the page lets you see ink of a sketch you did of him during your obsessive research.

“Oh, that- yeah, that’s, uhm.” You purse your lips together and squint, trying to find an ending to the sentence you hastily started, “Hard to explain.”

He sets it down gently, using his hands to sift through a few more sketches of himself, anatomy labeled and fully detailed. Separate sketches of just the close details of his tentacles. Theories to what’s under his hood and his skeletal structure. His eyes scan over more pages and he find logs of your interactions, his diet, body language.

You laugh nervously, flush creeping up your neck as your eyes dart to the side.

“We should go.” You say, less urgent and more breathy than you meant it to.

He looks at you, glowing eyes piercing into you and you’re not sure how to decipher his stare.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, stacking the papers together and rolling them up in a way not to crease them. He tucks them into the waist band of his pants as he wordlessly returns you to your spot on his shoulder as he takes you from the lab.

“Which way?” He says once you’re both in the hallway, but a screams echoes from behind you, and you both whip around to look.

“Go, go, go!” Your hands frantically tap his shoulders to emphasize your words after meeting the horrified stare of a coworker, who had turned quickly on her heels to flee from you two.

He starts to sprint towards the person running from him and you tap his shoulders more forcefully, “No, the other way! Away from people!”

He gives a single nod, grunting in response as he turns on his heels and heads the opposite direction.

There were workers at the end of this hall, too. Three of them, and you can see your supervisor as he rips his attention away from the conversation he was having and turns to the mass in the corner of his eye.

He stumbled backwards, and the others turn to gawk too, screaming and fleeing from you both in a panic. You supervisor had froze, pressing his body against the wall as his shock and horror melds with confusion when he made eye contact with you, perched on Konig’s shoulder.

He shouts your name in panic, eyes searching frantically for aid.

As you Konig tentacles reach out to the halls to quickly pass him, you put one finger up on your good hand. “Don’t forget this!” You say cheerfully.

The dumbfounded and offended look on his face leaves you with an overjoyed smile as you turn back around to rest your arms back on Konig’s shoulder, lower half still supported by his tentacles.

“The stairs are through that door.” You say, leaning forward on his bare shoulder to point.

You both stop in your tracks at the sound of a blaring alarm, much more shrill than the one of his cell. It’s deafening, shrilling through the entire building. There’s bright emergency lights that reflect off the walls from the lockdown sirens.

He looks to you, and instead of yelling over the loud alarm you just point to the doors to the stairs and tap his shoulder frantically again, hoping your urgency translates.

It does, and he continues through the halls, tentacles clearing his strides and pushing open the door to the stairs. The alarm can still be heard, but you’re farther away from the speakers and it’s easier to hear the chorus of heavy footsteps echoing up the stairwell. You grip tightens on Konig’s shoulder, a nervous squeak escapes you.

You both lean over hand rail to see the commotion below, and you can make out flashes of tactical gear and weapons of dozens of soldiers moving in a group up the stairs.

Your eyes widen and you look to him nervously, unsure of your next move.

You really did not think this through.

It’s hard to tell with his hood, but he seems unnerved. He watches carefully over the stairs, and you’re tapping him quickly, silently pleading with him to keep moving to search for another way out.

A free tentacle reaches out to rest on your palm, leaving behind a slick and letting you know that he’s got this. You swallow and let your hand lay on his shoulder. You can’t help the way your fingers dig in to his firm shoulder.

The soldiers are close enough you can hear their voices below you. You screw your eyes shut, trying to search for your trust in Konig and hoping this hasn’t just turned into a suicide mission.

The soldiers are almost in your view when Konig’s tentacles moves you both to the gap in the middle of the stairwell that drops all the way to the ground floor. He’s got you both suspended in the air, his grip on you tight, with tentacles laced onto either side of the handrails of the floor you’re on.

He releases the rails he had held in his tentacles for support, letting you both free fall past the soldiers and down to the ground floor in a blur, catching you both with his tentacles against the bottom floor hand rails.

Expletives leave you without thought, and he turns his head to you to check on you as he exits the stairwell, now on the ground floor.

The alarm is defeating again, so you resort back to using the taps and points to direct him out of the building.

He freezes when the sun hits him, having to hold a tentacle up to shade his eyes.

Does he even remember the last time he saw the sun?

It takes him a moment to steady himself.

“My car’s over there!” You point once he’s steady.

You can hear yelling from the building behind you, the lockdown drill still blaring.

Once you’re at your car he sets you down, and you race to fling the driver door open, fingers fumbling as you start the engine.

He opts for the backseat, and you think it’s a bit odd before you consider the need for him to have room on both sides of him. He’s forced to hunch over in the middle seat, his head is pressed up against the ceiling. His tentacles had spread to the trunk, the front seats, pressed against the windows and coiled up on the seats next to him to get them all to fit. He’s blocking your view of the rear windshield window but you can make it work, you think.

You throw your car in reverse, using just the side mirrors to guide yourself out of your parking spot. You can see the building doors burst open, soldiers pouring from the building. One points to your car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” You say, pressing on the gas, tires squealing as you exit the parking lot.

You hang a skidding right and shoot for twenty over the speed limit, but get slowed by traffic.

“C’mon…” You say to the car preventing you from speeding as you nervously eye your rear view, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. You drive with just one hand, your bandaged arm resting in your lap.

You get a glimpse of a familiar military vehicle in your sideview and you squeal, “OhfuckOhfuckOhfuck.”

The gas pedal slips out from under you and you slide your knees over to glance down in a panic before your eyes return to the road.

You weren’t going fast enough for Konig’s liking, apparently, because his tentacle had stole the pedal from you, pressing it to its full extend against the floor mats. The engine roars as it struggles to keep up, and you have to used your injured hand to steady the steering wheel as you swerve off the road to desperately navigate the other cars.

Your foot desperatly searches for the break, but another tentacle shoots out from your left, coiling around the metal that held the brake pedal and holds it firmly in place. You tried to push it down with all your might, but you were no match for his strength, as if you were trying to crack a boulder with just one foot.

He doesn’t let you use your arm for long, two tentacles coming in to take the steering wheel from you. Your engine is roaring and your eyes find the odometer, you’re going 40 over and climbing.

He coils a few tentacles around you and your seat for good measure, bracing your head and core in the event of a crash.

The expletives are falling from your lips without thought. You’re going well over 100mph now, never having gone this fast in your car before.

“Konig, slow down!”

He’s navigating with ease but too many close calls makes you screw your eyes shut to brace yourself.

He finally lets up once you two are out sight of the soldiers tailing you, letting off the pedal and offering you back control of the wheel.

It takes a few deep breaths and expletives before you take the wheel from him, leaning forward once his tentacles release you.

“Don’t!” Sharp inhale, “Ever do that again!” You say, heart pounding in your chest as you nervously eye the sideview mirrors for signs of trouble.

“I didn’t want them to catch us.” He says evenly. There’s a pause, and you catch each other’s eyes in the rearview mirror in between checks of the road.

“I’m sorry if I scared you.” He says with a flick of his tentacle.

You take a few more deep breaths, wiping away the clear stick Konig had left behind on your forehead, “Well, we didn’t crash.” You’ve regained the wheel and find your groove going twenty over.

“I don’t know where to take us.”

“You don’t have a home?” He asks.

“I do, but they have my address in my employee files. It won’t take long for my place to be flooded with soldiers looking for you.” You say, briefly holding the wheel with your bandaged hand so you can put on your indicator to change lanes, sprained wrist returning to your lap.

Silence falls on you both mull it over. You keep driving, wanting to put as much distance between his capturers as possible.

The tentacle stretched in the passenger seat moves close to your bandages, “What happened?” He asks, voice low.

“Oh, uh,” You keep your eyes on the road. You had assumed he would have been aware of what he did to you. It made sense he didn’t realize it happened when it did, his attention elsewhere at the time.

You debate telling him in your head, but decide it’s best to be honest with him, “My wrist sprained when it hit the concrete. When I uh, tripped.”

You swallow hard, glancing at him in the rearview. He’s leaning forward between the two seats, his head close to yours.

“I did that to you?” He asks with a tense frame.

You look at him again briefly before your eyes find the road. “It happened so fast. Neither of us were thinking properly.”

He leans back in his seat, still having to hunch over to fit under the car’s roof. The tentacle outstretched to you retracts to the back seat with him.

Another silence falls over you both as he digests the new information.

“I’m sorry.” He says, voice strained, “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You glance at him in the mirror again, his eyes are turned to his boots. “It’s okay.” You offer a weak smile, even if he can’t see it. “I would have done the same, remember?”

He doesn’t say anything, but he gives a slow shake of the head, and in between checks of the road you can see the fabric of his hood rippling with his movements.

You continue down the highway in silence, keeping your eyes on the stretch of road ahead of you. You drive until the sun sets, making stops for gas only when the station is empty, quickly filling your tank in fear someone will spot the ultimate creation of biowarfare resting in your back seat.

You see a sign for a motel and you decide you’ve covered enough ground today.

“Ready to stop? We can rest for the night here. Give you a chance to stretch out in privacy.”

He hums, but ignores the question, attention directed out the window and over the horizon, “I forgot how beautiful the sunset is.”

It catches you off guard, the sweet words whispered in awe from his intimidating frame.

Your eyes find the clouds reflecting the orange of the sun’s warmth. The bright colors gradually shift to the calm blue of dusk as the sky stretches on. Some of the brighter stars of the night sky are already making an appearance on the other end of the sky.

“It is beautiful tonight.” You say.

A small smile creeps on your features, finally feeling anything other than regret and worry about your impulsive decision to free him. Maybe the hasty ruining of your life and being forced to live on the run was all worth it, because now Konig gets to see the sunset again.

You pull into the parking lot of the motel, pulling out your wallet as you speak, “Stay out here and try to lay low. I’ll get us a room.”

You leave the engine running for him as you handle things at the front desk. The motel was as shady as it looked, not requiring your ID and accepting cash for payment.

Perfect. Untraceable, that’s what you needed. The man in the white stained undershirt doesn’t even give you a second look when he hands over the room key.

You turn your head both ways to scan the parking lot before preemptively unlocking the door to your room. You return to the car with an awkward jog, opening the driver side door to gather anything you’d need.

“We should be good. Just move quick.” You say, closing the driver door behind you.

You watch as he gets out, tentacles pouring out of the car one after another.

He doesn’t seem to be in as much of a rush as you, taking a moment to stretch out his back with a pop.

You’d gotten a head start to the motel room, but he still catches up before you reach the door, opening it for him so he can get all of his appendages inside. You nervously peek out to the parking lot one last time to make sure no one saw you two, closing and locking the door behind you before securing the blinds shut.

“Okay, we should be safe.” You say as you move to pull the sheets up on the mattresses to check for bed bugs.

The room is as dingy as you expected it to be. Peeling wallpaper stained with years of cigarette smoke. Outdated decor and furniture. Stained and faded carpets. An old box television perched on a dresser facing the two queen beds.

“No bugs.” You announce once you’ve thoroughly checked both mattresses. You look to Konig, who’s standing in the doorway of the tiny bathroom, eyeing up what you assume is the shower. You hear the water turn on in a spray against the shower’s porcelain followed by the sound of a belt jiggling.

Your brow quirks as you kick off your shoes and shed your lab coat, stretching your sore back as you settle in on one of the mattresses.

He starts a shower and you can’t help but picture him soaking his tentacles and sore body through the wall of the motel room. He left the door open, and some sinful part of you thinks about peeking.

You don’t, forcing your attention to the TV. You mindlessly flipped through channels with the remote, thoughts lingering on Konig showering. You settle on reruns of a lighthearted show.

You hear the shower turn off with a hearty thud of its noisy pipes. Some more time passes, and you can see flicks of corners of a white motel towel from the doorway.

The jingle of his belt makes an encore, and after a few more moments he reappears, turning the light off for the bathroom with a free tentacle. Another continues to works the towel, dabbing off stray water beads from his skin.

Your cheeks flush, and you catch his wet muscles flexing from the corner of your eye as he makes his way to the other mattress, laying down on his front with a relieved huff. His tentacles relax as well, draping themselves on the duvet and hanging off the sides, the ends lazily flicking and curling as they dangle.

You both sit silently for awhile, forcing your attention towards the TV set while you watch his tentacles curl alluringly in your peripherals. You’ve settled into your spots on your respective beds, trying to find some respite after such a stressful day.

He breaks the silence first.

“I will never forget your kindness.”

“Oh,” You start, heat still flushing your features but keeping your stare towards the television, “It’s nothing.”

“You sacrificed everything to save my life.” He says definitively, “Even after what I did to you.” His eyes linger on your bandages.

“It just seemed like the right thing to do.” You shrug, your eyes finally meeting his. “I was really only at that job for the paycheck.” You pause again, fingers fidgeting with the TV remote, “The guilt was starting to weigh on me anyway. Better to live honestly and on the run than settled-in but trapped, right?”

His glowing eyes stare into yours as he considers your words.

He nods slowly, tentacles twitching and curling.

You give him a cheeky smile and a point, “But no more killing people, okay? I’m responsible for your actions from here on out.”

He huffs in amusement, lifting up one tentacle in the air as if giving an oath, “I promise.”

He stirs suddenly, as if he had remembered something.

“I have something for you,” he says as he sits up, reaching into his pants pocket. You quirk your brow as he stands, closing the gap between your beds and as he presents his fist to you. He towers over you, even more so from your spot sitting slouched on the bed.

You look at him with intrigue, cupping your hand underneath his, “It’s not a bug, is it?”

He laughs, and it’s the first laugh you’ve heard from him aside from the wicked laugh from that first day you met him, the laugh that raised the hairs on your neck and haunted your dreams. This one’s different, softer and playful. It makes your chest warm and you can’t help the goofy smile you give in return.

“No, it’s not a bug.”

He lets the small item drop into your palm and your brows scrunch as you study it.

Your pearl!

You let out a quiet gasp, eyes darting to him once you understand. It must have slipped from your pockets when he had held you upside down during your altercation in his cell. You hadn’t even thought about it, didn’t realize that you had lost your precious pearl. You had been avoiding thinking about Konig up until you heard about his pending execution, and at that point you had bigger things to worry about.

You pick up the uneven pearl with two fingers, moving it in the light, “You had it all this time?”

“I’ve been keeping it safe for you. I was worried I’d never be able to return it to you.”

You purse your lips at the way you had left things. Leaving him without closure in that sterile cell, forcing him to sit with his unresolved feelings and thoughts without an explanation. Never knowing if you’d be back.

“I’m ashamed, at how I treated you. I thought I had ruined the one good thing I had in there.”

Your cheeks flush at his words and you wrap your fist around the pearl. You’re forced to break eye contact with him, hoping he can’t see the heat beneath your skin.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” You say, eyeing the floor by his feet. “I just needed time.”

He considers your words carefully. “I can’t blame you for that.”

His eyes flick down to the hand that held the pearl and both of you bask in the silence for a moment.

“Maybe tomorrow we can get you a necklace for it, so it doesn’t get lost again.”

You tilt your head to meet his gaze, mouth parted and eyes wide. A tentacle brushes the apple of your cheek, and he looks at you like he had eyed the sunset, in awe and stunned with its beauty.

He had understood the significance of the pearl this whole time, and he returned it to you post-freedom, meaning there was no chance of him attempting to gain your trust for his benefit.

“Konig,” You whisper, voice breathy.

“Yes, meine perle?”

“Thank you.” You hold the pearl in a fist placed over your heart and keep your eyes fixed up at him.

His hand reaches down to your face, tracing a finger on the underside your jaw. Your breath hitches at the chill that shoots down your spine.

“I’ve been watching you.” He says, finger resting just under your chin, keeping your gaze on him. Your eyes flick nervously to his tentacles curling alluringly over his shoulder before returning to his stare.

You’re not sure what he means, but you’re too stunned by his words and the light touch of strong fingers, breath still hitched and heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

He pulls out the rolled up stack of papers he took from the lab and held close. All of the sketches and logs and theories you’d made during your obsessive research, “Looks like you’ve been watching me, too.”

He gestures to the papers in his hand before placing them on the nightstand to his side.

The tentacle that brushed your cheek moves to your hair, curling strands gently between the slick end of his appendage. Another gently takes the pearl from you, setting it down with the papers.

“Am I wrong, meine perle?”

Your jaw slacks open a little further as you stutter out the beginning of a few sentences, each quickly abandoned one after another.

You settle for a shake of your head accompanied by a full flush of your features.

He gives a hum of satisfaction as he leans down close enough that his hood almost brushes up against your skin. His glowing eyes are inches from yours.

“I want to repay you, meine perle.”

His thumb continue to soothingly stroke your jaw, His voice drops, soaked in a sultry tone as his gaze maps your features.

“You worked so hard for me. Went through so much, didn’t you? So good for me.”

You give a sharp inhale at the praise, a warmth suddenly pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re hypnotized by his large frame, his gentle touch, the inflection of his words. You can only stare up at him in anticipation, caught off guard by his change in demeanor.

A tentacle rests on your knee and begins to creep up your thigh. You try to look down but his hand under your chin keeps you steady.

“I want to make you feel so good, meine perle. Will you let me do that?” His voice dropped to a low whisper, and another tentacle creeps up behind you, making you flinch as it slithers down your shoulder and curls around your collarbones, “Will you let me reward your hard work?”

Your thighs spread obediently at the touch of his tentacle and Konig takes the opportunity to stand between your thighs, keeping them open. When you go to answer the only thing that comes out is a nervous squeak, so you opt for nodding your head.

The grip on your face tightens, a few of his fingers indent the soft flesh of your cheeks, “Ah, ah.” He gives a slight shake of his head. “You have to say it, meine perle.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice. “Yes, Konig.” You whisper through shallow breath, eyes wide as you look up at him. “Please.”

He gives another pleased hum, a tentacle eagerly coiling around your waist and picking you up from your spot on the edge of the bed.

A gasp leaves your parted lips, hands finding the slick coiled appendage at your center for leverage. Your socks scraped the duvet as he repositioned you to the middle of the bed.

Two tentacles work the button of your pants, a sharp inhale leaves you as they yank your zipper down and slide the waistband to your thighs. His eyes trace every inch of newly revealed skin as his tentacle placed you down on the bed, removing the appendage looped around your middle. By the time he gets your jeans off and discarded to the floor, two more tentacles have already begun sneaking up the hem of your shirt, slithering up your stomach and lifting your slick stained shirt with it. You obediently, albeit hesitantly, put your hands over your head to let him take your shirt and bra off in one swipe, ruffling your hair as he does.

You’ve got your upper half propped on your good arm, palm sunk in to the mattress. He corrects this by looping a tentacle around your good wrist, giving it a careful but firm yank as another presses to your sternum and guides your back flush with the mattress. Another simultaneously wraps around the forearm above your injured wrist, gently pinning it to the bed and forcing it to rest on the mattress above you. The two tentacles that removed your shirt trace down your exposed core and down each leg, giving you goosebumps behind the trail of slick they leave behind. The tentacles stop at your ankles, wrapping around them and up your calves like a snake coils its prey.

In quick movements your ankles are forced to in the air, extended and spread. He kneels onto the bed at your feet, positioning himself so he’s kneeling in the new space between your thighs.

He stills, tentacles holding you firmly but comfortably. You can feel his suckers against your bare flesh, each having their own independent wriggling grip on you. Your chest rises and falls, trying to swallow your nerves of being undressed and fully restrained at the hands of the powerful being you’d freed.

His eyes are tracing all of the newly exposed flesh, and you can’t help but squirm against his appendages as you fight the urge to cover yourself. He holds you steady, all your limbs extended as he takes his time committing the curves and dips of your delicate body to memory.

His eyes find your panties, already stained with arousal at the way he spoke to you, manhandled you.

“Such a delicate thing you are, meine perle.“ He says, eyes half-lidded as they admire you.

“You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against me, didn’t you little one?” His voice is low but gentle, and you’re stunned by his words, his forwardness. You can’t help but be intimidated pinned beneath him.

“You knew the risk you were taking. You knew I was deadly.”

One of his tentacles come up to gently smooth the hair he had disheveled when removing your shirt. You flinch at his touch, and he gives a pleased hum once he successfully fixes your hair.

“And yet you couldn’t help but throw yourself at me.” His eyes briefly widen before returning to their half-lidded boring stare, “Time and time again,” He shrugs in casual disbelief of you, “I’ve never seen anything like it, your carelessness.”

A free tentacle sneaks up your leg again, curling to stroke your spread inner thighs.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re self-destructive. Suicidal, even.”

The tentacle at your thigh creeps up, teasing the waist band of your underwear, and you suck in a breath through your teeth.

“But I do know better, though, don’t I?”

The tentacle lets your panties snap back to your hips, and the appendages holding you as restraints tighten on your limbs threateningly, excluding your injured arm.

His eyes narrow and his voice drips of arrogance.

“You’re just a little masochist.”

The tentacle drags down your front, teasing your slit over the fabric of your panties.

“Aren’t you meine perle?”

Your thoughts are clouded with a haze as you cling to his words, hypnotized by his chilling voice, domineering tone, and arousing touches.

He lets you get away with not responding this time, studying your responses to his teases before he continues. He gives another hum, a tentacle tracing down your neck and core, leaving behind a cool trail of his slick.

The tentacles tracing your cunt curls around your waistband again, while the two appendages securing your ankles maneuver your legs as they slide your panties down.

“Do you like that I have so much power over you?”

He has to unravel the appendages on your ankles to remove your underwear, discarding them over his shoulder. The cool breeze on your dripping cunt makes you shiver, tensing your core and arms in his restraint.

“That I’m a predator and you’re just a sweet defenseless little thing?”

His tentacles quickly rewrap around your ankles, but this time he secures the thick middles around you, covering the tops of your feet in his slick suckers as he forces your legs spread. His tentacles slither all the way up your legs from foot to upper thigh like thick black vines, and he leaves the ends of his tentacles with extra slack so the tips can tease the lips of your dripping cunt.

“Does the danger turn you on, meine perle?”

He gives a hum as he eyes your exposed and spread cunt, thoroughly slicked with your own arousal.

“I can see it does.”

You flush under his stare, still mesmerized by his words and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen.

He leans forward, his hands finding the mattress on either side of your core. You shrink under him as he leans down. He presses the front of his pants against your cunt, spread open by the tentacles looped around your legs.

“You were afraid of me.” He says, and you let out a broken sigh as he grazes your clit, your hips giving small involuntary grinds against him, “Yet you still gave yourself to me, so willingly.”

He hovers his face inches from yours, glowing eyes reflecting off your wide eyes. His voice drops low, and the hem of his hood drags across the curve of your breasts. The smaller tentacles that pour from under his hood curl around your tits, and you flinch under his touch when the ends of slick appendages start to tease your nipples to attention.

“I think someone that brave deserves to be thoroughly rewarded.”

He keeps his face close to you, leaving the equivalent of kisses through his hood down your middle as his smaller tentacles trace your skin.

He kisses all the way down to your cunt, spread open by the larger appendages coiled around your legs. You lift your head to watch him, and he keeps his half-lidded stare on you as the tip of a smaller tentacle swirls slowly around your clit. Another traces your dripping entrance.

A breathy sigh leaves you, your thighs tensing under his tentacles, but he holds firm.

“I am curious,” He starts, eyes locked on yours as he lays his chest flush to the mattress between your wrapped legs. He props himself up on his elbows, and brings a hand up to his hood to slowly pull it up halfway. His smaller tentacles part like curtains to reveal his mouth, and your eyes widen at the sight.

Your dreams had been scarily accurate, a taunting smile made up of rows of predator teeth. Razor sharp and killer. Concern and awe melded on your features, eyebrows pinched and eyes wide.

“Are you still afraid?”

He sticks out his tongue, and your face twitches as you watch it extend unnervingly far from his pointed teeth. The length and curl reminded you of another tentacle, but made of the flesh of tongue.

He dives his tongue up the slit of your cunt, a long deep stripe from hole to clit.

You let out a pathetic whine, your thighs begging to clench around him but tentacles forcing you spread. He hums, tongue sending the vibration straight to your pulsing clit.

He starts slow, tracing circles around you with his precise tongue.

Your hips grind into the pleasure, and he huffs in amusement at your eagerness. He lets his tongue unfurl, completely smothering your cunt with his slick tongue. He loosens his grip on your thighs just enough to allow you to get a better range to thrust into his face.

You give another whine when he stops teasing you, but continue to grind your clit against him in a desperate search for pleasure.

You give him a pleading look, mouth slightly parted for breathy exhales. He lets you grind long enough to embarrass you, waiting for the telling flush of your cheeks.

He finally pulls away with a long swipe along your cunt as you let out a sinful moan. The tip of his tongue returns to your aching clit, flicking side to side. He starts teasingly slow but hungrily picks up once he hears the hitched breaths you take.

You have to lay your head back to the mattress, closing your eyes as you give in to the pleasure.

He presses the tip of his tongue to your clit head on, pushing his tongue forward and letting it slither down your cunt. It curls around like a ribbon, the wide part of his tongue rolling down your clit as the tip curls back to your entrance, rimming your dripping hole. He teases you for a few moments before diving the tip of his tongue into your warmth, keeping the middle of his tongue pressed against your clit.

You let out a gasp as he enters you, and he gives a low pleased hum into your dripping cunt in return. His tongue slithers further into your warmth, the thick of his tongue continuing to graze your clit.

You start to grind down on him again but the tentacles around your legs climb further up your thighs, securing your hips as the ends continue spreading your cunt open for him. You give a whine, and he complies by pushing his tongue in and out of you, fucking you while stimulating your clit.

Your toes curl under his suckers and the moans are falling from your lips without thought as he tastes you.

When you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, cheeks flushed and breaths shallow, he’s eyeing you the same way he had eyed the meals you brought him. Free tentacles twitch in excitement as his hungry gaze follows his prey.

The corners of his mouth curl into a smile as he quickens the movement of his tongue, causing you to pull against the tentacles restraining your limbs, desperate moans leaving your parted lips.

He retracts his tongue, an arrogant laugh leaving him as he leaves your dripping cunt rutting into the air.

He licks another deep stripe against your entire cunt one more time, letting his nose swipe against your slit as he drags up. His eyes roll once he retracts his tongue again, a sinful moan leaving him.

“You taste so sweet, meine perle.”

You let out a whimper, rutting your hips in desperation at the sudden lack of touch. He gives another pleased hum as he sits up on the bed, eyeing you from above.

A free tentacle creeps between the mattress and your middle, and when you obediently arch your back he coils an additional appendage around your waist. He hauls you into the air with ease, the four tentacles on your limbs still spreading and supporting you. The tentacle on your injured hand, still less taut than his restraints, slithers up further to keep your wrist in-line with the rest of your arm in absence of the support of the mattress.

He puts you above his head, cunt resting just above his head. He tilts his neck back before burying his tongue back into your cunt while keeping you in the air above him.

A squeak leaves you as you tense against him, unnerved by the sensation of being suspended in the air. Your worry melts to pleasure as he fucks his tongue into you, his tentacle restraints bouncing you up and down in rhythm with his slick tongue.

The jostling and the tentacle coiled firmly around your ribs allows the moans and squeaks to leave you with ease, and he hums in satisfaction at the cute little noises you’re making for him.

He retracts his tongue again, letting his hood drop, and you look to him with pinched brows - as if offended he revoked your pleasure.

“I could eat this cunt everyday and not get tired of it.” He says, and even though you can’t see his mouth you can tell he’s wearing a cocky grin.

You let out a pathetic little whine, giving a weak tug against his restraint.

“Don’t worry,” He says, almost mockingly, before you feel a thick tentacle slither up to tease your cunt, a relieved whimper escaping you.

He uses his thick appendage to swirl around in the slippery mixture of your own arousal, his slick, and spit. He uses the smooth side of his tentacle, curling it against your slit as he moves your restraints, forcing you to grind your dripping cunt on his tentacle. Two more free tentacles slither up your chest, cupping your tits and teasing your nipples with the ends of his slick appendages. He continues grinding you against him as he lays the two tentacles over your tits, a sucker on each covering your nipple and applying suction. The stimulation makes you gasp and pull against his restraints, overwhelmed with him sucking both your nipples and forcing your clit to grind on his thick appendage at the same time. Your squeaky and broken moans echo throughout the motel room.

“I’m just getting started with you.” He says, low and dangerous, “Make sure to save some of those pathetic whines.”

The thick tentacle swirling your cunt teases your entrance before impatiently slipping into you.

You let out a pornographic moan as he plunges into you. You’re sure it was loud enough for the neighboring rooms to hear but being filled up by Konig’s tentacle felt too incredible for you to care. His slick tentacle was thicker than anything a human could offer, and his suckers allowed for a ribbed sensation as he fucked his appendage in and on of you. His dexterity allowed him to find your g-spot with ease, the end of his tentacle massaging it as he fucks in and out of you.

Your eyes close at the overwhelming pleasure, weak and limp as he puppets you up and down on his tentacle.

He’s using all of his tentacles on you now, and you’re helpless to stop him as he removes the appendage that secured your waist and coiled it around your neck, close enough to graze your flesh but not yet applying pressure. Your eyes open at the touch, half-lidded in pleasure as you find his glowing stare. Even through the overwhelming stimulation, it’s an unnerving feeling having him wrap around your neck, reminding you of his power. He could end your life, easily, and there would be nothing you could do to stop him.

He slithers further around your neck, and you can help but shiver under his threatening touch. He sees your brows pinch in worry and his eyes squint. While his hood obscures his mouth you’re guessing it’s twisted into a smile, as if he knows what you’re thinking and had planted the idea on purpose, reigniting your fears before you get too lost in the pleasure.

There’s a sinful glint in his eye, “Do you trust me, meine perle?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, his tentacle tightens around your neck, cutting off your moans with a harsh gasp.

Your eyes widen in fear, your fingers scratching the air instinctively as you wiggle in his grasp.

The tentacle fucking your tight cunt doesn’t let up. You’re left with your mouth open as you ride him, the moans that would be coming out silenced by his tight grip on your airway. The lack of oxygen allows a fuzzy haze to cloud your brain, and suddenly you’re not even thinking about the danger or the tentacles restraining and choking you. All you can think about is the sensation of your cunt being teased and fucked as your nipples are milked by his suckers. You let your body go limp in his grasp, no longer anxious for release. You’re still looking at him, but he’s getting farther and farther away, your vision blurring his bold silhouette.

He waits for your eyelids to unevenly flutter shut before he loosens his grip, keeping his tentacle looped around your neck like a scarf.

Your first sharp inhale is involuntary, followed by desperate sharp gasps for air. He continues pounding your cunt, his tentacle diving further into you, stretching you open as you return from your haze.

His smug snicker progresses to a deep hum of satisfaction.

He gives no warning before he cuts off your air again, watching as you fight against his restraints while managing the overstimulating pleasure.

“I like watching you struggle, meine perle.”

He takes a moment to look you over, watching you tense and feebly wriggle against his strong grip. He soaks in the look of concern and arousal on your features. You fade away quicker this time, eyes going cross as you zero in on the tentacle fucking your soaked cunt, suckers clinging to your walls as he massages your g-spot.

“I’d feel bad about it, but I know you like it too.”

He releases his grip on your neck, tentacle unfurling and leaving behind a necklace of clear slick and imprints of his suckers. You’re sputtering and coughing as he allows you breath, struggling to steady yourself as you’re bounced up and down on his thick tentacle.

Once you catch your breath you’re giving him breathy moans again, tensing beneath the tentacles on your limbs.

“Look how aroused you get when I threaten your life. This tight little cunt is so wet.”

One of the smaller tentacles that extends from under his hood runs circles on your pulsing clit. The tentacle that had retracted from your neck traces a line down your spine, stopping to rim your ass.

Your eyes widen at him as he slicks up the entrance of your hole. You’re nervous about anal, but you don’t find your voice to stop him. He slips a slick tip in, allowing you time to relaxing on just a few inches as he continues working the rest of you.

You were right about him being good at multitasking. It’s a lot to handle a once, your clit being teased, cunt pounded, nipples being sucked, and ass being stretched around the end of his appendage, all while being restrained and unable to relieve the tension building inside your body.

You’re lost to the stimulation, moans and expletives and sweet nothings pouring from your mouth in jumbles.

Konig’s enjoying the show, reveling that he’s made you come undone under his power. The mess he was making over you, covering you in his slick and getting you drunk off his touch.

A white heat steadily builds underneath your skin, pooling to your lower abdomen.

“Konig! It’s too much- it’s too much I’m gonna -"

“Come for me meine perle.”

The waves of pleasure rip through you, convulsing in his grip as you come. Konig doesn’t let up as he fucks you through orgasm. Mercilessly pounding your cunt with his thick tentacle while you clench at the intense euphoria.

“There you go, so good for me.”

You let out a strangled moan, hands searching for something to grab onto for stability but they come up empty, straining against his restraints while powerless to the pleasure.

“Konig - please.” You manage out between your broken moans and meaningless stuttering.

He gives another low hum of approval and he still doesn’t let up, the tentacles still working all your sensitivities.

“Not done with you yet, meine perle.” He warns, and you let out a whine in response.

You’re quivering in his touch now, futilely arching away from him, your pleasure turning to over-sensitivity.

“‘s too much.” You mutter out, shaking in his grip and too weak to escape his touch.

“I know, but you’re going to take it for me, aren’t you meine perle?”

You let out another whine in response, twitching at the stimulation that was turning nearly painful.

He offers some relief by removing the smaller tentacle from your clit, but he keeps the rhythm of both tentacles inside you, filling you up and forcing you to bounce on him. He continues teasing your nipples with his suckers, enjoying watching your back arch desperately as you squirm under the sensitivity.

You keep his gaze, teeth still grit at the overstimulation, eyes pleading.

He removes the tentacle from your cunt as he holds you steady, no longer bouncing you but still teasing your ass as he undoes his belt. He pulls it free with one firm tug, discarding it with the rest of your clothes.

His hands ease his zipper down and he takes his time, amused by your expression seeped in curiosity, desperation, and awe. He inches his pants down enough to expose his genitalia.

A fleshy appendage, a few inches longer than what a standard human male would have, springs to attention from the waistband of his clothes. The entire appendage was a uniform deep pink with no head. The shape reminded you of another tentacle, larger at the base and ending in a slick tip. Slight indents that ran up the sides of his shaft.

He lets you admire him for a few moments before he lines your used cunt with his appendage, plunging into you without mercy.

You let out a loud moan at being filled again, and he rock his hips, letting his appendage grind in you as you sit on his full length.

“Shh,” he whispers teasingly, “Don’t want anyone finding out how much of a desperate slut you are for me, hm?”

He brings the tentacle that had occupied your cunt up to your lips, and you obediently open your mouth to let his tentacle slip in, silencing you as you suck on the end, tasting the mixture of your arousal and his slick.

Your moans and whines are muffled by his tentacle as he pounds into you, his restraints moving you up and down in rhythm with his hips, meeting your hips in the middle as he fills you up.

He lets out a low growl that shoots a tingle of excitement down your spine.

“This pussy feels even better than I thought. So fucking tight, meine perle.” His pace quickens, now pounding ruthlessly into your soaked cunt.

His hands find your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as he guides you on his appendage. The tentacles supporting you allow you to lift almost all the way off him before forcing you down his entire length over and over again.

The moans are pouring from you again, but gagged by the appendage fucking your mouth - slick, arousal, and spit dripping down your chin.

When he pulls his appendage away from your cunt, the rest of thick tentacles still work your ass and nipples as he works to flip you over. He forces you into an all-fours position in front of him, letting you rest your forearms and knees on the duvet, his restraints staying firm on your limbs as he bends them into position as if you’re his doll.

You obediently arch your back and lower you head down on the mattress, sticking your ass into the air. He can see you spread open from behind, and he watches the tentacle work your tight little ass as he shifts to his knees behind you.

He gives you a firm smack on the ass with his hand, huffing in amusement at your shocked gasp around his tentacle gag. He gives you a few more, alternating cheeks as the sound of flesh on flesh echoes throughout the motel room.

He hums in amusement at the squeaks that come from your gagged mouth.

“Such a naughty perle,” He teases in his arrogant tone, “Always putting yourself in danger, hm?”

You whine, fingers clawing at the duvet as you brace yourself, flushing at the idea someone might hear your punishment.

He stops not long after, leaving behind his handprints on your flushed cheeks. He’s getting impatient, so when he lines his appendage back up with you he slides in without warning, hands finding your hips for grip as he slides in and out of you.

He’s too excited, he can’t refrain from letting his hips flush with your pink sore ass.

The tip of his appendage curls forward inside of you, massaging your g-spot as he fills you.

He doesn’t let up, keeping a steady rhythm with his hips and all of the tentacles working you. Your tits groped, nipples sucked by his tentacles, mouth and both holes filled and fucked - it’s overwhelming enough to make you go limp in his hold, not a single thought occupying you as you mindlessly work your tongue around the tentacle gagging your mouth. You’re too focused on the pleasure, how good it feels to be at his mercy.

“Watching you got me so excited, meine perle.” He says though heavy breaths, his grip tightening on your hips, “I’m already getting close.”

His thrusts get more intense, and you think you’d be yelling if you hadn’t been gagged. You probably wouldn’t have been able to warn him about your second finish even if you hadn’t been silenced, too cockdrunk off the overstimulation to properly string together a coherent sentence.

Your cunt clenches around him as another orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to tense in his restraint.

He lets out a hearty moan, his thrusts becoming slightly uneven as he struggles to keep his composure in your tight walls.

He comes everywhere, his finish not only marking his claim deep in your cunt, but also from each of his tentacles, tips releasing his come into your ass and mouth while coating your tits and spread cunt.

He twitches inside you throughout his finish, fingers digging into your hips as he gives a few light thrusts, milking every drop of his finish into your filled cunt.

You’re still limp when he finally pulls away with a strained moan, his tentacles placing you down gentle on the mattress. You’re on cloud nine, too high from your finishes to be able to support yourself. You let the mattress support you, basking in the warmth of the afterglow, bliss settling over you as you recover.

He gives another hum of satisfaction at the sight, having completely unraveled you and marked you with his seed. He leans down to plant a kiss through his hood on your back, his hands giving a light squeeze on your hips as he props himself up next to you. He runs his fingers up and down your back, swirling through the clear slick his tentacles had left behind.

He lets you rest for a few moments, waiting for your breathing to settle before a tentacle gently drapes across you.

“How about we get you cleaned up, meine perle?”

You let out a dazed hum of approval, letting his tentacles coil around you to carry you to the shower. He presses you to his chest, your head resting against him as he cradles your back and the crease of your knees.

When your eyes flutter open, and you meet his glowing stare, your face stretches into a warm sleepy smile. He unwraps your bandages carefully, and he doesn’t let you lift a finger once you’re both in the cramped bathroom, standing outside of the tub as he scrubs you down. You exchange little words, both of you still basking in the afterglow.

He takes his time wiping the slick and come off your skin, easing around the flushed marks his suckers had left behind on you.

It’s soothing - the warm water embracing you, and Konig smoothing a washcloth over your skin. Intimate, even, how he’s washing your upper arms as he holds your hand with his free hand, watching you while you relax into the water. He’s extra gentle with your injured wrist as he cleans you.

He’s in no hurry as he cleans your middle and legs, enjoying the glisten of the water on your plush breasts and thighs. He thumbs the bubbles on your skin under his soft grip.

He even washes your hair, his large hands massaging your scalp as he runs the suds through. He’s careful not to get soap in your eyes when he rinses the bubbles from your hair, using a tentacle to shield your forehead as he guides your head back under the stream of the shower, disregarding the water spraying all off the motel bathroom floor.

He’s being so careful with you, so sweet and soft, it was a jarring contrast to the Konig that had been ruthlessly pounding you moments before or the Konig you’d come to know trapped in his cell.

Once you were all clean, he shut off the showers with its noisy clunk of old pipes, he was quick to wrap one of the motel towels around your dripping body before he carried you back to the beds. When he stilled you meet his eyes, resting your hand on his chest.

“Guess we’ll have to share a bed.” He says in his cocky tone as you follow his gaze to the mattress, thoroughly soiled and stained from your session.

You roll your eyes at him, giving a soft tap on his chest in your disapproval of his corny flirting, but the smile on your face betrays any hope of hiding your enamor.

His eyes squint from under his hood with a smile, you assume, as he carries you to the bed with his strong arms.

It’s not easy for a being with tentacles shooting from his spine to cuddle. He wasn’t designed for cozy naps and soft embraces, but he does what he can. He presses against the pillows sitting up, at an angle to leave space between the headboard and his back for his tentacles to settle. He nestles you at his side, keeping your head on his chest as your arm rests against over his core. Your leg props up on his as you rest the side of your body on the mattress.

His arm wraps snuggly around your back, fingers making soft circles at your curve.

You’re already halfway to sleeps clutches when you mumble into his chest.

“Thank you, Konig.”

“Thank you, meine perle.”

———————————————————-

If you enjoyed this fic, you may enjoy…

THE GIRL WHO CONQUERED THE MOUNTAIN - Loser!Konig x Reader - Konig & Reader must compete in a twenty-four tribute fight to the death. (122k word slow burn)

Original Works Masterlist

[lyrefromthesea]

Can I request something? I think it would be pretty cute to have a slow morning with the hashira, like not having any missions to go to, so you just stay in bed and cuddle and talk about things. Pls make it fluff or even angst of you’d like! Have a great day/night and remember to rest, eat and drink!

Male pillars x reader - morning hours

pairing: Tengen x reader, Obanai x reader, Rengoku x reader, Sanemi x reader, Giyuu x reader, Gyomei x reader

content warning: none

Tengen:

"and what are you doing, beautiful?" Tengen asked, stepping through the doorway to enter the kitchen.

his eyes were locked on your figure, watching you prepare the breakfast for five people. the table had already been prepared, plates and glasses put on their rightful place.

"i woke up earlier and decided to prepare breakfast. are the others awake already?" you asked, turning around to face him. he stopped walking towards you, putting a hand under his chin - pretending to ponder over your question.

"Hinatsuru hasn't moved at all since yesterday. Makio is sprawled out over the bed, she stole the blanket from the other two. and Suma was clinging to my waist, I had to prick each finger off individually.

you looked at him for a moment, the corners of your lips tugging into a smile. you couldn't hold it in anymore, letting out a laugh, trying to keep it quiet as not to wake the others.

"you could've just said they were still sleeping!" you told him, watching him smirk down at you.

"i wanted to make ya laugh, beautiful." he answered, finally stepping towards you. he cupped your cheek with his hand, leaning down to press a kiss against your other one.

"now let me help make breakfast. maybe we could go visit the hot spring later, would ya like that?"

Obanai:

his first thought when he woke up always surrounded your being - your smile, your voice, your eyes, your prior conversations.

he wished to put his mind at ease, forget the worries of his life and only think of the times he could spend with you. however, the past had marked him, forced him to be attentive, always.

he looked to the side, wanting to grab his mask and make sure everything was fine. but he stopped feeling your chin rest on his chest.

"Obanai?" you mumbled, looking at the man next to you. his hand halted, not able to grab his mask when your eyes were looking at him like that.

"i just want to make sure everything is fine." he whispers, trying to soothe your mind. he felt like he needed to ensure your safety, but he wanted to gift you comfort as well.

"don't you want to stay here instead?" you asked, pressing your cheek against his cheek. you knew he was weak to the look you gave him, if it meant you would get to lay next to him for a few more moments, you would use that to your advantage.

"everything is fine, don't worry about it.." you told him, scooting closer to his face. he closed his mismatched eyes, trying to dive into the soft kiss you pressed against his lips.

he slowly opened his eyes after you've pulled away and nuzzled against his neck. he yearned for your touch, your warmth. it was more important than air to him.

"you're right.. let's just stay in bed for a while longer.."

Rengoku:

"good morning, love." Rengoku said, stepping out of the estate. you turned around to face him, not moving away from your place on the engawa.

he settled down next to you, a blanket an two cups in hand. you soon found yourself wrapped into the blanket, a cup of your favourite warm drink in hand.

Rengoku sat right next to you, his own cup in hand, the blanket loosely thrown over his own shoulders.

"i know you love watching the sunrise, but you'll grow sick if you sit here when it's so cold." Rengoku told you, using his right arm to wrap it around your side, pulling you against him gently.

"you don't need to worry about it, Kyo. i only wanted to stay for a moment." you answered, not expecting Rengoku to look at you with a knowing smile.

"i thought you had promised to wake me next time." he answered, seeing your cheeks flush lightly, you felt caught. you hadn't forgotten, he just slept through your tries.

"i tried, but you sleep like a bear..!" you countered, watching him laugh at your words. he gave you a big, loving smile, pressing a kiss against your temple.

"maybe we should work on that, but let's enjoy the sunrise first."

Sanemi:

your head rested on his bare chest, it had become a habit at this point. he didn't like sleeping with a shirt in, giving you the perfect opportunity to sleep against the warmth of his skin.

both of you had been awake for a while now, his hand on your head. he lazily brushed his fingers through you hair, knowing you liked the goosebumps it created.

sometimes you wondered if this was really the epitome of his happiness, if he didn't want anything more in life.

"can I ask you something?" you quietly said, not hearing an answer from him, but feeling his hand stop. he rested it on the back of your neck, showing you that he was listening.

"are you happy like this..?" you asked, hearing him let out a quiet grumble. he finally snaked his arm around your body, pulling you closer against him - if that was even possible.

"what kind of stupid question is that? of course i'm happy when you're here, idiot." he answered, closing his eyes while he spoke.

you would never know, but he cherished the early morning hours with you, when there were no demons to slay and he could concentrate on you.

"i love you." he added, feeling like you needed some sort of confirmation. you chuckled upon hearing him, snuggling a bit closer to him. unbeknownst to you, your actions made a smile tug at his own lips.

Giyuu:

the first thing you noticed was the chirping of small birds outside your window. then the beams of sunshine falling onto your face.

but most importantly, you felt your lover's eyes on you, his arms wrapped around your form, gently pressed against his body.

"good morning, love.." he muttered, feeling you stir awake. he brought a hand up to cup your face, gently stroking his thumb over your cheek.

"morning.." you yawned out quietly, bringing your hands up to rub over your eyes. you opened them to look up at him, a soft smile forming on your face.

"are you hungry? i could make us breakfast." you asked, already thinking of getting up, but Giyuu certainly didn't approve of that.

his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling you back down and burying his head into your hair, sighing when he took in the aroma of your shampoo.

"stay.. i want to hold you." he quietly spoke, his voice muffled by the curtain of your hair. you chuckled upon hearing him, nuzzling back into the bed - but most importantly against him.

"five more minutes won't hurt."

Gyomei:

"wake up, honey." Gyomei quietly said, his big hand resting on your arm, gently shaking you awake. he stopped when he heard you yawn, sitting up slowly.

"morning.." you mumbled, letting yourself plop against the sitting man, a small smile appearing on your face when you heard him laugh.

"you're so tired, are you sure you're ready to stand up yet?" he asked, his smile widening when he felt you move more enthusiastically, your hands finding his.

"of course i am! i want to make the most out of your free day." you answered, fingers interlocking with his.

the contrast made him happy, he could probably crush your hands with his, but you trusted him nonetheless.

"what would you think of some breakfast? we could make it together." he responded, the happy gasp that left you already revealing your answer.

"let's get to it." you told him, letting go of his hands to kiss him on the cheek and crawl out of the bed.

how could he not follow you when you were this happy to spend time with him?

[sparklingchim]

game on 02 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: footballer!jungkook, fake dating, f2l

rating: 18+

warnings: lots of smoochies !! 🤭, their first kiss <3, umm mentions of jk's infamous threesome again 😔, koo talks abt taking girls in missionary what can i say he is a man

summary: jungkook and you practice acting for the cameras. kissing him feels more right than you anticipated.

a/n: yayy chapter 2 is here!!!! <3 writing this was truly saur much fun n i hope u have fun reading too !!! 😋

read chappie one here

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"Just kiss me."

"Hold on a second."

"We really need to practise this."

"I know, just give me a minute."

You scoot away from Jungkook on the couch. You were sitting so close, almost about to kiss him actually, but his intense, doe-eyed gaze made you pause, needing a grounding breath.

You’ve never been this close to his face, and somehow, you can’t seem to cross the invisible line that keeps you from just pressing your mouth on his. Jungkook’s your friend, after all. You’ve known him since he was five and once saw him get his head stuck at school, so of course it’s weird.

You press your lips together in an attempt to focus, and lean in again, but once your eyes meet his, a smile urges on your mouth.

"Oh my god." Jungkook’s frustrated sigh cuts the air. "This can’t already be doomed to failure because of a simple kiss."

"It’s not! I just need to mentally prepare myself."

"I feel...offended? Kinda?" Jungkook weaves his fingers through his hair. "I’ve never had to convince someone to kiss me."

"It’s not you. I promise!" you say, reaching for his knee. "Under any other circumstance, if we weren’t friends, I’d love to kiss you. You’re hot and cute, but the situation we’re in makes me feel so stupid. It’s absurd."

Jungkook cringes when you call him cute and removes your hand off his knee.

Yesterday, when Jungkook showed up unannounced, it took him full ten minutes to convince you he wasn’t pulling a prank on you.

Who would believe their friend begging you to fake date them? It’s ridiculous. Only happens in the fictional world.

But then Jungkook showed you the pap picture that was circulating online. The comments and gossip were nasty and you knew he was caught up in a deep mess.

In the photo, Jungkook was surrounded by two girls, his arms draped casually around their waists as they stumbled out of the club, a half-full drink lazily held in his hand. His hair was a tousled mess, likely from the girls running their fingers through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a small peek into his defined chest. It was bold, provocative — definitely not the ideal image of a responsible twenty-year-old football rookie.

Probably the worst pap pic you’ve seen of him so far. And the worst timing too.

"You were wasted," you commented, staring at the article he was showing you on his phone.

"And I had so much fun last night." His voice was tinged with frustration, like a child whose favourite toy had just been snatched away. "But then I woke up to this picture, and a flood of missed calls and texts." He rubbed his hands over his face, exhaling sharply. "They just had to ruin it for me."

Noticing your raised eyebrow, Jungkook quickly backtracked. "No, I know it’s my fault too. I shouldn’t have done this right before the World Cup, especially after what I promised. I just hate how everything turns into such a big deal, just because... well, just because I’m me."

The idea of fake dating Jungkook had seemed absurd, something out of a rom-com rather than real life. But the more he explained the pressure he was under, the more you understood why he needed this.

Jungkook was your best friend, and if kissing him in public could save his career, why not help him?

While you got ready for meeting his manager, stepping out of your comfy, rotting-at-home clothes, which consisted of little shorts and an oversized t-shirt (you think it’s actually Jungkook’s, but you’re not quite sure since it’s been in your closet for years now), and slipping into a casual, more presentable outfit, Jungkook busied himself fixing your laundry machine.

Jungkook’s manager knows you well – his entire team does. You are known as Jungkook’s close friend and had been spotted with him on multiple occasions.

Taesung greeted you warmly, though surprise flickered across his face when Jungkook introduced you as the solution to the fake dating plan.

You felt Taesung’s gaze assessing you, weighing your suitability for the role. Jungkook’s PR agent mirrored his scepticism, tilting her head in doubt. They exchanged uncertain glances, which made you nervous, but Jungkook was determined. Jungkook wasn’t Jungkook if he didn’t get what he wanted. With a few persuasive words and his usual charm, he quickly won Taesung over, who sighed and leaned back in his chair, conceding defeat.

"We need to establish the narrative from the start," Taesung said seriously. "The media will dig into your background, and they’ll want to know if there’s anyone else in the picture. So, to be clear, you’re officially single. No boyfriend, no complicated past relationships that could surface. We don’t need any messy stories."

You assured them that there was none. Multiple times. No angry exes, no secret relationships – your personal life was as drama-free as it could get.

Taesung slid a document across the desk.

"This ensures that whatever happens, no details of this arrangement-"

Jungkook’s hand shot out, halting the paper. "No," he said firmly. "She doesn’t need to sign anything."

"Jungkook, it’s just a formality," Jiwoo began, but Jungkook insisted.

"I trust ___. She’s not just anybody. She’s my best friend. If she says she won’t talk, she won’t talk. The NDA isn’t necessary."

"It’s okay," you assured him gently.

Jungkook shook his head. "No, this is ridiculous. You’re not signing a stupid contract."

After more arguing, his manager eventually relented.

Jiwoo outlined the plan in more detail with Taesung – public appearances, social media posts, carefully orchestrated moments that would sell the story to the public. You felt a bit intimidated by the pressure, but you’d get used to it. After all, this arrangement is only for a few months – just until his management can announce that you’d mutually decided to break up on good terms.

But you both need to practise before stepping in front of the cameras.

Which leads you to this moment, a day later, sitting on your couch trying to practice how to act like a couple. And it’s not going well at all.

"Okay, let’s start from the basics then," Jungkook suggests. He rises to his feet, offering you his hand. "Hold my hand."

You gingerly accept his hand, standing up as well.

"See, don’t we look cute?" Jungkook drags you to the mirror. "Or maybe – let’s intertwine our fingers. I think that would look better." He holds your interlaced hands up between the two of you, a satisfied grin plastered on his face. "So cute, right?"

A giggle bubbles in your throat. "You act like you’ve never had a girlfriend."

"Well, it has been a while," he admits, the slightest sulk on his lips. "I’m too busy for relationships." He swings your hands. "The only times I ever hold a girl’s hand is in missionary, above their head when-"

"Jungkook," you interrupt quickly before he can delve any deeper into the story. You give him a mock glare, but there’s no hiding the amusement dancing in your eyes. "Didn’t we both agree on only talking about your bed stories after I’ve had at least one bottle of soju – preferably two, so I can mentally brace myself?"

You love him, you really do, but you don’t want to hear about his bed stories, unless you’re the slightest bit tipsy at first.

"Oh, yeah." He shakes his head apologetically. "Forgot about that."

"Wait, maybe that’s what we should do!" you exclaim as an idea pops into your mind. Your hand slips out of his, and you take a step toward the kitchen. "I think there are a few bottles of soju in the fridge."

"We’re not getting drunk to build up the courage to kiss," he insists. "We shouldn’t need alcohol to pretend we’re into each other."

Jungkook pulls you closer to him, and you stumble slightly, but his hand instinctively moves to the small of your back, steadying you.

"Fine," you sigh dramatically, hand on his chest. "Was just an idea to make this easier for us." The fabric of his shirt is extremely soft and your fingers glide over it.

"I mean, it’s not like we’re complete strangers. And they know it too. We’ve been through enough to pull this off without breaking a sweat."

He’s is right. The public knows you’re one of Jungkook’s closest friends. It wouldn’t be totally unbelievable that you two might have fallen in love.

After all, you’ve always been comfortable with each other —hugging, cuddling during movie nights, play-fight over silly things just to annoy each other. You’ve shared quiet moments, like when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder after a long day or when he’d run his fingers through your hair absentmindedly while you talked. There were times when Jungkook was exhausted and crashed at your place, your fingers gently scratching his head as he slept peacefully. You’ve kissed each other’s cheeks in thanks without hesitation.

Jungkook’s touch isn’t foreign to you.

And still, the thought of acting like you’re in love when you’re not feels strange. Sure, you’ve always been physically close, but this was different. This time, every gesture would be for an audience, every touch would carry a different meaning. It wasn’t just casual anymore.

"I guess," you reply, fiddling with the hem of his oversized t-shirt, avoiding his gaze for a moment. "I think it’s just weird to be this close for show."

Jungkook watches you for a moment, his eyes softening as he considers your words. "Yeah," he murmurs. "But it’s not like we’re faking the friendship part. The rest...we’ll figure out." His fingers clasp your hip, the pads of his fingers gently digging into your flesh. "Don’t think about it too much," he says. "When we have our first public appearance as a couple, pretend like the cameras aren’t there, act nonchalant. Just... y’know. You and me."

You pout, an involuntarily frustrated grumble leaving your lips as you drop your forehead on his chest.

"I hope I’ll do well under all the attention."

You’ve dealt with your fair share of noisy people trying to pry into your relationship with Jungkook, but so far, it’s been somewhat manageable.

"Just you and me," Jungkook repeats, his tone softer and more assured this time. "Nothing can happen to you when I’m there."

You glance up at him, taking in the gentle lines of his face.

"Maybe you should’ve hired a girl that can deal well with attention," you voice your thoughts.

"No." Jungkook’s immediate response rolls off harshly on his tongue. "You were my first thought. I wouldn’t have done this with anyone else but you."

"I was your first choice?" Giddiness makes your face shine.

"Yeah. I don’t think I would’ve felt comfortable with anyone but you."

"Be honest, you just really wanna kiss me."

You stand on your tippy toes, a silly smile spreading across your face.

Jungkook cocks his head to the side, a teasing glint buried in his eyes.

"I think you do."

With a surge of confidence, you take a small step closer, your heart beating a little faster as you close the gap between you and Jungkook. Your lips meet in a gentle, fleeting touch. The contact only lasts for a moment before you pull back, your eyes searching his for a reaction.

"That was a smooch. Not a kiss."

You frown upon hearing him complain.

"What, you want to make out with me in public?"

Jungkook sniffs a laugh. "No, but maybe a little more than how fifth graders kiss."

"You’re a kissing expert now?" you quip back, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungkook leans in slightly. "I just know what I like."

The challenge in his voice sparks something in you. "Then show me how you like it."

His gaze drops to your lips, and a flutter of excitement spreads in your tummy. It’s unexpected and thrilling and it catches you off guard.

Jungkook’s hand, which had been resting on your back, slowly glides up, his fingers curling around the side of your face, his thumb brushing delicately against your cheekbone.

Your breath hitches as he leans in. His lips meet yours again, but this time there’s more weight behind the contact – still soft, but deeper, more intentional. His lips move slowly and there’s a warmth to it, a tenderness that makes your heart race even as the kiss remains gentle. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the connection just enough to make you melt into him.

The teasing atmosphere lingers in the back of your mind, but for now, it’s pushed aside by the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

Kissing Jungkook doesn’t feel weird – which makes it a little weird.

When you both finally pull back, it’s gradual. You can feel his breath, warm and steady, mingling with your own.

"Like that," he whispers, his voice barely audible, yet it sends a shiver down your spine. "You’re a good kisser."

You pull back completely. "Excuse me?" you say. "You were doubting my kissing abilities?"

"No, not at all!" Jungkook shakes his head, amusement crinkling his eyes as he gazes at your sulky face. "You’re just a very good kisser. Like, super gentle and smooth."

Heat crawls up your cheeks. You ignore the flush of warmth and keep your composure. "Have you been using the lip balm I got you? Your lips are soft."

"I know, right? Not chapped at all anymore."

He traces two fingers along his bottom lip and your eyes follow the motion, finding yourself inexplicably drawn to his lips.

"Are we done practising?"

"Do you think we looked natural?" Jungkook’s hand slips into yours once more. While he is focused on the mirror, adjusting the way your bodies fit together – tugging you closer, alternating between holding your hand and interlacing your fingers – your mind is still replaying the memory of the tender press of his lips. "For me, it felt pretty natural. Not awkward at all. What do you think?"

It’s the simplicity with which he says it that draws a short laugh out of you.

The sound grabs his attention. "What?"

"You’re just...extremely serious about this. I don’t think they’ll analyse the way we hold hands, Kook."

"But that’s their favourite thing to do," Jungkook replies. "The gossip mills love analysing every step you take, where your eyes wander, who you smile at." A note of bitterness threads through his words.

He’s been playing pro for just two years and has fallen victim to greedy people intruding on his life so many times already. Former friends who leaked private conversations, acquaintances who turned their brief interactions into tabloid fodder, even strangers who felt entitled to a piece of him just because he was in the public eye.

Jungkook searched for solace and silence at your place many times, trying to escape the madness. In the quiet of your dorm, breathing felt easier.

You never asked questions, never pried. In a world where everyone seemed out to get something from him, you just let him be, offering him the comfort of your presence without demanding anything in return.

"People were just criticising this dude – ah, who was it again?" Jungkook stares at the ceiling, raking through his thoughts. "I can’t remember his name, but this guy was getting called out for choosing the booth seat while making his girlfriend sit in the aisle seat."

"The aisle seat? Come on, it’s an unwritten rule that-" You fall silent once you catch Jungkook’s pointed expression. "I mean, yeah. It’s definitely wrong to make a big deal about it. Maybe she prefers sitting there," you shrug.

"But do you see what I mean?" he asks. "Whether you intend to or not, you’re always judging what others do. And that judgement only intensifies when it involves a celebrity."

"Ah, when did you become so famous Jeon Jungkook?" You sigh, looking down at your linked hands.

"I know, right? Two years ago, no one would’ve cared if I had a threesome." He shakes his head in disbelief. "And now I am being punished for it—kicked off the national team, and my best friend has to save me by fake dating me."

"I feel like this would make a good movie," you giggle.

“We have to practise hard, then," he says.

You pull your phone from your pocket. "What if we film ourselves kissing so we can monitor it better?" You set up your phone on a nearby shelf and position yourselves in front of the camera. "Don’t engaged couples do this? I feel like we’re practising for our wedding kiss."

"Oh, butterflies."

"Huh?" You stare at the way he holds his hand against his tummy.

"You just told me you want to marry me. That gave me butterflies."

You slap his arm. "Stop being silly, we have a whole nation to fool that we’re in love."

~

Hang outs with Jungkook often end with the two of you lounging on the couch, snacks scattered everywhere, and a movie playing on the TV.

"Next one?" Jungkook asks from his spot beside you, inching closer with his pleading doe eyes.

You try to push him away by the, but he doesn’t budge.

"I need to study. Like, for real." You had warned him before starting the movie, agreeing to watch only one, but he still tried his luck.

He holds up one finger. "Just one."

You push him off your body, and this time he allows it, his back slumping against the couch. The grumble of complaint in his throat gets muffled by his pursed lips.

"You’re smart. The material is probably set in your brain anyway. No need to revise anything."

You scoff at his bratty words.

"So you won’t ever need to ditch hangouts for football practice because you’re already so good at it?"

"Well, no." He drags the word out, brows furrowed as he considers your question, trying to come up with a reasonable answer. "But I know you don’t need to study as much as you do. You’re just naturally smart."

"I wish, but I ace my exams because I study as much as I do."

"Aish," Jungkook mutters, standing up from the couch and stretching his limbs. His toned tummy peeks out from under his lifted shirt.

"Karina will be home soon anyway," you say. "And I’m not ready to play pretend in front of her yet." The thought of confessing to your roommate that Jungkook is now your boyfriend makes you shudder.

It was one of the conditions that made you briefly reconsider if you could really pull this off or if Jungkook should find another girl. You didn’t just have to act in front of the cameras – everyone had to believe that you and Jungkook are a couple, including your friends and family. You dread the day you have to tell your parents.

You know they once secretly hoped Jungkook would become your boyfriend when you were older, but as he became famous and the public started scrutinising his every move, your parents grew wary of his wild, reckless side.

You follow Jungkook to the door.

"You think she’ll believe us?"

"I dunno," you shrug. "Not sure if she’ll buy it. She’ll probably be suspicious since I’ve never talked about you in that way when we gossip, but I think we’ve practised enough to at least make it look like we love each other."

Jungkook nods and hugs you briefly. "We’ll figure it out." He steps out of your apartment, typing on his phone. "My manager sent me details about our first public appearance." He scans the text, but quickly looks up at you again with an annoyed frown. "Ah, so many words. I’ll just forward you the messages." With a sweet smile and a quick wave, he starts to leave, but you tug at the back of his shirt.

You cup his face, pulling him down to you, and plant a kiss on his lips.

"You’re my boyfriend now. Act like it."

[shuafiles]

juno [h.js]

MDNI, 18+

SUMMARY | one of me is cute, but two though? give it to me baby

PAIRING | nonidol/fiance!joshua x afab!reader

CONTENT | unprotected sex (pls stay safe), fingering, few degrading names, use of handcuffs, breeding, mentions of pregnancy, just smut in general lol. lowercase intended

WORDS | 2.6k

A/N | inspired by juno by sabrina carpenter, highly recommend listening to it while reading. have fun babes!

joshua was perfect. it was no surprise that when he asked you to marry him, you said yes with no hesitation. even after four years of dating, he knew how to keep you off your feet, he knew how to love you right, and he knew how to fuck you right.

even out of your past relationships, no one knew how to make you feel good as much as joshua did. which is why you couldn’t help but stare at him as he took group pictures with his friends.

you were at a bar with his friends to celebrate seungcheol’s birthday. joshua was wearing a white button-up with the sleeves tucked up to his arms, which you couldn't help but go insane at. you don't know what it is, he has looked the same as he pretty much has all the four years you have known him, but somehow he looked even hotter than you could ever imagine. before leaving the apartment, you were already in a needy mood from watching your fiance prepare for this party. he was trying on different shirts in front of you and was asking for your opinions on them, even though you’d rather he just take them off.

you were pulled out of your thoughts when you spotted joshua walking towards you with a sweet grin on his face. you reciprocated his smile, his hand reaching your waist once he was near you.

“hi, beautiful.” joshua kissed you on the forehead, which sent sparks all over your body. “enjoying yourself?” his thumb rubbed circles on your waist, a small habit he found himself doing a lot once his hands were near your body. you already were in a dizzy state from the mere sight of him, him touching you in any way made you feel like your body was on fire. maybe you were ovulating?

cheeks flushed, you hummed in response, putting your drink down on the bar and admiring his slicked-back hair with strands falling off on the side. this was one of your top five favorite looks of him. he looked so sexy tonight, even with the dim lights of the club, you could make out the way his lips looked so plump and kissable, you couldn’t wait to just kiss the fuck out of him when the two of you are finally in private.

“y/n! joshua!” a distant voice called out, leaning your head towards the voice, you saw a very drunk seungcheol making his way towards the both of you, a small gift bag in hand. halting in front of you, a cheeky smile on his face. “here’s a little thank you for coming to my party tonight, " he said, handing you the bag, a confused look on your face, glancing over joshua, who just shrugged at you. you took the bag from his hand, peeking over the top to see the contents inside.

pink fluffy handcuffs. that’s what was inside the gift bag. you couldn’t help but laugh at the silly gift. “really, cheol?” handing joshua the bag so he could check it out for himself.

“i want all my guests to have a fun afterparty!” he said, wrapping his arms around joshua’s shoulder. as much as the gift was indeed silly, you couldn’t help but imagine joshua using them on you in bed as if you weren’t already craving for him.

joshua smirked, eyes facing you. as if he could read your mind, he leaned in your ear. “can’t wait to try them out tonight.” making your stomach flip.

-

the entire ride home, joshua was teasing the hell out of you. his hand on your thigh while the other was on the steering wheel, sliding it down dangerously near your cunt. the little shit knew what he was doing, complementing you the entire time, telling you how your ass looked great in your red dress. he even mentioned the stupid pink handcuffs, asking if you were down to use it. you were more than down, of course, it wasn’t the first time you and joshua were going to incorporate toys into your sex life. but you couldn’t wait for the ride to end because you were so fucking horny, and he was all to blame.

you barely made it past your apartment door, and your lips were already attached to your irritatingly handsome fiance. he reciprocated your hunger, his hands roaming all over your body, pushing your coat off of your shoulders before settling his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him.

“what got you so worked up, princess?” he whispered, flipping you around so your back was against the door. your hands reached up to unbutton his shirt, his head leaning down to nuzzle his face on your neck, leaving soft kisses against it. you were too embarrassed to admit that you were just adoring him and got yourself horny.

successfully unbuttoning the last button, joshua lifted his head and tapped your thighs before helping you wrap your legs around his waist. he guided you towards your shared bedroom, grabbing the small gift bag dangling from your wrist and throwing it on the bed. he gently propped you down on the edge of the bed and kneeled in front of you, eyes lustfully trained on you. you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of him, his unbuttoned shirt giving you a peek of his toned chest. his hand made its way to your ankle, unclasping the lock of your heels. of course, he had to be a romantic lover. you kicked the heels off your feet, grazing his fingers on your feet, up to your thigh as he stood up. you felt a pool gather at your underwear.

“shua…” you whimpered. he shrugged his shirt off, leaving him in his black slacks. his hard cock evident against his pants. you wanted nothing more than to stuff your mouth with his thick cock.

“look at you, you’re practically drooling.” his finger hooked the strap of your dress, dragging it down your shoulder in an awfully slow manner. you glared at his pace, which he only chuckled at. “patience, princess.” your dress was now resting on your waist, boobs on full display which made joshua lick his lips. “beautiful.” he walked in between your legs, hand reaching to the nape of your neck, leaning down and pulling you into a sweet kiss. you reached up to undo the latch of his belt, excitement roaring throughout your body at the thought of finally having him after an entire day of endless torture. he pulled away from you, chuckling when you were obviously having a hard time getting rid of his damned belt, aiding you in removing the belt away from his pants.

joshua walked away from you, making you frown, but he just circled the bed to grab the gift bag that was discarded on the bed. returning to you, he sat next to you, patting his lap for you to climb into. you stood up, your dress falling to your feet, leaving you in just your lacy underwear. you sat on his lap, straddling his legs, feeling his hardened cock against your still clothed core. you whimpered at the sensation, jerking your hips forward to feel some kind of friction, making joshua tut.

“what an impatient little slut, hm? i bet you can’t wait for my cock to be stuffed in you, is that right, princess?” you couldn't care less about how pathetic you looked right now, you needed to be fucked by him badly.

“i need you so bad, shua.” you whined, placing your hands against his chest. your core practically aching with need.

“since you said it so nicely.” he supported you by your ass, flipping you around so that you were laying on the bed. he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, sliding them off of him. his cock practically begging to come out of the restraints, which were his boxers. you bit your lip at the sight of him, wanting nothing more than to bury his cock in your mouth. his body hovered over you, climbing in between your legs, giving you a sweet kiss on the lips before his mouth trailed over to your jaw, neck, and finally, your breasts. he enclosed one of your nipples with his mouth, swirling his tongue over the sensitive bud while his hand kneaded your other breast, fingers toying with the nipple. you moaned at the sight of him desperately licking your breast, hand flying to grip his hair.

“fuck, baby.” you gasped as he gently used his teeth on your nipple, feeling him smile against you. pulling away, he reached for the handcuff that was inside the bag.

“hands above your head, princess,” he ordered, and you followed quickly; you absolutely loved it when joshua took command in the bedroom. he wrapped the fuzzy handcuff around both your wrists, not before leaving a gentle kiss on your hand. “tell me if it’s uncomfortable, hm?”

“shut up and fuck me already.” joshua laughed, hooking his fingers around the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs and discarding them somewhere in the room. he circled his fingers around your clit, which made you shiver. he lined his index finger in your entrance, sliding your wetness between your folds and up to your clit, rubbing it just enough to drive you crazy. teasing you, he lightly inserted the tip of his finger before quickly pulling out, which made you gasp. “shua, please.” you pleaded, and he finally inserted two digits in your entrance without saying anything. soft whimpers escaped your lips, as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, slightly curling it every so often.

“you like that, baby? look at you, you're a whimpering mess just because of my fingers.” his gaze on you intense, as he quickened his pace. his thumb toying with your clit as he moved his fingers inside you. your hands fell to wrap it around his neck, but he grabbed your arm and returned it above your head. “if you move, i’ll stop.” you nodded. throwing your head back and arching your back when he added another finger. he attached his lips to your breast that was in his face, lapping the nipple around his tongue which drove you over the edge.

“oh my god! that feels so good, please, baby.” jerking your hips upwards to meet his hand.

“fuck, baby, your pussy’s always so tight for me, huh?” you felt an all-familiar knot gather at your stomach, and joshua must have felt that you were close because he picked up his pace even more. “so perfect, so needy for me. how bad do you want to cum, baby?” his eyes trained on you as you could barely keep yours open.

“so bad, baby, p-please let me cum. i want you to fuck me already.” joshua leaned down and placed kisses on your neck, feeling your pussy clench around his fingers as he repeatedly hit the spongy part that makes you dizzy.

“you take my fingers so well, princess.” grabbing your hand, he placed it against his clothed bludge. “can’t wait to have my cock inside you. come on, baby, cum for me.” that was all you needed to hear before you felt your inside explode, moaning his name as you came undone on his fingers. pulling his fingers out, he brought them to his mouth, collecting your juices with his tongue, not wasting a single drop. your body still recovering from the high you felt

when joshua was finally done, he pulled away from your body and removed his boxers. his cock springing against his stomach, all hard and spurts of pre-cum dripping from the head. he wrapped his hand around the shaft, pumping it a few times before reaching up to your wrists. he unlocked the cuffs, hands gently rubbing the skin that was in contact with it. he returned his position over your body, hands on either side of your head as he attached his lips to yours once again. feeling his cock graze your cunt.

“wanna fuck you so bad,” joshua whispered against your lips, gripping his cock with one hand as he rubbed the head against your folds. “you’d like that, wouldn’t you? you’re such a slut for my cock, huh?” he pushed his cock into you, your mouth falling open into a silent gasp at the sudden sensation. you have been waiting for him all day and now you have finally received your wish. he stops inside you for a second to let you adjust, but it doesn’t take long before he starts moving in and out of you. “so fucking tight for me.” he groaned, grabbing your legs and pushing it against your shoulder as he repeatedly rammed his cock against you.

“o-oh my god, josh.” grabbing a fistful of sheets as you felt his cock kiss your cervix from the position you were in. his every thrust left you breathless, panting his name as he quickened his pace. sweat was forming on joshua’s forehead, his free hand sneaking down to your clit, rubbing circles that made you see stars.

“i fucking love your tight pussy, baby.” crying out for him as he leaned down to kiss you while continuing his thrusts. you felt your second orgasm forming at your stomach, which caused you to bite his lip lightly. “mhm want to come inside you, baby. let me make you pregnant.” he grunted against you which made you even more wet, if that was even possible.

you moaned at the thought of joshua filling you up. you loved him, and you couldn't wait to marry him. giving him a baby was definitely one of your plans, so it did not faze you when he wanted to do just that.

“make me a mommy, shua.” you managed to let out, which made joshua smile. he pulled his cock away completely before slamming it inside you without warning, making you throw your head back.

“good girl, take my fucking cock, baby.” the pained pleasure of his cock repeatedly hitting your cervix brought tears to your eyes. it hurts so fucking good.

joshua’s eyes focused on your tits that were bouncing with every thrust of his. you looked perfect taking in his cock so well. you would look even better with his cum spilling inside your pussy.

“baby, i can’t–” you cried out, your hands gripping his shoulders. walls clenching around his cock, as your orgasm forms around your belly. he straightened his body, his hands guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. his pace absolutely addicting as you felt his dick twitch inside you.

“fuck! baby, i'm so close.” his thrusts got sloppy as he neared his climax. you turned into putty under his grip as he fucked you through your orgasm. chanting his name as you came for the second time. seconds later, you felt his warm cum paint inside your walls. “god, i love you.” he groaned, leaning down to desperately kiss you.

after a few moments, he pulled his cock out of you, cum spilling out of you. he dragged his fingers into your entrance to push back the cum that was dripping out, which made you jump.

joshua laughed, “sorry, baby. wouldn’t want to waste a drop for mommy.” his body dropping beside you, pulling your body close to his chest. “did you mean it? do you want to start a family with me?” wrapping his fingers with yours.

“of course i do. one of me is cute, but two though? i bet we’d be even cuter.”

[maiamore]

THREE STRIKES

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female!Reader - No Outbreak

Rating: 18+ | W/C: 2k

Summary: Joel fucks you in his truck.

Tags: road rage, cockwarming, orgasm denial, husband!joel, public sex, car sex, p in v, unprotected sex, use of the word daddy, grumpy!joel

A/N: swung this out in eight hours through pure adrenaline and proofreading with my homie MASTERLIST

If there was one thing you knew about Joel Miller, it was to never fuck with him when he was on the road.

It wasn’t that he was a bad driver, per se. Joel just had pretty low tolerance with shitty drivers, as evident by the dozens of times he’d changed his horn out in the past couple of months. You learned to sit pretty & let him grumble—being on your merry way as the passenger princess you were, humming along to whatever country station he flipped to.

“Left in the lane up ahead,” you cut in, interrupting Joel’s long-winded rant about the signages being too small. Which of course, his old man vision was probably more of the reason why, not the state's fault. Joel at the same time, refused to use a GPS, a stubborn stance that had already led to him missing an exit earlier. Considering the two of you were now running late to dinner to his younger brother,Tommy, and his wife’s place—you’d been on edge.

Joel glances at you, annoyance flickering across his face. “I know where I’m goin’, sweetheart.”

“Sure,” you replied, the sarcasm practically dripping from the single word.

“Joel!” Your arm whips directly in front of his face to point at the lane he was supposed to be in. He shoots you a sharp look in return, his palm pressing down on the base of the wheel, rotating it clockwise as he finally shifts over. You could tell, just from the tension in his jaw—that you’d hit strike one.

“I was about to,” he countered, his voice defensive.

“Yeah, didn’t seem like it.”

“My signal was on.”

“Oh, great, you announced your signalling intentions five hundred meters away from the lane. Can I please just put the GPS on?” you bit back, exasperated.

“We’ll get there. Quit fussin’.”

You’d slumped back into your seat, attempting to not let it affect you, Joel knew better though. He could tell you were ready to pop up with a “we need to turn here!”—despite your piss poor attempt at behaving for now.

His truck comes to a stop behind a Blue Toyota Yaris—with a slow rumble from the engine. Fingers drumming steadily against the steering wheel to fill the silence. Finally, he breaks the tension. “You plannin’ on sulkin’ all the way there?” 

“I’m not sulking.” You shot back.

Joel raises a brow, giving you a once-over. Gaze flicking to your thighs, clamped together and turned away from him. Well, that’ll do it. His lips twitched like he might’ve smirked. “Mmhm. Sure looks like it.” His voice a smooth drawl.

You turned your head just enough to shoot him a mocking look, trying not to let it show just how much the hum in his response caused a visceral reaction in what went on below. 

Joel’s jaw clenches at that, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

Strike two. 

The light turns green.

With a long, drawn out sigh—Joel eased his boot off the brake, released the clutch and wrapped a firm hand around the gear shift to nudge it into first. The truck rolled forward with its familiar low rumble,  He continued driving without saying a word, his patience teetering on the edge with how he was now holding the steering wheel with a white knuckled grip.

You shift in your seat, mindlessly scrolling through your phone when the click of a tongue snaps your attention back up. “You gotta be shittin’ me.” He breathes out. Gesturing angrily at the Blue Yaris driving way below the speed limit, you couldn’t really fault Joel for this one. You lean backwards, fully prepared to hear the end of it. 

He behaves for a while, but after a few miles, his patience snaps. With a grunt, he slams on the horn and flashed his lights, the sound cutting through the air like a gunshot. 

You groaned internally at his obnoxious habit. Before you could get a word in, the Yaris brake-checks him, sending the both of you careening forward.

Your face lights up in pure and utter amusement. You let out an audible hah! Karma was kind, you supposed, for the Yaris at least. But not for you. Definitely not for you. By the time you turned to look at Joel—

He was already looking your way.

That was three strikes.

“Oh, that’s funny now is it?” He says, with no humour in his tone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be so obnoxious with your honking. Just because you’ve got old people hearing—”

Joel swerves, stopping on the shoulder of the road. You twist your body a little when you feel the lock of your seat belt snapping open with a dull click.

“Up.”

You blinked. “Up where? Onto the dashboard?” You mused at his audacity. His eyes twitch. With a sharp tug of your arm, he attempts to pry you over the console towards his side. “Ow!—Okay, okay!” You huffed, unsteadily sliding over, your ass hitting the honk in the process, sending the both of you jolting.

Joel’s hand tightens around your wrist to pull you snug onto his lap. “Christ, Joel, what the hell?” You tried, effectively shutting up when you felt his very hard erection pressed against you. Your eyes widen, looking at Joel who didn’t have an ounce of embarrassment on his expression.

Clearly, someone liked you being a brat.

“Nothin’ to say now, mouth?” Joel tugs you by the back of your waist, your palms steadying yourself against his shoulders. You bit down on your lips to withhold just how much you enjoyed this “punishment”. With the thin material of your skirt, you’d felt every-single-fucking-thing. And god did it feel good.

So much for putting me in my place. You thought. 

Your heart was already thumping with how the truck was still illegally parked, surely, he wouldn’t fuck you into obedience here now would he? And risk getting arrested? Goody-two-shoes Joel?

Your gaze trails down as Joel snaps his belt buckle off. Nerves frayed in both trepidation and exhilaration. He brings his hand up to his mouth to wet his fingertips before slipping them beneath your skirt. 

You shudder at the motion, feeling his knuckles graze the sensitive skin, legs parting where it was tucked underneath your thighs. A thumb pushes the flimsy fabric of your thong aside, his knuckles grazing your clit. You jumped at the sensation. He gathers the slick to rub against the entrance of your folds before sinking two fingers into you in a go. You groan, tipping your head back at how full you already feel. 

“Fuck the lube, I guess.” He murmurs more so to himself. Lips quirked into a lop-sided grin as he curls his fingers up steadily into your slick pussy. Thrusting in and out. Iiiiin and out. You ground your hips impatiently to take his fingers deeper. Which surprisingly—he lets you. Normally you’d be met with a stern warning to stay still. 

He wasn’t that cruel to you, yet. A rough palm comes up to knead your tits over the pretty blue sundress you had on. You were on the precipice from coming with the adrenaline alone.

But just as you tightened around his fingers, your pussy clenches around….nothing. Your half lidded gaze meets Joel in confusion when he pulls his fingers out. You feel two heavy palms lift your hips, which you oblige without complaint.

“Upsy-daisy.” He grunts, stuffing you to the brim with his cock. The both of you let out a groan in unison. Your hand slams up onto the headrest, your pussy greedily swallowing all eight inches of him up. 

You attempt to plant your palms back onto his knees to ride Joel’s cock when a sturdy palm on your waist stops you, tugging your back towards his chest. You look back at Joel, a brow furrowed.

The truck then whirrrs back to life.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

Your lips parted in disbelief, you feel the truck swerve back onto the road, the slight jump making his cock nudge deeper into you. A pitiful moan left you. “A-Are you kidding me? You’re driving like this? We’re gonna crash!” You protested. 

“We won’t if you keep your head down.” He emphasizes the down with a hand tugging the back of your neck till’ your cheeks smushed against his shoulders—eyes steadily welling up in tears from the growing ache.

“Wanna be my GPS so badly dontcha’, sugar?” He taunts,“go ‘head. Tell daddy how many miles he has left.”

You grimaced at his tone. You should’ve known punishment wasn’t going to taste sweet. 

Every goddamned dip in the road had you biting back a moan. Weakly, you glanced outside the car windows. “T-Two.” You manage. Eyes fluttered shut with hot tears staining Joel’s flannel. 

Your cunt tightens around Joel’s cock involuntarily. You lift your hips an inch to give yourself the bare minimum stimulation, gasping softly at every single jerk of the truck. 

“You best quit doin’ that if you want daddy to fuck you, baby.” He warns. 

You hiccup, forehead rubbing against Joel’s shoulders pitifully. “Joel…” You whined against his chest. 

“I know, sweetheart. How else are you gonna learn, huh? Testin’ me all damn—...“ He heaves, rocking you upwards until you come slamming down back onto his cock. “—day.” Grunting at the way your pussy grips around him like vice. You let out a stifled cry against his shoulder.

Thighs quivering now at the lack of proper attention to your cunt. 

“I-I’m sorry—…can’t—…Joel.” You begged, lifting your head up to trace the curve of your nose up the scuff of his jaw. 

Joel wasn’t a man of steel for sure, just feeling the wetness of his wife’s tears against his chest was enough for him to give in and fuck her like the pretty little slut she was for him. 

He clenches his jaw. Letting you pepper needy kisses up his neck. “Please…please please—…” 

“Need him, baby.”

The car nearly comes into a screeching halt when Joel stops in front of Tommy’s garage. 

You feel a firm tug at the back of your head. Cheeks flushed visibly. “Poor baby, you need him now do you?” He mutters softly. Joel gazes at you. Your pretty, tear stricken face making his cock throb even harder than he knew possible. 

“Even after you were such a fuckin’ brat?” You shake your head, not daring to move your hips in the slightest, in fear he might deny you. You didn’t think you could endure it any longer. 

“I’m sorry—…M’sorry.” You babbled, not even sure what exactly you were begging for anymore. You just needed something, anything to ease the ache.

With a content smirk, Joel’s hands run down your back in a soothing effort. 

“Keep quiet f’me?” He whispers. 

Your head tips back with a groan when Joel’s cock slams hard in you once, and again. 

And again. And again. 

He steadies your hips with a firm grip, snapping his hips upwards to meet the effort you took to grind your hips back down. Joel leans his head back against the seat. “Shit.” He whispers. 

It was bad enough he held back cumming into your tight little pussy for twenty minutes—but the way you were milking him now had him groaning in pain just to make sure you came before he did. 

“Sweet girl.” He coos. A rough palm sliding upwards to hold your jaw firm, facing him. “C’mon. Can’t come without you.” 

His thumb massages steadily against your clit, giving you the nudge you needed. Your palms shift to grip around his thighs. Arching your back in a way you didn’t know you even could before your entire body tenses. It doesn’t take long after for Joel to grunt with a heaving effort, flooding your pussy with his thick spend. He slides his hand down your throat, cupping around your waist to hold you against him.

The both of you remained there, panting heavily in the wake of what was possibly the best orgasms you’d had since your honeymoon. 

The haze of lust was short lived when the loud sound of Tommy’s garage door opening caught your attention. 

Joel laughs and you do too, he leans in to kiss the valley between your breasts up to your collarbone. You were officially a whole hour and a half late. 

“Think they’ll ever invite us again?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

[mrsfancyferrari]

Baby Fever

Summary: OP81 + babysitting a child

Song: Melting · Kali Uchis

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

It was a sunny Saturday morning when Oscar and you arrived at your sister's house, the soft sound of laughter echoing from within. Today was your day to babysit little Olivia, your sister’s five-month-old daughter.

You had always adored Olivia, with her bright blue eyes and wisps of golden hair that caught the light like spun sugar. But you weren't prepared for what the day would unfold.

As you stepped through the door, the smell of fresh coffee greeted you two, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, and you caught sight of your sister bustling around the kitchen, prepping snacks and leaving last-minute instructions.

The moment felt charged with anticipation. Your sister turned, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm, and you felt your heart lift in response.

“Hey! You guys are right on time!” she said, beaming at you two. “Olivia has been waiting for you!”

You couldn’t help but smile. “I hope she’s not too much trouble,” you said, glancing over at Oscar, who had just caught sight of the little one.

His face lit up with joy, and a sense of warmth filled the room.

“Oh, she’s a delight,” your sister reassured you, her voice brimming with affection. “But she can be a handful when she wants to be!”

You two made your way to the living room, where Olivia was nestled in a playpen, surrounded by colorful toys that seemed to dance with life. Each toy was a vibrant splash of color, a cheerful invitation for play.

As soon as Olivia spotted Oscar, her face lit up with excitement, a burst of pure, unfiltered joy.

“Look at that!” you exclaimed, nudging Oscar playfully. “She’s smitten with you already!”

“Hey there, little princess!” Oscar cooed, crouching down to Olivia’s level. His voice was soft and gentle, and it sent a flutter through your stomach—a reminder of the simple, profound magic that occurs when love is shared.

Olivia squealed in delight, waving her tiny arms and kicking her little legs in a frenzy of happiness. It was a sight that melted your heart, igniting a warmth that spread throughout your being.

You couldn’t help but grab your phone and snap a picture of Oscar leaning into the playpen, his eyes full of warmth and affection.

“C’mon, smile for the camera!” you said, trying to contain your own excitement, feeling the rush of happiness bubble within you.

Oscar glanced up, a playful grin on his face. “Is this going on your Instagram? I better look good!”

“Oh, don’t worry. You look adorable,” you teased, capturing the moment forever in digital form.

“Can you send me that later? I need to update my profile pic,” he chuckled, returning his attention to Olivia, who was now trying to grab his finger, her tiny grip conveying a strength beyond her size.

You and Oscar spent the next few hours immersed in Olivia's world, playing with her as if she were the sun and you two were the planets, spinning around her light.

Oscar was surprisingly great with her, holding her securely while making silly faces and sounds that sent ripples of laughter cascading from her lips. Olivia giggled, her laughter ringing like the sweetest music—a melody that filled the space around you and made everything feel right.

“Wow, you’ve got a talent for this,” you said, watching as he expertly balanced her on his knee, his hands cradling her tiny frame with such care. “Have you done this before?”

“Not a lot,” he replied, his cheeks flushing slightly. “But I guess it just comes naturally when you’re around a cutie like her.”

“Oh, so you think she’s cute?” you teased, leaning closer to them, the playful banter weaving a tapestry of connection between you two.

“Of course! But you’re cuter,” he said, giving you a cheeky wink, and your heart raced at the exchange, at the ease with which he moved between playful flirtation and sincere affection.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but inside, you felt a warmth spread through you, a glow that lingered long after his words. As the day went on, you found yourself taking more pictures, wanting to capture every fleeting moment of joy.

There was something so tender about Oscar gently bouncing Olivia on his knee or the way he would rock her to sleep, humming a tune softly, the sound melding seamlessly with the soft hum of the world outside.

“I think she’s ready for a nap,” Oscar said, glancing down at the baby, who was now starting to rub her eyes, tiny fists balled in the universal sign of sleepiness.

“Yeah, I think so too,” you agreed, feeling a sense of purpose as you two moved to put her down. “Let’s put her in her crib.”

Oscar followed your lead, and you worked together seamlessly, like a well-rehearsed duet. He carefully laid Olivia down, tucking her in with her favorite blanket while you dimmed the lights, creating a cocoon of comfort.

As she drifted off, you noticed the way Oscar’s expression softened, a hint of wonder in his eyes.

“Look at her,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “She’s perfect.”

“She really is,” you agreed, feeling a tug at your heart. “You’re really good with her, Oscar. I can see you being a great dad one day.”

He turned to you, surprise flashing across his face. “You think so?”

“Definitely,” you said, biting your lip to suppress a grin. “You’ve got the whole caring thing down. Just look at you!”

Oscar chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair, the gesture endearing in its familiarity. “Well, I’m glad you think so. I guess spending a day with Olivia isn’t so bad.”

Once Olivia was sound asleep, you retreated to the kitchen, where you two prepared a quick lunch. The atmosphere was light and easy, filled with the gentle clatter of dishes and the sweet sound of laughter.

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, like a river finding its course.

“So, do you want kids someday?” you asked, more curious than you realized. It was a question that hung in the air, a thread connecting your hearts in this intimate moment.

He paused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Yeah, I think so. Maybe a couple. How about you?”

“I’ve always wanted a family,” you admitted, surprised at your own candidness, your heart racing as you shared you thoughts. “But I guess I never thought about it too much until today.”

“Why today?” he asked, leaning forward, clearly intrigued, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

You shrugged, a little shyly. “I don’t know. I just see how good you are with Olivia, and it kind of makes me think...”

“Think what?” he pressed gently, his eyes searching yours, a mix of wonder and warmth enveloping you two.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a little one of our own one day,” you confessed, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, the weight of your words lingering between you two.

Oscar’s smile widened, and he reached across the table, taking your hand in his, a gesture that felt monumental in its simplicity. “Well, I’d be honored if we got to do that together someday.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought, and you squeezed his hand, a grin spreading across your face, a feeling of belonging blooming within you. “Yeah, me too.”

As the afternoon wore on and Olivia woke up, you found yourselves wrapped up in her giggles once again. It was a day filled with joy, laughter, and an unexpected revelation about your future together.

By the end of it, as Oscar and you watched Olivia play, you felt a longing in your heart that you hadn’t anticipated—a longing for a family and perhaps for a life with Oscar that included more than just babysitting your sister's baby.

This little adventure had opened a door you didn't know existed, and it felt like the start of something profound.

As you snapped one last picture of Oscar and Olivia, their faces illuminated with joy, you couldn’t help but feel that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, a story waiting to unfold—one where laughter, love, and the pitter-patter of tiny feet might one day fill your home, creating memories that would last a lifetime.

The soft glow of the TV illuminated the cozy living room as the cheerful tunes of Cocomelon filled the air. You were nestled into the couch, a warm blanket draped over you and your boyfriend, Oscar, as Olivia gurgled and babbled in your arms.

The sweet smell of baby lotion lingered around you, and the world outside seemed to fade away, the chaotic hum of daily life replaced by the serene rhythm of laughter and animated melodies.

In this intimate cocoon, time felt suspended, as if you were in a little world of your own—a beautiful sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the warmth of your family and the joy radiating from a baby’s laughter.

“This is the life,” Oscar murmured, glancing down at the baby who was enthralled by the animated characters dancing across the screen.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you could feel the tenderness in his touch. “I could get used to this.” His voice was soft, laced with affection, and it made your heart flutter.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Me too. I mean, look at her. She’s adorable.” You gently bounced Olivia on your knee, eliciting a giggle from the little one, a sound so pure and delightful that it seemed to resonate deep within your soul.

Her bright eyes sparkled with excitement, reflecting the colorful images dancing on the screen, and in that moment, you felt an overwhelming surge of love and protectiveness over this tiny being.

“She really is,” Oscar said, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on Olivia’s forehead. “You’re the cutest little munchkin in the whole wide world, aren’t you?”

Olivia clapped her tiny hands in response, her eyes sparkling with delight, a captivating sight that filled the room with an infectious energy.

The peaceful atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door creaking open, the familiar sound that signaled the arrival of your sister, Claire.

She walked in, her arms filled with grocery bags, a picture of bustling energy. As she caught sight of the scene in the living room, a broad grin broke across her face, illuminating her features.

“Wow, you two already look the part!” she exclaimed, setting her bags down on the table with a flourish. “Should I be worried about leaving you alone with her?” There was a teasing lilt in her voice, an underlying sense of pride mingling with her playful skepticism.

You chuckled, looking up at your sister, your heart swelling with warmth. “We’ve got it under control! Right, babe?” You directed the question at Oscar, who nodded vigorously, his eyes sparkling with determination.

“Absolutely,” Oscar replied, his voice filled with confidence. “We make a great team.” The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you felt a sense of unity and shared purpose envelop you both.

“Are you sure you don’t need us to take care of her for a little longer?” you begged, tightening your hold on Olivia as she reached out for your hair, her tiny fingers tangling in the strands.

The innocent curiosity of a child always seemed to capture your heart, igniting a desire to protect and nurture.

Claire raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know you can’t keep her forever, right?” The playful challenge in her voice made you laugh, a sound filled with playful defiance.

“I mean, we could if we really wanted to,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at her. “Look at how much fun we’re having! Cuddling, watching shows, and—”

“And learning all about the joys of diaper changing?” Claire interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm, making you burst into laughter.

“Okay, maybe we don’t have that part down just yet,” Oscar admitted, glancing at you with a smirk, and the lightheartedness of the moment made your heart feel light. “But we can handle it. We’ve been practicing our ‘baby talk’ and everything.”

“Baby talk?” Claire laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t think that’s a skill you need to master. But it’s sweet you’re both so eager.”

You smiled at Oscar, feeling a rush of affection for him. “I really am grateful you decided to come with me to babysit. It’s nice to see you in this light.” The sincerity in your voice resonated with the deeper emotions swirling around in your chest.

Oscar looked a bit flustered but pleased, his cheeks tinting slightly with a hint of pink. “Well, it’s nice to see you in this light too. You’re a natural.” The compliment washed over you like a warm wave, igniting a spark of joy and validation.

“Okay, okay, enough with the mushy stuff!” Claire teased, plopping down onto the couch beside you, breaking the moment with her playful interruption. “I just came from the store, and I brought some treats. How about a snack break?”

“Please tell me you brought cookies!” you said, your eyes lighting up at the prospect of a sweet indulgence.

The thought of chocolate chip cookies brought a flood of childhood memories, evoking a sense of nostalgia that made you yearn for those simpler days.

“Of course! But you have to share with Olivia,” Claire replied, winking at her niece. “The more sugar, the more energy, right?”

You groaned playfully, feigning horror. “Oh no, we’ll never get her to sleep!” The thought of a hyperactive Olivia was amusing, and you could already envision the chaotic giggles and squeals that would ensue.

“That’s what makes it fun!” Oscar chimed in, clearly enjoying the lighthearted banter. “More giggles, less sleep!” His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and you couldn’t help but laugh, caught up in the camaraderie of the moment.

Claire started unpacking her bags, revealing an array of snacks: cookies, fruit snacks, and juice boxes. As she handed you a cookie, you took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate melting in your mouth.

“Delicious!” you declared, grabbing another one before Olivia could spot them. But Olivia had already caught sight of the brightly colored juice boxes and was reaching out for one, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Looks like we’ve got a little juice thief on our hands,” Claire said, chuckling as you quickly grabbed a juice box for Olivia. “Here you go, little one,” you said, handing it over.

Olivia squealed in delight, her tiny hands clasping the juice box, and you watched in pure joy as she took her first sip, her little face lighting up with joy that seemed to radiate around the room.

“See? We’re perfect at this,” you said, feeling a swell of pride as Olivia squeaked and wiggled with excitement.

Oscar leaned back against the couch, watching you with admiration, his gaze softening as it met yours.

“I could definitely get used to this family dynamic,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made your heart flutter.

“Me too,” you replied, your heart swelling with warmth.

The joy of the moment made you realize that this was more than just babysitting; it was a glimpse into a future you both could build together, a shared vision that filled you with hope and longing.

As Olivia continued to giggle and bounce in your lap, you exchanged a knowing look with Oscar, a silent agreement passing between you.

This was just the beginning of many more beautiful moments to come, a preview of the laughter, the joy, and the unbreakable bond that family could create.

In the warmth of that living room, surrounded by the comforting presence of your loved ones, you felt a profound sense of belonging and the thrilling promise of a life filled with love and laughter ahead.

“So about that baby fever of yours?” Oscar whispers, leaning in closer, his breath tickling your ear. You feel a shiver run down your spine as he presses himself against you.

“What? Do you have it too?” you tease, your heart racing slightly as you turn to look at him, your playful smile lighting up your face.

He nods, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

[heartthrobin]

all's fair in love and war (2)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 7.87k

warnings: enemies to lovers, still so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, archie being my fav oc, cheese fest

an: literally fell asleep on my laptop last night editing this, i was so exhausted from school so i’m sorry it’s late !!! but i had the most fun in the world writing this and i hope everyone enjoys :)) don't forget to comment and repost your favourite writers

summary: Oliver is still impossibly miserable, maybe more uncooperative than before, except now when you look at him: you can't think of much else beyond how sweet his lips tasted.

part one

You can’t sleep.

You're not sure you'll find sleep ever again.

“I knew it, I knew it—“ Cherry had bounced the whole way to your dormitory, howling into your ear. “I knew it!”

The image of Oliver’s fluttering eyes swum around your brain as you blinked into the darkness of the poster bed. The taste of his tongue and his words still right against your lips.

It was a riddle of a calibre that you can’t seem to detangle. More than anything, you try to remember how strong has he tasted of Firewhisky - was he so drunk to really dismiss it to nothing at all?

You lingered on it all weekend.

Cherry didn’t help at all — he’s been in love with you forever, that’s literally so obvious — and Enzo even less so once he’d been filled in: Oliver doesn’t seem a bloke who let’s alcohol make his decisions for him, something about Scottish genetics I think.

The interaction plagued you: digging a wide hole in the base of your stomach. You mourned the thought that you may never have the opportunity to kiss those soft lips again, more than anything: preparing yourself for the feud between yourselves to worsen.

There’s barely enough time to make sense of your situation before you’re racing down over the grassy hills of the grounds, bag swinging violently over your shoulder and extraordinarily late for your Herbology lesson in the greenhouse.

Your morning alarm had rung right into one ear and out the other, a product of the tossing and turning you’d been doing for the last two nights.

When you swing the greenhouse door open, panting and face flush from the beating sun, the whole room turns to you. Sprout pauses where her hands are flailing in explanation.

“Sorry I’m late professor,” you wheeze, readjusting your strap over your shoulder.

Cherry is smirking at you from her bench, sidled up with Jane Emmet.

It hadn’t escaped you that you’d be sharing the lesson with the Gryffindors, but you’d precious little time to worry about it in the five minutes you had to pull a robe over your head and stick a toothbrush into your mouth.

Your eyes are purposeful in not looking over the room. Scared to catch the wrong eyes.

“Not a problem peach, we’re just repotting some Fire-Seed Bushes.” She brings a stubby hand to her chin, “uhm … well, Mr Kumar there in the corner doesn’t have a partner. Go join him by his pots.”

Archie has a lopsided smile on his face when you approach, a thick black curl drooping over his left eye.

“Hey.” He nudges gently.

You set your bag down and grab a pair of gloves, chuckling. “Hey Archie.”

The soil is warm when you stick your fingers into the dirt, shifting it gently enough not to mess over the edge of the bucket. There’s a Fire-Seed Bush sitting tentatively at the end of the bench, spitting sparks and emitting smoke.

“So …” Archie speaks first, the back of his hand bumping yours between the black soil. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a veiled question, a poorly veiled one at that. The question draws a laugh from the base of your stomach.

You shrug, adamant on missing the point. “It was alright, I guess. How about yours?”

He shrugs right back. “Wasn’t the greatest. Penelope Clearwater rejected me for Percy Weasley.”

You don't mean to, you really don't, but it draws another bout of laughter out of you - you clap your hand over your mouth. “I’m sorry—“

“No, I get it. Percy bloody Weasley?” His brow is creased, dirt-stained hands rising messily from the soil to swipe at a fallen piece of hair in his face. “Dead sure that bloke's own mother can't say he’s handsome. I’m better looking than him, surely?”

There’s the hanging insinuation that it was rhetorical, but you reply anyways: “you’re definitely more handsome than Percy Weasley, Archie.”

His head cocks down at you, stained paws finding his waist and pressing black fingerprints into the red jumper. “You really think so?”

“Without a doubt.”

Archie smiles, bumping your side against his. You think he might be blushing. “You’re very charming. I understand what Oliver sees in you.”

You jolt involuntarily, spilling some black soil over the edge of the pot.

Swiping at the mess lazily, you play the comment off with another crumbly chuckle: hoping it convinces him more than it does yourself. “Oliver sees in me what a bull sees in a red cape.”

Archie’s reaching timidly for the Fire-Seed Bush, lifting it off the counter and holding the dangerous botanical at arm’s length. “Not true. The boy’s half in love with you.”

This conversation is getting awfully uncomfortable awfully quickly. It picks at your curiosity nonetheless.

“He said that?”

He’s quick to shake off the question, eyes still trained on setting the roots of the bush into the gap in the soil. “Oliver doesn’t have to say anything. He spends practically every fucking mealtime mooning over at your table, and he talks about you way more than necessary—“

“That’s just because I work on his nerves. Oliver doesn’t love me, he barely tolerates me.”

The boy turns on you, confusion set in his brow. “Why is this news? Last I saw you, your tongue was halfway into his stomach.”

Zachariah Smith and his Gryffindor partner look up at that. Your face goes hot all over - Archie doesn’t seem to notice.

“We were drunk.” You say softly, eyes stuck on a loose leaf crackling against the wooden counter.

There’s a special kind of fear that's crawling into your heart where you stand. The fear of putting too much faith into the words of Archie Kumar.

That it’s an elaborate ruse. A set-up, canons of confetti and a banner screaming “you’ve been fooled!” if you were to indulge his words. The danger of allowing your mind to drift too far off into the possibilities of a world wherein Oliver Wood doesn’t hate you - at least not as much as he lets on.

Archie looks at you out the side of his eye, you can feel it, but says nothing. He hands you a miniature yellow-handled spade.

Instead you fill the space. "I heard Isla Flynn has a crush on you."

He perks: "really?"

Across the room, Oliver is bumping elbows with Poppy Davis.

"Ow!"

A loose spark has evidently landed on her exposed arm. The sparks that Oliver was supposed to be watching for, the ones that he is intent on ignoring with the constant glancing back over his shoulder to where you and his best mate are in the corner of the room fucking giggling at each other like toddlers with a box of matches.

“Oliver — can you just focus for five seconds!” Poppy isn’t impressed.

Oliver isn’t either, with the situation as a whole. The pads of his fingers are blistered from the repotting of the bush and Poppy’s careless bumps and his general indifference to the task at hand.

It eats at his brain. What are you guys talking about? Is it about him?

You laugh again and it’s loud enough that it draws his shoulders all the way taut. There’s another snap of a spark and Oliver feels where it lands at his wrist, but he doesn’t react.

“Just pass me the bloody spade.” He grumbles.

-

The lesson passes more slowly than Oliver could swim shoulder-deep through molasses.

It feels like years later when he tosses his gloves into the box with the rest, when the class shuffles to return tools and begin slinging half-open bags over their shoulders.

Oliver doesn’t think he’s ever packed up faster - Poppy is still scowling at him, he doesn’t care - before he’s knocking through yellow and red tied students to find Archie’s head of curly black hair.

“Hey!” He catches him by the wrist, tugging on it like a dog with a bone. Archie jumps, eyes winding down to find his friend. “What did she say?”

You’re far ahead, Oliver can make out the back of your head: hips bumping with Cherry’s up the hill towards the castle.

Archie grins. “She said Isla Flynn has a crush on me.”

Oliver groans, “Not about that, you prat. About— wait, really?”

"Yeah!" He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. "Can you believe it? She's got that hot Irish accent and everything."

Oliver nods, "Yeah ... yeah. Good on you, mate."

He's trying desperately not to steal this moment from his best friend, but he's fucking itching to know what else you and Archie had been giggling about.

"Did she ... say anything else?" He presses, more gently than his character usually allows. "Like about me?"

Archie shrugs without looking down. "I asked her, but she seemed tense about the whole thing."

"Tense?"

"Yeah, she said something about a bull and a cape, and went like all quiet when I told her you like her--"

At that, Oliver's stomach leaps up into his throat. He grabs his best friend by the arm, jolting him to a short stop. Some Hufflepuff bumps into their halted figures, grumbling before shuffling around them.

"You told her what?" His eyes flare erratically.

Archie shrugs, an innocuously confused look painting his features. "Well I said Oliver's half in love with you, or something like that and she looked all confused about it--"

Oliver's grip on his friend's wrist tightened to a degree that a ring was sure to form on his dark skin. "You fucking pinhead! You told her I liked her?"

Pulling his arm violently from his grip, Archie has the nerve to look affronted. "You don't?"

The morning sun shining over Oliver's head feels like it's growing hotter by the second, there's a dribble of sweat running down his spine.

"That's -- that's not the point. Even if I do, which I'm not saying is the case, she doesn't need to know that."

"Were you two obliviated in your sleep last night?" Archie's eyebrows are pressed down against his eyes, slouching down to meet his friend's face. "I caught you two making out like the world was ending less than three days ago! Surely she has to figure that you feeling something for her, she's not stupid."

Oliver struggles between his thoughts, worse around his words. "That was ... we'd been drinking. For all I know, she only kissed me back cause she was trollied off Dragon-Barrell--"

"She said that, too."

Eyeing him, Oliver's hands find his hips. "Said what, exactly?"

"That you were drunk, I mentioned the kiss and she said we were drunk."

A sensation he can only identify as closest to guilt seeps up into Oliver's chest from his stomach. "She thinks I kissed her just cause I was drunk?"

Archie's hand finds Oliver's shoulder. "You should probably talk to her, mate."

He sighs, eyes drifting over the silhouette of the castle in the distance. He shakes his head like it'll rattle the plaguing thoughts loose. "We're gonna be late for Transfig."

-

"I mean, Archie is his best friend." Cherry is trying to rationalise the whole story. "I don't see why he'd lie about it?"

You shake your head, knocking shoulders with a Ravenclaw girl trying to pass through the corridor. "I'm not entertaining it, Cherry."

"Come on," she sighs, practically skipping to keep up with the furious pace you've set. "Would it be so terrible if he likes you?"

"Yes." You don't look at her.

The redhead's eye-roll is practically audible, "Let me rephrase, would it be so terrible if he likes you back?"

You meet her eyes for the first time since you'd entered the corridor.

She sighs, "we're gonna see him in Muggle Studies in five minutes. I think you should say something."

"Forget I said anything, Cherry." Heat flares at your neck again, prompted by the embarrassment of even imagining how such a conversation might go.

The rest of the walk is quiet, but you feel Cherry's gaze warming the side of your face.

Burbage's classroom is over-populated with Gryffindors by the time you drop your bag against the marbled floor beside your desk. In the corner of your eye, your brain has already fixated on Oliver's silhouette leaned against the edge of his own desk. You flush hot all over again, as if your thoughts were transcribing into subtitles and floating above your head for the whole class to read.

The click of Burbage's heels prompt the lingering students to find their seats, "Please take out your copies of Muggle Wars: Cause and Effect. We left off on page eighty-seven--"

You suddenly regret snapping at Cherry. Wishing for the comfort of her presence, your eyes glazing over where she's perched in the first row of desks closest to the chalkboard.

Unusually, the class trickles on without disruption. There's a few glances over at your direction, like everyone is waiting for another outburst from the grade's most volatile duo. They're sure to be let down, you're adamant to not even breathe in the direction of Wood.

Burbage comments on it, too, nearly ten minutes from the bell.

"It's suspiciously quiet in your corner today, captains." she looks down through her fingerprint-smudged frames, brushing over you and then Wood three seats away. "Something the matter?"

You shrug, refusing to acknowledge the boy. He seems to be doing the same: completely unfairly, the thought that he wouldn't look at you made the hair on your arms stand straight. "We can start up if you'd like, professor?"

Her face contorts into that irritated look that you'd grown accustomed to when Professor Burbage addresses you. "You're flirting dangerously with another session of detention, miss."

"She's just answering your question, professor."

Nobody in the class seemed more surprised than Burbage, although that in itself was a feat. The two Gryffindor boys in the row ahead of you swivel all the way around in their seats to look at Oliver, who'd just spoken.

You fight the twitching urge to look at him.

"Detention for two, it seems. I'll be seeing you both Friday afternoon."

A calm air settles again over the class, as if order had been restored. You and Wood had lost the interest of the room and students shift back to the board where WHAT IS A PRIME MINISTER? is sprawled across it in chicken-scratch handwriting.

Sighing, your eyes find the clock against the wall. Eight minutes left.

You pick at the end of your quill irritably: electing to dip it into the ink at the edge of the desk and entertain yourself quietly by drawing a miniature snowman at the corner of your page, trying not to think about another Friday afternoon in too close of a proximity to Oliver Wood. There's a soft whir, barely audible if you weren't so focused on outlining pebble eyes, and a tiny paper-airplane whizzes quietly from under your desk: landing squarely on the nose-less head of your snowman.

Fear prickles at you. You don't look up for the source, lest a suspicious sideways glance earns you another weekend with the party-animal Charity Burbage.

Instead, you carefully undo the intricately folded wings of the plane. It's barely big enough to fit into your palm once open, the top of the little note marked in black ink.

It was the same handwriting that marked the sign-out sheet for equipment in the Quidditch storage rooms down at the pitch.

'Thanks for that one, smart-mouth.'

Your eyes flicker up to Burbage, who's back is turned, before you dip your quill into the ink and scribble out a response. In your peripheral, Oliver is leaned back in his stool: biceps folded over each other. There's an unexplainably airy-fairy, fuzzy feeling warming your rib cavity.

'Believe this one was your fault, dickhead.'

You quietly refold the creased edges, before tapping it lightly with the end of your wand: then watch how it takes off the airstrip of your page and zips quietly under the cover of desks to land back in front of the sender.

There's a long pause - enough for Burbage to draw out a whole flow diagram of something called "parliament" - before the edge of the paper wing grazes at your calf again. It lands quietly again.

'Maybe.

We good?'

There's a gentleness to the sentence. Like you can hear it from Oliver's mouth, like he's avoiding your gaze when he whispers it.

You hunch over the note again.

Oliver's knuckles are turning white, twisting his wand in his hands under the table. He shouldn't have said anything. He's regretting the whole fucking idea of the stupid paper-plane now.

He's trying not to watch you write, not to notice how long you stared at his writing before you picked up your own quill. He does anyways.

When the airplane flutters down into his palm, Burbage is already excusing the class. Stools are scraping against cold tile, the clutter of textbooks being crammed back into bags.

'Never :)'

His eyes run over the word once, twice, three times over. A smile is tugging at the edge of his lip, he forces it taut - but his eyes are still shining unusually brightly when Archie knocks his shoulder to his.

"What you looking so damn happy about?"

Oliver tucks the note into the pocket of his robes. "Don’t know what yer talking about."

-

"But professor, why can't Hufflepuff take Saturday?"

"Well, Hufflepuff already gave up our practice days for Gryff--!"

Hooch sighed so deeply she almost melted back into her armchair. "The decision is made, Oliver. The pitch is being cleaned out on Wednesday, your team can take Saturday for any extra training."

He could practically hear the smile creeping onto your face, the smug crossed-arm look he'll no doubt find when he turns to you.

Irritation bubbles up in his throat, a familiar companion in your presence, and just as he prophesied: you are grinning.

In the weeks that followed that day in Burbage's class, it seemed that both parties decided that the topic of their shared kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room was best left undiscussed.

The arrangement is working. At least Oliver thinks so.

You still bait him and he still snaps, rising to your taunts. He still finds himself in detention more Fridays than he spends free, and his body ripples with anger when you roll your eyes at him.

But it was in moments, like this now, where your little self-satisfied grin doesn't quite vex him to the degree it once did. It's now harder to find a retort, to snap at you with a sharp-edged comment. Not when amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes where your black lashes kiss so prettily.

Hooch swivels in her chair to find a document between one of her cluttered drawers, you take the opportunity to stick the tip of your tongue out childishly at him.

Oliver draws a tight breath, he hopes his face is still taut in annoyance, because his heart has slipped like a stone down into his stomach. That's the other issue, the tiny little obstacle in these recent weeks: he can't stop looking at your mouth. It's distracting, disarming - paralysing at the best of times.

He strips his gaze away, before he can be outed by anyone in the room. "Whatever." He mumbles.

You seem disappointed in his lack of a real response, but it passes quickly - like a shadow - over your face.

"Thanks professor." You grab up your roster from her desk and turn to the door, practically skipping out into the corridor.

He huffs.

Somehow, you and Archie have become fast friends. Mornings around Fire-Seed Bushes and Venomous Tentaculas in the heat of Greenhouse Three seems to do wonders for a friendship.

It prickles at Oliver's nerves when you pass in the corridors, when you perk up with a high "hey Arch!" and he grins down from his towering height right back at you: "hey Y/n!"

You don't look at Oliver. He's notably sour the rest of the walk.

Alright, maybe the whole arrangement wasn't really working. You were a distraction to him before, no doubt, but somehow your powers of beguilement had tripled. Especially since you seem to be behaving perfectly normal: like you hadn't given Oliver the best snog of his life outside the Ravenclaw common room that night.

Maybe it was just alcohol, maybe he is the only one plagued by the knowledge of the other's taste.

The castle has turned impossibly colder, the bitter bite of winter stinging at the loose cuffs of his robes on walkthroughs of the corridors. He can't imagine how cold the air above the pitch is going to be on Sunday when Hufflepuff faces off Slytherin for a spot in the finals.

It's all Hooch has been going on about for the last two weeks.

Oliver's had to shift around at least four practices - Roger almost twice as much, he's a pushover - to allow for you and Marcus to have more time on the pitch. His complaints fell on deaf ears, Hooch dismissed him with a wave of her bony hand and a "your time is coming, Wood."

You prance into dinner late most evenings, hair in every direction and face flush with sweat: sticking it out like a bumblebee in those awful yellow quidditch robes.

Oliver only notices because, annoyingly, he's found that he is frequenting the bench at the Gryffindor table that faces over to the Hufflepuff's. His eyes drift over the yellow-tied heads to where you clump up with Enzo and Cherry, watches you talk around mouthfuls of toast lazily, giggle behind your napkin: head rolling back to showcase that smooth neck, how it runs down to the soft slopes of your shoulders: disappearing down into your button-up.

Archie has noticed, he's sure, but hasn't done more but allude to it with teasing glances or suggestive comments.

"The Hufflepuffs up to something particularly interesting over there, Ollie?"

The speed with which Oliver's eyes snap to his peas is almost comical. He shrugs and mumbles like a child. "Don't know."

-

On Sunday morning, you don't go to breakfast.

There's an uncomfortable gurgling in your midriff, like a snake is slithering between your organs and you're sure even just the smell of eggs on toast would bring up your dinner.

Instead you find yourself at the pitch a whole hour before the game is set to start. Marcus is running laps around the grass, something he's done since you've known him.

He offers a curt wave, face set like cold stone.

It reminds you of Oliver a little bit, the distraction in his eyes.

Oliver is never all the way there, wherever he is, you think. His eyes mist over like he's halfway between this world and another. You know it's Quidditch: he dreams it, eats it, sleeps it.

But lately he's foggier than usual.

You think it's your imagination, brush off the idea as you have all the millions of others you'd had in the preceding weeks about the surly brute that was Oliver Wood. He plagues you.

Just the vibrato of his unimpressed huff when you get your way, when you quip something purposely annoying at him. It's addictive, the feel of his sugar-brown eyes glaring a hole through you.

Lately, his reactions have been closer to underwhelming. Allowing for only a moment of eye contact: gone are the quick-witted retorts, the Scottish-laced "princess" usually attached. The thought makes you wince in embarrassment, knowing that you've been pressing him harder lately: like a seven-year old jabbing at a claw machine, outwardly desperate for that brown plushy on the top of the pile.

Maybe he's over it. So deathly mortified of your shared kiss that he doesn't want to know you anymore, much less take the effort to hate you. Your chest pinches tightly.

You dress into your match robes slowly, taking your time with the loops of your shoelaces and the buttons down the sweater you're wearing underneath everything. Oliver Wood should be at the bottom of your list of priorities, normally, but now more than ever.

The team filters into the change-room, exhibiting varying degrees of nervousness. Cedric is practically green, but Herbert looks like he's about to go down a water-slide he's waited over an hour in line for. Beyond the swinging doors, you can hear the crowd shuffling loudly into their seats.

Before your wits are completely about you, Hooch is rapping on those same doors. "Onto the pitch, Hufflepuffs!"

You muster up your best excuse for a captain's speech for what might be the last match you ever play as one. The team seem satisfied, you figure it's easy to find solace before a game when you know it's not your last. As the only seventh year, comfort doesn't come so easily to you.

The crowd is deafening when yellow robes take to the sky: Marcus looks over, offering another nod, not unlike the one he'd given you earlier. You can tell he's feeling the dread of finality too.

There's a whistle blow and the quaffle flies past your face with a speed that nearly evacuates your nose from your face. Lee is announcing in the distance and the rumble of adrenaline forces your fingers over the handle. It tilts and you dip, disappearing into the sky of players.

-

The winter air at Hogwarts was biting enough roaming the corridors, but thirty metres off the ground is something wholly unnatural. Your face was burning crisp from the icy wind, the feeling in your cheeks and nose lost to the Scottish cold.

Foggy white clouds puff out with each heavy breath. Cedric zooms past and Jane loops around his moving figure to knock a stray bludger in the opposite direction.

Your eyes flash between them and the fast approaching Malcolm, he tosses the quaffle at you with a grunt and you catch it at the tips of slippery, ice-frozen fingertips.

Shooting forward again, you duck under Marcus who is hurtling through the sky at you: gone is the look of friendly fondness from his eyes, replaced with a hunger for the leather-bound ball in your grasp.

Just missing the grasp of his meaty hand, the ball passes onto Heidi.

"Another ten points to Hufflepuff," Lee's voice echoes as if from heaven. "That brings the score to ninety for Hufflepuff and eighty for Slytherin!"

It's been nearly ninety-five minutes of sitting on your broom growing colder, and you're not alone.

Around you, the team is descending into frost-induced exhaustion: Jane's nose is as bright red as a Christmas ornament and Cedric has been peeping over the top of his thick woollen-scarf for at least the last half - barely enough to catch a glance of the whizzing canary and emerald robes, much less of a tiny golden snitch.

You sigh out another white breath, letting your eyes drift over the stands. It's saturated with moving heads of faces you can't make out and yellow and green swaying banners. Your gaze lingers on the top left, in the corner facing the castle. It's where Cherry and Enzo park themselves during every match, where you know they're screaming in support, clenching their teeth at every quaffle handover. You can feel them, even when their faces blur into the crowd.

Unintentionally, you think about how Oliver's mixed in there too. Somewhere between your peers. If you had been granted another moment, if the quaffle wasn't mid-air between two Slytherins just under your nose and you'd not taken the opportunity to snatch it from them, you would have meandered into the trap of hoping that deep down in his chest - even if it was core of the earth deep - he was rooting for you, too. That he seethed at a missed goal or clenched a tight fist at his side in celebration when a Hufflepuff makes a beautiful play.

Meanwhile in the stands, Oliver has decided that the desire to play his allegiances in secret has since disappeared from his heart.

He'd played it light in the first few minutes. Mumbling under his breath at a fumbled pass or a slimy move from the Slytherins, but by the forty-fifth minute he'd found himself on his feet.

"Diggory!" His hands waved in front of him, "it was right there you fucking git--"

A Hufflepuff third year a row ahead looked at him askew, but he paid her no mind.

Archie had taken the hint early. As soon as Oliver was out of his seat, so was he. Despite being Oliver Wood's best friend, Archie had somewhat limited knowledge of the game himself and eyed Oliver's reactions to find the appropriate moments to whoop and cheer. Oliver didn't say anything, but he appreciated it more than he could verbalise.

His eyes tracked you more than anything, when you were flying between players or just floating in place: eyes like a hawk, watching over the game. His heart swelled and his pride fell to the wayside.

Just short of the two hour mark, there was a rise in the crowd.

"The seekers have caught sight of the snitch!"

Oliver's stomach rose into his throat.

"They're diving for it, Malfoy and Diggory head to head-- and Slytherin grabs the snitch, winning by 140 points!"

It sank back into place, like a stone to the bottom of the river. He watched how you froze, how you twisted over your shoulder to find Diggory's figure lingering at the bottom of the field. You shoulders sagged, hanging in the air as the others dropped to the ground.

"Slytherin have made it into the finals against Gryffindor for the quidditch cup, back here at the pitch next month!"

After a long moment, the last in the sky, you followed them down.

The raucous cheers from the Slytherins were hard to drown out, he wasn't even sure Archie heard him toss a "i'll find you at the castle" before he found himself pushing through the masses of people.

He fought against the wave moving to find the stairs, eager to return to the warmth of their dormitories, but Oliver was markedly more motivated than the majority. He stomped on some toes and nearly tossed a first year off the stands to race down the stairs.

Only once his feet had found the mushy grass of the pitch, did he pause to consider that he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say. What was the rush for? To comfort you, tease you for your loss?

The latter option was definitely what he could do, what he could say. What was expected of him, if he was being honest. Recently, however, he's found it harder and harder to come up with remarks to hurt your feelings. Found that he quite prefers that little smile that tucks into the corner of your mouth when he says something unexpectedly fond. How your eyes practically gleam.

There's shoving from all sides of him -- get out the way, bloody hell -- and the teams pass ahead of him. Leading the march, despite it being nothing more than a slow trudge, is your figure: squashed between those of who he recognises to be Cherry Stretton and Enzo Musa's.

Their arms wrapped over your shoulders, talking animatedly into your ear on each side. Enzo tips his head to meet yours, a small touch of comfort.

Oliver sighs. He has nothing to say and no comfort to offer, wondering for a moment what he could possibly bare to hear in his own final moments as captain. He thinks that anything from your mouth would work.

So he waits, parks himself beside the stairs and waits for Archie: watching the six-legged figure disappear up over the hill.

-

You're not at dinner.

He knows because he's been watching the door for the better half of an hour. Archie pushes his plate at him, "Eat something there, Ollie."

Begrudgingly, Oliver brings his drumstick up to his mouth. "She's not eaten a thing since breakfast, it's almost eight."

Archie passes a sympathetic look over him. "Her friends are here, I'm sure she'll be by soon. There's no use you joining her on a hunger-strike."

He's right. Cherry and Enzo and some others that frequent your circle are talking around the table, around the spot that you usually fill. But dinner goes on and students leak steadily out towards bed without your return.

Eventually Oliver huffs, like an irritated bulldog, and grabs for the nearest napkin: unfolding it out in front of him.

"What are you doing?" Archie asks thickly, spitting bits of rice at him.

Oliver reaches for two chicken skewers, placing them neatly on the white square: alongside a dinner roll and a pumpkin pasty.

He wraps them over, double wraps it with another napkin too.

"What does it look like, Arch."

Placing it carefully into the deep pocket of his robe, Oliver goes to stand - lacking the patience it takes for Archie to answer, or for his inevitable teasing. "I'll find you back in our room."

He's halfway out the hall when Archie's voice calls out to him, "You don't even know where she is!"

Oliver shakes his head, brandishing a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "I know where she is." He mumbles for only himself to hear.

-

You’d watched close to twenty-one quidditch matches from the stands at the pitch on Hogwarts grounds: played in almost half of them. 

The seat is still slightly too small, just uncomfortable enough to make a person shuffle. Beyond the rim over the other end of the pitch you can see the orange sun dipping behind the horizon, drawing to darkness over your moment alone.

By now you're sure the party in the common room has long since found momentum. The one you'd been promised by the team, "it's your last game, cap, we need to celebrate!". You're sure someone somewhere is looking for you, bracing a plastic cup of Firewhisky with your name on it, but you can't find it within yourself to face it all just yet.

The silence of the evening is enough, you only wish you'd been fast enough to retrieve your broomstick that's somewhere off with Enzo. Just for one last lap.

The serenity of your loneliness doesn't persevere, however. You can hear shuffling up the steps, you're tempted to look but the sunset is slipping so quickly out of your hands that it's not worth the time wasted.

It's only when the footfalls draw closer, stopping when a body slumps into the seat beside you. The seats are so cramped that his knee brushes yours, the figure long since identified from the corner of your eye.

"Come to gloat?" You ask, eyes never leaving the sky.

He shrugs. "Not today."

You nod. His smell drifts on the breeze under your nose, like peppermint and soap and Oliver.

There's a long silence. Your robes crease against the fist sitting in your lap, you've yet to change out of your quidditch uniform, you know it will be the last time.

"You missed dinner."

"Does it matter?"

Despite your avoidant gaze, Oliver's is warming the side of your face. The evening air cools the same spot.

There's a shuffling that finally draws your eyes. Oliver is still in his robes too, and his hand emerges from a deep pocket with a folded napkin square. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He places it onto your lap with a gentleness you're coming to find more of in him. Something frighteningly warm erupts in your chest and your hands come up to it, pulling apart the napkin to find picky bits inside.

You're fighting between smiling and starting to cry. You do neither.

"You carried this in your pocket the whole way from the hall?"

His eyes flicker between the food and your face before he shrugs. "Yeah."

By now, you were fighting a losing battle and the smile pulled up at the ends of your mouth so tightly that your cheeks started to hurt. "Gross."

You pick up a chicken skewer regardless, biting into it and facing the sky again. You offer him the other one and he looks for a moment like he's going to argue but takes it quietly in the end.

The chicken is tender and only after you'd swallowed the first bit did you realise how hungry you'd actually been. You finish it without a word, going to tear the pasty in half and offering a piece to your companion.

You're picking at the roll now, tearing tiny bits off and feeding it piece by piece to yourself like a bird. "Last game."

He nods. "I know."

"What could someone say to you after your last game, Wood?" You pick at him, eyes flittering between him and the now nearly black sky. "You know, to make you feel better?"

Oliver shakes his head, leaning back and rolling his shoulders: as if the thought itself unsettled him.

"Nothing, probably. I'd probably just walk into the Black Lake and drown myself."

You think he's joking, but with Oliver Wood that was hardly a sure thing.

"You wouldn't."

"What's there left to live for?" He says it with an airy chuckle.

Shrugging, your head falls against your shoulder. "You'd have to figure it out, because I'd go marching in right after you. Carry you out if I had to."

Oliver stills, eyes wide and blinking at you. Your chest goes tight, the ghost of a smile pressing at your face.

"Bridal style and everything ..." You add quietly, stifling your chuckle.

He seems to come back to himself, nodding. "We should get back. Been a long day."

The napkin crumples in your hand, shoved down into the depths of your own pocket. You walk ahead, the pathway to the steps is only narrow enough for one person at a time, and he trails behind.

By the time you've hit the steps, Oliver moving down beside you, you're brewing around an apology. A way to thin the air, to ease where your chest is tight: swirling around well done, now you've made things awkward you git. It's halfway up to your tongue when skin brushes against the back of your hand.

Warm fingers explore your knuckles to find your cool ones, slipping to knot between them.

You work not to look down, because Oliver's skittish like that. From the corner of your eye, you can see he's concentrating his gaze ahead.

His hand tightens against yours, palm callous from years wrapped around the wooden handle of his broomstick. It's a little sweaty and sticky but you're smiling so hard you're about to be sick.

You dare to look at him, Oliver's smiling too.

-

Oliver hasn't been sleeping.

His last few days of seventh year are slipping like water through his calloused hands and he can feel it. Every hour that passes, shadowy and fleeting.

Classes feel shorter than before, the terrible jokes Archie bombards him with over dinner sound funnier than he ever remembers them being and the glimpses he catches of you in the corridor never feel long enough. The ceiling of his poster bed flashes with moments of the day that's passed, feeling like a dream you'll be jolted out of as soon as it gets good.

Even over all his hours of broody contemplation, none of it makes the final whistle any easier to swallow. It hits him like he's been smacked with a bludger in the chest.

"Gryffindor has won the quidditch cup, two-hundred and thirty points to twenty!"

He can hear the crowd's roar, the whoops of the twins floating somewhere below him. Harry's standing on the grass of the pitch holding up his tiny golden trophy. The pitch is red all over: Oliver won.

He won.

Every moment building up over the last seven years culminated into the final blow of the whistle. The wind is whipping at the hair over his forehead: Oliver thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life, but he's not entirely sure.

He never realised that it would all be so fucking soaked in sadness.

It's over. He's leaving the castle empty handed. His engraving will live on the Quidditch Cup in a dusty cupboard for years to come, yes, and he might have a frame up in his future apartment somewhere, reminiscing on the old days. That's all.

He's struck with the devastating fear that in a few short years, nobody will remember him. More than anything, he can't believe he hadn't come to this overwhelming conclusion before right now. Before Angelina is yelling to him, waving a frantic hand and sporting the biggest grin in all of Scotland, before he was seconds from taking the prize he's held in his mind for so many years into his very hands.

Will you forget him?

It nearly knocks him off his broom. He finds that it scares him the most, more than the thought of the dust-caked trophy or the lonely corner at the back of his cupboard where his Hogwarts robes will no doubt live until eternity.

He won't forget you, he thinks. He knows.

You're just so damn annoying. And beautiful, fucking whip-clever and hilarious sometimes--

The handle of his broom is tilting down to the earth now, the crowd zooming into a blur on either side of him. He hits a shaky landing, broomstick abandoned on the grass behind him as he's pulled into the arms of his team and well-wishers.

A golden trophy passes over the heads of the twins and it's shoved into his sweating hands. It's cool to the touch and so much heavier than he thought it ever could be, but he can't seem to keep his mind on the situation long enough to realise any of that. His mind is racing around the castle wondering where you might be and what's the fastest way to get there.

His eyes are racing over the heads of the roving crowd. "Wood, Wood! Speech!"

Shadowing over everyone is Archie's tall figure standing at the back, grinning down at him. The team watches expectantly.

This is it. The moment for the speech he's been practicing in his bathroom mirror since he was seven.

"I--" he looks down at the cup for the first time, his face reflecting up at him in glimmering gold. He finds he can't remember any of the words. "I need to go find someone."

There's a buzz of confusion, but Oliver doesn't linger: shoving the Quidditch Cup into Harry's arms.

"That's the shortest speech Wood has ever given." He hears Angelina quip, but he can't be arsed to turn. He's already flying, moving through the crowd at such a pace he might just have been on his broom.

The sea of students had long since started moving up to the castle, particularly the non-gryffindors: trying to beat the stampede of scarlet that is no doubt to come. Oliver's legs carry him over the smooth green hill up towards Hogwarts, head craning over students to find your side profile somewhere in the mass.

He catches few oy, watch it!'s and congrats, Wood!'s but he doesn't turn, doesn't stop running. Students bespeckle the grass like ants lining up for crumbs, and he's all the way up into the stone corridor leading to the Great Hall when he spots Cherry's velvet red curls over the crowd, and sure enough, he finds you're knocking her shoulder with your own.

It only takes one shout of your name and you turn to peek curiously back, by which time he's taken both your shoulders into his hands and steered you to the wall of the corridor.

"Wood! What are you do--"

His hands squeeze around the plush at your upper arms. "Oliver. My name is Oliver."

Your eyes are wide in surprise, the window behind you showcases the gardens and the pitch in the distance. Sunlight forms a halo over the crown of your head.

With a head tilted in confusion, you nod slowly. "Alright ... what are you doing, Oliver?"

He can feel the eyes of Cherry and Enzo burning a hole through the side of his head, but doesn't bother with it. You're blinking up at him, gentle and benign in your features. He wonders when it became like this, when you'd lost the tight brow and the frown every time you looked at him.

"I won the Quidditch Cup." He says blankly.

You nod, a small smile tucked into the corner of your lip. "I saw. Congratulations."

Oliver only nods back at you. "I wanted to tell you. I wanted to come shove it in your face."

He's shuffling closer to your figure, and he's more than pleased to discover that you aren't cowering from it.

"Of course you did, because you're a prat." But you're smiling so hard now that it's impossible to take your jab to heart. "Is that all, Oliver?"

A warm sensation is spilling into his rib cavity and his fingertips are buzzing with electricity when they come to find either side of your face.

"No." His forehead is nearly touching yours and your hands have wrapped around his wrists. "I came to ask you out on a date. A sappy, disgustingly romantic date where I bring you flowers and pay for your hot chocolate. You'd hate it."

"That truly sounds horrible." Your smile is so wide he can barely see the whites of your eyes and it pumps more adrenaline through Oliver than any argument you'd ever shared over the last seven years.

"So, is that a yes?"

You're bouncing on your toes a little bit, bumping your nose against Oliver's clumsily. The babble of passing students and gawking onlookers has practically fallen mute to him.

"Depends, are you going to kiss me goodnight after?" You whisper it, like it's a secret between just you and him.

He nods slowly, "pretty desperate to kiss you right now, if I'm being honest princess--"

You don't wait for him to finish, thank Merlin you don't wait for him to finish, and push up onto your toes: crashing against his mouth. You're kiss is as dizzying as he remembers, but softer this time. You kiss like you know he's not running away, hands pressing softly over his neck.

It's nothing like your kiss outside the Ravenclaw common room: where that one was desperate and hot and angry, this time it's born from longing and tenderness and acceptance.

It leaves him just as fucking breathless as the first time.

Somewhere behind him, he hears wolf-whistling (he's sure it's Cherry) and when you pull your lips off his, your face is flush with embarrassment.

"I will go on a date with you, Oliver."

He takes your hand into his, curling his fingers between your own. You lean up to peck him softly and bat your eyelashes at him, grinning innocuously when you whisper: "If you treat me like you did with Delilah, I'm throwing your broomstick into the fireplace."

-

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[smutoperator]

Morning Roses

Park Chaeyoung (Rosé) x Male Reader

Tags: breeding kink, CMNF, (lots of) cock stroking, creampie, (lots of) fingering, good smell, morning sex, passionate sex, pussy sniffing, quickie, (a little) rimjob, switching

Word Count: 3177

Los Angeles, United States

It's early in the morning, and you're already up to go to work. The busy traffic of Los Angeles is implacable. However, as you were preparing to take your regular morning commute, you got a text message from a longtime lover you hadn't seen in a while.

"I'm in LA today; come see me." Rosé texted you. It had been a while since she had sent you a message. It used to be a given that she would come to your place every time she went to LA, but with her taking new steps into her solo career, you two were unable to see each other the last couple times she went to the city of angels.

You immediately canceled any of your plans, ready to see Rosé again after a long time. The selfie she had sent you drove you insane—her long blond hair, short skirt, long legs, and skinny body looking better than ever. She was truly aging like fine wine, becoming a hotter and hotter woman as time passed by.

You arrived at the house Rosé had sent the location to you; she greeted you with the same outfit she was wearing on that selfie. On a hot summer morning, Rosé got herself on the couch barefoot, close to the fan, as she stared at you reading this morning news, running her hands on her hair.

Rosé approaches you. "What are you waiting for?" she asks. "Why didn't you call me the last few times you were in LA?" You decide to play it tough with her. "Sorry, I was busy," she said. "And you don't think I'm busy today?" you punch back.

Rosé takes matters into her own hands, snatching your phone away as she sits on your lap, reclining her slim body onto yours. She doesn't say any words, just letting you slowly build up your uncontrollable desire for her as the flowery smell of hers invades your nostrils.

You two look at each other, pondering who's going to make the first move. You sniff Rosé's neck while she runs her hands into yours. She turns around, but you decide to play it tough, avoiding her seductive eye contact.

But Rosé has more than one way to seduce you. It's been five years since you first met, all the way back to her first performance at Coachella. She knows you can't resist her allure. She moves your hands into her body, placing them right at her erogenous zones. "I missed your touch so much, baby," she says.

"But there is something I missed much more," Rosé says shortly after, loudly unzipping your pants and reaching under them. You kiss her neck and blow a gust of wind into her ears, trying to react, but she's already far ahead, giving you a bright smile as she takes your belt completely off.

Rosé quickly brings you to your knees as she starts stroking your big cock. "Did you miss my touch?" she asks, bragging. "Ohhhh shit," is all you can say, your shaft pressed between Rosé's clothes, yours and her hand, her carefully masturbating your erection and growing bigger and bigger at each move.

You can no longer resist and pull Rosé's top to the side, showing her perky little milky tits and touching them. "Fuck," you whisper, reaching under her skirt and taking her panties off at the same time you pull her skirt down.

Rosé kisses you, taking her hands off your cock and letting you search for her tight entrance. You let out a couple moans as your dick slowly slides inside her slit. Now it's Rosé's turn to moan, holding your hand as her pussy slowly engulfs your cock. 

You dive your head into Rosé's tits as her tight walls crush your cock. In contrast to her usually bustling life in LA, Rosé is in no hurry, moving her hips at a very slow motion and warming up your cock with her sexy moves. She places her hands in her pussy and rubs her clit, following it with some caressing in your shaft. You now move into kissing her armpits and wondering how she can smell so good without any perfume, just au naturel.

Rosé increases the pace of her riding, taking your cock deeper in her pussy while she kisses you and you caress her clit. She then pauses a bit, letting you enjoy her clit as your fingers and your cock now simultaneously penetrate her pussy.

"Ahhh, fuck, your hands massage it so well," Rosé says as they stimulate her throbbing insides, and she kisses you once again. Her moans get louder, your cock digs deeper and deeper in her cunt, your hands do the same in her clit, she moves her hips, trying to answer your increasingly hotter stimulation.

Rosé's long legs shake and close as you massage her clit at full force now. "FUCKKKK, AHHHHHHH," she screams, your touch bringing her to her knees, the stimulation being so much for her that Rosé is unable to keep your cock inside her pussycat. But you don't care and just keep your hands working on her clit, proving that you can make her cum without even using your cock to do so.

You're now ready to turn the slim Aussie into your fucktoy. Your shaft is barely visible, just peeking out of your pants and then quickly disappearing in Rosé's pink pussy. She tries to resume her ride but is already too weak to continue, letting you kiss her perky tits instead. Rosé plays with her nipples as you suck them and goes back to massage her pink pussy. "Ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhh, I can't take it; your hands are so good, fuckkkk me," she moans.

"OH FUCKKKKK," Rosé screams, as you don't even need to thrust upwards to dominate her perfect pussy, just letting your hands do all the work as they hit the Aussie slut's throbbing folds. Rosé once again can't handle your touch, squirting as your cock slides out of her cunt for a second time.

Seeing that you're easily winning the battle, Rosé changes her strategy, turning around and getting your cock back in her pussy as her panties still hang on by her thigh. She starts slow and romantically kisses you as she picks up the pace to ride your cock, pressing her nails against your suit. Her fast rides quickly turn the tide, as you're now the one hanging on for your dear life each time Rosé manages to get your shaft all the way down in her pink pussy and her hips clash against your balls.

"OH MY GOD BABY, OH MY GOD, YESSSS, KEEP DOING THAT!" you scream as Rosé's pussy bounces up and down your cock. "God damn it, you are such a good slut riding on my cock," you tell her. 

"You like it, baby?" Rosé asks with a smile on her face. She really loves to be on top of the world—well, on top of a big cock, which is basically the same for her—loving to see you struggling with her tight walls after you made the throb a couple minutes ago with that massage. "Damn it, your pussy is so tight," you say to Rosé. "And your cock is so amazing stretching it out," she replies, as you cling into her tits and suck them like a baby to save yourself from cumming.

Rosé takes what is still left of her top off, getting herself fully naked. The contrast of Rosé's goddess body with no clothes on and yours fully clothed as the morning sunlight invades the room is a sight to behold. She climbs off your body and pulls your pants down, getting on her knees to taste her juicy pussy out of your cock.

But before doing so, she teases you a bit, playing with your balls and eating your asshole while sniffing your thobbing shaft. "It smells like morning roses; it looks like I really left my mark on it," she says as she moves up to savor your balls and strokes your shaft, looking at you with naughty eyes as she performs a kissing blowjob, paying lots of attention to the tip and putting her sexy lips all over it.

"Fuck, fuck," it's all you can whisper as Rosé handles your shaft. You push her body close to yours to enjoy it as you two share more kisses; her never stop stroking that big cock, going even faster as you move into her neck and grip her ass, trying to survive her magical hands working all over that cock.

Rosé now holds your cocks with both hands, emerging as the clear winner as she arches her back and dominates you from top to bottom. Her naked butt looks absolutely perfect. You try to counter, using the same fingers that brought her pussy into submission to now dig inside her asshole. Bur Rosé quickly nullifies your attack, diving face-down straight to your cock while putting her ass up for you to look at and drool over.

"Like this, like this," you say as Rosé performs the boss-chair blowjob on you. But truth be told, she's the real boss, sucking the life out of your cock, getting especially sloppy with the tip as she spits all over it. "Yes, oh yes," you say as Rosé massages your prostate, sticking her long index finger up your butthole. She looks at you with dirty eyes, loving how your big cock is all hers to enjoy.

But you are determined to flip things around, putting Rosé in the chair as you dive to suck her tits and reaching your hands into her pink pussy. The chair rocks from side to side as you pin Rosé to it and dominate her, descending down her body and kissing it at every possible erogenous zone: her neck, her tits, her navel, her legs, and last, but not least, her amazing tight pussy.

You rest your head at Rosé's pussy, eating and sniffing it as she closes her eyes and naugtly moans. Good god, her pussy must have the best smell on earth. You never get tired of it. Even though you have known for a long time how good it tastes, each time she manages to surprise you with that amazing rose scent that quickly invades your nostrils and refuses to leave.

Rosé clenches her legs as you sniff her delicious clit. "Ahhhhh, ahhhhh, please eat that pussy like that," she moans, contorting her body all over the chair, trying to resist the magical work of your tongue. You give her a little rest as Rosé gets out of breath, taking your suit off. But not for long. As soon as she gives you that sexy stare that drives you crazy, you two go back to trading kisses and working your tongues all over your mouths.

But now you want to work a different part of your body on Rosé's, getting your cock back in her pussy as you lay Rosé's light body on top of the chair, admiring her perfect bikini mark as the sunlight makes her beautiful body glow.

"Lay down," you tell Rosé, slowly pushing her body down as you touch her breasts, her moans getting sexier than ever. "Please, baby, take it deep in my pussy," Rosé begs as you start thursting once again slowly, building up the heat inside her fuckhole. The summer heat forces you to take your clothes off as you pound her hard and finger her nipples. "AHHHHHHH," Rosé screams as you choke her, your cock now bulging under her skinny belly. You stop a bit to kiss her before coming full force to pound her tight pussy.

Rosé's body gets completely pinned down to the chair as you fuck her in a mating press position. "That's so good, that's so good, you're sending me to heaven," she moans as she fingers her clit, doubling the stimulation as you hit her pussy all the way down to her cervix.

"FUCK DAMN IT!" Rosé screams as your cock stretches her tight pussy even further. You look at her eye to eye, whispering dirty words in her ear. "I'm going to put a baby in this hot Aussie womb," you tell her. "Make you look like a kangaroo when I breed that pussy," you continue.

Rosé's skin turns red as she really gets down to the idea of getting impregnated. "Please, baby, get me pregnant; I want it so much," she says as you rest your cock close to her womb.

But you're not going to do that yet, wanting to enjoy Rosé's slutty body a little more. "First, I'm going to fuck the shit out of this beautiful pussy," you tell her, spitting on her face. "AHHHHHH, PLEASE, DESTROY THAT PUSSY," she begs as you grab her body and hit her cunt full speed, groping her tits with one hand and massaging her belly with the other, feeling your cock poke under it multiple times.

You flip Rosé around as soon as she squirts a little. "I didn't tell you to cum, slut. Now arch that back and put that ass up," you demand of Rosé, who lets out a moan. "Keep going, show me how much that big fucking cock loves to fuck my pussy," she punches back. 

Rosé gets her knees on the floor as you grab her beautiful ass from behind. She looks more submissive than ever. You pull her hair and increase the pace, pounding her pussy fast, hard, and deep and enjoying the massive recoil of her ass each time your balls hit her pale cheeks.

"You're so fucking perfect," you say to Rosé. "Tell me how much you love it then, baby," she replies. "Tell me how much you fucking love fucking me," she continues. "Is that your pussy?" she asks. "It's your pussy, isn't it, baby?" she keeps asking as you keep panting, getting closer and closer to cum at each thrust inside Rosé's tight fuckhole.

"HMMMMMMMM, AHHHHHHHH," Rosé suddenly screams as you give a spank to her ass. You're going to make it red, make it red, even though she's not a member of the group who sings that song. But her ass is so great and round you can't resist; it's just the perfect spot for your big hands to hit nonstop.

Rosé clings to the chair, trying to resist the fast poundings you give her. "FUCKKKKK, OH MY GODDDDDDD," she screams as soon as you add your hands inside her asshole, your cock and your fingers competing to see who fucks each hole faster. You then grab her little waist to get a better grip of the ausie fucktoy's body. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," you groan as Rosé's walls get tighter and tighter the more you pound her pussy. "KEEP GOING, THAT'S SO GOOD, AHHHHHH, SHITTTTT," she screams again.

"Oh baby, thanks for giving me that pussy," you tell her. Rosé just fingers her pussy, getting her walls tighter and tighter and preparing to milk you dry. "How good does my pussy feel, baby? The best pussy you ever fucking had?" Rosé says. "Yes, you're so fucking hot and tight, my favorite pussy in the whole world," you answer back.

"If I'm your favorite pussy, then show me and fill it full of your cum,"  Rosé says as you give her butt another spank. These words make you go feal. You tease Rosé as you rub your shaft between her asscheeks. "That's hot, baby, getting that cock ready to cum as hard as possible," she says. "I loved rubbing it against your red, spanked, slutty Aussie ass," you reply.

You give Rosé's ass a little more claps before lifting her right leg and diving under her to eat both her holes. "I want that pussy to be super tight; grip my cock until my balls are completely drained," you say to her. "Ohhh, yes, baby, that tongue is getting it tigther than ever; eat my pussy good and I'll make that cock cum like it never did," Rosé says.

Rosé chimes in and massages your balls while standing in one leg. "I can feel the cum building up for me; it wants to breed my pussy so bad," she says. "Eat my pussy like that; get it tighter," she demands from you.

"Are you ready for it?" you ask Rosé, indirectly making a reference to one of her friends. "I'm always ready; give it to me," she says. 

You search for Rosé's entrance to put your cock in her pussy for one final time. You two have fucked for a little under 30 minutes, but it's been so hot it feels like you've been going on for 3 hours. Her pussy is so tight you struggle to even hit the hole this time. "Oh my God, it's so tight," you say.

"Ahhhhh, shit," Rosé let out a big moan as you finally manage to get inside her. "I'm ready for it; how bad do you want to cum on this tight little pussy?" she asks. "Wanna fucking pump me until you cum inside it?" she keeps saying, building up the heat. 

"Cum inside that tight little pink pussy," Rosé says in a sexy whispering voice. The more she talks, the more you get turned on. "Give me all that hot sticky load inside it, please; I love it; I want it; fill me up, please," she continues to whisper.

"Fuck fill up that pussy, fucking cum inside me right now; I want it so bad; get me pregnant now. Breed me," Rosé begs with more whispers, feeling your cock pulsating in her tight hole as you start groaning. It doesn't take long for you to pump that hot, sticky load deep into her womb. She can't believe how much cum you managed to put inside that pink pussy. "Oh my God, that was amazing," she said. "It's been a long time since someone came inside me this hard," she said.

"That was a great morning fuck session; guess I need to go now; I'm very late to work," you say. "That's too bad; I'll miss you, and especially miss your throbbing cock pumping that big load in my pussy; who knows when I'm going to get it again," Rosé says, kissing you as you put your clothes back on and drive yourself back into the insane LA traffic.

The next day is really boring. After a morning of Roses, the afternoon is just more and more stressful work, leaving you extremely tired once you arrive at home. You sleep as soon as you get home, only waking up the next day with your phone's alarm clock. You take your regular morning shower and prepare your breakfast until another message from Rosé comes out.

"Come see me again; I got three more pussies for you to breed," she texts you, with this picture attached to it.

Damn, Rosé is really amazing. You know the moment she leaves LA, you'll be counting the days for her return.

[harrysfolklore]

the bestest - lh44

summary: lewis hamilton wins the silverstone grand prix, and his daughter thinks he's the bestest. wc: 1.7k. based on this request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The British Grand Prix always carried a unique significance, but this year felt particularly momentous. Fans filled the stands, waving flags and banners, their cheers echoing through the circuit.

For Lewis, this year felt extra special because his wife and little girl were joining him, and that was enough to give him an extra boost of motivation for the upcoming race.

Alana Hamilton is just four years old, and she's the light of your lives. She's a curious child who always has a smile for everyone, her bright eyes constantly scanning her surroundings for new wonders to discover.

And she has her father completely wrapped around her tiny finger, everybody knew it.

Alana clung to your hand as you made your way to the paddock, her eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle around her. She had been to races before, but this time she was more aware of her surroundings and everything happening.

“Mommy, look at all the people!” Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she held your hand. “They’re all here for Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, a lot of them are here to see Daddy race," you smiled at her, "He has a lot of fans who love to cheer him on."

“I’m going to cheer the loudest!”

Alana’s gaze followed every movement, her curiosity sparking with each new discovery. She was soaking it all in—the hustle of the team members, the hum of the engines, the vibrant colors of the team uniforms.

When you and Alana arrived at the team garage, Lewis was there, busy with pre-race preparations. He looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of his family.

“There’s my little girl,” he said, bending down to scoop Alana into his arms.

Alana giggled, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “Daddy, are you going to win today?” she asked, her voice full of hopeful excitement.

Lewis brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to give it my all, princess. With you cheering me on, I have a really good feeling about today.”

As Lewis held Alana, George Russell, his teammate, walked by and smiled warmly at the scene.

"Well, if it isn't the Hamiltons, my favorite family," he said, his tone friendly and genuine.

Alana's face lit up with recognition. She remembered George from previous encounters and team events. "George!" she exclaimed, waving enthusiastically from her perch in Lewis's arms.

"Hello there, little champion," George chuckled, giving Alana a gentle high-five. "Are you excited for the race today?"

"Yes! Daddy's going to win because he's the bestest driver in the whole wide world!" she declared with innocent confidence, looking at Lewis with adoring eyes.

Lewis couldn't help but beam with pride, though he tried to maintain a humble demeanor. "Well, I don't know about that, sweetheart. There are a lot of great drivers out here today."

"But you're the bestest, Daddy," Alana insisted, her conviction unshakeable.

George laughed good-naturedly. "Well, Lewis, looks like you've got your biggest fan right here. No pressure or anything," he teased.

You smiled, watching the interaction. It was heartwarming to see how the team had become like an extended family, especially for Alana.

"Alright, princess," Lewis said, giving Alana one more squeeze, "Daddy needs to finish getting ready for the race. You be good for Mommy, okay?"

Alana's grip tightened around Lewis's neck, her little face scrunching up in defiance. "No, Daddy, don’t go!"

“Sweetie, Daddy has to race now," you gently stroked her back, "We’ll be right here watching him the whole time.”

As Alana clung tighter to Lewis, her eyes welling up with tears, you could see the conflict on your husband's face. He hated leaving her upset, but the race was about to start.

"Hey, princess," Lewis said softly, gently prying her arms from around his neck. "Remember what we talked about? Daddy has to go fast in the car so he can come back to you even quicker."

Alana's lower lip trembled, but she nodded, reluctantly loosening her grip. "Okay, Daddy. Be fast and be safe."

"I will, princess. I promise," Lewis kissed her forehead tenderly.

He handed her to you, and Alana nestled into your arms, still watching Lewis with wide, admiring eyes. He turned to you next, his expression softening.

"I'll see you both soon. I love you."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "Be safe out there."

With one last glance at his family, Lewis turned and headed towards his car, his determination renewed by the love and support he carried with him.

As you made your way to the VIP viewing area, Alana's eyes darted everywhere, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling circuit. The roar of engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid.

"Look, baby," you pointed, "There's Daddy's car. Number 44, remember?"

Alana nodded eagerly, her eyes fixed on the sleek silver Mercedes. "Go, Daddy, go!" she shouted, even though the race hadn't started yet.

Throughout the race, you explained what was happening in simple terms Alana could understand. She cheered every time Lewis's car came into view, her enthusiasm making everyone around melt.

"Daddy's car is going so fast! He's the bestest!" Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder.

When the final lap came, the tension was palpable. You held Alana close, her little hands clutching your shirt as she watched Lewis take the lead. As he crossed the finish line first, the grandstands erupted in roars.

Alana’s eyes widened in amazement. “Mommy, did Daddy win?”

“He did, sweetheart!” you exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “Daddy won!”

"Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, her voice filled with pure joy.

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, your own heart swelling with pride. "Let's go see Daddy, shall we?" you suggested, taking her hand.

You hurried to the pit lane, eager to congratulate Lewis. As he climbed out of the car, the sight of you and Alana brought a huge smile to his face. He reached out, and Alana practically leapt into his arms.

“Daddy!” she shouted, hugging him tightly. “You did it!”

Lewis laughed, his eyes shining with happiness. “We did it, baby girl.”

Lewis held Alana with one arm and reached out to pull you into the embrace with the other. The three of you stood there, a little island of family amidst the chaos of the celebration.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered to Lewis, giving him a quick kiss.

Alana, not wanting to be left out, planted a big kiss on Lewis's cheek. "Me too, Daddy! You're the bestest ever!"

As the celebrations continued around you, Lewis kept Alana in his arms, not wanting to let her go. She had always been clingy with him, especially since he was away a lot of weekends for races. She missed him a lot, and every moment they spent together was precious to her.

When it was time for the post-race interview, Lewis tried to set Alana down, but she clung to him, her small hands gripping his suit. “No, Daddy, hold me.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let Daddy do his interview,” you coaxed.

Lewis looked at you with a soft smile. "It's okay, I'll take her with me. I'll pay whatever fine the FIA gives me," he said, adjusting Alana in his arms. You couldn't help but chuckle, knowing how much this moment meant to both of them.

As Lewis approached the interview area, he saw a familiar face waiting for him - Nico Rosberg, his former teammate and rival. Nico's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Lewis carrying Alana, a small smile making its way to his face.

"Lewis, congratulations on your win today," Nico began, microphone in hand. "And I see you've brought a special guest with you."

Lewis grinned, bouncing Alana slightly in his arms. "Yeah, this is my daughter Alana. She's my good luck charm today."

"Hello there, Alana," Nico smiled warmly at her, "Did you enjoy watching your dad race today?"

Alana, suddenly shy in front of the camera, buried her face in Lewis' neck but peeked out with one eye. "Daddy is the bestest," she mumbled.

The crowd around them collectively "aww'ed" at her adorable response. Lewis chuckled, patting her back gently.

"Well, Lewis," Nico continued, "that was an incredible drive today. Can you talk us through that final lap?"

As Lewis answered, discussing the intricacies of the race, Alana stayed nestled in his arms, occasionally lifting her head to look around curiously and playing with the zipper of her father's suit.

When the interview concluded, it was time for the podium ceremony. Lewis knew he couldn't take Alana up there with him, no matter how much he wished he could.

"Alright, princess," he said softly, "Daddy has to go up on the big stage now. Can you stay with Mommy and watch?"

Alana's grip tightened, her lower lip trembling. "No, Daddy, I want to stay with you!"

You stepped forward, gently prying Alana from Lewis's arms. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's watch Daddy get his big trophy. We can wave to him from here."

Reluctantly, Alana allowed herself to be transferred to your arms, her eyes never leaving Lewis. As he walked towards the podium, he turned back to blow a kiss to both of you.

You found a good spot near the podium, holding Alana up so she could see clearly. Her eyes widened as she watched Lewis climb the steps to the top of the podium.

"Look, baby," you said, pointing. "There's Daddy on the top step. That means he won!"

Alana's face lit up with pride and excitement. "Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, clapping her hands.

As the British national anthem played and Lewis stood tall on the podium, trophy in hand, Alana watched in awe. When Lewis spotted you two in the crowd, he gave a special wave and blew a kiss your way, making Alana squeal with delight.

"He sees us, Mommy!" she exclaimed, waving back furiously.

You hugged her close, your heart full of love for your little family. "Yes, he does, sweetheart. He's waving just for you."

As the champagne spray began, Alana giggled at the sight of her daddy getting all wet. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, one that you knew would be etched in your family's memories forever.