#round ears because au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shellshocklove · 5 months ago

Text

brat! | joel miller

pairing/AU: joel miller x brat!female!reader – no outbreak

summary: joel is having a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, drinking of alcohol, smoking of cigarettes, reader wears a dress, heels and lipstick but otherwise no other descriptions, use of pet names, brat tamer!joel, dom!joel, manhandling, a little exhibitionism? fingering, choking, spitting, a little dacryphilia, oral (m receiving), cock worship, spanking, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), creampie, one use of the word ‘daddy’, no use of y/n

a/n: this was fun! and naughtier than i thought it was gonna be 💀 i’ve never written a reader so far removed from my own personality lol and i’m kind of obsessed with how this turned out. anyways stream brat by charlie xcx and happy reading! <3

main masterlist / series masterlist / ao3

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸 this account stands with palestine. the creator of tlou is a zionist, and the second game is largly based on israel/palestine. please, everyone who interacts, educate yourself about the genocide happening right now, and support/donate.

Blitzes of red, green, and blue danced before your eyes. The beating in your temples in tune with the bass vibrating in your chest. Around you the faceless bodies moved in slow motion. The heat rose around you as the sweat clung to your skin.

You’re sure you’ve lost your friends. Well, not lost lost. They were in the dancing crowd somewhere. Behind you, the same ugly guy had been rubbing up against you for a minute too long. You knew because you’d tipped your head back once and his borderline bowl cut hair, polo shirt with deep sweat rings under his arms, and tan chinos, were not it.

His breath stank of tequila when he leaned into your ear, “Hey,” he slurred, “wanna get out of here?”

And that had been your cue to leave.

With a scoff, you turned around to get a good look at him. You’d sized him up, made a show of it, and laughed in his face. Then you pushed your way through the crowd, coming up for air by the bar.

The earlier buzz you’d been sailing on, had weaned off a long time ago. It had been last minute, you weren’t even going out tonight, just having dinner with your childhood friends while you were home for the summer. But then one of them had ordered shots for the table just as the last plate had been cleared, and soon you were at the club cruising on a couple of glasses of wine and a lousy shot. Not that it mattered, usually you ended up twirling some sorry man around your finger long enough to get yourself a couple of rounds, before you’d excuse yourself to the ladies’ room and leave with your friends.

Looking down the bar, you searched for tonight’s victim.

To your right a group of girls huddled around the edge, waiting for their own drinks by the looks of it.

Not them.

Down to your left, a boy with a face full of acne fumbled with his card as he paid for a round of beers. He didn’t even look old enough to be in here, but that wasn’t your problem. You had to hold back a laugh as you watched him struggle to figure out how to carry the five beers he’d ordered back to his friends. He ended up gathering them in a circle to wrap his hands around, and you’d seen this go wrong plenty of times to feel the pull of an amused smile on your lips.

When he’d vanished into the crowd, your eyes flicked back to the bar, to the man sitting there– and he was a man. Probably somewhere in his fifties you reckoned, but he looked gorgeous. A real dilf. Your interest was piqued.

You slid down the bar.

He didn’t look particularly amused where he sat at a bar stool, nursing a beer in his hands. Who sits at the bar in the club? He looked nice. Brown hair, dark jeans, and a grey t-shirt stretched deliciously over his chest. When you got closer you could see a flannel resting beside him on the bar.

Is this what older men wear to the club these days?

He didn’t seem to notice you as you sat down next to him – either that, or he ignored you. You kinda wished for the latter, it would make it more fun.

You gave him a few more minutes of silence, of your presence, to see if he’d say something to you. When he didn’t you asked him over the music, “Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?”

You said it innocently, but like it was obvious and he hadn’t caught on yet. His head turned towards you, still unamused, but with his eyebrow raised.

Okay, you could work with that.

You didn’t say anything as he studied you, drank you in like you’d done to him from afar. You felt his gaze over your clinging dress, your bare shoulders, before they found your eyes.

Something tickled in your core, and you were reminded of how long it had been since you’d been properly fucked– fucked by someone who wasn’t some drunk guy at your college’s parties, but fucked by someone who knew what they were doing.

The man turned towards you; a smile tickling the corner of his mouth.

“Does that usually work f’you, sweetheart?”

You weren’t expecting his rebuttal, but you liked it. He wasn’t some boy who’d trip over himself for the privilege of being in the presence of you. The boys – they made it too easy – but this man would make you work for it.

Putting on your most saccharine smile you slid closer to him, “You looked so lonely over here– thought I’d keep you company.”

A scoffing laugh escaped him, and his head dipped, “’s that so?” His eyes found yours again.

“Haven’t seen you here before,” you ignored his question, and brushed your heeled foot up the length of his calf.

“Ain’t ever been here before,” he kept his eyes on your face, his drawl pulling at the words and twisting up your insides.

“So, a virgin, huh?” you teased, and that seemed to amuse him.

“What– you’re here to pop my cherry?”

This time an amused smile pulled at your face. You liked this man. “Not without a drink first,” your foot slid down his calf, “what do you take me for?”

A bright sense of pride filled your chest when you made him laugh, filling you up with confidence.

“D’you want me to answer that?” he rebutted.

He didn’t say it with any malice, it was teasing and playful, and it pulled at the veil inside you. A genuine smile pulled at the corners of your mouth, “Probably not.”

“What can I getcha, then, sweetheart?”

“G&T?” you said, and bit down on your bottom lip coquettishly.

Turning away from you, the man got the attention of the bartender. You watched his profile, followed the line of his jaw, the shape of his nose. You decided then and there that your night was gonna end in this man’s bed.

“Sooo,” you sang, when you’d gotten your drink, “first time here, huh?” The man just nodded, before he sipped his beer.

Not much of a talker, huh?

“You here alone, or? With the wife maybe?”

That pulled a laugh from him. “I’m here with my lil’ brother… bachelor party,” he shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he’d gotten dragged in here, “he’s gettin’ married next month.”

“Ah,” you nodded and took a sip of your drink. “So, where are you heading next? A strip club?” you teased.

The man just shot you an unimpressed look, and you thought about how you’d never seen a man look so out of place, ever.

“What? The wife won’t let you?”

A sharp huff escaped him, “Ain’t got no wife no more,” he said matter-of-factly.

You took another sip of your drink to hide the smile from forming.

Bingo.

“I take it you’re a man who does what he wants, then?” you said it innocently, and subtly slid your hand over his knee. His eyes caught yours at the touch, and you swore you saw something change in them.

You’d hooked him now, all you had to do was reel him in.

He turned his body towards you – he did it slowly, like every muscle he moved had been calculated beforehand. Then he leaned in closer, his hot breath huffing against your ear.

“Takes one to know one, ain’t that right?”

Under your skin, you buzzed, your heart beating out of your chest at the new proximity. You had to stay cool, play it off, act unbothered. So, you pulled away slightly, and turned your head to meet his eyes.

“What?” he challenged with a raise of an eyebrow, “Ain’t used to people talkin’ back?”

When you didn’t say anything right away, a smug grin coated his lips, “Yeah, I know girls like you.”

“There’s no girls like me,” you argued back, his confidence both pissing you off, and turning you on at the same time.

“Oh, but there are– Spoiled daddy’s girls who ain’t had anyone tellin’ them no their whole life. They do what they want, and play with who they want– I know a brat when I see one.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as he pulled away, that infuriating smug grin not going anywhere. The worst part was that he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“But you like that don’t you?” you challenged, “I bet you live in some sad house in a sleepy suburban cul-de-sac, go to the same boring job every day, and wish your wife never left you.”

A flash of hurt could be seen across his face as those last words left your lips, and you thought you’d maybe gone too far. A beat of silence passed between you, the buzzing beat of the club music keeping the tune of the tension building.

You were about to apologize when he finally spoke, “You’re a rude one, aren’t ya?”

His voice didn’t sound as hurt as you’d thought, and you realize he was playing your game. You almost had him.

“And what are you gonna do about it?” you challenged, hammering the final nail in the coffin.

“That depends on you, sweetheart.”

Outside the club, Joel (the man had finally introduced himself) leaned against the bricks of the alley as you fished a cigarette from your purse. According to your phone, your uber would be there in ten minutes. The fresh air had sobered you up slightly, exchanging the buzzing alcohol in your veins with excitement.

You didn’t know what you were in for.

Over your skin, you felt his gaze roll over you, and you let him look. Let him study your body filling out your sheer, white, almost see-through dress. You didn’t offer him a cigarette; he’d have to ask for it himself, or take it, if he wanted a drag.

“So,” you took a drag of your cigarette, savoring the first tar-y breath, before exhaling through your nose, “where are you taking me?”

Joel shifted his weight against the bricks as his arms crossed over his wide chest. “Whatchu call it? My sad house?” he said, his voice bordering on cold if it wasn’t for the smug smile covering his features.

You gave him a sultry look as you stepped closer, crossing one heeled foot in front of the other, slowly.

“Mmm,” you hummed, as you tilted your head with an uninterested face, “Sounds fucking boring to me.” Your finger climbed up his chest, eyes traveling from his chest to his face. His stern face gave nothing away, as you took another drag of your cigarette and blew the smoke in his face.

Finally, he’d had enough. His large hand wrapped around your wrist, and tightened, before he turned you around and pushed you up against the wall. You let out an exaggerated huff as your body hit the bricks, your cigarette slipping from your fingers. He pushed himself up against you, and you couldn’t contain the satisfied grin on your face, pleased to have pushed his buttons enough to finally act.

“Oh, I’ll show you boring, brat.”

A rough hand danced up the side of your thigh and under the hem of your dress. Challenging him, you squirmed against the grip of his other hand around your wrist.

“Nuh-uh,” he shook his head, and he was so close now you felt his breath ghost over your lips. With a twist of your arm, he pinned it behind your back, Joel now completely in control, and a buzz of arousal spread through your body at the thought.

“You listen’ up now, and I’m only gonna say it once: you’re gonna do as I say, when I say it, and no talkin’ back, we clear?” His voice was stern, but his dark brown eyes gave him away; how they’d widened with lust, blown out and dark. Your panties already soaked at the thought of what he had in mind for you tonight.

“Yes,” you said playfully, biting down at your bottom lip through a smile.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected as his rough hand on your thigh slid closer and closer to the seam of your thong. “Good girls who do as they’re told get rewarded, you understand?”

You nodded, sucking in a breath as you felt his fingers brush over your clit lightly. He was testing you now, teasing you, and pushing your buttons. You felt like you were on fire, burning from arousal; it licked up your thighs and flickered bright in your core.

Where was that fucking uber?

“But you ain’t no good girl,” he snickered, sliding his hand past your panties, “teasin’ me– tryna provoke me,” he shook his head, and a slick sound of your arousal could be heard as he worked two thick fingers through your wet folds.

His finger poked at your hole where it ached for him. The thick tension between you weighed heavy with arousal as Joel leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Imma have to punish you for that, baby, put you in your place.”

A gasp left your lips as he pressed two fingers inside. The stretch stung slightly, but you welcomed the pain, liked it. A satisfied grin blossomed over your face as he started moving his fingers. They felt so good inside of you, so thick, almost like a cock, and the way his palm rubbed against your clit– it gave you just enough stimulation to push you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Look at you, slut,” his breath was hot as he whispered in your ear, “so desperate to get fucked.”

A strangled moan escaped your throat, and you couldn’t help but grind against his fingers to chase the pleasure he was giving you. The degrading words and humiliation only made you wetter. Joel couldn’t get any more perfect– so far, he'd played his part to the T.

“In your– fuck!” You moaned as the pad of his fingers brushed up against your g-spot. Just a little more now, and he’d have you coming on his fingers.

“Didn’t hear you, sweetheart, y’need to speak up,” he taunted, continuing the pace of his fingers.

“In your d-dreams, old man,” you tried to spit out, but the pleasure he gave you was taking over, making you stumble over your words.

Quickly, Joel withdrew his fingers, sliding them up the front of your cunt, giving your clit a slap, before he backed off completely. You gasped; face pulled tight in a disappointed frown.

“What the fuck!?”

And then he fucking laughed, fucking laughed at you.

“I already told you, sweetheart, only good girls get rewarded.”

He stepped closer again, his hand cupping your cheek while the other pressed the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. “Clean up your mess, and we’ll see ‘bout that reward.”

Parting your lips, he stuffed his fingers inside your mouth. They tasted of you, a sweet-salty taste. You closed your lips around them, and sucked, letting your tongue tease around his fingers the way you’d tease his cock. “That’s it, good girl,” he grinned, and it sparked a small flame of pride in your chest.

When he was pleased with you, he slipped his fingers from your mouth. He let them glide over your lips, smearing your lipstick and coating your lips in your own saliva as a set of headlights illuminated the street. Then, he patted your cheek, nodding towards what you assumed was your uber as it rolled to a stop in front of you, “Go on, get in the uber.”

In the uber Joel was quiet, ignoring you as were forced to make small talk with the driver (you’d give him a bad review just for that). When you thought the small talk had been torture enough, Joel slid his hand up your thigh, resting his big palm right at the seam of your leg as he looked out the window. If your panties weren’t already soaked from what he’d done to you in the alleyway of the club, then they definitely were now as the anticipation only grew.

Joel’s house wasn’t sad at all. It was quaint, and suburban, but homey. Nice. No expensive designer furniture, but sturdy and of good quality either way. He had no rare art, but a decent amount of family photos and what looked like a child’s drawings. You stopped in the middle of the stairs to admire them. In one of them Joel looked as old as you were now, with a baby in his arms, in another he had his arm around the shoulders of another man who looked a lot like him, just with darker hair. His brother probably, the one getting married. The little baby was a little girl, and she grew up in front of you; birthday parties, first days of school, soccer uniforms. Your eyes landed on a photo of her in a graduation cap with Joel and the other man at her side, grinning wide with a college diploma in her hands. This man wasn’t who you’d thought. He had a family– a daughter your age. The wall of memories squeezed at your heart, made something inside you always kept hidden break forth–

“You comin’?”

Joel waited at the top of the stairs for you, his face pulled into a confused frown. You skipped up the stairs, happy to have left your heels by his door. When you got to the top, you pushed at his chest, “Just looking at your sad things.” With a roll of his eyes, he led you to his bedroom.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, but his voice was distant, the bite from the club was gone.

It felt like the perfect opportunity to play with him.

“No,” you blinked innocently, your eyes wide as you watched him unbutton his green flannel, “you’ll have to make me.”

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh, “I’m serious, sweetheart, I need to talk to you first.”

Talk?

“You can’t get it up, is that it? You’re too old?” you teased but sat down at the bed either way.

“You really are mean, aren’t ya?” His laugh sounded like a surrender. “A man wantin’ to be a gentleman and establish boundaries before he ruins her, and this is what he gets?”

Shaking his head, he walked closer, and cupped your head in his hands. “I plan on bein’ rough with ya, sweetheart, and I think that’s what you want too, isn’t it? Get fucked so hard you can’t think?” You nodded your head in his arms, the velvet bass of his voice going straight to your core.

“Listen’ closely– if I do anythin’ you don’t like, you say ‘red’ and we stop, and if you can’t speak then you pinch me, you hear?”

You nodded again.

“Words, baby, need y’to say it with that pretty voice.” His thumbs brushed over your cheek.

You nodded again, “Yes, sir… if I want you to stop, I say ‘red’, or pinch you.”

“Good girl,” he praised, “Anythin’ else?”

“Um…” Your front teeth caught on your bottom lip, “I’m on birth control– you can come inside me if you want.”

A noise rumbled in Joel’s chest. “Such a naughty girl,” his thumb brushed over the plump of your lips, “letting a stranger come inside her, huh?”

You nodded again, a wicked smile breaking against his thumb before you opened your mouth, and bit down. Not hard, just enough to pull a reaction from him, and you did.

Like a switch, the warm whiskey eyes faded into a deep black. The grip on your chin slid downwards, where it found your neck. He didn’t squeeze, but his grip wasn’t gentle either, holding you in place like a warning.

“You ought to treat me with more respect, brat…” he spat, his thumb digging into the column of your neck, “Apologize for your rude behavior.”

Against his hand, you shook your head to the best of your abilities, his grip tightening with your movement. You wished he’d choke you properly, make your head all fuzzy and empty– filled with nothing except for him.

“No.”

His face turned to stone above you, and you felt a giddiness flutter in your stomach.

He didn’t like that.

In one quick motion his hand was ripped from your throat as he stepped away. He didn’t look at you as he sighed, his hands falling to his belt buckle, sharp metal clinking.

Taking advantage of the moment, you admired the man before you. How big and broad he was. How his t-shirt stretched tight over his broad chest, biceps bulging against the woven fabric. You studied his hands as they fiddled with his buckle, thought about how good they’d felt inside you earlier, the pleasurable sting as they’d stretched you out.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, voice cold.

When you didn’t move, he took matters into his own hands.

“Get. On. Your. Fuckin’. Knees.”

His grip around your wrist was tight, as he pushed you down. The hardwood floor dug into your knees as he manhandled you, sure to bruise tomorrow. He stood his ground in front of you, legs slightly parted as you were now eye level with his inviting bulge. He was big, and you felt your eyes widen. Even hidden away in his jeans you could see it, see the length of his hard cock strain against his thigh – it made your mouth water as you squeezed your thighs together.

“Look me in the eyes,” he told you, and your eyes flicked upwards – obedient for once. “Eyes up here at all times– Don’t you fuckin’ dare look away.”

He made it hard to do as he’d ordered, popping the button on his jeans, and pulling the zipper down. You wanted to see his cock, touch it, feel it inside you. He couldn’t possibly expect you to not look when it was right there.

"Disobedient slut.”

The slap came quicker than the stolen glance, and your hand came up to graze your cheek on pure instinct. It stung under your palm, like a thousand little knives.

“What did I jus’ say?” He spat out the question, his hand gripping your chin to force eye contact.

“Look away?” you tried, your voice rising an octave.

“Open your fuckin’ mouth,” he sighed, leaning closer, “I ain’t wanna hear any more of your fuckin’ attitude.”

His grip tightened on your chin and your mouth dropped open by itself, “Open your mouth– that’s it… wider, just like that.”

Then he spat, right into your mouth.

You flinched at the suddenness of it, but Joel’s grip on your chin held you still– kept your mouth open, as you felt his spit slide further and further into your throat. You had a feeling you shouldn’t swallow until he told you, so you didn’t, your head pliant in his hand as you let him study you. A wide grin spread across his face as he moved your head from one side to the other, his rough fingers denting into your skin as you waited for your next command.

“Swallow, brat.”

He let go of your face, and you closed your mouth, swallowing down his spit with an audible gulp. “Good girl,” he muttered and stood tall, hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

The rough sound of denim against skin filled your ears as he freed himself. You were on your best behavior now, gathering your hands in your lap, sitting pretty for him as you locked eyes with him coquettishly.

“That’s better,” he said, “Actin’ like a proper good girl now,” he praised.

It took everything in you not to look, as he stepped closer.

With a fist tight around his cock, he brought the head to your mouth. He tapped it on your lips, smearing the precum beading at the tip and ruined your lipstick.

You wanted to taste him so badly, but he couldn’t know that. Pinching your lips together, you shook your head with wide coquettish eyes. His eyebrows pinched together in a frown, eyes narrowing at you as he pushed his cock against your lips.

“Open that pretty fuckin’ mouth, f’me,” he ordered.

Pretty. He called you pretty, and it was enough for you, you gathered, and stretched your mouth open for him.

“That’s it, wider.”

You twitched in surprise as he slapped the length against your tongue. It was heavy on your tongue, the salty taste of his precum mixing with your saliva as he rubbed the head over your tongue, in and out, in and out – coating his big cock in your saliva, “just like that, baby, get it nice ‘nd wet.”

Closing your lips around the mushroom tip, you ran your tongue around it in circles, teasing the underside and the slit, before you tipped your head back. His cock bobbed in front of you obscenely, a frown formed on his face again and you knew he was about to tell you off.

Gathering a blob of saliva in your mouth, you spat on his cock instead. A low humming laugh rumbled from Joel’s chest, as he collected your spit and rubbed it in over his shaft in slow strokes. The spit dripped down, down over your front where you felt it darken the fabric of your dress. Subtly, you reached your hands behind your back to pull at the zipper.

“Yeah, that’s right, get those pretty tits out f’me.”

He let you maneuver out of your dress while he stroked his cock slowly in front of your face, and finally, you could get a good look at him. He was bigger than you’d thought from his bulge. Veins lining his thick shaft as you watched the way his fist moved up, massaging the tip gently, and down again in a slow, steady rhythm. At the base unruly curls of dark hair shone in the spit gathering, and you let your eyes wander downward to his balls where they hung heavy.

You wanted to taste them, too.

With your dress discarded on the floor beside you, you sat up slightly, spreading your legs and tucking your calves up to your thighs. Almost naked, safe for the thong splitting your cheeks, you arched your back slightly, making sure he got a good view of your ass.

A groan rumbled in Joel’s chest, and a hand came down on your head, “You want my cock, don’t you, slut?” he spat, slapping his cock on your right cheek, spreading your spit on your skin.

“Do you make all your girls wait this long or is it just me?” you tutted, almost rolling your eyes at him.

“There’s that fuckin’ attitude again.”

Slapping his cock harder against your cheek, he leaned forward letting a blob of spit drip from his own lips, coating both his cock and your face as he rubbed it in with his cock.

It was obscene, degrading, and you’d never been wetter.

In desperation to taste him again, you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out. The hand he’d used to stroke himself, wrapped around your skull, caging his cock between his hand and your face as he started thrusting against your face, his heavy balls rubbing against your chin with every slow push.

It was messy, sloppy, and wet. He held your head steady with his other hand, while he continued rubbing his cock over your cheek, nose, and forehead. His spit mixed with your own as you lapped at the underside of his cock; trying to taste as much of him as he’d give you.

“You dirty little whore,” he smiled, “You like that don’t you?”

Under him you whimpered, clit pulsing with want as he made you his plaything, did what he wanted with you.

“Yeah,” you moaned unabashedly, licking greedily at the underside of his cock.

At that, he laughed, and the grip on your head loosened as he pulled back. You only had time to take a deep breath before he stuffed his cock down your throat. It was abrupt, and harsh – the hefty length of him making room for himself inside your mouth.

You couldn’t fit him all inside, gagging as the head of him hit the back of your throat. He held you there still, one second, two seconds, three seconds. Your hand found his thigh where you tapped at him, and finally he pulled away.

You gasped for air, your breath wet with spit as small tears pricked at your eyes. His hand landed on top of your head again, grounding you to the moment as he searched your eyes, checking in.

No, you tried to convey, you’re not too rough.

Pleased, his cock bumped against your lips again, and you dropped your mouth open for him again.

“That’s it,” he murmured, thrusting his cock back in your mouth, “let’me fuck that throat open.”

Dropping your jaw, you tried to make room for him in your mouth. It wasn’t easy, your lips stretched wide around the girth of him as you tried to calm yourself, to open your throat for him to abuse. His cock was easily the biggest cock you’d ever sucked, and you told yourself you needed to relax.

He pressed himself deeper, and you let out a whimper. “Work with me, slut, hold still.”

Trying your best to obey, you breathed through your nose, staving off your gag reflex the best you could as the head knocked at the back of your throat. His other hand cupped your chin, keeping your head still between his large hands. A tear rolled down your cheek when he rutted into your mouth, testing the waters.

“Good girl,” he praised, fucking gently into your mouth. Saliva gathered in your mouth, drooling down your chin with each thrust. “Such a fuckin’ mess– Look me in the eye as I fuck your throat.”

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping you steady as you locked eyes with him. It was difficult, tears clouding him in a vignette, but you did as you were told. He studied you closely, tested your boundaries, completely in control.

You gasped for air when he finally pulled back again. A wet string of saliva connecting your lips to the tip of his cock. A proud smirk coated his lips, while his hand stroked your head in praise.

The small moment of relief passed quickly, and soon his cock was back in your throat, bruising it in a steady rhythm.

“Take that fuckin’ cock all the way down your throat, whore,” he spat, his thrust a little rougher now that he knew you could take it.

He had you at his mercy now as he ruined you. Ruined your throat, ruined your body, ruined you for other men. Tears mixed with snot, which mixed with spit as it ran down your chin, dripping lewdly onto your tits where it made a mess.

Over you, Joel rambled.

“Good fuckin’ slut.”

“Choke on that big fuckin’ cock.”

“You love it don’t you?”

And you did, you loved it. Joel made you feel useful for once in a life – a fucked up thought, but then again you never said you weren’t fucked up. Joel’s words were filthy and dirty, and as humiliating as they were he made you feel wanted.

You just wanted to be wanted.

Another gasp of air filled your lungs as he slipped from your mouth. His grip on your head was tighter now, his cock throbbing in front of you. As much as you wanted him to fuck you, you wouldn’t complain if he came down your throat. He’d given you so much already.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let go of your head.

You took the opportunity to catch your breath, sniffling as you wiped at the snot that clogged up your nose. His hand came down to squeeze at the base of himself, clearly staving off his orgasm.

“What,” you croaked, your voice hoarse after his assault on your throat, “you’re so old you can’t come now?”

His eyes darkened as they locked with yours, and a giddy bouncing feeling twisted in on itself in your tummy. You wanted to see what he’d do to you– how he’d fuck you, and if you’d have to push his buttons to see it, you gladly push the big red button.

His hand wrapped around your bicep, digging into the skin as he dragged you to your feet and pushed you towards the bed.

“Still a fuckin’ brat I see,” he spat, “We can’t have that can we?”

Putting on your best puppy dog eyes, you bit down on your bottom lip. “Who me?” you said innocently.

“Bend over, slut,” he ordered, his voice coated in a tone that said he was fed up with your bullshit. Strong arms turned you around, manhandling you, and pushed your front down on his bed, “’nd spread your fuckin’ legs.”

With a kick to your ankles, he forced your legs open. Tipping your head up, you locked eyes with your reflection in the window, like a camera lens capturing your ruin at Joel’s hand. He hovered over you, his eyes trailing over your naked body, laid out for him to take.

The first smack came quickly, hard, and brutal on your ass cheek. It made you jump, the muscles in your ass clenching as you tried to reel yourself in. Joel’s rough hand soothed over the burn immediately, and you turned your neck to find his eyes.

“I wanna hear an apology from you, brat,” he said calmly, one finger hooking into the lace of your thong.

You shook your head. Stubborn. “No.”

His head fell between his shoulders, while his finger hooked in your thong tightened its grip, and with a hard tug, he ripped it in two.

“Then I’m gonna have to punish ya.” He said it with a deep sigh, like he had no other choice.

You couldn’t hide the excitement that filled you at those words, your cunt now dripping with need. A need for Joel.

With the scrap of your thong now discarded his hand danced over your ass. You tried not to hold your breath, but he drew it out, and you couldn’t help it. The tension in the air so thick, you couldn’t focus.

Smack!

He spanked your other cheek hard, and the tension was released with a whimper. A tickling feeling of pins and needles spread through your cheek.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

They came in quick procession, your hands gripping the sheets for a lifeline as he put you in your place. Moans fell from your lips without abandon, and you felt yourself drip down your legs.

Smack!

“Look how wet you are,” he noticed, running a finger through your seam, “You like it? Only desperate whores like to get spanked.”

He leaned over you, his soft belly (when had he removed his shirt?) pressed against your back, coarse hair tickling your skin, as you felt his hard cock rub up against your sore ass.

“But that’s what you are, ain’t you? A desperate fucking whore.” His breath in your ear, had goosebumps erupt down your spine, and you sobbed out a whine.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered, and pulled away – taking his warmth with him.

Smack!

Tears pushed their way behind your eyes, not because you didn’t like it, but it stung like a motherfucker. Joel wasn’t all brutal, he rubbed your skin between hits, but fuck if it didn’t also hurt with pleasure.

“Say you’re sorry,” he demanded.

Turning around you shook your head, big wide eyes watching him as he spanked you again.

Smack!

“You’re tearing up, little girl– It stings doesn’t it?” he asked, voice laced with fake pity.

You nodded.

“Well, maybe you should be a good girl then– say you’re sorry.”

Smack!

“I’m sorry!” you blurted out, voice cracking.

Finally.

Joel stopped immediately, his hand twisting around your waist to flip you on your back. His eyes danced over your body, almost tenderly but still full of lust. His hand moved up and down your sides, down the thick of your thigh before they gripped your ankles and tugged.

A squeal escaped you as he manhandled you, his large hands cupping your face while he fitted himself between your legs. “Good girl,” he cooed, thumbs stroking your cheeks, “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shook your head in his hands, popping your lip out in an innocent pout.

“No,” he cooed, removing a hand to fit between your bodies.

You gasped when you felt the head of his cock bump your clit, the first real stimulation you’d had since you’d left the ally by the club. Your hips bucked by themselves, chasing the friction of his touch.

“Who owns this cunt?” he asked you, dark eyes staring into yours as he dragged his cock through your soaked folds.

“You do, sir,” you sighed immediately, your whole body aching for him.

A wide wicked grin spread across his face, “Lookit you bein’ such a good girl– finally know your place, huh?”

With no warning, you felt the blunt head of him press at your opening, and then Joel pushed inside you. Your mouth parted in a gasp at the intrusion; eyes glazed over in bliss as you felt yourself get split in two around the girth of his cock. He was so big, filling you up inch by inch, a heavy pressure poking at the deepest part of yourself.

“There you go, baby– you jus’ take it. Take all that cock inside,” he grunted, eyebrows pinched tight.

All you could do was moan as you felt him bottom out inside you, “Shit,” you gasped, “So fuckin’ big.”

“I know, baby, you’re doin’ so good f’me,” he praised, starting to rock his hips into you.

He picked up the pace quickly when he was sure you could take it, splitting you open on his cock as he made you takeit. Under him you could feel yourself float away in the pleasure. His hand came up to wrap around your neck and a big smile spread across your face.

You felt so warm. Joel felt so fucking good.

He reduced you to a puddle, a puddle of pleasure and ecstasy. It was better than any drug you’d ever taken. Better than the first day of summer vacation. Better than anything you’d ever known. The sound of skin against skin faded away into a tranquil rhythm of pleasure. You belonged to him now, lived only for him and the way his cock felt inside you.

“Feel how deep that is?” he asked you, somehow having maneuvered your knees to press into your chest.

You couldn’t do anything other than nod, desperate and whiny. You needed to fucking come. Inside you, his cock bumped into a spot no other man had reached before, and a fluttering feeling coiled itself in your core.

You were so close now.

“Joel,” you gasped, searching for the words as he continued his pace, balls slapping hard against your ass.

“No,” he told you, teeth gritted, “You hold it, slut, you hold it ‘till I give you permission.”

Later, a thought of how he’d had you so close to coming without even a tap at your clit would graze you, but in this moment your thought were only filled with Joel. A hand found his bicep, you needed something to hold on to or you’d burst, and squeezed. Above you Joel’s groans and moans got louder.

“Hold it.”

Tears streamed down your face, as you heaved for breath. You were right there, right on the edge now.

Please, Joel, please, sir, please.

“Come.”

Arching your back off the mattress, you shook as you finally tipped over the edge of bliss. The sounds escaping your throat weren’t your own, they were someone else’s, someone possessed with pleasure.

A “Thank you,” fell from your lips, but you don’t think he heard you. Above you, Joel’s movement became more and more erratic, thrusting himself deeper and deeper before a loud groan vibrated through his chest.

“You take it,” he growled, “take all that fuckin’ cum inside.”

He slammed his hips hard against you, pushing himself as deep as he could inside you, and came with a loud primal groan. His cock twitched within your walls as he emptied himself inside your cunt, the warmth of him filled you up as he painted your walls with cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, burying his face in your neck, “That cum feels so good inside, don’t it?” he cooed, and you nodded, your hands tangling in his hair. He pulled back and thrusted inside you again, fucking his cum deeper inside.

He stayed inside you as you both caught your breaths. His weight felt good on you, you were safe, as you floated somewhere between reality and a space you’d never been pushed to before.

And you missed him when he pulled away, sliding his half-hard cock from your fucked out cunt, dragging you with him up the bed. You reached for him, laying your hand open against his sheets, but he didn't see it, eyes mesmerized by his spend dripping out of you. His fingers slid through the mess, pushing his cum back inside as his eyes found yours.

Then something in the air shifted, and whatever had come over you, was gone. His fingers left streaks of wetness down the inside of your thigh as he pulled away. For the first time in your life, you didn’t know what to say.

You were ruined now – he’d ruined you for everyone who wasn’t him.

You sat up, turning your head over your shoulder to watch him, watch how his eyes trailed your body.

“Smoke?” you asked, your voice more unsteady than you’d thought.

Joel shook his head as you slung your feet off the bed to find your purse. He sat up against the pillows resting against his broken bed frame. Your eyes raked over his naked body as you fished a cigarette from your packet; drank in his strong arms, his wide chest and followed the dark hair of his happy trail down his belly to his soft cock between his thighs, still coated in your combined cum. Between your legs you could still feel his thick spend leak out of you.

You brought the cigarette to your lips, and just as you were about to light up Joel’s rough voice spoke, “Out the window,” he ordered with a nod in the direction of the window.

Everything was back to how it was before.

A dramatic huff escaped you, “All right…” you muttered.

You felt too heavy– he’d messed with your head; made you show him the real you. He couldn’t see that. So instead, you put your mask back on, turning to face the window to conceal the mischievous smile threating to spill across your face.

“Daddy.”

Behind you, as you cracked open the window, you heard the bed creak. You played it cool, lighting your cigarette and blowing the smoke out the window.

Joel’s breath teased at the back of your neck and over your bare shoulder, making goosebumps dance down your spine, “Thought I’d fucked the attitude out of ya,” his voice was stern.

“Guess I was wrong.”

part two -> here!

i hope someone liked this? a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 other than that thank you for reading!!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #the last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #pedro pascal

2K notes · View notes

nemesyaaa · 3 months ago

Text

pygmalion au // rafe cameron x reader

summary ; “ you love someone you can shape, who has no will to escape. ” artist!rafe x muse!reader.

warnings ; unsafe feelings. slight of angst. smut. kind of fantasy/magic. art glorification. attachment issues. innocent!reader. fear of losing somebody. first time. rafe being a lost boy. dubcon. pygmalion' weird story. toxic!rafe. mentions of drugs. oral (m. receiving). p in v. insecurities. praising. artist hands appreciation. minors DNI.

author's note : 3,5 k words for this. one-shot. also a lot of tummy appreciation (tysm @shawtycoreee 🫶🏿). out of the smut, i tried to write it so poetic 😭🤟🏿

— “ wrap me up, enfold me. i am small and needy. warm me up and breathe me. ” breathe me by sia.

it was alone and late at night that rafe cameron began to create you, not really knowing at the time he started his art what work you would produce. he only cut the stone with his hands. before forming your body, he fantasized about it internally, not really knowing what a woman's anatomy actually looked like. you were like a crazy dream he was trying to sort out, a fantasy he was trying to make real. he sculpted with his straight calloused and tired hands, manipulating the fragile and sensitive material with precision.

he hated doing badly, but it was what he did best. as he worked, he sank into his own fascination. you were magnificent, no, you were divine, the glorious treasure from his hands. it was scary and breathtaking. he had never done anything so beautiful, never created anything so charming. you had this firm, seductive chest, completely bare and hard, the movement of the stone making your belly round and chubby. you were carved in marble, an inanimate statue that had found favor in the eyes of his creator.

when he had finished your face,

he had been amazed but above all frightened by what his fingers had achieved. he had given shape to your lips, your nose, your mouth and your eyes. and now that you had a look, it was like you were confronting him. because now that you had pupils, you could look at him too, you could judge him too. you could be as superior as him, but also equal to his worth.

you were his most beautiful work of art, literally his ethereal and angelic muse. and above all, you made him nervous. not only were you realistic, but you were a woman, you were like one of the goddesses from greek mythology, completely naked.

it was unexpected, but he had knelt before you, before your altar, on his legs and his hands. he was so white and desperate like a lost sinner having only his god to pray and glorify in order to survive.

you had seen his lips part in a prayer, his mouth tighten in a whisper. and you had ears, certainly made of stone, but you had heard it. you had heard his wish lost in the void. yet he had nothing of a believer, you could hardly imagine this man on the benches of a church, but you were also cruelly incapable of seeing and understanding who he really was.

when he stood up, you felt his hands on your skin, the coldness of his ring, but also the awkwardness of his touch. you could tell it was the first time he touched someone intimately, because he didn't really know where to put his hands but he also didn't know how to touch you without destroying you.

rafe cameron was not a god. he could break anything he touched. and maybe that was why he was so nervous and pathetic. you belonged to him now that he had created you so he refused to lose you without even knowing you.

he had hoped that god would make you a real woman, because you were perfect, too sublime to be just a piece of stone.

he didn't need to pull himself up to reach you, he was much taller, more intimidating in terms of size. he could lift you up and control you with just one hand.

you looked so alive so why, why did he only hear one heartbeat in the room? why was he alone breathing in this cold and empty room? why did you only have life in appearance?

you could feel in his look that he was questioning, that he was troubled, that all the beauty of his blue eyes was overwhelmed. but you had also felt his face so close to yours, his breath fanning across your molded lips. he had been hesitant, but his mouth had finally found yours.

and you surprised yourself by loving the taste of his pretty lips, but above all by being able to touch it.

and it was like that kiss had been real enough of how he felt about you that god had decided to give him a chance.

you had sensed all the ivory of your body, of your muscles, becoming sublimely gorgeous, all your stone beauty becoming human and alive. as if his devotion had allowed you to be free and to exist.

when he felt your mouth melt on his, he pulled back in fear. you weren’t supposed to be real even if he wanted you to be. since when did statues come to life?

"oh fuck, what's going on here?... i think i'm going crazy...all that fucking coke…”

“you created me.” you replied, slightly hurt by his reaction because he was supposed to be happy.

"no, you're not supposed to be alive. i mean, you're art, you can't be human."

“i’m human!” you contradicted, stepping forward from your marble base.

rafe wasn't sure if it was a nightmare or a dream. but his gaze was anchored on you, he couldn't take every inch of his eyes off your body. he was magnetized by your magnificence.

you came just close enough to take his hand and place it against your chest. “don’t be cold to me. don’t leave me. what would i do without you? you can't reject me. you need me. ”

maybe that was the game changer for rafe cameron. because he had just understood that since you were his, you belonged to him, you were entirely dependent on him. you couldn't escape, and above all, you had no desire to.

he could do what he wanted, you were like a doll created to respond to the slightest of his favors without ever complacent. you were not only perfect but unimaginable.

” be on your knees for me.”

and the next second, you were staring at him waiting for another order.

"mmh...i know your body by heart. i shape all of this. but you have never seen mine. no worry, i'm going to fix that, okay? you're going to please me tonight and not make me regret 'have given you life?”

you nodded in agreement and he smiled because you were too innocent, too sweet for someone like him. he had unzipped his pants, making them fall to his legs like his boxers.

and it was the first time you saw a naked man in front of you, but it was also fair for you because you had no clothes. “let me help you…” he offered with a smirk. his thumb had rolled over your lips, creating a slight slit between them. “ you need to open that pretty mouth wider...” he added, taking advantage of your vulnerability to use you.

"you know it will only hurt if you don't relax. so don't be tense. because even if it's big, you're gonna take it, doll. not gonna be easy on you because it's your first time. show me what you can do baby, let me feel how grateful you are for your creator. "

he had pushed his tip against your lips, forcing his way into your mouth, making you open bigger to accommodate his cock in your cavity. it was new to you, and you weren't even sure if you could satisfy him because it was the first time you had done something like that, and especially used your mouth in that way.

you thought this area was used to create intimacy between people, not to do dirty things.

“baby, i really appreciate how sweet you can be, but don’t let me do all the work…” he had scoffed. and your heart skipped a beat when he shoved himself further in your mouth, so much so that you felt him hit the back of your throat, all the speed of his harshly strokes leaving you breathless.

you choked on his movements, saliva pooling and dripping between the corners of your enlarged lips. “that’s what happens when you don’t do your part of the job properly…” his tone was falsely accusatory as you couldn’t catch your breath from his pace. he had no pity, you had turned on him too much. and to fix it, he blamed you by harassing your throat with his fat cock.

"but since you leave me no choice, let me show you how to be a good girl for me..." he had plugged your nose, pinching it hard, forcing you to take him entirely, without being able to breathe. his length swallowed in and out, your tongue barely able to support his weight which grew as he bullied your lips.

you belonged to him so he didn’t care if he ruined you a little. he told himself that he would repair you.

he released your nose when he felt you were about to pass, with a sadistic giggle. your eyes were wet with tears. “oh baby, don’t give me that look, you’re wasting your time, i don’t feel pity. ”

you continued to pump him until your jaw arched tighten and become more tense. he pulled out for a moment, spitting in your tongue, before using your throat again. his grunts were frantic and rapid, hot breaths in sync with the pornographic sounds that emanated from your sucking. his large palm was wrapped around the back of your neck, controlling your posture. “ give me that sweet eyes again, and i will make them cry.”

he took so much pleasure in watching you swallow him hard, grunting every time he entered your throat hoping to relax it but causing the opposite effect. "'ot finished. take those balls too." he had pulled back to lift his painfully throbbing dick and place it against his stomach, you had started to lick them, letting your tongue work the entire surface, coating them with saliva. "feel? how full they are. they're gonna stuff you real bad. " you sucked on them when he pushed them directly into your mouth, making him let out throaty sounds. your mouth felt so good, he wondered if your pussy would be just as her.

between your legs, it was completely soaked. your sloppy slit dripping onto the floor. it wasn’t like rafe was ignoring that mess. he was just purely mesmerized by your lips, by the way you cupped his balls so well, and how his cock reacted to each of your licks.

you were definitely his best work. it was more than art, it was heavenly. he was incapable of not using you after creating you. he had his urges, and you had to respond to them.

he had started fisting his length, leaving you lapping at his genitals dangling above your face. the cum had gushed through the air, landing on you. he had rubbed his trailing tip on your cheeks, giving a new color to your skin.

he wondered if you were human enough to feel all this degradation. in a short movement, he had placed you in front of the standing mirror of the workshop, and had driven his body against yours. he spat into his hand before jerking off a little, pressing the head of his cock against your sticky dirty folds.

he placed his arm across your stomach, one hand gripping one of your breast, pressing it more firmly once lodged inside you and grunted as he felt how tight you were, how hard your pussy stretched in his path. thanks to the mirror, he could see each of your reactions, but above all, see your part pumped each of his inches. all his size had disappeared between your flowing walls.

your twitching cunt clenched around his girth, your canal squeezing him. his thrusts were merciless, burrowing into your soiled folds. rafe rocked his hips roughly, as his dick bullied your puffy core. he wondered how a loser like him could have created a goddess like you. and he was desperate to know if he could make you stupid, if his cock that destroyed and filled you was good enough for someone like you.

you had created a mess and frustration in him.

he was in love with the bouncing flesh on your tummy against his arm, your tits swaying when you took him. it was a grace.

he reached out and hit your spot every time he buried himself inside you, his face sank in your left shoulder. you could feel the strands of his hair against your skin, his mouth against your collarbone. you were his, he was fucking you like this. you were only alive when he touched you. you could feel his obsession and adoration in every thrusts, no matter how brutal they were. it was his way of showing you that you couldn't escape him and that you could never.

his rhythm was hard, as your pudgy tummy jiggled under his strong fingers who were digging into you. you were so giddy, fucked like a ragdoll not able to said if it was the butterflies that make your stomach spiraling, or that thick dick shoved inch by inch further into your messy slick. his other digits at your clit, massaging the small and eager bud. he was big enough to maneuver you and embraced your small frame with his muscular biceps.

you were too little, too fragile underneath him.

he was your creator, he gave you air but he could also take it away from you. you were completely dependent, not only you, but every crumb of your body. he was pounding into you with the inability to detach his cock from your fluffy pussy. he loved hearing your voice choked with tears and moans against his ear. it was a sweet melody, a symphony.

your body was perfect, straddling his, your skin slapping his. your lips gurgling around his fingers that you could no longer take without dropping them, because of his violent assaults. you drooled all over your mouth, struggling with the drool that splashed all over his hand.

you couldn't see anything anymore, it was blurry. you didn't even feel tired anymore, you felt like a stupid doll, unable to think and reflect, only able to take this cock nastily harassing you and stretching you violently.

with his muscular and heavy hand on your throat, he forced you to look at the mirror. there was something incredible and perfect in his hands, and you knew it from the moment he started sculpting you. they were so good and incredible, covered with veins that systematically bulged. they captured your belly fat well. “don’t hide this from me. it’s my property.”

he had harpooned your flesh between his fingers, making it move and hang down more as he fucked you senseless.

“if i shaped you like that, that meant i wanted you like that.” your tummy was caged in his grasp. “ i mean, look at that belly, it's all beauty, i swear.”

he had moved his hand to the lower part of your stomach, pressing that area of your skin, feeling his bulge farther in you. in this corner of the room, there was only you and him, only your whimpers against his fingers and the pleasure you felt. there was only this mirror that stared at you and reflected you in the darkness with the only light of the moon as a beacon.

you were divine, you had the perfect body of a goddess. and even having cum with you, even causing your third orgasm, he didn't want to pull out. it was as if he was afraid of the emptiness he expected after this. and maybe you too were dreading the emptiness inside you after he filled you up so well, your soaked pussy dripping with his cum, drooling all over the floor.

he had finally taken it out, his fingers entering you to collect his mixture and place it against your lips. “don’t let it go to waste.”

you had cleaned his fingers until they were pure again.

he had his eyes on you, like a human in front of art.

he still didn't realize. but he refused to let you escape. but it wasn't like you could. he had created a home here, all over this room and in you. he had established a domain in every inch of your skin. he only had to see you to know that you were his own creation.

you kissed him, slightly awkwardly but he made up for it with his mouth on yours. “you can’t abandon me.” he whispered. “i don’t want to abandon you.”

and it felt good to hear your words. you didn't know him well enough, or not really, to know how sick he was. but you felt grateful that he gave you life, because it was priceless. he had made you, and you were his.

“ what are you doing?” when you felt chains encircling your wrists, you weren’t sure if you liked it. "i really want to believe in you sweetheart but i also can't trust anyone. you have legs, you can run away from me but with this metal, you're stuck.”

“i don’t really like it…” you admitted and he replied “no one likes it but the difference is that you don’t really have a choice either. you're mine. your feelings, your body, your eyes, all of that is mine. even that pouty sweet face of yours. ”

you turned your head to let him know that you didn't appreciate it, and to give him the silent treatment. and he smiled. “it doesn't kill me, baby. you can pout. ”

you didn’t respond. "you really want to give me this treatment? maybe you really don't want me to be nice to you after all..."

he had smiled. “"okay...I'll give you what you want." he had disappeared for a few minutes before coming back with an object that you couldn't identify. " what is this ? "

"now, baby wants to talk...but it's a little too late, i'm making the rules here so...say hello to your new favorite toy. it's a gagball.”

you didn't feel it was useful until the ball went into your mouth and stopped you from speaking. you could only drool and grumble around the object.

"why that face, baby? that's not what you wanted? i swear you still look pretty. just quieter. i'm going to go to sleep. and tomorrow you'll show me how sorry you are for that attitude. you want to know if i would forgive you? maybe it would be too easy, you understand? you have all night to prepare excuses and they better please me because i can be even more creative than that to punish you. “

the next day he woke up in a good mood. and above all, you were always there.

he had picked up the bottle of water from his table, wondering if you were thirsty. but when he arrived in front of you, he changed his mind. he used it to wake you up.

"i'm so clumsy...sorry, baby." but there wasn't an ounce of regret in his voice so you knew he was joking. you learned to read his face.

“you know how sorry i am…” he added, facing your gaze.

“you’re not…”

"yes, right. such a clever baby. are you thirsty?”

" yes..."

“maybe if you show me how good and nice you are today, i can consider bringing you another bottle.”

"what do you want..."

“it’s not what i want, sweetheart. but what you will do to satisfy me. see the small difference ? ”

it had been several weeks, a month in fact, since the day of your creation. you had spent your time in this workshop, chained to this wall. you were only alone when rafe left, when he left you in the shadows.

in fact, he was clearly having fun with you. you were dependent on his affection, and he knew it. you reacted to the slightest attention he gave you, even the most mean and bad. but above all you were incapable of hating rafe cameron.

he had made you a magnificent creature, a living human, you would be even crueler than him if you hated him.

after all, you were his muse. he had the right to use you. that was also the thought he had drilled into your brain.

everything he did was for you. and you should be grateful.

but sometimes he wondered, if he killed you, would you come back to life? was there magic in you or was he just in a fucking wonderful dream? he did enough coke to get high for days but this time it lasted too long for it to be fake.

your relationship was strange because sometimes you felt loved, especially when he hugged you after being rough with you, his palm gently caressing your back. like any human, there was tenderness in him. he could be nice. he knew how to be one but that didn't mean he enjoyed being one. he just thought that if he was too mean, you would disappear.

and that was not something he could tolerate. during all this time spent with you, he had not learned, no, he had not succeeded, to live without you.

artists brought art to life, but art gave meaning to the artists' lives.

before you, he was alone.

he had prayed for you. he needed you. it was his final call.

rafe cameron fell in love with you before he created you, before he even imagined you.

and maybe that was why he was so mean to you, because he never knew love, so how can you blame him for not knowing if you loved him back or make fun of him?

he was pathetic, full of rage and violence. but you couldn't hate him, because you and him shared the same tears. the same pain.

he made you, and you made him. he was afraid and you were scared. you wanted someone to love you, and he wanted someone that could love him.

“ i swear, y/n. don't leave me alone. even when you looked away, you make me feel like a monster when i'm not. so please, do the same as me. ”

“ what ? ”

“ don't make me feel like somebody else exists. i'm the only world you can live in. ”

1K notes · View notes

pucksandpower · 4 months ago

Text

To Hell With Duty

Lewis Hamilton x soulmate!Reader

Summary: you’ve always known that being Princess of the UK means that a soulmate is a luxury you can’t afford … but then you meet your soulmate and decide that some things are worth turning your back on duty for

Warnings: abusive family dynamics

Note: I promised to write something in honor of Lewis’ win and this was born (now I’m tempted to make a soulmate AU series)

The sun blazes overhead as you step out of the sleek black car, your designer heels clicking against the pavement. The roar of engines and the excited chatter of the crowd at Silverstone envelop you, but you can barely hear them over the pounding of your own heart.

“Your Royal Highness, this way please,” a smartly dressed aide gestures towards the paddock area.

You nod, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. As you walk, you absently rub your wrist, feeling the slight raised bumps of your soulmate mark beneath the carefully applied concealer.

��I wish you didn’t have to hide it,” your best friend and lady-in-waiting, Sophie, whispers beside you.

“You know I don’t have a choice,” you murmur back, glancing around to ensure no one overheard.

The memory of your brother’s ordeal flashes through your mind, as vivid and painful as the day it happened ...

“No, please! You can’t do this!” Edward’s anguished cries echoed through the palace halls.

You huddled in your room, hands pressed over your ears, trying to block out the sound. But nothing could drown out your brother’s screams as the royal physician burned away his soulmate tattoo.

Later, when you snuck into his room, you found him curled up on his bed, cradling his bandaged wrist.

“Eddie?” You whispered, your voice small and frightened.

He looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy. “Y/N ... I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

You climbed onto the bed beside him. “Why did they do it? Why can’t you be with your soulmate?”

Edward sighed, pulling you close. “Because we’re royals, little sister. Our marriages are about duty, not love. Soulmates ... they’re a luxury we can’t afford.”

“But that’s not fair!” You protested.

“No, it’s not,” he agreed, his voice hollow. “But it’s the price we pay for our position. Promise me something, Y/N. If you ever find your soulmate ... run. Run far away and don’t look back.”

The memory fades as Sophie gently squeezes your arm, bringing you back to the present.

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern etched on her face.

You take a deep breath, straightening your shoulders. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”

As you make your way through the paddock, you can’t help but feel a twinge of envy at the carefree laughter and excitement around you. Everywhere you look, people are proudly displaying their soulmate tattoos, some comparing them with friends, others stealing glances at strangers, wondering if today might be the day they meet their perfect match.

“Your Royal Highness,” a race official greets you with a bow. “We’re honored to have you here today. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to the VIP area.”

You nod, allowing yourself to be led through the crowded paddock. The official drones on about the day’s schedule, but your mind wanders.

“What do you think your soulmate is like?” Sophie had asked you once, years ago, when you were both giggling teenagers.

“I don’t know,” you had replied, tracing the words on your wrist. “But I hope they’re kind. And funny. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just my title.”

“You’ll find them one day,” Sophie had said confidently. “And when you do, it’ll be magical.”

Now, surrounded by the bustle and excitement of race day, that conversation feels like a lifetime ago. You’ve long since resigned yourself to the fact that you’ll never meet your soulmate. Even if you did, you could never act on it. The risk is too great.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the figure rounding the corner until it’s too late. You collide with a solid chest, stumbling backward. Strong hands grip your arms, steadying you before you can fall.

You look up, an apology on your lips, and find yourself staring into the most captivating brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Time seems to stand still as you gaze at each other, the world fading away around you.

And then he speaks, his voice low and warm.

“Whoa there, careful Princess. I’ve got you.”

***

Your heart stops as Lewis’ words sink in. They’re an exact match to the tattoo hidden beneath layers of concealer on your wrist. For a moment, you’re frozen, lost in his warm brown eyes, your mind reeling with the implications of what just happened.

Then reality comes crashing down. You can’t do this. You can’t put him in danger. You can’t risk the pain your brother went through.

“I ... I have to go,” you stammer, pulling away from his gentle grip.

Lewis’ brow furrows in confusion. “Wait, what’s wrong?”

But you’re already backing away, panic rising in your chest. “I’m sorry, I can’t ... this isn’t ... I have to leave.”

You turn and run, pushing past startled onlookers, your heart pounding in your ears. Behind you, you hear Lewis call out.

“Princess, wait! Your words ... they’re on my wrist!”

You falter for a moment, his words piercing through your panic. But no, it doesn’t matter. It can’t matter. You keep running.

“Y/N, please!” Lewis’ voice is closer now. He’s chasing after you. “I know you felt it too. We need to talk about this!”

You duck around a corner, trying to lose him in the maze of the paddock. But Lewis is faster, more familiar with the layout. He catches up to you in a quiet area behind one of the garages.

“Princess,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Please, just hear me out.”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill. “You don’t understand. We can’t do this. My family ... they’ll never allow it. They’ll hurt you, or worse.”

Lewis takes a cautious step closer. “What do you mean? Why would your family hurt me?”

“Because you’re my soulmate!” The words burst out before you can stop them. “And royals aren’t allowed to be with their soulmates. It’s all about duty and arranged marriages. They ... they burned off my brother’s mark when he found his soulmate.”

Lewis’ eyes widen in horror. “That’s barbaric. They can’t do that to you.”

You laugh bitterly. “They’re the royal family. They can do whatever they want.”

“No,” Lewis says firmly. “They can’t. Because I won’t let them.”

You look at him, confused. “What?”

Lewis takes your hand gently, his touch sending sparks through your body. “Y/N, I’m not just British. I’m also a Brazilian citizen. And in Brazil, there are laws protecting soulmates. If we’re truly matched, which I believe we are, you automatically gain Brazilian citizenship too. Your family can’t touch you there.”

Hope flares in your chest, but you quickly squash it down. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll find a way. They always do.”

“Not this time,” Lewis insists. “Look, I have a race to drive soon, but after that, we can fly to Brazil immediately. I’ll keep you safe until then.”

You shake your head. “It’s too dangerous. If they find out ...”

“They won’t,” Lewis promises. “My driver’s room is private and secure. You can hide there until after the race. No one will think to look for you there.”

You hesitate, torn between hope and fear. “I don’t know ...”

Lewis squeezes your hand gently. “I know we just met, but I’ve been waiting my whole life to find you. Please, give us a chance. Let me protect you.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Slowly, you nod. “Okay. But we have to be careful.”

Relief washes over Lewis’ face. “We will be. Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.”

He leads you quickly through the paddock, taking care to avoid busy areas. You keep your head down, heart racing every time you pass someone. Finally, you reach a door marked with Lewis’ name.

“Here we are,” he says, ushering you inside. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll knock three times, pause, then twice more. Okay?”

You nod, taking in the small but comfortable room. “Okay. But Lewis, what about your race? You can’t miss it because of me.”

He smiles reassuringly. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll race, and then we’ll leave right after. It’ll be fine.”

“But what if something goes wrong? What if they find me?” The fear creeps back into your voice.

Lewis takes your hands in his, his touch grounding you. “Hey, look at me. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise. We’re soulmates, remember? That means we’re in this together now.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But you’re also incredibly brave. You’ve lived with this fear your whole life, and you’re still standing. We can do this.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other for all of ten minutes and you’re already saying ‘we’?”

Lewis grins. “Well, that’s what happens when you meet your soulmate, I guess. Everything changes in an instant.”

You laugh softly, feeling some of the tension leave your body. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Listen,” Lewis says, his tone turning serious. “I know this is all happening very fast, and I don’t expect you to fall in love with me right away or anything. We’ll take things as slow as you want once we’re safe. But right now, I need you to trust me. Can you do that?”

You look into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and determination. Slowly, you nod. “Yes, I think I can.”

“Good,” Lewis smiles. “Now, I have to go get ready for the race. Remember, three knocks, pause, then two more. Don’t open for anyone else.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Be careful out there, okay?”

Lewis’ smile widens. “Always am, Princess. I’ll see you soon.”

As he leaves, you lock the door behind him, your heart still racing. You sink onto the small couch, trying to process everything that’s happened in the last hour.

You’ve found your soulmate. After years of hiding your tattoo, of living in fear of it being burned away like your brother’s, you’ve actually met the person whose words are etched on your skin.

And not just any person. Lewis Hamilton. World-famous driver, activist, and fashion icon. You’ve seen him on TV, of course, admired his skill on the track and his passion for social justice. But you never imagined ...

You rub your wrist absently, feeling the slight raised bumps of your mark beneath the concealer. For the first time in years, you allow yourself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, you can have the life you’ve always dreamed of.

But doubt creeps in. What if Lewis is wrong? What if Brazilian citizenship isn’t enough to protect you from your family’s influence? What if they find you before you can leave?

You pace the small room, alternating between hope and fear. The sound of engines revving in the distance tells you the race is about to start. You find yourself holding your breath every time you hear footsteps pass by the door, terrified it might be palace security coming to drag you away.

Time crawls by agonizingly slowly. You try to distract yourself by watching the race on the small TV in the corner, but every time the camera focuses on Lewis’ car, your heart leaps into your throat. You silently urge him to be careful, to finish the race quickly so you can escape.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear it. Three knocks, a pause, then two more. You rush to the door, your hand hesitating for just a moment before you unlock it.

Lewis slips inside quickly, closing and locking the door behind him. He’s still in his race suit, his hair damp with sweat.

“Are you okay?” You ask immediately. “How was the race?”

Lewis grins. “I’m fine, and I won. But that’s not important right now. We need to go.”

He grabs a bag from a locker and starts shoving clothes into it. “I’ve arranged for a private jet to take us to São Paulo. We need to leave now, before anyone realizes you’re missing.”

You nod, your heart racing again. “Okay. What do we do?”

“I’ve got some clothing here that might fit you,” Lewis says, pulling out a hoodie and sweatpants. “Put these on over your clothes. We’ll need to be discreet getting to the airport.”

As you change, Lewis continues talking. “Once we’re in Brazil, we’ll be safe. There are strict laws protecting soulmates there. Your family won’t be able to touch you.”

“But what about your career?” You ask, suddenly realizing what he’s giving up. “You can’t just leave everything behind for me.”

Lewis pauses, looking at you intently. “Y/N, you’re my soulmate. That means you’re more important than any career, any amount of fame or money. We’ll figure out the details later, but right now, keeping you safe is all that matters.”

His words make your heart swell. You’ve never had anyone put you first like this before. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Lewis smiles. “Just trust me, okay?”

You nod, feeling a sense of calm settle over you despite the chaotic situation. “I do trust you. Let’s go.”

Lewis takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Ready?”

You take a deep breath, thinking of all you’re leaving behind — your family, your duty, the only life you’ve ever known. But as you look at Lewis, you realize you’re also stepping into a new life. One where you’re free to be yourself, to love who you want, to follow your heart.

“Ready,” you say firmly.

And with that, Lewis opens the door, and together, you step out into your new future.

***

The private jet hums softly as it cuts through the night sky, carrying you away from everything you’ve ever known. You’re curled up against Lewis on the plush leather seat, your head resting on his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear is oddly comforting, grounding you in this surreal moment.

Lewis’ arm is wrapped around you, his hand gently stroking your back. With your free hand, you trace the lines of his soulmate tattoo — your first words to him, now etched forever on his skin.

“I still can’t believe this is real,” you murmur, your fingers following the curves of each letter.

Lewis chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through his chest. “I know what you mean. I’ve imagined meeting you so many times, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.”

You look up at him, a mixture of emotions swirling in your chest. “Weren’t you afraid? When you realized who I was?”

“Afraid?” Lewis considers for a moment. “No, not afraid. Excited, nervous, maybe a little overwhelmed. But not afraid.” He pauses, his expression growing serious. “But you were. You’re still afraid now, aren’t you?”

You nod slowly, dropping your gaze back to his wrist. “I’ve been afraid for so long, I’m not sure I know how to stop.”

Lewis’ hand moves to cup your face gently, encouraging you to look at him again. “Will you tell me about it? Help me understand?”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “It’s ... it’s not a pleasant story.”

“I’m here,” Lewis says softly. “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

His words, so simple yet so profound, give you the courage to begin. “It started with my brother, Edward. He was always the rebellious one, you know? Always pushing boundaries, questioning traditions. When he found his soulmate, he was over the moon. Her name was Lily, and she was ... she was perfect for him. Kind, funny, passionate about the same causes he was.”

You pause, the memory of your brother’s joy contrasting sharply with what came after. Lewis waits patiently, his presence a comforting anchor.

“For a few months, they managed to keep it a secret. But eventually, someone saw them together. Word got back to our parents and ...” You shudder, remembering that awful day. “They were furious. They gave Edward an ultimatum: give up Lily or give up his place in the line of succession.”

“That’s horrible,” Lewis murmurs, his arm tightening around you.

You nod, continuing, “Edward refused. He said Lily was more important than any throne. So they ... they decided to take matters into their own hands.”

Your voice breaks as you recount what happened next. “They had the royal physician burn off Edward’s soulmate mark. I can still hear his screams echoing through the palace. It was ... it was torture.”

Lewis’ body tenses beneath you, his voice tight with anger when he speaks. “They had no right. How could they do that to their own son?”

“They said it was for the good of the country,” you reply bitterly. “That royals can’t afford the luxury of soulmates. Our marriages are political tools, nothing more.”

“What happened to Edward and Lily?” Lewis asks gently.

You sigh heavily. “Edward was never the same after that. The spark in him just ... died. He does his duty now, makes the appearances he’s supposed to, but it’s like he’s just going through the motions. And Lily ... last I heard, she moved to Australia. I think being anywhere near the UK was too painful for her.”

Lewis is quiet for a moment, processing your words. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Y/N. No wonder you were scared when you realized we were soulmates.”

You nod, feeling the weight of years of fear and secrecy lifting as you share your story. “That’s not even the worst of it,” you admit softly.

Lewis looks at you, concern etched on his face. “There’s more?”

You take another deep breath, steeling yourself for the hardest part of the story. “My father ... he had an older sister. Aunt Margaret. I never met her, but I found out about her a few years ago.”

Lewis listens intently as you continue, “She found her soulmate when she was young, maybe 20 or so. And she refused to give him up, no matter what my grandparents said. They tried everything — threats, bribes, even attempting to arrange another match for her. But Margaret stood firm.”

“She sounds brave,” Lewis comments.

You nod, a sad smile touching your lips. “She was. But bravery wasn’t enough. One night, both Margaret and her soulmate disappeared. The official story was that they’d eloped, run off to start a new life together. But that wasn’t the truth.”

Lewis’ body tenses again, as if bracing for what’s coming. You press on, the words tumbling out now that you’ve started.

“Margaret’s soulmate was ... dealt with. Permanently. And Margaret herself was institutionalized. Locked away in a private facility, hidden from the world.”

“That’s ... that’s monstrous,” Lewis breathes, horror evident in his voice.

You nod, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “When I found out, I couldn’t believe it. I managed to find out where she was being held and I ... I visited her.”

Lewis’ hand resumes its gentle stroking of your back, encouraging you to continue.

“She was ... god, Lewis, she was just a shell. Decades of being locked away, of being separated from her soulmate ... it had broken her. She didn’t even seem to realize I was there.”

A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. Lewis gently wipes it away with his thumb.

“That’s why I was so scared,” you whisper. “I’ve seen what my family is capable of. What lengths they’ll go to in order to keep up appearances, to maintain their idea of duty.”

Lewis is quiet for a long moment, his arms tightening around you protectively. When he finally speaks, his voice is filled with a mix of anger and determination.

“Listen to me, Y/N,” he says firmly. “What happened to your brother, to your aunt ... it was wrong. Cruel and wrong. But I promise you, I will not let that happen to us.”

You look up at him, seeing the fierce protectiveness in his eyes. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because we’re not alone in this,” Lewis explains. “We have resources they don’t. My citizenship, for one. The laws protecting soulmates in Brazil. And beyond that, we have the power of public opinion.”

You frown, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

Lewis shifts slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Think about it. Your family’s power comes from public support, right? What do you think would happen if the world found out they were separating soulmates, institutionalizing people?”

“It would be a scandal,” you realize, your eyes widening.

“Exactly,” Lewis nods. “We’re not helpless. If they try anything, we can fight back. We can tell our story, rally support. The world has changed a lot. People believe in the sanctity of soulmates now more than ever.”

His words spark a tiny flame of hope in your chest. “You really think we could do that?”

“I know we could,” Lewis says confidently. “But more than that, I don’t think we’ll have to. Your family isn’t stupid. They’ll realize the risk isn’t worth it. Especially not with someone as high-profile as me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at that. “Modest, aren’t you?”

Lewis grins, the tension of the moment breaking. “Hey, I’m just stating facts. Seven-time world champion, remember?”

You roll your eyes playfully, but then grow serious again. “Lewis ... thank you. For listening, for understanding. For not running away when you realized how complicated this all is.”

“Hey,” Lewis says softly, tilting your chin up so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “You’re my soulmate. That means we’re in this together, complications and all. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words wash over you, soothing fears you’ve carried for so long. For the first time, you allow yourself to truly believe that maybe, just maybe, you can have this. You can have him.

“So,” you say, a small smile playing on your lips. “What happens now?”

Lewis grins, his eyes twinkling with excitement and possibility. “Now? Now we start our adventure. We land in São Paulo, get your citizenship sorted out, and then ... well, then the world’s our oyster. We can go anywhere, do anything.”

“Anything?” You ask, the concept of such freedom almost dizzying.

“Anything,” Lewis confirms. “We could travel the world. Or we could find a quiet place to settle down if that’s what you prefer. We could work on charitable causes together, or you could pursue whatever dreams you’ve had to put aside because of your royal duties.”

The possibilities swirl in your mind, each one more exciting than the last. “I ... I don’t even know where to start,” you admit.

Lewis chuckles, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We don’t have to decide everything right now. We’ve got time. For now, let’s just focus on getting to Brazil safely. We can figure out the rest as we go.”

You nod, settling back against his chest. The steady beat of his heart syncs with the hum of the jet engines, lulling you into a sense of peace you haven’t felt in years.

As you drift off to sleep, wrapped in the safety of your soulmate’s arms, you realize something. For the first time in your life, you’re not afraid of the future. Instead, you’re excited to see what it holds.

Whatever comes next, you’ll face it together. You and Lewis, two halves of a whole, finally united. The journey ahead may be uncertain, but with him by your side, you’re ready for anything.

***

As the private jet touches down on Brazilian soil, a mixture of excitement and nervousness flutters in your stomach. Lewis gives your hand a reassuring squeeze as the plane rolls to a stop.

“Ready?” He asks, his warm brown eyes meeting yours.

You take a deep breath and nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

The cabin door opens, and the humid Brazilian air rushes in. Lewis leads you down the steps, his hand never leaving yours. At the bottom, a tall woman in a crisp suit waits, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun.

“Mr. Hamilton,” she greets with a warm smile, extending her hand. “And Your Royal Highness. Welcome to Brazil. I’m Dr. Raquel Santos from the Department of Soulmate Affairs.”

Lewis shakes her hand. “Dr. Santos, thank you for meeting us on such short notice.”

“Of course,” she replies, turning to you. “Your Highness, it’s an honor.”

You shake her hand, feeling slightly overwhelmed. “Please, just call me Y/N. I ... I’m not sure how much of a royal I am anymore.”

Dr. Santos’ smile softens. “Of course, Y/N. Why don’t we move this conversation somewhere more private? I have a car waiting to take us to a secure location where we can discuss everything in detail.”

You and Lewis follow her to a sleek black car. Once inside, Dr. Santos turns to face you both.

“First and foremost,” she begins, “I want to assure you that you are under the full protection of Brazilian law. As soon as you stepped off that plane, Y/N, you became entitled to all the rights and protections we offer to soulmates.”

“Just like that?” You ask, hardly daring to believe it could be so simple.

Dr. Santos nods. “Just like that. Brazil takes soulmate rights very seriously. We believe that the bond between soulmates is sacred and should be protected at all costs.”

Lewis leans forward, his expression serious. “What exactly does that protection entail? Y/N’s situation is ... complicated.”

“I understand,” Dr. Santos says. “Your assistant filled me in on some of the details during our phone call. Let me break down the key points for you.”

As the car glides through the streets of São Paulo, Dr. Santos begins her explanation.

“First, as the soulmate of a Brazilian citizen, Y/N is immediately eligible for Brazilian citizenship. We can begin the paperwork right away. This will provide an added layer of protection against any attempts at extradition.”

You feel a weight lift off your shoulders at her words. “So my family can’t force me to return to the UK?”

“Correct,” Dr. Santos confirms. “Brazil does not recognize any authority over soulmate bonds, not even royal decrees. Your status as a princess is irrelevant in the eyes of our law when it comes to your rights as a soulmate.”

Lewis squeezes your hand, a smile playing on his lips. “See? I told you we’d figure it out.”

Dr. Santos continues, “Furthermore, we have specific laws protecting soulmates from forced separation. Any attempt to interfere with your bond — be it physical separation, coercion, or even attempts to remove or alter your soulmate marks — is considered a serious crime in Brazil.”

You unconsciously rub your wrist where your tattoo is hidden. “What about ... what if they try to claim I’m mentally unfit or something? To try and invalidate my choices?”

Dr. Santos’ expression turns serious. “We’ve seen such tactics used before, unfortunately. That’s why we have safeguards in place. Any claims of mental unfitness would require extensive evaluation by multiple independent Brazilian psychiatrists.”

“And if they try to use their diplomatic influence?” Lewis asks.

“Brazil’s stance on soulmate rights is non-negotiable,” Dr. Santos states firmly. “We’ve stood up to pressure from other nations before, and we won’t hesitate to do so again. Your bond is protected here, regardless of external political pressures.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “This all sounds almost too good to be true.”

Dr. Santos smiles warmly. “I understand your caution, Y/N. But I assure you, these protections are very real and very enforceable. Now, let me explain some of the practical aspects of your situation.”

As the car turns onto a quieter street, Dr. Santos pulls out a tablet. “We’ll need to register your bond officially. This involves a simple verification process — usually just a visual confirmation of a matching font on your soulmate marks. Once registered, you’ll be issued official documentation of your bond status.”

“What does that documentation do?” You ask, leaning forward with interest.

“It serves several purposes,” Dr. Santos explains. “Firstly, it’s legal proof of your bond, which can be used to claim various rights and protections under Brazilian law. It also serves as a form of identification and can be used to expedite your citizenship application.”

Lewis nods thoughtfully. “And what about privacy? Given our high profiles, we’re concerned about information leaks.”

“An excellent question,” Dr. Santos says. “We take privacy very seriously, especially in high-profile cases like yours. All information related to your bond and Y/N’s presence in Brazil will be classified at the highest level. Only a select few government officials will have access to this information.”

You feel a surge of gratitude towards this woman and the country she represents. “Dr. Santos, I can’t thank you enough for all of this.”

She smiles warmly. “It’s my pleasure. Protecting soulmates is not just my job, it’s my passion. Now, let’s discuss some of the support services available to you.”

As the car pulls up to a nondescript building, Dr. Santos continues her explanation. “We offer counseling services specifically tailored for soulmates who have faced separation or threats to their bond. These services are completely confidential and can be invaluable in helping you process your experiences and adjust to your new life.”

You nod, feeling a lump form in your throat. “I think ... I think that might be really helpful.”

Lewis wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “We’ll get through this together, love. Whatever you need.”

Dr. Santos leads you into the building and up to a comfortably furnished office. As you all take seats, she pulls out some forms.

“Now, I know this is a lot to take in,” she says gently. “But I’d like to start the official registration process, if you’re ready. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you’ll have legal protection.”

You look at Lewis, who gives you an encouraging nod. “Okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

As Dr. Santos begins to explain the forms, a thought occurs to you. “Dr. Santos, what about Lewis? How will all of this affect his career?”

Dr. Santos smiles. “I’m glad you asked. Mr. Hamilton, as a Brazilian citizen, you have the right to have your soulmate with you wherever your career takes you. We can provide diplomatic assistance to ensure Y/N can travel with you freely, without risk of detention or forced return to the UK.”

Lewis grins, looking relieved. “That’s fantastic news. I was worried I might have to give up racing.”

“Not at all,” Dr. Santos assures him. “We believe that soulmates should support each other’s dreams and ambitions. Our laws are designed to facilitate that.”

As you begin filling out the forms, a sense of surreal calm washes over you. For the first time in your life, you feel truly protected, truly free to be with the person you’re meant to be with.

“There’s one more thing,” Dr. Santos says as you finish the paperwork. “As part of our soulmate protection program, we offer a safe house service. It’s a secure location where you can stay while you adjust to your new situation and decide on your next steps. Would you be interested in that?”

You and Lewis exchange a look. “I think that might be a good idea,” Lewis says. “At least for a little while, until we figure things out. My home here isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

You nod in agreement. “Yes, please. That sounds perfect.”

Dr. Santos smiles, clearly pleased. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements right away. The location is completely confidential and guarded 24/7. You’ll be safe there.”

As she stands to make some calls, you turn to Lewis, feeling overwhelmed by everything that’s happened.

“Lewis,” you say softly, “I can’t believe you’ve done all this for me. You’ve turned your whole life upside down.”

He takes your hands in his, his eyes shining with emotion. “You’re my soulmate. My whole life was leading up to finding you. Everything else? It’s just details we’ll figure out together.”

You lean in, resting your forehead against his. For the first time since you can remember, you feel truly, completely safe. Protected not just by laws and governments, but by the love of the person you were always meant to find.

As Dr. Santos returns to finalize the arrangements, you realize that this isn’t just the end of your old life. It’s the beginning of something new, something wonderful. A life where you’re free to love, free to be yourself, free to explore the bond that fate has given you.

Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know now that you won’t face them alone. You have Lewis, you have the protection of Brazilian law, and most importantly, you have hope. The future, once so terrifying, now shines with possibility.

And as you leave the office hand in hand with Lewis, ready to start your new life together, you can’t help but smile. Because for the first time, you’re not running away from something.

You’re running towards it.

***

The roar of engines and the buzz of excitement fill the air as you stand at the entrance to the Autódromo José Carlos Pace. Your heart pounds in your chest, a mix of nerves and exhilaration coursing through your veins. Lewis’ hand is warm and steady in yours, a constant reminder that you’re not alone.

“Are you ready for this?” Lewis asks, his brown eyes searching yours with concern.

You take a deep breath, squeezing his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be. It’s time to stop hiding.”

Lewis nods, a proud smile lighting up his face. “That’s my girl. Remember, whatever happens, we’re in this together.”

With one last reassuring squeeze, Lewis leads you into the paddock. The moment you step into view, a hush falls over the nearby crowd. Then, like a wave, whispers and exclamations ripple outward.

“Is that ...”

“It can’t be ...”

“The princess!”

“With Lewis Hamilton?”

Cameras flash in a frenzy, and reporters surge forward, held back only by the security team flanking you and Lewis. You keep your head high, your hand firmly in Lewis’ as you make your way through the paddock.

A brave reporter manages to shout a question over the commotion. “Your Highness! Is it true you’ve been in hiding in Brazil?”

You pause, looking to Lewis. He gives you an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, you turn to face the press.

“Yes, it’s true,” you say, your voice steady despite your nerves. “I’ve been in Brazil for the past few months, under the protection of the Brazilian government.”

The questions come rapid-fire after that.

“Why did you leave the UK?”

“Are you and Lewis Hamilton really soulmates?”

“What does the royal family have to say about this?”

Lewis steps forward, his arm protectively around your waist. “We’ll be holding a press conference later to address all your questions. For now, we ask for your patience and understanding as we prepare for the race.”

As you continue through the paddock, you can’t help but think back on the tumultuous months that led to this moment ...

The first few weeks in Brazil had been a whirlwind of paperwork, security briefings, and adjusting to your new reality. You and Lewis had stayed in the safe house provided by the Brazilian government, venturing out only when necessary and always under heavy guard.

One morning, about a month into your stay, Dr. Santos had arrived with a grim expression.

“We’ve intercepted some concerning communications,” she had said, her usual calm demeanor tinged with worry. “It seems the British royal family has intensified their search for you, Y/N. They’re making threats.”

You had felt your heart drop. “What kind of threats?”

Dr. Santos had hesitated before answering. “They’re threatening to use their diplomatic influence to pressure Brazil into returning you. They’re also ... they’re suggesting that you might be mentally unfit, that you’ve been coerced or manipulated.”

Lewis had immediately pulled you close, his jaw clenched in anger. “They can’t do that. We won’t let them.”

“And we won’t,” Dr. Santos had assured you both. “Our stance on soulmate rights is non-negotiable. But I want you to be prepared. This might get ugly.”

And it had. Over the next few months, your family had tried everything. Diplomatic pressure, media manipulation, even attempts to infiltrate Brazilian government systems to locate you. But Brazil had stood firm, and you had remained safe.

A commotion near the Mercedes garage snaps you back to the present. You see a group of men in dark suits pushing their way through the crowd, their expressions grim and determined. Your blood runs cold as you recognize one of them — your father’s head of security.

“Lewis,” you whisper urgently, “they’re here.”

Lewis’ arm tightens around you as he quickly assesses the situation. “Stay calm. Remember the plan.”

As the men approach, the lead one steps forward, his voice loud and authoritative. “Your Royal Highness, by order of His Majesty the King, you are to return to the United Kingdom immediately.”

You feel all eyes on you, the paddock having gone deathly quiet. Taking a deep breath, you step forward, your voice clear and steady. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I am here of my own free will, protected by Brazilian law as the soulmate of a Brazilian citizen.”

The man’s expression hardens. “Your Highness, please don’t make this difficult. Your family is concerned for your well-being. They believe you may have been coerced or manipulated-”

“The only manipulation here,” Lewis interrupts, his voice sharp, “is coming from those who would separate soulmates for political gain.”

Just then, Dr. Santos appears, flanked by Brazilian officials. “Gentlemen,” she says coolly to the British security team, “I’m afraid you’re overstepping. Y/N is under the protection of the Brazilian government. Any attempt to remove her against her will would be considered means for an international incident.”

The head of security sputters, clearly not having expected this level of resistance. “This is a family matter-”

“No,” you interject, your voice stronger now. “This is a matter of human rights. The right to be with one’s soulmate. A right that Brazil recognizes and protects.”

Dr. Santos nods approvingly. “Furthermore, any claims of mental unfitness have been thoroughly disproven by independent psychiatric evaluation. Y/N is here of her own free will, in full possession of her faculties.”

The security team looks at each other uncertainly, clearly realizing they’re outmatched. The lead man makes one last attempt. “Your Highness, please. Your family misses you. They want you to come home.”

For a moment, you feel a pang of sadness for the life you left behind. But then you feel Lewis’ steady presence beside you, and you know you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“I am home,” you say softly but firmly. “My home is with my soulmate, wherever that may be.”

The man opens his mouth to argue further, but Dr. Santos cuts him off. “Gentlemen, I believe it’s time for you to leave. Unless you’d like us to involve the authorities?”

Realizing they’re defeated, the security team begins to retreat. As they leave, you hear murmurs of admiration and support from the crowd that has gathered to watch the confrontation.

Lewis pulls you into a tight embrace. “You were amazing,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

As you pull back, you see reporters clamoring for comments, their cameras flashing incessantly. Dr. Santos steps forward to address them.

“A full press conference will be held later today,” she announces. “For now, I can confirm that Y/N, formally known as Her Royal Highness, is here legally and of her own free will as the soulmate of Lewis Hamilton. She is under the full protection of Brazilian law, and any attempts to interfere with their bond will be met with the full force of our legal system.”

As Dr. Santos continues to field questions, Lewis turns to you. “Are you okay?” He asks softly, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “I’m more than okay. For the first time, I feel ... free.”

Lewis grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because we’ve got a race to win.”

As you make your way to the Mercedes garage, you’re overwhelmed by the support you receive. Team members, other drivers, and even fans call out words of encouragement.

“We’ve got your back, Y/N!”

“Love wins!”

“You show ‘em, Lewis!”

Inside the garage, the team greets you warmly. Toto approaches with a smile.

“Y/N, Lewis,” he says, shaking both your hands. “That was quite an entrance. Are you sure you’re up for all this today?”

You nod firmly. “Absolutely. It’s time to show the world that love doesn’t make you weak. It makes you stronger.”

Lewis beams at your words. “Couldn’t have said it better myself. Now, let’s go win this race, yeah?”

As Lewis begins his pre-race preparations, you find a quiet corner to collect your thoughts. The events of the past few months flash through your mind — the fear, the uncertainty, but also the overwhelming love and support you’ve received.

You think about your family, about the life you left behind. There’s sadness there, but no regret. You’ve found something more precious than any crown — the freedom to love, to be yourself, to follow your heart.

A gentle hand on your shoulder pulls you from your thoughts. You look up to see Lewis, now in his race suit, his helmet tucked under his arm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks softly.

You smile, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. How grateful I am for you, for Brazil, for everyone who’s supported us.”

Lewis leans into your touch, his eyes shining with emotion. “We’re the lucky ones, Y/N. To have found each other, to have this chance at happiness. And I promise you, I’ll spend every day making sure you never regret your choice.”

You stand, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I could never regret choosing you. You’re my soulmate, my home, my everything.”

As you lean in for a kiss, the garage erupts in cheers and whistles. You break apart, laughing, to see the entire team watching with grins on their faces.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Toto calls out good-naturedly. “Save it for after the race. Lewis, you’ve got a championship to chase.”

Lewis gives you one last quick kiss before pulling on his helmet. “Watch me fly, Princess,” he says with a wink.

As he heads out to the track, you take your place in the garage, surrounded by your new family — the team that has embraced you without question. You feel a sense of belonging, of purpose, that you’ve never experienced before.

The roar of engines fills the air as the race begins. You watch Lewis navigate the track with precision and skill, your heart swelling with pride and love. This is your life now — the excitement of race day, the thrill of competition, but most importantly, the joy of being with your soulmate.

As Lewis crosses the finish line in first place, the garage erupts in celebration. You rush out to meet him in parc fermé, not caring about protocol or propriety. Lewis sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around as the crowd cheers.

In that moment, with the sun shining down and the sound of celebration all around, you know that you’ve made the right choice. This is where you belong — by Lewis’ side, free to love and be loved, ready to face whatever challenges come your way.

Together.

***

The familiar scent of motor oil and rubber fills the air as you step onto British soil for the first time in over a year. Silverstone buzzes with excitement, but you can’t shake the nervous energy coursing through your veins. Lewis’ hand finds yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You okay?” He asks softly, his eyes searching yours with concern.

You take a deep breath, nodding. “I think so. It’s just ... strange being back.”

Lewis pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Remember, you’re not alone. We’ve got security everywhere, and I’m right here with you.”

As if on cue, the head of your security team, a tall, no-nonsense woman named Maria, approaches. “Everything’s clear, Ms. Y/N. We’ve swept the entire area and have eyes on all entry points.”

You smile gratefully at her. “Thank you, Maria. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Maria’s stern expression softens slightly. “Just doing our job, ma’am. Your safety is our top priority.”

As you make your way through the paddock, you can’t help but notice the stares and whispers that follow you. Some are curious, others admiring, and a few ... less than friendly. But your security team forms a protective barrier around you and Lewis, keeping any potential trouble at bay.

“Y/N! Lewis!” A familiar voice calls out. You turn to see Fred Vasseur approaching, a warm smile on his face. “Welcome back to Silverstone. How are you holding up?”

“It’s ... intense,” you admit. “But I’m glad to be here, supporting Lewis.”

Fred nods understandingly. “Well, you’ve got the whole team behind you. Anyone gives you trouble, they’ll have to answer to all of Ferrari.”

As you continue through the paddock, greeting team members and other drivers, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. Not just by the curious onlookers, but by someone ... familiar.

That’s when you see him. Standing near the VIP area, looking as regal and composed as ever, is your brother.

Your heart skips a beat. You haven’t seen Edward since that fateful day you ran away. Lewis, sensing your tension, follows your gaze.

“Is that ...” he asks quietly.

You nod, unable to find words. Lewis turns to Maria. “Can you make sure we have a private moment?”

Maria nods, already signaling to her team. Within moments, they’ve created a small bubble of privacy around you and Edward.

Edward approaches slowly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you both just stand there, years of unspoken words hanging between you.

Then, to your surprise, Edward’s composure cracks. His eyes fill with tears as he pulls you into a tight embrace.

“Y/N,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You cling to him, your own tears falling freely. “Eddie ... I’m so sorry I left without saying goodbye. I just ... I couldn’t ...”

Edward pulls back, holding you at arm’s length. His eyes roam your face, as if memorizing every detail. “Don’t apologize. Not ever. What you did ... Y/N, I am so incredibly proud of you.”

His words catch you off guard. “Proud? But I abandoned the family, my duties ...”

Edward shakes his head firmly. “You chose love. You chose happiness. You did what I was too weak to do.”

You glance at Lewis, who’s standing a respectful distance away, giving you this moment with your brother. “Edward, this is Lewis. My soulmate.”

Edward extends his hand to Lewis. “It’s an honor to meet you, Lewis. Thank you for protecting my sister and giving her the happiness she deserves.”

Lewis shakes his hand, his expression sincere. “The honor is mine, Your Highness. Y/N is the bravest, most amazing person I know. I’m just lucky to be part of her life.”

Edward’s smile is tinged with sadness. “Please, call me Edward. And you’re right, she is amazing. Always has been.”

You look at your brother closely, noticing the lines of stress around his eyes, the slight slump in his shoulders. “Eddie ... how are you? Really?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s ... not easy. The family is in turmoil after your departure. Father is furious, Mother is heartbroken, and I’m ... well, I’m trying to hold it all together.”

“And Lily?” You ask softly, referring to Edward’s soulmate. “Have you heard from her?”

Edward’s expression clouds over. “No. Not since ... not since that day.”

You take your brother’s hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not too late, you know. You could still reach out to her.”

Edward laughs bitterly. “And say what? ‘Sorry I let them burn off my soulmate mark and married someone else. Want to grab coffee?’”

Lewis steps forward, his voice gentle but firm. “With all due respect, Your High- Edward, it’s never too late. The bond between soulmates ... it’s not something that can be erased, no matter what’s done to the physical mark.”

Edward looks at Lewis, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “You really believe that?”

Lewis nods. “I do. Y/N and I found each other against all odds. Who’s to say you and Lily can’t do the same?”

You squeeze Edward’s hand again. “Eddie, you deserve to be happy. You deserve love. It’s not too late to choose yourself, to choose love.”

Edward looks torn, glancing around at the crowds, the cameras, the weight of expectation that’s always surrounded you both. “But the family ...”

“Will still be there,” you say softly. “But you’ll be facing them as your true self, with your soulmate by your side. It makes all the difference, trust me.”

Your brother is quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with years of ingrained duty and expectation. Finally, he looks up, a new determination in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he says, his voice growing stronger. “You’re absolutely right. I’ve spent too long living for everyone else. It’s time I lived for myself.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Does this mean ...”

Edward nods, a mix of fear and excitement in his eyes. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to find Lily. I’m going to make things right.”

You throw your arms around your brother, hugging him tightly. “I’m so proud of you, Eddie. And I’ll be here for you, every step of the way.”

As you pull back, you see tears in Edward’s eyes, but also a lightness that you haven’t seen in years. “Thank you. For showing me that it’s possible to choose love. For being brave enough to pave the way.”

Lewis steps forward, placing a hand on Edward’s shoulder. “If you need any help — legal advice, security, anything — just say the word. You’re family now.”

Edward looks at Lewis gratefully. “Thank you. I might just take you up on that.”

Just then, Maria approaches discreetly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to move. The press is getting restless.”

You nod, turning back to Edward. “Will you be okay?”

He takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I will be. For the first time in a long time, I think I really will be.”

As you prepare to part ways, Edward pulls you in for one last hug. “I love you, little sister. Thank you for reminding me what’s truly important.”

“I love you too, Eddie,” you whisper back. “Go find your happiness. You deserve it.”

With one last squeeze, Edward steps back. As he walks away, you see him pull out his phone, a look of determination on his face. You have a feeling you know exactly who he’s about to call.

Lewis wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. “You okay, love?”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear. “More than okay. I feel ... hopeful. For Eddie, for us, for everything.”

As you make your way back through the paddock, you’re struck by how different everything feels. The stares don’t bother you as much, the whispers fade into background noise. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be, with the person you’re meant to be with.

“You know,” Lewis says as you reach the Ferrari garage, “I think I’m going to win this race.”

You raise an eyebrow, a smile playing on your lips. “Oh? And what makes you so sure?”

Lewis grins, pulling you close. “Because I’ve got my lucky charm by my side. How can I lose?”

You laugh, the sound light and free. “Well, in that case, you’d better not disappoint. I expect nothing less than a victory, Sir Hamilton.”

As Lewis leans in for a kiss, you’re vaguely aware of cameras flashing and people cheering. But none of that matters. What matters is this moment, this love, this life you’ve chosen.

You think back to a year ago, when you were terrified of finding your soulmate, of the consequences it would bring. Now, standing here at Silverstone, with Lewis by your side and the hope of your brother finding his own happiness, you realize that choosing love wasn’t just the brave choice.

It was the only choice.

As Lewis heads off to prepare for the race, you take your place in the garage. The roar of engines fills the air, and you feel a surge of excitement.

This is your life now. Supporting Lewis, championing love, and showing the world that sometimes, the greatest act of duty is being true to yourself.

As the race begins, you watch Lewis tear around the track, your heart swelling with pride and love. You may not wear a tiara anymore, but you’ve gained something far more precious — the freedom to love, to choose, to be yourself.

And as the chequered flag waves and Lewis crosses the finish line in first place, you know that this victory isn’t just his.

It’s yours. It’s Edward’s. It’s everyone who’s ever had the courage to choose love over duty, happiness over expectation.

As you rush to congratulate Lewis, wrapped in his arms as the crowd cheers, you know that this is just the beginning. There will be challenges ahead, obstacles to overcome. But with love by your side and the strength to be true to yourself, you’re ready to face whatever comes.

Because in the end, love always wins. And you? You’re living proof of that.

***

The warm Brazilian sun streams through the windows of the spacious beachfront home, filling the living room with a golden glow. The sound of children’s laughter mingles with the distant crash of waves, creating a symphony of domestic bliss.

You’re seated on the plush carpet, surrounded by an array of colorful toys. Your three-year-old daughter, Emilia, is busily stacking blocks, her little face scrunched in concentration. Across from you, Edward is attempting to wrangle his own two-year-old son, James, who seems more interested in knocking down Emilia’s creations than building his own.

“James, darling, let’s build our own tower, shall we?” Edward coaxes gently, redirecting his son’s attention.

You can’t help but smile at the scene. Five years ago, you never could have imagined this — you and Edward, raising your children together, free from the constraints of royal duty.

The sound of a door opening draws your attention. Lewis walks in, his arms full of grocery bags, closely followed by Lily.

“We come bearing snacks!” Lewis announces with a grin.

Emilia’s head snaps up at the sight of her favorite person. “Daddy!” She squeals, abandoning her blocks and running to Lewis.

Lewis sets down the bags just in time to scoop up his daughter, peppering her face with kisses. “Hello, my little racer. Have you been good for Mummy?”

Emilia nods enthusiastically. “I builded a big tower!”

“Built, sweetheart,” you correct gently, getting to your feet. “And it was a very impressive tower indeed.”

Lewis sets Emilia down and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in for a quick kiss. “And how’s my other favorite girl doing?”

You smile, leaning into his embrace. “Better now that you’re home. How was the market?”

“Busy,” Lily chimes in, setting down her own bags. “But we managed to get everything on the list, plus a few extras.”

Edward stands, hoisting James onto his hip. “Extras, you say? Let me guess — more of those brigadeiros that you’re definitely not addicted to, right, love?”

Lily’s cheeks flush slightly as she laughs. “I plead the fifth. This baby wants what it wants.”

Your eyes light up at the reminder. Lily is five months pregnant with their second child, and you’re all buzzing with excitement.

“Speaking of the baby,” you say, moving to help unpack the groceries, “have you two decided if you’re going to find out the gender?”

Edward and Lily exchange a look. “We’re still debating,” Edward admits. “Part of me wants to know, but there’s also something nice about the surprise.”

Lewis chuckles, joining you in the kitchen. “I remember that debate. Though if I recall correctly, someone couldn’t handle the suspense and made me call the doctor at two in the morning to find out.”

You playfully swat his arm. “Hey, you were just as curious as I was!”

As you all work together to put away the groceries and prepare snacks for the kids, you’re struck by how natural this all feels. The easy banter, the shared responsibilities, the love that permeates every interaction. It’s a far cry from the rigid formality of your royal upbringing.

“You know,” Edward says, as if reading your thoughts, “sometimes I still can’t believe this is our life now.”

You nod, understanding completely. “I know what you mean. It’s so different from what we always thought our futures would be.”

Lily comes up behind Edward, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Different, but better, right?”

Edward turns, pulling her close. “Infinitely better. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

As you watch your brother with his soulmate, you feel a wave of happiness and gratitude wash over you. It hadn’t been easy for Edward to follow in your footsteps, to give up his place in the line of succession and choose love over duty. But seeing him now, so relaxed and genuinely happy, you know it was worth every struggle.

“Earth to Y/N,” Lewis’ voice breaks through your reverie. “Where’d you go just now?”

You smile, shaking your head. “Just thinking about how far we’ve all come. How different things could have been.”

Lewis nods, understanding in his eyes. “Do you ever regret it? Giving up your title, your life in England?”

You don’t hesitate for a second. “Never. This life, with you, with our family — it’s more than I ever dreamed possible.”

A sudden crash from the living room interrupts the moment. You all rush in to find James standing triumphantly atop a mountain of scattered blocks, while Emilia looks on in horror.

“James Edward Henry Albert Windsor!” Lily exclaims, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her amusement. “What have we said about destroying other people’s creations?”

James, looking not at all repentant, grins widely. “I king of the castle!”

Edward struggles to keep a straight face as he lifts his son off the block mountain. “Yes, well, kings should be builders, not destroyers. Let’s clean this up and then we can all build a castle together, okay?”

As you all pitch in to help clean up the blocks, Emilia tugs on your sleeve. “Mummy, will James be a real king someday?”

The question catches you off guard. You exchange a look with Edward, unsure how to explain the complicated reality of your family’s situation.

Lewis kneels down next to Emilia, his voice gentle. “No, sweetheart. James won’t be a king and you won’t be a princess. But that’s okay, because you get to be something even better.”

Emilia’s eyes widen with curiosity. “What’s that, Daddy?”

Lewis smiles, pulling her into a hug. “You get to be yourself. You get to choose who you want to be and what you want to do with your life. And that’s much more special.”

You feel tears prick at your eyes, overwhelmed by the simple beauty of Lewis’ words. This is why you left, why you chose this life. So that your children could have the freedom you and Edward never had growing up.

As the afternoon wears on, you all migrate to the back patio. The kids play in the sand under the watchful eyes of their parents, while you, Lewis, Edward, and Lily relax on the comfortable outdoor furniture.

“So,” Lily says, her hand resting on her growing belly, “have you two given any thought to expanding your own family?”

You and Lewis share a knowing look. “Actually,” you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice, “we’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.”

Edward raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Do tell, little sister.”

Lewis takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’re thinking of adopting. There are so many children out there who need loving homes, and we have more than enough love to give.”

“That’s wonderful!” Lily exclaims, her eyes shining. “Oh, Emilia would love a little brother or sister.”

You nod, watching your daughter play. “We think so too. We’re just starting the process, but it feels right.”

Edward leans forward, his expression serious. “Have you thought about how this might affect things back in England? The press ...”

You sigh, having expected this question. “We have. And honestly, we’ve decided that it doesn’t matter what they think. This is our life, our family. We’re not going to let fear of judgment or outdated institutions dictate our choices anymore.”

Lewis nods in agreement. “We’ve already faced the worst they could throw at us. We came out stronger. Whatever comes next, we can handle it together.”

Edward’s serious expression melts into a proud smile. “You’re right, of course. I’m sorry, old habits die hard I suppose. I’m thrilled for you both, truly.”

As the conversation flows, touching on everything from potential names for Lily and Edward’s baby to Lewis’ upcoming ambassador campaign, you’re struck by how perfectly imperfect this life is. It’s messy and chaotic at times, full of unexpected challenges and joy in equal measure. But it’s real, and it’s yours.

The sun begins to set, painting the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink. James and Emilia, tired from their day of play, curl up in their fathers’ laps. As you watch your brother gently stroke his son’s hair, you remember a conversation from years ago.

“Eddie,” you say softly, “do you remember what you told me the day they ... the day they burned off your soulmate mark?”

Edward looks up, his eyes clouding with the memory. “I told you that if you ever found your soulmate, you should run. Run far away and don’t look back.”

You nod, feeling Lewis’ arm tighten around you. “I’m so glad I took your advice. And I’m even more glad that you eventually followed it too.”

Edward smiles, looking down at James and then over at Lily. “So am I, Y/N. So am I.”

As the evening draws in, you all move inside. The kids are put to bed, their excited chatter about building sandcastles and racing cars fading into peaceful sleep. You, Lewis, Edward, and Lily settle in the living room, glasses of wine in hand (sparkling juice for Lily).

“A toast,” Lewis proposes, raising his glass. “To family, to love, and to the courage to choose our own path.”

“To freedom,” Edward adds, his eyes shining with emotion.

“To second chances,” Lily chimes in, her hand resting on her belly.

You raise your own glass, feeling a swell of emotion. “To us. All of us. And to the beautiful, chaotic, perfectly imperfect life we’ve built together.”

As you clink glasses, you catch Lewis’ eye. In that moment, you’re transported back to that day at Silverstone, when you first ran into each other. The fear, the excitement, the life-changing decision you made in an instant.

You wouldn’t change a thing.

As the night wears on and conversation flows freely, you realize that this — this warmth, this love, this freedom — this is what happily ever after really looks like. It’s not a fairy tale ending, but a beginning. A beginning of a life filled with love, choice, and the joy of being truly yourself.

And as you curl up in bed that night, Lewis’ arms around you and the sound of the ocean in the distance, you know that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Your family’s story is still being written. And you can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings.

2K notes · View notes

euthymiya · 5 months ago

Text

i do (the practice round) — ft. gojo satoru

satoru doesn’t drink often—but when he does, it’s always because there’s something heavy on his mind. you figure out just what it is as you shove a wasted satoru into your car in the middle of the night

before you read: fem reader ; non curse au, suguru never defects ; established relationship ; drunk gojo, mentions of alcohol ; mentions of marriage and proposals ; banter

notes: i am binging jjk season 2 and i think satoru’s bum ass would definitely ruin his own proposal and never even be aware of it

Sometimes, you appreciate Suguru’s company. He makes it tolerable to deal with the handful that is Satoru. With a boyfriend as…eccentric as Satoru is, having someone as a voice of reason keeps you feeling sane sometimes. But sometimes, you also hate Suguru.

Right now, it’s the latter. You wouldn’t consider yourself on the list of his top fans now that he’s left you with a drunk, stumbling, and absolutely difficult Satoru to wrangle into your car and take home.

“Stupid Suguru,” you grumble, “I told him not to let you drink too much.”

Curse Suguru for leaving you for some random woman at the bar, and curse him for letting your lightweight boyfriend drink as much as he has. Satoru doesn’t even drink often—and certainly not this much.

You can’t help but wonder what got him here in the first place.

“Hey,” Satoru snaps, swatting your hand away as you shove his six-plus-foot-figure into the passenger seat, “don’t touch me. My wife will be mad.”

You pause, blinking before looking at him amused.

“You don’t have a wife, Satoru,” you snort. A small part of you thinks he’s an idiot, of course, but another part of you feels a thumping making itself abundantly clear in your ribcage, somewhere deep in your heart.

Wife. You like the sound of that, you think. You walk around the car, entering the driver’s side as Satoru sits and simmers in his despair.

“Don’t rub it in,” he whines, slumping against the dashboard of your car as he groans. “I don’t have a wife yet. Been trying for ages.”

“Trying what—”

“Every time I think v’got the perfect chance, s’ruined by somethin’ or another.”

“What are you talking about—”

He pulls something shiny out, dangerously at risk of dropping it with how wobbly his hands are from the alcohol in his system. You pause. Blink. Stiffen. Sit there in absolute silence as he stares at the ring in his hands woefully.

“Had it for weeks,” he says pitifully. And then, because he’s just as wasted as you suspected, he holds it out to you. You can’t find it in you to move, just staring blankly at it. “Think she’ll like it?”

“Who?” You croak, playing along.

“My girlfriend,” he grumbles. “You’re not very bright.”

“And you’re not very polite,” you snap back half heartedly, ears still ringing from his words just moments ago. Think she’ll like it?

He means you, of course. He doesn’t realize he’s speaking to the very person he’s supposed to present the ring with, but you suppose now you understand just why he’s taken to drinking so much this evening. He must be quite on edge as of late.

“Polite my ass,” he huffs under his breath, pulling you from out of your thoughts.

“You kiss your girlfriend with that mouth?” You challenge.

He does. He kisses his girlfriend (you) senseless quite often, in fact. Maybe more than he should…perhaps even at places he should not.

“I do,” he says haughtily. “My girlfriend loves me. She’s obsessed with me, actually. She couldn’t live without me. She kisses me on the mouth all the time. Among other places too.”

You want to slap his shoulder at that last comment—it just about takes you everything not to. “Your girlfriend is crazy for kissing that mouth of yours,” you tease.

Satoru doesn’t appreciate you talking poorly of his girlfriend (you) like that. It’s offensive. You can tell as much from the purely insulted look on his face as he gasps, “don’t speak about my baby like that! This is why you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“I do, actually,” you grin. He doesn’t believe you—the disbelieving snort he lets out instantly would offend you if it was anyone else, maybe. But Satoru pulls a fond, easy smile across your lips.

It feels like muscle memory.

“You have a boyfriend?” He asks incredulously.

“I do,” you grin.

“You love him?”

“I do,” you confirm. He looks unconvinced, but shrugs anyway.

“Is he a loser or something? Dating you?”

“He is,” you grin wider, “a total loser.”

“Makes sense,” he snickers. And then his attention is back to the ring in his hand, his long, nimble fingers fiddling with it before he murmurs, “I hope she likes it.”

“I’m sure she will,” you say softly, biting your lip as your eyes feel just a bit misty.

You mean it, too. He’ll never know that, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“You really think so?” He asks quietly. Shy. Satoru has never been shy—he’s so many things. Loud. Outspoken. Stubborn. Maybe a little shameless. But shy doesn’t usually describe him.

He seems to unlock a few hidden sides of himself around you. You think you want to unlock a few more.

“I do,” you say for the third time that night.

It’s practice, you think, for the real thing.

Imagine revealing on your tenth anniversary “btw i actually knew you were promising weeks before you did it. You showed me the ring and everything.” He’d claw his eyes out lolll

#writing tag #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

1K notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 6 months ago

Text

Till We Meet Again (m) | jjk

When your childhood friend that you had a crush on, moved away out of the blue— you never thought you’d see him again. A night swim in the ocean will have you feeling delusional, but the voice that fills your ears— sweet like cotton candy, you’d recognize that voice anywhere, it’s Jungkook.

→ Pairing: jungkook x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au → Trope: childhood friends to lovers → Genres: romcom, smut, nostalgia, and so much fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 11.4k → Warnings (general) + triggers: Jungkook’s first time (he is not a virgin lol, but it’s his first time with a human, so), this one is actually pretty mild, bordering on vanilla. There’s talk about how merfolk do it 👀 This is just crack fantasy okay, please don’t take it seriously! There’s some small pov changes in here, because, well, it just happened, lol. → Warnings (explicit): protected sex, oral (both male and female), hair pulling, multiple orgasms, nipple play/sucking, a little bit of dirty talk, begging, pleasing. → Taglist: @allie-is-a-panda @jeonsbabygirlsworld → Read on AO3! → Author’s note: happy birthday to my sweet and lovely friend Lua (@letjungcoook7) 🥳 I wrote this story for you as a present. I know you’re not that much into fantasy, but when I told you about my mermaid ideas, you were excited 🤭 So this first one is for you bby ✨ I really hope you like it, also that everyone else does!

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

The rain begins to pour as Jungkook grips your hand, his touch both delicate and powerful, guiding you through the sudden downpour. Moments ago, you were laughing and playing at the local playground, unaware that Mother Nature was about to drench the world in her unexpected shower.

Your heart pounds in your chest and echoes in your ears as you race to keep up with Jungkook, a wide smile spreading across your face. For an eight-year-old, he’s pretty damn fast, making every step feel like a thrilling challenge.

He’s sprinting down familiar streets, and you quickly realize he’s heading towards your home. You’ve never seen his house or met his parents, but your own parents adore Jungkook, joking that he’s your future husband. You’re not thinking that far ahead—you’re just a child, after all. Yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t have a fondness for him.

Let’s be honest, you have the biggest crush on the sweet boy with the round face and big doe eyes that seem too large for his tiny head. His nose is adorable, and his teeth only add to his charm. In short, you love everything about him, even his occasional unreasonable moments. But when he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip in that irresistibly cute way, your heart completely melts.

Your house comes into view, but instead of heading inside, he veers into your backyard, leading you towards the hidden playhouse nestled among the bushes and small trees.

“Shouldn’t we get inside where it’s dry?” you ask, bewilderment etched across your face as you finally reach the playhouse. He crouches down and gently pulls you inside, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No, we’ll be safe here,” he assures you, sitting down with his legs tucked under him. He bites his lip softly, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

“We should go inside; I don’t want either of us to catch a cold,” you mumble, settling beside him and feeling the warmth of his body next to yours. Despite not feeling chilled yet, you know it’s risky to stay out in wet clothes. It’s autumn, and although the air still holds a lingering warmth, you’re aware that it won’t last long.

“Let’s just stay here for a moment, okay?” he pleads, his eyes wide and his signature pout in full effect. You find yourself unable to resist—after all, who could say no to that adorable face?

For a few minutes, you sit there side by side, listening to the sky weep as rain patters softly on the roof of the playhouse. A few droplets sneak inside, but it hardly matters.

Jungkook suddenly turns to you, his expression unreadable— sadness flickers across his features, his normally warm brown eyes darkening to near-black in the dim light. His smile vanishes, replaced by a somberness that seems to weigh heavily on him. You can’t help but wonder what has shifted, why he’s undergone this sudden transformation in demeanor.

“___. Promise me you’ll never forget me?”

His eyes widen with earnestness, pleading like a puppy’s, and both of his hands seek yours, holding on as if afraid of being forgotten.

Emotions swirl in those hazel eyes, a tumultuous sea of feelings you struggle to decipher. You long to grasp his thoughts, to understand why he’s broaching the topic of forgetting him. But the idea is unfathomable to you; forgetting him seems as impossible as forgetting your own name.

Something shimmers in his eyes—what, you can’t quite discern. They resemble an ocean, deep and mysterious, where one could easily lose themselves if they stared for too long.

“Forget you? Kookie, what on earth are you talking about?” your eyes widen in disbelief, searching his face for any hint of understanding, but finding only confusion.

“It’s just... I like you a lot, and,” he murmurs, stumbling over his words, his hands fidgeting nervously with yours. Then, lifting his gaze to meet yours, he adds with a touch of vulnerability, “I’ll never forget you. You mean the world to me, ___. You’re my friend.”

With a warm smile and a gentle chuckle, you reply, “Duh, silly. Of course you’ll never forget me! And I’ll never forget you either. Now, can we please go inside?”

Jungkook smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as it usually does, leaving a lingering unease in the pit of your stomach. It feels like a storm is brewing within you, mirroring the turbulent weather outside.

“Just promise me. We’ll never forget each other, no matter what,” he implores, his voice firm and unwavering, his eyes reflecting the solemnity of his words.

He clasps your hand with his own, seeking out your pinky finger.

“Pinky promise?” he asks, his eyes earnest, holding onto your gaze with a mix of hope and determination.

Your eyes flicker with a rapid dance of confusion and amusement. Despite the chaos of the moment, a smile spreads across your face, its warmth seeming to dissolve his frown and alleviate his frazzled state.

“Okay. Pinky promise,” you affirm, intertwining your pinky finger with his, sealing the pact with a vow that feels as timeless as eternity.

You never laid eyes on Jungkook after that—well, you did both retreat indoors, your mother showering Jungkook with love and sweet treats he adored. But after that day, twenty long years ago, he vanished from your life out of the blue, leaving only memories behind.

Why you’re thinking about him now, you really don’t know. Yet, just as he once asked of you, you’ve never let go of his memory—a part of you still holds onto the hope that he might reappear, surprising you around some unsuspecting corner, as if he never left. But with each passing day, the likelihood of such serendipity grows fainter, like the receding tide of the deep blue ocean.

Maybe it’s the nostalgia stirred by your recent home purchase by the sea that brings back memories of your childhood crush. The vast expanse of the ocean triggers thoughts of his eyes—not because of their color, but the way they used to glimmer, reflecting the light with a sparkle that danced like sunbeams on water.

Long strolls on the beach prove therapeutic, gradually pushing thoughts of your childhood crush to the recesses of your mind. With each step along the sandy shores, you uncover treasures—seashells, smoothed by the relentless embrace of the waves, and other mementos of seaside serenity.

You truly love the beach, which is why you chose to buy a house so close to the shore. It’s not just because the ocean reminds you of a certain childhood friend you wish you could see again. His sudden departure has always baffled you—sometimes you wonder what really happened.

Was he kidnapped, or did he simply leave without a word?

Why would he vanish without telling you first, especially if he just had to move?

It’s after dinner, and you find yourself lounging on your terrace, gazing out at the ocean. The view is breathtaking, and when the wind blows just right, the salty breeze gently caresses your skin. You smile a wistful smile as you raise your glass to your lips. Today is a red wine day; despite the heat, the perfectly chilled glass complements the warmth of the evening air.

With your legs propped up on the lounge chair, reclined for maximum comfort, you gaze out at the vast expanse of the sea. You can’t help but wonder about the treasures and secrets it holds, a mysterious world teeming with countless species you’ve never even heard of that call it home.

Mankind has long tried to conquer the world beneath the waters, yet the pitch-black depths of the ocean remain largely unexplored, beyond the reach of even the best diving gear. Though you’re no diver, the allure of the sea’s hidden secrets captivates you, and you dream of one day uncovering its mysteries.

A sweet, velvety sound caresses your ears, prompting you to sit up and listen more closely. The enchanting melody wraps around you, and you realize it’s a voice—someone is singing.

God, it sounds beautiful—captivating, sweet, and strong, yet tinged with sorrow. The melody weaves its way into your soul, leaving you spellbound.

For a moment, you wonder if it’s all in your head—a fleeting hallucination brought on by too much wine. But a glance at your glass and the nearly full bottle beside you confirms you’ve barely finished your first glass.

The voice is real, and it carries an eerily familiar tone. Intrigued, you rise from your comfortable lounge chair and make your way down to the sandy beach that has been your backyard for the past few days.

Your bare feet sink into the warm, fine sand, its texture caressing your skin. You glance around, searching for the source of the beautiful voice, but the beach remains empty, with no one in sight.

There it is again—the singing, so achingly beautiful that it sends shivers down your spine and raises the hair on your arms. Your feet carry you along the shoreline, but despite your efforts, you can’t pinpoint the source of the enchanting voice.

Then, just as you’ve been pacing up and down the shoreline, the voice abruptly vanishes—quiet as a still puddle after a rain shower. With a strange unease settling in your gut, you reluctantly turn back toward home. The voice felt hauntingly familiar, yet somehow elusive—like a distant memory struggling to resurface.

For the past few days, the hauntingly beautiful voice has serenaded you night after night, drawing you out to the beach in search of its mysterious owner. Despite your efforts, luck eludes you, and each failed attempt leaves you with a sense of frustration, reminiscent of the pout Jungkook used to give you whenever you were being unreasonable with him.

Your frustration mounts as the elusive voice continues to evade you, its hauntingly familiar tone persistently tugging at the corners of your mind.

Frustration coursing through your veins, you slip into your bikini, determined to quell the restlessness with a night swim in your aquatic backyard.

As the sand caresses your feet, you stroll down to the shoreline under the watchful gaze of the moon, its ethereal glow casting a mesmerizing sheen upon the water. The scene is nothing short of magical, and as the lukewarm water embraces your skin, a delightful chill courses through your body—not from the cold, but from the familiar embrace of your second home. The ocean has always held a special place in your heart, and in this moment, it feels like a sanctuary away from the world.

Surrendering to the embrace of the water, you allow its gentle currents to envelop you, cradling you in its soft embrace as you yield to its rhythmic sway. With only your head above the surface, you venture further into the depths, relishing the sensation of weightlessness and freedom that comes with each stroke.

A soft, melodic sound tickles your ear—it’s that captivating voice again! This time, it resonates clearer, as if drawing you in closer. Driven by curiosity, you swim towards the source of the sound, your heart pounding with anticipation. As you approach a cluster of rocks and a looming cliffside, you spy a cave nestled within its embrace, beckoning you with its mysterious allure.

The cave envelops you in darkness, yet the gentle glow of the full moon dances upon the water, casting an ethereal light that transforms the rocky surface of the cliff into glistening crystals. The voice reverberates off the walls, its echoes amplifying its haunting melody. Drawing closer, you discern a figure resting their head upon a rock, their silhouette illuminated by the moon’s gentle caress.

Intrigued, you inch closer, your curiosity piqued. As you approach, you discern the figure of a man, likely around your age, or perhaps a bit younger, reclining against the stone, his body partially obscured by its shadowy embrace.

“Hello?” you call out, your voice echoing softly in the cave. Instantly, a pair of dark brown eyes fixate on yours, their intensity sending a shiver of recognition down your spine.

As you hear something splashing nearby, you swiftly swim to the corner of the cave. Pulling yourself up onto the rocky surface, you cast an inquisitive gaze at the stranger, who remains silent, their expression enigmatic.

“Are you okay?” you inquire, met with silence as the man attempts to retreat, concealing more of his body beneath the murky depths, leaving you to wonder what secrets lie hidden beneath the surface.

You approach cautiously, taking slow, measured steps, careful not to startle the man. His features are striking—sharp, chiseled jawline, eyes wide and intense, lips full yet thin, and a cute nose that triggers a flood of memories from long ago, memories that have never faded.

“Jungkook?” you gasp, the name escaping your lips like a sudden gust of wind, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you—happiness and hurt colliding like waves crashing against the shore, overwhelming you in their tumultuous embrace.

The man cautiously peers over the rock, his bare torso partially shielded from view. The sight of him shirtless prompts a flurry of questions in your mind—why is he here, and why is he without a shirt?

Is that a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm?

You can’t help but notice the strength in his neck, the prominent veins tracing a path down to his defined clavicle and broad shoulders. Damn it you really shouldn’t, but you find yourself shamelessly admiring his physique, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your cheeks.

“___?” His voice breaks the silence, light and airy, reminiscent of a summer breeze whispering through the leaves.

“Is it really you?” you inquire, lowering yourself to sit in front of him, your gaze sweeping over his features once more. His face holds a striking resemblance to someone from your past, now matured with the passage of time. Yet, those deep, familiar ocean eyes leave no doubt—it’s unmistakably Jungkook.

“Yes, it’s me,” he confirms, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips. The boyish charm of his smile clashes with the maturity reflected in his sharp features, creating a captivating contrast.

“What are you doing here?” you inquire, a mix of surprise and curiosity evident in your voice. The sight of him in this cave, serenading the darkness with his song, leaves you utterly bewildered.

“Just taking a breather,” he chuckles, his gaze shamelessly roaming over your form, sending a subtle shiver down your spine.

“Hold on a second,” you exclaim, frustration tinged with urgency in your voice as you scratch your head in bewilderment. “What brings you here? You vanished without a trace. What happened?”

Another splash in the water draws your attention, and you track the sound to behind Jungkook—then, you spot it: the tail. It’s a mesmerizing shade of purple, with delicate variations of violet shimmering in the moonlit cave. The translucent fins catch the light as they sway gracefully. The scales, rough and scaly, add to the otherworldly beauty of him.

Your jaw nearly hits the rocky surface—if it could, it surely would. You gaze, utterly transfixed, at the figure before you—your childhood friend, now revealed as a mermaid. No, a merman. The revelation leaves you reeling. How is this possible? You’ve heard of undiscovered species lurking beneath the waters, but this is your friend, someone you’ve known for years with two perfectly functional feet and no hint of a scaly tail.

“___,” he begins, his voice filled with warmth and genuine curiosity. “It’s been such a long time. How have you been?” His eyes radiate happiness, but you’re still reeling from the revelation before you. Seeing him again—something you’ve dreamt about for years—leaves you speechless.

“No,” you assert firmly, a rush of urgency in your tone. “You don’t get to ask questions yet. There are so many things I need answers to from you first.” Determined, you attempt to peer over the rock he’s perched on, desperate for a closer look at the astonishing sight before you—your childhood friend now bearing a tail, a reality that defies all logic.

“Alright, fire away,” he responds, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. “But give me a moment to settle in.” With a graceful movement, he hoists himself out of the water, his biceps flexing as he perches on the rock, his tail lazily swaying in the water. Bathed in the soft glow of the cave, his majestic purple tail shimmers, leaving you in awe of his breathtaking beauty.

He seems big and broad shouldered, the tattoos look intricate, reflecting ancient scribbles and drawings on his arm.

You plop down on the rugged surface, your mind reeling with disbelief—it all feels like a surreal dream. Unable to resist, you extend your hand to touch him, as if to confirm his reality. Your index finger tentatively prods his cheek before trailing down to his chest. The moment your touch meets his pecs, you’re met with a jolt of realization—his muscles are firm, real, and undeniably tangible beneath your fingertips, sending a surge of heat through your veins as you inadvertently find yourself groping his impeccable chest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his eyes darting from your hand on his chest back to your face. Embarrassment floods your cheeks with a deep crimson as the realization of your actions hits you. You’ve been feeling the solid warmth of his chest, lost in the surreal moment.

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry!” you blurt out, yanking your hand back as if it’s been scorched. “I didn’t mean to touch you like that!” Embarrassment floods through you, your heart racing as you pull away from the unexpected intimacy.

Damn it, get a grip, you chastise yourself silently. “I just wanted to make sure this is real,” you confess aloud, your voice trembling slightly with lingering disbelief.

You release a nervous chuckle, the sound betraying the disbelief still coursing through you. But as you take in the surreal sight before you—Jungkook, undeniably real and impossibly transformed—you can no longer deny the truth. Your childhood friend is here, right in front of you, and he is, astonishingly, a merman.

“Oh, this is very real,” he teases, his voice rich and layered with an enigmatic quality that you can’t quite decipher but are desperate to understand.

“Are you really a merman?” you ask, your gaze drifting back to his tail, mesmerized by its iridescent beauty. It’s breathtaking, almost otherworldly.

He nods, a soft smile playing on his lips, his eyes glimmering with a wistful nostalgia that tugs at your heartstrings.

“What happened to you? Why did you leave?” you demand, the urgency in your voice revealing the depth of your longing and confusion. These are the questions that have haunted you for years, the ones you swore you’d ask if you ever saw him again. Why did he disappear without a word, leaving you behind?

You watch as his expression shifts, becoming more guarded. “My parents and I had to move back home... to the ocean, I mean,” he explains, his face twitching as if struggling to mask an inner pain. “A rift in a tectonic plate devastated my village. Everything was destroyed, so we had to return and help rebuild.”

You study him closely, a lump forming in your throat as a myriad of emotions swirl within you.

“Okay. But why couldn’t you come back when you were done?” you inquire, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and hurt. It’s apparent that there are unresolved feelings of abandonment lingering within you, a reminder of the wounds you may need to address with your therapist.

“I really wanted to, but my parents and the village elders forbade it. We dedicated ourselves to rebuilding our village, but returning to the surface was strictly prohibited,” he explains, a palpable sadness tinting his words. It’s evident that he had yearned to reunite with you, but the weight of his responsibilities as a merman ultimately kept him bound to the depths of the ocean.

“Why are you here now? And are there others like you?” you inquire, a mix of bewilderment and intrigue coloring your tone. As you press for more information, you notice him visibly relax, his features softening once again in response to your curiosity.

“Well, I’ve been here for quite a while. I come up here to sing, often thinking of you, actually,” he confesses, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. “And yes, there are others like me,” he adds with a chuckle, the sound carrying a mixture of amusement and friendly banter.

“Thinking of me?” you stammer in amazement, your voice barely above a whisper as the weight of his words settles in.

“Yeah. I’ve missed you since I had to leave, and I’ve been searching for you for years. Meeting you again feels like a dream come true,” he confesses, his voice filled with palpable joy at the reunion with a long-lost friend. His words send a surge of warmth through you, igniting a flutter of emotions you thought long buried. As your heart skips a beat, you’re struck by the realization that the childhood crush you harbored for him still lingers, stronger than ever.

“I’ve missed you too,” you exhale, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with emotion. With a gentle touch, you extend your hand, laying it atop his on the rough surface of the rock, a silent reassurance of your enduring bond.

“How come you’re a merman? You were just a boy last time I saw you…” you begin, not really knowing how to ask the question that you have swirling in your mind.

“You want to know if something happened to me, to make me like this,” he gestures with his other hand over his body— it’s well defined, muscles big and strong, “or if I’d always been a merman?” His words hang in the air, a poignant reminder of the mysteries surrounding his transformation.

You choke on air with how effortlessly he articulates your thoughts, a skill he’s always possessed. You nod in agreement, the intensity of your curiosity driving you to lean in closer, desperate to unravel the enigma of his transformation.

“I’ve always been a merman. My parents chose to live as humans— they’re merfolk too, by the way. But they wanted me to experience life on land. So, despite appearances, I’ve always been like this,” he explains, a smile gracing his lips as he playfully flips his tail in the water, sending ripples dancing in his wake.

“How… How do you transform?” you ask, studying him intently once more. Despite his remarkable change, he still retains that familiar essence, stirring up the remnants of the childhood crush you thought you’d outgrown. A flush of warmth creeps across your cheeks, betraying the intensity of your emotions.

“Well. When I’m out of water for an extended period, I assume my human form. And when I’m in contact with water, I revert to my merman form,” he explains, a soft smile gracing his lips. As his fingers intertwine with yours, his touch is tender, each stroke a gentle caress that ignites a spark of warmth within you.

You nod, absorbing his explanation, but then you gasp as his words sink in, a realization dawning on you. “Do you transform when it rains then?” you blurt out, the question bursting forth with newfound urgency and curiosity.

His laughter fills the air, rich and unrestrained, sending ripples of warmth through your chest. Your gaze instinctively drifts to his chest, where the rhythmic movement of his pectorals accompanies the melody of his mirth, a captivating display of joy that you can’t help but revel in.

“No. That wouldn’t be very practical. It has to be seawater, or simply prolonged exposure to water can also do the trick,” he explains, his tone laced with a hint of amusement at the notion of rain-induced transformations.

You nod in understanding once more. “Nothing about this is practical, Jungkook,” you remark, a hint of incredulity lacing your tone.

He chuckles again, withdrawing his hand from yours and gently cupping your cheek. His touch sends a surge of warmth coursing through you, like a dormant ember suddenly ignited into a flickering flame, ready to blaze anew.

He locks eyes with you, his gaze unwavering and intense, brimming with depths of emotion that beckon you to explore. It’s like peering into an uncharted ocean, filled with mysteries waiting to be discovered. Despite the unfamiliarity, you’re drawn to dive deep and lose yourself in the depths of his gaze.

“Do you remember our promise?” he murmurs, his voice a gentle rumble, yet resolute. Seeking solace in the familiarity of your gaze, his words carry the weight of cherished memories and unspoken vows.

“Of course,” you respond with a bittersweet smile, lifting your hand and extending your pinky finger. “I’ve never forgotten you, Jungkook,” you affirm, the weight of years past and promises kept evident in your touch.

He hums a melody, its tune unfamiliar yet strangely soothing, and in that moment, you find solace in the sound of his voice, the melody a balm to your racing heart. “I’ve never forgotten you either, ___,” he confesses, his words carrying the weight of shared memories and enduring connection.

With his other hand, he reaches out, extending his pinky finger to intertwine with yours, creating a connection that feels like two worlds colliding, merging into one. It’s a moment of transcendence, where past and present converge, binding you both in a promise that spans the depths of time.

“I never got to tell you this on that day, and it has haunted me since, but I like you,” His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and a vulnerability that echoes through your soul. As he gazes into your eyes, it feels like he’s peeling away layers of your being, leaving you exposed and vulnerable, despite the fabric that shields your skin. With each moment, he draws nearer, his touch a gentle anchor amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling between you.

“I like you too,” your confession hangs in the air, suspended between you like a delicate thread woven with anticipation and longing. With every word, you feel the weight of your emotions, amplified by the closeness of his presence. As your breath brushes against his skin, you can almost taste the bittersweet tang of desire mingled with the salt of the ocean breeze.

In his embrace, you feel cherished, cocooned in a world where only the two of you exist. His gaze, laden with affection, dances between the depths of your eyes and the soft curve of your lips, a silent symphony of desire. You catch the subtle flicker of his pupils as they dilate, mirroring the fluttering of your heart. A fleeting gesture, your tongue brushes against your lips, a subtle invitation to bridge the divide between longing and fulfillment.

In the hushed sanctuary of the moonlit cave, time seems to stretch into a languid dance, enveloping you both in its tender embrace. The world outside fades into a distant murmur, leaving only the rhythmic melody of your shared breaths echoing off the rocky walls. Your gaze descends to the plush pinkness of his lips, a tantalizing invitation begging to be explored. A surge of curiosity and desire courses through you, igniting a tempest of longing as you ponder the intoxicating possibility of tasting his kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” His question hangs in the air like a delicate promise, and you feel a rush of anticipation flooding your senses, the tension between you crackling like electricity. His words, soft yet laden with unspoken longing, send a tremor of excitement coursing through your veins. In that suspended moment, you find yourself caught in the irresistible pull of his gaze, his eyes a sea of swirling emotions mirroring your own. With a silent plea echoing in your heart, you grant him permission with a subtle nod, your breath hitching in anticipation as you yearn for the moment when his lips will meet yours.

His tattooed hand, warm and possessive, slides from your cheek to the back of your neck with a gentle urgency, pulling you into him as if he’s afraid you might slip away. When his lips meet yours, it’s like a collision of stars, soft yet electric, igniting a wildfire of sensation that courses through your veins. As he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort, you’re overcome with a rush of warmth and affection. With a soft chuckle escaping your lips, you reach for him, fingers intertwining with the soft strands of his hair as you draw him closer. The second kiss is a revelation, a crescendo of desire and longing that leaves you breathless and craving more. His hum reverberates against your lips, grounding you in the intensity of the moment, like a lifeline in a sea of swirling emotions.

You draw back reluctantly, a sigh escaping your lips as you feel the bittersweet ache of parting. “It’s getting late,” you murmur, the weight of reality settling in as you remember your responsibilities waiting beyond the cave’s embrace.

“When will I see you again?” the question hangs between you like a delicate thread, woven with hope and uncertainty, longing for reassurance in the face of impending separation.

A mischievous glint dances in his eyes, and he licks his lips with a playful flick of his tongue, relishing the way your senses are all tangled up in a whirlwind of emotions—frazzled yet utterly blissed-out in his presence.

“Soon,” he assures with a reassuring smile, his touch lingering for a moment longer as his thumb caresses your lip, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake. “You can always find me here, or just listen for my voice. But duty calls back home. I’ll return, I promise.” With that, he pulls away, releasing you from the spell of the moment, but leaving behind a promise that lingers in the air like the echo of his voice in the cave.

Reluctantly, you rise, dusting off imaginary particles from your skin with a sweep of your hands, lingering in the moment a bit longer. With a soft smile, you regard him, your eyes filled with a mixture of fondness and longing.

“You really have a beautiful voice, Jungkook,” you murmur, the words carrying a weight of sincerity and admiration, like a gentle breeze in the tranquil cave.

With a smile that seems to illuminate the entire cave, he gracefully immerses himself in the water, causing it to dance and ripple around him like liquid poetry in motion.

“I can’t wait to see you again,” you express, your voice tinged with a mixture of longing and affection, each word carrying the weight of the emotions you hold for him.

“I’ll be counting the moments until our paths cross again,” he murmurs softly, his words carrying on the gentle breeze as he fades into the depths below, leaving you with the lingering promise of his return.

Jungkook had indeed kept his word. Though you trusted him, a small part of you feared you’d never see him again. Yet, the very next day, he reappeared in the cave, serenading you with a song as you basked in his presence. This enchanting ritual has continued every day for the past two weeks, each encounter deepening your bond and making the fear of losing him fade away.

So far, your encounters have been limited to kisses, which you absolutely love—his lips are incredibly soft. Yet, lately, you’ve found yourself yearning for more. The stress of your upcoming housewarming party, which you’ve shared with Jungkook, isn’t helping. You think that letting loose with him might be just what you need to de-stress.

“Why are you having this party again if you don’t really want to?” he asks, genuinely curious. He can’t fathom why you’d willingly burden yourself with the hassle of pleasing others when it clearly brings you no joy.

“I guess it’s just expected of me,” you muse, looking down at the sparkling water as his tail gently plays with it, creating ripples. “My friends are coming, my parents too. They haven’t seen my new house yet.”

He smiles at you, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “It’s nice that you’re doing this for them, but it sounds like you’re forcing yourself. That makes me a bit sad.”

You shake your head and put up your hands in defense. “Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s not like I dislike it completely. It’ll be nice seeing my friends again.” You pause, a sudden idea lighting up your face.

“You could also come, you know?”

His face brightens momentarily, but then he slumps down in the water, looking a bit deflated. “I’d love to come, but I’m not sure I can. My hyungs need my help in the village; one of them has been missing for days, and we’ve been searching for him without luck…” His voice trails off, a mix of concern and disappointment etched on his face.

You feel a twinge of sadness for him and say softly, “I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I hope you find him soon. Just know you’re always welcome, no matter when.”

His smile returns, but there’s a hint of worry in his eyes as he speaks. “Thanks. Jimin usually never wanders off, that’s why we’re afraid something has happened to him.”

You envelop him in a hug, offering what comfort you can, despite not knowing Jimin. You silently pray for Jimin’s swift return—after all, you understand more than most the ache of missing a piece of your heart.

A few days later, the soft strains of music fill your home, weaving through the laughter and chatter of old and new friends alike, and the comforting presence of your parents, whose faces you haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity.

As you mingle with your friends, catching up on stories and laughter, time seems to dance away unnoticed. It’s only when the gentle kiss of the evening breeze starts to nip at your skin that you realize how long you’ve been engrossed in conversation with your colleague out on the terrace. With a shared chuckle at the sudden chill, you both retreat inside, seeking the warmth of good company and lively conversations.

Her joke evokes laughter from you, but the moment is abruptly interrupted by her sudden silence, drawing your attention to where her finger points. In the kitchen, your parents stand, their faces alight with smiles, engaged in conversation with a tall, dark-haired man whose locks curl gently at the ends.

Her curiosity piques as she nudges you with a mischievous grin.

“Who’s that hot man with a tattooed arm over there talking with your parents?” she asks, her voice tinged with intrigue, prompting both of you to draw nearer to the kitchen.

As you draw closer, disbelief gives way to certainty: it’s unmistakably Jungkook standing beside your parents.

“___! You never mentioned Jungkook’s return! How long has it been, twenty years?” your mother exclaims, her smile radiant as she pinches Jungkook’s cheek affectionately, treating him like a long-lost child returned home.

Your dad’s eyes sparkle with the warmth of a long-awaited reunion, as if he’s just rediscovered an old friend, and you can’t help but chuckle at the scene unfolding before you.

Your mother reaches out to embrace Jungkook, her petite frame enveloped by his much larger one, but he indulges her with a warm hug, wrapping her in a comforting embrace.

With a playful grin, your friend nudges you, her eyes darting between you and Jungkook, a knowing glint sparkling in them. “Who is this handsome man?”

As you break from your reverie, you manage a sheepish grin, your voice carrying a hint of nostalgia and excitement. “This is Jungkook, my childhood friend. We go way back.”

“He’s hot,” your friend’s observation cuts through the air with a boldness that makes you chuckle, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she sizes up Jungkook.

Your mother’s laughter fills the room, a warm melody that dances around the air. “He really is! You’ve really outgrown that cute bunny phase you had,” she teases, her fingers playfully squeezing Jungkook’s rather impressive biceps.

“Mom! You’re embarrassing me,” you groan, a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation painting your voice as you reach for Jungkook’s hand, eager to escape the teasing clutches of both your parents and your friend.

As you pull him away, Jungkook chuckles softly, following you into the living room where you both sink into the inviting embrace of the couch.

Amidst the chatter filling the room, engaging in conversation with Jungkook proves challenging, his words often drowned out by the lively voices of others around you.

“Would you like to step out for a bit? Take a stroll along the beach?” he proposes, his gaze alight with anticipation, as if the idea itself holds a promise of something wonderful.

With a nod, you clasp his hand, a silent agreement passing between you. But before you step out into the night, you make a quick detour to your friend, informing her of your plans for a seaside stroll.

She scrutinizes you with the intensity of a hawk, then delves into her purse, emerging with something in hand. “Here,” she says, passing it to you.

“I have a feeling you might need this.”

You accept the small foil packet, its presence alone sending a jolt of recognition through you. Your cheeks and ears ignite with heat, and you hastily tuck it into your jeans pocket, your gratitude tinged with embarrassment. “Thanks,” you murmur, your voice slightly breathless.

As you begin to turn away, she shoots you a playful wink, causing you to release a sigh of embarrassment, your cheeks still flushed with color.

Outside, you stroll barefoot on the sand, reveling in the moment with Jungkook by your side—both of you connected to the earth beneath your feet. His presence captivates you, his figure tall and striking against the backdrop of the beach. Shoulder-length hair dances around his face, adding to his allure. With each step, you admire his physique—broad shoulders tapering to a defined waist, muscular thighs moving with purpose. Clad in a white tank top, his biceps speak of strength, while his snug blue denim jeans accentuate his powerful legs, showcasing a silhouette that commands attention.

His human form is undeniably beautiful, but it pales in comparison to the breathtaking splendor of his merman form. This realization brings a soft smile to your lips, and a blush warms your cheeks.

You walk with him along the beach, your hand nestled comfortably in his, the silence stretching between you like a warm blanket. It feels like an eternity before he clears his throat, a deep rumble that breaks the quiet. “Do you want to go to the cave?” he asks, his voice tinged with a hopeful anticipation.

You look up at him, captivated by the soft, teasing smile playing on his lips. “Yeah,” you agree, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest.

“Cool. I know a way to get there from land,” he says, pulling you along the shore. Your feet sink into the cool sand with each step, the waves gently lapping at your ankles as you follow him, while he makes an effort not to let the seawater touch him.

“You do? I thought it was only accessible from the sea,” you chuckle, feeling the excitement build as he leads you closer to the rocky formations along the cliffside.

“I know a lot of hiding spots,” he giggles, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes as he reveals a narrow, almost hidden entryway in the cliffside, just big enough for him to slip through.

You step into the familiar cliffside cave where you’ve been meeting for the past few weeks. Nestling into the small sandy patch, the only section not enveloped in stone, you feel a comforting sense of familiarity mixed with anticipation.

“Much easier to talk in here, huh?” Jungkook chuckles, leaning back against the cave wall. The gentle echo of his laughter fills the space, making it feel cozier. You nod, a soft, airy chuckle escaping your lips as a blush warms your cheeks. Sitting beside him, the intimacy of the cave amplifies every shared glance and whispered word.

You look up at him, your eyes fluttering bashfully. “I don’t really want to talk anymore,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I thought you wanted to talk,” he says, his voice deflating as a pout forms on his lips. That’s when it hits you—he has no idea how much you crave him, how badly you want to feel him, everywhere.

You turn your body towards his, your hands caressing his face as you pull his face towards yours. “I want to do more than talk,” you quip, your voice small but steady. “I want to kiss you and so much more.”

Something seems to snap in him, and a mischievous smirk spreads across his cheeks. He moves his face closer to yours, your noses almost touching. “So you want more?” he teases, his voice a tantalizing whisper against your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe, the word escaping in a breathless pant as you close the distance between you. Your lips meet his in a fervent, passionate kiss, igniting a fire that blazes between you. Your hands hold his cheeks in place, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your touch, as he responds eagerly, deepening the kiss with his tongue, sending waves of desire coursing through you.

When you part, both of your eyes are wide, pupils dilated with desire, reflecting the intensity of the moment.

“I want you, Kook,” you plead, your breath mingling with his, your foreheads pressed together in an intimate connection.

Your fingertips trace the lines of his body, dancing over the contours of his chest until they halt at the brink of his jeans.

“I want you too, ___, but I—” he pants, his words cut short as you start to rub your hand over his clothed dick, eliciting a deep, gratifying groan from him.

You keep teasing him with your hand, feeling the growing hardness beneath your touch, sending shivers of anticipation down your spine. You lick your lips, watching as his face contorts in pleasure, every subtle reaction driving you wild with desire.

“Hmm, you like it?” you ask, positioning yourself directly in front of him, locking eyes as you continue your ministrations.

“Yes, but I—” as your hand maintains its pressure on his crotch, he stammers out his words, his voice a mixture of desire and hesitation.

“What, are you a virgin?” your playful tease hangs in the air, accompanied by a soft chuckle, as you lean in closer to him, your breath warming his ear with your whispered words.

“No!” His response is hurried, almost defensive, tinged with a hint of embarrassment. “I’ve just never done it with a human before…” he confesses, his tone a mixture of vulnerability and curiosity.

You draw back slightly, scanning his face, catching a glimpse of uncertainty mingled with desire flickering in his eyes.

“I can guide you through it, show you what feels good. Trust me, you’ll enjoy every moment,” you say, your eyes shimmering with a mix of confidence and anticipation.

“I mean, Jin hyung already told me how it works,” he pants, his gaze fixated on your hand as it works its magic, his hips instinctively moving in rhythm, “I’ve touched myself before, out of curiosity, but I’ve never had sex with a human before.”

Your expression softens, recognizing that this is a new experience for him, so you resolve to take it slow.

“Mermen don’t exactly have dicks like humans,” he chuckles, his movements against your hand betraying his eagerness for friction.

You lean in again, teasing him, “How exactly do merfolk have sex?”

He chuckles, smirking at you, “Well, it’s more like a mating ritual, honestly. There’s some swimming around, almost like a dance, rubbing against each other. It’s quite primal and intimate, in its own way.”

You frown, a mixture of curiosity and disbelief evident on your face. “That’s it?”

He nods, his expression both amused and sincere.’

“No teasing? Release of bodily fluids? Making out? Sticking things into holes?” you list, your expression a mix of incredulity and disappointment. God, you really do like sex and all of the things you just listed. Mermaid intercourse sounds slightly boring in comparison.

“No sticking things into holes sadly—except for tongue kissing,” he chuckles, masking his disappointment with a playful grin, though you sense a tinge of longing in his eyes.

“But you get to try that now, okay? Then you can tell all your friends how it is to have sex with a human,” you smile, feeling a bit mischievous, your words laced with humor as you try to lighten the mood after the serious discussion.

“Many of them have already experienced it,” he laughs, his tone tinged with excitement and a hint of anticipation, “My hyungs have done it a lot, and I can’t wait to experience it myself.”

“They sound like they’ve had their fair share of adventures,” you chuckle, stealing a glance downwards, noticing the telltale strain in his pants.

He chuckles, a faint blush tinting his cheeks. “Can we talk about something else? Because I’m having trouble focusing on your hand when I’m talking about my friends.”

With a playful laugh, you grasp the situation and share a knowing glance. Eager to reignite the passionate spark between you, you playfully unzip his pants, only to discover he’s gone commando—a thrilling surprise that sets your heart racing and ignites a rush of desire.

A mischievous grin plays on your lips as you raise an eyebrow, your fingers wrapping around his cock teasingly. “No underwear?” you jest, a playful twinkle in your eye, as you give him a tantalizing stroke, feeling his anticipation building with each caress.

With a low, guttural sound, he shifts his weight, arching his back to assist as you peel off the remainder of his jeans. Your fingers eagerly find their way back to his dick, marveling at its girth and length, already imagining the delicious stretch it will bring. The anticipation sends shivers down your spine.

His cock is long— longer than average, and thicker too. The tip is red, a small bead of precum gathered at the top, just waiting to be tasted by your tongue.

He teases you, his hips surging upward as if to test your grip. “Do you like it?” he murmurs, a hint of mischief in his voice, his eyes locking onto yours as he waits for your response.

You meet his gaze with a smirk, your fingers still wrapped around him. “Yeah, it’s impressive,” you concede, your voice laced with anticipation. Honestly, you don’t care much about the size of it, more about how good he is at using it.

He watches you intently, his gaze probing yet curious. “Have you had a lot of sex before?”

You nod and give him a small smile.

You lean in closer, your eyes locked with his, conveying your sincerity and eagerness. “I have, but let’s focus on us now,” you whisper, your voice tinged with determination. “I want to make you feel good, and then you can return the favor. How does that sound?”

With a tantalizing smile, you moisten your lips before lowering them to his cock. The instant contact makes him quiver, a reaction that only fuels your desire. You start by tracing him with your tongue, savoring his taste, before enveloping him completely in your warm, wet mouth.

He utters adorable, needy moans as your mouth envelops him, his reactions spurring you on as you slide up and down, sucking him with fervor and intensity.

His hands find your hair, gripping it gently at first, then with a bit more urgency, but you don’t mind one bit. Instead, it fuels your desire, urging you to take more of him into your mouth, to please him further with every movement.

The echoing sounds of slurping fill the cave, reverberating off the rocky walls, creating a symphony of desire. Each wet, sucking noise only fuels your arousal further, igniting a fire within you that burns hotter with every passing moment.

“Shit. I’m feeling like I might come already,” he pants, his fingers tightening in your hair, a futile attempt to control the rising tide of pleasure coursing through him.

You release him with a soft pop, panting as you meet his pleading gaze, a flicker of desire mirrored in your eyes, silently promising more to come.

“It felt really good, but I really want to know what it feels like being inside your pussy, please,” his plea echoes through the cave, his eyes pleading like a desperate puppy, and you can’t help but chuckle at his adorable earnestness, your own desire kindled by his longing gaze.

“Of course. I want to have you inside of me too,” you pant, urgency seeping into your voice as you hastily pull your shirt over your head, revealing the lace of your bra to him, a silent invitation in the flickering light of the cave.

“You’re stunning,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe and genuine appreciation. “It’s not just your body that I love, but your entire essence, your personality—it’s all so captivating.”

Your smile widens, mirroring the warmth and affection swelling in your chest as you gaze at him. As you begin to unbutton your pants, a thought nudges its way into your consciousness. Retrieving the foil packet from your pocket, you place it on the ground between you, a silent promise of the intimacy about to unfold.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to the foil packet, curiosity sparking in his eyes like a flame catching kindling. “What’s that?” he asks, his voice laced with intrigue and a hint of anticipation, as if sensing the gravity of the moment wrapped in that small, innocuous package.

You chuckle softly, charmed by his innocence, realizing he’s never encountered a condom before. It’s endearing, really, how sheltered his underwater world has been.

“It’s a condom. It’s for protection,” you explain gently, feeling a mix of tenderness and amusement at his innocence. “You put it on your cock. I’m on birth control, but it never hurts to be extra safe,” you assure him, deciding to take the lead and offer to help him put it on.

As you attempt to open the foil packet, he intercepts your movement with a smirk, halting you with his hand. “Not now. I want to taste you first. Can I? And will you let me know if you like it or not? I’ve never tried it before,” he trails off, his voice soft and endearing. It’s moments like these that make you realize just how charming he can be.

His hands find purchase on your hips, and with a deliberate tug, he pulls your pants down, leaving you bare in your underwear. His gaze travels over you, from your eyes down to your dripping cunt, igniting a fire of anticipation in your core.

“Your panties are wet.”

You chuckle in response, a mix of excitement and nervousness dancing in your eyes as you obediently part your legs wider, inviting him in with a playful yet anticipatory smirk.

“That’s because I’m aroused,” you confess, your voice barely a whisper as his touch sends a delicious shiver down your spine, your anticipation building with every electrifying caress of his hand against your hip bone and down to your pussy.

“You can remove it,” you whisper, your voice husky with desire, as you arch your back, offering yourself to him, a silent invitation. With a slow, deliberate motion, he slides your panties down your legs, revealing your glistening pussy to the dimly lit cave, the anticipation thickening the air between you.

He lowers himself between your parted legs, his touch sending shivers up your spine as his hands explore the soft skin of your thighs, eliciting playful giggles from your lips. With agonizing slowness, his fingertips inch closer to your aching pussy, your body aching with desire, yearning for his touch. You find yourself silently begging for him to make contact, your entire being consumed by the anticipation of his caress.

“Please, Jungkook,” you implore, your voice trembling with urgency and longing, “I need to feel you, your touch—whether it’s your fingers or your mouth, I don’t care. Just touch me.”

As he gazes into your eyes, his expression filled with desire and understanding, he delicately traces his index finger over your sensitive clit. The sensation overwhelms you, eliciting a strangled gasp of his name, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

With each gentle stroke of his finger over your clit, you can’t help but release a soft moan, your body instinctively responding to his touch. Sensing your pleasure, he continues, his movements becoming more confident as he circles and rubs your clit, each touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

As your breath quickens and your body trembles with anticipation, you find it increasingly difficult to maintain control, your legs quivering with need. Sensing your urgency, he gently guides your legs apart with his free hand, allowing him better access to your pussy.

He watches, entranced, as your clit pulsates, the rhythmic flexing and relaxing of the muscle a mesmerizing sight. The vision of your arousal sends a jolt of desire through him, making his own need painfully evident.

“You can put a finger in,” you pant, your voice trembling with need, eyes wide and pleading for more.

He looks up, his eyes searching yours, “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper filled with both concern and anticipation.

You bite your bottom lip, a soft groan escaping your throat. “Yes, Jungkook,” you breathe, your voice laced with desperate longing, “I want your fingers inside me now.”

With the hand that was expertly teasing your clit, Jungkook slides it down to your slick folds, marveling at how you glisten in the moonlit cave. He gently positions his index finger, then slowly, almost tantalizingly, pushes it inside you, making you gasp at the intimate sensation.

The pleasure hits you instantly, a surge of desire overwhelming your senses. You crave more, each second intensifying your need, as if every nerve in your body is crying out for him.

“Wow,” he breathes, mesmerized by the sight of his finger slowly disappearing into your hole, his eyes wide with awe and desire.

Mesmerized, he begins thrusting his finger in and out of you, his movements slow and deliberate. Your sweet noises of pleasure fill the cave, encouraging him. After a moment, he looks up, his voice husky with desire, “Can I add another one?”

You nod, and another finger slips into your pussy, stretching you just a bit more. The sensation is intoxicating, yet you crave so much more. You’re trying to maintain control, to let him take his time, but the need inside you is almost overwhelming.

“Please,” you whisper urgently, your voice trembling with desire, “add a third finger and use your other hand to play with my clit.” You crave the sensation, the stretch, the readiness for his cock, your need palpable in every word.

With a swift motion, you unhook your bra, allowing it to slip to the ground. His movements pause as his gaze fixes on your exposed chest—your nipples standing pert and proud, a silent invitation to his touch.

As his gaze reluctantly leaves your exposed chest, he resumes his attention on you, the third finger sliding into you with a gasp of pleasure escaping your lips at the welcomed stretch. His thumb, slick with your juices, finds your clit once more, initiating a rhythm that sends waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Breathless and on the edge of ecstasy, you manage to muster the question, your voice filled with awe and admiration, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before? Because you’re really good at it.”

His laughter dances in the air, a melody to your unraveling pleasure. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he withdraws his fingers, leaving you with a perplexed frown until you see him drawing nearer, his tongue tracing the contours of your pussy.

You surrender to the ecstasy, tossing your head back as waves of pleasure wash over you, relishing the sensation of his velvety tongue caressing every contour of your quivering folds and sending electric pulses of delight through your clit.

With a hunger that matches your own, he envelops your clit, his mouth becoming a vortex of ravenous need, as he sucks and teases, drawing forth the essence of your desire and savoring every drop of your arousal with a fervent devotion.

With an almost expert touch, he draws your sensitive bud into his mouth, creating a vortex of sensation that sends electrifying pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. Each suction brings you closer to the edge, igniting a fiery intensity that threatens to consume you entirely. As you pant and gasp, your senses reel with the impending release, the anticipation coiling tighter within you like a spring ready to unleash its pent-up energy.

Your fingers trace the curves of your breasts, igniting a trail of sensation that sends shivers down your spine. With each touch, you feel the heat building within you, a primal urge demanding release. Your fingertips dance over your nipples, teasing them to attention, and you can’t help but respond with a symphony of gasps and moans.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers up, drawn to the symphony of your movements, your gasps and moans orchestrating a melody of desire. Yet, he remains steadfast in his task, his lips and tongue weaving a spell of ecstasy as he devours you with hunger, like he has done this many times before. It’s as though he’s an artist, each stroke of his tongue a masterpiece, each flicker of his lips a masterpiece of passion.

As your body arches and trembles with impending release, you’re acutely aware that the peak of ecstasy is just within reach. “Jungkook,” you gasp, your voice a fervent plea, “I’m... I’m going to come.”

With his deep chuckle vibrating against your most sensitive spot, you’re overcome by the intoxicating blend of sensations. In an instant, your world explodes into a symphony of pleasure, your fingers tangling in his ebony locks, anchoring you to the dizzying whirlwind of ecstasy as he eagerly savors every drop of your essence.

With a gentle and tender gaze, he pulls away, his features adorned with a shimmer of your essence. “Was this alright?” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, yet his eyes brimming with warmth and adoration. With a gasp of disbelief, you draw him into a passionate kiss, savoring the mingling taste of yourself on his lips, yet your heart races with an electric thrill. “It was perfect,” you murmur against his mouth, your voice laden with sincerity and longing, sealing the moment with fervent intensity.

“Now you can fuck me,” filled with need, you voice your desire, urgency coloring every syllable, as you reach for his shirt and hastily pull it over his head. Your fingers fumble with the foil packet, opening it with a sense of anticipation, before your hand finds his still-hard cock.

With careful precision, you slide the condom over his dick, a tangible barrier between you and raw desire. As you spread your legs, creating space for him, his cock hovers tantalizingly close to where you ache for him most. In his gaze, you detect a mixture of longing and uncertainty, silently seeking your permission to proceed.

You take control, grasping his cock firmly and guiding it to your eager entrance. With a whispered instruction, you urge him to press forward, “Push a little, but slowly.”

As he nods in agreement, a determined glint ignites in his eyes. With gentle yet purposeful movements, he starts to ease his cock into the welcoming warmth of your eager pussy, each inch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body, stretching you deliciously with every inch gained.

His breath hitches, voice laced with wonderment, “Wow. You’re so tight,” he pants, his words punctuated by the sensation of more and more of his dick disappearing into the velvety depths of your cunt, a symphony of pleasure enveloping you both with each inch he claims.

“God, you’re big,” you pant back, a mixture of excitement and anticipation lacing your voice as you try your best to relax, welcoming the exquisite stretch and fullness as he almost fills you up, every inch of him stirring a delicious ache within you.

Finally, he’s completely inside, and you release a shaky breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding, feeling every pulsing inch of him deep within you, a rush of sensation flooding your senses as you revel in the delicious fullness he provides.

“You can move now,” you encourage him with a smile, eager anticipation shimmering in your eyes as you invite him to explore the depths of pleasure with each rhythmic thrust.

“How? You’re hugging me so tight,” he groans in pleasure, his voice tinged with uncertainty, as if seeking your direction amidst the waves of sensation coursing through both of you.

“Feel how we fit together?” you whisper, your hands tenderly guiding his hips. “Just move your hips—back and forth. Follow the rhythm of our bodies, and trust me, it’ll be amazing.”

“I already feel so good.”

He starts with a gentle push, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through you. With each thrust, he delves deeper, igniting an electric dance between your bodies, and you can’t help but moan in bliss.

“Don’t stop—faster,” you urge him on, and he responds with a surge of intensity, each thrust echoing in the cavern, a symphony of desire enveloping you both.

Your hands abandon his ass and hips once you’re satisfied he’s got the rhythm, his every thrust hitting that perfect spot, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

You moan his name, the sound igniting a primal response in him, his grunts mingling with your name, creating a symphony of passion in the cave.

“Keep going—harder,” you plead, your voice laced with urgency and desire. With each thrust, he drives into you with unyielding force, your back meeting the rough cave wall, igniting a primal intensity that leaves you breathless. You know there’ll be marks and scratches later, but at this moment, all you care about is the raw, primal pleasure he’s giving you.

“Yes!” you scream, your voice echoing against the walls of the cave, the intensity of his thrusts driving you to clutch his strong biceps for leverage. The intricate tattoo sleeve he has on his right arm, flexing with the strength he puts into his thrusts. With each powerful movement of his hips, he plunges deeper into you, igniting a primal fire that consumes both of you in an insatiable frenzy.

“___. I think I’m going to come soon,” he confesses, his voice strained with pleasure, his brows furrowing in anticipation of the impending release.

“Me too. Shit. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” you gasp out, your disbelief mingling with the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. His skill and passion feel too seasoned for a first-timer, leaving you both questioning the truth of his innocence.

“I’m just a fast learner,” he teases, his lips finding solace on one of your exposed nipples, eliciting a fervent moan of his name from you.

He sucks and nibbles at it, all while hitting your soft spot with precision. It’s an onslaught of sensation, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. You can feel the coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter within you, threatening to unravel at any moment.

With a tantalizing pop, he releases your nipple, only to lavish the same attention on its twin. His kisses, licks, and sucking send ripples of pleasure through your body, each touch igniting a fire within you that threatens to consume you whole.

That’s it. You’re gonna come again.

“Fuck, Kook,” you cry out, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you as you surrender to the torrent of ecstasy, your pussy releasing your liquid and pulsating around his cock, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you with the breakneck speed he’s moving his hips at.

“Damn, how did you just get even tighter?” he groans, his voice strained with pleasure, his primal urges driving him to the brink of ecstasy. You feel his urgency, knowing he’s teetering on the edge of release.

“Fuck—” he pants, his breath ragged and erratic. Then, he stutters, his movements turning feral for a moment as you feel his cock twitch inside your pussy, and he releases into the condom, his body shuddering with the intensity of his climax.

He stills inside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he puts all of his weight into his arms. You gaze at him with a smile, your hand finding his cheek, gently pulling him closer to you, a silent reassurance in your touch.

You kiss him tenderly, the intimacy lingering in the air as your lips meet in a long and deep embrace. When you finally part, your breath mingling, you whisper softly, “I loved every moment of it.”

“Me too,” his voice carries a gentle exhaustion, mirroring the weariness you also feel settling in. You share a quiet moment, the weight of your shared passion and pleasure evident in the silence that follows.

As he gradually softens inside you, he withdraws gently. You swiftly retrieve the condom, deftly disposing of it with a practiced flick, tossing it into the depths of the cave, a silent testament to the intimacy shared in this hidden sanctuary.

“Can we do it again?” he pleads, his eyes ablaze with desire, each word heavy with anticipation, begging for another swim into ecstasy.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you murmur, pressing your lips to his once more, the promise of another intimate time igniting a fire within you both.

“But maybe we can go for a swim first?” you suggest with a playful glint in your eyes as you feel your breathing gradually returning to normal.

His expression shifts to one of surprise. “You want to swim? I’ll revert to my merman form then…”

You gently grasp his cheek, locking eyes with him, the intensity of your gaze echoing your sincerity. “I love you, whether you’re in your merman or human form. I love all of you. And yes, I want to swim with you. You know how much I love being in the water.”

As he eases into your proximity, he nods, inching towards the water within the cave. With a mesmerizing display, a cascade of sparkle and glitter dances in the air as his legs seamlessly meld into a majestic purple tail. Your jaw drops, captivated once again by the breathtaking sight of his merman form, each time feeling like the first time you saw him like this.

He gracefully glides into the water with a splash, and you eagerly trail behind, tentative at first, dipping your toes into the cool embrace, then succumbing to the gentle caress that envelops your entire naked form.

You swim alongside him, venturing beyond the confines of the cave, out into the vast expanse of the open sea. The ocean stretches endlessly, meeting the horizon in a seamless blend of moonlit waves. Above, the sky is a tapestry of stars, each one twinkling like a promise of infinite possibilities. Though your house is a distant silhouette against the shore, it fades from your thoughts in the enchantment of this moment.

As you glide through the water beside him, the gentle rhythm of his tail occasionally breaking the surface with playful splashes, you find yourself drawn to the mystery of his world. “I’d love to see your home someday,” you say, the words carried away by the ocean breeze, mingling with the soft lullaby of the waves.

“Yeah. I know a witch that can turn you into a mermaid, if you really want to,” he says with a big smile on his face, his eyes sparkling with mischief as they meet your surprised gaze, mirroring your astonishment with his own excitement.

Your eyes widen with wonder— the thought of becoming a mermaid, a cherished childhood dream, suddenly within reach. “I’d love that,” you breathe, your voice filled with an intoxicating mix of excitement and disbelief, as if daring the universe to make this fantasy a reality.

1K notes · View notes

ceilidho · 9 months ago

Text

prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 2; ghoap x reader) masterlist

The hard part is admitting to himself that he doesn’t know how to function on leave without Ghost’s voice in his ear.

Johnny’s two days into his annual leave when that stray thought crosses his brain. Out with chums even, packed into the booth of an old pub in his hometown, the leather well-worn and a match on the telly that he half watches while one of his mates goes up to the bar to order another round for them. In between his third and fourth pint of lukewarm mild, he thinks something like, wonder what Simon’s up to.

The thought comes and then keeps coming. Keeps cropping up when he least expects. At the pub (wonder what Simon’s up to), in line at the grocery store (wonder how Ghost takes his steak), drowsily puttering around the kitchen while making breakfast (no way he wears the mask at home), listening to some guy in front of him hack up a lung at the dry cleaner (Lt’d do his fuckin’ head in if he was here), and even in the shower with his head tipped back, rinsing out the suds (wonder if he’s got a girl tucked away at home).

Is it so unusual? Johnny can’t remember a time in his life when someone lived in his head night and day, but Ghost’s presence feels like an extension of his own these days. He’s cycled through girlfriends without a care in the world, without contemplating their existence for half as long, but they never cradled his life like a small bird in the palm of their hands and returned it safe and sound, did they?

Still, he feels it like a knot in his chest. Dreams about Ghost even; wakes up hot and hard, and scrubs his hand down the side of his face when he sits up in bed. Phantom memories of a body heavier than his weighing him down (just the duvet) and a thick hand curling around his dick (his own hand wrapped around his shaft, rubbing one out in his sleep).

He shakes it off, but it follows him out into the real world. Looking at the door of a coffee shop and thinking absentmindedly, Ghost would have to duck under that.

Johnny puts it out of his mind. As much as he’s able to, that is. Chalks it up to some kind of hero worship. He’s worked with superior officers before—plenty of times, hundreds of times—but there are few men of Ghost’s calibre, both in skillset and mystique. Not to mention the sheer size of the guy. And what is Johnny if not a moth to a flame?

Better not to ruminate. He casts the memory of seeing Ghost’s dick in the showers after their last mission (monstrous thing, uncut, pubes darker than the hair on his head, more than a mouthful—it’d give him lockjaw) out of his head. Doesn’t think about it. Laughs at a mate’s joke at the pub when he didn’t catch a word of it to mask the way he perked up at the sight of a wide-shoulder man until he turned around, giving Johnny a proper look at his face.

He’s not ready to think about it. Might never be able to really look at why he eats it up, why he struts around with his chin cocked just a bit higher than usual because he knows everyone else is watching him with equal parts envy and curiosity for being Ghost’s favourite.

Then, one day, he meets a girl.

Johnny’s not winning an award any time soon for world’s best son, but he knows a thing or two. The first thing being chocolates and the second being flowers. His sisters handle the rest; they fuss about the party, get a gift certificate to the spa, send out the invites—all that fun stuff. He’s sent off for the bare essentials. Practically kicked out of the house by his oldest sister—nearly brains himself on the asphalt and tugs his windbreaker on when it’s thrown out the door after him a second later, grumbling about being the errand boy.

He picks up a box of chocolates from the corner shop (not fancy enough, his sisters will probably bitch, but that’s a problem for later) before heading down the road to the florist. There’s a bench out front stacked with tin flower vases, the only spot of colour on a dreary spring morning. He spends a couple minutes chatting with the cashier and flirting a bit halfheartedly (he thinks maybe it’ll be worth it if it gets him a discount, even five percent off) until the florist comes out from the back.

“Jesus, who gave ye the right?” Johnny breathes, horse blinders on, vision narrowing on the object of desire coming out of the back in a linen apron and simple t-shirt underneath, scissors poking out of the front pocket.

“The right?” she repeats back, blinking.

“To leave the house lookin’ so fuckin’ gorgeous. Glad I wasn’t driving when I passed you by—woulda been in a twenty car pile up.”

She’s not impressed in the slightest. It’s thrilling. By that point, the cashier is long forgotten. Probably not the best impression he’s ever made, but he’s made worse ones. It’s not every day he comes across an angel. Hard to be polite in front of a real life miracle.

He wears her down over the week though, showing up each day for a new bouquet. His mam’s never liked him more, so at least there’s that. His sisters side-eye him whenever he ducks out of the house to head down the road to the florist’s, but even they know better than to bring it up and risk pissing off their mam. He interrogates her about flowers and her job, makes his presence unavoidable, a week long siege that ends with Johnny taking her out to dinner and then letting her take him to bed.

He wakes up nestled in her cozy apartment above the flower shop, stretching out and making himself right at home. When she trades in her linen apron for a terry cloth robe and stands expectantly by the door, Johnny just grins. Shows all of his teeth.

“Are ye just gonna use me and kick me out?” he pouts. Folds his hands behind his head and digs a foot into the sheets, trying to sink into the mattress. Little king in his castle.

“You know, you don’t have to pussyfoot around with me. Weren’t you just trying to get laid?” she asks, brow arched. The disbelief thick in her voice makes it clear what she thinks of him.

“No’ just some playboy, hen,” he scoffs. “I have feelings too.”

Her other eyebrow lifts. He’s tickled pink.

He plays the part well, he supposes. Lounges in bed and eats grapes all morning while she stares at him from the kitchen like he might dissipate at any moment. He’s used to leaving a false impression, like a lake that someone builds their house next to until years go by and someone says I think this was once a meteor.

When she comes back to bed around mid morning, Johnny wastes no time pulling her up onto the bed until she plants her cunt over his mouth and sinks down onto his waiting tongue.

Candy sweet pussy, he thinks blissfully, then says it out loud because he can never keep his mouth shut. It must tickle because she yelps and nearly pulls away from his face altogether, but he wrenches her back down, fingers digging into her ass cheeks a bit too forcefully. He’ll pay for that later.

In the aftermath, when she collapses beside him in bed and rests her head on his chest while he plays with her hair, he itches in his skin to message Ghost. It perplexes him. They never text, he and Ghost; they don’t call, they don’t write, they don’t email. For all intents and purposes, their relationship ends at the perimeter around base, dissolves to nothing. It’s not Ghost’s fault he trickles into Johnny’s dreams sometimes.

A week goes by. Calm the mind. He thinks of Ghost and his fingers tremble and the phone stays silent and he lets the thought go. Steady. Breathe in and out. His caryatid girl slips in and out of his sheets, hesitant always like he might leave. Johnny doesn’t know if she wants him to, wants to feel vindicated in her assumption, but of all her wants, that ranks the lowest in his mind.

He spirals deeper into it, infatuated. She’s sweet but snippy, candy sweet with a sour kick—everything he’s ever wanted in a girl. Ever unimpressed, watching him with a small, hidden smile, amused despite herself.

Johnny wonders if this is the universe waving its hand in front of his face. Yoohoo, missing something?

He looks pointedly away.

It’s new, but maybe he’s like every other military man in the world, unable to go with the flow, dissatisfied with seeing where things go. He needs instant gratification, everything now-now-now, the certainty of commitment—he spills blood with everyone he knows, so why would his girl be any different?

Returning back to base is harder this time around. The last day of his leave is an exercise in restraint, tempered only by her smile when he sees her off at the door to her apartment, reluctant to leave.

“C’mon, promise me you’ll call, hen,” Johnny mumbles into her mouth, catching her answer with a languid swipe of his tongue. His arms press her tight to his chest, digging his hands into her back pockets and giving a good squeeze, relishing in the way she squeaks. “How’m I gonna survive without ye, huh? They’re gonna have to jumpstart my heart after it gives out from missing ye so bad.”

“So dramatic. You have my number,” she says when he finally pulls back enough to let her speak.

“No, please, baby, please—promise me—”

“Oh my god, alright, fine—I’ll call. Now get going already.”

The drive back to base leaves him feeling bedraggled, lost. When he gets in, it’s straight to the barracks, an hour long nap before reporting to Price, dragging his feet the whole way over. Moping, for lack of a better word, until he rounds a corner and nearly collides with someone that stops him with a single hand on his shoulder.

When he looks up to eyes rimmed in black paint, the world lightens. His shoulders lift.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Johnny.”

It takes Johnny awhile to bring her up with Ghost. Something keeps holding him back, choking him when he tries to say it outloud. He blames it on uncertainty (had to be sure she was the one, Lt, ye ken?) but he feels the truth at the core of him. When he does finally muster up the nerve to pass his phone to Ghost where her photo is front and centre, no mistaking his intentions, he waits on tenterhooks for a reaction.

Only breathes out when Ghost asks to meet her. He can do that.

“Aye, Lt. Just for you.”

#99% chance im gonna edit this to fuck before i post it on ao3 because im trying to properly balance the pov switch #also its not done yet #ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader

3K notes · View notes

jenoonej423 · 1 month ago

Text

pavlov and ponytails

NOT MY WORK all rights to hyucksie, she deactivated years ago but I managed to get a hold of my own personal copy of her work and noticed many users were looking for one so here it is <3

synopsis: it was the perfect combination: you (the girlfriend), jeno (the boyfriend), and a sexual twist on psychological conditioning. after some thorough but fun experimentation, you finally see the results you were hoping for: you can now get your boyfriend hard just by tying your hair up.

pairing: jeno x fem!reader ft. bff!haechan genre: smut, fluff, crack, established relationship, slice of life, college!au, rich kid!jeno

word count: 22k words lmfao

warnings: language, explicit detailed sex honestly the amount of smut in this i’m almost ashamed, some cringe fluff | smut specifications under the cut

smut warnings: mostly soft dom!jeno but also some hard dom!jeno, sex in various locations, lots of blowjobs (obviously) and generous use of spit (practical! because water is never a substitute for lube, my friends), dirty talk, heavy petting, degradation, fingering, edging, handjob, pussyjob, cumming in panties, blowjobs, spanking, dick slapping, deepthroating, hair pulling, face fucking, facials, cum feeding/eating, just lots and lots of cumplay you’ve been warned, overstimulation, unprotected sex, manhandling, exhibitionism, punishment sex, edging, biting, marking, thigh fucking, unprotected sex, facials, cumplay, creampie, vibrator, just the slightest bit of a daddy kink as in just one instance, jeno. yes jeno is a warning.

The day you moved in with Jeno, he refused to let you lift any of the heavy boxes.

“But they’re my stuff,” you complained, “is this a fragile masculinity thing?”

He had one arm reaching into the trunk when he looked back, met with the sight of your crossed arms and accusing frown. He spun round to face you, a glass bowl of chocolate coins in hand. It was the only thing left outside of the boxes, something you had stolen taken as remembrance from Donghyuck, your best friend and previous roommate in uni.

“This,” he stressed, pulling your arm and securing the bowl in your embrace, “is the only fragile thing around here.” He spun back to arrange the boxes left inside. “Think of it this way: you have a boyfriend who’s extremely grateful that you agreed to start living with him and his way of saying ‘thanks’ is by saving you the hassle and taking care of the heavy things.” He held two boxes stacked atop each other before setting them on the cart, facing you again. “Besides, you should know by now that I respect you too much to demean you like that,” he continued with a hand on his hip, head tilted to the side as he leaned closer, a skewed smile ghosting his lips. “Unless we’re in bed and you’re in that mood.”

He was slowly closing the gap between you, and instinctively you stepped backwards before your ego caught up and rooted you in place. “Chicken shit,” you whispered. “You’re saying you’d only give it to me in bed?” He was so close that your only clue of his smirk growing into a wicked grin was the way his eyes shrunk into crescents.

And you’re saying you just got here but you already want me on every surface?”

You scoffed despite the surprise painted on your face. “I didn’t say that!”

“Of course you didn’t,” he chuckled, “but I did and I think it’s a great idea.” His voice dived deep. “Just to prove how grateful I am to you.” His hands rested low on your waist. “And that my masculinity,” he whispered to your ear, “is anything but fragile.”

There was no way you could have concealed the sharp shiver that cut through you. Your breath was stolen, muscles taut and frozen, and lips slightly parted when Jeno parted from you, regarding you with an amused smile. You watched as he gripped the handles of the cart, your gaze dripping onto the veins that ran down his arms…

“Baby?” An absentminded huh? was all you managed. “Be a gentleman and open the door for me?” he said, clearly entertained by his own joke.

You rolled your eyes but did his bidding nonetheless. You swung the door open and stretched an arm out in an exaggerated gesture of welcome, other arm still hugging the bowl of chocolate. “Ladies first!” you shouted, making him laugh loud and pinch your ear between his fingers before rolling the cart in with you in tow.

You were sprawled on the couch as Jeno went out for the last few boxes. You had to admit, you did end up pleased with his volunteer spirit. It allowed you to relax on your back, a hand reaching behind to the bowl you left on the end table, picking up yet another one of the circular treats. By now, there was a growing pile of the crumpled foil bits on your tummy as your eyes wandered, admiring the place.

It didn’t look like the man cave you expected it to be. Despite the sleekness of the minimal interior, the place seemed to radiate warmth from its walls. Like it was receiving you with a hug, happy that you were certainly, finally, here. Jeno told you his parents had signed it off to his name the day he turned legal, but he opted for the on-campus dormitories in university to avoid the 45-minute drive. Obviously, his family was well-off. It was good ammo for the rich-sheltered-kid trope you teased him with, but it was hardly even the surface to his many layers you’ve grown to love. On your part, you made sure that he knew you were in it for him and nothing else. That same conviction was what delayed you from moving in with him for so long, until today.

The timing was just right: you were having your third anniversary soon, your last year of uni was approaching faster than you’d like, and you were eventually gonna go your separate ways from Donghyuck (your best friend slash roommate) anyways, as he was spending the next semester at a specialized research center off-campus. It just made sense when Jeno whined for the nth time about the convenience of living together that you shrugged and said “Sure” so nonchalantly that he almost missed it.

Dumb silence was followed by his repetitive “Seriously?” and then hours of clinging to your side like an overgrown koala, ditching your date in favor of crowding in your single bed, fantasizing about how you’ll spend the last summer break and the last year of college under the same roof.

You smiled at the memory, letting an arm dangle off the sofa as you traced lines with your finger on the spotless wooden floor beneath you. “What about mornings?” You asked back then. “You’ll have to be up early if you get any morning classes.” It was a small but genuine concern. Your boyfriend loved his sleep and set alarms for half an hour before class when he lived on-campus.

He looked at you as if you were crazy and he’d been rising before dawn all his life, clutching your chin in his hand and rocking your face side to side. “I don’t think waking up is a problem if I’m waking up to you. Getting us out of bed is a wholly different question, though…”

Your heart was seizing just as Jeno returned, unloading the boxes. You were feeling playful, deep in that teasing mood that arose whenever you were brimming with attachment. “Babe, quick!” Without waiting for him to face your way, you catapulted the piece of chocolate from your hand into the air, going full speed in his direction. Jeno was fast, but only fast enough to catch the trinket in his hand after it bounced off his forehead. He stared at it for some moments, puzzled by the attack.

Oops.” Jeno lifted his gaze to find your coy smile. “Sorry, thank you, I love you!” You chimed, all in one breath.

A warm sensation bloomed in his chest at the sight of you giggling so comfortably, looking so ‘at home’ at his home. No, not just his. It was yours. ‘Your home too,’ he thought, a match lighting up in his heart. ‘You’re home, too’ and suddenly his body was ablaze with affection for you.

The urge to kiss you breathless was itching at his bones but he put a hand back on the cart, wanting everything out of the way before he got his way with you. “One sec,” he turned on his heels, rushing to the door.

“One!” You shouted after him.

“Ten seconds!” He corrected, spurring more giggles to pour out of you.

You counted in your head while you reached for another chocolate. By three, you’ve unwrapped the foil. Five, Jeno was running back in. Six, the thin piece dangled between your teeth.

And then you lost count, because suddenly your boyfriend was on top of you, his knee spreading your thighs apart as he slotted his lower body between you and pulled you in by the hips. His hand dipped to the back of your neck, lifting your face closer to his. You held your breath from the anticipation, and you nearly lost it when the tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his lips.

He sank down, closing the distance between your faces. You expected the familiar brush of soft lips against yours as you shut your eyes, but you moaned at the cold graze of his teeth instead. Your eyes fluttered open, and you huffed when you realized he wound you up just to snatch the chocolate from your lips. He looked so delighted with himself it was almost too hard for you to maintain a scowl.

“What?” He challenged between chews.

“Asshole,” you muttered, “thought you were gonna kiss me.” You watched as he swallowed, eyes so focused on the bob of his Adam’s apple that you didn’t notice his hand on your neck lifting you up again, his smirk unwavering.

“I am now.”

Not a second later, his lips collided with yours. His hand cupped your jaw, strained breath escaping you when his thumb nudged at your chin and forced your lips to part against his, tipping you further into him like he was starved and desperate to taste all of you. You propped yourself higher on one elbow, chasing him with the same eagerness as your mouths moved in sync. His tongue delved past your lips and you moaned at the taste of chocolate that lingered on him. He was kissing you like an apology, like he was feeding the stolen sweetness back into you.

He broke away, giving you a chance to catch your breath. His hand dragged to the small of your back and pulled you towards him, giving you two gentle pecks on the lips once he had you upright. His palms settled on your ass, kneading at the clothed skin before lifting you up with him, adjusting to a more comfortable position with him sitting and you straddling his hips.

Despite you being on top, it was clear that you were under his control. This time, he wanted you slow. He drew you into him, your arms resting atop his shoulders as he ghosted another peck on your mouth, scarcely breaking away from you before swiping his tongue across your still-closed lips. You opened up to him instinctively, wanting to feel his mouth back on yours, to have him steal your breath, give it back, and take it from you again and again until your lungs knew nothing but him, him, him.

He indulged your silent wishes, molding your lips together and matching the slow pace of his hands rubbing up and down the sides of your thighs. You could have kissed him like that forever if it weren’t for the need to breathe, or the slip of soft gasps and whimpers, or the impatient heat between your legs that compelled your body to meld even closer to his, not knowing when you began to rock back and forth on his growing need, only knowing that you had to have more.

He groaned into the kiss, slipping both his hands into your back pockets and halting your lewd motions. You whined, attempting to resume your grinding, but his hand squeezing hard on your plump flesh called the last shot, the fleeting but sharp pain ripping a mewl from you and drawing you still.

“I’m starting to think you’re trying to get fucked on this couch.” You shuddered from his words and his voice, deep and swimming in the same lust you were drowning in.

“Yeah? That would be a smart guess.”

“So you do want me on every available surface.” He smiled, planting a kiss to the corner of your lip. Despite wanting to tease you and make you wait, it somehow felt wrong for his lips to be away from your skin for too long.

“Don’t be too sure…” you paused, kissing up his neck, “…I haven’t even seen the rooms yet.” He grunted when you sucked on the bolt of his jaw, eyes closing and head tilting back as he let you work your magic on him.

“Fuck, baby. I promise I’ll show you around.” His breath hitched. “Promise I’ll fuck you in each one.” Hearing that sent heat rushing to your core, your head whirring over his lust-driven vows to give you exactly what you wanted and more. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? On this couch, the showers, the guest room, the kitchen…” Your toes curled in when he started to move you in his grip, the hands that kept you still now grinding you on him. “Even against the windows, right baby?” He whispered in your ear, tickling you with his breath before nibbling gently on the lobe. You keen from the sensation, picking up the pace of your hips until he held you firmly in place again, cutting off the momentum with his final words, “But right now, bedroom.”

You looked at him with scrunched eyebrows, patience already worn thin. “But I want you here,” you whined. “Want you now.”

He only smiled at your eagerness, your desperation. “Not here baby.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he began, his hand landing on top of yours that was trying to lift his shirt off, “I want your first proper fucking here to be in our bed.”

You breathed out a sound of appreciation despite how frustrated you felt beneath your clothes. “Jen,” your head rested on his shoulder as you drawled your words, “I love that you’re so sweet, but you don’t have to be sweet with me right now.” You lifted your gaze back to his eyes. “And this,” you detached your body from his, watching his confusion grow as you stood before him, “doesn’t have to be a proper fucking.”

He could only gape at you as you shoved your shorts off, not a hint of grace in your hurried, desperate motions. His eyes trained steady at the dark patch on your underwear, waiting as you neared and caged him between your knees again. You took his hand in yours, guiding his fingers to the pool of moisture in the fabric, making him groan at the feeling. “Shit, baby. You’re soaked through.”

“Mmm,” your delighted sounds began to pour out of you as you rutted onto his stretched fingers, the tips bumping enticingly on your clothed clit, “Jeno… need you to take care of me. Please.” The need was rising to a crescendo within you, your chest heaving for relief. You guide his hand again, using his fingers to draw the line of your slit through your panties and making a show of trying to sink down on them despite the thin barrier of clothing. “Just need you inside me, please. Any part of you.”

He inhaled through his teeth, moving his hand back to your front to rub at your clothed clit. “God, always too needy to wait.” He didn’t seem eager to wait either as he pushed the fabric to the side, his middle finger immediately running between your drooling folds, dipping just a little into you each time he went past your entrance.

You must have been making the most unintelligent sounds, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were too preoccupied trying to get your boyfriend to just stick his damned finger where you needed it, but he kept pulling his hand away each time you tried to fuck yourself on him.

“Wanted to treat you like a princess but you go and act like a slut.” He spat the last word, punctuating his sentence with a stinging slap to your ass, the impact forcing you to sit down, your gasp breaking off into a needy moan as his finger finally breached inside of you. You were too drunk on the feeling to wait for his reaction. You closed your eyes, letting your cries spill freely as you began bouncing on his finger.

You couldn’t see him, but his grunts were confirmation enough that he enjoyed the sight. “More,” you choked out. “Want more of you.” He didn’t deny you this time, a hand flying to your waist to slow you down as he re-entered you with both his middle and ring finger, giving you a few hard pumps before he curled the digits, grazing at your front walls. “Fuck,” you cried out, your arms flying out to the backrest of the couch to keep your legs from collapsing in.

“You like that?” His fingers eased into the rhythm of pushing in and out of you, angling his hand just right so he keeps brushing against your sweet spot.

“Yes! Like it so much, feels so good.” His other hand pulled on your scoop neckline, enough to expose the cups of your strapless bra. He tugged even that down, pulling until your bra was stuck mid-torso, your breasts spilled out, and the collar of your shirt ruined. He circled his tongue around your nipple and blew cold air on it, drawing a gasp from you before he took it in his mouth, giving it multiple short but rapid sucks and at times gently grazing it with the front of his teeth, pausing only to give your other nub the same dizzying attack.

His digits kept pumping into you, going faster and harder while proof of your arousal kept oozing down his fingers. The wetness collected on his palm until he pushed his hand up against you, the heel rubbing on your clit, spreading your slick back onto your lips. “You’re making a mess on my hands, baby.” You couldn’t find any words to say back, littering the air with just your whimpers and the wet sounds of his digits fucking into you.

You were shaking at the knees, your pitch going higher and the succession of small, gradually tightening clenches of your walls blared at him, all telltale signs that you were getting closer and closer and, “Fuck fuck fuck, please, oh my god, please!” You were already hanging on the precipice when he withdrew his fingers and mouth from your skin, snatching you back to the ground before you could plunge into the depths of white heat.

You sobbed, dropping your head to the crook of his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt in protest. Chocolate and orgasms; it seemed your boyfriend was stealing everything from you today. You felt the small vibrations as he chuckled, trying to soothe your betrayed feelings with soft kisses to your shoulder and a hand rubbing your lower back. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “it’s not a proper fucking, but I still want you to cum on my cock.”

You were appeased just enough with the promise of more. You lift your hips higher, helping him pull his pants and boxers down to free his erection. You wasted no time as you swiped your palm on his glistening tip, spreading his pre-cum as you glided your fist on his cock. You bowed closer to his cock, and Jeno groaned as he watched you push spit out of your mouth, landing it on his tip and gradually spreading it on his shaft with each pump of your hand. There was a trail of it left hanging from your lips, the clear liquid bridging your mouth to the head of his cock while you looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, hand tight around him, moving up and down in flicking motions.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he growled deep, a hand sneaking to the back of your neck and pulling you towards him, re-connecting your lips as the air around you grew thinner and hotter than ever. Your bare pussy was now hovering above his cock as you kept pumping him through the kiss, and it was taking every bit of restraint in you to keep it that way, imagining how easy it would be to just lower your hips and swallow him into your waiting heat.

He must have been thinking the same as you felt him buck into your touch, his tip pressing lightly on your slit, your gasp breaking the kiss. “Thought you wanted to fuck me on the bed first…” you mumbled. He replaced your hand with his, jerking himself off a few times as he pushed the fabric of your ruined panties further out to expose you even more.

“You thought right.” He slid the head of his cock along your slit, prodding the tip against your hole ever so slightly before running it back to the front, rubbing it on your clit and then going back again. His other hand guided your hips down on him, watching with dark eyes as your folds spread around the girth of his cock, the wetness dribbling on his length inciting a growl from him. “Can you cum from just this, baby?” He began thrusting forward, his cock sandwiched between your pussy lips rubbing you all the right ways, leaving you devoid of intelligent vocabulary.

“Mmm… ah! Fuck, yes, keep going.” He had an arm braced around you, keeping you upright while you grind on each other, your clit swollen and sensitive from the friction. You were both panting hard, speeding up as you were getting closer to your highs, but the burn in your thighs was getting too much to ignore. “Jen…” you managed to whine as you slowed down. He hummed in response, a hand reaching out to the messy hair on your face and tucking it behind your ear. The delicate gesture was so out of place from the carnal things he was doing to your body, and you keened at the swirl of feeling so loved and so ruined all at once.

You stopped your motions altogether and melted into his embrace. Your eyes were closed, forehead leaned against his as small squeaks slipped past your lips from his every thrust. His chest tightened with endearment, and you didn’t have to say anything as he picked up on your cue, holding you by the hips and ardently bringing pleasure to both of you. “Is my baby tired?” You moaned in his ear, blood rushing to his cock at the feeble sound. “S’okay. I’ll take you there. Make you feel so good.”

Jeno was always good with his promises. He positioned his tip against your clit, his face contorting in pleasure as he rubbed your most sensitive parts together. His hand sneaked to your pussy from behind, plunging his middle and ring finger into you and making you cry out from the added sensation of him pumping into you once again. Your hands were shaking as they reached down to his cock to stroke his shaft, everything a blur of sloppy hands and filthy squelching sounds.

His fingers were relentless, your walls sucking them so deep he was barely pulling them out of you anymore, driving into you harsh and rapid. Your engorged clit was throbbing, each circle of his tip gliding around it sending shockwaves through you. Your jaw hung loose, choked sobs pouring out of you, legs trembling as an intense heat unfurled within you. Jeno knew you were close, your walls lightly spasming around his digits. He kept his pace constant, his mouth kissing on your jaw, ready to catch you from below when you reach your peak.

“Fuckfuckfuck! You’re making me cum!” Your broken sobs drew a groan from him, “Fuck, I’m there, I’m there! Jeno!” Your whole body tenses up, spasming in time with your powerful orgasm. Jeno stops moving against you, the contraction of your walls pushing his fingers in and out of you without his guidance.

He didn’t take his digits out of you even after you’ve calmed down, keeping them buried deep as he started jerking himself with his other hand, occasionally bumping into your still sensitive clit, making you hiss. He looked so hot, so focused with his eyes looking directly into yours, eyebrows scrunched together, breathing ragged. His cock was rock hard, twitching in his hand, the tip an angry red.

“Cum in my panties,” you rasped, barely thinking when you let the order slip out before adding, “please?” He moaned, voice higher than usual, muttering under his breath,

“You’re so dirty for me today.” You smiled, knowing this kind of behavior wrecked him a hundred times over inside. You fixed your underwear, spreading the fabric below to cover as much of yourself as possible with his fingers still inside you. You pulled at the top hem, angling it down and showing your eagerness to catch every drop of his cum.

Your other hand reached down to his balls, fondling them gently, urging him to come undone. Your name and a flurry of curses tumbled out of him soon after, strangled noises escaping him as he came. His hips lurched with each shot of his load onto your exposed skin, the warmth dripping down and collecting at the bottom of your panties. You shuddered at the feeling, hitching a breath when he bit on your shoulder. His fingers scissored inside you, and you realized you’ve been clenching around them hard since he started cumming on you.

His teeth were replaced by his soft lips pressing wet kisses on your shoulder. His fingers slipped out of you slowly, your bodies gradually untensing as you basked in the calm after frenzied sex. You pressed a hand gently to his chest, watching its rise and fall grow steadier.

When he lifted his head, your disheveled appearance brought a smile to his face. He kissed your chin, “I love you.”

You kissed him back on the forehead, “Love you too.”

You had to break the tender moment, the feeling of your soiled underwear now less sexy and more uncomfortable against your skin. You tried to lift your thigh over to one side but unlike you, your boyfriend was clearly having a hard time moving on. His hands were on your waist, keeping you from moving, his eyes focused on your ruined panties.

“Jen?” He hummed absentmindedly. “I need to clean up.” He was a little dazed as he looked up to you, his hands suddenly letting go as if he just realized he was caging you in. You tried standing, and you cringed from the sensitive and utterly wet feeling between your thighs. “Can you get me some undies from my suitcase?” You had your legs twisted slightly inwards, your stance awkward as you tried to keep the fluids from dripping out.

“I don’t know…” he pondered, “I kinda like the look of that.” You groaned at his response. Trickles of white were beginning to ooze from the edges of the fabric, and you knew if you didn’t handle it now there would be a bigger mess to take care of.

“Jeno,” you whined, “please? I can’t move.” He only smiled wider at your predicament. “Ugh, why are you even so wound up…”

“Really? You don’t get why all I’m riled up thinking of you walking around full of my cum?” Well, when he puts it like that…

“Okay, fine. Maybe I do get it.” You were careful not to show how his remark made goosebumps rise on the back of your neck. “Now get my underwear or get cumstains on your immaculate floor.”

He laughed at your threat but stood to fulfill your wishes, fixing himself up a little before going into the bedroom, coming back a minute later. You snatched the folded bundle in his hand, turning to the direction of the bathroom before a thought snagged in your head. You pivoted back to the couch, Jeno amused as he watched you try to lean over to the end table without walking.

“Gotcha,” you mumbled after struggling to fish through the clear bowl, holding a golden piece between your fingers. You faced him and threw the chocolate in the air, and it seems this time he’s learned his lesson, catching it easily in one hand.

“Good boy!” You cooed, walking over to him carefully so you could ruffle his hair. He scrunched his nose at you, pretending to ward you off as he ate the confection. You huffed at his reaction, turning your back to him and waddling to the bathroom as he giggled behind you.

It was the habits developed since that day which led you down the weirdest, most preposterous mission of your life yet. When you realized what was happening, you swore to yourself that it was unintentional. It was just that the bowl of chocolate coins was always there. Sat within your reach, looking all convenient, plentiful, tempting.

Every time Jeno would do you a little favor⁠ (the subtle ways he liked to take care of you like handing you the remote, getting you a glass of water from the kitchen, standing up to draw the curtains when he noticed that the midday sunlight was a little too harsh on your face⁠) it was all too easy for you to reach for a golden piece, tossing it his way or feeding it to him yourself, the treat paired with the various ways you liked to show how much you appreciate him.

Your rewarding system was quite generous, and a few days later you’ve almost exhausted the supply. Despite that, you still munched on the gold pieces as you binge watched The Big Bang Theory with Jeno. You were half-sat and snuggled up on the bed, his arm hugging round behind you, ending with his hand laying softly on your tummy. His head was tilted to the side, resting against yours. The only bit of affection you had to offer was your leg strewn over his, your arms cradling the clear bowl instead.

You popped a piece in your mouth in time as one of the characters, Sheldon, offered the same to Penny. You giggled at the coincidence, shifting a little to your side before holding up the last piece from the bowl. “Chocolate?” Jeno chuckled at your offered mimicry, pushing your wrist down with his hand. “You sure?”

There was a hint of conflict in the way he pursed his lips before asking you, “Do you need anything?”

“Um, no.” Your eyebrows scrunched a bit from the untimely question. “Just you.” He smiled at your answer. His hand trailed from your stomach to your thigh, expressing his sentiments through a light squeeze. “This is the last piece, though. Sure you don’t want it?” His eyes darted between you and the chocolate.

“If it’s the last one…” He took it gingerly from your fingers, lifting his hand from your thigh to remove the wrapper. “…then you can have it.” His hand squeezed your cheeks, making you jump a little as he quickly fed you the treat with his other hand, his finger brushing the inside of your puckered lips. You blinked at him, mouth still parted when his touch left you. “What? Not even a ‘thank you?’” He cocked his head in amusement, tempering your surprise into embarrassment as you pulled your gaze away.

You rolled your eyes although warmth still coated your cheeks. Jeno was always the affectionate kind, but that was only when the two of you were alone, free from any outward stares. Now that you lived together, it’s been three days of having you all to himself and subjecting you to the full extent of his mushy tendencies, as if making up for all the opportunities he lost to wandering eyes.

Not once in the last three days has he failed to send your heart lurching to your ribs, but not once have you directly admitted to it either, refusing to be the one who’s always on the flustered end of the relationship. He’s just been more attentive to your needs, more shameless in expressing his feelings, and even more helpful than he was before, which was already a lot as it was.

Like he was privy to your thoughts, he broke the silence with an “Are you feeling hungry? Iʼll go make ramyeon for us.” You nodded, perfectly aware that heʼd take your portion into account regardless of your answer. “Just in case you change your mind,” heʼd say.

You shimmied onto his spot once he left the bedroom, burrowing your back into his side of the bed and bunching the covers up against you. “His butt’s so warm,” you thought, snickering to yourself.

Minutes into watching the episode alone, the apartment scenes weaved back into the story and your laughter wafted through the air as you watched the repetitive interaction between the two characters. Penny cleared up the table after eating, followed by “Chocolate?” from Sheldon, taking and eating it without a second thought. She sat on the couch, careful to keep Sheldon’s seat vacant, “Chocolate?” She excused herself to the hallway for a phone call, “Chocolate?” She caught herself from disrupting anime night, “Chocolate?” You giggled at the first few instances, but it grew weaker and weaker as an eerie feeling overcame you, and soon the fake sitcom laughter was left unaccompanied in your silence.

“I know what you’re doing,” Leonard told Sheldon. “You’re using chocolate as a positive reinforcement for what you consider correct behavior!”

“Very good! Chocolate?”

You gawked at the screen as an epiphany landed on you. Is that the reason for Jeno’s amplified devotion? “Chocolate?” You whisper-shouted to yourself, mind replaying all the times you tossed a sweet trinket his way, flickering between doubt and shock at the revelation.

“Stop using my girlfriend as your lab rat!” Leonard whined.

To your surprise, you answered a defensive “I’m not!” to the screen. “I’m not… right? Holy shit.” The discovery was like a douse of cold water and the longer you pondered on it the more it made sense, the more ideas blossomed in your mind, and you plunged deep into a world that was equal parts strange and full of curious, unexplored possibilities.

You’re not given enough time to process it as you’re called out to the dining table. You carried the empty bowl with you, your bare feet dragging on the floor as you walked your way to your boyfriend whose back was turned to you. You propped the bowl at the end of the table and sat opposite him, his lips tugging upwards at the sight of you. He dug in rather enthusiastically, and after a few happy bites he took notice of your stillness. “Why aren’t you eating?”

You sounded an oh at the question, broken from the jumbled thoughts still running about your head, and took a small sip. He frowned, grabbing the spoon from your hand. “Want me to feed you myself?” He said it like a threat, the beginnings of a skewed smile on his expression.

Your nose scrunched at the suggestion, but you untensed as you considered using it as a chance test of sorts. You looked up to him with unsure eyes, clearing your throat. “That—I’d like that,” you mumbled, your gaze focused at the skin between his eyebrows. It was a trick you learned whenever you couldn’t look him in the eyes, something that’s been happening a lot lately.

Pleasant surprise painted over his features, and he didn’t question your easy compliance. Soon enough his elbows were leaned on the table, and he was feeding you and eating alternately out of the same utensils. Getting spoonfed wasn’t as bad as you imagined, but what you couldn’t take was the proximity. His face was so near yours that you could see each of his eyelashes in the awkward intervals when both of you just chewed in silence.

“Too close…” You gave him a weak push on the arm he was leaning on just as he was trying to give you the next bite.

“I can go even closer—”

The dull thud of wood, metal screeching against tiles, and the sharp clang of silver was the background music to your surprise when Jeno leaned in even more. You had whacked at his hand and pushed your chair back, the silverware flying from his hand to the table before flopping to the floor.

The sound of disapproving tuts pulled your gaze from the mess of soup and noodles on the floor, landing on the bright orange stain on your boyfriend’s shirt. An apology hung by the tip of your tongue, only to fizzle when you felt his thumb swipe on your cheek.

“Bad girl,” he mumbled as he wiped off the few drops that splashed onto you.

You kept shifting your glance around the dining area before gathering the wits to stand up and get a cleaning rag. Your stubborn refusal to look his way was enough for him to know that the feeding session was over, so he cleared up the ceramics as you took care of the mess. Once everything was spick and span again, you were ready to drown in the bedsheets and forget about how flustered you got at being called a bad girl, until the source of your embarrassment cleared his throat, calling your attention.

“Aren’t you forgetting something…?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, I’m sorry?” you tried, the hint of a wince on your features as he chuckled at your reaction.

“No…” His gaze whipped to the end of the table, face falling at the sight of the clear bowl being empty. “Oh.”

“Didn’t you say you wanted me to have the last piece?” The confidence swelled in you at the reminder that this was your little test, and his reaction might have just proved your hypothesis.

“I did…” he mumbled, eyes not leaving the bowl, a little crease between his eyebrows and his lips set to a pout. You almost felt bad thinking he looked adorable like this, almost considered if you could have conditioned yourself into spoiling him with the chocolates. You brushed the thought off, heading to the fridge to get water for both of you. As the door swung back, something glinted in the corner of your eye, sandwiched between two eggs in the tray. Gold.

You had no idea how it got there, but you snatched it up, completely forgetting about the water. “Jen?” He looked up, lips still pouting. “Fetch!”

It was comical, strangely caricature-like when he trapped the projectile chocolate in both hands, face lighting up as he held the gold circle in his palm. A weird feeling crept on your nerves as you watched him eat it, your mind playing little games on you as the image of him with a happy, wagging tail flashed before your eyes.

You shook the thought away, walking over to him and wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. The embrace doesnʼt last, the wet feeling from the stain on his shirt making you back away.

“You need to wash up,” you commented, nose scrunched.

“This is your fault, you know.”

“Yeah, and I said sorry.” He laughed, cupping your face in his hands.

“Alright then. Wanna join me in the shower?” You slapped a hand to his chest, making him laugh even louder. “Right, fine. Iʼll have you in there someday, though. I promised every room, remember?” He wiggled his eyebrows, pressing a chaste kiss to your nose before making his way to the bedroom.

You walked behind him, plopping onto the bed as he got ready for a shower. You waited for him to close the bathroom door before fishing your phone out.

There was an urgent call you needed to make.

“Hello, Peaches!” It only took two rings before you heard the familiar nickname greet you, Donghyuck’s teasing voice penetrating through the line. Hearing your best friend brought a smile to your face, a little disbelief coursing through you that you didnʼt talk a peep in the last three days. “How’s marital bliss?” The question stretched your smile even further. You used to get annoyed from how he always referred to you and Jeno as a married couple, but you were quite used to it now.

“It’s the worst.” Your tone dripped with faux exaggeration. “I do nothing all day but get smothered with love, attention, and food. A divorce might be in the works soon.”

“Sounds tough, but I’ll throw you the biggest bachelorette party post-divorce and get you drunk out of your wits you might just wake up married to me.”

You snorted. That sounded exactly like something he would do. “Funny, but bachelorette parties are for unmarried—�� You halt your own words, analyzing the notions of his statement in your head. “Wait…. that actually makes more sense than tradition.”

“Right? I’m the genius everyone refuses to acknowledge.” You heard a clatter in the background, likely that he knocked something down with the animated hand gestures he always did.

“Anyway, how’s life?” you asked. “You haven’t burned anything down in my absence, have you?” He still had a couple weeks left before he moves out of the flat you used to share.

“I had to hold myself back from torching the sofa, you know? All those nights I had to feign ignorance when Jeno finger banged you under the blanket on movie nights,” he sighed. “If only the memory could go down in flames.”

Your jaw dropped at the confession. “You what—”

“Oh, the things you thought you got away with!” Your eyes only grew wider. You knew perfectly well about those things, alright. It made you feel a little guilty, but considering Donghyuck had his fun acting all mean towards your boyfriend most of the time, you thought it was only fair. “Don’t you remember? Magnolias, violets, freesias…”

The names of flowers seemed random and only sparked confusion. Hyuck suddenly sparked an interest for floral scents when you began university, although he could never for the life of him do any actual gardening. You remembered how he could always sense them though no one can, asking “Doesn’t it smell like carnations?” to both you and Jeno on the nights he came over—

Oh.

“I was trying to send signals but who was I kidding? Neither of you could even come close to my wavelength,” he bragged.

You couldn’t stop the images that flashed through your head of all the quickies and hushed sexcapades, coating you in embarrassment as you realized that almost without fail, there was a mention of a flower from your best friend after every deed.

“Hyuck! Couldn’t you have just told me like a normal person?”

“And act like a total cockblock? Jeno and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I wouldn’t do that to anyone. What’s good for me is I’ve collected enough blackmail material to ask for your firstborn,” he snickered. “Now tell me why did you decide to disturb my perfectly peaceful present? Wait, no, hold your thoughts. Did you notice my genius there? Alleviation.”

“What?” You’re pulled back to reality by the out-of-place word, not understanding what “alleviation” he was talking about. Was it some new kind of slang?

“The three p’s! Perfectly peaceful present. Uh-lee-vee-aye-shun. Geez, woman. Aren’t you supposed to complete 18 units of English for law admission?” You soaked in a few seconds of silence as you processed what he meant.

“Hyuckie…”

“What?”

“Alliteration!” You barely got the word out before bursting into a fit of giggles. “You’re talking about alliteration!” Your laughter rang out uninhibited as you imagined the frozen look he would have on his face whenever he was flustered.

“Well! It’s not my area of expertise.”

“Right. Sure. Whatever,” you said in between snorts.

“I’m hanging up—”

“Wait, no! Iʼm in dire need of your expertise right now. There’s something I’m not quite sure about and I think you would know about it.” Your best friend loved to tease, but he never liked it when it was mutual. He was petty and you knew he would have dropped the call and not picked up for the rest of the evening if you didn’t suck up.

“I’m listening.”

“I might have done something involving Jeno and chocolate…” you trailed off, not sure how to introduce the situation directly.

“When you said ‘area of expertise,’ I thought you meant psychology, not some kinky shit—”

“No!”

“—although neither is wrong—”

“Oh, shut up! I am referring to psychology.” You didn’t give him any more chances to derail the conversation, the events of earlier tumbling out of you quick and easy. Jeno, chocolate, big bang, positive reinforcement.

“That’s where my chocolates went? You bitch! Although I can’t say I’m surprised.” You shrugged at his reaction out of habit. “The show’s right for the most part. Positive reinforcement. It’s under a process called operant conditioning, wherein an association is formed between the behavior and the consequences of a behavior through positive or negative—”

“In English, maybe?”

“I am speaking English. You just speak dumb.” Your eyebrows furrowed at the insult, ready to retort until he cut you off. “Anyway! Operant conditioning is rewarding or punishing to either reinforce or discourage certain behaviors. It’s a learned response and it’s voluntary. That’s what you think you did by bribing your kind boyfriend into becoming your slave over some cheap ass chocolate coins.”

You frowned at the explanation and his choice of words, but you expected just as much. “Great. Thanks for that perspective. Now I feel guilty, thanks.” It was his turn to laugh on the other line.

“It’s not that deep, Peaches! I bet Jeno’s just a soft dom who wants you to be his baby.” You heaved retching sounds into the air. “Serious! That boy’s an open book and I’ve been reading him since day one. Dom vibes all over. Has he asked you to call him Daddy yet?” The retching sounds intensified. “Even if you did somehow condition him, it’s nothing to fret over. We do that to children! They use it in schools. It’s a teaching technique and it’s normal. Plus, if you succeeded I would count it as a damn good feat. God knows I tried to get you to regularly wash the dishes with ice cream.”

You resonated with his point, but you had to sigh. “And here I was thinking you treated me so often out of the kindness in your heart.”

“Kindness and a heart? You ask too much of me,” he continued as you chuckled. “You know what would be really fun though? There’s another kind of conditioning. Classical conditioning. It trains involuntary response. There was this guy named Pavlov who did an experiment on dogs—he was a piece of shit, by the way—and what he did was he rang a bell every feeding time. Eventually the dogs would salivate with just the sound of that bell, even without the presence of food. They’ve equated the two stimuli, food and sound, to the same involuntary response.” You shaped an O with your lips in shades of understanding and amazement. “So what I’m saying is, since he seems to respond so easily, you should try Pavlov dogging your boyfriend.”

Your hand slapped the mattress as you shook your head. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” His voice was exasperated at your swift rejection.

“You just called this Pavlov guy a piece of shit and you want me to follow in his light?”

“He was an animal abuser. I doubt youʼll be using any torture methods on little old Jeno, unless your few days in pleasure island have already turned you into some nasty freak—”

“Wouldnʼt that be illegal? Sounds like it could be a tiny bit illegal,” you cut him off before he could interrogate further on your bedroom habits.

“Last time I checked, you’re the one who’s going into law school, but if I say youʼre in the clear then don’t worry. I got 99% on my ethics final, after all.”

You scoffed. “This must be the missing 1%, then.”

He groaned into the call, letting out a prolonged sigh before pushing the agenda once more. “Just give it a good old fashioned try, you boring little sourpuss. I doubt Jeno would be too mad at all the oral heʼs gonna get.” Your thoughts froze over at that last sentence.

“Wait, no, rewind. Oral?”

“You didn’t think I was suggesting you do the bell thing, did you?” Your silence was the only answer you offered. “You absolute dum-dum. Of course I was suggesting something sexual!”

“Yeah. Right. Of course. Why would I think you would ever suggest otherwise,” you deadpanned. You were still in a bit of shock as the magnitude of his suggestion doubled down on you.

He hummed into the phone. “Do something like… playing the macarena each time you go down on him.”

“Are you mental?” You almost shrieked, toning it down midway as you remembered Jeno was showering just some meters away.

“It’s a marvelous idea! Like an alarm tone for his dick. Hit him with a ‘Dale a tu cuerpo alegría Macarena’ and Jeno junior is up and ready to dance!”

“God, I think I’m actually gonna be sick,” you grimaced, clutching your tummy for unseen effect.

“What do you suggest, then?” Hyuck challenged.

“Nothing! I’m not doing it.” You crossed your arms under your chest, sitting up on the bed.

“Pussy.”

“Nut case.”

“Wimp.”

“Loony!”

“I bet you’re just scared.” You scoffed at his drop of the magic word. “I bet your head game is too weak to make it happen, anyways.”

“Excuse me!” You huffed, about to defend yourself, but how does one do that on the topic of fellatio, of all things?

“Yes? Excuse you? What is it?” By the sing-songy tone of his voice, you just knew that he could sense your predicament. This was Donghyuck’s specialty, baiting you with bets. There was just something about being friends with the boy that naturally came with that childish competitive spirit, his snide arrogance only there to make matters worse.

“What are the stakes?” Your voice was uncharacteristically calm, almost unnerving.

“Glad you asked. See, you might have taken my chocolates but I guess you forgot something of yours.” You raised an eyebrow. You couldn’t have forgotten anything, you even had a checklist. “You know those two giant bags of dehydrated marshmallows you bought online? Are they even bags? They’re the size of sacks aren’t they? They arrived two days ago.”

“Oh my god.” Your heart dropped at the mention of the marshmallows. Lucky Charms are only valid for their marshmallows, and when you found out that 40 pounds of just the marshmallows were being sold online for a limited period, you made the quickest impulse purchase of your life. How could you forget? “They’re called marbits,” you whispered. Marshmallow bits.

“Oh your god indeed, and they can be called chalk bits for all I care. I’ve already opened one—”

“You did not!”

“—so stakes are on the one I left untouched. Unless, of course, your generosity wants to leave that to me too—”

“No. Deal. You’re on.”

His squealing laughter pierced through the speaker, making you hold the phone away from your ear. “Deal’s on what, though? How do you plan on Pavlov dogging the boyfriend?”

You nibbled on the corner of your bottom lip, still a little intimidated by the concept of… Pavlov dogging, but you also couldn’t deny the feeling of excitement slowly bubbling in you. “I don’t know yet, but I’m certain it’s not gonna involve the macarena in any way possible.” You grimaced at the reminder of that scarring mental image.

“Bo-ring!” He genuinely yawned at the end of the word, and you were reminded of his screwed up sleeping schedule, likely that he hasn’t had a wink of rest yet.

“I’ll figure it out and tell you ASAP,” you promised.

“You better. And I want full reports, detailed rundowns—”

“You’re disgusting.” Your nose scrunched at the implications.

“Of the progress, Peaches! What do you think of me? I’m purely academic on this, a professional researcher,” he insisted.

“Can’t believe I’m getting myself into this…” you muttered.

“You said the same thing when I bet you couldn’t get that popular biochem major’s number in our freshman year,” he said, “and look where you are now: in a loving, sexually fulfilling relationship with said biochem major for, what? Almost three years? You’re welcome, by the way.” You grumbled at the reminder. He wasn’t wrong, though. He just wouldn’t stop mentioning it every chance he got.

“Thank you, Hyuck. Meanwhile, get some sleep and do not touch the last bag of marbits.” He muttered his half-hearted assurances and exchanged goodbyes, and soon you were left to your own thoughts.

“What the hell did I just sign up for?” You’ve been pacing around the bedroom since the call dropped. Still, it had to be done. If not for shoving it on Donghyuck’s face, then for the marbits. And if not for the marbits… well, for your own curiosity. The most important thing was it had to be inconspicuous enough for Jeno to not notice. You didn’t know if self-awareness contributed to the effectiveness of conditioning, but you were enforcing this rule to save yourself the embarrassment of explaining the whole situation to Jeno. You walked in little uneven circles around the room until you stepped on something slippery, something silky. You looked down, and there was a shimmery purple peeking from under your toes.

A scrunchie.

You picked it up, sliding it over your wrist then bunching your hair up in your hands, thinking it might help your brainstorming if your hair was out of the way—

“Wait. That’s it!” you whisper-yelled. The apple dropping on Newton’s head was the hair tie suffocating your wrist. Blowjobs and ponytails! It was subtle and it was perfect. You went back around the room in excited little hops, like Archimedes running naked through Syracuse shouting ‘Eureka!’ except your journey to the closed bathroom door was in silence. You leaned an ear against it, and it brought a sly smile to your face to hear the shower still running. You peeked at your left hand with the purple silk around it, bolstering your confidence as you turned the unlocked knob and entered quietly.

The door opened to a wide space of black tiles, a large built-in bathtub to the right. The sinks and mirrors were some feet before you, attached to the singular wall of white marble that stood in the middle of the room. The shower area was on the opposite side of the partition, and you walked barefoot and nimble towards it, stopping a few steps in front of the mirror as you contemplated whether to take your white shirt and booty shorts off. You decided in favor of leaving them on, wanting to give him a full show of you in wet clothes as you took care of him.

You stepped past the wall, into the area in front of the glass shower encasement where the tiles transitioned into a patch of white smooth decorative rocks. Jeno had his eyes closed with his back to the shower head, giving you a slightly clouded view of his nude front as you stood just outside the sliding door unbeknownst to him. Your eyes trailed along with the water caressing his skin, flowing down from the side of his face, his neck, the defined ridges of his abs, and downwards more until you’re met with a stroke of unexpected luck.

He was already hard, curved cock proudly pointing upwards.

The sight had you taken aback, startled and aroused, and in your daze your foot slipped a little on the rocks, the noise distinct against the sound of running water that alerted Jeno to open his eyes. He didn’t look surprised to find you in front of him, his expression slowly morphing into a smirk as he regarded you with half-lidded eyes.

“I was just thinking of you,” he said, not moving from where he stood.

“What about me?” you answered softly, stepping a little closer to the sliding door, eyes trained on his.

“About every which way I planned on ruining you tonight,” his lips tugged higher upwards, “and it seems you appeared right out of my imagination. Are you here to help me fulfill my promise?”

You didn’t answer, sliding the door open in front of you, a gust of warmth and humidity invading your atmosphere. You stepped inside, feet met with cold wet tiles, not bothering to shut the door behind you as you walked straight up to your boyfriend and caught his lips in yours in a soft kiss, your arms wrapped loosely around his neck. The warm water traveled from his bare chest down to your clothes, soaking you and making the fabric cling to your skin. His erection rubbed against you as you pressed closer to him, breaking the kiss as he groaned.

You slid down to your knees, hands dragging on his body, settling on the backs of his thighs. Jeno found it harder to breathe, the air going through his parted lips heavier as he drank in the sight below him. Your white shirt was soaked see through, hinting at the lace bra you had underneath as you stared at him with a wide-eyed, guileless expression.

You rubbed your palms up and down his thighs, breathing hard on purpose so he could feel your warm breath so close to his need. He placed his hands on top of yours, ceasing their motion as he nudged his hips a little, just enough to bump his tip against your moist lips.

“No teasing baby,” he whispered. “I’ve been dreaming of your pretty mouth for too long in here.”

You smiled innocently before ducking your head down to lick a stripe on the underside of his cock, from the base just until the ridge of his tip, careful not to touch his most sensitive part yet. He exhaled slowly from the warm, wet feel of the flat of your tongue, hitching abruptly when you took a ball in your mouth, suckling gently, drawing breathy grunts from him before you switched to the other one.

You sat back for a second, admiring his cock looking even stiffer than before, the veins wrapped around it bulging. Your core ached to have it buried in your walls, thighs squeezing together for some relief, but that’s not what you were here for right now.

You pulled your hands to the front, and you’re greeted by the bright purple on your left hand again, smirk pulling at your lips. You wrapped both hands on his length, fists going back and forth as you twisted them in opposite directions, applying just the right pressure to make him lean an arm on the wall beside him, watching you with eyebrows scrunched and mouth dropped open.

His receptiveness made you smile wider, your grip growing firmer, a deep, strangled moan escaping him. You pressed a light, chaste kiss to his tip, and he immediately bucked his hips forward, trying to push past your tightly shut lips. You looked up gain, smiling as you shook your head no.

His tip was leaking pre-cum, and you stuck your tongue out as you kept your motions constant, watching it collect and drip down before you caught it on your wet muscle, moaning and licking your lips before poking your tongue against his tip, trying to taste more of the clear liquid while Jeno hissed and pushed harder against your tongue.

You took mercy on him, pulling back to get ready for the main show. Your hands retreated to your hair, and you made sure to look him in the eyes as you twisted the scrunchie in smooth loops. Jeno smiled as he helped push the hair back from your face, but your hand flew to his wrist and pulled it in, holding his hand near your mouth as your tongue darted out to swirl around his index finger, and you giggled at the growl your lewd action incited.

You finally took him in your mouth, going halfway down his cock and bobbing back up and down again, your right hand pumping the rest of his length, your left massaging his balls. He let out a satisfied moan, his hand naturally moving to your bunched up hair and gripping it tight.

You withdrew with a popping sound, giving him a couple of firm tugs before you cupped both hands under your chin, coating them in your spit. You spread your palms flat on either side of his cock and began gliding them in opposing directions. You felt his thighs quiver a bit, and that was when you swirled your tongue in circles around the head of his cock, the wet sounds accompanying the splash of water behind him. The pitch of his moans climbed higher, and you’re surprised to hear him whine when you took his tip into your hot mouth, hollowing your cheeks around it and sucking in continuous, slow intervals, accompanied by the persistent glide of your palms on him.

“Baby, fuck,” he panted. “My baby’s a goddamn pro. Always so good for me. Love you so fucking much.” The praise had you moaning around him, your mind reeling and your thighs squeezing tighter together. You removed your hands from his cock, grabbing instead at his ass, your fingers digging into his skin. You slid your mouth further and further down his length slowly until you had the entirety of him down your throat. Jeno kept cursing at the air as his cock remained lodged in you, moving only with small bobs of your head, his tip prodding so deep inside you repeatedly, coaxing fat tears to form at the corner of your eyes as you found it harder and harder to breathe.

One of your hands dropped to your core, rubbing your clit through your shorts as you moaned and gargled around your boyfriend’s cock. He started twitching in your mouth and he bucked into you involuntarily, making you swallow and gag around his length, drawing a growl out of him.

To your surprise, his hand tugged on your hair, your lips dragging on his length as he pulled you off. Your first response was to gasp for air, but soon you were whining and pouting, grabbing at his thighs and trying to pull him back closer to you.

He bent down instead, pulling you up from under your arms until you were both standing. He tugged your shorts and underwear down together, and you lifted each foot up to help before he discarded both, landing with a wet splash behind him. He crouched down before you, pushed your thighs apart and lapped at your clit, his hands squeezing the backs of your thighs.

Shrill whimpers slipped from your mouth as Jeno kept making out with your pussy, keening when he started fucking you with his middle finger. It wasn’t nearly enough, and you rocked against his face, his nose nudging at your clit.

He pulled away from you after a few minutes, and before you could even complain his palm landed on your ass, making you gasp at the sharp contact, your body arching above him a little bit. Without warning, he stood up and lifted you by the hips, hoisting you on his shoulder high enough that your feet hovered above the floor, Jeno carrying you out of the shower. A confused squeak came out of you, but you wrapped your arms around his shoulder nonetheless, kissing on his neck.

“I’m fucking you on the bed,” he rasped. “I can get you wetter without all this water.” You didn’t contest, and you felt a little relieved because you were beginning to worry that the constant stream of hot shower was going to dry out his skin.

By the time he’s walked you out to the bedroom, you’ve already managed to leave two lovebites on his jaw. You lacked the time to admire your handiwork as Jeno dropped you down the mattress, your back landing on the soft cotton sheets. He tugged the hem of your shirt upwards, and you held your hands up as he pulled the wet fabric off you. You began to unhook your bra, but he beat you to it with a simpler solution of ripping the flimsy number into two pieces from the front.

“Jeno!” They weren’t the sturdiest pair, but they were worth the aesthetic and you were not too happy to see them lying ruined on the floor.

“I’ll buy you a whole closet,” he whispered before circling his tongue around your nipple. Your soft cries poured out of you continuously as the licking and sucking grew more intense, but your hand pulled at his hair when you remembered something.

“Wait. Babe, the shower,” you recalled in between pants.

“What?” It was a response on autopilot, Jeno paying you no actual mind as he just dived for your other nipple, fingers playing with the one you forced him to abandon.

“The water’s still running.” There was no response from him, just the feeling of his fingers trailing down your stomach, inching to the inside of your thighs. “Jeno.” Your fingers pulled on his hair again, harder this time, but it elicited a reaction other than what you hoped for as he groaned on your nipple, its effect ricocheting on you as you whimpered at the sound.

“The water bill isn’t a problem, baby.” Your back arched off the bed as he slipped two fingers into you, your already wet heat making it too easy for him to pump into you fast. “Now will you just let me—”

“I’m not worried about your—ah, fuck!—about your fat wallet. I’m thinking of Mother Earth!” Despite your aching need, you steeled your nerves and clamped your thighs together tight, pushing his hand away while your own body screamed at you for your actions.

He didn’t say anything as he looked at you with dark eyes, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek before he swiftly turned around, striding fast and aggravated as he headed back into the bathroom. His footsteps sounded heavy as he returned, and the look on his face told you that you were truly in for it tonight. He lifted your thighs up on his forearms, hooking onto them before he pulled your body to the foot of the bed and kneeled down the floor, his breath hot on your core.

“Just for that, I’m pulling at least five orgasms out of you tonight,” he declared before diving into you, your hands bunching up the sheets on either side of you, moans flying into the evening.

It was day seven of your determined “trials,” and Jeno was living his best life. Well, you both were, considering he was always more of a giver and liked to repay you five times over the mind blowing orgasms you gave him on the daily. Your hair tie collection was growing in size as well, buying new colors, shapes, sizes and patterns whenever the chance arose, not a day without one at the ready on your wrist.

Today, however, you were off-schedule for his wake-up blowjob because something else came buzzing at the doorbell, shaking the two of you out of the sleepy haze from last night’s activities. Jeno was anchoring you down with his arm across your body, mumbling that “it’s probably just a package,” and that there was no need to get up because “they’ll just leave it out front.” Thank the deity that looked down on you that day and blessed you with just enough strength to drag the two of you out of bed, because that was no delivery man outside.

It was his mom.

Of course, after the initial surprise wore off you gave her an easy smile, hugging each other before you helped her with the heavy bags she had on both arms, Jeno in turn taking them from you as you all gathered inside.

She fixed the groceries and side dishes she brought along with her, surveying the fridge and pantry to make sure you were both running on actual nutrition and not “all those instant bags of MSG” her son so loved. While she went about her business, she mentioned how she had texted Jeno a few days ago about her pending visit, something you never heard of until today. You gave Jeno a tight smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and he picked up on your silent warning, quickly looking away and sparking conversation with his mom.

It’s not that you didn’t get along with his family. Oh no, you absolutely loved them and the feeling has been mutual since you were introduced on your first anniversary. But right now, with your hair a bird’s nest, your string top from the night before without even a bra on, you couldn’t wait for the privacy to give him a piece of your mind about the lack of a heads up. Maybe all that sex concentrated his blood down south and messed with his memory.

Lucky for him, his mom was a total sweetheart, her cheery countenance managing to fizzle out your irritation as she pulled out these huge photo albums from one of the bags. You giggled at his baby photos, his bum stark naked in half of them, the other half spotlighting the endearing eye smile he’s had since childhood. She was in the middle of another backstory, the one behind a photo of Jeno crying in what was apparently the set for a TV commercial, when her phone rang and interrupted her spirited narration.

“Your dad needs me for urgent business,” she explained after hanging up, flashing the whites of her eyes in jest at the last two words. Jeno was already walking to the door, about to grab the car keys off the hook.

“I’ll drive you—”

“Oh, don’t bother! He’s already parked out front.” She tipped her head towards you, giving you a knowing smile. “The men in this family are no good with giving advanced notices.” You grinned at her, shaking your head in solidarity.

Jeno’s gaze flitted to anywhere but on your person once you were alone again, but you didn’t do much damage other than playfully biting him on the arm. The encounter ended up giving you a fuzzy feeling inside, and you felt like you were able to bond with his mom on a deeper level. Relaxed. Comfortable. “Familiar,” you thought, mind lingering on how the word was rooted in “family.”

You began collecting the photobooks, stacking them on top of each other and placing them on the shelves in the living room. You looked into the bag they came from, checking if there was any more left inside, and you were greeted by a thin, rectangular box wrapped in dark emerald velvet. You picked it up, squinting at it before calling Jeno over.

“Babe? I think your mom left this by mistake.” He looked over to you from the kitchen island where he was preparing two bowls of cereal, his half moons growing into wide circles as he registered what you were holding up in the air. “I think we should call her and—”

He ran over to you, taking the box in your hand and bolting away.

“Where the hell are you going!” You had no idea what was going on, but you quickly ran after him, realizing he was headed to the guest room. He was a good few steps ahead, but before he could close and lock the door on you, you stretched your arm out, wedging your hand through the gap. Your lapse in judgment swiftly cracked down on you, the pain shooting through your fingers as the door slammed just beneath your knuckles, tearing a pained cry from you as you clutched the hand to your chest, squatting on the floor.

“Shitshitshitshit! I’m so sorry baby, shit, I’m sorry.” Jeno flung the door back open when he heard you yelp, immediately rushing to your side, prying softly at your arm so he could take a look at your hurt. There was a linear mark that ran across your fingers, colored in a red that was gradually deepening in shade, the digits shaking as you felt the blood throb in that area. He winced at the sight, and he felt even worse knowing for certain it was going to leave tender bruises for days. He murmured apologies in between the most gentle kisses to your knuckles, his hand wiping at the couple of tears that escaped you.

You stayed like that for a few minutes before he asked, “Does it still hurt?” You shook your head no. “I’m sorry.” You shook your head again.

“It was a stupid move, not your fault,” you assured him, sniffling a little. He helped you up, holding and guiding you inside the room, sitting you down on the bed so carefully as if the injury wasn’t just on your fingers.

“Wait here.” Your eyes landed on the emerald box now strewn on the floor near the door as he walked out, returning some minutes later with an ice cloth and lightly pressing it to your knuckles. “What was that about?” you asked, taking the cold pack from his hand to hold it on your own. He followed the trail of your sight to the box in question, taking a deep breath before retrieving it. He sat down next to you and opened the box.

It was a necklace, its chain a thin delicate silver, the big teardrop pendant a deep emerald like its container. It was the most elegant piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, and you had to tear your gaze away before you could fall in love with it. You had to return it, after all.

“You should really call your mom. She’d probably get upset if she finds out it’s lost.”

“It’s not hers.” Your eyebrows scrunched in, confused at his reply. “I mean, it was hers. It was also my grandma’s, and my great grandma’s.” He took it out of the box, the stone glinting as it reflected the sunlight from the windows. “And now it’s yours.”

You were still busy staring at the pendant that turned gently from where it hung, scarcely registering his answer until it hit you like a truck.

“Mine?” you asked with wide eyes.

A hand sheepishly scratched at the back of his neck. “It was supposed to be your anniversary gift. I asked mom to send it over, I didn’t know she would go here to bring it herself. Must have missed her text.”

You gawked at him, still in disbelief that he was seriously handing over not only what must be of hefty price but also a family heirloom. You shoved his hand away from you. “You’re insane. I can’t take this. We have to give it back to your mom.”

He didn’t heed your words, unclasping the latch on the necklace. “She sounded even happier than I was when I called her about it. Trust me, if anything’s gonna break her heart, it’ll be if she finds this back in her drawer.” He gathered your hair to one side. You don’t miss the way he gulped, fingers lingering on the bunched strands.

“I understand how you’re feeling,” he continued. “You probably think it’s all going too fast, that I didn’t think this through, right? My grams got this on her first date, my mom within four months. Dad and pops probably gave it as something to prove their feelings, but this is different. We’re already solid, baby. The three years we’ve been in love is all the proof we need.

I’ve been serious about you for so long now, and each passing day I only grow more and more certain. Whenever my heart isn’t racing because of you, it rests easy and content knowing that you’re around. So I’m giving you this,” the chain was cold against your skin as he latched it around your neck, “because I want you to know that I’m sure about you—about us. And although it holds promises for our love in a future so far ahead of us, it also holds all the love I’ve bottled up for you in the last three years.” He cupped your face in both hands, lifting your gaze up to look him in the eyes, “So would you please, please indulge me and just drink it all up?”

By this point, your heart was squeezing almost painfully in your chest. You were no stranger to his sweet gestures, but unveiled declarations of love? It was rare for him to directly voice out his feelings longer than an ‘I love you.’ It made you feel like you were floating, your lips trembling as you spoke, “Fine, you smooth fucker.” The words were strong, joking, but the slight shake to your voice was otherwise. “I’ll take your bribe.”

“Thank god.” You were greeted by his eye smile before he ghosted a kiss to the corner of your lips, sparking a trail of light kisses that stretched down to where the emerald rested against the skin of your chest, goosebumps chasing after his touch as your breath hitched in your throat.

“I want to give your present early too,” you whispered, pulling his gaze back to your eyes as he hummed in question. You dropped the ice bag on the floor, your good hand thumbing on the thin strap of your top before pulling it down slowly past your shoulder.

“But you’re hurt…”

“It’s barely a scratch,” you fibbed, raising your other hand and bending the fingers. It was a little tender, but nothing too bad. He didn’t look convinced though, about to reach for the ice again before you captured his wrist in your hand. “Jeno… I want to love you right now, baby. Please? Wanna make you feel loved…”

You pulled on the other strap and dragged the thin fabric downwards to bunch at your waist, your breasts bouncing as they were freed from the tugging, your nipples hard and aching to be touched. You leaned in to draw him into a kiss, but his hands smoothed on your jaw, holding you in place as his eyes searched into yours.

“If you’re doing this because… because you feel like you’re obliged to repay me or something—”

You cut him off by clashing your lips together, starting out rough and gradually easing into each other like a sigh of relief. You broke off for air, the worry on his brows still present although toned down. “You’re really talkative today, I noticed. We’ve never had this problem before…” you said, and it was true to an extent. Apart from first times he wanted to make special and that one drunken incident, you couldn’t recall a moment where Jeno hesitated or turned down a chance to have you. “I’m doing this, like always, because I love you,” you clasped your hands behind his neck, thumbs rubbing over his skin soothingly. “I love you every single day, but right now I’m filled to the brim and about to spill over so…” You leaned your face closer, lips barely brushing against his as you whispered, “…can you drink me all in?”

His eyes fluttered shut at the feel of your warm breath, your soft lips, obliging with feather-like presses of his closed mouth, gradually parting it open after each peck until it was as if a dam of desire and emotions ruptured in him and he had to pull you in as close as possible to shield you from the deluge, kissing like you were drowning and needed to share the oxygen in each other’s lungs to survive.

You were both a mess of gasps and pants when you broke apart. He pulled you to stand along with him, and he kneeled down to undress you, his usual callousness for clothes missing as he gently tugged every piece off you until there was nothing left hidden from his eyes. He went back to his feet, dragging his fingertips upwards from your legs to your sides as he did, and lifted you off the floor to lay you down on the bed.

His eyes soaked you in as you lied before him, fully exposed. He’s stunned, gaze trained to the teardrop gem in the valley of your breasts, rising and falling with the heave of your chest.

“Jeno…” Your whine tore him from the daze, seeing your knees bent up, thighs squeezed and rubbing together to ease some of the tension from your glistening core. You watched him bend down to the foot of the bed, picking something up that was out of your sight, but he was empty handed as he climbed to the bed, crawling closer, fully clothed and hovering above you.

He supported himself on one arm bent above your head as he bowed into you, your bare body pressing on him as he kissed you deep, tongue stroking against yours, coaxing the sweetest sounds out of you. It was rhythmic and dance-like each time he dived into you, exploring you, and then resurfaced for air, pressing wet kisses on your face, neck, and shoulders, not a single second wasted without the touch of his lips on your skin. The heat rising in you was becoming unbearable, you needed him to do more, to touch you even more. Like he heard your silent plea, his other hand caressed the skin of your waist, and you jolted from the bed, breaking away from his lips, shivering.

His fingertips were cold as ice, a reminder of the ice bag you left below flickering through your mind, the thought crumbling just as fast when his cold touch dragged to the inside of your thighs, grazing the sensitive skin up and down, your breaths coming out like stutters as they stop and start in reaction to the chilly feeling on your skin.

“J-jen…” Your whimpers were small, desperate, transitioning to a strangled gasp when he tapped tentatively on your clit, the sensation like a spark of electricity on the sensitive bud. Your moans poured out, core growing wetter and wetter as he rubbed your nub and sucked bruises onto your chest, surrounding the gem that you wore. The aching heat on your clit was thawing his fingers back to their warmth, and you keened as he replaced them with his thumb, his fingers easing into your velvet walls instead.

He pushed and pulled at an agonizing pace, and you bucked your hips trying to get him to speed up. He relented, pumping into you faster, his thumb nudging at your clit every time. He swallowed your frantic moans into a kiss, not slowing down when he felt your walls fluttering around his digits, allowing your first orgasm to crash on you easily.

He landed butterfly kisses on your hairline as you descended from the high, and you opened your eyes to find his lust-filled gaze on you, his pupils blown wide with want. You tugged at the bottom of his shirt, and he took the hint, lifting it off his torso, your hands quick to find purchase on the exposed skin, caressing the hard muscles that adorned it.

Begrudgingly, he had to pull away from your touch, getting off the bed to shed his lower garments. While he busied himself for a few seconds, you quickly shifted your weight on the bed, moving onto your knees and elbows, chest down and ass up in the air.

Jeno gulped when his eyes met your figure, all prepped and ready for him, the desire to take you slow and easy evaporating into something more primal and animalistic. His eyes focused on your waiting, soaked heat. He could have exploded the moment your hand reached from underneath you, your index and middle finger spreading your folds apart, a gush of moisture trickling down as you stretched yourself open for him, a needy moan of his name slipping past your lips.

He couldn’t help but groan, the blood rushing straight to his desire, his fist pumping on his painfully hard cock, spreading the pre-cum down on his shaft as he got on his knees on the bed, his other hand gripping onto you by the hip. He rubbed his tip on your slit a few times, gathering your slick on the head of his cock before slipping to the hilt into your waiting need, pushing a moan out of you both.

He started out slow, hips rolling sensually in and out of you, every ridge and vein of his cock so pronounced to your walls at his laggard tempo. It was clear he was having a hard time restraining himself, his fingertips digging into your hip telling you just as much, so you wiggled against him, sinking lower into the mattress and stretching your arms out straight in front of you so your upper body was flat against the bed, your ass going higher and pressing onto him.

He grunted at your eagerness, thrusting harder into you, rocking you forwards on the bed. Your body arched even higher when he drilled into you from a downwards angle, his tip massaging the sensitive spot inside you with every roll of his hips. You cried obscenities into the air, your gaze lifted upwards, and your eyes trailed up your tense outstretched arms, landing on the thin black elastic on your wrist

The reminder brought a wicked grin to your face, and you placed a hand on top of his that was gripping on your hips, propping yourself up with your other hand on the mattress. You shifted on your knees until you were kneeling upright, movements careful to not to slip his entire length out of you just to plunge back down on his cock.

His legs folded back as you sat on him, your ass nestled snugly against his pelvis, the new position eliciting a deep groan from him. His chest was flush to your back, cock buried in you as deep as he can get. Soft, wet kisses littered your right shoulder as his hands traveled to your breasts, cupping the mounds from underneath and giving them a firm squeeze as he bucked his hips into yours harshly, jolting both your bodies up from the mattress before slowly descending and jutting into you again, hard. Like rushing ocean waves that crashed violently against rocks, over and over. Like his body was the unyielding storm and it was wreaking havoc on every inch of you.

Your scattered moans were a mess in the air above you, scattered, breathy, erratic. Jeno trails a hand to the front of your heat, the pads of his fingers drawing messy circles on your swollen clit. Your eyes shut at the simultaneous stimulation all over: his open mouthed kisses on your shoulder, his fingers rolling your nipple and rubbing at your clit, his rigid cock against your walls, slamming in fast and dragging out slow in repeated motion.

It was so, so fucking good that you considered just letting him have his way with you, almost forgetting what you intended to do. Almost. You placed both hands on top of his and settled them on your hips. Wasting no time, Jeno used the leverage to lift your body up and down on his length. His pace only grew faster as he kept using you, fucking your body down on him.

“Jeno! Ah, babe, oh fuck, slow down.” He eased his grip on you, gradually playing down the tempo until he was just barely dragging you on his cock. He watched you from the back as your hands gathered your hair up into a loose ponytail, the motion smooth and delicate like a subdued kind of wonder in his eyes, and then you began bouncing on his length fast, clamping your walls around him on purpose.

“Fucking hell baby, you feel so good around me” he grunted, his fingertips jabbing into your skin but not interrupting your flow, letting you lead the pace. He bit his lip as he watched you sink onto his length, swallowing him and then pushing yourself back up, revealing your lips stretched and gripping his cock so tight. His eyes trailed up the skin of your bare back as you rode him faster, gaze going higher and higher until it landed on the loose tie on your hair, staring at the way it began slipping down from your feverish motions until it eventually landed on your back.

You stopped abruptly, whining “Put it back on me,” but Jeno didn’t answer. He was confused by your lack of motion, trying to lift you up in his grip until you slapped at his hands. “Tie my hair up for me.” He could practically hear the pout in your voice as he snatched the elastic from your back, groaning as you wiggled your hips on him.

You could feel his inexperience by how soft and wary his touch was, fumbling to gather your hair back. He’s probably never done it before, but he should know the motions by now from how often he’s seen you do it. He twisted the elastic twice, loose and sloppy, but it did the job. You smiled when his hands went back to your hips, and you resumed as if you never stopped, your pace relentless until you felt the hair tie slip down and you halted all action once more, whining for him to put it back on you again.

It was a loop of the same damned thing over and over, and you could feel his frustration by how quicker, how more careless he handled your hair each time. You were both getting edged by your stubbornness, and while it brought you amusement, it only gave him mirth that grew bigger and bigger until he couldn’t take it any longer. The next time the elastic fell, he tossed the wretched thing to the floor and bunched your hair up in his hand instead. You felt how hard he was gripping at your strands, stretching at your scalp as he angled your bodies higher off the mattress, kneeling you both up as he began thrusting into you himself.

Your body jostled forward at every lurch of his hips, the momentum stunted by his snug grip on your hair and an arm around your stomach. He used the constraint to pull your head back, exposing your neck to him, forcing a keen out of you as he bit and sucked on the delicate skin, leaving his marks on you.

Broken cries left you as his other hand fondled with your breast, gently tugging your nipple upwards in time with his thrusts. Your walls were beginning to contract around his cock, and before you could completely lose yourself on him, he slowed down and shifted you both on your sides. He embraced you tight against him, spooning as he resumed fucking into you, his tongue lapping at the bite marks he left on your neck, whispering sweet nothings against your skin.

“Babe… oh god, I‘m gonna cum,” you gasped.

“That’s my good girl,” He slipped his hand in front of you, massaging your clit to take you there faster, moans slipping out of you continuously. “Let go for me baby. I’m right here, I got you.”

“Fuck, Jeno—I love you baby, fuck!” you cried through your orgasm. Jeno didn’t stop thrusting, his fingers didn’t stop rubbing on your clit, making your whole body seize up with each contraction of your walls around him, milking around him until you felt his warmth spill into you, his grunts littering the air and his motions stilling save for his cock twitching as he painted your walls in white.

“I love you,” he whispered against your hair after releasing his hold on the strands. “Love my baby so much, always so good for me.” He showered you in praise and affection as he soothed a palm on your arm, rubbing softly on your skin, pressing innocent kisses to your neck.

Once you’ve filled your lungs back with air, you tapped on his hip behind you, signaling for him to pull out. You turned to face him on the bed, careful to clamp your thighs together so you don’t make a mess on the sheets.

He smiled contentedly at your tired and fucked out expression, his hand moving the hair away from your chest, revealing the necklace still clinging to your sweaty skin.

“I still think this is too much,” you rasped, holding the pendant between your fingers.

“Are you still thinking of giving it back after I fucked you in it?” You punched his arm, weak from all the effort exerted from your lovemaking. “Guess you’ll freak when I give you the matching earrings for our fourth anniversary, then.”

“Jen!” Your eyes widened at his off-handed comment.

“Be glad it isn’t the ring,” he smirked. “I’m saving that for the biggest occasion.”

You blinked, lips parted as you surveyed his expression, trying to figure out if he was being serious. You gathered your bearings quick enough, shaking your head at him and showing him the red marks still visible and a little darker on your hand.

“You did give me four other rings, though.”

He frowned at the reminder, taking your hand by the wrist and holding it above your head, concerned and a little annoyed that he almost forgot. “Keep these elevated,” he said, tone strict. You chuckled and left it at that, staring at his eyes that flitted over each of your features, licking his lips before he looked you in the eyes again.

“What if I told you we’re getting married after we graduate?”

You were stunned for a second. You’ve never seriously talked about the possibility of that before. That was definitely too soon, and you were both too young, so you dodged the question with another of your own. “You’re that confident I’ll marry you?” You replaced your shocked expression for a teasing smirk, one which he returned easily.

“I’m really confident in my arms,” he began, making you squint at what seemed like a remark of vanity, “that I can just flip you over my shoulder and kidnap you to the altar if I must.”

You giggled, lightly hitting his arm when the cute scene cropped up in your mind’s eye. When the laughter died down, your eyes gazed into his to find them swimming in sincerity and adoration.

“Slow down there,” you whispered, the smile never leaving your lips. Every fiber in your being loved Lee Jeno, and it sent tingles through your skin and a pleasant kind of dizziness to think that he wanted to spend a lifetime loving you because you wanted it too, but you weren’t ready for wedding vows. You both had too much left to accomplish individually, and you wanted to chase those milestones together before settling down.

He didn’t push it, understanding that look in your eyes, pressing a kiss to your nose instead. “Our internships are starting soon,” he offered. “I’m gonna miss you when I’m back to spending my days with Jaemin in the lab.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were relieved at the shift in topic. “Babe, we literally live together now. We’ll still see each other everyday.” You pinched his ear between your fingers, making him scrunch his nose at you. “And I know you miss your friends, don’t even deny it. You sure you don’t want to invite them over for an anniversary party?”

He was quick to shake his head. “Nope, no way. I want you all to myself on that day.” He put an arm around you, pulling you in even closer as you giggled.

“Isn’t that how it is for you everyday?” He didn’t bother answering, nosing affectionately at the crown of your head instead. You interrupted his sappy mood when you felt a pang in your tummy, realizing neither of you have eaten anything yet. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Shit,” his touch retracted from you as he sat up abruptly.

“That doesn’t sound too appetizing…” you trailed off, raising an eyebrow at his strange actions.

“The cereal! It must be all soggy now,” he frowned, standing from the bed and abandoning you without a second thought.

“I want eggs, sunny side up!” You shouted at his retreating figure. He raised a thumbs up into the air and you smiled, contented at the thought of a future that held the same sight for all of your mornings.

“You’ve failed.” You rolled your eyes at Donghyuck’s dramatic line from the phone.

It was D-1 before your anniversary, and your best friend was annoyed that you’ve never called him back for updates since your betting game commenced. You had just told him about the method you had chosen, of Pavlov and ponytails.

“On the contrary, I’m quite sure I’ve succeeded,” you noted with a self-assured smile, recalling all the times you’ve successfully been riling Jeno up the past few days with just a swish of your wrist on your hair, leaving him baffled as to why his sex drive has gone through the roof lately.

“But you have no evidence of that.” Donghyuck was right, but you scrunched your eyebrows at the unlikely feasibility of this requirement.

“How the hell am I supposed to provide evidence of that! You want my boyfriend’s dick pics?”

“Hell no!” You sneered at his high pitched denial. “If you actually stuck with our agreement and gave me regular progress reports, then we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m a strict observer of the scientific method.”

You shook your head, just about done with his stubborn insistence. “You know what? You want proof? Fine.” You stood from the bed, walking off with the vigor of someone who’s about to win a horrific amount of marbits. “The codeword is orange.”

“The fuck are you on about?”

You smiled at his confusion. “When I say ‘orange,’ that means I just tied my hair up.” You stopped before the bedroom door, hand on the knob.

“Okay, and? Does Jeno shout back ‘lemon’ whenever he gets a stiffy?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just shut up and listen carefully, bitch.” You didn’t wait for his response, stuffing your phone in your pocket before opening the door and calling out, “Babe?”

“Yes baby?” You followed Jeno’s voice that rang from the kitchen, finding him pouring out a glass of water for himself before leaning against the counters, smiling at you. You gave him a bright smile of your own, silent as you neared him. He was probably expecting a hug and laid his cup down on the counter behind him, but he was surprised to see you sink down to your knees before him.

In three hard tugs, you’ve pulled his sweats and underwear down to set his soft cock free. Before anything else, you gathered your hair with both hands to one side of your neck, twisting it around but not tying it up just yet. Sure enough, his length twitched shortly after the action, but things weren’t going fast enough for you. You were motivated, sick as it may sound, by the thought of your best friend who was about to listen in on the filthy sounds of your victory.

“Babe, ah shit, what’s gotten into you?” You kept one hand wrapped around your hair as you began pumping him tight and fast in one hand, placing kitten licks on his tip, taking him into your mouth every now and then to get him nice and wet. There was no technique to it, no thought behind your actions as you just wanted him hard and ready fast. Once he was, you grinned up at his pleasured expression.

“Fuck my face.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, hopefully loud enough to conceal the squeak that came from your phone. He didn’t seem to notice, his hands moving to the sides of your face. “You sure baby?”

“As ever.” You gave him one last smile before dropping your jaw as wide as you can, sticking your tongue out. He drove into you slowly, and you had to do the work yourself to get around his hesitation, pushing forward until your nose was pressing against his skin.

“Fucking shit. What did I do to deserve you?” He drew out and thrusted into you carefully, and you closed your eyes momentarily in frustration. “Just go hard on me damn it,” you thought, digging your nails into his ass cheeks to drive in your silent point. As if there was a telepathic line between you two, he did just that, picking up speed until he was fucking your mouth at a steady pace, the gargling sounds of your throat getting abused drifting into the atmosphere.

Your eyes were stinging with tears but you powered through it until you ran out of breath, tapping rapidly against his thigh to let him know you needed a break. He withdrew from you, and your hands immediately flew to your hair.

“Orange,” you rasped out. If he noticed your little codeword, it was all swept into the wind, forgotten as an even bigger surprise came out. You expected him to drill into you harder, absolutely lose himself and go berserk like he usually did when you tied your hair up, but you didn’t expect him to cum on sight as you put your hair into a ponytail.

You were lucky when it came to reflexes, closing your eyes by instinct before he shot the first load onto your face. “Shit, baby, holy fuck, god fuck.” He was rambling, not making any sense as he kept pumping himself in his hand, no regard for you as he painted himself on your eyelids, cheeks, your mouth that was opened in shock. You stayed still, breath heaving as you took it like a champ, thick lines of his cum dripping on your skin, your tongue darting out to lick whatever it could reach.

“Baby, oh my god, sorry.” You couldn’t check to see if the apology looked sincere, waiting as he helped you clear the cum from your eyelids using his thumb, a surprised squeak coming out of you when you felt him push the digit into your mouth, making you suck it clean before he collected the rest of his cum and fed it all to you repeatedly.

He didn’t hesitate to bring you into a grateful kiss once he had most of your face cleaned, alternating between his ‘thank you’s’ and ‘sorry’s’ while his breathing was still recovering. You assured him it was alright and that you liked it, watching his ears tinge red from your admission before excusing yourself to the bathroom for a proper clean up.

You fished your phone out once you’ve locked the door behind you, checking the screen and smirking to find that the call was still active. “Better bring me my marbits in two days, sucker.” You laughed at the irony and dropped the call, not waiting to hear his reaction. Not like it mattered, your best friend made sure to blow up your phone just seconds apart.

Hyuck: FVCK YPU!!!!! Hyuck: Did he CUM from you tying your hair up? That’s fifty shades of FUCKED UP Hyuck: You actually done did it Hyuck: That was DISGUSTING Hyuck: But also kinda hot Hyuck: But disgusting! Hyuck: How the fuck am I supposed to eat oranges now Hyuck: Never do that to me again Hyuck: Unless…

You laughed to yourself, leaving everything on read.

Hyuck: Cocksucker. Enjoy your chalk bits.  Hyuck: And your anniversary tomorrow too, I guess.

It was D-day. Three whole years of being Jeno’s girlfriend, and the thought still gave you whiplash whenever you realized how much time that actually was. 156 pages from your weekly calendar. 1,095 sunrises, times two for the sunsets. 26,280 hours, and you couldn’t be bothered with the math for minutes and seconds. There were countless ways to express how time has passed since you first said yes to each other, and all of that just went by in a blur.

Today seemed to have the same theme, a blur of kisses and sex from the moment you woke up and promises of an event-filled day. You were coaxed out of sleep by wet kisses to the inside of your thigh, the strands of your boyfriend’s hair rough against your skin as his hands kept you spread open, greeting you a “Good morning” and a “happy anniversary” from between your legs. He made quick work of you with his tongue and had you cumming twice before you tapped out. You wanted to take him inside you, but he was stubborn to deny your request, saying he didn’t want you sore so soon because he planned on fucking the daylights out of you tonight. You didn’t hate the idea, so you came to a compromise and had him fuck your tightly closed thighs instead, letting him cum all over your belly.

You managed to sweet talk him into divulging his plans for the day during your innocent absolutely-no-funny-business shower together, and now you were out on the main road in his car, on the way to the mall to buy you an evening dress on the spot for the fancy dinner he had on reservation for 9:00 p.m. The ride was quiet as you held hands, watching the stretch of road ahead of you. You looked over to your boyfriend, biting the nail of your other hand as you felt that he looked a little too peaceful for your tastes, an impish idea crossing your mind.

Though you already won the bet yesterday, the effects of your secret experiment were far from wearing off. You disentangled your hand from his, exaggerating your motions as you put your hair up to make sure he noticed from the corner of his eye. You smiled at his way when you heard an awkward clear of his throat, and from this setting there was no way he could have hidden the hard on tenting in his jeans.

You pursed your lips to keep you from laughing, leaning over a little to have your hand palming at his jeans, his exhale coming out slow from the contact. The car went a little out of lane when you squeezed him and rubbed the outline of his length, making him hiss before quickly correcting the wheel.

“You want us to crash? Because that’s how you get a crash,” he warned, right hand holding your guilty wrist captive. You huffed but sat back to your seat in favor of road safety. It didn’t mean you couldn’t have your own fun, though. You sneaked a hand under your skirt, moaning softly as you rubbed yourself through the fabric of your panties.

“Babe.” His tone of voice was an order despite not actually saying anything. You decided to push his limits though, moaning a high pitched “Baby?” back at him. You smirked to find his jaw clenched hard, but your heart almost dropped when you saw the mall nearing, not expecting the trip to feel so short. You held your breath as he parked the car, wordlessly clicking your seatbelt off. You were surprised at how aggressively he pulled the handbrake up and pushed his seat as far back as he could, staring at him with wide eyes as he tapped his fingers on his lap.

“Come here,” he said in a low voice, the sound shooting straight to your core. You obeyed easily, struggling to straddle him in the cramped space.

“What happened to not wanting me sore?” you accused with a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck that, I’ll just kiss your pussy better tomorrow.” You giggled as he caught your lips in a rushed, frantic kiss, humping your clothed desires against each other.

“Does this count as ‘against the windows?’” you breathed out the question when the kiss broke off. He only gave you a confused look before he sneaked his hand underneath your blouse, kneading at your breasts from the cups of your bra. “He must have forgotten already,” you thought as you mewled from his rough touch. It was his checklist of promises: the bedroom, couch, showers, guest room, kitchen, and even against the windows.

Your breath hitched when you felt his fingers shadowing on your clothed heat, aching to have him push your underwear to the side and take you then and there. Instead, he pressed a thumb to your clit quite harshly, taking you by surprise and making you retreat from the stimulation, and you both jumped as you accidentally backed into the steering wheel and a prolonged honk left the car.

“Shit,” he whispered, eyes widening to find a security guard in the vicinity walking towards your direction. The windows were tinted, but someone could still see what’s going on through the windshield if they came close enough. He helped lift you back up to your seat, and you fixed yourself up for any possible encounter. You both breathed a sigh of relief when he walked past you, but there was no way you were finishing what you started in there, so he turned off the engine and practically pulled you by the hand into the mall, muttering about “having you in the nearest shop with a changing room.”

Lady Luck was on his side as you found the perfect black dress with a sweetheart neckline in the second shop you entered. You gushed about how great it would look with the necklace he gave you, but Jeno was barely responsive as his one track mind had him pulling you to the back of the store, entering the section with a row of changing cubicles and rushing you into the nearest one to have his way with you, unsuccessfully muffling your sounds with his hand.

Three timid knocks rapped on the door once you finished the deed, accompanied by an equally timid voice. “Um, ma’am? You left it on the hanger… that dress you wanted for fitting?” You felt the blood drain from your face as you stared at your equally shocked boyfriend.

You will never be able to show face in that dress shop again.

Those were the series of events that led you to right now: your moment of truth.

You put your hair down after the dress shop incident, electing to play it safe throughout the remainder of your time in public. Once you got home, however, you tied it back up again. It was unconscious, as the sun outside was glaring bright and the AC in the house hadn’t been turned on yet. You walked into the kitchen for a cold glass of water, but you were lifted onto one of the counters by a whiny, very apologetic looking boyfriend.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me today, baby… I think I’ve gotten too addicted to you,” he nosed at the crook of your neck, pressing his body on yours to let you know of the returned presence of his stiff need. You chuckled at his naivety, but the guilt crept up on you until you let everything spill out.

You, him, chocolates, scrunchies, and classical conditioning.

Conveniently, you left out the part about the bet and your best friend being privy to all of it, and it was probably for the best because Jeno’s gaze was now hard and serious, his features stoic as his eyes bore into yours. Your heart was knocking hard on your ribcage, not because you were scared he might hurt you, but because you knew this look. You’ve only seen it a few times before, but the events that followed left you covered in bites, scratches, and bruises, his name seared into your throat and memory.

“You remember your colors?” You nodded slowly. He was talking about the safe word system you had agreed on for the rare moments this side of him slid out, the side of him you hadn’t seen in a while but still managed to make your heart race and your desire swell.

“Bedroom,” he muttered, head cocking to its direction, “and be undressed when I get there.”

You were swiftly on your feet, half-excited and half-nervous steps in beat with the thumping in your chest. Entering the room, you didn’t bother to close the door behind you, shedding off your clothes and folding them into a neat stack by the foot of the bed. You climbed up the mattress, sitting in the middle with your legs bent up to cover your chest, your chin resting on your knees as you stared at the open doorway, waiting.

Your punishment came walking in, and your breathing was stunted to find that he was already naked as you were. He had placed something on the bedside table, but you paid little attention as your eyes placed all focus on his angry, stiff cock jutted out in front of him. He stood back a few feet away from the bed before beckoning you over, and you slid down from the mattress onto your knees in front of him. He clutched your chin softly in one hand, stroking at your skin as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Sneaky little whore,” he spit out the words in a sneer, and his hand shoved his hold on you to the right only to clutch you right back. “And here I was thinking it was me who turned into some dirty freak, but it was you all along, hmm?” He stepped closer to your space, his hardness right in front of you. “My pretty slut always wants a hard cock ready to shove into her whenever she needs, hmm? Is that why you went this far?” You were stuck in a daze, staring at the rivulet of clear liquid that was beading at his tip until a slap to your cheek brought you back to your senses. “Answer me!”

“Yes!” you cried, your eyes glistening along with your core, the stinging sensation bringing you more pleasure than you’d care to admit.

He pouted teasingly at your pitiful expression, closing in the distance between your face and his tip. “Aww, poor baby. Do you want my hard cock now, too?” He slid it on the plane of your soft skin, smearing a line of precum on your cheek, your mouth opening by instinct to receive him. Instead, he pulled his cock back and slapped you with it before kneeling down to your level.

“You’re not getting it,” he whispered. “Not until you’re crying and begging me to slow down because your sweet little pussy can’t take any more, and once the sheets are soaked and you can’t feel your legs, that’s when I’ll finally fuck you dumb on my cock.” He said everything with a sweet smile on his eyes and lips, your mind collapsing in on itself as it battled between his innocent look and his filthy promises. “You’re gonna take all of it, aren’t you? You greedy fucking nympho.” You nodded, and his fingers carded into your hair before pulling on it hard. “That’s not a fucking answer.”

“Yes! G-give it to me, please.”

He released his hold on you, walking over to the bedside to pick up what he brought in earlier. Soon, he was back in front of you, holding a white device in his hands. “Do you know what this is?” You almost nodded before catching yourself, answering with a meek “yes.” It was a hitachi wand. “This was supposed to be a gift, but you decided to act like the cockslut you are, so now it’s your punishment.”

You only managed to look up at him with wide eyes, the urge to rub your thighs together so strong but you didn’t dare, not while he was in this mood.

He was gentle with you again as he helped you up and walked you over to the bed. “Face down, ass up.” You did as you were told, climbing near the foot of the mattress, with only your rear raised up. “Spread your legs.” You heard the wand hum alive as you obliged, and you had to bite on your tongue to keep a moan from escaping.

You lurched forward when he pressed the bulbous head of the toy onto your clit, but you were stopped by his arm hooking to your thigh. Moans and swears burst from you immediately, the vibrations strong and steady and pressed so hard against you. “I want you to count.” You barely registered Jeno’s voice in the midst of your pleasure.

“Ahh!” you screamed out as his palm landed sharply on your ass.

“I said count, you dumb slut.” His reprimand came with another stinging hit.

“T-two!” He began rubbing the wand into your folds, sloppy with your slick all over, and then another smack. “Three!” He pushed it back up to your engorged clit, setting the speed higher. “Fuckfuckfuck!” Your curses spilled in time with the spanking, and you received it three times over for missing count, crying fat tears as the spot grew red and throbbed with heat.

He rubbed soothingly on the pained spot before detaching the toy from you and flipping you over to your back. He pushed you upwards on the bed, lying down on his chest before your wet core, spreading your thigh open with one hand and pressing the vibrator back on your clit with the other. You began rolling your hips, splitting your pussy lips apart on the head of the toy, your screams of pleasure filling the air.

“Is my whore about to cum?”

“Yes! Fuck yes! Gonna cum,” you dragged on the last word, your orgasm hitting you just then. Your thighs clamped shut around his arm that held the toy between them, and your lower body shook and lurched off the mattress, Jeno grazing the nails of his other hand around the skin of your abdomen. You’ve hardly come down from the high before your whole body was surging upwards again, the vibrations never ceasing in your heightened sensitivity.

“Fuck, shit, no! Stop!” His hand pressed down on your tummy as you tried to squirm away from him.

“Do I have to tie you down?”

“Ahh, fuck, please! No!”

Your second orgasm washed over you, still riding on the coattails of your previous one, and your bent legs started bouncing involuntarily on your heels, your toes curling in at the added sensation of Jeno’s nails drawing lines on your skin.

You gasped for air when the vibrations ceased and Jeno threw the toy on the space beside you. He pulled your thighs in closer to him, and your break is short lived as he shoved three fingers into you at once, splitting your walls open.

“Gonna fuck you up, gonna absolutely fucking ruin you,” he promised, kicking off with a cruel speed, met with resistance from your tightness. “How are you supposed to take my cock like this? Your pathetic little pussy can’t even handle my fingers.”

You felt him slow down, and you mewled in protest. “N-no! Hah, ah, please! My pussy loves your fingers. Love it when your fingers fuck me loose. Don’t stop, please! Don’t stop.” He curled the digits upwards and wiggled them inside you, scratching at your sweet spot.

“Fuck! Fuck! It’s here! Oh my god.” Your legs wrapped around his neck as you felt your third orgasm physically leave your body, the head you trapped between the crown of your thighs grunting below you, his nails lightly tracing on your skin again.

“You little cockslut,” he growled, “covering me in your dirty cum.” You yelped when he took his fingers out from you to land a firm slap on your clit, and your hips bucked into him as he began lapping up your juices. His tongue swirled around your oversensitive clit, and you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching down and pulling at his hair. Just for that, he let his teeth graze on your sensitive bud and you quickly retracted your touch at the warning.

His tongue is joined by his fingers again, fucking into you at a ruthless speed, the squelching sounds of your heat so loud in the mix of your moans and screams. Your hands pulled at your own scalp as your fourth orgasm knocked over, trying to focus on any sensation other than the uncontrollable, deliciously painful contractions of your pussy, the pain on your scalp not nearly enough for the task, Jeno’s fingernails on the inside of your thigh only making you tremble even more.

He allowed you a sliver of mercy, letting you catch your breath on the bed as he sat back, jerking himself to your body looking spent and ruined. After some minutes he picked you up in his arms and walked over to the far side of the room. He set you down on your feet as he yanked the curtains to one side, revealing the tall glass doors that led to the veranda on one side of the house, the side adjacent to the neighbors.

“This counts as ‘against the windows.’” He propped your arms up on the glass, your hard nipples rubbing against the cold surface, ragged breaths making a pulsing puff of white steam before your face and blocking the scene outside from your view, your skin tingling at the possibility of a stranger seeing you so fucked out and still about to get fucked some more.

You shuddered when Jeno rubbed his tip between your swollen lips. “Think you deserve my cock now, hmm?” Your body was screaming at you for a breather, but you wanted to please your man, wanted him to cum from the feeling of your abused wet pussy, so you answered by bucking your hips back into him.

He slipped inside you without any resistance now, your walls slick, velvety, and warm around him. He’s been roaring to go since you tied your damn hair up, and he wasn’t planning on taking it slow now, fucking into you hard and fast.

Your moans were weak and broken as he chased his own high from within you, and you didn’t have the strength left for any more screams when his hand reached to your clit to rub you near the edge once more. Your legs buckled repeatedly that if it weren’t for the glass, you wouldn’t have been able to take this fucking while standing.

You felt Jeno’s warm panting breaths against your ear, a moan slipping out of him every now and then. His hard dominating persona was slipping off as the pleasure caught up with him, kissing and licking at your neck. “Just one more baby. Cum one more time with me, can you do that?” You didn’t answer, your vision swimming before you. “Baby? What’s the color?”

You struggled to keep your eyes open as you rasped out, “Green.” With that, he flipped you around to face him, lifting you up with your back against the glass and wrapping your legs around him as he slotted himself back into you, going fast trying to drive you both off the edge.

“My baby’s gonna cum, right? My good girl’s gonna cum for me?” You felt his cock begin to twitch inside of you, and you pressed kisses on the tip of his nose.

“Wanna cum,” you whimpered, “gonna cum on daddy.”

His eyes squeezed shut at the slip of that word. He’s never heard you use it on him before, and fuck did it have an effect on him, his orgasm crashing down on him strong, the feeling of his hot cum shooting into you pushing you off the edge as well.

His legs grew weaker as he emptied his load in you, slowly sinking to his knees with you still wrapped around him. You stayed like that for god knows how long, your arms and legs around him, body exhausted and molded onto his like putty, his softening cock nestled in the mess he made between your thighs.

Once he felt strong enough, Jeno carried you back to the bed, just sitting on the edge as he cradled you in his arms, bouncing you softly on his lap as he waited for you to shift back to your senses, your head resting on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing that came out of your lips once you found your breath.

“Baby…” He shifted your bodies around, laying you down side by side facing each other. “It’s okay. I’m not angry at you.” He stroked your hair, smiling. “Well, just a little miffed. Now I finally understand why I’ve been having such a hard time recently.” You had to crack your own smile at the pun, breathing little laughs of appreciation. “Seriously! I thought something was wrong with me. I was considering a doctor’s appointment.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again, although this time with the smile still painted on your face.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he insisted. “It’s actually kinda funny now that I know what’s been going on.” You only hummed in response, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Hey. Baby. You sleepy? It’s only four o’clock.” Jeno nudged gently at your cheek.

Your eyes remained closed as you answered, “You just fucked me boneless. I think I deserve a nap.”

“We have,” he peeked at the digital clock on the table behind you, “three hours and then I’m waking you up. It’s still our anniversary and I’m still taking you to dinner.”

“I said you just fucked me boneless. I don’t have the legs to go for dinner,” you whined.

“Don’t worry, I can always carry you on my back like a sack of potatoes.”

“Romantic.”

“Of course, it’s what you deserve.” He chuckled as he watched your lips part slightly, your breathing evening out as you drifted to sleep. “Happy three years, baby.”

You did, in fact, end up missing dinner. Jeno overestimated his own ability to overpower his love for sleep, and you ended up cuddling deep into the night, waking up in the dead silence of 1:00 a.m. and just going for another two rounds as there was nothing else to do. No one complained, though.

Hair up or hair down, Jeno was whipped either way when he woke up before you, the sunlight piercing through the curtains he forgot to draw back and landing on your face, making you look even more ethereal to him as you slept.

Seeing you first thing in the morning stirred a familiar riot in his chest, solidifying his dream, his ambition to have each day start out like this: with your peaceful, beautiful face before him. He had to tear his gaze away from you before his desires could escalate and stir a different kind of riot. He didn’t take it easy with you yesterday-last-night-this-morning, and he knew you were probably still aching and sore all over, so he was trying to think of all the unsexy thoughts to kill his oncoming boner.

“Cute puppies. My little pony. Lee Donghyuck. Apoptosis or the death of the cell is characterized by its shrinkage, nuclear condensation, membrane—”

The mechanical chant in his head was disrupted by the feeling of your fingers smoothing his scrunched eyebrows. “You’re gonna give yourself wrinkles,” you greeted him, eyes only half open, smile beginning from one corner of your lip and slowly stretching out to the other.

Yeah. Jeno was completely, utterly whipped.

“Good morning,” he whispered, although the blinking digits told him it was already half past noon. “Come on, let’s eat.” He shook your shoulders gently just as your eyes began to close again, and you whined.

“Don’t wanna get up yet,” you complained. He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he got up, deciding to cook something up and just bring it to you in bed. He was contemplating whether he needed to put clothes back on his nude self, and his answer came in the form of the doorbell buzzing.

He went out once fully dressed and opened the door to the guy who was just below My Little Pony on his boner killer scale.

“Donghyuck.”

“Jeno.”

The blonde stepped aside, allowing Donghyuck to come in with his hands full of… stuff.

“I see you’re still sporting the Chester McBadbat do,” Donghyuck commented, eyeing Jeno’s hair.

“I’ve no idea who that is, but I see you’re still unhinged as ever,” Jeno answered, gaze flitting between an impossible bag of marshmallows and a bouquet of assorted flowers.

“Babe?” Your voice floated through the hallway.

“Yeah?” Jeno replied.

“Yes, baby!” Donghyuck replied as well, but in a voice louder and more alive than Jeno’s, making the latter roll his eyes to the back of his head.

“Oh my god, Hyuckie!” Your footsteps tip-tapped on the wooden floor as you ran out to the receiving area and enveloped your best friend in a tight hug, making him drop the marshmallows but cling tight to the flowers.

“‘Don’t wanna get up’ my ass,” Jeno thought.

Donghyuck gave you a once over before saying, “Smells like orchids today.” Jeno looked at his bunch of flowers. Not a single orchid there, but he didn’t comment. He never did understand Donghyuck’s thing with flowers.

You snatched the flowers and marshmallows from him, giddy as you hopped away to the kitchen, both boys in tow behind you.

Three bowls of marbits, three glasses of orange juice, and the flowers watered in a new vase lay on the table you sat around.

“So, I’ve been thinking of growing my hair out. Whatchu think?” Hyuck asked. You were about to answer, but noticed he was looking at Jeno. Your boyfriend just shrugged in answer. “I think I will,” he continued as Jeno drank his orange juice. “Renjun said I’d look good with my hair tied up.”

It was a few seconds of sputtering orange liquid and hacking coughs that ended with you rubbing soothingly on Jeno’s back while he stared blankly at an empty wall, your eyes glaring at Donghyuck’s direction.

“What! What’d I say?” He protested, a smirk on his lips. “Wait, I just noticed. Orange juice?”

#lee jeno #nct jeno #hyucksie #pavlovandponytails #jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno imagines #jeno fluff #jeno

735 notes · View notes

fairyofshampgyu · 8 months ago

Text

☆ Lost !

genre: smut, fairy au

pairing: sub fairy ! gyu x gn ! dom human ! reader

synopsis: in essence, eating out the mischievous and immensely pretty fairy beomgyu as a bargain when you find yourself lost in the forest.

warnings: boy pussy gyu !!! sub! gyu, dom! reader, beomgyu’s kinda a brat, degrading, squirting, overstim, eating out, fingering, hair pulling, pussy slapping, dacryphilia

word count: 1.5k

You wandered aimlessly through the forest at wits end. You’d been here for hours trying to find your way back out but the forest was much like an ever changing maze. As soon as you thought you’d found a way out, the trees and plants would shift and morph into completely different pathways, rendering you hopeless and frustrated.

It was only getting darker as well, much to your distress. And you didn’t want to stick around to know what the place would be like at night. You knew of the stories.

Just when despair threatened to overwhelm you, you stumbled upon a small clearing bathed in soft light, the ground carpeted with lush moss, and delicate flowers blooming in vibrant hues, mushrooms clustered around the perimeter.

In the centre, sat a figure amidst a bed of wildflowers, weaving intricate crowns with his hands—a fairy. He was the prettiest boy you’d ever seen. Flower crown sitting on his long, silky, soft hair cascaded across his ethereally sculpted face. Face and body all glittery and shimmery and his cheeks were so naturally pink and blushed like the pink tulips that sat around him. You were quite in awe honestly.

His gaze lingers on you with a mix of curiosity and amusement, eyes sparkling with mischief and an impish grin playing upon his lips as he regarded you with some sort of knowing gaze, still continuing to make his flower crowns.

“Lost, are we?” He raises a brow, seemingly finding your predicament humorous.

“Yes.” You stand tall, trying to appear more confident to the fairy. You also didn’t think it was funny at all. When he doesn’t say anything but chuckle in response and directs his attention to his flower crowns again, you speak up, irritated with his behaviour. “You’re a fairy aren’t you? You’d know the way out?”

“…Yes” He looks up at you again, still smiling annoyingly.

“So…Show me then?.”

“Hmm…” He faux ponders, finger to his lips and grinning, “I don’t think i will.”

Your eyebrows furrow, patience wearing thin. “Why not?”

“Because it’s funny seeing humans so helpless.” The fairy’s laughter fills the air as he shakes his head, eyes dancing with amusement.

You just stand in disbelief. The sun had already set now! Fear and desperation already starting to kick in that you find yourself begging and pleading the fairy instead of blowing up in pure anger at him. “Just show me the way. Please! I’d do anything.”

His ears perk at that. “Kiss me.”

“What?!”

“If you kiss me good enough, I’ll help you.” He lays back, propped on his elbows, lips curled in a grin and trying to stifle his laugh. You really want to slap it off his face.

You scoff incredulously.

“What? Don’t want to kiss me?” Brow raised as if testing you. Like he didn’t think you actually would. It pissed you off even more. You’d heard fairies loved to make stupid deals for absolutely no reason with humans and other creatures. This must be one.

He still stares up at you, completely delighted, waiting. You roll your eyes, reluctantly approaching him on the ground of moss, grabbing a fistful of his shirt rather roughly and tugging him closer to you. He seems to like it though, getting excited.

Looking down at his lips, you can’t even deny how enticing they looked. Pretty and plump and round and glossy. You’d heard of the fairies being pretty seducing. You can’t say you’re not completely entranced by the pretty boy right now.

You’ll just put him in his place.

So you smash your lips with his, making out with him fervently, both your mouths moving and smacking against each other and the pretty boy is so into it, already getting worked up by how aggressively you kiss him and with no regard. You bite at his bottom lip and he gasps, you continuing to suck harshly and bite at them.

It practically feels like you’re melting kissing the fairy boy, you don’t what it is but his lips were so soft and…everything.

You begin the attack on his pretty neck instead, trailing rough kisses down and leaving purple and pink marks in return, hand entangling in the strands of his long hair, tugging and pulling that makes him whine into your mouth even louder, pulling on his hair roughly and leaving hickeys on his sensitive neck. You don’t even know how long it goes on for.

Suddenly, your pulling away and it makes him pout and huff, eyes dazed but frows burrowing and trying to pull you back into him but you hold onto his dainty wrists and stop him, shoving him down on the ground again.

Instead, you move down on the grass and grip his pretty little thighs concerningly tight, spreading his legs, met with his panties that don’t do much to cover anything what with the wet patch on them now. You chuckle and he tries to close his legs in embarrassment but you open them wider, lightly tracing your fingers on his clothed pussy that makes him positively squirm and squeal. So sensitive…

You continue to tease him, lightly brushing and thumbing over his panties until he’s fully drenched and whimpering over the light contact. He can’t take it anymore.

“Take them off… actually touch mee” Beomgyu whines brattily, groaning and panting.

“Beg for it. Then I’ll see.”

It shuts him up instantly, pouting and furrowing his brows again, as if contemplating whether it was worth it, “Don’t want to.”

“Brat.” You stop all contact and he’s quick to blurt his pleads out instantly in distress. It’s entertaining seeing the fairy like this now.

Roughly tugging his cute panties to the side, you stop in your tracks momentarily. It’s the prettiest pussy you’ve ever seen in your life, puffy and pink and glistening, so wet already, practically dripping onto the ground it’s insane. It’s making you so insane.

You don’t waste any time, licking a long stripe of his pussy from his clit to his hole and it has him taking a sharp intake of breath, you can feel his thighs shake in your grip just from that and his eyes close shut, positively squealing and squirmy.

You bury your face in him after that, scent so sweet and you begin to practically make out with his pussy, flicking your tongue over his clit then wrapping your entire lips around them, sucking harshly and he’s shivering immensely, prettiest choked up moans coming out of him, head reeling back and mouth agape.

Still sucking on his pretty clit, you bring two of your other fingers to his hole, not giving him a second of reprieve, and shoving them inside his warm and tight pussy, fingering him at the same speed you suck on him, hammering them into him, his head lolled back and his eyes almost cross eyed, dumbly drooling.

It’s not long before you can feel him clamp down on your fingers so tight, and he’s cumming, legs and thighs shaking like a leaf, seeing starts he doesn’t even know what to do, prettiest most mellifluous sounds eliciting from his lips.

It was a sight to see, whole body completely flushed, hair all tousled and messed up and damp from the sweat, eyebrows creased and eyes closing open and shut, eyelashes fluttering sexily kissing the tops of his red cheeks, plump lips parted and jaw slack. He looked so slutty.

But you don’t break away, instead you grip on the sides of his hips probabaly bruising them and pulling him onto your face even further, tongue flat on his clit as he merely mewls and cries, way too sensitive. It hurts but it also feels too good, he shakes his head nonetheless, squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering.

“T-too muchhh” The fairy sniffles, trying so hard to shut his trembling legs.

“Slut. Stay still.” You forcefully keep his legs open, gripping even tighter onto the flesh of his thighs. You reach your hand up and lightly slap his abused cunt, he yelps almost instantly.

“Say it. Tell me how much of a slut you are.”

He can’t get the words out, can’t even think to get the words out of his mouth as you continuously slap his now even more swollen, absolutely pink puffy pussy.

“hah-! fffuu, m’ just a slut!” He cries and wails. “Just your slut.” There’s tears streaming down his face now, sobbing, doe eyed and glassy, so so, so, so pretty.

He trembles and shakes even more if it were possible, legs thrashing and thighs clenching when you feel his juices gush out and squirting, screaming and squirming, not expecting to squirt, eyes rolling straight to the back of his head.

You lap up all his juices and press a final little kiss to his pussy before you completely stop.

The pretty fairy boy goes limp, laying in the bed of flowers, panting and gasping heavily, so embarrassed from squirting, he attempts to hide face in his hands, face so incredibly pink and flushed. But you’re taking his hand away so you can cup his hot cheeks and coo at him, kissing at his forehead instead.

When he’s finally recovered, his mouth curls into a playful grin gazing at you as you both lay next to each other in the flowers, his eyes sparkling with mischief again.

“Good enough for you?” You sarcastically ask him, knowing how absolutely disheveled he looked right now, the sweat only making his glittery face and body even more shiny and ethereal.

He chuckles, still breathless and nods. “Too good even, I might not want to let you go. Kinda want to keep you forever…”

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and irriating when fics have such little reblogs ☹️. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it make writers want to actually write :)

A/n: this is super messy and makes no sense I’m sorry 🤞 just wanted to experiment with boypussy gyu though I know it’s not many’s cup of tea !

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #beomgyu x reader #sub!beomgyu #beomgyu hard hours #choi beomgyu smut #sub txt #sub!txt #sub! idol #sub!idol #sub! txt #sub beomgyu #kpop smut #dom reader

1K notes · View notes

mermaidgirl30 · 3 months ago

Text

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 1: You’re Safe With Me✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The first chapter is finally here, and I’m so excited to bring this to all the healing girlies that need a protective, soft Joel in their life 🥺 Thank you to @alltheirdamn and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming about them with me. This is raw, heavy, and very emotional. I hope you love it as much as I do 🥹 Screaming because I need a hug from this man 😭

Chapter Summary: The night of the auction, the night you’ll have to face your fate of being bought. But an unexpected man dips his money in and fights for you. His eyes are soft, kind, unlike all the other men. And maybe he’ll just be your saving grace.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 13.9k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, non-consensual touching, a lot of angst, soft and protective Joel, emotional reader, trust issues, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Red. That’s all you see, all you know. The dark crimson lipstick that stains your tainted lips, the cardinal curtains that drape across the buyer’s room, your bloodshot eyes that reflect in mirrors that you can barely stand to look into. It’s all just… red.

You hate your reflection, hate the mascara that runs down your eyes night after night like the blood that covers your once white sheets, hate the way your voice is silenced even when you so desperately want to scream your lungs out. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters because you’re about to be sold to the highest bidder who deems you worthy enough to claim.

You scoff, biting your tongue until you taste copper run down the back of your throat, the tears pooling to the surface against your lash line.

“Stop fucking crying and suck it up,” Angela spits out sharply. “You’re going to make me a lot of money today, sunshine. So put on a big smile for me and stop smudging your makeup. You want to go back with the girls who didn’t get chosen to go on to the next rounds?”

“No,” you mewl, your eyes wide and rounded, your heart lodged in your throat. You know what their poor fates will be, and you’ve had enough abuse and horror to last more than a lifetime.

“Then get out there and stop fucking around. You’re driving my patience, girl. The men are waiting.” She narrows her beady blue eyes and curls her thin red lips into a scowl, pushing you forward and nearly making you trip over your strappy high heels, your ankles barely able to hold your fatigued legs up any longer.

Your heart thunders loudly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears, anxiety threatening to take you down at any minute. Angela would be at your back, digging her spiky heels into your spine, barking at you to move, but what does it matter anymore? You’re already dead. What’s one more scratch to your fragile body that has been violated in ways you’d never speak about aloud.

You’re just a vacant body that’s hollow and worn inside. A mere ghost that’s left this earth long ago, imprisoned to this life to bring pleasure to men who only inflict pain and torture on innocent souls. But there’s nothing you can do. Not a damn thing. You’re stuck like glue unless you find a way to just end everything. Then they’d never be able to touch you again because you’d be buried six feet under the dirt. But at least then you’d be at peace.

You’ll never know peace again. Not in this lifetime. Not ever.

As you turn the sharp corner, the vibrant red curtains separate into a stage-like theater room. Draped material clings to the velvety walls, the color reminding you of death and destruction. You can almost see the imprinted blood stains of the girls who got dragged away by the strands of their fragile hair, leaving claw marks in the walls.

You can still hear the blood curdling screams from some of them left behind, a plea for anyone who was listening, begging for just one person to help. But no one did. Their desperate calls weren’t enough to even stir up a care in the world from any of the men, including your awful handler, Angela. They were just a number, a dollar sign to every single one of these insufferable men, and the only thing they cared about was power, control, and sex.

You weren’t any different in this scenario. And tonight, your soul would be auctioned off. And then you’d be enslaved till your master either killed you, or you found a gun and pulled the trigger yourself to just silence it all.

Your high heels click audibly against the polished stage, your feet dragging as you keep your eyes peeled to the floor like a good submissive. “Keep your head down, don’t ever look them in the eyes. Be the good slut they want you to be and maybe they won’t punish you as much.” That’s what Angela always said for all those unbearable months you lived under her roof, and it was engraved like stone in your mind, imprinted words that might as well be tattooed on your wrist.

You were taken at twenty-six, now a twenty-seven-year-old fucked up girl who doesn’t even know what state she’s in. It’s been a year, maybe two. You don’t fucking know anymore. All you know is that you want to die.

You learned to be submissive, small-minded, belittled, pliant. And the worst part, she taught you to say thank you to your abusers after they were finished having their filthy ways with you night after night…

You were nothing but a collared bitch who forgot how to say the word no. You were their prized possession now, and your body wasn’t your own anymore.

“Ahhh. There she is. There’s my favorite slut of them all.” The word slut cuts you like a sharp knife penetrating deep through your skin, sinking down to stab you right where it hurts worst. “Why don’t you give us a spin, princess? Show these gentlemen what you’ve got to offer. Give them a show.” Garrett’s cackled voice booms through the large room, sending goosebumps down the base of your spine. You never liked him, especially when he cornered you in the bathroom, pushing you against the tile until he forced you down on your knees and told you to suck or he’d wring your neck.

Your eyes press closed at the traumatic memory, teardrops threatening to spill at any moment. You just do what you're told and keep your quivering lips together, your long nails brushing against your bare thighs. The midnight blue dress barely covers your ass, the diamond earrings and pearl necklace weighing you down like a heavy anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor. Your cleavage spills out from the low-cut v shape of the top, breasts almost on full display because Angela said the men would just love it. You hate it, hate her but there’s not a damn thing you can do about any of it. You’re a slave and nothing more than a fuck toy and a quick money maker for the sex traffickers.

You wish you felt more human, but you’re just… not. Most days you can’t even remember your full name, nevertheless your favorite time of year. Being holed up in a horror house for over a year will do that to a girl. Make them forget their entire identity. And that’s exactly what happened to you.

Now you’re just… dust.

“Alright, boys. Shall we start this off with let’s say, ten thousand dollars?” Garrett’s sharp voice zaps like lightning through your nerves, and your whole body is visibly shaking now. His cold emerald eyes look like a viper about to strike its prey, and his smug smirk makes you want to curl in on yourself, hide yourself so he’ll never be able to torture you again.

You hear sounds of squeaking chairs, men cursing under their breath, whistles being thrown around like they’re catcalling you. They are catcalling you. But instead of harmless whistles, they’re poisonous fangs reaching for your skin, trying to seep their venom deep in your veins, claim you as their own. You fucking hate it.

Taking a deep breath, you focus on the plush of the black carpet around the stage, try to pretend it’s lush green grass instead, like you’re running through the woods, escaping far far away from these bad men.

“Come on, love. Don’t be shy. Show me those pretty eyes, so I can see just how gorgeous you’ll be down on your knees, pleasuring me with that pretty mouth of yours.” A man vulgarly shouts at you, the other men’s loud laughter echoing around the room, making you want to curl into a ball and die right on the spot so none of these men can lay a finger on you.

Breathe. Focus. Don’t lose hope. Keep fighting. The words echo through your mind, but you’re so lost that it’s hard to keep going. You’re going to die under one of their hands anyway, so what does it matter?

“Did you hear him, princess? Chin up and look at him.” Garrett’s tone is stern and demanding, and you don’t flinch a second because you know what will happen if you do.

When your eyes snap up, you come face to face with an older man who has cold blue eyes, spiky bleached blonde hair, and a jawline that could cut a man’s body in half. He has an evil glint in his eye, and it’s so revolting that it makes you want to puke. “Ten thousand you say? I’ll take her.” A devilish smirk marks his mouth, and fear strikes through your insides as fast as a lightning bolt.

No. Not him. Anyone but him. He looks like he’s murdered people, and you have no doubt that he’s killed women he’s bought before.

Fear slices through you, but you can’t run, can’t even move. Your feet are nailed to the wooden floor of the stage, and you know he sees how scared you are in your swirling irises filled with fright.

“And shall we go up to fifteen thousand? Any takers?” Garrett looks around the room and two hands go up, but you’re too tired to look to see who they are.

The bets continue, slowly climbing all the way to forty-five thousand dollars. An amount that is insane for a broken body who doesn’t even want to be breathing anymore.

Men scream and fight, shouting different prices, trying to win you over, making Garrett slam his fist down and sell you to the highest bidder. You don’t want to listen, don’t want to hear their rambling nonsense anymore. You just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. Maybe then you won’t feel any pain anymore. Maybe then you’ll find peace.

More chants and vulgar noises come from the men’s mouths, their hungry eyes glued to you, their lips smacking and fingers digging into the velvet of their seats. Some men adjust themselves in their fancy suits, tongues darting out, wetting their salivating lips. And it’s so disgusting that it makes you nearly vomit on the floor, but Angela would have your head for that. So you just stand there helplessly and wait because that’s all you can do.

You’re their ragdoll, and they can do whatever the fuck they want with you. You have no say and trying to fight would just make everything that much worse.

Minutes go by, ridiculous numbers flying around the room, the air stifling and sticky, your body fizzing with anxiety, a panic attack creeping up against the surface, threatening to take you down in mere seconds.

Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak…

“Sixty thousand dollars.” Your eyes dart up, panic flashing across your irises. You find a man you hadn’t seen in the very back, and you have to squint to make him out in the shadows of the corner of the room.

Your mouth nearly drops open at the amount he just said but apparently, these men are dripping with copious amounts of money.

You take a few seconds to assess him, your eyes glued to his large form against the velvet recliner he sits in, palms pressed firmly into the sunken arms of the chair. His body is broad, tensed, thick veins spidering down his tanned forearms, a black Rolex watch clasped to his left wrist. He’s clad in a white button-up shirt, black dress pants pressed against sculpted thighs. He’s dressed like all the other filthy rich men, but this one stands out amongst the rest. There’s just something about him that’s different.

He drags a heavy hand down his patchy scruff, greying threads shining under the dim light. His tousled sandy hair is slicked back, silver streaks giving away his older age. He looks to be in maybe his late forties, if that. A thick mustache hangs over his plush mouth, but what draws you in the most isn’t anything about his physical appearance but the way he’s looking at you. Soft, gentle brown eyes that have no violence swirling in them like the rest of the men. While the others look at you like a raw piece of meat, he doesn’t follow their lead. In fact, his gaze never hovers, never draws down your body. They just stay locked entirely on your eyes.

His eyes are soft, dark brown pools with honey flecks glittering in the darkness that surrounds you. They aren’t cold, unfeeling like the rest of the men’s are. They’re… soft. And that alone almost brings you to your knees in relief.

“Sixty-one thousand,” the spiky blonde hair challenges, piercing his icy blue eyes on you, making you want to hurl at the thought of that one winning you over.

“Sixty-two,” the mysterious man in the corner barters. Your eyes snap up to his until you hear Angela’s venomous words spew in your mind. Eyes on the ground unless you’re getting spoken to. Your gaze involuntarily falls to the polished wood, and you hear her click her tongue behind the fancy curtains. You’re nothing but a disappointment to her most days. Never perfect, always pathetic.

You bite your lower lip in panic, digging your heel as far into the floor as it’ll go, your nails biting into the palms of your hand, almost to the point of blood being drawn.

“Sixty-three!” The blonde pushes out of his chair angrily, his fists balled at his sides, getting frustrated with the man that challenges him.

Please, please, please. Don’t let him take me.

Praying was something you gave up on long ago but at this moment, you really have nothing left to hold on to. You can only silently beg for the man with brown eyes to win the bid.

“Sixty-five,” the brown-eyed man growls, his voice clipped and harsh, letting the blonde know he isn’t going to lose this fight. The blonde glares at him, anger fuming in his icy eyes, a deep snarl embedded in his mouth. You’re almost positive that’s how he’d look night after night hovering over your bed if he were the one to win, but you can’t think about that now. All you can do is wait.

“Do I hear sixty-six?” Garrett smiles, his eyes flicking between the two men who look like they’re about to duel in an old western shootout. You already know the brown-eyed man would win.

The blonde’s jaw ticks, and he holds back violence in his flexed fingers. After a few unbearable seconds of waiting, he slowly shakes his head and sits back down in defeat. “No. Guess he gets to take home and fuck the whore however he likes.”

Anger flashes over the broad man’s brown irises, and a murderous stare penetrates his gaze. He clenches a fist tightly, and a part of you thinks he may jump out of his seat and beat him to a bloody pulp, but he doesn’t. And for some reason, your breath is completely knocked from your lungs.

The deep boom of Garrett’s tone makes you jump from surprise, stirring you from your deep thoughts. “And sold, to the man at the back of the house! Congratulations. You got our rarest gem tonight. Aren’t you so lucky.”

The brown-eyed man’s jaw clenches for just a second, but he relaxes it instantly. Walking up to the front of the room, he throws on his pressed black jacket, straightening it as he walks past the deranged men, following Garrett as he leads him to the side where he’ll transfer the money and make it official. You’re his now, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Angela grabs your elbow harshly, pinching skin and drags you off the stage. She should be happy you just got sold, but she’s still acting like you belong to her. “Look at you getting fought over. You just earned me a shiny paycheck. But don’t forget your place, brat. You’re just a body to these men, and you’re here to please them. Sex is what they want, and your new master will surely punish you even more than all the other men at the house did to you.”

A sick feeling twists up your stomach, threatening to empty your lunch remains from yesterday on the floor, right on top of her shiny stilettos, but you wouldn’t dare. She’d probably kill you herself before your new buyer even got you in the car.

Suddenly, you realize you won’t have to deal with her backhanded remarks or abusive commands anymore. No more late nights of being held down on the ground and no more non consensual touching from strangers.

A feeling like freedom washes over your senses, relieving you of some tension, but you won't be truly free. Not really because you just got sold, and you know nothing about this man. Even if his eyes were kind doesn’t mean that’s who he really is. Men pretend with you all the time.

When she pushes you up the stairs that lead to the back of the room, the blonde stands and blocks your way, an angry leer in his eyes while he skims his gaze down your exposed body. Something like panic and sickness stir inside you, an unwelcome hand brushing over your bare thigh, his hand sliding higher under your short skirt. Angela just stands back and lets him take advantage, and you have nowhere to run.

“Well, looks like I won’t be taking you home after all, but I’m sure your new master won’t mind sharing you before you leave, right?” A sly smirk curls against his thin lips, his eyes smoldering with ice and mischief, making you feel extremely small in the moment.

“I don’t think..”

“Shut up, whore,” he silences you, wrapping a tight arm around your waist, snaking his hand higher and higher, brushing his fingertips over the thin material of your lacy thong. Anxiety floods your senses, panic taking over. You try to pull away, but he just presses you tighter against his body.

Where the fuck is he? Where is your master? You’re not supposed to be touched after being bought, at least not by another man. Unless it’s agreed upon by him explicitly.

He skims across the outer edge of your lace, his slimy fingers feeling like hot lava boiling you alive. You want to run, hide, scream into his twisted face, but you have no more fight in you. You’re paralyzed by fright and right now, Angela doesn’t give a single fuck if one of these sick freaks pins you against the floor and takes advantage of you.

Right when you feel a warm teardrop leak from your eyes and a long finger pull against the thin fabric, a loud smack echoes around the room, and his body is thrown to the ground, blonde hair flitting across your peripheral vision. Your eyes blow wide when you realize what just happened. Your new master just punched the blonde man’s nose and tackled him to the floor, and you can’t stop staring in complete shock.

“What the fuck man! What was that for?” The blonde tenses up and pinches his broken nose where blood is spewing on the floor in a thick pool, staining the black cuffs of his suit.

“Mine,” he growls protectively, shoving him once more for good measure. He pulls himself up from the floor and straightens his button-up, ticking his jaw and scowling at the coward lying in pain on the floor.

Your jaw goes slack, and your heart thunders impossibly fast in your chest at what just happened. He saved you from getting taken advantage of. Why would he do that? You should thank him, but you’re stunned in silence.

He gives you a once over to make sure you’re unharmed and when he’s content, he tips his head toward the open door, signaling for you to follow. “C’mon.” It’s all he says, but you follow nonetheless, desperate to get out of this cesspool.

You take one more glance back at the carnage of the room, collecting the memory of the blood red curtains and taking the fancy velvet seats to your grave. The reflective mirrors make you gag, and the wooden stage makes your legs shake at the implication of what it means to be up on that high platform. It makes you sick to your stomach.

You were just auctioned off and hopefully, you’d never have to step foot into this room ever again.

Trailing after him, you stay close. Close enough to inhale the woodsy cologne that drips off his body. You don’t know why, but there’s an odd comfort in the scent. Like fresh pines and a brisk fall day. Something you haven’t got to experience since… you can’t even remember now.

The guards at the front let you pass, and it’s almost like it’s a trick. Just one more step and they’d be dragging you back by the crown of your head, not even sorry for ripping strands from your skull. You tense up and wait, but nothing happens. They just let you go. And suddenly, tears are pooling in your vision.

You wipe away the evidence, afraid your new master will scold you for shedding a tear. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you have so much trauma embedded in you that it’s like it’s an automatic response.

Back at the house, Angela would smack you across the cheek if she caught you crying for any reason. She always said tears were a weakness, and she wouldn’t have one of her girls going into a man’s room looking like a train wreck. So even crying brings out the trauma responses. You fucking hate that you can’t show emotion without getting a whiplash of her snide demands.

You’re broken, and you don’t think you’ll ever be repairable.

The air is chilly, a full moon hanging high in the night sky, bright stars blinking every couple of seconds behind grey clouds. The trees are mixed with a swirl of colors: yellows, oranges, deep reds that remind you of the shed blood back at the house.

You shake your head out of the fog and focus on the smell of fresh air and a hint of spice. It has to be the end of September or October. Maybe November? God, you don’t even know what month it is or where the hell you are. This isn’t home. Not anywhere close at all. You know because there’s no deep green mountains or endless forests in sight. Home is nowhere to be found…

The tall man walks you to a dark black Chevy, unlocking the passenger door and opening it wide for you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even offer you a hand. He just stares at you with a slight tick to his jaw, tilting his head to signal you forward. Your body responds in an instant.

You climb in, feeling the cool leather on your exposed skin, pulling on the bottom of your dress to cover yourself more, but it barely even moves an inch. It’s no use trying. He’ll probably have your dress ripped off in less than an hour. You’re surprised you even made it this far without him pinning you down to your hands and knees.

Shaking the sick images from your mind, you let the invading thoughts float far away as he closes the passenger door. He wouldn’t do that to you. He’s not like those other men. He couldn’t be. He attacked a man for you, but maybe it’s just because he doesn’t like other men touching his property.

That’s what you are. Property. That’s all you’ll ever be.

It doesn’t take him long to appear in the driver’s seat, clicking his seatbelt into place and turning the key in the ignition, letting the rumble of the engine rev to life. You sit back in the passenger seat and try to breathe, letting air pool into your tight lungs.

The inside of the truck may be warm, but your body is freezing just thinking of what that blue-eyed demon was going to do to you back there. Panic consumes your insides, making you violently shake in your seat. Your eyes gloss over and then you feel as if you drown in a frozen lake, frostbite making its way across your flushed skin.

“Whoa, easy there. S’alright now. You’re alright,” he coos, quickly throwing off his jacket and wrapping you in the warmth, draping your arms through the long sleeves and bundling up inside the blanket-like material.

Warm. It’s so warm and for the moment, your body relaxes just enough to relieve yourself of the onslaught panic attack. Your erratic breathing shortens, and then you can finally think clearly again, breaking away from the thick fog.

Your eyes flick over to his, and there’s nothing but pure concern laced in his golden-brown irises. “You alright?” The question confuses you, and you stare blankly his way. There’s nothing hostile or violent in his eyes. They’re just… soft. Like they were back in the auction room. The first time you stared into anything remotely warm since you were taken.

He lifts an eyebrow in question, and you finally register that he wants you to answer. “Mhm,” is all you can muster out, your words lodged deep in the back of your throat. Men don’t ask you how you’re feeling, so why is he?

He looks at you for another beat, nodding his head once before you drop your gaze back to your lap like the submissive you should be. Don’t make eye contact. That’s showing control, and you’re not in control. Angela’s taunting words will follow you to the grave, you just know it.

He looks like he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue and lets the truck roll to the long gravel road ahead.

A sudden realization hits you like a car crash. No more Angela, no more Garrett, no more assaulters crowding your broken body. You’re free. Of them, at least. But your new master? Not so much.

The ride is silent apart from the soft rumble of the truck, tires spinning along the quiet road, moonlight shining through the tinted window, reflecting shiny stars in the side mirrors. You haven’t been outside in months, and the sight of a clear night sky makes you want to burst into tears.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” His deep, soothing voice lilts into your ears, and you gulp at the sweet nickname he uses.

Sweetheart. The men back at the house only called you crude, filthy names. Slut, whore, and bitch were their favorites. But no one ever called you sweetheart. Not ever.

You take a deep breath in before you speak, afraid your vocal cords will shred apart the moment you tell him what it is. But when he looks over at you all soft again, you break. You tell him your name quietly and avert your gaze back down to your pale thighs.

Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, and you can’t help but fight the tug of a smile curling over your lips. He said your name and for once in your life, a little part of you clicked back together.

Bravery seeps into your body, and you cautiously peek up and ask something you’ve wondered since you saw his dark brown eyes in the corner of the room. “And your name?”

His gaze flicks over to you, and for a moment you think his hand might fly out and smack you across the face. You flinch, remembering the sting of every hit your abusers marked you with. Your palm mechanically brushes over your cheek, and you swear you can feel the bright red welts they’d leave on your tainted skin.

The muscles in his jaw tick as he watches you, assessing your shaky movements. It’s like he can see the pain deep down in your soul, and you don’t understand why he’d care about that.

He clears his throat and answers, his eyes attentive to the dark road ahead. “Joel Miller.”

You don’t know what to answer to that, so you stay quiet and lean against the window, looking out into the thick fog of darkness.

After he sees you trying to decipher your surroundings, his thick Southern drawl fills the quiet. “Do you know what month it is?”

“No,” you answer solemnly, eyes still focused on the blurring background as the truck drives on.

“Do you know what state you’re in?”

“No,” you shake your head, eyes closing for less than two seconds.

He sighs, and you see him drag a hand slowly through his scruff. “It’s the middle of October. You’re in Texas. Jus’ a little north of Austin. That’s where we’re headed now. Jus’ about forty minutes away.”

Texas? Well, that’s a very very long way from home. But you don’t have a home anymore, so what does it matter?

“Oh.”

“Home,” he says hesitantly. “Is it anywhere close to here for you?”

You swallow back a lump in your throat and shake your head no, curling in on the warm jacket that envelopes your tired body.

When you don’t speak again, Joel flicks his eyes slowly to you, his thumb tapping quietly against the leather steering wheel. “Where’s home at, sweetheart?”

You flinch at the endearing name. It sounds like a knife dragging down a dirty chalkboard if you’re being honest with yourself. You’re nothing but a dirty slut. And that’s exactly what he should be calling you. Not sweetheart, not baby, just… slut.

When the truck comes to a halt at a dimly lit stop sign, he looks over once more at you, his eyes a dark shade of chocolate. “Washington,” is all you can muster up, thinking you owe him an answer. You can’t even say Seattle without the word getting stuck in your throat.

His eyes widen and something like softness resides deep in his warm irises. “You’re an awfully long way from home, aint ya?”

Quiet. His voice is too quiet, too… sad. And you don’t know what to take that as.

Tears swim up to the surface, pooling in the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back. Don’t show him you’re weak. “I don't have a home anymore…”

His mouth turns down in a tight-lipped frown, and he looks so defeated that you can’t quite understand why he would be. He doesn’t care about you. He never will. He’ll bleed you dry until you have nothing left. That’s what Angela said. And it’s ingrained like a sickness that won’t leave your body. Permanent damage that’ll leave scars like the ones that etch the back of your raised skin.

You’re nothing but a vacant body to use.

“What about your family? They must be lookin’ for you.”

Your fingers dig into the silk of your dress, and you almost let them tear right through. “I don’t have a family,” you whisper quietly.

You feel his careful stare waver over you, but you don’t have the energy to look up. “No? Surely someone’s lookin’ for you. They have to be. A girl like you—”

“A girl like me what?” you snap, quick to pull back your reins. The last thing you want to do is get backhanded from talking too loudly.

“Take it easy now,” he presses, his voice gentle and soothing. Almost enough to consume some of your sadness. “ All I’m sayin’ is someone has got to be searchin’ for you. Your parents?”

You bite your bottom lip hard, chewing the glossy skin that’s marked with invisible bruises. “My parents are dead.”

Silence carves through the inside of the moving vehicle, but you hear the faint whisk of shock leave his mouth. “Oh. I’m… fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

“How could you have? You don’t know me,” you shrug, leaning closer against the smooth interior of the door, your head resting against the cool window that’s doused in fog and sorrow.

“Well, I’m tryin’, sweetheart. I really am. Do you have anyone else? Maybe an uncle or cousin or—”

“No,” you interrupt. “They’re all gone… I have nothing.”

His hands clench tight over the steering wheel, his knuckles turning ghost white, and his jaw ticks like something just deeply upset him. Your eyes fall back to your thighs, but you can feel the weight of his body tightening up against the back of the seat.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask you any more questions. There’s just a thick silence that encompasses the cool air. And the only thing that keeps you warm now is the comfortable jacket that envelops you like a tight hug. A hug you desperately need. But you don’t want to be touched.

Not now, not ever again…

You’re almost fading off to sleep, the minutes ticking down painfully slow, but the rustle of gravel stirs you enough to where your eyes snap open in surprise. You gulp at the view in front of you. A large, lavish house with floor to ceiling windows and expensive wood panelling.

Your eyes peel to the thick brush of trees that expand into darkness behind the giant house. And for just a second, you feel like running far far away into the expanse of darkness. Maybe it’d swallow you whole till you were nothing but a ghost beneath the ground.

The truck finally comes to a halt and then the engine cuts off. Your body hums with electricity. The kind that threatens to strike you dead. Joel unlocks the truck with a click, and he tilts his head toward the house. “C’mon. Follow me.”

Your body hesitates, but the anxiety of lagging behind and getting punished sends you nearly jumping from your seat and out the door of the truck. Your feet hit gravel and you follow silently behind him, eyes fixed to the grass as your high heels click after him.

You feel like a puppet he’s strung behind him, your limbs moving without your permission. But he hasn’t done anything to you, so why are you panicking? And then your shoulders hunch with knowing. It’s the trauma that’s engraved like permanent ink from a tattoo deep inside your skin.

You’ll never be able to escape it. Not even when you’re dead and gone.

When you get to the front double doors, he slips a key in and turns, pushing it open with the flick of his wrist. Your eyes blow wide when you enter the massive house. A sparkling chandelier hangs high above the entryway. A marble staircase sits to the right side of what looks to be the living room. Polished wood covers every inch of the flooring. Exposed beams fill the ceiling, and the white painted walls don’t seem to have a speck of dirt on any of the surfaces.

It’s only a two story house, but it seems much bigger than that. Well over three thousand square feet. But the earthy textures and wooden trimmings of the house make it seem less like a prison and more like a, dare you say, home.

Home. This is your home now. And whether you’re happy about it or not, there’s not much you can do. Your body tells you to run, but there’s a tiny slither of a voice inside you that says you’re safe.

Safe. A word that means nothing anymore. You haven’t been safe in over a year, and a part of you thinks you’ll never be again…

“C’mon. I’ll show you where your room is.”

You stop in the middle of the entryway, your brow furrowed at his sentence. “My room?”

He nods. “Yes, your room.” He reiterates the word your, saying it like it’s spelled out in capital letters. You think he does it for your sake, to let you know again that this is a safe place.

“You mean I don’t have to sleep in your room…” Your voice betrays you. Fear and panic flooding your eyes at the thought of having to be forced into another man’s bed. You quickly shake the awful memories from your thoughts, afraid to slip into another panic attack.

His jaw clenches up, but his eyes soften into warm pools of brown when he sees the distress in your wide eyes. “No, darlin’. Not gonna make you do that.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster out. That’s… new.

He nods his head to the staircase, and you take that as your cue to follow. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t put his hand on the small of your back, doesn’t make you go first so he can stare up your dress. And you can’t decipher why he bought you in the first place.

Maybe he’s waiting till later to snatch you away into his room, maybe drag you to the floor and climb on top of you. The flashbacks make you sick to your stomach, and you’re having a hell of a time keeping it all inside.

You distract yourself with the rustic art that hangs on the pristine walls, reflecting off the marble staircase you climb. Pictures of deer, horses, shiny lakes, deep green forests, like the ones in Washington, scatter around the walls in various shapes. And it calms the anxiety that’s rolling like a violent storm through your mind.

A long, dimly lit hallway stands at the top of the steps, another sits on the opposite side of the long archway that overlooks a grand living room, leather couches, and a grand piano sitting in the left corner, right next to a picturesque window that overlooks a sea of trees. It’s just as lavish as other men’s homes, the ones where they’d throw parties for all their friends to indulge in the trafficked girls, but this one doesn’t feel like that at all, strangely.

His low timbre pulls you out of the fog, and you find him standing by an open door, the first one on the left. “This is where you’ll be stayin’ at.”

You follow him into the room and gasp at what lies ahead of you. A queen-sized bed with clean white sheets and a light purple comforter sits in the middle of the room, some new clothes folded neatly on the edge of the bed. A walk-in closet sits to the left side of the room, and it looks to be fully stocked with a colorful array of shoes and clothes that still have their tags connected to the material. To the right is a large bathroom that smells like fresh roses and fragrant perfume, but you’re too stunned to walk in and see. The walls are painted in soft muted colors, and the lilac curtains drape loosely over the expansive back window. You almost cry when you see a sea of dark trees in the distance. They remind you of home.

You miss Washington, you miss when you had a home, you miss having a family…

“I bought you some clothes. Hopefully they fit alright. If not then I can get you more, but I’m hopin’ you feel comfortable in them.”

Your fingertips trace over the soft material of the various shades of t-shirts, hoodies, sweatpants, and shorts, your brain muted and fuzzy because there’s not a gown or short dress in sight anywhere in the room. That’s all you wore back at the house, all you know how to wear. And the sight of comfortable, unrevealing clothes makes your eyes glossy with tears.

You feel his weight shift behind you, but yet he still stands more than a foot back, not daring to touch you. You should thank him, get down on your knees and show him just how much you appreciate this, but you can’t. Because the thought of that makes you want to throw yourself over the lavish wood railing of the staircase. Angela would be so disappointed in you.

When you say nothing, he clears his throat and then you turn to face him. “You must be starvin’. Let me go fix you something. You like chicken?”

Your jaw drops, and you’re stunned silent from the ask. He’s asking if you like chicken?

He gives you a minute to respond, but all you can squeak out is, “What?”

“Do you like chicken?” His voice comes out softer, more tender. Why isn’t he raising his voice? Why isn’t he smacking you across the cheek for taking too long to answer him?

“I—I… yes,” you finally whisper out, your eyes glued to the shine of his polished boots.

“Okay then. It’s settled. I’ll get something fixed up real quick. You can come down when you’re ready. Jus’ please, feel free to wear what you want. Find something comfortable, whatever it may be. All these clothes are yours now. I imagine you wanna get out of that dress you’re in.” His eyes flick down to your midnight blue dress for just a second, but he doesn’t lock his eyes on your body. No. There’s a flash of something like hurt in his deep brown eyes.

You tug his fancy black jacket further around you, letting its warmth wrap you tight to keep away the flashbacks of grabbing hands and torn shreds of material on the floor while your body was torn apart…

“Hey.” His mellow voice breaks you away from the nightmarish thoughts. “You okay?” A deep wrinkle furrows against his tanned forehead, and something like concern washes down his soft brown eyes.

“Mhm,” you hum, suddenly realizing you’re still wearing his jacket. You quickly shed it and try to hand it off to him, afraid he’d rip it from your body if you kept it on for too long.

He presses a palm out to stop you and just shakes his head, a tousled curl escaping the gel in his slicked back sandy hair. “Keep it.”

Your outstretched arm falls to the side and so does the jacket to the floor. He pays no mind to it falling to the ground, not even flinching when it hits the plush carpet. Why didn’t he scold you for dirtying up his things?

“I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll let you have some space. And please, take your time.” He turns and walks out the door, letting it shut softly. And then you’re all alone, in a strange place that’s now yours.

Your eyes don’t lift till he’s gone, a bad habit that’s been ingrained into your very core. You’re not supposed to look them in the eye, not unless they say. But Joel? He doesn’t tell you to keep your eyes on the ground.

Slowly casting your eyes away from the cream carpet, you find yourself at the edge of the bed again, your fingertips hovering over a pair of grey sweats and a navy t-shirt. Turning around to make sure the door is still closed, you quickly peel off the midnight blue dress that’s tainted from dirty hands and prying eyes. You let it fall to the floor in a messy heap and throw on the large t-shirt and comfy sweatpants.

Looking at your bare arms, you decide it’s not enough, so you find a dark grey jacket deep in the closet and zip it up to the very top, so no exposed skin or scars are left to be seen by his dark eyes. You still feel completely bare, even with a pair of long pants and a long sleeved jacket. But that’s because in the last year, even if you did have actual clothes on, they were just torn away and ripped apart, and you have the scars to prove it.

Carefully bending down and picking up the wadded up dress, you smooth it out and run your fingers over the sheer material, almost tempted to put it back on because that’s what you should be wearing. Not some oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You don’t look presentable, not in these clothes. You should always dress to entertain the men, always have your hair perfect and your makeup just right, always have a smile on your face and say thank you for every single thing they do to you…

Your body starts to shake violently as you look up to find yourself standing in the reflection of the closest mirror, the mini dress held up to your body, fingers curling over the muddled memories of dinner parties that ended with you and other innocent girls face down on the table with your legs spread.

Your bottom lip trembles as you look at the twenty-seven-year-old girl staring back in the mirror. You don’t recognize her anymore. Stained blood red lips and long wavy curls, your eyeliner smudging, and the dark creases beneath your eyes telling you just how exhausted and battered your body is. You’re wrecked. Completely and utterly shattered, torn to shreds. And you just don’t know how you’ll ever find yourself again. Because the girl you knew before is long gone. And now? Now you just feel… lost.

The tears that pool in your eyes fall like raindrops that pelt the outside window, your body humming with anxious thoughts and a blur of emotions. And the dress burns like fire beneath your palms; every second you hold it brands another forgotten memory into your brain, and then you just crack like shattered glass.

You tear the dress to shreds, taking out all your anger and resentment on the sheer material, pulling it apart till it’s only unrecognizable scraps on the floor. And you let your tears soak them, stain them just like every single one of those men did to your body. Even Angela.

You hate them, you hate yourself, you hate the way they made you feel. Useless and disgusting, a piece of meat they could chew on whenever they pleased.

You spend the next half hour crying over what you did, regretting ruining the dress, the one thing you could’ve kept with you, a fragile memory that you should’ve held on to. But that wouldn’t be healing to you. But at this rate, you don’t think you ever will heal.

You forget about dinner, forget where you even are. Joel had to come get you and lead you down to the kitchen. And yet, he still didn’t touch you. Not even once. And you just don’t understand why he won’t touch you. Not that you want to be touched. You don’t. You just expect it now.

When you finally make it to the kitchen, you decide on a black barstool and take your place there at the sleek kitchen island that’s swirled in shiny white quartz. And when he sets a warm plate of chicken Alfredo noodles and a glass of cold water in front of you, you just stare with wide-eyes at the hot meal before you.

The savory Alfredo dinner taunts you as it sits right in front of you, screaming at you to just take one bite. Your stomach churns and rumbles with the scent of a put together homemade meal. When was the last time you had one of those? Maybe two years ago.

You keep your eyes peeled to the polished wooden floor, your fingers twisted tight against the sweatpants that hang loosely around your thighs. Your body is yelling at you to eat, but you can’t make yourself move, can’t do anything. You were never allowed carbs back at the house, wasn’t even allowed to eat until the men were done. Angela once pulled your hair and pushed your face into the floor when you dared to take a bite before they were finished. And now you can’t even get yourself to chance that again. Even if Joel never would, you feel as if Angela will come charging around the corner just waiting for you to make one wrong move.

You’re so very broken…

“What’s wrong? Do you not like it? I can make you something else.” Joel’s voice is etched in concern, but you only have the strength to shake your head.

“No. It’s fine. It’s—it’s great. It’s just…” Your breath is shaky, just like your hands. And you can’t seem to look up from the floor.

Don’t ever look them in the eyes. You’re not in control. You have no power. You flinch at Angela’s spiteful words. You wish you could just drown them out, forget everything she ever taught you.

“You haven’t even touched your food, sweetheart.” A tear licks at the corner of your eye, but you don’t dare let it fall.

“I—uhh. I…” You’re pathetic. You can’t even look him in the eye at the table. Not even when he’s standing across from you, staring at you with those soft brown eyes you know are boring into yours.

“Can you look up for me, sweetheart?” The pain in his deep timbre cracks something inside you, and your eyes snap up to meet his. “There ya go. Attagirl.” You wince at the word because it sounds like praise, and you don’t deserve that at all. You deserve to be scolded.

“Wanna tell me why you’re not eating?” You choke on your voice when you see those soft brown honey eyes. You’ve never been looked at quite like that. Not with kindness or concern or anything genuine before. And it makes you want to cry.

You take a deep, steady breath and pray you can muddle some coherent words out because you’re about to spill something very personal that you’re not quite ready to share. “Back at the house… they wouldn’t let us eat until the men were done. We—we’d get punished if we disobeyed.” You flinch at the painful memories but press on. “We weren’t allowed to eat carbs. And some days they’d just starve us to teach us a lesson. I can’t even remember the last time I had a decent meal…”

Joel’s fingers flex against the sink, his nails digging into the metal, his jaw clenched and something like pain and understanding lit up in his honey-colored eyes. He looks like he actually feels your pain, and you can’t comprehend how he’d possibly know what that pain is like.

He nods his head and darts his tongue along his bottom lip in response. “I uhh—Jesus. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ awful. I can’t imagine how that must’ve been. But please, eat. You’re allowed to eat anything you want now. You want sweets, sugar, greasy pizza? Then it’s yours. You’re allowed to eat in peace here. There’s no rules in this house. I want you to be able to eat. So please, don’t ever wait for me. You jus’ go on and enjoy.”

It takes you a couple of minutes to find enough courage to pick up the silver fork, but you do it. And that right there is a step in the right direction.

The first bite slides down your throat slowly and when you swallow, it’s like a slice of heaven to your insides. You quickly take another, devouring the delicious noodles, letting the savory taste melt against your tastebuds, groaning silently at what a real meal should taste like. It’s not cold soup or oatmeal or dry lettuce. It’s actual food.

You somehow forget Joel is watching, and it takes you two whole seconds until your cheeks are burning with embarrassment. He’s looking straight at you, watching you enjoy from a safe distance, and you swear you see a small smile curled against his lips. He hasn’t even touched his food. All he seems to care about is that you’re eating. And that makes you feel extremely guilty.

You take a paper napkin and wipe the Alfredo sauce from your lips, letting the red lipstick smear across the napkin, suddenly fully aware you just ruined your makeup.

Flashbacks of getting slapped across the face course through your body, making you sick to your stomach. Don’t smear your makeup, filthy little slut. Go back to your room and make yourself presentable before our guests arrive. Another sharp smack stings your cheek, and you find yourself cradling your cheek like it just now happened to you.

Panic blindly traces every inch of your body, anxiety creeping in as your heart palpitates at an alarming pace. You ate without Joel, you didn’t wait, you ruined your makeup. Oh God, you’re in so much trouble. Safe. You’re not safe. You need to run, you need to…

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel’s concerned voice whips through your mind, and that’s enough for you to drop your fork in alarm on the floor, your eyes wild with fright.

You’re not safe, you’re not safe, you’re not safe. He’ll hurt you. Run.

You pull back the barstool and stand, your back tense and fingernails digging into the kitchen island. “W—Why are you being nice to me? Why did you cook for me? Why aren’t you starving me?!”

His body tenses, just like yours, and his eyes swim with concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s all gonna be jus’—”

“Why aren’t you using me? Use me! Tell me to spread my legs, tell me to get on my knees, tell me I’m worthless!” You scream, letting your voice echo around the clean kitchen, feeling as if your panic attack might take you out this time around.

“No.” His voice is careful, quiet, not at all stern.

“No?” you mewl, feeling the tears prick the back of your eyes.

“No,” he repeats, softer than before.

Your hands shake, and you need to find something to hold to soothe your whirring anxiety. So you grab the glass that’s half full of water. “Use me! Tell me I’m nothing! Tell me I don’t matter!”

He shakes his head slowly, his eyebrows knit together in rapt attention, eyes crinkling. “You do matter. Don’t for a second think that you’re—”

“Just fucking use me!” You slam the glass to the floor, letting it shatter into tiny pieces just like your heart looks like. Broken and fractured. You fall to the floor, crying out when a piece slices through your palm, letting the pain serenade your insides, reminding you of all the times you saw red back at the house.

The tears splash against your cheeks, falling to the floor like droplets from a waterfall. But you can’t find the strength to let them stop. You’ve held them in for so long; there’s no more room to keep them tucked away inside.

Your eyes widen when you realize the mess you made. You broke his belonging, completely shattered it in pieces. He should have your fucking neck for this, and you cower just thinking of the beating he might give you. “Oh my God. The glass. Fuck, the glass. I’m so… s—sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” You frantically try to pick the pieces up, but all you do is tear another cut open in the same palm. And now blood stains the dark wood. Fuck.

Joel’s at your side in a second, kneeling beside you, trying to calm you down the best he can without alarming you. “Shhh. S’alright. It’s fine. I don’t care about the broken glass.”

“But I made a mess. I broke your belongings. And I should be punished. I should…” Your voice fades off as the tears blur your vision, completely breaking you just like the scattered shards of glass that surround you.

He shakes his head slowly and places his palm flat on the ground, so close but yet so far from brushing against you. “No. Don’t think for one minute you deserve that, sweet girl. Don’t for one fuckin’ minute believe any of that. S’not true. None of it is.”

“But—but I… No, I—I can fix this. I can clean this up, I can…” Your words come out jumbled and muddled, and the panic still writhes high throughout your body, making you want to crawl out of your scarred skin.

“Sweetheart, shhh. S’alright. I promise I’m not here to harm you. Jus’ let me clean you up. Your hand. Jus’—let me help you. Please.” His voice is calm, collected, and you have a hard time looking up because you know those deep brown eyes will only make you cry harder.

You feel his fingertips brush against your wrist, and you jolt back in panic, eyes wide with retaliation. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” you choke, whining as another piece of glass digs into your hand like a knife carving its way deep into your bones. It fucking hurts, but you’ve taken worse. You can manage the pain.

He lifts his arms in the air like he’s surrendering, showing you he means no harm. But your body doesn’t know the difference anymore. All you’ll ever know is how to continue to take the pain.

“Please. I promise I ain’t gonna hurt you. Let me take care of your hand. Let me help you.” He draws out the last word, the syllables dragging like sweet honey across his tongue. And he sounds genuine like he really does want to help you.

You have no more fight left in you, no energy to give. So all you do is nod your head and whisper out a defeated, “Okay.”

“C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s get you up off the floor.” He scoops you up in his arms, cradling your head in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even care that you’re staining his white button-up red. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

Your body revolts against his touch, but he’s so warm that you don’t fight it. He smells like firewood and scented pine trees, and that’s enough to keep you calm in his arms. You just nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and let your tears stain the dark stubble of his patchy beard.

“There ya go. Easy now. You’re alright,” he coos gently, lulling you into a calm state.

You’re freezing cold, even underneath the layers of clothes that wrap like thick vines around your body. But somehow, the warmest thing right now is being in his arms...

You’re completely and utterly vulnerable but just for a second, you relax into his strong arms and breathe in the mahogany scent of him. The man that got you out before you completely shattered. For just this moment, you give in to what you really need. Warmth and safety.

He feels safe.

And for the next couple of minutes that it takes for him to get you across the house and up the stairs, you fade into his warmth, blocking out every single panicked and anxious thought. For just those few seconds, you breathe, letting the unruly voices in your mind die out.

For just that minute, you’re safe.

You come back to yourself the moment he sets you down on a white step stool, warily telling you to hold still, your palm open over the bathtub, blood running down the porcelain material, staining the walls with the crimson of your stupid mistakes.

You did this. Your fault, all your fault. You should have never broken the glass, should’ve never lashed out, but you did. And you guess this is how you’ll always be now. A hollow body that just doesn’t know how to live a normal life anymore.

You wince as Joel drags the washcloth slowly over your open wound, tears swimming in your eyes the more he tries to assess it, searching for any pieces of glass that may be stuck deep in your hand. And you don’t know why he’s doing this after you had a meltdown because he wouldn’t make you pleasure him. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this how your brain just operates now? After being stuck in that god awful house, this is what it does to you?

You don’t want to be used anymore. You don’t even want to be fucking touched by a man ever again. So why did it hit a nerve after he refused to tell you that you were nothing?

“Ouch,” you whine, tensing as he washes the open wound with soap and water, apologizing each time he goes over the sore area.

“M’sorry. Jus’ hold on, I’m almost done. Good news is I don’t see any glass in your cut. S’good. Means I can jus’ clean you up and wrap it for tonight. Might be sore for a couple days, but you’ll be fine,” he assures you, working meticulously to fix you up.

You flinch each time his calloused fingers brush against your hand, struggling to not push him away. You don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by a man. But you can’t shake how warm he felt when he was carrying you to your room. He wasn’t mean, wasn’t rough, wasn’t even hostile. He was just… gentle. Just like he’s being now with each careful graze of his fingertips to your fragile skin.

And even though ninety percent of you can’t stand the thought of him being this close to you, you don’t seem to hate him. Not even a little bit. Because whether you want to admit it or not, he saved you.

You don’t trust him, you don’t trust anyone. He could turn on you in a second, show you his true colors. But again, he would’ve already done that. Wouldn’t he?

“How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks, carefully drying your cut with a clean towel.

“Twenty-seven,” you whisper out, wincing once more from the pressure on your palm.

“And your birthday? When’s that?”

You watch his brown eyes flick up to yours, and your gaze drops immediately back to your lap. “January 22nd.”

He takes a minute before the next question comes, diligently wrapping your hand in a gauze padding. “How long you been gone now? Do you know?”

You chew on your bottom lip and hold back a tear, trying your best not to fall apart all over again. “A little over a year and a half…” you respond in a muffled tone. “I wouldn’t have even known my birthday passed. But they—they were sure to remind me. Because I was—I was…” you can’t even finish your sentence without a tear slipping down your cheek, holding on for that sliver of sanity you have buried deep inside you.

His brown eyes gloss over into a deeper shade of brown, and his eyebrows furrow in concern as he stops what he’s doing so he can put his full attention on you. You decide to finish your sentence, needing to get it out of your system. Hoping it’d be a way to forget as soon as the words left your tongue. “They—they had me bent over a table the entire day while a vanilla cake with the numbers twenty-seven taunted me while they ate it in front of me. And then they—-they…” a sob chokes you up, and tears trail like rain down your face, landing on top of Joel’s hand that sits atop his knee.

“Hey, hey, hey. S’alright, sweetheart. You don’t have to talk ‘bout it if you don’t want to. I’m—fuck. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I jus’ can’t imagine what sick fuck would do that to you or any girl at that. I’m so sorry.” His deep voice is full of pity and heartache, and his chocolate eyes make you want to cry even more.

You dip your head in anguish and sigh. “Yeah, me either. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I…”

He interrupts you, hovering his hand over yours like he wants to comfort you, but you flinch away at the notion. “Shh. No, sweetheart. You never ever deserved any of that. Not in the least bit.”

You scuff your bare feet against the tile floor, reaching for anything that might keep you from tipping past the breaking point, but you’re way over the edge. You’re all the way at rock bottom.

The searing question bubbles up again in your stomach. The one question you’ve been dying to know ever since he called out that number. And you can’t go another minute without knowing. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he asks, an eyebrow arched in question.

“Why did you buy me? You could’ve left me with the blonde. You could’ve walked out empty handed.” Your voice is raised, but you keep your composure from sliding again, not wanting another broken glass incident.

“I wasn’t gonna do that,” he presses, his lips in a tight line, jaw ticking with a dark look in his eyes.

“You paid thousands of dollars for me. Why would you do that? Why didn’t you just—”

He stops you right there, a sad look blanketing his face. “‘Cause. My daughter, Sarah. She… she went through the same thing you did. And I couldn’t fuckin’ stand by and watch the same thing happen to you.”

Your lips part wide, and a gasp leaves your throat. His daughter was taken? “Oh.” That’s all you can say for the moment. You’re stunned in silence.

Holy shit.

You try to find one sliver of pretense, a glimmer in his eye that could prove he’s lying. But the way his face falls and his eyes drop to the floor in agony, like he’s in physical pain, you find no lie. He’s telling the truth.

“Is she still…”

“Yes,” he nods, eyes in a far off place. “She’s alive.”

“When did she…”

He takes a deep breath and flexes his hand over the side of the tub, holding on to something solid while he gets into the thick of what happened to his daughter. “She was taken young. She was only fifteen, taken right under my nose at the mall. She was just walkin’ to the bathroom. It took less than five minutes. And I—fuck. If I would’ve jus’ watched her walk in and stood outside the door. She would’ve never been taken in the first place…”

He drops his head in defeat, and you feel your eyes widen in shock. You don’t know what rushes over you, but the way his soft brown eyes tear up make yours do the same thing. “Joel?” you choke out, tears stinging against your lash line. “I’m—really sorry that happened. And as much as you might blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault.”

He looks up with teary eyes and a deep frown, nodding. “Wish I could come to terms with that. But… she made it out. I found her and got her out. And that’s what matters.”

“How old is she?” you ask quietly, your left hand brushing over your fresh bandage, careful not to tear the material.

“She’s twenty now. Livin’ down in Houston, startin’ her sophomore year of college, and workin’ as a part time vet tech at a clinic specializin’ in horses. She absolutely loves it,” he smiles, his eyes turning into a lighter brown the more he talks about how much she’s grown over the years, leaving behind her trauma.

“That’s incredible. More than incredible. Just—wow,” you breathe out, your eyes casted down to the floor, wishing you could heal like that. But at this rate, you don’t think you’ll ever get over the immense trauma that occurred to your body and mind.

He licks his bottom lip in thought, his eyes burning into yours. And you see it even out of the corner of your eye. He’s concerned for you. “It took her a long time to adjust back to a normal life. We had a rocky time there for ‘bout a year, but she got the help she needed. She was only gone a couple months, but that was more than enough time to give her PTSD and mentally scar her. But she’s shining now, finally at a place where normal life isn’t as scary as it used to be.”

Another tear slips free and splashes to the floor, creating a tiny puddle of your shattered heart that’s made of tears. “I’m so happy for her. Sarah sounds amazing.”

“Mmm, that she is. I’m gonna give you her number. Think it’d be good for you to connect with someone who’s been through something as traumatic as this.”

Your mouth gapes open, and you tilt your chin up until you come face to face with him. And he looks… kind. He is kind. “But I don’t have a phone anymore…”

“I’ve already got one ordered and on the way for you.”

“What?” you ask with wide eyes. He gives you a small smile that curls against his lips. And you nearly sob from the gentle way he’s looking at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. And I have a therapist on speed dial. Her name’s Tess. She’s the best of the best. If there’s one therapist I trusted with Sarah then it’s her. Trust me, Sarah went through a lot of them, and Tess was the most helpful. And she’s helped so many other girls, too. Not just Sarah.”

Other girls? Did he help get other girls out? You have so many questions. “Why are you doing all this for me?”

“‘Cause I wanna help you,” he states simply, his thumb tapping against the side of the tub, eyes focused right on you.

“But why? I’m… nothing,” you whisper, bottom lip quivering, afraid you’ll break down in tears once again. And you most likely will. You feel it deep in your bones.

He shakes his head in response. “Sweetheart, no. Don’t say that ‘bout yourself. You’re not nothing. You’re somebody, and you matter. Whether you believe it or not, you matter.” His words are definitive, final, but his voice is as soft as cotton candy.

“I… matter?” you ask, voice shaky from the kaleidoscope of emotions that pummels through you.

He nods, eyes alight and glittering under the bright bathroom lights, a soft smile curled on his lips. “Do you know what I saw when you were standin’ in the middle of that room tonight? I saw a young woman that was worth saving. I saw a light deep inside those pretty eyes of yours that was jus’ screamin’ for someone to hear you. I heard you. And I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you there to be preyed on by those starvin’ wolves. So I got you out.”

You’re breathless, lips parted in awe. “But—but I…”

“Look. You may not be fine tomorrow or next week, but someday—someday you will be. And I’ll try my damn near hardest to make sure you are. And if you’ll let me, I’ll see that you’re kept safe. Whether you choose to leave next week or next month or in a year. I promise I’ll do what I can to make sure you feel safe and that you can learn to thrive in life again. Trust me when I say you will get there. Jus’ gotta take it one step at a time. That’s all you can do. One day at a time.”

Tears pool in your eyes, soaking them up like the promise of his words. I’ll keep you safe. He wants you to stay, to heal, to thrive. He’s trying to help you, and you just don’t know what you did to deserve his help, but you’re eternally grateful. And even though you’re scared, maybe you don’t have to be scared of him.

After he puts away the gauze and the bathroom supplies he used to clean your hand with, he lets you get settled into bed. But before he walks out, he raps his knuckles on the doorway and clears his throat. “My room is jus’ across the hall if you need anything. I’ll be up, so don’t hesitate if you need something.”

You nod your head, pulling the fluffy comforter up to your chin, too tired to give him a smile.

He tilts his head and starts heading out the door, but before he can turn the doorknob all the way, you call out. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning his head, directing his full attention your way.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes telling him everything that your words can’t.

He curls his lips into a half smile and nods. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” And when he walks out and closes the door, you hear him say, “Sleep tight.”

You want to know more about how he found Sarah, what he meant when he said he’s helped other girls before, how he found you in the first place. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking drained. Maybe tomorrow you’ll find the strength to pull yourself together and ask but not tonight. Tonight you just want a full night’s sleep. Something you haven’t had since you were taken. So you close your eyes, focus on the soft patter of rain on the window, put all your anxious thoughts to the side and drift into the dark depths of a sea of blackness.

And then you sleep.

Hot pain shoots through your wrists like a jagged knife splitting you open, painting you scarlet. Dirty fingernails shred your skin, clawing you until you taste blood in the back of your throat. You can’t speak, can only silently scream. A muted cry for help that no one else can hear but you. Chains fasten to your ankles, pulling your legs apart, grimy men surrounding you, suffocating you until you seep into the the blackest pit of despair.

Trapped. You’re held captive against your will, your body on full display, eyes wide with fright every time they snake their filthy hands around your throat, hot breath fanning against your core until you scream bloody murder over and over again.

But no one comes; no one saves you from this pit of hell.

Dead. You feel dead, and they just keep bringing you back from the grave with every touch they steal.

You thrash against the sheets, screaming for help, tears staining the brand new comforter, but you’re still trapped in the horrific nightmare with the demons of your past torturing you way beyond the point of pain.

“No, no, no! Get off!” you cry as you feel a body dip into the side of the bed, drastically trying to escape what’s to come. “Stop, stop!”

A voice. Deep, intense, wrecked sounds in your fuzzy mind, trying to grasp you out of your nightmare.

“Wake up. Wake up.” It’s muddled, almost unrecognizable. But it’s insistent, a loud gong that spirals into your racing mind.

“No, no, let go!” you mewl, twisting violently in the sheets when you feel the mattress dip down further, spiraling your thoughts further.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Please. You have to wake up!” He shouts, stirring you from your nightmare, but the men reach for you, dragging you back under the thrashing waves, but you extend your arm, fighting the tossing sea, battling the teeth that gnash at you.

“Stop, let go!” Your flesh stings as they continue to tear you apart, dragging you down down down until that sweet Southern drawl that sounds like honey resonates throughout your mind, and the fog starts to clear just a little.

“It’s me, I’m right here. Open your eyes, please!” Deep. That thick baritone voice crashes through your mind, pulling you away from all the insufferable noises.

Your eyes snap open, realizing you’re pounding your fists into his broad chest, barely making a dent because he’s that strong. And then your anxiety races, building horrific hallucinations in your mind. And you just keep throwing everything you have at Joel, tears spilling down your cheeks, your t-shirt drenched in a cold sweat.

“The men… They—they…” You choke out a sob, continuously throwing your arms against his chest, taking everything you have bottled up inside you and spilling it all over Joel, showing just how bloodied and bruised you are from the traumatic events.

The stage, the men, Angela, the blood, the torture, the misery, the deaths, the excruciating pain of it all. It’s too fucking much, and you just want to die. Maybe then you’ll be at peace, away from the weight of everything you’ve kept resting on your shoulders. Like a rock weighing down on your chest, crushing you till you’re nothing but dust. You feel like dust. Faded, dirty, and useless.

“S’alright, sweetheart. It was jus’ a nightmare. You’re safe,” he soothes, his calming voice bubbling up and taking some of the anxiety off your weighted chest.

“But it was real…” you choke out, your vision blurring with the salty water that forms in your eyes.

A tear slips free, crashing down to his hand, smothering it in cold, icy liquid. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even back away. He just stays sitting next to you, careful not to touch you or reach for you. He’s just… there. And somehow there’s comfort in that.

He stares at you like a lost puppy, chocolate eyes melting, tears filling his own concerned eyes. And you keep hitting him, your hands growing tired from the balled up fists punching against his chest. And he just sits there and takes it, like it doesn’t bother him one bit.

“Let it out. Give me your pain. I can take it, sweetheart. You jus’ take it out on me. As long as you need. You want a punchin’ bag then let me be that for you. Whatever helps, you jus’ go on and let go,” he says softly, brows threaded together, big doe eyes consumed in pain. It’s like he’s as wrecked as you are, and that makes you cry even harder.

“Joel…” you break, dropping your tired arms to the bed, curling your fingers into the soft comforter, trying to lose yourself in the soft rain that pelts the back of the window.

You’re so tired and drained and ruined. They ruined you, and you hate every single one of them for taking away everything. Your dignity, your pride, your body, your life, your mind. They took everything.

“I know, sweet girl. I know. Shhh. S’alright. I’m right here. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here,” he whispers, his woodsy scent grounding you back to earth, calming you down just enough to focus on how soft his eyes are.

Soft. Just like velvet. He’s so soft.

He just sits there patiently, waiting for your cries to die down, waiting to know you’re okay. But you’re not okay; you never will be okay. You’re just a tree in a sea of thousands, but your branches are withered, leaves falling, and maybe you’ll never bloom again.

You focus on his soft brown eyes, the light tap of raindrops, your erratic breathing slowing to a normal pace. You’re so tired. Tired of fighting the panic attacks, the flashbacks, the pain.

You’re just… tired.

“You gonna be alright, sweetheart? Think you can get back to sleep?” he asks thoughtfully, his voice warm like a fresh cup of coffee, his scent permeating around the room, keeping you from spiraling again.

You take a deep breath and nod, pulling the comforter under your chin, trying to control the chill that runs down your spine. “I think so,” you say slowly, your voice still a little shaky.

He tilts his head and scratches the back of his neck, a tight-lipped smile forming over his lips. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to sleep then. You come knock on my door if you need me.”

When he pushes off your bed and pads over to the open door, he calls out and says, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

Panic consumes your mind just thinking of being alone again with your nightmares, your body trembling underneath the warm sheets. And before you know what you’re thinking, you stop Joel in his tracks. “Joel?”

And just like before, he turns and arches a brow, questions reeling in his calm brown eyes. “Hmm?”

“Can you… would you mind staying with me? I just… I really don’t want to be alone.” Your voice is shaky and nerves pull through your body, but for some reason his presence just gives off that impression of safety.

You don’t trust him yet, not really. But he’s got the softest aura swirling around him, and you just know he won’t hurt you. He’s already proved that.

You’re safe…

He smiles, running a hand through his thick curls, his bicep flexing under the weight of the white t-shirt, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. You might’ve thought he was handsome under different circumstances, if your brain wasn’t ruined from trauma, but the only thing that seems to capture your attention is his soft brown eyes. The only kind ones that were in that auction room tonight.

“‘Course I will, sweetheart. Whatever makes you feel safe,” he says, walking over and sinking down into the champagne colored saucer chair by the open door, eyes locked on you.

You mold yourself to the cool mattress, the sheets wrapping loosely around your legs. You stare at him for a couple of minutes, using his woody scent to calm you down. He reminds you of Washington, of your favorite pine trees. He smells like home, when you had one. Tears line your lids, but you close your eyes and get lost in the rain, until your breathing is shallow and slow. And then you’re out like a light.

He keeps his eyes fixed on you, watching for any signs that you may be in distress. Every whimper and strangle against the sheets makes him jump up, ready to take you from your vicious nightmares, but they don’t come. Not like the one that had you screaming bloody murder, tears staining your pretty eyes.

Scared. You’re so very scared, fragile. Just like the glass that ripped you open, staining his white button-up crimson. He hates that that’s how they made you feel. Afraid of men, to be broken again. They took it all from you and he fucking hates them for it.

They hurt you, ruined you. It makes him sick to his stomach, makes him want to hunt down every single man who put their filthy hands on your sacred body. He’d chop their hands off so they could never touch you again, take a gun and end their pathetic lives. That’s what he did with Sarah’s kidnappers, when he found out who took his precious daughter. And he’d do it for you too. In fact, he’d search the whole goddamn map to wring the necks of any man who even thought of putting their filthy paws on you.

He’s not against violence, not when he spends half his time working to take down auctioneers and human traffickers. And the blonde man that tried to violate you tonight would be the first to go. That one he’ll take down himself.

He stays up the entire night, never letting his eyes close, afraid you’d start drowning again. But he won’t let you slip beneath the rocky waves; he’ll keep your head above water, pull you out, do his very best to make you feel safe.

Safe. You’re safe here with him. And even if you don’t trust him yet, you will. He’ll make sure of it. He saw the absolute terror in your eyes on that stage, and he just couldn’t leave you with the venomous snakes in that house. You have a long road ahead of healing, but he’ll be there to help you through it.

A beautiful girl like you deserves a second chance at life, and he’ll give it to you. Pretty flowers don’t deserve to wilt. They deserve to thrive.

And you will.

Tagging those who seemed interested 🩷 @joelsgreys @amyispxnk @whxtedreams @clawdee @jellybeanxc

@lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra @sawymredfox @sanarsi

@christinamadsen @missannwinchester @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69

@milla-frenchy @magpiepills @604to647

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #Joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fic #soft joel miller #protective joel #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #no outbreak au #no use of y/n #joel x female reader #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel miller angst

572 notes · View notes

boyfhee · 9 months ago

Text

박성훈 、SECRET NEVER KEPT

sunghoon likes getting detentions.

featuring ⋆ rich boy! sunghoon x fem reader, highschool au

contents ⋆ kissing, suggestive i mean you can say this went out of hand a little...sunghoon is crazy guys don't try this at school ( 0.78k )

notes ⋆ another rich boy hoon bc it's always on my mind. they should cast him in a drama and make him third gen chaebol heir idk. btw this one is for @atrirose

sunghoon’s lips curl into a subtle smile when he heard footsteps coming towards the classroom. he knows it’s you, he knows your pace, way too familiar with you to not even recognise the faint humming echoing in the hallways.

he chuckles, his smile growing wider as he pushes one of the desks aside. he shakes his head at how easily you make him smile, and you aren’t even in the room. the melody you’re humming gets a bit clearer, and he turns towards the door as you slide it open.

“detention again?” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. it’s unfathomable how giddy he looks after getting detention. “it’s pleasing to watch the mayor’s son sweeping the tiles,”

“just a little charity work for school,” he hums jokingly with a shrug, and then he looks up at you, his eyes are soft and just a tad bit crinkled at the edges and his smile is sweet as if an invitation to come and kiss him.

not a whiff of what happens at school reaches his parents because he knows his dad will have anyone who dares point fingers at him lose their job. while his mother is more inclined towards him trying to lay low and mixing into the general public, sunghoon can’t help but stand out.

he likes attention.

he likes it when people talk about him when he walks down the hallways, or when you wink at him from across the room. he liked it when you visited him when he had gotten detention for the very first time, and it’s a routine now. you stay after school for extra lessons and he hates not being able to sneak in a few kisses with you in the storage after school ends. fortunately, detention gives him the perfect excuse to stay.

“charity is nice but this—” you say, pointing at the mop and bucket, walking towards him as he carefully holds your hand so that you don’t slip over the wet tiles. “— doesn’t suit your pretty face.”

and sunghoon laughs, sitting on one of the chairs around, pulling you on his lap. your arms wrap around his shoulders out of habit, and he can’t help but swoon at the way your gaze rests on his lips for a fraction of a second before going back to his eyes. “well you win some and you lose some,”

and he doesn’t really care, honestly. with hands that are made to caress your cheeks and hold you close, he doesn’t really mind if they’re occupied with mopping the floors. just the same way he doesn’t care if his father hears about you and him. with elections ‘round the corner, he will be furious to see his dear son dating the daughter of the opposition.

but when has sunghoon ever cared about what others have to say about you?

“you know, anyone could walk in right now,” you warn quietly, although your actions are contradicting your words as you tilt your head a little, giving him an easier access as he presses his lips against your neck, leaving a trail of slow kisses down and then to your jaw.

he pulls away slightly, taking in the fragrance of your perfume— it’s the one he had gifted you on your birthday, and he likes how irresistible it makes you, as if you aren’t already. “the whole building’s empty,”

“the guards take rounds after school,”

“well, no one will come. and if they do,” he gently tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers drawing random patterns on your thighs, and you can feel your cheeks heat up as he slides his hand a bit further up. “we can put on a little show for them,”

“hoon—” he doesn’t let you say much, simply cutting you off with a kiss. most of the time, it doesn’t fall upon him to be the responsible one in the relationship, but you’re not any better with the way you pull him closer, fingers lost in his locks. you huff and his arms move up to your waist, and you pull him closer, kissing him deeper— a clear confirmation that you’re into this just as much as him.

and it does end up this way, most of the time. you on his lap, his arms around your waist and yours around his neck, lips together, in the empty classrooms or storage, under the staircase— sunghoon doesn’t care if someone sees. it’s least of his concerns when you’re with him. sunghoon falls first, he falls hard. everyone knows it, it has never been a secret.

2K notes · View notes

borathae · 1 month ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 17 - Drunk Sex]

Pairing: Good Boy!Yoongi x f.Reader

Genre: new relationship!AU, Idol!Yoongi

Kinks: sex in his studio, romantic vanilla sex, consensual drunk sex, some dirty talk, lots of giggles and kisses, a quick breast worship cause it’s Yoongi, safe vaginal penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, dry humping, thigh riding, use of a vibrator, talks about male masturbation, he talks about using her moans in songs, Amazon position, they’re just drunk and horny and in love <3, he is The Man, like i need him so bad emotionally

Wordcount: 5.9k

a/n: if you voice me a wish of vanilla studio sex with some spice sprinkled on top, i take out my pen and deliver because i’m in a fact a whore for studio sex <3 fuckk i need to eat this Yoongi with a spoon no joke 🖤 i also miss him a lot :(

He makes you laugh. He is funny, you really think that he is. His laugh is also addictive. Deep, unless you match his humour just right and it turns into a squeak. You love laughing with him. You have been doing so for quite some hours today, sharing food and beer in his studio. You can feel the effects of the alcohol by now. It’s warm and fuzzy and dulls your boundaries a little. You don’t feel the need to force your senses to stay sharp. Not in his presence. He is safe and kind and sweet. Home, that’s what he has become.

And right now, he is also incredibly cute in your eyes. He is wearing a yellow sweater and brown pants and he clearly did his hair. It’s because he knew that you would be coming over for dinner. He smells like masculine cologne and he wears rings on his fingers. He put effort into himself because you deserve nothing less. He is very attractive and beyond tempting, but most of all, he is cute.

You stop laughing, completely engrossed in his face and how it moves when he smiles.

Yoongi notices your change of attitude instantly, fumbling with his earlobe.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes suddenly struggling to upkeep contact.

“It’s just that”, you scoot closer, brushing the back of your hand down his cheek.

Yoongi’s breath hitches, his heart speeds up in his chest.

“Your cheeks become red when you’re drunk. It’s such a pretty shade.”

“Uhm”, Yoongi looks to the side. He stumbles for words and ends up laughing breathily instead. He clears his throat, scooting to the edge of the sofa to reach for his glass of beer.

You smile, resting back against the sofa with your head on the edge of the backrest and your eyes glued to him. You giggle.

He glances at you and looks away, taking a big sip of beer. When you don’t stop looking at him, he finally speaks up.

“Don’t look at me for so long. I don’t know how to handle it”, he is pouting and using a cute voice for it.

“I can’t help it. I think that you’re so cute.”

He flusters, rubbing the side of his neck.

“Okay”, he mumbles, eating a piece of fried chicken to distract himself from his nerves. The chicken is cold by now and he isn’t really hungry so it seems to never end in his mouth. He gulps it down when he suddenly feels your hands on his arms, feeling him up, touching him. Your kiss is placed on the round part of his shoulder.

“Your shyness is very attractive. It makes me wanna ravish you.”

“___, oh my god”, he gasps, meeting your eyes because your statement shocked him.

You simply flutter your lashes and smile playfully.

“Why are you saying this?”

“Why not? It’s the truth.”

“Yeah well, even if…oh my god.”

You laugh, closing the distance by putting your legs over his lap sideways and hugging his chest.

You kiss his cheek, “I can’t get enough of you, Min Yoongi.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Mhm, as are you.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, rubbing his own ear again. You decide to match him by nibbling on his other ear.

“Woah”, he gets out, tilting his head back as a surprise shiver shakes his body. He moves away instantly, widened eyes meeting yours.

“Did you like that?” you ask him, playing with his earlobe. It feels so soft and squishy between your fingers.

“___, I don’t know what you’re trying to do but we have to stop.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna take advantage of you. You drank and your boundaries are down and I…I’m not that kind of man. I like you, a lot, and I care about you. I mean, not that I would take advantage of you if I didn’t feel for you like this, but I just. I guess, I just, what I wanna say is that I’m not one of those guys that get excited when a woman is visibly drunk.”

“I know. I never thought that you were. You’re kind, sweet, respectful and a total gentleman. I trust you, Min Yoongi. I feel safe with you.”

“Please just call me Yoongi.”

“Well, I trust you Yoongi. And I like you a lot too.”

"You do?”

You change the way you sit so you can talk. You and he haven’t seen each other for long. This is all new and exciting. You had your first kiss already, your first cuddle and shared some intimate moments with each other. But all of this is still new. The big L word hasn’t fallen yet although both of you burn to say it. You also haven’t really gone official to the people who matter. Your friends and family and Yoongi’s in return. You don’t want to give other people a chance to ruin this. Your last relationships have been a while for either of you and you both agree that the last one didn’t feel like this. It didn’t feel so electric and right and almost cosmical. As if some higher power brought you and him together. When you are together, nothing really matters and everything seems so much brighter. Yoongi only has a good morning when he can wish you a nice day at work and in return gets to read your funny morning texts. You swear you start to taste his kisses with every sip of coffee because so often he tastes like coffee when he kisses you. Sometimes Yoongi stops and stares when something reminds him of you and he always has to take a picture and send it to you. Sometimes you stumble upon a stray cat and see Yoongi in it and you always have to send him a picture as well. You and he became parts of each other’s days and build little houses in each other’s hearts. And it feels good and right to both of you.

“Of course I like you”, you say, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles, “I think you’re the most exciting yet mundane thing that has ever happened to me.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand.

“I’m serious. You make my heart race and at the same time, you calm me down like no one else has ever done.”

“That’s…” He lowers his head. “Actually such a sweet thing to say. Thank you.”

You flip his hand and push his sweater sleeve up to reveal his wrist. The scent of his cologne lingers on it. You inhale deeply and kiss his wrist.

Yoongi gasps, heart almost jumping out of his throat.

“I mean it. You’re like my everything currently. You’re every single thought taking up my mind”, you say and guide your kisses further up his arm. The skin of his inner arm is so soft and smells like him. Kissing it makes you droopy.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say, but his head is turning. His breath speeds up, his skin tingles. He is really sensitive on his inner arm and your kisses feel electric on his skin.

You manage to kiss him as far as his elbow and then the jumper punches up too much to go up any further. You nuzzle your nose into the slope of his elbow, sucking on his skin gently.

Yoongi sighs.

The sound makes you lift your head. You pull his sweater down mindlessly, holding the hem of his sleeve as your eyes race between his’.

His pupils are slightly widened, his cheeks are even more flushed. He is gazing, looking utterly bewitched and droopy.

“I feel the same”, his voice doesn’t want to go above a breathy whisper. With a warm timbre such as his’, it is very attractive. “It’s all new to me. These feelings. I’ve never felt like this before. You are in my mind all day and night and it’s so good. I can’t get enough of it and of you.”

“You can’t?”

His eyes flit to your lips. He shakes his head, mouthing an honest “I can’t.”

You close the distance. His lids lower, his nose brushes yours.

“Are you really sure?” he whispers.

“I’m really sure. Are you sure too? I’m not that type of woman either who gets off on taking advantage of a drunk guy. If I came across as such, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you.”

“You didn’t. I know that you’re safe. I feel, uhm, I guess I feel safe in wanting to be myself with you when it comes to, you know, sex.”

You snicker, rubbing your nose against his’ in a sign of affection. He closes his eyes, enjoying it with a sweet sigh.

“You’re so cute. You always get shy the moment we talk about sex. You rap about making people cum with your tongue, but you’re different behind closed doors.”

“It’s ‘cause I like you, I get nervous.”

“Why? It’s just me.”

“Exactly. I don’t wanna disappoint.”

“You’re not. Sometimes when I’m trying to sleep, I keep thinking about what we did and I get excited about the next time.”

He sighs your name softly, eyes gazing at your lips so longingly the distance even hurts you unbearably. You heal yourselves by breaking the distance and kissing his lips.

Yoongi moans your name, cupping your cheeks and kissing you back eagerly. Your initial plan was to break it after a short second to build tension, but you can’t bring yourself to do so now that it is actually happening. You love kissing him. You could do it all day.

There was a day where you almost did. He came over after work and then spent the night. You and he weren’t ready for sex back then, but you both felt comfortable in making out. You barely left the bed the next morning, spending hours kissing each other. It was so amazing.

He has the perfect lips for it as well. Soft and always moisturized. The shapes of them are beautiful. They fit his face as if they were made just for him, they are pouty and delicate and yet plump as well. When he applies lip balm, his lower lip always moves with the balm before it bounces back into place. When he talks, he tends to pout with his upper lip. When he sleeps, he keeps them slightly parted and when he smiles, they curl back to make space for his teeth and gums. You could fill books with poems about them. Never in your life have you been more smitten with a pair of lips than his’.

To kiss them and have them kiss you back, is true heaven. Tonight it is tainted by the encouraging power of alcohol. It isn’t long until Yoongi darts his tongue out to trace your lips. You instantly part them, meeting his tongue with your own.

He gasps, breaking the kiss surprisingly.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes. You?”

“Yes, I am. I fucking am”, he breathes, pulling you back into the kiss.

You moan softly, pushing him back onto the leather couch. Yoongi falls with a purr, feeling electric tingles in his crotch when you claim the space between his legs and scratch your nails over his scalp softly. Yoongi nudges your leg with his own just obviously enough that you break the kiss.

“Too much?”

“No, just…I’m here if you need something too”, he whispers, gazing up at you devotedly.

“You say such sexy stuff, damn”, you get out and kiss him. You take up his offer, changing positions so you could grind on his thigh. You make sure to keep one knee against his own crotch, hoping that he likes it.

He does. He likes it. All of it. He likes your weight on him and how warm you feel between your legs. He likes how your knee grinds against his crotch because it feels fucking electric to him. He likes kissing you, holding you and touching you and being touched in return. Oh, he really likes you.

Yoongi purrs, running his big hands up and down your back. He lingers on the parts which are softest, kneading and squeezing them as if he wanted to memorise how it feels to hold you. It makes you burn up like crazy. It also makes you breathless, forcing you to break the kiss you don’t want to break. Yoongi chases you with parted lips and a sigh of your name.

“Sorry, air, hah”, you breathe, giggling shyly.

Yoongi chuckles, lips curling into a lopsided smile, “yeah ”, he lulls, voice rumbling in his chest.

You snicker and bury your nose in his cheek, “I’m dizzy. Closing my eyes really made it obvious that I’m drunk.”

“Same. Did you change your mind?”

“No. You?”

“No.”

“Mhm”, you hum and feel the consuming need to kiss his neck. The scent of his cologne drives you crazy, you need to eat it off of him until your tongue knows how he tastes.

Yoongi gasps, tensing up for a second before an aggressive shudder turns his entire body limp. He moans throatily, rolling his head to the side.

You claim the newfound space instantly, kissing his skin as much as you lick it. The alcohol lowers your shame and makes you bold. You kissed his neck before, but not like this. You are sloppy and messy. Yoongi swears he might pass out from light headedness. It feels unbelievable, turning him on like nothing else.

The only way he can handle it is by grabbing your buttocks and giving them a squeeze. You whimper softly, lips stuttering on his neck and hips trying to chase his touch. Yoongi slides his hand between your legs to test the waters.

“Yoongi”, you sigh, making him shiver with a moan against his ear and your tongue tracing the shape of it. Your hips grind down on his hand, giving him all the knowledge he needed. He moves on his own, rubbing your sweet warmth over the fabric of your pants.

You shudder, fingers twisting his hair gently. It doesn’t hurt, it simply makes his scalp tingle like crazy. The quiet moans you let out, he answers in a throaty purr. The giggle you produce in reaction to it, he answers with a chuckle.

You lift your head, meeting his droopy eyes just as droopily. His hair is messy at the top because you played with it. His neck is glistening where you licked and kissed it. Your heart flutters, your stomach does too. You make a sound and grab his hair to tilt his head back and therefore reveal his throat to you. He allows you, purring deeply when you swirl your tongue up his sensitive throat. His voice tickles so nicely that you have to do it again and again and again and again until it naturally evolves into you kissing your way to the side of his neck along his jawline. Yoongi rolls his head to the side gladly, lungs working overtime to breathe and head turning incurably. The shivers reach their peak when you take his earlobe between your teeth to tug on it softly. Yoongi writhes under you, arching his back to bear what you make him feel. You never had him arch his back before so this is ruining you. You lift your lips, having to look at his face. It is flushed beyond repair, contrasting deliciously against his love marked neck.

“Did that feel good to you?” you ask him, breathing heavily as you wait for his answer. His hand doesn’t move right now, resting on your pussy. It feels so warm.

“Everything does”, he breathes out.

“You arched your back.”

Shyness washes over his features, he looks to the side. You make him look at you with two fingers under his chin. His lips part in awe, his eyes cloud over in devotion.

“I want to go further. Do you want it too?” you ask him.

“I do.”

You sit up and hook your finger under your shirt. Yoongi sits up as well, doing the same with his jumper. You throw your pieces of clothing to the floor at the same time, looking at each other.

“Weren’t you hot?” you snicker, tugging on the fabric of the white t-shirt he wore under the jumper.

“I actually wasn’t. I was cozy”, he throws back sassily because he knows that you share his sense of humour and see it as him being playful.

You snicker, scrunching your nose.

Yoongi smiles at you and hooks his fingers in his shirt to take it off as well. When he reappears again, he is greeted with your naked breasts and your eyes looking at him expectantly.

“Wow okay”, he lets out, staring in awe. He stays completely still, making you laugh.

“Did you turn into a statue?”

“Huh? I uh, no”, he shakes off his paralysation. “Sorry, you’re just so beautiful. I can’t believe that you’re real.”

“You’re beautiful too. Can I?”

“Yes. Can I?”

“Yes please”, you allow him, placing your hands on his chest to feel him up.

Yoongi purrs deeply, wrapping his arms around you to pull you close. Sadly your hands have to slip to his shoulders for now, but you don’t mind because he makes you fucking arch your back and roll your head back with the way he worships your chest. His left hand is between your shoulder blades, while his right hand is between your legs, rubbing your warmth. The fabric is soaked by now. It turns him on so much. He moans and purrs, kissing and licking your breasts as if they were everything he needed to survive. Yoongi kissed your chest before, but not like this. Not with so much tongue and so sloppily. The alcohol makes him brave and bold, resulting in you almost wanting to cry from how good it feels.

“You’re so beautiful”, he sighs, giving your nipples a break when they are swollen and sensitive. He marks your collarbones with his love instead, tastes your shoulders and repays the favour to your neck.

You collapse into him, knocking his nose into your neck and a laugh out of him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, hugging you when you hug him first.

“I don’t know. Just haven’t felt so good with anyone before.”

His heart speeds up.

“I feel the same.”

“You do?”

“Yeah”, he says and giggles cutely.

It breaks you instantly and you match his drunk giggles. You and he hug and giggle, riding on the drunken waves of dizzy heads and giddy hearts.

He mewls and lifts his head by nuzzling into you first. It’s like a cat that asks for affection.

“I’ll sound like a jerk, but can we go further?”

“You don’t sound like a jerk when I want the same.”

“Really?”

You nod your head. He lets out a breathy laugh, eyes widening in emotion. You smile and cradle his cheeks, pulling him into a giddy kiss. Just one more before you and he get naked. He accepts it happily, sighing and purring as his lips dance with yours. Like always when you break the kiss, he chases you. He is lovely like this.

“It’s torture when you break the kiss”, he chuckles.

“I know”, you snicker, “it’s for a greater good.”

“Mhm fuck, I hope.”

You climb off his lap, almost face planting the floor if he didn’t hold your hips instantly.

“Are you okay?”

You laugh, nodding your head.

“Just dizzy as fuck.”

“Sit down please, I don’t want you to fall.”

“I’m okay. Look”, you get on one foot to take off your pants. You lose balance and end up jumping around the small space between the couch and the coffee table as you try to take off your pants.

Yoongi stumbles to his feet, calling your name and drunkenly wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Don’t hurt yourself, please”, he pleads, kissing your shoulder and neck.

“I’m alright”, you sigh, taking off your pants with his support while your body feels electric. Yoongi has stronger arms than one might think at first. To have them around you as he drunkenly ravishes your neck is making you dizzy.

“You can let go of me now, I’m naked.”

“Can I feel?”

You gulp, nodding your head. Yoongi was never that bold before. You might ascend to a higher plain if he keeps being like this.

Yoongi dances the flat of his palm down the middle of your torso. He stops. He takes your earlobe between his teeth. He tugs and moves his hand quickly, connecting it with your dripping heat.

“Ah!” you moan loudly, arching your back. You throw your hand over your mouth, trying to muffle yourself.

“It’s okay. My studio is soundproof. No one can hear us”, he whispers, voice tickling your ear as his long fingers part your folds in a slow and sensual massage.

You drop your hand, using it to grab the back of his neck instead. He melts closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He plays with your dripping entrance, increasing the speed of your pulse.

“And you don’t have to hold back for my sake. Just let it all out, please”, he says, making you moan by burying two fingers in your aching walls. He presses the heel of his palm to your clit, applying warm pressure as he curls his fingers inside you. They are so long that he easily reaches your best spots.

“A-ah, ahm, ah…”

“Don’t hold back, please. You sound so sweet”, he purrs, curling his fingers just right. You are throbbing around him, feeling so warm and soft. He goes crazy at the sensations, aching to replace his fingers with his cock.

You mewl softly, hips trembling on his hand and fingers leaving red marks on his neck. Yoongi fingered you before and quite frankly, you still haven’t properly recovered from that first time. His hands are too sexy. Masculine, strong, big and veiny. Yet at the same time, they are so tender and careful and touch you with such gentleness. They are also very flexible and have way too much stamina to offer. Quite frankly, your legs never shook as hard as they did when he first fingered you.

“Ah, wow, oh wow, ah…”

“I love your sounds”, he drags his words, which is way too sexy, “makes me wanna record them and put them in a song.”

“Wait this is”, you croak, knees buckling.

“Too far?” He pulls out. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s just a lot to handle on my drunk legs. You’re so sexy right now.”

He chuckles. You snicker, turning in his arms. You put your hands on his chest. He touches your lower back, gazing into your eyes. There is a constant warm throbbing between your legs. And an ache only he could fill.

“You never talked like this before.”

“Blame the alcohol.”

You and he share drunk giggles and soft touches.

“Can I undress you?”

“Yes please.”

You snicker, making him snicker too. You and he sway drunkenly as you begin fumbling with his pants, not once breaking eye contact. You are trapped in a dance between little distance and more distance between your lips, but never take the last step to kiss. It’s addicting to share space and air and moans but to never give in to temptation.

Soon his pants are open and you push them down over his round butt. He steps out of them, almost face planting the floor if you weren’t holding his arms so tightly.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

“It is. Fuck, I’m so drunk”, he laughs and hugs your waist, swaying with you to the melody of your beating hearts.

“Me too”, you chuckle, playing with his hair.

He smiles, kisses your forehead before he rubs the tip of his nose against yours. You sigh, eyes closing from the loving affection.

“You’re really sure about this?” he asks.

“I’ve never been so sure about anything. You?”

“I’m so sure. Just don’t expect a genius performance in my state. I think my hips are gonna have a mind of their own and forget how thrusting works in the middle of it.”

You snicker, letting him taste your next words by brushing your lips against his’.

“Then let me do the moving.”

“Are you serious?” he almost whimpers the words, knees buckling.

“Mhm very.”

Yoongi moans your name, trying to kiss you at the same time. You snicker, twisting his hair, lips parted and eyes half lidded. This is keeping you alive like nothing else.

“Is that okay for me to do?”

“More than okay.”

“Then sit down”, you say and push at his chest gently.

Yoongi falls clumsily, grunting in surprise. His eyes are comically big.

“Oh! Sorry, are you okay?” You gasp. “I didn’t mean to push you that hard. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just got weak in the knees”, he assures you and laughs with you.

“God, you’re so cute.” You climb his lap, playing with his hair and stubbing his face with your nose.

“You know that I need to get a condom first?” he smiles as he talks.

“Then get it.”

“I can’t do that when you’re on top of me.”

“Right”, you say and giggle, “shit, you’re right.”

You climb off his lap again, gazing at him as he waddles to his desk. He is still wearing his briefs. His butt looks so good in them. He bends down to open the second drawer of his desk. He grabs more than a condom.

“What else did you get?”

He turns, showing off the black vibrator and lube proudly.

“Why do you have a vibrator in your studio?” you gasp.

“For when I get needy.”

“You use this stuff on yourself!?”

“Yes? Why not?” he asks, cocking his brow up in question.

“It’s just really hot. Damn. So you’re telling me that you jerked off here before?”

“Way too many times”, he confesses and chuckles.

“Hot. Wow hot. Damn.”

He grins shyly.

“Do you want me to use it on you?” you ask him.

“If you want to, but it’s for you. If you need a little more to get there. Don’t worry, I sterilize my toys after each use.”

“You’re so hot, holy fuck.”

Yoongi steps out of his briefs and opens the condom, rolling it on his cock. You gulp, salivating like crazy. You never wanted him more than you do right now.

“You’re so hot, oh my god. What the hell”, you murmur under your breath, making him chuckle. Your constant praise makes him confident so he gives his cock a few jerks just for show, purring deeply.

“Yoongi, oh my god, you’re so hot.”

“You’re hot too. Like a lot.”

“Oh my god, I wanna fuck you.”

He sits down and holds his cock straight for you.

“Please? Do?” he begs with cute puppy eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

“Can I do something new with you?”

“I didn’t clean out my butt if you’re suggesting that.”

“What? Hot, but not what I”, you snicker and close the distance, “we have to talk about butt stuff another time, I might bust if we do that now.”

He laughs, eyes filled with fondness.

“Okay. What are you thinking then?” he asks.

“I’ll just show you, okay?”

“Yes, okay.”

You push him down onto the cushions and take his legs to bend them and push them apart.

Yoongi laughs in disbelief, head going dizzy. He looks at you in a mixture of shock, amusement and arousal.

“Too far?”

“No, it’s so sexy.”

“It is. I’ll take you like this. Just like this”, you say and change position so you can take in his cock. You sink him into you carefully, watching his face change into an expression of surprised bliss.

“Mhhhhm”, he lets out in a purr, eyes going hazy.

You move your hips, grinding and rolling them into him with his cock deep inside you. It is as if you were fucking missionary. Except that he is deep inside you and there is nothing penetrating him.

Yoongi doesn’t see a difference, having to gasp for fucking air and dimple his own legs as he holds himself open.

“Like this. What do you think of it?”

He nods his head vigorously, letting out a high-pitched whimper. He never did this before so it is making you dizzy. You chase the warmth between your legs, staring at his flushed face obsessively.

“Yes? You like it?”

“So much. Ah!” he drops his head to the side, rolling his eyes back and grabbing your waist. “so much….”

You drop to your elbows, kissing his neck needily. Your hips are sloppy in how they fuck, filling each of you with electric pleasure.

“This is insane, what the fuck”, Yoongi gets out, following it up with a moan and a scrunch of his handsome face.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes, fuck yes. Ah ___ don’t stop, please”, he begs, arching his back.

“Yoongi, oh god”, you keen, clenching around him in excitement. You could get used to making him arch his back. He is so sexy when he does.

Yoongi breathes out and mewls at the same time, resulting in the sweetest sounds of pleasure you have ever heard. You get off on it so good, wanting for him to make another sound. You bury his cock in you as deep as the position allows it, writing your names with your hips. Just as you had hoped, Yoongi makes the sweetest sound, squeezing your waist.

You moan his name, falling into pleasure with him afterwards. You move needily and definitely motivated by alcohol. It is a messy fuck, passionate and confident and so incredibly good.

Yoongi is glad that he is drunk, otherwise he wouldn’t last long. Alcohol makes his cock work just a little slower than if he was sober. At first he thought it would be a problem, but he sees now that it is a blessing. You feel so good - too good - and he wants it to last longer.

“It feels good, please fuck me, please don’t stop”, he begs you, arching his back and curling his toes when your walls throb around him.

“Oh god, you’re so hot”, you mewl, fulfilling his wish with such vigour the cushions of his sofa squeak and croak. Truly, they have never witnessed such a sloppy, good fuck and the best part is that this is only the beginning.

But enough about the sweet future which awaits unknowing you. In the present, you and he have started to share heat and shaky breaths, bodies hot from the long, passionate fuck you have been doing by now. Your thighs ache, begging for a break. Your pussy is so wet that it started to drip down his shaft and plumb balls. It feels so good, constantly keeping you on edge and yet you can’t seem to fall over it. It’s driving you insane by now.

“Fuck”, you are both laughing and moaning your words, tickling his ear with them, “I’m really fucking drunk, it’s hard to get there.”

“Same, ah, but it feels….so good”, he agrees, head dizzy to the point he has to grab the edge of the sofa for support. You have him on cloud nine, high, feeling out of this world.

“It does, you do. Just need more.”

Yoongi flails with his hand on the cushion, trying to find the vibrator. You hand it to him, just as you help him push the button to turn it on. The rest he can do by himself. He guides it between your bodies, connecting it with your lower stomach first.

“Lower, baby, that’s my stomach”, you giggle, claiming his lips in a passionate kiss.

“Sorry”, Yoongi purrs, obeying your orders with such precision you growl and feed him your tongue.

He welcomes it gladly, drooling all over your lips which in this moment is so goddamn sexy and endearing to you. To think you ruin him to the point of sloppy kisses being his norm. You are going to be so fucking obsessed with this man, showing him your growing fondness with deep rolls of your hips.

He can feel the vibrations too, grabbing your upper back as his cock finally begins to work again. This is going to break him and he fears he might pass out from it. He digs his heels into the cushion, meeting your movements needily and without a plan. The only thing his body runs on is how he feels beneath you and the warmth of your tight walls around his cock.

Your body trembles, unoccupied hand burying itself deep in his luscious locks. The kiss breaks but you stay close, panting and moaning into each other’s mouths.

“This is getting me there”, you whimper.

“Me too”, he croaks.

“Yoongi, I…I love you”, you confess, finally falling over the sweet edge. It feels so good, so intense and soul-consuming that you find yourself sobbing and shaking.

Yoongi breaks the second you dropped the big L word, deep voice coming out as little gasps of your name and fingers grasping you for dear life. He didn’t even think that he could orgasm that intensely, but your emotional confession makes it possible. He feels on cloud nine, curling his toes and arching his back.

You collapse on him after your high, dropping the vibrator on the floor accidentally.

“What was that?” he mumbles into your shoulder, cock still throbbing inside you and ears ringing.

“Toy”, you lull, walls pulsating in the afterglow.

“Ah.”

He wraps his arms around you, wiggling his hips a little to ensure his cock would slip out of you. He doesn’t want to risk it softening and the condom slipping off. Cuddling like this, you recover, sharing silence and warmth. You are both so drunk, heads turning even as you lie down. It is almost as if being so connected and sharing such a passionate moment made it worse. You don’t mind it however, you have each other’s presence and that feels very safe to have.

“So this just happened”, Yoongi breaks the silence.

“I know”, you say and break into giddy snickers instantly. Yoongi joins you without hesitation, sharing in the warm fuzzy happiness you and he get to experience together.

“I can’t believe I did that. We did that.”

“It was so hot.”

“It was.”

He hums, rubbing his hands up and down your back. You settle into him with a content sigh, playing with his messy hair.

“The studio is really soundproof, right?”

“It is. Trust me I was louder on my own. Nobody heard me.”

“You are so hot, it’s insane.”

He chuckles lazily, craning his neck to kiss whatever part of your head he reaches first. You purr happily, chasing his kiss by tilting your head closer to him. Another kiss is placed to your heated face, you retort it as best as possible.

“Soo, uhm”, he begins, eyes sparkly and droopy, “you dropped the L word.”

“Oh god, too soon? I’m sorry, please can we just forget-“

“Hush, don’t worry. I’m glad you did. I love you too, just didn’t wanna say it first and scare you away.”

You lift your head. Yoongi meets your eyes.

“You feel the same?”

“I do. I have done so for a while”, he says, smiling softly and reaching up to brush the back of his hand down your face.

“Wow Yoongi, I’m so happy”, you confess, claiming his lips in a giggly kiss.

And of course, because Yoongi is drunk and happy and giddy, he giggles with you. What you and he are having might still be new, but it is right and it is good and it will last. You are both so sure of it.

698 notes · View notes

punkshort · 3 months ago

Text

In Another Life | Part II

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader (time travel au)

Chapter Summary: Danny unexpectedly drops Marcus off at your office, but it works to your advantage when you decide to use him as the subject for your next article, and your research brings the two of you much closer together.

Chapter Warnings: language, typical brother embarrassing his sister, threats of physical violence, a little fist fight, some blood from said fist fight, mention of drugs, jealousy, food consumption, fluff, flirting, sexual tension, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, fingering

WC: 8.4K

Series Masterlist

Your apartment had devolved into utter chaos the last two days. It seemed like every time you rounded a corner, you had to dodge some person or scrap of metal or power tool, and it was getting on your last nerve. New York wasn't exactly known for spacious living arrangements as it was, so to have what little space you did covet overrun with your brother's shit really sent you into overdrive.

"Lizard's mom has a house in Queens, why the hell is all this shit here and not in her basement?" you snapped at Danny early one morning after you stubbed your toe on a drill.

"He's worried about her finding out what we're up to," Danny explained, and you immediately scoffed into your coffee.

"She's deaf in one ear and hasn't stepped foot in her basement since his dad died."

Danny agreed to move his time traveling project to Queens later that day.

The scowl on your face smoothed out the moment Marcus entered your kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes and looking absolutely devastating in the pajama pants you had bought for him just a few days prior. It took all your willpower not to let your eyes drop below his waist, having already made that mistake the day before. The noticeable bulge hidden amongst the thin sleepwear had you spacing out the entire train ride to work and you couldn't afford any distractions that day. You had a big meeting at eleven where you had to present the next topic for your column and you were scrambling. The source you had for your long-distance relationship idea fell through last minute, so now you were tasked with brainstorming a spectacular backup plan in the next four hours.

"Morning, General. How did you sleep?" Danny asked as he scooped cereal into his mouth.

"Quite well, thank you," he replied, then his eyes met yours and he smiled. "Good morning, my lady."

You grinned like a school girl, your heart fluttering excitedly in your chest when you stammered, "G-good morning." Danny rolled his eyes but chose wisely to keep his mouth shut.

Marcus was able to find his way around by that point, however he still seemed hesitant to just start opening your drawers and cupboards when he needed something. Tired of reminding him to just help himself, you set down your coffee and picked up your loaf of bread from the corner of the counter.

"Same as yesterday?" you asked him as you popped two slices of bread in the toaster, anticipating his answer.

"Please," he said with a grateful nod, then dutifully clasped his hands at his waist.

When Danny watched you crack some eggs into a frying pan along with a few sausage links, his jaw dropped.

"You're making breakfast for him but not for me?" he whined.

You swiveled around and pointed your spatula in his face. "He is our guest, thanks to you," you reminded him, and Danny quickly shut up.

"I do not wish to be a burden," Marcus said. He hadn't moved but his broad frame felt like it took up the entire room.

"You're not a burden, Marcus," you told him softly, then gave him a small, reassuring smile.

"Yeah, no worries, man," Danny said, clapping him firmly on the shoulder before dumping his dirty dishes in the sink. "I'm just giving my sister a hard time because it's obvious she wants to jump your bones."

"Danny!" you shrieked while throwing an oven mitt at his head. He dodged it and ducked out of the kitchen, his laughter fading down the hall towards his bedroom.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as you turned your focus back to the frying pan. When Marcus cleared his throat, you closed your eyes in dread because you knew what was coming.

"What did that mean, jump your bones?"

"Nothing, just ignore him," you said, sliding the eggs and sausage onto a plate. A few seconds passed when Danny's voice shouted down the hall, "It's a euphemism for sex!"

"Goddamnit," you muttered through clenched teeth. You began to storm out of the kitchen, prepared to kick Danny's ass, but Marcus shot an arm out to stop you.

"You look lovely today."

You gazed up at him, mouth agape, while you tried to find your voice.

Say something. Anything.

"Thanks. Uh, thank you," you mumbled, smoothing down the pink and white floral dress you picked out. On days where you had your big monthly meeting, you tried to make an effort to look like you belonged at a fashion magazine.

"Do you have plans today?" he asked, his eyes swooping down your frame appreciatively, and for once it didn't make your stomach turn when a man looked at you that way. "Daniel tells me there is a beautiful park in the city. I desire to see it and would very much enjoy your company."

You knew you were reading too much into it, but you couldn't help but feel like he was asking you on a date.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Marcus," you said, "I have to work today. But I promise we will see it before you go home."

Home.

His face fell at the word and he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Of course, I understand. Thank you for breakfast," he said, sliding past you so he could pick up the plate you made for him. You chewed your lip and glanced at the time. If it were any other day, you would just call in sick, but today was too important to miss.

"I promise, okay?" you told him as you gathered your bags. "We will see Central Park before you leave. And whatever else you want."

He nodded and took a bite of his food. Although he appeared to be unbothered, you still felt an enormous amount of guilt.

"Danny!" you called from the front door, "this shit better be gone by the time I get home!"

"Yes, Mom!" he shouted back sarcastically from the bathroom. You rolled your eyes and gave Marcus a quick wave before hurrying out the door.

You were fucked.

You had one hour until your meeting and you had absolutely nothing.

Already, you had done your usual brainstorming techniques five times over. You scrolled through social media, hoping to find some trend or topic that might be popular and garner attention, but you were coming up dry, so you kept circling back to your long distance relationship idea. You had sent out every feeler you could think of, asking any of your usual contacts if they had anyone you could use for a story about your chosen topic, but so far you weren't having any luck.

Suddenly, your phone rang and you lunged for it, hoping it was a lead, then groaned when you saw Danny's contact picture pop up on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Hey..." he began, and you could tell by the tone in his voice that you should brace yourself.

"What did you do?"

He laughed on the other end. "I didn't do anything. Actually, I did do something - I am getting all this stuff out of your place, but there's just one thing."

"Spit it out," you said, your eyes flickering to the time. 45 minutes to go.

"I can't take Marcus with us to Queens. There's no room in Lizard's car."

"So let him stay in the apartment."

"I'm not leaving him all alone in New York City!" he protested. You heard some familiar sounds in the background of the call and you frowned.

"Where are you?"

Danny paused and you instantly began to put your defenses up.

"I'm... in your lobby. With Marcus and Lizard."

"You're what?!" you exclaimed in a loud whisper, glancing around to make sure nobody overheard you in your cubical.

"I told to him to just stay in the lobby and read your crappy magazines and if anyone asks, to tell them he's here for meeting."

"Danny! You can't do this, I can't babysit a fucking Roman General right now!"

You heard Danny walk a few paces away, presumably to get some privacy so Marcus wouldn't overhear, before he answered.

"He'll stay downstairs, I promise. I told him what floor you're on in case of an emergency but maybe you can pop down and take him for lunch. You've been making heart eyes at this Roman General for the past three days, don't try and lie."

Anger coursed through your veins but you were running out of precious time, so you gave up.

"Fine," you seethed.

"Great!" Danny said cheerily. "But I might not be back til late. We're burning tons of time moving all this stuff, we got work to do."

"So I have to bring him home?"

"Yes, you'll have to bring him home. You're going there anyway, aren't you? What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is he's going to be bored and lonely all day down there!" you snapped.

"He's not going to be bored. He's in New York City. The elevators alone are blowing his mind right now."

Despite yourself, you smiled when you remembered how in awe he was the first time he rode in an elevator.

"Tell him I'll be down to take him to lunch in like, a little over an hour. I have a meeting at eleven."

"You're the best!" Danny said, then before you could respond, the line went dead.

You grumbled obscenities under your breath when you heard a familiar voice say your name from the opening of your cube.

"Hey, ready for the meeting?" Matt asked. You practically dropped your phone from his sudden appearance and he chuckled. "Did I scare you?"

"Yes," you hissed as you began to gather your things, trying to hide your annoyance. You looked over the top of your cubical wall, hoping and praying you would see someone - anyone - else to walk with to the conference room, but you were shit out of luck.

"Doing anything fun tonight?" he inevitably asked, like he always did, and you sighed. You made the mistake of hooking up with him after one particularly rowdy work happy hour and ever since then, Matt's been waiting for his next opportunity. "I know a guy who works at that new French restaurant, I can get us a reservation and then, who knows..."

"I have a friend in from out of town," was all you said. No matter how many times you turned him down, he remained persistent.

"That's cool. Girls night, then?"

"My friend's a guy," you quickly corrected him.

Matt stumbled over his feet as you reached the conference room. It was the biggest one on your floor, directly across from the elevator banks. The entire wall was made of glass, floor to ceiling, so you could see through the room to the opposite wall, where there was a fantastic view of the city.

"Oh, like a cousin, or..."

"Nope," you replied, voice clipped so he knew the topic was closed. With a frustrated huff, Matt plopped down next to you and flipped open his portfolio. You gave him a sideways glance, momentarily feeling bad for him. He was by all accounts a good looking guy. He wrote a column for the men's health section and based on his physique, you assumed he practiced what he preached, but sadly his looks is where his good qualities came to an end.

Charlotte, your editor, breezed into the room, her presence enough to make everyone sitting at the long table quiet right down. She ghosted her palm over her perfectly coiffed grey hair and sat her portfolio down in front of her chair at the head of the table. As you got yourself organized, your mind scrambling to come up with a lie about a long distance relationship source, Charlotte placed her phone down delicately next to her leather portfolio, then slowly uncapped the expensive looking pen someone once told you was gifted to her by Marc Jacobs. Everybody watched and waited until she was ready, which was signified by a dainty clearing of her throat and a quick, sweeping glance over the table followed by a curt nod. At that point, the usual routine began.

Without having to be asked, one by one everybody took their turn presenting their idea for the month. Each person's name was listed on the agenda in the order Charlotte wished, and mercifully yours was dead last.

Your anxiety began to spike when Sara, the girl who was before you in nutrition started to wrap up her brief speech about some gluten free lifestyle benefit bullshit.

Keep it short. Keep it vague, and you'll figure it out later. Everyone wants to leave, it's almost lunch.

Then some movement by the elevators caught your eye. Your breathing ceased and you broke out into a cold sweat when you saw Marcus had stepped out of the elevator and was fucking talking to the receptionist. Then you locked eyes when they both turned to look towards the conference room.

"Shit," you whispered.

Matt nudged your ribs and you startled, glancing around the room to see Sara had sat down and half the table was staring at you, waiting for you to begin. You shakily stood up and swallowed the lump in your throat when Marcus began to weave his way towards you through the maze of cubicles.

Call it a stroke of genius or divine inspiration, but an incredible idea hit you right as you opened your mouth to speak. You had about half a second to decide if you should wing it and trust your gut or talk out of your ass about your first idea.

Fuck it.

"This month, I have a very interesting idea that I'm super excited about exploring," you began, watching when Marcus came to a stop outside the glass door. He looked back and forth, his fingers twitching at his sides. "My topic will be Romance without Technology," you announced with a confident smile. "I'll be researching how adults navigate their love lives without the help of dating apps, social media, or even texting," you said, listing each item on your finger as you spoke.

"Who's that guy?" Sara asked, pointing towards the door. It was at that point you realized most of the table was gawking at the tall, broad, handsome looking Roman General waiting to get your attention.

You smiled and walked toward the door with your arm outstretched.

"This is Marcus," you said, holding the door open and ushering him inside. He murmured your name but you cut him off. "He's the subject I'll be interviewing for this month's article. He doesn't use technology of any kind. In fact, he doesn't even own a cell phone."

The entire room gasped and Marcus looked around, confused, but understood what you needed him to do. He raised one arm up to greet the room and said, "Good morning."

Most of the women began to whisper excitedly to one another, shooting him looks and giggling behind their hands until Charlotte cleared her throat and once again, the room fell into silence.

You chewed your lower lip anxiously as you waited for Charlotte to silently appraise you both. Finally, you saw the corner of her mouth twitch and she gave you a barely perceptible nod.

"I look forward to reading it."

She stood abruptly and collected her things, signifying the end of the meeting, and relief flooded your veins.

"Are you okay?" you asked Marcus, pulling him to the side while the room stood and slowly filtered out. He nodded.

"Yes. There were many vehicles that passed by with bright lights and loud sirens. When I asked what it was for, I was told there was an emergency."

You giggled and shook your head. "So the fearsome General was scared?"

His brows knitted together for a moment before he answered.

"No. I grew concerned for your well being."

Your heart could have melted on the spot.

"Oh," you said softly, and just like that, the annoying little flutter in your chest was back. "I-I'm fine, but thank you. That was... that's really sweet, actually."

He grinned as his eyes swooped down your frame, causing butterflies to awaken in your stomach.

"Did you wanna get something to eat?" you asked as you stared up at him, his large frame making you feel so tiny in comparison. "It'll be on the company's dime since I kinda just signed you up to be the subject of my next article."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and shoved his hands into the pockets of his khakis, the action bringing up the memory of you measuring his inseam and you felt your face begin to heat up. God, you must have looked ridiculous, standing there in front of Marcus in the middle of your office, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

"Of course," he replied, "but what do you intend to write about me?"

You grinned and hurried back to your abandoned chair, scooping up your things before pointing to the door.

"Let me drop this stuff off at my desk and I'll explain everything."

"My marriage was arranged," he reminded you from across the table draped in white linen. You decided to take him to a nicer steakhouse not too far from your office, one that didn't enforce a dress code but still had good food that you rarely sprung for out of your own pocket.

"I know, but I'm sure you can still give me an idea of what romance was like," you replied. "For example, did you get her any gifts? Give flowers? Take her to places that were meaningful to you? Or to her?"

Marcus dropped his gaze to the table and shrugged. "We knew each other for such a short period of time, there was unfortunately not much in the way of romance."

You clocked the forlorn look in his eye and began to feel guilty for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. I'll just make something up, don't worry about it. No one'll know."

"No, no, I wish to help," he said quickly, his hand stretching across the table to loop two of his fingers around yours. "Just because I do not have many personal stories to share does not mean I cannot help with your research."

"I don't want to reopen any old wounds," you explained, your eyes fixed on the way his hand linked with yours so naturally on the tabletop.

He chuckled softly, his smile causing his deep brown eyes to sparkle and a dimple to appear on his cheek.

"It was a very long time ago."

When your salads arrived at your table, Marcus released your hand to pick up his fork, frowning down at the bowl before asking, "This is the salad named after Julius Caesar?"

You giggled and shook your head, the sound causing him to lift his chin with a warm smile.

"No," you said once you collected yourself, "No, it's named after another Caesar. The guy who created it, I think."

Marcus didn't seem to mind he was wrong or that you found his error so funny. In fact, he enjoyed it.

"You have a beautiful laugh."

Instantly, your cheeks flushed and you shyly looked down to focus on your salad. "Thank you," you said softly.

He watched you silently for another minute more, admiring the way your eyes fluttered shut when you tasted something good or tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then took a hesitant bite of his salad.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and you grinned from behind your napkin.

"Delicious."

You giggled again and nodded. "Yes, it is."

Once your salads were taken away and before your main course arrived, you pulled out a notebook and flipped to a blank page.

"Let's start from the beginning. You don't have to go into excruciating detail. Maybe just some things you know of that others did to... court women? Is that even the right word?" you mumbled the last part to yourself as you scribbled something at the top of your paper.

"It was seen as a sign of weakness for a man to become infatuated with a woman," he said, and you looked up at him in surprise.

"Why's that?"

"Marriages rarely were based on affection. They were viewed as a way to improve your social standing, but it was mutually beneficial," he explained, his finger tracing the design engrained in his fork. "Women were taken care of, looked after and tended to while the men were able to claim a high ranking senator or nobleman as their family. And, of course..." he trailed off, his cheeks staining pink when he dropped his gaze to the table and said, "received the traditional benefits of having a wife."

You smirked to yourself as you wrote notes on your pad of paper.

"Thought you were used to talking about sex openly," you teased. He cleared his throat and your pen paused over your paper to meet his eye.

"I admit, at times I feel nervous around you."

"Me?" you balked, but he just nodded and your brain scrambled for something to say that wouldn't entirely embarrass you. You landed on deflection.

"I thought it was a sign of weakness to grow infatuated?"

He grinned and leaned back in his chair. "I never said I agreed with that line of thought."

"No, I suppose you didn't," you said, shyly dropping your eyes to your paper. His gaze was too intense. Every time you looked at him it felt like he could see right through you. "So, tell me. Hypothetically. If we lived in Rome and I caught your eye, what would you do? How would you win me over?"

Marcus took a deep breath, his broad shoulders relaxing as he thought about your question for a moment, staring at your pen hovering over your paper.

"I would write you letters every day," he said softly, forcing your eyes back onto him. His voice was low and deep, smooth yet firm as he spoke. "I would write of your beauty. I would compare the color of your eyes to the flowers and fauna that grew in my garden, delicate and all encompassing. I would tell you how food tastes better on my tongue when you are around, and how I ache for you when you are not near. I would try to explain how difficult it is to breathe without you, and how I would gladly die a thousand deaths just to feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You stared at him, hand frozen where you left it resting on your notebook. He waited patiently until you finally blinked yourself out of your stupor and inhaled a shaky breath.

"Uh, s-so love letters, then," you stammered, shakily scribbling down something incoherent on your paper. Jesus fucking Christ, get it together.

"Yes. Love letters," he repeated. He sounded so cool and collected. How was he so relaxed? A moment ago, he was admitting you made him nervous. Maybe he was just better at hiding it than you.

Your server arrived and placed your food down in front of you, the heavenly scent wafting up and making your mouth water. Placing your pen down in favor of picking up your fork and knife, you asked, "Have you ever had steak?"

"I am not sure. What animal is it?" he asked, picking up his fork and testing the tenderness of his steak by giving it a little poke.

"It's cow. Try it, it's good."

"Cows were used for farming," he said before slicing a piece off and examining it closely. "We could not afford to slaughter them."

You watched as he popped a bite into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before giving you a smile and nod.

"Good?" you asked, your heart skipping a beat at finding another food he liked.

"Very," he replied once he swallowed. "You are quite perceptive and have good taste."

"Thank you," you answered, taking another bite and trying not to preen too much from the praise.

"So tell me," he said after he finished up his filet and moved on to his potato, which he eyed wearily. "Do you not receive love letters as a form of courtship?"

"Uh, no," you replied with a laugh. "Closest thing to that nowadays would be a text and even those are... sub par."

"So what is it that you do?"

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to your notepad with his fork. "For romance. What activities do you take part in?"

"Oh," you said, wiping your mouth and pushing your empty plate to the side. "You mean dates. Uh, this actually. Get dinner together. Sometimes see a movie," you paused and rethought your word choice when you saw his face. "A show, or a play. Um, sometimes go to a bar. Stuff like that."

He nodded and let your answer roll around in his head for a moment before asking, "So, is this a date?"

Marcus smiled when he saw you become flustered. You thanked the server for clearing your plates and leaving the bill before responding.

"Uh, I don't know," you finally said shyly, making his smile grow even wider. "Do you want - I mean, well... I'm technically working, but, you know, if - if that was something you were interested in, then, I guess w-we could classify this, or, you know, it could be construed-"

"Yes or no," he said, interrupting your insane ramblings with a soft look and an outstretched hand. Your face was hot with embarrassment but you reached out for his hand, anyway.

"Yes."

"Yes," he repeated, squeezing your fingers. You grinned and nodded, your stomach doing cartwheels as you tried to steady your breath.

Once you paid with your corporate credit card, you walked back out to the street, Marcus holding the doors open for you before offering you his hand. You sheepishly accepted it and walked a few paces in the direction of your office before he stopped you.

"Must you return to work?"

You gave him a sad smile and took a step closer. "Yeah, I'm sorry. But maybe I can play hooky tomorrow."

Marcus raised a curious eyebrow at you while playing with the material of your dress with his free hand, gently pinching and feeling the fabric between his fingers. "What does-"

"It means I'll call in sick without actually being sick so I can have the day off," you explained without him needing to finish asking.

He grinned and dropped your dress in favor of cupping your cheek. "I would like that very much."

"Me, too," you said, gazing up at him while leaning into his touch. His strong, calloused hand felt rough against your skin, but you liked it. As if reading your mind, he stroked his thumb over your cheekbone and murmured, "You are so soft."

You hummed, not trusting yourself to speak when you watched him slowly lean down to your level, your eyes fluttering shut as you waited to feel his mouth against yours. But just when his shadow got close enough to block the sun behind your eyelids, you heard someone shout your name.

You swiveled around angrily, your hand still laced together with Marcus's as you looked for the person who interrupted one of the more romantic moments of your life.

And then you saw Matt stalking up to you from the direction of the restaurant.

"Is this why you've been ghosting me?"

You frowned and tilted your head. "What?"

Matt came to a stop in front of you both and jutted his chin towards Marcus. "Too busy sleeping with your profiles to hang out?"

"W-what?" you stammered again, too shocked to fight back with your usual vigor. You felt Marcus stiffen next to you. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he immediately sensed your discomfort. "I'm not - this isn't-"

"Oh, sure," he sneered, crossing his arms, his biceps bulging out of his thin dress shirt. "I saw you two in there. You were three seconds away from crawling into his lap."

Your mouth hung open in shock and humiliation. "Were you following me?"

Before Matt could answer, Marcus took a step forward.

"I am going to have to insist you stop yelling," he seethed, and even though Matt followed his own advice in his articles and worked out plenty, Marcus still towered over him.

Matt's eyes went wide for just a moment before his bravado returned. "C'mon, man. She's just using you, don't you see that?" Matt prodded, then he scoffed. "Unless you're good with it. Then by all means, have fun. She's a good fuck but I don't think she's got much else."

It all happened so fast, you couldn't remember Marcus dropping your hand and cocking his fist. You couldn't remember the first sickening crunch of his knuckles against Matt's nose, but you did remember hearing his pained howl.

Marcus only landed a few more blows before you came to your senses and tugged him by the shoulder. It was laughable to think you would be strong enough to move him, but you must have also said something because Marcus immediately stopped and turned back to you.

"Jesus Christ!" you cried shakily, hands trembling as they hovered in the air. You weren't sure what to do and people were staring as they walked by, driving up your anxiety. Marcus was fine except for his skinned knuckles, but Matt was much worse. He had a busted lip and already a bright blue shiner forming on his cheekbone, and when he stood to face you both, you noticed another cut on the other cheek.

"The fuck is wrong with you!" he spat, blood dripping down his chin.

"Mind how you speak to women and perhaps they will wish to spare you their time," Marcus snarled. Matt turned his attention to you, the pad of his thumb swiping against his lower lip.

"Who is this guy? What the fuck is his deal?"

You took a deep breath, your mind settling and your fortitude returning.

"If you had just backed off when I said no the first dozen times, maybe you didn't have to find out!"

"Oh, come off it. You like the chase. You get off on guys trailing after you-"

"You're the only fucking one, Matt!" you yelled, no longer caring who was looking. "We hooked up once, years ago, and you just can't take the hint! I'm not interested!"

His eyes clouded with disbelief as he propped his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one foot, standing there as if he were somehow new to being shot down.

"I'm telling Charlotte about this. About your little..." he trailed off and gestured vaguely over your shoulder, "guard dog. I'm sure she will love to hear about one of your profiles assaulting an employee."

You crossed your arms defiantly and made a face. "Oh, yeah? Do that and I'll recommend to HR they give you a drug test."

His face paled for a moment but he tried to hide it. "Drugs? I'm not on drugs."

"Oh, so you're telling me your balls are just naturally that shriveled up and small? Because, shit," you laughed, "if it's not steroids, you might want to see a doctor about that. That's not normal."

Matt swallowed tightly and clamped his mouth shut. You smiled and turned around to Marcus, who had been listening to your entire argument and probably understanding less than half of it.

"Let's go."

You tugged on his arm and he obediently followed, leaving Matt to lick his wounds.

"Your work - the building is the other way."

"I know," you said, raising your arm to hail a cab. "I'll figure something out. We're going home."

Marcus watched as you paced around your kitchen, phone pressed against your ear as you spoke to your boss and faked a sudden illness that included the word cramps. When you finished up, you looked over at him from across the room.

He looked so normal now. Sure, he spoke a little strangely but without his tunic, clad in khakis and a polo shirt, he looked like he fit right in. Like he always belonged right there.

"I don't think I even thanked you," you said. Marcus smiled and shrugged.

"No need."

He was so damn adorable, it was killing you. "I've never met anyone like you before," you confessed, leaning a hip against the edge of your counter.

"In a good way, I hope?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. You giggled and nodded, the sound making his heart soar.

"Yes, in a good way."

He brought his hand up to smooth over his mouth nervously and your stomach dropped.

"Oh, my god! Your hands!" you exclaimed, crossing the room to snatch one of his massive hands within both of yours.

"It is alright, there is no-"

"Come on, let me clean up your knuckles at least," you said, pulling him towards your tiny bathroom, which somehow felt even smaller when you were both crowding the space. "Sit here," you told him, pointing towards the closed toilet seat, "I have some stuff somewhere," you muttered under your breath as you rifled through the medicine cabinet behind your mirror, then tugged open the drawer in the vanity that always stuck. Marcus did as he was told and watched you with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Ah ha!" you announced victoriously when you held up a bottle of clear liquid and a box of bandages. He smiled as you washed your hands before meticulously laying everything out you would need. Picking up a cotton ball, you doused it with the liquid and turned to him, having little choice but to stand between his knees and lifting one of his hands to look at it closer.

He splayed his hand out flat, palm pressing against your palm while you carefully dabbed at the dried blood.

"You have laid with that man before?" he asked out of the blue. Your cheeks felt warm when you nodded and avoided his eye.

"A long time ago. It was a mistake."

He didn't say anything else for a few minutes, just watched as you tenderly cared for his broken skin, your proximity and touch overwhelming his senses.

"Did he mistreat you?"

Quickly, you shook your head. "Oh god, no, nothing like that," you told him. "It just... wasn't a good fit."

Marcus couldn't stop staring at the soft slopes of your face and the bright sparkle in your irises, growing infatuated with the way your brow scrunched together in concentration while you worked.

"Did he not worship you?" he asked softly, watching as your breath hitched and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

"Uh, no," you finally said, setting down the cotton ball in favor of a tube with some salve. You squeezed a small dot onto your finger and began to apply it carefully to his knuckles. "Can't say there's been a lot of worshipping happening in my life," you added with a dry chuckle.

"No?"

You shook your head and wiped your finger with a tissue and tried not to let his injured hand that had fallen to your hip distract you.

"No," you whispered, your shaky voice betraying you.

He tsked and brought his other hand up to your hip, slowly splaying his fingers wide and crumpling the fabric of your dress. "Shameful. You deserve to be worshipped."

All of the air rushed from your lungs, your body thrumming with desire. Marcus noticed the fine hairs on your arms raise when goosebumps flashed across your skin and he delicately picked up your hand, flipping it over so he could press a kiss against the inside of your wrist.

His deep brown eyes met yours and with his lips still brushing against your skin, whispered, "Will you allow me to worship you?"

You found yourself nodding before your voice had a chance to catch up with you, then his hands gently cupped your face and pulled you down to his level. The moment your lips finally met, you forgot how to breathe, how to move, how to think. His lips were so unexpectedly soft and tender as they slowly massaged against your own that it sent you into a tailspin.

You pressed your mouth against his with a little more force, the fear that he may just stop at one kiss gripping your throat and driving you forward. He made a soft, surprised noise in the back of his throat when you began to kiss him with more intensity, but he didn't skip a beat. He tightened his hold on your face, fingers dimpling your cheeks and his nose bumping lightly against yours.

Your hands pressed against his chest, then your fingers curled to grip his shirt, wanting to tug him closer, wanting to feel him everywhere but you were still in your stupid fucking tiny bathroom and it was difficult to maneuver. Seemingly anticipating your next move, you felt Marcus stand. Your head tipped back, neck craned upwards at an impossible angle, refusing to break the kiss even for a moment so he began to carefully walk you backwards towards the door. Every step towards your bedroom felt like you were walking deeper and deeper into the sea, drowning in his overwhelming presence and touch.

Marcus's palm slid over your shoulder, down your arm and only stopping when he found your ribs. He wound his arm around you as you both stumbled through your doorway with as little grace as you would expect from two people growing more and more intertwined by the moment.

Once you felt your mattress pressing into the backs of your knees, you released your death grip on his shirt so you could reach behind you and unzip your dress. The cool air washed over your bare skin when it pooled around your feet and suddenly, you felt extremely exposed. What kinds of women was he used to being with? It felt like every day when you went into work you learned something new that men found desirable in women. How could you possibly be expected to keep up in the modern world, let alone with what Marcus might find appealing?

But when his palm reconnected with your middle and he felt your smooth skin under his hand, he grew desperate for more to the point where you could sense it, pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind. His injured hand left your cheek so he could glide both massive hands over the soft swell of your curves, his fingers twitching as he sought out more of your skin but when he came in contact with your bra, his hands stopped.

You could feel his hesitation by the way his lips stalled against yours so you took his hands and wrapped them around your back, wordlessly guiding him to the clasp as your tongue slid inside his mouth.

He figured out the hooks on your bra after only one or two fumbles and it dropped to the floor to join your dress.

"Fuck," he whispered when he finally managed to pull away to admire your nearly naked body. Your eyes widened with surprise.

"I don't think I've heard you curse before."

He inhaled a ragged breath, his eyes still drinking you in when he murmured, "I did not have a reason to before now."

He gently grazed over your breast, barely even touching you while he watched with fascination as your nipple tightened from the brief contact. "You have stirred something within me," he said softly, his eyes and hands continuing to roam. "Something I believed did not exist for a long time."

You leaned into his touch when he cupped your breast, enraptured with how soft you felt under his hand. Your fingers curled around the waistband of his khakis, sliding your nails across his lower stomach, across the coarse hair you very much wished to see while his mouth descended on your throat. His beard tickled the spot below your ear and it sent a shudder down your spine. His lips curved into a smile against your skin at the involuntary movement and he asked, "What else do you like?"

It was becoming difficult to breathe. The way he was so slow and careful yet sure of himself was unlike anything you had ever experienced before with a man. It was making your knees weak and your head swim.

When it took too long for you to answer his question, he lightly pinched your skin between your teeth, causing warmth to bloom just underneath the mark.

"T-touch me," you stammered, your eyes sliding closed and your head tipping back, surrendering yourself completely to his prowess.

His hand slipped down your body, over your stomach and underneath your panties. You gasped sharply when you felt one thick finger part your folds, sliding over your clit and dipping into your entrance, drenching him with your arousal.

"Lay down for me," he whispered in your ear while wrapping his free arm around your back, holding you steady so you didn't collapse from the torture of his singular finger working in and out.

He laid you down carefully in your bed, his hand never losing its rhythm and his mouth still ghosting over your neck and chest.

You whined and bucked your hips under him, fingers getting tangled in his thick curls while he whispered words of adoration into your skin, imprinting himself on you forever.

He could feel you growing rigid, your muscles tense and your exhale coming in short bursts. He brushed his lips over yours at the same time his thumb grazed over your clit, making your jaw drop and a sob erupt from your throat.

"Relax," he murmured, increasing the speed of his wrist while slowly sliding his tongue alongside yours. "Relax and let go for me, cor mea," he said against your mouth.

Your body convulsed beneath him when he brought you to your climax with just one finger. His mouth locked over yours, swallowing down your cries and allowing them to feed his ever growing desire. When you whimpered and lightly pushed his hand away, he withdrew from between your legs but continued to deepen the kiss. It was so sweet and loving that it sent you reeling, wondering how you would ever find satisfaction from another man again after Marcus.

"Take these off," you breathed, tugging on his belt loops. He reared back to sit on his heels while deftly undoing the button and zipper of his khakis, leaving them gaping open at his waist before yanking his polo shirt over his head and tossing it onto the floor. You bit your lip, admiring his bare chest for the first time while he pushed his pants down and kicked them off.

"Christ," you muttered, eyes trailing over his tanned and scarred skin. You reached out and traced a particularly jagged one on his shoulder but he was more focused on ridding you of your underwear. If you ever questioned the validity of his time traveling story, any doubt was erased from your mind when you saw his body.

"Did these hurt?"

He paused and followed your gaze to his marked up torso.

"Some, at the time, yes."

Your expression softened to one of pity as you continued to scan his body, losing count of the shiny, pale scars.

"W-what... how did these..." you trailed off, unable to keep the emotion from your voice. Marcus cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss against your lips.

"It is alright. I have been in many battles. It is my job, and just like yours, I must do it."

You laughed but you didn't really find it funny. "You risk your life every day while I write about best places to take a first date or what to do if you're faking orgasms with your boyfriend. You can't compare the two."

Marcus cocked an eyebrow as he hovered above you. "And do you have much experience faking orgasms?"

You felt your face flush. You knew he was just trying to distract you, but it was working. "Some."

He leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose, then each one of your eyelids before asking, "But not a moment ago?"

You shook your head and raked your fingers through his hair, making him growl at the sensation of your nails across his scalp. While he focused on positioning himself at your opening, you dragged your mouth over his shoulder, tongue dipping to trace over his scar. You couldn't do anything about them now except show them love, something you were realizing Marcus was desperately lacking in his life back home.

Home. The thought entered your brain right when he first pushed inside you, stealing the air from your lungs and bringing tears to your eyes. You did your best to brush it aside and focus on the present, like the way he stretched you open or the soft noise he made when he fully sheathed his heavy length deep within you.

"Fuck," you gasped, clawing at his shoulders while you tried to get your bearings.

He released a groan so guttural and deep it had you squeezing around him. Your mouth found a home on his neck as he slowly began to rock his hips, your lips and teeth leaving temporary marks over his skin to join the scars. Every kiss was slow, every touch was attentive and it was hard to stop yourself from giving into him.

"You - oh," he moaned, eyes sliding shut as he lost himself in the moment. It might have been the first time you'd seen him ever falter, and the thought sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. "You are so soft and beautiful," he mumbled before finding your mouth once again and plunging his tongue past your teeth. "I fear it is almost too much for me to bear," he confessed between kisses.

Marcus was unlike any man you had ever met in so many ways. His vulnerability staggered you. Most men you had known would consider it weak or embarrassing to speak the way he spoke, but Marcus managed to do it without sacrificing an ounce of his raw masculinity.

His broad shoulders and thick arms caged you in, giving you a feeling of safety and security you never felt before with another person. It was always you who had to be strong, who had to figure everything out and be responsible. And for once, with Marcus, it felt like you could let go and not have to worry.

Your body relaxed beneath him, legs spreading even wider to accommodate his powerful thrusts. He pulled an arm out from underneath you to press down on your thigh, pushing it into the mattress next to you in order to open your hips up even more. Then he leaned up just a fraction so he could grind his hips against you with his new found space, drawing a shaky moan from your throat when he came in contact with your clit.

Marcus paid attention. He took note of what you liked, what made you writhe and gasp and he teased you with it until you were begging him for more. He couldn't deny you, so he gave you what you asked. When you whined for him to go faster, he did. When you begged him to touch you, he did. He gave you everything you asked for until your legs trembled and your breath quickened and you were tossing your head back into your pillow, his name on your lips as you fell apart for him.

Then you gazed up at him, eyes smoldering, your lips swollen and parted and looking more beautiful and satisfied than he ever could imagine. Pulling him down to you by the back of his neck, you whispered his name in his ear and he shuddered, his hips faltering for a moment all because of one simple word from your lips.

"Marcus," you whispered again, mouth sucking a bruise into his neck. "Are you going to come for me?"

"Yes," he groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he neared his peak. A lazy smile spread across your face, body still flooding with pleasure as he fucked you a little harder seeking his own.

His hand fell to your side, pulling you closer, rolling your hips in rhythm with his, and with his teeth bared and eyes flashing with hunger, he came with a broken groan that sent a shiver down your spine. You gasped at the feeling of him emptying himself inside you, eyes squeezing shut in ecstasy. His mouth crashed over yours with your eyes still closed. Your tongues danced together, first with lust, then once your heart rates slowed and your skin stopped tingling, with something more. Something like longing and desperation to hold onto the moment as long as you possibly could.

You both spent a little too long sharing tender kisses and gentle touches. For once, the world around you ceased to make noise and the only thing that mattered was what to order for dinner so you didn't have to leave your bed the rest of the night. You picked Mediterranean food and spent the hour after it was delivered discussing how it compared to the food he was used to, neither of you daring to mention the elephant in the room.

You curled up into his side, his arm draped around you, his back leaning against your headboard as you watched a romantic comedy together. Just as you were explaining the plot and how you had used the movie as inspiration for an article the year prior, a breakthrough was happening in Queens.

The volume on your phone was off and neither of you were paying attention to it lighting up on your nightstand, too busy ignoring the movie in favor of fusing your lips together again with your limbs slowly tangling together under the covers to notice the text come through.

Danny: staying in Queens for the night, we're on a roll. The mighty General shall be out of your hair b4 you know it.

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #in another life fic #marcus acacias smut

525 notes · View notes

lunaritex · 1 month ago

Text

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ PRETEND HEARTS 𖤐. — nishimura riki

↺ CONTENT: non idol+university+fake dating au, reader is female, riki and reader are roommates, heeseung and sunghoon are partners in crime, riki is kinda a loser+lover boy here, slight angst, hurt with comfort, faint mentions of insecurities, kissing scene.

↺ FROM HYE: i wanted to try writing fake dating with heeseung but uh, i ended up choosing riki instead... this has NO business being this long though... @kazuhaiku and @riekiss (thanks for proofreading bff mwah)

The moment your ears picked up the dreadful familiar footsteps approaching you was enough to set off the alarm bells in your mind. You did not bother turning around, choosing to busy yourself by scrolling through your phone as you waited for your friends to be dismissed from their class. You did not raise your head even when his shoes appeared in your sight. If anything, you desperately wished for a hole to appear and swallow you whole so you could avoid your current dilemma.

“Hey, how’s it going?” He asked, and you turned a deaf ear to his question. However, it seems like your ignorance only pissed him off.

To your mixture of annoyance and disgust, Yeonjun had the audacity to reach out and grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. Goosebumps form on your skin and your hair shoots up at the skin contact. You boldly met his gaze, arching an eyebrow as you cocked your head to the side. Your seemingly scandalous position earns curious whispers from the students walking past the two of you and thankfully, some have not pulled out their phones yet.

“Oh hello Yeonjun, I didn’t see you there?” You flashed him a smile, a smile that was anything but sweet and friendly.

He scoffed, leaning in slightly but you did not budge, not wanting to show him you were intimidated by him. “Stop playing hard to get, (Name). Or are you doing this because this is the first time someone gives you this much attention?”

You barked out a humorless laugh, eyes flickering to the side before back to him. “Don’t worry, I have plenty of attention and I don’t need it from the likes of you.”

“You’re such a-”

Cough cough.

Yeonjun and you looked over his shoulder to see your roommate; Riki and his friends standing behind him. Riki’s eyes flickered between your faces and furrowed his eyebrows. He was not oblivious to how Yeonjun had been persistent to get you to date him, having witnessed the daily scenes of the boy chasing after you like a desperate dog.

“I believe you were saying something?” Riki asked, taunting him to finish his sentence.

Yeonjun clicked his tongue, moving away from you. “Never mind.”

“I didn’t know your mother raised a coward!” Riki calls out to Yeonjun who was leaving, earning a round of sniggers from his friends. Once he disappeared from your sight, Riki turned to you, doing a quick scan and was relieved to find no physical signs of injuries.

“You alright?” He asked, voice softening and you nodded, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“I’m fine, thanks for stepping in, though I had that handled,” you replied.

Riki shrugged his shoulders, reaching out to ruffle your hair. You squawked, slapping his hand away and patted down your now messy hair. “Sure, (Name). Come on, we should get going to the cafeteria before it’s too late.”

“You know, if he keeps bothering you, how about you do something to stop him from doing that?” Heeseung asked, once everyone had grabbed their food and settled down by their usual table.

Riki plopped down on your right while Jake sat on your left, already reaching his hand out to steal a few of your fries. But you were quick to pull it away from his reach, eliciting a groan of protest from him. You hummed, shoving a mouthful of food into your mouth as you chewed while pondering over what he had just said.

“And what do you have in mind?” You questioned, pointing your fork at him, not catching the secret glimpse shared between him and Sunghoon.

“Well, for starters, you can date Riki,” Sunghoon proposed.

The moment you heard that, you choked on your food and burst into a coughing fit. You thumped your chest while Riki sympathetically rubbed your back, in hopes of calming you down. The others however, burst out laughing at your reaction. You managed to down your water and glared at the culprits seated opposite of you.

“Damn, I didn’t know that you dislike me that much,” your roommate teased, earning a light shove from you.

“To put it specifically, I mean fake dating. All the two of you have to do is to pretend you’re in a romantic relationship and maybe once Yeonjun sees how lovey-dovey you two are, he might leave you alone,” Sunghoon briefly explained.

You purse your lips, risking a glance in Riki’s direction, only to find that he was already looking at you with an expectant look on his face. “Well… when you put it that way, it does make sense but why him?”

“I’m sorry, but is there something wrong about me?” Riki retorted, pointing at himself.

“Yes, especially the part where you refuse to do the dishes,” you retorted and Heeseung stepped in, acting as the meditator before the two of you started squabbling amongst yourselves.

“Both of you are roommates and you’re close with one another. If it were any of us, Yeonjun might not buy it and no offense, but you’re not my type,” Heeseung teased, only to yelp when you kicked him in the knees under the table.

“Don’t worry, the feeling’s mutual. I won’t want to date someone who’s horrible at League,” you cheekily replied, earning an offended gasp from Heeseung and a snort from Riki.

“You take that back!” He demanded.

“Well, she’s speaking the truth,” Sunghoon chips in, giving you a high-five when you wordlessly raise your hand.

“I can’t believe everyone has turned against me…”

The day of back-to-back lectures finally came to an end and you face-planted onto the couch the moment you retreated to the safety of your dorm, not bothering to remove your shoes and bag. Riki on the other hand, sighed as he closed the doors, dumping the keys in the bowl nearby and walked to your direction.

“(Name), at least remove your shoes and bag,” he gently reprimanded you, getting to his knees to help you do it instead.

Your eyes fluttered open when you felt your shoes being removed, making you look over your shoulder before you pushed yourself up to remove your bag. “I can do it myself, you know. I’m not a princess or anything.”

“Well, the way you act is different from what you said,” he replied, earning a huff from you as you leaned back into the couch, head tilted up to the ceiling.

Riki moved to sit beside you, stretching his long limbs and placed his feet on the coffee table placed before the couch. You scrunch your nose, shooting him a disgusted look and he rolled his eyes, making himself comfortable and pulled out his phone.

“And pray tell, how do I act differently then?” You asked, already regretting asking after the words slipped out of your mouth.

Your roommate smirked, shooting you a mischievous smile. “You act like a gangster- Ow, ow, ow! Stop hitting me!”

Poor Riki could barely finish his sentence when you wasted no time in jumping on him, grabbing the nearest pillow and repeatedly whacking him with it. The previously quiet living room was now filled with your laughter. He shielded his face with his hands, phone slipping down from his chest to the couch but none of you paid it any mind. Riki then wasted no time in switching your position with ease. You squeaked when you landed on your back with him pinning you down against the couch.

The last warning you received was the way his eyes twinkled with mischief before he ruthlessly tickled your sides. Your entire body was trembling as you swayed side to side, pushing Riki away but it was obvious that his strength overpowers yours, like it was nothing. Tears were already formed in the corners of your eyes and your stomach was starting to ache, due to how hard and long you were laughing to your heart’s content.

“N-No, enough! Pft, Riki, I-I swear- hahaha!” You barely managed to choke out words when your roommate was persistent with his tickling attack.

“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” He snickered, amused with your current state but he decided to take pity and ceased his attack; much to your relief.

You remained laying on the couch with your legs now dangling off the edge, panting as you catch your breath. Riki sat cross-legged near the edge, with a cushion resting on his lap. You were fully aware of how his eyes remained on your figure.

“I can tell you’re thinking about something. What is it?” You asked, breaking the brief silence that had engulfed you.

Riki averted his eyes, fiddling with the rings adorned on his fingers. The cold metal surfaces proved to be useful in grounding him to reality. “...I was thinking about what you’re planning to do about Yeonjun.”

Humming, you ran a hand through your hair, hissing when your fingers got tangled in a few strands but you slowly untangled them from your hand. “I might actually listen to Sunghoon and Heeseung’s advice.”

“You will?” Riki’s face lit up but he cleared his throat, calming himself. You chuckled at his reaction, finding him adorable.

“At this point I’m desperate to get him off my back and if you think about it, between choosing to be in a fake relationship with you compared to dating him, I’ll rather take the first option,” you replied, oblivious to how your words made Riki feel like he was floating.

“So, is that a yes then? Yes to being my girlfriend and having a relationship with me?” He asked, praying that you will not be able to hear how his heart was practically pounding against his chest.

“Fake girlfriend and fake relationship. And that’s a yes from me, So I hope you’ll take good care of me, Riki,” you pushed yourself up, flashing him a grin.

“Likewise,” he returned your grin, mentally doing somersaults in his mind.

Everyone’s eyes were on you the moment you stepped onto campus. To be more specific, they were looking at you and Riki’s intertwined hands. Due to Riki being a popular student, it was safe to say that his fanclub had discovered something so devastating that you could hear their hearts shattering into tiny pieces. You tried your best to ignore the chorus of whispers and murmurs heading your way, involuntarily tensing your shoulders and even looking down, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. You were snapped out of your thoughts when Riki gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, making you look at him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. I got you,” he reassures you.

And for a moment, you wondered if he was a magician for his words seemed to have an immediate cooling effect. His words allow you to straighten your back and you face them head-on, unaware of how a certain student was observing the scene from the sidelines, fists tightly clenched with jealousy gnawing away at his heart and mind. Riki walked you to your class, showing no signs of releasing his hand. He did not care if there were students already taking videos of him. A part of you wonders if he has gotten used to people constantly staring and fawning over him.

Eventually, you arrived at your lecture room and you mentally heaved a sigh of relief when Riki was the one to move away. You were about to enter when he stopped you, hand shooting out to grab your wrist. His action made you look at him, bemused.

“Don’t you think you’re forgetting something?” He smirked.

“What am I forgetting?” You owlishly blinked your eyes.

“You’re forgetting this,” he laughed, tugging you towards him.

You stumbled over your feet, taken aback by the sudden force used. You would have crashed into his chest if Riki did not steadied you in the nick of time. Due to the height difference, you have to tilt your head up towards him. You hated how your heart fluttered when you saw the way he was looking at you. With nothing but pure love and adoration in his eyes.

“What on earth are you do-!?”

Your voice dies in your throat when Riki leans down, gingerly brushing your bangs back with such tenderness that one might mistook it as love. You swore you stopped breathing for a moment when you felt him kiss your forehead. Perhaps you were overthinking, for you swore his lips lingered against your forehead longer than five seconds. He moved away, unable to hold back the laughter at the sight of your flushed ears and cheeks.

“You’re so cute,” he teased, affectionately poking your cheeks with his index finger.

“R-Riki, stop!” You hissed, your ears turning a darker shade of red when you noticed how some students were looking at the both of you.

To them, they might view you as a regular couple who could not keep their hands off one another. But that was not the case. What they did not know was that everything you do was nothing more than an act, a show with you and Riki being the main lead of the performance. Riki sniggered, dropping his hand and pointed at the closed doors behind you.

“You should get going now. Wouldn’t want the best student to be late for her first lecture, do we?” He said.

“And I wonder whose fault is it,” you rolled your eyes, bidding him farewell and entered the lecture room, immediately locating Heeseung and Jake seated at the back.

The two boys were waving their hands in the air, gesturing for you to sit with them and you obliged, plopping down in the empty seat between them. You already knew what they were going to ask the moment you sat down, placing your bag on your lap.

“So, did you actually listen to Heeseung and Sunghoon’s advice?” Jake whispered, although it was barely a whisper considering how the people nearby were able to hear him loud and clear.

You shot him a warning glare and he instinctively lowered his voice. “Yes, I did. Why are the both of you so surprised anyways?”

They shared a glance and this time, Heeseung was the one who replied, adjusting his position when the lecturer had entered the room. “To be honest, none of us thought you would actually do it.”

“What? Did you think I would continue letting Yeonjun follow me around like a lost puppy?” You asked, disbelief written all over your face.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Jake chipped in.

“Putting that aside, we saw the both of you outside. That was hella cringe,” Heeseung teased, playfully nudging his elbow against yours.

Your face turned as red as a tomato when you heard that, already knowing what he was referring to. Instead of responding, you choose to busy yourself by pulling out your laptop when you see the lecturer entering the room.

“Shut up, you and I both know that was merely an act and he doesn’t see me that way,” you replied, unaware of the knowing look Heeseung and Jake shares.

“Sure (Name), whatever makes you happy.”

The next few days passed with you and Riki maintaining the couple's facade. The more you continued, the more things you learnt about your roommate. A prime example would be finding out he has a talent for dancing. It happened when you were heading to campus after making a quick stop at a nearby cafe, only for you to feel your phone vigorously vibrating about in the left pocket of your jeans. You pulled it out and answered it, without even looking at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Hey (Name), where are you now?”

You moved to the left when a cyclist rode past you, granting them enough space on the pathwalk for them to move past you with ease. ‘I’m heading to campus now. Why?”

You could pick up faint music coming from the other line.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could head back to the dorms to grab my bag? I’ve forgotten to take it before leaving this morning,” Riki sheepishly answered.

“What? And you’re only telling me this now? I’m going to be late for class,” you groaned.

“Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You were thankful that Riki was not physically there, for he would not be able see the smile you had on your face, amused with how desperate he was. “Fine, but please don’t say that ever again. You sound like a child.”

“I’m going to let that slide since you’re doing me a huge favor. I’ll text you where to find me, thanks (Name)!”

And just like that, he hung up. Sighing, you make a slight detour back to where the dorm is located. You entered, closing the door behind you and headed to his room without removing your shoes. You pushed the door open and it was at that moment that you were reminded of how you have never been into his room before. The first thing that piqued your interest was the Nintendo Switch resting on his table, followed by the expensive-looking PC setup sitting on his desk.

You stepped closer to the desk, smiling when you saw three framed photographs placed on the left. One of it was with his family, taken when he managed to return home during the school break. Another was with your shared group of friends, when everyone impulsively went for an overseas trip together. The final picture however, took you by surprise. It was a picture of you when everyone was having a picnic together, celebrating the end of their final examinations last year.

You were not sure how he had taken the picture without you knowing but you did not want to waste anymore time, not when Riki was awaiting your arrival. Eventually, you found the item you were looking for: a black bag that had his clothes. Sparing his room one final glance, you closed the door and sped walked back to campus, making a mental note to give him a good scolding once you met up with him.

As always, there were people staring at you when you arrived. You knew they were curious to know about the identity of the bag you were carrying but you paid them no mind. True to his words, Riki had already texted you where to find him. It did not take you long to reach your destination. As you got closer, you could pick up muffled music from the other side of the closed doors. Unsure if they could hear your knocking, you were about to pull out your phone to give Riki a call when the door was opened from inside.

“Oh, (Name)? What are you doing here?” Sunghoon asked, surprised to see you standing there.

“Riki called and asked me to bring him his stuff,” you grudgingly replied, raising the bag.

He laughed, pushing the door wider and gestured for you to enter. You obliged, thanking him and heaved a sigh of relief when a strong and cold gust of air kissed your face. You remained where you were, watching as four figures were moving effortlessly across the floor of the dance studio. Despite how their backs were facing you, you were able to identify your roommate, considering how he was the tallest as compared to everyone else.

Somehow, seeing the way Riki moves with plenty of experience combined with the focused look on his face leaves you in awe. As far as you were aware, you had never seen Riki this focused, until today that is.

“Careful there, one might think you’re actually in love with Riki,” Jake teased, entering the dancing studio after going off for a quick break.

“What are you talking about? I told you we’re only doing this because-”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. And I heard you loud and clear,” Jake interrupted, already regretting opening his mouth in the first place.

“(Name), you’re here!”

Jake took this chance to slip away as Riki jogged over, his hair flopping up and down reminds you of a puppy. You raised the bag, to which he gratefully accepted it. He unzips it slightly, checking the content and a satisfied smile appears on his face. He walked to the table located on the left, placing his bag down and returned to you, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatpants.

“So, what do you think?” He asked.

“What?”

Riki laughed. “I saw you looking at us when we were dancing earlier. You weren’t being slick at all.”

Huffing your cheeks, you crossed your arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, I should get going. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Oh.” Riki’s expression drops for a moment but before you could point it out, he was back to his usual self.

“I’ll see you during lunch, good luck with your class,” he grins and before you could react, he leaned in to press a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“Ew, get a room!” Heeseung called out.

Riki turned, flipping him off and the older man gasped, dramatically resting a hand on his chest. Their interaction made everyone except you burst out laughing. You quietly made your exit, fanning your face once you were out. You leaned against the wall, eyes looking out the window before you and sighed, running a hand through your hair.

What’s happening to me?

“Well well well, look who it is. Today must be my lucky day.”

Groaning, you looked to your right to see Yeonjun approaching you, with his signature infuriating smirk on his face. You made a show of rolling your eyes, ready to walk off but he was faster. Yeonjun reached out his hand, grabbing your wrist and pinned you against the wall. A pained hiss left your lips when your back hits the wall with an audible ‘thud’. Raising your free hand, you wanted to push him off but he beat you to it, also grabbing your wrist and roughly slammed it against the wall. Your face burned in pure humiliation at the scandalous position you found yourself in.

“What are you doing?” You hissed, venom evident in your voice as you glared at him, trying to hide your pounding heart.

He chuckled. “Drop the act, princess. I know you and Riki aren’t a thing.”

Your heart dropped when you heard his response. Your first mistake was to stare at him, disbelief written all over your face. Your second mistake was to remain silent, rendered speechless. Seeing this, Yeonjun smirked and that was when he knew you were in hot soup. He leans in to whisper into your left ear. All you could do was to press yourself further against the wall, hoping you could be swallowed up whole.

“Anyone with eyes can tell Riki isn’t interested in you. I think you should stop acting all high and mighty just because you got the popular kid dating you. Out of everyone, he has to pick you and I pity him for that.”

“What are you saying?” You bit back.

Yeonjun pulled away, allowing you to see the chilling smirk on his face. “I’m saying that he only does this because he pity you.”

“Hey, what the fuck are you doing with my girl?”

Both of you turned to see Riki standing outside of the dancing room. The air around him thickened with an unspoken fury. He clenched his jaw, taking in the scene— the way Yeonjun’s posture loomed over you, and how your body language screamed for space. His voice cut through the air, sharper than he intended and he marched forward, gaze locked onto Yeonjun.

“Back off,” he demanded, the command hanging heavily in the air.

Riki easily stepped in between the two of you, roughly shoving Yeonjun back with one hand as he protectively positioned himself in front of you, his taller figure nearly shielding you from his sight. You internally heaved a sigh of relief, lowering your wrists as you rubbed at your left wrist that were feeling slightly sore as compared to your right wrist.

Yeonjun stumbled back, caught off-guard with the sudden force but managed to steady himself. Surprise flickered in his eyes but the cocky grin did not fade. “What’s the problem, Riki? We’re just having a little fun.”

Riki’s fists tightened at his sides, a storm brewing within him. “That’s not fun for her. You need to get it through your head and I’ll say this once again.”

He paused, stepping forward until he was invading Yeonjun’s personal space. The air crackled with tension with every step he took. Riki’s eyes narrowed, and the warmth that usually defined his demeanor had transformed into an icy glare.

“Stop disturbing my girlfriend,” he said, voice low and steady, but laced with a barely contained threat. “I mean it. Or else…”

Yeonjun’s confident smirk faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. “Or else what?” he challenged, though there was a tremor in his voice now, a hint that he might be second-guessing his bravado.

Riki leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a fierce whisper that only Yeonjun could hear. “Or else you’re going to find out exactly how far I’m willing to go to protect her.”

There was a weight in his words, a promise of consequences that hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere shifted palpably, and Riki’s intensity forced Yeonjun to step back slightly, his confidence wavering.

“What, you think this is a joke? You’re making a mistake if you think she’s just another game to play,” he pressed, cocking his head to the side and raising an eyebrow tauntingly.

Yeonjun glanced between Riki and you before scoffing. “Whatever man, have it your way.”

He made sure to roughly shoved his shoulder against Riki’s before leaving, muttering a wonderful string of curses under his breath. None of you said a thing until he made a turn and his figure was completely out of your sight. Only then did your shoulders sagged with complete relief, leaning against the wall as you closed your eyes for a few seconds. Riki turned to you, silently approaching you and stopped, maintaining a respectful distance between the two of you.

“...Are you alright?” He murmurs, looking hesitant on whether he should grab your hands or not.

His eyes trailed down your figure, pausing when he saw how you were rubbing your wrists and the look darkened slightly. You followed where his eyes were looking and when you realized where he was looking, you quickly hid them behind your back. But Riki shook his head, closing the remaining distance and gingerly grabbed your wrists, treating you as if you were a piece of fragile glass.

“Don’t hide from me, please,” he softly pleaded, eyes softening.

You remained silent, allowing him to examine your slightly red wrists. You pointedly ignored looking at him but from the corner of your eyes, you saw how he furrowed his eyebrows and how his lips were pressed in a line. You were tempted to just kiss him right there and then but you stopped yourself, feeling stupid for having such a thought. After all, there is no way your dear roommate will have romantic feelings for you, right?

“... Do you want to head to the nurse’s office to have it checked out? I can accompany you,” he proposed, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine, this isn’t that big of a deal.”

Riki blinked, still holding onto your wrists. “But it is that big of a deal to me. I can’t stand the thought of you being injured.”

The pure sincerity of his voice combined with the words made your breath hitched in your throat. You wanted to savor the moment but the words Yeonjun told you had already planted itself in the depths of your mind. You wordlessly nodded your head, unable to find the will in you to speak. Riki took your silence as agreement and brought you to the nurse’s office. None of you said another word during the walk to the nurse’s office. When she was done, you mumbled a quick excuse and left, ignoring Riki’s piercing gaze on your retreating figure.

The next two to three weeks passed with you trying your best to avoid Riki as much as possible. It was already a difficult task, considering how you are practically living under the same roof as him. You had to take a drastic approach: leaving the dorm earlier than usual, taking a longer and more inconvenient way to campus and back to the dorm, taking a shower before or after him and even eating in your room. Everytime Riki opened his mouth, you were already retreating to the safety of your room, closing the door shut behind you.

You knew your action was hurting him, judging from the pained look on his face but you could not bring yourself to look at him, not when you were already like this. Currently, you are lying on your bed with a pillow tightly hugged against your chest, your back facing the door as you absentmindedly stare at a random spot on the wall.

Knock knock.

“(Name), I know you’re in there. Would you please come out?” Riki’s muffled voice echoed from the other side of the door.

Silence.

Riki kicked the door open with a loud thud, the sudden impact echoing through the room like a heavy slam. The forceful sound sent a sharp jolt through the air, startling you and you shot up from your bed, heart racing as the door rattled slightly in its frame from the force. You stared at him, rendered speechless with what he had done to your door and you were relieved to see it was not ripped from the hinges. The relief was then replaced with anger and disbelief, shooting him an incredulous look.

“What the fuck was that for!? You would have broken my door!” You exclaimed.

He merely shrugged his shoulders. “I can pay for it, but that’s not the point. I’m worried about you. And it’s not just me, the others are too. Now will you be willing to tell me what’s been happening to you?”

You gulped at the seriousness in Riki’s voice, gripping onto the pillow as if it was your final lifeline. “I’ve told you before; it’s nothing. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair. You hated how such a simple action made him more attractive than he already is. “(Name), stop lying to yourself. And why wouldn’t I worry about you? You’re my roommate and friend. Of course I’ll be worried about you.”

You bitterly chuckled; the noise gaining his attention. “Is that it? Am I really just a roommate and friend to you?”

Riki paused, looking remorseful at what he had said. “Wait, I-”

Your frustration boiled over, your voice escalating with every word. “I don’t know what to think anymore! This whole fake dating thing was supposed to be simple: just to get Yeonjun off my back. But now, it’s a mess, and I’m a mess! Because the more time we spend together, the more I realize I’m actually falling for you!”

Your hands flew to your hair, tugging at the roots in frustration. “At first, it was easy. Pretend dates, fake smiles; it was all supposed to be an act. Like, when you kissed my forehead, when you kissed my cheek and when you protected me from Yeonjun, it felt real and it’s messing with me. And then Yeonjun—”

Your voice wavered as you recalled the conversation, a knot forming in your throat. “He said you’re only doing this because you pity me, and it's just—”

You faltered, wrapping your arms around yourself as insecurity crept into your tone. “I feel so stupid for thinking there might be more. Like maybe you actually—”

Before you could finish, Riki closed the distance between you in five long strides. His hands cupped your face, silencing you with a sudden, firm kiss. Your breath hitched, the warmth of his lips erasing your words and leaving your mind blank. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were bright with amusement, and he laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You’re so stupid,” he said, still smiling, his thumb brushing over your cheeks to wipe the tears away.

“W-What?” You stuttered.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” He murmured, eyes locked with yours, sincere and unguarded. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time. This whole fake dating thing? I didn’t do it because I pitied you, I did it because it was you.”

He continued before you had the chance to speak.

“It’s you— your strong personality, the way you never back down. You’re always so real with me. You’re caring and gentle. You’re yourself, and you don’t care about impressing anyone, least of all me. And I fell for you because of that.”

His hand moved to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze softening even further. “I fell for your cheerfulness, the way you light up a room without even trying. But more than anything, I fell for the way you’re just you around me. No games, no pretending. Just you. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Riki let out a breath, as if releasing something he’d held onto for too long. “So stop thinking this was ever about pity, because it’s not. It’s always been about you.”

You stood frozen, Riki’s words sinking in like waves crashing over you, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. You had spent so long convincing herself that this was all just an act, that he couldn’t possibly feel the same way. Yet here he was, laying it all bare in front of you.

“But... why didn’t you say anything before?” You finally whispered, your voice shaky. “Why go along with this whole fake dating thing?”

Riki let out a small sigh, his hand trailing down your arm, gently taking your hand. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever feel the same way,” he admitted, a hint of vulnerability flickering in his eyes.

“I figured if I could be close to you, even if it wasn’t real, it was better than nothing. I thought I could handle it, just pretending. But being with you, even in this fake setup… it made me fall even harder.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles, almost absentmindedly, as if seeking comfort in the touch.

“And then you started feeling things too,” he continued, his gaze locking with yours again. “I saw it—the way you’d look at me, like you were afraid it was becoming too real. And I realized I couldn’t keep pretending anymore. I didn’t want to.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him, your heart pounding. “But Yeonjun—what he said… it made me doubt everything,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly.

Riki’s expression hardened for a moment, his grip on your hand tightening protectively. “Yeonjun doesn’t know a damn thing about how I feel. I don’t care what he told you. He can say whatever he wants, but that’s not the truth. I’m here because I want to be, because I love you. Not out of pity, not out of obligation. Just because it’s you.”

The raw sincerity in his voice cracked something open inside you. The room felt smaller, quieter, like it was only the two of you.

Riki smiled softly, brushing a thumb over your cheek again, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel like this, you know?” His voice was soft but firm. “And I don’t want to fake it anymore.”

The silence hung between them for a moment, charged and heavy with unspoken feelings. Then, with your heart in your throat, you leaned into him, closing the space between you once more.

“I don’t want to fake it anymore either,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

Riki’s breath hitched, and then he kissed you—soft, but full of all the unspoken emotions that had been bottled up for so long. It was real, and it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

#ꨄ writings #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #enhypen x y/n #nishimura niki #niki x reader #niki imagines #niki x you #niki x y/n #nishimura riki #riki x reader #riki x you #riki x y/n #riki imagines #nishimura riki imagines #nishimura riki x reader

378 notes · View notes