#sex with a ghost vibes

[imhyperfixatingrn]

So yeah

[moronic-validity]

I have been up for two hours and all I can think about is texting best friend Gaz like dude, fuckin tired. Can't sleep. Weighted blanket missing. SOS.

(just some thoughts bc I'm tired and not used to being awake before 10. 18+ due to a singular comment, but this is self serving fluff)

And Gaz replies, because he always does when it's you.

Be there soon.

You don't even check your phone when it dings, you know he's already on the way.

You try your hardest to try to get yourself back to sleep, but all the blankets and pillows in your house simply don't have the weight to help you relax enough to sleep.

He parks his car next to yours and lets himself in with the spare key you made him (in case of emergencies), and he kicks off his shoes at the door before making his way back to your bedroom.

You were covered in pillows, blankets, and every vaguely soft item you could find.

He snorted. You flipped him off.

He pushed all the pillows and various other items off of you (why the hell did you have a pair of slippers mixed in with all the pillows) and got comfortable, laying his chest across yours.

You sighed happily, finally comfortable enough to fall asleep. He was heavy, warm, and everything about him radiated safety.

"Need me to tell you a bedtime story too?" His chuckle reverberates against your chest and you nod, making him laugh again.

"Alright so, have I told you about the time I fell out of a helicopter?" You can distantly hear his voice as you drift to sleep, a welcome rest after 18 hours of stress.

You wake up at some point later in the day, Gaz's arm wraped around your waist, holding you close. It's comfortable, familiar.

You nudge him.

"Ky... Lemme up, need t' pee." He grumbles, stubbornly pulling you closer against him.

"Kyle, I'll piss on both of us, lemme up." Your threat means little to him. He's been covered in worse and it would just leave you with a mess to clean up.

You sigh.

"Kyle. I can feel your stiffy against my back, lemme up." His eyes snap open and he lets go of you, holding up his hands in surrender while trying to explain the concept of morning wood.

You wave him off, walking to the bathroom.

Single easiest way to make him wake up.

[s0fter-sin]

sometimes i think about how wild a mw2 movie would be if they just dropped soapghost right in the middle with no warning or marketing. like imagine it being beat for beat the exact same, it’s your typical military action movie, promoted as just another military action movie then after they get to the safe house, ghost has to patch up soap and he’s still out of it, overwhelmed by the betrayal and everything he’s seen and ghost needs to ground him and keep him in the present, to remind him that he’s alive and safe so he kisses him and they have sex. the tantrums and the rants and the “ReAl sOLdiErS aRen’t liKe ThAt”, god i can taste it and it’s delicious

[dewdropip]

Kind of a compilation of edit audios I found, and some others I thought were fitting.

Made this about 2 years ago, when I first read the book, and added a few songs over time. Didn’t know what to do with the heartbreak, had to put it somewhere.

[sweatandwoe]

this might be a stupid question but I couldn't find the revolver magazine article about ghost... what's the thing with Prime Mover that makes you uncomfortable? If it's questionable I'd like to opt out of using it but I'd like to know whats up

<3

I'll post it.

TW FOR MENTION OF SEXUAL ASSAULT/FORCED PREGNANCY

Like I knew the maternal slave part of the lyrics was kinda weird, but I also interpreted it as more like willingly giving your body to grow your child kinda thing. Reading this made me go 'oh. OH' and now I dislike the term a lot

Going to use new terms like: Papa's Partner, Papa's spouse, Papa's [insert spouse term of choice here], Mama, No the other Papa, Dama, Mapa, [insert gender neutral parent term of choice here]

[callsign-bunnie]

Oh!!!! Your reply made me scream so much innerly !!! I LOVE IT

So uh what did you say about nephilim! Ghost and succubus! Rudy???

*grabby hands* also i am foaming at the mouth for dominant bottom Rudy!!!!

Had to remember everything I established about Nephilim!Ghost, also I am fulfilling your challenge to make this smutless. Also, I do not need to make this a whole world and make it poly. I do not need to make this a whole world and make it poly. I do not-

Anyway, so it's "Adventures in being a Sex Demon" and I already have headcanons.

--

Rodolfo had figured out Ghost was "other" shortly after they'd recovered the base. Rodolfo was positive he was only even able to see it because he'd had to use his abilities to help them get the base back. He wasn't the only Vaquero that wasn't entirely human, Alejandro being one of them, of course. But... well, he would have been the only one who even remotely matched up to Ghost.

Ghost had started to watch them. When the 141 had promised to stay and aid them, Rodolfo had noticed his eyes would follow him. If Rodolfo was willing to suspend his own belief, he was sure he'd seen red eyes watching him at several points.

Even more, he was sure that Ghost was much bigger, at times, than he usually was, making Rodolfo feel like he'd shrunk. Maybe he'd leaned into it, playing small and tiny and watching Ghost's eyes light up, playfully. But... never sexually, oddly enough.

Sometimes, they'd be alone in a room and Rodolfo could feel Ghost's presence, wrapping around him, practically clinging. If Rodolfo were to theorize, he'd imagine it was a familiarity that Ghost was craving, more than he wanted any of Rodolfo's ability.

Being a sex demon, that was an odd feeling. Being a succubus could be kind of hard for his self-esteem if he was honest. Look, he'd abandon any idea of "masculinity" since he was whatever his meal wanted him to be and whether that was masculine or feminine didn't matter. But... it was that feeling that nothing would ever truly want him for who he was, anymore. He was a drug, a euphoria, and nothing more.

So when he'd caught on that Ghost wasn't doing any of this for sex, it'd been... Odd. He didn't have another word for it. He wished he did, though.

But he wanted it.

-

Rodolfo looked over the papers he was filing, shaking his head. With Las Almas being broken, Alejandro was always so busy. Rodolfo didn't trust any of the Vaqueros with the very precise organization system he'd set up, so that left him to fill out paperwork and file it as well. Oh well, he didn't mind.

He couldn't exactly go out and help people, as much as he'd like to. Even Alejandro and Valeria, irritation flared in his chest, were having to back off since they could only rile the people up. But, Rodolfo... well, he didn't think his abilities would be any form of helpful. He didn't need Las Almas broken and horny.

When he was done filing his paperwork, he shut and locked the filing cabinet, before almost slamming straight into Gaz. "Oh. Sergeant Garrick." He paused, noting that Gaz was nervous. He was wringing his wrists and Rodolfo could practically taste his anxiety. Poor kid was always buzzing with nervous energy, though, and Rodolfo had already considered trying to offer to "soothe" him a few times, but... well, he worried about getting the poor kid addicted.

He doubted Gaz would pursue him too aggressively, or even at all, but he didn't want to hurt him. "Are you alright?"

Gaz hesitated. "Ghost... I..." His gaze bounced around the room, seemingly trying to find anywhere but Rodolfo to look. "Look, I trust the Lieutenant with my life but I... I've heard stories of him, and I've noticed he's taken a... special interest in you."

Rodolfo managed to suppress an amused smile, nodding, slightly. So, he wasn't the only one that noticed.

He feigned concern. "What sort of stories have you heard about him?"

"Well, not many... admittedly. But," Gaz paused, "he's rather violent. I just- I thought I'd... I'd... I like you. You and Alejandro have been pretty nice to me. I just..."

Poor kid didn't seem to be able to get his words together. Rodolfo frowned, now genuinely concerned. "It's alright." He murmured, touching Gaz's shoulder and trying to soothe him as best as he could. He infused his energy into his touch, running his hand down Gaz's shoulder. "Thank you for telling me, Gaz. I appreciate it. But... I don't think Ghost's interest is anything more than professional."

Gaz relaxed and he closed his eyes for a moment before nodding. "Alright. I just wanted to tell you."

"Thank you." Rodolfo nodded. "Have you eaten?" He knew the answer, Gaz had not. He could feel how hungry he was. The 141 didn't seem to be ones to take care of themselves much, and Rodolfo wished he could change that, but he didn't really know how.

Gaz paused and then winced. "No, sir. I haven't."

"Just Rudy." Rodolfo had weird feelings about being called sir, anymore. Ever since he'd been changed. Yeah, he still went by he and him, but he felt more... nonbinary that being called sir felt weird. The Vaqueros had caught on and respected that, but it seemed he would have to break that out of the 141.

"Sorry. Right. Rudy." Gaz nodded. "No, Rudy, I haven't eaten."

"Come on." Rodolfo was amused. "You know, once things settle down, if you four are still here, Alejandro was talking about having you over for asada."

"That sounds... fantastic." Gaz smiled as he followed Rodolfo. "I've never had authentic asada before. Several of the Los Vaqueros have told us how good it is, though."

"Just Los Vaqueros, Gaz." Rodolfo corrected. "Los means 'the'. The Cowboys. When you call us the Los Vaqueros, you call us The The Cowboys."

"My apologies." Gaz flushed.

Rodolfo stopped in front of the mess hall. "Alvarez is in there, tell her I said to give you one of the meals I brought for Alejandro and I. Okay?" He pat his arm.

"Oh. Alright." Gaz seemed to almost perk up. "Thank you... Rudy."

"Of course." Rodolfo smiled and nodded before turning and leaving him be. He had some work he needed to do in the command room, so he headed that way, taking note of everyone in every room. Soap and Price were out with Alejandro and a few of their men, providing aid to whoever needed.

Rage flashed, briefly, in Rodolfo's chest, at the reminder that Mexico would not send them aid. Los Vaqueros were left to put the pieces together of their broken city and nobody else was going to lift a finger to help. He closed his eyes, trying not to let himself get too worked up. That would not end well for anyone.

"You do funny things when you're angry."

Rodolfo turned around, seeing the object of his previous conversation was leaned against the wall. "Oh?" He smiled, deciding not to play coy and ask how Ghost knew he was angry.

"Your tail flicks."

"I'm shocked you can see that." Okay, maybe he'd play a little coy.

Ghost shrugged, his eyes not leaving Rodolfo, though he did note that they didn't quite meet his. "It's cute."

"I'm flattered." Rodolfo teased, stepping closer to Ghost. "I'm guessing you are not allowed to help Las Almas for similar reasons to me?"

"Having your Colonel's energy, the druglord's, and my own didn't seem like... a smart idea. I chose to remain back. Under the pretense that I'd be babysitting the Sergeant, of course." Ghost shrugged, again. He was a man of little action. "Come back to my quarters."

Anyone else would have taken it as an order but Rodolfo knew it was a request. Rodolfo could say no, though he had a feeling Ghost could overpower him if he needed to. "Why?" He asked, anyway.

Ghost gave him an imperceptible expression, but Rodolfo could feel he was surprised by the question. "Because I'd like to talk to you." Amusement.

"Fine." Rodolfo nodded, pretending he was deigning himself to go to Ghost's room, as if he was only doing it as a favor. He followed Ghost as he started to walk, falling into silence.

When they got to his quarters, Rodolfo went in first, sitting on the bed. "No more facades." Ghost stated as he closed the door. "What are you?"

"You can't tell?" Rodolfo frowned, genuinely surprised. He had imagined Ghost had already figured it out by now.

"I know you are a demon, but beyond that... No. I don't know." Ghost sighed, crossing his arms. "I also know you are not possessed, you're changed. Which narrows down my options... But still leaves too many for me to just guess."

Rodolfo smiled. "I could undress and show you?"

Ghost blinked and gave Rodolfo a stare before his eyes were relaxing, going back to their usual bored look. "Oh. You're a succubus."

"I'm wondering if I should be offended you did not assume Incubus."

"You've slept with two of them. Incubi typically do not go for their own." Ghost shook his head. "And maybe you are slightly too feminine. In my mind."

"So honest. I'm guessing something like me, then." Rodolfo leaned back on his hands. "But not a demon. I'd be able to clock you, immediately."

"No. Not a demon."

Rodolfo considered. "Not an angel, either... Or..." He watched Ghost shift nervously, from foot to foot. "Ah. Fallen angel?" He guessed, since he doubted an actual angel would be on earth in the British military.

"Something like that." Ghost muttered, which was basically a confirmation.

Rodolfo nodded, understanding. "I've heard of Nephilim. Never met one, before."

"I've never met a succubus before." Ghost admitted. "I... suppose I should warn you, I'm not interested in sex."

"I picked up on that." Rodolfo smiled, slightly. "So what are you interested in?"

"I... don't know." Ghost sighed. "I haven't decided, yet."

Rodolfo stood, carefully, and went up to Ghost. "Can I help you decide?" He murmured, trailing his fingers down Ghost's chest, where the material was thinnest. "I'll show you myself if you show me yours?"

Ghost paused and looked down at him. Rodolfo was surprised to feel anxiety course through him and furrowed his brows. Ghost was so... human, despite being so clearly inhuman. "Alright."

Rodolfo was a bit surprised to not get any protest, but he stepped back as Ghost started to undo his gear. One by one, every piece came off until Ghost was left in the clothes he wore under it, and then he was pulling his jacket off, sliding it down his shoulders.

Immediately, Rodolfo noted the greying skin, the black veins. He did take note of the sheer muscle under the skin and he'd admit that it made him excited. He was a sex demon, after all, he always had one thing on his mind, however subconsciously he kept it for convenience.

He had to back up more as Ghost pulled off his shirt and his form grew, easily towering Rodolfo in a matter of seconds. Well, more than he usually did.

Rodolfo looked at Ghost, surprised to see he was still wearing his mask. He decided to pursue that in a moment, jerking back at a sudden flutter of wings, which appeared to almost snap out of Ghost's back. "Fuck." He muttered, holding his chest.

"Sorry." Ghost chuckled and the sound rumbled around the room, easily filling it before sinking into Rodolfo's body.

Rodolfo's eyes traveled over Ghost, taking in every inch of skin and noting just how... scarred it was. The pure white scars were almost cruelly visible, unable to blend into the skin, even if Rodolfo unfocused his eyes.

He could see there was a story behind each of them, and he was unsure how to even go about turning the pages, where to even start. Instead, he moved his eyes to the wings, which were scarred and mangled, clearly broken.

Ghost's eyes avoided his own when he looked up to them and Rodolfo reached up, carefully, grabbing the bottom of the mask and starting to push it up.

Ghost didn't stop him, like he expected, and instead bent down slightly so Rodolfo had an easier time, closing his eyes as Rodolfo pushed the mask fully off his head.

Underneath the mask was... simply a being. Scarred and clearly uncomfortable with being exposed, but no more than anything else Rodolfo had encountered.

Rodolfo softened and reached up, touching his face, cupping it. He didn't have any words, so instead he just used his touch to soothe, watching Ghost just melt into his touch.

Rodolfo did remember his half of the agreement, though, so he backed up, letting go of Ghost and watching disappointment flash through him. "Don't worry, I'll touch you again." He promised.

Ghost paused and narrowed his eyes for a moment, realization pooling in his chest. Rodolfo laughed, softly. "I have to be able to know how to please people. Nephilim are no different." He explained.

Ghost made a face. "I'm unsure how I feel about my emotion being so on display."

"Funny, everyone says that when they find out." Rodolfo started to undress, finding himself bashful for the first time in forever. Huh. It was an odd feeling, sending goosebumps across his skin as he slowly pulled his clothes off.

Ghost's eyes traced every movement, following every item of clothing as it discarded on the floor, and then he was visibly softening once Rodolfo was just down to his boxers.

Rodolfo was still fairly close to human, being changed not born, but even still, he had a fair amount of "other" attributes. He was meant to draw people in. Small horns came from his head, curling around his skull in almost the manner of a ram, though they were much thinner. A tail flicked behind him, and much much smaller black wings came from his back. Then, there was the symbol on his abdomen, painting exactly what he was.

At some point, he'd hated how the change had affected his body, lending him more to the feminine side of things. He hadn't liked that he was "petite" and "small" but now... it certainly gave him an edge. He needed to eat and this helped him.

Ghost looked over him and then he was moving forward, touching Rodolfo. Rodolfo noted, for the first time, just how cold his skin was and it was... fantastic. Rodolfo's skin was always hot and this felt like ice, providing relief for a problem he hadn't even been aware of until just then. "You're pretty." It was a simple statement and Rodolfo could almost laugh.

"Not one for poetry?"

"I could try."

Rodolfo wasn't sure he wanted to put Ghost through that. Actively, he wanted to soothe. He turned them and nudged Ghost to the bed, pushing him down once he was there. Ghost frowned at him, but Rodolfo shook his head. "No sex, I promise."

Ghost seemed to hesitate before he nodded and sighed, relaxing. Rodolfo climbed onto the bed, moving to lay with him, resting his head on Ghost's chest and making his entire body radiate comfort. "How were you changed?" Ghost asked once Rodolfo was settled. Rodolfo felt his entire body relax and he smiled, glad he could help.

Rodolfo did pause, though, debating just saying no. It wasn't a comfortable story. "I... met these two people in my last year of high school. A man and a woman. I didn't have friends besides Alejandro and they wanted to be my friend... It devolved into a toxic friendship rather quickly." He explained, closing his eyes. He didn't like remembering this story, but he decided to allow himself some discomfort in exchange for Ghost's.

Ghost had gone silent, so Rodolfo took that as he was listening, since he could also feel interest. He did pause when Ghost's hand touched his wings, stroking over the base of them. He would admit they were kind of cute with how tiny they were. Useless as fuck, though. Mostly got in the fucking way.

Rodolfo took a breath before continuing. "They kept trying to make me... do things with them, but I didn't want to. We ended up splitting when Alejandro and I joined the military. Then... a few years later, when... everything happened with Valeria," more interest and curiosity from Ghost, "Alejandro and I were fighting. I didn't quite know then what I know now about Alejandro, but Alejandro was becoming distant. It... terrified me. So, when they reached out while I was on a leave, I went to hang out with them. I really shouldn't have... I knew that at the time, but I just wanted... well, more didn't want to be alone.

We went to a bar and caught up. Well, they started to flirt with me and... I was so lonely, so desperate that I almost gave in. Still, I said no. I had some idea of... sex being special at the time. Anyway, they slipped something in my drink. Made everything disorienting. Took me back to a hotel and..." Rodolfo tensed, squeezing his eyes shut as he remembered that part.

Rodolfo felt concern from Ghost, but he didn't say anything, so Rodolfo continued. "One of them cut his palm. I kept begging them not to do whatever they were going to do, but they did it anyway, forcing their blood down my throat. I just remember the world going pink and red and... Then they were painting a symbol on my abdomen with their blood... I don't remember anything after that. I just remember coming to in the hotel room with... well, all of these." He gestured around himself. "I know they had someone rape me, but... I don't remember it. I'm glad I don't, honestly. I ended up feeding for the first time a week later, which I also barely remember."

Ghost was still silent and then Rodolfo went quiet as well, biting the inside of his lip. After a moment, he sighed. "Alejandro knows."

"I figured. I mistook his protectiveness as possession a few times." Ghost nodded, continuing to stroke over the base of his wings.

Rodolfo closed his eyes again, sighing. "I don't... dislike what I am. I've accepted it. But, it would have been nice to make the choice."

"I understand." Ghost nodded. Rodolfo made a soft sound of surprise, a moment later, when he was being moved, lifted up, and then cold lips were on his own, holding him so tight it was almost painful.

Rodolfo could feel desperation, loneliness... He felt sympathy for Ghost. He was clearly so alone... Being similar to each other likely filled a void inside him. Rodolfo had felt the same once he found out just how many of the Vaqueros were "other" like him. He didn't have to go through the world being isolated.

Rodolfo broke the kiss after a moment, putting his forehead on Ghost's. "You don't have to be lonely anymore."

Ghost nodded, closing his eyes. He didn't respond and Rodolfo didn't need one, because he could feel his relief.

A moment later, Ghost shifted around and Rodolfo smiled. "Feeding from you is going to be interesting." He murmured, after a moment.

"Maybe." Ghost laughed.

[hydeandall]

To be more precise, it is during that scene where they smoke their final cigarette together.

In the original, English version Andrey tells Goncharov (after cussing him out ofc) that "And yet, here I am. I like you too much, to my disgrace".

They translated that in the Latino Spanish dub as "Y sin embargo, sigo aquí. Te amo demasiado, maldición."

"Te amo" is usually used to express romantic feelings.

(The Spanish sub backtracked and used "Me agradais demasiado, maldito". Which... Just proves Latino dub is superior tbh)

[birdo-is-here]

i need to make a list of songs i DO like but I physically cannot bring myself to listening to them too much or else I might just spontaneously combust from the lyrics

[slasheru]

Fun fact: The "maybe you can throw hot coins at me!" joke Hex says at Sawyer's BDSM party about dancing in the cage is a reference to the "hot coins" joke Jenna makes in 30 Rock about "dancing in a cage at a frat party while USC athletes throw hot coins at me" which ABSOLUTELY SENT US in college because A) I went to USC, the very same USC Jenna mentions, B) the cage is fucking real they wheel it out at Theta Zoo every year which is this animal themed party at Theta Xi with a giant actual cage people end up dancing in and C) OH MY GOD IT'S THE THETA ZOO CAGE. when that episode dropped in undergrad everyone I knew LOST THEIR MINDS. people were literally going "hot coins?????? theta zoo????" for like a week. SHOUTOUT TO 30 ROCK FOR GETTING THE WEIRD WEIRD STUPID CULTURE OF MY COLLEGE

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝑿𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑹 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), dom!xavier (and a very sub!reader), slight power dynamics, nothing too extreme but xavier is a little mean here, slight themes of possession and jealousy (ft. jeremiah mention like... once), sensory play (blindfold), light bondage, biting, marking, teasing, orgasm denial, begging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, heavy petting, nipple play, clit play, fingering, rough sex, vaginal sex (unprotected), creampie, dirty talk, praise, use of pet name "angel". lmk if i missed any tags! ((unedited!))

wc : 4.1k (...yeah... of pure filth actually...)

an : as usual, very self-indulgent on the part of yours truly !! inspired by "red lights" (and yes, as always, listening to the song adds to the vibes) and our very beloved "no restraint" trailer, but it doesn't actually reference the pv so this is entirely separate <3

taglist : @spotted-salamander @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valvinny @rafayelsheart @star-anons-blog @hunters-association (SIGN UP HERE)

"Focus on me, angel."

Quiet words against your skin.

Your chest heaved, breathing heavy, wrists bound tightly together against the bedpost—his fingers grazed over your cheek in that moment, and the touch was familiar. It was soothing, almost. Like a soft caress that the two of you would often share together, it had your head tilting towards him, leaning into his touch as much as you could help it.

He had you right where he wanted you.

You had no choice but to focus on him.

Just... not in the way that you would have expected to.

Your wrists tugged slightly at the ribbons that restricted you, a small whimper falling from your lips.

You couldn't see.

Every touch against your skin had you jolting, every trail of his fingers on your jawline, down your neck, over your shoulders... All of it felt so heightened. Your vision was shrouded in darkness. The silk that covered your eyes was bound tightly, not a semblance of light could have creeped in from the room that had already been dim from the start. He had you lost in a swirl of the unknown.

And it had been this way for hours on end.

His fingers pulled out of your cunt with a wet schlick, your body writhing as you let out yet another cry.

But he wasn't listening to you.

Instead, he sighed.

"I said," he murmured—and you flinched at the sudden feeling of his breath against the shell of your ear—"focus on me."

His voice dropped an octave lower as he completed his statement, and it was unfair.

"I-I am!" you protested. "It's too much, Xavier, I-I can't... I can't keep holding it, please I just—!"

"Shhh."

The mattress shifted beneath you. His warm hands slid across your bare skin, his body warm next to yours—slow, intentional, precise movements, thumbs digging into your flesh in what could have been considered a sort of massage. It was enough to ease you out of the orgasm you'd almost had, the coil in your stomach loosening as you felt every beat and every flutter of your pussy so wantonly.

And then you felt his head dip down.

In an instant, his lips attached to your neck—

"I know, angel, I know. I have you. Just focus on how it feels."

But you were feeling too much.

Too much, all at once, for all this time, and yet—

It was so hard to resist him.

He knew that.

And it was nearly by instinct how your head tilted, allowing him more access, allowing yourself to feel the way his lips would curl into a little, self-satisfied smile. You didn't need to see him to know it was there; you didn't need to see him to know how it looked like. You knew him well enough.

And you were melting at it.

Gradually he began to explore the rest of your body with featherlight touches, as if to soothe the way he'd been edging you endlessly over the past several minutes. He ghosted over your skin with the tips of his fingers, enough to have goosebumps prickling in their wake; his hands moved up to cup your breasts, inching closer to where he knew you needed him most, but still—only barely touching.

And then you barely had a chance to react, before his teeth sunk into the nape of your neck. The sudden action, a sensation intensified by having your sight so cruelly taken away from you, had you arching your back with a moan.

In the next second his thumbs rubbed over your nipples as he suckled at your skin to leave an array of bruises, a deep chuckle reverberating against you. Slow, rhythmic circles, lithe fingers taking your nub and finding pride in the way they would stiffen and peak under his touch...

You knew that he was watching you.

You knew that he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And you knew why he was being like this. Relentless teasing, always enough to bring you to the precipice but never allowing you to topple over it... Now, he was taking it slow again, but you were sensitive enough to be reacting to everything.

"Xavier...." you whimpered. Slowly, his hand trailed down over your stomach to rest over your thigh.

"Yes?" he murmured.

A shiver went down your spine at the raspiness in his voice.

"You want me here again?"

He spread your legs without waiting for you to answer, a finger trailing upwards and nearly excruciatingly close—only to trace gentle, feathery shapes into your inner thigh.

You groaned.

"Xavier.... Please! Please just touch me—"

"But I am touching you."

You knew that he was smiling.

"Not like that! Do it... Don't do it so gently! Don't tease me! Stop playing with me!"

He hummed, and his hand inched even closer. You could feel the heat radiating off of the mere proximity, your walls clenching around virtually nothing, your breath hitching with anticipation.

But it never came.

"...I don't know."

You were nearly appalled at how genuinely nonchalant he sounded.

"You know what you've been doing to me all day. Teasing me like that... then giving all that attention to Jeremiah when you should have been looking at me."

"I-I didn't mean to! You know he's only just a friend, you know that I—nngh—!"

He leaned in to pull at your earlobe, taking it between his teeth before letting out a soft laugh at the way your body seemed to squirm in response.

"But... That doesn't change anything. Next time don't talk to him like that when you're wearing such a short skirt." A soft blow against your ear, and he made it clear that he was enjoying the goosebumps that littered over your skin as a result. "Besides... I thought you were too sensitive, since you've been reacting to everything so much. Now, you want... more? You're so greedy..."

You could nearly cry.

You felt his other hand squeeze at your breast to make a point, and you felt him shift ever so slightly—

"You're all sloppy, angel. You've made such a mess. I can see it, how wet you are..."

A pause.

"...Mm. You want me to touch you there, right? Feel my fingers inside you again? You must be really warm, still..."

Again your wrists tugged at your restraints, your eyes squeezed tightly shut against the blindfold. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest that you couldn't dream to listen over it for his movements—his words felt so simultaneously innocent as they were dirty, and the calm in his voice did nothing to soften its effects.

You couldn't take it anymore.

"Xavier, please!" you begged. And whether intentional or not, you found yourself lifting your hips, pushing against him. It was enough for you to feel the slightest graze of his fingers against your cunt, nearly driving you insane with the way he curled his hand into a fist and have you coat his knuckles in your juices.

Then he let out a hum, and you knew what that meant.

He was watching you.

And he was fascinated.

"Do you like that?" he questioned aloud, and it almost pained you how full of wonder his voice seemed to be. "You really are so sensitive."

Your next moans were swallowed into a kiss as his hand remained placed between your legs, stationary at the perfect distance for you to grind against him. The other continued to knead at your breasts, occasionally pausing to roam over your skin, and he murmured—

"Pretty. You're so pretty when you're needy like this."

You couldn't see him, but you could have sworn that the smirk that was likely on his face was anything but innocent.

Yet, his hands drew away from you, and he laughed.

"Xavier!" you cried out. Your hips lifted, as if to chase that same sensation, your clit throbbing with a need that could have had you thrashing around had you not been tied into place.

"Shhhhh, shhh. Relax... Just relax."

A kiss over your blindfold, this time, had you placated enough to swallow your pleas into what felt to be a choked stob. His lips traced over your eyelids, to the tip of your nose, to your lips once more. And then his kisses began to trail further south. Down your neck, through the valley of your breasts, over the skin of your stomach and past your navel—

Only to stop.

And then he began, again, to kiss upwards.

By the time he'd reached your lips once more, your breath was shaky and erratic, the corners of his mouth turned up in another smile you knew to be one of satisfaction.

Now, the scent of his shampoo, the scent of his skin was heedy in the air, mixing in with your own arousal. The room smelled of lust and desire, and these were the only other grounding sensory details you could latch onto as your head continued to spin. Because he truly, truly had you under his complete control. He could have you bending and writhing under his touch without a second thought, the reins of your pleasure embedded into his every being.

"Xavier.... Xavier, please," you cried. You'd lost count of the number of times his name had fallen from your lips out of sheer desperation. "Please, I'm so empty! I need... I need you, I need something—"

A sharp gasp fell from your lips, effectively cutting you off.

"Something, like... This?"

A single breathless whisper against your ear, before you felt him prod at your entrance and slid slowly, slowly back inside you.

"So, so warm."

His voice was a soothing lull, almost an irony to the way that he was treating you.

All the while, wet noises followed every movement of his fingers as he fucked you slowly—gathering your creamy slick when he pulled out, only to plunge right in with a little hum of wonder that had you keening. Easily, he had your hips bucking into his palm. Your back arched; it was an instinctive reaction to follow the movements of his hand as if you were merely a puppet of his desires—every pump of his finger had you moaning unabashedly, only a slave to the lust that he'd awakened in you.

And with the silk around your eyes still fastened in its place, the darkness surrounding your vision made even the tiniest things feel all the more pleasurable.

You could feel how long and slender his fingers were, reaching so deep inside of you, curling against your sweet spot. You could feel the stretch of your pussy with the scissor of his fingers, a stretch so delicious that the burn of it went straight to your head to have your eyes rolling back.

And it felt so good.

...But as always, he would be so. Excruciatingly. Deliberate.

His ministrations brought you a pleasure so indescribable, yet it wasn't quite enough.

You knew what he was doing. He would bring you back into a patten you'd become familiar with: you would be speared on his fingers relentlessly, at a pace so frustratingly lacking, creaming over his fingers without quite bringing you over the edge.

"Xavier!"

Yet another choked sob to fall from your lips. More tears pricked at your eyes, too, though he would have likely been unaware given the fabric concealing that was concealing them. "Please... Please, faster! Please... I need to cum!"

It was like a trigger.

Immediately at your words, his thumb brushed lightly over your clit before he pulled away, and he shook his head. "I'm sorry, angel... I don't want to let you."

The sudden momentary stimulation against your clit had your vision going hazy. You thrashed around desperately as another cry tore fron your lungs, your legs squeezing together tightly— the throbbing in your cunt was becoming absolutely unbearable.

You were so close.

You were so close.

It was slipping away.

"No!" you cried. "Nngh, no, no, please! Please, Xavier! I've been so good for you! Please, please, you have to—I have to—"

This time his other hand moved to tangle into your hair, and he placed another chaste kiss over your lips.

"But... Have you been good? When you've teased me all day? You know... Just now, you've also been begging nonstop, even if I keep telling you not to. I don't know if I should be calling you good."

A pause, and a whimper on your end.

"...But you're pretty. I can give you that."

Another kiss, and another, and another, as your orgasm slowly faded away and you were rendered a panting mess beneath him.

But he wasn't done.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks when he opened you up again, fingers delicately tracing your folds, the stimulation enough to make you jump. This time, you didn't have to say anything before his fingers were back inside you, fucking your cunt, squelching noises resounding in the room with how he would plug your hole full with every thrust.

It was humiliating, almost.

All you could do was focus—on the sensation, on the sound, on the way he would whisper soft, loving words into your ears as if he weren't completely ruining you for him in this moment.

"So wet n'messy..."

Your walls fluttered around him, clenching on his fingers—

He clicked his tongue.

"Ah-ah, angel... Again? So soon?"

You heard him sigh as his fingers slipped away from you once more, and your entire body jerked with desperation.

"Xavier!!!" Your chest felt suffocating, sobs of his name falling from your lips. "Xavier! Xavier, why! Why do you keep—Why won't you let me finish!! Xavier, please!!!"

Your wrists felt numb with pain as you struggled against your restraints, and you knew that your face was wet with tears. The blindfold was drenched; you could only keep your eyes squeezed shut, sniffling helplessly.

It was gone again.

You ached; your breathing wild and heavy. You didn't know what to do. He had you utterly ruined.

"You know why, angel. Should I do it again until you understand?" he whispered. His lips fluttered against yours, teasing a kiss.

He wouldn't even give that to you anymore.

"No!" you sobbed. "No more... Xavier, no more! Please... Please, please just make me cum! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I—I won't do it again—"

His fingers glided over your lips this time, and it was almost pathetic how easily your mouth opened in response. The tangy taste of your slick was unmistakable. He slid his fingers into your mouth for you to taste more.

This way, you couldn't speak properly.

There would be no other way to convey your desire, if not to thrash around and have him watch.

Another hum. "I think... Not."

And he would keep doing it.

Your cunt was red and swollen to the point of overstimulation. Your vision blurred; your head felt fuzzy. You were tired.

Every touch, even the slightest brush against your skin—against your clit—had you gasping. You were too hyperaware of everything he was doing. Worse, again, was the fact that you couldn't know of what else he would do to you—couldn't anticipate it.

Another tap against your nub, a pressure enough to flick it slightly, before snaking your hand up your waist to soothe you with another gentle caress.

You were sobbing.

"Mean!" you weeped, "You're so mean, Xavier! So cruel! I can't—I can't anymore! You have to make me cum... You have to!"

It hurt.

It stung.

And you felt him sigh, so used to your pleas at this moment that you wondered if he had gotten so desensitized to them by now.

"So I'm harsh, and cruel?" There was a teasing lilt to the calm of his voice this time, and you choked out a gasp as you felt the tip of his cock press tip against you.

He shifted, and the blindfold was slipped off of your face. Wet with your tears, he discarded the cloth carelessly around his room, and finally, finally, you were able to see him.

The room was dim, but the blue in his eyes remained striking—always an ocean you could drown in, willingly.

Only tonight, that wasn't what he wanted from you.

His hand found its way to your chin, and he tilted it downwards. Just a little, you felt—saw—the tip of his cock press into you.

"Do you want this?" he murmured. He kept your gaze in place, pressing in a little deeper still. But you were aware at how his gaze never strayed away from you. Observing. Attentive. "You feel empty, right, angel? You want me inside you? Maybe I've been too mean to you... I'm sorry... Next time, you shouldn't tease me too much..."

You let out a slow breath.

"Please."

Your voice was shaky.

And he leaned in, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze again before his lips met your cheek. In a flutter of movements he kissed your tears away, hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Watch," he said.

His voice was soft, but it was something like a command.

"Watch. And no take-backs."

You didn't have time to react, then.

Once more your gaze was directed towards your pussy, throbbing with a need for attention—and your eyes went wide.

He thrust inside you without a second of warning. The entrance was sudden—unexpected. Filling. Any words you'd been thinking to speak fell immediately to a shocked silence, your mouth falling open in a noiseless moan. And all at once, you were made entirely aware of the stretch of your walls, the length of his cock a slow, frustrating slide until the numbnessmelted away enough for you to feel full.

His weight shifted.

You felt caged between his arms, his breath hitting directly above you, legs slotted between yours. There was space for you to wrap your legs around his waist, and you did—

And he started off slow.

Low grunts as his hips rolled against yours, a thrust so fluid and deep that your figure pressed deeper into the mattress. You groaned in response when he repeated the motions; pulling out only to thrust all the way back in, the slap of his skin against yours a testament.

"Not empty..." he rasped. "Not empty 'nymore. I'm filling you up... So warm and pretty for me, all for me..."

His words made your head spin, but despite the desperation laced into his tone, he refused to pick up the pace. You whined, your hips raising to meet his thrusts as if trying to coax a faster pace, but he didn't listen. Instead, he clicked his tongue—with a mewl on your end, he pinned your hips to the bed, preventing you from moving.

"Xavier!" you protested immediately, feeble attempts to wrestle free from him.

"No."

A harsher tone, as he grinded against you to elicit another choked sob.

"But whyyy! I thought you—you said you—"

You threw your head back at a particularly deep thrust, and again his hand was back on your chin.

"I'll set the pace. Don't move, angel. Or I'll pull out."

Xavier usually wasn't like this.

You couldn't quite tell if he was enjoying your torture, or if he was simply this upset over everything that had happened, but the ache you had all over your body right down to the throbbing of your cunt was too, too much for you to bear.

The way his hair fell over his face, his eyes narrowed, eyebrow arched almost menacingly—it brought tears to your eyes once more, and all you wanted to hear from him was another word of reassurance.

For a moment, his eyes softened.

"Don't cry... Don't cry anymore..." He leaned in to nuzzle against your nose, before pressing his lips to yours in a light, gentle kiss. "What do you want, angel? You want me to go harder?"

Feebly, you nodded. At a sharp thrust of his hips, you drew in a sharp breath.

"Like that?"

Another nod.

And this time, he smiled—and it was genuine.

"Okay. Then stay still and let me. You can do that for me, right, angel?"

His hips began to move again, and you were relieved to feel the slight reprieve he was granting you by slowly picking up the pace. Yet again your gaze found the outline of your cunt, zeroing in almost immediately on the way his cock sunk into you and disappeared eagerly into your dripping folds.

He was right.

You were an absolute mess, if the sloppy sounds of sex weren't enough to prove it. The sheets were stained so clearly with your arousal, and the truth was that you didn't quite need him to be rougher with you. Just the mere sensation of being filled up, the friction of his shaft against your gummy walls, was enough to have you arching your back to meet his thrusts.

"Close!" you cried out, desperately rutting against him. "M'close, Xavi, please, please— Let me...!" You saw the smirk on his face, the way his eyes narrowed. Part of you had to wonder if he would pull away again—

But he didn't.

Instead, his hips moved faster, drilling into you in a pace so relentless that your eyes grew wide with shock.

In fact, he didn't stop at all.

He'd haphazardly reached out to yank you free from your bounds, but when you finally reached your peak, it was a crash that had you reeling. A scream of his name and curling of your toes were barely enough to describe it—your vision had gone white, your body fixed into a tremble that almost seemed not to stop. It didn't matter that you had just spilled onto his length, clenching around him with every loud cry that tore from your chest. You were raw, and sore, and used—but that was no longer any of his concern.

He kept his thrusts up.

He would drive you into the mattress, every movement made to slam his hips into yours harder, faster, skin slapping against skin so loudly that the sound of it near-challenged the unintelligible moans that spilled from your lips.

It was torture.

Yet it was so good.

"Ye- es!" you cried out. "Yes, ye—aaanh— y-yes—! Like that! Like tha—hnn—! Xavi— Xavier—!"

You couldn't help but have your eyes roll back into your head, allowing him to grip your waist and steady himself, giving himself the leverage to fuck into you deeper, to stretch you out so deliciously good. He kept your thighs spread apart, nails digging into your skin—and you were so sensitive. Over, and over... he would ram his cock into you and have you filled to the brim with him, never once giving you a second of rest.

And it was everything to watch him lose control just as easily because of that.

"Yeah... Yeah? Like this, angel? Mmh... Taking me so... s-so—hnng— so well, angel, l-look at you..."

Gasps and groans fell uncontrolled from his lips, a mixture between deep rumbles and a more high-pitched whine when you clenched around him just right.

"More... more," he shuddered. "Can't... can't stop, angel, you're so good, I need—need you—No one, haah, no one gets to fuck you like this, all pretty for me to use—"

Clumps of hair stuck to his forehead, skin sheen with sweat. His eyes held a haze of desire you could only ever see from him when he got like this, and it was all barely enough to keep your sanity from tipping over.

You were withering.

His hand moved down to rub against your clit, and the intensity of all of it had your vision going completely blank.

You could barely register anything anymore.

He would pull orgasm after orgasm out from you and you would lose count of it, only vaguely registering the hot stream of white that dripped out of you with how full you were.

"Xavier..."

Your voice was weak and raspy, your hands wrapping around him to pull him into you, against you—anything.

And he groaned against your neck.

"Angel.... one more, please, just— One more. You can give me 'nother. I know you can. Just, nngh—let me fill you up one more time... Gotta mark you all mi— mine— mine—"

He clamored to sink his teeth into your shoulder. Immediately you clawed at his back, a strangled cry of his name leaving your mouth... and he caved.

Yet you knew that this was far from over.

"Mmmhfffuck—! S-so tight, so—ah—!"

The last thing you registered was the desperate shut of his eyes, the near-frozen parting of his lips, and the string of curses formulated into his own moan of raw, unfiltered pleasure.

He was just as long gone as you were.

"Oh, angel... M'not— Not done with you yet at all..."

⁺₊ / an: guys i literally cannot stop thinking about him

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[shellshocklove]

brat two: i might say something stupid | joel miller

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

summary: joel is continuing to have a brat summer.

warnings: this is an 18+ fic so mdni! age gap, enemies to lovers vibes? swearing, use of pet names, smut, brat taming?, dom!joel, some daddy!joel, manhandling, some light bondage, a little exhibitionism? a little dacryphilia, praise, degradation (whore, slut), some sub space territory, edging, creampie, unprotected sex (don’t do it!!), no use of y/n

a/n: ok, so a part two to this!! i’m giving reader a backstory in this so if that’s not your cup of tea and prefer the reader to be a blank slate, then maybe this isn’t for you. as always i wanna give a little shout out to @dustydaddyyy for always helping me when i'm stuck! <3 i know it's demure fall soon, but there's still some brat summer left, so happy reading! 💚

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.

Joel.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

Joel Miller.

Miller. Miller. Miller.

The cicadas rattled in the breeze coming through the window of your childhood bedroom. It was hotter than Satan’s ass crack, and sleep couldn’t pull you under. The hem seam of your ratty sleep shirt was fraying, and you couldn’t keep yourself from picking at it – pulling at the threat.

Pull, pull, pull.

Joel Miller. That was his name on the mailbox, but he’d only told you Joel. Just Joel.

Yes, sir. Please, Daddy. Bye, Joel.

With a huff you sat up, your back resting against the headboard as your eyes rolled over the darkened room. The shadows shapeshifted before your eyes like ghosts, and you wondered if you deserved to be haunted.

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

You could still feel the phantom stretch of his cock inside you, and your cheeks were sore from his spanking, but it was nothing compared to your thoughts plagued by him.

God, you felt crazy, like a little girl with a school crush on the teacher.

Except, you didn’t have crushes, didn’t like, or fall in love, with anyone. People had a crush on you, people fell in love with you, people liked you.

Biting down on the soft skin of the inside of your cheek, you ripped away the thin blanket covering your bottom half as your feet touched the cold hardwood floor.

The switch on your bedside lamp clicked as the warm glow seemed to scare the ghosts away. The ratty shirt fell over your knees as you walked across the room and flung open the door. A triangle of light cut the hardwood floor in two as you made your way down the hall and stairs. The slapping of bare feet against wood echoed against the tall ceiling, and eyes followed you from the faces on the wall.

Stepping into the kitchen, you were alone. Pierre had left right after dinner, and Eva had left early with her daughter. You didn’t like to keep them longer than needed, especially on weekends. Your father would pay them the same, anyway – and it was just you here.

You hated the other house. It was no place to live, it was a place of business, for politics. You hated this house too, but for other reasons – too many memories, plastered on smiles and lies. The dentist had told you to start wearing a night guard when they divorced, but you’d stopped wearing it when you went to college.

Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, you made your way over to the fridge. Your whole body felt heavy, your head rolling off your shoulder when something caught your eye in the backyard.

It was gone.

“Shit.”

An ice cube escaped the rim of your glass and split into a thousand pieces on the tiled floor. You pulled your glass from the dispenser in the fridge, and hunkered down, ice melting between your fingers.

With a sigh you watched the splintered ice vanish, dripping in an erratic rhythm that added to the small puddle on the floor. You didn’t want to feel like this. Why were you feeling like this?

You left the glass of ice on the counter– let the ice melt on the floor and escaped through the sliding doors into the backyard. The sky was bright with light pollution over the trees, and everywhere the buzzing of cicadas filled your ears. With a sigh, you fell into one of the chairs, the cushion stiff against your back as your eyes landed on the large oak. You trailed your eyes over the branches, the one’s you’d known every crook and cranny of when you were a child.

It was gone.

The small crooked, and probably dangerous, treehouse where you’d spent so many hours hiding away as a child. Not that they ever noticed, your parents, too busy yelling at each other to see where their daughter had vanished.

Of course it was gone.

Gone, like the happy little girl you’d used to be. And what had taken her place? A party girl? A mess of a woman hiding behind the disguise of a sharp tongue?

Jesus Christ, you needed to get your shit together. Distract yourself– pull yourself away from all the feelings you couldn’t control.

Shifting uncomfortably, you fished your phone from where it had drowned in the cushions. The bright blue light burned your eyes as you scrolled, pulling you from everything real to unreality. Plastered on smiles and perfect bodies, sunny beaches, and aesthetic photos. You handed out hearts like they cost nothing, and pretended you hadn’t seen your DMs.

Still, you couldn’t shake the thought of him. The way the weight of him had felt over you, how he’d spoken, voice rough and commanding, but still playful. It was like you were guided by a puppeteer when your thumb hovered over the google search.

Joel Miller.

You didn’t know what you’d expected – Joel Miller wasn’t a one in a million name, and now you were scrolling through every Joel Miller famous enough to throne at the top of a google search. But, you weren’t going to give up that easily. You moved on to Facebook. He was old, he’d have to have one.

Bingo.

There he was. A few years younger, his hair a little messy, smiling bright. His profile was private, and you sure as hell weren’t sending him a friend request, but something inside you screamed to know more about the man you’d let come inside you less than twenty-four hours ago.

You tried to click your way through his pictures, but there was nothing to see. Next, you tried the about page: Lives in Austin, Texas (this you obviously already knew)… born September 26th… Male… Single… You felt a smile tug at the corners of your mouth, as you continued to scroll... Works for Miller Contracting… And finally, his family: Tommy Miller.

His brother’s profile needed a lesson in internet safety. This man shared everything and all for strangers to see. You flicked through photos of neighborhood cookouts, date nights with his soon to be wife, the same graduation pictures of a girl you’d seen hanging on Joel’s wall.

‘Proudest uncle in the world! Congratulations, Sarah Miller! 😄❤️ The smartest and most talented Miller! 🙌’

Your finger hovered over his daughter’s name, curiosity gnawing at your insides. Shaking your head, you clicked away. You could own up to stalking his Facebook, and his brother had basically invited you to stalk, but his daughter? It felt like crossing a line you couldn’t come back from. Back on Tommy’s profile you noticed he also worked for Miller Contracting.

A family business.

Continuing your research, you clicked through to the business’ profile. The profile looked to be run by Tommy, with frequent updates on projects they’d worked on, from renovations to outdoor landscaping, to new condos, Miller Contracting had a broad resume, but the contact person was set to one Joel Miller.

A thought tickled at the back of your brain then, and your gaze flicked from your phone to the low-lit backyard. A smile you couldn’t fight back pulled at your lips.

The sun beat down on the men as they worked. A bright yellow dot in the clear blue sky. From your bedroom window you watched them, how they’d turned the previous green patch of grass into a deep moldy hole.

Convincing your father had been easy enough; he’d shrugged, and given his default answer to pretty much any request you had, which was a bored ‘Yes, sweetie.’ For years now, the rule of thumb with your dad had been: as long as you didn’t bother him and his busy schedule, he didn’t care what you did. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. As long as nothing you did reflected badly on him, and especially on the carefully curated image of ‘loving family man’ his constituents seemed to love so much, he didn’t care. The Governor of Texas couldn’t have his daughter’s bad decisions cost him votes, after all.

Your mother had always said it, always complained over her extra dry martinis, that your father only cared about one thing in his life, and it wasn’t his family. Your face soured as you thought about it. 

Votes. 

Your mother hadn’t been right about a lot of things in your life, but she had been right about this. Votes, and power. That’s all he’d ever cared about. It had been like that ever since you were a child, and over time, you’d learned to exploit that fact like you would a weakness, holding it as leverage over his head if he ever told you no, which he naturally never did. The agreement was silent, but clear as day; as long as you got your way, you would cater to his image, and behave. 

And you did; showed up when needed with a smile that hurt your cheeks, kept up his image, and in turn you got your way.

The swimming pool was just another ask in a long line of wishes. He’d questioned you at first, ‘You want to build a pool in the middle of summer?’ The pool you didn’t care for, it was the men who’d build it. You’d given your father your look, the one where you tipped your head down slightly, bit your bottom lip and looked at him with doe-y eyes. He’d had a landscape architect draw up something for you by the end of the week, and by Monday he’d had the city approve the changes to the premises. He’d given you a rise of his eyebrow when you’d pitched the contractors you wanted for the job, but nevertheless, he’d put his assistant on the job right away.

They’d arrived bright and early this morning, their shouts over loud machines pulling you from your slumber. You’d pulled your pillow over your head, dying to catch some more Z’s, it was summer break after all, but the pull of seeing him again was too strong. The excitement bubbled in your chest, and a satisfied grin spread across your face when you’d realized your plan had worked.

Joel Miller was in your backyard, standing under the oak tree with his hands on his hip, as he carefully watched over his crew. His work clothes fit him just as well as the t-shirt and jeans he’d worn at the club, but he looked less polished– his hair messier with a carpenter’s pencil tucked behind his hair. Your eyes trailed over him from where you watched from the house, how he moved about the site, helped his men when needed, evaluating every step, studying the drawings carefully as he ordered his men around with the same authority you’d come to know him for after the night you’d spent together.

If all of this went well, you’d have him again.

“Looking good, guys! But it’s a bit loud,” you shouted over the excavator, one arm raised to shade your eyes from the sun from where you stood at the edge of the veranda.

You watched how the men milled about, squinting up from their work at you. Their gazes lingered over your body, they weren’t subtle about it, and the little outfit you’d thrown together seemed to do its job, a short summer skirt with a matching top– it was hot out in the Texan sun, and you wanted to make it hotter.

“We’ve been disturbin’ your beauty sleep, princess?” One of the men spoke up, and your eyes narrowed at his use of the pet name. His grin was too confident, hiding his laugh between his teeth. You set your eyes on him and gave him a pitying look.

“Yes, actually! It’s hard work looking this good, but you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” you snapped back. A sound of snickering laughs from the men at their coworker’s expense could be heard through the yard, and you felt a saccharine smile cover your face.

“So, who’s in charge of all this noise anyway?” you asked, voice bored, when the laughter had died.

“You gotta take that up with Miller,” another one of the men replied, your first victim quickly forced into silence.

“And who’s that?”

The man nodded his head in the direction of the man you’d weaved into your web. He didn’t look impressed where he stood under the shade of the oak tree watching you. He had his arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric stretching around his biceps, as he shook his head at you as you walked closer.

“Mr. Miller.” You couldn’t help the pleased smile spreading across your face.

Clasping your hands loosely behind your back as you pushed your chest out innocently, you slowly stepped closer, his jaw clenching tighter with each of your careful steps through the grass.

“We’ll try ‘nd keep the noise down f’ya until nine am, Miss, but after that we’ll need to use our bigger tools if ya want this done before the summer ends.” He kept his voice steady and professional, his southern drawl like soft silk in your ears. His eyes never left your face once, even with the deep neckline of your top.

Standing a little too close to him, to be considered appropriate for someone who you’d just met, your teeth caught on your bottom lip coquettishly. “Oh, I want you to use your big tool that’s for sure.” It sounded ridiculous, and you had to bite down harder to keep from bursting out laughing.

Joel didn’t seem to think it was funny. Something flickered in his gaze, before it hardened, eyes boring into yours as he asked you through his teeth, “Whatchu think your doin’, huh?”

You shrugged playfully with an exaggerated sigh, “I don’t know, Mr. Miller, isn’t it obvious?”

“Oh, ‘s obvious alright.” He shook his head in disbelief, and looked away for a beat, before his eyes found yours again.

“It’s so hot out this summer,” you continued your jest with a hooked finger along the hem of your shirt, tugging at it, “I just wanted something to cool down.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, “‘m sure you did.”

Continuing your game, you widened your eyes in an attempt at feigning innocence, “But I don’t mind breaking a sweat if need be.”

“’nd how do you like to break a sweat, princess?” he asked, putting pressure on the nick name his men had given you.

“Oh, I think you already know that, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes hardened as the flirty words fell from your lips. Shifting his weight from one leg to the other he raised a finger at you. “Listen’ up, brat,” he told you in a lowered voice, “Ain’t nothin’ more happenin’ between us, you understand? It’s inappropriate– you’re my employer and I don’t do that shit.”

It was almost too easy. Biting back a smile, your thoughts wandered back to the last time you’d had him like this; riled up, and willing to put you in your place. A slick wetness coated the gusset of your panties, already, at the thought.

“I understand, Daddy.”

With a sigh Joel turned away from you with a shake of his head, muttering under his breath, “You’re ridiculous.” 

You were, he was right. But it was so fun. 

A smirk tugged at your lips when he turned back to look at you. He wanted to say something, you could see it in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting on his hip, but he changed his mind as he shook his head again. 

Victory had never tasted so sweet.

All week you’d played a game of cat and mouse with Joel. One day you’d ignored him completely as you flirted with the crew, exaggerating your laugh at jokes that weren’t even close to being funny, and touching too many sweaty biceps to count. Then the next you never left him alone, buzzing like a mosquito in his ear asking all kinds of silly questions, slipping in an innuendo or two, and teasing him for a reaction other than an annoyed grunt.

He’d have to break at some point. You could see it in his eyes. He might play the annoyance up, but there was a softness to the way he looked at you. It was there– you weren’t making that up!

The sound of the juicer buzzed in your ear as you chewed on your lip. Your hand rested lazily on the kitchen counter as you stole glances out the window as you waited. Pierre was quiet as he worked, only throwing a curious glance your way every once in a while, as he mixed together the jug of lemonade you’d requested.

The day had scorched since early morning, and you’d had no choice but to throw on your skimpiest bikini. A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth at the thought – well, there was more appropriate outfits for this heat, but you didn’t want that.

What you wanted, was to get your brains fucked out.

You’d played all your cards right, but nothing had seemed to make Joel simmer over with a need to put you in your place again. In the need for a new plan, you hoped showing off your body to all his men while serving them a nice cold glass of lemonade would do the trick, hoping he’d get jealous. The pool had already started to take shape, and your time was starting to run out.

“Here you go, ma belle,” Pierre slid a newly filled jug of ice-cold lemonade down towards you over the marble, “let me know if you need anything else, yes?”

Nodding your head in gratitude, you lifted the jug onto the tray you’d prepared, “Merci, Pierre.”

Slipping carefully through the sliding doors you made your way across the veranda to place the tray on the outdoor dining table. The tray was heavy, and you moved fast to make sure you didn’t spill the lemonade all over yourself.

“HEY BOYS!” you shouted over the sound of the heavy machinery, waving a lazy hand at them, beckoning them closer like a siren. “I hope you’re thirsty,” you laughed.

A low whistle could be heard as they came closer. Eyes lingering on your skin, trailing over your body as they gathered around the table, helping themselves to the citrus-y delight.

“If this ain’t the sweetest thing I think a client has ever done for us,” Tommy smiled as he helped himself to a glass, “You mind if I take a picture of this setup? To post on our Facebook page.”

You shook your head, “Take as many pictures as you like,” you told him, but your eyes wandered.

Joel had hung back, walking slower behind the rest of his crew, and was finally walking up the couple steps to the veranda. His work boots echoed over the planks as he walked closer. He didn’t seem happy as he locked eyes with you, his eyes quickly rolling over your almost naked body.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, you poured him a glass; the ice cubes splashing as you poured, cold drops splashing and coating the skin of your exposed chest. Joel pretended he didn’t notice, but you saw the way he looked at you. You’d seen that look so many times, eyes hungry and desperate for something they knew they couldn’t have, shouldn’t have. The only difference this time was that you’d let Joel do whatever he wanted to you.

“Here, Mr. Miller–”

Your voice was cut off by the sound of a phone ringing at the loudest volume. The suddenness of the sound made you jump, spilling the glass of Joel’s lemonade all down your hand and chest.

“Yellow,” you heard Tommy shout into his phone.

“Oh, oops,” you said, your voice laced in an innocent laugh. Drops of sticky lemonade ran down your body, darkening the fabric of your bikini, and making your skin shine with wetness under the Austin sun.

Looking up from your body at Joel, your teeth caught on your bottom lip at the way his jaw clenched, his eyes running down your body like they were drops of lemonade. You laughed again, sugary sweet as you made a show of placing the glass on the table, spreading your arms like you didn’t know what to do.

“Y’need to be more careful, sweetheart,” Joel mumbled as he fumbled for some napkins from your tray.

You shook your head at him when he handed them to you, instead you ran a finger up your chest, catching the drops and sucking the cool drink from your fingers, slowly, licking up every drop. It was bold, and you couldn’t contain your giggle when Joel’s eyes widened at you. It was quick, the wave of shock at how blatantly you’d flirt with him like this, before it crashed into the shore with a stern look. The other men had to be looking too, you could feel the way their eyes burned your skin, but you only cared about one man’s warm eyes on your body.

“That was so clumsy of me,” you giggled, the laugh forced and too sweet, but it didn’t matter, Joel didn’t buy it either way.

“’m sorry ‘bout that,” Tommy’s voice boomed, as he hung up the phone, “It was the missus– or soon to be missus.”

“Oh, you’re getting married?” you queried, the lemonade soaking you forgotten now that the moment had been ruined. Beside you, Joel picked up the glass you’d tried to hand him, drying the sides with the superfluous napkins.

“Yes, ma’am,” Tommy beamed, “tyin’ the knot this Saturday in fact.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” you smiled, an idea popping up in the back of your head, “Congratulations!”

“Thank you, thank you,” he beamed, taking a big gulp of the lemonade.

“So…” You stepped closer to Tommy, leaning your hand against the table. Joel’s eyes followed you, you could feel it, so you sneakily popped your hips out, giving him a nice view of your ass. “What’s the plan? Big church wedding?”

Tommy laughed, “Don’t know ‘bout big– we’re doin’ one of those barn weddings, you know? Out on a ranch and everythin’, they got it all on those big ranches nowadays.”

“Really?” you smiled, “Which ranch?”

“Oh, it ain’t far! Only ‘bout a fifteen-twenty minutes’ drive from downtown. Pecan Grove Ranch it’s called. They even got these nice cabins on site, for accommodation– which is nice for close family and those who’ve traveled far. You know, Maria’s family ain’t from Texas, so we got lots of folks flyin’ in.”

“Is that her name? Maria?” you asked. The way Tommy’s face lit up when you mentioned her name made your heart squeeze.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “love of my life she is!”

“I need to talk to you.” Joel cut your conversation off while his hand snaked its way around your upper arm, tugging you lightly towards him. When you turned your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised, his face shifted into a deep frown. “’s ‘bout the tiles,” he grumbled.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Finally.

You excused yourself to Tommy, and let Joel drag you with him. Throwing your head back you watched how the rest of the crew enjoyed their small break in the shade sipping on Pierre’s lemonade.

Joel crossed the yard in big steps, making a beeline for the shed tucked away in the back corner of the yard. He pulled at the door harshly, like it couldn’t happen fast enough, and pushed you inside. The door to the shed slammed shut behind him and covered you both in a cool darkness. Your eyes relaxed as you adjusted from the bright daylight to the dim lighting – the only light coming through a small window almost completely overgrown with climbing vines. Joel’s grip around your arm loosened as he pushed you deeper inside.

Taking small steps, you looked around, eyes scanning over the room as a thought of how you couldn’t remember the last time you’d stepped a foot inside the shed crossed your mind. It was hidden away in the corner of the garden, overgrown in a tasteful way, like how you’d see in garden magazines. These days the only person who used it was the gardener, if the miscellaneous tools and garden machines were to be believed.

“Put your hands on the table,” Joel ordered, his voice a low hum.

Outside you could still hear the shouts of his men, laughter, as they lounged about on their break. Every one of his men had seen you step into the shed together, and the thought sent an electric bubbling feeling straight to your cunt.

“Y'got cotton in those ears, girl? Put your hands on the table.”

A shiver traveled through your body, and you had to bite down on your lip to hold back your smile. Finally, finally, finally. With your back turned to him, you shook your head slowly, daring him to put you in your place again.

And Joel took the bait.

His rough hand slid over your waist as he stepped closer. He let it glide across your exposed skin, the dried lemonade sticky as he teased you. His rough hand slid upwards, hooking a finger under your bikini strap, slowly, pulling at it before he unhooked it, letting it fall to the concrete floor.

“Aren’t you gonna behave, princess?” he spat out the new nickname. “Didn’t I teach ya last time what happens when you ain’t a good girl f’me?” The low bass of his voice ghosted over your ear and had your blood buzzing under your skin.

His rough hands continued to explore you, gentle touches over your skin, getting you worked up, but never where you wanted his hands the most. When he pressed himself against you, letting you feel the hard shape of him through his work pants, you let your head fall against his shoulder with a content sigh.

“No, Daddy,” you shook your head.

Joel couldn’t hold back his groan at that word. The gentle hands who’d explored your body, tightened across your chest, pressing you tight into his chest as he bucked his hips harshly into your ass.

“I think I did,” he spoke into your ear, “broke that pretty brain on my cock, didn’t I, and now that greedy cunt wants more, ain’t that right? Can’t get enough of this big cock?”

A breathy gasp escaped you when he bucked his hips against you again, and you shook your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

The speed at which he moved almost gave you a whiplash. He pushed you against the table along the wall, your hands coming down to brace yourself as he pressed your chest down and put your ass, covered only by your skimpy bikini bottoms, on display for him.

“Such a slut for cock she can’t be a big girl and ask for it– no, princess, you’re so desperate for it, you make me come all the way to your rich daddy’s house, bring my crew and everythin’ just so I’ll fuck you again.”

Joel laughed and you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together. “That’s ‘nother level of desperate, ain’t it?”

You felt a heat spread across your face at his degradation, but it just turned you on more, and Joel knew it. He trailed a finger down between your cheeks, pressing down to feel how you’d soiled your bikini bottoms in your arousal.

“But that’s just what you are, aren’t you? A desperate whore dyin’ to get fucked?”

The hand between your legs vanished, and you braced yourself for a spanking, holding your breath as the excitement grew, but the slap of his rough hand never came. Instead, he unhooked a rope off the peg board in front of you.

You resisted a little when he grabbed your hands, slipping your hands from his grip playfully, your face turned to watch how his face grew sterner. The tired, disappointed sigh it earned you made you smile.

Gripping both your hands tightly, he crossed one wrist over the other before he tied them together at the small of your back, and you let it happen. Under your skin, the anticipation buzzed. With nothing to help you brace yourself, the hard surface of the table pressed harshly against your naked skin.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice was suddenly gentle as he cupped your face and turned you to face him, “you remember our rules?”

A small ache stung in your heart. Our.

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

A pleased grin spread across his face as he tapped at your cheek gently, “That’s a good girl, baby.”

His hand slid down your body, from your face down your neck, from your neck over your shoulder, and then from your shoulder down your naked back. “How’s this?” he asked, hooking a finger under the rope, “Not too tight?”

You shook your head, or tried to, with the way your cheek was mushed against the table.

“Words, princess, need to hear ya say it f’me.”

The softness in his voice when the pet name left his lips, made a fluttering feeling bubble in your core, and it was hard to fight the grin from pulling at your lips.

“Am I your princess now?” you asked with fluttering eyelashes, “I thought I was your desperate slut?”

Behind you, you could hear Joel let out a deep sigh. A finger traced small circles over your ass, making goosebumps blossom over your skin, before it hooked into the band of your bikini bottoms, tugging them slowly down and exposing your wet cunt to him.

“You know,” Joel sighed again, pausing to let the sound of his fly being undone fill the space between you. You almost moaned at the sound, pushing your ass out, desperate for any kind of friction. “I was plannin’ on bein’ nice t’you, but now…”

The blunt head of him pressed against you, running it up and down your cunt, coating it in your slick arousal, and you almost held your breath. The anticipation like a fist around your chest. Your heart drummed in your chest, almost drowning out the wet slick sound between your legs.

“I don’t want you to be nice,” you almost whispered, your fist tightening around each other at the small of your back.

“I know, princess…” he whispered back, and pushed at your opening, “I know.”

He was too big, the girth of him splitting you in two on his cock. It burned deliciously, and you savored every inch he gave you until he was fully seated inside you. Only then were you able to whimper out a moan, your breath finally released.

His hands gripped your wrists like a handlebar, something to hold on to, something to guide you back and forth on his cock. He pushed himself even deeper, releasing a deep groan in your ear as he leaned over you, the weight of him heavenly as he made room for himself inside you, his heavy balls pressed against you.

This was what you’d wanted. Just to feel him again like this.

“Shit…” you sighed, eyes almost rolling back into your head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he whispered in your ear, “get a cock in you, and you turn into a good girl f’me.”

You wanted to push back, to give him something to prove him wrong, but you had nothing.

“Please,” you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut tightly.

“Please what, princess?” You could hear the smile in Joel’s low rumbling voice.

“Fuck me, sir,” you pleaded, “Fuck me, Daddy, please.”

“Oh, now she’s askin’ nice.” Joel pulled back and thrusted back inside in one hard thrust, pushing your body against the table, a line surely indented in your skin by now.

A whimper fell from your lips.

Joel started fucking you slowly, but hard, the table rattling with each thrust, one hand wrapped around your wrists to keep his balance. Under him you couldn’t fight back your moans, small content squeaks escaping you when he pressed himself firmly against your ass, burying his cock deeply inside you with every thrust.

“That’s it, slut, that’s a good girl,” Joel praised over you, “takin’ that cock so well, princess.”

The world started blurring around the edges with each thrust, a soft, warm feeling wrapping itself around your heart as he thrusted inside you. You were dying to touch your clit. His cock reached so far, pressing perfectly against your g-spot with each push. You were so close. If you could just touch your clit.

“P-please,” you mumbled lowly, your face scrunched tight as you clenched around his cock.

Joel grunted behind you and stepped away. You could almost cry, and maybe you did because rough pads ran over your cheek as he shushed you.

“No-no-no, it’s okay baby,” he mumbled, “calm down.”

“Please,” you tried again. Please let me come.

“I need you to do somethin’ f’me,” he told you as he guided his cock back to your ruined entrance, slick with want.

“I’ll do anything you ask,” you hurried.

“Anythin’?” Joel rubbed his cock up and down your slit as a slick sound filled the air.

“Anything.”

Behind you, Joel laughed, and pushed inside you again, making a big smile spread across your face.

“Alright, princess,” he said with a hard thrust, “what you’re gonna do f’me is when you feel like you’re close, you’re gonna tell me, tell your Daddy, alright?”

You nodded into the wood, head almost delirious with want, “Okay.”

“You wanna feel my cum inside you, don’t cha, want me to fill y’up to the brim?” His voice was so soft, almost soothing, as he fucked you hard.

“Please, Daddy, want you to come inside me, please.”

A grumbling laugh escaped Joel as he continued his harsh thrust – your skin clap clap clapping together as he hauled you towards the edge of your orgasm. It built deep in your core, coiling in on itself as he brought you closer and closer and closer.

“Joel,” you gasped, “I’m gonna come.”

Quickly, and without warning, Joel pulled out, leaving you trembling, and on the edge.

“No, you ain’t,” he told you sternly, “you’re gonna hold it.”

A rough hand smoothed over your right ass cheek, small taps to your skin reprimanding you as he rubbed his cock over the other, soiling you in your own desperation.

You felt like you were heaving for breath underneath him, eyes squeezed tight as you tried to stave it off.

“That’s it,” he praised, “that’s a good girl. Hold that orgasm f’me.”

Focusing on the way his hand rubbed over your skin, you tried to calm down and steady your breathing. It could’ve taken a minute or an hour, you didn’t know, but the feeling of falling over the edge of bliss fizzled out slowly. Joel leaned over your body, whispering praises into your ear, telling you how good you were for him. When you’d calmed down completely, you lifted your head to look at him, to catch his eyes.

Blown out and big, the warmth of them looked back, a deepness to get lost in. A small smiled tugged at his lips before he leaned down and peppered a soft kiss to your shoulder. It lasted only a second, but it made fluttering wings expand in your tummy.

When he pushed inside you again, your tied hands reached for his. His thrust came quicker than before, sloppier, as he chased his own high, his hand interlaced with yours.

“God fuckin’ slut,” he rambled.

“Takin’ that cock so fuckin’ good.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ come– gonna fill that cunt up.”

With a hard slam of his hips against your ass, pushing himself as deep as he could, Joel came inside you with a deep grunt. “That’s it– take all that fuckin’ cum inside.” A warmth filled you from the inside as his cock twitch inside you, coating your walls in thick spurts of his cum.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he mumbled, as he thrusted his cum back inside you, making sure he’d emptied himself completely before pulling out, sliding his softening cock from your denied cunt.

“Joel,” you whispered, but he didn’t hear you, too busy with tucking himself back into his work pants, and pulling up your bikini bottoms, soiling them in his cum starting to leak out of you.

“What about me?” you asked, confused, as he undid the rope around your wrists.

“What ‘bout you?” he repeated, helping you up and turning you to face him.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he took in your disappointed face, a large hand coming up to cup your chin. “What?” he teased, “don’t like your punishment?” He padded your cheek and pulled away, picking up your bikini top from the floor.

“’f you’re gonna act like a fuckin’ brat– havin’ your daddy hire me to have an excuse for seein’ me again, when you could’ve just called, then you’re gonna get treated like a brat, you understand? You gotta earn your orgasm, and you ain’t earned yourself nothin’ prancing around half naked in your garden while I’m trying to work, princess.” 

With that, Joel threw you your bikini top, and you barely managed to catch it between your fingers before you watched him walk out the shed, leaving you half naked, as his cum leaked down the inside of your leg.

part three -> here!

hopefully this was okay? please let me know what you thought of the new part! a comment telling me your favorite part is always welcome, and my ask box is always open to chat <3 and thank you for reading!!

© shellshocklove, 2024 i do not give any permission to repost, translate, feed to AI or redistribute any of my writing, with or without credit!

[ktownshizzle]

Wild & Free | Part 1 of 2

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female reader

Summary: Everybody says they want to marry Min Yoongi. But what if he only wants to say 'yes' to you.

Alternatively: While on the last leg of their PTD tour, Yoongi discovers there was such a thing as drive-thru weddings in Las Vegas - spontaneous, wild, exciting - something his pretty little brain can't seem to process having lived the last decade of his life planned to perfection by his management team, which includes you. When he goes down a rabbit hole of Youtube videos about The Little White Wedding Chapel (Omo! Michael Jordan got married there!), he starts getting all sorts of ideas - all of it starring him and you.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Childhood friends to lovers, Idol!au, Coworkers to lovers (reader is a HYBE employee)

Warnings: Mild angst, cursing lol, mentions of sex, pining and lots of it, reader is insecure, couple of idiots truly, covid didn’t happen, one mention of recreational gambling (we're in Vegas!), canon moments I botched for my own use, ginger Yoongi is a warning in and of itself, angry Yoongi, cliches ‘cos meh, possible inaccuracies about Las Vegas - been there once, but details used in the story are just from research. Also, I get that Las Vegas weddings might seem tacky to some. Coming from a background of traditional, elaborate ceremonies, the characters in this story are genuinely surprised by this simpler approach. After all, a wedding is really just about you and your partner, and that’s the essence we’re exploring here. ♡ If you can get on board with that, then let's head to the Tunnel of Love! Viva Las Vegas! 🙂

Word Count: 7.2k (approx. 30 mins.)

Posting date: August 31, 2024

Dividers: @/saradika-graphics

Part One | Part Two | Masterlist

"Yoongi, marry me!" You shout at the top of your lungs, earning laughs from the people around you. 

On the other side of the room, a couple of other people shout the same catchphrase, including Kim Taehyung, who seems to get the most kick out of it out of all the members.

Coerced to do one of those Tik Tok dance challenges, Min Yoongi stands in front of the room, hides his face behind his hands and you watch in delight as he awkwardly sways his hips side to side. More cheers erupt and two seconds after he decides he was done.

"Hajimaaaa!" Your friend says to no one and everyone, cheeks burning as he stalks back to the chair he was occupying across yours.

You push his beer bottle towards him, "Good job, gramps."

"Fuck off," he says with no real bite, taking a long swig off his drink to cool off his reddened cheeks.

It's great to finally get some down time with the crew. After such a fast-paced, high production tour, everybody needed to blow off some steam. This Korean BBQ restaurant off the Strip was the perfect venue to get the team together for samgyupsal and drinks. The vibes are, as the kids say, immaculate.

You are already sufficiently buzzed so you sit down as Seokjin takes his turn to do the challenge. He really seems to be more into it than the man currently giving you a look.

"I heard you." He narrows his eyes at you almost accusingly.

"What? It's the new viral catchphrase," you shrugged. "Everybody and their grandma is saying it these days."

"Not their grandma."

"You should be flattered."

Stop, you thought he would say. But his response catches you off guard.

"Only ‘cause you said it."

And he has the audacity to lick his bottom lip, a ghost of a smirk forming.

Fuck. Your throat dries up. When did it get so hot here?

“And in case you’re wondering…” he leans forward, a dopey-ass grin now on his face. “The answer is yes.”

Record scratch.

Did he really just-

Thankfully, you recover.

“Stop playing,” you say, trying to sound casual. But your face probably betrays the internal turmoil happening in your brain. You fear the day will come that he will have caught on to the unshakeable something you have been harboring for the better part of the last decade.

See, there’s always been an unspoken tension between you and Yoongi, something neither of you ever addressed or acted upon. Perhaps, in your younger days, there were moments when you felt your friendship was on the verge of becoming something more. But then he debuted as an idol, and things took off, and you were robbed of time. With his group’s growing popularity and you managing his personal career, the possibility of exploring anything beyond friendship and your work rapport became even more distant.

You feel like a bug under a microscope the way he observes you with a lopsided grin and while you try to hold his gaze, this clown interrupts.

"If y'all done eye-fucking each other, some of us are heading back." A drunk Park Jimin says with a mischievous grin, eyes crinkling like crescents. You could almost throw up.

Your eyes shift back to Yoongi and he just blinks in that blank way he does and bends to collect his bag from under his chair, completely ignoring his bandmate.

‘Fuck you,’ you mouth to Jimin hastily. Just enough time before Yoongi emerges with his backpack and your tote, which he already slung on his own shoulder.

You try to take it from him, but he waves you off.

"We're in bus 2," Jimin sings-songs and walks off, looking every bit the trouble-maker.

Thing is, you made the mistake of confiding in Jimin once, last year. You got drunk after getting dumped by some guy you met on Bumble three dates down, though it really was the sting of learning that Yoongi took one of Psy’s backup dancers out for coffee, even if it was just casual, that pushed you off the edge and into a bar in Hannam Intersection. Coincidentally, Jimin was there with that cute idol from Shinee and some other guys, but he joined you when he saw you looking like shit.

After learning about your long-standing crush (thank God you did not drop the L-bomb), Jimin would occasionally tease you, much to your chagrin. He’s careful not to push things too far, but it’s clear he sees himself as a bit of a cupid. You keep telling him that nothing will come of it, but he just won’t let up.

You are scared for things to change between you and Yoongi, not when everything is just how it’s supposed to be. 

Not when you believe in your heart that if anything would have happened, it already should have.

And you would snuff the last embers of the torch that you keep holding out for him if only you knew how.

"Drive-thru weddings?" Yoongi enunciates in English, with the slightest lisp that you have always found so endearing. As your tour bus passes by chapel after wedding chapel, he continues to wonder out loud. "People get married there?"

Namjoon turns his head to look at Yoongi from his seat in front. "Yeah, hyung. They don't even need to get out of their car. It's just like a McDonald's. But they get a marriage license instead of a burger."

“Really? And people do this? Like, randomly?”

“Yeah, some celebrities decided to do it that way, but I assume many people do, too. I mean, look how many we’ve passed already.” Namjoon says with a tiny grin, cheek dimpling.

"Mm." Yoongi hums and you're curious about that faraway look on his face as he stares outside.

“Are you interested?” You joke lamely, instantly regretting opening your mouth. Why do you keep propositioning him? You blame that ‘one for the road’ shot of soju you downed on the way out of the restaurant.

He studies your face, before he replies lowly, so only you can hear, “Are you asking?”

Fuck, he’s bold. He’s also a bit drunk, but everyone knows he can drink anyone under the table. You know this is not the first time he got weirdly flirty with you after one too many drinks, so you take it in stride.

“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” Hoseok's voice booms from the back and with a chorus of laughs ringing inside the vehicle, you take that as a sign that this is definitely just the effect of being in Sin City.

A few beats after and you steal a glance at Yoongi, finding his gaze transfixed at a sign that read: "The Little White Wedding Chapel".

Last day of the Las Vegas tour and while you are glad it is almost done, your heart aches as you remember that this is also your last one, ever. Your 60-day notice is already running, having tendered your resignation a month after LA wrapped up.

As great of a job as it is, your heart seems to always be at odds because of the lingering feelings you have for Yoongi. Everyday, you find yourself trapped in the limbo of unspoken feelings and missed chances. The endless “what ifs” weigh you down, and you can’t summon the courage to confront them. It’s not anyone’s fault but your own, and you hoped that stepping away from this life might jumpstart your next chapter, as BTS is also about to embark on theirs. 

With the group taking a break for solo projects and gearing up for their military service, it seemed like the perfect moment for you to explore something different, too. Maybe finally open that cafe you’ve always wanted. Maybe you can also meet somebody, especially since your eomma has been on your back even more lately about giving her a grandchild.

You weren't planning to sever ties with Yoongi entirely, or at all. There’s too much history between you two to just walk away from the friendship. But you were desperate to let go of the emotional baggage.

The thing is, you have not told anyone. Not even Yoongi. Especially not Yoongi. It is highly likely that he will try to stop you and press for reasons, and you can't tell him that you’re in love with him, can you? Just… no. What a fuckin’ cliche.

You don’t know when you will be ready to tell him the truth, but it needs to be soon.

You find him on the side of the stage, eyes locked in on his phone that he held with one hand and you already can tell he is watching a documentary with the way his face is screwed up in concentration. His ‘watching a cat video’ face was infinitely more smiley, that's for sure.

He lifts his sleepy eyes up as you approach, handing you a latte that he apparently picked up for you from that place across the street, because the coffee from the catering ‘tastes like shit.’

Before you can say thanks, Yoongi exclaims, “Omo! Michael Jordan got married there?” 

Your confusion must be written all over your face, because he quickly explains, “You know in one of those drive-thru wedding chapels we saw the other night. Wow. I can't believe Jordan did that.” 

He pauses the video and turns the screen toward you, revealing a white building decked out with all sorts of decorations reminiscent of Valentine's day. The way he looks at you, expectantly, makes you feel like you should share his excitement, but you're a bit stumped. “Yoongi-ah, why are you watching this?”

He fidgets with a sheepish grin. “Well, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Korean weddings can be so complicated, you know? Hyung was really frustrated with all the traditions at his wedding.” He shrugs, still looking a bit embarrassed but trying to stay casual. “Here, it seems like you just need the right person. And maybe some courage. Okay, a lot of courage. I just— I don’t know, I find it fascinating.”

He nods to himself, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Totally endeared, you hop to sit beside him on the stage, bump your shoulder with his, and say, “Go on, press play.” 

The tiniest of frowns that has settled between his brows smoothes out and he angles the screen more towards you before resuming the video.

Turns out it really is fascinating (Omo! Joe Jonas also got married there! But wait, isn't he divorced now?), so you watch a few more clips, before soundcheck starts.

You’ve always known Yoongi to have massive hyperfixations. In fact, you’re not at all surprised when that night during the concert, he even cheekily says to the crowd during his ment, “Welcome to Las Vegas, with the drive-thru wedding.” And of course, the audience eats it up, those wearing Shooky headbands, veils or holding “Yoongi, marry me” signs end up being the loudest.

But while you’ve supported all his previous mini-obsessions (League of Legends, Dalgona coffee, woodworking) until he over-indulged to the point of almost flushing it out of his system, you are not quite sure how else to help him with this one.

Unless of course, you… hah, you wish.

The tour wraps up successfully. The boys have different group and individual schedules before they return to Seoul. For Yoongi, a shoot for his photofolio, and some b-roll content for his upcoming documentary was on deck for him, you, and his crew. 

The drive up to the desert was pretty uneventful as mostly everyone was asleep. You arrive sometime in the afternoon and immediately get to work in order to catch the golden hour. Yoongi has disappeared into the makeup trailer and you busy yourself with checking the preps.

The theme was glamping. Though Yoongi would never admit that that was the concept he approved. He would most likely say something more deep and poetic, that the setting is a poignant portrayal of his growth as a person and a metaphorical exploration of his artistry… Or something like that.

Things were running a little later than you like, which always happens when you are doing shoots overseas, so you volunteer to help with the set design. Placing some of the props near the camper van, you take a second to decide whether to use the metal cup or the ceramic mug, when a sleepy voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Set looks great. Good job."

You turn your head to look at Yoongi and wow his hair is orange.

The color of his favorite citrus and of course he looks sexy as fuck. He smells phenomenal, too–like mandarins with a hint of spice. You are in so much trouble. Seems your mouth is filled with cotton the way you are unable to make a sound.

“Yah! I spent hours on this new hair, you're not going to say anything?” he whines with a small pout.

You snicker at his cute expression, reaching out to touch the ends of his hair very lightly else the glam team unnies might scold you. “You look like a cat.”

“Ugh,” he groans, walking away with what you now realize is a stick of marshmallows in his right hand.

“No, Yoongi, it's cute,” You follow him as he stops in front of the bonfire, roasting the marshmallows over it briefly before taking a bite, still not placated by your words.

You decide to put him out of his misery. “You look good. Like really good. ARMY would probably even say sexy.” You inwardly cringe at the last bit–using ARMY to voice out your inner thirst, really?

Nonetheless, Yoongi's reaction is priceless. His lips stretch into a thin line, chin dimpling as he pretends to not enjoy the compliment that he very well fished for. 

“Ok quit acting like an emoji and let me take your photos for IG.” You take your phone out and snap a few pics of him posing with the marshmallow, some without it. A couple of him grinning, gummy smiles on display, and you know you need to keep some of these for yourself when the inevitable comes and you won't see his face everyday. 

“C’mere,” he pulls you to his side, arm going around your shoulder. A whiff of his musk has you swooning which you hope he does not notice.

Your phone is taken. He snaps a few selfies of you both and tsks when he sees your lock screen. 

“Tablo-hyung, still? You know he's literally married and has a kid, right?”

You make a face and snatch your phone from his grasp. “Yah! As if you're not an idol and your face is not the wallpaper of thousands of people.”

“I think you mean millions.”

“Ass.” You try to shove him, but his hand closes in on your phone again. 

Swipes and taps later, he seems satisfied and your phone is handed back to you, before he walks off without so much as a goodbye.

What did he do?

Wait.

Tablo is gone. 

And the tableau in his place is one of the photos you just took with him. Eyes twinkling, smiles identical. The picture of a seemingly perfect couple.

Oh, damn. You really are a goner.

You send the pic to Jimin a little later. His response was unwelcome.

Jimin: You two have literal heart eyes for each other. So cute.

You: Not helping.

Jimin: Just tell him how you feel.

You: Again, not helping.

Jimin: What's your plan?

You: Do you really wanna know?

You ring him. Might as well tell somebody.

In between layouts, Yoongi films interviews for some magazines. You have complete faith in him and his media relations skills at this point. Smart, thought-provoking Yoongi can wow any interviewer, sometimes to the point where numbers have been slipped inside his coat pocket. Thank God this one is on Zoom, ‘cause you can’t deal with something like that happening right now.

You caught wind of something that he said during the interview and you made a mental note to ask him about it later.

“Sometimes, it feels like my life is just a sequence of obligations and schedules,” he tells the online reporter. “I can’t even remember the last time I made plans for myself. Being here in Las Vegas is refreshing. It’s like everyone is just living by their own rules. I don’t think I’m like that at all.”

"Do you want to be like that?" The reporter asks.

"Maybe..." he shrugs, sinking a bit lower on the chair he was on.

It was late and the crew was just winding down before packing up the set.

“How was your day?” he asks you with a soft smile. You can see the tiredness in his eyes.

“Not bad,” you say, taking a spot beside him on the picnic blanket that was still on set. He seems pensive.

“Did you ever think we would get this far?” he asks. “Couple of Daegu kids, now running around in America.”

“Who would've thought…” you say, observing him. His eyes were stoic, but you know he's got something else on his mind, something bothering him.

“You said something in your interview earlier.”

“Nothing bad, I hope?”

“Not bad per se, I just never heard you say it in an interview before. About not feeling like you can make your own plans. Like life has become a series of schedules.”

He hums and takes a sip of something from the mug he is holding. Your nose tells you it is definitely not hot cocoa.

“I’ve come to terms with it for the most part, you know,” he sighs looking out into the vastness. “But plans are good. Makes me feel like there is a point to all this.”

You follow his line of vision and sigh. You knew he was feeling a lot of stress lately. His life was not easy. You hate that you have to pile on top of it.

“We need to start planning D-day soon. It's going to be so busy with the album and the tour and all the content we have to make. Oh God, we might have to do fan calls, but I'm so embarrassed when I do it.”

You mimic his hum, getting disoriented with his use of ‘we’. He still doesn't know that word would be null and void soon.

“By the way, we gotta come up with a different name for the Youtube show. I can't pronounce it. Sich? Sush? Shit-”

“Suchwita,” you say, guilt settling in your tummy.

“...and we have that collab with Halsey for what’s that game again? Doom? No, Diablo! We used to play that before, remember? I think we might be doing a music video for that one.”

Just tell him. This would be the best time.

“Look, Yoongi I-”

“Thank you,” he suddenly says, in a tone so soft, and the way he punctuates it with your name makes your heart soar.

Your eyes snap to him, the slight pinks dusting his cheeks make him look like the teenage boy you met in music school.

“I’m not good at this - fuck, this is so awkward - umm but I've really been meaning to tell you that I appreciate you.” He continues, “You're really important to me.”

You try to fight back a smile at how elated you are, but can’t. And maybe he needs to see how happy this is making you. How happy he is making you.

In the years that you've known him there were two distinct moments that made you believe that just as you have been in love with him, maybe he was in love with you, too. And as you watch him rub his crinkled nose, trying to act chill but can't, you somehow convince your fickle heart that this might be the third.

“I’ve been thinking a lot, with all this talk about our ‘chapter 2’...”

“Yeah?”

“I know things are going to change, but I’m glad you’re still here. I honestly don't know what I'm doing half the time, but you, you give me direction,” he smiles, a hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Are you seriously thanking me for my constant nagging?” 

“No,” he chuckles to himself. “I’m thanking you for being my friend.”

Oh. Ouch.

His lips keep moving and moving, and he is saying things with a fond smile, but your ears can’t register a single word. Except that single word: friend. Because, that’s all he sees you as, and that’s all you’ll ever be, and lest you need a reminder, that’s why you did what you did.

Disappointment cracks through your core and your lungs are suddenly devoid of air and you feel the urgent need to step away.

“Sorry Yoongi, I- I have to go.”

“Huh?” The light in his face fades, replaced by a frown and confused eyes that are watching your every move.

“Wait, did I say something? Tell me what's wrong.”

Don’t cry. Shit. Don’t cry. 

“I've nothing to tell you.”

You grimace at how stiff you sounded but before you can rectify anything, your feet take you to the nearest trailer. You close the door and drop to your knees as uncontrollable sobs rack your body.

You rein yourself in after a few minutes, wiping your tears on the back of your sleeve. You fish your phone out from your pocket, the photo on your lock screen twisting the knife lodged in your heart. 

You ring the first person on your recent contacts.

“I can’t do it, Jiminah.”

“What happened? Talk to me.”

You tell him how you were just talking and it was getting deep then he got sentimental and said thank you…

“For being his friend.”

A beat, then Jimin finally speaks. “He is such an idiot.”

“I can’t do this,” you say, with finality. “I’m going to finish this tour, but I’m really leaving. I can’t be around Yoongi anymore.”

You finally get a couple of days off and decide to dodge Yoongi after coming back from the desert. It’s oddly easy—he’s not seeking you out like he usually does. You left him hanging the last time you talked, and now you’re stumped about how to fix things. You and Yoongi never really fight, at least not seriously. You handle work stuff through Kakao, like sending over today’s recording schedule for the award show. He left you on read.

Jimin immediately calls out for you as you step inside the set. It was just one of the penthouse suites in the hotel you were staying in. You feel awkward as some eyes shift over to you as you barely had time to fix yourself, you just aren't in the mood.

“Hi,” you respond simply. “How's everything?”

Jimin glances over his shoulder, and you follow his gaze to find Yoongi staring blankly at the coffee table, a face of thunder.

“He knows. He heard you on the phone with me.”

Your heart immediately drops to your ass. “Shit.”

Jimin shrugs, a mixture of sympathy and amusement on his face. “Yeah, he’s pretty confused… and a little pissed.”

“Did you–”

“I would never,” Jimin interrupts quickly, holding up his hands. “It’s not my story to tell.” He pats your shoulder reassuringly. “Just talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You’re not sure if Jimin’s optimism is comforting or just making you more anxious. You’ve spent years imagining every possible outcome, every scenario where he finds out you felt something deeper. And most of those scenarios end in heartbreak.

Either way, you know you’ve got to face the storm brewing in Yoongi’s eyes.

The shoot goes on without a hitch. You and Yoongi avoid each other like the plague, so much so that one of the makeup unnies takes notice. You downplay it, not wanting to be the subject of workplace gossip.

The schedule wraps up and as you get ready to leave, there is a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hey noona,” Jake says, looking a bit nervous but flashing a tentative smile. “Umm, a bunch of us are heading out tonight. If you don’t have plans, you should join us.”

Jake’s one of the newer camera guys, and while he’s been nice—always greeting you and opening doors—he’s barely scratched the surface of what could be considered a friend. He’s not just polite; he’s actually pretty cute. You’ve never really hung out with him before, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to say no. It was one of the last nights you have in Las Vegas, and maybe, you should live a little.

“Ok. What time are we leaving?”

“Can we meet at the lobby by 10?”

Just as you’re about to respond, there’s a loud crash from the other side of the room. You catch a glimpse of Yoongi and Jin amidst a flurry of crew members rushing over. Whatever happened, it looks like it’s already being dealt with.

“10?” you repeat, still distracted by the commotion.

He nods.

“Got it,” you reply, trying to shake off your unease. 

Jake adjusts his backpack and gives you another nod, his smile still lingering as he heads out. “Cool. See you tonight.”

“Ok…” you nod, a little dazed as you watch Jake fistbump one of the producers on the way out.

“Hot date?” Jimin appears out of nowhere, casually sipping his Americano. His grin is a little too knowing—clearly, he was eavesdropping.

“Not really. He just mentioned that a few people were planning to go clubbing and asked if I wanted to join.”

Jimin’s eyes light up. “So, he wouldn’t mind if we tagged along, right?”

“Who’s ‘we’?” 

Yoongi lifts his wine glass at you, smiling and unbothered.

Is this him extending an olive branch?

“Hey, Danbi, Eunchae…” he says, his gaze drifting past you to the two girls from Design. They look momentarily stunned, then offer hesitant waves, clearly not accustomed to this rare gesture from the usually wordless Yoongi.

Seriously?

This asshole.

A knot of frustration tightens in your stomach. Not only is he acting like nothing happened, but he’s also playing it cool, like he’s completely unaware of how much this is getting under your skin.

You’re sad, but now you’re kinda pissed, too. And the worst part of it all, he knows he looks fine.

Ginger hair slicked back to reveal the fresh undercut, He’s wearing some black shirt and black pants, with Jordans you would guess, and you know if it was any other man wearing that, he would have been stopped at the door. 

You shift the strap of your dress slightly, conscious under his taunting eyes. The little number was something hot you recently picked up, the kind that might end up on somebody's floor.

“Are you going over to them,” Jake asks casually, leaning closer to your ear.

“No,” you say, breaking eye contact with Yoongi and moving to the next table where the others were, with Jake following closely behind.

A chorus of hellos started as you reached the table. There were a couple of girls from Hair and Makeup and some of the videographers, too. As if on cue, a tray of colorful shots are suddenly placed on the center console. The night is about to begin.

Jake has been incredibly attentive so far, but the truth is, it’s someone else’s attention that you want. You are hyper aware of Yoongi’s presence and it’s like having an itch you couldn’t scratch.

You spot Yoongi by the bar, alone and absorbed in his own world. As usual, he's oblivious to the pair of women casting lingering glances in his direction. 

Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and make your way towards him. You notice his shoulders tense and stiffen as you approach, a clear sign of his unease, which almost made you want to retreat. But you know you can't go on another day of this unresolved tension with him.

“Yoongi, can we talk?”

He looks up, smirking as he swirls his drink. “Nah.”

Alright. You were not expecting that. 

“Look, I just wanna explain–”

“It’s cool. You don’t have to,” he cuts you off, his voice casual but his eyes fixed stubbornly on the lowball glass he’s holding.

“But I–”

“You don't wanna be around me anymore, simple. Dunno why you're here.”

“Wait, Yoongi, you don't understand.”

“Don't understand? You never told me shit.” You notice how his fists are clenched, knuckles turning white. “I would have apologized if I did something wrong. Thought you knew that. Thought we were friends.”

It’s that word again. You chuckle bitterly. “Friends, I know. You keep saying that.”

At this he looks up at you, brows furrowed, but it was your turn to avert your gaze. 

“‘Kay. You're leaving anyway, right? You can start now.”

“Fine.”

“Bye.”

You take a few steps, but something tugs at you, pulling you back. You glance over your shoulder, hoping to catch him watching you leave, wishing he’d somehow intervene, stop you from walking away.

But he isn’t there. His chair is already empty, the space where he sat now as vacant as if he’d never been there at all.

No one knows you better than Yoongi, and apparently no one else can hurt you quite like him, too.

The night is young. The club is electric. It is the hottest spot in town and you are hell-bent to experience it to the max.

Spirits and sugary shots tempered the hurt that settled in your gut after your encounter with Yoongi, now replaced with an urge to forget, to almost rebel.

The dance floor becomes your sanctuary. Shots of sweet, potent liquor flow, loosening you up and syncing your movements with the music. The crowd sways around you, a sea of bodies, but Jake remains a constant anchor. 

His hands rest confidently on your stomach, your back pressed against his chest as you grind slowly against him. With one arm raised, you hook your hand around his neck, letting your bodies move in perfect rhythm. It's been a while since you let yourself go like this, but it's Vegas, after all.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re so sexy, noona.”

“Wanna get out of here?” The words leave your mouth before your brain can stop you.

Jake's eyes widen slightly, but he nods, quite enthusiastically actually, and you think: fuck it, he's cute and you are leaving the company anyway. 

Disappointingly, the heat between you and Jake cools with every passing second as you make your way back to the hotel. Yet, you cling to the idea of seeing it through, driven by the need to prove a point: that a) your life doesn't revolve around Min Yoongi; and b) you are attractive and can pull anyone, even if Min Yoongi does not want you.

In another world, this would be a whirlwind of clothes flying off, bodies pressed against walls, hands exploring with urgency. But instead, you both enter the hotel room in silence, the air heavy with a tension that contrasts sharply with the passionate encounter you’d hoped for. The quietness between you feels like a stark reminder of how far you are from the fantasy you envisioned. 

Jake notices the maze of thoughts you were lost in.

“Noona,” he says, placing his jacket over the arm of the couch. “Are you sure you want this?”

Want. It was hard to stitch words as a response to that. Not when your heart has only wanted one person for years.

To be fair you do want Jake in your bed tonight. Objectively, he is super attractive - his soft, wavy hair, those wide, doe eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass.

No time to waste. You turn to him, slowly unzipping your dress and letting it slip to the floor. “Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, yes, it does,” he walks in long strides over to you, yanking up his shirt in one fell swoop, revealing his toned stomach.

His hands cup your face and soon you feel his lips against your… neck? Ok, you can get into this. It’s not like you hate it. 

He spends a few moments kissing you there. You close your eyes, willing your brain to shut off and just be in the moment.

“Can I touch you here?” One of his hands ghosts the side of your rib, inching towards the underside of your breast.

But before you can answer, loud knocks pound at your door.

“What the hell?” You hastily pull up your dress, zipping it up quickly. The furious raps continue and you can hear a voice behind it.

Jake follows you as you head to the door, picking up his tee from the floor and pulling it over his torso.

Bothered at the urgent banging, you don’t think to view the peep hole as you swing the door open, revealing 

“Yoongi?” you squeak.

“Get out.” Eyes bloodshot, he strides past you and goes for Jake, who quickly tries to side-step him, moving a few steps back to create distance between them.

“Yoongi-ssi?” Jake's eyes, wide as saucers, go to his elder then to you, before a realization dawns on him. “They said you weren't– Fuck, I swear I really thought–.”

"Get. Out." His voice is cold, laced with a fury you’ve never heard from him before. He grabs Jake by the arm, practically shoving him toward the door.

Jake casts a pitiful glance back, mumbling, "Sorry, noona," even though he’s done nothing wrong. But you don’t see it. Your hands are covering your face, trying to shield yourself from the shock and shame crashing over you as the scene unfolds.

“Fuck off, kid.”

And then the door slams shut.

Yoongi paces the room like a caged animal, his hand raking through his sweaty hair in frustration. His breathing is heavy, almost ragged, as if he’s on the verge of losing control.

You finally find your voice. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just barge in my room like that!”

“I just did,” he fires back. “Why are you with him?”

“It's none of your business. But since you really wanna know. I was about ready to fuck him.”

He clenches his jaw, his voice strained. “Did he touch you?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck!” 

His hand shakes as he drags it through his hair again, his frustration barely contained. “Did you want him to?”

You can't understand why he’s asking these questions, why he’s reacting like this.

“Yoongi,” you exhale heavily, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “Why are you here?”

Yoongi’s POV

Min Yoongi likes being in Las Vegas. The city buzzes with an electric energy, a stark contrast to his own chill demeanor. It’s a place where neon lights flash all night, and the unpredictable atmosphere makes him feel like a fish out of water—a thrilling kind of discomfort. He doesn't get why a city so loud and chaotic captivates him, but it does.

He was never one for outlandish, over-the-top spectacles, but the Cirque du Soleil show he watched with you and Hobi the other night instantly became one of his favorites.

He never liked recreational gambling, but the way you lit up with joy and hugged him tight after winning just 20 bucks at a random slot machine—it’s now one of his most cherished memories.

He never fared well in big, buffet restaurants, but if it means hearing you shout “Yoongi, carry meeee” (so stupid) as you beg him for a piggy back ride after downing five heaping plates, then maybe he can start looking up some buffets back home, too.

Las Vegas is free. Las Vegas is wild. Min Yoongi is not. 

At least, not until that night when he tore past wild and plunged into nothing short of primal.

Straight out of a segment from The Animal Planet, he was a tiger, lounging contentedly with his pack. You were his queen, his chosen mate—though you don’t know it yet. But when a looming threat emerges, the alpha in him awakens, tapping into ancient survival instincts to protect what’s his.

First, he observed the threat.

Some guy from production. Jake. He’s HYBE's new ace videographer from Australia. Isn’t he younger than her?

Oh shit, this was the dude Yoongi actually handpicked to be the director of photography for his documentary. He might have to rethink this, depending on how things play out.

Fucker has his hand on your back and you shift subtly so his hand falls away. This is good, you don’t seem to be too into his advances, Yoongi tells himself, relaxing slightly on his chair.

Second, he assessed the situation.

Unfortunately for him, the situation escalated quickly.

Never in his life has he ever wanted to gouge his eyes out so badly. If he could actually shove his fingers in his eye sockets and scoop his eyeballs from his skull he would have done it right then. Yet somehow he couldn't look away. There was a sick, sadistic pleasure in watching you lose yourself on the dance floor. Like a voyeur, he stared, mouth slightly parted, breathless as your body grinds in time with the bass. He didn’t want to acknowledge the other man in the picture, the one that wasn’t him.

“You’re drooling, hyung,” Jungkook teases, and Jimin erupts in a fit of giggles, almost falling out of the bar stool.

Yoongi wants to deny it. But between the ache in his heart and the boner in his pants, he did not have it in him to lie. “Pass me a napkin, dipshit.”

Third, he sensed danger.

Unfortunately again, he had to use the toilet at some point. And as he returns to his spot on the balcony, he panics.

“Where the fuck is she?”

Jimin looked at him, warily. “They left.”

No, he thought. No, no, no they’re not leaving this club. They are not leaving his sight.

Fourth, he took decisive action.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through his body spurring him to run out the door, his phone on his ear as he tries to reach his driver.

“Hyung, stop.” Jimin runs to keep up with him. “Where are you going?”

“You know where.”

“Why?”

His head is pounding. He cannot think straight. And Jimin asking so many questions is so fucking annoying.

“You know why.”

Jimin sighs exasperatedly. “Why didn’t you idiots just talk about this like normal people?”

He doesn’t answer his friend, but he knows Jimin will be coming with him, whether he likes it or not. Because Jimin, nosy as he may be, is also one of the last real ones in his life.

Fifth, he confronts the threat head-on.

Which has brought him here, in your room, acting like the unhinged motherfucker he never aspired to be.

Your stern voice shakes him from his thoughts. “If you’re just going to stand there, just get outta here, Yoongi.”

“No.”

“No?” you let out a huff, a bitter sound cutting him. “You got some fuckin’ nerve. You ask me all sorts of questions, but you can't answer mine, huh?”

He has never seen this look in your eyes, and he starts to regret the hasty decision to come to your room. 

Now, he was confronted with the first and very real possibility of you walking out of his life.

“Again, why are you here?” you ask, your voice a notch softer than it should be. It’s clear you’re exhausted, your tear-filled eyes an indication, wanting nothing more than for everything to make sense.

He cautiously pads towards you and gently reaches out for your hand. To his relief, you let him take it and he envelops it in both of his.

He takes one good look at you, committing your face to memory, because in his mind, this could be the point where your friendship ends.

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes for a moment, before a confession finally spills from his lips. “Because I can't lose you.”

You blink and a lone tear spills free.

“I heard you on the phone with Jimin and what you said broke me. I keep thinking what I did wrong, but I can't figure it out. Then I saw you with that guy and I lost my shit. You know I'm terrible at expressing myself, but I need you, ok? More than I can say. Don't go. I can’t let you go.” He tugs you gently towards him, encasing you in his arms.

It didn’t take long for you to return the hug, pressing your cheek against his chest, and he is certain you can finally hear his heart that beats only for you. How he wishes he can summon the courage to say so. But the moment feels so delicate and he wants to tread lightly. 

“Yoongi…” you sigh out his name and his heart races at how tenderly you seem to have surrendered to him. 

“I’m so sorry that I was such a dick to you. Didn’t mean to ice you out. Honestly, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

“What is it that you want, then?”

“This.” He tightened his arms a tad against your frame to make a point, before pulling his head back, just enough to be able to see your eyes when he says, “You.”

Your breath hitches and he is unable to read the expression in your face. Was it just shock? Was it dismay? A slight panic bubbles in his throat. Did he misread the signs? Did he just blow it? But you felt so pliant under his touch, you still do. So he had to ask, even if your response might just end him.

“Y-you don’t want this?”

“No, I do, I do,” you say, almost too quickly, nibbling on your bottom lip afterwards. His thumb goes to caress your cheek, and you lean slightly into his touch.

‘Fuckin’ do something,’ his brain screams at him, the way it has for years now. 

So many words are still unspoken between you two, but as he looks at the affection and the want in your eyes, he decides–fuck it, you can talk later.

"I really want to kiss you right now," he finally admits, his voice low but steady. "Is that okay?"

You nod, but hesitate. "I’m just—” you place a hand on his shoulder, as if to anchor yourself on him. “I’m afraid that if I start, I won’t be able to stop.”

He lets out a breath, a smile playing on his lips as he sees yours curve into a shy grin.

“That’s exactly what I want,” he murmurs as he closes the gap, his lips almost grazing yours.

“I don’t want to just be your friend anymore, Yoongi.” Your nose nudges his, inviting him to make the next move.

“You were never just a friend,” he whispers against the corner of your mouth.

“And after this,” you say, moving your hands to the back of his neck, “I might want you all to myself.”

His lips brush against yours, featherlight. It’s barely a kiss, just a fleeting touch, but it leaves you both craving more.

“Baby,” he breathes, “I’m already yours.”

A/N: What do we think??? Feedback is appreciated! Do we hear wedding bells, or nah? See you in Part Two! 🙂

Tag: @tea4sykes @mggv97 @jajabro @yooglefics @codeinebelle @tinytan-gerine @comingupwithacoolnameishard @dontcribuyabag @mizz-kraziii @angelfuzzy2 @marnz1990 @speedyhandsbonkpalace @amarawayne @coffeedepressionsoup @little-cherry01 @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @lolpanda94 @parapiop7 @wobblewobble822 @dazzlingjade @storyofafangirl @yoongrace @mzbtsreads

Thank you so much for reading, you beautiful human! xo

[drgnflyteabox]

the lusty cabin-dweller

pairing: ghost / Simon riley x fem reader summary: your life gets wider when you find an injured man outside of your cabin. tags/warnings: Skyrim!ghost, secrets, graphic injuries, some angst, facial injuries, nursing Simon back to health one stew at a time <3, listen to this for the vibes, vaginal + anal sex, oral (f), animal attacks, blood, processing an animal for meat and fur, violence, death (non-major), mention of Skyrim racism, softdom!Simon, some backstory, please hmu if i forgot anything, one bed trope, simon backstory adapted to skyrim lol (so past abuse, murder, theft, domstic violence) but nothing graphic w.c: 5k

Honey-nut is squealing again. Some days you think she might not be worth the milk and cheese she gives you for all the trouble she causes. A high, strange bleating cuts through the chilled night air like a knife, sharp and terrifying only for a moment.

She's been at this since Frostfall. Maybe it was the weather causing Honey-nut distress - she was getting old, after all. For a goat.

In the time it takes you to trudge out of bed, pull on a wool shift and a fur, two things happen: one, Honey-nut stops bleating, and the woods surrounding your cottage becomes deathly silent.

Two, a crunch.

Just one, but it's enough. Someone is outside.

For a brief, hysterical moment, you worry for Honey-nuts safety. Have they hurt her to be quiet? No, you'd have heard that at least. Your breath comes fast, chest squeezing. Bandits? Probably not. It's a decent hike up to your wooden cottage. But it is nearing winter, and soon it will be Sun's Dusk. It's not unheard of that they'd be looking for a place to take over for the colder months.

Your hand goes to your heart, fingertips touching your throat. Be calm, you tell yourself. You aren't helpless, look. The axe, leaning by your front door. You can see in the dark well enough, and you're more familiar with your homestead than they are.

The axe feels right in your hands. Too-familiar, weighty, deadly. You touch your ear to the door, trying to reign in your fear. Nothing. Then, a wheeze, strangled and restrained like whoever it is can't afford to be heard. But you have heard it, and you push the door open.

"Show yourself!" You shout, voice surer than you feel. Your knees quake a little, but your grip on the axe is strong.

The animal pen is a mere few steps away from your front door. Past the front garden, it's wide open aside from the little shelter you built the past Mid Year. A foot sticks out, clad in armor.

"I'm armed," you add. "You're not getting anything from me!" The world is dark, the woods quiet. Adrenaline burns in you, bright enough to guide your steps.

"You gonna kill me with that, girl?"

Gruff voice, like scraping rocks. Coming into view, you see that this man poses no threat. He's half dead, slumped and pale, clutching his side.

"Who are you? What's your business here?" The axe is a deterrent, now. Just for show. You hold it above him, but nearly drop it when you see his face. It's sliced right through the middle, from his forehead to his jaw. "Oh, gods-"

"Mind yourself with that," his eyes flit to the axe. "Or put me out of my misery now."

Your shoulders dip down, lowering your weapon. Guilt crawls into your belly and settles there when you notice that yes- his feet are armored, but the rest of him is dressed in miners attire. White, coal-dusted shirt. Workman's pants, tucked into woolen calf wraps. God, he must be freezing. Maybe that's saved his life, staunched the bloodflow. It's tacky on him, not shining wet like you expected.

"What's happened to you?" You cringe at the sound of your voice. It's gone from fierce defensiveness to cloying concern, staring only at the blood staining his skin.

He breathes hard, staring at you a moment. It's hard to tell what he's thinking, what he's feeling. Outside of obvious pain. Leaves around you shiver in the breeze, a light snow beginning to fall when he finally speaks.

"Bandits," he grunts. "An ambush." Every word is a fight, a wheeze. Empathy drives away caution and you drop your weapon in favour of kneeling beside him.

"Come on, then. Let me help you," lifting him is a monumental task, even with him helping. He's as big as horse, thick as one too. Legs like tree trucks that hold him up just barely, feet sliding weakly on the uneven ground.

Looking back, Honey-nut watches you bring him through the doorway with a judgmental twinkle in her eye. Maybe it's time for goatherd pie.

///

Your bed is too small. His feet hang off comically, and the wood creaks under his weight. It'll have to do. Your mother would have beaten you black and blue for this - for inviting a stranger in, for settling him in your bed without so much as a what’s your name? But you know how to stitch and turning away someone in as bad a shape as he is would weigh on your conscience.

You light the sconces along the wall, and then a lantern to keep by his bedside. Warm, orange light fills the cottage, flickering every so often, inspiring calm.

"I'm no healer," you warn him. "Nor an alchemist." It’s not necessarily a lie. You had done a brief stint as a volunteer for the temple of Kynareth, lending your hands and your time to help nurse wounded soldiers. There had been supervision then, though. Guidance.

"I’m shit out of luck for choices, sweetheart,” his facial wound leaks a little when he speaks, blood running down the side of his face in thin rivulets. The wound at his side, however, is what worries you the most.

“Let me,” you murmur. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, pulling them out of his pants, and up, up, gently. Looking him in the eye, watching his pain win over his weariness.

Another gash, swaddled in cloth wrapped sloppily around his middle. Without moving him you have to cut them off, slicing off his shirt at the same time. This one bleeds sluggishly, skin shredded, like he’d been dragged over coarse rock.

He words slur, energy leaving him. Mumbles under his breath things you can’t make out, and don’t try to. You’re busy rinsing, cleaning, and patting his ribs dry. Tensing every so often, he breathes hard through his nose to offset the pain. Mumbles some more, hands making fists.

It’s bad, but he’ll live. Exhaustion might trump over all, anyhow, what with how his eyelids have begun closing. Through the slit of them his eyes are pale, like sunlight through deep blue ice. Blonde lashes, stark against the dirt and coal smearing his skin.

You work in silence, letting him sleep through this one so he’ll hopefully be unconscious for the work you have yet to do on his face.

“Who did this?” You whisper to no one. You’re a breeze in the night, alone, hunched over this man and wiping his face with a cloth.

Clear of blood and grime, you gather a sewing needle and dip it into the lantern flame. Stitching is easy, but on his face? You falter a moment, worried, until you think of how proud men often are of their scars. Boasting battles won and creatures slain.

It’s that thought that pushes you through to the end, weaving the needle through until he's sewn and clean of blood.

///

Sweat and iron. The smell of it, sharp and salty, sea foam and earth, is the first thing you're aware of.

Then, the light of morning. Pale, almost white, invading through the windows in rays. A chill. Your eyes open with a not insignificant amount of effort, back twinging in different places as you become aware of the world again.

"Awake?" You startle, jerking up. It's the man from the night before, laying as he was, a little curled against the pain and big as an ox. "W's startin' t'think you'd sleep all day."

"It's morning, is it not?" You're not used to talking this early - or at all. "How's the- how are you feeling?"

He grunts, shuffling. His wrapped side has some blood peeking through, little spots of leakage, not enough to lose your head over. His face has swelled some overnight though, and you're awake enough now to hear the muffled quality to his voice. Part of the cut pulls his upper lip tightly. You wince.

"Just wait. I have something for the," you pause, crossing your space on stiff legs to find the bookshelf. Clay pots, glass bottles, books. Ah, here it is. "For the pain." It's some elixir. Purchased the last time you'd made the trek to Markarth from Muiri, the alchemists apprentice. It brings forth a distant memory of pain, of twisting your ankle running after Honey-nut.

Your ankle hadn't quite healed right, but this was good for when winter came and stiffness made the pain worse again.

He eyes you wearily as you approach. Suspiciously. As if you haven't been helping him out of the kindness of your heart…

"This will help," a promise.

"Don't need'it." He slurs, then cringes as it pulls his lip again.

"You'll recover faster if you're in less pain."

In the end he acquiesces, if not just to take the edge of the purpling that's beginning to show on the edges of his bandage. Broken ribs, maybe?

///

Chores need to be done whether or not there's an obstinate patient in your bed. Honey-nut needs to be milked, and she fights you every step of the way. You discover her pen open from last night and sigh with relief that she's still there.

The chickens have laid eggs for you, and you collect them diligently in your apron. Then, the garden. And finally a sweep of your traps in the woods.

Just one rabbit, but it's enough. You hope the man likes stew, and that his swelling goes down enough for him to tell you his name.

///

He tells you his name is Ghost. Strange, but you've heard stranger. Maybe he's a follower of Namira, you wonder not without an inkling of apprehension. Ghost is quiet, even as he heals. After you'd made yourself a straw bed on the other side of the cabin, you'd wake to him sitting up and stretching. Testing himself. Always silent.

The exhaustion was the worst of it. One nearly empty bottle of elixir later, the swelling on his face has gone down significantly. His ribs sore but on the mend. It was sleep that he needed, and lots of it.

Days passed like this. Switching bandages, wiping and cleaning, cooking enough stew for two. Nearly a week until he was up and about insisting to help around the cottage.

"No need," you tried to gently push him back into the warmth of the open door. He was too big, and having none of it. "You'll be better in no time."

He was just so tall. Were he to stand still at your doorway, half his face would be covered by the top of it. Despite his condition, you could tell that your initial comparison to a horse was completely on the nose. Stocky as a boar, arms thick as mammoth tusks. Hairy like blonde wheat shining in the sun. You'd noticed as much, watching him rest, watching his eyelashes flutter on his cheeks as he dreamt.

///

Ghost works like you're paying him in gold. He sweats, arms swinging down over and over again above the chopping block. There's enough wood to last three winters now - maybe four. Every job he takes is finished to excess. Your roof has never looked better, re-thatched in rotting places and swept clear of mildew. The old wood fence in your garden? Replaced.

Honey-nut finds her new favourite person when he dismantles what he calls shoddy work, and rebuilds her a shelter twice as big. The chickens are still weary, but enjoy receiving the kitchen scraps he tosses.

"There's really no need for all this," you insist again, because he's come back this afternoon with an elk on his back.

"Didn't need to fix me up, either, did'ya?"

You break it down together. Ghost does the harder part, while you take cuts of meat to dry for jerky. The rest will go into a venison casserole, with juniper berries.

"Hey- Ghost?" You call. He's skinning the rest of it for furs. "I'm off to gather some berries for dinner."

A nod, and you're off.

Your basket is old, woven, carried once by your mother and now you. Silly, but special all the same. It's stained with many years of berry collecting, many years of winter nights spent tucking into fruity crostatas or summers full of juniper mead.

The hills are rife with the low, rough trees. They grow like weeds here in the Reach, mountain pocked with patches of light green and little blue berries. Once, as a child, you'd made the mistake of eating one straight off the branch. Bitter as burnt coffee, it was lesson you'd learned through tears of laughter with your mother. A happy memory.

Does Ghost have a family? You wonder again about him, about why a man like that is wasting his time mining. He could've climbed the ranks as an imperial and been a General or - divines forbid - a stormcloak. You prayed he wasn't so craven as to follow Ulfric and his band of Nord supremacists.

It's this distraction that leads you right into the waiting jaws of a sabre cat. Quick and silent, it reminds you of your patient for an absurd moment before you're tripping backwards, basket full of berries scattered and forgotten. Your hip makes contact with the ground hard, pain lancing through your joint like a spear.

Fuck, how could you be so stupid? This was a mountain, leagues away from the nearest town. Sabres, bears, wolves. You'd always, always used awareness as a first precaution. Sight, sounds, keeping your ears tuned to the slightest crack in a twig. If not, there was the bow and arrow stowed away under your bed.

Now, you were caught unawares. Muscles under it's fur rippled, a low growl in it's barrel chest, creeping toward you. Adrenaline burned through you like a fever, hot and electric all at once, freezing you in place by the weight of your heart in your stomach.

Stendarr's mercy, dying from an animal attack after living years on the craggy peaks of the mountains, avoiding ambushes and robberies. Living on goats cheese and chicken eggs, nothing yet achieved. What a waste. Miserable, hopeless tears prick at your eyes. Your breath leaves you in quick, desperate puffs. Running wasn't an option - it would only encourage the sabre. Sovngarde, here you come-

"Aaarghgh aaaaa!" A roar. Loud, ringing in your ears, as fierce as a cave bear. It's Ghost, jumping through the brush towards you with his arms above his head. "Bugger off!" He's screaming loud, voice cracking a little, the stitches at his lip tearing just enough for droplets of blood to fall.

"I'll put you down!" It's nonsense, but it's loud, and he's massive. Taller than the sabre even if it stood on two legs. When he reaches you, he steps in front of you. Shields you.

The face-off is likely less than a few minutes, but it feels like time moves as slow as honey. Ghost faces of the sabre, screaming like a madman, beating his chest and waving his arms. It creeps backward, hissing and fighting, but is cowed by his stance and size.

When it's disappeared through the maze of juniper trees, he turns to you. Extends a palm rough like bark.

"How long have you lived here, again?" His voice grates as usual, made worse by his shouting.

Your face heats in embarrassment. "A few years. I'm not usually so distracted," you dust your dress, patting yourself. Twigs and dirt fall from the wool. "I swear. I got lost picking berries."

He snorts, like you're stupid. You feel stupid.

The basket is half empty when you call it quits, tired from fear. Ghost is hunched beside you, holding his ribs again, rubbing his lip almost compulsively.

"Stop that, you'll get a thicker scar," you reach for his elbow.

"Don't care much about that, love," he shrugs your hand away.

Dinner is made in silence. It's a miracle you have the energy, but while you're physically drained your mind is running in circles. You watch with concern as he sits gingerly back on the bed. The pain in your hip pulses with sympathy, pulsing heat travelling down your leg and up your back.

"Need me to take a look at anything?" Besides his obvious discomfort, you'll have to fix his face back up. You'd prefer for him to be in a welcoming mood.

"I can handle it," Mr Stoic over here. "Did'ya take a fall?"

You drop dried frost mirriam into chopped, boiled potatoes. Then a pad of butter.

"Yes, but I'm alright," the cream sauce comes together, ladled over the venison. You're out of eidar cheese, but Honey-nuts goat cheese crumbled over everything is perfectly fine. Ghost eats like a furnace taking coal, anyhow.

"Let me see," he's up close. Again, you've been taken unawares. A sharp inhale like a gasp, heart beat picking up, breathing in the smell of him. It's gone from bloody to pine, to earth, to fresh wood. His hands find your hip and you hiss, trying to jerk away. In doing so you press your side into his chest, curled close, warm not just from the fire. "It's alright, sweet girl." He murmurs into the top of your head.

This tenderness is new. His fingers are as gentle as you've seen them in the last few weeks, pulling up the thick skirts of your dress and assessing the tender skin. It's a little hot to the touch, painful. The rough pad of his thumb brushes against you softly, making you whine.

His lips brush your hair, not quite kissing you, but affectionate nonetheless. You're close enough to see his throat bob when he swallows.

"Just a bump, huh, sweet girl?" He takes over, mashing the potatoes, setting out plates at your little wooden table, guiding you by your lower back.

You eat in relative silence, thighs brushing, a tension bubbling to the surface like stew on the fire. He spares you a few glances between bites, still wincing whenever he has to bend down.

"I'll take a look at that again before bed," you speak through a mouthful of creamy venison.

Sure enough, he's reopened some of his stitches. Not worst case scenario, but you spend a few minutes hunched over and bandaging him up again. He stares at you intently, eyes so clear and focused you wish he wouldn't. It makes your hand shake.

Moving to get up and back to your straw bed, his arm shoots out as quick as an arrow and takes your wrist in his hand. His stare is the same, squinting at you like he's waiting for you to confess something. Like he's waiting for you to give in.

"You're not sleeping on the floor," he says, sure, chest puffed. "Not with your hip. Come on now, come lay down." Gently, he tugs you down. Protests make it to the tip of your tongue and nowhere else, not with the promise of a mattress on your sore muscles and screaming hip.

It's too small though, much too small. Already he was hanging off, shoulders taking up the entire width. You curl forward, on your good side, facing away from him and into the dark. The cabin is still warm from cooking dinner.

His breath puffs on the back of your neck, hand finding your arm and stroking up and down. Soothing you. He curls around you, following the natural bend of your body.

"Simon," he whispers.

Your brow almost touches your hairline. "That's not my name."

"No," his reply is half spoken, half physical. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, bicep under you, cradling you, his big bear paw hugging your shoulder. A stray pinky ventures dangerously close to your nipple, fingers spread. "It's mine."

The world widens. "Yours?" You breathe in, out. It's trust, is what it is. He's giving you a piece of himself, this stranger, for you to hold. "Simon," you taste it in your mouth. "Simon."

He laughs against your hair. "Was watching you," he confesses. "After we got- after the ambush. Walked for days, till I found you."

"How long did you watch?" You're curious, if not a little suspicious. "You weren't casing it, were you?"

"No, nothing like that. Couldn't keep walking," he sighs loud like a dog. "Hadn't eaten, hadn't drank. Needed to know if you were somewhere I could stay."

"That's why Honey-nut was losing her mind," the realization is half funny, half scary. By the eight, you really hadn't noticed someone living so close-by for so long?

"Honey-nut?"

"You've met her, Simon. She's the goat."

"Ah," he snorts. "I've been calling her Molag-Bal, for how she's got us in the palm of her hand."

"Simon!" You shriek with laughter, shaking until he squeezes you from behind. So close his heartbeat taps against your back.

///

A week goes by, and each night is the same. You wake together, sleep together, eat together. Simon regains his strength and his wounds turn into scars. His face is deeply marked, but you've never known him another way. Truthfully, it adds to his handsomeness. There's a ruggedness there that one can only develop living in the rough.

The air gets colder, frigid in the mornings and nights. Light snows have begun falling, and Honey-nut begins her bleating until you put up the winter wall of her shelter, boxing her in. The chickens slowly cease laying eggs, bundling together, clucking at Simon when he checks for the seasons last bounty.

The time to make a trek to Markarth is creeping. You need dried goods, grain, seeds for spring, dried meats, elixirs - everything. It'll be your last trip before you're stuck in the freezing mountains with nobody but Honey-nut to talk to.

Books are your salvation during the cold months.

"I have to get supplies soon," you break the news to Simon early in the morning, when the light just barely creeps over the craggy peaks of the mountains. "In Markarth."

There. It's over with - telling him. You know you're being a coward by not asking directly, but you need to know. What is he going to do now that he's healed? Spend a few more months with you? You're still mostly strangers, practicing domesticity together, but strangers nonetheless.

"Can't go to Markarth," he says.

"Why's that?"

Simon looks at you then, eyes hard and tender at the same time. He grimaces a little, scar twisting wit his expression.

"Used to work there," A pause. "Used to… mine there."

"What?" Cidhna mine is for prisoners. You take a small step back, shaking your head. "What?" You repeat. Cidhna mine? Is that how- oh. His injuries, his waiting to see who you were before approaching. By the gods, you've been tricked!

"You tricked me-" you start, upset. Was he a killer, a robber? Images dredged from the recesses of your mind float to the surface. Men, fire, your mother cut down before you.

"No, no," he interrupts. He's shaking his head, not quite stepping forward but leaning toward you. Eyebrows drawn up, palms facing you in supplication. "Sweet girl, I," he looks around then, as if the words will appear written in smoke from the hearthfire. "Listen to me please," he pleads.

"Tell me what you did!" It's a near-shout, but you're upset. He's been cozying up to you while running from the law. Not that you're a total stickler for rules, but the men at Cidhna mine aren't there without reason.

The most secure prison in Skyrim.

"I will, I'll tell you. Just sit down please, sit with me." He pats a chair, sitting in the one beside it. Beseeching you. "Cm'ere, sweet girl. M'sorry."

///

You sit quietly while he tells you, choking a little on the rising tide of emotions. The biggest question is should you believe him? This story of his past, his father, a childhood spent learning to steal and bully to survive. Elixirs for a brother hooked on skooma, food for a mother grown sickly from her husbands abuse. Eventually getting rid of his father altogether, and wining up in Cidhna.

"If what you say is true," your voice wavers, throat tight with emotion. "Why not tell me?"

He shrugs his shoulders, looking up for a moment as if asking the divines for guidance.

"You never asked."

For a moment, you want to be indignant. You laid with him, cooked for him, wiped blood and sweat off his brow.

But he's right. You never asked, never thought to - just wondered, minded your business, content to help someone in need of it. The feeling of betrayal loosens in your chest, releasing it's vice grip on your heart, a calmer acceptance taking place.

The position it leaves you in is awkward, even if you're content to believe him. You've been too yielding since you met him. Accepted him into your home, accepted his story. Ambushed by bandits? A silly lie, now that you think of it. Vague, believable. Easier than explaining that guards had slashed him as he escaped imprisonment. That he couldn't go back because he was so recognizable.

You don't speak as you get ready. It's not an angry silence, but one brought by embarrassment. How stupid he must think you are, cozying up up to him like that.

The question of where he'll go burns still in your mind, in your gut. You're nervous, fingers shaking a little as you wrap long strips of warm wool on your calves, forearms, and between your fingers. Your dress is double-layered, boots sturdy.

It's a trip and half, lugging everything. You're on foot until you reach the nearest inn, and from there you rent a horse and cargo carriage. Easier from there, with Jazbay the white mare to pull you along.

"I know someone in Cidhna," Simon interrupts your thoughts. He's always tall, imposing, a little intimidating. Now he looks as sheepish as a man like him can look. "Could you…" He extends his hand, a letter clasped in it.

You grimace, but nod curtly.

"Thank you, honey," he breathes a sigh of relief. Honey. That ones new. It fills you with warmth.

"You're welcome to stay with me," you blurt. Impulsive, stupid. Brought on by the familiarity of his affection. "For the winter, I mean."

He's across the cabin in two steps. He presses his front to yours, hands cupping your cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing your cheekbones.

He kisses you, then, and everything slides into place. Your stomach tightens, hands coming up to grasp his shoulders, gasping into his mouth. It's wet, lips smacking noisily, the only sound in the near-frozen forest. Acceptance, sweet and buttery. This is a man whose never had a home.

"I can't stall any longer-" you try. He interrupts you with his mouth again, long kisses like it's reviving him, revitalizing him. "I gotta-"

"Shh, sweetheart," he hums lowly. Gods, you've never been this wet. It soaks into your cotton underwear, clit pulsing in time with your heart. "Let me take care of you, yeah?"

///

He's so solid, firm muscle and hard cock. It leaks between his legs, bobbing with his abdomen where he's kneeled on the floor, face in your cunt.

"Simon!" You're shouting, unabashed. Years have passed since anyone's touched you last, and you're sensitive as a maid, gripping his too-long hair almost meanly. Simon licks you like a starving man, slurping, letting you drip and then sucking it off your skin. His fingers find the entrance of your pussy, fitting himself in two at a time.

Once you've begun, you can't stop. He fucks you on the bed, letting it creak dangerously. Bends you over the table, cock dragging in and out of you deliciously. You shake and shiver in his arms, wrung out and insatiable all at once.

"Can I have you here, sweet girl?" He thumbs at your other hole, dipping in, kissing your inner thighs.

"Yes, gods yes, Simon," you drag his name out. Si-i-mon. It sounds good that way, breathy, not spoken but moaned and screamed. It's late evening, dark, colder now that you haven't lit the fire.

No need, when his cock is as hot as coals and slides between your arsecheeks like a divining rod. Your pussy is aching and hot, too-sensitive. You're belly down on the bed again, hands gripped in the sheets.

When you deliberately relax your muscles, he fits his fingers in your ass using come as lubricant. Spits down onto you, watches you start to rub yourself into the bedding desperately.

"None of that," he pants, pulling you up by your hips. A whine builds in your throat, which he shushes by pushing his other two fingers in your cunt. You yelp, moving toward him and away from him. He keeps you still, firmly holding your hips.

You come, tears beginning to leak into your sheets, when he presses his cock against the notch of your hole and pushes in.

A long, deep groan from the pit of his stomach starts and doesn't stop until he's sheathed. You're frozen, stuck in a gasp that doesn't end, filled to the brim.

Simon begins to rock, shallowly, stealing your breath and breathing it back into you with every thrust. It's then that you begin to make sound, crying out and fisting the sheets, rocking your hips with him. He reaches around, leaning down to kiss your shoulders and play with your clit at the same time.

"Not gonna last," he says into your skin. "Gonna come inside you again."

You're easy - so sensitive that if he breathed on you long enough you're sure you'd peak. His fingers twisting and pinching your clit is pure madness, and you tighten like a vice around him as you yowl your last orgasm of the night.

His hips snap into yours roughly, abandoning your clit for the flesh of your hips, pounding, dragging, grunting into you as he finds his own release.

Half-asleep, you fell him roll over onto his side and turn your head to face him. He's smiling lazily, stroking your skin, still sweating from exertion.

"I'll come with you tomorrow," he whispers.

"I thought you couldn't come to Markarth?" Confusion prickles at you, brows coming together. He finds the furrow with his thumb and smooths it away.

"I can't, honey. But I can come down and wait for you."

"You will?" Hope rises in you, in tandem with affection.

"Always," his voice is a soft murmur.

"Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. Goodnight, sweet girl."

<3

[crushmeeren]

⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣ ༝ ⇣

࿐ take this 🍧 to keep you occupied while you browse ࿐

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Hoshina’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Mating runs are boring and common where you come from. You’ve taken part in more than you can count, yet no one has been able to catch you and the thrill’s worn off. You’re on the verge of giving up completely when someone new joins your pack. It startles you when you realize that you’re about to be in for the mating run of your life.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Bakugou’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ You’ve danced around each other since you were kids. It didn’t start that way, no, it only developed into something more once you turned into teenagers. Once you’ve both reached 21, it’s no secret who you’re deliriously hoping will pin you down during your first, and only, mating run.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ knotting, breeding, scent kink, biting/marking, fighting as foreplay, a/b/o dynamics.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Shinsou’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Hitoshi is the only other vampire that works at the bar with you. In fact, you’re two of the only vamps in town. It’s kind of isolating, but you have each other to lean on. You’ve resisted sleeping with him for fear of losing you’re only vampire companion, but when the shitty drunk regular takes it too far you and Hitoshi decide to…. “take care of him”. And each other.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Inumaki’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Being the only vampires in your specific group of assassins, you and Toge get contracted out and sent into a vampires only club to pose as a couple and hunt down your next non paying target. Someone must slip something into Toge’s drink to distract him, because the next you know you’re being dragged into a “private room” and riding Toge until your thighs burn.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ biting, blood play, exhibitionism, sadism/masochism ish?, mild body horror, etc. full versions have all the warnings!

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Touya’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Touya’s a regular at the coffee shop you work in. It’s in a seedier part of town and nobody bats an eye at the villain who stops in every night before close. He never speaks to you after he orders, winking and smiling eerily until the hair on the back of your neck stands up. But he’s the least of your worries. There’s someone wearing a ghost face mask who’s been stalking you after every shift. It’s been going a lot longer than you care to admit. Maybe it’s because, in a twisted way, you kind of like it?

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Megumi’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Megumi’s your boyfriend, but he’s a bit too obsessed with you. He starts pretending to stalk you at night while wearing a demon mask to drive you even further into his arms and see him as your protector. It backfires when Megumi doesn’t realize that you found out it was him almost immediately. Nevertheless, you’re going along with it because you’re just as obsessed and delusional about him.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ hints of hunter/prey, stalking, mask kink, breath play, knife play, a mixture of degradation and praise, yandere vibes.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Kirishima’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Boys fucking suck. Especially when it comes to sex. When you come across a forum of other women who have dealt with this problem, the word incubus catches your eye. After spiraling down a rabbit hole of what and how to obtain your own incubus, you think you’re getting a demon who’s dark and mysterious who can satisfy you. You end up with a demon that has the sun shining out of his ass. Although, he still ends up being way more than satisfying.

┊ ༝ ᭝ ༝ Kenma’s version ༝ ᭝ ༝ ┊ ‣ ‣ ‣ ‣ Kenma, according to you, is the laziest and worst incubus you’ve ever worked with. As a succubus, you work twice as hard as he does and still he ends up wreaking more havoc and causing such an insane amount of psychological damage that it causes your blood to boil. When you confront him about it, Kenma’s apathetic as usual. Then he shows you why he wears the crown. What a fool you were.

⋆ ⬪ KINKS INCLUDED ࿐ light bondage, choking, size kink, biting/marking, praise kink, rough sex, anal sex.

⇣ ⇣ ༄ ⇣ ⇣ ⇣ ༄ ⇣ ⇣

Whether you’re into monster fucking or something creepier, I’ll be feeding you little bats well this year. I do hope you’ll take a look around and find something that interests you.

I can’t promise these will all be super long since I’ve decided to torture myself and use two characters for each prompt, but I can promise they will be written to the best of my ability!

For the record, I will be writing these as 𓐩 ⋆ FEM READER ⋆ 𓐩. I hope this doesn’t disappoint anyone, but this is what I’m comfortable with and I’m not changing my mind.

That being said, cross my heart and hope to die I’ll put my blood, sweat, and tears into these! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

master list link

[daisyvisions]

Change Your Mind - (l.jy)

➺ Pairing: fboy best friend!Juyeon x afab!reader

➺ Summary: You befriend your college’s resident fuckboy who’s been eager to get with you since day one. But after a rollercoaster of emotions between your friendship, he wants you more than you could ever imagine.

➺ Word Count: 4k (wow who is she?!)

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), friends to lovers, mentions of partying, drinking alcohol, fuckboy tendencies (flirting, hookups, ghosting), lying to reader (at first), lots of kissing and making out, dry humping, oral (f! receiving), slight handjob and masturbation, unprotected sex (but he pulls out), aftercare, pet names (sweetheart, baby), a lovesick Juyeon

➺ A/N: I’m officially back from my break! Really wanted to take some time off and focus on things irl, can’t really say if the break helped bcos I was still stressed haha but anyway!This took me a while to finish up, felt incredibly rusty writing again but glad I was still able to do it 😭 Considering this as my late birthday greeting for Juyeon. Hope you enjoy this piece! Proofread once. Let me know if I missed anything!

➺ Network & Tag: @deoboyznet, and my girlies @aimeecarreros @snowflakewhispers @winterchimez

If anyone told you that you’d end up becoming best friends with one of the most sought out guys in your campus (and not to mention resident fuck boy), you would’ve laughed at their face. All your life you’ve tried to avoid befriending guys like Juyeon. A guy like him just generally gave you the ick.

You never understood how or why people would want to be friends with someone whose only objective is to get into girl’s pants and be praised for it. Not only that, but also playing with someone’s feelings and just dropping them at an instant was wrong on so many levels.

But here you are, lending him a helping hand while you two clean out his living room after throwing yet another one of his bi-weekly parties, which was usually code for “Please let me at least make out with someone tonight.”

It’s crazy how you consider him one of your bestest friends. In another world you both knew this friendship would never work out. You were both opposite of each other in so many ways!

So how did you even end up becoming friends with Juyeon?

Transferring to a different university in the middle of the semester was one of the worst things that could've happened to you. Not only did you have to adjust to a new set of lesson plans and navigate your way around campus, but you also had to sit alone during lunch since practically everyone already knew each other from freshman year and had their own set of cliques.

During your first week, you thought you could at least find a table you could sit with just by going up to the group you vibed with the most and ask politely. But you decided to just sit by yourself instead and avoid any embarrassing introductions. You refused to be known as the weird new girl (which you already felt like one to begin with.)

You tried to fight off the tears emerging from the corners of your eyes as you sat quietly in the corner of the cafeteria, slowly poking the food on your tray as you try to drown out the noise around you.

You wish you didn’t have to transfer and leave everything and everyone you knew behind. Yes, you can still call or text your friends, but you knew it was different than actually being with them on campus.

You were convinced you’d be alone for the rest of your years in college. No friends to hang out, laugh, or cry with. No one to go through the same struggles as you. No one to tell you that everything was going to be okay. You were definitely on your own until-

“Hey.” The voice suddenly snapping you out of your self-loathing as you look up and see probably one of the most handsome men you have ever seen in your life.

The way his eyes held so much love, how his smile could light up anyone’s day, and how his aura was something you never felt with anyone before. He was practically radiating sunshine to your already gloomy day. It almost felt too good to be true… Because what the hell was he doing here in front of you?

“…Hi?” You sit up straight as you try to subtly dab off the tears in your eyes.

“I couldn't help but notice you sitting here all alone.” The man gently says.

Great, the first thing he notices about you is how much of a loser you are. But before you could even say anything back he continues on.

“Would you like to come sit with us? We have some space for you at our table.” He slowly smiles at you. You hesitated at first, confused by the whole situation but quickly made up your mind.

“Uh… yeah, sure! If it’s not any trouble.” You shyly respond.

“Of course not! Can’t let a pretty thing like you be all alone on her first week here right?” He holds out his hand to you.

“How did you-”

“I’m Juyeon.” He interrupts you again. You tell him your name, your cheeks slowly warming up as your hand intertwines with his as he looks deeply into your eyes.

“Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” He smirks. You felt the butterflies raging within your stomach.

“So, let’s go?” He waits for your response, but you shyly nod your head instead as proper words get caught up in your throat. Grabbing his hand as you stand up and follow his lead.

You try not to make a fool out of yourself as you feel Juyeon’s hand rest on your lower back as you guides you through the sea of people. As you two are walking towards his table he leans close to your ear and whispers,

“We’re gonna be best friends, I promise.”

And ever since that day Juyeon really did keep his promise. He helped you catch up with some of the lesson plans you had, guided you around school, and always made sure to leave a space for you beside him during lunch.

You tried to wrap your brain around the idea of how someone like Juyeon just randomly entered your life and swept you off your feet. At first you felt like you were on cloud nine getting the most attention and almost boyfriend-like treatment from him. But as the weeks went by you soon discover that his reputation actually preceded him more than you thought.

You see, it was no secret that Juyeon was somewhat of a playboy. Well, somewhat was an understatement. During the first few weeks since you became friends he would walk you to class almost every time. In those moments you couldn’t understand why people would give you such weird looks or whisper to each other whenever you two would pass by.

Maybe it was because you stuck out like a sore thumb as the new girl? You decided not to mind it for a while, pushing down the thought that you were just overthinking all of this… that is until you accidentally learned about his reputation and the real reason why he approached you that day.

It was an accident. You were never meant to find out anything about Juyeon. But during a party that he brought you to, a certain loosed-lip drunk friend (Eric) decided to spill everything to you, down to every letter and detail imaginable.

To be honest, it didn’t bother you when you found out that Juyeon was indeed a fuck boy. You saw the signs as the weeks passed by.

The way he would flirt with someone while waiting for you to finish class, how the notifications on his phone would show a name of a different girl every week, and even the subtle touches he would leave on you which were definitely not considered friendly but not perverted either. What bothered you the most was finding out the reason why he even wanted to be friends with you.

“He’s been really working up to have his way with you, you know? And I mean who could blame him? Have you seen yourself? You’re so fucking hot-” Eric rambles on to you as he tries to lean his body against the wall to keep himself upright, slowly inching his way closer to you. You felt your blood boil in that moment, completely ignoring Eric’s advances.

How could Juyeon do this to you? Even after everything you shared with him about your life, your struggles, your secrets too? And to think you were starting to feel like he could be a really great friend to you. But this? Hell no. You were not about to let some handsome sleazy guy use you like that. Not in this or any lifetime.

You nearly crush the plastic red cup in your hand before storming out of the house, intentionally pushing past Juyeon’s shoulder in the way as he tries to approach you with the most concerned look you had ever seen on his face.

He ran after you that night. He even dropped on his knees begging for forgiveness in front of a crowd of drunk college people too. Over the top sure, but somehow you knew his apology wasn’t just a one and done thing.

And after the humiliating lecture you gave him as well as the list of promises he had said he will be doing in order to make up for his mistakes, you decided to give him another chance.

In return of accepting his apology, you offered to help him get out of his fuck boy tendencies and be his “guardian angel”. Juyeon was reluctant of the idea at first because it would mean he couldn’t be free to do as he pleased but he eventually gave in. He had to because well… He did owe you a lot for lying to you in the first place.

Somewhere in your mind you knew this could turn out to be a bad idea. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me, or however the saying goes. But Juyeon was different.

You knew somewhere in that deep conceited mind of his there was a version of him that was actually a good guy. A guy that can actually learn how to not fool around and maybe one day, find someone worth changing for.

You can tell it was a struggle for him at the beginning. But eventually he started to lessen the flirting, the hookups, the ghosting, and more.

Gone were the days where Juyeon had a line of women wrapped around his fingers (because they were too many of them to count). Dating was still a thing for him, but he had said and even showed you that he would take them seriously and not just move onto the next one as easily as he did before.

Eventually you realized over time that Juyeon turning over a new leaf was also becoming a struggle for you especially at parties when he would come up to you nearly drunk out of his mind, his subconscious would revert back to his old habits and he would act them all out on you.

His hands subtly snaking around your hips, your waist, how he would brush the hair off your neck and leave a warm kiss on shoulder. The way he would smile at you like a lovesick fool, never leaving your side as he attempts to drop his corny pickup lines.

Or the way he would jokingly confess how badly he wanted to kiss you. You knew he wasn’t in the right state of mind, that he was just being his old self. But it really did confuse you because sometimes it felt all too real.

Now you understood why someone could fall so easily for Juyeon. It was second nature to him.

You tried so hard not to give into his appetite especially in those moments. But it was becoming difficult each time since you the crush you had on him from the first day you met was screaming to be set free, desperate to overtake your heart and soul and just allow him to do as he pleased, no matter the consequences.

The many “what-if’s” that crossed your mind when you were alone in your room at night had plagued you constantly. Your walls were starting to crack and it was making you lose your self control around him.

“Maybe one little kiss wouldn’t hu-” No. You shouldn’t. The whole point of staying friends with Juyeon was to guide him to being a better person. It wasn’t about you or how you felt at all!

But… how bad could it be to become selfish just one moment in your life?

“Wow, I’m so tired.” Juyeon plops down on the sofa as you finish up collecting all the empty bottles and cups around the room. After the last bottle was thrown inside the trash bag you washed your hands and plopped right next to him.

You instantly close your eyes and let out a huge sigh of relief, showing the same exhaustion as he felt. As you stay silent and enjoy this quiet moment, Juyeon can’t help but just stare at you. He watches how your chest slowly moves up and down and tries to commit to memory the little details of your face.

You look so beautiful right now, he thinks to himself. As you always have since the first time he saw you. But he pushes down the feeling deep within his gut, having given up pursuing you a while back. But it doesn't hurt to look every once in a while right?

As soon as you open your eyes again, you catch him staring at you with a look in his eyes you can’t quite read. You chuckle at how silly he’s being and turn your body slightly to face him.

“What?” You ask.

“I-It’s nothing.” He shakes his head.

“C’mon, what is it? You can tell me.” You semi pout, and how can Juyeon say no to you?

“I was thinking-”

“Oh no he’s thinking.” You fake gasp and giggle as he playfully nudges your shoulder in return.

“It’s just- I still can’t believe how we ended up as friends despite everything, you know?” He smiles gently.

“Me too.” You respond, “To be honest, if I had known about your reputation before we met I would’ve rejected you that day.”

“Yeah?” Juyeon’s eyes grow wider as he scoots closer to you. He places his hand on your knee, making you become nervous all of a sudden. “And why is that?”

“W-well…” you feel a lump forming in your throat, the way his cologne invades your thoughts and has your head slowly spinning. Is it getting hot in here or is that just you?

“Because, guys like you just aren’t my type that’s all. And well-”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Juyeon interrupts you as he looks into your eyes. You nod in response.

“I haven't been with anyone else ever since that night you confronted me about my behavior.” He pauses for a moment. Dead silence filled the air as he waited for your response while you tried to grasp what he was trying to say.

“Huh? What about that girl you were with last week? Or the one you were texting?” You softly ask.

“I... I lied about them.” Juyeon looks away from you, afraid to look at your reaction. He looks up at the ceiling, pushing down any regret he’s feeling at the moment admitting the truth to you.

“But, why?” Your voice laced with concern.

“It felt wrong to be with those girls. To even think about kissing or touching them the way I would've back then, because…” He looks back at you, his hand on your knee now traveling up to your lap.

“…All I ever thought about in those moments was you.”

You felt your heart running a mile a minute. Eyes widening at his sudden confession.

“God you’re so beautiful it kills me inside.” he raises his hand and cups your jaw, thumb slowly stroking your cheek as his gaze turns into something more than just lust.

You subtly catch him quickly looking at your lips, your eyes nearly fluttering shut as he leans in closer. And with your lips just millimeters apart, he suddenly stops.

“But who am I kidding? I know you don’t see me that way-” Juyeon retracts his head, his face expressing a certain kind of sadness you can’t seem to properly label. You can feel your heart pounding in your ears as you watch him slowly slip away from you.

“Juyeon I-”

“It’s alright, I’m probably drunk. Just- forget what I said.” He shakes his head, but before he can attempt to get up from the couch, you grab his wrist. “No.” You sternly say.

Juyeon slowly sits back down on the couch and scoots really close to you, thighs pressing against one another. His eyes don’t leave yours, waiting for what you have to say or do.

“S-show me. Show me you mean it. Every word you just said.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you to tell me that.” Juyeon lunges forward and wastes no time as he leans in to kiss you. His pillowy lips feeling like heaven as he guides your lips with his, both melting into one another like it was always meant to be.

As your arms start to wrap around his neck Juyeon pulls you in closer, his body slowly falls backwards onto the couch. His hands desperately grabbing your hips to make you straddle his lap.

Juyeon whimpers into your mouth as soon as his straining bulge rubs against your core. His member throbs harder as you begin to roll your hips subconsciously.

He’s fucked way too many times to count but for some reason, grinding yourself onto his crotch makes him feel like an untouched virgin all over again.

He swears he can burst inside his boxers any second now if you keep doing this to him, especially with the soft little moans coming out of your mouth that sound so sweet.

Juyeon pulls away from your lips and starts to kiss your neck, mapping out his kisses until he finds the spot that makes you melt into a puddle. He knows he’s found that spot as your moans become louder and drag on longer.

He starts to wrap his arms around your torso and without warning, he flips you both over, making you squeal as he giggles at your reaction. His eager hands waste no time to unbutton your jeans as he continues to leave marks on your neck. You slightly push him away as you feel him slowly sneaking one hand into your pants.

“Wait-” You grab his wrist before he goes any further.

“Do you want to stop?” He waits for your answer.

“No it’s not that.” Your eyes close for a moment as you catch your breath.

“It’s- well- It’s been a while I've since done this. I- I might not be good for you.” Juyeon senses the worry in your eyes. He leans down to kiss the space between your eyebrows, his free hand caressing your cheek.

“Oh sweetheart… you’ll always be too good for me.” He smiles down at you. “You sure you still want this?” You nod your head instantly.

“Use your words baby, need to hear you say it. Tell me what you want.” His hand travels to your neck and gives it a soft squeeze. The act alone is enough to get you dizzy again.

“Want you- want you to touch me, please.” You look up at him so innocently.

Juyeon leans in to kiss you passionately once more, his tongue immediately intertwining with yours. He helps you out of your pants in the process not wanting to pull his lips away from yours until he tugs the hem of your shift and lifts it off, leaving you wearing nothing but your underwear on.

His kisses start to travel oh so slowly from your lips all the way to your inner thighs. Juyeon can feel himself pre cumming at the deep inhale of your panty covered core. The wet patch luring him in to kiss it and practically mouth your covered folds.

You let out yet another ethereal moan as your fingers weave through his hair. His hands slowly pull the garter of your underwear down, throwing the damp material behind him as he continues on with his ministrations.

Juyeon wastes no time and grabs the back of your thighs and placing them over his shoulder, making sure that his face is locked onto your throbbing core. He kisses your folds before suddenly darting his warm wet tongue between them, reveling in the taste of you before flicking your sensitive bud. He looks up to watch your reactions, which motivate him to keep on going.

“P-please…” You whine as he hums and sucks on your clit. Juyeon doesn’t even need you to tell him what you want, by the sound of your moans and the way your thighs slowly squeeze his head he knows you’re getting closer to the edge.

He nearly lets go himself when you reach your high without warning, the sudden burst of your essence onto his lips as you moan out his name was something he never thought would feel so divine.

He pulls himself up and goes back to kissing you, tasting yourself on his tongue has your core throbbing for him once again. Your hands hastily helping him unbutton his own pants along with his boxers as he pulls them down and kicks them to the side.

Your mouth waters at the sight of his impressive length, your hand instantly wrapping around his member as you stroke him slowly. “Oh s-shit.” He growls into your ear.

“Want you inside me Juyeon, want you to fuck me.” You whisper in his ear. He grabs your wrist to stop, holding his own member as he aligns it with your entrance.

“Don’t want to fuck you-” He mumbles. You pull away from him, confused by his words. His other hand grabs the back of your neck as he pulls your face closer to his.

“-Want to make love to you.” He whispers into your mouth. And before you know it he’s pushing his entire cock inside you, bottoming out instantly. You both moan into each other’s mouths at the stretch. Juyeon moves his hips slowly as he starts to fuck you deeply, making sure you feel all of him going in and out of your pussy.

Juyeon wishes this moment could last forever, but the way your walls grip onto his member like a vice brings him closer to the edge faster than he had hoped. Especially with how you’re moaning into his mouth and wrapping your arms around his neck so tight? He was a goner.

He’s never fucked anyone like this before, and now he can’t imagine doing this with anyone else except you.

With every deep thrust, you feel yourself on the verge of cumming for the second time. Each stroke hitting that sweet spot in you has you reaching for the stars.

“Fuck Juyeon, you’re gonna make me cum again.” You whine as the wet sounds you're both making has you feeling dizzy.

“C’mon sweetheart, cum on my cock. God you can keep cumming on my cock as much as you want I don’t care.” His thrusts start to pick up the pace. “I’m yours forever.”

Those three words were enough to snap the coil within, breathing heavily as your walls flutter around his length. You’re so caught up in your own head you don’t realize Juyeon uttering a string of whimpers until you feel him quickly pull out his cock and blow his load all over your stomach.

The both of you take a moment to calm down from your highs before Juyeon gets up to each for the box of tissue on the coffee table. You watch him gently clean you up before he pulls his boxers back on to find your discarded underwear and also helps you put it back on.

He hovers above you before leaning down to leave small kisses around your face and on your lips. You caress his cheek slowly as he leans into your touch.

“Did you mean it? Everything you said?” You softly ask him.

“Down to every letter.” He responds. “But… I think you broke me.”

“Broke you? How?” You playfully scrunch your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t want to see myself with anyone else now.”

“Oh really?” You raise an eyebrow. “And how should I fix it then?” He smirks and kisses you again,

“Let me take you out on a date and we’ll call it even.”

[gremlingottoosilly]

yandere König with a Halloween obsessed lover. Spooky decorations all year round, witchy vibe. How would he be with that?

He promised to give you everything you wanted when he kidnapped you. Months later, he is still good on this promise - even when it includes swapping his hood for a Ghostface mask and let you decorate the house with cheesy skeletons and pumpkin decorations. Konig isn't really into Halloween - he never got to celebrate it and only knows it from movies and occasional parties at his high school that he didn't attend. He indulges you, letting you shop for decorations with his card and watch horror movies on repeat, making them a stable background noise in your relationship. He quickly found out that giving you gifts and letting you roam freely around the house to decorate it was a way to your heart - and you're much more compliant when he lets you decorate the basement he kept you in like a Halloween-themed chamber, with fake candles and freshly carved pumpkins. Konig wasn't so sure about letting you use the knife the first few times, but you're surprisingly pliant about trying to stab him. He chose good, he supposes. A pretty darling, probably on the same spectrum as he is, happy as long as she gets to enjoy her silly hobbies. Konig doesn't understand you, but he is trying his best to make you happy. Let you get in town during October, fetch some decorations yourself - even get you a giant bag of Halloween-themed candy from Flying Tiger, smiling as you feed him some of the sour ones. he doesn't know if you're trying to poison him and he should punish you for it, but the sour apple tastes much better than the overly-sweet pumpkin muffins you baked a few days ago, so he licks the sour powder from his lips and kisses you, making you squirm from the taste. He likes it - how pliant you are, as long as you get to wear your black dress and some cute ghost-themed clips in your hair. He usually isn't a fan of horror movies, never liking the jumpscares and loud noises that made his soldier brain activate with desire to smash the fucking tv - but Konig is willing to watch them with you, secretly hoping you'd get in his embrace whenever a scary scene is happening. You never do, already desensitized to the horrors and noises - if anything, you let Konig put his head on your lap, cradling his hair every time something loud and tense is happening. You know that he is much stronger than this, but even a big guy like him needs comfort - and you're ready to provide since he was good for you. You make for a good little family, especially when you convince him that you enjoy sex with him twice as much when he is wearing some slasher mask - and when he spends another hundred on spooky decor just for you.