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oceandolores · 1 month ago

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ℜ𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫 | chapter I

General Marcus Acacius x f!reader

"in her eyes shone the sweetness of melancholy."

summary: In the grandeur of ancient Rome, you are the secret daughter of Commodus, living a quiet life as a servant in the imperial palace. Everything changes when you meet General Marcus Acacius, Rome’s honorable and stoic leader.

Though devoted to duty and loyalty to the princess, Marcus is drawn to you in a way he cannot ignore. A forbidden passion ignites between you both, and an affair begins—one that threatens the very foundation of loyalty, power, and honor. As you fall deeper into your dangerous love for Marcus, each stolen moment becomes a fragile, dangerous secret.

warnings: 18+ only, 14 YEARS AFTER GLADIATOR 1, ANGST, Fluff, A LOT OF SMUT, Unprotected Sex, Exhibition Kink, Age-Gap, Ancient Rome, mentions of violence, Gladiators, Blood, Gore, Politics, Sexism, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, mentions of death, Innocent and pure reader, Loss of virginity, Infidelity, more warnings will be added throughout the story

Chapter I

masterlist!

next | chapter II

The palace is alive with preparation, a beast of marble and gold that never rests. Its veins are the labyrinthine halls, pulsing with servants like you, carrying trays of delicacies, wreaths of flowers, and jugs of wine.

Its heart beats to the rhythm of whispered orders, clinking metal, and the distant echo of the marketplace beyond its gates. Tonight, the beast awakens for another feast.

You adjust the folds of your simple tunic, careful not to brush against the elaborate tapestries that line the walls. Each thread tells a story of conquest, glory, and power—legends you’ve only heard murmured by those old enough to remember.

You are not part of those tales, nor their lineage. You are a servant, a shadow cast by the towering figures who walk these halls.

The kitchen is a tempest. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, and sweet figs. Claudia, the head cook, barks orders, her voice slicing through the chaos like the edge of a Roman gladius.

You pass her with a nod, your arms laden with trays of fruit—gleaming apples, plump grapes, the kind of bounty the common people outside these walls could only dream of.

Livia catches your eye from across the room. Her presence is a steady anchor in the storm, her face worn but kind.

“Have you checked the wine?” she asks, her tone soft but urgent.

You nod. “It’s ready, Mother,” you reply, the word slipping out as naturally as breath.

She is not your mother—you know this much—but she is all you have.

The story of how you came to be here is one you’ve heard countless times: a baby abandoned at the servants' chamber door, cradled in a basket of woven reeds, with nothing to mark your origin save for a scrap of fine cloth that no one in your station would dare to own.

Livia found you there, swaddled in whispers of mystery, and against all odds, she chose to keep you.

Raised among the laboring hands of the palace, you were given no privilege beyond survival and no legacy but that of work.

The great marble halls and gilded frescoes became your entire world, a place as eternal and unmoving as the gods themselves—or so it seemed.

The servants’ quarters where you lived were nestled in the hidden bowels of the palace, far from the glittering feasts and marble statues.

You learned to scrub floors and pour wine long before you understood the language of wealth and power that filled these walls.

Your life had been carved out in the shadows, molded by the soft voices and calloused hands of those who raised you.

Today, like every other, begins in service to Rome's ever-churning hunger for spectacle.

The air hums with anticipation, thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, a stark contrast to the stench of poverty that lingers just beyond the palace gates.

“Are the platters for the atrium ready?” Livia’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“They are,” you reply, glancing at the polished silver laden with grapes and apples, their skins shining like jewels under the torchlight.

“Good.” Livia’s sharp eyes soften, though her expression remains tense. “Take the fruit out yourself. And stay close to the kitchen. Today will bring trouble, I feel it.”

You nod, understanding the weight of her instincts. Years of serving in the palace have taught her to sense the storm before it strikes.

As you lift the platters, Claudia, calls over her daughter, Alexandra.

“Go with her,” Claudia orders, waving a ladle for emphasis.

Alexandra groans dramatically but obeys, rolling her eyes as she grabs one of the platters.

“She can’t let me rest for a moment,” she mutters, her tone more amused than annoyed.

You chuckle softly. Alexandra has always been like this—bold where you are cautious, quick to speak where you stay silent.

She is your only true companion here, older by four years and infinitely more daring.

As you and Alexandra arrange the fruits on a grand table in the atrium, she leans closer, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “The Princess will be here tonight.”

You nod absently, focused on ensuring the grapes cascade just so. “Of course, she will. She is the Princess after all.”

“No, I mean, I haven’t seen her in years,” Alexandra continues, ignoring your tone. “Not since I was a kid. That was ten years ago. You know she moved out of the palace after marrying the general.”

You don’t reply immediately, your hands steady as you arrange the fruit. Alexandra has always loved to gossip, but you prefer to keep your thoughts unspoken.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years, and she hasn’t had a child? Not one with him,” Alexandra muses.

“Maybe it’s their choice,” you say quietly. “It’s not our place to wonder.”

Alexandra scoffs lightly. “I’m just saying, after her son—what was his name? Lucius?—after he was taken and killed by her brother, Commodus…” She trails off, her voice tinged with something between pity and fascination.

You remember Lucius vaguely, a boy with a quiet demeanor and a sad smile.

You were too young then to understand the weight of his loss, but the servants whispered of curses and tragedies surrounding the imperial family.

“It’s not good to talk about the great emperors like that,” you murmur, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Before Alexandra can reply, the sound of heavy boots echoes through the atrium.

The guards step forward, their polished armor glinting in the firelight. “Make way for their majesties,” one announces, his voice carrying over the growing murmur of the guests.

You and Alexandra immediately bow your heads, the platters forgotten as the twin emperors enter the room.

Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla are a study in contrasts.

Geta, an imposing figure, commands the space with a cold and calculating gaze. His every step seems deliberate, as if the weight of the empire rests on his shoulders alone.

Caracalla, by contrast, walks with an erratic energy, his pet monkey perched on his shoulder. Dondus, the creature’s name, chatters and hisses, a mirror of its master’s unpredictable moods.

You feel the weight of their gazes as they sweep the room. Geta’s lips curl into a smile—or is it a smirk?—as his eyes linger on Alexandra.

There have been whispers, rumors of an affair, though Alexandra denies them with a laugh.

Caracalla’s gaze lands on you, and for a moment, his expression softens. Unlike his brother, he has always been strange but oddly kind to you.

When you were a child, he would find you in the halls, offering you small trinkets or asking you to keep him company.

“Your Majesties,” Alexandra says again, her voice like honeyed wine, sweet but strong.

She curtsies with practiced ease, her eyes cast downward, yet her boldness hangs in the air, unspoken but palpable.

You follow her lead, bowing deeply, but your heart pounds in your chest like the war drums of a distant legion. In the presence of the emperors, the room feels smaller, the air heavier.

To serve Rome, you think, is to breathe in the will of its rulers, no matter how suffocating.

Geta's gaze lingers on Alexandra, traveling from her head to her feet, as though she were a statue he might commission or a possession he already owns.

His smirk deepens, the corner of his mouth curving with an indulgence that unsettles you.

“Alexandra,” he drawls, his voice smooth as polished bronze. “Why do I find the table half-dressed? Are my guests to dine on the promise of fruit alone?”

You glance at the platters, perfectly arranged but not yet fully adorned with the remaining dishes. Your pulse quickens; you know the punishment for displeasing the emperors can be swift, unpredictable.

But Alexandra, bold as always, doesn’t flinch.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” she says, her tone measured yet edged with defiance. “The final trays are being brought out as we speak. The delay was unforeseen.”

Geta arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper, more dangerous. “Unforeseen,” he repeats, as though savoring the word.

“I wonder, Alexandra, if you’ve grown too accustomed to... distractions.”

You know the meaning behind his words. Everyone does.

The whispered rumors of their affair swirl through the palace like incense smoke, clinging to every corner.

Her mother Claudia knows, though she turns a blind eye, perhaps thinking it wiser not to provoke the wrath of an emperor.

Beside him, Caracalla shifts, uninterested in the exchange. His pet monkey, Dondus, chitters softly on his shoulder, its small, beady eyes scanning the room.

Caracalla’s gaze falls on you briefly, but it is not unkind. He has always been more erratic than cruel with you, there is a peculiar understanding in his glances—a shared knowledge of solitude.

“Forgive us, Your Majesty,” you say suddenly, your voice trembling like a bird caught in a net. The words tumble out before you can stop them, and the weight of the room shifts.

Geta’s eyes snap to you, sharp as a blade. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made a grave mistake.

But then he laughs—a low, indulgent sound that sends shivers down your spine.

“Ah,” he says, leaning slightly toward you. “The little dove finds her voice. How curious.”

You stiffen under his gaze, your knees threatening to buckle. It feels as though he is peeling back your very skin, seeking something hidden beneath.

“You’re the youngest servant here, aren’t you?” Geta muses, his tone light but with an edge that cuts.

“A curious creature, so quiet and unassuming. And yet…” He trails off, his eyes narrowing, as if piecing together a puzzle.

The weight of unspoken rumors presses against your chest.

The whispers about your lineage, the murmurs that you are more than a servant—that you are the illegitimate daughter of Commodus himself, a shadow of Rome’s bloody past.

You’ve heard them before, though never directly. Livia, your steadfast mother in all but blood, dismisses them as lies, the gossip of bored tongues.

But in moments like this, when Geta’s piercing gaze locks onto yours, it feels as though the marble walls around you whisper secrets only they can hold.

Secrets of your origin, of what blood may or may not flow through your veins, encased in the silent austerity of Rome’s cold embrace. You feel the weight of it, a shroud both invisible and suffocating.

Geta doesn’t believe the rumors entirely, but he cannot ignore them either. To him, you are a thorn he cannot pluck without proof.

If the whispers are true, if you are indeed the hidden scion of Commodus and the only living grandchild of Marcus Aurelius, you would be a danger to his rule.

Rome, after all, has loved its Aurelius lineage fiercely.

The plebeians would rally to your name like vines twisting toward sunlight.

Still, no woman has ever ruled Rome.

The Senate, the soldiers, and the gods themselves would balk at such a notion. But Geta knows that power is not always rooted in precedent—it is rooted in the hearts of the people.

And the people would love a descendant of Marcus Aurelius far more than they could ever love him.

“You wear the palace well,” Geta says finally, his tone dripping with mockery. “A little too well, perhaps.”

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but keep your gaze respectfully lowered. His words are like serpents coiling around you, their venom lying just beneath the surface.

Caracalla hums softly, breaking the tension. He strokes Dondus, the little monkey perched on his shoulder, as though soothing himself rather than the animal.

“Leave her, brother,” he mutters, his tone flat but carrying weight. “You scare the child.”

Geta casts his twin a glance, his smirk briefly faltering. With that, he straightens, clapping his hands once in finality. “Finish the table,” he commands, the sharpness of his tone slicing through the room.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” you and Alexandra reply in unison, bowing deeply as the emperors turn and walk away.

Their robes ripple like molten gold, catching the light as though the gods themselves had woven the fabric.

The moment they are gone, you exhale shakily, the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipping from your lips.

The grandeur of the palace, so often a thing of wonder, now feels oppressive—a prison of marble and ambition.

Alexandra nudges you gently, her smile faint but reassuring. “It’s fine,” she murmurs, though the tightness in her voice betrays her unease.

You nod and return to your work, the routine motions of arranging platters grounding you once more. But the unease lingers, like a storm cloud that refuses to dissipate.

Later, after the feast preparations are complete, you retreat to the servants’ quarters. The hallways grow quieter as the palace begins to prepare for the night’s debauchery.

Your mother, Livia, finds you there, her expression tight with concern.

“Are you all right?” You nod quickly, not wanting to worry her further.

Livia’s sharp eyes search yours for a moment before she exhales heavily. “Stay away from them tonight,” she warns. “There will be soldiers, senators, politicians—men who think they own the world. And women and men from the brothels to entertain them. It will not be a place for a child like you.”

“I understand,” you say softly, though the thought of the gathering makes your skin prickle.

"Go to your chamber and stay there.” You nod, obedient as always, and Livia cups your face briefly before bustling away.

But as you walk toward your chamber, the stillness of the afternoon draws you elsewhere.

***

The sun bathes the palace gardens in a golden light, soft and warm, like an embrace from the gods themselves.

The sky is a flawless stretch of azure, and the air carries the faintest scent of blooming jasmine.

Unable to resist, you veer toward the gardens, seeking solace in their quiet beauty.

You make your way to the small pond at the edge of the grounds, where the world feels simpler, untouched by the weight of marble columns and imperial decrees.

This is your sanctuary, a place you’ve tended with your own hands.

The hedges are trimmed neatly, the flowers arranged in bursts of vibrant color—crimson roses, golden marigolds, and pale violets that seem to glow in the sunlight.

The pond reflects the sky like polished glass, its surface rippling gently in the breeze.

You settle onto the cool stone bench nearby, pulling out a small parchment and charcoal.

Writing has always been your escape, a way to make sense of the labyrinth that is your mind.

The words flow from you like water from a spring, each line capturing fragments of your thoughts and fears.

To live in the shadow of gods is to forget the warmth of the sun.

You stare at the words you’ve written, sentences about Rome and its people, the empire’s endless hunger that devours the poor while the rulers gorge themselves on the spoils.

It isn’t rebellion that drives you—at least, not yet—but a quiet, gnawing sense of wrongness.

You have lived your entire life within the confines of this palace, its gilded walls both a sanctuary and a prison.

Outside, beyond the Forum and its grand marble temples, the streets of Rome teem with despair. You’ve seen it, fleeting glimpses on the rare occasions you ventured beyond the palace gates.

Children with hollow eyes and grime-streaked faces.

Men broken by war or taxation, their shoulders bowed under invisible yokes.

Women clutching bundles of rags that you realized, with a sick lurch, were infants too still to be alive.

These thoughts weigh heavily on you as you sit by the pond, the garden’s beauty unable to shield you from the world’s harsh truths.

You lower your quill, pressing trembling fingers to your lips, when the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you sharply from your thoughts.

You stiffen, the air in your lungs turning to stone. It isn’t one of the servants; their steps are lighter, quicker.

This tread is deliberate, measured, carrying a weight of authority. When you glance up, your breath catches.

The man before you is not adorned with the opulence of the Senate nor the ostentatious silk of the emperors.

You know who he is. How could you not?

General Marcus Acacius.

Rome’s shield and sword, the hero of distant campaigns whose name is whispered with both reverence and fear.

You have never seen him in the flesh, for he seldom resides in the palace, choosing instead to live with Princess Lucilla far from its labyrinth of intrigue.

But his likeness is everywhere: etched in marble statues, painted in frescoes, immortalized as Rome’s protector.

Yet, here he stands, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if the gods themselves have sent him.

The crimson cloak draped over his broad shoulders glints faintly in the golden light, its hem embroidered with intricate patterns that seem to tell the story of the empire’s conquests.

His tunic, simple yet stately, is cinched with a polished belt, a gleaming buckle bearing the proud insignia of the wolf of Rome.

Unlike the ornamental decadence of the Senate or the twin emperors, his attire speaks of purpose and practicality—beauty tempered by utility.

And his face—by Jupiter, his beautiful face.

It is a map of victories and sacrifices, weathered yet noble. The lines carved by years of sun and battle only enhance the sharpness of his features, as if the gods had personally molded him for their own designs.

His hair, dark and streaked with silver like the gleam of moonlight on a blade, curls faintly at his temples.

His beard, neatly trimmed, frames a mouth set in the hard line of a man who has spoken a thousand commands and swallowed a thousand regrets.

But it is his eyes that strike you most: deep, piercing, soulful-brown eyes.

They are the eyes of a man who has seen the best and worst of humanity and bears the weight of both.

Your breath catches as his gaze sweeps over you, taking in the sight of a young servant clutching a parchment like a shield.

He regards you with a sharp, assessing gaze, his eyes like iron tempered in fire—unyielding yet reflective.

His presence is commanding, a gravity that draws everything into its orbit. You are struck by how different he is from the emperors.

Where Geta and Caracalla exude indulgence and cruelty, Acacius carries himself with the disciplined grace of a man who has known the weight of true responsibility.

“Not many choose the gardens for their thoughts,” he says, his voice deep, steady, and tinged with curiosity.

It is a soldier’s voice, devoid of the honeyed pretense of courtiers.

You scramble to your feet, clutching your parchment to your chest. “General,” you manage, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

He raises a hand, the gesture more commanding than any shout. “At ease,” he says, a faint flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossing his face. “You are Livia's daughter?"

His question hangs in the air like the distant clang of a bell. You nodded, your name feels small in your mouth when you finally say it, barely audible against the rustling of the garden’s leaves.

Acacius nods, as though filing the information away. His eyes flick to the parchment in your hands. “A poet?”

You hesitate, “I... I write, sometimes. Thoughts.”

He steps closer, his presence overwhelming yet strangely grounding. He does not reach for the parchment, but his gaze lingers on it as though he could read its contents by sheer will alone.

“Thoughts on Rome, perhaps?” he asks.

His tone is even, but there is an edge to it, a subtle weight that suggests he already knows the answer.

Your throat tightens. To speak of the empire’s flaws to a general of its armies feels like standing on the edge of a blade.

Yet something in his bearing—a quiet patience, a restrained curiosity—compels you to answer honestly.

“Yes,” you admit softly. “About Rome. And its people.”

Acacius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, a shadow crossing his face. He looks away, toward the pond, his gaze distant now, as if seeing not the still water but something far beyond it.

“The people,” he repeats, almost to himself. “The heart of Rome. And yet, the heart is always the first to be sacrificed.”

The words are spoken quietly, but they carry the weight of experience, of battles fought not just with swords but with conscience.

You watch him, your earlier fear now replaced by a cautious curiosity.

"Do you... believe that?" you venture, your voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling like a fledgling bird daring its first flight.

Marcus halts, his crimson cloak swaying like the banner of a legion stilled in the wind.

He turns to you, his eyes—sharp as a polished gladius—softening for the briefest moment, as if your question has reached a part of him long buried under layers of duty and steel.

“Belief,” he begins, his voice low and steady, carrying the weight of a man who has lived lifetimes in service to an empire, “is a luxury in the life of a soldier. I deal in action, not faith. But I have seen enough to know that Rome’s strength lies not in its emperors, but in its people. And we are failing them.”

The honesty in his words strikes you like the tolling of a great bronze bell, reverberating through the quiet garden and deep into your chest.

It is not what you expected from a man like him—a hero to some, a sword-arm to the empire—but here he stands, speaking not as a general but as a man, his voice laced with something unguarded. Regret, perhaps. Or hope—fragile and faint, but alive nonetheless.

“Do you believe in Rome, little one?” His question falls like a stone into still waters, and you startle, unprepared to have the conversation turned toward you.

“I—” Your words falter, and you look down at your hands, clutching the parchment that now feels like an accusation.

But then, something inside you stirs—something that refuses to shrink back beneath the weight of his gaze.

You lift your eyes to meet his, the courage in your chest kindled like a flame drawn from embers.

“I believe in what Rome could be,” you reply, your voice steadier now.

“I believe in the Rome that lives in the hearts of its people—the ones who work its fields, who build its roads, who kneel at its altars not out of fear, but out of love. That is the Rome worth fighting for. But the Rome I see now…” Your throat tightens, but you press on.

“...has forgotten its people. It worships marble statues and golden coins while the streets crumble and the people starve. How can an empire endure when its foundation is so neglected?”

Your words spill forth, unchecked and unmeasured, and it is only when you see the faintest flicker of something in his expression—respect, perhaps, or surprise—that you remember who stands before you.

The weight of your boldness sinks in like a gladiator realizing they’ve overstepped in the arena.

“Forgive me, General,” you murmur, lowering your gaze. “I forgot myself.”

But Marcus shakes his head, a wry smile playing at the edges of his mouth. “Do not apologize,” he says, his tone gentler now, though no less commanding.

“You are young, but your words carry the wisdom of one who has not yet been corrupted by power. Few speak with such clarity, and fewer still with such courage.”

His gaze lingers on you, searching, and you feel it like the sun breaking through storm clouds.

“You remind me,” he says, his voice quieter, almost reverent, “of someone. He believed, as you do, in the strength of Rome’s people. He would sit in gardens much like this one, speaking of justice and duty, and wonder aloud whether the empire could ever live up to its ideals.”

Your heart quickens, the weight of his words settling over you like the cloak of a goddess.

The way Marcus looks at you—as though he sees not the servant, but the soul beneath—makes you feel for a fleeting moment.

“I am no philosopher,” you say softly, your fingers tightening on the parchment. “But it is hard to remain silent when I see so much suffering.”

“A Roman citizen has every right to speak of their empire’s failings,” he says, stepping closer now.

“Do not mistake me for a politician, child. I am a soldier. My loyalty is to Rome—not to the men who rule it."

You nod, the words settling over you like a cloak woven of both gravity and reassurance.

The air between you feels charged, alive with the kind of understanding that is rarely spoken but deeply felt.

You watch him, his form cast in the golden hues of the setting sun, the crimson of his cloak vivid against the muted greens of the garden.

There is something about him that draws you—not merely his reputation, not the legends whispered in the palace halls of his valor and victories, but him.

The man behind the titles and statues.

You swallow, your heart a restless bird in your chest. You should not linger, not with him, not now.

And yet, you find yourself unable to walk away.

Words rise to your lips, hesitant at first, but then they spill forth, tentative and careful, like a child offering a wildflower to a god.

“Forgive me, my lord, but shouldn’t you be inside?” you say, your voice trembling under the weight of its boldness. “The palace is bustling with your celebration—wishing you fortune for your campaign, for Rome’s glory.”

He turns his gaze to you, the faintest flicker of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. “Rome’s glory,” he repeats, as though tasting the phrase on his tongue, finding it bitter.

He lets out a soft chuckle, low and warm, a sound that feels oddly out of place amidst the solemn grandeur of the garden. “Let them feast. Let them toast. I’ve no appetite for gilded words tonight.”

You blink, surprised by his candor. He is not what you imagined—not the marble statue immortalized in the Forum or the hardened general whose name echoes in the chants of soldiers. He is… more human than that.

“I’m waiting for my wife,” he adds, his tone casual, though his eyes seem to linger on you as if measuring your reaction.

Princess Lucilla.

The name hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of legend. Rome’s Princess. The only daughter of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. You’ve never met her, though her shadow looms large over your life.

“She was delayed,” he continues, glancing toward the palace, though his stance is relaxed, unhurried.

Princess Lucilla, her legend precedes her, a name spoken with reverence, and sometimes, in hushed tones, with fear.

Your mother, Livia, has served her since she was but a girl.

Livia, who moves through the world with a quiet dignity, has always spoken of the princess with unwavering loyalty. “She carries Rome on her shoulders,” your mother would say, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. “The weight of a crown rests on her brow, even though it does not sit there.”

Your thoughts drift, but his voice pulls you back to the present.

“Your mother,” Marcus says, his tone shifting to something softer, more contemplative, “she’s a loyal servant to our household, isn’t she?”

You nod, feeling a strange warmth rise to your cheeks. “She is, my lord. My mother adores the princess. She always speaks highly of her.”

At this, Marcus smiles faintly. His expression, though guarded, carries a warmth that feels rare, as if he’s allowing himself a brief reprieve from his usual stoicism.

“Livia is wise, then. Lucilla is… more than most know. Rome sees her as Marcus Aurelius’ daughter, but to me—” He pauses, his voice lowering to something almost reverent.

“She is a woman of strength, far greater than any man I’ve known. Her loyalty to Rome and its people… it humbles me.”

For a fleeting moment, his mask of a hardened general slips, and you glimpse something deeper.

A man bound not just by duty but by love.

His words hang in the air, gilded with affection, and you feel a pang of longing, though for what, you cannot say.

“I’ve never met her,” you admit, your voice quieter now.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Lucilla?”

You nod, feeling suddenly self-conscious beneath his scrutiny. “I’ve only heard stories. My mother always told me about her strength, her grace. But we’ve never crossed paths.”

Marcus regards you for a long moment, as if seeing something in you he had not noticed before. “She would like you,” he says at last, his voice steady, though something lingers in his tone, a note of intrigue.

“Are you coming to the feast tonight?” he asks, the question catching you off guard.

You hesitate, glancing toward the palace where the distant hum of celebration filters through the evening air. “Servants are not permitted to attend such events, my lord,” you say, lowering your gaze. “I am only a servant after all,"

His brows furrow slightly, as if the answer displeases him. “Rome is built on the backs of those it calls servants. Do not diminish yourself.”

You blink, unsure of how to respond. There’s a weight in his words, one that feels both heavy and freeing.

Before he can say more, hurried footsteps echo through the garden. You turn, and there stands Alexandra, one of the palace attendants, her expression tight with worry.

“My lord,” she says, bowing her head quickly as her wide eyes catch sight of Marcus.

The respect is immediate, almost reflexive. General Acacius commands not just authority but admiration.

Men respect him, but women… they speak of him in hushed tones, a figure both distant and impossibly magnetic.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” Alexandra continues, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of his gaze. “Your mother is looking for you,"

Marcus looks at you, his expression softening. He steps aside, the movement graceful despite his formidable frame, as though making room for your escape.

"Tell Livia my apologies for keeping her daughter here," he says, his voice low yet deliberate, as though each word is a promise carved in stone.

His gaze lingers on you, longer than it should, and it feels as though he is reading something beyond the surface—a map of your heart, perhaps, etched in the lines of your face.

For a moment, the world narrows to just this: the garden bathed in the golden light of a setting sun, the faint murmur of the distant feast, and the weight of his eyes, heavy yet strangely gentle.

There is something about you, his expression seems to say—something unspoken but undeniable.

You feel it too, a spark that flickers to life beneath the layers of duty, expectation, and fear.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight,” he says, the words more a statement than an invitation, leaving little room for protest.

There is a finality to his tone, yet also a quiet insistence that stirs something within you.

Before you can respond, he dips his head ever so slightly—a gesture of respect, or perhaps acknowledgment—before turning and striding away, his crimson cloak flowing like a banner in his wake.

You bow reflexively, watching him disappear into the shadowed corridors of the palace, his figure swallowed by the grandeur of Rome itself.

Yet even as he leaves, his presence lingers, an echo in the air, a weight in your chest.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps fades, Alexandra is at your side, her face alight with barely contained awe.

“Was that… the general?” she whispers, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and reverence.

“Yes,” you reply, though your own voice feels distant, as though it belongs to someone else. Your thoughts are still tethered to the garden, to the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“By the gods,” she breathes, clutching your arm as though you might disappear. “He’s… he’s even more handsome up close.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Careful, Ale,” you chide gently, though there’s no malice in your words.

“I’ve heard so much about him,” she continues, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“About his loyalty to Maximus Decimus Meridius—the late general—and how he served under him during the great campaigns. They say he adored the princess even then. Some even whisper that his loyalty to Maximus was why he stayed so close to her after his death, marrying her to protect her.”

You glance at her, your brow furrowing slightly. “You know far too much for someone who spends their days in the laundry.”

She grins, unrepentant. “The laundry is where all the palace’s secrets come to dry.”

You shake your head, though her words gnaw at the edges of your mind.

You’ve heard the stories too, in bits and pieces from the older servants: tales of Lucilla’s love affair with Maximus, and Marcus’s steadfast devotion not only to his commander but to the empire itself.

A marriage born of loyalty, they say, not love. And yet, there’s something in the way Marcus spoke of Lucilla earlier that makes you wonder.

As Alexandra chatters on, her words a tide of gossip and speculation, your thoughts drift back to Marcus.

To the way he stood in the garden, his form framed by the soft glow of the setting sun. To the depth in his eyes, like wells carved by the gods themselves—deep enough to drown in, and yet you couldn’t look away.

You feel a strange restlessness in your chest, a stirring you can’t quite name. It isn’t admiration, nor fear, but something more complicated. Something heavier.

Marcus is unlike anyone you’ve ever known—unlike the indulgent senators with their honeyed words, unlike the cruel twin emperors whose laughter carries the sting of a whip.

He is a man of iron and fire, tempered by years of battle, yet beneath that hardened exterior lies something softer. Something… human.

And perhaps that’s what unsettles you most.

You’ve spent your life surrounded by women: your mother, Livia, with her quiet strength and unshakable loyalty; the other servants, who taught you to navigate the palace’s labyrinthine halls.

Men were distant figures, their power felt but never seen up close. Fathers, you’ve only heard about in stories—abstract concepts, not flesh and blood.

But Marcus is no abstraction.

He is real, tangible, a presence that feels larger than life yet undeniably mortal.

To see him, to feel him, is to glimpse a side of the world you’ve never known—a world shaped not by whispered orders or silent sacrifices, but by action, by conviction, by the weight of decisions made on the edge of a blade.

You shake your head, trying to banish the thoughts, but they cling to you like the scent of blooming jasmine in the garden. “It’s nothing,” you tell yourself, though your heart betrays you with its restless rhythm.

“Nothing at all,” you murmur, though even the words feel like a lie.

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tashibum · 2 months ago

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To Own, But Not To Share (I & II)

Part 3 Part 4

Chapter summary: Emperor Geta is buying a new sex slave. The auctioneer has a try before you buy scheme.

Emperor Geta x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, pure filth, dubcon, sex slaves, slavery, buying people, public sex, unprotected sex, creampie. One sided Caracalla/reader. 4.6k words. Read on AO3

(I only saw Gladiator 2 because of Pedro Pascal, but then became obsessed with Emperor Geta as soon as I saw him. Only had horny thought since then 😂)

The Auction

Watching the women before you be paraded out one by one terrified you. The auctioneer was as disgusting as the men in the crowd bidding. Through the bars of the cage you could see at least 100 men all there to see what sorts of slaves they could buy. Technically, your owners could use you for whatever they wanted, whether it be household chores or physical labour. But the auctioneer saw the crowd around him, and knew how to sell the women for the best profit.

The first woman was brought out and stood still where she was placed. She was guided to turn around to show her body, then the auctioneer lifted up her threadbare toga to display her bare ass to the men.

Her ass received a hard spank. “Not much jiggle, but you could fatten her up to your liking,” he explained.

He then went down to kneel behind her. He pushed down on her back, encouraging her to arch it. With both his hands, he spread her cheeks apart. When he had savoured the view, he spat onto her hole. You saw the woman shiver at the sensation.

“Well would you look at that. A perfect puckered hole ready to be used,” the auctioneer teased.

It was disgusting, but it was your life now. Your new owner would use you however he saw fit.

The next girl was brought out. She was roughly pushed down onto her knees to kneel before the men.

“Look at those lips,” he mused. The auctioneer pulled up his toga and presented his semi-hard cock. He handled his dick and bounced it against the poor woman’s lips, before forcing it inside.

You tried to look past the assault that was happening and into the crowd. Everyone moved forward to see the spectacle shown. The sunlight reflected on something and sent a beam of blinding light your way. Moving away from it, you squinted to try to find the source, and that was where you found the Emperor in his headdress. He was surrounded by men in armour, you supposed they were his guards.

You knew you were going to be out next. And now you knew Emperor Geta would see you be defiled. The shame and embarrassment of someone of such aristocracy witnessing it, it made you want to curl up into a ball. But then the thought occurred that it might be a good thing. Out of all the men there to buy a slave, the Emperor would surely provide you with the best life. You would be fed and washed. You might even get a bed to sleep in.

You pondered this as the highest bidder of the woman on the floor was now getting his dick sucked.

“Would you like to continue with the purchase?” The auctioneer asked.

“Ah, yes,” the buyer replied, his hands grabbing his new slave’s greasy hair to force his cock further inside her mouth.

You were next. Two men grabbed you by your arms to roughly guide you out of the cage towards the centre of the clearing. They were instructed to lift up your arms and remove your clothing.

The auctioneer stalked his way around your naked body slowly, checking you out. Your eyes searched for Emperor Geta’s, but not in the seductive way you imagined. Instead, you wanted someone to help you. The reality hit you hard that you were probably about to be raped, and would be for the rest of your life.

“On all fours.” You were instructed, and slowly made your way down to rest your hands and knees on the cobbled brickwork. From this angle, the men could see your body from the side. Your breasts hanging, your bottom curved.

The auctioneer went behind you and you heard him getting on his knees too, moving his tunic. Your eyes found Geta’s, and they stayed there as you were entered. You were not aroused, your sex had not produced anything to ease the intrusion. The pain from the friction made you drop your head. Your eyes now focused on your hands in front of you as you tried to ground yourself.

“As you can see, she can handle a large cock,” the auctioneer boasted.

Geta scoffed. He thought it was pathetic if the middle aged man truly thought he was well endowed. He knew he was bigger.

“May I have a turn?” Geta asked, walking through the crowd towards you. The security team followed, but Geta made them stay with the crowd.

The attack on you finally ended, and the man quickly withdrew himself from you. You winced at the sudden sharp friction.

“Why, of-of course Emperor. It would be my pleasure,” the auctioneer stuttered and stood to the side.

“The pleasure will be mine,” he retorted and went to his knees.

The most powerful man in Rome was directly behind your naked body, and you were extremely self-conscious about what he saw. The Emperors probably had maidens to keep their whores beautiful. They would be bathed, shaved and plucked to the leaders’ likings.

You had not washed in weeks.

The Emperor hiked up his long white tunic, now getting filth from the ground all over it, and stroked his cock to get fully erect. He then spat down onto it, stroked it to cover it all. You then heard him spit again. This time he spat into his hand and rubbed it over your entrance. He did not give you much, believing that you would be turned on by being with an Emperor.

He collected your hair in his hand and yanked it. “Look at me,” he demanded. You knew better than to defy his orders.

He guided his cock to you with his free hand, and stared deep into your eyes as he pushed the tip inside. He was bigger than the previous intrusion, and you were still dry inside. Your mouth opened and your head turned to face ahead again.

“Look at me!” He fumed. When he had you locked in eye contact again, he pushed the rest of his length inside you.

“Gods,” you quietly exclaimed.

Geta smirked. This wasn’t just him having sex with a slave. He was showing off his power to everyone in the audience. Reinforcing the image of a powerful leader to his subjects.

His hands moved to your hips to help him thrust inside you at a steady pace. You bit your lip and nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment that you were fine with this, not that he would have cared if you didn’t. Once your body had grown accustomed to his girth, you could feel pleasure start to grow. The intense eye contact you shared made you throb.

“Tight, isn’t she?” The auctioneer encouraged, reminding you that despite only seeing Geta, you were not alone. The Emperor shot him a stare, displeased with the interruption.

He soon returned his eyes back to you. He looked gorgeous this close up. You got to see the makeup surrounding his needy eyes. You wanted to feel his lips on yours. You wanted him to rub his nose against your shoulders as he caressed you.

You let out a moan and quickly brought a hand to your mouth to stifle it.

“Let them hear you. Show them what their Emperor is capable of,” he boasted. For your own dignity, or what dignity you had left, you would try to stay quiet until he was finished.

Selfishly, you wanted to touch him. From this position of him taking you from behind, your hands had to remain on the ground to keep you steady.

“Lay down,” you quietly requested. You didn’t want everyone to hear you, especially when things could go badly. No one tells Emperors Geta or Caracalla what to do. He could have you killed for speaking to him. You had heard rumours of them killing people for lesser crimes.

His thrusts slowed to a standstill. For a moment you expected to be hit, but he smiled mischievously. You were making him appear desired and lusted over.

He laid down with his feet nearest the audience, this way you would block him from view as you rode him. You moved the front of his long tunic to his waist as you hovered on top of him. Your body had now coated you with juices, letting him slip inside so easily. Not knowing if he wanted a slave to touch him, you kept your hands on your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him.

“Lay back and let her do all the work. A smart move, Emperor,” the auctioneer praised. You could make him a lot of money if you pleased the Emperor, he could pay much more than the rest of the men there to buy.

Emperor Geta shook his head against the bricks. This wasn’t about letting you do the hard work, this was about pleasure. He could tell you were getting off, and believed beautiful creatures such as yourself deserved orgasms.

He began to thrust his hips up into you shallowly, only slightly, to help you on your way.

You wanted to moan and beg him to fuck you harder, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You had to remind yourself that no matter the pleasure he gave you, you were just another slave to him.

Your hand grabbed your breast, needing more stimulation. Like he could read your mind, his hands slowly touched your thighs, then moved upwards to caress your hips, stomach and ribs before moving your hand away and holding your breasts. He squeezed them before moving to your nipples to hold them between his thumbs and pointer fingers. You expected him to pinch them hard, but he softly tugged on them, causing you no pain whatsoever.

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his clothed torso. If you were alone with him, you would shimmy your shoulders, resulting in your breasts swaying side to side for him, but you could still see the auctioneer in your peripheral vision.

“How much for her?” Geta asked, his eyes not leaving you, enjoying the feel of your breasts and welcoming cunt.

“4000 sesterces,” the auctioneer offered. It was higher than the usual price of a slave, but he knew the Emperor could afford it.

“She is worth more than that,” Geta complained.

He was talking about buying you, you shouldn’t have taken it as a compliment, but you did. The Emperor liked you. You kept repeating it in your head.

He likes me. He likes me. He likes me.

It made you ride him harder. You grinded back and forth on his cock, desperate for one of you to cum. You wanted him to buy you, to take you back to the palace and keep you. His cock was angled perfectly inside you, as though Venus herself sculpted you both to fit perfectly together.

His hands left your breasts to caress your hips and waist. The metal of his rings scratched your skin as he moved them, but you didn’t care as long as his fingers touched you. The gesture could almost be seen as romantic under different circumstances.

In the past, you had made yourself peak when rubbing yourself, but you were about to climax with neither you or him touching your nub. When being penetrated before, you derived no pleasure from it. But something about his cock was different. It was like he found parts of you no one ever had before. It made you want to chase the feeling.

You rode him even harder, desperate for that elusive end. You felt it nearing and did not stop until it hit you.

And it hit you hard.

You had not climaxed in a long while, so maybe that was why it was so intense. Or maybe it was the Emperor’s glorious length. Your movements slowed to small grinds as your body convulsed on top of him. Your physical reaction on the outside matching what was happening inside. Your walls clenched around him. Tight, hot and wet. That, matched with seeing your body shake caused the Emperor to reach his peak too.

You saw his face tensed in pleasure. You felt his load shoot inside you. None of the other plebeians could claim that.

You moved off him to sit between his legs. His cock still throbbed against his belly until you saw it turn flaccid. If he was alone with you, he would order you to clean him up with your tongue, but he would wait until he had you all to himself for that.

You pulled your knees to your chest to try to cover yourself now that the act was over. Between your legs, Geta could see his spend leaking out of you and onto the brick below.

He turned his head to the auctioneer, “25,000 sesterces,” he offered. The Emperor would pay more if his offer was rejected. He’d pay anything to have you with him.

The man approached him and shook his hand, “We have a deal, my lord.” He had just made his entire projected profit from the whole batch of women he had from you.

Geta stood up and made himself look presentable again. “Have her taken back. Make the maidens wash and feed her,” he directed.

You were taken and placed in a carriage. They did not pick up your tatty toga, so you journeyed to the palace naked, the Emperor’s seed drying on your inner thighs.

The Palace

You did not see him again when you entered the palace. You were in the slaves quarters, a large room filled with beds and dressing tables. You were given a simple toga upon entry, but told more lavish clothing awaited you. It was the first time being a slave you were given decent clothes. You were given soup and bread and ate it with the maids as none of the other women approached you. You assumed they were fellow sex slaves too. But you were puzzled as to why they would not introduce themselves to you. Surely they knew what you went through?

“Why are they all staring?” You asked.

“You are fresh meat. One more person to fight over the Emperors’ affections with.”

These other slaves saw you as competition. It made you wonder how nicely the Emperors treated their whores if they all wanted to be most favoured by them.

The next day you had two maidens bathe you in warm, soapy water. One of them focused on cleaning your hair and body, the other shaved and plucked hair from all over your body. It hurt, and you were terrified of the blade cutting you in your most intimate area, but this was how the Emperors wanted you. You had been told that you would join them today for your first day of work.

No matter how fancy and luxurious things were, this was your work. Your body had to look perfect as it was the only thing keeping you in the royal palace.

You quietly entered a grand hall filled with people. Over the other side you saw a large couch with the Emperors sat on it, surrounded by the slaves who wouldn’t give you the time of day. You found a chair by the door and sat down, thinking it would be for the best if they were not to see you. You didn’t want to cause tension, you would gladly let the other men and women shower them with touches if it meant it made your life easier. They might put on a show of acceptance in front of the Emperors, but in your quarters you feared segregation.

You kept looking up to see if anyone had spotted you, and in doing so, caught Geta’s gaze. You cursed yourself for not being more careful when stealing gazes their way. Geta pushed off the woman draped over him and gestured for you to come over.

“Come,” his voice bellowed out in the room. The woman who he pushed away did not seem happy, it made you nervous to make your way over there.

You wore a colourful dress made out of expensive fabric. Your hair had been combed and small braids had been added, tiny flowers placed precariously within the hairs.

He moved over slightly and patted a space between himself and the armrest for you to sit in. It was not a large space, you found yourself trying to shrink yourself to fit, bringing in your shoulders and crossing your legs tightly.

“There is no need for that,” Geta turned and said to you.

You realised that he wanted you to have to lean on him, practically sit on him. So you took on the role he wanted, you positioned yourself so your back rested on him, placed your head on his chest. His left hand held his wine, his right hand smoothed down your arm to your hand where his fingers traced patterns in your palm.

“So this is what you bought,” his brother noted from beside him. “25,000 sesterces is extortionate. You should have the auctioneer executed.”

“We are not short on money,” Geta argued back.

“She must be worth it,” Caracalla bickered.

“Worth every coin,” affirmed Geta.

He began to trace your neck with his nose, then his lips. His hot breath against your skin gave you goosebumps. It wasn’t long before he was placing wet kisses up and down the side of your neck. It was so sweet it made you forget your relationship with him was slave and master. You expected roughness and abuse from your owner, not kindness.

His kisses aroused you. You started to rub your thighs together for pleasure, wishing his hand would move from yours to beneath your dress.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered for his ears only.

He took a firm hold on your chin and brought you forward towards him, his lips claiming yours. If he did this with all the women, you could see why they fought over his affections. He made you feel wanted and adored.

He tasted like the fruit wine he had been drinking, amplified when his tongue went to yours. With your eyes shut, you couldn’t see the looks of contempt coming from the other concubines, like you were advancing on their territory.

You pulled your lips away from his and held his face in your hands, stroking his jawline with your thumbs. “Please, I want you.”

You naively thought he would take you somewhere alone, so were taken back when he put his wine on the floor by is feet and pulled you on top of him, making you sit with your back pressed against his chest. You would have sex with him in front of all these people, you tried to calm yourself with the thought that they do this all the time and no one cares. Or at least, no one had the bravery to share their concerns with the Emperors for fear of death. He pulled your dress up at the back for access, but left the front of your dress to cover yourselves. He pulled up his knee-length toga and slapped his cock against your wet sex. He did not need any time to prepare; kissing you had made him erect.

He did not give you any time to prepare either, good thing you didn’t need it. His cock slid through your folds, nudging your clit, before finding its home inside you.

You let out a quiet gasp, not wanting to make a scene.

“There is no need to refrain. Everyone here knows what we’re doing,” he comforted, speaking into your ear. “Show them you were worth the money.”

You moved your legs to kneel on the couch, making it easier to bounce on him. To anyone who looked over it was obvious you were riding his dick. Maybe that was what the Emperors liked. They got off on others’ humiliation.

Unlike when you rode him before, this time his hand went under your dress to where your bodies met. He felt your entrance stretch around him, then moved north to your clit. With your wetness, he began to rub. Lightly at first, but then with pressure in little circles. You wondered which whore taught him that.

“Emperor, I-“

“Yes,” he cut you off. “Explode on me. Feel rich with the pleasure I give you.”

When your orgasm hit, you shuddered and his cock slipped out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing. His hand didn’t stop rubbing. Even when you closed your legs to take his hand away from the over-sensitive nub, he forced his hand back there to keep going.

With his hand coated in your slick, he gripped his cock and started to stroke himself. He must have already been near as he only had to work on himself for 20 seconds or so before he shot his load over his hand and the neat patch of hair on your mound. He brought his hand to your mouth, and you gladly cleaned it for him. Taking each finger into your mouth one by one, sucking them clean. If you really thought about it, him feeding you cum out of his hand should disgust you, but you would take any piece of him he offered you.

You turned and saw Caracalla smiling at you, impressed with the display.

“I want my go,” he expressed.

Geta looked at him silently. He knew exactly what his brother wanted, but did not want to grant it.

“What’s with the face brother? We share everything: Rome, the palace, power. You bought her with our money. We both own her. I want my turn!” he demanded.

Geta knew he had no real claim on you. He had nothing to argue back with, so begrudgingly had to let you go to him.

You didn’t want to though. You turned around on his lap to face him, your eyes pleading him to help you. He could see your hesitation and silently enjoyed it. He shared everything, he just wanted you for himself.

“It’s okay. Go,” he tried to comfort, but it did not give you any confidence.

You walked over to him on shaky legs before he grabbed you and pulled you onto his lap. His hands went under your dress all the way to your breasts to squeeze them. Unlike his brother, he was harsh. He pinched your nipples then used them to shake your breasts. He leaned up to reach your neck with his mouth, but instead of his brother’s gentle kisses, Caracalla scraped his teeth on your skin, biting down now and then.

You turned towards Geta, but he didn’t see you. His gaze was set forwards, breathing heavily with his hand gripping his chalice so hard his fingertips turned white. He could not help you, so you surrendered yourself to Caracalla’s wants.

His hands went into your dress and two fingers quickly made their way inside you. After a minute of pumping fingers, he withdrew his hand to inspect it.

“All that cream for me,” he noted.

You wanted to slap him and tell him that your arousal was not for him. It was his brother that created that inside you. He was merely feeling his brother’s leftovers.

You looked over at Geta, but his eyes were still locked forwards, as though he was trying his hardest to avoid what was happening next to him.

You were pushed down, his cock spearing into you, and you knew you had no choice but to fuck him. You started to slowly move, and when Caracalla was unsatisfied with your performance, he grounded his feet and began to thrust up into you.

You held onto the back of the couch for support and looked at Geta again. This time, he looked back at you with sorry eyes.

You hoped Caracalla would reach his peak quickly to end your torture, but he seemed to have good stamina.

“He needs you to cum,” Geta stated, looking away from you again.

That would be an impossible feat. Why did Caracalla care about your pleasure? Why didn’t he just use your hole for his satisfaction like every other slave owner would?

Caracalla smiled at you; it made you feel sick.

“You came for him, but you struggle with me! Am I not worthy?” He roared.

“Of course you are worthy, my Emperor,” you placated.

You could try to fake your peak, but what if he knew? Would he kill you for it?

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes as he fucked you, giving Geta the chance to take ahold of your hand. He moved it to his mouth and gently kissed it. It was a kind gesture, but not helpful in your current predicament.

He placed your hand in one of his palms, and used his other hand to tap your palm. He did this, then looked at you, then looked at your crotch. At first you had no idea what he was insinuating. Then it clicked.

The motions he was doing on your hand. He wanted you to do it to your clit.

You unsteadily let go of the couch and led your other hand under your dress. Geta held your arm to keep you from slumping on his brother. He simply wanted you to tap for now. His tapping got faster, so yours did too. The tapping on your hand changed to slow circles. As two of your fingers circled your pearl, you were sure you were getting wetter because of it. Caracalla would think it was his doing, unaware of his brother’s silent communication with you.

Geta began to circle your palm so aggressively, you thought his fingernail would burrow into your skin. You rubbed your clit desperate to orgasm, and when it started, you let out a loud gasp to make sure Caracalla knew what was happening. Geta let go of your arm and your body fell forwards onto his brothers, further making him believe he had given you an intense climax.

Not giving yourself anytime to enjoy what Geta had given you, you got off him and went down onto your knees between his legs. You did not want him to shoot his seed inside you, he didn’t seem like the kind that would pull out and the thought of it made you wince.

You started to jerk his cock at a furious pace, desperate for this ordeal to be finally over. When he came, you directed his cock towards his belly, not to get any on you.

When he had finished, Geta took your arm and tugged you back to him, making you sit where you previously had been, between him and the armrest.

“Brother,” Caracalla started, “That was amazing. I thought she was going to stroke my cock clean off.”

Geta gave his brother a villainous smile as he normally would, but didn’t share his brother’s joy. He wrapped his arm over your shoulders, stroking your upper arm.

“Would you like some wine?” He asked, thinking it might relax you after what you had to do. You shook your head.

“Tea?” He offered. You were aware that if you kept declining him, it could be seen as rude, so you nodded and repeated tea to him. Tea would be easier to stomach than alcohol right now.

Geta raised his left hand and clicked twice to get the attention of a servant.

“Tea for the lady,” he requested, and a servant hurried off.

When they returned you sipped your tea and lamented on what your life had come to. Desiring one owner, and being repulsed by the other.

#emperor geta x reader #gladiator 2 #emperor geta #gladiator #emperor geta imagine #emperor geta fanfic #joseph quinn

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alygator77 · 4 months ago

Text

ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 6 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (dry humping, grinding)】

ꨄ words: 14.4k

ꨄ a/n. hello my lovelies!! :) life has been a roller coaster to say the least, but i'm so excited to share this chapter with ya'll. i'll see you at the bottom with my thoughts ♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 6 // drenched in truth

The gala was a night that promised perfection, elegance and ease…but the storm on the horizon had other plans for you.

As murmurs of conversation hum throughout the grand ballroom, it’s easy to forget the world outside—that is, until you hear the first distant rumble of thunder.

Before you know it, the once clear starry evening, slowly gives way to ominous clouds gathering the horizon, with the first raindrops of the evening arriving barely noticed beneath the layers of music and chatter—tapping against the expansive windows like an impatient guest requesting entry.

But the gentle taps soon evolve into a steady, insistent drumming, making the rain’s presence impossible to ignore as the water streams down the glass windows in rivulets—distorting the view outside and making the world beyond seem distant and blurred.

It’s getting late…

You subtly glance down at your phone to check the time, and as the screen illuminates, a picture of you and Haru at the park flashes across the display. What a bright and sunny memory—completely different from the now impossible to ignore presence of this unforgiving rain.

As the storm outside grows, your thoughts immediately shift to Haru. Is she okay?

The last time there was such a storm, Haru had been terrified of the thunder—each crack making her small frame shake, eyes filled with tears and voice trembling as she whispered mama, seeking comfort in your embrace.

Is the nanny capable of soothing her?

The sudden concern that she might be scared and inconsolable gnaws at you, making it hard to focus on anything else as you navigate the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with people whose names you’ll forget by morning.

The opulence of the gala, the sparkling chandeliers, the elegant music—it all feels suffocating, a gilded cage keeping you from where you truly need to be. Home. That’s where you should be, holding Haru close, comforting her through the storm, not trapped in this endless sea of strangers and small talk.

You glance at Satoru beside you—a picture of calm, hand resting in his pocket as he engages in light-hearted conversation with a group of guests, smiling and laughing. It’s all so natural, so effortless as their chatter seems to exist in a world far removed from the storm—both outside and within you.

As you stand there, nodding along to the conversation without truly listening, your eyes begin to drift across the room and you notice a few other couples discreetly making their way towards the exit, coats draped over their arms—if only you could do the same.

You find yourself fidgeting with the hem of your dress—you really want to go home.

Glancing up at Satoru again, you wait for a brief lull in his conversation where the chatter dies down just enough for you to discreetly speak to him without interrupting.

Once the opportunity arises with the laughter fading and the conversation shifting to another topic, you seize your moment. Leaning in close to Satoru, your shoulder brushes against his arm as you softly whisper under your breath.

“Hey… it’s getting late and with this storm, maybe we should think about heading out soon?”

Your words are careful, quiet, meant to blend into the background noise of the gala so that no one else notices your request, and Satoru’s gaze flickers to you, his expression softening as he takes in your concern. But then he sighs quietly, his hand gently brushing against your arm, a small gesture of reassurance.

“I know,” he murmurs, “but there’s just one more obligation I have to fulfill for the event—a quick thank-you speech to the sponsors. I promise, we’ll leave right after that.”

He begins to turn back to the conversation, the group’s voices already beginning to rise again, but just as he starts to pull away, a low rumble of thunder reverberates through the room, and your gaze instinctively flickers to the windows, where the rain beats against the glass with increasing ferocity, the relentless sheets of water streaking down like tears.

Without thinking, your hand reaches out, lightly touching Satoru’s arm—a small, almost hesitant gesture. As your fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, your subtle plea for his attention makes him pause and turn back towards you, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Satoru…I’m really worried about Haru,” you confess, keeping your voice low to avoid drawing the attention of those around you. “She hates storms… she’s terrified of thunder.”

Before you can say more, he shifts slightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you gently into his side. You are met immediately with the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of his cologne and the steady rhythm of his breath. His hand moves in slow, comforting motions up and down your arm, as if trying to transfer some of his calm to you.

He tilts his chin down towards you and he speaks in a low gentle murmur, meant only for you.

“Haru has the nanny. She’s safe. I’ll make sure she’s okay, and this won’t take long—I’ll be quick, I promise.”

His words, paired with the comforting rhythm of his hand, are meant to ease your worries, to reassure you that everything will be alright, but for some reason they land with a dull thud in your chest.

You know Haru has the nanny…but you can’t shake the feeling that it might not be enough for her. You’ve been Haru’s rock throughout everything—Naoya was never there for her, and she hasn’t had anyone else.

“I know, but…” you glance towards the windows again as another rumble of thunder reverberates through the room. “Haru gets so scared. Last time, she cried for hours and couldn’t sleep without me.”

Satoru’s eyes flicker between you and the group of guests nearby, a momentary glance that betrays the tug-of-war happening within him.

“I get it. I do,” his tone is still gentle but with an edge of urgency now. His eyes lock onto yours, pleading for understanding even as they flit once more to the gathering around you. “This is important, though. I made a commitment to be here, and it’s crucial that I see it through. But I’ll make it quick, I promise. We’ll leave as soon as I’m done, and we’ll be home before you know it.”

A mix of frustration and helplessness begin to bubble through you as you watch his gaze. There is a sense of sincerity, yet it feels divided—part of him here with you, with another part already back in the spotlight, where the murmurs of the gala grow louder.

You know he’s committed to the cause, that his presence here holds weight—it’s not that you don’t understand—it’s just that… does that really matter right now when Haru might need you?

“Alright…” you say reluctantly, the word heavy on your tongue. “Just… don’t take too long, please.”

ꨄ︎

Perhaps this storm isn’t just weather—it’s a harbinger.

Your attention shifts between watching Satoru on stage, giving his speech to the sponsors, to the large windows lining the ballroom. Outside the once vibrant red carpet is now a sodden strip of fabric, abandoned to the elements.

The storm has worsened, intensifying with each passing minute, and with it, your sense of dread. Your fingers tap idly against the polished surface of the round dinner table as the wind howls like it wants to be let in, the rain lashing against the glass with a ferocity that seems malevolent.

You try to focus on Satoru’s words, but a movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention. A man, tall and imposing with raven hair, weaves his way through the crowd, his presence almost too casual for an event like this. He’s dressed well enough to blend in, but there’s something about him—something in the way he carries himself, the scar upon his lips—he feels out of place.

He's somewhat…intimidating—like a predator stalking its prey.

Once the man approaches your table, you stiffen slightly, instinctively pulling your shawl tighter around your shoulders. He’s close now, close enough that you can make out the sharpness in his features, the cold glint in his eyes.

But…why is there an air of familiarity about him? You can’t quite place it. He stops just short of your chair, a smile curling his lips, though is doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Mind if I sit?” he asks—and he doesn’t wait for your answer before pulling out the chair beside you.

Caught off guard, you nod slowly.

“Sure…”

Settling into the seat with a casual ease there's a small, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. A subtle tension radiates from him as his gaze flickers to you.

“Enjoying the event?” he asks, voice smooth, almost too smooth, like oil on water.

Great. This is really not what you need right now. It’s hard enough playing your part when you have Satoru’s support, but now, you’re by yourself. What if you slip up and say something wrong?

Unease bubbles inside you, making it difficult to muster more than a faint smile upon your lips.

“Yes, it’s been lovely,” you nod politely.

“Mm… quite the storm out there though,” he comments. “But then again, a little chaos never hurt anyone, right?”

His tone sends a cool shiver down your spine. This guy gives you the creeps, but you force a polite smile, unsure of what to make of him.

“I suppose not…”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze shifting to Satoru on stage before flicking back to you.

“You must be proud, seeing him up there,” he remarks. “It’s not every day you get to stand beside someone so… influential.”

His words, though innocuous on the surface, feel laden with meaning—like there’s something he’s not saying, something he’s implying, and you feel a chill that has nothing to do with the storm outside.

Who is this man, and why does he seem so familiar?

He leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

“It’s important to keep an eye on those you care about, wouldn’t you agree? Sometimes… things aren’t always as they seem.”

The statement hangs in the air, heavy with implication, but before you can respond, he straightens up, his gaze flickering to the stage again where Satoru is now wrapping up his speech. The unsettling smile returns to his face—a smile that carries a shadow passing over his expression.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” he stands from the chair. “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” and he turns on his heel, disappearing back into the crowd as quickly as he appeared.

But the chill he leaves behind lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

Weird…what a creep.

You shake off the lingering sense of unease as Satoru beings to step down from the podium, exchanging pleasantries and goodbyes with a few lingering guests.

His eyes flicker to you, and then towards the window, catching a glimpse of lightning as it illuminates the darkened sky, and for just a second, you notice a shift in his expression as he takes in the worsening weather.

Excusing himself from the crowd, Satoru steps to the side discreetly with practiced ease and pulls out his phone. You watch as he dials, his back turned slightly from the attendees, and although you can’t hear his words, you know what he’s doing—a rush of relief washes over you as you realize he’s calling the driver to come pick you up.

Finally.

The thought of being on your way home, of holding Haru close and reassuring her, makes the wait almost unbearable.

Satoru’s conversation is brief, but you watch it with growing anticipation, and once he slips his phone back into his pocket, he meets your gaze from across the room again.

Wait…there is something in his expression…an unease that wasn’t there before. Concern.

He weaves through the crowd with purposeful strides, and your heart sinks—it slowly becomes more apparent that something isn’t right, and the chatter in the ballroom grows quiet as guests murmur about the worsening weather.

Once Satoru reaches you, he doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, he pulls out the seat beside you, flipping it around so that the back of the chair presses against his chest as he sits, arms folded across the top of it. The movement is casual in appearance, but the way his fingers tighten around the wood, his knuckles whitening just slightly, betrays the calm facade he’s trying to maintain.

“So…” he leans in a little closer, voice low, almost reluctant. “We’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“What’s wrong?” anxiety builds inside you.

He hesitates, just for a moment, his eyes flicking to the side as if searching for the right words, before meeting your gaze head-on.

“There’s been an accident on the main road leading out of the city… it’s caused a major blockage, and with all this rain, the roads are practically flooded. My driver’s stuck on the other side and won’t be able to reach us for hours… maybe not until morning.”

Oh, you see red.

The storm outside suddenly feels like a mirror to the one brewing inside you—fierce, relentless, and impossible to contain.

If only you had left sooner, if only Satoru hadn’t insisted on staying for that last part of the gala—if only he had understood the urgency you felt—you wouldn’t be in this mess.

And now, Haru is alone at home, frightened and vulnerable, and you’re stuck here, trapped by circumstances beyond your control.

The thought makes your blood boil.

“So, what do we do?” The words escape your lips with a sharpness that even you didn’t anticipate, cutting through the air like a knife.

Satoru’s eyes widen and he runs a hand through his hair, a rare display of uncertainty flickering across his usually composed demeanor. His eyes shift away from you, scanning the room as if searching for a solution hidden in the lavish surroundings.

“…let me figure this out. Wait here,” he murmurs as he pushes back his chair and stands.

Watching his tall frame cut through the crowd, suddenly the sound of the rain beating against the glass now seems almost accusatory—a relentless reminder of this absurd situation you are now stuck in.

This night suddenly feels like it’s teetering on the edge of disaster—the thin veneer of control slipping from you with each passing second. But there are faces around you, and although they blur into a sea of indifference and hallow chatters, you are acutely aware that people are still watching.

You take a deep breath attempting to calm your frustration. There must be something Satoru can do. He has money and power—there must be some sort of solution he can find to this. Haru needs you.

Suddenly, you catch sight of Satoru weaving his way back towards you, his stride purposeful and his expression carrying a hint of relief. For a brief moment, hope flutters in your chest—perhaps he’s found a way out of this mess.

When he reaches you, he shoves his hands into his pockets, leans in slightly and speaks with a sense of accomplishment.

“So… good news. I spoke with the event coordinator. Given the circumstances, the hotel has offered us one of their VIP suites for the night. It’s just upstairs, fully equipped with everything we need until the roads clear up.”

Yeah…that’s not the solution you wanted.

A suite? He wants you to stay overnight? When Haru is at home, probably terrified, clinging to her blankets with wide, tear-filled eyes? Does he really think that’s what you wanted to hear?

“That’s considerate of them, but what about Haru?”

The words escape your lips before you can temper them, clipped and laced with the sharp edge of your rising aggravation. As they slice through the air, the flicker of surprise that crosses Satoru’s face is immediate.

Fuck.

You’re still in public, at this stupid gala. You have to stay composed; you can’t afford to lose control—not here.

Your eyes scan the room for any prying eyes, anyone who might have caught the slight outburst. It doesn’t seem like anyone noticed… thankfully. The last thing you need is for your moment of panic to become another piece of gossip for the night.

Taking a long deep breath, you attempt to regain some semblance of composure, but as you lower your voice, the tension still coils tight in your words.

“She’s back home, we can’t just leave her alone.”

“But she’s not alone,” he counters, tone firm but gentle. “Haru’s in good hands with the nanny, she’s safe. I’ll make sure everything is handled. I’ll compensate the nanny for staying overnight with Haru.”

He is clearly not on the same page as you—he doesn’t understand. Safe? Maybe. But comforted? No. Compensation won’t calm Haru’s fears; money can’t replace the warmth and reassurance of her mother’s arms when she’s trembling in fear.

But you can’t say that here—you don’t trust yourself to soften the words, not with the eyes of the gala on you, prying, ready to dissect any sign of discord between you and Satoru. So instead, you grasp for something, anything—another solution, another way out of this mess.

“Isn’t there something else we can do? Another route we can take?” you press, the desperation seeping through despite your efforts to keep it contained.

Satoru’s shoulders tense ever so slightly, a subtle shift that only someone who knows him as well as you do would notice. There is a flicker of frustration in his eyes as they narrow, and you watch him take a moment to briefly weigh his words.

“Y/n this is the best solution I can come up with,” there’s an undercurrent of firmness that brooks no argument. “It’s not safe for us to leave right now. The roads are flooded, and I can’t risk us getting caught out there.”

For a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff, each of you grappling with the weight of the situation, the reality pressing down like the storm outside. He’s right—you know he is—but that doesn’t make the situation any easier to swallow. The knowledge sits heavy in your chest, a bitter pill that refuses to go down smoothly.

Why couldn’t Satoru just listen to you when you suggested you leave early?

The thought fuels your frustration simmering just beneath the surface. You should have been more persistent. But now, here you are, trapped in this gilded cage while your daughter is home, scared and needing you.

Satoru exhales softly, the tension in his shoulders easing and the hard edges of his demeanor softening just slightly as he steps closer to you—he’s trying to bridge the growing chasm between you.

His hand reaches out, and you want to pull back, but you are in public, you can’t. There’s a softness in his touch, a quiet desperation to connect, but you can feel the gap widening under the weight of everything left unsaid.

He tilts his head, caressing your hand as his gaze searches yours.

“It’s just one night,” he murmurs, and there’s a tenderness there, an unspoken plea for you to understand, to see that he’s trying to make the best of a bad situation. But to you, the words feel hollow, like they’re echoing in a void that’s too vast to bridge with simple reassurances. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning before Haru even wakes up.”

But will she be okay?

The question burns in your throat but you keep it to yourself—it wouldn’t come out nice anyway.

You are trapped—trapped by the storm, trapped by this situation, trapped by the need to maintain this perfect, unblemished image for everyone around you.

So instead, you force a tight-lipped smile, one that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s the best you can manage, a fragile mask to hide the storm inside.

“Guess we don’t have a choice….”

“I know…we’ll get through this though. Just one night,” he echoes, as if saying it again will make it more true, but the repetition feels like an empty promise.

You nod, the motion stiff and reluctant.

“I understand,” the words taste like ash. “Let’s go upstairs then,” you rise from your seat, not waiting for him to respond.

ꨄ︎

As the elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding, you step inside with clipped precision, your movements sharp and purposeful. The elevator is empty—thank God.

The last thing you need right now is to plaster on a fake smile and pretend that everything is fine when you’re anything but. You don’t have the energy to pretend—not in front of strangers, and certainly not in front of Satoru.

You barely acknowledge him as he steps in behind you, your focus narrowing on the glowing buttons as you swiftly press the number for your floor. Once the door closes with a soft thud, instinctively, you gravitate to the far side of the elevator, creating as much distance between you and Satoru as the small space allows.

There’s a brief pause as Satoru hesitates, his eyes flickering over to you before he pulls out his phone, and the soft glow of the screen casts a muted light over his features, highlighting the tension in his brow.

As the elevator hums quietly, beginning its ascent, you catch sight of Satoru dialing the nanny’s number from the corner of your eye, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Hey, listen… there’s been a situation with the roads—they’re flooded, and we won’t be able to make it back tonight. Can you stay with Haru until morning?”

He pauses, listening intently to the nanny’s response, and although you can’t make out her words, you see the way Satoru's brow furrows, the lines of tension etching themselves deeper into his features.

The muffled sound of the nanny’s voice filters through the phone, indistinct and far away—until another sound reaches your ears, clear and unmistakable.

Haru.

Her small, trembling voice carries through the phone, quivering with fear as she calls for you, confirming the gnawing dread that had been eating away at you all night. You were right, of course, but there’s no satisfaction in that—not when your daughter is scared and crying for you, and you’re trapped miles away, helpless to do anything about it.

Satoru’s jaw tightens. “Haru’s okay, right?” tone softer now, almost hesitant.

There’s a pause, a heavy silence that stretches out as Satoru listens, and you watch as something in his posture shifts—his shoulders slump ever so slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but enough to tell you that the news isn’t good. He closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling quietly.

“Tell her that her Mama will be home in the morning… and I’ll make sure everything’s okay. Just... stay with her, please.”

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Satoru fixes his gaze on the floor, unable—or perhaps unwilling—to meet your eyes. He offers no words of comfort, no apology. And you, in turn, make no effort to break the silence either.

Maybe it’s for the best—because right now, the storm raging inside you is just as fierce as the one outside, and you’re not sure you can contain it much longer. The lid holding down your frustration is teetering dangerously on the edge, threatening to spill over, and as the pressure builds, your emotions coil tight like a spring ready to snap.

If you open your mouth now, the floodgates will burst.

So, you’ll wait—you’ll discuss this with Satoru when you’re more level-headed. Right now, all you want to do is crawl into bed—away from Satoru, away from this night, away from everything that feels so suffocatingly wrong.

The silence stretches on, thick and unbearable, and once the elevator finally reaches your floor with a soft chime, without a word, you step out, your heels clicking against the polished floor, with Satoru following a step behind—silent and distant, the space between you feeling wider than ever.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step into the VIP suite, the first thing that strikes you is the sheer size of the room—it’s more like a luxurious apartment than a mere hotel room. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate chandeliers, rich furnishings and artwork that probably costs more than what your entire apartment had cost.

The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city below, and there is a beautiful patio overlooking the city with the lights twinkling against the stormy backdrop, but instead of feeling awe, it’s only a reminder of how trapped you are.

In the common room, a plush, oversized sofa commands the space, flanked by elegant armchairs and a coffee table that looks more like a piece of art than something meant for everyday use. You set your purse and shawl down on the polished surface and begin to explore the room.

Your gaze wanders to a nearby dining area, where a table is set for two, the fine china and crystal glasses gleaming under the soft light. Beyond that, a sleek bar catches your eye, stocked with an assortment of premium spirits. At the center, a bottle of champagne chills in a gleaming silver bucket, waiting to be uncorked—a celebration you’re far from feeling.

Curious, you open the first door you come across, but it’s just a closet. Moving onto the next, you’re half-expecting to find a bedroom, but instead, the door reveals a marble-clad bathroom, which is more of a private spa than anything else, with a deep soaking tub and a rain shower that beckons with promises of relaxation.

Finally, you reach the last door, and as you push it open, your breath catches in your throat. The bedroom is vast, with high ceilings and draped curtains, but amidst all the space, the luxury, the sheer grandeur…

There is only one bed.

It’s massive, adorned in rich, inviting linens that seem to promise the best sleep of your life. The headboard is a work of art, appearing as if it was carved by hand, its craftsmanship impeccable. But despite all its luxury, one glaring fact stands out—it’s a single bed.

A bed meant for two.

You stop in your tracks, staring at the bed in disbelief. Your mind races, trying to make sense of the situation. Did you miss a door? Could there be another bedroom somewhere in the suite?

Without thinking, you begin to backtrack, your footsteps hurried and purposeful. You retrace your steps through the suite, opening doors you’ve already been through, peering inside with a growing sense of urgency.

The bathroom—no, just the spa-like marble bath and rain shower. The closet—no, just storage. The living area—no, just the oversized sofa and elegant chairs. The dining area—no, just the table set for two and the sleek bar.

Where’s the other bedroom? There has to be another one, right? How can a suite this big, only have one bed?

Is this a cruel joke? A final twist of the knife in an already unbearable night? Is the universe pushing you further out of your comfort zone, testing the limits of your patience, your composure, and your control?

Your movements grow more frantic as you circle back, convinced you must have overlooked something, anything. But there’s nothing else. It’s just that one, luxurious bed, waiting for the two of you.

Scanning the suite one last time, you notice Satoru sitting nonchalantly on the plush couch, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of the sofa. He loosens his tie as he tilts his head, watching you with a mixture of confusion and mild amusement.

“What are you looking for?”

You stop dead in your tracks, your breath hitching as you stare at him in disbelief.

“There’s only one bed.”

Perhaps vocalizing the absurdity of this precarious situation might somehow conjure a second bed out of thin air.

Oh, you wish.

Satoru blinks and raises an eyebrow. Without a word, he slowly rises from the couch and walks towards the bedroom. Once he steps inside, he takes in the sight of the massive bed and the luxurious linens—staring at it for a moment as the situation sits in.

Then, he turns to you, with an exaggerated shrug.

“Huh. Looks like the hotel’s playing matchmaker tonight.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him, not speaking, letting the flicker of annoyance smolder into a flame. The corners of your mouth tighten, and your arms cross defensively over your chest.

Satoru matches your silence, watching you with an unreadable expression, and then he shrugs again, the movement casual, almost dismissive.

“What?” carrying a note of faux innocence. “They probably figured we wouldn’t mind getting cozy. We are husband and wife, after all. Of course they wouldn’t think we’d need separate beds.”

He’s not making this any better for you right now…

You shake your head, rubbing your eyes in exasperation as if trying to rub away the absurdity of the situation. It’s all too much—the storm, the delay, the night that refuses to end. You can feel the weight of it pressing down on you, and each word from Satoru just seems to add another layer to the frustration.

“Wow…this is unbelievable,” you huff.

“Mm, you know what they say, nothing like sharing a bed to break the tension,” Satoru quips, plopping down at the edge of the bed as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He bounces slightly, testing the mattress, and glances up at you with a glint in his eye. “Well, I suppose this is where we’re supposed to start arguing over who gets the left side?”

…

Is he serious right now?

You can hardly believe it—the casualness of his demeanor, the way he seems completely unconcerned about the reality of this situation. It is almost infuriating.

“This is not happening…I am not sharing a bed with you,” you say, more to yourself than to him, a whispered mix of disbelief and determination. You cross your arms tightly over your chest.

But Satoru just leans back on his hands, completely unbothered, his relaxed posture a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. Tilting his head slightly, he flashes you an easy grin.

“Hey, it could be worse,” he says with a nonchalant shrug, patting the space beside him. “At least it’s a king-size. I mean, we could practically build a wall down the middle if you want.”

You stare at him, incredulous.

How can he be so flippant about this? So completely unconcerned, so utterly unaffected by everything that’s happened tonight?

Every word that comes out of his mouth further makes your patience slip through your fingers.

“…are you serious right now?” there is a tremble in your voice as you attempt to keep your frustration in check, but it’s a losing battle.

“Yup,” he shrugs, completely unfazed. “Looks like it’s just you, me, and this king-sized dilemma.”

Wow. You’re standing in the middle of a situation that has gone from bad to worse, and he’s making jokes? The disbelief turns into something hotter, something sharper, as you feel the last remnants of your composure start to crumble.

“Are you kidding me, Satoru?” you snap and the frustration you’ve been holding back all night finally spills over. “You are absolutely unbelievable. This isn’t funny! None of this is fucking funny! We’re stuck here, and you’re making jokes?”

The playful smirk that had been dancing on Satoru's lips vanishes instantly, replaced by a look of irritation. He leans forward, fixing you with a hard stare, and the lightheartedness drains from his posture as his elbows rest on his knees.

“Oh, okay, I’m sorry,” he retorts, a sharp edge to his voice. “Y’know, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Didn’t realize you were going to blow up at me for trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

“Lighten the mood?” you echo, your voice rising in disbelief. “Do you really think that’s what I need right now?”

A scoff escapes your lips as all your frustration bubbles to the surface. The weight of everything finally presses down on you, and his indifference feels like a slap in the face.

You can’t even look at him right now.

With a dismissive shake of your head, you turn away, briskly stepping towards the living room.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” you mutter under your breath, the words more to yourself than to him, but loud enough that you know he can hear.

“What don’t I get?” Satoru challenges, his voice growing sharper as he pushes off the bed and follows after you. His footsteps are clipped as he closes the distance between you, not willing to let the conversation drop. “What don’t I get, y/n? Tell me.”

You whirl around to face him, your heart pounding in your chest, the tension crackling like electricity.

“Satoru—Haru needs me, and we’re stuck here, miles away, in some fancy hotel suite. But you don’t even care.”

The accusation slips out and you can no longer hide the mix of anger and hurt that laces your voice. Satoru’s eyes narrow, his jaw clenching as he tries to rein in his own frustration.

“You think I don’t care?” his voice is sharp, insistent, almost incredulous as he steps closer. “You think I’m not worried about Haru too? y/n we literally had this conversation in the limo earlier. Jesus, just because I don’t show my emotions like you it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I hate this situation just as much as you do, but it’s not like I can control the weather or the roads!”

The intensity of his words strikes you, but the anger simmering beneath your skin refuses to let you back down.

“Yeah, well, if you really cared, we would have left as soon as the storm started, like I wanted! Then we wouldn’t even be in this situation!” your trembling voice increases an octave and you throw your hands up in exasperation. “But no—you had to stay for that last part of the gala, didn’t you?”

Satoru’s reaction is immediate. He runs a hand through his hair, the movement rough and frustrated while a bitter laugh escapes his lips, one that sends a chill down your spine. His eyes flash with something darker as he glares at you.

“Oh, so now it’s my fault that we’re stuck here? Because I stayed for the speech? I had obligations, y/n! I couldn’t just leave!”

“Obligations?” the word drips with sarcasm as it leaves your lips, your voice thick with disbelief and a touch of something more, something wounded. You narrow your eyes and the anger within flares hotter as you shoot a glare back at him. “We could’ve left earlier, but instead you just had to be the perfect ‘Satoru Gojo.’ Your precious image, your obligations—everything always comes first, doesn’t it?”

A flash of anger sparks within the depths of Satoru’s eyes, and his voice drops lower, more measured, with an edge that makes your heart jump.

“You knew what you were signing up for,” the words are clipped and his tone is cold and biting. “I told you there would be expectations, that there would be obligations that came with this agreement. Don’t act like this is some surprise to you.”

His words hit their mark, the truth in them sinking in like a stone dropping into a deep well. The realization settles over you, heavy and cold.

Oh…this truly is just a business arrangement, nothing more.

This is…what you agreed to…isn’t it?

For a brief moment, you had almost forgotten that this marriage—this life you’ve been trying to build—wasn’t real. It was never based on love or trust or any of the things you’d once dreamed of. It has always been a contract, an arrangement, and you were just another piece in the game he was playing.

You feel the sharp, unmistakable sting of hurt, a wound that cuts deeper than you anticipated. And with that hurt comes regret—regret for allowing yourself to believe, even for a second, that he might be willing to take a leap of faith for you, for Haru.

You should have known better.

He’s Satoru Gojo, after all, the man who holds his obligations and his image above everything else. The man who never allows himself to be vulnerable, to be anything other than perfect in the eyes of the world.

“So that’s it, then?” the words slip out with a quiet tremor, your voice breaking slightly under the crushing weight of your emotions “You’ll always put your commitments first, no matter what? No matter how it affects us? No matter how it affects Haru?”

For the briefest of moments, Satoru’s expression softens, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, as if he’s momentarily aware of the pain his words have caused.

You can feel the tears burning at the back of your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to let them fall. You won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his words have cut you, how deeply the reminder of your place in his life stings.

Instead, you draw in a shaky breath, steeling yourself, and forcing your voice to steady. It takes every ounce of strength you have to keep your composure, to keep from breaking in front of him.

“It’s always about your image…isn’t it?” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they carry the weight of your realization, heavy and bitter. “I thought… maybe just once, you’d be willing to choose something else. Someone else. Guess I was wrong.”

The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with the tension that has built up between you. Satoru opens his mouth to respond, his expression shifting as if he’s searching for the right words, but you’ve already had enough. The frustration, the anger, the hurt—it’s all too much, too overwhelming, and honestly, you don’t think you can take the weight of his inevitable rejection right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can shatter whatever fragile composure you have left, you turn on your heel and stride towards the suite’s balcony.

ꨄ︎

The moment you step out onto the balcony, the cold night air wraps around you, but you welcome its icy embrace, and as the heavy door slides shut behind you with a dull thud, it seals off any lingering warmth from the hotel suite, leaving you alone with the elements.

The balcony, partially sheltered by a gazebo, offers little protection from the fierce wind driving the rain sideways. But as the droplets hit your skin, cold and sharp, you don’t flinch. Instead, you let the rain wash over you, soaking into your dress and chilling you to the bone, as if the cold might somehow numb the emotional turmoil raging inside you.

Gripping the railing, you stare out at the city below, the wind whipping around you, tugging at your dress as the storm batters you from all sides. But the physical discomfort barely registers—it's nothing compared to the storm brewing within. Because now, the anger that had fueled your argument with Satoru begins to ebb, giving way to a deep, aching sadness that you can no longer hold back.

You sink down onto one of the chairs, ignoring the fact that the cushion is already soaked through. The wet fabric clings to your skin as you huddle there, pulling your knees up to your chest, and as you take in the downpour, you allow the rain to mingle with the tears that finally begin to slip down your cheeks.

If only the howling wind was loud enough to drown the thoughts swirling in your mind.

But it’s not.

The first thing you hear is Naoya’s words, echoing in your ears. His cruel taunts, sharp and insidious, have haunted you ever since your encounter at the coffee shop—a seed of doubt planted deep within you.

And now, those seeds have taken root, growing in the shadows of your heart, feeding off your insecurities until they’ve become impossible to ignore. Maybe he was right all along… you don’t belong beside Satoru. This life you agreed to—this carefully crafted facade—it has always been a deal, nothing more. A deal struck for reasons that now seem distant and blurred.

And then there’s Satoru.

The man you’ve grown closer to, despite everything. The man who, on occasion, looks at you with a softness that seems almost out of place, a trust that makes your heart ache under the weight of your own secrets… and your own growing feelings. But tonight, you saw the bitter reality of who he truly is—a reality that you’ve always known, yet somehow tried to push aside. It’s a reality that places duty and obligation above all else, that keeps his heart locked away behind walls you know you’ll never breach.

You understand it, you really do. But understanding doesn’t make it any easier to bear. It doesn’t make the hurt go away.

You think about Haru—your sweet, innocent child, who’s at home right now, likely scared and alone, flinching with every crash of thunder.

The thought of her, small and frightened, tugs at your heart, and the guilt twists inside you, sharper than any blade. It cuts through your defenses until all that remains is the raw, unrelenting pain of a mother’s worry, a mother’s fear. You should be there with her, holding her close, whispering reassurances that everything is going to be okay, that the storm will pass.

But you’re not.

You’re here, drenched on a balcony, struggling to hold yourself together while everything around you falls apart. And that reality—knowing you’ve left her to face the storm alone—makes the tears fall harder now.

They stream down your face, mixing with the rain, until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. The sobs come, wracking your body with their intensity, as you bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your grief.

It’s all too much—the pressure, the expectations, the lies, the fear.

And then there’s the love.

The love that’s beginning to bloom for Satoru, despite the circumstances…and it only makes it more complicated, more painful. It’s a love that you know you shouldn’t feel, that you’re terrified to acknowledge—and it wraps itself around your heart like a thorny vine, beautiful yet painful, tightening its grip with every passing day.

And your worries never end—the contract, the obligations, the appearances you have to maintain. This agreement that had once seemed so clear, so necessary, but now feels like a chain around your neck, binding you to a life that’s growing more and more suffocating by the day.

You didn’t sign up for this, not really.

You didn’t sign up for the way your heart had started to beat in sync with Satoru’s, for the way his touch lingers on your skin long after he’s gone, or the way his voice is capable of soothing the deepest parts of your soul.

But here you are—trapped, ensnared by duty and honor, by a love that’s growing despite the walls you’ve tried to build around it. A love for a man who might never fully understand the depth of the sacrifice you’re making.

A man who will never love you back the way you wish he would, or put you first.

You continue to cry as the storm proceeds to rage against you, both inside and out—but you hope that maybe this rain will wash away some of the pain, some of the doubts, some of the fear.

Ah… but you know better. Because once this storm passes, the reality of your situation will still be there, waiting for you.

The contract, the expectations, the life you’ve chosen, and the choices you must make—none of it will disappear, no matter how much you wish it could. And despite how much you long to rid yourself of this burden, the love you’re beginning to feel for Satoru…that too, will remain, complicating everything in ways you’re not sure you’re ready to face.

The sound of the sliding door opening barely registers in your mind, lost in the cacophony of the storm as you remain huddled on the chair, lost in your thoughts. You don’t look up, not even when you sense his presence behind you—the presence of that familiar warmth, one that has the potential to cut through the cold that’s seeped into your bones.

Why is he here? You can’t bear it.

He stands there for a moment, silently taking in the sight of you curled up on the chair, small and vulnerable against the fury of the storm, and then, with a resolve that seems almost fragile, he steps forward.

The rain immediately begins to soak through his clothes, just as it did yours, and slowly, he kneels beside you, his movements careful, almost hesitant, as if he’s afraid that any sudden motion might shatter what little composure you have left.

“y/n,” he says softly, voice almost lost in the storm, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond—the words are trapped in your throat, tangled in the rush of emotions his apology stirs within you. Confusion, sorrow, a desperate yearning for things to be different—they all swirl within you, too intense, too raw to process.

The pain is overwhelming, and right now, you can’t even bring yourself to look at him. You’re terrified of what you might see in his eyes. What would you feel if you looked at him now?

You’re too scared to find out.

Satoru seems to sense your hesitation, your fear. His hand reaches out, and you feel the gentle pressure of his fingers on your shoulder, tentative and light, as if he’s afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. There’s a warmth in his touch, something that defies the cold rain soaking through both of you—a warmth that, despite everything, makes you want to lean into it, to draw strength from it.

“y/n, please…” his voice drops quieter, almost pleading. “Look at me.”

His request hangs in the air, and for a moment, you feel as if time has stopped.

Why is this so hard? Why can’t you accept that this is nothing more than a contract, an arrangement born out of necessity rather than love?

His touch fills you with a bittersweetness that is almost unbearable—a longing that you know is not realistic, that you know you shouldn’t entertain. But the plea in his voice, the vulnerability you hear in those simple words, chips away at your resolve.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, you lift your tear-streaked face to meet his gaze. The rain has flattened his usually neat hair against his forehead, and his clothes are drenched, clinging to him, but it’s his eyes that hold you captive. Because once your eyes finally connect, the world around you seems to fade into the background, the storm reduced to a distant hum.

His usually composed, confident expression is different now—eyes, softened by regret, vulnerability, and that same softness that has been tearing you apart since the moment he became deeply intertwined in your life.

It's that same softness you’ve tried to ignore, that you’ve convinced yourself was nothing more than an illusion, but that still holds an undeniable power over you.

“I’m sorry…” he repeats, voice trembling with an underlying thickness, as if he’s struggling to keep his emotions in check. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I never wanted to make you feel like Haru doesn’t matter to me, like you don’t matter.”

Your head shakes almost involuntarily, tears continuing to fall, mingling with the rain. Denial wraps around your heart like a protective shield, reminding you that this man doesn’t love you, that you cannot—will not—get your hopes up. You’ve been down this road before, and you know better than to believe in things that aren’t real.

But Satoru’s eyes soften even more as he reads the pain in your expression, and without a word, his other hand comes up to cup your cheek. His touch is warm against your cold, rain-soaked skin, and he gently brushes away the tears that mingle with the rain on your face—a touch so tender that it almost breaks you all over again.

“I really fucked up tonight…” he sighs, his breath hitching slightly as the words escape him. “I’m so sorry for that. Please… let me make things right.”

You can feel the conflict within you, your heart warring with your mind, urging you to push him away, to protect yourself from the pain that seems inevitable. You can’t afford to give yourself hope—not when the risk of being shattered again looms so large, so close.

“Look… I’m really not good at this. I’m not used to… letting people in,” he admits, his voice faltering slightly as he grapples with his own vulnerability and inadequacy. “But with you, I want to try. That’s why…”

He pauses, taking a deep breath, the sound shaky as he gathers the courage to say what’s weighing on his heart.

“I need you to know that everything I said during the interview tonight… it wasn’t just for show. I wasn’t saying what I thought people wanted to hear.”

Your breath catches at his words and your heart pounds furiously within your chest. The weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes makes it impossible to look away.

“Those were my real feelings, y/n. When they asked me what drew me to you… I meant every word.”

Your body begins to tremble, a shuddering wave of emotion crashing over you like the relentless storm around you, threatening to pull you under. The tears begin welling up again and you feel yourself unraveling at the seams.

“Don’t do this, Satoru,” you plead, voice cracking with the weight of your fear. You bring your hands up instinctively, as if to shield yourself from the intensity of his words, to create some distance between you. “Don’t say these things… I can’t… I can’t handle being hurt again.”

For a moment, Satoru hesitates, his eyes searching yours, but then, with a gentle yet determined motion, he takes your trembling hands into his own and the warmth of his touch seeps into your cold skin. Slowly, he lowers your hands onto your lap, his grip firm but tender.

“No, let me say this,” he insists, his voice steadying, becoming more resolute, though it’s still laced with a gentleness. “You deserve to hear it. You deserve to know how I really feel.”

His thumb begins to stroke the back of your hand and his gaze softens as he searches your face. There is an earnest tenderness within the depths of his expression, and it makes your heart ache.

“You’ve brought something into my life that I didn’t even know I was missing,” Satoru continues, “You’ve made me feel… grounded, in a way that I’ve never felt before.”

There is a raw honesty in his eyes, one that begins to erode the walls you’ve built around your heart. You feel your resolve crumbling, piece by piece, as his words chip away at the fear and doubt that has kept you from fully opening up to him.

“I’m not perfect,” his voice wavers slightly and his hand tightens around yours, seeking reassurance even as he offers it. “Far from it… but you’ve made me realize that’s okay. And now, because of you, I want to do better, to be better… not just for you, but for Haru too. And for myself.”

What is he saying?

Your breath hitches, a small, involuntary gasp escaping your lips as you process his words.

“I’m… confused,” you whisper, your mind racing to catch up with your heart. “Isn’t this… just a contract?”

“Yeah…well…” a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips, though his eyes remain serious. “Guess I broke the clause, huh? So much for no emotional entanglements…”

Your breath catches again, this time in realization.

Wait… he feels the same way? This is really happening?

The realization hits you like a wave—the truth of it crashing over you, leaving you breathless, and you can’t stop the fresh surge of tears from falling down your face.

Satoru’s brow furrows with worry, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features as he watches you cry. Leaning in closer, he rests his forehead gently against yours. His eyes search yours, desperate for some kind of response, some kind of reassurance that his words have reached you, that he hasn’t misread the situation.

“Please… don’t cry,” he whispers with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. He closes his eyes, breath warm as it fans across your face, and his hand, still holding yours, gives a gentle squeeze, as if to remind you that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere.

“I… I want to believe you, Satoru,” you manage, voice trembling with the weight of your fears and doubts. “Believe everything you’re saying, but I’m so scared. What if I’m not enough? I don’t think I could survive that kind of heartbreak again…”

Satoru’s eyes open slowly, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch.

“You are enough, y/n. You’ve always been enough.”

There is a firmness in his resolve, as if he’s trying to engrave the words into your very being.

His free hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away another tear that had escaped.

“And honestly… I’m scared too.” His voice drops even lower, almost a whisper now. “Trust is something I’ve never given lightly. But with you… I want to trust. I need to trust. And… I need you to trust me too.”

Trust—there’s that word again.

It lingers in the air between you, heavy with meaning, with all the complexities and the promises it holds.

Trust—It’s such a simple word, yet it carries the weight of a thousand unsaid things, a thousand fears, a thousand hopes. It’s the foundation of everything, isn’t it? The one thing you’ve always struggled with, the one thing that has kept you from fully letting go, from fully giving yourself to him—or to anyone, for that matter.

Trust—It’s what you’ve been afraid to place in someone else’s hands, for fear that they might not handle it with care. And why would they? After everything you’ve been through, after all the disappointments, the betrayals, the moments when you’ve been left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, why would you ever trust again?

But… maybe trust isn’t about being certain, about knowing for sure that everything will turn out alright. Maybe… it’s about taking that leap of faith, about being willing to risk the hurt because the potential for something real, something meaningful, is worth it.

You look at him, really look at him—his usually confident demeanor is stripped away, leaving only the man beneath, exposed and uncertain, yet somehow more real than you’ve ever seen him.

This is… Satoru.

In that moment, something shifts within you.

Ah… perhaps trust isn’t something you just give; it’s something you build, together, piece by piece, moment by moment. And maybe… as terrifying as it is, you’re ready to start building that with him.

The realization hits you like a warm rush, spreading through your chest and making your heart ache in a way that’s both painful and beautiful. You want to tell him, to find the words that will let him know that you want this too. But the emotions are too overwhelming, too all-consuming, and you find yourself at a loss, unable to articulate the flood of feelings coursing through you.

So instead, you do the only thing you can—you decide to show him.

Your hands move on their own, driven by an urgency you can’t contain. Grasping the collar of his shirt, your fingers curl into the wet fabric, pulling him closer with a force that leaves no room for hesitation. The distance between you disappears in one desperate, crashing motion as you bring your lips to his.

It’s a fierce kiss, filled with a force that’s as much an admission as it is an apology—an admission of your own feelings, of the vulnerabilities you’ve tried so hard to hide, and an apology for every moment you’ve tried to protect yourself by pushing him away.

The intensity of your need is met by Satoru’s immediate response, his arms wrapping around you with a fervency that matches the storm raging around you, pulling you flush against him as if he’s afraid you might slip away.

The rain soaks through your clothes, but all you can focus on is the heat of his skin, the way his mouth moves against yours with a need that’s as insistent as it is consuming. You swallow the low, desperate moan that escapes from him, the sound vibrating through you, sending a shiver down your spine.

God, you wanted this.

His tongue grazes your lower lip, seeking entry, and without hesitation, you part your lips for him, allowing him to deepen the kiss even further, kissing you as though you’re the very air he needs to breathe. Once his tongue meets yours, the sensation is electric, sending sparks of pleasure through your entire body.

God, he wanted this.

He’s losing himself in the kiss, like he’s been holding back for far too long, and now that he’s tasted you, he can’t get enough. And you let him, wrapping your legs around him and allowing him to lift you up with ease as you thread your fingers through his damp hair. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t falter, as he carries you toward the balcony door, sure and driven by a need that can no longer be contained.

With a swift motion, he presses you against the glass door. The cold rain continues to hammer down, but you’re barely aware of it—there is a fire that seems to burn hotter with every second your lips remain locked, and you are lost in the sensation of his hands gripping into the plush of your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

“Satoru…” you gasp between kisses, and the sound of your breathless voice drives him further into the depths of his desire.

“Fuck… could get used to hearing you say m’ name like that,” he groans, mouth dropping to your neck, lips tracing the line of your jaw before pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against your throat.

You arch your back and tilt your head, allowing him access, but the sudden sensation of his hips pressing against your core causes a whimper to escape your lips.

Fuck. You now realize just how much he wanted this. The hardness pressed against you is unmistakable and that alone heightens your own desire, making a tingling heat begin to pool in between your legs.

Your hands slide down his back, nails digging slightly into his skin beneath the wet fabric of his shirt, and you press your hips forward, seeking more of that friction, and he responds with a low growl rumbling from deep within his chest as he begins to grind against you.

“Fucking hell…” he rasps, voice thick with desperation, “you have no idea,” he whimpers, breath hitching as his lips brush against your ear, “no fucking idea…” he grinds harder, with renewed intensity, “how much I’ve wanted this…” his eyes flutter shut, lost in the sensation, “how much I want you…”

Every nerve ignites as an intense heat courses through you.

Fuck. This is bad. This is really bad.

You’re losing any trace of reasoning; you’re lacking any semblance of control. How can you think straight when he talks to you like that? When he touches you like this?

You can’t. It’s impossible.

This is moving really fast, and every coherent thought is slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming need for him, the need to feel every inch of him against you, inside you. You’re losing yourself in the way his body moves against yours, in the way his voice trembles with need.

“Satoru… I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat, choked off by that delicious sensation of him shifting his hips, pressing harder against you in just that right spot. “I can’t… fuck. I can’t think when you’re like this…”

“Don’t think,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just feel… let me take care of you…”

And then he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a hunger that makes your head spin. Oh, fuck it, you don’t care. You don’t care about anything else in this moment.

In one swift motion, without breaking the kiss, he carries you away from the rain, and into the warmth of the suite. His steps are quick and determined until he reaches the bedroom, and once he sets you down your feet barely touch the floor before his hands are on you again.

The urgency in his touch is undeniable, frantic as his hands begin to work at the wet fabric of your dress, peeling it away with determination.

Oh god, this is really moving fast.

The realization hits you like a wave, but it’s quickly drowned out by the sight of him shrugging off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. And once you catch sight of his toned muscles, the way they flex beneath his skin, how can you think straight?

You can’t.

Your hands move instinctively, reaching for him, running over his chest, savoring the warmth, the strength beneath your fingertips, and his hands are equally on you, exploring your body with a reverence while his mouth moves against yours with fervor.

“You’re so fucking pretty, so beautiful…” he breaks the kiss, “I can’t get enough of you…” and then his mouth is on yours again, desperate and hungry, leaving you breathless.

He guides you towards the bed, and once the back of your knees hit the edge of it, he gives you a gentle but insistent push. His body follows and once the mattress dips slightly under your combined weight, you’re suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way his hands are sliding down your sides, the way his lips are tracing a path from your collarbone to the swell of your breasts, the way he settles between your legs.

This is moving way…way too fast.

You need a moment to think, but your mind is constantly drowned out by the feel of his body against yours.

“Satoru…” you murmur against his lips, “Please I—” But before you can finish, he’s kissing you again, his mouth claiming yours with a fierceness that makes your heart skip a beat.

Your breath hitches as he begins to rock his hips against your clothed core, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through you while you gasp into his mouth. Before you realize what you’re doing, your legs are wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deepening the connection between you.

Damnit, that delicious friction is all-consuming, and you can’t stop yourself from arching into him.

“Ever since that night at the gala…” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing down the curve of your neck, “After we kissed, I haven’t been able to think about anything else… anyone else… just you.”

His words send a shiver down your spine. Fucking hell, he’s not making this easy. The way his breath hitches as he presses kisses along your collarbone, it’s clear he’s barely holding on to his own control. And you? You’re already starting to lose yours.

Fuck, he will ruin you.

“All I could think about was how it felt to kiss you… how much I wanted to do it again… how much I wanted more…” his breath hot against your skin as his hands grip your hips, pulling you even closer.

“I can’t… I need… oh god…” the words slip out, a desperate plea mixed with a moan as the sensation of him rolling his length against that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs becomes almost unbearable.

Fuck… the pleasure is so intense, so overwhelming, that your vision blurs, your world narrowing to nothing but the feel of him, the heat of his body, the way he’s moving against you.

You’re seeing stars.

“What is it?” he whispers against the shell of your ear, and oh he sounds so fucking undone by you, as if he’s on the verge of losing control. “Tell me… tell me what you need baby.”

His words are like gasoline on the fire burning inside you. Damnit, you need him. But you also need time to process everything that is happening. As much as you want to give in, as much as your body is screaming for more of him, a tiny voice in the back of your mind is telling you to slow down, to think.

There is still so much that has been left unsaid…things you need to get off your chest.

“Satoru…” you whisper, your voice shaky as you thread your fingers through his hair, gently pulling him back just enough to look into his eyes. His gaze is intense, dark with desire, and it takes every ounce of your self-control not to lose yourself in it. “Can we… can we take it slow?”

His body stills, and for a moment, the intensity in his eyes softens. He’s still breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, but he nods slowly, as if he’s trying to rein in his own overwhelming need.

He leans in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hands sliding from your hips to cradle your face gently. The kiss is different now, less urgent but still filled with an undeniable passion that leaves you breathless. It’s a slow burn, a simmering heat that makes your skin tingle as his lips move tenderly against yours, savoring every moment.

The kiss tapers off naturally, his lips lingering on yours as if he’s reluctant to let go. When he finally pulls back, he doesn’t move far, his nose brushing against yours in a tender nuzzle that makes you smile.

“Yeah… okay…” he breathes out, voice rough and tinged with longing. “We can slow down… whatever you need…”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw, moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch light, almost reverent.

“Sorry it’s just…” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your lower lip before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. Each kiss is gentle. He pulls back slightly, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispers, “You don’t know what you do to me…”

Your heart swells at his words, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips. “I think I’m starting to figure it out,” you softly chuckle.

Satoru mirrors your smile and lets out a soft laugh.

“Well... it’s about damn time you caught on.”

He plops down beside you, pulling you into his arms with an ease that makes your heart flutter. as if being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world. He buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply, a content hum leaving his lips as he wraps himself around you, tangling his legs with yours and pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, and you can feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you.

“Was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you,” he murmurs, breath fanning your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

A light and airy laugh escapes your lips as you become engrossed in his warmth.

“Well, I mean... you’ve always been a bit of a mystery,” you tease, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of his hand where it rests against your stomach.

“Hmm, a mystery, huh?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Maybe… but I think you’ve always had the key, even if you didn’t know it.”

You turn slightly in his arms, bringing a hand up to gently run your fingers through his hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers like silk as you gaze into his eyes. Your heart swells at the way he leans into your touch, as if he savors each trace of you, and there’s a tenderness in the way his eyes hold yours.

And then, his lips curl into a wry smile, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Mm… told you you’d fall for my charm. Though I will say, you were a tough one to crack.”

You try to fight the smile threatening to break free as a warmth spreads across your face. It’s crazy to think this man was once the bane of your very existence.

“Tch…you have a way of growing on people, y’know that?” The grin on his face widens at your admission, making the heat in your own face intensify. You huff, rolling your eyes as you nudge him lightly with your elbow. “You’re like a persistent, overly confident weed.”

Satoru laughs. “A weed, huh? That’s a new one,” he sounds mock-offended, though his smirk tells you he’s anything but. His hand shifts, trailing up and down your arm tenderly as his fingers lightly brush your skin. “Mmm let's see…I think I’m more like a rare, exotic flower.”

“Oh please,” you scoff, eyes sparkling with amusement. “You’re more like those persistent kind of weeds that pops up in the cracks of the sidewalk, no matter how many times you try to get rid of them.”

“Persistent, huh? Well I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment,” his tone softens as his hand trails down your arm, the warmth of his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake until his fingers find yours, threading them together as he interlocks your hands in a gentle, but secure grasp.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep growing on you until you can’t imagine your life without me,” he murmurs—thumb gently stroking the back of your hand—and your breath hitches at the sincerity in his words.

Satoru treats you like a treasure, something to be cherished and protected.

How did you get so lucky?

He’s everything Naoya isn’t—everything you’ve ever wanted but were too afraid to hope for.

But even as the realization crosses your mind, a pang of guilt twists in your chest. You’ve been keeping something from him, something important, something that could change everything. Naoya’s scheme, his attempts to ruin Satoru’s reputation… it’s been eating away at you, gnawing at your conscience every time Satoru looks at you with those warm, trusting eyes.

But the thought terrifies you—what if it changes everything? What if it drives a wedge between you?

You need to tell him. He deserves to know.

No secrets.

You can’t keep hiding the truth. Not if you want to move forward, not if you want to build something real with him.

“Hey,” you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper as you pull back slightly to look into his eyes. The tenderness in his gaze gives you the strength to continue. “There’s something I need to tell you… something important.”

Satoru’s expression shifts immediately from the seriousness of your tone, his brow knitting together in concern as his eyes dim.

“What is it?”

Oh fuck. This is it. No backing down now.

You take a deep breath, and though your heart pounds in your chest, Satoru’s gentle grip tightens on your hand, offering you the silent support to continue.

“It’s about Naoya…” you begin, voice trembling slightly as you hesitantly hold his gaze.

The tension in Satoru's face is subtle but unmistakable. You briefly catch sight of his jaw tightening, a muscle jumping beneath the skin at the mere mention of Naoya’s name. Swallowing hard, your throat constricts with effort as you struggle to find the right words.

“There’s… something I’ve been keeping from you… and I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I was scared. I didn’t know what to do.”

Satoru’s eyes widen just a fraction, his brows drawing together slightly in concern, but he remains silent—he doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t demand an explanation. Instead, he watches you intently, his gaze locked onto yours, a silent encouragement to continue.

But that intensity in his focus only makes your heart pound harder in your chest, each beat a drum of anxiety.

Here goes nothing.

“He’s been… blackmailing me,” you confess, eyes falling to the side, unable to hold his gaze. “He’s trying to ruin your reputation, to drag your name through the mud…and if I don’t do what he says…”

The words die on your lips as you trail off.

Fuck this is overwhelming.

This entire night has been a rollercoaster, and you’re reaching the breaking point of your own emotional endurance. You expect Satoru to say something, but the silence that follows is deafening.

Each beat of your heart is like a hammer in your chest, and your mind is racing with a thousand different fears.

Is he angry? Is he waiting for you to look at him? Is this it? Is this the moment everything falls apart?

Summoning every ounce of courage you have left, you will yourself to look up, to meet Satoru’s eyes. And yes, there’s anger simmering in the depths of his gaze, a dangerous edge to it, but there’s something else too—something softer.

“What will happen if you don’t do what he says?” he asks, voice gentle yet firm. His thumb brushes soothing circles on the back of your hand with a tenderness, urging you to continue. “What exactly is he threatening you with?”

You take a deep, shaky breath, feeling the lump in your throat swell as you struggle to push the words out.

“He’s trying to take Haru away from me… he’s threatening to file for full custody if I don’t cooperate.”

The impact of your words is immediate—Satoru’s entire demeanor changing in an instant.

His expression hardens, the fury in his eyes flaring to life, unmistakable and searing, and his entire body tenses beside you. A shiver rakes down your spine when you hear the low and dangerous promise slip through his lips.

“He’s going to regret this.”

Before you can even process his words, he pulls you onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you with a fierce protectiveness that catches you off guard. It is almost startling how the gentle way he holds you is juxtaposed with the anger simmering just beneath the surface, and as his fingers begin to thread through your hair while he cradles you close to him, you feel he is shielding you from the very world that threatens to tear you apart.

“He’s not taking Haru from you,” Satoru vows, voice unwavering, a promise etched in steel. “Not over my dead body.”

Ah…the conviction in his voice—the words you needed to hear—it is your breaking point. Finally, everything crashes down on you. The fear, the guilt, the overwhelming relief that you’re no longer carrying this burden alone—it all hits you at once, and you can’t hold back the quiet sob that escapes your lips.

Satoru tightens his hold on you, one hand gently stroking your hair, the other trailing up and down your trembling frame as he whispers reassurances.

“Hey, it’s okay… we’re going to get through this.”

His heartbeat is a steady and comforting rhythm beneath your ear. You nod weakly as a shaky breath escapes your lips, the sound muffled against his chest, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering for a moment.

“When did this all begin?” he whispers, fingers gently massaging your scalp.

“Two days ago…” you murmur, “right before you agreed to watch Haru for me.”

There’s a moment of silence, a brief pause as Satoru processes your words. You feel the subtle hitch in his breath, the soft exhale that follows as he tries to contain the emotions swirling inside him. He pulls back just enough to look at you, and your heart drops at his expression.

“y/n…” he breathes out, low and thick with emotion as his jaw clenches with tension. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

The ache in your chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to prick at your eyes again. Unable to face the underlying look of his own disappointment, you instinctively look away.

“I was scared and confused… I didn’t think you felt the same way about me,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “And I kept thinking about our contract…about your condition…”

Satoru’s body softens underneath you as he gently tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, and what you find there isn’t disappointment, but understanding—a deep, unwavering understanding that cuts through your doubts like a beacon of light in the darkness.

“y/n, there is no contract when it comes to how I feel about you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing away a lingering tear that slipped down your cheek. “That contract… it was just a piece of paper. Besides, it’s void now because I broke the clause.” His lips curve into a soft, reassuring smile. “What I feel for you… it’s real. And it’s not something that can be defined by a contract.”

His words are like a balm to your wounded heart, soothing the fear that had been gnawing at you.

Why did you doubt him so much? Is it because this is a love you have only hoped for? But now it’s real—it’s yours.

A shaky exhale escapes your lips as you rest your forehead against his.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I should have told you sooner.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Satoru soothes, his hands moving up to cradle your face. “I understand why you were scared. But we’re in this together, okay? Naoya’s not going to win.”

His hands gently tilt your face upwards, and before you can respond, he leans in, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. His lips move slowly, languidly against yours, savoring the moment, and you melt into the kiss, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your fingertips.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours once more, and you linger there in the aftermath, letting the warmth of his breath fan across your lips, the closeness between you wrapping around you like a cocoon. A content sigh escapes your lips as the tension from everything slowly ebbs away, and you lower yourself onto his chest as Satoru’s fingers gently trail up and down your back.

Finally, everything has been laid bare. No secrets. Just the two of you, connected in a way that feels unbreakable.

But then, Satoru shifts slightly beneath you, “You’re shivering,” he murmurs, voice laced with concern as his hand moves to gently rub your arm, trying to warm you up. “We were out in the rain for too long…”

You hadn’t even noticed—your focus had been so consumed by everything else. Now that the adrenaline of the moment has begun to fade, you realize how cold you are, and how you’re both still in your underwear. The chill from the rain has started to seep into your bones.

“You should take a warm bath, get comfortable,” Satoru suggests, loving but insistent as he brushes a few stray strands of wet hair away from your face, tucking them gently behind your ear. “It’s been a long day, and we have to wake up early to get home to Haru. You can go first. Go on, I’ll wait for you here.”

You nod, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of his embrace as you make your way to the bathroom.

The hot water feels like a balm against your chilled skin, and you take your time, letting the warmth seep into your bones and soothe the lingering tension in your muscles. It’s a quiet, reflective moment—an opportunity to process everything that’s happened. As the steam rises around you, you feel the weight of the day slowly lift from your shoulders.

After finishing your bath, you slip into the comfortable pajamas the hotel provided and find yourself wrapped up cozily under the blankets in the bed, waiting for Satoru as he takes his turn getting cleaned up next. The room is quiet—the rain outside has finally settled down as the once insistent pattering is now reduced to a soft, comforting drum against the window. You let your eyes drift closed for a moment, savoring the tranquility and the subtle scent of Satoru that lingers on the pillow beside you.

Tonight, has been exhausting—so much has happened, and it’s a lot to take in.

When Satoru finally emerges from the bathroom, he is dressed in the comfortable hotel linens, hair slightly damp and tousled. He flashes you a tender smile, one that makes your heart skip a beat, and you can’t help but smile back, warmth spreading through you.

But instead of joining you in the bed as you would expect, you watch with growing curiosity as he makes his way towards the closet. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you tilt your head slightly, your brows knitting together in confusion.

“What are you doing?” you observe him gather extra blankets and pillows, tucking them under his arm.

Satoru glances over his shoulder, offering you a small, almost apologetic smile.

“I’m, uh… gonna sleep on the couch tonight,” he says casually, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You blink, taken aback by his words, and a frown tugs at your lips.

“Why? You don’t have to do that. The bed’s big enough for both of us.”

He hesitates, as if weighing his words carefully.

“Y/n,” he begins, low and rough, “Believe me, I really want to,” he lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his head. “You have… too much of an effect on me. I meant it when I said we could take things slow, but if I’m lying next to you, I don’t know if I can control myself.”

His admission sends a warm flush to your face, your heart skipping a beat at the honesty in his words. You see the tension in his shoulders, the way he’s struggling to do what he thinks is right, even though it’s clearly not what he wants.

“Satoru…” you begin, your voice softening as you start to sit up, but he shakes his head gently, cutting you off before you can say more.

“If you want to take it slow, it’s probably for the best I give us some space to figure things out without making it harder than it already is.”

Damnit, he is too cute for his own good.

For a moment, you’re tempted to tell him to stay, to ignore the rules you’ve set for yourself, to just give in to the pull between you. The warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch—it’s all so inviting. But you can also see how much he’s trying to do right by you, to honor your wishes, even if it means sacrificing what he wants.

“Okay,” you say softly, your teeth gently grazing your bottom lip as you consider your next words, “but just know that although I want to go slow, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t mind… doing things with you.”

Satoru lets out a groan, closing his eyes briefly as if battling with himself.

“You’re not making this easy, you know that?”

“Mm… never said I would,” you challenge, a playful glint flickering in your eyes as a crooked grin tugs at your lips.

He chuckles, tinged with both amusement and exasperation.

“I swear you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, but the smile that accompanies his words is soft, filled with affection.

The two of you share a quiet laugh, soft and intimate, like a shared secret. As the laughter fades, a comfortable silence settles over you both. His gaze locks with yours, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. The intensity in his eyes, the way they darken with something deeper, makes your breath hitch.

“Goodnight, Satoru,” you murmur as you settle yourself back into the pillows.

“Goodnight, y/n,” his smile widens as his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before he turns to leave the room. “If you need anything,” he adds, pausing at the door, “you know where to find me.”

As the door softly clicks shut behind him, you’re left alone in the dimly lit room—left to your thoughts.

Tomorrow holds so much for the both of you—decisions to be made, obstacles to overcome, and a new chapter in your lives to navigate together.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t feel alone. The burden isn’t yours to carry anymore. The thought brings a sense of peace, a calm that wraps around you as you pull the blankets closer, cocooning yourself in their warmth.

There’s still so much left unresolved, and the threat of Naoya looms large. But tonight, as you drift off to sleep, all you can think about is the way Satoru looked at you, the promise in his eyes that you’ll face whatever comes next together.

And somehow, that alone makes everything seem a little less daunting.

hi hi, thank you all so much for your kind words with this fic and for sticking around. this chapter was a lot for me to write, and i really kept second guessing it tbh. i think bc it's such a pivotal point in the story and it's pretty emotional, so i really wanna thank my lovely beta readers for helping me 💕 (@strychnynegirl & @gojoslefttoenail) hmm... who is this mysterious man that approached y/n at the gala? 🤔 i wonder if you guys can take a guess based on the description 😉 also of COURSE there is only ✨one bed✨ how can there NOT be? 🤭 i had a lot of fun writing their steamy kiss 😩 as much as i wanted them to do more i also wanna reiterate how much the slow burn in this story means to me. idk, with everything going on in y/n's life it didn't feel right for her to be like "cool lets fuck." especially since she still needed to tell satoru the truth, plus she is a mom with a kid and has been through a really shitty relationship. trust isn't something that just POOF appears yk? thanks for all your kind words and for reading!! school has been picking up for me, so again my updates will likely be longer in between. love you all 🥹 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys @k1ttybean

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer @elliesndg

@maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans

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ellecdc · 10 days ago

Text

ignore me

poly!wolfstar x afab!reader who is very good at ignoring Sirius [611 words]

CW: fem!reader, p in v intercourse, explicit sexual content, pure smut, porn without plot, thinly veiled degradation if you squint, Sirius has an ignore kink, Remus likes to watch Sirius be ignored, based off of the idea from this anon

Remus stroked himself lazily with a cruel smirk on his face as he watched Sirius become desperate, a whimper nearly falling from the long-haired boy's lips as he readjusted his bruising grip on your waist and pounded into you with renewed vigour.

“How’re you doing there, dove?” Remus asked lowly, fighting back a chuckle at Sirius’ broken laugh turned cry when he couldn’t even manage to get attention from Remus right now.

You looked over as though you were surprised that you had company at all.

“Not too bad,” you replied evenly, “almost done the chapter, actually.”

You held the novel up as if to prove your point, paying no mind to the fact that your current seat was Sirius’ lap as he thrusted up into you.

“Yeah?” Remus continued, vowels stretched and consonants breathy as he thumbed a bead of precum from the tip of his cock before spreading it over the rest of his shaft. “How’re you enjoying it?”

You made a displeased so-so sound as you tilted your head back and forth, causing Sirius’ brows to furrow as he let out a pained whimper.

“I expected more, honestly.” You offered flippantly. “Found myself nearly bored; it could hardly keep my attention.”

Sirius nearly wailed before he pulled you roughly down onto his cock, holding you there in a way that had even Remus’ balls tightening at how impossibly deep his boyfriend was currently inside of you. But he couldn’t bring himself to be jealous of Sirius, not when you so expertly recovered from what Remus was sure was about to be a moan of pleasure that you turned into a disappointed sigh.

Remus quickened the strokes on his own cock as Sirius returned to a steady rhythm from beneath you; he didn’t know how you could manage to continue ‘reading’ without getting motion sickness at the constant up and down, but he figured you had your motives.

Your skirt was bunched up around your waist, crumpled between Sirius’ tight fists in the bruising grip he had on your sides as he worked you over his cock, drops of sweat trailing down his jaw that caused the hairs that had fallen loose early on in his desperation for your attention to stick to his face; black tendrils of hair plastered in high contrast to his alabaster skin that was taking on a beautiful pinkish hue.

Remus pitied him.

“Awe dovey, come on. Is he not being a good boy for you?” He cooed near pathetically.

Your brows furrowed. “Who?”

Sirius let out a choked sound as his head fell back in agony.

A similar sound nearly fell from Remus’ own lips as the sound produced another bead of precum, further slicking up his throbbing cock.

“You’re making him feel so good, babydove. Isn’t she Sirius?” Remus narrated, earning him eager and enthusiastic head nods from your boyfriend who you still weren’t paying any mind.

You merely smiled over at Remus as you chewed none too innocently on your bottom lip.

“You’re really not gonna acknowledge him?” He chuckled.

You made a sound as though you were thinking about it causing Sirius to nearly pant like a fucking dog.

“Maybe next time.”

Sirius made a broken sound as his movements stuttered, managing two more quick pumps up into you before he was cumming with a cry.

He caught his breath by resting his forehead against the space between your shoulder blades, and you allowed him the respite.

Remus didn’t.

“Alright Pads, hand ‘er over.” Remus said as he stood, kicking his trousers off the rest of the way before he was pulling you up off of Sirius’ cock. “My turn.”

#marauders era #marauders au #mutual love #reader insert #self insert #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar #poly!wolfstar #poly!wolfstar x reader #poly!wolfstar x you #wolfstar x reader #wolfstar x you #poly!wolfstar smut #elle does smut #ignore kink #ellecdc fics

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cornyforjk · 4 months ago

Text

Drive you crazy | Day 1 | jjk

SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language only for now.

A/note: HI I'M SCARED BUT HI ALL THE BEST HAVE FUN . First chapter out and I am already head over heels for this Jungkook. I'd say to keep your hobi water ready anytime cause the spice never ends.

___________________♡____________________

"You'd be better off as a pornstar, why not start an only fans page."

The guy beside me whispered as I clenched my fist, a helmet covering his face. Well he was lucky the helmet was there to protect him, or else by now, his limbs would've fallen apart, bit by bit until he was screeching for mercy.

"Stay out of my way." My helmet was a barrier to the fiery glare I was sending his side. I heard him emit an audible but distressed sigh as his tongue clicked in disappointment.

I scanned him from head to toe, not as if I knew him, but my desire to call him a "gay stripper" grew stronger with each tap on the floor.

I close my eyes, collecting my thoughts that were scattered around an endless black hole. Echoes of heels clicking against the floor catching my attention, ear perking up I fix my posture, shoulders rolling back, clearing my parched throat.

A woman with huge circular glasses resting on the bridge of her nosewalked in. Her pencil skirt accentuated her broad hips, her blue eyes fixed on the notepad wrapped around her arm, and the silver metallic pen held her elegant hairstyle together.

She was the definition of what I call 'classy'.

I suddenly felt my shoulders slouch down when her blue icy eyes scanned me, her orbs slowly widening in astonishment. I raise my hand giving a small wave with a crooked smile.

Maybe that was a bit too crooked. Screw it! She can't see me.

"Ahh..." I suddenly squealed under her intense gaze that was scanning me over and over again, pushing the glasses that adorned her button nose back. She cleared her throat grazing over her notepad one last time.

"Lady, you know I am still here, right? Maybe you can do this goo-goo eyes after I'm checked in." The guy beside me commented, earning an eye roll which he couldn't witness. I stomp over his boots, almost throwing my whole weight on his foot.

"OUCH!" He grunts, turning my way, maybe or maybe not glaring like Donald Trump after he found out his steak was cooked medium rare and not brought alive.

"Fight me you ceramic bitch!" He shrieks, ready to throw hands. I hide behind the elegant woman for protection who just watched us bicker.

She cleared her throat again, catching me off guard. She turns my way. "Jungkook and Y/n?" She pursed her lips, narrowed cat-like eyes waiting for our nods.

"Jungkook...more like junk looks," I coughed out, wheezing at that lame pun, perhaps no one has the sense of humour of a five-year-old. The world is turning tables pretty quick.

"Ms Y/n, you aren't supposed to be here?" She waits for my reaction as I freeze on spot.

"What do you mean I am not supposed to be here?" My voice slightly rising, "I checked in myself as the new rookie in racing." I practically throw air quotes at her statement, panic wavering in my

voice.

The so-called guy 'Jungkook' choked, his broad chest heaving up and down as he laughed.

Did I say something funny?

"You are at the wrong location, I think there was an error in our system while registering you, we may have added your name to the wrong list." She ran her index finger across her crisp notepad, eyes moving back and forth like a hawk.

"No, no, no, no-no." I gasped, "do you know how long it took me to persuade my sponsor?! This is my only chance to race; if I don't enter, all of my years of preparation will be in vain."

She looked at me with sympathy. "Can't you make any changes to send me there?"

"I'm sorry...you won't be able to reach in time and we cannot let you go until the board takes a look at this major mistake and have you safely enter your designated place."

She tapped her foot on the marble floor.

Suddenly my head dropped, audibly sighing as my fingers tapped against my thighs. Just one opportunity is given...and it will all wash over like golden sand at the seashore.

"Okay, sad. Moving on, I'd like the Keys to my quarters." Jungkook arrogantly demanded, pushing his hand in front of the woman. She looked at him with no emotion, rolling her eyes, once again checking the name list.

Think Y/n! Think!

I felt my heart clench, the corner of my eyes collided with the water. My craving to have wind tangled in my locks while the engine roared at the starting line with determined racers kept increasing.

That desire in my heart burning stronger than any fuel.

"I can race here!" I exclaimed, earning a groan from the tall man beside me. The woman blinked her eyes, glasses almost falling off her snatched nose.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I can race on this track here in California, till then your board can sort out all their work." Adrenaline rushed in my veins like hope, secretly fist-pumping the air. Finally, this could work out.

"Listen up kiddo, this is California. Here racers make history. They don't sit on the track to have some pink princess tea party, so you can take that bag of yours and move your ass out of this place because you don't belong here." His words were foul, a snarl creeping on.

He was filled with bitterness, swiftly peeling off the helmet on his face. His action left me speechless.

His ethereal beauty was hidden behind the helmet; his soft, glowing skin was the centre of attention; his doe-like eyes were pools of overflowing emotions; his soft lips, the bottom one a little fuller, a mole on his cheek and one under his lip.

I would've stumbled on my face gazingat such charm if only he wasn't being a jerk.

"It's because women aren't usually seen racing here, in fact for the last 50 years no women had the guts to continue on this track." The woman abruptly spoke. I felt the uncertainty in her voice. She was trying to cover up for that jerk.

"but there is no rule against women racing here." I protested back.

"Yes there isn't but-" "Then I race here."

Jungkook's intense stare had my knees go weak. I could feel the sharpness and cold wrath all at once. An unspoken cold blooded war was rising between us.

"What do you think you are doing?" Jungkook exclaimed, his warm hand skimming on my shoulder, the grip crushing my meek corpse.

His jaw clenched and eyes obscuring, he glowered behind the lustrous locks covering his orbs that bled out of outrage.

outrage.

Staring into his eyes my body shook violently, I harshly pushed him away, disgusted by the warmth his hands held. "Don't touch me." My eyes were bloodshot red, wrapping my hands around my torso.

"I won't be outmanoeuvred by a jerk. Especially you, Jungkook."

___________________♡____________________

Teaser | Day2

DM me or send me an ask to be added in the taglist.

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pedroscurls · 3 months ago

Text

training partners (pt. 4)

summary: you meet ryan reynolds and shawn levy, and hugh does his best to keep your nerves at bay. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), reader has some description (hair, outfit), smut (oral - m receiving), shower sex (unprotected p in v, hugh bends you over 🫣), dirty talk, hugh briefly calling you a "good girl", no use of y/n. word count: 8.5k a/n: wow, this got filthy real fast but idc lol - i need it to fulfill my fantasies lol (thank you to the anons and @celestiamour who gave me these ideas!). i promise the story is progressing, just needed this little chapter lol. little fun fact about me - i'm also an 'amateur' photographer (who does specialize in engagement shoots, but also love taking landscape / street photography pics) and i've always dreamt of being an on-set photographer so here's to me living out my dream through this story (if you guys ever wanna see my photographs, i'd be so down to post them here too!). this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman (it's the only way i can live out my fantasies of this man lol). prev part. - next part.

Hugh wasn’t lying when he said his schedule would become much busier. It’s been a couple of months since meeting him and while he’s been very busy, he stayed true to his word and prioritized making time for you. When you both weren’t at the gym, he insisted on you staying at his place… and the man can be very convincing when he wants to be.

He’s been traveling a lot and whenever he does get back, he goes straight to your apartment and spends the night. You’ve started to leave a few of your things at his house and he’s started to leave more of his things at yours. Even when he’s traveling and away from you, it never truly does feel like he’s gone. Physically, yes, but he makes time for you and it makes you feel special.

Hugh’s heading back home today and you’re sitting on your couch, dressed in one of his t-shirts and panties with a throw blanket draped over your lap. You hear your phone go off and reach for it, seeing his name and the text he sends you: Coming up, baby. Can’t wait to see you.

You’re about to send a reply before you hear a knock on the door. You grin excitedly, tossing the blanket to the side and standing up, lightly jogging to the door. You swing it open and see him standing there, looking very tired, but still so handsome, his eyes lighting up at the sight of you.

“Hey, baby,” Hugh says, voice hoarse and low as he drops his duffle bag to step past the threshold and wrap his arms around your waist. He nuzzles his face against the side of your neck, letting out a sigh of relief.

You smile against him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. “Missed you,” you whisper, kissing his cheek. “Come on in. Did you eat?”

Hugh releases you and grabs his duffle bag, stepping back inside as you shut the door and lock it behind him. You follow him to your bedroom where he drops the bag on the floor near his side of the bed. He sits on the edge of the mattress and pulls you closer to him, to stand between his legs as he rests his forehead against your abdomen.

“Not hungry,” Hugh says, looking up at you and taking notice of the shirt you’re wearing. His gaze darkens as he runs his fingertips along the sides of your bare legs, biting his lower lip. “This was a longer trip than intended,” he continues. “I’m sorry, love.”

Your fingertips stroke through his locks, eyes locked with his. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand. It’s part of this…” you motion between the both of you. “Part of us.”

“Mm, how’d I get so lucky, huh?” Hugh asks, gripping your hips and pulling you onto his lap.

You gasp quietly, feeling his length pressing against your core. “Hugh… You’re tired, baby.”

“Never tired for you, and seeing you in my clothes just does somethin’ to me,” he whispers, leaning up to press his lips against the side of your neck. His beard has grown out, having heard him say multiple times that he needed to shave. You like it though, the salt and pepper look, the scruff and the feel of it against your skin. He knows just how to use it to get you excited. “At least on my next trip, you’ll be coming with me. I can have you every day.” His hands move further underneath the shirt, running up along your back.

“Hugh,” you whimper, feeling his teeth graze against your neck. Gently, you place your hands on his shoulders and push him onto his back. Slowly, you roll your hips against him, letting out a quiet moan against the fabric of his jeans. “Let me take care of you tonight. Is that okay?”

“What’d you have in mind, baby?” Hugh pulls back to look up at you, a quiet groan escaping his lips as he feels you press further against his hardening length.

Slowly, you climb off his lap and then sit up on your knees, biting your lower lip innocently. “Lean against the headboard,” you tell him.

Hugh doesn’t even hesitate. He scrambles on your bed and sits up, leaning back against your headboard. He reaches the end of his shirt and pulls it over his head, tossing it to the side. Your mattress certainly isn’t as big as his, but you both make it work. His hands move to the button and zipper of his jeans, undoing them quickly as his eyes take in your frame and the position you’re in. You’re leaning forward on your hands, your tongue slowly darting out to lick your lower lip as your eyes move towards the center of his pants.

Hugh’s exhausted and he knows he isn’t going to last long, but he has missed you so much. He knows that this relationship is still new and not that many people know about it, but the more he leaves you, the more he realizes that he wants more of this. He wants everyone in the world to know that you’re his and while he wants to make sure you’re comfortable and move at your own pace, he can’t help but feel excited to know that one day you’d both get there.

“Take off your pants,” you tell him, slowly crawling towards him as he parts his legs for you.

“I kinda like this side of you,” Hugh smirks, pushing his pants and boxers down his legs and tossing them over the bed. He groans at the relief in pressure, looking down at himself to see his manhood at attention. He reaches down and grasps himself, holding onto his base and tugging a few times.

You would never get over the sight of his manhood. So long and girthy, leaking at the tip, and hair at his base. Every time, you’re at a loss for words. He’s so beautiful and you try to show some restraint, wanting so badly to just wrap your lips around his length and gag–

“Come ‘ere,” Hugh calls out, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Take that shirt off, baby.”

You nod and sit up on your knees, pulling the shirt off your body, now only clad in your panties. Slowly, you then crawl towards him, settling yourself between his legs as you gently push away his hand to replace it with your own. Once you wrap your fingers around him, barely able to grasp him in one hand, Hugh lets out a groan. You lean down, wrapping your lips around his tip and sucking the pre-come from his tip.

His large hand moves to your hair, holding it away from your face as he leans his head back against the headboard. “God, baby,” Hugh moans.

Your tongue swirls around his tip as your hand strokes his base. You love doing this for him, just as much as he loves going down on you too. Just like him, you’re always so crazed and yearning for more. You feel Hugh’s hand move to the back of your head, urging you to go further down his length. You slowly begin to bob your head and with each movement, going further and further until you feel his tip hit the back of your throat.

Hugh lets out a loud moan at that, accidentally thrusting his hips upwards for more. He hears you gag and he has to pull you away for a moment so that you can catch your breath, eyes gazing down at you as he sees tears stinging the corner of your eyes.

“Sorry. I got carried away,” Hugh pants, his manhood throbbing for more. “I just– You look–”

“Shh,” you interrupt him, placing your mouth back onto his cock and beginning to quicken your pace. Your head bobs up and down, going further until you feel the tip of your nose brush against the hair at his base. He’s so deep in your mouth and you’ve learned to relax your throat because the sounds that come out of him is something that you yearn for more of.

Hugh lets out a litany of curses under his breath, hand gripping your hair as he watches you. Your hand pumps him in time with your mouth moving along him and he shuts his eyes, head hitting the back of the headboard as a loud moan escapes his lips.

“Baby,” he growls, feeling the tightness build in his lower stomach. “Baby, I’m about to–”

You interrupt him by lowering yourself until you hit the back of his throat again. You don’t slow down and you don’t make a move to pull away because you know that Hugh’s close and you want nothing more than to taste him and swallow.

When Hugh realizes that you weren’t going to pull away, it’s enough to make him reach his climax. He holds your head down against him as his hips slightly lift upwards. You pull inches away, your mouth still around his length, as you feel his come in your mouth. You open your eyes to look up at him, lips slightly parted, eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving, as he releases his spend.

You swallow immediately, tasting the salt of his release as you slow your movements. You continue to suck and stroke until he shudders, gently pulling you away from him as his manhood softens against his lower half.

You sit up on your knees and swallow again, licking your lips as you stare up at him. You wipe the fallen tears away from your eyes, lips swollen as you tilt your head at the sight of him. Hugh slowly opens his eyes and stares at you, a small smile lining his lips.

“That’s a nice thing to come home to,” Hugh smiles, lowering himself on your bed and pulling you into his arms. “That was amazing.”

You smile, leaning up to kiss his shoulder. “I can’t help myself sometimes. You’re just so–” you stop yourself, biting your lower lip. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re home.”

“I’m glad I’m home too, baby.” Hugh kisses the crown of your head and pulls you against his chest.

You try to pull away from him to grab the shirt from the floor, but he just pulls you back to him. “Hugh,” you giggle.

“No,” he smiles sleepily. “You don’t need a shirt.”

“What if I get cold?”

“I’ll warm you up,” he says softly, leaning over to kiss your temple. “I really did miss you, love.” Hugh’s eyes slowly fall shut, feeling completely satisfied and relieved to be with you now.

“I missed you too, Hugh,” you respond, head resting against him. “Get some sleep, baby.”

Hugh nods and within minutes, his snores begin to fill your small room.

—

Hugh decides to stay at your apartment for the next few days and it gives you a glimpse of what a “normal” life would be like with him. You know that you’re set to meet Shawn and Ryan soon and as the day nears, you feel your nerves begin to settle in the pit of your stomach. You don’t tell Hugh though, not wanting him to have to worry about you.

“So,” you tell him, trying to think of anything else but the meeting with Shawn and Ryan. “I was thinking we can tell our trainer about… You know, about us.”

Hugh’s eyes light up, turning to look over at you. You’re both sitting on your couch, his arm draped over the back of it as you snuggle against his side. “Yeah?” Hugh can’t help the excitement bubble within him. He knows you’re still a bit wary about this relationship, but if he had it his way, he’d let the whole world know you’re his. “Are you sure, baby?”

You nod, looking up at him as an arm drapes over his midsection. “Besides, I think she already knows. It’s not like you try to hide it when we’re at the gym.”

“Me?” Hugh playfully gasps, looking into your eyes. “You’re the one who can’t keep their eyes off of me.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, we both know that’s a lie,” you tell him, though, you know you’re only lying to yourself.

“Is it though, baby?” Hugh smirks, pulling you onto his lap as he looks up at you, hands resting on your thighs. “You do this thing, and I’m almost certain you have no idea you’re doing it.”

“And what’s that, hm?”

“You bite your lower lip,” Hugh grins, bringing a hand up to run the pad of his thumb across your lower lip. “When your eyes zero in on my arms… especially when we’re doing biceps.”

You narrow your eyes at him, bringing your arms to drape over his shoulders. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say innocently.

“Oh, so now we wanna act all innocent? You were all talk a minute there,” he chuckles, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer.

“Okay, hush you,” you smile, burying your face against the side of his neck. He holds you like this for a few moments, but he can tell there’s something else on your mind. He runs his hands along your back and up your shoulders, and back down to your waist. He can feel the tension in your shoulders, can hear the quiet sigh that escapes your lips, your breath fanning against the side of his neck.

“What’s up?” he asks quietly, slowly pulling you back so that he can look into your eyes. “What’s on your mind, love?”

“Nothing,” you tell him, shrugging a shoulder.

Hugh sighs. “You’re a terrible liar, d’ya know that?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not lying.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle and brings a hand up to your cheek, gently cupping it. “Talk to me. What can I do to help ease that mind of yours?”

“How do you know something’s bothering me?”

Hugh sighs, tilting his head. “You know, I’m very observant. Especially when it comes to you.”

“Ah, so you stare too.”

Hugh chuckles lightly, knowing that this is only your way of trying to lighten the mood. “Well, obviously, but that’s besides the point. I don’t know how I can ease that mind of yours if you don’t talk to me, baby. We talked about this already…”

“I know,” you sigh. “I know. I just don’t want to burden you with my problems and–”

“Your problems are my problems, baby,” Hugh says seriously. “Let me help you. What’s going on?”

“I’m just nervous,” you tell him. “Meeting Ryan and Shawn… I just don’t want to disappoint them and what if they realize that my work isn’t even that great and then also, it’ll be the first time I’m meeting your friends and–” you ramble, feeling him lean in to peck your lips.

“Okay, first of all,” he says, pulling away. “Your work is absolutely amazing and they already know that. And second, as long as I’m happy, that’s all that matters to them. Just be you, baby. That’s what got me in the first place,” he smiles. “Don’t try to be anyone else, but you. You make me happy and I haven’t felt this way in a very long time. That means something to me.”

You nod, looking deeply into his eyes. You can sense there’s something else he wants to say because you also want to say it too, but it’s too early. It’s only been a couple of months and you don’t want to scare him away, but you’d be lying if you said that your feelings for him weren’t getting any deeper…

Because it was.

And you’re afraid to fall because you know that if you do, there’s truly no going back.

“I just–” you sigh, leaning in to press your forehead against his. “I just want you happy.”

“I am happy, baby,” he replied quickly, lightly pecking your lips. “I’m happy with you, love. You’ll be okay,” he promises. “Besides, I’ll be there with you.”

You nod and wrap your arms around his shoulders tightly, burying your face against the side of his neck. Hugh’s hands come up to your shoulders and he can feel a tremendous difference. There’s still some tension, but it’s certainly not like how it was before.

“Okay, I believe you,” you tell him, pulling back to look down at him. “Should we go get ready for the gym?”

Hugh nods, standing up from the couch with you holding onto him. You smile down at him, legs wrapped around his waist as you lock your ankles together at his lower back. He holds you up against him, leading you down the hallway to your bedroom.

“If I wasn’t training to get back into shape for the Wolverine, I’d take you right here,” he says quietly, leaning in to pepper kisses along your neck.

“We literally had sex earlier this morning,” you tell him with a giggle, hands playing with his hair at the nape of his neck.

“Do you know what you look like?” Hugh says, gently setting you on your feet once you both get to your bedroom. “You make me feel young again,” he teases.

“Ah, right,” you tell him, grabbing the ends of the shirt you’re wearing and pulling it over your head, tossing it in his direction. “I forget you’re such an old man,” you tease, walking shirtless to your closet to change into your workout clothes.

Hugh’s gaze darkens and he strides over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His hands come up to cover your breasts, kneading them into the pit of his palms. “How about I just bend you over right across your dresser and just–”

“Hugh!” you whimper pushing back against him. “We have to get to the gym.”

Hugh grunts and then pulls away, turning you around so that he can look at your exposed chest. “Fine,” he says with a huff. “But after our workout, we’re coming back here and you’re gonna let me have my way with you.”

“Oh, I’m gonna let you, huh?” you grin, running your hands across his hardened chest.

“Yeah, you are,” Hugh growls, stepping closer to you and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you flush against him. “Now, go and get ready or else we’re never going.”

You turn around to grab clothes and feel Hugh smack your backside, causing a gasp to escape your lips. You look over at him and he’s staring at you with a grin and winks in your direction before walking away to let you finish getting ready.

—

You and Hugh are both halfway through your workout, both already drenched in sweat from yet another tough workout from your trainer. You get a brief break and walk up to your trainer, taking a deep breath. This will be the first person that you’ll be telling about your relationship and you’re a bit nervous. It still feels surreal to say (or even believe) that you’re in a relationship with Hugh Jackman.

“Hey you,” your trainer says, smiling in your direction. “Great first half of the workout.”

“Yeah right,” you laugh quietly, using your towel to wipe the sweat off your brow. “I felt like that just kicked my ass. Listen, I wanted to tell you something and…”

A knowing grin lines her lips. “What’s that?”

Your eyes narrow in her direction, tilting your head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No reason,” she chuckles. “What did you want to tell me?”

You look over your shoulder at Hugh who’s looking down at his phone and your eyes linger on his arms, especially his arms. When he looks up at you, he winks in your direction and you clear your throat, turning your attention back to your trainer. “So, Hugh and I… We’re in a relationship… It’s still new, but–”

“I knew it,” she interrupts you with a larger smile. “You guys don’t make an effort to hide it, you know,” she laughs. “You stare at him a lot.”

“Okay, let’s never tell him that because he won’t ever let me live it down if you do,” you laugh. “But, I’m really happy. Like extremely happy and I’m afraid I’m going to end up self-sabotaging it because I don’t know what a healthy relationship looks like, but he’s… He’s amazing.”

“Take it day by day,” your train responds. “You deserve a good man and Hugh’s definitely one of the good ones. Let yourself be loved the way you deserve,” she tells you.

“Thank you,” you reply, pulling her into a hug. “You know just all the right things to say, you know that?”

She hugs you tightly and then releases you, smiling at you. “Lots of experience. Now, let’s get back to the workout.”

—

By the end of the work out, you’re lying on the mats trying to catch your breath. You’re about to stand up before you feel Hugh hover above you in a high plank position, his hands resting above your head at shoulder-width distance.

“Care to motivate me to complete my finisher?” he grins, looking down at you as he tightens his core to keep himself upright.

“I don’t think I can even move,” you chuckle, looking up at him. “That workout was–”

“Don’t gotta move, baby,” he winks, pushing himself down in a push-up, chest hovering inches above yours as he leans down to peck your lips. “Just motivate me with your kisses, can you do that for me?”

“That’s gonna motivate you?” you tease. “And how in the hell are you holding this push-up position?”

Hugh just chuckles and then pushes himself back up. “Just answer the question. Every time I come down, gimme a kiss. Seems easy enough, isn’t it?”

“If I must,” you wink. “Now, come on then. Finish this last exercise so you can take me back home and have your way with me,” you repeat.

Hugh’s eyes narrow, pushing himself down into a push-up. You meet him halfway and lean up to peck his lips before he pushes himself upright. He continues this for a few more reps, but you’re beginning to distract him because you bring your hands up his chest to his shoulders and down his flexed arms.

“I have one more set, baby, stop that,” Hugh says, pushing himself down and pecking your lips. He notices the look in your eyes and he can feel himself stirring within his shorts. “You’re not helping me,” he chuckles.

“I think I’m helping you plenty,” you reply. “But are you helping me?”

Hugh pushes himself down once more, but moves his head to the side of your neck as his lips brush against you. He feels you shudder against him and let out a shaky breath. He barely pushes himself back up as he moves to hover his lips closely over yours. “I will be after this.”

“Mmm, promise? Because all I’ve been able to think about is you bending me over and–”

Hugh growls and moves into a high plank once more. He looks down at you, watching as you bite your lower lip. He doesn’t bother replying to you, wanting to just finish his last set of this exercise so that he can just take you back home.

“Okay, get on up and meet me in the car while I finish this.”

“You don’t need me to motivate you anymore?” you ask innocently, batting your eyelashes at him.

Hugh shakes his head and then stands up, reaching down to pull you on your feet. His hand darts out to rest on your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. He has to remind himself that you’re both still at the gym and while your trainer isn’t in the same room, he can’t just take you here.

“Go to the car and wait for me there,” he repeats.

“Or… what?”

Hugh lets out a low growl, gaze darkening. He steps closer to you, pulling you flush against him at the same time as his lips hover near your ear. He whispers quietly, voice laced with desire and it shoots straight to your core. “Oh, baby, are we not gonna be a good girl today?” He nudges against you, hand dipping from your hip to move around your lower back, inching further to grasp your backside. “Because I’m sure you remember what happens when you ain’t being good.”

“But, what if I like being bad?”

“Then don’t whine and beg for me to let you come,” Hugh says with a husky voice. You can feel chills wash over your body as you pull back to look up at him, eyes narrowing in his direction. “Now, meet me in the car. I’ll be there shortly.”

You want to call his bluff, but you just want him so badly that you move away with a huff. “Fine,” you tell him, turning around to grab your bag. He reaches for your hand for a moment, his touch soft and gentle in comparison to the words he just said as he pulls you back to him.

“Gimme a kiss at least.”

“So needy, so demanding,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to peck his lips.

“Yeah, we’ll see who’s needy later.” he replies almost instantly.

—

The ride back to your apartment was quick. You can tell Hugh was trying to get back to your place in record time. His right hand remained on your upper thigh, but throughout the entire ride, he didn’t say anything. You know where his mind had drifted to, what he was probably thinking because when you reached over to rest your own hand on his thigh, he just grabbed your wrist and pushed it away.

“No, baby,” was all he said. The moment he pulls into his parking spot at your apartment complex, he quickly climbs out to grab your bags from the trunk. You step out of the car and begin walking towards your door, looking over your shoulder at Hugh whose eyes are staring directly at you.

And once inside your apartment, Hugh drops both of your bags and shuts the door with his foot. The moment you both remove your shoes, Hugh is on you. His arms wrap around your waist, head dipping down to press light kisses on the side of your neck. He pulls you flush against him and he hears you gasp, knowing that you can feel his hardening length beneath his shorts.

“Hugh…” you whimper, arms snaking around his shoulders. “Can we–”

“Shh,” Hugh interrupts, lifting you in his arms as you quickly wrap your legs around his waist. He begins walking down the hallway towards your bedroom until he feels your lips on his neck, gently biting down and sucking on the skin afterwards.

Suddenly, Hugh stops and turns you so that your back is pressed against the wall. He pulls back to look at you, grabbing your hands and pressing them roughly against the wall above your head. Your legs remain tightly wrapped around him, rolling your hips slowly as you yearn for friction, yearn to feel more of him.

Hugh’s gaze is filled with lust as he stares at you, gripping your wrists as he leans forward, nose nudging against yours. “I should punish you for not listening to me earlier, for teasing me…” Hugh says, his breath fanning against your lips.

“But?” you ask, tilting your head as you squeeze him closer to you. “But you’re too nice and won’t do that, right?” you smile, letting out a quiet giggle.

Hugh shakes his head and rests his forehead against yours. “You’re really testing me, aren’t ya? And you know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“I have an idea,” you tell him, leaning in to gently nip at his lower lip. “How about we take a shower and… and see what happens?”

Hugh lets out an involuntary groan, just thinking and imagining bending you over in your shower or even just holding you up in his arms like this while the water cascades down your bodies. He suddenly sets you back onto your feet, releasing your wrists as he looks down at you.

“Lead the way then, baby.”

“Yeah?” you ask excitedly, eyes lighting up in anticipation. Without waiting for him to reply, you grab his hand and lead him towards your bedroom and into the connected bathroom. Once inside, you release your hold on him and lean over the tub to let the water run so that it can heat up. You reach out to test the temperature, feeling the water hit your hand. When you turn back to Hugh, he’s already stripped down to his boxers with an obvious bulge beneath it.

Your eyes take in his frame, moving along his chiseled and muscular upper body and down to the waistband of his boxers. You swallow quietly, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and pulling it down your legs. Hugh stands there, watching you undress as he moves his boxers down his own legs. He lets out a groan of relief, hand immediately reaching down to grasp onto his throbbing length to stroke himself slowly.

Your clothes pool at your ankles as you stand before him, completely naked and bare, watching as he strokes himself at the mere sight of you. You feel a wetness pool between your legs, throbbing and yearning to wrap around something.

Hugh takes the initiative to step inside the shower, the water instantly hitting his sore muscles and the heat of the water doing its job to provide relief. He watches you step inside with him and immediately, he reaches out to grab you and pull you flush against him. The water cascades down both your bodies from above as you reach up to stroke back your wet hair and see Hugh do the same. You lean up on your toes and slowly press your lips against his, moving it almost instantly as you feel his manhood stir and throb against your lower abdomen.

His hands move down your wet back and to your backside, gripping both cheeks tightly in his large hands as he feels your breasts push against him. He’s throbbing so painfully that he knows he can’t tease you and drag this out long enough to have you begging because he needs to be inside of you now.

Slowly, Hugh pulls away to look down at you. Eyes searching your own and it’s in this moment that Hugh feels like this can be something so much more than he expected it to be. He reaches up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing against you as the water continues to trickle down your bodies.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he whispers.

When Hugh’s gaze softens like this, eyes staring deeply into your own, it almost feels like you know what he’s thinking, what he wants to say but doesn’t. You feel his thumb move down your cheek until the pad of his thumb brushes lightly along your lower lip, causing your lips to part instinctively.

“Hugh, I–”

He interrupts you with a soft kiss on your lips. “I know, baby. I’m gonna take care of you.” Then, he turns you around, eyes drifting down your back to your backside. Hugh then moves a hand to your middle back and slowly guides you to bend over as you reach out to rest your hands on the shower wall in front of you.

Hugh grasps himself and runs his tip along your folds, growling to himself. He uses his free hand to rest on your hip, fingertips digging into your flesh as he slowly slides into you. Your warmth and tightness surrounds him and he forces himself to keep the slow pace, your moans mixing in with the sounds of the water. He reaches up to take hold of your wet hair in his grasp, tilting your head slightly to the side so that he can see your face.

You moan loudly at the feel of him stretching you out. You don’t think you’d ever get used to his size, but despite the painful stretch in the beginning, you know that your walls will slowly begin to give way for him. And you’re always dripping wet for him that he just slides right in and this is certainly no different.

When Hugh fills you to the hilt, he has to remain still for a moment because you’re gripping him so tight that he knows once he starts to move, he won’t be able to stop until he reaches his high. But he suddenly feels you move back against him, eyes immediately drifting down to your backside as this position gives him such an amazing view. He moves his hand from your hair to your hip as both hands grip you and begin to move you back and forth on his hardened length.

Your moans filter into the bathroom, the steam from the shower encompassing the entire bathroom. As Hugh pulls you back against him, he pushes his hips forward, groaning to himself at the sensation of your warmth. Hugh will never get enough of this, of you. He’s had plenty of conversations with Ryan about you, about how he can see himself falling so deeply in love with you that it not only scares him, but also excites him too.

“Hugh…” you moan, reaching back to grab a hold of his forearm as your nails dig into the skin. His thrusts are slowly beginning to pick up in speed, the sound of skin slapping against one another now mixing in with the sounds of your moans and the water that has now turned cool.

“Oh, baby,” Hugh groans, taking your hand and holding it firmly against your lower back. He pulls back, looking down at where you’re connected and it turns him on even more. Your slickness coats his entire length and he pushes back into you with ease, your walls giving way to his girth but still so tight around him.

You feel your body begin to tremble as Hugh’s thrusts bring you closer and closer to the edge. As you’re about to reach your high, you quickly pull away from him, his length slipping out of you with ease. You turn around to face him, biting your lower lip as Hugh looks at you with a confused look.

“You were close, weren’t you?” Hugh smirks, stepping closer to you.

“Sorry, it was too much and I–”

Hugh presses his lips against yours and then lifts you up into his arms, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist with ease. He uses his free hand to reach down to grasp his base, lining himself at your entrance. He pressed your back against the shower wall as he slowly slides back into you, growling against your lips.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as your fingernails dig into the skin at his upper back. He wastes no time in thrusting up into you, his hands resting underneath you. He’s careful not to slip, even with the water continuing to run down but he needs you to to come, needs to see and hear you. Slowly, he pulls away from your lips, forehead instead resting against yours as your lips brush against his.

“Come for me, baby,” Hugh whispers, driving his hips upwards. The muscles in his arms and chest flex as he holds you up against the wall, pulling his hips back only to push them back towards you, his length kissing that sweet spot within your depths repeatedly.

Your walls begin to tighten around his length and you squeeze your legs even tighter around him to pull him closer to you as your nails drag down his back. “Hugh!” You hold onto him tightly, feeling his movements become more erratic.

Hugh buries his face against the side of your neck, teeth dragging along your skin as he feels himself get closer and closer to the edge. He feels you tighten even further around him and he pulls out abruptly to shoot his release in the inside of your thigh.

You stare at him, completely breathless as you lean forward to peck his lips lightly. “We didn’t even shower,” you tease, panting against him.

Hugh chuckles, nudging the tip of his nose against yours. “Worth it,” he replies. “And you called my bluff… I just couldn’t tease you and have you beg when all I wanted to do was just be inside of you.”

“Good…” you smile, slowly unwrapping your legs around his waist so that you can fully stand upright. Your legs feel a bit wobbly, bracing yourself on his shoulders as his hands move to your hips. “Because I’d have been a mess if you left me begging.”

“Mmm,” Hugh grins. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Maybe next time,” he winks. “Now, come on. Let’s get cleaned up, love.”

—

For the rest of the week, you’re spending it at Hugh’s place. It’s easy how you both can slip into a routine with each other and how well you both coexist. Even though this relationship is still very new and in the beginning stages, you’re starting to see exactly how easy you can fit into Hugh’s life. You still have some reservations, still nervous that this might not work out, but the more time you spend with him, the more you realize that this is something you’d want to give a chance for the possibility of being something greater than you ever imagined.

You’re set to meet Ryan and Shawn tonight and you’re nervous. Knowing that Hugh would be there with you does ease your mind, but this is the first step in truly seeing if you can fit into his life.

You’re in the kitchen, whisking pancake batter in a bowl to cook breakfast for you and Hugh. You’ve gotten used to wearing his clothes and this morning is no different because you’re just dressed in one of his black t-shirts and nothing but. You’re so deep in thought, focused solely on making breakfast that you don’t hear him coming down the stairs and it isn’t until you feel his arms wrap around you from behind that it pulls you out of your trance.

“Morning, baby,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the side of your neck. “Making me breakfast?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Protein pancakes and then some scrambled eggs.”

You turn your head and kiss his cheek, smiling in his direction before you continue to whisk the batter.

“You spoil me,” he smiles. “I’m going on a run with a few friends, but I should be back by the time you’re done.” Hugh then pulls away from you to grab a glass of water as you turn to look at him. He’s dressed in a fitted white t-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, tennis shoes, and a hat. Your eyes take in his frame, lingering at his arms and chest and down his legs. It isn’t until he clears his throat that you finally look up at him who’s staring at you with a knowing smirk.

“What’s on your mind, hm?” Hugh grins.

“You just look…” you bite your lower lip, reaching down to play with the end of your (his) t-shirt. “I like seeing you in a white t-shirt and the one you’re wearing is literally about to rip. It’s so tiny!”

“It is not,” Hugh chuckles, eyes lingering on your frame as well. “I’m just getting bigger…”

“Oh, I’ve noticed,” you grin and walk towards him, hands running across his chest as you feel him flex underneath your fingertips. “I like you either way, but seeing you get into shape as Wolverine again is just…”

Hugh leans down and pecks your lips, hand moving down to your hip. “Oh, I know. You practically stare at me every chance you get.”

“Do you blame me?”

“Not at all…” Hugh smiles, staring deeply into your eyes. “But that’s only because I stare at you every chance I get too.”

“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“I’d say the best pair,” Hugh says softly. “You ready for tonight?”

You shrug and move your arms to wrap around his shoulders. “No, I’m nervous… But I think knowing that you’ll be there helps a bit.”

“Just a bit?”

You smile. “Oh yeah, a very tiny bit.”

Hugh’s eyes narrow. “If I’m only gonna help a tiny bit, then I might as well not go with you.”

“No!” you say immediately, shaking your head. “Don’t do that. I need you there.”

“Ah, so more than a tiny bit.”

“Yes,” you laugh quietly. “Since you’ll be there, I know I’ll be okay.”

“You’d be okay with or without me there,” Hugh reassures. “But I’m happy to spend time with you, Ryan, and Shawn tonight.”

“It’s going to be very casual, right?”

Hugh nods. “Very casual.” he pecks your lips lightly and then pulls away. “I better get going. I’ll be back soon, baby.”

“Have a good run, Hugh,” you tell him, hands slowly sliding down his arms before you move back to the task at hand. Your eyes focus on whisking the batter as you move around in his kitchen to grab the necessary things you need to complete breakfast. Hugh watches you for a brief moment, eyes filled with so much love and appreciation that for a split second, he wants so badly to tell you what has been on his mind since his last trip.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet.

—

You’re staring at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a pair of high waisted denim pants with a black, loose fit collared v-neck knitted sweatshirt. Your makeup remains light and natural and you play nervously with the black belt on your pants.

Hugh comes up from behind you, dressed just as casually in a pair of black jeans, black t-shirt with a black bomber jacket over. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin against the side of your neck.

“You look amazing.” Hugh smiles. “You ready to go?”

“I’m nervous,” you admit. “Not only do I want them to like my work, but there’s a bit of added pressure because they know we’re together and they’re both your closest friends and–”

Hugh quietly hushes you with a gentle kiss against your temple. “They already like your work,” he reassures you. “And I talk about you all the time. It’s like they already know you.”

“I don’t know if that helps me or not,” you tell him honestly. “I just–” You turn around to face him, looking up at him. “I just really like you and I want to get along with your friends, even if they are really fucking famous and–”

“Stop,” Hugh says, gently resting his hands on your hips. “Just think of it as a night out with friends. We’re gonna grab dinner and a couple of drinks and then call it a night.”

“What if you realize that I’m actually not all that great and then rethink this entire relationship?”

“Okay,” Hugh sighs quietly and rests his forehead against yours, eyes staring deeply into yours. “I like you, a lot, baby. I know this is still new for us, but there’s nothing I want more than to be with you.” He brings a hand up to your cheek, thumb brushing against your soft skin. “Just be you.”

“But what if–”

“Nope,” he interrupts. “What does our trainer tell you?” He tilts his head, eyes gazing into your own. “Ah, yes. Self-talk, baby. You gotta treat yourself just as kindly as I see you treat others.”

“Okay,” you nod, letting out a quiet sigh. “We should probably go before I talk myself out of it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let you back out,” Hugh smiles, taking your hand and leading you out of the bathroom. Your heels click against the tile floor as you follow Hugh downstairs. “We’re taking a car tonight. I know you still want to keep this relationship under wraps from press, so I figured–”

“Thank you, Hugh.” you say softly, following him out of his house and towards the black SUV parked out front. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I just want my girl to be comfortable and happy,” Hugh smiles.

My girl.

You slide into the car and immediately greet the driver, who looks at you from the rearview mirror with a shocked expression. Hugh slides in right next to you and shuts the door, hearing you make small talk with the driver and he smiles to himself. It baffles him how kind, sweet, and considerate you are to other people, but to yourself, it’s a very different story. He wishes he can make you see just how amazing you are or make you see the way he sees you.

Hugh also chimes in on the conversation as the driver begins driving away from Hugh’s house and towards the city. His hand moves to rest on your thigh, looking down at you with a small smile on his lips. He leans in and kisses the side of your head, feeling your hand move to cover his own.

It doesn’t take long before you and Hugh arrive at the restaurant. You look outside and let out a breath of relief, glad that you don’t see one paparazzi as Hugh steps out first. He reaches a hand out for you and you tell the driver to have a good night before you take Hugh’s hand and climb out after him.

He leads you inside and immediately spots Ryan and Shawn at the corner of the restaurant, waving in both of your directions.

“Just be you,” Hugh repeats, whispering into your ear as you follow closely behind him.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” Ryan teases, hugging Hugh as you bite your lower lip. You watch him greet Shawn before he turns to you, a large smile on his lips. He rests a hand on your lower back, urging you closer to the table.

“And this is…” Hugh smiles, saying your name as he introduces you to Ryan and Shawn.

“Okay, you’ve told us a lot about her, but you didn’t say she was this beautiful,” Ryan replies, causing a quiet chuckle to escape Hugh’s lips. You feel heat rise in your cheeks as you instinctively lean against Hugh for comfort, for support.

Just be you.

You take a deep breath and then reach your hand to shake Shawn and Ryan’s hands, smiling up at them. “I’m eager to hear what things he’s said about me if beautiful wasn’t part of it,” you tease.

Hugh shakes his head and pulls out your chair, waiting until you sit down before he takes his spot next to you. Ryan and Shawn sit across from you, already each with a drink in front of them.

“I like you,” Ryan chuckles. “I’m Ryan.”

“I’m Shawn.”

You smile and feel Hugh’s hand move to rest casually on your thigh. You don’t realize how much it brings you comfort and you glance up at him for a moment before you turn your attention to Shawn and Ryan.

“I’m a huge fan of you both… And I’m excited to join you for the movie,” you tell them.

“Oh, Hugh’s shown us some of your work and it’s impressive. I can’t believe you only do engagement shoots,” Shawn says, his eyes lighting up. “I mean, those are great too, but your landscapes and street photography are amazing.”

“I still can’t believe it,” you tell him, laughing quietly. “I mean, I’m just a woman with a camera–”

“Who takes fucking awesome pictures,” Ryan finishes for you.

“He’s right. We’re excited to have you join us too.” Shawn adds.

Hugh smiles proudly in your direction, looking around the table as you continue to have a conversation with both Ryan and Shawn. He envisioned this so clearly, how well you fit in in his life and to see it firsthand, it makes him feel the love he has for you bloom in his heart.

He looks over at Ryan, who’s staring back at him with a knowing grin. Hugh narrows his eyes, tilting his head before he interrupts you and Shawn briefly.

“Ryan and I are gonna grab a drink at the bar. What d’ya want, baby?”

“White wine, love,” you say almost instantly, your pet name for him coming out naturally that it causes you to blush.

Hugh grins at that and then stands up with Ryan, walking towards the bar. He feels Ryan place a firm hand on his shoulder and he looks over at the other man, letting out a quiet chuckle.

“Okay, out with it. I know you have something to say.”

“What? Me?” Ryan playfully gasps then laughs quietly. “I’ve got nothing,” he lies.

Hugh’s eyes narrow. “We both know that’s a lie. What is it?”

Ryan smiles genuinely. “You’re happy.”

“I am, mate. She makes me happy,” Hugh replies almost too quickly. He glances over his shoulder at you, seeing you in such natural conversation with Shawn. He doesn’t see the tension in your shoulders, doesn’t see the concern or anxiety in your features; you’re completely relaxed and comfortable.

“And she’s great,” Ryan adds.

“She is, isn’t she?” Hugh smiles. “I think…” he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. “I think I’m falling in love with her, Ryan.”

“Oh, I could have told you that,” he chuckles. “Does she know?”

Hugh shakes his head. “No, no. It’s still too early. I don’t– I don’t want to scare her away.”

Once at the bar, Ryan raises a hand in the air to get the bartender’s attention before he turns back to look at Hugh. “Well, something tells me that she probably feels the same way.”

“You don’t know that, mate.”

“Hugh,” Ryan says. “Do you not see the way she looks at you?”

Hugh looks over at you, catching your gaze briefly. He feels the warmth in his chest at the sight of you smiling in his direction. He winks over at you before he turns to Ryan. “It’s still too early,” he repeats. “I’ll tell her when… when I think the moment is right.”

Before Ryan can reply, the bartender comes by and Hugh tells him your drink order and his. After a few minutes, he thanks the bartender as he and Ryan make his way back to the table and realizes that you aren’t at the table.

“She went to the bathroom,” Shawn tells them, then he turns to Hugh with a grin. “Hugh, she’s amazing.”

Hugh smiles, sitting down. He looks over at the hallway towards the bathrooms, seeing you walk down the hallway as you begin making your way back to them, back to him.

“Yeah, she is,” he says, voice laced with so much love and appreciation as his eyes stay locked on yours. “I don’t think I’m ever letting her go.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1 - @wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf - @needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom - @sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss - @sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x f!reader #hugh jackman x fem!reader #hugh jackman x female reader #real person fiction #real person fanfiction #story: training partners

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yeostinys · 4 months ago

Text

My Dear Darling

Chapter 1

Pairing: Frat OT8!ATEEZ x Female Reader

Genre: Eventual Smut 18+, Fluff, Angst, Polyamorous Relationship!

Notes: NonIdol!AU, CollegeAU. Alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking, Explicit language. Polyamorous Relationship, (if you are not into that just pls ignore).

Word Count: 3.4k

Synopsis: It’s your last year in university and everything seems normal until one night at a party you are approached by a fraternity that seems like they are up to no good.

Author’s note: This is pure imagination and in no way depicts any characters in real life. If you do not like this type of content please ignore :)

next chapter

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Jia: “Are you coming over later?”

Y/N: “I’m not sure. I’m kind of partied out”

Jia: “Oh please Y/N . you flaked on the last 2 parties i mentioned!”

Y/N: “You make me sound like a bore Jia.”

Jia: “That’s not what i’m trying to say!! You have been locked up in your apartment and the library forever! are you punishing yourself?”

Y/N: “It’s our last year in University Jia! I want to preform well on exams!”

Jia: “Y/N, you are literally one of the top students in our university. You’ve been doing well! Now, as my best friend it’s your duty to come to MY party, that IM hosting. Pleaseeee for meeeee”

Y/N: “ughhhh fine i’ll be there”

Jia: “YAYY! I’LL SEE YOU LATER!”

Arriving at Jia’s , you are greeted with hugs from familiar faces around campus.

“Y/N~! You’re hereeeee!” Jia exclaims as she hands you a hard seltzer, she already seems a few shots away from being drunk. You laugh at your friend and take the drink in your hands.

“Alright everyone! Three gulps! Thank you all for coming!!” Jia screams as everyone in the house cheers. You take three gulps with ease and feel the burning alcohol run down your throat. The night begins with loud music playing through the house, people cheering and screaming as they play various drinking games, couples making out, you name it.

Within an hour of you here, Jia has ran off with her situationship, she’s currently shoved into a corner making out. You however moved outside to sit by the fire pit along with the rest of your closest girl friends. You’re laughing with everyone talking about various topics, while sipping your alcohol infused drinks. Trying to embrace the positive atmosphere around you.

“Hey Y/N” a voice lingers in your ears.

You look up and meet eyes with a familiar handsome face.

“Hey Wooyoung, what’s up?” you smile at him. Wooyoung is a very well known member of the fraternity ATZ with a reputation of being the biggest flirt ever.

“Nothing much. I however wanted to get your number” Wooyoung is direct. He’s now sitting next to you and slings his arm over your shoulders.

“And why is that?” you raise your eyebrow at him.

“Does there need to be a reason why? I just want to get to know you more” Wooyoung smirks as he brushes a hair strand out of your face. You roll your eyes unimpressed. You can hear giggles from the girls around you as they try to carry on their conversations, trying to not make it obvious that they’re eavesdropping.

“No thanks Woo. however, you can talk to one of your many girls on your line” you smile at him sarcastically.

“But what if I don’t want any of those girls?” Wooyoung pouts at you. You scoff and take a swig of the hard seltzer in your hand.

“Bye Woo” you say as you turn back to talk to your friends. Wooyoung smirks and drops his head down. He gets up swiftly and turns to you one last time

“Alright no worries. I’ll see you around pretty”. Wooyoung walks away and you make eye contact with your giggling friends around you.

“Y/N omg! he was totally into you!” Mina exclaims grabbing onto your shoulder.

“Oh please, Wooyoung is into everyone.” you say as you laugh with everyone.

A few moments later you feel another body plop down next to you.

“Hey there Y/N-ah~”

You turn to look person next to you and you release a sigh.

“Hi there Mingi” You smile politely at him, trying to hide your annoyance. Another.. boy from ATZ. It is a well known fact that Mingi is one of the hottest boys in school. You even agree to that statement. But why is he here? and Why was Wooyoung just here a few minutes before him?

“What can I do for you Mingi?” you ask in a sarcastic manner.

“Funny that you ask sweetheart. Wanna go over there for a smoke?” Mingi smirks, eying you up and down.

“I don’t smoke” you say firmly.

“Then i’ll stop smoking for you. How about a shot together?” He asks holding out a hand.

“I already have a drink right here thanks though Min” You giggle at his efforts.

“Why playing so hard to get Y/N-ah?” Mingi sighs as he rests his head on his fist propped up by his elbow.

“I’m not playing anything Mingi.”

“How about your number then?” Mingi tries you one last time. You look at Mingi in an amused but confused face. Why is he suddenly interested in you? Mingi has a pool of fan girls who are quite aggressive whenever he’s seen with a fellow female alone. Not wanting to get caught in his fire you reply to him,

“I don’t think so Min, but It was nice seeing you” you smile at him one last time before waving him off.

All Mingi can do is laugh and wink at you as he leaves you be with your friends.

“seriously what is going on with that frat?” Harin laughs. The girls around you continue to talk as some move in and out of the circle.

**30 minutes later**

“Miss Y/N~”

You turn your face to see a close classmate of yours.

“Mister Jongho~” you smile as he sits next to you.

“Y/N, I was wondering-“

“Cut the crap Jongho. What are you and ATZ planning” you cut him off.

Jongho laughs and throws his hands up as if he’s just been stopped by the cops.

“Woah woah, what do you mean Pretty?” Jongho chuckles at you.

“You and two other people from ATZ have been bothering me. You’re up to something” you raise an eyebrow at him.

You’re quite comfortable with Jongho. you’ve been seeing him everyday this past semester in a shared class. He’s a nice person, often gossips with you and shares all the recent news going around campus. A bonus, he’s ridiculously handsome.

“Alrrigghhhtt alright. Y/N i’ll tell you if… you give me your number”. Jongho smirks at you

“Jongho, we have one class together everyday. why are you barely asking for my number now?” You ask.

“What if i want your number to ask how you’re doing through out the weekend?” He asks with doe eyes.

“oh please Jongho . don’t make me hate you” you roll your eyes and sigh.

“fine fine~ . Just a warning this isn’t going to end Y/N” Jongho stands up and begins to walk away

“Wait! aren’t you going to tell me-“ Jongho shakes his head no and disappears.

You turn towards your friends in shock and get up from your seat.

“Alright.. well i’m going to go inside to get water” you say

“I’ll come with you Y/N!” “Me too!” Mina and Harin follow you as the rest of the girls wave you off.

Making your way to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water, Mina and Harin find a spot on the couch and catch up with some friends.

“Hey Y/N”

You turn and see a tall familiar man smiling at you.

“Hi Yunho” tilting your head looking up at him.

Yunho sighs and speaks, “I’ll just cut the chase. I’m not one to participate in these types of things, but will you give me your number? ATZ made a bet to see who can get your number first.”

You raise an eyebrow at him in shock.

“I know Pretty. I wasn’t for it either. you know i wouldn’t do stuff like this, especially to you. but help a friend out yeah?” Yunho explains.

He looks genuine confessing this to you. To be honest, you believe him. You and Yunho worked in the university library together every summer and built a mutual friendship. You can’t lie that you find Yunho very attractive, to be honest you were shocked when you first found out he was in a fraternity, he didn’t seem the as the stereotypical frat boy type. You take a few moments to reply, deeply appreciating that he has told you the truth behind ATZ’s scheme. so in return…

You sighed and rolled your eyes,

“If i give you my number what happens?”

“I won’t be embarrassed when i walk back to my friends.” Yunho give you a cheeky smiles

“Seriously? So this is just an ego thing?” You cross your arms uninterested.

“Y/N please. does there really need to be a motive. You are hot! lots of guys would kill for your number let alone your attention. The guys are buzzed right now and it just kind of happened.” Yunho explains.

“Fine.” you hold out your hand waiting for Yunho’s phone.

“Oh you’re a doll Y/N. thank you” Yunho says as he scrambles to take out his phone. You type in your number and shoo him off.

Walking out of the kitchen and making your way back to the couch you hear ATZ cheering and shouting at Yunho in shock and slight jealousy. You advert your attention back to your friends. “What took you so long?” Mina asked.

“I was talking with Yunho in the kitchen” you say casually.

“Mina! Harin! come here!!” One of the girls from outside are hollering them over . Mina and Harin scurry over with no questions leaving you on the couch with others watching people compete in beer pong. You feel a buzz in your pocket and you take out your phone to check a notification

Unknown: Yuyu’s #. You’re a life saver. I owe you!

You scoff at the nickname and save Yunho’s number to your cell.

“Is this seat taken?”

You turn your head to see yet another member from ATZ. A familiar face to you, but you’ve never really spoken to him. Just small encounters here and there at other parties.

“No it’s not.” you say shortly.

“I’m Seonghwa.” The man smiles at you softly. You can’t lie. This man is gorgeous. You smile back at him,

“I’m Y/N” You replied.

“I know” Seonghwa says with a smirk. You tilt your head in confusion.

“You know?” you say sarcastically, trying to play along.

“Well not technically. But I would like to get to know you though. How about your number?” Seonghwa asked tilting his head the same direction as yours. You scoff and laugh at his smooth come back.

“Why are you suddenly interested in my number Seonghwa?” you ask leaning into the couch.

“Well hot people should stay in touch together. Wouldn’t you agree Y/N?” Seonghwa says smirking.

“Not quite.” you roll your eyes and laugh.

“It was nice meeting you though, Seonghwa, I have to go check up on a friend now”. You get up from the couch and begin to search for Jia. You should actually check up on her, she’s been unseen for a while now.

Walking upstairs you move towards her room. Before twisting the door knob open, you hear moans. You stop your tracks and back up slowly.

(Welp, she seems fine) you say to yourself.

Walking back downstairs, you are stopped midway by a muscular figure. You look up and meet eyes with an angelic face.

“Oh Hey Y/N” the man smiles at you.

“Hi Yeosang” you smile back, mentally punching yourself for basically running into all of the ATZ members (more like they are running to you).

“What are you doing up here pretty?” Yeosang asks eying you up and down.

“Just checking up on Jia” you reply

“I saw her run off with Wonho a few hours ago. they looked like they were going to jump each other’s skins?” Yeosang chuckles.

“Yeah.. i’m sure they did” You confirm laughing with him.

“Y/N-ah, We should hang out sometime. We haven’t talked since last semester.” Yeosang is looking at you with a mesmerizing gaze that’s quite intoxicating.

“So suddenly?” you tease.

“Well why not, we had a great time studying for months in the library together don’t you agree?” Yeosang smirks.

“Can I have your number Please Y/N?” Yeosang pouts. You blush at his pretty face “Only because you’re pretty and you don’t annoy me like the others. i know what you and ATZ are up to” you say as you grab his phone from his hand.

“Who snitched!” Yeosang groans.

“Yuyu” You both laugh at the nickname as you dial your number in his phone and let it ring. Your phone begins to buzz and Yeosang’s number pops up on your phone. Yeosang smiles and ruffles your hair.

“You’re such an Angel Y/N” Yeosang doesn’t break his gaze off of you as you walk away from him.

You make your way back to Mina and Harin who are outside taking shots.

“Y/N!!! Let’s take a shot!” Mina catches your eyes and drag you towards the outside bar. “Mina! i can’t drink anymoreee~” you laughing at her drunk state. Mina whines and runs off to Harin who is trying to escape from taking another shot “Yah! Harin, come back!!” You laugh as you take a seat at the bar.

“Hey there”

You hear a voice near you. You turn and look at the person next to you. You mentally curse.

“Hi” you reply trying to be uninterested. Another fellow member from ATZ has approached you once again. However you’re shocked to see it’s the Frat president “My name’s Hongjoong. yours?” the man holds out his hand in a greeting. You smirk and take his hand.

“Hi Hongjoong. I’m Y/N”

“What a pretty name. wanna head back to my place? it’s getting crowded here don’t you think?” Hongjoong leans in closer to your face and smiles at you. Fuck, you say to yourself. His smiling is intoxicating and his facial features are so perfect. You try to snap yourself back into reality.

“I’m okay. I’d rather go back to my own home” You say as you begin to walk away.

Hongjoong follows next to you.

“oh to your place? I don’t mind that either. I was just trying to be polite” Hongjoong chuckles and stops in front of you to keep you from running off.

“You know that’s not what i meant Hongjoong” you say rolling your eyes.

“Then explain to me what you meant Y/N” Hongjoong teases.

“I’m not interested Hongjoong” you laugh. “But Here, i’ll save you the trouble” You take out your phone and hand it to Hongjoong. He cocks an eyebrow at you and smirks. He grabs your phone and inputs his number. He names his contact “Captain Hongjoong”. Hongjoong rings his number and shows you his phone screen as your number pops up. You scoff at him and retrieve your phone.

“I’ll see you around captain” you wave him off as you walk towards the house. Your social battery began to die with the consistent interactions, even though you can’t deny it was entertaining. However, you want to go home. You send a quick message to Jia that you’re heading out and begin to make your way towards the house exit. You take out your phone to call an uber as you sit on the front porch. You are slightly sobering up as you wait.

“Y/N. Leaving so soon?”

you turn your head and see a familiar face. Choi San. A person you quite despise.

“Yeah I called an uber” You say as you avoid eye contact with him.

You can’t quite remember why you and San hate each other. You two used to be friends, childhood friends actually. However once High school started you both drifted away into your own cliques and grew apart with a habit of hatred mixed with a teasing tension (mainly from San).

San sits next to you and looks at the night sky.

“How have you been Y/N?” San asks calmly

“Why do you care San.” you say a bit too snappy.

San looks unphased .

“What’s up with the attitude Y/N-ie” San teases. You turn to San and look at him with a stern face.

“San I know the bullshit you and ATZ are pulling.” You say.

“If you know, then why did you give into Yunho, Yeosang, and Hongjoong?” San raises an eyebrow at you.

“Because I know them and-“

“You’ve never spoken to Hongjoong.”

“You know what I don’t owe you an explanation to who I give my number to or who I show interest in. We haven’t spoke since high school, so don’t start acting interested in my life now” You bite back.

“Ouch You dont have to be like that Y/N-ie” . Having enough, you get up quickly and begin to walk away.

“My uber is here.”

Finally fleaing the party you make your way up to your apartment studio. You strip off your clothes and fall onto your bed. Your phone buzzes a few times. You glance at your phone and see a notification from Hongjoong.

Captain Hongjoong: “Hey pretty, let’s meet up tomorrow”

You don’t care to open the chat at the moment. So you toss your phone down and try to fall into a deep sleep, exhausted from the alcohol and various conversations from today.

Yuyu: Hi Y/N-ie, wyd today? Let’s hang out!

You groan in annoyance as you stare at your notification bars. You haven’t opened any messages from last night or this morning. Mainly spams from Mina and Jia. Plus… the two messages from Hongjoong and now Yunho. You hesitate before responding to Yunho.

Y/N: What are you guys up to? I thought this was a one time ego boost thing. pls leave me alone.

Yuyu: Y/N if you want the full truth, you have to hang out with me today ;)

Y/N: what do you mean “the full truth”

Yuyu: I can explain if you agree to hang out with meeeeee

Y/N: Well your “Captain” messaged me about hanging out as well. Do I ditch him for you or are you going to get buried alive?

Yuyu: Lol, don’t worry about him. So yes or no?

Y/N: Fine. send the address.

Yuyu: Perfect, i’ll see you later Y/N!

You start to regret your life decisions as you walk out your apartment and head towards the address Yunho sent you. Looking at the address on Maps you realize , you are meeting Yunho at the ATZ Frat house. You sign in frustration and contemplate if you should cancel on him last minute with some shitty excuse. However, you’re curious as to why ATZ was so infatuated on you last night.

You arrive to the frat house and ring the door bell. You can hear running footsteps and mumbled voices behind the door as you wait. Finally, the door knob clicks, swings open, and you are met with happy faced Yunho.

“Y/N! YOURE HERE!” Yunho hugs and lifts you off the ground. You freeze in shock and try to hold in your laughter. Yunho puts you down and pulls you inside the frat house. “Welcome to the ATZ House!”

It’s cleaner than you expected. Especially knowing this is a house full of 8 men. Yunho guides you to the living room, where you are met with 6 of the ATZ members sitting on an L shaped couch. San is missing? You freeze your tracks and look towards Yunho.

“Jeong Yunho, you said you’d tell me the full truth” you cross your arms and stare at him intensely.

“Yes yes, WE, will tell you. now Miss Y/N please sit down” Yunho pulls out a chair for you and encourages you to sit down, as he makes his way to sit with the rest of the 6 men.

Hongjoong speaks up first “Y/N, i know you must be confused why we all took interest in you suddenly last night. Now, we’d like to explain ourselves.”

You cock your eyebrow in confusion as you look at all the members present,

“Where’s San? You said all of you guys took interest.” You asked.

“It took some convincing for Sannie, but he unfortunately had to sit out on today’s meeting because he has other…. Fraternity duties to fulfill. Don’t worry though honey he truly does have interest in you” Hongjoong explains.

You’re not convinced that San agreed to whatever this is. Regardless, you sit in silence waiting for further explanation.

“I’ll just get straight to the point. Y/N, we’d like you to be ours.” Hongjoong says blatantly.

You laugh. Out loud.

None of the boys are laughing. They all seem so serious.

“Wait you’re serious?” you ask arms still crossed.

“Yes we are serious.” Yunho chimes in.

“So… be yours as in become the ATZ Sweetheart?” You question.

“Well, yes but not really. Y/N we mean, we want you to be our girlfriend. All 8 of us.“

end of chapter 1….

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Ahhhh my first series! I hope you all enjoy! please leave comments and suggestions for any improvements, as i am still a new writer 🥹. Leave comments or message me to be part of my TagList for this series! I am hoping to have chapter 2 posted soon!

#ateez smut #ateez writing #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfiction #san smut #yeosang smut #wooyoung smut #hongjoong smut #yunho smut #jongho smut #mingi smut #seonghwa smut #yeostinywrites #mydeardarlingatz

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punkshort · 6 months ago

Text

Roommates | 9. hold onto each other

Pairing: pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You build up enough courage to finally talk things out with Joel and tell him how you feel before the wedding is over.

Chapter Warnings: language, food and alcohol consumption, lots of smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, fluff, discussions of mental health, shower sex, mirror sex, having sex while on the phone (don't know what else to call it, also don't know if that requires a warning), thigh fucking?, dirty talk, idiots in love

WC: 7.6K

A/N: I will not apologize for what you're about to read. (It's filth. Pure, unadulterated filthy smut).

Series Masterlist

"That is the man you were roommates with?" your mother asked enviously as she gazed at Joel across the dance floor, who was standing with another groomsman while he held up his mom's pink sparkly phone to record her dancing with Tommy.

"Yep," you said longingly, tearing your eyes away from him to look back at your mom. She tilted her head to the side and her brow furrowed ever so slightly.

"He looks familiar."

Your eyes widened and you tried your best not to scream into the palms of your hands as images of your own mother stumbling across Joel's porn filled your head.

She snapped her fingers with a smile. "Mitch and I saw him at the bar the other night! He must have been helping Tommy, he was carrying boxes of alcohol."

You shook your head. "No, Mom, that couldn't have been him."

"No, I'm certain it was. I remember even telling Mitch at the time they looked alike. And I would never forget those arms. The way they practically burst out of his T-shirt-"

"Mom!" you whined, begging her to stop.

She chuckled and took a sip of her wine. "Oh, please, let me have my fun."

You groaned and drank the rest of your champagne. Well, at least she didn't recognize him from porn.

The song changed to another ballad and you watched as Mrs. Miller kissed Tommy on the cheek before breaking away and motioning towards Joel. A small smile tugged at your lips as he pocketed her phone and took her hand before leading her around the dance floor. His face was filled with such love and adoration that it made your heart melt.

As you continued to watch Joel and his mother move around the dance floor, you felt yourself growing nervous again. Now that the cake was cut and the first dances were done, most of the significant parts of the wedding were over. Which meant soon you would need to muster the courage to talk to Joel.

Fuck, maybe you should have one more drink.

No, you didn't want to be drunk when you told him. He needed to know you meant what you said. You've done enough to him in the past year, jerking him around and unintentionally hurting his feelings. If you had any shot in hell, you had to make sure you were somewhat clearheaded.

Your mother was just finishing up her cake when she looked over your shoulder. Her eyes lit up excitedly and she straightened up in her seat, smoothing down her dress. With a frown, you turned to see what she was looking at then felt your heart skip a beat when you saw Joel approaching.

"Evenin'," he said to your mother, his voice deep and syrupy. "I'm Joel, brother of the groom." He stuck out his hand and your mother giddily handed hers over while giving her name. He brought her knuckles to his lips and she giggled, making you roll your eyes.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," she gushed, her cheeks tinting pink already.

"Pleasure's all mine, ma'am," he answered, dropping her hand with a smirk. She gave you a look and raised her eyebrows.

"Ma'am, did you hear that?" she loudly whispered to you.

"Yes, I am sitting right here," you said flatly.

Joel cleared his throat and you looked back up at him.

"Was wonderin' if I could have this dance," he said to you, then glanced at your mother. "If you could spare her, that is."

Your mother giggled again and waved him off. "Of course! You two have fun, I was getting ready to go home soon anyway."

You quickly said your goodbyes to your mom before allowing Joel to lead you out onto the dance floor. He took one of your hands and held it out to your side, the other sliding around your waist while you rested your hand on his shoulder with a smile.

"I'm so honored," you told him with a teasing lilt to your voice as he slowly lead you around the dance floor.

"Why?" he asked, brows furrowed.

"I haven't seen you dancing with anyone else except your mom."

He smirked and tilted his chin up to look somewhere over the top of your head. "You been watchin' me?"

Your cheeks warmed from embarrassment but you didn't really care. "Maybe."

He hummed, smirk still stretched across his lips as he looked around the banquet room, but he wasn't really looking at anyone or anything in particular.

"You look handsome."

His eyebrows shot up and he looked down at you once again. "Thank you?"

You giggled and felt his fingers grip your waist a little tighter. "Is that a question?"

He grinned and shook his head. "Tryin' to flatter me, what're you up to?"

The butterflies began to stir in your belly once again so you dropped your gaze. "Well, there is something I wanted to talk to you about."

The smile slowly slid from his face when he heard the serious tone to your voice. "Everythin' okay?"

"Y-yeah, everything's fine," you quickly assured him. Just then, Michael Bublé's voice faded out and the DJ picked a Black Eyed Peas song that instantly caused the dance floor to break out into cheers, completely ruining the atmosphere from a moment ago. "Nevermind," you said as you attempted to step away, but he tightened his grip. "I'll tell you some other time."

"Tell me now."

You winced when a handful of girls nearby began to drunkenly scream along to the lyrics. Joel looked frustrated when he finally dropped his hand from your waist but kept his other hand firmly wrapped around yours. "Follow me."

He lead you through the crowd and as you passed by your abandoned table, you grabbed your clutch. Shit. Were you really going to do this? Were you really going to pour your heart out to him in the middle of his brother's wedding? What if he shot you down? What if he got mad at you for trying to drag him into your messy life once again? What if you were about to ruin the fragile relationship you just rebuilt?

He pulled you into the lobby, which was relatively empty given the time of night, and found a small area with a few couches and chairs and a television airing the local news on mute with the closed captioning on.

"Alright," he urged when you sat down next to him on one of the couches. You could hear the bass thumping from the closed banquet room and people's laughter echoing over the music, but otherwise it was quiet. You fiddled with the hem of your dress, trying to give your nerves a chance to settle, but it was no use.

"So, I told you I've been in therapy," you began, staring down at your lap, pretending to find a loose thread in your dress.

"Mhm."

"Lately, I've been working on my insecurities and self destructive tendencies. Specifically, related to you."

His fingers that were once casually tapping on the back of the sofa suddenly stopped.

"Okay..." he said slowly.

You cleared your throat and kept your eyes pinned to your lap.

"... and your job," you added, biting the inside of your cheek. "I've been working on... learning to be okay with it. Focusing on the source of my insecurities and why I feel the way I feel about it and I think I've made some progress."

"That's... good," he told you, clearly confused. "But why are you tellin' me this?"

You sucked in a deep breath and forced yourself to look at him. He was staring at you softly with his perfect lips pouting so enticingly, giving you the final bit of courage you needed to say what you wanted to say.

"I'm telling you this because... because I want to be with you, Joel. If you'll give me another chance, I want to do this right." His expression remained unchanged so you barreled ahead. "I don't care about your job. Not anymore. I just want to be with you. You make me happy, you make me laugh, I think about you all the time." You were growing more nervous with every passing second where he didn't say anything, so you continued to fill the silence with your own rambling thoughts. "Any time something good happens, I want to call you. Any time something bad happens, I want to call you. It's always you. It's always been you. And I'm sorry for everything I put you through and I'm sorry it's taken me so long to fix myself, but I couldn't -"

"Stop."

Your words died in your throat at his harsh tone. Biting your lip, you closed your eyes and tried not to cry as you waited for the sting of his rejection, but to your surprise, it never came. Instead, you felt his fingers gently pinch your chin. You opened your eyes to find him leaning forward, his gaze seeming angry despite his soft touch.

"You don't need to fix yourself," he said bitterly. "You're fuckin' perfect."

You exhaled loudly, a dry chuckle slipping past your lips as you wiped away a tear or two. "I'm not."

"You are," he told you firmly before finally closing the distance between you and brushing his lips softly against yours. "You are," he whispered again and again, each sweet kiss becoming more urgent than the last. You grabbed the collar of his shirt with both hands and held him close, pressing your mouth against his tightly before leaning back and pushing your foreheads together with a smile.

"Is that a yes?" you laughed.

"'Course it is, you kiddin' me?" he said quietly before sliding his hand up to grip the back of your neck, his nose gently nudging yours, the both of you taking a few tender moments to soak everything in with matching smiles. "I should probably tell you somethin', though."

One hand dropped from his collar and you tipped your head back a fraction so you could look him in the eye. "What?"

He grinned and tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "I quit my job."

Your eyes widened and you leaned all the way back in surprise. "What?!"

"Months ago, actually," he said with a laugh. You smacked him on the shoulder but you weren't mad. In fact, you were smiling so much it almost hurt.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "I didn't wanna pressure you. You said you were workin' on yourself and all that."

Your lower lip trembled and you smacked his shoulder again, but with less force. "I can't believe you," you whispered before tugging him forward and sliding your tongue past his lips with a moan. There was something so beautiful to be had in that moment. Each of you had done something monumental to try to make it work between you and it was so moving, so powerful that you found yourself getting carried away, completely forgetting where you were as you climbed into his lap, his hands immediately dropping to squeeze your ass. But who could blame you, when you've waited so long for that moment?

Joel pulled his head back with a sharp inhale, breaking the kiss when he heard a door across the lobby open and close. "Do you... we oughta... they're probably wonderin' where we are." He lifted one arm so he could check the time on his watch, then glanced back up at you. You were staring down at him, breathless and needy, your eyes already drifting back down to his mouth.

You didn't need to say anything.

"Fuck it, c'mon," he said, quickly lifting you off his lap so you could both stand. In your eagerness to race to the elevator, you almost forgot your purse. Doubling back as fast as your heels would carry you, you grabbed it from the couch and hurried back just as the elevator doors opened.

He jabbed the L4 button numerous times until the damn doors slid shut.

"Christ, wanted this for so long," he whispered, eyes squeezing shut when you pushed him up against the side of the elevator. "Wanted you for so long," he corrected himself after a moment. Your mouth found the exposed patch of chest at the top of his shirt and your tongue slipped out between your lips, flicking against his skin as you continued to leave wet kisses everywhere you could find. You made it to the hollow of his throat when the elevator dinged and you tore yourself away to drag him down the hall.

"Which room?"

"Don't care."

You picked yours. Your fingers were shaking as you raked through your small clutch, then tapped the hard plastic against the sensor, getting frustrated when you were going too quick and the door wouldn't open. Joel chuckled behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, digging his hips against your ass so you could feel his arousal through your clothes.

"Not helping," you muttered before forcing yourself to slow down and finally the door gave way and you stumbled inside.

His mouth was on you in an instant. Eager lips pressed against your own, champagne soaked tongues reunited, tangling together while you recklessly shoved his tuxedo coat over his shoulders, leaving it crumpled on the floor near the bathroom as you made your way to the bed.

Joel's hands slid up and down the back of your dress, fingers plucking at the fabric, trying to locate the zipper without having to pull away. You tugged one of his hands to your side without looking, blindly leading him to his target. He smiled against your lips and yanked the zipper down so fast, he nearly tore the fabric.

Leaving your dress in a pile at the foot of your bed, you pulled away from the kiss so you could fall back onto the mattress. Your chests were heaving in unison as you both fought for air, staring at one another, anticipation growing thick.

His eyes drifted down your almost naked body while his fingers worked the buttons on his dress shirt, lips parted to suck in more air as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Is this real?" he asked, eyes catching yours once again after he shrugged off his shirt.

"I think so," you replied quietly, sounding just as incredulous. "I hope so."

He loudly unbuckled his belt, then the fly of his pants as you laid before him, sprawled out over the plush comforter like an offering.

"Ain't ever lettin' you go after this," he warned as he stepped out of his pants. "Never again, hear me?"

You nodded. "Please don't."

He cupped his palms around the backs of your knees and tugged, pulling you to the edge of the bed with one rough motion.

"As pretty as these are, they gotta go," he murmured, hooking his fingers around the lace edge of your panties and sliding them down your legs. A little pained sound rumbled in the back of his throat when he spread your knees and saw the evidence of your arousal between your legs. He fell to his knees and rested the side of his face against your thigh as he gazed down at your aching center.

"Missed you," he whispered lovingly into your folds before dragging his tongue, slow and broad, through the entire length of your slit.

"Oh, my god," you whined when his lips puckered around your clit and gently sucked. "Were you talking to me or her?"

You felt his lips twitch against your sensitive skin and released your bundle of nerves with a little moan. "Was talkin' to her but I missed you, too."

Some sharp, sarcastic comment was on the verge of slipping past your lips but quickly got swallowed down and forgotten when he began to lick, his tongue probing into your cunt while his upper lip pressed against your clit. The friction from his beard on the most sensitive part of your body made you see stars. Your back arched and you cried out his name, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he continued to lick and suck with a deep groan.

"Joel," you whimpered, legs weakly stretching and kicking under his ministrations. He quickly put a stop to that by grabbing both and tossing them over his shoulders then using his hands to grip your thighs, but still you writhed in his hold.

"Y'got know idea what you do to me," he whispered under his breath before diving back in.

"Fuck... I-I can't..." you panted, fists grabbing the comforter, pulling and tugging, desperate to grab onto anything. His fingers dug into the crease of your thighs, holding your hips against his face, fucking you relentlessly with his tongue as if he were afraid he would never get a chance to do it again.

He slid one hand flat over your mound and pressed down on your clit with his thumb. You bucked off the bed, everything feeling too sensitive, too sharp. But still, he pinned you down, his tongue that was once lapping at your pussy suddenly more focused and calculated when his lips puckered together in favor of loudly kissing your sex with a deep groan.

With two quick and firm circles over your clit, you fell apart. He was saying something, you could feel the vibrations of his voice, but you had no idea what he said. Your throat had grown hoarse, fingers grabbing for his hair while your heart pounded in your ears.

"It ain't ever been like this," he said, and finally you were able to understand him. You slowly opened your eyes to find him hovering over you, his beard and mouth shiny with your slick and his eyes so wide and soft it made your chest ache.

"I know," you whispered, running a hand through his hair. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed when you pulled him close and pressed your mouth against his. He pushed you up the bed so your head rested on the pillows, never once breaking the deep kiss. It was slower, now. There was no rush, no need to hurry to keep what you had a secret.

"Shit, my condoms are 'cross the hall," he mumbled against your lips. The very last thing he wanted to do was leave you. Not now. Not ever.

"Just make sure you pull out," you told him, apparently also unwilling to let him leave, and reached down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his thick length.

"Y-yeah, okay... okay," he breathed when he felt you line him up with your entrance.

His brain went numb and his features went slack as he slowly eased inside you. He couldn't take his eyes off your face; the way your eyebrows pinched together and the sound you made when you gasped softly, your body being forced to adjust to his size after months without him.

"Fuck," you whispered, eyes welling with tears as you gazed up at him.

"I know, I know," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips over your nose.

"Joel, I love you," you whimpered in his ear when he finally buried himself fully inside you.

"What?" he asked breathlessly, certain he misunderstood.

"I love you," you repeated, your teeth nipping at his chin as you writhed underneath him, willing him to move. His eyes squeezed shut and he wrapped his arms around your middle, nuzzling his face into your neck.

"I love you, too," he choked out, voice thick with emotion that he tried to stifle with kisses to your throat and jaw. "Love you so fuckin' much. Always did, I think."

He clenched his jaw and flexed his hips, pulling a sweet moan from your lips as you tipped your head back and closed your eyes. He was so slow with it, making sure you felt every inch when he dragged his cock in and out, your arousal painting his inner thighs every time his hips made contact with your skin. You might have felt embarrassed if you both weren't so preoccupied with trading love bites and occasionally whispering you feel so good, I missed you, I love you, I love you, I love you, chests pressed together, desperate to get as close as possible.

You unhooked your ankles from his lower back and slid your legs up his sides so your knees were resting near his ribs. With his tongue still tangled with yours, he blindly reached down to grab one of your thighs and gently pressed forward, pushing your knee towards your chest. Your eyes flew open and you gasped at the intense angle, but still he kept up the same pace. Every thrust was slow and deep, every groan was low and soft, and every whisper sounded like a prayer.

"Just wanna feel you," he murmured against your neck, his beard scraping your skin, making it feel warmer than it already was. "Wanna fuck you like this always. Shit, baby," he moaned when he felt you clench around him. "Shit, that feels good. Such a soft pussy..." he trailed off and latched onto your lips for a fast and messy kiss. "Oh, fuck... best fuckin' pussy I've ever had."

And oh, did you love hearing that. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his hair, nails scraping gently over his scalp with a deep sigh.

"Yeah? You love her, too?"

He grinned. "Y'know I do."

He hitched your other leg over his arm, practically bending you in half while grinding into you, watching as your breath quickened and your tongue shot out to wet your lips. "Joel," you whined, the pressure mounting low in your belly, "I'm close, I'm... fuck, I'm gonna come. Please," you begged, not really sure what you were begging for in the first place. Maybe for him to keep going. Maybe for him to kiss you again. Maybe for him to fill the hole in your heart that's been destroying you for months.

When you came, you squeezed around his cock, his name getting caught in your throat when his mouth crashed over yours.

"So pretty," he mumbled, voice a little strained as he tried to keep it together long enough for you to come down. "Love watchin' you come. Who makes you feel good, baby?"

"You do," you whimpered, weak fingers grabbing at his shoulders.

"'S'right," he said, his breath growing ragged. He could feel his stomach tensing and he knew he only had a few more moments. "Only me. Tell me you're mine," he pleaded, his sweaty forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"I'm yours, Joel," you told him, voice a little clearer but still shaky. "And you're mine," you added softly, corner of your mouth lifting when you heard him groan.

He pulled out and grabbed his cock, giving it only a few quick strokes before he painted your stomach with his release, the both of you watching in a daze until he stopped with a shudder and collapsed onto the bed next to you, chest heaving with an arm draped tiredly over his eyes.

"I'll get somethin'," he told you, gesturing vaguely towards your stomach with his eyes still hidden. "Just... gimme a second."

"Mhmm," you mumbled, catching your breath with your arms stretched above your head. "I need a shower, anyway," you told him, all the hair products and makeup from the past twelve hours beginning to feel like paint.

"Oh?" he questioned, sounding disappointed when he turned his face to you. "Okay, sure."

"Will you stay?" you asked, hating how pathetic you sounded. But he smiled warmly and pinched your chin before planting a soft kiss against your lips.

"'Course I'll stay," he whispered, kissing you slowly once more before releasing you.

Joel watched with a lazy smirk as you stood with a quiet ow under your breath, your body no doubt already sore.

"Gonna have to get that pretty pussy used to me again," he teased, laughing and dodging the pillow you grabbed from the other bed that you chucked in his direction before entering the bathroom and shutting the door.

He laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the water turn on and the shower door close. He kept waiting to wake up, kept thinking the past hour was some crazy dream or fantasy, but it was real.

You loved him.

For years, he tried to find someone like you. Someone who would love him for him and not just use him. Sure, in the beginning he didn't mind being used. But the past few years he found to be painfully lonely. Especially once Tommy met Maria, that ache in his chest grew every time he saw them together, or every time he heard Tommy on the phone or talk about her with such fondness in his eyes. Selfishly, he always wondered why not me?

Now he had his answer. He was just waiting for you.

He heard you humming in the shower, your voice echoing off the glass walls and he smiled. He imagined you in there cleaning yourself up, your perfect body all soapy and wet and he felt his cock twitch.

"Shit," he muttered, lifting the thin sheet to see himself begin to swell once again. Would it always be like this? Would he always have an insatiable appetite for you?

A minute later and he was almost fully hard once more. He palmed it over the sheet and he looked longingly at the closed bathroom door. What was taking so long?

Then a smirk spread across his face and he jumped up from the bed, cock bobbing at attention between his legs as he walked to the bathroom and quietly opened the door.

The mirror was fogged up and so were the glass shower walls. He could hardly see you through all the steam, but he heard you. He heard the water cascading off your body and your fingers running through your wet hair.

Carefully, he opened the door and was pleased to find your back was to him as you rinsed out the last of your conditioner. When he wrapped his arms around your waist, you jumped and screamed a little before collapsing into a fit of laughter and turning around in his arms. Fuck, you looked so beautiful. All the makeup was down the drain but you looked more radiant than ever.

He leaned forward for a wet kiss, his hands sliding down to cup and squeeze your ass before pulling on your hips, tugging you closer so you could feel how hard he was for you.

"Need you," he murmured, but he meant more than just the obvious. He didn't want to be without you now that he had you, not even for a second.

"Already?" you breathed, but he just nodded, his lips dragging down your neck, your skin smelling like roses and vanilla.

"Too much?" he asked, mouth trailing slowly over your shoulder. Your nipples were pressed against his chest and his cock nearly hurt from how hard he was.

"No," you whispered, letting your eyes slide shut as you curled your arms around his neck. "Never too much."

Without hesitation, he crouched and grabbed the backs of your thighs, hauling you off the ground so he could press your back against the glass. You wrapped your legs around his waist and gasped when the tip of his cock nudged at your opening, the width surprising you, even still.

You let out a loud moan when he pressed forward, sinking himself back into your sore, aching heat, right where he belonged. One of his hands supported your ass and the other was flat against the glass next to your head, his fingers leaving wet smudges as he rocked his hips into you, swallowing down every whine and moan that tumbled from your mouth. That perfect fucking mouth he dreamed about for the past year. And now it was all his.

"God, Joel, yes... right there," you cried out, cunt already pulsing and gripping him so tight that he had half a mind not to pull out that time.

"Yeah?" he groaned, his eyes dark with lust as he nipped at your chin, watching as your head rolled listlessly against the foggy glass while he drove into you over and over. "There?"

"Yeah," you practically whined, hand shooting up to grab his hair, fingers slipping through his wet curls. "No one's ever... I can't... you're so-" you rambled half formed thoughts as your heart hammered in your chest, your orgasm steadily climbing, unable to tell him what you wanted to tell him.

"No one's what, baby?" he growled, thrusting himself impossibly deeper inside your cunt. "No one's ever fucked you this good? Huh?"

"No," you whimpered, biting down on your lower lip.

"What else? No one's ever made you come this much? Tell me, I wanna hear it," he groaned in your ear, his hot breath melting with the steam from the shower.

You shook your head then nodded, as if you didn't know how to answer. And you couldn't. Not when he was fucking you like it would be the last time.

"No one's ever - oh, fuck," you gasped, swallowing a mouthful of air, "no one's ever m-made me feel so good. I've never w-wanted anyone the way I want you." You squeezed your eyes shut but he quickly bit your jaw, forcing them back open.

"Keep your eyes on me."

You nodded, jaw half open as you did as you were told. His brows were furrowed deep, eyes wild and skin flushed as he pounded into you, forcing you over the edge for the third time in less than two hours.

"I got you," he murmured when your body sagged from the effort. He wrapped both arms around you now and fucked up into you recklessly, chasing his own high as quickly as possible so he could take you back to bed and rest.

Even though the voice inside his head was screaming at him to come inside you, he miraculously pulled out, spilling himself all over the shower wall between your legs.

"You okay?" he asked breathlessly, setting you down but still holding onto your shoulders. You nodded and slumped against his chest, legs visibly shaking. He chuckled and reached for the shower knob, turning the water off before walking you towards the door. Swinging it open, he reached out blindly for a towel. Finding one, he wrapped it around your shoulders, swaddling you and keeping you warm while he reached for another.

He messily knotted it around his waist and led you to bed. You didn't even bother to put any pajamas on or remove the towel, you just buried yourself under the covers with a contented sigh.

Joel was about to turn back to the bathroom and clean up a bit before you spoke.

"Come to bed."

His heart clenched in his chest and he smiled as he rounded the bed and slid under the sheets to join you, unable to resist.

Quickly, you scooted over to him, tossing a leg over his stomach and an arm over his chest and buried your face against his neck. He held you close, breathing in deep before you whispered, "I love you, Joel."

"I love you, too," he spoke into your hair, his chest ready to burst with happiness as you both fell into a deep sleep.

When you awoke the next morning, you smiled before you even opened your eyes. Joel's natural scent combined with the floral shampoo you used that the hotel had left out filled your nostrils. You breathed in deep and buried your face further into his warm, bare chest. He stretched underneath you, muscles pulling under his tanned skin, his fingers digging into your shoulders as he flexed.

"Morning," you whispered groggily, eyes still closed. You felt his arms wrap around you as he rolled onto his side, tugging you against him.

"Mornin'."

It can always be like this now, you thought. Waking up next to each other whenever you wanted. No sneaking around, no more hiding how you felt. It was perfect.

Until Joel's phone rang shrilly on his nightstand. He groaned and, keeping one arm securely around you, reached behind him to grab it.

"Hello?" he answered, voice thick and rough with sleep. Your body responded instantly, your core softening at his voice like it was a command, but what came with it was also a tight hint of soreness from the night before.

You could hear Tommy's voice through the phone, but you couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Nah, I'm hungover as shit, gonna order somethin'," Joel said.

You thought he had been joking the night before about getting your body used to him again, but you began to realize he was probably being serious the more you squirmed around and felt the stiffness in your muscles and hips.

"Yeah, alright. If I don't see ya later, I'll catch ya at the bar tomorrow."

He tapped his screen and tossed his phone haphazardly behind him with a smirk. "C'mere," he murmured, pressing his swollen lips against yours, his hand drifting to cup your face.

Christ, you were sore but you still wanted him so badly.

You flicked your tongue against the seam of his lips, deepening the kiss the second he dropped his jaw. Right when you were about to curl your leg around his hip and roll over to straddle him, your own phone began to vibrate loudly against your nightstand.

You both froze, lips still seared together, then slowly opened your eyes.

"Hold on," you grumbled, rolling over so your back was to Joel, then picked up your phone.

"It's Maria."

"Answer it," he said, inching closer. He pulled you back against his chest, cock hard and pressing between your bodies as you begrudgingly answered the phone.

"Hey! Have a fun night?" you asked cheerily. Your eyes snapped up to see movement in the full length mirror across from the bed. It was narrow, but you could see from your stomach down. Joel was pushing the sheets off himself and you watched as his hand drifted in front of you, tugging the sheet away from your chest, exposing yourself to the cool air. When he palmed one of your breasts from behind, you had to bite back a moan so Maria wouldn't hear.

"So much fun! I hardly got any sleep," she was saying, but you could barely hear her when his fingers slid down to pinch your nipple. You turned your face upwards to gasp softly, hoping it didn't get picked up by the receiver.

"Yeah?" you asked, hoping that would be enough to encourage her, and it was.

Maria kept babbling about things that happened the night before, things you missed after you and Joel snuck away. She was telling you something about a groomsman who attempted to do a split in the middle of the dance floor and ended up ripping his pants when you saw Joel lift your leg in the mirror, hooking it around his inner elbow and spreading your hips wide. Embarrassment flushed your face when you saw your pussy in the mirror, already glistening with arousal.

Then his cock slipped between your legs, nudging at your folds, his smooth tip coating itself in your slick before he pushed forward, parting your swollen cunt. The pain was brief, yet intense, but you were entirely distracted with the way it looked in the mirror. How fucking big he was and how you opened up and stretched so beautifully for him.

"Did the phone cut out?"

"Huh?" you squeaked, eyes transfixed on your reflection, hips rocking steadily in rhythm with his. You felt him chuckle behind you, his arm pulling your leg up even more so you could see everything.

"I asked if you wanted to join us for breakfast? The rest of the bridal party is meeting at the restaurant downstairs in twenty minutes."

Fuck, he felt so good. Combined with the visual, it was almost too much.

"Uh, I'm gonna pass. I already ate, I'm pretty full," you told her, eyes briefly fluttering shut when he began to move faster, his skin lightly slapping against your ass. You thought you heard him mumble yeah, you are, and you had to bite down hard on your lower lip.

"Well, okay. If you change your mind, we'll be down there at ten."

"Okay, thanks! I better go, my mom's beeping in. I'll call you later," you said hurriedly, hoping you weren't being too rude but if you stayed on the phone with her for one more minute, you knew you wouldn't be able to hide what you were really doing.

Mercifully, she hung up and you tossed your phone onto the floor, uncaring where it ended up, and reached behind you to curl your fingers around the back of Joel's head. He leaned forward and kissed you. It was messy and heated, and the way you had to twist your neck was awkward, but it didn't matter.

"Fuck yeah, baby. Look how good you take me," he groaned in your ear when he spotted you glancing towards the mirror again. "So pretty, ain't it?"

"Mhmm," you whined, still entranced by the way his thick cock split you open and you knew for sure in that moment no one else would ever come close to Joel. You were stupid to try to fight it.

Your hand dropped to clutch your pillow, your stomach drawing tighter the faster he snapped his hips, every devastating thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna come," you whimpered, and he readjusted his grip on your leg, prying you open as wide as you would go.

You felt his teeth graze your shoulder, his breath hot and quick as his exhale puffed against your skin.

"That's right. Come all over my cock, baby. Give it t'me," he growled, hips slamming into you from behind so forcefully it almost pushed you off the bed, each thrust driving him deeper and deeper inside you.

Your eyes squeezed shut and you cried out when you came, your walls pulsing around his length, your body trying to suck him in and keep him there and fuck if he didn't want that, too.

At the last second he pulled out, watching in a daze as he dropped your leg, his cock now sandwiched between your thighs. With a deep groan, he watched in the mirror as he shot thick, white ropes of his seed all over your legs and the hotel sheets.

"I love you," he gasped, his sweaty forehead pressed against your upper back as he dragged in mouthfuls of air, waiting for his pulse to settle. "'M sorry, can't stop sayin' it."

You reached behind you and found his hand. Lacing your fingers together, you wrapped his arm around your middle, mumbling I love you, too, never tiring of it.

You waited a respectable amount of time for the bridal party to eat and leave the restaurant before venturing downstairs together, hand in hand. You contemplated just ordering room service but you weren't entirely certain you could keep your hands off each other long enough to eat, so forcing yourselves to leave the room felt like the best option.

The hostess led you to a small table towards the back of the restaurant, the room still buzzing with activity even though it was late in the morning. Your fingers linked together across the table as you sipped your coffees, exchanging little smirks whenever your eyes met.

"Can I ask you a question?" Joel asked, and you almost found yourself laughing at how serious he suddenly looked.

"Of course."

He glanced around the dining room quickly before leaning across the table. "You ain't on birth control anymore?"

You knocked the heel of your hand against your forehead. "I'm sorry, I should've told - no, I'm not. I took myself off the pill because I wasn't... y'know," you trailed off, embarrassment creeping up your neck.

Joel couldn't stop his smirk when he put it together so he pursed his lips and tilted his face toward the table, trying to hide it before saying, "so you're tellin' me you didn't have sex with anyone else since me?"

"Don't act so proud," you teased with a grin.

"I ain't," he said defensively, then thought about it for a moment before laughing. "Okay, maybe I am."

You giggled as you watched him take a sip of coffee, daydreaming about your future together and all the endless breakfasts you'll share. You imagined getting up early for work and showering, then coming into the kitchen to find Joel in just his pajama bottoms pouring you both coffees with unkept hair, asking if you saved him enough hot water because he still had to get ready for work.

Work. Suddenly, your smile fell when you remembered something. "Wait, you said you quit your job?" you asked, and he nodded, his thumb rubbing against the inside of your wrist. "So what do you do now?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "You ain't gonna believe it."

"Try me," you teased, knees bumping together under the table. You were close but still felt so far apart.

"I bought the bar," he said, sounding almost sheepish. Your eyes widened in surprise.

"Our bar? Tommy's bar?" you questioned, and he nodded. "H-how?"

He chuckled again and raked his fingers through his hair with his free hand. "What'dya mean how? With money."

"Yeah, I figured that," you said with a roll of your eyes, "but you just bought a house, too. How can you afford all that?"

He opened his mouth to reply when the server came to drop off your food. You finally unlinked your hands so you could pick up your silverware, and only once your waitress left did he respond to your question.

"Porn paid good," he said with a shrug. "I did it for a long time and I lived with my brother payin' next to nothin' in rent and utilities."

"Wow," you breathed in awe before shoveling some eggs in your mouth.

He watched you eat quietly for a few minutes before clearing his throat, drawing your attention from your breakfast.

"Why didn't you just ask me to quit? I woulda done it."

You paused your chewing and set your fork down on your plate.

"Because," you began, swallowing your food. "I couldn't ask you to do that for me. It wouldn't feel right and I was afraid if I did, you would grow to resent me."

His brows furrowed and he reached a hand across the table for you. "I woulda never resented you."

"You don't know that," you told him.

"I wasn't happy doin' it. Not like I used to be, anyway," he said. "Kept me from havin' certain things in my life. Could never make a relationship work and as I got older, it was somethin' I really wanted. I just didn't know how to get out. I mean, who can put somethin' like that on a resume?" he laughed softly. "Then Tommy mentioned his boss was lookin' to retire and I thought, hell... won't have to put shit on a resume if I'm my own boss."

You nodded and squeezed his hand, feeling guilty for never realizing he had his own internal struggles going on. Then you swallowed nervously before asking your next question, your curiosity unable to be ignored.

"Well, what about Sadie?" you asked, "she seemed really into you and she obviously wouldn't have had a problem with your career."

He gave you a small smile, eyes flashing with guilt when he thought back to his brief date with Sadie. The night he invited her over for board games and he ended up going down on you in the bathroom while she was left to talk to strangers in the living room.

"She was nice but there wasn't anythin' there. Not really. I was jealous of Sam and knew she liked me... I shouldn't've asked her over that night. It was wrong," he admitted, rubbing his chin. "She never stood a chance. She wasn't you, baby," he said softly.

You felt your chest clench from the tortured look in his eye, and for the millionth time you mentally berated yourself for spending so much time avoiding your feelings for him. Choosing not to deny yourself any longer, you stood up from your chair and closed the short distance between you. Cupping his face with both your hands, you leaned down and kissed him, trying your very best to put every ounce of love you had into it. It must have worked because you could feel his lips curving into a smile, then yours did the same.

It didn't matter how long it took, what mattered was what you had now.

Unfortunately, your bliss was short lived when you heard an all too familiar voice shriek excitedly behind you. You tore yourself away to swivel around in surprise, only to find Tommy and Maria standing a few tables away with their jaws hung open in shock, very clearly having witnessed your kiss.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, tugging on Tommy's arm to drag him over to your table. "I knew something was up when neither of you wanted to join us for food!"

Cheeks blazing hot with embarrassment, you were about to return to your chair but Joel's arm wrapped around you, pulling you to sit sideways in his lap. "No more hidin', yeah?" he murmured in your ear. You grinned and gave him one more quick peck.

"Yeah," you agreed right before they approached. "No more hiding."

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virginreprise · 3 months ago

Text

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" MY MEAN DADDY, MY BAD BABY, DON'T YOU WANT ME? " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

CHAPTER ONE

WARNINGS: age difference (although no age is mentioned), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel is still a sad old man, joel being mean again, smut, references to harassment (not from joel), literal sex, breathplay, oral (f receiving), although joel may get some head in the future if he's lucky, you're more important than him, two uses of daddy, just because joel is disgusting and i wanna test the waters before i fully commit to my depraved fantasies of calling a grown man daddy, joel no aftercare miller because he's lowk a little asshole who's afraid of women, pussy pronouns because i feel like that's joel's brand atp

WORD COUNT: 14.6k

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER TWO—PRETTY BABY

Joel had cowered in his trailer for two weeks, acting like the recluse he was at heart, avoiding interactions with others, communicating with grunts and murmurs and looks that made sure anyone who dared speak to him in any way that could’ve been perceived as “cheery” would be off his back and turn the other way.

He hadn’t been rattled by the conversation he’d had with you, nor had he been left feeling some ridiculous guilt just because he’d got in your face and made those pretty features contort in fear. No, he had purely been pissed off with you. You thought you’d hit the nail on the head with your analysis, that you knew anything about him at all. And when you’d asked him if he was okay…well, after that, most of his restraint had been lost.

Storming off like a petulant child was better than hurting you so badly he’d never get a taste of your sweet cunt just once. After thinking about it, it was better that he’d walked away when he did, simply because it gave him the ability to get his head straight again, shake off some of the rage, and channel the rest into fucking you until you cried.

Before, he would’ve never been so volatile with you, would’ve never even thought about fucking you at all. He’d fix what you wanted fixed, he’d smile at you and call you “Ma’am,” like a sociable, pleasant old man. Not the sad sack of shit he’d turned into it. So angry all the time for reasons he refused to unpack. If he acknowledged it, he’d have to acknowledge that she would’ve hated what he turned out to be.

You were younger than what she would be if she were alive today. Would it have made her feel sick? Would it have made her run away from him, unable to recognise the man she’d called dad?

In part, it was the reason why he’d banished you. Not in the moment. No, in the moment he’d wanted to choke you. But some subconscious part of him, some ghost of compassion had possessed him and he’d thought about her eyes, how scared she’d looked as he’d held her and how similar you had looked when he’d raised his voice, when he’d kept it quiet, all menace and intimidation, when he’d touched you, gripping onto your thigh—when he’d looked desperately into your eyes and hoped that you’d crack a smile. That you’d stop looking at him like he was the fucking devil.

You really were something else, something so ridiculously dissimilar to himself, better than himself in every conceivable way, and yet simultaneously aggravating because you wouldn’t stay away from him. Every single time, you kept crawling back like you had no other choice. Like Rick across the way wasn’t a better plumber than Joel was and would’ve fixed your stupid tap permanently for free.

He wasn’t blind or oblivious to your efforts. He’d called your bluff a long time ago, when you’d come skipping along and bat your eyelashes at him, acting like the most innocent little thing in the state of Texas, not knowing that Joel had seen you tripping over your feet at night with a cigarette in your hand, circling the park again and again and again, worrying at your bottom lip. Or when you’d kicked over your bike in frustration because the chain kept falling off or when you’d got in Linda’s face at the Fourth of July barbecue because she’d been whispering amongst the trailer park's entire female population that you were a whore.

Joel had laughed to himself when the rumour had found him—had laughed even harder when you’d defended yourself, thrown your coke all over the fucking gossip and stormed off, only to knock on his door later that day to give him his mail that had made its way into your letterbox, a pretty little smile on your face and a sweetness to your voice that hadn’t found its way into your tone the day before.

There was a fierceness to you, a deep-cut vision like a B-side from a beautifully crafted album, the scraps just as brilliant as the first choice. Under all those pretty smiles, was anger, a knack for getting what you wanted with a few shouts and a quick tongue. He’d seen it when you’d misread him, called him a pervert with puffed-out cheeks and left Joel with a suspicion that you would start stomping your feet and smoke would pour from your ears. However, unlike your confrontation with Linda, you’d cowered when he’d fought back. Part of him had hoped you’d keep going, that even when he’d scared you, you’d push through fear and slap him across the face.

Maybe it’d bring back his sense.

Maybe he’d slap you instead, make you give him some fire. Anything that he can use against you to reign you in.

Joel had no interest in hurting you though. Simultaneously, he had no interest in keeping you safe from what he knew he truly was. If that led to hurt, it was unintentional. You weren’t a schoolboy crush, nor was the situation love at first sight, but you were interesting to Joel; he wanted to get to know you. There was something there, something repressed that you kept locked away, that only came out to pounce on you when you were alone in the middle of the night.

The only issue was that if he had to get to know you, that meant you’d have to get to know him too. Joel’s history was something he wasn’t prepared to let go of, an incomplete manuscript that couldn’t be edited, that was full of flaws and bad decisions. He wouldn’t let you open it, wouldn’t let you peer at the front cover or skim the spine with your finger: it was guarded by tendrils of barbed wire, pushing through the clouds and up past the stratosphere. It would be difficult to damage it, damn near impossible to break the fortification entirely.

So, naturally, Joel left you alone. He didn’t look at you in the mornings, didn’t peer through the windows at night and in turn, you left him alone too. Though nowadays there was a sag in your shoulders, a frown constantly tugging at your lips and he felt a certain sense of pride that he was the reason for it. He didn’t need to ask you, he knew. Could tell by the way you avoided eye contact when he’d driven back from the store (he’d been low on Camel’s) and saw you sat on your steps, puffing away and gnawing on your bottom lip.

It was petty, the way you’d turned away immediately upon hearing the sound of his engine, stubbed out the cigarette and stormed back inside.

Joel didn’t mind all too much. You were bratty and he liked it—enjoyed when you spoke back like he wouldn’t be able to knock you out with one weak punch.

It had been a surprise when you’d turned up on his doorstep on a Friday night, all dressed up, makeup you’d clearly worked hard on, ruined by your streaming tears.

“I’m sorry,” you’d blubbered, shaking like a leaf on his porch and he wasn’t sure if it was the chill of the night air or fear. “I know you don’t want me here.”

Then why show up? It’s what he wanted to say but he bit his tongue to save you from collapsing from dehydration. All those tears you were coughing up like there was a free supply of them behind those pretty eyes—eyes now red raw and bloodshot.

“What’s the issue?” he asked, less soft than you perhaps would’ve liked. He couldn’t give too much attention to it, though: the concern he felt buried underneath layers upon layers of tough exterior; even your flood of tears couldn’t wash away the rubble to find it.

“I-I was out, I wasn’t doing anything wrong, t-this- this guy he…”

Right there, Joel’s blood burned bright fucking red. He’d felt it with Dale when he’d seen the old man drooling after you like a rabid dog, eating away at your ankles—just begging for a taste. He’d scared the man shitless when he’d grabbed him by the collar once he was out of your eyeline, yanked him along to the outskirts of the park and spat in his face. The only reason he didn’t beat him bloody was because it would’ve been unnecessary and Joel had been sober that night so had been thinking at least a little rationally.

But this guy…whoever the fuck he was, hadn’t just made you uncomfortable, but had made you come to Joel Miller for comfort. Had forced your hand, had caused you to swim into the shark's mouth. Perhaps, worst of all, he’d made you cry—big, hot, glistening tears that travelled sporadically in all directions across the expanse of your face, dripping from your jaw and settling in your clavicle.

“What’d he do?” Joel was intimidatingly calm, voice even and eyes sharp.

You sniffled, lip quivering and your mouth opened to speak, then closed as if the words had gotten stuck—that the force of your pain overpowered your ability to be coherent.

“Baby…” Joel murmured, unable to stifle the smile that twitched and fell when you snapped your eyes to his—hopeful with the promise of the nickname. “Tell me.”

Taking a deep breath, you swallowed away the thickness in your throat, tried to stop the shaking by playing with your fingers, lips downturned and looking like such a scared little lamb. Despite being a wolf, Joel managed to set aside his natural tendencies, tucking them away safely for whoever the fucker you were crying over was, and instinctually, wanting to keep you safe.

“I was all by myself, I shouldn’t have gone by myself,” you looked away from him like Joel would judge you—like he would think it was your fault. He wanted to say something but waited patiently for you to continue, wondering when would be the best time to invite you in. If he even should invite you in given the implications of the statement and what he had done the last time you’d stepped through the boundary separating the inside of his trailer from the outside. “He wouldn’t stop touching me, I tried to get him off but he wouldn’t leave me alone and I- I got out of there when he wasn’t watching but he fucking followed me home-”

“Where is he?” It was instant, the way Joel snapped into action, fists clenching—prepared to fall right onto his face and break his fucking nose.

“I- I don’t know,” you muttered. “I just came to you.”

Unsure of how to react to the information, he scanned the area behind you, taking a singular look at your trailer and deciding that he could not, in good conscience leave you alone. Having a good conscience in the first place had been a foreign thing to Joel for such a long time that the feeling of wanting to do something right, the knowledge that he was not inviting you in because he wanted to touch you but because he wanted to protect you, was a troubling thing to realise. He couldn’t afford to go soft, to let people in, to hold them close until he inevitably told them everything and they realised how much of a bad person he was. But with you…it hardly mattered.

“Okay, babygirl.” His hands twitched towards your face, both palms landing on either cheek—so natural that it should’ve scared him. “Come on, let’s get you warm.”

Stray tears fell at his affection and he couldn’t bear to look at you crying anymore so guided you inside, letting you occupy his space, and took one last look outside before closing the door behind him—locking you both away.

It was when he’d called you babygirl, that you knew you’d fallen deep. The entire purpose of going out that night had been to forget about him, find someone else who maybe had that same smouldering look in his eyes, that same mystery that rendered every single movement an enigma. It’d been useless of course and you’d been harshly reminded of why you never went out in the first place, certainly not by yourself and certainly not to hook up with a stranger. The ache was just so very large, all-encompassing and you struggled immensely with the silent treatment he’d inflicted upon you.

You’d be lying if you said it was much different from before. Lack of conversation between Joel and yourself was in fact extremely common but the context in which the communication had haltered, the undeniable tension that permeated every accidental look and every longing stare at that white door in the middle of the night, was a pain you would never admit to him.

You didn’t want him to think you were weak, that you needed him in any capacity, so you’d got out. You’d ran away from him and in a cruel twist of fate, you’d crawled right back—crying on the doorstep and looking more pathetic than you think he’d ever seen you.

However, he’d held your face in his hands, gazed at you with something akin to pity and you wouldn’t have left him even if he’d asked you to.

You’d shuffled into his home, rubbing at your bare arms and staring at Joel’s back as he reached into the cupboards for a glass. You wanted to bury your face into him, wrap your arms around his waist and drag him close. The cold sting on your cheeks from where he’d touched you, the echo of his words in your ears wasn’t enough. You wanted him near, wanted to bury your head between his chest and beg him to tell you that you were safe.

“Drink.” His words snapped you back, eyes stinging as they flitted to his face and then to the glass he was holding.

“Thanks,” you muttered softly as you reached for the water, fingers brushing against his a sensation you attempted to ignore. After a moment standing, eyes fixated on his shoes and mulling over the situation, you apologised again. The “Sorry” falling from your mouth, the feeling of stupidity as the tears finally began to subside, and Joel’s gentle touch as he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger: delicate and affectionate. From the outside looking in, it would seem like a man simply comforting his girl with firm words and soft fingers.

“Don’t apologise. It ain’t your fault.” His gaze was set, those gorgeous eyes still hard and stony, fixated on you—hoping to bury the words beneath your skull.

“I just don’t wanna bother you-”

“I ain’t got nothin’ better to do.” There was a hint of a smile at his lips but it didn’t reach his eyes, corners of his mouth twitching, looking like the action itself was painful—like the words he uttered echoed in his ears and bashed at his eardrum. Maybe he should have something better to do than sit around and look after you.

You furrowed your brow at his expression, looking just as pained as he did and sipped your water—throat finally feeling some reprieve from the scratches that littered the flesh. His hand fell from your chin, resting at his side and you couldn’t shake the burning in your stomach as he refused to cease the eye contact so you did it for him, eyes firmly on the linoleum and teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

He probably didn’t want you here—surely he didn’t. He’d spent the past two weeks ignoring you, refusing to acknowledge the conversation you’d had the other night, when you’d felt everything brew up inside you and finally boil over. When you’d thrust a finger in his face and pointed out every flaw and every observation. Everything that Joel Miller was.

That solemn, brooding solace you found being close to a personality that reminded you of days long past. The intimidation that he used like a shield, strengthening his defences after people tried to get inside his walls; he’d shot them down with arrows, leaving the bullets in his palm for himself. You though…he’d let you in. He’d shot at your shoulder then let you past the gates to dress the wound.

“Might wanna wash your face,” he said grimly, brushing past you to go sit on his leather throne.

You gazed at your reflection in the window above the sink, light from the ceiling flooding you in a spotlight and illuminating the streaming makeup, the blotchy face and the red eyes. Suddenly conscious, you snapped your head back to him, his back turned to you, working at the TV with a steady hand.

Sensing your eyes, the stare that burned through him—full of pity and understanding—he muttered, “Bathrooms first door on the right.” Trying to get rid of you.

Wanting to ensure he was comfortable in his own home, you placed your glass on the counter, turned on your heel and began down the hallway—stopping at the first and only door on the right-hand side and slipped inside. You wanted to shower but knew it was a step too far, that that would be taking his hospitality for granted, so you settled for the sink.

Makeup was crusting along your skin, forcing its way into your pores and mingling with the sweat and dirt from the long walk you took from the centre of town. Hastily, you turned on the tap, cupping your hands under the stream and splashing it over your face. You sat with it for a moment, with the cool droplets running down your face and soothing the stinging of your eyes before scrubbing—wanting it all off. It felt wrong along your skin, the crusted tears near your eyes painful as you washed them away. It was effort, with just the water, but when you rose from the sink basin with a fresh face, you felt better.

You were safe with Joel, that much you were sure.

You took a deep breath before retreating from the solidarity of the bathroom, door handle cool under your palm as you inhaled, held, and exhaled. With the dispelling of that cool air, you pushed, stepping out into the hallway and hearing the faint sound of late-night television coming from down the way.

Joel was still sat where you’d left him, putting his cigarette out and discarding it inside an empty beer bottle, eyes fixated on the TV and although it looked like he hadn’t heard you, you knew he had. That subtle tensing of his shoulders, shuffling in his seat as he cracked his neck distractedly. You stood there, looking at the back of his head for far too long, lingering in the shadowed hallway and hoping he’d turn around and look at you—grant you that deep gaze that held so much. So many words said with just one glance.

But he didn’t. He stayed exactly where he was, nestled in his corner of the world.

You went to him on shaky legs, entering his living space with short breaths, playing with your fingers as you stopped just in front of where he sat.

“Thanks for-” you began, stopping yourself when you heard the crack in your voice—how hard it was to speak with the heaviness of your eyes and the hoarseness of your throat. Managing to swallow away some of it, some of that pent-up misery you felt clawing its way up the passages of your insides, you uttered quietly,” Just…thank you.”

“Yeah,” he said back, voice just as pensive as yours; you didn’t know if he wasn’t looking at you purposefully or if he truly was just as nervous about the interaction as you were. The notion that Joel Miller would be nervous at all was laughable but you knew there was something there—something greater than he let everyone think. Curiosity was a big driver in your interactions with the man, a desire to see what he felt, hear every thought that burrowed itself in his head, but right there, your insecurity prevailed and you decided it’d be best if you left him alone.

“I think I’m gonna go home now,” you said reluctantly, knowing that all you truly wanted to do was crawl into his lap and bury your face in the crook of his neck. “I’m tired.”

“Okay,” he nodded and as he turned to look at you there was a glint in his eyes—almost begging—that said ‘Don’t go.’ You didn’t want to, you wanted to stay wrapped up in him forever, limbs entangled in feverish desire. But you couldn’t stay. You could barely move in his presence and it wasn’t worth it to be engaged in something that would cripple you forever.

So you repeated his word, purse hanging loose from your fingertips as you turned your back on him and headed for the front door.

He halted you before you could get there.

“If you see him again, even if you hear a noise out there, you come back to me.” There was a care in his voice, a forceful attentiveness that left you reeling. He was letting you go but inviting you back too. He was professing something, expressing words unspoken, with actions and you couldn’t help the way your heart swelled in your chest, your throat constricting as a sob attempted to choke its way into your mouth.

You just nodded, sure that if you spoke you’d end up crying again.

With no more words left, you opened the front door, stomach twisting as you looked around to check that you were alone, and scurried down his porch steps, not knowing that once Joel had heard your door close, he’d stepped out into the night and placed himself on his shitty white chair—watching the surrounding area until dawn came, ready to deter the danger if it came for you.

Sunlight shot through the half-open window, the heat stiflingly stagnant, sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you lay, immobile on your bedroom floor—hoping that the dewy grass underneath the trailer would somehow rise up through the ground and relieve you of the suffering that was prevalent whether you were indoors or out. Your shitty fan was rattling in the corner, doing little to alleviate the pain, and in the midst of a Wednesday afternoon, work already completed, you had no other choice than to think about the man next door and his actions.

There was a gentle acknowledgement, a careful unspoken communication that something, whatever it was, had switched in you and Joel. After that night, that pathetic night when you’d cried on his doorstep, he had not thrust you away as you had expected him to. He had barely even been rude to you, that awful scowl that was perpetual in every sense, stripped from his face. The careful commands, the casual way in which he took care of you.

The only thing you wished, was that he’d let you stay the night—that even if you had been the one to suggest the departure, he would ignore your wishes and make the decision for you, grab you by the hips and pull you down on top of him. Kiss you on the lips with all the ardour he had stored somewhere deep in the pits of his being. Damn your age, damn the consequences, damn anything that would occur in retaliation. You wanted him. If not for selfish reasons, for an interesting sympathy that you held for him every time he looked in your eyes, every time someone speculated on why he had turned out the way he had.

The whispering, the wondering, the stories that seemed so elaborate and profound that you couldn’t bring yourself to believe them. The contractor who’d told you of a man named Joel Miller. His fate. What befell him that September when he’d lost everything meaningful to him.

You didn’t know, however. You didn’t know what was the truth and what was all facade, if Joel had shot down the rumours himself by telling a fabrication of reality to all of those who dared make false assumptions.

So, you settled with the equivocations, the image of him in your mind expanding until all that remained was a pity that ran through each of your bones, vibrating your insides; the pleasure of his touch was the only sedation.

Laying there, on the carpeted floors that you wished were wood, you thought of him. You thought of him deeply, throwing your mind back to that first interaction with him when he’d stood in the light of the rising sun, eyes running all over you. Observation. It was something he was good at, being able to discern the very fabrics of the human soul by glancing over at your movements, your mannerisms, taking note of the way you spoke to certain people. You were sure he knew you were smitten from the moment you opened your mouth.

In truth, you had been completely enamoured by him. Despite those initial reactions to his leering gaze, that sleazy look in his eyes that rendered you disgusted by his very presence, you had mulled over it on those particularly boring shifts, those mundane Sundays when you gazed at the empty white chair on his porch and thought about how handsome he looked sat there: legs spread wide, thumb and finger playing at his furrowed brow, cigarette burning between those pretty fingers and the portable radio next to him expelling a country tune or the occasional Texas Rangers game.

You fantasised about sitting there with him, fingers curled around his as you lounged in the chair adjacent—always looking like it was waiting for someone to sit in it. For you to sit in it.

But you weren’t brave enough. You weren’t brave anyway.

You weren’t brave enough to speak up when you felt like you were caving in on yourself, boulders falling from the tip of your head and landing at your feet—breaking each toe until you couldn’t move, suspended by the sensation of skin melting from your face, your brain losing all rational thought. You weren’t brave enough to do something bigger with your life, to approach every memory that haunted you like an evil phantom, intent on breaking you down into nothing until you sat as dilapidated as the abandoned moonshine still that rested its weary legs just opposite the bypass.

You weren’t brave enough to tell Joel that you wished to have him completely. That you wished to help him build himself back up; if what was said about him was true, you were willing to ignore all of your demons, to repress them like you had many times over, and place all your energy into making him smile.

Instead of actively hoping to remedy the situation on your lonesome, to be active with your desires and do everything possible to make them come true, you instead wait for someone else to fulfil them for you. If Joel wasn’t willing to tell you, to confess every depraved fantasy, you’d continue to lay on your bedroom floor and hope for things to be different.

In the sweat of that Wednesday afternoon, in the midst of summer despair, you thought of him. In your bedroom you had not decorated, staring at the ceiling fan that did not work, you thought of him. Through the fog of everything that made up your regrets and your achievements, he remained the central thing that kept you alive.

A knock on the door brought you back, three raps that came down hard and assured. With a thick head, you peeled yourself off the floor, brushing down flyaway hair that had ran away from your scalp and cracked your back as you stood.

Just that simple movement had sweat pooling at your lower back, the sun at its highest peak, menacingly bright and dangerously hot. Sniggering as it watched you stumble down the hallway, lethargic with the soupy air and trying your hardest to put a smile on your face as you pulled at the doorknob—a wall of heat separating you from the outside.

That half-hearted grimace that had replaced your frowning, quickly transformed into an expression littered with confusion as you stared at the man before you. Had you begun thinking about him so much that you’d started to hallucinate him? Had you thought about him so loud that he’d taken the time to knock on your door and tell you to shut up?

You said nothing as you stared at him, the delirium of the day causing your brain to momentarily stop working—greetings and manners that you’d been taught since you could walk something you gave no attention to. Only able to focus on his broadness hogging the space, the way he stared down at you with a clenched jaw, the perpetual tense of his shoulders and the hardness of his eyes. Just seeing him was enough to send you falling headfirst into a sensation you had no desire to express to him.

“You okay?” he asked, softer than expected and your heart sank as you looked down at his hands to see the two envelopes nestled between his fingers. He’d come to give you your mail.

“Yeah,” you mumbled out, lingering too long on the paper before flicking your eyes back to his and gathering yourself, scolding the fact that you couldn’t focus around him. You nodded briefly to what had caused that pit in your stomach to open up again. “That my mail?”

He nodded in response, handing it out to you with the manner of someone who wished to be away from the situation they were involved in.

“They keep getting us mixed up,” you said, forcing a smile and trying to make it all as comfortable as possible. “I still think they do it on purpose.” It was a poor attempt at a joke, coercing a conversation so that maybe he’d stay a little longer than intended. You yearned for a little courage, hoping that your mouth would expel the words you wished to speak: invite him in, ask him if he wanted a drink or a cigarette or both, tell him how much you’d been thinking about him.

“I’ll have a word if I see them.”

Why was it awkward? It was unusual, the way he wasn’t leering at you, how he wasn’t purposefully overpowering you. It seemed that he was more intimidated by you in that moment than he ever had before in his life. What a strange feeling it was: to have Joel Miller cowering. It gave you some much-needed bravery as you placed the mail on the side table next to your door, near the bowl that held your keys and discarded receipts you hadn’t bothered to throw away.

When the words came tumbling out of your mouth, you struggled to believe they were real.

“You wanna come in?” The shaking in your hands as he raised his eyebrows, the doubts hurtling at your chest with all the force of a high-speed collision. “I haven’t got anything else to do all afternoon.” You decided adding a little context would be better—maybe sway him a little more.

You couldn’t tell if the slight smile toying at those pretty lips was genuine or a courtesy, nor did you know if when he’d accepted your invitation he was doing it just to be polite or because he actually wanted to.

In your delusions, you told yourself that it was all because he did want you around, that he’d just been playing hard to get all this time because, like you, the thought of letting anyone in was so incredibly daunting. No matter how much you wanted Joel, just the thought of kissing him made you nauseous—the anxiety of what may occur after, the consequences to everything, what he would think when he realised that you weren’t all sweet. That you were awkward and mean at the best of times; the way you’d presented yourself to him was not your true character.

You feared that after everything, he would decide he didn’t like you. That you weren’t worth his time. From the things you’d heard about him, you weren’t even sure he’d let you stick around long enough to figure out what you were truly like.

As he walked into your home though, nothing in his hands to suggest that he was only here to do some light maintenance and be on his way, you couldn’t think about that. You were no longer on your bedroom floor, begging God for things to be different. Things were becoming different, and when you offered him a drink, assuring him that he could smoke inside despite never doing it yourself without hanging halfway out your window, you found yourself becoming comfortable. Too comfortable honestly.

He settled himself on your couch, hips rising as he reached into his pocket to pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a scratched-to-shit silver zippo and shook his head at your offer of coffee. You nestled yourself a respectable distance from him—tucking your legs underneath you and watched as he brought the light to the dangling stick and lit it. A cloud of smoke muffled his face, the scent of tobacco tickling your nose and bringing comfort sliding down your spine.

It was silent, in the most blissful way, the heat blushing his cheeks, the loving caress of the setting sun as it promised to fall beneath the horizon as soon as it could—that its day of evil heat was slowly falling away. The light breeze that trickled through your open window, taking the smoke away with it, guiding it up towards the sun and stars. Cicadas chirping, birds coming to and from their nests, searching for some good food to bring home to their babies, and snakes burrowed in the shade to escape the searing heat. All of nature's beauty peeking its head past the haze of despondency just to enlighten you and Joel—to help you feel greater than you had just five minutes ago.

It helped clear your thick head, helped escape the thin veil of your body's disparagement to get to a point where you could focus on Joel and only Joel. Watch him take a drag and exhale, chest rising and falling.

When his head rolled backwards, resting on the edge of your couch and revealing each tendon in his neck, you finally decided to open your mouth.

“Thank you for the other night.” The words fell quietly, whispered to him as if not to disrupt his moment of relaxation. “It was late and you…”

How he looked at you…you couldn’t quite describe. Those eyes wide and glinting, the unadulterated sympathy that lingered in those pits—something else dancing with it that you were unsure of. Hoping to God that he would tell you outwardly instead of hoping you’d understand that one meaningful look.

“Couldn’t leave you cryin’ on my doorstep,” he uttered, holding that stare, refusing to look away.

“I’m sure lots of people would’ve,” you rebutted.

“No one can say no to that face,” he finalised.

Your heart fluttered in the confines of your chest, eyes wide as he looked at you—those perpetually tired eyes, those tense shoulders and clenched jaw, desperate to stroke your fingers over each eyelid and lull him to sleep. See if he would drift away with a smile and wake up with the same expression permanently etched into his face. Hoping he’d look at you like that for the rest of your life.

“I wanna thank you properly, Joel.” There was a brief pause, a flicker as he scanned his way across your face, and then the heat of his stare was gone and you were left dowsed in ice water—waiting for his words.

The hasty way he brought the cigarette to his lips, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazing at the grey as he exhaled, huffing with the force of a dragon trying to dispel the danger. The harsh way in which he shook his head, the utter rejection that brewed up inside you once you’d realised that you’d gone too far. The bravery you’d been gifted for speaking up had betrayed you; you’d crossed the line.

“You really wanna go there?”

You paused, eyes flickering softly over his form. He’d caught your double meaning with the grace of a fly falling directly into a death trap, flown right through your words, and came out the other end with a defiance you had expected but had not wanted. The man who looked at you like he wanted to lock you away, display you on a shelf so he could poke at you for eternity, had rejected you. It was more insecurity-inducing than you had thought.

Feigning ignorance to heal the aching in your heart, you continued the game through a hoarse throat—wishing for the man who’d drooled over you that very first time you’d set eyes on him.

“Go where?”

“Don’t play stupid, we both know you ain’t.”

He glared at you, the brightness of his eyes disappearing—a strange uncomfortable glint dancing in the shadows of them; you couldn’t stop looking at him and thinking that he looked goddamn exhausted. All the time. You were unsure if he ever slept, if he ever allowed himself to have a moment of peace, a short second to himself where he screamed into a pillow and rolled over to the other side of the bed—ready to drift off. You’d hold him until the frown on his face disappeared if he’d let you.

From the way he stared at you, however, you were sure he didn’t want you there at all.

“I just wanna thank you,” you said softly, gazing at him earnestly. “Seriously, Joel, you do a lot for me-”

“I fix your tap and give you your mail, you don’t owe me shit.” It was almost self-deprecating, the way he refused you—as if he didn’t think he was worthy of you.

“Will you just let me do this one thing?”

“Now, let's get this straight,” he interrupted, accent growing as thick as his aggravation. “We ain’t friends.”

“I never said we-”

“I need you to listen to me.” The fatherly tone startled you, a far cry from those leering looks and sleazy stares—silencing you with the harshness of his tone. “You’re a goddamn kid. Whatever you think…whatever I’ve-” he cut himself off with a shake of his head, bringing the cigarette clasped between his fingers to his lips, inhaling sharply; all the smoke went into his lungs and none came out as he spoke again. “It ain’t right.”

Silence encapsulated the space, your heart sinking as those words entered your ear and left through the other side, the rejection everything you had not expected. What had you expected really? For him to profess his undying love and hold you forever? For him to put you on his lap and tell you that he was proud of you? That he would be there for you forever and always?

You’d hoped a little bit too much and consequently, been disappointed by your own expectations.

“Who says?” you tried to level your voice, to rid of the fear and anxiety that had clouded your entire being since you’d learnt about your mortality—when you’d sat on a rocking chair at the ripe age of thirteen and rocked it so far you’d fallen flat on your face and hadn’t gotten up years later.

“I say.” It came with so much conviction, that signature stare still plastered onto his face, set scowl all intimidation and no love—nothing behind those eyes except persistent irritation and self-hatred.

Suddenly, you found some gall, blood bubbling as you mirrored his frown. “So it was okay when you looked through my bedroom window whilst I was changing? It was okay when you said I’d get cockdrunk real easy and laugh about me being dumb with your buddies? I thought I wasn’t stupid, Joel.”

“You ain’t-”

“Then you should know that I know exactly what I want and what I want is to thank you!” A deep breath, gulping away the saliva that had accumulated in your mouth and observing every twitch of his jaw—the shake in his hands. “In a way that I know you want because I’m not stupid. You might think that you’re subtle but I promise you, you aren’t.”

“What do you want from me, huh?” he asked abruptly, venom in his glare, all of it directed at you and poisoning your blood indelicately.

It was a good question—one that stumped you if you were being completely honest. What did you want from him? A good fuck, someone to hold, someone to tell you that you were worth it? Or maybe, you just wanted him to make you feel desired. To make you feel like you were wanted by something, even if that something would hide you away, isolate you from your friends, and keep you trapped in a palace of deceit and fresh blood—cutting away at your flesh to keep the supply of crimson flowing.

Joel urged you on with the power of his stare, waiting for an answer with false patience.

“I just…” struggling to form a proper sentence, stringing together words in your mind that didn’t make sense. “I just need to know how you feel.”

The answer didn’t seem like enough, his eyes trained on you for a few seconds more before he broke the contact, leaving you shivering as a breeze suddenly pushed through the open window—drapes dancing with the force of it.

His attention was captured by the cigarette in hand, the thing almost smoked down to the filter, grey billowing from its end as he sniffed, shook his head, and stood.

“You got an ashtray round here?”

It startled you: the way he changed the subject so quickly, so determined to make you forget. To make himself forget. Standing there, hogging the space with his bulk, you could sense the turmoil—his hesitation to do what he wished to do and his distaste with himself for doing what he didn’t want to do: walk away.

You were granting him an opportunity, a chance to put all that time spent watching porn into practice—to take whatever he wanted from you without guilt.

However, it was better to acquiesce to his cowardice. Arguing would only push him to the point of no return. Truthfully, you were afraid of Joel and his temper. Sometimes, it felt dangerous to rile him or to talk to him out of turn. What he was capable of, you weren’t sure, but from the story that Spencer Dressure had told you about that one time his brother had taken off with Joel’s pills, the manhunt that followed it and the fact he had not pressed charges despite having to be hospitalised, left little room for you to think it was a good idea to be on Joel’s bad side.

Calling him a pervert until he fucked you seemed to be a surefire way to get you on his list of foes.

“It’s in my room,” you stood carefully, brushing past him to get to the small kitchenette, trying to subdue the result of smelling the remnants of cologne and tobacco that lingered on his skin. “Just put it out in this.”

You handed him a dirty mug from the pile of dishes you had yet to tackle, cheeks heating as you became all too aware of your untidy home, before stepping a respectable distance away and waiting for his next move.

What followed, you had not expected. The undeniable whiplash, the pain that ravaged your stomach as it flipped continuously, looping round and round like the coaster at Coney Island you used to fantasise about as a kid.

“C’mere,” he murmured, a softness to the edge that melted you, pathetically accepting his advance as you stepped forward once, twice, thrice, only three steps and you were closer to him than you had been when you’d been situated on the couch moments before.

The simple movement of him holding up the burning cigarette that was begging for death, the shortest ring of white decorating the cylinder, had you shuddering in anticipation. The brush of your fingers as you reached up to take it and the warmth in your belly as he shook his head and thrust the thing closer to your mouth. You caught his intentions too late for you not to feel embarrassed, gazing at him with a determination you knew was false, something he was bound to pick up on too if the shaking in your legs was as bad as it felt.

Leaning forward, you parted your lips, clamping down on the cigarette with bravery you were surprised you could muster, and inhaled softly—taking every last thing it could give you and savouring the taste of his fingers on your lips as they brushed ever so slightly against his skin.

“Listen,” he murmured as he watched you, eyes trained on your pursed lips as you pulled away and expelled the smoke from your throat, chin tilting slightly to direct the trail away from his face. “You’re a pretty girl.”

You stayed rooted to the spot as you listened intently, eyes carefully observing his movements, the flex of his forearms as he dropped the dead cigarette into the mug and the sound of it sizzling as it reached the remnants of your morning coffee that nestled at the bottom. The way he looked at you and made you feel like he was your single priority—like nothing mattered in that moment except you and making sure you were holding onto his every word.

“And I don’t hate you,” he continued, tilting his head to gaze at your face. “But you gotta understand, that you ain’t gonna be a long-term thing.”

You could’ve laughed in his face if you weren’t so intimidated by the proximity to him, the warmth that emanated from his body and the goddamn smell of him that had your body reacting in ways you hadn’t ever expected it to. That telltale ache and warmth that pooled in your shorts, the way your skin burned—hair rising from your arms and breath catching in your throat as you were overcome with the need to start hyperventilating.

“I don’t care either way,” you managed to huff out, shuffling slightly closer, teasing those boundaries you hadn’t known were there in the first place.

He looked far from convinced, eyes narrowing slightly, chest heaving with a single, deep breath, and hands balled into fists at his sides as he tried as hard as he could to get inside your head.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Joel stayed leaning against your counter, casual in his stance but all-encompassing dominance in his demeanour. His menace plagued the trailer park, red “X’s” on every door that the man had targeted—a reminder to passers-by of his impact; what could happen if he was crossed: damnation, ostracisation, and wet pants from where they’d all pissed themselves under the strength of his harassment. A figure that the Preacher warned of as the making of the devil, the bottom of America’s proverbial melting pot. A figure that you now stood toe-to-toe with—staring evil right in the fucking face.

If Hell burnt, he was surely a child of the underworld, scorching the earth beneath and ravaging the heat blazing in your pants.

“What is there to believe?” you asked breathlessly. “If you wanna leave after, you can leave.” You failed to mention how desperate you were to lay skin-to-skin with him, to feel the heat of him everywhere as he wrapped himself around you: glossolalia in your ears as he lulled you to sleep.

“Babygirl, I ain’t afraid about wanting to leave.”

It took a second, a moment of analysing his words before the sincerity of them reached your chest and broke all your ribs. Your lips parted, chest unashamedly heaving as the impact left you winded, and a shake in your legs that you tried to ignore in fear you’d fall flat on your face.

Noting your body language, observing every inch of you—even the smallest of reactions—he took your sporadic breaths as an indicator to continue, standing to his full height as he stepped closer; towering with the grace of the land of Idumaea above you.

A hand cupped your cheek, a tenderness to the touch that was destroyed by his next words.

“You ain’t stickin’ around,” he said plainly. “I need you to know that.”

“I know,” you said defiantly, growing increasingly annoyed with the tone he was taking with you—like you were some disobedient kid who needed reprimanding. It seemed he didn’t much appreciate how you spoke either as his soft touch quickly transformed, fingers gripping your chin and squeezing.

“I don’t wanna be the one to say I told you so,” he murmured. “I don’t want you whinin’ after this or talkin’ about me with Lillian otherwise the whole goddamn place is gonna know that I fucked you. Then, they gon’ be askin’ about you and I don’t like sharin’.” He tugged on your chin, tilting your face so he could lean in. His lips against your ear made you shiver, hot breath against your skin causing every hair to stand to attention and a sweat to form on the back of your neck. “Understand?”

He pulled away, eyes back on yours—that tiredness replaced with a lust so profound that you were sure he could’ve made you spontaneously cum just by looking at you.

Attempting to ignore the ache between your thighs, you nodded. When you replied with an “I understand,” there was the overwhelming feeling that you had just signed away your life to an evil force, a ghost with bad intentions that had asked permission to haunt you for the rest of your days. You could move houses and he would be there, you could move states and he would be there, you could move out of the entire country and he would be waiting for you with a hard stare and a clenched jaw. There wasn’t a single scenario in which you could get away from him.

A stain between your legs: forever.

“Alright,” he drawled, breathing coming just as heavy as yours, eyes flicking to your lips—subconsciously licking his own. “Alright…”

It was slow, the entwining of lips, the gentle way that you both leaned into each other—picking at each petal on a daisy until all that remained was the yellow disk in the centre; lips meeting in the middle of the earth and connecting each continent until you both brought back the great mass of Pangea. His hand cupping your cheek, opening his mouth to let you in, tugging at your waist to pull you flush against him and breathing heavily through his nose when the shock that froze you washed away and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

You leaned up, chin tilting as his hand engulfed one side of your face, fingers tickling your hair, teasing the short wisps before threading his fingers into the length and tugging at it: hard.

A soft whimper left your throat, vibrations running through your body as he trailed his hand under your shirt—desperate to feel the dip of your waist, the soft skin just beneath your ribcage that he ran a gentle thumb over.

Tongues entwined in heavenly matrimony, the taste of him tingling on your flesh, the heat of him burning your insides until all that remained was a bubbling pit in your stomach that spit lava and breathed fire.

You truly lost your head when he snaked his hand further under your shirt, taking advantage of your lack of bra as he skimmed his fingers under your breast and smirked against your lips at the sound you emitted—a shuddering, high-pitched thing that shot right from the back of your throat and sent heat streaming in waves down your legs.

Desperately, you tugged at the hair that tickled his neck, pressing your weight against him, allowing him to brush every so slightly over your nipple and relish in the reaction he caused as your knees fell weak and your kisses grew harder.

“Joel,” you murmured between the kiss, finally feeling the heat of him against you, the hard plains of his body that kept you grounded—locked in a transcendental dance, swaying in the lamplight as he hummed into your mouth: his response to your call.

The words you had nestled on disappeared from your head, your questions and answers, statements and expressions all leaving on a cloud that settled out of your reach with God on high. His hands left you empty, his lips causing your stomach to flip and your cunt to ache in the crudest, most hedonistic sensation humankind had been granted. The deep, gruelling feeling between your legs that flashed so hot, so wet, that you found yourself unconsciously grinding your hips against his—catching the groan that dispelled from his lips and the grip on your hips that grew hard enough to bruise.

When he pulled away to press an array of kisses to your jaw, trailing down to your neck and sucking on the junction, your knees grew weak and the fire inside you raged so large that you would’ve begged at his feet to put it out. You were choking on the smoke, flames licking at your calves and travelling higher, and with another call of his name, he commanded Noah to grant you a flood.

He trailed his fingers over the hem of your shirt, pulling it tight and tugging it upwards. You didn’t want to part from him to get it over your head, clinging to him like he was life itself, ignited by his palms pressing over your bare breasts as he hiked the fabric up towards your chin. You obeyed his quiet command, pulling away just far enough for him to peel it off and then brought him right back towards you as his head fell to your chest and his lips clasped around your nipple.

“Fuck,” you whispered between laboured breaths, his tongue laving over your skin, lapping at every sweet flash of flesh.

His lips moved against you as he uttered a muffled, “Filthy mouth,” kissing back up to your lips in haste. “Always got somethin’ nasty to say.” The deep, rasp of his voice fell into your ears; the heat of his breath against your mouth as he stared at you with an intensity that flashed right through the very core of your soul.

Bare-chested in his presence, the rough fabric of his shirt rubbing against you, you couldn’t quite come up with a reply. Words failed you, wit and intelligence just out of reach and the feeling that you were drunk on him without even having a cock inside you. Joel had been right. You think he might’ve been right about everything and you were prepared, in your shitty kitchen, with your shirt laying in a heap on the floor, to do whatever he wanted you to.

“Joel.” It was the only constant word running through your head, the only name you could muster as he pecked you on the lips and splayed his hands along every bare bit of skin he could reach.

“Not gonna fuck you in the kitchen, baby,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

You wouldn’t have minded if he had, the adrenaline of his touches leaving little room for you to feel picky, but with the slow merging of lips as he placed gentle kisses to your mouth, coaxing you to speak, you managed to shudder out a sentence.

Nodding, you removed your hands from his hair, reaching for his palm that rested on your waist and entwined your fingers with his. You couldn’t bear not feeling his warmth, his weight, over you, your feet hurried as you turned away from him and tugged him down the hallway—intent on shouldering through the open door that led to your room.

With the sun setting in the west, shards of golden light shot through your bedroom window, the patterns on the lace drapes casting shadows of profound nature marching across your comforter—the bunched-up blanket that lay at the foot of your unmade bed after you’d kicked it off in the middle of the night: too hot and head too full of the man that pushed you down onto the very mattress you’d touched yourself in the night before—ignoring the beauty of the four walls illuminated by mother nature’s dying heart.

Human consumption, an all-encompassing need as he ate at your flesh, ripped your skin from its bones as he positioned you in the middle of the bed, kicked his shoes off, and nestled on top of you—a knee between your thighs that pulled a gasping breath from your lungs.

“Pretty baby,” he murmured, lips back on your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone and thumb working over your nipple—watching carefully to note the furrow of your brow, the parting of your lips and the bend in your back as you arched into him, reaching for his shoulders to feel the entire weight of him pushing you through the feathers and springs. “Always so pretty.”

Kissing down your bare stomach, tongue flicking against the skin as he reached his hands into your shorts—fists tugging just slightly to reveal your hipbones and the slight dusting of hair that nestled between them. He lay his lips on it, eyes ablaze when they opened and settled right on your heaving chest. There was question in them as he ran his thumbs over your hips, asking non-verbally whether he could strip you bare—fingers clasped around the hem, pulling just a little further and then ridding of them completely as you nodded your head and bucked your hips to ease the fabric down your legs.

“No panties?” he grumbled, letting you kick away the shorts—hearing the thump as they landed somewhere at the foot of your bed.

The air hitting your naked body left you writhing in the wake of enlightenment, body attuned to every touch as he rubbed his lips over your mons, breathing you in and forcing a whimper from your throat. A retort to his question pulled you from the reverie of weary head, smiling softly as you mumbled, “You’ve already seen them before.”

He narrowed his eyes, smoulderingly handsome and devastatingly beautiful—beauty stripped away as he landed a smack to the side of your thigh, pulled a gasp from your throat and hummed softly.

“Yeah, they were pretty.” He silences any response by grabbing onto your thighs, spreading your legs apart and tilting his head as he stared blankly at your cunt—taking in every detail. “Pretty like this pussy,” he murmurs into the space, breath fanning over your wet slit and causing your hips to twitch. Noting the movement, he slowly and deliberately purses his lips, inhales and breathes out a line of air against your clit. It pulses through you, the cold stream causing your eyes to flutter shut and a heavy heat to settle in your stomach.

“J-Joel,” you stutter, biting your lip, hoping desperately that he’d touch you properly—bring you to that blissful brink where you could teeter just once and go falling over the edge into a meadow blanketed by the hands of angels and the mouth of God.

“What?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his tone that aggravates you further. “Gotta speak up, sweetheart, I ain’t no mindreader.”

“No,” you manage to huff out as he manoeuvres your leg over his shoulder, his thumb running along the outside flesh, teasing you to the point of no return. “No, you’re just an asshole.”

“Mhm,” he agrees, licking his lips as he brings his eyes away from yours and gives his full attention to the leaking slit between your legs that pulses with the heat and aches with the denial. “She don’t seem to think so.”

God and it's disgusting: the way he talks about you. It’s depraved and sick and so awfully indulgent but lying there, limp and at his mercy, you can’t care. All you can think about is his thumb travelling slowly, back and forth, along your slit, the gentle kisses he places on the insides of your thighs and the words “Think I should give her some love, don’t you?” swimming in your head before your mind blanked completely and your skin sears as he presses his mouth fully over your cunt, and begins to lick with intention.

Expletives fall from your mouth, silenced by a second smack to your thigh and a chastising “Language,” as he pauses briefly, leaving you sweating and scared he’s changed his mind before he’s diving headfirst inside you again—tongue teasing at your hole.

It pulls the worst of sounds from your, body reacting on autopilot as you arch into him, head falling back into the pillows and hands grasping the sheet beneath you in the hopes of gaining a semblance of stability.

He doesn’t seem to like that, however, his head tilting upwards and hands grasping onto yours as he pulls them to his head, shuddering as your nails reach his scalp. “Hold on, baby,” he says with a slight smirk. “Don’t want you fallin’ off now, do we?”

The assault on your cunt begins again, his tongue dancing with ease over the full surface, sucking and nipping and eating like he can’t stand to hear the growling or feel the sharp jolts of pain in his stomach anymore. The breathy moans ripping from your throat, the wet sounds reverberating from between your legs that you couldn’t bring yourself to be embarrassed by—the tearing sound as you gripped so hard onto his hair that you pulled tufts from the thick grey.

Whimpering and writhing; unable to function with him lapping up everything from you—stealing the sweetness of your heat and hoarding it away in his back pocket.

When he sunk his fingers inside, life was pumped back into you, a phantom defibrillator bringing a gasp from your throat—eyes snapping open.

“Shh,” he murmured as he pulled his mouth away, working his fingers in and out, stroking at the spot that sent you straight to heaven. “Relax, baby.”

The words swam in your ears, feeling that sweet pressure in your stomach as he continued thrusting his fingers into you, curling them upwards in a manner that had your thighs shaking and a deep exhaling pouring from your chest. You trapped him between your legs when he leant down to lick at you again, small laps that transformed into blissful suckling as he took your clit fully into his mouth. The combination of his mouth and his fingers, the encouraging way he looked at you every single time you dared open your eyes, all had you ascending.

Every nerve was on fire, synapses working double time to keep up with the overload of sensations imploding inside of you. The world scurried away on a wave, eyes rolling back, toes curling as you squeezed your thighs around his head—locking him there to ensure he would not leave you. That he would keep this feeling brewing in your stomach building forever.

“Joel,” you murmured between moans, a trail of expletives following it as you stepped to the edge of the cliffs in Big Sur, looked down at the rolling waves as your eyes fluttered shut, swaying in the wind, and letting the gust sweep you over.

A strangled cry left you, a powerful force of nature overtaking you as you gripped tight onto his hair—briefly recognising his growl as you did so. You continued to fall, the sound of crashing ocean in your ears, before you landed softly in the tall grass and basked in the glow of the setting sun as it nestled across your face.

Your chest rose and fell as his fingers slowed, mouth now hovering above you and watching intently as your head fell into the pillows and your body slumped with the exhaustion of pleasure.

You found his mouth wet when you finally opened your eyes, his fingers smearing slick over your hip as he crawled up your body and tugged you down the mattress.

“You still with me?” he asked as he placed kisses on your neck, brushing sweaty hair away from your forehead and cradling your face in his hand.

You managed a nod, communicating with actions as you pulled his face to yours, kissing him earnestly and trailing your hands towards the hem of his shirt, muttering an “Off,” barely registering his laugh at your eagerness.

“Yeah, you’re still here,” he said with mirth, straddling your hips as he sat up to rip his shirt from his body, throwing it next to the pile of your clothes. “Still want it.” He grunted as he palmed himself through his jeans, the sight of him on top of you, so strong, so powerful, caging you in like you were a baby deer and he was the one standing over your dying body with a rifle. A shot through your legs as you heard the clink of his belt buckle, another to your stomach as he slid it from its loops and finally, one to the head when he reached into his pants and pulled his cock free.

Sizeable in an entirely intimidating way—the vein on the underside that peeked through his fingers as he firmly stroked himself. That slight lick of precum gathering at the tip that dominated the space, your mouth watering as you were taken by the overwhelming urge to suck. He didn’t let you, however—pulling away to slide his jeans off his legs, boxers with them and leant over you to kiss you again.

You couldn’t get enough of his lips, plump flesh bringing you to life as he nestled his mouth against yours—tongue forcing its way inside to meet yours. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and pussy, smelt of them too, yet it was buried under the overwhelming scent of him. The slight whiff of dollar store soap which was endearing more than anything, the musk of cologne he habitually sprayed over himself every day—a few more squirts when he was bedbound for a few days, unable to move with the pain weighing him down, and hadn’t found the will to shower.

It hadn’t been one of those weeks though. You could tell as you ran your fingers through his hair, soft and fluffy, slightly wiry with his old age and thinning in the back but still so full and gorgeous. He smelt so good. So much so that as he buried his face in your neck to nip at your collarbone, you inhaled softly, breathing him in, feeling so content being trapped in this complicated dance with him.

Your head was going funny, your body tingling and then going into overdrive when his hard cock touched the insides of your thighs—his bare chest against yours as he kissed back up to your lips, pecking twice before pulling away to stare at you.

“No thoughts in that head, huh?” he murmured, leaning down to steal another kiss. Back up again to brand you with the force of his eyes. “Just want daddy’s cock, don’t ya.”

The visceral reaction that ran down your spine, shocked you. The undeniable shiver at the nickname, the complete perversity of it that had your cheeks heating in shame.

“You’re fucking disgusting,” you breathed out, no real conviction to it, predicting perfectly what his next words would be.

“And you like it.” His hand slid down your stomach, diving straight inside you and then falling in one swift movement. Fingers brought in front of your face, a slight smile on his face that you revelled in—the prospect of seeing him even slightly happy making butterflies fall and flutter in your stomach. “Sure looks like you like it.”

The physical evidence swayed the final verdict, his wet fingers falling to your lips, you opening your mouth to let it in and lick away the verification.

The groan that came from deep in his chest when you sucked his fingers had slick dripping down your thighs—the hasty way that he pulled his hand away from you to reach for his cock: all-consuming. Every cell cried out for Joel, for the blissful stretch, the fumbling of bodies as he slotted himself inside you and the casual roll of his hips as he drilled into you.

His head at your entrance was undeniably overwhelming, the feel of it dragging back and forth along your slit, slipping in twice before he finally sunk inside—his body covering yours as he breathed a “There you go,” against your lips. “Take it for me, baby.”

His words helped with the ease, the burn of the stretch still prevalent but the need to please him, to be good for him, dulled the pain. The kisses on your forehead, the whispered, strained praise as he pressed inside of you, words jumbled and hurried—no sense to half of them—until he was fully inside you, balls pressed against your ass and a tear trailing into your hairline.

Joel kissed it away, lips closing around the salty liquid, pulling away to gaze at your expression. His palms settled against either side of your head, grounding himself—trying to remain the competent party between the two of you, pulling his teeth between his lips and clenching his jaw as his fists curled into the sheets.

When he’d settled and become comfortable with the tightness of you around him, he kissed you again, lips wet and swollen from where he’d bit at them—a full-mouthed kiss. Opening you up, distracting you from the length of him pulling away, leaving your cunt open and lonely, then the gasp and shudder as he pushed back into you.

“J-Joel,” you stuttered out, unable to recall if you’d said anything except his name for the past hour.

“I know, babydoll, I know.”

He started slow, hips rolling, cock sliding: in and out, round and round, pubic bone catching on your clit—the sweet pressure that clouded you, that left you boneless and aching. The moan you let out was something that you would’ve been embarrassed by if it wasn’t for his praise. The sweet “Good girl,” that crept past his lips, followed by the “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.” It could’ve been perceived as affection if it wasn’t for the growling tone it was uttered with, a particular harsh thrust that was met with a grunt and a whine.

The world around you slipped away, the only constant being Joel and his hooded gaze, his parted mouth as he sucked in every breath you exhaled. Those perfect arms hooking around you, locking you in with him, the weight of him leaving as he sat up on his haunches to gaze down at the sight of him lost inside you—the fire that danced along your belly as he pulled your legs apart and began thrusting at a pace your mind could not catch up with.

Words muffled in your ears, “Such a sweet little cunt.” A flash of heat down your neck as they reached your cock-muddled brain—whispered right inside your head. “Dreamt about this pussy.” Pace faltering as he parted his mouth and took a deep breath; his eyes fluttering shut. “Always fucking dreamin’ about ya.”

That southern drawl that lulled you right through every sensation, comforting words that helped you gain some amount of strength—just wanting to reach him and pull him close. It was cold without him pressed against you. Detached. In a way you didn’t want to be, in a way that you had always thought sex shouldn’t be.

When he grumbled out, “My perfect girl,” you couldn’t stand the separation anymore, pushing up on your forearms and somehow managing to jump him, bracketing his thighs and swinging your arms around his neck—kissing him madly.

The surprised grunt he let out made you smile, his hips stilling as you sat on him—feeling him so deep inside you it felt like he was stabbing at your stomach. You whined against his lips when he rolled his hips upwards, losing the will to move as you buried your face in his neck.

Bodies entwined, limbs entangled and a mouth moving against your hair as it uttered words so sinful that you were sure the cross on your bedroom wall, hung right above your bed, would turn upside down all on its own. The devil in your room, his spawn fucking you on your bed and a laugh on God’s lips because he always knew you were false. That there was no verity to your prayers, that you weren’t ever a true daughter; that you would never spend eternity with him when you fell from the burning bridge to the lake.

“Does my baby wanna ride?” he asked, hands on your ass, moving you up and down along his length whilst he smiled into your hair. Enjoying the desperation—basking in the way you pleaded for him.

You nodded your head at his question, unable to breathe with the casual move of his hips paired with the strong manhandle as he moved you along him.

“Wanted to feel you,” you mumble out softly, entirely dumb with the feel of him—sweat dripping down each body and mingling at the bottom of a well. “Just wanted you.”

Within Joel Miller, in all his outright madness, past all that anger and tribulation, lay a vulnerability you had always wanted to pull from him. A vulnerability that he showed you, in your bed, with you wrapped around him, grinding your hips against his to feel that growth in your stomach. Vulnerability that he perfectly lay in front of you with broken laces lined up in an order, as he whined. A low, breathy thing that had something snapping inside you—a primal instinct as your slick spilt onto his thighs and your brain decided to give him everything.

You reached up to drag your hands through his hair, using his hands on your ass as a guide—where to start and where to stop, where to speed up and slow down—as you rode him. Nails dragged down to his shoulders, digging into the skin of his back as he bucked his hips upwards.

“Pretty, pretty, baby,” he mumbled. “Think about you all the time. Think about that perfect little face when I’m jerkin’ off.”

Such crude words had your heart fluttering, your pace picking up as you pressed your forehead against his and chased that fleeting high. Unable to think of the comedown in the moment, too enraptured by his arms holding you tight against him, the slight dusting of hair against his chest that stimulated your nipples so perfectly and of course, his gorgeous fucking cock that dragged inside you with the sweetest of scrapes. Pushing and pulling, touching against the mind-numbing spot inside you with every thrust—every time you slammed down against his hips.

“I- I,” you managed to breathe out when it all came flooding in. A hurricane swept past the county, headed straight for your home, walls down and completely defenceless when you felt the wind knocking against the panes. “Joel.”

“Shhh, baby, I got you.” He wrapped his left arm fulling around your waist, placing the right against your face to tilt your head back. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Rain was fully beating down on your shelter, dripping through the rafters—threatening to push through the roof and flood you with debris.

“I got you,” he repeated, holding you tight as there was nowhere else to go. Nowhere to run. Just wait for the glass to break and the door to slam open.

You could only moan, unable to keep moving—just letting him do all the work. To keep doing exactly as he had been as the rain came pouring in through the cracks, water rising so fast you were waist-deep in it by the time he muttered a “Let go for me,” his hand moving to cradle the back of your head and keep you locked in place. “C’mon, baby, give daddy another one.”

His words broke the glass entirely, the roof caving in as the hurricane raged, inching closer and closer until it found you—beating you right to the floor.

It was a continual cry of his name, his words sweet in your ear as he worked you through it, tone strangled and tense as his stomach clenched and he thrust his hips at breakneck speed—deciding that he couldn’t focus on you any longer as he was beaten to the ground by the twister alongside you.

Pulling away hastily, he reached a hand down to rub his cock, fisting at the length until he spilt over you with a broken moan and painted your stomach with the making of your union.

You were still twitching when his breathing slowed, his arm still tight around you; not quite ready to let go yet.

The storm had passed, and you were left with the damage of its destruction.

Broken furniture, ravaged landscape, and a hole where you and Joel lay—fingers brushing against one another as you reached out to him.

There was a brief moment of peace, the time between now and what was to come, pausing as if to grant you the sweet mercy of holding on for just a minute longer.

Then, as quickly as it came it was gone, a single kiss to your lips before he gently laid you down, hesitating just a moment, gazing at you like he wanted to stay, before deciding that he was too stubborn to go against his word, and stood up from the bed to find his pants.

Stupidly, in your fucked-out, hazy state of mind, you decided to ignore everything he’d said before: about you not being permanent. Some part of you wanted to believe that he had said it just to hurt you, that there was no real meaning behind them except mindless arrogance and a will to push you away because he was afraid.

“You aren’t staying?”

He paused his movements, halfway through putting his jeans on, and looked at you with something akin to disgust.

“What’d I tell you, princess?”

It was awful. That switch.

As soon as his dick wasn’t wet and leaking, he was gone. Lost to the tunnels of his mind, trapped in a maze that had no exit. You couldn’t find him—couldn’t see that Joel that had been there just moments ago, calling you pretty and perfect. Telling you that you were his girl.

You’d agreed, you knew you had. It didn’t make it any less painful as he refused to look at you when he re-buckled his belt, didn’t even glance over when you reached down for the blankets and pulled them around you—suddenly feeling entirely exposed.

All you could do was watch: in an awkward silence. Scan his face for anything as he pulled his shirt over his head and didn’t even dare sit on the bed to put his boots back on.

It was hurtful when he reached into his back pocket to shake out a cigarette, bringing it to his lips and flicking open his zippo in a way that shouldn’t have been so damn attractive.

“Joel?” Where the bravery had come from, you didn’t know, your body shaking under the covers as his eyes landed on yours for the first time since he’d stared at you as you came undone.

“Mhm?” he grunted out in response, breathing out the smoke and going straight in for another drag.

What you were going to say, you hadn’t thought out. You hadn’t thought out the entire encounter in general and in that moment it felt like you hadn’t thought out anything in your entire life. So, when the mumbled, “Thank you,” fell from your lips and the harsh chuckle fell from his, you couldn’t quite stop the feeling of utter embarrassment and humiliation.

You’d promised him you wouldn’t tell anyone, that you wouldn’t go spouting his business to the park's biggest gossips, so you wouldn’t. You’d have to sit with it, to go back to lying on your bedroom floor every day and regretting everything and everyone. Rehashing every person you had wronged when you were stuck in the harshest depths of your mind, every time you’d been beaten down by those out to get you—every fork in the road you’d come across that seemed to harbour identical destinations: damnation.

“Gratitude accepted,” he mumbled out, cigarette perched between his lips—inhaling and exhaling with it still in his mouth.

For some reason, you wanted to cry. Your throat closed, lip quivering and tears forming in your waterline. You suppressed it—at least, you tried to. He’d already seen you cry before. You had no interest in letting him see it again.

There was a heavy silence as he stood there smoking, eyes trained on you and taking note of your throat bobbing as you swallowed down the lump. You knew you’d been caught then, his twitching jaw that he rid of with another drag of the cigarette, the slight sigh that he huffed out through his nose and the single nod of his head as he walked the few paces to your bed and sat down atop the mattress.

Quietly, he gestured the burning stick towards you, watching as you accepted it gratefully. It helped rid the ache in your chest.

“I said I didn’t wanna say I told you so,” he said, running a hand over his scruff before placing it on your thigh—skin burning through the thin material.

You sniffled, trying to maintain composure as you jutted your chin out and gave him the hardest of stares you could muster.

“And I said I understood.” You let the cigarette burn between your fingers—the single drag making you feel sick to your stomach. “I’m not…naive. Not stupid either.”

“I know,” he said plainly. “I know.”

“Then why are you still here?” It was said bitterly, a tone that you hadn’t wanted to take with him but left your body unconsciously as some form of repressed rage came bubbling in pieces through you.

He swallowed calmly, pulling his hand away as he plucked the cigarette from between your fingers—deciding he needed it more than you did.

“Just wanted to…” he cleared his throat upon hearing the strain in his tone, seemingly struggling to speak the words aloud. “Just wanted to make sure you understood.”

“And I do,” you countered quickly.

“Good,” he countered even quicker.

Your skin was burning, and your cunt began to ache with the loss of him—the imprint that he’d left inside you that you were sure would be there for some time.

The smell of tobacco was starting to make you feel sick, the scent of sex in the air a harsh reminder of everything you’d gained and lost in the space of a few hours.

The sun hid itself behind the horizon, its light no longer shining through and piercing your heart.

It was instead the harsh stab of his gaze, the lasting feeling of his hands on your thighs and the intense tightness in your chest every time you looked at him, that broke you completely.

“You can go,” you mumbled, watching his face for any sign that he didn’t want to do as you asked—that he’d finally lay beside you and stroke your hair as he told you everything he’d done wrong. Just so maybe you could feel normal. Like someone else in this world had finally seen you and understood that you weren’t perfect—that there were more flaws than strengths and more fuckups than good decisions.

There was nothing. Just a blank stare as he stood, knees cracking and back aching—walking away and leaving the phantom feel of him inside you, nestled between your legs.

“See you ‘round,” he mumbled, standing in the doorway.

“Yeah, okay.”

There was a pause as he waited, eyes firmly on the floor as he screwed his brow up—looking like he was thinking hard. Weighing up his options before flicking his gaze up and landing on you: naked and trembling in bed.

“I still mean it.” You were confused for a moment, waiting for a confession, hoping in the grandest of your delusions that he’d change his mind and love you till the end of time. Then, the confirmation that, upon close inspection, seemed to be the closest to a confession you would ever get. “You need anythin’, I’ll be there.”

You nodded to show you understood, unable to speak in fear you’d crack and crumble, and watched with a deep longing in your heart as he turned his back on you, and walked away.

His footsteps were heavy against the floor, his power reverberating all throughout the trailer—the gentleness he displayed in small gifts of protectiveness and affection, shown through the way he closed the door as quietly as he could. If it wasn’t for the creak of the steps, you would’ve thought he hadn’t left at all.

When you were sure he was gone, you allowed yourself a moment to cry, turning over in bed to curl up in a ball of self-pity.

Why he couldn’t stay, you were unsure. Why he wouldn’t hold you close, if only for one night, you didn’t know. You didn’t know anything. You were lost in a world you were so sure was not meant for you, knowing right there, in the sweat of your bed with tears dripping off your nose, that you did not know Joel Miller and would never know him for as long as he lived.

Cracking him open was like trying to split a coconut with nothing but your bare hands.

Crying with no one to hold you, those final words of admission ran through your head; you knew that this problem, you could not go to him with. That the word “anything,” was a courtesy and a promise he could not cater to.

Head pounding with disdain, tears running with despondency, chest aching so painfully you thought your heart would fail. In some way, you wished it would. Just so you could rest for a moment. Because you couldn’t without the warmth of him behind you, his arms tugging you close and lips on the side of your head—whispering everything that had pulled him to you and kept him there.

Turning around to face your window, pressing a palm to your head like it would take away the pain, you gazed at the trailer that neighboured yours. The cracks and cobwebs that littered its surface, the two chairs that spent every waking moment together, tucked into their own corner of the world where they could whisper and giggle—expel every truth because all that time had left them with nothing but absolute trust.

You realised that sitting in the chair on the left, the one that had no owner would mean that you and Joel would have to navigate the same type of relationship: one that relied on a bond unbroken by anything except their mistakes and mistruths.

You faced away, closing your eyes and willing God to send you an eternal sleep—pathetically pretending that he was there beside you as you ran a finger over the drying cum on your stomach and the lingering bruising inside of you that left a blood on your thighs and a butterfly in your head as it knocked against each surface of your skull and fell gracelessly when it came hurtling against the wall.

a/n: well, i finally got it out!! not entirely pleased with it but i never am lol. it's only half proofread just because i got bored halfway through and only went through what i wrote today. either way, i hope you enjoyed it!! maybe...there'll be more chapters after this. it's quite a depressing ending which is what i like best tbh but it'd be nice to see joel finally stop being a dick :))

thanks for reading !

taglist: @1maasrpe

#virginreprise™#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou2 #the last of us fanfiction

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seonghwaddict · 6 months ago

Text

★ DIVINE RUINATION. [ 001 ] one of them.

in which an angel falls right into the care of eight demons. and as caring they have been, things may not be as they seem…

demons!ot8!ateez x fem!fallen angel!reader. genre. fluff, angst, smut, demon au. warnings. polyamory, blood, violence, gore, alcohol consumption, manipulation, swearing, eventual smut. rating. mature.

chapter warnings. injury description (scarring, scratches), petnames (sweetheart, my dear). wc. 2.7k.

lilo’s notes. taglist is open! CHAPTER ONE RAHHHHHH as always, comments and reblogs are highly appreciated~ i'd love to hear your thoughts!! this chapter is kinda dry tbh but it's just an introduction for what's going on.

main masterlist.

your body hurts as you wake up almost a week after falling into hell.

it’s an unfamiliar feeling, never having been in pain before. but before you dwell on the thought, you notice i’m not anywhere familiar. it takes your eyes a little while to adjust to the low candlelight, realising you’re in a bedroom, your head laying against a foreign pillow as you stare up at the ceiling, the drapes of the bedposts dark and partially hiding the rest of the room out of the corner of your eyes.

you lift your head slightly, looking down as the blanket falls to the juncture of your hips, noticing you’re still in your typical white dress, hair brushing against your shoulders. you look up, your head turning as you glance around the room, freezing in place as you notice the figure of a man standing by one of the tall windows, facing away.

seonghwa had been standing in front of the window of the room you were in for a few hours now, thinking of how he would deal with you, his eyes slowly wandering to your sleeping form every so often to make sure you were still alive.

he saw your eyes slowly flutter open in the corner of his eye and turned around fully to look at you, watching as you looked around the room before noticing him. slowly walking over to the bed you were on, he sits at the edge quietly, looking down at you, studying your features.

you, however, scoot further back into the bed as he comes closer, your eyes wide and fearful as they track him, his presence looming over you overwhelmingly and making it hard to breathe for a while. your fingers curl into the edge of the duvet in your lap as he takes a seat, steeling your nerves as you try not to show how afraid you are. but he only watches as you seek comfort in the blanket, watching your fingers tighten around it, his eyes scanning your face, taking in every subtle expression you make.

seonghwa remains sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed on you. it’s only after a few moments of silence that he speaks, his voice low and calm.

"calm down. i'm not going to harm you."

you still don't relax at his words, your voice quivering as you stutter out the first words the come to mind, “w-where am i? w-who are you?”

he notices that your body remains tense even when he assures you he won't harm you, making a frown tug at his plump lips. your voice quivers as you speak, filled with unease, but he maintains his neutral expression, trying to seem as non-threatening as possible as he replies to your questions. "you’re in hell. and i’m seonghwa., the oldest of the eight demon princes in this domain."

your eyebrows furrow. this can't be. you’re an angel, you’re pure and perfect and belong anywhere but hell. your mind scrambles to remember what happened before you seemingly passed out and ended up here, but it turns up empty, only smudged images of memories you can barely piece together flashing through your mind. the dem– seonghwa's words register. your heart drops and thumps anxiously at the thought of being here all alone with demons that could tear you apart if they wanted–which they probably did. “n-no… that can’t be. i’m an angel, th-there’s no way i’m in hell.”

seonghwa observes your expressions as your eyebrows furrow in confusion, noticing the conflicting emotions that are crossing your mind, his voice remaining calm. "you must’ve been banished from the heavens. dropped straight into hell."

“what...” something shatters in you as he says that, your face falling from fear to something more broken. you shift your gaze away from him, trying to come to terms with what he said. he could be lying, you remind yourself, but the empty feeling on your back, the feeling of not carrying your heavy wings, says otherwise. one of your hands shift from the blanket to touch your back, feeling around for the comforting white feathers, but only feeling brushes of the soft material of the dress and slivers of skin. you practically break down, choking back a sob as your hand returns to the blanket, quivering almost as much as your lips, “b-but i don't get it... i was always good, i-i always did everything right a-a-and now i'm here, this doesn’t make any sense.”

he watches every shift in your emotions, shown clearly on your face, as you struggle to come to terms with his words. still, he sits quietly at the edge of the bed, letting you process the news he just gave you. he can see the confusion and heartache in your eyes, the disbelief and the pain of being torn away from your home. after a minute, he speaks again, his voice soft but firm, his eyes fixed on yours.

"you may not understand it now, but you are here now. in the underworld, hell, whatever you want to call it. so, you were banished from the heavens for a reason."

you glance at him, the tears threatening to spill from your eyes making his handsome features look a little distorted. you sniffle, muttering, “y-you're pretty terrible at comforting.”

seonghwa lets out a small chuckle at your comment, the corner of his lips curling up just a little as he shakes his head slightly, letting out a small sigh. “you're in a place far beyond what you're used to. i'm a demon. we're not exactly known for being comforting, sweetheart."

intentionally ignoring the sudden nickname, you look up at him after a few more long seconds, “you're a prince, right? you and your... brothers?”

he watches as you take a bit to come to your senses, your expression hardening slightly as you look up at him, pushing back your tears. if he notes the slight pause when he calls you sweetheart, he doesn’t mention it, only nodding slowly. "yes, correct. we rule the eight circles of hell together."

“then, c-can't you send me back? you must have… some kind of authority or power…” you ask, sounding just a little hopeful, tilting your head curiously. your grip on the blanket loosens and you lift your hands to rub away the tears caught on your cheekbones with the heel of your palm.

seonghwa leans back slightly on the edge of the bed, resting his back against the bedpost to face you better, his eyes never leaving yours.

he considers your question before responding, the frown returning. "no, i can't send you back. the heavens have banished you, meaning you’re no longer one of them. there really is nothing i can do."

you’re no longer one of them.

the words echo in your head, visibly deflating at the harsh truth. you look around the room, trying to distract yourself. it's neat, a dark and classical style. the drapes of the bed match the duvet, the bedposts carved into intricate designs. there are a few candelabra placed around the room, sat on top of shelves and and the bedside table, giving the room a soft warm glow. you focus on the details—grounding yourself in the feeling of the blanket under your fingertips, the mildly sweet smell wafting through the air, the rustle of fabric as he shifts to look at me. “whose room is this?”

noticing the change in your demeanor as his words sink in and the truth of your situation settles in, he watches you kook around the room, your gaze shifting from one corner to another as you take in your surroundings.

"this room belongs to me. i didn't have you stay in any of the guest rooms as i needed to keep an eye on you. besides, i thought you might be more comfortable in here than in a plain, boring bedroom."

you glance at him, trying to think of what else to say. you’ve always been uncomfortable in long silences, despite your usually quiet nature. “i'm sorry for, um, intruding…”

his eyes are drawn to the slight fidgeting of your fingers, your digits twitching as you pinch the edges of the duvet, the fabric wrinkling on the sides. your voice soft and timid, he can’t help but shake his head lightly, his gaze still focused on you. "it’s quite alright, sweetheart. you’re not intruding—you had no control over this."

the gentleness in his tone surprises you, momentarily making you go silent again as you return to shifting your gaze around the room, easing your grip on the duvet.

“so you all live in this... house?”

the surprise in your expression as he speaks to you gently doesn’t go unnoticed by him, deciding to look out the window as you continue glancing around the room.

"yes, we all live in this manor together. all eight of us."

“so, i'm in a house with eight demons. great.” you mutter under your breath, trying to think of how you would survive this without being torn apart and eaten for lunch.

he chuckles softly at your words, hearing them despite how quiet your tried to be. amused by your comment, he responds with his laced with a hint of playful menace. "don’t worry, sweetheart. we may be demons, but we don't eat our guests. usually."

you stare at him as he responds to your muttered comment, failing to notice the playfulness in his voice and shrinking back a little, apprehensive. you open your mouth to respond, but your stomach makes an odd growling noise, making you look down at it, brows furrowed. it's never done that before, you’ve never felt an empty feeling in your stomach like that

hearing the growling noise from your stomach, seonghwa’s eyebrows raising slightly in surprise. "are you hungry, sweetheart? when was the last time you ate?"

you blink, crossing your arms over your stomach, trying to soothe the uncomfortable emptiness, “there’s food, you know… up there…”

he listens as you speak, nodding slowly in understanding.

"right, i nearly forgot about that. angels don't need food, do they?"

you shake your head, not missing the slightly bitter tone of his previously gentle voice. “we- they don't.”

it’s nothing personal, but he can't help but feel mildly resentful, his sentiments towards angels clear in his tone. “angels are nothing like demons. they're pure, perfect, untouched by the chaos and darkness of hell…” he takes a deep breath, reminding himself of his orders to keep you safe. he continues, his voice still somewhat cold, but less bitter than before. "so... i guess you're not used to being hungry, huh? i’ll ask wooyoung to bring you something to eat."

“wooyoung..?” you question, tilting your head and watching as he stands up from the edge of the bed, the mattress straightening once again as he stands up fully.

he thinks it’s a little cute, the way you tilt your head with a question in your eyes as you repeat wooyoung’s name. seonghwa takes a few steps away from the bed, turning back to look at you as he responds with a slight smile on his lips, "wooyoung is one of my brothers, one of the princes. he usually takes care of food and similar matter, though i suppose he’ll show up with san as well."

you hum, nodding slightly at the little piece of information he feeds you, eyes following him as he walks away. part of you doesn't want him to go, weirdly calmed by his presence despite his species. “so, as the oldest, are you in charge here?”

something about the way you look at him, full of curiosity and seeking answers, makes a soft sense of power flow through him. you’re a helpless little angel in a den of demons, warmth shifting in his usually cold chest at the thought of caring for you.

he gives you a small smile at your inquiry, his head tilting to the side as he responds, "well, no, not really. i do have most of the authority here, you could say."

“your name was never mentioned up there,” you tilt your head the same way as his, subconsciously mirroring his actions, “it was hong... hong-something, i don't remember. is he in charge?”

seonghwa smiles at your subconscious action, finding it oddly endearing; how you seem to copy his movements like a child copying their parent. the thought makes that warmth return to his chest.

"ah, yes, i know. that would be hongjoong, my dear. he’s more or less our unofficial leader, though we do rule all together. still, my authority predates even his."

“so he’s one of your brothers?” you ask.

he can't help but notice the genuine curiosity in your voice, a flicker of surprise passing through his eyes as you continue to ask him questions. he’s aware the other princes, some less than others, might not be as gentle as him, so is it really so bad if he’s willing to answer all your burning questions?

he nods, his expression softening as he responds, his voice still calm. "yes, he’s a couple decades younger than me."

you hum, nodding along as you watch him stand at the doorway. “how come you're not the leader then? since you’re older.”

leaning against the doorway, his body resting against the dark oak frame, seonghwa smiles at your question, his eyes fixated on you. he takes a moment before responding, contemplating how best to explain.

“leadership isn't just about age or seniority. hongjoong has the authority, and the power. i may be the oldest, but i don't want the throne to myself. i’m content with my current position."

“i see.” you nod, falling into silence as you take in all the information, not really having anything else to say.

seonghwa observes you and your silence, a thoughtful look on his face. he can practically see the cogs turning in your mind, the processing of all the information he's given you. your sense slight unease also hangs heavy in the air, but he tells himself you’ll wake up to him and his brothers fairly soon based on how you’ve been responding to him thus far.

he speaks up, trying to ease the tension, his voice soft, motioning towards the door with a nod of his head. "i’m going to go tell wooyoung to bring you some food. stay in here, please."

nodding silently, you watch as he leaves and shuts the door behind him. the click of the handle echoes lightly through the room and you wait, listening to his footsteps fade away before getting out of the bed, the muscles of your limbs and back a little sore.

the long silk of your dress's skirt drags over the wooden floor panels as you walk around the room, looking around as you wait for this wooyoung that was mentioned to come along with food.

pausing, you stop at a mirror, leaned against a wall and framed in gold, looking at yourself in the reflection. the dress was the same, the white silk and flowing tulle draping over your body and the ends pooling on the floor, obscuring your ruffled white socks; surprisingly clean considering you fell all the way here. you turn, looking over your shoulder at your back, you breath hitching as you nearly fall to your knees in despair.

on each shoulder blade, where your beautiful feathered wings once were—the wings that carried you so effortlessly, a reliable and comforting weight on your back—was now occupied by two scars the size of the base of your wings. there seems to be some kind of irritation, patches of pinks and reds on and around the wounds, a few scratches on your shoulders and upper arms.

you’re no longer one of them.

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lovelettersfromluna · 1 year ago

Note

yk how in one of your girls Ellie mentioned she got off to reader and was thinking abt her all day while she was gone… can u plz plz plz writing something about Ellie rubbing one out to reader OR OR writing one of Ellie’s solo vids since she said she did solo when Julia left.. I just love seeing Ellie pleasure herself I need it so bad..

an: I literally have a paper that I need to write that’s due TONIGHT but I’m doing this first because it’s more important 😌

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+, MDNI, solo!ellie, fingering, horny!Ellie, dirty talk, Ellie fantasizes about reader, this all takes place in the second chapter of my camgirl!Ellie series, Ellie has sensitive nipples bc I said so, pure smut with little plot, slight sugarmommy!Ellie if you squint??, lmk if I missed anything!

Ellie was bored out of her fucking mind.

She was always bored when you were at work, to be honest, but she usually had Julia to entertain her. She would usually text or call her, invite her over to get a quick video in, anything to fill up the time where the apartment was void of you.

That was out of the question now.

She tried everything. She tried making herself something to eat, which she ended up burning. She tried watching tv, but there was nothing on that she liked. She tried playing video games, which resulted in her screaming at some fucking incel half way across the world for being a fucking idiot. Hell, she even tried putting herself down for a nap like she was a child, which once again failed.

Ellie was getting antsy, wanting nothing more than to just be with you, be in your presence. And that's fine, because you and her are friends! It has nothing to do with the fact that ever since you had agreed to being her temporary partner, she couldn't seem to get you out of her mind.

That wasn't it at all...

She let out a gentle huff of annoyance, seemingly the hundredth one for the day, as she got up from the couch in the living room and made her way to her bedroom.

Ellie fell back into the soft comforter on her bed, a gentle sigh leaving her lips as she stared up at the ceiling for a moment before she turned over to grab her phone to check the time, which only made her groan out in frustration.

You wouldn't be home for another four hours.

This had to be some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, why were you still even working! Ellie had told you time and time again that she was making more than enough to support the both of you, and now you were even entitled to it! You were helping her bring it in! She hated how stubborn you were when it came to the topic.

She just wanted to take care of you...

You deserved to be spoiled. You spent so much of your time at the record store, slaving away to posers who usually belittled you for being a woman in the music business, wanted to get into your pants, or both, and she hated it, she always had.

She fantasized about never letting you lift a finger, always telling you that she would take care of it. Ellie never wanted you to worry your pretty little head about anything, regardless of if you agreed to make content with her or not.

Ellie would never say it out loud, but the idea of spoiling you made her weak in the fucking knees.

And she isn't entirely sure how it lead to her hand resting on her waist, toying with the sliver of skin thats peeking out between the hem of her t shirt and the waistband of her sweatpants, slender fingers slowly creeping beneath them as her hazy, lust filled eyes stare down at her own legs splayed out on her bed...

Although she is sure of how it happened, she knows that with thoughts of spoiling you, come other thoughts of you, because suddenly she's thinking of you settled between her legs, wide eyes staring up at her, eager to please, wet tongue lapping at her soaking wet core, pretty lips wrapped around her throbbing clit.

Or maybe she's thinking of something else, maybe she's thinking about you straddling her, bouncing on her cock, back arched as the sweet sound of your pretty moans fill up her room, paired with the noise of your skin slapping against her own. She can practically feel your soft, supple skin spilling out from under her large hands, she can't help but feel and squeeze whenever you're around.

And suddenly, Ellie isn't so bored after all.

Because her sweatpants are long gone, tugged off and throw somewhere in her room along with her soaked boxers. Her t shirt it pushed up, revealing her perky tits and pebbled nipples, the cold air in her room alone making them harden, making her hiss as her skilled fingers work on her soaked core.

She isn't laying down anymore, instead she's propped up a bit, her back resting against her pillows, eyebrows furrowed as her fingers work on her clit, abusing the poor sensitive numb as she rolls sharp circles into it. Ellie was never careful with herself, not like she was with you. She liked being rough when it came to her own weeping pussy, making it all red and sore, sopping wet and begging for more.

"A-ahh...f-fuck...just like that baby...mmhh...right there...dont fucking stop.." She groaned out, eyebrows furrowed, freckled cheeks flushed.

Ellie always prided herself on her filthy mouth. She could feel the way your pussy fluttered around her fingers or her tongue whenever she said something particularly dirty, so of course when thinking about you, her words didn't cease.

Her head fell back against her pillow when she pushed two fingers into her drooling pussy, a long, loud string of moans leaving her swollen lips as she called out for you, your name becoming her own personal chant as her eyes fluttered shut..

"Fuuuuckkk...that's it baby...f-fuck....fuckin' take it...thats it...thats my good girl" She shuttered out, struggling to form full sentences as she brought her eyes back down to the mess between her legs.

She tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, one of her hands coming up and ghosting over her hard nipple, making her whine softly before she pinched it, making her eyes wince as she thrusted her hips up to meet her fingers, wanting them to go deeper into her weeping core.

Ellie let the images of you run through her head. She imagined you on top of her, grinding your perfect pussy onto hers. She imagined you underneath her, your ass bouncing against her thrusts as she fucked her cock into you, drilling you from behind.

But what really did it? Was imagining that her fingers, were yours.

"M'gonna....you're gonna make me fucking cum...o-oh my god...yeah...yeah right there....fuckfuckfuckfuck!" Ellie called out, her back arching as she felt her orgasm right there on the edge, the feeling she was chasing after dangling right over her head, so close she could practically fucking taste it...

Practically taste you.

Ellie screamed out your name, her hair messy as she pressed her head further into the pillow, her orgasm washing over her so intensely, it was almost fucking painful.

She struggled to catch her breath, hazy eyes staring down at her hand as she slowly rubbed her clit, riding out her orgasm as soft little hums and moans left her lips, almost liking the overwhelming feeling of sensitivity that came after she orgasmed.

Ellie sighed softly, looking over at her phone and checking the time, seeing that she still had a little less than four hours until you got home.

A little less than four hours to do what she just did, over and over again.

#ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie x you

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slytherinslut0 · 1 year ago

Text

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Twenty-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, SMUT (literally pure FILTH), Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Degradation Kink, Humiliation, DubCon(?), Fingering, Multiple Orgasm, Overstimulation, Corruption Kink, Subspace, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Sadism, Semi Public Sex, PIV, Choking, Gagging.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

As the class finally drew to a close, the air filtered with an unspoken tension that shadowed over the room like a heavy fog--enveloping you and Mattheo in a world of charged silences and lingering desires. The classroom, once filled with the droning voice of Professor Snape, now echoed with the shuffling of papers and the distant sounds of students in the hallway.

Your hands moved almost mechanically, still trembling with the aftermath of your release as you briskly packed your bag--but each accidental brush against Mattheo sent a jolt of electricity through your skin, igniting a fire within you that refused to be tamed.

When you glanced over, his eyes locked onto yours, their depths a tumultuous storm of lingering, intoxicating lust that sent a thrill down your spine. The way he had treated you during this class felt like mere restraint, a mere fraction of what lay beneath the surface. Anticipating the upcoming encounter in the bathroom, you couldn't fathom the depths of desire he was capable of unleashing, and you'd honestly never been more fucking excited in your life.

Abruptly, the hypnotic trance Mattheo had ensnared you in shattered, as a familiar voice called out your name. Looking up, you found none other than Tom Riddle standing in front of your desk--his eyes, a mirror image of Mattheo's stormy gaze, flicked between you and his brother, a subtle tension creasing his brow.

"I heard what happened with Berkshire," his voice was gentle, yet laden with concern. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm glad you weren't hurt."

Your cheeks burned, nerves spreading through you as you could practically feel the frenetic energy coming from Mattheo multiplying by the second. Though you couldn't see his face, you could vividly imagine the clenching of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze, and the way his fingers must be tightening into fists, gripping his bag with a white-knuckled intensity. Ignoring the persistent heat between your thighs, you forced yourself to straighten up, your posture a facade of composure.

"Thank you," you said, your voice laced with genuine thankfulness, your eyes meeting Tom's with a blend of appreciation and depth. "I appreciate your concern...luckily Mattheo was there to help."

The simplicity of your words belied the complexity of the emotions swirling within you--a mix of gratitude, desire, and a strange kind of loyalty that bound you to Mattheo in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. Before Tom could get the chance to reply, Mattheo's arrogant sneer broke through the tension, his voice dripping with condescension as he mocked his brother.

"Quite the knight in shining armor, isn't he?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain as he turned his gaze from you, back to his brother. "Inviting you to the party, only to disappear when things got tough...guess it was only a matter of time before you showed your true colours."

Tom shifted uncomfortably under Mattheo's piercing gaze, a mixture of shame and resentment flickering in his eyes. The tension in the room grew taut, a silent battle of wills unfolding before you, with you being caught directly in the middle of it. Tom cleared his throat, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he composed himself, a veneer of calm settling over him.

"Well, you know how it is," he said, his voice steady but lacking conviction as he stared at his brother. "Parties can be rather...unpredictable."

His words hung in the air, an attempt to diffuse the tension, but the strain in his voice revealed the truth behind his carefully crafted facade. In an attempt to escape Mattheo's merciless gaze, he turned back to you, attempting a weak smile, though it failed to reach his eyes.

"I do apologize again," he said, attempting to muster up as much sincerity as possible. "I'd like to make it up to you. Perhaps we should cancel our meeting tomorrow? You could probably use the rest."

You nodded, grateful for Tom's consideration despite the lingering tension in the room. "Yes, that would be appreciated," you replied meekly, mustering a small smile. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do, little witch." Tom managed another weak smile in return, his eyes reflecting a mix of regret and understanding. "Take care. I'll see you Thursday."

As Tom made his exit, Mattheo shot his brother one final, dark glance--his eyes filled with a silent yet unmissable warning, one you knew only you would catch. Then, without a word, he too spun around on his heel and left the room, his departure swift and purposeful, leaving a trail of palpable intensity in his wake.

With a cautious pace, you trailed after him, allowing the tide of students to swallow his figure in the chaotic shuffle. Navigating the bustling corridor, you granted him distance, a deliberate move to give him space, hoping the interim might quell the storm brewing within him. Yet, an unsettling intuition gnawed at you, suggesting it might only intensify his brooding anger.

Upon ascending to the third floor, you took a moment to collect yourself, inhaling a sharp breath to steady your racing heart. As you gently pushed open the bathroom door, there he stood--Mattheo, his posture rigid, leaning against the sink with an air of restrained aggression. His eyes, sharp as flint, bored into yours, the confined space practically crackling with the weight of unspoken tension.

"Close the door." His voice was harsh, cold, firm. "Lock it."

Mattheo's command sliced through the air, his voice an icy whip that lashed at your nerves, compelling you to obey. Swallowing hard, your pulse echoing in your ears, you eased the door shut with trembling hands, the soft click of the lock amplifying the palpable tension in the confined space.

Mattheo watched you--his eyes, sharp and unyielding, drilled into your soul as he shed his uniform jacket, the fabric sliding off his shoulders with calculated grace. It landed on the counter beside the sink, forgotten in the intensity of the moment as he then methodically began rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, revealing the sinewy strength of his forearms. Every movement he made was deliberate, a display of control that left you breathless

"Good girl," he stated, devoid of any warmth, his words falling like cold steel. "Drop your bag and come here."

A hard lump formed in your throat, forcing down a gulp that felt like swallowing shards of glass. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, its rhythm echoing in your ears like a relentless bass drum, each beat threatening to shatter the fragile structure of your sternum. Fingers entirely unsteady, you allowed your bag to slide off your shoulder, hitting the ground with a muffled thud, its impact barely audible over the cacophony of your racing pulse.

And then, taking deliberate, slow steps, you began to move toward him, your cautious approach mirroring the delicate balance of a predator stalking its prey--but in this moment, you weren't entirely sure who was supposed to be the prey. You, or Mattheo.

Coming to a halt in front of him, you felt the intensity of his stare searing into your skin. His eyes, dark and magnetic, darted to your lips, a hunger burning in their depths. The palpable energy surrounding him was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around you both like a tightly coiled thread, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

"Hands behind your back," he commanded, his gaze lingering on your lips with a predatory intensity.

Obeying him, you slowly moved your hands to your back, your lungs quivering with anticipation. His eyes flickered down to your chest, a subtle challenge in his gaze.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low, velvety growl, the praise sparking heat in your veins. "You're going to let me unbutton your shirt, aren't you?"

His words hung in the air, laced with desire and dominance, demanding your consent without uttering the words explicitly, inspiring your thighs to throb with need. The commanding tone of his voice, coupled with the unspoken request, sent shivers sprinting down your spine. Your fingers trembled behind your back as you nodded, succumbing to his silent demand.

"Can't you talk?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes smouldering with intensity. "Use your words, Raven."

"Yes," you breathed, your voice a fragile whisper. "I'm going to let you."

He blinked. "Good girl,"

Mattheo emitted a low, appreciative hum, his fingers gliding over the buttons of your uniform shirt with deliberate slowness. Each button yielded to his touch, his eyes fixated on his hands' movements, as if he feared missing a single detail. The cool bathroom air caressed your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and a shiver rippled through you as his fingertips found the last button, fully exposing your bra and chest to his hungry eyes.

His gaze traced every inch of newly exposed flesh as though he were savoring a newfound delicacy, his intensity leaving you breathless in the hushed atmosphere.

"Mm," he murmured, his eyes slithering up to meet yours. "You fuck me up in the best way, you know that, Raven?"

Your heart hammered in your chest, your nails biting into your palms as if anchoring yourself in the moment. "Do I, Mattheo?"

Mattheo stood before you, a coiled spring of restrained energy--the raw power emanating from him made every muscle in his body tense, as if he were holding back a storm. This version of him, this potent mixture of control and desire, was utterly captivating. You had never witnessed him like this before, and the sheer force of his presence, unyielding yet tantalizing, had the power to send every nerve in your body into a full out frenzy, and bring you to the brink of euphoria without even a single touch.

"You make me feel fucking alive," he murmured, his eyes fixated on your lips as if they held the secrets of the universe. "You're the only drug I can't live without."

"Oh...Gods..." your breath caught in your throat, desire and desperation intertwining in a tumultuous dance. Every fiber of your being screamed for him, ached for his touch, your voice leaving your lips in barely a whisper. "Please...kiss me..."

In an instant, Mattheo's lips crashed onto yours with a furious intensity, a maelstrom of pent-up desire and longing. His hands found your hips, pulling you against him with an urgency that left you breathless. They roamed over your back, tracing every curve, before ascending to tangle in your hair, holding your head in place with a possessive, commanding grip. The kiss deepened, a wild, passionate exchange that ignited a fire within you, consuming every rational thought.

With a swift, graceful movement, he spun you around, your back meeting the cold, unforgiving surface of the sink counter. The sensation made you shudder against his body, amplifying the electrifying connection between you as he tightened his grip in your hair. His lips molded to yours, the world outside fading into oblivion as you surrendered to the storm of sensations, lost in the overwhelming fervor of his kiss.

"Fuck...you're such a good girl for me..." he pulled back, lips falling to attack your neck. "You'd do anything I fucking said, wouldn't you?"

A gasp escaped your lips as he sank his teeth into your skin, eliciting a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that shot through your senses like lightning. Your fingers instinctively tangled in his disheveled curls, holding onto him as if he were your lifeline, your body still trembling from the aftermath of the classroom encounter.

Words eluded you, your mind clouded with desire and need. "I...I-fuck..."

"Mm," he breathed against your skin, his tongue tracing a slow, tantalizing path up the side of your throat. "You're still sensitive, aren't you, pretty girl..."

"Yes," you gasped, your breath hitching in your throat, desire pooling in the depths of your stomach. His hands found your waist, fingers gripping your skirt tightly, pulling it higher up your hips, setting your senses ablaze. "Gods..."

Mattheo groaned against your skin, his hot breath tickling your ear. With a skillful movement, he shifted one hand, his fingers teasing your heat through the damp fabric of your panties. Your back arched as pleasure washed over you, your body reacting to his touch with unbridled hunger. Pressed against the counter, you squirmed and gasped, utterly consumed by the electrifying intensity of his embrace.

"Shit...still nice and fucking wet for me...you love when I'm in control, don't you?" He snickered, breath washing warm over your ear. "That's why you act like a little fucking brat around me all the time...you want me to put you in your place...you want me to do the most unholiest shit to you imaginable..."

A low, unrestrained groan escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space, surprising even yourself. Your head fell back, offering him better access, as his mouth fervently marked your skin, leaving a trail of purple possessive bruises above your collarbone. Your fingers tightened their hold on his hair, grasping it aggressively as if you could pull your release from his scalp, his assault on your sensitive clit becoming relentless.

"Fuck-yes, Mattheo..." you whined, squirming against his hand, voice torn with pleasure. "I-I love it..."

"Yeah, that's right..." he sneered, his arrogance breaking through his hardened facade. "You want me to use you however I want, whenever I fucking want, don't you..."

His voice turned harsh, a husky growl escaping his lips as his fingers abruptly pulled back, yanking your panties aside before returning to swirl your clit with a relentless rhythm. A cry tore from your throat, louder than you intended, and Mattheo responded with a primal growl--his free hand moving swiftly, clamping over your mouth, muffling your sounds of pleasure as he claimed a new expanse of skin on the other side of your neck with his teeth.

"The things you fucking do to me, Raven..." he growled against your neck, fingers dipping down to your core, slipping inside you without warning. "I wanted to bend you over that desk so fucking bad...make you cum on my cock in front of that whole fucking class..."

Your lids fluttered as his thumb grazed your clit, two fingers slowly pumping in and out of you. "You're such a good little malleable slut I bet you'd have fucking let me, wouldn't you, princess?"

You attempted to nod against his hand, pathetic desperation fueling your insane compliance. It was entirely clear to you that in this moment, you were willing to say anything, do anything, just to coax release from him. Your craving was insatiable, a hunger that consumed you entirely. You needed him, every part of him, everything he was willing to offer, and you were more than prepared to fucking beg for it.

"That's what I fucking thought..." he purred, nipping your earlobe. "You're my desperate little whore, desperate to fucking please me, aren't you?"

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as he spoke, the arousal pooling between your thighs growing even more intense with each syllable. Part of you wanted to deny it, to protest and tell him that you weren't his whore, just to see how much further you could push him, but the words caught in your throat and seemingly dissipated into thin air as he pumped his fingers deeper into you, sending another tidal wave of pleasure through your body--and in response, your forced yourself to nod against his palm.

"Yeah, that's right..." his voice was a growl, his movements becoming more relentless. "Such a bratty little mouth, but when it comes down to it, you have nothing to fucking say..." you whimpered, legs trembling, threatening to give out from under you. "Just because this pussy holds power over me, doesn't mean for a damn second you can tease me like that...I will take you anywhere I want...I will fuck you so hard the people in Hogsmeade will hear your screams..."

He lowered his lips back to your neck, kissing and biting at the sensitive skin there as his fingers continued to work their magic. Gasping, you nodded again, completely melting at his words, the pleasure becoming too intense, too all-consuming as it threatened to overpower you entirely.

Mattheo's palm released your mouth, his fingers diving into your hair, tugging gently as he smothered your lips with his. A gasp escaped you, lost in the fervor of his kiss, your attempts to pull away to catch your breath immediately met with his unyielding force. His mouth moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on ravenous, as if he could devour you whole. Just when you felt your entire being coiling, ready to unravel in the throes of climax, he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You want to cum for me, princess?" He murmured, tightening his grip in your hair. "Third times a charm, isn't it, baby..."

"Yes. Please-" you squealed, voice torn. "Please!"

"Good girl--so fucking good," he growled, his voice deep and rough with desire. "Cum for me, angel."

The nickname sent a thrill of excitement and warmth rushing through you, your body shaking with pleasure as you felt yourself teetering closer and closer to the edge. With one final thrust of his fingers, Mattheo pushed you over the edge, sending you into the waves of orgasm for the third time today. You let out a gasp that you couldn't hold back, and he quickly covered your mouth with his own--your body shaking with pleasure as waves of ecstasy coursed through every inch of you.

Finally, after what you were certain had to have been an eternity, the waves ebbed away, leaving you feeling breathless and overly sated. Mattheo withdrew his fingers from your throbbing core, a satisfied smile playing across his lips as he met your eyes.

"There's my obedient girl," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before bringing his fingers up to your lips, forcing them past your teeth. "Taste yourself off of me...tell me how fucking good you taste..."

Under the heat of his praise, you were entirely unable to resist--taking his command without protests, obediently sucking on his fingers, tasting your own slick arousal off his skin. You moaned around them, holding his burning stare, the taste sending a fresh wave of need through you.

"You like that?" He purred, his tone an exasperated drawl. "You like tasting what I fucking do to you?"

You nodded, whining in response as he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing a gag before he huffed, ripping them from your mouth without warning. Before you could even think to say or do anything further, his grip on your hair tightened, pulling you forward. You gasped as he spun you around, pressing your front against the hard surface of the counter, and you shivered as you watched his hand wrap around your throat in the reflection in front of you.

"You see that little slut in the mirror?" he hissed, his breath hot against your ear. "She belongs to me."

You groaned, feeling his hand leave your hair before sliding down your back to cup your ass, flipping up your skirt as he pressed his throbbing erection against you, shoving your hips firm into the counter with enough force to make you yelp.

"I think you forgot who holds the power over your fucking goals...yet again," he groaned, tightening his hold on your throat, jerking his insistent erection against your ass. "You want that mentorship, then you're going to have to start watching that dirty little mouth around me more often princess...understand me?"

"Yes," you gasped, the feeling of his hardness pressing against you making your entire body quiver. You hissed the words out through the hold on your neck. "I fucking understand."

"Mm. Yeah you fucking do." He groaned, teeth nipping at your ear. You moaned softly in response, grinding your hips back against him. "Filthy girl. You're going to watch me fuck you."

It was then that Mattheo released your throat, his hand slithering back to hold a firm grip on your hair. With that, he used it to pull your head up and back against his chest, so that you were looking at yourself in the mirror above the sink. After a brief moment of manoeuvring, Mattheo had undone his belt and freed himself--his thick, smooth length pressing against your ass as he seethed in relief, before he reached down and slid his fingers along your slick folds, making you watch as he teased your dripping entrance.

"I wanted to throat fuck you until you begged me for mercy but I genuinely can't fucking wait anymore...I need to get inside this tight little cunt..." you mewled, watching your own desire on display as he circled around your entrance before thrusting two fingers inside you. "I've made you cum three times, Raven...this fuck is for my pleasure, not yours...understand?"

You moaned, nodding your head, feeling the orgasm rise within you as Mattheo pumped his fingers in and out of you with an experienced hand, his grip on your hair tightening.

Noting his dissatisfaction with your lack of words, you quickly gathered yourself and answered. "Yes, Mattheo...I understand..."

As your muscles clenched around his fingers, Mattheo pulled out abruptly, slapping your ass with a hard, firm smack--leaving your cheek stinging in its wake.

"Good girl," he said, positioning himself at your entrance now, teasing you with a few slow, sensual thrusts along your slick slit. "You're mine to use, to play with, to fuck. Say it."

"I'm-fuck!" Your words were cut short as he pushed inside you, splitting you wide with one long, harsh stroke--slamming deep, smacking your cervix with ease. "Shit-"

"Oh, fuck..." he hissed, his lips pressed against your ear. "You're so fucking tight, Raven...fuck, it's like you were made for my fucking cock..."

"Oh..." your sight blurred as you felt every single delicious inch of him inside you, felt him so fucking deep into your stomach that you were certain he'd split you in half if he kept going. "Mattheo-fuck-oh..."

"Say it or I'll fuck you so hard every breath you take tomorrow will remind you of my cock." You could see the pleasure etched on his face as he felt you clench around him, and you knew that he was enjoying this, enjoying every fucking second of it. "Go on, little whore...you can do it..."

"Ah-shit...I'm-" your words were cut short yet again as his hips started to piston in and out of you, hard and fast. He took you with almost ruthless precision--each thrust felt like it was calculated both for his pleasure and to test your endurance. You dug your nails into the countertop, clinging on for dear life as he moved inside of you without mercy. "Gods! Fuck-I'm yours! I'm-oh!-yours...please-"

At your plea, Mattheo huffed, jerking your head back and holding your eyes to his in the mirror as his free hand slipped up your front, finding your jaw and holding it firm in place. You could feel his hips slamming against your ass, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge of losing your sanity, the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoing through the empty bathroom.

"You're okay...just breathe, Raven," he cooed, releasing his hold on your jaw and moving to your lips, shoving two thick fingers past your teeth. "You can take me...you can take it all, can't you?"

You whimpered in response, feeling tears prickling at the corners of your eyes as he reached for the back of your throat, forcing a gag, his hand in your hair relenting only for a moment before sneaking down and clasping around your neck--holding you firm to his chest as he fucked deep inside your heat. Every inch of your being was focused on the raw, animalistic sensations that ricocheted through your body under his power--his cock spearing you open, splitting you wide with every single thrust.

"Yeah, you can..." he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "That tight little pussy can take this fucking cock..."

Your body trembled with pleasure as Mattheo's low, gravelly voice rumbled through you, his words only serving to increase the intensity of your sensations, emboldening you to take everything he had to offer and then some. With a growl, Mattheo's hand around your throat slowly loosened, gliding down the front of your body until he'd found your clit and began to rub tight, fevered circles against it. You cried out in pleasure, the sound muffled by his fingers still planted firmly in your mouth.

"That's it," he groaned, his lips pressed hotly against your ear as his hips continued to slam against you. "Watch yourself in the mirror, Raven...watch how this perfect little body breaks for me..."

In a desperate haze of pleasure, you met his gaze in the mirror, watching the way your body writhed under his demanding touch. The fire in your belly smoldered, stoked higher by the relentless pounding of Mattheo's cock. You groaned against his fingers, drool spilling from your lips and dribbling down your chin. You were so close, so unbelievably close to teetering over the edge for the fourth fucking time in one day, you couldn't even begin to comprehend it--your mind felt like it was about to melt into a mere puddle at your feet.

"There we go," he cooed, sensing your incoming climax, his fingers quickening their pace. "Watch yourself cum like a whore on my cock. You love this, don't you? You love being fucked like the dirty little slut you are."

His eyes roamed over you possessively, and you knew that he was taking in every detail, committing this moment to memory. His movements grew rougher, more insistent, as he drove you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your muscles tightening, and you let out a strangled moan as you finally broke for him, for the fourth fucking time. Your pussy spasmed around his cock as you came hard, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm.

"Shit-" Mattheo huffed, his own eyes fluttering shut as your pussy milked his cock. "You squeeze me so fucking good when you cum-fuck..."

You knew that he was close now, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pounded into you with all his strength, rubbing you through the aftershocks of your orgasm until he pulled his hand away, both hands shifting to your hips, gripping you with enough force to bruise.

"Fuck-I'm gonna fill you up, baby..." you felt him twitching inside you, you felt his cock practically begging to cum. "Tell me you want my cum, Raven...beg me to cum inside this tight little pussy..."

"Please-" you squeaked, his thrusts turning erratic, his breath sputtering against your neck. "I want your cum, Mattheo! Please!"

"Shit...fuck-" finally, he let out a feral growl, his hands tightening around your hips as he thrust into you one last time before he stalled, his nails digging into your flesh with so much force you nearly winced.

You felt him twitching inside you, felt his cum pouring inside your heat as he came hard, his orgasm almost overwhelming you with its intensity. Gasping for breath, you leaned heavily against the counter, feeling completely spent, and Mattheo's arms slowly left your hips, slithering around your waist, holding you against his chest as he pressed a few small, sporadic kisses to the back of your neck.

After he'd finally come down from his high, and the both of your pulses had somewhat slowed, Mattheo pulled out, quickly moving to tuck himself away while you began piecing yourself back together. After a few silent moments, you felt composed enough to break it.

"Remember when you said you didn't want to take my virginity?..." you said, a sly smile playing on your lips, though you attempted to conceal it. "What a pretty little lie that was."

Mattheo stole a stoic glance at you, his emotions carefully veiled, as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to untangle the sweat-drenched strands from his forehead. With a deliberate yet seemingly effortless motion, he reached for his jacket, the fabric clinging to his form in the heat, his jaw clenched in an attempt to suppress the grin that threatened to break free.

"That wasn't a lie, Raven." He said, his voice carrying a hint of sincerity beneath the playful banter.

Your eyebrow quirked up in curiosity. "Oh, is that so?"

"I didn't just want it," he confessed, his tone steady yet laced with unspoken emotions, as he meticulously donned his jacket, the fabric rustling softly. Moving closer, he closed the gap between you, his hand tenderly cupping your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his eyes. "I fucking needed it."

Your breath hitched, need screaming in your lungs with every inhale. Four orgasms in and somehow he still found a way to make your fucking thighs scream for more. "You're unbelievably insatiable, Mattheo Riddle..."

"Yeah, but so are you, princess..." he purred, leaning down closer, brushing his lips against yours. "I always knew you'd give it to me, it was just a matter of when...I'd have waited forever just to fuck you like this..."

You huffed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Your arrogance is insufferable."

"Am I wrong, though?" He murmured, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he brushed them teasingly against yours. "Godric knows I need to ruin that tight little cunt of yours...but he also knows I'm the only one you'd ever let do any of this to you..."

"Mm, you caught me..." you whispered, your lips meeting his in a fleeting, feather-light kiss. "Will you take that mentorship for me?"

"Perhaps I will," he replied, his fingers leaving your jaw and slipping into your hair, his touch both gentle and possessive. "But I suggest you refrain from pissing me off like that ever again...don't think it'd look too good on you if you wrote 'Mr. Riddle got mad and fucked me into the sink like the dumb little whore that I am' on the detailed log, now would it?"

You scoffed, your playful snarl hanging in the air, a testament to your exasperation, yet beneath it, a thread of amusement danced in your eyes, unable to be suppressed.

"You're truly something else," you murmured, your voice a blend of vexation and reluctant admiration. "I will figure you out, Mr. Riddle."

With that, he relinquished his grip on you, his eyes gleaming with a challenge. "Not before I figure you out, first."

————————————

Chapter 21->

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sturnlsstuff · 20 days ago

Text

FAMILIAR STRANGER | chapter six

what's gonna happen when you find out about your enemy's biggest secret?

ghostface!chris x enemy!reader

chapter five | chapter seven

— warnings; smut with plot, dom!chris, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, rough, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, bratty reader, cursing, - english isn't my first language.

~~~

you have gone through many stressful situations in your life. most of the time you didn't care about anything, always chilling and thinking logically, not emotionally. however, there were moments when even you started losing your shit and they were always more intense than they should have been. one of them, for example, was taking your driving test, which kept you up at night. or your 18th birthday that stressed you out so much that you had to drink a bottle of wine alone before the party to get rid of the anxiety. or choosing what college you wanna go to, and whether you'll even get there or not. lots of stressful days in your life, lots of situations.

but your heart had never beat as fast as it did in this moment.

your thumb hovering over the 'send' button while you consider all the pros and cons of what you're doing. biting your lower lip nervously, feeling the taste of blood in your mouth, but even this doesn't stop you. you had to make a decision whether to text chris or not, and that wasn't supposed to be so stressful, but it was.

after he left you alone in his room at the party, you didn't see him at all. after fixing your makeup, you went back downstairs and found emma, telling her you were going home, needing to process whatever happened in chris's room and how it made you feel. she knew you were with someone, anyone would notice by the state you were in, even if you tried to make yourself look presentable for twenty minutes in front of the mirror in chris's room. somehow you managed to get rid of emma and her questions for now, ignoring her for two days. in fact ignoring everyone, needing some time alone, but it didn't feel like you were by yourself at all, with the way chris was in your mind every second of the day.

finally, before you could change your mind, you sent the message and threw your phone to the other end of the couch, hugging your legs to your chest and clutching your heated cheeks as if that would somehow help you. tense silence remains in the living room for the next two minutes, as you start to regret texting him.

another five minutes and you finally reach for your phone, ready to delete the message when you see three dots showing that he is replying. with w muffled scream, your phone flies across the room as you throw it again, a notification indicating a new message heard. for a second you just sit still, wheels turning in your head, but then you almost jump from your place, your legs on the couch, the rest of your body hanging off it as you steady yourself with one hand on the floor, the other picking up your phone and reading the message. you could feel the blood rushing to your head.

"bitch," you mutter to yourself, looking at the screen in pure disbelief. there's no way you were stressing for the past hour to send that fucking simple message, overthinking all night if you should even text him and how to do it to not sound too desperate, even wondering if three question marks is too much and maybe you should put one, and he just said he's busy.

unfortunately for him, you weren't a person who gave up easily, and if you finally decided to talk to him, you will do everything to make it happen. so you reply back, not having to wait for his response too long.

you roll your eyes, upset that you even tried to start any conversation with him, that you wasted the entire day yesterday and today thinking about him when he was clearly busy and definitely not overthinking anything like you did. you're not only mad at him, but also at yourself for being so stupid. after all it was chris, there's nothing to talk about here. he had his way with you and that's it, nothing changes.

not that you wanted it to change anyway.

leaving him on seen, you decide to take care of yourself a little bit, to relaxe since this stress made you feel and look terrible, bags under your eyes after two sleepless nights. so the next hour you spend in your bathtub, cool music filling your ears as you read a book, careful not to make it wet.

then you hear a noise coming from your room, at first thinking it's some hallucination from the lack of sleep, so you stop the music and listen, immediately hearing another muffled bang that makes you jump out of the tub, almost soaking your book. cursing under your breath, you wrap a towel around your waist, looking around to find anything which could be useful in defense. all you find is a glass flowerpot, so you take it, poking your head out from behind the bathroom door.

silence.

you carefully step out of the bathroom, water dripping onto the floor from your body as you walk slowly barefoot towards your room where the door was slightly open. it seemed stupid to go there, but you were acting out of adrenaline.

you heard another curse and the sound of the window closing, a frown appearing between your eyebrows as you gently opened the door, ready to attack whoever the fuck was in your room, clutching the flowerpot in one hand and holding the towel that was sliding off your body with the other.

"chris, what the fuck?!" your eyes wide as he turns around to look at you, dressed as a ghostface.

"i got fuckin' stuck," he removes his mask, running his hand through his hair, eyes immediately traveling up and down your wet body, covered by nothing but some thin towel.

immediately pressing the material against your body, now feeling strangely naked, your expression questioning him before your mouth could. he rolls his eyes, "told ya to remember 'bout closin' this fuckass window, didn't i?" he takes off his robe, leaving him in black pants and a t-shirt, his gaze had not left your figure, a strange shiver pass through him, which he only felt around you. "i knocked on the door, but you didn't answer again."

"couldn't you call me?"

he blinks stupidly, his eyes moving back up, "right." then he notices the flower pot in your hand, a low mocking laugh leaving his lips, "wanted to kill me with this?"

you glance at the flower pot, rolling your eyes and walking into the room to put it on the desk, feeling his eyes on you. "i was taking a bath, you idiot—" turning around, you almost jump when he's suddenly in front of you.

"i noticed," he smirks, tilting his head to the side. you try to ignore his intense gaze, "what do you want anyway?"

"you wanted to talk."

"weren't you busy?"

"took care of that," he retors. your eyebrow arches up as you peak out behind him at the mask and knife placed on the bed. "yes," he simply says, noticing your expression. you didn't need to know anything else.

"well, okay," clearing your throat, you grab some clean clothes from the dryer. "let me get dressed first."

"no need to rush," at the stare you give him, chris lifts his hands up in surrender and flops on your bed just as you leave the room.

you put on some shorts and a two size too big shirt, quickly cleaning up the bathroom as well. honestly, you were playing on time. you didn't expect him to come after he definitely said no in the text, and now you had no idea what to tell him, and the stress you were feeling earlier came back stronger than before.

finally finding the courage you leave the bathroom, finding chris in the living room looking at the photos you had on the wall. stopping in the doorway, you quickly tie your hair into a ponytail.

"i remember that," he points at one picture with you, him, his brothers and nate on it after one of your old friend's birthday party. you liked this one a lot.

"crazy night—"

"we danced together," he says casually though his voice a little weaker as if the memory of it was doing something to him. you're taken back that he even remembers since he was awfully high that night.

"yeah..." your voice unsure since neither of you ever mentioned it before. "-- yeah, we did."

the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile but he quickly hides it, licking his lips and settling on the couch. you take the seat next to him, keeping your distance.

after a short silence, he speaks up, "it was fun. that party." you agree with a nod of your head. that night you two were pretty chill, he was high, you were drunk and both of you just had fun, for a few hours not remembering that you disliked each other. sometimes you thought of it and wondered why couldn't it be like this all the time.

"so," he clears his throat, getting more comfortable on the couch, arm resting on the back of the sofa as he looks at you. "what's this super important conversation you've wanted to have with me?" his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"uh, right... about that—" you think about how to put it into words, heart pounding in your chest while your brain working at full speed. finally you just blurt out mindlessly, "we fucked."

chris raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable, "really? didn't notice."

you open your mouth and then close it again, trying to ignore his comment. taking a deep breath, you continue, "i mean... well, i was kind of drunk, let's be honest. so i didn't think—"

"c'mon, kid, we both know you'd fuck me even sober," he rolls his eyes, slight annoyance in his tone at the clear delusion coming from you.

"that's literally not even close to what i'm talking about..." a wave of heat washes over you from embarrassment of being called out like that. you had to find some excuse, because to be honest, you didn't know how you ended up in chris's bed. well, you knew how, but you needed some explanation for yourself. though, what you're for sure aware of, is that the desire and arousal you felt was real. "it was, like, another moment of weakness."

"you got a lot of 'em with me recently," he teases, scanning your face as if looking for something. for a moment you were speechless from the intensity of his blue eyes. and chris noticed it. of course he did. "it was good though..." he adds, his voice lower now.

you try hard not to look too nervous while agreeing, "yeah... it was." his lips curve into that smirk you knew so well while he shamelessly checked you out again, his eyes lingering on your exposed thighs for too long. noticing that, you quickly add, "it shouldn't have happened and we won't do it again."

"yeahhhh," his tongue clicks against his teeth. chris makes eye contact with you again and that's when you know you're screwed. "we won't."

with these words you look at each other too long and too intensely, almost as if communicating between the words. and you didn't even know when or how you ended up straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders desperately trying to steady yourself while he pumps his fingers rapidly into your cunt, curling them up to hit that sweet spot inside you. his thumb rubs circles around your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. the ghostface mask is back on his face, making you clench around his fingers. it all happened in less than ten minutes, that's how weak you were for chris and how addicted to you he's become.

"mhmmm, look at you... so fuckin' pretty, drippin' all over my hand..." he says, his voice hoarse with arousal. his cock was rock hard already, uncomfortably straining against his pants. "your body doesn't lie, even if your mouth does," chris watches you closely, taking note of the way your chest heaves, lips parted with little whimpers escaping them.

"chris— mmmh, f-fuck.... so... so g-good— oh!" your walls tighten around his fingers, hips slightly grinding against his hand. he flexes his fingers inside you, stretching you, his thumb on your clit picking up speed.

he smirks to himself at how responsive you are to him, "you jus' fuckin' love when i manhandle you, huh?" he adds a third finger, scissoring them, his other hand tugging on your hair, forcing you to keep your eyes on his mask. chris was now aware of the effect it had on you and it was making him so turned on. "constantly tryin' to make me mad, messin' with my fuckin' head, kid... not really nice of you."

you let out a loud pornographic moan when his fingers once again curl inside you, hitting your g-spot perfectly, his thumb pressing more against your bud. at the feeling of you tightening around him, a low groan escapes his lips. "thaaaat's it— yes, c'mon, give it to me... show me how bad you fuckin' hate me..."

"chris!" your eyes roll back as euphoria consumes you, head dropping forward onto his shoulder. "my... god...f-fuck you—"

he pumps his fingers languidly to ride out your orgasm, drawing out your pleasure for as long as he can. "mhm, i will," he smirks, slowing down his movements. "no need to rush, princess." he finally pulls his fingers out of you, lifting up your head, "open up."

as you obey, he brings his fingers into your mouth, your tongue immediately cleaning them up, tasting your own release on your tongue. "fuckkk—" he bucks his hips up, his clothed hardness pressing against your swollen bud, stealing another whimper from you.

you were sure you had lost your mind. you really wanted to make it clear today, that what happened at friday couldn't happen again, but it was so hard when he was... him.

"chris, we need to stop," you say as soon as he removes his fingers out of your mouth, immediately placing them back between your legs, gently caressing your swollen folds and spreading your wetness around, which makes you flinch from the over sensation.

"stop sayin' that when you react so strongly to me," his other hand moving to unzip his pants and pull them down his hips, freeing his leaking with precum dick. you look at him, the ghostface mask sending shivers straight into your core and you already know there's no coming back. "so?" he asks, gripping your hips, "still wanna stop?"

"no," you mutter annoyed at the way he was making you feel. chris bites his bottom lip with a grin, his body begging for any kind of release. he's never wanted anyone so badly. he lifts you up a little, then impaling you on his length in one swift, deep motion. both of you moan, his head throwing back at the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. he missed this.

"fuckkk, you jus' feel so good..." he praises, holding you still for a moment to savor the feeling of being burned inside you. then he starts pounding into you, his grip on your hips painful as he doesn't let you move at all, wanting to have the control over everything.

"...what a fuckin' slut you are f'me— jesus..." he looks down, watching as he slams deep into your heat, not caring about the noises or the mess. he's too far gone to worry about anything expect the feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his dick. "sooo perfect, fuck— and what'd you say, huh?" he pants, looking up at your full of pleasure expression. "not happening again? fuckin' watch."

you're practically bouncing on him from the strength with which chris fucks you from below, your walls immediately clenching around him, the overstimulation from your previous orgasm makes your head spin.

"chris, s-so-- deep..." you whine, gasping for air as he changes the position to get a better angle. he flips you onto your back on the sofa, pressing your knees against your stomach which caused him to go even deeper.

"yeah? you like to feel my fuckin' cock? look..." his fingers wraps around your wrist and he moves your hand to the noticeable bulge in your gut as he slides in and out of your wet pussy. the feeling of him like that, makes your toes curl as you quickly feel your second release approaching.

"gonna... c-cum! oh—" your whines and moans now filling the room with chris's eventual groans when he feels you constantly clenching around his dick.

"come all over me, c'mon... and m'gonna fill you up, yeah? gonna do it so fuckin' deep, you'll be leakin' my shit for days..." he snarls, his thrusts becoming harder as another orgasm washes over you, your eyes locked on his ghostface mask, even if you could barely keep them open. he doesn't even slow down while you tremble from the intensity of your release, moans leaving your lips and back arching up. "squeezin' me so tight, shiiittt— you were made f'me...."

with a feral groan, he buries himself as deep as he can, his dick pulsing as he explodes inside you, his hot seed filling your cunt to the brim. both of you panting, chris props himself on his hands of each side of your body so as not to crash you with his weight. both of you panting heavy, your eyes now closed while you try to come back on earth.

once the last waves of his climax subside, he pulls out with a wet squelch, his cum dripping out of your hole. a smirk appears on his lips at your disheveled form as he takes the mask off, pulling back to have a better look on your swollen, glistening cunt. just as your legs weakly were about to drop onto the couch, he grips your thighs, keeping you spread open for him. "that's a sight..." he runs a finger through the mess he'd made, making you whimper. "sensitive much?" his tone mocking. his fingers slipping between your folds, gathering as much as he could of his and yours release and pushing it back inside, a muffled scream escaping you.

"chris!" you smack his hand away, your legs automatically try to close. he tsks, his face full of mock innocence, "what? just cleanin' you up." his eyes glistening when he makes eye contact with you and he adds, "unless you wan' me to lick it off instead?"

"no, thanks," you mutter fully aware he'd love to overstimulate you.

"a'ight, drama queen," he rolls his eyes, grabbing the tissues from the coffee table, cleaning his own mess before passing them to you. he sits up, pulling his pants up while you proper yourself on your elbows, starting to clean up.

a silence remains in the living room, he takes a rolled joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips, and looks towards you noticing how your hands and legs are shaking a little. you weren't able to clean yourself thoroughly, the mix of your and his cum running down your inner thighs.

"kid," he lights up the joint, taking a long drag. "the fuck you doin'?"

you give him a death stare, "it's quite clear to see."

he exhales, smoke billowing out as he speaks, "but, like... you don't— just..." he groans, putting the joint back between his lips, his voice muffled, "--fuckin' gimme it... can't even clean y'self up, jesus... so annoying..."

chris practically snatches the tissues from your hands as he spreads your legs, ignoring your confused and surprised expression. he simply starts wiping the mess between your legs, his touch strangely tender, "can't do shit with that shaky ass hands..." he keeps commenting under his nose more to himself than to you, the smoke from his joint filling the room.

you watch mesmerized, as he grabs the joint between the fingers of one hand, the other still focused on the task, his tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration. he was gentle, or at least chris tried to be when he saw how red and puffy your pussy looked. it was such a simple action but it made your heart do a backflip. and not only you felt this way, chris himself was somehow, almost nervous.

he finally catches up on your stare, a frown appearing between his eyebrows, "the fuck you lookin' at..." his eyes traveling to the marks he left on your hips, some of the bruises older from friday, others fresh and reddish. this sight fills him with a sense of pride. he finally leans back on the couch, throwing the used tissues aside, glancing back at you. "stop starin', kid."

your face all flushed as you finally tear your eyes away from his and manage to sit up, adjusting your shirt and looking around for your sweatpants.

"here," he hands them to you, taking another drag on his joint. you put your clothes back on, wondering what the hell was going on.

you sit next to him still slightly breathless, after a moment he passes you the joint, neither of you looking at each other as you take it.

"y'know..." chris finally speaks up, "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure do let me do all sorts of nasty things to ya."

that's what causes you to finally make eye contact with chris, annoyance flickering through your face at the sudden call out. "for someone who claims to hate me so much, you sure want to do a lot of nasty things to me."

he smirks amused at your response, looking like you exhale the smoke. "well, yeah, hating you and being insanely attracted t'you aren't mutually exclusive, y'know..." you raise your eyebrows as he continues, "besides i never said i hated you, i jus' said i hated you."

the clear confusion and how your cheeks were burning after his words, makes chris's grin widen. "what the fuck is the difference?"

"don' worry 'bout it," he retors, grabbing the joint from between your fingers to finish it.

"insanely attracted to me, huh?" you process his words. chris rolls his eyes, "insanely is a strong word actually, what i meant is—"

"nuh, uh," you interrupted him with a grin on your face, pointing your finger at him. "you said what you wanted to say."

"no, i—

"lalala, i can't hear youuuu," you cover your ears like a kid, the mix of annoyance and amusement building up within him. "you're a child," he puts out the butt of the joint in some empty can on the coffee table, and takes your hands away from your ears. "child."

you just smile, feeling unfamiliar warm spreading across your chest. it was strange, chris usually saw you smiling but at other people, not at him. it made him want to... kiss you? hold you?

"weirdo," he mutters, leaning back, but there's no usual bite in his tone. his arm rests on the back of the sofa behind you, his wheels turning around in his head. he glances at your side profile, his tongue clicking against his teeth, "i always wondered why you were with this idiot jake." you're taken back, glancing at him with a frown, but it doesn't discourage him from continuing. chris felt like he has to. "you were always annoying, but i thought you're better than that. he had no idea how to treat you right and you kept comin' back to him, what was insane to me. he was just a dick—"

"you wouldn't understand..."

"no, i definitely fuckin' wouldn't," he retors annoyed. "so m'not even gonna try, but he was pissin' me the fuck off. i was waitin' for the day you finally leave him for good."

"it wasn't that simple," you try to explain, but chris wasn't having any of that. "kid, don' bullshit me. you even try to defend him now when he's gone? don't tell me you..."

"no, i try to defend myself, 'cause you don't get it," you interrupt, not wanting to hear whatever he was going to say. "he was awful, but at that time i kinda just... craved affection, i guess," your cheeks heat with embarrassment. "and sometimes he was giving me that."

"what affection he could give ya? bet, he fuckin' sucked. and you deserve to get affection and all this other shit all the time, not just sometimes. that's fucked up."

"and what do you know about all of that?" you question him, which annoys the hell out of chris. "every week you have a new girl to fuck, then moving on to the next one."

he knows you're right, chris had no clue how to show affection either, he never was good at this because he simply never let himself attach to anyone. but he knew, if he had you, he would never be like your ex. chris would try his best to make sure you know you're loved.

"there's nothing wrong with that, they all know m'not lookin' for a relationship. i always tell 'em at the beginnin' that it's only a hook up. i don' play anyone..."

"always?" when chris nods, you add, "i didn't hear you saying that to me."

now he's surprised, quickly hiding it, but the way his eyes scanned your face was telling you everything you needed to know.

"well..." he slowly licks his lips, carefully thinking of his next words. "i never... i mean, i knew we'd do it again at some point... but i just— fuck, i don' know..."

your voice is dripping with sarcasm when you say the next sentence, but there was genuine curiosity behind it, "maybe deep down you expected something?"

his expression is unreadable, but chris's heart was beating so hard, he was afraid you'd hear. the question you asked stirred weird feelings inside him and he had to get out of this situation fast. you knew one of his deepest secrets already, there was no way he'd let you know his other ones.

"be serious, kid," his smirk doesn't reach his eyes. "enough with that talk. i gotta go..."

his reaction saying more than he would ever say. you watch as he stands up, "i am serious and you're running away right now—"

"shut your goddamn mouth for once, holy fuck," he snaps at you, gripping the bridge of his nose. "i have shit to do so i'm leavin', simple as that. not that is any of your business anyway."

your blood boil at his words but you don't say anything else. you were afraid your voice would betray you, so watching him gathering his stuff from your room and then hearing the front door shutting, was all you did.

taglist: @certifiedstarrr @chrislovespepsi @le4hsblog @sturnsxbitvh @sweetlikesug4rvenom @xaristhings @mattsfavbitchhh @lvrsturniolo @r0s3luvr @slut4brunettes @madisonsturnioloss @chrispillowprincess @sturnioloslutttt4 @ashlishes @mattsbitchh @hi-people-who-are-alive @stellward123 @inssanely @matts-girlfriend @imnotalive420 @emely9274 @shadowthesim @yunkilm @sophiaxsblog @namelesssav @demyackerman @fratbrochrisgf @lvrsturniolo @chrisweetheart @chrisfavoritewhore @sturnslutz @ncm9696 @certified-sturniolo @mattsobvimyfav @swagalicious260 @giannalovessturniolo @sophand4n4 @brazyturtleneck

#sturnlsstuff ❦ [ghostface!chris]#❦ ghostface!chris x enemy!reader ❦#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x fem reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x fem!reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x you #chris x reader

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saphiccarma · 7 days ago

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- Post Bellum - Alcohol is love

Relationships - Agatha Harkness x Rio Vidal x Reader

Summary - One teasing remark from Rio and a barking dog and then you're spiraling, but they're both there to cheer you up until it all goes sideways and you panic again.

Warnings: ✨Trauma✨, smut, fingering (r receiving), cunnilingus (r and A receiving), face sitting (A on r), more trauma

A/N: secretly in love with this chapter

The liquor burned your throat harshly as you tipped the shot down your throat, eyes heavy and mind swirling with memories. The glass slammed down on the counter with a clink, and you poured yourself another. And as you took more shots, eventually just sipping straight out of the bottle, the shadows in the corner of your apartment looked less menacing and your emotions weren't so prominent anymore. It felt nice to feel the familiar sting and the haze that fogged up your mind.

As soon as you had finished your job with Agatha and Rio, you had run to your apartment. Some nights, and you were never sure what determined them, the two would have you stay the night at their house. Sometimes it led to something that was not at all professional, far from it really, and you knew it went against your job description. But Agatha's sly words and taunting smirk, plus Rio's casual, teasing remarks lured you in. It was purely a hookup, nothing special at all. They fucked you and in turn you fucked them, plain and simple sex. Even still you would slip out of bed after they had both fallen asleep and sneak to the guest bedroom, footsteps soft.

Then Rio said something today, just something simple and meant to be harmful at all, but you couldn't stop the rush of memories.

"It's just a dog," she teased when the three of you passed a barking dog in the street. You had hardly heard her words, but it had made your panic all the more intense. It was a German shepherd, teeth bared and growling at everyone who passed, tugging on its leash. Saliva dripped from its mouth and all you could see was violent dogs during your tour. Regardless of Rio’s remark, you sped up, ushering them along with you.

The thoughts had tugged at the back of your brain for the rest of the day. You tried to stay focused, stay remained on the job, but your eyes were clouded over, and you could just barely think. When Agatha had given you an odd look, her silent way of asking if you were okay, you ignored her. When Rio had trailed her fingers up your arm, but you had tugged away, mumbled some excuse, and you were out the door and home by 9:00.

You weren't an alcoholic, drinking wasn't your go to for coping, but it was something you held in your back pocket. You loved the way whiskey, or beer, or vodka, or whatever you had would clear away any worries you had, even if it was only for a moment and then you would have a nasty headache in the morning. It only lasted for a little while, but that was enough for you to use it as a resource. You could hear a shout from outside, the voice oddly familiar. Your drunken brain hardly comprehended it.

Pressing the rim to your lips, you tipped the bottle back again, eyes falling shut. You didn't want to stop; you wanted to drown in the drink. A knock snapped you from chugging the rest of the bottle. Clumsily, you placed it down onto the counter and stumbled towards the door. Common sense flew out the window. You fumbled with the door handle before swinging it open, a wide grin spreading over your lips at who was there.

Agatha and Rio stood side by side, still dressed in the same clothes they wore to the office, but Agatha had a jacket slung over her arm and a wallet in her hand.

"Hey," you slurred, "Watcha doin' here?"

Agatha frowned at your garbled words and the way you leaned heavily on the doorway, "Are you drunk, hun?"

"Maybe a little," you giggled. You stumbled away from the doorway, meaning to invite them in, but forgetting as you ambled back towards the counter. Your fingers curled around the neck of the bottle, but before you could take another sip it was yanked away. Whining, you stomped your foot like a child, "Give it backkkk." You drew the last word out, petulance and annoyance coating your words.

Passing the bottle to Rio, who was smirking slightly but with a shimmer of concern in her eyes, Agatha took hold of your outstretched hands. You instinctively flinched at the touch. Her fingers held firm, pulling you in close. She could smell the alcohol on your breath and see it in your eyes and all your movements.

"You're drunk," she said bluntly.

You whined, "Sooo? I'm an adult."

"You're really drunk," Rio chimed in, "Way more than you should be."

Once again, you giggled at her words and shrugged. So, what if you were drunk? Agatha kept your hands in her own, even as you tried to pull away, and dragged you towards the bedroom. Rio shoved your liquor in a cabinet before filling a glass of water up, the water clashing against the metal sink too loudly for a moment that had you whining. It sounded too much like the pouring rain, battering down on the rusted metal sheets you had for a roof.

"Aggie," you tugged at her hands, using a name that was reserved for bed only, "Let goooo."

She scoffed, ignoring the nickname, and didn't dignify you with a response. Instead, she sat you on the bed, relieved that you were already out of work clothes and into what resembled pjs. Getting you into different clothes a battle she did not want to fight. The minute she let go of you, hoping you would stay seated, you tried to bolt up. Agatha stuck her hand out, catching you in the chest before shoving you back to the bed with a firm glare.

"Stay," she ordered. You kicked your feet, grumbling, and falling into her chest. Your face fell onto her breasts, and you cackled a little, but Agatha took it in stride. Briefly you tried to palm her breasts, but Agatha stopped that quickly by batting your hand away. As much as she would enjoy that, you weren’t in the proper state of mind for anything like that right now. Her hands came up and stroked through your hair, gently combing out all the stray knots you missed when brushing your hair this morning. For once, you let yourself relax around her - the feeling of nails gently scratching your skull and back of your neck lulling your brain into a sense of peace.

Rio entered the room moments later, a cup in hand with a plastic straw she found after some searching, and Agatha gave her a soft smile. Tapping your shoulder and gently guiding your head up, Rio pressed the straw to your lips. It took you a minute to process, but once you did you started drinking some water. It wasn't long before you had downed the whole cup with a satisfied sigh. The water cooled the harsh burn in your throat just like Agatha's hands helped to soothe your nerves that were constantly on edge.

After you finished the glass, it was placed onto your bedside table and Agatha was forcing you to lay down. You squirmed for a moment, not wanting to rest, but then Agatha laid down next to you and wrapped her arms around you. Her embrace was warm, comforting and you melted nearly instantly. An arm was draped over your waist as Rio flopped down on your other side, her face burrowing into your neck, and you tucked your face under Agatha's chin.

With their combined comfort, something you didn't know you wanted, you were able to slip into sleep easily.

^______________^

You woke up to a wetness between your legs and heat pooling in your stomach. Slowly, your eyes blinked open before your hands shot down the grab at the head between your legs. Rio groaned against your cunt, the vibrations waking you further sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

"Rio," you whined, tugging at her hair, pulling her close but also wanting to push her away. Your head pounded as a result of your actions last night but the throbbing in your core made you keep her close. Her lips were wrapped around your clit, sucking softly, and her hands kept your legs pried apart.

She pulled away for a moment, mouth glistening with your juices, "Shh, you don't want Agatha to hear, do you?"

Briefly, you glanced at Agatha was still sleeping soundly, the sunlight shining softly and highlighting her sharp cheekbones. Rio suddenly flicking her tongue out drew your attention back and you couldn't stop the small whimper that came from your lips. You were never particularly vocal during moments like these, too guarded to let them see you any more vulnerable, but Rio had caught you in a tired state and you weren't holding back.

Your clit pulsed in her mouth as she kept her lips wrapped firmly around it, even as you yanked on her hair when your head fell back and eyes shut from pure pleasure. You clenched around nothing, and your feet kicked out slightly.

"Tell me what you want, baby," Rio murmured against your sex, her breath warm.

Shaking your head you just fumbled around to grab her fingers, dragging them towards her core. You weren't the biggest fan of your words, much less telling people what you want. Rio chuckled and once again pleasure ripped through you from the vibrations that rattled through you. Pushing her away with one hand, you pressed her fingers to your dripping sex, silently begging with your eyes. Rio grinned at you, the sight devious and filled with pride.

"Words," Her voice wrapped around you a silk ribbon, softly coaxing you to tell her what you want. It took you a moment to find the right thing to say, even though it was so simple, your thoughts were so scrambled right now.

"Fingers," you whimpered, pushing her digits closer to your core, "Please."

That had her smile widening considerably, "Good girl." Her praise made satisfaction flow through you, but not nearly as much as when her fingers plunged into your core, two of them stretching you out nicely. A loud noise escaped you against your will and you slapped your hand over your mouth, glancing nervously at Agatha. The last thing you wanted to do was wake her up. Rio's two fingers thrust in and out of you at a brutal, yet steady, pace, not once relenting.

A few pumps in her thumb positioned itself to hit your clit every time her fingers were deep inside you, the pads of her thumb rubbing against your clit roughly. Your hand left your mouth to scramble and grab the bedsheets, fisting the white fabric in your fists to try and keep your composure. Rio was quickly making you fall apart with everything she did, all the movements unraveling you bit by bit. And the pressure inside you built rapidly as your walls fell down just as fast.

Absolutely enjoying in the way you were just dissolving beneath her, Rio crashed her lips onto yours, and you could taste yourself on her. Her tongue brushed against your bottom lip, asking for entrance, and you granted it, her tongue exploring your mouth. You grabbed at her shirt instead of the bedsheets, keeping her close as if she would leave you once you let go, and whined into her mouth. Her fingers continued their brutal pace on your cunt, thumb hitting your clit harsher nearly every time.

Your thighs began to tremble, and your stomach tightened. Clenching around her fingers, your sounds were muffled by her mouth. You could feel your climax building steadily within you and Rio could tell. She pulled back from your mouth for just a moment so that the two of you could breathe, your breaths coming in short, fast, gasps, before pressing her lips back onto yours. Then her fingers curled just right, hitting that spongy part inside your cunt, and her thumb rubbed circles around your clit, pressing down perfectly, and you were spasming beneath her, your orgasm ripping through you.

Rio swallowed up your moans greedily, her mouth devouring yours as she pushed you down into the bed further, her arms bracketing your face. You clawed at her back, grip tightening and knuckles turning white from how hard you held onto her shirt. This was possibly the best orgasm you'd ever had.

Slowly, you came down from your high, breathless and sweat making your hair stick to your face. Rio detached her lips from yours, a string of saliva still connecting them, with her fingers still buried deep in your cunt. You whimpered when she pulled them out.

Leaning down, she pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, and then another to your nose, "Such a good girl."

Your face heated at the praise you and scowled at her to hide your embarrassment. Rio smirked cheekily before she was yanked off of you. You had hardly noticed that Agatha was awake, until she was hauling Rio into a brutal kiss. You watched, slack jawed, as Rio absolutely melted into Agatha - turning from dominant to submissive in a few simple moments. The kiss didn't last for long before Agatha was tugging Rio away by the collar of the neck.

"You are a naughty girl," she hissed in Rio's face, and the other woman squirmed beneath her glare, whining.

"Aggie," she pleaded, her hands coming up to fist Agatha's collar desperately, "Please." In just a simple kiss, Agatha had turned Rio into a fumbling, needy mess, just as she had done to you. And it seemed like Agatha was going to give into Rio's pleas, but she just smirked before shoving her firmly against the headrest.

"Stay," she commanded, and when her eyes caught Rio's hand inching to her own pants, she barked out another command, "And don't touch yourself." Rio pouted but crossed her arms and glared at Agatha. Agatha turned towards you, her smirk still firmly planted, but her eyes softened slightly, "Did Rio wake you up baby? Did you like that?"

You hesitated before nodding your head slowly, afraid to get in trouble like Rio.

"You're not in trouble," she cooed, but there was a certain edge to her words, "If you can prove to me that you're a good girl."

This time you nodded frantically, eager to please her in a way that was so uncharacteristically you. Agatha muttered soft praise that you hardly caught before she was slipping out of her pants, black lace panties coming with. You propped yourself up on your elbows, ready to adjust in any way she needed, but then the older woman pushed you back onto the bed. Her knees came to bracket your sides before she shimmied up and then her dripping core was right in front of your face. You could smell her arousal and feel the heat radiating from her cunt.

"Is this okay?" she asked softly, her hand brushing a stray hair out of your face, and you nodded she added, "Words."

"Yes," you said, breathless, "This is okay."

Agatha smiled at your eagerness before she lowered herself onto your face. Your hands came up to grip at her thighs, holding her in place because you never wanted her to move. Hesitantly, your tongue flicked out as you heard Rio moan beside you and Agatha do the same. You swiped your tongue through her folds, teasing her for a moment, before pressing it up against her entrance.

And then, the delicate bubble you were in burst. Agatha ground down on your face and you couldn't stop the panic that seized you. Your entire body locked up and it felt like too much. Agatha was pressing her cunt against your tongue, but it was too much, she was too close, and you couldn't breath and- You forced yourself to calm. You were fine, this was fine. Threading her hands through your hair, Agatha was too absorbed in pleasure to notice your panic, and you forced yourself swirled your tongue around her clit.

"Just like that," she groaned, completely oblivious to how taut you were. Every single one of your muscles had locked up and you had to resist the urge to shove her off. You owed her this. But Rio was watching, her eyes taking in every detail, and she noticed the way you went stiff, all joy leaving you.

She reached out, grabbing Agatha's shoulder, "Agatha stop."

The other woman snarled, ready to tear into Rio, but she paused when she saw how concerned she was. Gently, Agatha removed herself from above you and you whined, sitting up slightly.

"Why'd you stop? Did I do something?" Your thoughts spiraled, thinking you had done something wrong, but internally you were relieved. You could breathe now. Agatha was directly on top of you, she wasn't suffocating you.

(Sand wasn't being dumped on your head as your wrists were bound and you were about to be buried alive. Your sister in all but blood wasn't next to you, sobbing as she fought against her binds. The sun wasn't beating harshly down on you as you thought you were going to die.)

Rio gave you a pointed look, causing Agatha to do the same.

It was a moment before the former spoke up, "You weren't okay," Her words made your throat close up and for some reason tears threatened to prick at your eyes, "Why didn't you use your safe word or tap on her leg three times?"

And just like that all your walls slammed back up and you scoffed, "I was fine."

"No, you weren't," Rio argued, and you could see Agatha chewing her lip, glancing between the two of you. Guilt swirled her eyes, but so did frustration, and that was what you latched onto. You chose to believe she was frustrated at you and Rio, rather the truth. Agatha was upset she didn't notice that you didn't want to continue, that you were done.

"I said it was okay, I was fine," you snapped.

"Darling," Agatha reached out to cup your face, stopping when you flinched back, "Just because you say it's okay doesn't mean you have to keep going."

You rolled your eyes, scoffing once again before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. A throbbing pain hit you full force in your head the minute you stood and your legs were weak beneath you. Ignoring Agatha and Rio's protests, you made an excuse about having to use the restroom. You locked yourself into the bathroom, sinking to the floor.

Burying your head between your knees that were pulled tightly up to your chest, you groaned in annoyance. Why couldn't you just enjoy the moment? All you had to do was not stiffen, not lock up and it wouldn't have stopped. Then everyone would be happy.

Why couldn't you just be normal?

Taglist: @poppyshuman

#agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x you #rio vidal x reader #rio vidal x you

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claramelooo · 24 days ago

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Hey, guys! Just saying we are entering the last 3 chapters, so enjoy this as much as you can :)

MINORS DO NOT MUST INTERACT

Warning: +18, soft smut

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: Wanda's passion for you blinds her, making Vision suspicious.

VELVET CHAINS

Control

The sound of silence was deafening as you knelt on Wanda’s bed, hands resting on your thighs. Every tiny movement felt amplified—from the unsteady rhythm of your breathing to the soft rustle of fabric.

She hadn’t said a word since bringing you to the room. Her gaze carried a weight that made your throat go dry, yet there was no urgency in her actions. Wanda was methodical—she always had been. She wanted you to feel every second of the waiting, for your mind to anticipate what was coming long before she even approached.

When you finally heard the sound of the wardrobe opening, your breath caught in your throat. You knew what was coming. The paddle. Wanda didn’t need to announce it; the faint sound of leather gliding through the air was enough to make you shut your eyes and brace yourself mentally.

“Stand up, bunny.” Her voice was firm but not harsh. A command that felt gentle yet carried undeniable authority.

You obeyed instantly, rising to your feet and letting your hands fall to your sides. Your eyes remained fixed on the ground, shame and fear swirling together into something you couldn’t quite describe.

“Look at me,” Wanda demanded, and when you finally met her gaze, it felt as though she was reading straight into your soul.

“Why are we here, Y/n?” she asked, the paddle hanging casually from her right hand.

“Because I was disobedient,” you answered softly, your voice almost a whisper.

“Disobedient…” she repeated, almost to herself. “And more than that, weren’t you?”

You swallowed hard and nodded.

“Answer me,” she pressed, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Because… because I was irresponsible. And… and I challenged you.”

“That’s right,” Wanda said, stepping closer. She lifted her free hand and cupped your chin delicately, forcing you to hold her gaze. “But more than anything, you were reckless, little one. And recklessness can be dangerous. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Wanda,” you replied.

“Good girl,” she murmured, releasing your chin and stepping back. “Now, lie face down on the bed.”

You hesitated for a moment, but her look was enough to set you in motion.

“Lift your dress,” Wanda instructed, and you obeyed, feeling the cool air against your exposed skin.

She positioned herself beside you, letting the paddle rest lightly against your skin before speaking again. “I want you to count each one. And if you lose count… we start over.”

You nodded quickly, your face burning as much with shame as with anticipation.

The first strike came quickly, the sharp sound echoing through the room.

“One,” you managed to say, your voice slightly shaky.

“Good girl,” Wanda praised, her hand brushing softly over the warm skin before delivering the next strike.

Between strikes, Wanda made sure to speak. Not to humiliate you, but to reinforce the control she had over you—and the care that came with it.

“Do you think Yelena cares about you the way I do?” she asked, and before you could answer, the next strike fell.

“N-no,” you answered quickly, your tone almost desperate to please her.

“And Natasha? She doesn’t even know you. Do you think she could do what I do for you?”

“N-no,” you answered again, tears beginning to slip down your cheeks.

Wanda paused, her fingers gently running over the warm marks forming on your skin. She took a deep breath before speaking, her voice calm but full of intensity.

“I want you to understand something, little one. This,” she ran the tips of her fingers over the hottest point, making you shiver, “is not punishment for the sake of punishment. It’s not about how much it hurts or how beautifully marked your skin becomes. It’s about trust. About knowing that I’m here to discipline you, but also to protect you from yourself. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Mommy,” you murmured, your voice still fragile.

She set the paddle aside and leaned down to whisper softly near your ear, her tone now gentler. “If at any point this becomes too much, what do you say?”

“Red,” you answered without hesitation.

“Good girl,” she praised, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of your shoulder. “And if you need a break?”

“Yellow.”

“Exactly, good girl,” Wanda affirmed, her hand now caressing your back in slow, soothing strokes. “I adore you too much to ever truly hurt you, bunny. This isn’t about punishment for punishment’s sake. It’s about you learning, growing… and trusting.”

You turned your head slightly to look at her, eyes tearful but filled with something beyond pain—a sense of safety only Wanda could provide.

“I trust you,” you said, your voice stronger this time.

She smiled faintly, running her fingers through your hair before picking up the paddle again. “Then let’s continue, my sweet girl. You’re doing so well. We’ll finish this together, and afterward, I’ll take care of you the way you deserve.”

The next strike was firmer, but between each impact, Wanda checked on you—monitoring your breathing, whispering words of encouragement.

“Good girl,” she said after the sixth strike, setting the paddle down on the mattress beside you. “Very good. We’re done.”

You let out a sob, a mix of relief and exhaustion as your body relaxed onto the bed. Wanda didn’t waste a second—she immediately began massaging the tender spots with a cooling cream that seemed to soothe much of the lingering sting.

“You were so brave,” she praised, her voice so soft it felt like a balm for your heart. “So obedient. I’m so proud of you, little one.”

When she finished, she pulled you into her arms, cradling you against her while her fingers combed gently through your hair.

“You know why I do this, don’t you?” Wanda asked after a while, her tone full of warmth.

“Because you want to protect me,” you answered, your voice muffled against her chest.

“That’s right,” Wanda agreed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Because you are the best thing that’s happened to me in ten years, Y/n. And I will always take care of you—even when that means disciplining you.”

You closed your eyes, the sound of her heartbeat under your ear the most soothing melody you could imagine.

The kitchen was silent, except for the soft sound of Wanda's knife precisely slicing through a fresh fruit. The apples were cut into rabbit shapes in your honor, while the strawberries were stars—she was focused, her movements graceful and methodical. Each piece was carefully placed on a decorated plate, as though the presentation was just as important as the gesture itself. Beside it, a bowl of your favorite sweet was nearly finished, and Wanda allowed herself a small smile.

You were perfect for her. From the way your eyes sparkled when she praised you to how your body yielded, molding itself to her will. You were the exact combination of strength and vulnerability Wanda desired. More than that, you trusted her, surrendering yourself in a way that warmed her heart and sent possessive thoughts swirling through her mind.

“My little masterpiece,” Wanda murmured to herself, arranging the final details of the snack. She picked up a tray, placed a chilled water bottle alongside it, and gave it one last glance, satisfied with the result.

As she walked down the hallway toward your room, her heart felt light, anxious to find you nestled comfortably in her bed. Aftercare was just as important as any other part of your dynamic, and Wanda made sure you always knew how cherished you were.

But just as she was about to open the bedroom door, a familiar voice stopped her.

“Wanda.”

She froze, her fingers still gripping the tray. Turning slowly, she found Vision standing at the end of the hallway. He looked calm, but there was something in his expression that irritated her instantly.

“Yes?” Wanda replied, her voice cold and calculated.

“I was looking for you. We need to talk,” Vision said, taking a few steps toward her.

“Now?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, now.”

She gripped the tray tighter, fighting to keep her patience. Vision had a talent for showing up at the most inopportune moments. “Can’t it wait?”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice carrying something Wanda couldn’t immediately identify.

She sighed, casting a glance at the closed bedroom door. You were inside, waiting for her, probably asleep or simply too tired to notice what was happening outside.

The man stared at her with a mixture of trepidation and expectation. He cleared his throat before continuing.

“Wanda, I… I miss you as my wife.” Vision spoke with a stiff posture.

Wanda scoffed, her husband always so puritanical and tedious.

“Vision, are you talking about sex?” Wanda asked, her face expressionless.

Vision hesitated, the words forming on his lips but refusing to come out. Wanda watched as he struggled to organize his thoughts, which made her roll her eyes. Always so methodical, so careful. She knew exactly where he was going, but she preferred to let him hang himself with his own hesitation.

“I… yes,” he finally admitted, his voice strained as though confessing something forbidden. “We haven’t shared intimacy in weeks, Wanda. This isn’t normal. Not for a couple.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, her narrowed eyes fixed on him. The tension in the air was nearly palpable, and she let the silence stretch out just a moment longer, just to watch him squirm under her gaze.

“You’re really interrupting me right now to talk about sex?” she asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “What do you want? Do you want me to bend over the kitchen table and let you take me from behind?” Wanda’s voice was robotic, devoid of emotion.

She watched the man’s face flush crimson. Oh, he wanted that.

Vision cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with Wanda’s clinical tone. “I… I didn’t mean it like that. Wanda, it’s not just about the act itself; it’s about what it represents. Intimacy, connection. We were one. Now it feels like there’s an abyss between us.”

“An abyss,” she repeated, her voice still devoid of emotion. Wanda crossed her arms, leaning slightly against the doorframe of the bedroom. “Funny you use that word, Vision. Because if there’s an abyss, maybe you should ask yourself who dug it.”

His face grew even redder, now with barely contained indignation. “I’ve always done my best to sustain this family, Wanda. To be a present husband. If I’ve distanced myself, it was only to make sure you and the kids had everything you needed.”

Wanda scoffed, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward him, her steps silent but heavy with tension. “Everything I needed? You don’t even know what I need, Vision. You didn’t know in the beginning, and you certainly don’t know now.”

“Then tell me!” he raised his voice, desperation spilling over. “Tell me what you want, Wanda. Because I’m here, trying. Trying to save something I still believe is worth it.”

Wanda tilted her head slightly, watching him as though he were an incomplete puzzle. “Save what, exactly? A marriage built on conventions? On societal expectations? You’re not trying to save us, Vision. You’re trying to save the idea of me you created in your head.”

Vision stared at the floor, visibly uncomfortable. His eyes drifted to the tray in her hands, where affection and care were clear.

“Who is that for? The boys are still at school.”

Wanda held the tray firmly, her gaze cold and controlled as she looked away from Vision. “Y/n. She’s been studying so hard, she’s so exhausted…” Her expression softened slightly as she spoke about you, a feeling simmering in the man’s stomach.

He furrowed his brow, his expression mixing confusion with something that looked suspiciously like jealousy. “More than me?” The question came out in an almost childish tone, and Wanda had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing.

“Yes, more than you,” she answered with calculated calm. “And it’s not hard to see why.”

"But I’m your priority too, Wanda,” he insisted, his eyes gleaming with a kind of determination that felt misplaced, almost desperate. “We’re a family. And I feel like… like I’m being pushed aside.”

She tilted her head, her lips forming an ironic smile. “Pushed aside? Vision, you’re an adult, not one of the twins. Do you feel excluded because I’m not giving you unconditional attention like some kind of consolation prize?”

Vision clenched his fists, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I’m not asking for unconditional attention, Wanda. But since when do you give more importance to… this random stranger… than to our marriage?”

“Since you started treating our marriage as a duty instead of a choice,” she shot back, her voice soft but heavy with meaning. “People change, Vision. And honestly, I don’t have time to be your emotional crutch anymore.”

He blinked, visibly stunned by the statement. “So, you’re saying that—”

“I’m saying,” she interrupted, “that you need to stop acting like a child who lost his favorite toy. I have other responsibilities now, and you should find some of your own.”

Vision opened his mouth to respond but stopped when he caught the sharp glint in her eyes—a silent warning that he was treading too close to a line he shouldn’t cross.

“I just...” He took a deep breath, trying to reorganize his thoughts. “I just want to understand. Why is she so important to you? How can she be so important that she makes me feel like I no longer have a place here?”

She gripped the tray a little tighter, adjusting its weight in her hands. “It’s not something you need to understand, Vision. Just accept that not everything revolves around you.”

He stared at her, his face a mixture of frustration and pain, but finally, he took a step back. “I just wanted things to be like they were before.”

Wanda let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her hair. “The problem, Vision, is that before was never enough. Not for you, and not for me. And maybe it’s time you stopped trying to revive something that’s already dead.”

She turned without waiting for a response, the soft sound of her steps echoing down the hall as she entered the room where you were waiting for her.

Vision stood frozen in place, his shoulders tense, his eyes locked on the closed door. As much as he wanted to scream, cry, or demand explanations, he knew, deep down, that Wanda was no longer his—and maybe she never had been.

As Wanda opened the door, the quiet stillness of the room was broken only by the sound of her measured, delicate steps. You were lying on the bed, your body relaxed in an almost vulnerable shape, with your eyes half-closed and your breathing deep and steady. It was clear that the impact of what you had shared earlier still lingered over you, like a mist refusing to lift.

“Hi, bunny,” her voice came soft yet firm, like a warm blanket on a cold day.

You lifted your eyes to her, your face lighting up with a mix of relief and adoration. “Wanda…” your voice came out small, almost trembling, but filled with trust in her presence.

“I brought something for you,” she said, balancing the tray as she approached the bed. Her movements were calculated, each gesture filled with care and intention.

When she set the tray on the nightstand beside the bed, you sat up slightly, your curious eyes drifting to the snacks carefully arranged there—your favorites, each detail chosen with precision. There were soft cookies, neatly cut fruit, and a mug of hot chocolate topped with a dollop of whipped cream.

“All this for me?” you asked, your voice a bit brighter now, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“All for you,” Wanda confirmed, sitting beside you on the bed. She picked up one of the cookies and held it near your lips. “Open,” she instructed gently, and you obeyed without hesitation, biting into the treat with a satisfied sigh.

“Thank you, Wanda…” you murmured as you chewed, your eyes shimmering with gratitude.

She smiled, leaning in to fix the messy strands of hair around your face. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?”

“My butt still hurts,” you admitted with a small grimace, the ache fresh as you shifted slightly.

“Oh. Don’t move, Y/n!” she commanded firmly. “You’ll make it worse. Stay here, darling. I’ll get the lotion.” Wanda stood up quickly, leaving you alone with the tray. You started nibbling on the egg tart—it was light and creamy—Wanda had great hands, for everything.

Wanda returned a few minutes later, holding a small bottle of lotion and a damp towel. She sat next to you again, her concerned expression softening into a warm smile. “I told you not to move, bunny. Are you trying to challenge me again?”

You let out a small giggle, taking another bite of the tart before replying, “I just wanted to taste it before it got cold. It’s perfect, like everything you make.”

She rolled her eyes, though the corner of her mouth twitched with a smile. “Flirting with me isn’t going to get you out of this, little one. Now, roll over. Let’s take care of you.”

Carefully, you turned onto your stomach, feeling the softness of the mattress against your body as Wanda lifted the hem of your nightgown, exposing your still-warm, sensitive skin. She opened the bottle of lotion, the calming scent filling the room.

“This might feel a little cold at first,” she warned before gently applying the cream to the reddened area.

You shivered at the cool touch but soon relaxed under the slow, careful movements of her hands. Wanda massaged with precision, her fingers firm yet incredibly tender.

“Better?” she asked, her eyes flicking between your face and her work.

“Yes…” you murmured, your voice thick with a mix of relief and something deeper—an absolute trust in her.

Taking care of you, especially after such intense moments, was something Wanda valued deeply. It was as if that aftercare ritual was the bridge between dominance and affection, showing that even in moments of discipline, love always came first.

As she finished, wiping away the excess lotion with the damp towel, Wanda spoke softly: “You know this is just as important to me as it is to you, right?”

You lifted your head slightly, curious. “What is important to you, Wanda?”

“This,” she said, gesturing to the moment you shared. “Taking care of you. Knowing that, even when I have to be firm, you trust me to bring you back. To keep you safe, comfortable. That’s what makes it all… right.”

Her words warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t quite explain. “I trust you, Wanda. Always.”

She smiled softly, leaning down to press a light kiss to your back. “Good girl,” she murmured before pulling your nightgown back down and helping you roll onto your back again.

“Now, finish your snack, bunny,” she instructed, sitting beside you once more.

You obeyed, nibbling on a cookie as Wanda gently ran her fingers through your hair. The quiet exchange of looks and smiles spoke volumes about how much that moment meant to both of you.

Once the tray was empty, Wanda helped you settle into the soft, clean sheets, adjusting the pillows around you. She lay down beside you, wrapping her arms around you like you were the most precious treasure.

As your breathing began to match hers, Wanda started humming softly, her fingertips tracing gentle patterns along your arm. “You’re mine,” she whispered, with a hint of reverence in her voice. “Always.”

You mumbled something incoherent, already half-asleep, but your last words before drifting off were clear: “Wanda… thank you.”

And as Wanda stayed there, watching over your sleep, she knew that in that space of trust and love, you were both exactly where you were meant to be.

[...]

The warm water of the bathtub enveloped both of you like a comforting embrace. The foam gently rose around your bodies, a perfect contrast to the steam that filled the bathroom. You were seated between Wanda’s legs, your back against her chest, as she delicately ran her fingers through your damp hair, untangling any knots with care.

“Is this good, bunny?” Wanda’s voice was almost a whisper, soft and full of affection.

You nodded, closing your eyes for a moment as you enjoyed her touch. “More than good,” you replied, feeling completely relaxed.

But there was something more in the air—an idea that had been growing in your mind for some time. You shifted slightly, tilting your head back to look at her. “Wanda?”

“Hm?” She arched an eyebrow, her gaze playing between curiosity and a hint of concern.

“Can I… take care of you this time?” Your question came out hesitant, almost fearful, but it was something you wanted to offer her: the same kind of love and attention she always gave you.

For a moment, Wanda was silent. Her green eyes searched yours, evaluating something. Then, a small smile formed on her lips. “You want that?”

“I do. Very much.”

She exhaled slowly, as if your request had melted a part of the wall she so carefully kept up. “Alright, bunny. But take it slow, okay?”

You smiled, thrilled that she had accepted. Slowly, you sat up a bit, picking up the soft sponge beside the tub. You dipped it into the warm water, lathering it with her favorite lavender soap. Wanda watched every movement with curiosity and a touch of amusement.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed, your voice low but determined.

She obeyed, a rare act of submission coming from her, trusting that you would handle everything with the care she deserved. You gently ran the sponge over her shoulders, feeling the tense muscles gradually relax under your touch.

“You carry so much tension here,” you commented, almost absentmindedly, as you massaged lightly.

“Someone has to take care of you,” Wanda replied with a playful tone, though there was something genuine in her words.

“And who takes care of you?” you asked in return, sincerity evident in your tone.

She opened her eyes, staring at you for a moment. “Maybe that’s what I’m discovering now.”

Your heart did a little jump, but you focused back on what you were doing. The sponge traveled down her arms, then across her back, each movement deliberate and gentle. When you finished, you took a bit of shampoo and began massaging it into her scalp with your fingers.

Wanda sighed, closing her eyes again. “This… this is good,” she admitted, her voice a bit lower, almost vulnerable.

You smiled, enchanted by the idea of providing something so simple yet meaningful for her. As you carefully rinsed her hair, Wanda opened her eyes, looking at you in a way that was both soft and intense.

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you, bunny?”

“Maybe I learned from you,” you replied, shy but satisfied.

When you finally finished, Wanda pulled you back into her arms, now with both of you completely relaxed. “Thank you,” she said, kissing the top of your head gently.

You rested your head on her shoulder, your hands intertwined beneath the water. The comfortable silence that followed seemed to say more than words. For the first time, perhaps, Wanda had allowed someone to take care of her—and you felt honored to be that person.

Wanda sat with her eyes closed, her body relaxed against the edge of the bathtub, while you positioned yourself behind her, your legs lightly wrapping around her waist. The sponge in your hand had been forgotten for a moment; your attention was entirely on Wanda, on every line of tension her body carried.

“I’m going to give you a massage,” you announced softly, your voice low and filled with care.

“Oh, are you?” she murmured, her tone playful but carrying genuine curiosity. “And do you know what you’re doing, bunny?”

“I’ll figure it out,” you replied with a shy smile, as your hands began moving slowly over her shoulders.

At first, your touches were hesitant but firm. Your fingers explored each knot of tension, applying enough pressure to relieve but not cause discomfort. Wanda let out an almost inaudible sigh, and you felt her body start to relax even more under your touch.

“You’re so tense,” you commented, your fingers moving to the base of her neck, massaging with slow, circular motions.

“Your fault,” she replied without opening her eyes, though the smile on her lips was obvious.

“Mine?”

“Yes,” Wanda answered, a hint of amusement in her voice. “You’re an unbearably mischievous little bunny.”

You chuckled softly but didn’t reply, focusing on the massage. Your hands glided over her shoulder blades, tracing the defined muscles with care. The water made every movement more fluid, as if your fingers were dancing over her skin.

“You’re really good at this,” Wanda murmured, her voice lower now, almost husky.

Her tone caught your attention. There was something there—something you hadn’t expected. Your hands hesitated for a moment, but Wanda didn’t seem to want you to stop. She tilted her head slightly to the side, allowing your fingers to explore more of her neck.

“Keep going,” she said, almost like an order, and you obeyed without question.

Your confidence grew by the second. Your hands moved down her sides, exploring more boldly. Your fingers traced paths that made Wanda’s breathing change subtly. It was almost imperceptible, but you noticed—her rhythm slowed, deepened.

When your hands reached the curve of her ribs, you heard a low sound escape her lips, something between a sigh and a restrained moan. Your heart raced, but you continued, as if it were innocent.

Your hands massaged the woman's medium-sized breasts with prominent nipples, taking the opportunity to squeeze them between your fingers—a little pain wouldn't hurt her, you thought.

“Careful, little girl.” Wanda's voice was already hoarse and her hips were wavering, seeking more and more of your touch. “I can demand more than you can handle giving me.”

As a response to the woman, your hands went down to her belly, running your fingers between the already lubricated lips of her pussy. Wanda gasped, opening herself up more—giving you access to do whatever you wanted.

The woman's trust in you made you feel many things. The responsibility you carried with this didn't pressure you or make you want to run—in fact, that was what you wanted all along.

To be able to take care of her, to be able to touch her, caress her, lick her until Wanda melted on your tongue.

“Put a finger in, honey.” Hearing the woman's command, you tense behind her. Your inexperience made you doubt your ability. What if you didn't please her? What if you hurt her?

“Shh… Sweetheart…” Wanda breathed, the scent of lavender clinging to her skin, making you dizzy. “I know… Mommy will guide you.” She reassured you, after all, you knew that Wanda held all the control—that wouldn't change now.

Inserting a finger inside Wanda, you heard the woman let out a shaky sigh—you were attentive to her every reaction. Your passion, your madness for her, only increased the obsession you felt for Wanda.

“One more.” She demanded. And you moaned as you felt her pussy throbbing—as if it had a direct connection to your pussy, you felt your own intimacy throbbing.

The older woman's moans were low, hoarse. They were delirious because your fingers, at a slow pace, were taking her to a state of ecstasy that she had not felt in a long time. Wanda wanted to feel everything, every inch of your fingers.

“One more.” You were surprised to hear her beg for another finger.

Adding the third finger, what was already tight became unbearable—Wanda’s warm, spongy walls trapping you inside her.

“It’s so tight…” You let out a small growl against her ear, making her let out a small giggle.

“I know, don’t you? This is how I feel inside you every time, baby. Throbbing and hot and beautiful against my fingers, my tongue and my cock…” She started to ride you faster, and you knew she was close.

Then, you press your finger on her clit, making her buck against you and grip the edge of the tub with her wrinkled fingers. Wanda turns her face, enough to look into your eyes and give you a naughty smile as she reaches orgasm.

“Oh. My baby makes me feel so good!” She moans loudly, shakily.

Once it was over, you hugged her tightly and watched as Wanda gave you a teasing look and a tired smile. “I’m losing myself in you, Y/N.” The woman leaned even deeper into your embrace—making the bath water even hotter.

The afternoon was calm, and sunlight streamed through the living room window, illuminating the rug where you sat with Billy and Tommy. The colorful puzzle spread out in front of you occupied the twins' full attention, but you wore the smile of someone who didn’t need to worry about pieces or edges. Being there with them was all you needed.

Billy was focused, his eyes squinting as he studied the pieces. Tommy, on the other hand, seemed more interested in teasing his brother. He grabbed a piece Billy was trying to fit and laughed, holding it out of his reach.

“Tommy, give it back,” you said, laughing lightly as Billy huffed.

“Fine, fine,” Tommy grumbled, handing over the piece.

“Thanks,” Billy muttered, fitting the piece into place. “There, another part of the tree!”

You all sat in silence for a moment, focused on the puzzle, until Billy, with a thoughtful voice, broke the calm atmosphere.

“Do you think it’s weird… to like boys?”

The question hung in the air like a piece out of place, and you looked at him gently, not showing surprise. Tommy stopped fiddling with the pieces, his brow furrowing.

“Why are you asking that?” Tommy said, tilting his head.

Billy shrugged, but there was a blush on his cheeks. “It’s just that, you know… I heard some boys at school talking about it. Saying it’s weird.”

You took a deep breath, leaning closer to him, trying to keep your tone as light as possible. “It’s not weird, Billy. It’s normal. Some people like boys, some like girls, some like both… and that’s okay. What matters is how you feel.”

Billy seemed to reflect on this, his fingers playing with a puzzle piece. “I don’t think I feel anything different. Like… being around boys or girls feels the same to me. Does that mean anything?”

“It means you’re figuring out who you are,” you replied with a smile. “And that takes time. You don’t need to rush or worry about what other people say. What’s important is being honest with yourself.”

Tommy frowned, thoughtful. “So… if I thought a boy was cute, it wouldn’t be weird?”

“Of course not,” you answered, ruffling his hair playfully. “Thinking someone is cute is just… thinking someone is cute. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Billy smiled shyly. “I like the way you talk about this… like it’s not complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated,” you said, picking up a puzzle piece and fitting it into place. “Love, friendship, attraction… all of that is about connection. And connection is never wrong, as long as it’s healthy and respectful.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile at the corner of his lips. “You sound like Mom sometimes. I think you’re picking up her way of talking.”

You laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Speaking of which, how about we finish this puzzle before she gets home? I want her to see how well we worked as a team.”

Billy and Tommy agreed, turning back to the puzzle, but the mood felt lighter now. Even without saying much more, it was clear that the conversation had left the twins more comfortable, and that was all you could ask for.

Minutes later, still engrossed, Billy looked at you, his eyes bright with curiosity, and Tommy quickly followed, leaning forward with a mischievous grin.

“What about you, Y/n?” Billy asked, turning a puzzle piece in his hands. “Do you like boys or girls… or both?”

The question caught you by surprise. Your body froze for a moment, but then you laughed softly, trying not to show any nervousness.

“I only like girls,” you answered simply and directly, not looking away from them.

The two brothers exchanged a meaningful look. Billy seemed thoughtful for a moment, while Tommy, always more impulsive, spoke first.

“Oh, sorry for always saying you should get a boyfriend,” he said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “We didn’t know.”

Billy nodded seriously, his tone equally earnest. “Yeah, sorry, Y/n. But… we can look for a girlfriend for you, if you want!”

The declaration was so unexpected that you were speechless for a few seconds, your mouth opening and closing as if trying to process it. Your face grew hot, and you laughed nervously, looking back at the puzzle.

“Oh, there’s no need for that, boys,” you said, waving your hands. “I can handle it myself.”

“But we’re good at this,” Tommy insisted, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “We know lots of cool girls!”

Billy nodded, eager.

“Yeah, like Amy from the chess team. She likes Star Wars, just like you. Or Harper, who did that amazing project on botany. She’s really smart.”

“And she has pretty hair,” Tommy added, as if that was a decisive factor.

You laughed, covering your face with your hands while shaking your head. “You two are impossible.”

“Why? We just want to help!” Tommy protested, crossing his arms as he pretended to be offended.

Billy smiled slyly, winking at you. “We just want you to be happy, Y/n.”

Your heart tightened in your chest at their sweetness. You reached out, pulling both of them into a tight hug.

“You two already make me so happy, you know that?” you said, squeezing them a little harder. “I don’t need anything else.”

Tommy squirmed in the hug, but you noticed the smile on his face.

“Okay, okay, but if you change your mind, we’re here.”

“For sure,” Billy agreed with a serious nod.

You laughed again, returning to the puzzle with a warmed heart. Moments like this made you realize just how much you loved those boys and how much they cared about you, too.

[...]

The room was immersed in a comfortable darkness, lit only by the glow of the TV. You were lying with your legs stretched out on the couch, your head resting on Wanda's lap, while she absently played with a lock of your hair. The movie was already coming to an end, but neither of you seemed to be paying much attention to it.

“This movie is so… predictable,” Wanda commented, her voice low and lazy. “The heroine always forgives the hero, no matter how stupid he is.”

You let out a laugh, tilting your head to look at her. “That's because everyone loves a happy ending. Don't you?”

“I like realistic endings,” Wanda replied with an enigmatic smile. “But if you like them, I can make an effort.”

Her eyes met yours, and for a moment, the air seemed heavier, charged with a tension you didn't quite know how to define. Wanda's smile softened, but her gaze remained intense, almost daring you to break the silence.

You couldn't resist. Sitting up, you leaned towards her, and before you could think too much, your lips met. The kiss started slow, as if you were still exploring the terrain, but it quickly became deeper, more urgent. Wanda's hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, while you intertwined your fingers in her hair, feeling the soft texture between your fingers.

The sound of the phone ringing echoed through the room, drawing a frustrated sigh from both of you. You tried to ignore it, but Wanda, with a mischievous smile, broke the kiss and murmured against your lips: "Go answer it. It might be important."

You huffed, rolling your eyes before picking up the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi, daughter! It's me!" your mother's excited voice sounded on the other end of the line.

"Hi, mom," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady as Wanda took advantage of your distraction to trace a slow path with her hand down your body, reaching your belly.

"How are things? Are you behaving at Wanda's house?"

You bit your lip to keep from sighing as Wanda’s hand slid down to your clit, massaging it deliberately. “It’s okay, mom. I’m… behaving, yes.”

“Great! Because I’ll be there in three days. I’ve already organized everything.”

“Three days?” you repeated, trying to keep your tone neutral as you felt Wanda’s teeth gently nibble on your ear.

“Yes! I want to spend some time with you and see how this coexistence is going. Is Wanda there? Tell her I sent my regards.”

You looked at Wanda, who now had a mischievous smile on her lips as she increased the intensity of the caresses on your hot button.

“She… y-yes. I’ll tell her.”

“Are you sure you’re okay, honey? Your voice is a little hoarse.” You look at Wanda as if you wanted to kill her.

“Y-yes, mom. I was… sleeping, I’m sleeping. And you woke me up.” Wanda's mouth gliding along the length of your neck, she sucks on your pulse point, making you bite your lip hard to keep from moaning.

“Oh, sorry! The jet lag has been driving me crazy. But that's great! Oh, and don't forget to pack your things. I want everything to be in order when I get here.”

You closed your eyes, trying to focus on the conversation as Wanda touched you, her fingers playing with your warm entrance, already ready for her. Your whole body reacted, and it was hard not to let out a sound.

“Okay, Mom. I'll… I'll fix it.” Your voice wavered, but you managed to compose yourself quickly.

"Good night, daughter. Take care.”

“Good n-night, Mom.”

As soon as you hung up the phone, Wanda laughed softly, the sound echoing through the room. “You did well,” she teased, her hand still in the same place.

“Wanda!” you exclaimed, trying to sound serious, but the nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it.

“I just wanted to see how much you could concentrate,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss your neck, the touch sending waves of heat through your body. “Looks like you passed the test.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, but you did nothing to push her away, letting yourself be carried away by the sensation as she picked up where the phone had left off.

“Mmm, my good girl!” she pulled you onto her lap to continue her caresses.

“Hm, mommy… I want to watch the movie.” You murmured, already opening your legs for her, all naughty.

“Oh. Do you want to? Then watch, Dekta.” She said as she went down with her mouth to find the little button she loved so much. “But let mommy have fun.”

It didn’t take much, just for Wanda to scrape her teeth on your clitoris and lick your anus for your legs to start shaking uncontrollably.

Entangling you in her arms, Wanda kisses the top of your head and then gives you a knowing smile.

“Hmm, so you mean my little girl likes having her ass kissed?” Wanda pinches your belly, making you squeak—still sensitive from the orgasm. “You’re so naughty.”

She laughs when you hide in the crook of her neck, running away from her gaze. “Oh, is my little girl embarrassed when mommy says dirty things now? Funny… It didn’t seem like that when I had my mouth on yours—” You interrupt Wanda’s speech with your hand over her mouth.

“Mommy!” She laughs even more, squeezing you tighter against her.

Wanda was still smiling when you hid your face in her neck again, trying to escape her teasing. It was a genuine smile, one of those that light up the entire face, but it couldn’t hide the look in her eyes. Wanda's eyes, for a brief moment, lost their mischievous glint and became soft—gentle in a way she didn’t always allow herself to show. She felt the weight of your body still pressed against hers, warm, pliant, trusting her in such a pure way that it made her heart float.

And ache.

Wanda's fingers began to slowly glide across your back, as if she needed to memorize every contour, every inch she touched. She felt you sigh softly, completely unaware of the turbulent thoughts in her mind. It was impossible to avoid; Wanda knew that one day this would come to an end. One day, you wouldn’t be there, sprawled in her lap, with flushed cheeks and eyes sparkling with happiness. One day, your parents would come back and you would leave. One day, you would go to college, make new friends, live your life... without her.

For a moment, Wanda almost couldn’t breathe. Her chest tightened, a strange, almost unbearable sensation. She lowered her gaze to you, watching your serene face and cheeks still slightly reddened. So young, so full of life. So perfect. Her heart leaped, and the tears came before she could stop them.

You noticed, of course. You always noticed when something changed in her.

“Wanda?” Your voice sounded soft, almost worried, as you pulled back just enough to look at her face. “What happened?”

Wanda blinked a few times, as if trying to push the tears away before they fell, but it was no use. She smiled, even with her eyes shining and her chest tight. A sweet, genuine smile, but one heavy with emotion.

“I just…” She paused, took a deep breath, and delicately ran her fingers through your hair, brushing a few strands away from your face. “I just… adore you so much. Never forget that.”

You furrowed your brows, a shy smile appearing on your lips as you looked at her with an expression that mixed affection and surprise. “Wanda, what’s this talk about? I won’t forget.”

Wanda nodded, but deep down, that thought continued to torment her. How could she explain to you that she had never felt this way for anyone? That you had crossed all the barriers she had spent years building? That, for the first time, the fear of losing someone left her paralyzed?

She didn’t explain. Instead, she pulled you closer to her chest, as if that hug could keep everything just as it was, frozen in time.

“I just needed to say it,” she murmured, kissing the top of your head again. “Because sometimes you make me feel things I didn’t know existed. And I don’t want you to doubt that.”

You smiled, snuggling even closer against her, not understanding the full weight of the words, but feeling the affection overflow in every gesture. Wanda closed her eyes, letting a few more tears fall silently. Because in that moment, as you lay in her arms, she realized—she loved you.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, would be the same after that.

[...]

Vision sat in the office, an untouched glass of wine on the table before him. The house was silent, except for the occasional sounds coming from upstairs. He knew it was Wanda moving around up there, probably with you. That realization bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Wanda was never a woman who accepted being tamed. From the moment he met her, it was clear that she was strong, independent, and would never bow to the molds her family or the church expected. That was part of what attracted him, though it was also the reason for so many conflicts at the beginning of their marriage.

Their marriage was never about love or passion; it was a strategic alliance. Wanda's family, of traditional and conservative origins, wanted to keep her on the “right path,” while Vision, a businessman with a good reputation in the community, needed a wife who symbolized the perfect balance of strength and submission to uphold his public image. Wanda, perhaps tired of the pressures, agreed. “I’ll marry you, but you’ll never control me,” she had said with a defiant smile the day they struck the deal. He had laughed at the time, thinking it was a joke. Today, that phrase felt like a prophecy.

Vision ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. He had always known Wanda wasn’t the devoted wife his friends and colleagues had. She was cold but courteous in public. She respected commitments but didn’t engage. He thought that would be enough, because he didn’t love her either. The marriage was comfortable, functional. But now, with you in the equation, everything was changing.

Over the last few months, he had noticed the transformation. Wanda was more attentive, more present—but not with him. She reserved that for you. There was something in her eyes when she looked at you, something he had never seen when she looked at him. Vision didn’t know exactly what it was, but he knew it deeply unsettled him.

Staring at the wall of his office, his thoughts raced. But the silence in his heart was heavy. Then his mind whispered: “Take control, Vision. Wanda is yours! Your property.”

The word “property” echoed in Vision’s mind, bringing a mix of indignation and shame. He had never liked the idea of seeing Wanda as something that could be possessed. But now, he couldn’t ignore the jealousy burning in his chest.

He sat in silence, replaying memories of when he met Wanda. She was undeniably brilliant, with an intelligence and charisma that intimidated him. Vision had always known Wanda was superior to him in many ways, but he thought marriage would balance that, offering her structure and a respectable name, while he gained the perfect wife to reinforce his public image.

What he didn’t expect was that Wanda would find in you something he could never offer. Vision didn’t know exactly what that was, but it made him feel irrelevant—and, for the first time, unbearably vulnerable.

“Wanda…” he murmured to himself, staring at the still-untouched glass of wine. He knew he needed to act, but how? How could he confront someone he never truly managed to understand?

Deep down, Vision knew his marriage was falling apart. And worse, he knew he might never have truly possessed Wanda—not as a wife, not as a partner. She had always belonged to herself. And now, it seemed she had found someone she wanted to share that with.

~*~

And then you ask me: Clara, can we start crying now? YESSSS

UNREVISED CHAPTER

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