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plutoswritingplanet · 9 months ago

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Hand That Feeds (Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female!Reader)

a/n: as promised, here's the full chapter. as a person who's only played skyrim and oblivion, writing for fallout is like throwing a hot dog into an empty corridor (i will not elaborate)

Warnings: Suggestive Themes, Attempted Kidnapping, Medical Malpractice, Cooper is a mean old man with a boner. Takes place before the events of the TV series.

Summary: The Ghoul takes up a bounty that has been gathering dust for quite some time. You, bored out of your mind, decide getting kidnapped might be the perfect way to entertain yourself. Both of you bite off more than you can chew. Cross-Posted on AO3

PT. 2

Copper knows this job will be different, before he even decides to take it up.

Scribbled with flaky charcoal, your face looks at him from the notice board every time he delivers a bounty. For months now, a humble title of "The Healer" hangs without change, between criminals, raiders, and people who were in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cooper hasn't considered going for you, it was never his first choice. The bounty on your head was moderately low, in comparison to your notice board neighbors. He had other priorities, bigger than a smeared over pretty face, for half his usual reward.

Until one day, as he stomped his way through the dusty floor, his eyes caught onto your wanted poster yet again.

Well, to be frank, his eyes strayed towards your portrait almost every time he crossed the threshold, but he would never admit it to anyone, let alone himself. Like a constant companion, overlooking all his accomplishments since he decided to stick around the place, your empty gaze followed every transaction, every head delivered onto the table. Some semblance of a routine, he supposed, looking over the board.

There, under the regular information, freshly painted numbers stared back at him. A new bounty, significantly bigger than any reward on the board. The red paint was still dripping down the yellowed paper, the addition must've been made quite recently.

A hefty price. One, that would supply him with enough chems to last for half a year at least. Tempting. Especially now, that he's down to only a couple of vials, his coughing fits becoming longer and closer between. So tempting, in fact, that he tears your wanted poster from the board, finally getting a closer look, a deliberate one.

Booker gives him a raised eyebrow, all the commentary needed, encapsulated in this simple gesture, and Cooper shoots him a nasty look. There aren't many requirements regarding the job, except one, annoying detail.

You have to be alive and in good condition.

Now, alive Cooper could do. Alive is easy. Good condition, however, opened a whole shitbag of problems, which he would be a fool to overlook. Still, the prospect of such money couldn't be ignored. And, he'd be damned to admit it, but he was curious. Who were you? Why haven't you been caught for such a long time? What caused this sudden raise in bounty?

- Did you piss someone off that bad, little lady? - he asks the yellowed paper, and gets no answer, as expected.

***

The bar is filled with patrons, all tripping over themselves to loose as many caps on cheap alcohol and chems from under the table. It's not as rowdy, as one would expect. This settlement must be one of the few more civilized ones, for the Wasteland's standards at least. Farmers, mechanics, shopkeepers, they all clam together, smelling of smoke, sweat, and alcohol.

You're here too, hunched over your drink with a sour expression. Your shoulders are slumped, covered by a piece of cloth, that used to be a shawl, but currently looks more like a rag used to wipe down countertops. Despite that, Cooper sees in the way your body is poised, taunt and graceful, that you're neither a naive Vault Dweller, nor a scruffy raider. A skinny scarf is tied around your neck in a fashion, that reminds Cooper of the old westerns he used to star in.

The sudden influx of memories is neither wanted, nor useful, and he clicks his teeth in annoyance at his own betraying mind.

The Healer, he thinks to himself, making his way through the crowds, until he reaches the side of the bar, one seat from you. Not a glance is spared in his direction. The townsfolk must be used to seeing Ghouls run around the place. Still, when he orders a glass of moonshine, out of the corner of his eye, he can see you peaking at him with curiosity. There's a intelligent glint in your eye, and Cooper feels a shiver of curiosity climbing up his back. He scolds himself for being too old imediately after.

By all that's holy, you look tired. And not the kind of tired, that sticks to a person living in the Wastelands, no. It's the exhaustion of a shitty day, dragging your eyelids down to flutter against creeping up sleep. The alcohol can't be helping your state, however, it will most definitely help Cooper. He almost feels sorry for you, but if your dumb enough to leave yourself in the open like that, while being hunted, there's nothing more he can do but take advantage.

Cooper turns his face ever so slightly towards you, looking over your expression for any signs of recognition. He sees none, more than that, there is no emotion at all, not even a blink at his fucked up face. Raising his hand, he touches the rim of his hat in a wordless greeting.

That finally wrenches some resemblance of a reaction out of you, and with a blink, you tip your glass towards him, before downing its contents. Your cheeks are flushed, lips wet with remnants of moonshine and there's a lock of hair falling out of place, and damn it, Cooper suddenly feels so old.

Ordering drinks while in your current state wasn't the most intelligent thing you could've done. The harsh taste of alcohol burned your throat in a way that was less than pleasant, and for a moment you consider turning to some good old chems for help with... Well everything really.

It started with Old Lady Sal.

You've replaced her hip a while back with some scrap metal and a fuckload of reused body parts. Now, every other day she demands you check it out, make sure it's in working order. Which it always is. This isn't your first replaced hip, you know what you're doing.

Then, you had to sit through the insanely uncomfortable marriage offer from Old Lady Sal's grandson, who is not only dumb as a bag of rocks, but also fourteen.

And to top it all off, suddenly everyone needs you to solve their particular pains of the day. There must be an epidemic of aching heads sweeping through the town, because as soon, as you flee from Old Lady Sal's home, you're being hounded by everyone and their mother, looking to you for help. You were in town for two hours, and your herbs reserve went down to one fucking leaf.

The Ghoul keeps looking at you from under his hat, and at this point it's gotten from uncomfortable, to straight up creepy. You were not about to pretend this stranger's interest in your particular person didn't unnerve you. Although, thanks to your mother's efforts, and later your own, the town practically worshipped the ground you walked on, the same could not be said about the rest of the Wasteland.

You had enemies. You had people, who would love to get their hands on you. You were also deeply aware of the bounty placed on your person. Last you checked, it was quite small, but Ghouls don't have it easy out there, and if there's anyone looking like a bounty hunter in this fine establishment, it's the shady guy giving you a shameless once-over.

So, you place a couple of caps on the counter, and gather yourself best you can.

Perhaps drinking on an empty stomach was not the best idea, because as soon as you slide off the barstool, your head does a flip. Your balance completely off, you trip over your own feet, already accepting the floor, as your soon-to-be companion.

That's when something strangely warm wraps itself around your waist, hoisting you up against the counter. The Ghoul smells just about as pleasant as one would expect, but moonshine is a powerful sedative, and instinctually, you lean into the warm embrace. Eyelids flutter, as you look up into the sunken eyes of your savior, and you can see his throat move, as he swallows thickly.

- Careful now, sweetheart - the voice is low and reminds you of wind whistling through leaves - Gotta keep you in good condition.

Now, if you were completely sober, or at least less drunk, those words would fire an orchestra of alarm bells in your head. Instead, you smile, teeth on full display, as you reach up, to undo a tattered scarf from around your neck.

- Mmm - you sigh, throwing the piece of cloth across the Ghoul's shoulders - My hero.

Then, you grab onto his arm, still holding a tight grip around your waist, and lift it up by the sleeve of his coat. Despite your drunken disposition, you duck under the limb gracefully, and shoot the Ghoul a nasty, fully aware smirk. Realization flickers across his face, but before he can move to catch you, a series of body-wrecking coughs shakes his entire frame.

You hesitate just for a second. The instinct to help is ingrained into your very being, passed down like a mantle from your angel of a mother. But then, self-preservation kicks in, and as the strager reaches into the pocket of his coat, to find his inhaler, you're already out the door, throwing yourself into a mad dash towards your cabin.

You were drunk, not stupid.

***

The sun has barely had time to rise, when you're rudely awoken by the sound of a fist, pounding desperately on your front door. Hard enough to make the hinges squeak and shake.

It tears you from your already light sleep, and you scramble to your feet, hastily pulling a shirt over your head, as you make your way towards the entrance. Hand on your pistol, you look out through the small space between two planks, which make up your door.

It's not hard to understand what is happening. You remember one of the men standing outside your door from the nearby town. Benny or something like that, you were never good at remembering names. Hanging on his arm was another, barely breathing man, who was currently bleeding out right onto your porch. Pete. This one you recognize as a farmer and a hunter. You've treated multiple bites and scratches on him. So did your mother.

Cursing under your breath, you undid all the makeshift locks with record speed, throwing the door open.

- I'm sorry to bother your so early in the morning Healer - you wince at the title, already making a beeline for the table in your kitchen - Pete and I were just...

Both men follow you closely behind, Pete's boots making a disgusting, sloshing noise.

- Put him here, face up - you command, throwing a couple of papers to the floor.

- ...Coming back from a night hunt, and this fucking Ghoul was asking around town about you...

- Cut his shirt - another command, thrown over your shoulder, as you begin to rummage through a cabinet filled with chemicals and various herbs, barely registering the words.

- ...And when we started asking questions back at him, he just shot Peter, right then and there...

You pluck a couple of twisted, dried herbs into your trusty, stone mortar, spitting into it, to gather some moisture. Throwing a semi-clean rag at the man, your voice cuts through his rambling.

- Put pressure on it.

There is no exit wound, and you almost sigh with annoyance at the prospect of fishing out a bullet. It had to be done, however, putting your sleep depriation and a building headache aside, you scoop out some of the herbal paste with your fingers, before pushing past the man.

- Hold his legs down - you mutter, taking a blink-and-you-miss-it moment to check Pete's temperature.

- ...Thankfully, he didn't kill Pete on the spot, so I brought him here straight away.

Pete flinches on the table, as you apply the paste to the wound. That's about as big of a reaction he's capable of, given the amount of blood he just spilled onto your porch. Another thing to clean up, after you take care of the table. What a way to start a fucking day. You can see his eyes follow your movements, barely conscious, but still alive. Sweat beads and gathers at his brow, and you reach out with a clean rag, to dab it off his skin.

Then, as if coming out of a stupor, your eyebrows scrunch together. The story of this faithful encounter finally registering in your brain.

- A man was asking about me? - you ask, despite already knowing the answer.

- Well, kinda. A Ghoul.

You knew which Ghoul, it was not difficult to piece together.

- And he didn't kill Pete, just injured him - you can feel another headache brewing just behind your eyes, as the sheer stupidity of the man in front of you finally comes to the surface.

They led him to you.

Three, steady knocks to your door, smug and confident, interrupt the conversation, and deep down you can see the future of every person present in this cabin. As if you've developed some magical powers.

Stilling your suddenly trembing hands, you settle the mortar back on the table. Thenyou instruct the man to keep pressure once more. Covering yourself with a robe you got as payment for stitching up a sliced finger, you make your way to the door. Fabric flows around your feet, shuffling like the wings of a moth.

Your eyes flicker to the side, where, placed against a wall, stands a small end table. Under it, you've hidden a rather large kitchen knife, and for a second you debate, whether going for it now would be the best course of action. Call it dumb optimism, but deep down, you pray this is some big misunderstanding, and you'll be allowed to go back to your patient, preferably sooner than later.

There's no need to bother with a gun, no time too. Pete is bleeding out faster than a stuck pig, and you were not one to leave your customers unsatisfied. Or, in this particular line of work, dead.

The door opens with a slam. There's a small indent in the wooden wall, where the door handle has hit the surface. The cabin is slowly entering the state of ruin, although, some places are more taken care of than others. Still, it has a roof, a semi intact entrance and even a window with actual glass in it. Quite the luxury in the Wastelands.

Cooper didn't know what to expect, not really. Seeing you for the first time gave him a mixture of varying feelings, as well as a rather uncomfortable throbbing in the nether regions. Who could blame him, really? Your wanted poster gave you no favors, and although he was able to recognize you almost immediately, he still felt slightly short of breath.

He scolds himself for getting distracted by his thoughts, and as your eyes lock down on him, he lifts the barrel of his gun, touching the rim of his hat. Your eyes shift like little sparkling gems onto the weapon, before your jaw locks.

- Salutations Ma'am - his voice is rough from lack of use, the southern twang even more prominent, than usual. - I believe our introduction was cut short.

Yellowed teeth flash in a mirthless smirk, and then his expression tightens.

Cooper is used to people reacting, let's say, negatively towards him. Fear is the most common, and he can't blame the masses, he really can't. Disgust, as well, happens quite often. But as he looks over your feverish gaze, he can't really see either one of the emotions.

No, what you give him is an annoyed roll of your eyes, and he's surprised to say, it bothers him more than he'd be comfortable admitting. He's a goddamned bounty hunter, a ruthless one at that, and a fucking Ghoul. Fuck you mean, you're annoyed by his presence?

- Look - you're already turning away from him, shooting a look towards your kitchen, where he can see a leg twitch in a spasm on top of your table - I ain't got time for whatever this is - your hands wave around in Cooper's general direction. - You'll have to wait your turn.

- Ah, well, I'm not the patient kind.

A squeak of surprise leaves you, as the Ghoul pushes past your body, entering your house gun first, murder clear in his deep set eyes. His steps take him through your living room, dangerously close to your kitchen. You know exactly, what's going to happen, and your arms shoot out on instinct. His body is unnaturally warm, even through layers of clothing, as you wrap yourself around his waist, tugging him back with all your might.

He looks down on you, more bothered by the sudden contact, than the fact you're trying to stop him. It gives you a small leverage, and you push him back a couple of steps, settling yourself between the entrance to the kitchen, and the bounty hunter, raising your hands and getting ready to fight.

- I don't have time for this kinda bullshit. Git. - Cooper snarls at you, his gun-free hand coming up to grab at your hair.

Before you have time to react, five fingers twist hard into your roots, and you stifle a scream, as the Ghoul pushes you off of him. On instinct, your hands come up to tug against his wrist, nails digging into the leathery skin. He lets you go with a hiss, and you use that second, to throw yourself towards the end-table.

Your fingers find the handle with a practiced ease. Then, your body twists like a radioactive viper, and all Cooper sees is a flash of metal. The blade is rusty and chipped, but it could still do some damage. Especially now, that it's pressed against Cooper's jugular, the dull, cold presence halting all his movements. Your eyebrows raise in small recognition at the thin fabric tied around his neck. The scarf. Your mouth goes dry.

- Everything okay back there? - Benny asks from the kitchen, you can hear his approaching footsteps.

- All's well, kee pressure on the wound - your voice is tight with nerves, but the man obeys.

Cooper watches your face carefully, his gun tucked neatly into the meat of your stomach, ready to fire, should the situation escalate. You can feel it, pressed right into the hollow space under your spleen, a good place to be shot, if you could even say that. You're dealing with a professional, apparently.

- We seem to have a bit of a conundrum on our hands, little lady - Cooper drawls, voice bordering on a whisper, his eyes follow the way your tongue darts out to lick your chapped lips.

- I have a patient, he needs help - you explain in an even tone, breathing shallow - After that, I'll deal with you.

Despite being at a loosing position, you refuse to back down, your eyes glued to the Ghoul in front of you. You're bracing yourself for the imminent pain, should he decide shooting you would be easier, but it never comes. Instead, the barrel of the gun presses further into your flesh, before lightly retracting. The cold metal is dragged up, across the expanse of your stomach. You bite the inside of your cheek, and surpress a shiver, when it travels between the swell of your breast, and settles into the dip of your collarbones.

You swallow thickly, Cooper's eyes catching the movements of your trachea like a hungry vulture. The tip of the gun touches the underside of your chin, pushing your head to one side, then the other, as if the bounty hunter is taking inventory in a butcher's shop. Once he's had his fill, he lifts the gun completely, raising his hands as a peace offering.

- Git - you whisper back at him, and a flash of something rushes through his mangled expression.

You take a step back, chest rising in falling rapidly, blade still in front of you, just in case. Then another step, and the bounty hunter dusts off his coat, before sitting down on a stool in your cluttered living room. You don't like the way he looks at you, eyes shining from under his hat, as he occupies your space like it belongs to him. Long legs apread in front of him, and you try very hard not to sneak a peak between them. Finally, you cross the entrance to the kitchen, and the knife is tucked under the leather belt of your pants.

A sigh, a roll of shoulders, and you're off.

Cooper watches with curiosity, as you immediately start to work on the poor bastard stuck on your table. Your back is taunt, hands bloodied but steady, as you lean down to take the metal bullet out of the wound. The herbal paste you've provided earlier has dried up, and is currently working wonders for the bleeding, while you reach inside with not-so-sterile pliers.

- Hold him down - he hears you say, as the legs on the table start to twitch again.

Finally, a metallic sound of the bullet hitting a dish is heard, and you stand up, making your way towards the cabinet filled with chems. There is a grace to your movements Cooper wasn't expecting. Reminds him of dancers, ballet ones.

Back in the day, his ex-wife would drag him to all those ballet shows, ones that made him feel stupid and uncultured. He swallows around the memory, willing it to die down, as you shoot him a cautious look over your shoulders.

He wiggles his gun at you lightly, a reminder, that all this is happening because of his good humor. You scoff.

Pete starts screaming as soon, as you begin to dress the wound properly. Chemical smell fills the air, and although Cooper lacks the nose to feel it, his eyes water all the same. You seem to be unbothered, years of doing this exact job must've hardened your senses. Finally, it's done. There's nothing more you can do for the man, and you wipe your hand on your forehead, leaving a large smear of red.

- He'll be fine - you mutter towards the other man in the kitchen - He needs rest, and a loads of it too.

A couple of small bottles and dried herbs land onto a checkered cloth, and you tie it closed, like a small care package.

- Dress his wounds twice a day - you press the package into the other man's hands while he helps his partner off the table - Good luck.

Cooper glares at the men, as they stagger out the front door. They don't seem to pay him any mind. Well, the shot one definitely doesn't, he can barely walk on his own. His friend is too preoccupied with keeping him on his arm, to even acknowledge that this whole situation was orchestrated by Cooper himself. Or perhaps, he's to stupid to connect the dots. It's hard to tell these days.

The door closes with a click, and Cooper stands up from his stool, sauntering over to the kitchen.

You're currently trying to wash blood off of your hands, which are stained crimson almost up to your elbows. It goes about as well as expected, and as you dry your arms with a rag, there's still a pinkish stain to your skin.

The table is a mess, blood and herbs seeping into the wooden planks which make up the surface. Cooper leans against the doorframe, as he watches you splash some chemicals onto the wood. It bubbles up in a disgusting mixture of red, green and yellow. You let it sizzle for a moment, before taking that same bowl of water you've been using to clean up, and dumping it all onto the table. The mixture flows down to the floor, the residing surface looking much cleaner.

- Now, as much as I'd love to sit around and play house with you, honey - Cooper starts, and has to clear his throat, when you look up at him wordlessly, blood on your face and fire in your eyes - I have a bounty to collect.

Sighing, you push your hair back from your forehead, exhaustion, which is synonymous with living in the Wastelands seeping off of you like a tidal wave.

- Do you have a name? - you ask, reaching for a leather bag sitting on one of the chairs.

- I do - he says, and you roll your eyes at the deliberate lack of information his answer has given you.

You mutter something that sounds scarily close to "asshole", and begin to chuck a couple of vials into the bag, then some herbs, then a water canteen. It's like you're ready to move out at any time, and a sneaking suspicion arises in Cooper's mind. This isn't the first time you're in this situation, if your calm demeanor is anything to go by. Suspicious, highly so, and as you turn around to face him, Cooper raises his hand ever so slightly.

Your eyes fall onto the bundle of rope in his grip, eyebrow raising in annoyance.

- You serious?

- As a funeral, sweetheart - he sways the bundle lighty, his other hand pointing the gun at your abdoment - Now, are you going to be good, and come over here? Or should I come over there and make it unpleasant for us both?

- You're already making it unpleasant - you mutter, but cross the kitchen towards him, raising your hands, palms up.

- Wait.

Confusion hits you, when the Ghoul reaches into his pocket, producing a small piece of torn cloth. Your entire body goes still, as he grabs onto your chin, cold metal of his gun digging into your cheek, the barrel settling into the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Then, despite your best efforts at freeing yourself from his grip, he brings the cloth to his lips, wetting the fabric with his tongue.

The bloody smear on your forehead is wiped down rather roughly, and you twist in place like an impatient toddler, when Cooper leans his head back, to look at his handywork. You shiver with disgust, at the feeling of his drying saliva on your skin, and as soon, as he lets you go, you begin to rub at your forehead with the sleeve of your robe.

- Good condition - he rasps, and if looks could kill, he'd be six feet under.

He gives you a nasty smirk, settling his gun down for just a moment, and grabbing your wrists together, so he can tie them up. Which is all the time you need to make a decision, and kick out your knee, nailing him right in the crotch. He doubles over, cursing loudly, hands shooting out to grab you, but all he catches is your tattered robe, which you slide out of easily.

Fater than he would've anticipated, you grab at your bag, and bolt to the back of the kitchen, where he watches you jump over the table and all but slide out of the house through an open window. It's like a choreographed dance, the way you move out of his grasp. When he reaches the window himself, there's no sight of you, other than the rustling of tree branches somewhere in the woods behind your cabin.

- Fucking women. - Cooper whistles.

He can't deny the shiver of excitement running down his back, as he secures the hat over his eyes. If that's how you want to play, he would oblidge. It's been far too long since he could actually enjoy a more challenging bounty. Cooper slowly walks out of your cabin, looking over all the little trinkets you've gathered inside. Then, almost lazily, he lifts the robe you've left him to his nose. He feels nothing, of course, but he has quite a vivid imagination. Vivid enough to supply him with a memory of a scent from his past life. Lavender, he'd bet you smell like lavender.

Your tracks are deep and visible across the ground, and so, the hunt begins.

#my writing #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout smut #fallout x reader #fallout tv series #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut #i walt on his goggins till we fallout

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Prove Them Wrong

Charles Leclerc x wife!Reader

Summary: when an invitation to your high school reunion arrives, you are ready to throw it in the garbage … but your husband convinces you to go and prove them wrong

Happy Charles Leclerc contract extension day to all who celebrate 🫶

The invitation arrives in the mail on a Tuesday morning. You’ve just finished your coffee and are clearing the breakfast dishes when you see it — that familiar crest imprinted on the thick, creamy stationary. Your five-year high school reunion.

Immediately, your stomach drops. You haven’t thought about high school in years, haven’t had any contact with your classmates in just as long. Those weren’t the easiest years for you. In fact, they were some of the hardest.

You were shy, quiet, a bit awkward. You never quite fit in with the popular crowd, though you longed to. Much of your time was spent alone, lost in books and music, wishing you could break out of your shell. The kids were cruel in their exclusion. You still remember the whispers, the laughter at your expense, the feeling of being an outsider looking in.

After graduation, you left it all behind without a backward glance. You built a new life, one where you finally found your place. You have a successful career, an amazing husband, a beautiful home. You’ve traveled the world, experienced things you could have never imagined as that geeky teen.

Yet holding the invitation in your hands, the old insecurities come flooding back. Could you really face those people again? The ones who looked through you like you were invisible? Who made you feel small?

You’re lost in thought when Charles comes into the kitchen. He kisses your cheek and asks what’s wrong. Wordlessly, you hand him the invitation.

He glances at it and understanding dawns on his face. ��Ah, a reunion. I take it you’re not thrilled?”

You shake your head. “I hated high school. The kids were really mean. I don’t know if I can go back there and face them again.”

Charles pulls you into a hug. “I’m sorry you went through that, love. Kids can be terribly cruel.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “You know, this might be a good chance to show them how wrong they were about you.”

You give him a skeptical look and he continues. “Think about it — you’re not that shy girl anymore. You’ve accomplished so much, you have an amazing life. Maybe going back will give you some closure. A chance to prove to yourself and to them how far you’ve come.”

“I don’t know ...” you say uncertainly.

Charles grasps your shoulders, looking into your eyes. “You are an incredible woman. You have nothing to feel insecure about. I know it won’t be easy, but I think this could be good for you. Let them see the strong, successful person you’ve become. And I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

You take a deep breath, letting his words sink in. Maybe he’s right. This could be an opportunity to flip the script, to rewrite the ending to that difficult chapter of your life.

“Okay,” you say finally. “Let’s do it.”

Charles grins and pulls you in for a real embrace now. “That’s my girl. I’m so proud of you.”

Over the next few weeks, you have moments of confidence mixed with waves of doubt. Charles is a constant source of reassurance. The night before the reunion, your nerves are frayed.

“What if they’re still awful? What if all those old feelings come rushing back the moment I see them?” You fret as you get ready for bed.

Charles takes your hands, his gaze earnest. “I know you’re scared, chérie. But don’t forget — you’re not alone now. I’ll be by your side the whole time. And if anyone says one nasty thing, we’ll walk right out that door, okay?”

You smile gratefully at him. “Okay. Thank you, Charlie. I don’t know if I could do this without you.”

He kisses you softly. “You’ve got this. Get some rest, mon cœur.”

***

In the morning, you take extra care getting ready, donning an elegant dress and styling your hair just so. Looking in the mirror, you remind yourself that you belong in these clothes, in this life.

The reunion is at your old high school, in the gymnasium. As you walk in hand-in-hand with Charles, the smells hit you first — sweat and sneakers, just like you remember. There are balloons and streamers, a table of snacks and drinks. And clustered together, familiar faces you haven’t seen in five years.

Your heart begins to pound. Charles gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this,” he murmurs. Then you lift your chin and step forward to greet your past.

As you scan the room, you recognize faces that used to fill the halls of your high school. Some look familiar, unchanged by the passing years. Others you barely recognize at all.

You steel yourself as a group of giggling girls comes into view — the former popular clique. Lindsay, Heather, and Bethany. Once the queens of the school, rulers of all they surveyed.

Lindsay spots you first. Her overly plumped lips curl into a smirk. “Well, look who it is. Little Y/N Y/L/N.”

You squeeze Charles’ hand tighter as that old childhood instinct to shrink kicks in. But you lift your chin and meet Lindsay’s gaze head-on. “Lindsay. Hello.”

Her eyes flick dismissively over you before landing on Charles. They widen, lips parting. Of course she recognizes him — his face is rarely out of the public eye.

“Y/N!” Bethany exclaims with obviously fake delight. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”

You allow yourself a small, satisfied smile. “Of course. This is my husband, Charles Leclerc.”

Charles gives them a polite nod. “Pleasure to meet you ladies.”

The mean girls’ jaws drop in unison. You can’t help but feel a swell of pride at the impressed once-overs they give Charles.

Heather recovers first, plastering on a sycophantic grin. “The pleasure’s all ours! What a lovely surprise.” She touches Charles’ arm lightly. “We would love to catch up and hear all about your life, Y/N.”

You catch Charles’ eye. His lips twitch, seeing right through them.

“That’s kind of you to offer,” you say smoothly. “If you’ll please excuse us, I see some other classmates I’d like to greet.”

You steer Charles away, leaving them sputtering. As soon as you’re out of earshot, he chuckles. “Well, they certainly changed their tune quickly.”

“Once they realized they could get something from me now,” you reply wryly.

You make small talk with a few classmates, keeping it surface-level. Charles’ presence by your side is bolstering. With him here, you’re reminded that you have nothing to prove to these people. Your worth isn’t defined by their approval.

After grabbing drinks, you scan the room again. Your stomach sinks as your eyes land on a familiar figure — Brad Collins. Handsome as ever, surrounded by a gaggle of admirers.

Brad was your biggest crush all through high school. You pined for him secretly, knowing he was way out of your league. He never gave you the time of day — too focused on football, parties, and whichever popular girl caught his eye that week.

“Everything okay?” Charles asks, noticing your expression.

You nod tightly. “My old crush is here.”

Charles spots him and understanding crosses his face. He presses a kiss to your temple. “His loss, mon amour.”

At that moment, Brad looks up and notices you. His stare is cold, dismissive. He says something to his friends and they erupt in laughter, eyes cutting your way.

Your cheeks burn. Some things never change.

Charles’ jaw tightens. He takes your hand firmly and starts steering you toward Brad and his posse.

You glance at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going over to say hello,” he replies calmly.

“Charles, you don’t have to ...”

He silences you with a look. “Trust me.”

You swallow hard and nod. Brad watches you approach with that familiar cocky smirk.

“Well, look who it is,” he drawls as you come to stand before him. “Never thought I’d see you at one of these things, Y/L/N.”

You stare him down unwaveringly. “Yes, well, people can surprise you.”

Brad’s gaze slides to Charles, brows lifting. You can see him trying to place how he might know this handsome, expensively dressed man by your side.

“Brad, this is my husband, Charles Leclerc,” you say sweetly.

Brad’s smirk disappears. His friends gape between you and Charles.

“Husband, huh?” Brad says after a pause, regaining his bravado. “Well, congratulations. Didn’t know you had it in you to land a guy like this.”

Fury rises in you, but before you can respond, Charles steps forward. His voice is pleasant but his eyes are steel.

“Clearly you don’t know much about my wife at all. But that’s your loss. I’m the lucky one who gets to experience her incredible heart and mind every day.”

Brad flushes under Charles’ stare. An awkward beat passes.

Charles continues calmly, “I couldn’t ask for a better partner. I just hope you realize what an opportunity you missed out on back then. Have a good night, gentlemen.”

He turns, guiding you away and leaving Brad speechless behind you. Your eyes shine as you gaze up at Charles.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?”

He grins. “Feel free to tell me again. And I meant every word.” He nods over at Brad’s group, now whispering furiously. “Hopefully that wipes the smirk off his face.”

You laugh, leaning up to kiss Charles’ cheek. “This turned out to be good advice after all. Thank you for being here, for reminding me who I am now.”

The rest of the reunion passes uneventfully. You mingle, laugh, and share stories with classmates who weren’t part of the toxic popular crowd. They’re welcoming and kind. For the first time, you feel like you’re reconnecting with peers, not tormentors.

As you and Charles get into the car to drive home, you let out a long, satisfied breath. The demons of your past have been conquered for good. You faced your bullies and they’re the ones who were left lacking.

You squeeze Charles’ hand, your heart full of gratitude. “Let’s go home.”

***

The adrenaline rush from the reunion slowly fades as you and Charles drive to your hotel. You lean your head back against the leather seat, letting out a long exhale.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks, glancing your way.

You consider the question. “Good,” you realize with some surprise. “Really good actually.”

Charles smiles. “I’m glad to hear it.”

You shake your head slowly. “I can’t believe I almost didn’t go. Thank you for pushing me to face them. It was so empowering to see their reactions, to realize how little I care about their opinions now.”

“You did all the hard work,” he reminds you. “I just gave you a little nudge. I’m so proud of you, chérie.”

Warmth spreads through you at his words. Not for the first time, you feel a rush of gratitude that this man chose you, sees you, loves you exactly as you are.

Once in your suite, Charles makes you a cup of chamomile tea and you curl up together on the couch. You rest your head on his shoulder, replaying the events of the night in your mind.

“Do you think they’ll actually learn anything from tonight?” You ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence. “All those kids who were so terrible — will seeing me change their perspectives at all?”

Charles considers this, running his fingers idly through your hair. “I’m not sure. Hopefully it gave them something to think about, but some people never grow out of that mindset. The important thing is that you held your head high and didn’t let them make you feel small.”

You nod slowly. “I think if I could go back and tell my teenage self that this night would come, it would have made those years a little more bearable. Knowing I would come through it stronger. That I would have you by my side.”

He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll remind you as often as you need. Though for what it’s worth, I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You’ve always had an inner strength, even if it took time to fully embrace it. Those kids certainly didn’t put it there.”

You smile up at him. “Have I mentioned lately that you always know exactly what to say?”

He chuckles. “Once or twice.”

You talk softly as the evening winds down, the tea warming you from the inside out. Your reunion with the ghosts of high school is finally behind you. It’s time to let go of the last lingering traces they have over you.

Over the next week, life returns to its normal rhythm. You throw yourself back into work, energized by a new sense of confidence and peace. Every day the experience recedes further into the past.

Until the phone call comes.

You’re just sitting down to lunch when your cell lights up with an unfamiliar number. For a moment you simply stare at it, perplexed.

After a brief internal debate, you answer. “Hello?”

“Y/N!” Lindsay chirps in an overly bright voice. “How are you, hon?”

You hold the phone away from your ear, making a face at her faux familiarity. “I’m fine. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask evenly.

“Well, I was just calling to see if we could get together! You know, have a little reunion of our own. I’d love to catch up outside of that whole silly event.”

You nearly choke on your water. “You would?”

“Of course!” Lindsay laughs airily. “I barely got to talk to you. And I’d love to spend more time with that charming husband of yours ...”

Ah. There it is. You have to stifle an eye roll.

“That’s … kind of you to offer,” you say carefully. “But I’m afraid our schedules are pretty busy at the moment.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could find the time!” She presses. “I would love to take you two to dinner. My treat!”

Tempting as that is, you have zero desire to spend more time with this woman, despite her transparent new interest in you.

“Appreciate the invitation, but I’ll have to pass,” you say, your tone final. “Take care, Lindsay.”

You hang up before she can protest further. Shaking your head, you go back to your salad. Some things never change.

When Charles gets home, you regale him with the bizarre phone call. He looks equally astonished.

“She actually asked you to dinner? Just to get closer to me?” He gives an incredulous laugh.

You grin ruefully. “Yep. I guess you made more of an impression than we realized.”

He shakes his head in disbelief. Then his expression turns thoughtful.

“You know what? I think we should take her up on that offer after all.”

You stare at him. “What? Why?”

His eyes glint mischievously. “Because I’d like to make it very clear what I think of people who treat you so poorly. And a free dinner out sounds lovely.”

You can’t help but laugh at his unexpected scheming side. “Look at you, getting all protective and devious! I have to admit, it would be gratifying to knock her off her pedestal a bit more.”

Charles winks. “That’s what I was thinking.”

And so, despite your better judgment, you call Lindsay back and accept her invitation to dinner that weekend.

You take more care than usual getting ready, playing up your most striking features. Charles looks unfairly handsome in his designer suit, hair perfectly tousled just to annoy Lindsay further.

When you arrive at the trendy upscale restaurant she chose, Lindsay is already there waiting. She air-kisses your cheeks in greeting, fawning over you and Charles effusively.

As the meal begins, she dominates the conversation, barely letting you get a word in. She name-drops shamelessly, trying to impress Charles with all her supposed connections.

“Oh Charles, you simply must come stay at our villa in Positano sometime! I’d be happy to arrange it for you both. Anything for Y/N’s hubby!” She titters, touching his arm.

You and Charles exchange subtle amused looks across the table. When the waiter appears for your order, Charles gives him an easy smile.

“My wife will have the scallops and I’ll take the filet. Oh, and send over your most expensive bottle of champagne, please. My treat tonight.”

Lindsay’s smile freezes. You bite back a grin, catching his eye again. Message received.

As dinner winds down, Charles finally turns the tables on her. “So Lindsay, what have you been up to since high school? Y/N tells me you two were quite close.”

Lindsay flushes, flustered. “Oh … well, you know, this and that!” She forces a laugh. “I’m in between ventures at the moment. But I stay very busy with charity work and running in social circles.”

“How lovely for you,” Charles says neutrally. “And your husband? What does he do?”

“I’m, uh, not married,” she mumbles, clearly off-kilter now.

“I see. Well, I’m sure the right man will come along someday.” He smiles placidly. “Everyone deserves to feel that kind of love, don’t you agree?”

Lindsay just nods, face pinched. You stifle a satisfied smile behind your napkin.

Later in the car, Charles grins over at you. “That was entertaining.”

You lean over and kiss his cheek. “Have I mentioned you’re the best husband ever?”

He laughs. “A few times. But I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”

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lovifie · 1 year ago

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 2: Captain’s Dinner

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

Warning/Notes: Captain Price x Reader (on this chapter only, the poly 141 is still building), Oral sex (F receiver), a bit nasty

The rest of the drive goes by in a breath, suspiciously, Simon didn't step on any more bumps, and it felt like being rocking a baby. Kyle got his hand inside your shirt, but as nasty as your acts before, now his hand was just innocently caressing your back, keeping you calm and pliant against him.

At some point, the car stops and you hear Simon talk with someone outside of the car.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

The car moves again but for short this time. And just after a minute or two, the car stops and Simon turns off the engine. Everyone begins to exit the car, Kyle included with you in his arms. You notice people walking around, not too close but enough to see you, and you start to feel self-aware of the fact that you are being carried like a baby by the Sergeant.

“Can you put me down? I want to walk.” You say squirming a bit in the Sergeant’s arms.

“It's faster this way actually, doll.” He responds giving you a quick smile.

“At least put me on your back, it feels weird not seeing where we going.” You say turning your head around as much as you can.

Kyle snickers, making you turn to him with your eyebrows furrowed. “Doll, I actually would be really glad if you let me carry you like this the rest of the way because like this I can hide the fact that I came on my pants like a teenager.”

“Oh.” That's all you managed to say as you feel your cheek blushing. You can definitely feel your panties sticking to your pussy, but he must definitely feel his underwear hardening.

“Soap, Ghost, we will tomorrow at 0700 for a debriefing of today's events. Go rest now. Kyle, come into my office so we can find the key and free our little birdie.” Price orders behind you, relief flowing through your veins at the thought of being free.

Kyle enters the room, Price’s office by logic, and sits you on a desk. And once you are seated, he raises his arm and crouches down getting out of the weird knot of limbs.

He stands before you, free, as you look at him dumbfounded, still cuffed.

“H-how… You could do that?!” You ask looking at him. “I thought you didn't fit, that's why you haven't got out! You could do that?!”

Kyle simply chuckles at you while he adjusts his pants quickly and drops a peck on your forehead whispering against your skin. “Sorry, luv. But it was just too comfortable.” He turns to Price, announcing he is going to take a shower and leaves the room sending you a wink right before closing the door.

You turn to Price, looking a bit shocked still and he picks the key from the drawer at his desk. “Sorry about him, he is a good lad. Hope you were not uncomfortable, right?” He asks as he walks up to you, you put your hands together expecting him to unlock the cuffs, but instead, his hands travel to the back of your tights and he picks you up forcing you to put your hands around his shoulder (almost strangling him for a second before you remember to move your hands above his head)

You let him be, too tired already to fight anymore, and he sits you on the other side of the desk. In front of his chair, once you are seated, he sits on his chair and gets between your legs.

The sight in front of you shouldn't be allowed, broad shoulders making you physically spread your legs to accommodate him, blue eyes looking up at you and warm hands picking yours. “Let's take these off, yeah?”

“Yes, please.” You whisper back, not even sure what you are begging for.

Price takes the cuffs back, furrowing when he sees the red mark where the metal dented into your soft skin. He caresses both wrists drawing circles and then one of them goes higher on your arm up to the bandages. “How's the pain?” He asks looking at your arm.

“Hm? Oh, that… honestly, I always thought bullet wounds would hurt a lot more. It's not too bad, I almost had forgotten about it.” You say smiling back at him.

He chuckles back shaking his head. “I'm definitely having you give a pep talk to the rookies. Sorry about your blouse, as well. I'll pay for a new one.” He says caressing your arm.

“Oh, there is no need, really. This is an old one, I should have thrown it out a bit ago anyway.” You admit shaking your hands to let him know there is no need.

“I insist. And if you get any medical bills, or need any physiotherapy sessions or anything. We will pay for them, we'll take care of you, doll.” He says standing up to his full height still between your legs.

“You keep saying that…”

“What do you mean?”

“That you will take care of me.”

“Yes. We will if you allow us.”

You look at his face, trying to decipher what he means. But the intensity of his gaze pulls the air out of your lungs leaving you breathless, the heat from his body is scorching against you and the ground seems so far away you feel like you falling off a cliff.

“Are you okay, doll?” He asks softly looking to meet your gaze again cupping your face.

“Yeah.” You say softly pulling his hand away and you put a hand on his chest pushing him back. “I-I should get going, I have work in the morning it's better if I get back home.”

“You can stay the night if you want, I'll drive you to work tomorrow.” He quickly responds like he doesn't want you to go.

“Capt- John.” You correct yourself earning a smile from him. “John, I need to shower, and I don't have any clean clothes, really you have done more than enough for me, I will just go home.”

You stay looking at him, waiting for him to move back so you can hop off the desk and get out. But he doesn't, instead, he gets closer and moves both hands to cup your face making you look at him. “You are thinking too hard, doll.”

And then, as natural as it is to blink, he kisses you.

A soft peck right on the corner of your mouth to test the waters, a soft peck on the other side, and then, softly, almost like melting at the touch, a kiss right to the centre of your lips.

He moves slightly back, enough to be able to speak and ask. “You solid?”

And you nod.

You are not even a hundred per cent sure you know what he means, but you know that whatever the man in front of you would ask, you would say yes.

You shouldn't, you don't know him. You only know his name and his position as Captain. You know your mind is not clear, right now he is your saviour, he is been taking care of you since you met, and he is so strong, so gentle with you, so handsome.

You shouldn't be leaning in for another kiss, but you are.

There is always tomorrow for regrets.

But tonight, all your senses scream John Price.

Never did you though a kiss could get you so hot and bothered, he only has his hands on your face and his lips on yours and you are already panting.

He moves forward, hips crashing onto yours making you gasp and he uses the opportunity to get his tongue on your mouth.

You can taste the tobacco on his tongue, swimming down your body. His hands move, taking your hair back into a ponytail and he pulls back. It stings and you groan softly, shifting to a moan when you feel his lips down your throat.

His moustache tickles the soft skin of your neck in contrast with the scorching feeling of his breath. “Who beat me to it?” He asks, chuckling drily looking at something on your neck.

Fucking Kyle.

“Better to erase it, doll.” He says, possessiveness taking over him. And there are no more soft kisses, now he makes out, no, he devours your neck like a madman. Sucking and biting, feeling the mark erupt and your panties to grow wetter.

You bite your lip to try and not make an embarrassment of yourself from how badly you want to moan, and you take his shirt out of his pants. Running your hands under the shirt, needing to feel him.

“I hope you don't mind, sweetheart. Since it is already ruined…” He trails off as he grabs your shirt over your chest and pulls, hard, pulling the buttons of the fabric and ripping it where it didn't give in.

He almost growls when he sees the skin giggle and he dives right into your chest. His hands rest on your waist pulling you forward him, pulling your shirt out of your pants.

You try to take off your jacket, but the sudden movement causes a sharp pain in your arm making you groan in pain. Price quickly detaches himself from your skin to look at your face, alarmed he hurted you. “Sorry, you alright love?” He asks feeling guilty. You shake your head, only worrying him more and then you add. “It's not you, the jacket. Got stuck on the bandages or something; can you help me, please?” He smirks mischievously at you. “Help you to undress? Oh, darling, that's my pleasure.”

He kisses you on your lips again, taking off your jacket carefully and then your shirt. He pulls your bra strap down your shoulder, leaving your bra downside, your boobs out and pushes up. He cups one of your boobs groaning on your mouth when you moan softly and then bends down to get the other one inside his mouth.

He twirls his tongue around your nipple, savouring the taste of your skin. You move your hand to the back of his head, and when he gets lower, right under your boob over your ribs, and he bites you as you pull his hair moaning his name. “John…”

“Yeah, darling, moan my name like that.” He mumbles against your skin before he goes back to your mouth. “You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart. Can't fucking wait to taste all of your.”

“Do it. Do it, please.” You say against his mouth, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“Aw, darling, what a fucking sight. Asking so nicely, how can I say no?” He says between kisses as he undoes your pants.

He lifts your ass from the desk with an arm as he pulls down your pants and your underwear all together. He leaves you again on the desk and undoes the clasp of your bra taking it off. Leaving you completely bare on his desk, while he remains completely dressed. The vest is even still on.

“Fuck… I must have been a fucking saint on my last life to be worth it of this sight, angel.” He says looking up and down your body as he moves his hands from your waist up to your face to give you a kiss. “I'm gonna make you feel good, love. So, so good…” he trails off as he begins to give kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbones, sternum, tummy, and just when he is about to reach your mount. He pulls back making you whine. “Shh, pretty, just getting comfy.”

He grabs the chair from before sitting down, gets closer between your legs and pulls them over his shoulder forcing you to lean on your back using the elbow that is not hurt to prop yourself up enough to see him.

He kisses the inside of your tights, from your knee and higher, higher, higher… you can feel his beard on that soaking part of you where you need him the most. But he doesn't indulge you, instead, he goes back to your knee and high again. Teasing you, leaving you panting, aching, clenching around anything, needy, desperate.

“John… please… no more teasing…” you beg, feeling desperate for him.

“Poor baby, already soaking.” He says looking directly at your cunt, and you feel as he presses a thumb on your clit making you shudder at the feeling and he slowly moves it down your slit, reaching your dripping hole and pressing it, but without getting it inside. Just collecting your juices and driving you mad.

He takes the thumb up to his lips licking it while he looks at your eyes. “Just as I thought, fucking candy, love.” You want to complain, to grab his hair and shove his face against your cunt but the only thing that leaves your lips is a bratty whine, too horny to think straight.

You feel Price chuckle against your skin, and when you finally feel ready to tell him off, he presses his tongue flat against your clit turning your brain to absolute mush as you let go of a moan worth of a porn video as you let your head fall back.

He moves his head up and down, letting his tongue move between your folds; collecting your arousal mixing it with his spit making a mess on his beard.

His index finger moves to your entrance, slowly getting it inside stretching you slightly because of the size of his hands. He sucks at your clit, almost making out with it. And once he feels satisfied with it, he gets a second finger inside.

You keep moaning his name, like a mantra almost, not being able to remain quiet when he begins to thrust his finger in and out of your wet cunt. The sounds, the squelch, the sight, delightful.

You have been given head before, but never like this. It never had you begin for them to keep going, to not let you hanging, never this desperate. But John Price, it has you wishing you could kiss the terrorist of your neighbour just for putting you in his line of vision.

He curls his fingers inside of you pressing a point that has you falling on your back hitting your head load enough for him to chuckle against your cunt, but before he can lift his head to check on you, you just get your hand on his head keeping him in place.

Caressing his hair, spreading your legs even wider, he eats you out like a man starved. Like he hasn't eaten in days like he just found a water fountain in the middle of the desert.

You realise then, that the reason why you have never felt like this before with any ex-lover, is because you have never felt this desired. You can feel Price moaning against your cunt, and it makes you wonder who is enjoying it more.

Not for long though, because you begin to feel the knot on your stomach get tighter. More and more tight, you feel your toes curl and you close your eyes letting your mouth open as you feel the knot coming undone like an elevator free-falling. A high-pitched moan leaves your lips that in any other situation would make you feel embarrassed and your tights clasp around Price’s head when he doesn't relent on his attack.

He helps you ride out your orgasm as you cover your face with your hands, the light in the room is suddenly too bright, and after a couple of seconds, you look up at him.

And the sight…

He is sitting, leaning back against the chair, manspreading wide, an elbow resting on the armrest as he lazily licks clean the fingers that were just inside of you. Absolutely content with himself and his accomplishments, a sight absolutely devilishly delicious.

You notice the tent on his pants, and you try to touch him with your feet. But he grabs your ankle, and you don't have enough energy on you to push it.

“As much as I would like to keep going, doll.” He says letting your leg down and coming up closer to your face. “You can barely keep your eyes open, so I think it's time to rest.”

He stands up, goes somewhere behind you that you guess is the bathroom because of the sound of water and a bit later, he is back. He picks you up, and lays down on a sofa, with you on top.

A bathroom and a sofa inside of his personal office, he really is a military captain. He covers the both of you with a blanket, he gives you a kiss to the forehead and before you know it, you are out.

Post-nut clarity doesn't hit until a couple of hours later.

You are naked, in an unknown man's office, far away from home, with no phone, no keys, no money, no clothes, ashamed.

So you do the only thing you can do, you slip away from the sleeping handsome man, get dressed as fast as you can without making any noise and leave the room. You don't even bother to put on your blouse, choosing to just close your jacket.

Once outside, you let a sigh escape your lips. You know the military base, it is actually not that far away from your home, less than an hour walking back.

Are you excited about walking back home at the break of dawn alone? No. Do you have another choice? Not really, not any that would help reduce the walk of shame you found yourself doing.

So you get your hands on your pockets and start doing your half a marathon back home.

And just as the sun is beginning to pick over the horizon, you reach your home.

Just last night there were dozens of police cars, military workers, everything, the whole paraphernalia. But now? It is just dead silence, no a soul in sight, as if nothing has ever happened.

The janitor calls your name when he sees you, he gives you your keys and tells you that the police dropped them by when they cleaned everything.

You wait for the elevator and make your way up to your floor. On apartment 608, there is a police notice, banning everyone from getting close to the crime scene. There are bullet holes and some bloody handprints on the walls, a blood splutters a bit too close to the height your arm is.

You shake your head trying to forget about it, and open your door. Once inside, you lock the door and look for your phone. Only to remember that it must be in your bag, in your car, where you dropped it when you tried to run.

You look at the clock on the wall that you always forget about, and realise you have 20 minutes to get ready if you want to make it time to work. So get at it.

Most of those 20 minutes, go into taking a shower. You feel dirty, mainly because you are, but also because you feel used. You think about Price and Kyle, handsome military men, they have probably visited countries you don't even know exist and they probably have a lover in each of them.

You are probably just another one, and you let them in so easily. They must have barely felt any satisfaction from such an easy catch.

You feel like crying for being so silly, but a voice in your head stops you. The voice in your head that picks you up whenever you fuck something up. Don't cry! Why would you cry?! They used you just as much as you used them! And they are not crying! So neither are you! You made a grown man cum on his pants by rubbing yourself a bit and an even grown-er man basically get on his knees to eat you out! So don't cry!

So you get out of the shower with another attitude, you are going to get a hold of the situation, you are going to get space between these men and yourself, and you are going to be just fine!

“Son of a bitch!” You exclaim when you see yourself in the mirror, if you had thrown yourself down the stairs there would be fewer bruises on your body. Well, not bruises, hickeys.

You huff getting out of the bathroom to get dressed, and then back to the bathroom to cover all the hickeys.

By divine grace, you make on time for work. You are exhausted, starving and if any of your coworkers spoke to you today just a bit out of tone, you would chew their arms off. But luckily, everything goes right.

At least, until you get back home, and the first thing you see when you get off the elevator, is a masked man standing in front of your door.

I guess it is a series now, I don't know where I'm going with it but there is still a couple of things I have thoughts about.

If you guys have any ideas or scenarios please, tell me hehe

And if you want me to tag you on the next part drop a coment 💗

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sweetpascal · 6 months ago

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 — 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐢𝐱

pairing: perv!stepdad!joel x fem!reader

summary: only one more day remains in the week before your mom returns home. your feelings for joel have deepened, and he's aware of it; it's evident to him. he's tempted to maintain his distance, yet he can't deny that you've become the most captivating presence in his life.

warnings: MINORS DNI. DUB-CON. NON-CON. big age gap [18/52], pussy inspection, fingering, forced squirting, pussy pronouns, joel "just the tip" miller turns into joel "i'll make it fit" miller, TW: light vaginal bleeding, belly bulging, reader is considered petite in height and body type, two (2) pussy spanks, missionaryyyy, choking, finger sucking, dacryphilia, joel is a dirty nasty old man okay, he's a meanie, phone sex (again, joel is REALLY fucking nasty), dirty nicknames (daddy's whore, daddy's bitch), this is all in joel's pov

wc: 7.6k

notes: this series literally would have been HALTED for a while if it weren't for @taeslarityy helping me with brainstorming and constructing how i should continue this chapter. cause pookies, i was stumped. i had no motivation for this series--until yasi and her lovely fucking brain gave me a kick in the ass and got me back up again 🥹🛐 also, i'm genuinely so disappointed in this chapter. it's been such a long wait and halfway through writing, i've deleted it so many times. and even now, i'm so unhappy with the outcome cause i feel like i just rushed through it and forced myself to finish it :(( but hey, one more chapter left. 🩷

series masterlist | prev chapter | final chapter

As Joel wakes up in the morning, he senses immediately that something is amiss. He sits up with a hoarse grunt, feeling his lower back muscles pinch and pull. Rubbing his eyes to clear the blurriness, he notices an absence of warmth. The night before, he recalls carrying you to the bedroom, the very one he has shared with your mom for years. He remembers laying down, letting your trembling body curl into his, and gently hushing you to sleep. Now, he's greeted by the cold, empty space in the bed where you slept, mocking him with its emptiness.

In an instant, a surge of panic and fury overwhelmed him, fueled by the thought that you had left without telling him again. The doors unlocked, his car taken, driven wherever your little heart desires. The house's silence confirmed his suspicions of your departure. However, as he swung his legs off the bed, he halted, spotting the small figure curled up on the floor, mere feet from where he lay.

Joel's breath catches in his throat as he approaches, seeing your small form turned away from him. The gentle rise and fall of your shoulders assure him you're still breathing, alleviating his fear that something terrible had occurred. Yet, he can't help but wonder what prompted you to shift away from him to the ground while he was asleep. Were you scared of him? Did you witness or overhear the incident with your friend? Joel kneels down and places a tender hand on your shoulder.

"Baby?" he whispers, careful not to startle you. "Come on, honey, time to wake up." He gives your shoulder a firmer shake, chuckling softly as you respond with a sleepy murmur.

As you begin to wake up, the only sensations are the ache in your neck from the awkward position and an intense coldness. You chose to leave Joel's warmth after coming to the realization that you didn't deserve the comfort and coziness of sharing a bed with him. Joel had taught you not comfort and warmth, but pleasure and pain. You didn't want to start the day being a bad girl for him.

"The hell you doin' on the floor, baby?" Joel couldn't help but laugh when you spring up, nearly cracking your head against his chin. "Hey, hey, easy." The sternness in his voice had you calming down.

A moment of silence enveloped you, allowing full consciousness to take hold. With a soft whimper, you nestled closer to Joel, your nose comfortably tucking in just beneath his jawline, feeling the steady rhythm of his pulse against your skin. He pulls you onto his lap and leans back against the bed, comfortably stretching out his legs to hold you closer to his chest.

"You want to tell me why you were on the floor?" he asks quietly, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as you squirm in his hold, desperate to feel some of his warmth.

Joel feels you shrug under his hands. "I dunno," you say so softly that he has to strain his good ear to hear you properly. "I didn't want you to wake up and see me next to you. And... I didn't want to be a bad girl by staying in your bed. I-I think on the floor is better for me."

Joel is caught off guard by the response; it's not what he anticipated. He thought you would be fearful of him and would seek to keep a distance, yet remain within reach. As you look up at him, a slight widening of his eyes occurs, your lashes fluttering and the innocent smile on your lips hinting that if heart-shaped pupils were real, they'd appear in your eyes every time you looked at Joel. He doubts how much longer he can ignore this feeling before it inevitably consumes him. It's gnawing at his insides, twisting and pulling with force. It's a familiar sinking sensation, one he's experienced too often. But now, as you gaze at him with a doe-eyed look on your innocent face, Joel realizes he's in too deep. He's got you hooked, which was his intention, but now you're too hooked. He's searching for an escape. He needs a way out. The voice in his head is screaming, growing louder, louder, LOUDER.

Get out, Joel. Get out. Get the fuck out. Run. Don't get too close. Don't let her fall too deep. Run. Run. Run. Make it hurt. Ruin in. Ruin her. Make her hurt. Get out. Get out. Get out. Get out.

"Daddy?"

The sound of a soft voice causes his eyes to fly open, not recalling the moment they had closed. The voice fades away, leaving silence behind. He senses your presence; your skin, your weight, your gentle breath against his neck. You are all he perceives. Yet, this incites anger within him. The sensation is overpowering, his skin grows warm as the walls seem to draw nearer. Joel's breath quickens. Disregarding the concern on your face, he chooses to shut his eyes once more, withdrawing his hands from you to form tight fists.

"Daddy?"

Once more, it's your voice, yet softer and fainter. Joel's jaw tightens, and he grinds his teeth while your voice sears through his ear canal, coiling throughout his brain and delving deeper into the membrane. He tries to steady his breathing, but flashes of your body, bruised and battered, eyes fearful with tears, pussy leaking all over his cock show up behind his closed eyes like a slideshow, and it's as though he was suddenly injected with a drug directly into his veins. His breath steadies and his hands relax. Joel's eyes open to a half-lidded gaze, emotionless as he stares back. He understands the necessary actions; it's for the best. He won't let himself become entangled in any feelings you may harbor towards him.

That's not who he is, nor who he will ever become.

It has been exactly sixteen hours, thirty-two minutes, and forty-eight seconds since the last time Joel has kissed your lips. His body is aching to feel their plush softness and subtle sweetness. To feel them wrapped around his thick cock, tightening all around and swallowing down his cum. To feel them pressed into his neck as you struggle to keep in your little whimpers of sinned pleasure as you fall apart on his fingers. Joel can feel the monster within him, howling and screeching to be released.

He can't.

He won't.

Joel confronts the intricate desires he diligently avoided. Their abrupt emergence, without a moment for him to brace himself, leaves him feeling disarrayed and distant from the man he strived to become. The facade he maintained for years has dissipated. Gone is Joel Miller; the husband, stepfather, boss, and big brother. Now, there was Joel Miller; pervert, predator, stepfather that creeps on his wife's daughter, violator. All the things he has desperately tried to hide away, he now became.

The haunting is relentless, day after day. Living in the same house as the person who evokes such darkness is excruciating. He feels akin to a caged animal, circling endlessly, biding time for an opening to pounce on any unsuspecting individual. Joel is convinced that the only escape from this torment is to confront it head-on. He knows. He also knows it's sick and disgusting, but it excites him unlike anything else. He enables it.

Joel watches from afar, conscious of the negative impact his behavior has had on you today. He notices your fidgeting and the way you quiet down when his glare falls upon you. Your averted gaze and pouted lips communicate all he needs to understand. This experience is as torturous for you as it is for him. Nonetheless, the voice persists, refusing to be silenced. This withdrawal seems to only fuel its anger, making it more aggressive and deafening. It's pushing Joel to the brink of madness.

You had to have known what you're doing to him. Joel firmly believes that you're being a fucking tease on purpose, wearing your soft sleep shorts and paper-thin camisole tank top. When you bend down, Joel could see how your shorts tighten around the shape of your ass and pussy lips, giving him a tasteful view of camel toe, and if he looks any closer, he could possibly see a wet spot on the fabric. He knows what you're doing, whether you know it yourself or not. It's like your body calls out to him, begging to be defiled, begging to be touched by his perverted hands. Whether you know it or not, you need him as much as he needs you.

The house is enveloped in silence. Joel has not uttered a single word for several hours. The quiet has persisted from morning until late afternoon. Nursing a beer, he attempts to divert his mind and avoid being overwhelmed by thoughts of you, his stepdaughter. The task was proven to be the most difficult he's ever had to endure considering the fact that you took a seat beside Joel on the couch and now, you won't stop fucking moving.

It would be a minute of stillness. Then, you would huff and shuffle in your seat, bare thighs brushing against Joel's jean-clad thigh. It was clockwork. Every time he tilted his head back to take a gulp of his beer, your movements jostled his side. With each sip, he grunted and nudged you roughly with his elbow, trying to push you away, yet you edged closer after each shove.

"Enough," Joel grunts for the umpteenth time, opting to use his hand this time to shove you away, albeit harder than the rest. "Sit your ass over there and give me some fuckin' space."

He notices your trembling lips and the tears brimming in your eyes. With a deep sigh, he pinches the bridge of his nose. All he desired was to savor a beer in the afternoon without your tears for every mistake he made, yet he realizes it was a situation he brought upon himself. Evidently, he has managed to reduce you to a state of dependency. Now, it was time to break you down even further until you can no longer cry, only accept your fate.

"Alright," he sighs once more, taking a sip of his beer before turning to you. "What's goin' on? Hm? Why is so goddamn important that you have to be glued at side?" Joel didn't intend to come off as harsh, but his nerves were ablaze, everything was humming, his clothes felt constricting, and the thought of your mother lingered in his mind, an unsettling presence.

He notices you curled up, knees drawn to your chest and arms encircling them. Resting your chin on your knees, you cast him a nervous glance. Joel lifts his eyebrows and gestures with his hand, urging you to speak. He understands that your attachment to him isn't your doing; it's precisely what he desired. Yet, he can't deny the thrill he gets from your reliance on him. Knowing that he's the one you yearn for fills him with a smug satisfaction, inflating his ego immensely.

A young, pretty little thing like yourself eager to please a dirty old man like him.

Clearing your throat in the softest way possible, you tell him, "I've been getting that feeling again... down there. And it won't go away no matter how many times I try to think about something else. I need your help to make it go away, Daddy. Please, help me." The last sentence comes out as a whisper, almost like a secret you're trying to keep for yourself, but Joel heard every word.

Looking at you right now, his sleezy eyes swallow every inch. His fingers twitch on his lap as his hand tightens around the neck of the beer bottle. There's a warmth stirring in his gut. His jaw tensed and clenches as he tries to fight off the sexually violent images of you in his mind.

With the way you're staring at him, Joel knows what has to be done.

That's where he has you now, laid out on his and your mom's shared bed, bare naked and trembling, silky thighs spread wide open with your hands under the crook of your knees to keep them that way. Joel is kneeling between them, clad in only his jeans, his shirt long gone. He's staring down at you like a feral wolf waiting for the perfect moment to attack the pathetic bunny cowering in a tree stump. His mouth waters as he thinks about sinking his teeth into your flesh and drinking your sweet blood. His hands tremble as they start to stroke along your inner thigh, savoring the way you tremble under his fingertips.

"She's just drooling for me, ain't she?" Though the question was rhetorical, you still nod. Joel grins and lets out a deep chuckle before biting down on his bottom lip as his thumbs get closer to your sweet pussy.

He knows he's teasing at this point. The little flutters your pussy gives him tells him all that he needs to know. He only wonders how far he'd have to go for you to finally crack and lose composure. A pearly drop of slick slowly pools out of your hole and slides down to your other tight-ringed hole. Joel catches it with his thumb and gently swipes it up to your clit before pulling his thumb away, a string of arousal connecting from the fingertip to your clit. He sees you glancing down at it as he shows it off to you with a sadistic grin on his face.

"You see that?" he whispers, his plush lips parting as he continues swiping through your slick, subtle wet noises colliding with the sounds of your heavy breathing. "So messy down here, honey girl."

Joel's dick thickens underneath the two layers he wears on his bottom half. The throbbing is constant, his heavy balls pulsing in time with his heartbeat. He's surprised the button of his jeans hasn't popped open. With one hand, he unbuttons and slides down the zipper agonizingly slow. Your eyes are on his hands the entire time. Joel lets out a quiet laugh when his hardness forces the zipper to slide down the rest of the way on its own.

With his cock comfortably breathing, both hands are now back on your inner thighs, thumbs still close to the lips of your pussy. With gentle movements, he uses his thumbs to spread apart your lips to get a better look of your sopping hole. Pearly strings connecting from one lip to the other, your pretty labia spreading open like a blooming flower, your swollen clit throbbing for attention. Joel is in awe and falls into a hypnotized state the more he stares at your fully exposed pussy. His fingers are curious as they stroke along your lips, further dampening the light dusting of hair that keeps your mound warm and protected.

Joel eagerly listens to every little noise you make. His movements are torturous, and he knows he's being mean by not giving you what you asked for. The little trembles of your thighs and your weak moans when his fingers purposely avoid your aching clit. His lips part and he can feel drool at the corners. Licking it away, Joel continues to trace your pussy lips with his thumbs, further observing the clenching and unclenching of your non-stop dripping hole.

"Fuck," he hissed under his breath, fingers catching the slick repeatedly to avoid it wasting onto the bedsheets. In a louder voice, he says in a smug tone, "She jus' won't stop leakin' everywhere."

Joel's mind is reeling the more he inspects your dripping pussy. He can practically taste you on his tongue. A husky, low growl escapes from his chest before he could stop it. He can hear that voice again, feel those claws sinking into his shoulders from behind. The rattling of the cage gets louder and more violent. Joel's eyes shut as fast as his hands left your body as he tries to shut out that dark voice coaxing him to do more damage. He lets out another low growl and shakes his head to himself.

"Daddy?" he hears your sweet whimper fill his ears. "Make it go away."

Joel wants to make it go away. He wants to make everything go away. He needs to or else this feeling won't stop. It'll only get stronger and stronger the more time passes. He knows what has to be done. Then, silence. He opens his eyes, his breathing heavy and labored. The two of you make eye contact, and Joel feels like his heart is about to burst through his chest from how hard and fast it's beating.

Without another word, his middle finger slowly sinks inside your pussy, your tightness sucking him deeper. There's a steady trembling in your thighs as you fight to shut them. Joel's thumb strokes your swollen clit in firm, tight circles. He crooks his finger and lays his free hand across your mound and applies pressure, pinning you between his palm and the mattress.

"What..."

He knows what you're about to ask, but he doesn't let the question slip from your lips before he's fucking his middle finger in and out of your pussy while simultaneously curling his finger against your spongy pleasure spot, all the while pressing down above your mound and rubbing your clit. The wet sloshing of your wetness being spread all around his finger, palm, and your thighs is an embarrassing noise that has you covering your face. For some reason, that pisses Joel off.

"Look at me!" He practically yells and yanks his finger out of your pussy to land a hearty smack directly over your clit. The loud smack has you yelping and squeezing your thighs together as you yanked your hands away from your face to look at Joel with a pained expression.

He shoves your thighs open with brutal force and shoves his middle and ring fingers inside your pussy this time, the tightness increasing from the sudden intrusion. You let out a louder yelp and reach down to grab his arm with both hands, but Joel slaps them away like he would an annoying mosquito. He moves his hand with vigor, fucking his fingers up against that one spot that makes you leak and shake. There's an abundance of wetness that splatters all over your inner thighs and on Joel's palm. His tongue tingles to clean up your sticky mess.

"Goddamn, you're so fuckin' wet, babydoll," he groans filthily, forcing himself to look between your legs. His calloused fingers are shoved so deep inside your pussy, the same ones that have been inside your mother numerous times. Joel is a disgusting man for the satisfaction he feels, knowing that these are the same fingers that have made your mom cum. And now, he's going to make you, his stepdaughter, cum on them in the same way.

Joel presses down onto your pelvis as he keeps the heel of his palm against your clit to apply delicious pressure. He moves his hand up and down rather than forward and back. He can feel his fingers stabbing at the ribbed spongy spot repeatedly, the wet sloshing growing louder the faster he does it. Your moans are garbled and stuttering from his unrelenting pace.

"That's it, babydoll," he grunts quietly, biting down on his bottom lips as he fights to slide in a third finger. If he's going to open up that pussy any further, it's going to be around his cock.

"Stop, stop, stop," you squealed and kicked your legs, trying desperately to pull your body away from his fingers. "I have to pee!"

Joel goes harder and faster, his palm practically slapping against your clit in time with his fingers. The final moan you let out was demonic, of some sort. It didn't sound like it was coming out of a teenage girl, but more from a deranged older woman. Then, a stream of wetness splashes out and splatters all across Joel's forearm and onto the bed sheets. It was fucking never-ending. Your pussy keeps sucking in his fingers, fluttering all around his knuckles. He pulls his fingers out and lands another smack onto your pussy, paying extra attention to your needy clit.

He knows what he has to do. He knows what has to be done.

He rests heavily on top of your body, one forearm planted on the bed beside your head as the other moves between your bodies to lower his jeans and his boxers, not quite shaking them completely off. You're still trying to catch your breath, not exactly understanding what it was that just happened, what it was that you just felt, and why it felt so good. Joel can see it in your eyes, the unspoken questions on the tip of your tongue. He hushes you softly, his lips just a hair away from yours.

"Daddy's goin' to do the tip again, okay? Just the tip, babydoll, I promise," his voice is quiet and soft, his breath tickling your lips like a kiss from the wind.

He doesn't care enough to hear your response or to see if you want to do this or not, but he's already pressing his tip against your sticky hole and pushing inside. Joel's hoarse grunt was muffled as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his big, heavy body sagging further onto yours. His hips slowly move forward and forward and back, fucking his mushroomed tip in and out of your eager hole.

"Oh, my God," your sweet little whimpers whispered in his ear as Joel's hips continued their steady pace. "Too...much." Your voice is clouded with a tinge of pain as he fucks an inch deeper, and then two inches deeper. "Daddy... Daddy, s-slow down!"

Joel's mental state is clouded with depraved lust, pleasure, and ecstasy. His cock sinks deeper. His vision is cloudy, and your voice sounds far away as your pussy sucks him in. He finds himself shutting you up by slapping a big hand over your mouth and pressing some of his weight down onto it. Joel's head lifts up, and he's inches from your face. Your eyes are wide and filled with tears, one hand grabbing onto his shoulder as the other desperately grabs onto his forearm.

"You can take some more," he breathes heavily, his beer-laced breath causing your eyes to flutter shut as you fight to pull away from his face, but Joel clamps his hand down tighter against your mouth, pinning your head down onto his pillow and constricting your movements.

The figurative crate in the recesses of his mind is rattling violently, the voice inside escalating, almost yelling for Joel to let go and inflict pain. This is the necessary action. It's a now or never situation. His skin turns scorching, almost too hot to touch. Every sense is inundated by your presence. Time has run out. The voice is reverberating in Joel's mind, fully taking control.

The chains are gone. The beast has awoken. He is free.

A small scream against Joel's palm has him breaking free from the darkness that has taken over. He's sure he looks feral right now. The widening of your eyes showcases terror. Joel glances down and notices that his cock is now halfway inside your pussy. He doesn't remember sliding his hips deeper into yours. He feels how tight you've gotten, your pussy almost begging for him to not go any further.

"Look at that," he mumbles to himself, pulling his cock two inches out and seeing the tiniest smear of blood around the thick base. "Seems like this little pussy can't all of me, huh?" Joel leans back down, laughing right in your face as he pushes his cock back inside. You're kicking at the back of his thighs with the heels of your feet now, trying to shake your head at him, but he tightens his hand once again. "Don't worry, honey girl," he grunts breathlessly. "Daddy will make it fit."

And with that, Joel reels his hips back and slams the last few inches into your pussy, hearing with glee as your breath gets caught in your throat and your eyes cross and roll into the back of your head. The rhythmic push and pull of your cunt tightening around his cock had his heavy balls throbbing as heat builds stronger in the pit of his stomach.

Joel groans huskily, lowering his heavy body onto your own and slowly moving his hips forward and back, pulling out shallowly and pressing in deep. He makes sure you feel every single inch.

"Feel how deep I am in your tummy, babydoll?" he breathes heavily, his tongue thick in his mouth as his throat suddenly feels dry. Joel can feel his senses slipping as he loses control. He's been waiting for this day for months, and now that he finally has it, he doesn't want to let it go. This whole power dynamic went straight to his head, further inflating his already massive ego. Feeling your virgin cunt being deflowered around his cock was unlike anything he's ever felt.

Your eyes are blurry with thick tears that roll down your cheeks and slide along Joel's fingers. He pulls out again, slowly pushes back in, and repeats the process until the light smearing of blood disappears. He gruffly hushes you and pulls his hand away to shove two thick fingers into your mouth.

"Attagirl," he mumbles to himself as he obscenely pushes down on your tongue to widen your mouth. "Show me what that tongue can do." He slides his fingers forward and back along the pink muscle, mimicking the motions of his hips. He goes as far as to shove his fingers towards your uvula to make you gag. Drool slides down the corners of your lips as strings of spit crudely connect from your tongue to Joel's fingers.

He grins wolfishly. Oh, this is going to be fun. To have you under his body, cunt squeezing and choking his cock, knowing that you will forever live with the moment of your disgusting stepdad taking your virginity. Joel doesn't give a flying fuck on how this is going to affect any future relationships you might have with another man. Right here, right now, you belong to Joel. You know it, he knows it. Within the walls of the bedroom he shares with your mom, you belong to him whether you liked it or not. He's going to take, take, take, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Joel lifts the bottom of his shirt to watch the hypnotizing sight of your swollen pussy repeatedly sucking him in. Virgin blood was now replaced with that sticky slick he grew to love over the last few days. The sopping wet sounds of his hips smacking into yours, your stickiness covering his thick, dark pubic hair and happy trail. Joel looks up to watch your face as he starts to really fuck you. With one hand still trapped between your lips, he uses those fingers to hook behind your bottom teeth and force your head down as his other hand cups the back of your head to grab your hair in a fist. Yanking your head down, you're forced to watch his girthy cock violate your pussy for the first time.

"You fuckin' see that?" Joel pants heavily, his own lips parted to let out a few strained grunts. "See how your little pussy sucks me right in? You see that shit, right?" He sounds too cocky for his own good, but he has every right to be. Your mom was never wet enough or tight enough for him. Having her daughter nearly drowning his dick and choking the life out of it was an accomplishment he'll proudly wear like a medal of honor.

"Daddy," you called out to him, but a garbled, drooly mess came out from his fingers still hooked behind your bottom teeth. "Aaahhgghh!!" The next moan was practically punched out of you once Joel started to put some weight into his next few thrusts.

"Thaaaat's it," he has the audacity to laugh at the sudden reaction he pulled from your trembling body. "She's feelin' it now, ain't she?"

More tears spilled down your cheeks, and Joel's depraved sense of self forced him to swipe his spit covered fingers across the wetness to shove back into your mouth, forcing you to taste your tears on your tongue. The tiny moan you tried to hide wasn't ignored. Joel knows you want to let loose and enjoy what he's giving you, but he remembers what's going to happen if you enjoy it too. He can at least make it hurt just for a little, right?

Pulling his hands completely away from your head and face, Joel places them into the crook of your knees to force them to your chest, further spreading you open and giving him more room to work with. Joel doesn't bother to double check if the positioning is comfortable before he's driving his hips so fast and deep against yours, not even giving you time to breathe between each violent thrust. His head tilts back, his grin widening as he hears your pained yelps, feeling your hand desperately grabbing onto his forearms and scratching your nails down his skin, no doubt leaving deep marks.

"This is what a man's dick feels like," he grunts ferociously like a wild beast. "Quit your fuckin' whining and take this dick. Fuckin' take it. Take it. Take it." Joel's fucking you like a madman now, balls so heavy and filled with cum, smacking against your lightly bruised ass cheeks. Your wetness is splattering all over his jeans and your inner thighs. He glances at your face and sees the expression you wear--eyes rolled back and mouth open to let out ungodly noises.

Fuck, you're really enjoying this. No matter what Joel does, you're going to like whatever he does either way. He's tainted you. He deflowered you and rotted you inside and out. You're no longer that sweet, innocent girl he helped his wife raise. No longer did you have that girl-next-door personality. You were his little experiment, his naive toy to play with when he got bored of your mom and needed something new and young. He's in too deep, literally and figuratively. Your dripping wet pussy tightening around his girth has Joel coming back down to reality.

"Jo-oel! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!!" Your little squeals were music to his ears. The noises his cock was forcing out of you were ones you tried to keep hidden, but the pleasure was too intense to keep quiet about. "Right there!! Ri-ight... there!!"

Then, a shrill ringtone fills the room. Joel's back pocket is vibrating, and his hips freeze as if he were being held in a stickup. With his cock still so very deep inside, he glances down and sees a visible bulge in your stomach. He can faintly map out the shape of his mushroomed tip. He pulls out and pushes in again, completely hypnotized with the sight of your belly bulging from his massive cock. You seem transfixed on it as well, your own lips parted in wonder and eyes wide in awe. The phone rings again. Joel hisses a curse under his breath and reaches into his back pocket.

"It's your mom," he gruffly tells you and leans in close to point a finger in your face. "Not a single sound, you hear me?" His heart is pounding as if he ran a marathon. He's nervous, there's no lie there. Thankfully it's not a face call, but still. Joel can't shake the feeling away as he swipes his thumb to answer the call.

"I called you twice. Why didn't you answer the first time?"

Joel rolls his eyes immediately and tries to steady his breathing. Of course, no hi, hello, nothing. She had to go straight into getting on his case about not answering fast enough. His patience was wearing thin. He had half a mind to lay his cards out on the table and tell her he was too busy fucking her daughter to care.

"I was takin' care of a little problem I was havin', honey." Joel lets out a strained moan when your pussy clenches around him accidentally. He shoots you daggers, his glare burning into your skin as you hastily cover your mouth with both hands when he retaliates by shoving his dick so deep into you, it causes the stomach bulge to return.

"Oh, yeah? Well, what if I was dealing with the same problem?"

Her voice dropped into a sultry tone, and Joel's eyes rolled once again before he glanced down between your bodies. He uses his free hand to splay across your mound to rest his thumb against your swollen clit. He traces faint circles around the pearl, relishing the twitch in your thighs and your labored breathing.

"Yeah? You wanna do it together while I still have time?" Joel's hips start fucking into you again, slow and deep, just how you like it. He almost sounds bored when he talks to your mom, but his eyes are wild and filled with want as he stares at your wanton expressions.

"I miss your dick, Joely. Ugh. I need it."

Her moans turned Joel off, especially with that stupid fucking nickname she always called him. The sound of your shaky breathing and warm, wet, tight cunt soaking him brought him back to the present. He can block out your mom's voice and focus on what he's providing you. With one hand keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his other hand bats your hands away from your mouth and instead possessively holds onto your throat as he starts fucking you with rhythm.

"You jus' like this dick too much, don't you? Can't fuckin' live without it," he's making eye contact with you as he talks to your mom. He makes sure that you know he's talking directly to you. With his big hand firmly holding onto your throat, he can feel your skin becoming warmer as the eye contact causes you to fluster.

You nod as best as you can, his hand tightening around your throat to cut off any sounds you were about to make within a few seconds. The steady thwack of his hips against yours could be mistaken for his fist around his own cock to your mom. Joel makes sure to not sound suspicious in the way he's talking. Though he's speaking more to you, he doesn't want to use any of the words reserved for you to be used on your mom. Having her figure out what's been going for the week that she's been gone is not what Joel needs right now. What he needs is to fuck you stupid, doesn't matter if your mom is cockblocking him in the process.

"That's right, honey," he mumbles into the receiver, but loud enough for you to still catch on to his slurred words. He tosses you a wink, pressing his fingers deeper into your throat as he fucks you faster. "Takin' this fuckin' dick so good, huh? Only thing you're good for is takin' this fuckin' dick." He growls the last two words, your moans garbled and incoherent and strained from the pressure around your throat.

Joel takes the hint to release your throat and allow you to get a few gulps of air once he realized you were on the verge of passing out. He shoves his middle and ring fingers into your mouth, forcing you to lick along his gold wedding band. Joel puts the phone on speaker and lays it beside your head on the pillow. He puts a finger to his lips and carefully maneuvers your legs onto his shoulders. There's really nothing like half-assed phone sex with his unassuming wife while he fucks her teenage daughter on the other line.

How stupid of both of them, being hassled by the same man for entirely different reasons. Joel is a disgusting, sick man. But God, if it doesn't make his dick rock hard right now. He knows he can't be stopped, and that's the fun part of all of this. No matter how hard anybody tries, Joel is going to keep doing this over, and over, and over again.

"I can't wait for you to fuck me again, baby. Ugh! I need it."

Joel looks deep into your eyes as he grinds nice and slow into your leaking cunt, your swollen clit crushed against his pubic hair with his balls pressed firmly between your ass cheeks. In a husky voice, all while maintaining eye contact, he tells your mom into the phone, "I'll fuck you nice and good, honey. I'll fuck you so good, I'll ruin every other man for you."

And with that, he gives you a kiss that was all tongue, teeth, and spit, all the while your mom's exaggerated moans were ignored. She's talking, but neither of you are paying attention. Joel is so focused on devouring your entire mouth with his that he doesn't register your mom calling his name until you're frantically tapping his arm to get his attention back onto the phone.

"I said, do you miss my pussy, Joely?"

"You know I do, honey," he answers almost robotically as he refocuses his attention back on kissing you sloppily. He pulls away from a brief moment to roll his hips deep into yours, swallowing down your squeaky moans with his lips. Your mom is talking again, but Joel doesn't bother to respond. Instead, he lifts himself onto his hands and starts fucking you vigorously.

Hips smacking into hips and wet, sloppy noises fill the room. You're trying your hardest to contain your moans and not cum so suddenly, Joel can see and feel that. He's grunting heavily, his entire lower half smeared and covered in your sticky slick. For such a virgin, you sure do get wetter than the local neighborhood whore that Joel has numerously encountered many years back. There's a saying that goes: Virgin pussy is the best pussy, any man will agree. And Joel stands by that statement as he feels it from his own stepdaughter. It's an ego boost to feel something so warm and tight get so incredibly wet for him, and only him.

"Fuuuuuck, I can hear how wet this pussy is for me," Joel says loud enough for your mom to hear, though he directs it towards you. The pinch of your eyebrows and the rolling back of your eyes tells him more than what you can say aloud.

"Fuck, Joely, I'm gonna cum!"

Joel is fucking into you harder than you can comprehend what's happening. He smacks a hand over your mouth to muffle your little punched out moans. He grunts and growls like an animal, sweat trickling down his spine, further staining his shirt. His heart races at the speed of a cheetah. He feels like the most powerful man as he watches you start to fall apart under him.

"Cum for me," he breathes out, the warmth in his gut getting stronger as he rubs your clit with a shaky thumb. "Fuckin' cum all over my dick like a good fuckin' whore, huh? Are you Daddy's whore? Tell me... aagghhh!!... Tell me you're Daddy's fuckin' bitch."

"Uuhhh, Joel?"

He reaches over to hang up and toss his phone onto the floor with a clatter before leaning completely onto your body, folding you into a pretzel and fucking you with violence. You let out a piercing wail as he fucks the air out of you. Your nails pinch his skin, no doubt drawing blood. Joel's grunting in your face, warming your already heated skin with his beer breath. Tears roll down your temples as you hold onto him for dear life.

"I-I... hhnnggh..." You can hardly speak, let alone open your eyes to tell him exactly what you want to say. "Daddy... I-I... I lo-ove you!"

Joel is taken aback, letting out a surprised moan when your cunt rhythmically contracts around his cock as you cum, and you keep cumming. It doesn't fucking stop. Your pussy is so wound tight around him that Joel couldn't pull out if he wanted to. Squeaky little moans and shaky cries, you hold onto him tighter as your pussy relaxes.

His cock still lodged inside your swollen cunt, Joel observes you in silence. Your words are still echoing in his ears. His cock is nearly soft as it rests comfortably within your ribbed, fleshy walls. Love. Love. Love. You love him. You love him. And it has to be in the same way girlfriends love their boyfriends and wives love their husbands, which isn't the relationship the two of you have.

Joel pulls out before he realizes what exactly he's doing. He hastily tucks himself back into his ruined boxers and zips up his equally ruined jeans. He tossed you your clothes without giving you a single glance.

"Clean yourself up and get dressed. We need to talk," he gruffly says and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him for a dramatic effect.

He paces in the hallway, both hands running through his hair frantically as he tries to figure out what the fuck just happened. That dark, evil voice in the back of his mind returns. It's creeping in slowly, and soon, it overcomes him, drowning him in its darkness.

Look at what you did, Joel. Look at what happened. Love is involved, the one thing you were afraid of happening. Make it hurt. Cause more pain. Do something, NOW.

He's sitting on the couch by the time you come down the stairs, a subtle limp in your step from the rough fucking he gave you just minutes prior. Your clothes are disheveled, and your shirt is on backwards. You're twiddling your fingers and looking down at the ground like a guilty kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Joel's elbows are pressed into his knees with his hands cupped over his mouth in thought. His mind is racing, his thoughts screaming and hollering. For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do.

"Daddy?"

Your gentle voice fills his ears, and he has to force himself to shut his eyes to avoid looking in your direction. He feels the warmth of your presence sitting beside him on the couch. Fuck, he can even smell the thick scent of your pussy, and he wonders if you even cleaned yourself up like he done told you to do. There's a tick in his jaw the more silent he stays. He feels like the first word he utters is going to make him explode.

"Joel?" you whisper meekly, tenderly grabbing onto his tense bicep and flinching when he suddenly jumps up to his feet.

Joel's arm burns from your touch. He doesn't know what to do with himself. He paces back and forth like a tweaker at a gas station, itching to get their hands on some drugs or alcohol. Joel knows that he's royally fucked. He never meant for you to get feelings for him. He thought he was doing the opposite with the way he's been acting with you.

"You stupid fuckin' girl," he barks out a cruel laugh and wipes a hand down his mouth as he shoots around to stare at you with a new fire in his furious eyes. "You don't know what love is, you hear me? You do not know what love is and you sure as hell ain't goin' to get it from me."

He can see his words shoot at you like bullets. The sag in your shoulders and the crestfallen expression you wear on your face was a clear indicator that what he said truly hurt you.

"Excuse me?" your question comes out soft and broken. "You... You don't love me?"

Make it hurt. Ruin it. MAKE IT HURT, JOEL.

"No, I don't," he speaks lowly. "You're real fuckin' dumb to think otherwise, sweetheart. You think all the things I've done to you were from a place of love? Huh? What, you think I really cared about those little feelings you had? News flash, you're just a kid. I ain't your boyfriend, and I sure as hell ain't gonna be a husband for you. I mean, you really think another man will want you after I've already had my fun with your body, hm?"

Joel knew it was a low blow, but he needed to go in for the kill. The way you're looking at him drastically changed into a look of pure hatred and venom. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as he watches you take in his harsh wordss

"I hate you," you wept quietly. "I-I hate you, Joel Miller. You... You bad, bad man."

He leans over with his hands planted on his knees as he slouches to your height. He gives you a mocking pout. "No, sweetheart, you don't hate me. If you hated me, you wouldn't have let me slide my dick inside that pussy of yours and take what was meant to be for a boy your age. Ain't that the truth, hm? No, instead, you let your ol' stepdaddy work his way into your empty little head and make you think that you're really worth somethin'."

He can see in that moment your heart breaking. He stands up straight again, looking down at you with disdain and shakes his head, tsking as he does so. You don't bother to look at him as he fixes your hair over your shoulder. He smiles a little at the flinch you give. When he roughly grabs your jaw in his hand and yanks your head up to look at him, he leans in real close again.

"I still own this pussy whether you like it or not."

And with that, Joel Miller has completely ruined your heart.

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pangur-and-grim · 4 hours ago

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here, impulsively sharing the first 2 chapters of the ghoul book. I'll delete this pretty soon, though

CHAPTER 1

The witch summoned me from the dead at a most inconvenient time.

Inconvenient because I’d been rotting in perfect peace and oblivion. And then, all of a sudden, I had to be someone again. And be in a room.

A well-furnished one, at that. A four-poster bed crouched in the back, its hangings embroidered with flowers. A fireplace, devoid of fire, failed to warm the room. An imported carpet lay in a heap, having been shoved to clear space for my summoning pentacle. And everywhere, embellishments: nothing existed that wasn’t carved, painted, or otherwise dripping with frills.

Oh yes, and amidst this all stood the witch.

Pale and beady, she rapped fingers against her crossed arms. From a certain angle, the witch might be considered attractive, but that angle might require contortion. Like, say, a headstand. She had mouse-brown hair scraped into a coiled bun, a chin sharp enough to jab you with, and an apparent lack of eyebrows. Or no, they existed; I observed them now, as she pulled them together in a frown. The hairs had simply been too fine for me to see in this gloom. The high, arched windows had all been covered, the velvet curtains glowing bloody with exiled sunlight. Candles stood in silver holders at the edges of my pentacle, granting faint flickering light, and the stench of wax.

Floral scents of rosemary and lavender drifted in the air, along with the sharp spice of basil. All commonly used in spell craft. So, she was a practiced witch. She’d know, then, what happened to a discontent soul when pulled from its grave.

It became a ghoul.

I was a ghoul.

A whip-tailed, ember-eyed, slabber-jawed ghoul. A desiccated creature, with the power to mimic any human it has consumed. Ghouls are born from human corpses, and I seemed to be no exception. A swansdown burial robe hung loosely about me, ruffled at the neck and sleeves, and mottled in rot and decay. It stank, and itched, and lost flakes of itself as I shifted. I’d just resolved to absolve myself of this problem, when a sigh across the room brought my attention back to the witch. And to the dead man, who lay at her feet like a tired but loyal dog.

“I will not be eating that.” I paused my undressing to point a claw-tipped finger at the man. Did he look delectable? Of course he did. Obviously. But, despite the sharpness of my teeth, and the saliva that dangled freely from my chin, a sense of wrongness persisted. If there were things that I should do, and things that I should not, this felt like it fit firmly into the latter category.

The man’s neck had been pierced with a long, thin instrument. Whatever killed him left only a pinprick, but released a tremendous amount of now-coagulating blood. Already, this dried into red-brown flakes about the woman’s feet, the metallic stench somewhat fainter than if it were fresh fresh. Blood painted the front of her dress, and her hands, and her face, where she’d wiped something away – tears? A stray hair?

The witch frowned at me. “You will do as I command,” she said, in a voice as posh as the décor.

“I will not.”

“I have raised you from the dead,” she said, “and so yes, you will.”

“Come on. Fuck off with that.”

Her eyes, a pale, nasty sort of green, narrowed. “I have read your books. Extensively. Nowhere in them do you swear.”

“You pulled me from the heavens, where I had a score of angels fellating me. That merits some language.” I paused for long enough to maintain dignity. “Also, what books?”

A terrible thing about ghouls: no memory. They retain a general sense of the world - their knowledge of magic and history, for instance, and possibly some trade skills, but nothing of their former life. This is purposeful. Ghouls are stripped of their identities, so that they might better assume those of the bodies they’ve consumed, or so I’d heard. But what did I know, I’d never been a ghoul before.

That much, I felt certain of.

The witch tilted her head, squinting with intensity. “Did you truly experience an afterlife?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“You’re lying.”

“Might be,” I said. Then, eyeing the corpse: “I bet he wouldn’t be half-bad with a drizzle of cheese sauce. Maybe some garlic and oregano. Not that I’m eating him, mind you, but phew! Nice hunk of meat you got there, is all I’m saying.”

The witch walked to a velvet-lined bench, and sat, heavily. She leaned against an overstuffed cushion. “You will eat him, then?”

“Of course not. Don’t be rude.”

Reclining further on the cushions, she appraised me. There was something terribly cat-like about this woman, in both the laziness of her posture, and the cold danger of her stare. “To be forthcoming – it would be better if you obeyed, without my having to enforce it. There is no need for me to demean you –”

I let out a string of foul words.

“—though already, you demean yourself with your lack of manners.”

“Go on then, demean me.” I made a particularly crude gesture as she watched without emotion. Even scraped clean of my identity, I retained an enormous sense of myself.

“This is a waste of my energy and materials. And a stain on your dignity.” But already, she’d pushed herself off the bench, readying herself to retaliate. She stepped over the man, thoughtlessly, as she moved to a cabinet carved with spreading vines. Bundles of dried plants hung inside, all carefully labelled, above vials of fluid and organic matter. From my constrained position in the pentacle, I craned my neck, but - sensing my gaze - she hid her selected materials with a hand. Was that a slight flush I saw, in her previously blood-drained face?

I shifted in my pentacle. How she bit her lip, and the sudden clumsiness of her movements – she wasn’t aroused, was she? Was she the type to be activated by the pain of another?

I gnawed on my lip and fidgeted, while the witch gathered her ingredients. Though she made efforts to shield them from my sight, she could not hide the musky scent of nightshade. Then she plucked a hair from her head, and with a sick horror, I understood.

“No,” I gasped.

She looked up at me, sharply, and I slapped my hands together in plea. “You can’t seriously mean to do this. What about torture? You haven’t even tried torturing me yet!”

“If you had just obeyed,” she said shrilly, and I realized that her expression - which I’d been scrutinizing with some intensity - was one of embarrassment.

“You’d do this to me? After you liked my books so much? Remember my books.”

“You don’t even remember your books.”

“Those ones,” I said, pointing to a packed shelf. I scanned the spines, waiting for buried memories to trigger. One book did stand out, on virtue of being set with the gold-leaf script, and therefore rather shiny. “I am William Squire,” I said, “Author of – er.” I squinted again. “The Natural History of Plants!”

That did explain why I could identify nightshade by scent! With a puffed chest and a smug smile, I turned to the woman.

Who had resumed her work on the spell, paying me no mind. I huffed.

“Well?” I said, after the scratch of chalk on floorboards continued without pause.

“Oh. No.” She spoke with her back to me, as she knelt over her work. “I thought that was obvious.” The witch glanced over her shoulder, almost coyly. “Your books are not on that shelf.”

“I thought you liked them,” I said, trying to keep the hurt from my voice. Mulishly, I kicked my toe against the chalk outline of my pentacle, and nearly exorcized myself out of existence. I became aware, very suddenly, of the thrum of force surrounding the pentacle, and drew myself into its center, hugging my arms and tucking my tail around my legs. Then, I raised a suspicious glare to the witch.

In a normal summoning, the boundaries of my pentacle would be enforced by a taffy-like resistance, something I could push at fruitlessly. Instead, the boundaries she’d set threatened the eradication of my soul. “Overkill,” I sniffed.

She looked back at me in questioning, before taking note of my new position. “Not for you.”

That made me feel better. I was obviously very important.

More silence followed, broken only by the scratching of chalk and the quiet rotting of the dead man. “Your books are not. . . something I’d display.”

“Is it naughty?” I said, “To possess them?”

“Enough of this.”

Ghouls could only be coaxed from unsatisfied souls, those who had died in such grief or anger as to maintain a clamped hold on the living world. Who had I been, then, that my books must be hidden, and that I’d died in such a way? Was it illegal, to have my work displayed? Had I been executed, or otherwise cut down? Was I both known and loathed?

But a matter of more urgency existed.

“Even if you do this disgusting thing to me, I won’t obey you,” I said, tapping a claw in the air. “It doesn’t work like that.”

The resonance of my voice, deep and powerful, almost distracted me. Even as a ghoul, what a wonderful thing I was!

“It will for you.” She stood and rubbed her chalk-covered hands clean on her dress. Powdery white smears joined the blood.

That struck my interest. I uncoiled as much as I dared to, my arrow-tipped tailed flicking back and forth. “Why is that? What do you know of me?”

Of course, she did not answer.

“If you do this to me, I will curse you,” I said, but we both knew this to be a false threat. Ghouls were incapable of magic. “I will devour you,” I amended, and was rewarded with a muscle twitching in her cheek. She adjusted her hairpin, a further show of nerves, so I continued in a low, gleeful tone: “I will split your skull and lap up your brains. I will pop your eyeballs between my teeth. Do not do this to me.”

“It is possible that you will be vengeful,” she said, and then smiled. Those pale green eyes, their pupils contracted into tiny dots, bore into me. “Look at what I’m holding.”

I looked. I shuddered.

In her palm: three dried, lilac-grey pods. Poppies, the flower of oblivion.

“You’ll forget I ever cast it,” she said, needlessly. In my pentacle, I had already gone limp, my arms hanging gibbon-like. “In fact, you will forget that we spoke. In a few moments, it will be as thought I have summoned you for the first time.” Victory made her giddy. Her cheeks flushed red, as did her neck, and still those horrible eyes stared unblinking.

That this mousy young thing could have me cornered, and could delight in it! Heat rose in my chest, and I lifted a hand, hovering it an inch from the pentacle’s boundary. “Or I could do this.”

I’d hoped for a reaction. Maybe a girlish squeal, a clapping of hands over her cheeks. Instead, she waited, patient as a crocodile. And I waited. The candles flickered. The dead man squeaked, gas escaping from his decomposing flesh. Blood and nightshade and poppies and wax, all congealed to tickle at my slit nostrils, as a final death tingled at my fingertips.

I lowered my arm.

Her mouth split into a toothy smile.

“Fuck you,” I said, and waited meekly for my demeaning.

CHAPTER 2

A force pulled me from the void. Gently, like a lover shaking me awake.

I opened my eyes and saw her.

Instantly, everything in my world re-oriented. Did I care that I had come to in the stretched and shriveled body of a ghoul? Yes, somewhat, but only in that it affected how she might perceive me.

“Serpentine,” I blurted, as my tail coiled about my legs. She frowned, and I felt myself crumble under her regard. “It’s a gemstone. A lovely one. I. . . I may have had a ring, once. . . though I can’t seem to remember. I’m rambling. It’s your eyes.” I paused to gulp. “They match the colour, precisely.”

The woman laughed, and I used this moment to examine her. Hair, caught between brown and blonde, elegantly arranged in a bun. A face that, while not classically beautiful, had something to surpass that: character. Her body slim and young, vexingly hidden in an empire-waisted gown. And dried blood, everywhere.

Would that I could clean it off with my tongue.

“Your attitude is. . . pleasing,” she said, once the last of her laughter had torn free. She smiled at me, and I melted, only a small corner of my brain remaining alert to warn me of the doom that existed if I so much as brushed the edges of my pentacles.

“Summoned by such a powerful young witch,” I said, trying for a casual half-lean against the empty air, “How could I greet her with anything but admiration?”

“You’d be surprised,” she said through gritted teeth.

Before I could panic at this change of tone, she kicked something at her feet. I blinked. The witch had so thoroughly captivated me that I’d failed to take in the environment, least of all the dead man at her feet.

“Ghoul,” she said, breathily. “You’ll eat this for me, won’t you?”

My tail twisted in pleasure. I had to stop myself from rubbing my hands together. “Mistress witch,” I said, “I would like nothing more!”

Under the wavering shadows cast by candlelight, the face of the corpse seemed to dance with false life.

The witch muttered her way through a spell, and the power drained from my pentacle, just as the lifeblood might from a man stabbed in the neck by a hairpin. I took a step forward, my talons clicking against the floorboards. And then another – carefully, so as not to smudge the beauty of her chalked pentacle. Likely she would erase it soon enough, but I couldn’t bear to harm anything of her creation.

As I crouched before the corpse, I paused and looked up at my mistress. “Please,” I said, widening my eyes beseechingly. “May I know your name?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that she wanted to flinch away from me. “Erictho,” she said. “Erictho Caine.”

I tested the name, whispering it to myself, with a focus on how my throat vibrated and contracted with its passage. “Lovely,” I murmured.

My chest felt ready to burst from all the feelings I wished to express to her. Readying myself over the corpse, I tried to memorize everything about this perfect, frozen instant: my mistress standing tall above me, palpitating her forehead. The elegant furnishing of the room, a fitting environment for my lady witch. The musk of nightshade, barely palpable over the death sweetness of the corpse. . . hold on, nightshade, what would she have. . .

On far side of the room, the chalked remains of another spell marked the floor. It had been hastily smudged, all of the sigil work made inscrutable. My teeth ground together. My clawed hands clenched. “Mistress Erictho,” I said, scarcely daring to look her in the face. “I know the various uses of nightshade. You wouldn’t have happened to –”

I heard her heartbeat quicken.

“—have summoned a lesser imp, as an additional servant? I assure you, I can fulfill all your needs perfectly well on my own! All of them,” I repeated, for emphasis.

She let out a long, whistling breath. “I have not. But I’ll. . . keep that in mind.”Pleased with that, my tail wagging back and forth, I opened my mouth wide and bit into the cold flesh of the man’s face.

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arbitrarykiwi · 4 days ago

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Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn��t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

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hyunebunx · 2 months ago

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maybe it's not our fault - chapter 02

── synopsis: after a nasty breakup that’s left you completely shattered, you’re set on giving up on love forever. That is until, in a surprising turn of events, your respective best friends start dating and one of their main goals is to restore the peace in your broken relationship. Will their plan succeed? Will they manage to play cupid and get you and your high school sweetheart back together, or will it all backfire and result in the end of their own love story?

There is only one way to find out. If only your beloved’s heart wasn’t already broken beyond repair…

╰─▸ ❝ pairing: hyunjin x fem!reader

╰─▸ ❝ content: exes to lovers, angst, mutual pining, fluff, suggestive themes, drama and heartbreak, jock!hyunjin who is captain of the uni's football team + dance major!hyunjin, college au, lack of communication.

╰─▸ ❝ word count: 13k

╰─▸ ❝ chapter 3

a/n: this took me forever i'm so sorry :((( but writer's block has been an actual bitch. there's no warnings for this chapter, just some making out and a bunch of cursing!! it's a longer one, so get comfy before reading and enjoy <3<3 please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts!

You weren’t the most extroverted person out there but you did love attending a good party, especially one arranged by your best friends. Chris and Jisung along with Changbin, the third member of their music group, were notorious for throwing the best parties around campus, extravagant, with good booze, music, and unmatchable atmosphere.

They were in charge of throwing the first party of the year, which was taking place tonight, a mere week after school started. This particular party was a yearly event, a shared effort from both the music and dance departments, which longed for more opportunities to collaborate.

You remember the first time you attended it like it was yesterday.

Wide eyed and oh so excited about experiencing the full university package, with your newfound independence and your friends by your side, this party was the biggest letdown of the year. Thrown at a random fraternity on campus, it was a proper snooze fest, with a barely working disco ball that looked like it could collapse any moment, and a few balloons that were supposed to make the surroundings look less depressing. Last minute decorations the seniors decided to throw together so the freshmen wouldn’t complain about their lack of involvement and get them in trouble with the deans.

It sucked – plain and simple, and that’s when you decided to never attend this party for as long as you still had to set foot on this campus. That is until Changbin came up with a great plan to help the disinterested seniors and have some fun.

3racha would cover all the expenses, from drinks, music, and venue, as long as they were given liberty to do as they pleased, after promising to make this event the talk of campus and have the other departments turn green with envy. As expected, the two representatives were more than happy to comply, agreeing eagerly. Less work for them meant another responsibility lifted off their shoulders and more time to breathe and prepare for graduation without having to think about any snot-nosed juniors.

In their care, the embarrassing event that was only ever attended by naïve freshmen who didn’t know any better blossomed into the most anticipated day of the year not only by the two departments but by several others from the other side of the campus. Last year’s party exceeded all expectations, so legendary that it was still talked about throughout the whole year, the people who attended bragging about it to anyone who’d listen. And you had to agree – they managed to throw a party straight out of a scene from The Great Gatsby, with a theme oh so very fitting for the occasion.

Yes, theme, because they deemed it necessary for some unknown reason. Artsy people were strange like that, Seohyun often said. All you could do was agree and try not to take offense for being one of these people.

Anyway, everyone was excited, restlessly counting down the days until the three musketeers would return to the party scene and offer them a night to remember. Everyone but you.

“So, what’s the theme for this year?” Seohyun asks, lounging on the couch with a small bag of gummy bears by her side. The four of you were currently next door, at Jisung and Chris’ place, watching the guys run around to get ready for their party. They were the hosts, after all, it was normal to arrive as fashionably late as possible.

“The 70’s!” Jisung yells from the bathroom, still struggling with his makeup. Chris hasn’t come out of his room yet.

Seohyun shoots you an unimpressed look, stealing some of your chips. “Isn’t this just a glorified Halloween party?”

You hear him mumble under his breath, most likely rolling his eyes in exasperation before he appears before you with a slight pout on his full lips. “A little help, please?”

He was dressed in a silky, sequin shirt with matching golden boots, partially obscured by black, bell bottom pants that fitted him to perfection. In his hand is an eyeliner pen you grab to help with his predicament.

“Sit, Ji.”

Jisung nods and takes a seat on the couch’s arm, by Seohyun’s feet, so you can gently start applying his eyeliner.

“For your information, everyone loves our parties and how fun having a theme makes them.” His eyes are closed but as expected, he’s not letting Seohyun have the last word.

She snorts, throwing a chip at his back. “I don’t.”

“Because you’ve never been to one nor were you ever invited.” He huffs, trying to keep still so you won’t mess up.

“Don’t be mean.” You squeeze the bridge of his nose in warning, before glaring in Seohyun’s direction, the statement meant for them both. “I asked her to come with, last year.”

Not like she needed an invitation to begin with. What started as an event only for the two departments, quickly became a party for the whole campus once 3racha took the reins. Everyone was more than welcome to come and have fun, create memories, and live the full university experience.

Then you step back to examine your work, nodding with a satisfied smile. “Done.”

Opening his eyes, Jisung walks back to the bathroom to check it out, knowing how peculiar he could be. He wasn’t a big makeup guy, only wearing any when absolutely necessary, for performances and whatnot, so him requesting your help was a big deal. It seemed he was going all out for tonight’s theme, wanting to stand out as much as possible.

Guess your best friend was officially on the market again. About time, there were tens of girls waiting in line for his attention.

“Oh, this is sick!” He comes back grinning, the smudged black liner framing his eyes beautifully and bringing out their depth in true, rockstar fashion. “Thanks, bug!”

You’re engulfed in a hug and can’t help but giggle as he sways your body from side to side before letting go.

“Glitter?” You tease, pointing behind him to your makeup bag.

“Fuck no.”

You chuckle while Seohyun laughs, getting comfier on the couch almost like she owns the place. Nobody minded, it was a usual occurrence at this point – you were past feeling shy and uncomfortable around each other.

Walking over, Jisung moves her feet out of the way before sitting down and letting them fall back over his lap, nonchalantly. “If you were invited, why didn’t you come?”

She shrugs, plopping another gummy into her mouth. “I was on that trip with Mark and his stupid friends, remember?”

Jisung makes a face and gags, earning a foot over the shoulder, that is meant to resemble a slap, before they both start laughing.

Truth be told, you’ve always thought your two best friends would make a cute couple. Despite appearances, they did go well together in the way that what one lacked, the other made up for, completing one another. Even so, you’ve accepted reality a long time ago. Them being more than each other’s pain in the ass was never going to happen.

Just as you squeeze yourself between Jisung and the couch, his bulky arms quickly moving to bring you closer and accommodate your body as Seohyun sits up to make room, Chris finally steps out of his bedroom in a cloud of expensive cologne that’s almost visible to the naked eye.

“Look who’s finally ready. I was about to put together an intervention and break that door down.” Jisung smirks, leaning back on the couch.

Chris rolls his eyes but otherwise doesn’t respond, dusting imaginary dirt off his new clothes. You helped him pick out an outfit, so now he was wearing a leisure suit, black, with the only pop of color being from the bold, flowery shirt that had the first three buttons open, exposing his collarbones and chest. In true 70s fashion, he had a heavy gold chain around his neck serving as the only accessory. Thank heavens he retired the obnoxious sunglasses.

“Oh my god, you look great!” You exclaim, beaming from ear to ear.

“Thanks to you.” He smiles, soft and gentle before running a hand through his brown curls he finally decided to not straighten.

On your right, Jisung gently elbows your side to get your attention. “But what about me?”

“Stop fishing for compliments.” Seohyun groans, standing up to walk to the kitchen for more snacks. “You already know you’re pretty.”

You chuckle, watching the exchange with interest while Chris begins putting on his matching dress shoes.

“So, you think I’m pretty?” Jisung calls after her, smirking a little too widely.

“Pretty ugly!”

The bickering starts and you ignore them in favor of walking in the opposite direction, to join Chris who’s disappeared in his room once again.

He’s by the dresser, slipping on a golden watch before checking his hair in the mirror to make sure it's tousled to his liking.

Before you can even open your mouth, he’s already turned to you. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? There’s still time for you to get ready.”

You sigh, face falling briefly as your eyes look at anything but him. “I’m sure. Thanks for checking in, though.“

“It’s going to be fun.” He adds, hand landing on your elbow in his effort to convince you. Not like you usually needed convincing, especially if he were to stay by your side the whole night like you knew he would.

You just didn’t feel like it. You haven’t been in the mood to party in a long time, and even though he insisted this was the perfect opportunity to change that, rediscover the joy such an event can bring – your stand on it didn’t budge.

“I don’t doubt it.” You force a smile, not wanting to worry him or plant any ideas in his head. Overprotective was his middle name, so if he were to sense your true emotions even for a second, catch a glimpse of your melancholy, the whole thing would be called off. He truly didn’t care about this as much as he cared about you.

“You should.” His eyes soften, lips settling into a pout that almost has laughter bubbling out of you. “You know parties aren’t as fun for me whenever you’re not there.”

A snort escapes you, gaze trailing to the framed photo of you two back in high school that’s right next to the one you took in the same spot, in his backyard in Australia, four years later this summer. “You’ll survive, Chrissy. I’ll be with you in spirit.”

He looks like he has more to say, words ready to jump out of his mouth and latch onto you so you can finally come to your senses. But Chris chooses to remain silent, sighing like he couldn’t be bothered to put in any more effort to convince you to join him tonight.

“If you change your mind, you know where we are.” He smiles, reaching up to ruffle your hair.

For once, you don’t swat his hand away, and he chuckles victoriously. You won’t change your mind, but it’s nice to know your presence is wanted nonetheless.

As you exit his bedroom, Jisung is halfway out the door, struggling to put on a jacket while Seohyun laughs at him from her place on the couch.

“Finally!” He exclaims, reaching for his keys. “Are you ready to go? Changbin texted me he’s already there.”

Chris nods, waving goodbye to you and Seohyun before walking over to join Jisung in the hallway. “You’ll melt if you keep that jacket on.”

“It’s part of my outfit, I’ll be fine.”

You watch them from the doorway, one more excited than the other as they can barely sit still while waiting for the elevator. As the doors open with a quiet ‘ding’, Jisung makes to step inside before stopping in his tracks. Without a word, he rushes to pull you into a tight hug, lucky Chris is preventing the doors from closing as he takes his sweet time.

“Call me if you need anything, bug!” He pulls away, grinning, and you already miss his warmth. “I’ll come running.”

The smile you give him in return is genuine, even though you know if you were to call, his tipsy self wouldn’t even be able to hear his phone go off. And who would amidst all the craziness a party entrails? He was there to have fun, not worry about your depressing, bed-rotting self.

“Alright, Ji.” You laugh as he reaches to pinch your cheek before he’s off, barely making it into the elevator with all limbs intact as he chooses to stick his hand out to wave goodbye until the doors close.

When you return to the living room, you’re surprised to see Seohyun on her feet and ready to go.

“Shall we go back?” She yawns, stretching her arms over her head. “They’re all out of snacks and I miss my bed.”

You raise a brow, surprised she was taping out so soon. Seohyun was a party animal; she had no problem staying awake till the sun was up, dancing the night away in one of her skin-tight, and sparkling dresses. Still, you hold the front door open. “It’s only 10 pm.”

“Your point?” As she passes you, Seohyun wiggles her eyebrows. “Unless you want to host our own little private party?”

You roll your eyes with a laugh, pushing past her as she begins cackling, the sound echoing through the big hallway that separates the two apartments. The floor only had three apartments, but your other neighbor was never home, for some unknown reason. His whereabouts were an intriguing subject for all of your friends, often coming up with all sorts of theories to explain his absence.

The latest one implied he was some sort of secret agent on a very dangerous mission, renting an apartment so close to the biggest university in the city in the hopes of blending in and not raising any suspicion.

“I’m picking the movie tonight!” Seohyun runs to the couch, her natural habitat and favorite place in the apartment, before you can even close the door. Guess that means you’ll either hide the whole time, not even being able to watch the gruesome horror, or you’ll cry your eyes out at another rerun of ‘The Notebook’.

Thirty minutes later, the lights have been turned down low, the mood lap in the corner engulfing your corner of the room in the warmest shades of orange meant to relax your tired eyes. With snacks all around you, scattered on the small coffee table, ranging from pizza to chips and fizzy drinks, you and Seohyun are sitting up on the couch, under the same fluffy blanket she adored so much.

You’re busy brushing her long hair, wearing a refreshing face mask while she tries to navigate eating another pizza slice without ruining hers when low buzzing gets your attention.

“He’s still calling?” You ask after glancing at her phone next to you, the caller ID not even phasing her. Sometimes you wish you could be as nonchalant until you remember it’s all a façade, most of the time, her poor heart as fragile and sensitive as yours.

“Oh, yeah. He’s been very consistent.” She shrugs, chewing before adding. “Which is a first because he was never consistent in his relationship with me.”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, hands gentle while untangling her hair. “I thought you broke it off a while ago?”

Seohyun nods, bringing her knees to her chest while ’13 Going on 30’ plays quietly in the background, a must on your girls’ nights. “I did. He thought I was joking.”

A moment of silence stretches between you; not uncomfortable, but needed for her words to sink in and for you to realize the type of guy she has been investing her precious time and energy into.

“What a fucking asshole.” You finally scoff, shaking your head.

“Tell me about it.” She sighs, wiping her oily fingers on a nearby napkin

“I have been telling you about it.” You point out, but not in a condescending way, your hands stopping momentarily. “Everyone has. You just pretended not to hear us.”

Seohyun is quiet, and you can’t help but start wondering if you’ve upset her somehow. That wasn’t your intention, it could never be. You meant what you said but maybe you could work on your delivery?

Just as you move to reach for her, Seohyun speaks softly.

“Sorry.”

One of your arms wraps around her front from behind, bringing her body close in a comforting embrace she relaxes into immediately.

“What if it’s me? What if I’m the problem?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, fiddling with her fingers in the way she does when she’s stressed or worried about something, a habit you’ve taken notice of years ago.

“Nonsense.” You shake your head, not even wanting to hear about it. In your eyes, she was perfect, the girl who had showered you with kindness and compassion even before getting as close as you were now. Seohyun was a good person before she was anything else, her heart made of gold that sparkled under the sun, and when she was loved truthfully. Unfortunately, she hasn’t yet met the man able to bring forth her shine.

“No, I’m serious.” She turns to look at you over her shoulder while pulling away from the embrace, all of the confidence she carried herself with suddenly nowhere to be seen, the sadness in her eyes making her resemble a lost child. “What is it about me that discourages guys from commitment?”

“Seo,” your eyes soften, heart shattering for her, “there’s nothing wrong with you. It’s all the emotionally unavailable guys you keep picking and expecting commitment from.”

“So, technically, it’s still me.”

You shake your head, gently grasping her hands into yours while looking straight into her dull, hazel eyes. “Not at all. You just want to be loved.”

“I’m so desperate for it, Y/n.” She almost sobs, her distress visible even from a mile away as her hands go limp in your hold. “I keep rushing into all of these relationships, falling for every sweet word and empty promise because I’m afraid I’ll end up alone.”

“End up alone?” Now you’re confused, searching her face for any clues that might fill you in about her sudden, unreasonable worry. “Babe, you have your whole life ahead of you, what are you even saying?”

She shakes her head, almost like not wanting to hear you. “Everyone has at least one significant, fairytale-like romance in university. Look at me, three years in and all I’ve got under my belt is a few hookups and a devastating ex situationship that still haunts me.”

“And who says those aren’t significant?”

“Because I’m not going to end up marrying Mark, or any of the other guys whose names I can’t even recall!”

Her sudden outburst leaves room for silence to sneak in and try to comfort the two wounded hearts, just as you slowly move to remove both of the facemasks that were almost dry by now, surely making her as uncomfortable as you felt. It all clicks in your mind, and you suddenly realize this is something she’s been mulling over for some time now, eating away at her mind and making her feel incapable of the simplest task of them all. Love.

Seohyun is no longer looking at you, head low and gaze trained on her manicured fingers while she picks apart a loose thread from the blanket.

Just then, her phone buzzes again and you reach for it before she can react, rejecting the call and setting it face down on the table, right next to yours.

“I get it.” Your voice is soft, quiet as if not to disturb her, the tv for once louder than either of you. “You feel like you’re running out of time, but Seo, love doesn’t have an expiration date. Nobody says you have to find the love of your life by the time you’re 25, just to get married by 30 like most movies portray.”

Fresh faced, her eyes follow your finger toward the screen just in time to catch the beginning of Jenna’s love confession, an emotional scene you’ve both cried watching countless times.

“I’ve never been in love.” She confesses quietly, fixing her headband. “And I’m sorry for bringing this up right now, but it’s been driving me insane for weeks.”

You nod to show you’re listening to her every word, reaching for the remote to pause the movie.

With hopeful eyes and still enough sadness in her voice to betray her current state of mind, Seohyun dares to enquire. “How is it? How does being in love feel like?”

Instantly, you feel like you’ve been kicked in the stomach, all the air disappearing from your lungs at the snap of fingers. You’re overwhelmed as memories come rushing back, your tragic love story playing from beginning to end in a neatly made montage that would put most romance movies to shame. You remember everything, almost every second spent by your beloved’s side, from your first meeting to your first date, kiss, the first time you made love and the first time you felt it too.

You now realize that falling for Hyunjin was inevitable – you were doomed from the moment those doe eyes bored into yours, softening as he smiled in greeting. Even though you were mere kids, your feelings have always been real, even if the adults claimed you were too young for them. The love was always there, first shaped platonically but soon evolving into a heart fluttering romance that not many were lucky enough to experience for as long as they lived.

And even though it now hurts and brings you sorrow, the love was still here, even if it was reduced to a mere flicker that struggled to hang on as water kept being splashed on the flame.

But with a deep inhale that brings some of the air back, you satisfy your best friend’s curiosity. “Being in love is…the best and the worst thing that has happened to me. Simultaneously.”

Seohyun looks at you in wonder, some light returning to her pretty eyes, long flashes kissing her cheekbones with every blink as if they too, tried to comfort her. Then, without warning, she bursts out laughing, collapsing on the other end of the couch, away from you.

“You know what? I’m done, I don’t want to experience love anymore. I’m good.” Even though she’s laughing, there’s no amusement present in her tone.

You can’t help but chuckle, the joy not quite reaching your heart either. “No-uh, too late. Love will find you when you least expect it and then you’ll come running to say I was right!”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a promise.” You clarify, reaching to pinch the headband off her forehead before letting it bounce back to smack her lightly, to which she complains loudly, kicking her feet to get you off the couch.

Soon, genuine laughter welcomes itself into your home once again, air lighter as the seriousness of the moment wears off.

You allow the movie to come to an end, the happily ever after that always has flowers blooming into your heart before standing up for more snacks, and Seohyun’s small bag of nail polish just as the credits start rolling.

Her head pops from behind the couch, body still lounging about. “Will you marry me if we’re both still single by 30?”

“Nope.”

“Gee, thanks Y/n. You’re such a great friend!”

Safe to say, your night ended on a much brighter note than it began.

Until it all came crashing back down the following morning.

You’re awakened by a commotion, an actual crash that startles you out of deep slumber, body jolting among the many pillows and stuffed animals that kept you company during the night. Sitting up, you rub your eyes before reaching for your phone to check the time, confused to see it’s no earlier than 6:55 am. No sunray dared to peek through the thick curtains so you were still a little disoriented, listening to every sound that could tell you exactly what had happened.

Seohyun was not a morning person. Did she somehow knock over a lamp in her sleep? Because the possibility of her being awake at this hour, especially after the late night you’ve had, was nonexistent.

When no other sound follows, you decide to succumb to dreamland once again, head buried in the big, purple teddy bear you got as a birthday present last year. You’re almost there, fully asleep until the sound of the front door opening and closing snaps you out of it faster than lightening.

What exactly was going on in your apartment, at 7 am on a Saturday?

With newfound vigor, you yank the blanket off of you and quickly get out of bed, abandoning your fluffy shoes in your hurry to the living room. Just then, the buzzing of your phone pulls you back, like an invisible force controlling your legs, a puppet on a string compelled to check that out before whatever was happening outside.

You take a seat at the edge of your bed, lounging after the device in wonder. Who could be texting you at this hour?

Swiping your finger over the screen, you’re greeted by numerous notifications that have silently gone off during the night, most from an app you barely use. Twitter. Ignoring them for the time being, you tap a message that has come earlier, from one of the friends you have made in class. Her text only confuses you further as the few words that greet you are only urging you to check the previously mentioned app, followed by one too many worried emojis.

Curiosity peaked, you finally do as she says, opening the app to see what exactly has prompted such a reaction out of the usual calm woman. Your timeline doesn’t look any different, full of 3racha’s fans going crazy over the new pics, and the exclusive music that was apparently played last night at the party. You manage their business account, so the sight was nothing unusual. You then switch to your personal account and are surprised to see the little bell red with notifications. When you tap it, you see numerous accounts, people you don’t even know, tagging you in their tweets and random posts, suddenly desperate to reach you.

You were not popular, especially compared to Chris and Jisung, despite managing their account and being seen with them almost every day. So, this sudden influx of followers and messages made no sense, no one was eager enough to connect with you when they could simply go straight to them.

Confused and very intrigued, you decide to open a random message, tapping on an account you have seen floating around your timeline, often talking about 3racha and their music. The difference between this account and the others was that you knew the person behind it personally, a fellow student who shared her major with Seohyun.

Once her direct message loads, you almost drop your phone right on the cold, wooden floor. Because what you see, besides her worried and confused messages, is a photo. One that was taken last year, at the same party you couldn’t bring yourself to attend this year.

A picture of you and Hyunjin, embracing on the dance floor, in your ridiculous clothing while the other partygoers have created room for you to have your moment, almost like you were a couple having your first dance at your wedding.

Tears well up in your eyes in an instant, heart thumping in your chest painfully, with a force that almost creates a hole in your body, one big enough for the organ to escape and run off. Despite the early hour and the exhaustion slowing down your response time, this moment plays in your mind like a vivid memory, transporting you back in time with scary ease.

The music was too loud and obnoxious for a moment that was supposed to be romantic and switch things up. The DJ decided to play a slow song, perfect to get the couples in the mood for dancing and smooching up on their beloved, giving everyone the opportunity to make their move and possibly find love tonight. You, on the other hand, didn’t need any of that.

Your lover was already all over you, holding your body close while leading you around the dancefloor like the expert he was, only parting when he decided to twirl you around, your delighted laughter like music to his ears.

You were waltzing, or were supposed to if only your heels hadn’t stepped on Hyunjin’s feet one too many times. He claimed it was no big deal, laughing from ear to ear, drunk on the happiness he only felt while in your presence.

So now, you were glued to the same spot, only your bodies swaying from side to side, guided by Hyunjin’s big hands on your hips.

“I’m dizzy.” You giggle into his ear, trying to make yourself heard over the loud music.

Hyunjin laughs in response, looking even more handsome than usual in his grey suit and slicked-back hair, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes. “From what? Did you drink too much?”

You shake your head, accidentally stepping on his right foot. Again. “The music is too loud. It’s hurting my brain.”

Without a word, you see his eyes begin searching around for something, the absence of his gaze and attention making you feel an indescribable hint of loneliness. He suddenly signals towards the DJ, and the person he’s managed to find in the crowd, none other than Chris, nods and walks off to the guy.

When his smile finds you again, the music along with the lighting has been turned down, creating the perfect atmosphere for all the couples around.

“How about now? Is your head better?”

You laugh, heart squeezing in your chest at the thoughtful gesture as you hug him closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re so crazy, Hyun.”

“Only for you. Anyone would go crazy over you.” He barely manages to finish his sentence when your heel finds his foot again. This time, he hisses and before you know it, both of your feet are off the ground as he spins you around, laughing together before you’re put down, now facing the DJ booth and your friends by his side. Chris is having the time of his life, arms around a random girl as he laughs at whatever the DJ has said, dancing while simultaneously having a conversation. Jisung is doing shots with Changbin and Minho, a small crowd cheering them on, away in their own little world, unaware of what everyone else is doing.

Your hands come together at the back of his neck, eyes tearing from the scene to give him your undivided attention. “Well, I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes intense and full of love, sparkling even in the dim lighting. His arms circle your waist, and you’re suddenly chest to chest, glued together as he leans down to speak over your lips. “You have me. You’ll always have me.”

“Always?” You can’t help yourself from pecking his lips once he nods, sure this is the happiest moment of your life. Your highs have always taken place in his arms, after all. “You’ll continue being mine even with my two left feet?”

This time, he cackles, emotions heightened by the alcohol he has consumed tonight. “You’re lucky I’m a good enough dancer for the both of us.”

“But what if I step on your feet at our wedding?”

“We’ll say it’s part of the choreography. Nobody would dare disagree with me anyway.”

You’re two fools in love, staring into each other’s eyes with such intensity that the world could be crumbling around you and neither would notice. Not being able to hold himself back any longer, Hyunjin’s lips find yours in a deep, passionate kiss that wouldn’t normally be deemed appropriate in public. But this was a party, and everyone was already too drunk off their asses to care, especially the couples that were dry-humping each other around you.

No wandering hands or harsh movements, just you two in the middle of the dancefloor, kissing like you’re the main characters in a fairytale. Your tongue finds his, and his grip on your waist tightens in warning. Even with the alcohol in his system, Hyunjin still had his wits about him – a statement that couldn’t be made about you.

So, he pulls back before you can rope him into one of your schemes, with a little more difficulty than he’d like to admit, regretting his choice instantly when you continue pecking his lips repeatedly, needing to feel him close.

One of his arms releases you just so his hand can cup your cheek lovingly, stopping you in your tracks.

“I love you.” You say against his lips, and his smile is so sincere and full of love that it almost brings tears to your eyes.

“I know.”

You blink, his words downing on you a moment later as your eyes widen, flabbergasted. “You know?!”

Hyunjin chuckles, smirking, pulling you right back to his lips when you make to move away, displeased with his answer. “I mean, after all of these years, I’d be a pretty shitty boyfriend to not know, right?”

“You suck.” He kisses you right after you respond with an eye roll, deepening the kiss instantly, no longer caring about where you are.

“I love you too.”

One of the improvements 3racha brought to the party was a personal photographer, in charge of capturing the essence of the party in as many photos as he could, and that of course included the drunk students and their antics.

You were given a copy of this photo last year, a present from Chris who has asked the photographer himself to capture the sweet moment.

It was later framed and placed on your nightstand. Now, you were pretty sure the broken glass tore it beyond repair, so you didn’t dare pick it up from its place in the corner of the room, thankful it was face down and away from you.

What’s worse is that apparently, this photo has been spread around like wildfire, piquing everyone in attendance’s interest, which opened a discussion you could barely have with your best friends.

Why did you and Hyunjin break up?

With a heavy heart, you then make your way through all the messages and mentions, all talking about the mysterious couple in the photo, about how cute they were, and how they hoped they were still together. Until someone recognized you both and the tone of the conversation changed. Now, most people were tagging you and Hyunjin, almost like they were entitled to know why or how your relationship ended.

Some of the messages you received were nasty, and downright disrespectful, plainly asking you if they could hit on Hyunjin now that he was single. If he was good in bed, and if you’d mind if they took a spin to try him out. Or, if he was as big as he looked.

Fucking deranged people, all obviously drunk, treating you and him like nothing more than means of entertainment. Hyunjin was the captain of SNU’s most popular sports team, he was arguably the most popular student on campus. Everyone knew of him. But this was not normal, nor okay.

Since when doing what you loved came with the price of having your privacy invaded, reduced to nothing more than a piece of meat?

You were not celebrities, but normal students just like everyone around. Why was your relationship coming to an end suddenly the talk of the whole campus? Hot gossip nobody could help but discuss like people didn’t break up or get together on a daily basis around here.

What the hell was going on? But most importantly, what the fuck happened at last night’s party for this picture to suddenly emerge, seemingly out of nowhere?

When you manage to bring yourself out of your room, almost an hour later, the sight that greets you in the kitchen doesn’t surprise you one bit.

“So, you were the ones making all of that noise?”

Three heads snap in your direction in an instant, unable to hide their surprise at seeing you awake at this hour. Almost like this wasn’t your house, and they weren’t currently having some sort of gossip sesh without you, first thing in the morning.

“I’m so sorry.” Seohyun is the first to talk, the braid you fixed for her last night all messy and almost undone, stepping closer. “That was me, I stumbled on my way out the bedroom…” she suddenly trails off, eyes wide. “Babe…are you crying?”

You pat your cheeks, not expecting to find them wet, the tears rolling down your face at an alarming pace. Sharing a concerned look, Chris and Jisung hurry to you, with the latter being faster and pulling you into a tight hug that never fails to make you feel safe. Once your face hits his chest, the sobbing begins and both Seohyun and Chris circle you protectively, joining in on the hug as best as they could.

“You already saw everything, didn’t you?” Seohyun asks softly, almost like she’s talking to a frightened child. When you manage to nod in response, Jisung tenses beneath you.

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” Your heart breaks at the tone of Chris’ voice, and you reach out to squeeze his hand in comfort. This was not any of their faults. You being sensitive and breaking down because of a simple picture and some weird comments didn’t have anything to do with them.

“Our department posted pictures from last year, a throwback to the first party we threw. By the time I realized the girl also posted the picture of you two, it was already flooding my timeline and messages.”

“We tried to remove it from your timeline.” Jisung chimes in when you finally calm down, gently wiping your eyes as you realize he’s still wearing the clothes from last night. “We were so focused on it that we forgot about all the weirdos tagging you and shit. I feel fucking terrible, bug, I’m so sorry.”

“This isn’t your fault.” You croak out, voice raspy from all the crying. Losing the love of your life was still a sensitive topic, yet you didn’t expect being reminded of your happier times to still hit this hard. “Or your responsibility to handle such a thing. I’m going to be okay.”

Seohyun is at your side, petting your head soothingly while removing any hair strands stuck to your wet face. “Babe, we’re your friends. I’ll personally hunt down all of these assholes and make them apologize on their knees for treating your personal life like a random TV show.”

A smile finds you, unable to keep a straight face around her even for a second, the other two nodding in agreement. “Thanks, you guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’d be fine, sweetheart.” Chris kisses the top of your head, having removed his blazer and only sporting his flowery shirt, with his sleeves rolled up and exposing some of his tattoos. You stare at each of them in turn, taking in their appearance. All three look like they barely got any sleep last night, which is pretty accurate. You and Seohyun went to sleep in the early morning, having spent the whole night talking about everything under the sun.

The guys most likely haven’t slept a wink yet, judging by the state they were in.

They must’ve rushed over here once they got wind of that mess on social media, and scheduled an intervention with Seohyun. You swear they were too worried about you.

Which is why you were extremely grateful to have their support in your life. Despite what Chris is saying, you’re aware you would have crumbled a long time ago without them by your side.

Without all of them, your world would have permanently lost its color.

A few days later, things have calmed down but you and Hyunjin were still the talk of campus. Whatever class you’re having, or in whichever building you go, there’s always someone recognizing you, gossiping with their friends without a care in the world. It’s like they have nothing better to do or talk about, just speculate about your lives for hours on end. You’ve heard them all. Most were happy Hyunjin was finally single, on the market, and within arm’s reach, ready to be swept off his feet by the next person. Or so, they say. Others feel sorry for you for fumbling such a man, shooting pitying looks every time you’re near.

It's weird and uncomfortable, and you’re unable to concentrate on anything while such people are around. So, you do what any other person would in this situation.

You stop going to class.

You spend the rest of your week at the animal shelter, taking more and more hours just so you’ll have something to do. Things are quiet here, with most people out of the loop and not involved in any of your university’s drama. Everyone besides Jaemin. But he hasn’t brought it up yet, in consideration of your feelings, you suppose. Not like you were close enough for him to care about any of that, but he’s still nice enough to pretend he hasn’t heard any of the things floating around on campus. Hyunjin is his captain, after all, there’s no way he doesn’t know.

Any which way, things will most likely blow over soon and the students will find something else to gossip about by next week. But for now, you’ll be staying far away from that godforsaken campus.

Not like you missed it anyway. This time away was a well-deserved break in your book.

“Do you have plans for this weekend?” Jaemin asks while bottle feeding a puppy that’s been brought in this week, a newborn that couldn’t be older than a few weeks at best.

You nod, eyes glued to the little angel in your lap that allowed you to trim her claws with minimal fussing, a white fluffy cat that’s been at the shelter for far too long. “I do, yeah. I’m going to a club down in Hongdae tonight.”

He raises a curious brow, stopping the rocking chair’s movements to regain his balance. The little granny chair made him dizzy. “A club? I never took you as the clubbing type.”

“Because I’m not.” You laugh, reaching for the cat’s treats as you set the clippers down on the mat next to you. “My friends are performing so I’m going to support them.”

“Your friends?”

“Have you heard of 3racha?”

“Oh!” Jaemin almost jumps out of his seat, eyes sparkling as you’ve genuinely impressed him, the puppy crying in distress. He looks down, devastated, and takes a moment to comfort him before adding. “The upperclassmen? They’re so cool, everyone on campus loves them and their music.”

Now this is an interesting turn of events. Yes, 3racha was popular, you’d know, but Jaemin being a fan? This you were not expecting, for some reason. Their music was for everyone, but Jaemin struck you as the type of guy who’d only listen to bubblegum pop and whatever music inspired him enough to create a choreography around.

Who would’ve thought he was a cool guy, with great taste, after all?

Setting his coolness aside for a moment, he was definitely a good guy, first and foremost. Tall, nice smile, friendly, and with a soft spot for animals? You can’t believe you haven’t seen it before, but he would be perfect for Seohyun! Exactly the type of guy she needed after dealing with one too many fuckboys for the past three years.

They needed to meet. And you will make it happen, no matter what.

“Yep, them.” You try to contain the grin that’s threatening to expose your newly formed plan. “Actually, why don’t you join us? We have a pretty big table and you know what they say, the more friends, the livelier the party.”

If he were to judge you based on the dark circles under your eyes, and the lack of light in them, Jaemin would realize in a heartbeat that the last thing you were in the mood for was a party.

Thankfully, he’s clueless. Still, his smile does drop a little, making him resemble the puppy in his arms

“Oh, thank you but I’m going back home tonight.”

“Wait, really?” Your smile morphs into a genuine one as you resume your task, moving to the last paw once the cat has gotten her fill of pets. “That’s great! I know you’ve been missing home like crazy.”

He laughs, setting the empty bottle on the table next to him and gently moving the puppy in his lap, a little lost on how to handle him. In his hands, you could barely spot the small dalmatian. “Oh God, sorry for talking your ear off about it all the time, by the way. But yeah, I’m taking a train tonight and I’ll unfortunately be back on Monday since we have a game.”

“Already? Doesn’t the season start in October?” It escapes without meaning to, and you only realize a moment too late, lips pressing into a thin line in regret.

Jaemin nods and doesn’t question your sudden interest. “It does. This one is a pre-season game to help us warm up and better our teamwork.”

“Oh yeah? And who’s going to be wearing your jersey and cheering you on?” Teasing him has become second nature at this point, smirking while fluttering your lashes for the full effect.

Yet, he isn’t far behind. “You can if you come.” He says it so nonchalantly that sometimes you can’t tell if he’s still joking or has suddenly decided to become serious.

And it never misses. The face you make by scrunching your nose is the true and accurate picture of disgust.

“I’m joking.” He drags out the word, huffing while rolling his eyes. When your face is back to normal, relief prominent on your features, he adds a little quieter. “Still, I’d be happy to have you there cheering for me.”

Both of your eyebrows hike up in surprise, a tinge of amusement in your voice. “Who says I’ll be cheering on you?”

“Then who will you be cheering on, huh?” He bites back, reminding you of a certain someone. “The enemy? Where’s your school spirit, Y/n?”

Finally done, you release the cat who jumps off your lap happily, returning to headbutt your hand in demand of some more treats for being so obedient. You swear Snowflake was smarter than she let on. “That depends. Who are you playing against?”

“Yonsei.”

“Oh, is Daehyun still the captain?” Jaemin nods, scooting closer to the edge of his seat, as if preparing himself for an impressive story, all while still petting the small dog that has fallen asleep in his lap. “Wow, so then this marks his fourth year as the captain. Impressive.”

Daehyun was a year older than you and most of your friends, and you remember meeting him in your first year after SNU beat Yonsei and prevented them from advancing that season. A good player, but a little too cocky for your taste.

For some unknown reason, you notice Jaemin’s light dim, body tensing in his seat as he bites down on his bottom lip, looking uncomfortable. No, not uncomfortable – nervous. Why was Jaemin nervous?

“Can you tell me more about him?”

Snowflake takes that as her cue to leave, obviously not a fan of sports, fluffy tail bouncing away with her every step, brushing against Jaemin’s leg on her way out. The front door was locked so for as long as you were concerned, she could wander around as much as she pleased.

“Me?” A laugh escapes you, trying to lighten up the sudden heavy atmosphere. “Aren’t you the one on the team?”

He looks a little sheepish, hands clasped together leisurely in a sign of fake confidence. Seeing him lack confidence was a weird sight, one you would have never associated with him before. “I joined the team late last year, so I haven’t played against them yet.”

Taking pity on him, you decide to share whatever information you remember about them, Hyunjin’s words ringing in your mind. “Daehyun is their main quarterback.” Then you pause, realizing you’re missing a crucial piece of the puzzle. “Wait, what’s your position on the field?”

“I’m a left tackle.”

Tackles were usually seen as bulldozers, their responsibilities on the field varying. Speaking from an offensive point of view, there were five linemen in a team at all times, needed for the game to be playable. Jaemin was a left tackle, which meant he protected the quarterback from the left side, working alongside the other four men to ensure nobody from the other team touched Hyunjin. When they weren’t doing that, they worked together to push back the defense and create openings for their teammates.

His role was important but not as crucial as the center. He started the game and without him, Hyunjin and the others wouldn’t be able to run freely on the field. That’s why, the title of captain was usually given either to the center or to one of the quarterbacks. On the other hand, since Hyunjin was right-handed, the left tackle protected his blindside which automatically made Jaemin the most important tackle on the field.

The center controlled the offensive line but the quarterback’s responsibility was to lead the entire team, to know their positions at all times before even thinking about passing the ball.

That’s exactly why, the decision of who’ll get to wear the heavy captain badge was the easiest one the team has had to make three years ago. Nobody but Hyunjin fit that role to a T.

And here you were again, thinking about him. Great.

Even so, Jaemin must be an impressive player to be given such an important role so soon.

“Daehyun usually comes from the right, letting the others take care of his blindside and intercept any danger. He’s selfish and likes to hog the ball, pretending to pass just to mess with your head.”

He’s listening so intently that you’re afraid he might fall, rocking chair tipped forward. “But there’s no need to worry. You’re not the one he’s after, anyway.”

For some reason, your reassurance doesn’t seem to settle his nerves, muscles tense as he begins rolling his shoulders back to get rid of some of the knots. Still, he manages to smile, obviously thankful. “Thank you. I’ll keep everything in mind.”

Just as you’re about to speak again, question his sudden change in mood, your phone buzzes loudly in your hoodie’s pocket, pulling you away from the present moment. Briefly glancing at the caller ID, you answer without much thought, Jaemin taking this as his cue to bring the small puppy back to his siblings.

“Hey, Bin. What’s up?” He didn’t usually call you, most of your communication happening through sporadic texting or whenever you’d drop by their studio to see Chris and Jisung. Changbin was the textbook definition of a social butterfly, with friends in places one wouldn’t think he even frequented. Well liked and friendly, he was the most extroverted member of 3racha, the party animal that knew how to have fun and make any situation entertaining for everyone.

“Ay, how’s my favorite social media manager doing?”

You can’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes as if he could somehow see you. “Great. I’m taking care of some cute animals right now; life couldn’t be better.”

Even though you were mostly joking, since life has been pretty shitty for a while now, Changbin chooses to believe you, joining in your laughter. “So, you’re not in class either?”

“Listen, I’d rather do anything else than sit through another one of Mr. Kim’s boring and drawn-out lectures. That guy just doesn’t know when to stop talking.”

He hums, agreeing completely. Mr. Kim was your Music Theory professor, with an impressive career behind him that in most people’s opinion should have ended ten years ago. He was one of the best, and most renowned professors at SNU, however, his way of doing things has gone out of style a long time ago, so usually, his lectures were filled with him rambling about how music isn’t what it once was, and how this university has gone to shit thanks to its unserious staff and students.

Perhaps Mr. Kim hasn’t been doing too hot lately.

“Oh, he really fucked us over this time.”

Your brows furrow, confusion visible all over your face. “What do you mean?”

“Can you swing by the studio later? I’ll explain everything in detail then.” He sounds tired, more so than usual, and you find yourself agreeing just so you won’t become another inconvenience for him.

With what seemed like a weight lifted off his sturdy shoulders, Changbin exhaled and thanked you softly. “Where’s that shelter of yours? Should I send someone to pick you up?”

You shake your head just as Jaemin pops back into the room, puppy free. “No, that’s okay. I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

“Alright. See you later.”

The call ends shortly after, and as you pocket the phone, Snowflake returns to headbutt your hand, just as Jaemin comes to a stop in front of you. “Do you need to go? I can close up in here by myself if it’s urgent.”

It was currently six pm on a Friday, which meant no other volunteers were going to show up until tomorrow morning. You were the only two people left, having stayed past the usual closing hour just so you could keep the animals company for a little more.

You knew Jaemin was eager to return home, to his two babies – there was no way you were going to do that to him, no matter how much he insisted he didn’t mind.

“That’s fine. We can do it together.”

You swear the smile he shoots your way has something twist in your heart, a similar feeling to the knife that’s been firmly stuck in there for months now. It’s painful and you almost flinch away from him, the only thing keeping you in place being the possibility of him noticing and not turning a blind eye, asking about it worriedly.

He was perfect for Seohyun.

Closing up doesn’t take long, even though it’s your first time doing so with someone else. Jaemin keeps blabbering the whole time, finally back to normal and worry free, and you’re happy your previous conversation didn’t have any lasting effect. Game day was a big deal and he was bound to feel nervous. That never truly goes away.

Bidding him goodbye, he’s on his merry way, skipping back to campus while whistling a happy tune. The sight makes you long for the days when you were this happy and carefree, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if you are ever going to feel that way again. Happiness and content seemed so far away – what if they became a part of your brain, you could never access again?

With similar questions spinning around in your loud mind, the trip to your friend’s studio takes half the time it usually does, and you barely register you’ve arrived until you find yourself pushing the door open and entering the familiar building that belonged to Changbin’s father. 3racha’s main studio resided here, even before they gathered an audience and were just teenage boys with a dream, working towards their goals with a hunger that hasn’t yet been satisfied.

Since then, they acquired two more studios. This one was Changbin’s, his preferred workplace he could usually be found at but also their headquarters. Jisung’s was at their apartment, in one of the free rooms he turned into his sanctuary, his safe place that held all of his guitars and unreleased songs. As for Chris, he settled on renting a small place, a few blocks away, just for himself and his trusted laptop he’d be ruined without. The boys loved working together and spending time with one another but sometimes, it all got too much, too suffocating, so they needed their separate spaces to manage to work in peace and get some alone time.

All of the important meetings happened here, in the studio everything started back in high school, so it’s not like they had the time to become too independent or feel lonely. The three of them were a team, after all, Chris’ arms he could never navigate life without. Fundamental parts of him that also couldn’t function on their own, needing the glue that kept them together at all times.

The building hosted numerous businesses, providing them with the space necessary for their workers. Changbin’s father was a multi-millionaire tycoon, owning most of the apartment buildings in the city, including the one you were currently living in. He offered to fund 3racha’s dream and catapult them to stardom, just like they’ve always wanted, but they’ve always refused, firm on the decision of making and walking their own path, even if it was muddy or lacking any of the desired light.

You’ve always admired that about them, the fact that they didn’t choose the easy way, give in to the temptation that was right at their fingertips, on a pretty, silver platter.

Pressing the fifth-floor button, the elevator doors close and you’re left alone with your thoughts for a total of 30 seconds before you step into the freshly cleaned, sleek white hallway whose marble floors seem to sparkle. The sheer size of it all used to intimidate you, with all the twists and turns and numerous closed doors that seemed to mock your existence. But now, you barely acknowledge your surroundings as you stroll towards the end of the hallway, passing by a nicely decorated kitchen area with snacks, drinks, and too many sitting arrangements.

The last door, behind which resided the largest room on the floor, which was off limits to everyone except Changbin and his friends, was the only one welcoming you warmly. Almost like it burrowed some of its owner’s warmth, as strangely as that sounded.

Your hand is raised, ready to knock, and let yourself in before loud voices from inside make you stop dead in your tracks.

“I don’t think you understand how serious this actually is!” You hear Changbin say, voice raised beyond its usual volume. A murmur is all you decipher before he speaks again, distress clear as day in his tone.

“Minho, Hyunjin blew up at someone today!”

And just like that, your heart skips so many beats that you believe you’ve momentarily stopped breathing, hand flopping to your side unceremoniously. There’s no air entering your lungs anymore, frozen on the spot like you were getting broken up with for a second time in three months. Why did everything have to circle back to Hyunjin, in one way or another? Was he experiencing similar things or were you officially going crazy?

“What?” Minho finally lets out, sounding confused, sign he hasn’t witnessed the scene Changbin is referencing.

Minho, along with Changbin and Felix, who has been studying abroad in Australia for a year now, were Hyunjin’s best friends. They have been each other’s rocks ever since high school before you got the chance to meet him.

Minho was as overprotective of his people as Chris was, ready to fight anyone who dared hurt his precious friends. An intimidating panther who bared his teeth at the first sign of danger, ready to pounce and eliminate any threat.

And as of late, one thing was clear as the sky on a sunny day. Minho absolutely despised you.

“We were by the field,” Changbin begins, sighing like remembering the scene was painful, “and these girls sitting behind us in the bleachers were going on and on, gossiping about him and that stupid fucking picture. They knew we could hear them, heck the whole team could, but they didn’t fucking care and kept speculating about his relationship and the reason it ended, spouting all of this nonsense like it was any of their business to begin with!”

Minho is quiet, processing everything as Changbin stops to breathe, inhaling greedily like he is running out of time and needs to let it all out before it is too late. “I saw the moment his patience ran out, jaw clenching in anger, like a bomb ready to explode at any moment. And then, before I can do anything about it, Hyunjin turns around and tells them to shut the fuck up and get a life.”

You’re taken aback, not being able to wrap your head around the information Changbin just revealed. This was so unlike him, to react so rashly and be overcome by anger, that you almost didn’t recognize the person from the story as being him. Hyunjin was rational, level headed which helped him juggle all of his responsibilities with ease. He wasn’t rude and snappy but then again, if you had a backbone, you might’ve reacted in the same way. The gossiping has gone too far, spiraling out of control like you were nothing more than a story on the front page of a cheap magazine.

“Deserved.” Is all Minho says, a certain pride in his voice. Changbin on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same.

“Minho, you don’t get it. I was afraid he was going to throw his heavy ass duffle bag at their heads!”

“Maybe he should have.”

“You can’t be serious.” You hear the chair squeak as he presumably stands up, exasperated.

“And why not, Changbin? You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes. People have gotten a little too comfortable with talking about actual strangers and their personal lives, harassing them on social media and treating them like fucking celebrities.” Minho’s voice is full of disdain, controlled anger dripping from each word.

Changbin doesn’t respond, which has you wondering about the look on his face. Even though Minho was harsh, he wasn’t wrong – you all knew that.

“Yes, Hyunjin is popular, but does that mean they can pick apart his life for fun? Turning him into campus gossip like he’s not just a regular student trying to navigate whatever the fuck he’s currently going through?”

“This is unlike him.” Changbin breathes out, sharing your sentiment.

“Why? Because he finally had enough and snapped?” Minho counters. “Hyunjin has been through a lot recently, and now he’s reacting accordingly. I would have been more concerned if he wasn’t angry.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, silence stretching on as the gears in your head keep turning faster and faster. Hyunjin’s behavior made no sense, especially since you lived under the impression that he was fine and dandy experiencing life to the fullest. His anger was justified, yes, but was it really necessary? People gossiped about him all the time, calling him awful names whenever the team lost a game or made a wrong call, and he has never reacted in this way.

Could Hyunjin actually be more affected by your break up than you initially thought?

As you get closer, eager to hear more, the door suddenly swings open and you stumble back, startled and embarrassed at being caught eavesdropping. And as fate has it, since you can never win, the one towering over you with his intimidating presence alone is Minho, whose cold eyes are glaring tiny icicles at every part of your existence.

He pauses, on the verge of saying something, most likely preparing to chew you out when he scoffs, deeming your existence unworthy of his attention as he walks away, grazing your shoulder with his, which has more of an impact than an actual collision. Minho’s indifference hurt, but his anger? That was lethal.

“Minho – oh, hey! Were you waiting long?” Changbin almost bumps into you, eyes flickering to yours before looking past you in search of his friend.

Still a little shaken, you make way, stepping out of the doorway. “You can go after him.”

Just then, the sound of the elevator arriving fills the air, and Changbin lets out a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s fine. Come in.”

You do as he says, not thinking too much about it, thankful he was too busy with whatever was currently going through his mind to put two and two together and realize you’ve been here for a while. Or maybe he did and simply didn’t care. Changbin could be too nice for his own good, sometimes.

The studio looked the same as always: fancy equipment, Changbin’s numerous instruments, two black leather couches by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and a glass, sparkly coffee table. For better acoustics, both the floor and the four walls were made of wood, dark oak to be exact. It made the room feel cozy, war,m and welcoming despite the intimidating smell of money that hit you from the moment you stepped inside.

The recording booth was where all the magic happened though, the place of birth of most of their discography. Every single inch of it was soundproof, and you remember Chris telling you about the times he used to lock himself in there just to scream when life got a little too overwhelming. To test it out, years ago when it was first set up, Minho and Jisung had a screaming competition – the sight of them from behind the tiny window that separated the two spaces, going back and forth animatedly while no sound could be heard on your end was hysterical.

A huff escapes him as he flops on the leather chair by the desk, suddenly looking so much smaller as exhaustion seems to settle deep into his bones. You’re quiet, taking a seat opposite him on the closest couch, watching as he runs both hands through unruly dark curls, pulling himself together.

“Thanks for coming.” He manages to smile, spinning his chair to face you. “Do you want something to drink?” Changbin nods towards the mini fridge to your left, and you shake your head.

“Are you alright?” You can’t help yourself, concerned after hearing his previous conversation.

“Just peachy.” He slouches into his chair, getting comfortable. “I haven’t seen you in class in a hot minute.”

You fidget on the spot, his conversation with Minho still fresh in your mind adding to your discomfort. Changbin might’ve been your friend, but you weren’t that close, especially not close enough to confide in him about such a sensitive subject.

Thankfully, a grin finds its way onto his features, eyes staring at nothing in particular as he snorts. “That’s mostly because I haven’t shown up at all this week, but you know.”

Despite yourself, your muscles relax, the atmosphere lighter. “Why are you skipping class?” You laugh, reaching for one of the small, decorative pillows nearby to hug to your chest.

“I’m making money moves, Y/n. I have no time for senile profs and fifth grader homework.”

Oh, yes, alluding to Mr. Kim and his assignments that have you analyzing the same three music sheets since your freshman year.

“See, you get me. Chris on the other hand, just scolds me for skipping.”

He shakes his head. “That’s because he gets a music boner for the guy. He respects him too much.”

You’re both laughing, easily falling back into your usual banter.

“What did he do though?”

“Right.” He rolls his eyes like he’s remembering an unpleasant memory. “So, he suddenly decided on a new assignment that’s worth 50% of our grade. A group project.”

Your smile vanishes, fists tightening on the poor pillow. “What the fuck? When?”

“Today, when we were skipping!” Changbin lets out a humorless laugh, slapping his knee as his way of coping. “Chris texted me all about it a few hours ago. Can you believe it?”

No, you couldn’t. You also couldn’t wrap your head around the reason Chris, your childhood best friend, your other half, hasn’t texted you anything about it to begin with. He knew where you were and what you were doing, not busy in the slightest, so why was he keeping you out of the loop?

And Jisung? Where the fuck was Jisung?

“Anyways, so his brilliant idea entrails pairing us up with someone we haven’t worked with before. Because out there in the real world, you won’t always get the chance to work with your friends, apparently.” He scoffs loudly, voicing your displeasure, properly annoyed at the old man. “That’s how we ended up stuck with each other.”

The way he says it hurts the tiniest bit, but you brush past it with a chuckle. “Gee, don’t get too excited, Bin. A girl might get the wrong idea.”

Changbin blinks, slowly processing your words before his eyes widen. “No! Oh my god, Y/n, please don’t get me wrong! I’m so fucking glad I got you and not some rando that won’t bother pulling their weight!”

Relief washes over you, the pillow falling slack in your lap. “But?”

“Not buts.” He shakes his head. “I know you usually work with Chan so I can understand if you’re disappointed you got stuck with me.”

“You’re kidding right?” You tilt your head, frowning. “I’m so happy it’s you and not someone I don’t know! We’re friends and I know your work ethic, I couldn’t ask for a better partner for this assignment, Bin.”

Now he’s beaming, no trace of any of his worries left behind, pleased by your words. “Thank you, Y/n.”

Changbin has always been someone easy to get along with, and he was one of the most hardworking people you knew. If you couldn’t work with Chris or Jisung, you were glad it was him. There was no doubt in your mind your team was going to ace this.

“So, what do we have to do, exactly?” You move the conversation along, leaning back to melt into the comfy couch.

“Hold on, I’ll send you the doc I got from Chan.” He wheels over to his laptop, and as it comes to life, your curiosity is peaked by something that looks like a workout plan which he minimizes a little too quickly. A minute or so later, your phone dings with a new text from him.

“We essentially have to come up with five songs by the end of the semester, and put them together in a mini album.”

Your mouth falls open, eyes glued to the screen as you start reading all of the instructions. “Why the hell is he taking over Mrs. Oh’s class? Music theory does not involve any of the shit he’s sprouting in here.”

Spinning to face you, Changbin’s distress is back in tenfold. “I know! I heard he got mad people stopped taking him seriously and are skipping his boring class.”

Great, another washed-up professor who longed for his glory days. This university loved getting on your nerves and keeping you in a constant state of stress and anxiety, like worrying about your future wasn’t already giving you enough of that. You should have just chosen Yonsei.

Exhaling loudly, you throw your phone to the side and push your hair back. “All right, a mini album about what? Because I’m sure he’s not giving us any creative freedom here.”

Changbin nods, reaching for his coffee. “The five stages of grief.”

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

After you almost popped a blood vessel because of Mr. Kim on Friday and established how and when you were going to start working on those songs with Changbin, Monday rolls around a bit too quickly for your liking.

You’ve spent the weekend thinking about it, measuring the pros and cons before deciding on accepting Jaemin’s invitation. The one which involved you getting off your butt and going to a football game. A game your ex was undoubtedly going to be present at, taking front stage.

You haven’t been to a game in almost five months, having stopped attending when things went sour in your relationship. Other than that, you have been going since your freshman year, when he was first made captain.

Football wasn’t one of your passions, never was, and never will be, but for him, you made an effort, and now your head was full of useless information about a sport you couldn’t care less about. A loss in your book, but a win at the time when it was serving a purpose. Now, you were no different from an old encyclopedia about a topic that has long stopped being relevant, outdated, pulled off the shelves to make room for the new, shinier books the students could reference in their papers.

But you had a plan.

You were going to show up, introduce Seohyun to Jaemin, and make sure they hit it off and then dip, preferably before the game even starts. It was brilliant, one of the best ideas you’ve come up with in a while. Nothing could go wrong, right? You were bound to get some good luck after the horrible run you’ve had, it was going to be alright. If a miracle were to somehow occur, you might not even bump into your ex.

However, since you chose to not share your plan with anyone, your friends were more than surprised as you sprung that on them, seemingly out of nowhere.

“You want to go where?” Chris lets out after a coughing fit, drinking from Jisung’s water. Seohyun and Jisung look just as taken aback, not understanding your sudden excitement, sharing concerned looks across the table.

“Please? It will be fun!” And then, you turn to Seohyun next to you, who froze with her milkshake halfway to her mouth. The noisy diner is suddenly quiet, almost like it shared their sentiments. “I want you to meet someone!”

She points to herself, even more confused. “Me? You’re doing this for me?”

Jisung leans over the table, getting a hold of your hand so your attention can be on him. “What are you planning, you little minx?”

You feel Chris’ eyes bore holes into the side of your head, staring at you intently, in the hopes of breaking through the wall you set up and reaching your true feelings. He knew you too well – there was no way you were as excited as you let out to be.

You expected them to be concerned, but maybe not to this extent. It was odd and out of character for you who avoided everything that had to do with your past relationship, to be so excited about something like this. Chris definitely believed it was too soon, your heart still too fragile to remain intact once you stepped into the wolf’s den.

And you agreed but maybe this was exactly what you needed. The best way to confront your fears was head-on. The more you kept running, the more you let them control every aspect of your life, allowing misery to be present at every hour of the day.

Maybe this was the first step you needed to take in order to feel like your old self again, the person you were before him. Before his love destroyed you.

And so, you try your best to ignore the look in Chris’ eyes, shaking off the discomfort his scrutiny has brought forth. “I’ve found your prince charming.”

Seohyun is surprised, eyebrows meeting her hairline as she sets down her drink, reaching for your other hand. “Babe – “

“Come on, stop worrying, all of you. We’re going to have fun!”

They’re silent, staring at each other as if they were trying to decipher the way they should approach this, how to respond. Your smile is strained but doesn’t falter, putting on your most convincing mask. Fake it till you make it and then you’ll feel alright.

In the end, Chris sighs, defeated. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You don’t get the chance to celebrate before his voice softens, gently redirecting your attention to his last words. “But if at any time, you feel the need to leave, or just get bored or whatever, you let me know, yeah?”

Once again, it looked like he managed to read your mind and find your original plan, proof of how well he knew you.

And that’s exactly how you ended up by the football field later that day, up in the bleachers searching for your seats, a little after four pm. One of your other friends, Jeongin, got here earlier to pick the best ones, close to the stairs to aid in your quick escape.

Even for a pre-season game, every single student seemed to be here, the stadium packed with people from all departments, all excited to cheer for their favorite team. And the guys on them. As your gaze trails downwards, to the field and the players who are currently crowded by a small group of girls, you manage to recognize all of their faces. Their long time girlfriends are wearing their jerseys, fussing over their uniform and overall condition, making sure the guys were fit to play. On the opposite side of the field are the guys from Yonsei, not as loud and excited since this wasn’t their ‘homeland’, but still as supported and cheered on.

You manage to spot Daehyun, who’s looking a little worse for wear, pacing back and forth like his overall game plan changed in the blink of an eye. Odd.

“Guys, over here!” Jeongin yells, patting the seats beside him with the sweetest smile on his boyish face. Seohyun pulls you along, your hand in hers and the others follow, with Jisung still talking Chris’ ear off about some new video game he managed to beat last night. He couldn’t care less about football, he never has.

The moment you make it to your seats, you’re pulled into a brief hug Jeongin plans to escape a little too soon. When he makes to pull away, you only hug him tighter, which surprisingly, he isn’t mad about, laughing loudly. Seems like he has missed you just as much.

However, when the greetings continue around you, a nearby conversation prevents you from getting out of the way, too curious to sit down.

“Did you guys hear Hyunjin won’t be playing this season?” A girl sitting in the row below asks her friends, whose faces fall at the news.

Multiple gasps are heard, one more surprised than the other. “What? No way that’s true!”

“It is!” Another girl chimes in, nodding. “Apparently some other guy is taking his place. A rookie.”

And that’s the exact moment your world seems to collapse, eyes almost popping out of their sockets as you whip around to face the field once again, desperately searching for those familiar numbers on his back. In your haste, you don’t find them, and panic threatens to overtake you until your eyes land on the captain badge pinned on a red jersey. Something looks off though, because usually, under the big C, Hyunjin has two stars, and they were supposed to add another to signify the three years he’s spent as the captain of this team.

This badge has none.

Because the guy that’s currently taking off his helmet, shaking his head while smiling brightly at something his teammates have said isn’t Hyunjin.

It’s Jaemin.

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weasleyreidstyles · 1 year ago

Text

Serendipity

chapter five

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of drugs/weed but only minor, its an angsty one folks!!

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Madame Pomfrey had the house elves bring up food for you and the other occupants of the Hospital Wing when dinner time rolled around later that day. You enjoyed a plate full of roast chicken, potatoes and mash before the plate was magically vanished upon you finishing it before the matron came to check on you again.

Some time after that, the doors to the Hospital Wing are pushed open with an echoing creak but you didn't look up from your book to see who it was until your copy of Pride & Prejudice was plucked right out of your hands.

"Hey!" you protest, going to grab the book back from Mattheo Riddle's grasp. "Oh it's you."

"You sound so happy to see me." he teases as he sits on the edge of your bed. You stare from the fabric of the bed sheets to where he's sitting with raised brows.

"There's a perfectly good seat right next to you." you grumble as he enters your personal space.

"The seats are uncomfortable, I'd rather not sit on them again after I spent a good hour waiting for you to wake up earlier." he replied, forcing you to move over so that he could fit properly on the bed next to you.

"You stayed?" you asked incredulously. "Why?"

"You passed out the second we all saw Bell on the bed. I was worried. Sue me."

"Awh you care about me." you cooed, jokingly patting his knee before rolling your eyes.

He picked up the book that he had taken from you and flipped it around cover to cover, reading the blurb and scrunching his face up. "What's your book about? I don't understand it."

As you begin to explain Elizabeth Bennett's intricate and turbulent relationship with Mr. Darcy with fervour, Mattheo can't help but stare at you with eyes full of admiration and...something else.

Some time later, the dreaded conversation ended up coming around. You tell him how odd it felt when you saw the necklace; how your weird intuition seemed to carry over to the Hospital Wing when you saw Katie; to Dumbledore's cryptic visit.

"Dumbledore spoke to you?" he asked, curiously.

"Well at first he complimented my Occlimency abilities. Thank you by the way." you start. "But then he asked me about what happened when Katie was cursed."

Mattheo listened as you talked, nodding his head to show that he was paying attention.

"...and then he asked me to tell him what I felt when I touched a ring that he had in his possession."

"A ring?" A look crosses Mattheo's face, but it's gone in an instant.

"The magic was similar to the necklace, but different at the same time." you continue, picturing the Riddle insignia in your mind. "Dumbledore's hand is the way it is because of it."

You didn't know whether you should tell him about what Dumbledore said about Professor Slughorn, that seemed like something Dumbledore would want to be kept under wraps.

"He didn't really give me a solid answer, but he gave me sound career advice." you say with a huff.

"What happened when he gave you the ring?"

"Same thing that happened when I touched Katie. It burned me. But my magic was surrounding the ring this time. It felt...odd."

"Huh." He's quiet for a moment before he changes the subject once more.

"Your friends spoke to Professor Mcgonagall and Professor Snape earlier, after you fainted." he said. "Potter thinks it was Draco that cursed her. Accused him right in front of them."

"Did he do it? Malfoy?" you interject, Harry's theories had become more consistent over the last few weeks, and you weren't surprised to hear that he had suspected that Malfoy was behind this, despite ludicrous the allegations were.

"He had detention with Mcgonagall today. Didn't show up to transfiguration remember? He was pretty pissed off about missing the first Hogsmeade weekend." he says and you recall the detention being issued a few days ago when Malfoy appeared in the doorway of the Transfiguration classroom a quarter of an hour late.

"Right. Yeah." you say tiredly, somewhat unconvinced but you push the feeling aside when he begins to stand.

"Where are you going?" you say with a yawn, reaching for his left forearm. He winces but you don't catch it in your tired state.

"You're getting tired, and it's almost curfew. I need to get back to my common room so I don't risk getting a detention."

"Pansy's patrolling tonight. You'll be fine." you say, dragging him to sit down. "Stay a little longer. At least until I fall asleep. Please?"

The way you looked at him with your big, tired eyes caused him to falter.

"You don't really want me to stay, Princess." he murmured but he didn't move to stand again.

"I hate when you call me that." you say. "I wouldn't have asked otherwise, Mattheo. I don't want to fall asleep alone in here."

"Alright, move over then." his resolve crumbles and he moves to lie down behind you, using an arm around your waist to drag your body closer to his, his body heat warming you from the inside.

It takes you no time at all to fall asleep in his embrace, feeling the most comfortable you'd ever felt in your entire life. In your sleepy haze, you swore you felt him kiss the side of your temple, murmuring into your soft skin.

"Good night, sweetheart." he had whispered, before he fell asleep shortly after you.

~∞~

The week following his visit to the Hospital Wing, your interactions with Mattheo were few and far between.

Your lessons had dwindled after he had first started skipping out on you, but now he seemed hellbent on avoiding you altogether.

He had once again skipped your Ancient Runes lesson that week and Theo proved to be of little help when he refused to tell you where his best friend was. Pansy seemed to be growing increasingly agitated by her two friends over the course of the time Mattheo was ignoring you.

"For Salazar's sake, Teddy. Mattheo's just been a little busy this week." she said. "No need to worry. I think he's been doing extra Potions work."

"Do you know where he is now?" you ask your friend with pleading eyes.

Like Theo, she seemed reluctant to give you the boy's location, as if they knew something that you weren't supposed to know, but in the end they shared a look and relented.

"He's in the Room of Requirement." Teddy says, before his hands gently grip your shoulders. "But we never told you, okay. I don't want to die a premature death, tesoro."

"Thank you. I won't tell him you helped, don't worry Teddy." you reassured him before walking down the corridor and towards the system of staircases that would take you to the seventh floor.

Due to the interval between lessons ending and new ones beginning, it seemed to take you ages to get from point A to B, with everyone lingering in or rushing through the corridors but when you got to the familiar wall, you waited.

I need to see Mattheo.

I need to-

The door began materialising in front of your eyes, reminiscent of the late evenings that you'd come here with your friends for DA meetings before Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad had it disbanded. Your hand still had that prominent scar from the two weeks of detention you had each received: I must not disobey the Ministry.

When the door was fully formed, you twisted the handle and slipped through.

The room appeared to be huge and full to the brim with piles upon piles of junk. It was going to take you forever to find him, but you knew he was in there somewhere.

You started down a pathway that had appeared between some old arm chairs and bookshelves and followed where your gut was telling you to go.

It was quiet, too quiet and you were about to give up hope when you saw Mattheo lounging on a dark velvet chaise lounge, a blunt hanging in his lips, something shiny resting in his lap that looked an awful lot like a tiara, which he vanished away when he saw you.

"So this is what you do in your spare time?" you ask, hesitantly sitting at the edge of the chaise lounge, by his feet.

He only sighed as he took another hit of the blunt, leaving you to carry on speaking without a reply.

"How'd you even get that into the school? It's more illegal for wizards to get their hands on than muggles." you turn your head to face him only to find him staring straight ahead, avoiding your gaze altogether.

You huffed before you stood up and rounded the chaise to stand directly in front of him; he continued to stare in the opposite direction.

"For Rowena's sake, Riddle. Look at me." you snapped, using the pads of your fingers to firmly direct his face to yours.

His gaze was void of emotions when he stared at you. Like it had been all the times before when he'd antagonise Harry or Ron with his friends. His eyes were no longer soft like they had been with you these past months. They were cold and dark and angry.

If you hadn't have grown some sort of friendship with him, if you could even call it that, then you'd happily go on ignoring his existence again. But for some reason, you couldn't shake him, wouldn't shake this hold he had on you.

"What do you want, Meadow?" he asked, voice low and raspy, as if he'd not spoken in a while. "I thought you'd get the hint by now? Or are you seriously that stupid?"

"You confuse the absolute fuck out of me, Riddle." you say, beginning to grow annoyed at his apparent nonchalance. "What's your issue? You agree to help me out for Theo's sake and the second it gets complicated you what? You just....leave?"

"'S not like we're mates, Meadow." he grumbles, rolling his eyes as he takes another hit. "Actually I'm pretty sure we're supposed to be enemies."

"The whole point of the lessons is for me to help you and your friends get out, is it not?"

"To get them out. Not me. That wasn't the deal." he snaps.

"I agreed to help. That includes you, too."

"And how did you honestly expect that to go down? Huh!" he stood up so suddenly that you stumbled backwards, into the table that was behind you.

"How do you think the Order will react when you go to them, pleading for my case? The son of The Dark Lord on their side? They'd sooner call you a traitor for even associating with any of us." he had gotten closer to you, so much so that the toes of his shoes kissed your's.

"They would be understanding. If you told them how much you hate him-"

"And you think they'd actually believe that?" he snaps, stepping even closer to you. You had to press your hands against his firm chest to stop him trapping you further against the table. "They'd show mercy to Theo and the others. That's all I care about. I didn't want any of them to be involved. You need to get them out. Not me."

"But why?" you question harshly, looking at him through your lashes. His brown eyes were pure onyx now, no traces of the boy you'd gotten to know were present.

"I am my father's son, sweetheart. My fate has been sealed since the day I was born. There's no helping me." he says quietly, his eyes boring into your's.

"Let me help you. Please." you say resolutely. "We'll think of something. They have to hear you out."

"They won't."

"They have to." you insist. "What kind of people would they be if they refuse to help someone in need."

"They can't help someone who can't be saved, sweetheart."

"For fuck's sake Mattheo! Why are you being so stubborn?!" you snap, your voice raising in octaves that surprises both of you.

"Why are you so determined to save me?" he shouts back, leaning down so that your faces are level. His hands sit on either side of your thighs, bracketing you to the table as his breathe huffs against your cheek, the scent of weed and smoke overtaking your senses. He's breathing heavily, eyes flicking between your's and your lips. Mattheo seems to be holding onto what little resolve he has left before the unthinkable happens.

He's staring at your lips now. Your breathe hitches as he seems to contemplate something but you can't see his thoughts very clearly.

It's only a split second decision but you can see it, the moment he decides to let go.

"Fuck it." he mumbles before his mouth decends on your's. In your shock you don't realise that you've practically frozen until he pulls away with wide eyes.

"Shit- Meadow I'm sorry I-" you snap out of your frozen state and don't let him finish his sentence as you wrap your arms around his broad shoulders and kiss him like your life depended on it.

The feeling is euphoric. His lips are like a warm and gentle hug against your own; it feels right. Like the missing piece of a never ending puzzle was finally put back into place. You're so in your head that you don't even register the unceremonious moan you let out when Mattheo's tongue sensually brushes your own. It allows him to deepen the kiss and you think you might die happily right then and there, with his soft lips on your's.

Gods, sweetheart. he groans, his inhibitions down, so you feel everything he feels. Every thought and every desire. If I knew kissing you felt this good, I would've done that much sooner.

When you eventually pull away from eachother, only a hair of space was left between you, your breathing equally heavy.

His onyx eyes held that familiar softness that he seemed to only show around you, his lips quirked into a cheeky grin.

Merlin, he was the most attractive boy you'd ever layed eyes on. It was then that you realised that you were well and truely fucked.

~∞~

omg they kissed 🫢🫢

the one bed trope gets me every time 🤭🤭 i think we can all agree that mattheos a bit of an idiot but the guy's got his secrets...😁

and i love angst and slow burns so much but i couldn't help myself lol i love a '"fuck it" and they kiss' moment but im sorry this was short. i was contemplating carrying this on or splitting the chapter into two which is what im doing so really this is more of a filled chapter for whats to come ;)

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira @foxboyapologist @lafrone @lovely-maryj @nromanovaswife @leeknows-wife @dracygf @wildlyobserving @ravenclawprincess33 @melllinaa @vellicora

#harry potter #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #theo nott #pansy parkinson #mattheo riddle x you #angst #serendipity series

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stump-not-found · 1 month ago

Note

you mentioned once before how you think ford makes bill worse... do you mind explaing how/genq (this is NOT an attack in any form or way! youer characterisations of bill and ford have been ON POINT every chapter that gets realsed and every comic you draw... im really curious as to how ford makes bill worse to understand it too)

i unfortunately do not remember saying this ! i say a lot of things with my mouth

i do think those two are like an emotional feedback loop . kind of got crabs in a bucket vibes, if the crabs were stabbing each other, and the bucket was also stabbing the crabs . at first it was fun but then one crab said "i don't want to stab anymore" and the other one went "FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU" . like you do . im prolly gonna ramble a bit so shoving it under the readmore lol

hrmmm if i had to guess it's probably just the fact that ford is not a great dude . and he genuinely just likes bill's attitude and behaviors, even the nasty stuff . because it's really gratifying to be around someone who sees your hard edges, and instead of being repelled by that they're like . fuck yeah . then you both just feed into that infinitely and giggle for ever lalala . it's not even like ford broke the cycle willingly he just got his feelings hurt about bill lying and bill decided to blow his entire shit up because he's just a sad, pathetic coward . will do anything to protect his stupid ego even if it means ruining everything all the time constantly . sure you could have gotten everything u ever wanted but that would have required you looking even a lil vulnerable so honestly man you honestly should just blow up your office building tbqh

also i genuinely don't know that bill has had many people in his life that actually like him so i gotta believe ford was like the worst drug known to man: validation

all this being said i'm not really someone who likes to think of any one person as like . bad or evil . it's reductive and boring, for both bill and ford . bill's definitely worse but he's also not human ?? not that that really matters because humans do some incredibly heinous shit . there's not a one-sized-fits-all moral answer here . also bill's just silly he's just a silly guy

so yah if ford makes bill worse its probably just that he's the one guy who's gonna hear bill say "just don't call me late for dinner" and actually laugh for real at that joke . and then also goes into a whole worship kink which i cannot imagine helped the bill situation at all . like idk what i would do if i met the literal smartest guy in the world & he built me a basement shrine with little to no prompting just because i gave him an epic blowjob . i think i would also go insane

well actually no i would hate that . personally . but i'm not a triangle . maybe being a triangle makes that like . normal and fun who knows

#stump asks #thanks for the ask sorry for not having a coherent answer #i am not coherent . i do not cohere

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koiiiji · 11 months ago

Text

i accidentally posted this without any text, that’s why im reuploading it, like this, sorry!!

so, sure bby!! will try to figure out something for them

also i think this part ideally fits with latest chapters, bc it was mostly about sabbath!! and wb fandom is finally knowns Joker real name Hajun…so cute!!

you know what else is cute? my bday today😤😤

☾ all characters aged up ☾

*ੈ✩‧₊ sabbath & monster crew nasty/perverted habits pt.2🍐 🐇🧴

COQUETTE!Joker/Hajun

hardly sure that joker shyly would ask you to wear some bows and lace, he definitely have thing for coquette, fight me. seeing you under him, wearing cute skirt, or pink top with open neck and collarbone with lace collar, mix it and add some snow white leg warmers? don’t even think about opportunity to walk next morning.

JERK OFF!Hyeok

mentioned in my really first headcanons that hyeok is pervert who jerk off on random girls who he saw on street, if he found them hot, like bitch do this by memory (he is too lazy to search some porn to turn himself on) so he have good imagination. when he saw you in league of street, wearing your sport uniform he was so grateful that he didn’t participate in competitions that day, his pants felt too tight suddenly.

EXHIBITIONIST!Wooin

wooin is up to everything. like everything. but his dirty secret? to fuck you when someone watches, like a boy/girl from your uni who had a crush on you. maybe share you with someone too (someone white or red haired preferably)

KNISMOLAGNIA!Monster/Deokbong

he can’t control himself when your touch is even a little bit feels like a tickle. it may seem strange, but he is very sensitive in certain places, for example in his back, and when you haven't dated yet, but were just friends, it was so hard for him to restrain himself when you hugged him and stroked his back... poor boy was immediately turned on.

FOOT FETISH!Gyuchan

do i even need to explain? gyuchan fascinated by your legs and foot, bonus points if you doing sport connected to extra load to legs, so firstly he would use massage for your legs as an excuse to touch it and feel. secondly you found yourself mostly in positions in sex where your legs are close to his face, like for example they laying on his shoulders and he stroking and kissing your ankles. when you had a talk he admitted that he had a foot fetish and honestly he was so ready for some jokes about foot fetishists.

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timeforaneclipse · 1 month ago

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Falling Apart (Lilia x reader)

Chapter Six - Knight of wands

You hissed as Lilia dabbed the wet cloth onto your wounded face. The older woman gave you an apologetic look. A part of you felt embarrassed. Not because of the deep cuts because of what you were wearing in front of the older witch. "Will it scar?" Agatha growled out. As if this was all Lilia's fault. In truth, Agatha asked a silly question. the wound would leave a deep nasty scar. Rio crossed her arms and eyed the massacre on your flesh. What could've happened to cause Michelle to go feral like that? Who had brought her back? The Seven? There was reason the dead should be left alone. This was it. "Jen... Do your spell... thing... the water!" Agatha yelled at the potions witch, going on a spiral. The young woman shrugged. There was no water or moon here. There was nothing she could do. Besides your wounds didn't seem life threatening.

As Agatha threw her fit, your eyes stayed focused on Lilia as she carefully cleaned the wounds. Realising you were staring, Lilia's face heated up but she tried to stay committed to the task at hand. Once she had finished, she set the bloody cloth to the side. She had been through this routine before. Mostly during her younger years when the Witch trials consumed every worry. Her finger tips hovered over your injured cheek, checking that the wound was clean. You watched her movements, pulling away slightly while narrowing you eyes when her touch lingered. Your eyes softened, however, when you saw there was no disgust or malice. You swallowed her intelligent eyes began to draw you in. She was captivating and completely concentrated. For a moment you had forgotten about the agony that burnt at your flesh. Her once wild curly locks were short and straightened. Her hair a now light brown. You missed the curls. She wore a yellow chequered shirt and white trousers. Noticing your staring, again, Lilia blushed briefly. "Is it ugly?" You whispered to the older woman, slightly defeated as you referred to your four cuts.

"Horribly so.." The divination winked with a smirk, Attempting to lesson your worry through her own light-heartedness. You smiled weakly at her gentle attempt at humour despite the situation. Her hand found yours and her face became serious but not stern. "No, I don't think so..." She whispered, eyeing the marks. Squeezing her hand, you watched her expression shift. "Scars show you survived.. and that is beautiful." You grew flustered at her honesty and wise words. Your pulse quickened as you stared at each other. You glanced to the older woman's lips. Thoughts hit you. Wondering how they'd taste against your lips. The divination witch's own eyes wondered down to your own lips. "Minerva..." She whispered as you inched closer, her touch in your hand tightening. Teen noticed and tilted his head, smirking like a fool as he waited for the main event

Agatha stilled her rant when she noticed the closeness between you both. The older woman's eye twitched. "Whatever is happening right now... better stop." Agatha gritted out, seething at the sight. Rio smirked and clicked her tongue at Agatha's anger. You cleared your throat and pulled away, leaving Lilia reaching. The divination witch's brows furrowed at your pull away. Damning Agatha. Looking around the... cabin? You found yourself interested by the lights and décor of the place. It seemed.... familiar? Teen began to scramble around his body and pockets. Panicking to himself as he said he couldn't find his spell book. Lilia attempted to calm the boy by asking where the boy had it last. When he said on a broom, Agatha groaned. "Forget it, you can take the training wheels off." She spat. Lilia gave the boy a worried sympathetic look.

As the look for the purpose of the trial began, you drifted towards Lilia. You felt bad for earlier. "Who's trial is this?" Teen asked, as you shadowed near the divination witch.

Rio scoffed as she noticed the moon phase. "Agatha's." The green witch smirked like the devil. Agatha grew nervous immediately. Her blue eyes found yours as she stared, concerned.

"A blood moon..." The divination witch hummed as her eyes narrowed. Following Rio's gaze towards the painted red moon wit the purple background. "When the veil between the living and the dead is at it's thinnest." She frowned in thought. Teen immediately got confused and questioned Lilia. He thought that talking to the dead was her skill? You rolled your eyes. "Oh common misconception. I read people, I read time but talking to spirits was just con." She smiled reassuringly at the teenager.

Rio smirked and slowly walked towards her ex lover. "And who better to commune with the dead then someone who's put so many in the grave." She purred towards Agatha. Agatha perched her lips and gave the green witch a poisonous side eye. In seconds, a board game was magically flung out. You bit the inside of your cheeks and pulled Lilia away from the bored. Her hands grabbed yours. Teen and Alice rushed forward and Teen picked up the box... You felt your heart quicken and your panic rose. It wasn't a game... It was the Ouija. Lilia gasped as her watch went off. You own buzzed and you looked at it. A countdown... thirty minutes. After setting the board up, Teen began to read the rules.

"Okay so.. Number one, don't use the Ouiji board alone." He began. Agatha threw her hands up in the air, thinking this was stupid. "Number two, do not speak over each other." Your ears rang as the group suddenly began to do just that. As you cringed, Teen spoke over the groups collective arguing. "Three! Do not taunt the spirits." Your eyes drifted to Agatha. And you didn't seem to be the only one. Agatha looked baffled that the coven had turned their attention on her. Teen repeated the rule. "Do not taunt the spirits." he glared lightly as Agatha sighed and crossed her arms. "four, Do not ask about death." That seemed simple enough. "Five, always end your session with goodbye. Six, do not remove your hand from the planchette. If you do so, a spirit will be released." Alice and Jennifer huddled closer to each other while sharing a look. You gave Lilia's hand a gentle squeeze but the divination witch didn't dare look your way. Lilia let go of your hand to look on at the back of the instructions. You narrowed your eyes and huffed gently.

Everyone sat down bar Agatha. Ever hesitant. You settled beside Lilia, keeping her in your view. When Agatha braved herself, she sat down and flicked her hair. Putting your fingers on the planchette, your breath hitched when you felt Lilia's against your own. Your eyes drifted to her fingers. The trial let her keep her rings... You swallowed as you watched her hands adjust. So different from your own claws.. "Mother, Maidan, Crone..." Agatha began, eyeing the group. "Spirits be known." The blue eyed witch clicked her tongue. "I can hear something... shhh." You frowned at her words. Feeling alert, you jumped as the planchette began to move. Teen began to panic but was cut short by the coven hisses at him to be quiet. "Is someone here with us during this witching hour?" Agatha went on to question. The... spirit moved to the word yes on the board. "And WHO, may I ask, do we have the pleasure of communing with?" You raised an eyebrow at her question. Unsure whether it was sarcastic or not.

"Mrs Hart?" Alice smiled. You growled and lowered at the name. Something felt off...

"Hey girl... Feeling better?" Jennifer went on to ask

Just as Lilia reminded them about no taunting the planchette moved with a jerk sending the divination witch off with a yelp. "Your hands! What did you do!" Agatha hissed as Lilia stared at her own hands disbelief, claiming she didn't do it. Your lips became thin as Agatha began to shake. Your eyes narrowed at the familiar sight. Rio glanced your way and smirked. Jennifer fell into Alice and the protection witch hugged the potions witch as Agatha continued to freak out. Lilia looked completely horrified. "Oh my.... What a journey..." Agatha began, her voice a higher pitch. You watched dead faced as she continued. "There I was living my tiny life in the burbs, baking casseroles, linking into conspiracy theories on face-book," She stood and backed away from the group. "Drinking before noon! And there you were, bringing chills and thrills and bringing on my early demise!" She giggled.

Lilia frowned, her sad eyes wide in remorse. "Listen, Mrs hart-" You tapped the older woman's arm. Stopping her from indulging Agatha's twisted game. As unaware as she was. Lilia gave you a confused stare and Alice corrected Lilia saying it was Sharon Davis.

"Agatha used to do this all the time when I was kid.." You mumbled to the Divination witch. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Agatha who was trying uphold the act of the dead woman. Agatha's smile vanished when Rio gave her look. Claiming that she was just scared. Lilia cleared her throat and leaned against her hand, not like the direction that this had gone.

Agatha swallowed and patted down her long purple shirt. "Well, I thought that was pretty good." She frowned. Alice was quick to protest that time was ticking and she was right. Rio patted the seat next to her at Agatha sat down with a huff. "Well, lets get to it!" She hissed and the group followed suit. "Maiden, mother, crone..." Agatha began once more. "Spirits be known..." This time lights began to flicker. The hairs on the back of your neck stood. You were not alone. Your ear twitched and you could have sworn you heard a growl. You went to protest that something wasn't right... that something felt evil... but you were shut up by Rio's hard glare. "Who is here with us tonight?" Agatha continued. The planchette began to move once more. Harsher then before as it spelt out it's next word. Death. Rio cackled and you hung your head. "What do you want?" Agatha asked now nervous.

"P, u, n, i, s, h." Punish? You felt your blood ran cold. Agatha paled and asked who. You felt very unnerved. "A, G, A, T, H, A." Agatha... Punish Agatha. You glanced to Rio, wondering if this was a sick joke. Agatha began to panic, ordering the group to stop. The lights continued to flicker and the pull became more deadly. Everyone began to argue over each other. Agatha let go, cowering in on herself. "NO, WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" Lilia screamed at the cowering woman. Her own fear swallowing her whole. The board went flying and you screamed at the sight. The spirit was angered. You covered your ears as the sorrowful screams of the dead burst through the room. "I hated this the first time!" The divination witch cried. First time?!

"Lilia's being weird again!" Teen shouted.

"What do they want!" Alice winced.

Jennifer narrowed her eyes. "They already told us!" She shouted over the tortured screams. "Punish Agatha!" The screams stopped. Agatha paled. Looking terrified. Alice looked wide-eyed practically asking for confirmation. "Yep... it's how we pass the trial." Jennifer smirked, taking too much pleasure in this then what you liked. "And after everything she's done... the lies, the cheating, the complete and utter lack of humanity." In a flash, and without thinking, you placed your body between the potions with and your mother, who was sitting on the floor. Vulnerable like a bullied child.

"No." You hissed at the smaller woman, thankful for your height at the moment. "I won't allow it..." You growled at the potions witch. Rio tilted her head in interest at your defence. Agatha teared up slightly at your protective stance in front of her. You were protecting her. Shielding her from the coven... Just like how she had shielded you when you were a child. "I know, Agatha deserves punishment but not this... Not like this." You spat at the potions witch, daring her to try to get you to move.

Lilia stepped forward, trying to defuse the tension between the two of you. "We could tie her up." She shrugged as she hummed deep in thought. You swallowed, feeling slightly betrayed. The divination witch frowned when she noticed the look in your gaze. But what choice was there?

"Humiliation would work too?" Your eyes widened at Alice's words. What was this!? Then stepped onward with a devilish look. Suggesting just to cut Agatha's throat. You took a step back at her words, not wanting to be near her.

The group continued to circle around the two of you and you began to feel trapped. You glanced down to Agatha's rigid figure on the floor. The older woman shrugged and looked annoyed. "And people ask me why I don't have female friends." She huffed in a pout.

Teen looked around confused, you frowned. Blass his innocent idiotic heart. "But we were getting along, weren't we?" He asked like a child. So much false hope. "We were clicking! There was unity!" He argued, trying to find a light in the dark.

However, Jennifer waved him off. "Familiars don't get votes." She spat at the teenager, giving you a pointed look.

Something in you snapped. "Kale." You barked. Angered. The lights flickered and Agatha shared a knowing look with Rio. You used to lose your temper often as a teenager... so often that you once ended up breaking your friend's nose after she called Agatha a slur. "That's enough." You hardened gaze took the coven by surprised. "No one is laying a fucking finger on Agatha. Get that through your thick skull, lass." You hissed, your accent cutting through the cabin.

"Coming to save mummy, dear Minnie?" Jennifer smirked, deciding to see how far she could push you. You cringed at the sound of your nickname on her mouth. A part of you felt hurt, in truth, you were beginning to enjoy Jennifer's company. "What are you going to do about it, Minerva? Spit a fur ball at me?" The potions witch sneered, annoyed that you were getting in the way of what obviously had to be done. She didn't understand why you, who had been so quiet and observant in every previous trial, suddenly were taking the lead. Teen tried to intervene but was scorned by Lilia's look of concern. Not wanting the Teenager to get in the middle of the two angered witches. Your glare pierced the potion "What about a slap on the wrist? Go on, Minerva, what you going to do to stop us?" A slap rang through the air. Alice gasped and covered her mouth at the sight of you standing over the potions witch with a dangerous glint in your eyes. Jennifer held her cheek. You just.. just smacked her. You sneered as the pink witch recovered from your backhand. She went to slap you back, but you caught her hand. "Minerva!" She yelled in anger.

Without warning, she took a chunk of your hair and pulled down. You yelled in pain. Your claw like nails scratched at her skin as you both tumbled to the ground. Lilia's eyes widened as she cringed at the display. You were in no condition to be rolling around the ground like dog. Especially with Jen. Teen guided her back as you and Jennifer continued to throw limps at each other. You managed to scrap your way on top and pin her hands, kneeing the potions witch in the ribs. A smirk left you. "Is that all you got, kale?" You hissed with a snarky smirk. You couldn't make her out well enough. Not with the combination of pain, Your glasses lost on the road and the wound on your cheek. Lilia breathed heavily as she watched your position on top of potions witch. Her brows furrowed and her lips thin. A gentle very unnoticeable red on her cheeks. You suddenly felt arms snake around your waist, pulling you off of the Potions witch.

Rio gritted her teeth as she kept you restrained. You relaxed in her arms, unwillingly but you had no choice. Breathing heavily, Death let you go as she felt you ease. "W-where did Agatha go?" Alice asked hesitantly. You stood and brushed yourself down. The lights turned off and everyone was on alert. Out of breath, Jennifer called for Agatha, her tone daunting. You sneered at the young woman and looked to her forming bruising. Did she need another? "We need light." Alice whispered worried.

Cringing, you tensed and slowly inched towards Lilia. Keeping the divination witch close. She seemed to gravitate towards you too. What was that sound... It sounded so close. "Does anyone else hear that?" Lilia asked, her eyes trying to see through the darkness. Before you knew it, Teen began to scream. Jumping you turned your head in his direction, following his light source up. You yelped in horror and grabbed Lilia as she screamed at the sight of Agatha's possessed form clinging to the roof. Suddenly, she jumped down, hissing at the group like a wild animal. Her body began to twist and bones began to crack. You gasped as you watched the sight of your mother chasing after Teen on all fours. Jennifer screamed at Agatha, drawing her attention. The possessed woman took Jennifer by the throat and began to chock her in a deathly tight grip. You felt a tug on your arm and followed Lilia to the wall's power box. Just in the Knick of time, Lilia restored the power. Fixing the lights but causing Agatha to disappear.

Clutching onto each other like a lifeline, Lilia and yourself frowned. Taking in the room. Rio grew angry as she shout for Agatha. A light source began to come down from the stairs. You hissed and pulled Lilia behind you slightly. If there was anything that you and Rio shared, it was a hate for ghosts. As the ghost took full form, Lilia demanded it's name. "Evanora Harkness of the Salemites." You nearly laughed at the ghost. Salemites. What a silly name...

Agatha crawled up from the the balcony. "Hey, mom." She frowned with a bitterness. Flicking her now undone hair out of her face. "It was nice having you in my body for a second there..." She ached from the possession. Mom? This was her mom? "I've never felt so close to you before." She continued sarcastically.

Evanora rolled her eyes and floated towards the group. "My coven risked everything to kill her and you fools have willingly joined her!" The ghost bellowed. Angered. You gritted your teeth.

"Stop embarrassing me in front of my friends, mom." Agatha covered her face, embarrassed. You cringed. Thankful it was Agatha that had raised you and not Evanora.

Jennifer looked to Lilia for guidance, eyes begging on what to do. You frowned. You couldn't simply just banish her, unfortunately. "Emotion ties them to this plane." Lilia began, keeping everyone within arms reach. "They have unfinished business." She explained, concern laced in her gaze.

Teen nodded then asked the ghost of Agatha's mother what she wanted. "You must finish the witches road... Without Agatha." The colour drained from your face. Lila sent a glance your way. Noticing your sudden fear. You had left Agatha before. You could live without her. But you left when she was alive and well. Safe. Her fate in her own hands. You didn't... you'd never leave her like this. Damn the road. "Leave her. With me." Rio, sharing your panic began to protest. Evanora sneered and hissed at Death with a hateful glare. You bit the inside of your cheeks and your lips became thin.

Agatha began to inch down the the stairs. Calling her mother. Evanora turned back to Agatha, her chin held high. Agatha, in that moment, looked like a child. A rejected child... Much too similar to how you looked when Agatha had first found you and Michelle. So hurt and rejected but still clinging to that little rag of light someday someone would accept you and tell you that you were enough. "Why do you hate me still?" She asked quietly, her voice cracking.

"You were born evil." Your heart dropped at her mother's response. No child was born evil... "I ought to have killed you the moment you left my body." Your jaw dropped. That little spec of hope Agatha was clinging onto had vanished... You were frozen in place.

"We have to go." Jennifer said suddenly, catching the group by surprise. Teen frowned and tried to protest. "No! No. There's no flood here... There's no fire. The only danger to us in this trial.. is Agatha Harkness." Your eyes narrowed at her comment as your own protests reached the potion witch's ear. "Oh, go choke on a hair ball, Minerva, you heard what she said." Jennifer bit back, and for a moment, you saw pity in her eyes.

Still slightly offended, you mumbled under your breath. "I'll choke on a hair ball when you come up with a more creative insult." Lilia gave a weak smirk and stroked your arm. Your heart ached as Agatha began to beg to be taken with the coven. Evanora, wasting no time, began to possess Agatha once more. You called Agatha's name but it was a failed attempt. Your eyes widened in fear but then the room glowed orange. Alice. You watched at the girl shot Agatha's form with a magical blast, sending the ghost of Evanora away. "Alice, stop it!" You yelled. You had seen this all before. And there never was a good ending. Lilia was taken a back, horrified at the sight before her. In an instant, Agatha began to absorb Alice's power. Lilia screamed for the girl but you pulled her away. Keeping her from approaching the two. Perhaps it was selfish... You knew it was. But you weren't going to risk Lilia for Alice..

As Agatha drained the young woman of her life force, Teen suddenly shouted the name that was woven into Agatha's terrors. Nicholas Scratch. Everything went still. An exit was revealed. Alice lay lifeless on the floor. Nothing but a withered corpse. The smell of death lingered in the air and you looked at Agatha's confused gaze. Agatha tried to approach, coming to realise what she had done and the price that was paid. Teen snapped at the older woman. "Don't touch her!" He cried. "She was protecting you... But you don't deserve it." He gripped Alice tighter.

Agatha scanned the group, seeing their gazes of mistrust, hate and disgust. She teared up. "I didn't..." She was speechless. Overwhelmed, Agatha ran for the exit.

You brows furrowed and you were about to go after her when Lilia grabbed your hand. Keeping you still. "Don't. Sometimes it's best to give space." She whispered and pulled you closer. Agatha's eyes lingered on that small movement before she disappeared.

--I_I<-)0(->I_I--

As you walked out of the trial, You stuck close to Lilia's side. As you passed Teen and Agatha, Lilia paused. "Death comes for us all..." She spoke softly. Like it was a comfort. You brows furrowed in confusion before you looked to Agatha. She went to speak but could not. You gave her a soft smile and placed your hand in hers. Given it a light squeeze. Teen glared at you. Alice had just died.... Yet you were comforting her. If the boy was being honest. He was unaware how much he could truly trust you. The more he saw you... The more Harkness you appeared instead of Smith. and that, was a scary thought.

As you followed Lilia, you noticed how upset Jennifer really was. You bit the inside of your cheeks and sat beside her. "I'm sorry." You whispered softly. "For giving you too many bruises to count... and for Alice. She was a good witch..." You smiled reassuringly. Jennifer didn't answer. She didn't have to. You had speculated that she and Alice were closer then most when it came to the coven.. Jennifer searched your eyes then continued to look at nothing. You got the message. Standing, you walked over to Lilia. She frowned and scanned your face. "Don't look at me like that, Calderu... I tried..." You frowned and put your hands in your pockets.

The older woman softened. "I know.." She was about to continue but her body tensed. Your own body mimicked her movements as your eye twitched. Something felt off. Your nose twitched and you transfigured into your tabby cat form. Inching towards the energy shift. You kept yourself low and unnoticed. Just as you got comfortable, you screeched in agony. Your tail! Damn it! You glared at what had stood on your tail and noticed Lilia and Jennifer storming towards Agatha. You climbed up a tree to get a better few. Your ears lowered at the sight. Agatha struggled as Lilia and Jen flung her off the road. Every instinct in your body told you to lay low. You got a glimpse of their eyes. Blue. far from the beautiful honey brown you were used to. Then, Teen flung the two witches off of the bank. You panicked and jumped off the tree and ran to the edge of the bank. You.... weren't sinking in this form... Too light Perhaps? But, you were too late. The three witches were gone. You glanced around, claws digging into the soil. As you did this, you noticed Teen staring at you. Glaring, you lowered you body and hid in the bushes.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

here you goooo!

Hopefully this lives up

Thank you so much for reading

#patti lupone #lilia calderu #agatha all along #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #lilia calderu x reader #ao3 writer #agatha harkness #witches #alice wu gulliver #lilia x reader

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phoward89 · 8 months ago

Text

Dealer!Coryo x Reader

Weed, drugs, guns, cussing, fighting, parties, Coriolanus Snow being Coriolanus Snow, p in v, degradation, overstimulation, breeding kink, Dom!Coryo, Bratty!Reader, um that's bout it

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2:

Coriolanus swore that he was cutting you loose, but that didn't happen. Well, it happened for exactly 2 weeks, but then he walked into a party on the right side of town (Capitol Estates- a high end gated community full of super rich people. The Plinths tried to buy in the development, but the HOA didn't think the family was a good fit since they moved to Panem, Colorado from Dos, New Mexico roughly a decade back. Stuck up HOA bastards) with the intention to deal to some dumbass rich kids only to see your ex with you.

Wasn't Odysseus Odair supposed to be in California right now? What the ever loving fucking hell is he doing here flirting with you; giving you his charming manwhore smile? After seeing that, well, the dealer knew that he had to protect you from that motherfucker. He also felt jealous and very, very possessive of you.

Snow's possessiveness over you was primal. Almost caveman like in a way. Fuck! He just wants to toss you over his shoulder and yell for all to hear that you're off limits. That none of these dickweeds here are good enough for you.

So, without giving it a second thought, he went up to you. Slinging an arm over your shoulder and pulling you into his chest, he tilted his head and growled at your ex, “Back off, Odair, she's with me.”

“Oh, really?” Odysseus laughed, not looking convinced.

Craning your neck to look at Coryo, you ask, “What're you doing here?”

Giving you a hard look, icy eyes cold with anger, Coriolanus retorted in a dry, deep baritone, “Working, what're you doing letting your manwhore ex push up on you?”

“We're talking, Snowball. That's all.” You assure your dealer. You want to roll your eyes at how he's acting, but don't. You know he's worried about your ex wooing you back, but he's got nothing to worry about.

But try telling him that.

“Yea, Snowball,” Odysseus mocked, his voice over exaggerated with a saccharine syrupy tone. “we’re talking so why don't you go off and sell some drugs.” With a provoking smirk, he jeered, “Isn't that what you do, being a drug dealer and all?”

What the hell? Does your ex have a death wish? Doesn't he remember how Coryo beat the ever loving shit out of him for cheating on you. Odysseus can't be that stupid, can he? You know the man with sea-green eyes is a pretty boy, but he has to have a brain underneath all that bronze hair, right?

“Snow, this peacock giving you trouble ‘bout your girl?” Sejanus asked, coming up on the scene. Festus was next to him, already half drunk and high, and was giving Odysseus a nasty look.

Great, now Coriolanus’ dealer buddies have come to back him up. Great…the last thing you need is to be caught in the middle of a fight cause your dealer’s acting like a jealous asshole right now.

“Yea, Plinth.” Snow tells the broad bear of a man that he considers a friend. No, a brother. “Fucking manwhore thinks he can dis me; push up on what's mine too.”

Oh Jesus…what the hell's going on?! Since when are you Snowball's? As of two weeks ago he said he wanted to stop hooking up; told you he'd do weed exchanges at your house- that you guys can't keep fucking in his apartment.

Mhm…

And now the motherfucker’s being crazy possessive and jealous cause he saw you talking to somebody at a party. Okay, it was your ex…but still…

“You better not piss on what belongs to Snow. Might get shot.” Festus advises Odysseus, taking a drag off his joint before passing it over to you with a pointed look. It's as if he knows you're going to need all the loosening up and relaxing tonight that you can get.

Coryo grabs the joint from Festus and passes it to you before lifting his arm from your shoulder and getting up into Odysseus’ face. Oh shit! This ain't good!

This ain't good at all!

Coriolanus gives Odysseus a hard look with his icy blue eyes while telling him in a sharp, threatening tone that oozed danger, “If you value your useless, fucking life I advise you to leave and not come back.”

“You think I'm dumb enough to come to this party without having friends here? Oh, Snowball, maybe you should lay off that coke you sell.” Odysseus taunts your dealer with the platinum buzz cut. Looking over his shoulder, your ex calls out, “Vinny, Hector! Gotta Snow problem!”

“Coryo, leave him alone.” You tell the tall blonde while reaching out to grab his arm. “Please, Coryo, let's just get outta here.” You plead as Livinius Cardew and Hector Heavensbee, two rich but very rough customers when it came to booze and dope, crawled out of the woodwork and appeared on either side of Odysseus.

Looking at you over his shoulder, Coriolanus gritted thru his teeth, “Don't call me that right now, baby.”

Festus snatched his joint back from you, since you're too busy trying to keep Coriolanus from fighting instead of smoking.

“Please, let's just go. I don't want you getting hurt or tossed into jail tonight.” You beg your dealer fuck buddy while tightly holding onto his arm and trying to tug him away from the three men that he's about to get into a throw down with.

Coriolanus wanted to strangle you right now. He's trying to take care of business and you're begging him to leave. Fuck, if he leaves with you he'll look weak. He can't afford to look weak. He's a drug dealer; it'll screw up his street cred.

Yep. You're his weakness. But he can't afford to show it.

Yanking his arm free from your hold, he tells you, “Go wait by my car.”

“Cor-” You begin to protest, only to be cut off by his deep baritone loudly snapping, “Bitch, I said go wait by my fucking car!”

“Fuck you, Snow.” You spit in his face, causing everyone crowded around to let out a chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘dayumns’, before pivoting and storming off.

And you meant it, fuck him. Coriolanus can do whatever he wants. Bastard wants to call you a bitch and disrespect you all cause he needs his fucking street cred, then fine. So be it. But you're not sticking around or waiting by his car.

No.

You'll just walk home. Too bad the buses stop running in Panem at 6:45pm, otherwise you'd be able to catch one. And you can't call Ashlie, your brother's girlfriend to get you since she's currently working as a barmaid at the Hobb right now. You're lucky she was able to give you a ride to the party in the first place. And your brothers prolly 3 sheets to the wind right now on moonshine…

Damnit, looks like you get to walk across Panem to go home to the shitty trailer park you live in on the edge of town.

Fuck…

Snow would be a jackass tonight.

As Coriolanus wiped the spit off his face he made a mental note to punish you for that later. Yea, he's gonna have to fuck some respect and manners into you cause you're being a brat. You gotta learn how to behave around him while he's in his element; while he's working.

Odyssey cocked his head to the side, only to goad Coriolanus with a syrupy tart remark of, “I see you told her off. No wonder Y/N is letting me hit her up, you're obviously not doing it for her with your hood boy vibe.”

Without a word, Coriolanus balled his hand into a fist and took a swing at your Odysseus’ jaw; knocking him to the ground. The drug dealer grabbed the collar of your ex’s shirt, pulling him up so that he could punch him again.

And again.

Some people gasped, some screamed and shouted, but just about everyone stopped what they were doing to watch Coriolanus beat up your ex. The platinum blonde dealer has a rep for being a brawler, so everyone watches him fight- wonder if he's gonna kill somebody with his fists.

But when Livinius and Hector came forward to join the fight and push Snow off of Odysseus (who’s nearly unconscious at this point), Sejanus pulled Coriolanus off of your ex while Festus pulled his gat, threatening to pop some caps in their asses if they even dared to go after Snow in an unfair fight.

“Thanks, Sej, Festus, but I could've handle ‘em. I got a gun of my own, ya know.” Coriolanus told his friends as they walked out of the large house that was hosting the party.

Clasping his friend on the back, Sejanus said, “We know you can handle yourself, but you need to deal with your girl right now.”

“Yea, Snow, you need to bring her home and fuck her.” Festus crudely added in.

“Creed, shut up.” Coriolanus ordered his friend. Festus was such a perv, always talking about fucking and hooking up with anything that has two legs. God, Coriolanus cringes at the thought of how many STDs Festus must've had by now. Boy’s like a walking petri dish.

“I'll catch up wit’cha later. Gotta get to my car and deal with Y/N.” Coryo told his friends.

“Yea, you let her know who's boss.” Festus said while at the same time Sejanus wisely advised, “Don't be too hard on her, she's a nice girl; you don't find those easily.”

“Yea, I know.” Coriolanus dismissively snaps, only to walk off towards where his car was.

And when he reached his car you weren't there waiting for him, which nearly gave him a heart attack. Where the fuck were you?

Getting into his black luxury sedan (cause slinging dope really paid off) he pulled his iPhone out of his back pocket and called you. It was ignored, making him mad. So he called you again and again, only to keep having his calls ignored.

He would’ve kept calling you, but the sound of sirens blaring in the distance made his blood run cold.

Fuck! Somebody called the cops cause Festus pulled a gun. Damn, Coriolanus needs to get outta the gated community before he's stopped and taken in for questioning cause he's Snow- a known drug dealer.

And of course you're being a stubborn fucking bratty bitch right now.

Tossing his phone on his dash, Snow cranks on his car and quickly pulls away from the large party house. He speeds down the winding streets and manages to exit the gates community of Capitol Estates right before the cops can notice him.

And he's speeding down the road, heading home, whenever he spots your figure walking along the desolate highway I-70: which is very unsafe if you ask him.

Rolling down his window and slowing down to a cruise, he comes up on you and barks, “What the fuck a doing walking down the highway, baby? Trying to get snatched and killed by some creep?”

“I'm going home, Snowball. Gotta walk since the buses stopped running hours ago. Why else would I be walking down a fucking highway for?” You tell the platinum blonde hood with so much animosity in your usual sweet voice that it's not even funny.

“Come on, I'll take you home.” Snowball tells you, clicking the button to unlock his car doors for you.

“No thank you, Snow.” You turn down in offer in a polite, but clipped tone as you continue to walk down the road.

“Baby, don't be like this.” The platinum blonde dealer sighed. “You can't walk half an hour late at night back to the trailer park. It ain't safe.”

“What? Like you give a shit?”

“You know I do, Y/N. So get in the car, yea?”

You looked between Snow's black luxury sedan and the stretch of open road you're currently trekking down. You decided to be a lil bitch, give him the cold shoulder, and keep on keeping on down the highway.

Or at least you planned on continuing your walk, but Coriolanus’ baritone stopped you right in your tracks as he heavily announced, “The cops busted the party, we better get outta here before they come back and decide to pull me over for a traffic stop. Don't wanna get arrested for hauling shit in my car.”

Of course, Snowball has drugs in his car. After all, he's a dealer.

You heard the sirens; saw the cop cars whizzing by too. You didn't care. Let them bust the party. Everyone knows that Sejanus Plinth's father will buy him out of trouble, his friends too. So you weren't too concerned about Snow or anyone you knew at that house party in Capitol Estates getting busted.

But Coriolanus is right, him sticking around the area's risky since the cops are lurking around. If he got caught up in a traffic stop, searched for dope, and was arrested, then you'd be stealing money from your brother and sister-in-law to pay his bail- cause you know Snow would call you to bail him out.

It happened a couple of times before.

And if your brother catches you stealing his money again to pay the bail bondsman, well…you'd probably get a smack across the head and thrown out on your ass. Definitely the latter, maybe the former.

Sighing, you relented. “Fine, you can give me a ride.” You round the car and get into the passenger’s side.

The ride along the stretch of highway that leads into downtown Panem (and out of it to the outskirts and the trailer park you live in) feels long and stifling. The radio’s on low, providing the only noise in the car- the stero’s bass booming with Coriolanus' playlist. You're looking out the window; giving the dealer next to you the cold shoulder.

“I'm taking you back to my place.” Coryo told you, his voice loud over the radio.

“Why?” Was the one word question that flies out of your mouth

“What'd you mean ‘why?’. You know full well fucking why.”

Whipping your head around to look at his profile, as he drove down the road illuminated by his headlights and a few scattered street lamps. “Actually, Snowball, I don't know why. Last time I checked, you said a couple of weeks ago that you don't wanna hookup anymore; will just do weed drop offs at my front door.”

“Yea, well, after putting me thru hell tonight I'd say that you owe me a fuck.” Giving you a pointed look, he shrugged, “Or at least deep throat my cock.”

“I don't owe you shit.” And you'd stand by that too. Snow's nostrils flare angrily and he cuts his icy eyes at you. Rolling your eyes at his temper, you remind him of why you don't owe him. “You're the one that decided to come to my rescue; I didn't ask for your help. In fact I was fine just talking with Odysseus.”

“It's never just talking with you and Odair. It always ends up with you taking him back; trying again.” Coriolanus snaps, taking a hand off the steering wheel and reaching into the ashtray for a roach. “I ain't gonna sit back and watch him hurt you again, babygirl.” He pulled the roach out and brought it to his lush lips.

“So, you're jealous?” You ask, letting out a giggle of disbelief, as Coriolanus digs his lighter out of his pocket and lit up the roach.

“I'm not jealous, just a bit protective of you’s all.” The dealer half lied, since he was jealous, before tossing you his lighter. Pointing to the ashtray, he orders, “Grab yourself a roach.”

“You gonna charge me for it, Snowball?” You ask, reaching forward to grab a roach from the ashtray.

“No.” Coriolanus shook his head. “And call me Coryo tonight, yea?” He says as you light up.

“Whatever you say, Coryo.” You shrug, tossing his lighter onto the dash as you smoke your roach.

His roach teeters against his lips as Coryo smacks your bare thigh (since you're in shorts) while telling you in a deep, dark baritone, “I’m gonna fuck some sense, respect, and manners into you tonight, baby.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. Coriolanus has a big cock and you always enjoy getting fucked by him. But by his tone, he's pissed and is going fuck you hard tonight to prove a point. Do you care? Not really.

Hey, you're getting dicked down tonight, so you're not gonna complain about why it's happening.

After arriving at Coryo's apartment, he literally tossed you over his shoulder and carried you to his bedroom. Despite hooking up with him a few times, you've never been inside of his room. You’ve always hooked up on his couch in the living room. But it seems like Snow wants to fuck you in his bed tonight.

He unceremoniously tosses you onto his bed, making you bounce slightly. Coriolanus pulls his shirt off and tosses it to the side before pulling his gun out of his waistband and placing it on his bedside table. All while you just lay in the middle of his bed, silently watching him.

Pulling some bags of various drugs out of his pockets and putting them on the bedside table, the dealer tells you, “After tonight you won't be a bratty bitch with me anymore.”

“And what if after tonight's fucking I decide to still be a bratty bitch?” You countered, watching the platinum blonde as he kneels on the bed, causing the mattress to dip slightly with the added weight of his body.

Coryo's hovering over your body. One of his hands is flat against the mattress while the other goes straight to your hair. His long fingers tangle in your hair, pulling it and making your neck crane so your face is close to his. Your eyes lock onto to icy blues, now blazing with lust and an unchecked emotion, as he tells you, “Then I'll just have to keep fucking you til you're not a bratty bitch anymore.”

Before you can even think of a retort, Coryo's lips are smacking against yours in a heated, dominant kiss. A kiss that he poured out all of his jealousy, obsessiveness, and possessiveness into. A kiss that you respond to right away.

The taste of beer, weed, and mint sets your senses on fire as Snow deepens the kiss by shoving his tongue into your mouth as soon as you let out a tiny gasp for air. Air that you'll never get since Coryo's determined to suck all the air out of your lungs with his hungry and raw kisses.

Kisses unlike any other you've ever had before.

Coryo kissed like a starving man who couldn't satisfy his hunger. Like a parched man with an unquenchable thirst. He kissed like he wanted to suck the very soul out of your body, only to swallow it whole and make it one with his own.

He pulled away, breaking the kiss, and just gave you a dark smirk before grabbing the hem of your dress. He didn't need to tell you what he wanted to do, you just knew. So, you lifted your arms up and let him pull off your tank top. Then, you lowered your arms and let him unclasp and pull off your bra. He tossed the black lacy thing across the room before taking one of your nipples between his teeth; causing you to moan and arch your back.

Coryo chuckled against your boob, only to swirl his tongue around your nipple while palming at your cloth covered cunt. The friction was only enough to tease you, which drove you insane.

“Coryo, please, fuck me.” You beg in a mewling moan.

“Oh, I'm going to fuck you alright. I'm gonna fuck you til I blow your back out; til you learn some respect and get it into that goddamn stubborn skull of yours that you belong to me and ain't gonna be talking with no other dudes.” He darkly promises before trailing open mouth kisses down your torso. Swirling his tongue into your belly button, he quickly unbuttons and pulls off your jean shorts, leaving you in just your lacy panties.

Panties that won't be on for long.

You're not sure how long you've been fucking Coryo for, but you do know that the bed's soaked, the sheets are prolly ruined, and you're in your third? fourth? position of the night. You also know that your pussy’s a wet, weeping, swollen, oversensitive mess. Also, you're so cockdrunk that your brain’s just about turned to mush right now too.

“You’re not so mouthy anymore, are ya, bitch?” Coryo asks, pounding mercilessly into your pussy from behind as you lay bonelessly on the bed with a pillow propped under your lower belly/hips. The cool metal of his dog tags drags up and down your spine as he taunts you with, “Look at you, so cockdrunk that you're a dumb, submissive, little slut for me.”

“Mhm…” You garble out, drool pooling out of your mouth and onto his pillow.

“Fuck…your greedy cunt's creamin’ my cock so good. Got a thick creamy ring at the base, baby.” Coriolanus groans, harshly snapping his hips to thrust even deeper into your tight, abused hole. His breath is hot against your ear as he dirtily asks in a husky, deep, baritone, “You gonna soak my sheets again, you dirty little slut? Huh, babygirl? Gonna squirt all over my big balls as they slap against that puffy clit of yours?”

“Yes, yes.” You nod. “Coryo, ‘s feels good and too much all at once.” You tell him as the tip of his cock hits your cervix, causing your toes to curl and your fingers to dig into the sheets.

“Yea?” Coryo asks in a deep, throaty chuckle. “You can take it, tho, babygirl. You're my bratty lil slut and can take my dick like a goddamn champ.” He tells you, a moan caught in the back of his throat, as he ruts into you at an ungodly speed.

“Coryo…so close…” You gasp, feeling dizzy from getting your brains banged out by your possessive and primal weed dealer.

“Cum right now. Be my obedient good girl and cum all over my cock right now.” Coryo orders you in a deep, but firm tone.

His rough, lust-husky voice being so commanding sends you over the edge. You cum babbling his name over and over into the pillow your head’s resting sideways on.

Your moans and high pitch chants of “Coryo, Coryo, Coryo.” is music to the dealer’s ears.

Coriolanus prides himself on how good he fucks you, on how he can make you cum multiple times; make you a crying, rambling mess just with his cock and by manhandling you into whatever position he wants you in.

“I'm gonna fuck you til I fill that tight cunt full of my cum.” Coriolanus promises in a loud grunt as he plows into you, hard and deep. Little squeals fall from your lips as he huskily remarks, “Gonna knock ya up with my lil bastard.” His fingers dig deep into your hips, no doubt leaving bruises and crescent shaped marks. “We're gonna be able to collect all kinds of benefits once you're carrying my baby.” Coryo's icy eyes start to roll into the back of his head and his balls start to tighten up as he sloppily ducks into your tight cunt. “You're gonna look so sexy all full and round with my kid. You'll be glowing.”

One, two, three more fast thrusts and Coryo's filling your womb up with thick ropes of his hot, white seed. Instead of pulling out, he fucks his cum deep into you. He only pulls out once he's sure that every drop has been fucked deep into your greedy, awaiting womb.

You're a boneless, exhausted mess whenever Coryo's cock slips out of your overfucked and overstimulated cunt. A cunt that's still twitching. The platinum blonde dealer can't help, but smirk at your form laying on the bed all cockdrunk and fucked dumb.

He climbs down from the bed and goes over to your side. Pushing some sweaty strands of hair away from your face, he asks, “You good, baby?”

“Yea.” You barely whisper, nodding with a glassy-eyed look.

“I'll be right back. Gonna get something for ya to drink; something to clean you up with too.” Coriolanus told you before walking out of the room.

You smile as you watch his perfect ass leave the room and head down the hall. Yes, you'll admit that Coryo's ass is perfect. His broad shoulders, tapered slutty waist, and muscles are perfect too. Hell, the dealer’s an Adonis crafted by the ancient gods, that's how hot he is.

It doesn't take long for Coryo to return with a wet washcloth and a bottle of water that he's added some Liquid IV too. He usually drinks that stuff after a long night of heavy partying to afford hangovers, so he figures it'd be good as an aftercare drink. You can use all the electrolytes you can get after he went hard with fucking you.

After cleaning you off, he tosses the washcloth onto the bedside table and joins you in bed. He arranged your tires, fucked out body so that you’re snuggled into his side. Kissing your forehead, he reaches for the bottle on his bedside table. “Here, this’ll help hydrate you.” Snow says, handing you over the water bottle.

“Thanks, Snowball.” You smile, taking the bottle from him. You open it and take a sip. “Ugh, what is this shit? It's not water, Coryo.” You ask, making a funny face from the weird taste lingering on your tongue.

“It's gold cherry Liquid IV.” He told you, only to tip the water bottle up towards your mouth. “It'll hydrate you faster than water, so drink it.”

“It doesn't taste like golden cherries.” You mumble before taking another sip of the enhanced water.

“Stop complaining and drink it, Y/N. We don't want you passing out from being fucked too hard, now so we?”

You roll your eyes at him and take a longer sip from the water bottle. Passing it over to him, you say, “You should drink some too since you have the stamina of a stallion and nearly fucked me to death.”

“Don't be so dramatic, babe.” Coryo scoffed, taking the water bottle from you. “You like me fucking some manners into you.”

“Of course I liked it. I'd be stupid not to.” You tell him, watching as he gulps down the water. Better him than you drinking that stuff. Too bad he doesn't have any bottles of Gatorade in the fridge. Now that you wouldn't mind drinking.

“Got work or anything you gotta be up early for?” Coryo asks, capping the bottle bottle and placing it on his bedside table.

“No.” You shake your head against his chest. “Still haven't found anything yet, but I got an interview in a couple of days at The Hobb.”

“Yea…” Coryo trails off, only to firmly order, “You're not working there.”

“Why not? It's a busy bar so I wouldn’t be laid off.” You pressed, needing to know his reason for not wanting you to gain employment at the biggest bar in Panem.

“It's not a bar, it's a honkey tonk.” Your dealer dryly corrected you. “And it's just not somewhere I want my girl working at.”

You raised a curious brow while looking up at the man whose arms are wrapped around you, whose side you're tucked into. “Since when am I your girl, Snowball? Thought you didn't do the boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

“I’m usually the type of guy that doesn't want a girlfriend, but, baby, it's different with you.”

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls you deal to.” You say in an attempt to brush off Snow's words; the seriousness of their nature. Because if he really has feelings for you, then you're screwed. Hooking up with a dealer and dating one; belonging to one's are two very very different things. Things that could make your already rocky life even rockier.

“Actually, babygirl, no, I don't say that to all the girls I deal to.” Coryo honestly admitted. His usually cold icy eyes melted into a crystal blue as he looked into your eyes. “Just you, baby, cause you're special to me.”

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