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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

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we say we’re different but we got the same eyes - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

you needed to stop taking other people shift’s.

it’s not like you wanted to, but at least they were paying you to do so, enough to let you actually chill this summer without stressing about rent or whatever else adulthood decided to throw at you.

all you had to do was show up and do the job. first at lila’s dinner, now at the bougie country club, as a cart girl.

you’d done this before, and sure, the old men were always a little too handsy with their beer guts hanging over their tacky polos, but at least they tipped well. you could tolerate them. smile, giggle at their half-assed jokes, and let them feel like they still had it.

fine. pay me for my pain, grandpa.

today however, instead of your usual sugar-daddy wannabes, you were babysitting frat boys. fresh out of their first year of college, probably still hungover from their last keg stand.

nineteen-year-old idiots in pastel shorts and backwards hats, making everything about themselves.

“bro, you remember that party at kappa? dude, swear i blacked out after like, five shots.”

wow, five whole shots? congrats, you absolute child. should i get you a sticker for that?

don’t even get started on their conversations about girls. one of them, chad or brad or whatever his stupid name was, just had to loudly detail how some poor innocent girl “totally wanted him last night but was playing hard to get.”

yeah, bro, she was probably just trying to get through the night without having to mace your entitled ass.

it was constant. the whole damn morning. all they talked about was frat parties, girls they didn’t deserve, and how they "couldn’t wait to get back to school."

you'd give anything to remind them how utterly irrelevant their frat status was in the real world, but you couldn’t. nope. you had to keep your game face on, pour their drinks, and pretend like they weren’t giving you a headache that rivaled your worst hangovers.

at least the elderly snobs tipped well. sure, they were pretentious and acted like you were beneath them, but they'd slip you a twenty or more with a smug little wink. that made it easier to tolerate their "i’ve been golfing here since before you were born" bullshit.

but these brats?

half the time they forgot to tip at all, and when they did remember, it was a crumpled five like they were doing you some grand favor. and of course, of course, they couldn’t just keep their obnoxious, beer-breath comments to themselves. no, they had to make it worse by hitting on you—hard.

painfully hard. it was like watching a car crash in slow motion, except instead of pulling over to help, you were stuck right in the middle, praying someone would just tow your ass out.

“yo, what’s your name again?” one of them asks. bryce, probably. his face just screams bryce.

he's leaning against the cart like he thinks it's going to make him look cool, but really, he’s just sloshing his drink all over the place. classy.

“it’s on my name tag,” you deadpan, pointing to the little badge pinned to your polo. you're not about to give him any more than that.

but he's not letting it go. “oh yeah? cute name for a cute girl. you single or what?”

jesus christ. here we go.

you resist the urge to roll your eyes so hard they’d get stuck in the back of your head.

“’m here to work,” you sigh, voice sweet enough to mask the absolute disdain you're feeling. you know what comes next.

they always think they can charm you if they just keep going, like you are some kind of challenge.

“c’mon, don’t be like that,” another one chimes in, this one wearing sunglasses even though it's barely 9 a.m.

who do you think you are, pitbull?

he gives you this sleazy grin like he thinks he's smoother than he actually is. “we could take you out after your shift. grab a drink. bet you’re fun, huh?”

fun? FUN?! if by fun he means fantasizing about driving this cart straight into the water hazard just to escape this conversation, then sure, you're a real blast.

you look around the course, hoping maybe one of the older golfers needs a refill or something—anything to get you away from this nightmare. no luck. it's just you and these clowns.

“i don’t date customers,” you say, a line you’d perfected at this point.

you plaster on your fakest smile, the kind that said please tip me and then leave me the hell alone. but bryce wasn’t giving up.

“you’re really gonna turn us down? i mean, we’re the best thing on this course right now.”

best thing?

the only thing they're the best at seems to be embarrassing themselves. this is the type of guy who probably thinks buying a girl a drink meant she owns him something.

you can't even be mad; it's almost... sad. almost.

“maybe you should focus on your game,” you suggest, glancing at his scorecard. “you’re, what, ten over par already?”

that shuts him up real quick, his face going from cocky to confused like he didn't expect you to know how golf worked.

his friend with the sunglasses? he's still trying.

“we can show you a good time, y’know. we’ve got a house down on the beach. you like boats?”

ah, yes. the boat move. the go-to for guys who think a half-assed yacht and a cooler full of cheap beer is the height of luxury.

you’d seen it a million times in this godforsaken town.

you're not impressed.

you shoot them another smile, “i like tips.”

they all blink confusedly, clearly not used to a girl calling them out so directly. the frat boys mumble something between themselves, looking awkward for the first time all day.

finally, one of them fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and tosses it your way.

oh, wow, big spender.

you scoop it up, shoving it into your pocket and giving them a little nod. “thanks, boys. good luck with your game.”

you thought the twenty bucks might’ve bought you a few minutes of peace, but no. they're back at it, swinging at golf balls like they aren't trying to flirt in between their awful shots.

you roll the cart over to the next part of the course, half-listening to their constant chatter.

something about “last semester” this, and “pledge party” that. god, they just never stop. it's like someone hit the repeat button on the world’s most annoying playlist.

one of them calls you over again, like he can't wait five minutes for his next drink. you start prepping them, half tuning them out, just trying to get through it, when suddenly, miraculously, they shut the hell up.

for a second, you think maybe the universe is finally doing you a favor. you don't even question it, just start pouring drinks faster.

a quiet frat boy is a gift. but then you hear it:

��dude!” one of them practically tackles the other, all wide-eyed and hyped up like a little kid who just saw his favorite cartoon character. “is that rafe fucking cameron?!”

oh, for fuck’s sake.

your stomach drops. of course it has to be him. because clearly, your morning isn't being shitty enough. you don't even look at first.

one of the guys starts flipping out, hitting his buddy’s shoulder like it's the coolest thing to ever happen.

“bro, no way. no way. that’s rafe cameron? he used to be the president of our frat, man. two years ago! he’s a fucking legend!”

legend? you almost laugh.

the only legend rafe is to you it's a legendary asshole. a smug, infuriating, gorgeous asshole who you have been avoiding like the plague. the same one who has been blowing up your phone nonstop, trying to get back into your life.

the same one you swore down you’d never sleep with again after he pulled that stunt at the dinner—and then, of course, ended up in his bed two nights ago. you haven't spoken to him since. you’d been ignoring him again—well, trying to—but now here he is. in the flesh. and these idiots are drooling over him like he's some kind of frat god.

you turn your head, and he's striding across the green like he doesn't have a care in the world. of course he looks good. he always does.

wayfarer’s pushed up in his hair, that cocky-ass grin on his face, wearing a polo like he's the face of a country club catalog. you know he’d see you any second. hell, he probably already has.

yeah, you’d been avoiding him, and yeah, maybe you’d blocked his number twice, but that didn’t stop him from calling with a different one. or from somehow finding you the other night at the party when you were weak enough to let him back in, only to get burned again.

“holy shit, he’s coming this way,” one of the frat boys mutters, shaking with excitement.

you don't move, don't acknowledge him. but you can feel his eyes on you. it's like a sixth sense at this point. you'd crave it so much before, when it was all a silly game in your head, see how much you could push until he cracked and gave into you. now it's a curse.

the boys are watching him approach like he's some kind of celebrity.

“should we say something to him?” one whispers. “i heard he’s like, killing it in the business world now. family’s loaded.”

yeah, you think bitterly. killing it. if you count being a trust fund brat as an accomplishment.

rafe's closer now, and you know this moment is inevitable. the frat boys are giddy, already nudging each other, probably ready to beg him for networking advice or whatever the hell frat bros did.

you keep your eyes down, focusing on pouring the drinks, acting like you don't even notice him. like he doesn't phase you in the slightest.

“hey,” a familiar voice drawls. you don't have to lift your head to know it's him. naturally, he stops right by you. because why wouldn’t he?

“rafe fucking cameron!” one of the guys yells, unable to keep it together anymore. “you’re like a legend, man. kappa forever!”

you never cringed so hard in your life.

rafe smirks, that signature look spreading across his face. “yeah, somethin' like that.”

you clench your jaw, forcing yourself to keep your face neutral. no way in hell are you about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he still gets to you.

everyone else around you are tripping over their words just to get his attention. it's embarrassing to watch. the kids acting like he's some kind of messiah, not just some white rich guy with a trust fund and a bad attitude half the time.

“man, the outer banks is fucking sick,” one of them says, bouncing on his feet like an overexcited puppy. “we’ve been hitting the beaches, bars, y’know, living it up. and bro, the girls here? smoking hot.”

here we go.

you pretend to be very invested in the cooler, rearranging the ice just to keep your hands busy. they're about to start pointing at you any second now; you can sense it.

the way they keep looking over at you made it obvious they're gearing up for something.

and then, like clockwork, it happens.

“yeah, man,” one of them gestures way too enthusiastically in your direction. “that cart girl over there? we’ve been trying all morning.”

oh, fuck right off, you resist the urge to throw a bottle at him.

you’d rather die than hear what lame pickup line is coming next, but what you really don't want to hear is whatever rafe's about to say.

there was a pause, as if he's taking a second to let it sink in. and when he finally does speak, his voice is all smooth confidence, casual as anything.

“so,” he starts, still with smirk you hate and know so well, “you’ve met my girl?”

my girl? my fucking girl?

one of them, manages to stammer, “uh—wait, she’s… she’s your girl?”

you can feel the tension creeping up the back of your neck. this's exactly why you’ve been avoiding him.

no matter what happened between you, no matter how messy things got, he always acted like he owned you in private. never in front of his friends, like just because you ended up in his bed, you were his to claim whenever he felt like it.

still keeping your eyes glued to the drinks, you feel your blood boil. you aren't his fucking girl. you're barely on speaking terms, aside from that one weak moment.

he's only saying it to mess with you.

one of the frat boys lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “damn, man. didn’t know you were still pulling like that.” he shoots a glance at you again, not even bothering to hide the once-over.

rafe just chuckles, that low, infuriating laugh of his, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin. “what can i say?” he drawls, as if the whole thing is just a game to him. “guess i’ve still got it.”

you're this close—this close—to snapping. you can feel your fists clenching at your sides. you're not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. not here. not in front of these frat boys who're still looking at you like some kind of trophy.

rafe’s voice is closer now. you don't have to look up to know he's standing right by the cart.

“you good over there?” he asks, that fake casual tone still lingering.

you don't answer. just kept doing your job, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it hurts. but he isn't going to let it go. he never did when he wanted to prove a point.

“hey, baby.” he greets you again, leaning in slightly. you can feel his eyes burning into the side of your face. “you gonna pretend you don’t know me now?”

you take a deep breath, finally turning to face him. he's standing way too close, sunglasses pushed up on his head, that stupid expression plastered across his face.

the frat boys are all watching, wide-eyed, like they just stumbled onto some kind of reality show drama.

“you’re funny, cameron.” the guys all exchange glances, clearly picking up on the tension but too dumb to understand it, “can you guys give us a minute?”

one of them pipes up with an awkward laugh, “wait, but we—”

you don't let him finish. “one. minute.”

they finally catch on that it isn't a request and before they can awkwardly protest or ask why, rafe tilts his head towards them, craning his neck just enough to raise a single brow. the change in his posture is subtle but enough to have them clamming up instantly.

like magic, their frat-boy bravado melts right off. it's wild how fast a bunch of college boys can shrink under the gaze of someone like him.

the power trip they’ve been riding for the last hour stop.

“uh, yeah, you know what?” one of them coughs out, backing up so fast he almost trips over his golf bag. “we should, uh… we’ll hit the bathroom. real quick.”

“yeah, yeah, we’ll be right back,” another one adds, practically stumbling over himself to follow.

they scatter like scared puppies, tails tucked between their legs, and you can't help the small, satisfied smirk that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

finally, a moment of peace.

except, it's not peace. not with rafe standing there.

as soon as the frat boys are out of earshot, you spin around, without thinking, you shove him in the chest with both hands, hard enough to catch him off guard. he stumbles back a step, his face twisting into a look of surprise.

"are you fucking crazy?" you snap, "do you not get the fucking hint, country club? i don’t want this. i don’t want you here, and i sure as hell don’t want your bullshit claims that ’m your girl in front of those idiots. leave. me. alone.”

he steadies himself, raising both hands as if trying to calm you down. “’m trying to be better, okay? ’m trying. i apologized the other night, didn’t i? ’m—”

“no, you didn’t!” you look at him like he's the dumbest man on earth, cutting him off, your hands balled into fists at your sides. “you didn’t apologize! you said i was overreacting, that i was being ‘dramatic.’ then, you fucked me and acted like that made it all better.”

his jaw tightens, and he takes a deep breath as he glances around the mostly empty golf course before his eyes move back to you, his voice low but firm. "that’s not how i meant it—"

“you always have an excuse,” you interrupt, stepping closer, not backing down. “every time, it’s the same thing. you think a half-assed apology or a night in bed makes up for the way you treat me in public? like ‘m just some thing you get to claim whenever you feel like it?"

he visibly recoils at the word you chose, like it hurts him, “i know,” he finally mutters “i know i was a dick at that dinner. but ’m trying, okay? i’ve been calling you, texting you—”

“i didn’t ask. am i that good in bed? go find someone else.”

rafe’s hand flies up to pinch the bridge of his nose, a frustrated sigh escaping him. he draggs his tongue against his cheek. his voice coming out clipped, “i don’t want someone else,” he grunts out, sounding more exasperated than ever. “jesus fucking christ.”

you let out a laugh, stepping back, eyes rolling.

“oh, right. that’s it? ’m really that good in bed, huh? that’s why you’re here?” you cross your arms, your tone biting, daring him to say otherwise. “that’s all this has ever been, right? physical. you don’t call unless you want something. so what now? why are you trying so hard? what the hell are you trying for?”

he doesn't respond right away, his fingers are digging into the bridge of his nose like he's trying to hold himself together. the silence continues, and you can see him wrestling with his words. he's never been the type to say what he was feeling.

everything is buried under layers of cocky bravado, that impenetrable wall he put up to keep everyone at arm’s length. including you.

finally, he dropps his hand and takes a step closer, his voice coming out rough like he's forcing the words out. “’m here because i don’t want someone else. i want you, alright? can you just get that through your fucking head?”

you scoff, “because i know you and won’t get attached?”

he snaps, raising his voice, “no! fuck, it’s not that simple.”

"not that simple?" your hands are shaking, and you accidentally knock over one of the bottles you’d been holding before, sending it tumbling to the ground. you don't bother picking it up.

“it’s pretty fucking simple. we’re just fucking. so, tell me, what exactly is complicated about that? you call, i come over, we have sex, and that’s it. so why the fuck do you start ignoring me in public like ’m some kind of fucking disease?”

rafe opens his mouth, but you don't spare him the chance to speak, you're on a roll, months of pent-up frustration.

“i don’t give a fuck if you’re with someone else, rafe!” you can hear the bitterness dripping from every word. you're practically spitting them out, “what pisses me off is that you had the audacity—the fucking nerve—to ask me to stay that night. do you know how fucking stupid i felt? how the fuck do you think i felt when you acted like i didn’t exist the next day?”

you can feel your hands trembling again, the adrenaline making you shaky, cursing under your breath.

“for once, i was nice enough to care about you, to stay, and that’s the shit you pulled. treated me like a ghost. like i was nothing.”

he just stands there, staring at you, his jaw tight, but he doesn't say a word. his face is hard to read, but you don't care about his feelings. you're not done yet.

“i was fine with the sex. i was fine with leaving afterwards and then you had to go and fuck it all over.”

rafe’s blue eyes flash, and you can see the realization hit him, like he's connecting the dots too fast for your liking.

his brows furrow as he breathes out, “wait. you’re mad at me because i made you—” he hesitates, like the word is foreign in his mouth, “care for me?”

you let out a harsh, bitter laugh. “oh, for fuck's sake, country club. don't flatter yourself.”

“you always do that shit,” he points out, stepping closer “you never call me by my name when we’re having a serious conversation. it's almost like you’re running away.”

you arch an eyebrow, incredulous. “are you delusional? you’re the one acting like a child.”

“’m not being delusional. you only say my name in my room when it’s just the two of us.” he leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if he's trying to keep this moment between you, his blue eyes lock onto yours making your stomach twist. “’m clearly not the only one who’s pretending here; you’re just as bad.”

you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you walk back, trying to create space, but he closes the distance with easy confidence.

“pretending? please. ‘m not the one playing house in my bedroom while acting like i don’t know you outside of it.”

rafe lets out a low, frustrated groan, running his hand through his hair like he's close to losing it.

“god, you’re fucking infuriating,” he mutters, voice gruff, “you think i don’t fucking feel it too? you’re the only one pissed off, the only one confused?” his voice dipps lower in frustration. “i can’t stop thinking about you, no matter how hard i try. "

“oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” you mocked back, “must be so hard, huh? being obsessed with a girl you can’t even respect in public.”

his hand reaches out to grab your wrist. you gasp, not out of fear but because the heat of his touch awakes the resting butterflies in your stomach. you hate how much your skin reacts to him, how just the feel of his grip makes your brain go foggy and shut down.

“i do respect you,” he growls, as if you just insulted him, “i just—fuck.” his eyes dart between yours, as if searching for something. then, like clockwork, he points at your work uniform—the stupid polo and that absurdly short skirt that's practically a sin in itself.

“this,” he grits out, fingers gesturing to the tight polo that does absolutely nothing but make your boobs look way too inviting, “is not okay.”

you blink, pretending to be unaffected, but his words have a way of crawling under your skin.

“oh, right,” you nod sarcastically, even though your pulse has kicked up a notch. “blame my uniform, like that’s the reason you can’t keep your hands to yourself.”

rafe groans like you're causing him actual physical pain, his hands gripping the edge of the golf cart now, knuckles turning white.

“shit, yeah, i’ll blame the uniform,” he says, eyes blazing as he corners you. “that tiny-ass skirt, walking around in front of me all day, making me lose my goddamn mind.”

just like that, his hand slide right under your mini skirt, his fingers gripping a handful of your ass with a confidence that makes your breath hitch.

the sudden contact sends a rush of heat through you, and a soft gasp escapes your glossy lips.

that’s when he takes his chance.

with another low groan, rafe seizes the moment, pressing his body against yours, leaning down as he kisses you, his tongue sliding into your mouth, the kiss deepening in an instant.

it's not sweet—you can tell that now because you know that hidden part of him, you can tell the difference when it comes out. today he's desperate like he’s been waiting to it for days and can't take it anymore.

he's a starved man on a mission. it's a feverish mess of spit and teeth, his grip on you impossibly tight.

his hand still kneads your ass, blunt fingernails digging into your skin trying to keep you from bolting away. at the same time, his other hand slides up to your neck, firm but not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you locked in place—he's daring you to pull away, knowing full well you won't.

logic doesn't stand a chance against the way his lips move against yours, he's sucking all the fight from you.

his tongue slides against yours, and your stomach jumps at the sensation, making you gasp. you try to pull back for a second, needing air, needing space, but his grip on your neck tightens, holding you in place as his lips move against yours like he'll die if you stop.

and maybe he would. maybe he's just as messed up about all of this as you are.

rafe’s teeth scrape against your bottom lip, and right then and there, you know your panties are already ruined. you can't stop the small whimper that escapes your throat, and he moans at the sound, his hips pressing harder against yours, making you feel just how much he wants you.

“fuck,” he almost whines against your lips, like he's barely keeping himself from fucking you out there in the open, not giving a shit if anyone's watching. his hand on your neck glides around to the back of your head, tangling in your hair as he tuggs slightly, tilting your head back so he can kiss you even harder, his lips moving against yours in a way that makes it impossible to think straight. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

the truth is, you do. you know exactly what you do to him because he's doing the same thing to you.

but there's no way in hell you’ll admit that. not when he already has you completely under his spell, melting into his touch, drowning in the way he kisses you like he owns you.

you attempt to hold onto that edge of disdain you always throw his way when things get too personal. his breath is hot and ragged as he hovers.

his hand, still tangled in your hair, loosens slightly but stays there. it's so fucking unfair—the way he just sneaks under your skin, the way your body betrays you every time he gets close. you hate it.

especially with the way his fingers are already sliding up your bare thigh under that ridiculously skirt, as if he owns every single inch of you, like he has a goddamn right to touch you like that.

and instead of pushing him away like you should, you find yourself leaning into him. and fuck, the look in his eyes—all black, wild, like he it's his last shred of self-control—is enough to make your pulse skyrocket.

“asshole,” it comes out weak, pathetic and almost breathless, and you hate yourself for it.

“yeah,” he whispers back, lips brushing yours, his hand still in your hair, still holding you close. “but you like it.”

god, maybe you did.

the frat boys finally return, their laughter breaking the bubble that had you on a leash.

within seconds, you're pushing rafe’s hands away, stepping back as of them claps him on the back.

“we miss anything?”

“nah, just catchin’ up,” rafe said, brushing off the whole thing as if it's no big deal.

you, on the other hand, pick up one of the empty glasses, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

one of the guys chuckles. “man, you two… y’all good?”

no. not when there's the slightest of the slightest possibility that you're starting to feel something for him. not the stupid crush you had before, or the simple curiosity of figuring out how he was in bed.

real, scary, big girl feelings.

no way. not after everything. not after he pulled that same crap, acting like you didn’t know you in front of his friends, then turning around and getting all possessive when it suited him.

“better than ever.”

eyes locked on rafe, you bite out the final blow.

“yeah, better than ever. just like every other fucking rich frat boy—using daddy’s money, pretending you’re a god. but deep down, you’re all the same. losers. why don’t you keep them company, huh? you’re all family after all.”

his blue eyes drop to the green field at the mention of his dad, but he keeps quiet despite realizing you’re doing this on purpose.

he’ll let you have this one because he knows it’s deserving. fuck he’d probably let you punch him in the face if you asked him to.

you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him behind, knowing you hit him exactly where it hurt.

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cornyforjk · 2 months ago

Text

Drive you crazy | Day 1 | jjk

SUMMARY In which you are stuck living with an arrogant rookie racer who thinks of you as an obstacle, ready to ruin your glory, but things get heated when he has a pervy smile hidden under that pretentious attitude. Emotions that are complicated. You could never fall for your enemy! He's sabotaging you.

Pairing: racer!jk × racer!oc

Genre: angst and pure filth smut

Warnings: trash language only for now.

A/note: HI I'M SCARED BUT HI ALL THE BEST HAVE FUN . First chapter out and I am already head over heels for this Jungkook. I'd say to keep your hobi water ready anytime cause the spice never ends.

___________________♡____________________

"You'd be better off as a pornstar, why not start an only fans page."

The guy beside me whispered as I clenched my fist, a helmet covering his face. Well he was lucky the helmet was there to protect him, or else by now, his limbs would've fallen apart, bit by bit until he was screeching for mercy.

"Stay out of my way." My helmet was a barrier to the fiery glare I was sending his side. I heard him emit an audible but distressed sigh as his tongue clicked in disappointment.

I scanned him from head to toe, not as if I knew him, but my desire to call him a "gay stripper" grew stronger with each tap on the floor.

I close my eyes, collecting my thoughts that were scattered around an endless black hole. Echoes of heels clicking against the floor catching my attention, ear perking up I fix my posture, shoulders rolling back, clearing my parched throat.

A woman with huge circular glasses resting on the bridge of her nosewalked in. Her pencil skirt accentuated her broad hips, her blue eyes fixed on the notepad wrapped around her arm, and the silver metallic pen held her elegant hairstyle together.

She was the definition of what I call 'classy'.

I suddenly felt my shoulders slouch down when her blue icy eyes scanned me, her orbs slowly widening in astonishment. I raise my hand giving a small wave with a crooked smile.

Maybe that was a bit too crooked. Screw it! She can't see me.

"Ahh..." I suddenly squealed under her intense gaze that was scanning me over and over again, pushing the glasses that adorned her button nose back. She cleared her throat grazing over her notepad one last time.

"Lady, you know I am still here, right? Maybe you can do this goo-goo eyes after I'm checked in." The guy beside me commented, earning an eye roll which he couldn't witness. I stomp over his boots, almost throwing my whole weight on his foot.

"OUCH!" He grunts, turning my way, maybe or maybe not glaring like Donald Trump after he found out his steak was cooked medium rare and not brought alive.

"Fight me you ceramic bitch!" He shrieks, ready to throw hands. I hide behind the elegant woman for protection who just watched us bicker.

She cleared her throat again, catching me off guard. She turns my way. "Jungkook and Y/n?" She pursed her lips, narrowed cat-like eyes waiting for our nods.

"Jungkook...more like junk looks," I coughed out, wheezing at that lame pun, perhaps no one has the sense of humour of a five-year-old. The world is turning tables pretty quick.

"Ms Y/n, you aren't supposed to be here?" She waits for my reaction as I freeze on spot.

"What do you mean I am not supposed to be here?" My voice slightly rising, "I checked in myself as the new rookie in racing." I practically throw air quotes at her statement, panic wavering in my

voice.

The so-called guy 'Jungkook' choked, his broad chest heaving up and down as he laughed.

Did I say something funny?

"You are at the wrong location, I think there was an error in our system while registering you, we may have added your name to the wrong list." She ran her index finger across her crisp notepad, eyes moving back and forth like a hawk.

"No, no, no, no-no." I gasped, "do you know how long it took me to persuade my sponsor?! This is my only chance to race; if I don't enter, all of my years of preparation will be in vain."

She looked at me with sympathy. "Can't you make any changes to send me there?"

"I'm sorry...you won't be able to reach in time and we cannot let you go until the board takes a look at this major mistake and have you safely enter your designated place."

She tapped her foot on the marble floor.

Suddenly my head dropped, audibly sighing as my fingers tapped against my thighs. Just one opportunity is given...and it will all wash over like golden sand at the seashore.

"Okay, sad. Moving on, I'd like the Keys to my quarters." Jungkook arrogantly demanded, pushing his hand in front of the woman. She looked at him with no emotion, rolling her eyes, once again checking the name list.

Think Y/n! Think!

I felt my heart clench, the corner of my eyes collided with the water. My craving to have wind tangled in my locks while the engine roared at the starting line with determined racers kept increasing.

That desire in my heart burning stronger than any fuel.

"I can race here!" I exclaimed, earning a groan from the tall man beside me. The woman blinked her eyes, glasses almost falling off her snatched nose.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I can race on this track here in California, till then your board can sort out all their work." Adrenaline rushed in my veins like hope, secretly fist-pumping the air. Finally, this could work out.

"Listen up kiddo, this is California. Here racers make history. They don't sit on the track to have some pink princess tea party, so you can take that bag of yours and move your ass out of this place because you don't belong here." His words were foul, a snarl creeping on.

He was filled with bitterness, swiftly peeling off the helmet on his face. His action left me speechless.

His ethereal beauty was hidden behind the helmet; his soft, glowing skin was the centre of attention; his doe-like eyes were pools of overflowing emotions; his soft lips, the bottom one a little fuller, a mole on his cheek and one under his lip.

I would've stumbled on my face gazingat such charm if only he wasn't being a jerk.

"It's because women aren't usually seen racing here, in fact for the last 50 years no women had the guts to continue on this track." The woman abruptly spoke. I felt the uncertainty in her voice. She was trying to cover up for that jerk.

"but there is no rule against women racing here." I protested back.

"Yes there isn't but-" "Then I race here."

Jungkook's intense stare had my knees go weak. I could feel the sharpness and cold wrath all at once. An unspoken cold blooded war was rising between us.

"What do you think you are doing?" Jungkook exclaimed, his warm hand skimming on my shoulder, the grip crushing my meek corpse.

His jaw clenched and eyes obscuring, he glowered behind the lustrous locks covering his orbs that bled out of outrage.

outrage.

Staring into his eyes my body shook violently, I harshly pushed him away, disgusted by the warmth his hands held. "Don't touch me." My eyes were bloodshot red, wrapping my hands around my torso.

"I won't be outmanoeuvred by a jerk. Especially you, Jungkook."

___________________♡____________________

Teaser | Day2

DM me or send me an ask to be added in the taglist.

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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A gay bar is the last place Steve ever thought he'd be, yet here he sits.

He keeps looking over to Robin- not too much, just enough to keep an eye on her. Make sure she's still having fun. Although, he's sure he doesn't need to be worrying.

The girl who'd caught Robins eye is small, feminine. She looks like a sweetheart and she keeps getting Robin flustered. They're cute together, clearly into eachother, and Steve couldn't be happier.

Even sat alone, feeling completely out of place and a little uncomfortable, seeing Robin able to flirt with someone so openly is… he just feels relieved.

He should have thought to bring her here sooner.

"Hey there." The man smiles when Steve flinches. It's a soft smile, kind. "You wanna dance?"

"Oh, uh, I don't- I mean, uh-"

"Woah, don't panic. It's just a dance, right? You look uncomfortable is all and seeing you sat alone with your big fucking puppy dog eyes is just sad." He gently nudges Steves chin up when he tries to look down, feeling awkward. His finger lingers a little, brushing along his jaw. "You don't wanna have a fun night out? I won't be offended if you say no."

And, ok, Steve's a little tipsy. He's sure he'd never agree if he were sober- it wouldn't have felt fair. The guy is clearly attracted to him, not even trying to hide the way he's eyeing him.

But Steve's buzz is more annoying than pleasant and dancing does sound fun. So he agrees, accepts the hand offered and lets the guy pull him into the crowd.

The guy keeps his distance. Anytime the crowd jolts Steve toward him, he steps back the same amount, keeping a solid foot between them. But he's grinning, yelling jokes over the music, unabashedly dancing like an idiot.

It's great, it's fun. Steve can't stop grinning, stomach starting to ache with how much he's been laughing.

Eventually, a slower song comes on, stronger sexual undertones. The guy (Eddie, he'd leant in to tell Steve when asked, explaining that he knew Steve because they used to be in the same year as in Hawkins) shrugs, pulling an exaggerated face that screams 'what-can-you-do'. He's turning away.

But Steve grabs his wrist, Eddie looking back with raised eyebrows.

"This alright then, pretty boy?" He asks after stepping in close. His hands rest low on his hips.

Steve nods, flushing. He automatically puts his hands on his shoulders, letting Eddie lead him through a weirdly intimate sort of slow dance. And Steve is suprised to find himself… into it? He's not sure.

He feels less tipsy, so he can't blame the easy blushes or the way his stomach flips on the alcohol. There's no excuse for how he's started looking at Eddie either, paying a little too much attention to the way he moves, how his hands feel when they slowly start to wonder.

He gently brushes Eddies hair out the way without thinking, tucking it behind his ear so he can see the tattoo on his neck. Eddie tilts his head slightly, baring his neck a little more. When he glances up, Eddie is watching him, curiously.

"Hate to sound pressumptious," he drawls, taking a small step forward so their chests are pressed together, "but it feels like you're making moves on me, big boy."

"What if I am? What happens then?"

"Maybe I'd ask if you're sober enough to drive or if we need to call a cab." He leans back a little when Steve moves to kiss him. He hums, smirking. "Or maybe I'd ask for your number. I'm a classy lady, Harrington; what if I don't put out on the first date?"

"I've never said no to a challange."

Eddie barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle some of the people swaying beside them. "As if."

"What? You're like... pretty."

"Pretty," he repeats, rolling his eyes. "People know I'm a fag, Steve. Even being seen with me like we're 'just friends' would fucking ruin you."

"Your point?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna put money on that?"

Eddie eyes him for a second, his derision melting into curiosity. "You want to make a bet on whether you'll date me or not?"

"Why not? One of us wins money in a bet, we both score a date, and-"

"I thought you were straight."

"Yeah, me too. But I don't think straight guys think about you like I am, right now."

Eddie steps back, considering. It's a long, tense, moment before he finally sticks his hand out. Steve quickly shakes his hand, grinning.

"You've got yourself a deal."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #alittlelaughtime

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hunkydrifterscatalogue · 27 days ago

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Inspired by the tantalizing tidbit we got from thisisnotawebsitedotcom, Hunky Drifters Catalogue will be an attempt to recreate a magazine from 1975 featuring our favorite hunky drifter, Stan Pines!

This means the zine will look and feel like a retro magazine, with ads and articles included with the pictures. Though the implication on the website is that the magazine is of more mature content, this Hunky Drifters Catalogue is actually going to strive for a more “tasteful and classy” approach (ie: no full frontal nudity).

If you’d like to keep up to date, make sure you follow @hunkydrifterscatalogue here on Tumblr or over on Instagram! We’ll also likely get a Twitter account going soon, hopefully with the same username.

Mod applications will be going live sometime next week, so keep an eye out if you’re interested in joining the team!

Disclaimer: Although he basically asked for it, this zine is not affiliated with Alex Hirsch, Gravity Falls, or Disney. This project is for charity, meaning all proceeds will go to a charity of our choice.

#Gravity Falls #Stanley Pines #Stan Pines #Grunkle Stan #the book of bill #thisisnotawebsitedotcom #zine promo #fanzine #fandom zine #Hunky Drifters Catalogue

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cherry-romper · 5 months ago

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Loving You Sounds Like a Song

Playlist

+ Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Iida, Momo, Jirou, Mina, Ochaco, Asui, Mirio, Amajiki, Aizawa, Hawks, All Might, Dabi, Twice, Compress, Shiguraki

Midoriya; Head over Heels - Tears For Fears

I wanted to be with you alone

I'm lost in admiration, could I need you this much?

Something happens and I'm head over heels

One little boy, one little man - funny how time flies

Bakugou; Everlong - Foo Fighters

I've waited here for you, Everlong

Come down, And waste away with me

Breathe out, So I can breathe you in

And I wonder...if everything could ever feel this real forever.

You gotta promise not to stop when I say when.

Todoroki; Say Yes to Heaven - Lana Del Rey

Give peace a chance, Let the fear you have fall away

Say yes to heaven, Say yes to me

If you go, I'll stay, You come back, I'll be right here

And if you fight, I'll fight

I've got my mind on you

Kirishima; Lover - Taylor Swift

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Kaminari; NEON - DPR LIVE

Your kisses make it go neon

Neon, I want to know you

Neon, lose the night with you

Girl, I'm liking your body, but more than that I love your, uh

Colourful smile, you make me wonder what's under, uh

The way you make the light go blurry

Sero; Coast - Hailee Steinfeld

You the wave upon my ocean, pounding rhythm and motion

Just relax and let the riptide pull you close

Baby, all I wanna do is coast, with you

The starts come down, you drown 'em out

I'm sinking deeper into you

Iida; This Charming Man - The Smiths

Will nature make a man of me?

Why pamper life's complexity, When the leather runs smooth on the passenger seat?

This man said, "It's gruesome that someone so handsome should care"

A jumped up pantry boy, Who never knew his place

Momo; You've Got The Love - Florence + The Machine

I know I can count on you

But you've got the love I need to see me through

When my food is gone you are my daily meal

When friends are gone I know my saviour's love is real

Jirou; Wait a Minute! - WILLOW

I'm here right now, with you

I'll run my hands through you hair

You wanna run your fingers through mine

You left your diary at my house, And I read those pages, Do you really love me, baby?

Mina; DESERT EAGAL - Beyonce

Soft to the touch, let you hold somethin'

Soft kisses on some fat lips

Put on a show and make it nasty, Desert Eagle in the backseat

Oh, I keep it classy, let you love me like a lady, yeah

Ochaco; Strawberry Skies - Kid Travis

Girl you brighten up my world

Cant you tell I want you by my side?

We're gone with the wind, Hair in your face, Put my hand on your waist

Strawberry skies, all on your lips, 'cause I love how it taste

Hope that you catch me when I fall

Asui; Honey - Kehlani

I like my girls just like I like my honey, sweet, A little selfish

'Cause I'm a beautiful wreck, A colourful mess, but I'm funny

All the pretty girls in the world, But I'm in this space with you

Don't walk away, or would you wait for me?

Isn't love all we need? Is it love?

Mirio; I can't Help Myself - Four Tops

You know that I love you, I cant help myself

I love you and nobody else

Leaving just your picture behind, And I kissed it a thousand times

When you snap your figure or wink your eye, I come running too you

But every time I see your face, I get choked up inside.

Amajiki; Halley's Comet - Billie Eilish

But in my dreams I seem to be more honest, And I must admit, you've been in quite a few

But you're all it takes for me to break a promise

Silly me to fall in love with you

Midnight for me is 3AM for you

I was good at feeling nothing, now I'm hopeless

Aizawa; Adore You - Harry Styles

I get so lost inside your eyes, Would you believe it?

You don't have to say you love me

You don't have to say nothing

You don't have to say you're mine

I'd walk through fire for you, Just let me adore you

Hawks; Where u Goin' Tonight? - Mac Ayres

Just don't stand so close to me... Unless tonight, you'll be my only

All of the things I tried to keep low, Feeling like I been changing

Tell me where you goin' tonight? I'll meet you there if that's alright

Could I be the one to do the things that you like?

Burnt all my bridges, baby, But at least I'm staying warm

I been working on forgiveness, Said I don't think its catching on

All Might; I Was Made For Lovin' You - KISS

Tonight I wanna give it all to you

'Cause girl, I was made for you, And girl, you were made for me

Can you get enough of me?

Feel the magic, there's something that drives me wild

Dabi; LET THE WORLD BURN - Chris Grey

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all, And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love, Look what it made me become

And I know you think you can run

But I just cant let you go

I'd let the world burn, Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end, If I cant have you then no one can

Twice; Caraphernelia - Pierce The Veil

There ain't a think that you can do that's going to ruin my night

This dizzy dreamer and her bleeding little blue boy

Hold my heart, it's beating for you anyway

Ill burn your name into my throat

What's so good about picking up the pieces?

Mr. Compress; Never Ever Getting Rid of me - From Waitress

I will never let you let me leave, I promise I'm not lying

I'm gonna do this right, Show you I'm not moving, Wherever you go, I won't be far to follow

I'm gonna love you so, You'll learn what I already know, I love you means you're never, ever, ever getting rid of me

Shigaraki; No Mercy - DeathByRomy

My boy hates everybody but me

He's sinister, but to me, he's sweet

In love with a monster, Daddy thinks I've lost it

My boy's a bullet in your brain, I show no mercy

Your nightmare is the man of my dreams

It turns me on when he makes you bleed

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nats--sw · 4 months ago

Text

Gold chain (pt6) | Leah Williamson

First rounds of Wimbledon note: Well,, I tried to wrap all on this part but it was taking too long to fit everything in one go, so next part is coming. The opponents' names are made up by the way warnings: fluff and slow burn, a bit suggestive(?) nothing really pt1 my masterlist

Music used to relax you, there was nothing better than blasting your ears with tunes at full volume while taking a little nap during a massage session. But now, that seemed impossible with Jane, your physiotherapist, working on your legs, pressing hard on your most tense spots.

“Fuck, Jane, are you sure you're a physical therapist? It feels like you're wrecking my legs,” you complained, wincing as you clenched your fists. You were lying on your stomach, your face sunk into the hole of the massage table.

Jane just smiled, a mixture of amusement and professionalism in her expression. She would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy seeing you like this after all the frustration you caused by not listening to her advice about overdoing your workouts.

“Stop whining, this is good for your muscles,” she said softly, still working on your legs.

“It’s not whining, it’s just-” you started to say, but another particularly firm squeeze shut you up, and you let out a whimper. “Jane!”

Jane leaned over a bit and took off your headphones. “If you’d listened to me, we wouldn’t be in this mess. You told me you don’t want to have any problems with injuries, and for that, your body needs to relax and recover from all the overactivity you’ve had.”

You knew she was right. You sighed heavily, but you wouldn’t admit it. Jane knew that all too well. “Can you at least be a little gentler?”

“If I were any gentler, it wouldn’t be effective,” she said, shaking her head. “Besides, you mentioned you want to be 100% for your game tomorrow. My guess is you’re trying to impress someone, but since I’m not a specialist, I’ll keep that to myself,” she added with a cheeky grin.

You managed a small smile despite the pain and her teasing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll shut up. But seriously, how much longer?”

Jane glanced at the clock on the wall, but when she saw your coach walk in, she didn’t answer.

“Hmhm,” Lucas cleared his throat, standing by the table. From where you were lying, you could only see his legs. “Can you explain what’s going on here?”

Jane’s hands stopped immediately as she turned her attention to Lucas.

“What’s going on now?” you asked, reluctantly sitting up on the table and facing your coach, who was holding a bouquet of flowers. “Since when does Wimbledon send flowers to players?” you chuckled, it was a pretty classy move, just right for an English tournament.

“It’s not from Wimbledon,” Lucas said, pulling out a small pink envelope from the flowers. “I haven’t read it,” he assured you, handing both the envelope and the flowers over.

Lucas didn’t look happy, but surprisingly he didn’t seem mad either. His face was more a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“I think I have a guess about who sent them,” he said, glancing over at Jane.

“Was it you? Aww, how sweet! They say you get nicer with age,” you teased the woman, giving her a playful nudge.

“It wasn’t me,” Jane said, playfully pinching your cheek with a grin.

“Ouch! Don’t do that,” you said, rubbing your cheek and then looking at the flowers. They were perfect, not too flashy, not too small. With a smile you didn’t even notice you had, you figured out who must’ve sent them. It was pretty obvious.

You set the flowers aside on the table and opened the envelope, with your coach and Jane watching intently. As you read the note, your heart skipped a beat.

[Best of luck for tomorrow, darling. I can’t be there, but I’ll be rooting for you no matter what. Kisses, L.W.]

“Is she blushing?” you heard Lucas mutter to Jane.

“Tell me, have you ever seen her this calm? She almost looks like an angel,” Jane said, shaking her head with a grin.

“I’m hearing you loud and clear,” you said, trying to keep your cool, even though you could feel your cheeks warming up.

“So, who’s the flowers from?” Lucas asked again, crossing his arms and giving you a serious look.

“The card doesn’t say,” you said, trying to slip the card back into the envelope.

“But you know who it is,” Jane said, her tone more certain.

“Nope.”

“Ah, well. We know who it is,” Lucas said with a smirk.

You stared at them, unsure of what to say.

“You’re just trying to get me to spill the name. I’m not telling you,” you said firmly.

“Oh, we know,” Jane insisted, her grin widening.

“Alright, then tell me who it is,” you said defiantly, crossing your arms and copying Lucas’s posture.

“Leah Williamson,” they answered at the same time. Lucas was dead serious, while Jane had a cheeky smirk.

You choked on your own saliva, realizing you’d just heard the name of the person who’d sent the flowers.

“W-what are you talking about? Have you both lost it?” you stammered, trying to cover up but failing miserably.

“We’ve seen her leaving your hotel a few times these past weeks,” Lucas said, staring at you with that intense, questioning look.

“Just a coincidence,” you said, turning your back on them, cursing yourself (and Leah for not being more discreet). “She could be friends with another player. The hotel’s packed.”

Jane giggled, and Lucas sighed, crossing his arms with a resigned look. “Yeah, right. And I’m the king of England,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I get what’s going on here. Just make sure you don’t mess things up. Focus on tennis during the matches. You can do all your talking and showing off with Williamson after you win your match. Got it?”

“Got it”

Wimbledon, day 2. Round of 128. Court 2.

The first match was usually the easiest since your opponent was often weaker, but tennis isn’t always about rankings and stats. Knowing that anything could happen made you a bit nervous. Even though those nerves hadn’t shown on the court so far, with a score of 1-0 and a pretty straightforward 6-3 win in the first set. But you still felt the pressure.

Your opponent’s first serve wasn’t the strongest, but you stayed alert. As the ball bounced on the grass, you got ready to return it. You adjusted your visor to block the sun, reminding yourself how crucial it was to stay focused between points.

When you saw your opponent toss the ball for her serve, you sprang into action, returning it with force. Unfortunately, you hit it a bit too hard, and it landed just inches outside the line.

The next serve was a bit stronger, and although you didn’t handle it perfectly with your racket, you still managed to get the ball over the net. Your opponent went for a volley but missed, giving you another point.

You glanced over at your team and saw Lucas grinning and giving you two thumbs up. You took a deep breath, feeling pretty relaxed knowing you had the match under control. You were almost there and could almost taste moving on to the next round.

The rest of the points were pretty smooth, though your opponent switched things up towards the end. She figured out that when she hit a low, fast ball, you had to work harder to return it.

On the last point to win the match, she did exactly what she’d been doing for most of the last set. When you saw that low ball coming, you rushed forward without thinking, got to it just in time, and smashed it across the court in the opposite direction your opponent was running.

And just like that, you’d made it through the first round.

Relief washed over you. You grabbed the gold chain around your neck, giving it a little tug as you walked over to your opponent. With a subtle smile, you shook her hand. She gave you a firm grip and a tired smile back. There weren’t many words exchanged, neither with her nor with the umpire.

As you waved to a few people in the stands, you couldn’t help but wonder if Leah had been watching. You really hoped she had.

“Great game, fast and on point. Nicely done,” Lucas said when you met after, giving you a friendly pat on the back.

“I made a bunch of unforced errors though. We need to work on that,” you said, handing him your racket bag.

“We’ll sort it out after the press conference,” he replied.

Leah was pretty nervous. She had no idea how you’d react to the surprise. After a match, she figured you’d be wiped out, and here she was, standing in your hotel room with dinner ready on the table. She’d made sure to keep it alcohol free, just as she promised Lucas early.

She still couldn’t figure out how she ended up with messages from your coach in her DMs. You hadn’t said much since yesterday, just sent her a selfie with the flowers she gave you.

Then she heard footsteps and voices outside the room. The door opened, and there you were, looking exhausted. You shut the door behind you with a bit of a struggle.

“Surprise,” Leah said softly, trying not to startle you.

You couldn’t help but jump when you saw her standing there. All that tiredness from the match seemed to disappear in an instant. You rushed toward Leah, and luckily, she reacted quickly, opening her arms just in time to catch you. As you practically threw yourself at her, she wrapped her arms around you, keeping you both from crashing to the floor.

“Leah! How the heck did you get in?” you asked, still stunned.

Leah didn’t answer right away. Instead, she looked at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks, clearly taken aback by how close you were. Then, without missing a beat, she leaned in and kissed you. You closed your eyes, melting into the kiss as your lips met hers.

“Congratulations,” she whispered against your lips before kissing you again, this time with more intensity. She wrapped her arms around you, lifting you slightly so you could wrap your legs around her, holding you close in the air. “You were incredible today,” she murmured, her breath warm against your skin. “Loved the new white outfit”

“Stop trying to flatter me while you’re kissing me,” you said, scrunching your nose with a playful grin.

“Why?” Leah asked, tightening her grip on your waist just a bit more.

“Because it turns me on, and I’ve got this no-sex-on-tournaments rule,” you explained, trying not to roll your eyes at Leah’s mischievous grin.

“You know that sex doesn’t actually mess with your performance, right?”

“It’s not about that,” you said, holding up your gold chain for emphasis. “It’s just bad luck for me, and I’m super into my rituals and all that.”

“Sounds kinda boring,” Leah said with a laugh, clearly enjoying teasing you. Then she set you down and, before you could say anything else, she cupped your face in her hands. She made you stand on your tiptoes and kissed you again, this time gently and tenderly.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you said, almost against your will, as you gently pushed Leah away. “Now, without sounding like a stalker, how did you get into my room?”

“Well, it’s pretty much common knowledge that your coach knows about us now,” Leah said, giving you a knowing look. You nodded in agreement. “Well, he messaged me to thank me. He says your backhand’s gotten way better since we started talking” she added with a smirk, clearly pleased with herself.

“That’s got nothing to do with you,” you shot back, trying to play it cool.

“Anyway,” Leah said, brushing off your comment, “he told me I’ve got his blessing to be around you, especially now.” She playfully tugged at the laces of your joggers, pulling you so close you could feel her warmth and her breath on your skin. “He thinks I bring you luck.”

“It doesn’t,” you said, feeling your heart race and your stomach flutter from her closeness.

“Well, you won Roland Garros with me in the stands,” she murmured with a soft smile.

“I won because your mom was there,” you replied, trying to stay serious.

“Ugh, don’t mention my mum when we’re this close,” Leah said with a glare, giving you a playful shove. You couldn’t help but laugh at the way she tried to look frustrated while you both stood so close.

You’d never had company like this during a tournament before. Sure, your parents would show up for the big matches, but it wasn’t quite the same as seeing other players with their partners by their side throughout the whole tournament. You couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

“And besides,” Leah said, taking your hand and guiding you toward the table where dinner was set up. “I’m here to make sure you eat something decent, not just shove sandwiches down your throat.” She gestured at the table with a playful sigh. “It’s something light and flat- I didn’t pick the menu,” she said, wrinkling her nose at a plate full of vegetables.

Even though it was just a simple thing, having Leah here made your heart race in a way you hadn’t expected. It was something new and comforting that you didn’t realize you’d been missing.

“But it has the right amount of protein-” Leah started again, but you gently pulled her arm, making her turn to face you. Before she could say more, you leaned in and kissed her, your lips brushing against hers with a smile. She looked surprised for a second before smiling into it.

“I adore you,” you murmured against her lips, feeling the warmth of her presence make everything feel right.

Wimbledon, day 4. Round of 64. Court 3.

Having Leah in the stands was a whole new level of intensity. Sure, she’d been there before, but this was the first time you were fully aware she was just a few feet away, watching your every move. She was standing next to Jane, who was chatting away as you walked onto the court. You didn’t want to draw too much attention (though it was already a bit odd that the captain of the Lionesses was sitting with your team), so you just gave a casual nod and a small tilt of your visor to acknowledge her.

“Who’s the blonde?” your opponent, Feya, asked from her chair. You got along with her well enough, so it was more curiosity than anything else.

You glanced over at Leah as you opened your first bottle of water. She was wearing sunglasses, but her blonde hair was still pretty noticeable. However, in a tennis crowd, people would probably recognize a top 50 player faster than a female football star, so Leah wasn’t really standing out.

“Just part of my team,” you said, trying to keep it cool as you headed to the center of the court to warm up.

“She’s really locked in,” Leah said, nodding as the first set ended 4-6 in your favor. She’d been worried that having her here might throw you off, but it looked like you were totally on top of your game.

“You know,” Jane chimed in, still keeping her eyes on you as you rested with a towel over your face. “But Y/n can be quite... full of herself,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “She loves the spotlight and showing off. And trust me, having you here today is like adding fuel to her fire. She’ll be pushing herself even harder, wanting to impress you. When it’s over, she’ll probably act like it was easy, but she’s doing all this to catch your eye.”

“I don’t think that-”

“It’s not a bad thing. ” Jane said with a chuckle. “We’ve seen it before, I mean, trying to impress her parents. That’s why her coach isn’t bothered by you being here.”

Leah sighed, glancing over at you. You were hunched over, focused on a spot on the grass, completely in the zone.

“If she keeps this up for the rest of the match, she’ll have it in the bag. Let’s just hope it stays that way,” Jane said softly, her eyes full of admiration and concern as she looked at you.

The first few games of the second set had been going great. You were already 1-2 up, having just broken your opponent’s serve. Now it was your turn to serve, and you were locked in. You adjusted your grip on the racket, focused on your routine, bouncing the ball, eyeing the service box, and preparing to unleash a powerful first serve.

Just as you were about to toss the ball, the umpire’s voice cut through your focus. You glanced around and saw people talking and walking away, and the ball boys darting across the court. You muttered a curse under your breath, feeling a wave of frustration. Looking up, you saw a massive black cloud rolling in.

“Fuck me” you muttered, frustration thick in your voice. You looked up at the sky again, knowing what was coming.

The umpire’s voice came through, barely audible over the commotion, “We’ll see if we can resume play in an hour.”

The din of the crowd grew louder as the reality of the rain set in. You tried to keep your frustration in check, knowing that any outburst could earn you a warning. You bit your lip, took a deep breath, and tried to calm your racing thoughts.

You wanted to scream, but you knew better than to lose it in front of everyone. You bit your lip and took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You were playing some of your best tennis, every shot was spot on, and now rain was messing it all up. It was definitely going to give your opponent a breather, and you could practically see her smiling with relief on the other side of the court.

Grumbling, you grabbed your stuff and headed back inside, your eyes almost blank. You didn't want anything to distract you. You put on your headphones, letting the music fill your mind and block out the chaos around you. You walked to the bathroom and locked yourself in. The echo of your footsteps bounced around the empty hallway, and every second of waiting felt like a hit to your concentration.

Inside the bathroom, you leaned against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to keep your focus. You replayed every point won in your head, every strategy planned. Hopefully, your opponent was the one freaking out during this break. But Feya had way more experience and probably knew exactly how to handle this situation. You, on the other hand, had only a couple of rain delayed matches under your belt and had lost all of them after the restart. The statistics weren’t in your favor.

Pacing back and forth, you tried not to get cold. Your heart was still racing from the match, and you didn’t want to lose that. This was only the second round of Wimbledon, and going home this early was not an option, especially not with Leah watching you so closely.

You took a deep breath, still leaned against the cold wall, and grabbed your phone. Without hesitation, you dialed Leah's number. It didn't ring for more than three seconds before you heard her voice.

"Hey..."

"Leah," you said, but then froze. Damn, you had to stay focused, you were still halfway through the game.

"I wanted to call you, but your coach said it wouldn't be a good idea."

You put the phone down for a moment and adjusted your headphones. Your breathing started to hitch. You brought your forearm to your face and covered your eyes.

"Why? Did he say it would be a bad idea because I might be upset?" you said, letting out a nervous laugh.

"He said exactly that."

"Well, he was right, damn old man," you said, laughing despite the lump forming in your throat. "Would it offend you if I said how much I hate England right now?"

Leah's laughter calmed you a bit. It seemed as if she was oblivious to the whole situation that had you on the verge of collapse. That helped. Maybe everything wasn't as bad as your head was making it out to be.

"It's not the first time I've heard that," Leah said. "But England has good things to offer too. You just have to give it time."

"I would if it wasn't for this damn rain," you mumbled. "I was sure I could win 1-6. I just wanted to finish the match, and now I don't even know if it will be over."

"Your coach says the weather isn't too bad. Just hang in there..."

"Leah, I think I'm gonna lose this round," you said, rubbing your face with both hands, frustration bubbling up. "I don't wanna go home." You didn’t want to cry, but the tears were already starting to fall.

"You're not going home," Leah said firmly. "Remember last year? You made it to the semifinals with no problem."

"Yeah, but... I didn't have any rain delays last year," you sighed. "I got lucky last year. That's what I kept telling myself throughout the tournament. But this time feels different... maybe it's a sign that things aren't going my way this time."

"No," Leah cut in, her tone sharp. "It's not different. You're more experienced now, you've just won a Grand Slam, and you've worked on your game and your mindset. Don't let a cloud ruin all that."

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, letting Leah's words sink in. You needed that reminder, that spark of trust, to know she believed in you.

"Thanks, Leah," you whispered, feeling the lump in your throat start to dissolve. "I'm going to try."

"That's all you can do. Now, breathe, relax. You're in control."

"Promise me that if I lose... you won't leave," you asked in a soft, vulnerable whisper.

Leah was silent for a few seconds before she spoke again. "You won't lose. You'll win the next points, get through this round, and then we'll go rest."

"That's not what I asked," you said, almost pleading.

You heard Leah sigh. "I promise, I won't leave, no matter what."

Leah kept talking after that, slowly helping you keep it together, distracting you from the chaos around and within you. Her voice was a steady anchor, grounding you in the moment, making you feel like everything might just be okay.

An hour later, the game finally resumed. As soon as you stepped onto the court, it was clear you weren’t the same player from the first set. Your arms felt heavy, and your legs were shaky. The sky still looked threatening, and the air felt different from a few hours ago. You glanced at Feya, who seemed to be loving this new scenario, walking energetically to her spot while you felt like you were moving through mud.

Passing by your team's section, you couldn't even lift your head so you just shook it. You needed to pull yourself together. Unzipping your top a bit, you grabbed the chain around your neck. This was where you were supposed to be, and you had to push through. You wouldn't let Leah see you as a loser.

But thinking about it was easier than doing it.

Your serve was awful, like you had butter on your hands making the racket slip. You couldn't get any balls inside the lines. With each missed serve, frustration built up inside you, making it harder to rally and cheer yourself up.

As the match dragged on, you were piling up unforced errors, practically handing points to your opponent with every shot. You needed to pull yourself together before Feya completely wrecked your game.

"Focus Y/n," you muttered, adjusting your visor, sweat dripping from your forehead more from nerves than from running around. You took a deep breath, trying to channel all your frustration into your wrist as you prepared to hit the ball. Unfortunately, your swing lacked precision, and the ball ended up hitting the net.

The game was now at 40-15 to Feya. One more mistake and she would go up 4-2. You hadn't won a single game since the rain delay. Right now, you just needed to get the ball over the net, just that one simple task first. Trying to stay calm, you managed a clean serve. Luckily, Feya returned it weakly, and you seized the opportunity, smashing the ball with all your strength, aiming for the line.

The ball landed just behind Feya, and you heard the crowd cheering, but there was no time to celebrate as Feya immediately challenged the call.

"The ball never touched the line!" she argued with the umpire. Your stomach knotted up as you watched the exchange.

You knew she was right a minute later.

“Game, Feya,” the umpire said into the mic, giving the point to your opponent. Feya was already celebrating, waving to the crowd.

You felt the weight of the match pressing down on you. It was a tough blow, but you couldn't let it break your spirit. You had to regroup and fight back.

Hearing the crowd go wild for Feya was overwhelming. Every cheer and clap made you feel smaller and smaller on the court. The cheers that used to lift you up now felt like they were weighing you down.

You glanced over at Lucas, hoping for some reassurance, but his face was as blank as ever, trying hard not to show any concern. Hesitating, you looked towards Leah, just a couple of seats to the right. She gave you a small thumbs up and a faint smile, a quiet gesture that seemed to offer a bit of calm.

“Come on!” Feya shouted after nailing another winning shot. Her excitement felt like a stark contrast to your growing despair.

When you went back to your chair, you took a sip of water and tried to calm your breathing. Leah’s words kept running through your head.

“You’re in control”

But right now, it felt like that control was slipping through your fingers.

“Come on, breathe,” you muttered to yourself, but it felt like the air was stuck in your lungs. You shut your eyes and clenched your fists, feeling the sweat and frustration mix on your palms.

When you got back to the court, it was like your body was on autopilot. Every swing felt off, and your movements were sluggish. Your opponent was all over you, dragging you from corner to corner, wearing you down physically and mentally.

By the last game of the second set, you weren’t even trying to win points anymore. You just wanted it to be over. You promised yourself you’d pull it together and make a comeback in the third set.

You sank into the chair again, trying to catch your breath and calm your racing thoughts. Taking a long sip of water, you glanced around. The sky was finally starting to clear, with the sun making a slow comeback behind the clouds. A gentle breeze brushed against your face, and you shut your eyes for a moment, trying to recapture the focus that had slipped away.

Man, if only the weather had been like this all day. Leah was right, you’d need some time to really appreciate this place, but you were willing to give it a shot, just for her. You daydreamed about hanging out with her, going for a lazy walk, or just chilling at her place, breathing in her scent and running your fingers through her hair. If only you could wrap up this match and get to enjoy those moments, where you could kiss her, let her hug you, and hear all those cheesy lines of hers that make your heart flutter.

But first, you had to win this. You didn’t want Leah to have to comfort you; you wanted her to celebrate your victory and be proud to be with someone who had accomplished something great. You were determined to give her that.

The umpire called you and Feya back onto the court for the start of the third set. You knew you needed to grab an early lead to turn things around. Feya was looking pretty cocky, flashing a grin that made it seem like she was reading your every move. But you couldn’t let that get to you. It was all about focusing on each point.

You took your spot on the baseline, mentally gearing up for battle. The umpire's voice cut through the tension, announcing the start of the final set.

Feya served first, and the ball came toward you with impressive speed. But you were ready for it this time. It was the same serve you’d seen throughout the previous set. You sprang into action, positioning yourself for a powerful forehand return. You whipped the ball with a deep, precise cross court backhand, the kind you’d been perfecting ever since Leah had pointed out how well you were executing that shot in some or your previous dates. Feya managed a weak return, and you seized the opportunity, charging forward and smashing the ball into the opposite corner. Feya was left scrambling halfway down the court.

0-15

You felt a burst of confidence. You looked over at Leah and for the first time in the match, flashed her a big, genuine smile. It was like a switch had flipped, and you were right back in your element.

The next point turned up the heat even more. Feya tried a serve and volley move, but you were quick on your feet. You lunged forward and nailed a backhand volley that just skimmed the net, landing right on the baseline. Feya had no chance of reaching it.

0-30

You could see Feya starting to lose her cool. She was slipping back to the nervous player from the first set, just like you were getting back into your game. Realizing she needed a new strategy, she started hitting higher and deeper shots to mess with you, but you stayed calm and took your time to set up your shots.

In one of the rallies, you spotted your chance. Feya sent up a short, high ball. You smacked a topspin drive that landed perfectly in the corner of the court.

court.

0-40

The game was slipping into your control. With every point you won, your confidence surged back. You knew you had to keep up this level of play. You took your position to receive the next serve, focused and ready. Feya tried an open serve, but you anticipated it perfectly, firing back with a powerful cross court shot. After a few intense exchanges, you decided to end it, pushing Feya into a tough spot. With a decisive forehand, you wrapped up the game.

“Game, Y/n” the umpire called out.

You celebrated with a big grin, clapping your hands together, just like Feya had done earlier.

“Williamson,” Lucas’s voice made Leah jump. She turned to find him with a serious look on his face. “What did you do to her?”

“Huh?” Leah was confused.

“Whatever it is, keep it up. My girl’s on fire.” Lucas said with a huge smile, almost with a hint of pride.

“I didn’t do anything, sir,” Leah tried to explain, as she watched you return to your spot after the break.

You had a serious look on your face, eyes focused straight ahead. Leah swallowed hard. You were a whole different player now compared to the previous set. Back then, she’d seen your hands shaking. Now, you were celebrating each point with passion, flashing her big smiles and winks after every great shot. Leah couldn’t help but think you were dedicating those moments to her, and she wasn’t wrong.

All Leah wanted now was a cold shower, and if she could share it with you, even better.

The score was 2-5 in the final set, and it was your turn to serve. The whole court felt electric, with everyone hanging on every move, knowing this moment could be the game changer. Leah sighed deeply, watching as you neared the end of what had been one of your toughest matches.

You stood at the baseline, gripping your racket tightly, trying to calm the nerves buzzing inside you. You were determined to finish this match on a high note. You took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, knowing that you could turn things around with the right mindset.

You tossed the ball into the air and served it with precision and power, landing right in the corner of the service box. Your opponent barely managed to get her racket on it, sending back a high, weak shot. You moved in quickly, taking full advantage and smacking a winning volley that left no chance for a return.

0-15

The next point was a real battle. You and Feya were just slamming shots back and forth from the baseline, moving side to side all over the court. Then, you broke the pattern with a killer cross court backhand that pushed your opponent into a corner. Desperate, she tried a smash, but it went wide.

“Out!”

0-30. You were almost there.

The crowd was now buzzing with excitement, sensing the win was within reach. You took a deep breath and got ready for your next serve. This time, you went for a powerful serve to the corner. The ball shot off your racket and bounced before Feya could even react.

“Ace!”

You were on match point.

The court fell silent after a second, everyone waiting for you to close it out. This was your moment, the chance to turn things around and give the crowd something to cheer about after the previous set. With a grin, you adjusted your visor and shot Leah a playful look as you tightened your gold chain. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you hoped she did too.

You tossed the ball up again, locking in on it. Your serve was fast and right on target, aimed at the T. Your opponent reached for it, but the ball zoomed past her, landing perfectly in the corner.

“Ace!”

“Game, set, match,” the umpire announced.

You raised your arms up as the crowd went wild.

After all the interviews, press conferences, and autograph signings, you finally had time for Leah. You spotted her, she was chatting with Jane, and without a second thought, you sprinted over to her, not caring about the hours your legs spent on the court before. You jumped into her arms, knowing Leah would catch you, no matter what.

“Careful, darling!” she laughed, catching you with just one arm around your waist. You were drenched in sweat and out of breath, but Leah didn't seem to mind at all. “How do you feel?” she whispered in your ear.

“Like I’m the best tennis player in the world,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“Hm, you might not be feeling that great tomorrow,” Jane said with a roll of her eyes, giving you a friendly shove to get you off Leah. “Let the poor girl breathe, she was on edge the whole game, and her legs must be killing her now.” she added, grabbing your bag and heading off, leaving you alone with Leah.

After you two were alone, you noticed Leah was carrying a huge bag and that’s why she’d only used one arm to hold you. “What’s in the bag?” you asked

“Oh, um… ” Leah’s face went red as she scratched the back of her neck. “Well, I had a lot of free time during the rain delay and... I was a bit nervous too, so I ended up going to the Wimbledon store.”

Before Leah could react, you snatched the bag from her hand.

“Damn, Leah,” you said, trying to hide your laugh by covering your mouth with your hand. “What the heck, did you bring the whole store?”

“Hey, I didn’t get to shop last year, and I needed some stuff,” she said, cringing as you started pulling things out of the bag. A lot of keychains, strawberry-shaped ones, little tennis rackets, and balls. “How many keys do you have that you need this many keychains?” you teased.

“Some of them are for gifts,” Leah said, quickly snatching them from your hands.

You reached in again and pulled out a huge green blanket. “What’s this for?”

“I was freezing! Unlike you, I was standing around and it was cold!” Leah said, her eyes wide as she almost panicked.

“Please tell me you didn’t get the Wimbledon socks,” you said, barely whispering, but Leah’s guilty look said it all.

“Don’t look at me like that! They’re absolutely my style!” Leah shot back, looking offended. “I can definitely pull them off!”

You thought about it for a second... Yeah, Leah had this way of rocking whatever she wore.

"Alright, you’ve got a point there, babe,” you said with a bit of a chuckle, feeling a bit defeated.

"Thanks," Leah replied, her smile warming up as she heard the nickname. “And I got one more thing,” she said, getting serious as she grabbed the bag and pulled out a giant tennis ball. “Here,” she said, handing it to you.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” you asked, eyeing the ball, it was one of those that kids get autographed all the time. “Leah, are you for real?”

Leah didn't say a word at first. Instead, she walked over to you and gently placed both hands on your waist. Leaning in close, she whispered, “What do I need to do to get my favorite tennis player’s autograph?” She gave you a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose. “Is that enough?”

“I’ll think about it,” you murmured, almost lost in the sensation of her breath brushing against yours.

Leah shook her head with a playful smile and cupped the back of your neck, guiding you into a deep, tender kiss.

“Congratulations on making it through the round,” she murmured between kisses, her voice filled with warmth and pride. Your smile widened as you let the joy of her affection wash over you.

“Maybe you are a lucky charm” you whispered.

#leah williamson x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you

478 notes · View notes

written-in-flowers · 5 months ago

Text

His Muse: Demon!Wooyoung x Fem!reader

Pairing: Demon!Wooyoung x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Genre: smut, a bit of angst

Summary: While the masters are on a week-long trip, YN goes to visit her favorite stylist. Hoping to leave with a new wardrobe, Wooyoung has different ideas.

Tags: demon fucking, monster fucking, bigdick!wooyoung, cuckolding fantasy, oral sex, vaginal fingering, mirror sex, kaptoptronophilia (mirror fetish), public sex, dressing room sex, mentions of orgies, mentions/implications of sex, striptease, clothed male/half naked female, mentions of enslavement,

Previously on Pretty Lady > Next

Pretty Lady Masterlist

***

You wished you’d been invited. A “black mass” sounded interesting. The invitation arrived a week ago in a crimson envelope, detailing the time and date of the year’s ‘Black Mass Week’. You’d noticed an uptick in your boyfriends’ behaviors up until today. Seonghwa appeared irritated by the summons, preferring not to go at all. He told you he’d only go because of rules, responsibilities and expectations of an Heir. Hongjoong said he didn’t mind a week of good parties, but he said the novelty wears off by the third or fourth day. San said he liked the ceremonies, yet said the taboo, ‘out-there’ acts that get performed threw him off. Watching San packing for the week-long event, you wondered why you couldn’t go.

“I still don’t get why I can’t come,” you told him, playing with the sleeves of a dress shirt. “I’m technically family too. You’re my mom’s cousin, which makes you my second-cousins or something.”

San placed a rolled up shirt into the suitcase, “It’s a pure-blood only event, Darling. Cambions and other subspecies of demons aren’t allowed. Those witches didn’t make pacts with Lucifer’s cousin or half-breed son.”

“Witches?”

“Yeah, witches. You know, fly on brooms, make potions, and curse people kind of witches,” he said. “The ones who look like they crawled out from the deepest pits of Hell? Those witches. You see,” he held up two pairs of dress shoes, choosing between them as he spoke, “Witches, real ones, make pacts with Lucifer to gain power-Which one do you think?”

“-The pointy ones. They’re classy-”

He nodded as he placed the pointed ones in a separate bag. “Okay, so yeah, they write their name in a book and are given powers to spread chaos and corruption throughout the living world. In order to keep their powers, they must travel to a meeting place where they make sacrifices and dance naked under the full moon. These sacrifices sometimes involve screwing demons. The sex fuels the energy underneath the full moon that night. Think of it like a week-long orgy in the middle of the woods where witches and demons hump each other for everlasting power and youth.”

“But, aren’t witches supposed to be, you know, ugly?”

“In their true form, yes, but we obviously don’t want to fuck them when they look like that,” he huffed. “Some of them are so twisted looking. It’s gross,” he shuddered before taking socks out of his drawer. “You know we’d take you with us if we could, Darling, but it’d be pointless for you to be there.”

“You’re telling me you’re going to spend a whole week banging ugly witches while I’m here all alone?” you moped. You held onto the shirt. A pale yellow dress shirt, the soft material felt smooth and smelled like him. “Not fair.”

“You won’t be alone, Darling,” he said, smiling fondly when he saw you with his shirt. “You have Jongho, Mingi, Linette, Yunho, Yeosang and your plants. If you get needy, you can call one of them to give you a hand if you want.”

“It’s not as good with them,” you replied. “I like it, of course, but it’s different with you three.”

“I know it is,” he said, hanging off the bed to reach you. “We’ll give you all the attention you want when we come back.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He gave you a light kiss when someone else walked into the room. “Are you still moping about not going with us?” Seonghwa put his fists on his hips.

“Yes,” you said, looking up at him. “Don’t go.”

“It’s only a week, Kitten,” he said, coming over and kissing your forehead. He knelt at the foot of the bed, his head inches from yours. “I wouldn’t want you to come even if you’d been invited.”

“Why?” you asked, a nerve being hit in your chest.

“Because then I’d have to share you with other people,” he admitted. “My cousins, my uncles, aunts, half-siblings, and all the rest. Not to mention the witches too. I already am suffering sharing you with my brothers-”

“-Hey!-”

“-I don’t want anyone else getting their paws on you.” You turned onto your stomach as he bent to kiss you again. “So, you’re staying home.”

“Hongjoong would want me to go,” you said. “Ask him. He’ll tell you that I should go with you.”

“Um, no?” Hongjoong appeared from thin air, leaning against the doorframe and looking indignant. He walked around the other side of the bed, turning your head to kiss him. “I only share you with people I like, and I don’t like anyone there enough to do that. You’re mine,” he briefly kissed you again, “Mine, mine, mine.”

“Besides, things can get pretty…” San began, searching for the word, “Freaky?”

“I like freaky,” you wiggled your eyebrows at him.

“Not your kind of freaky, babe,” he chuckled.

“There’s lots of blood sacrifices, ceremonies, bat-shit gross sex things,” Hongjoong explained what San could not. “And everyone there is in their true forms, and that might scare you a bit.” He pinched your cheek, “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

“I did wonder why you guys don’t look like other demons,” you admitted. “I felt too afraid to ask.”

“It’s pretty scary,” he said. “Seonghwa is particularly scary.”

“Am not,” Seonghwa flicked his ear. “San is.”

“I’m the least scary,” San said. “Anyways, we want you to stay here at home where nobody can touch you except us.” He kissed your cheek, and nuzzled your nose with his. “And selected others, of course.”

“You’ll be kept busy,” Hongjoong said. “Aren’t you going to Wooyoung’s this weekend for that new wardrobe?”

“You bought more clothes, Kitten?” Seonghwa said in disbelief. “Isn’t your closet full enough?”

“It’s the other half of my order,” you reasoned. “He brought the first part so I had stuff to wear after I tossed the rest.”

“Thanks for that by the way,” he huffed. “I wasted all that time designing your clothes, and you threw them out.”

“You got a refund for them.”

“Still. I thought you’d keep some of them.”

“I did keep some of them,” you said. “I kept the baby doll dresses.”

“Hmph,” he sulked, looking away from you.

“I can wear them for you when you come home,” you told him, pecking his cheek. “Unless you’re so empty by the time you come back that you won’t even want me,” you said, sticking out your tongue.

“I’ll definitely leave enough for you, Kitten.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll be thinking of you the whole time,” Hongjoong said, tucking hair behind your ear. “None of those witches hold a candle to my little pet.”

“Not a single one,” agreed Seonghwa, tapping your nose. “They’re not as cute either. I’m going to miss my Kitten,” he pecked your lips, “And how she rides me so easily. Those witches can’t take my dick like you do.”

“Or cuddle afterwards,” said San, his hand running down your back. “They just move on to the next demon or go back to dancing or whatever’s happening at the time. I’ll be counting the days until I can come back to you,” he kissed you again. “It’ll be agony. I’ll be completely miserable without you.”

You giggled, knowing exactly what they were doing.

“I’m going to be wailing and moaning for you,” said San, pouting and kissing you. "I'll be in complete despair the entire time."

“Keep going,” you joked, nose in the air with pride. “Tell me more about how much you’ll miss me.”

“Why tell you,” Hongjoong leaned further, “When we can show you instead? Come here, pretty.”

San ended up repacking after his suitcases got kicked off the bed.

*****

‘Beauty by Woo.’

The sign hung above the double glass doors of Wooyoung’s shop. Dark purple drapes hung inside the large display windows, where blank mannequins modeled chic outfits. The matching awning hung over the doors with a small purple carpet. The storefront screamed ‘Wooyoung’ in every way. You knew Wooyoung’s shop was popular, but the amount of people walking in and out impressed you.

“Here we are,” Mingi announced, opening your door. “Jung Wooyoung’s boutique.”

You put your sunglasses on top of your head, and stared at the display. A mannequin posed with a hand on her hip stood in slim black capris and a sequined top. “Looks great.”

“His message said he finished the other half of your wardrobe,” Jongho said, coming around from his side. “But, he mentioned you’re more than welcome to browse his jewelry section. He said he got a bunch of new sets he thinks you’ll like.”

“We can always count on Wooyoung to try sneaking in another sales pitch,” you shook your head. “Maybe I’ll buy some just to make The Masters regret leaving me behind, huh? What do you think?” you asked him.

“Go for it, just don’t bring up my name when they find out,” he jested.

Your boyfriends left home a few days ago, and you missed them like crazy. The house felt empty without them. You missed walking by San’s gym and hearing him counting under his breath or taking deep breaths as he lifted weights. You walked into Seonghwa’s library for a book, expecting to find him but finding nobody. Not to mention, Hongjoong’s records or hearing his guitar from his bedroom. You found comfort in Octavius and your plant children, though nothing filled the emptiness like they did.

“I’ve never been here before.” Linette slid out of the car after you. She took in the display with marveled eyes, “I heard Wooyoung’s clothes are to die for.”

“They are,” you confirmed. “He’s made all my clothes: the ones I wore for the masters and ones I wear now. I asked him to do a second set,” you said, linking your arm with hers, “Maybe we’ll get you some stuff too. I’m personally sick of you in that drab uniform.”

“What’s wrong with my uniform?” she asked, looking down at it.

“It’s very…” you couldn’t find the right word, “French maid? Like, the outfit sexy maids wear.”

“Am I not a sexy maid, Mistress?” she smirked at you.

“You always are, but this one's a bit too tacky, don't you think so?”

“Then what would you like me to wear?”

“Whatever you're comfortable in.”

You recognized one of the assistants in the window dressing the statue. The young demon spotted you as she clasped the top in the front, and gasped. You saw her shadow moved out of the window and through the shop as you approached the front doors. Jongho just opened the front door when she appeared before you. Black leathery wings batting behind her, her pale green skin made her violet belted dress stand out more. You noticed her velvet collar dotted with diamonds, which stood out compared to the regular leather collars of the others. Wooyoung’s favorite, no doubt. You remembered her from the dozens of times she’s done your makeup, but you never caught her name.

“Afternoon, my lady,” she bowed her head, sharp teeth in her smile, “Welcome to the boutique. I’m Kyra, how can I help you today?”

“Wooyoung said my wardrobe was ready,” you told her, searching for the skinny man in the sea of customers. “I was wondering if he was here?”

“Yes, of course, my lady. Follow me.”

She led you through the spacious store. Wooyoung didn’t only sell tailored clothes. You saw racks of clothes all around the store, with a small jewelry and shoe section near the back. Men and women both perused the racks, shelves and display tables of Wooyoung’s fashions. Seeing a mannequin modeling a pink feathery dress with sparkling boots, you realized Wooyoung took his fashion seriously. Every article of clothing you saw was a work of art. Everything from the everyday wear to nights out on the town to elegant formal events hung on the walls. He made clothes catered to every fashion trend and style. You admired it.

“These are beautiful,” Linette gasped, taking up a satin magenta halter top. “Don't you think so, Mistress?”

“Very,” you answered. “It's a great color for you.”

“You think so?” She held it close to her body to test it.

“Definitely. Get it.”

“Get it?”

“Yeah, Go grab a basket and pick stuff you like. You can't go everywhere in that uniform.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” you said, laughing softly. “I mean it.”

Linette’s eyes lit up, and she hugged you. Jongho took her to browse while Kyra brought you to the back of the store. Through a velvet curtain, you found yourself in what appeared to be Wooyoung’s work room. A mannequin body wearing several layers of silk and cloth embellished with beads stood in one corner, while another wore the petticoat and bottom half of an 18th century dress. On an angled table, he’d left a current design surrounded by several pencils, charcoal, and paints. You could tell he spent a lot of time here by the used coffee mugs and the pillows on the couch. Wooyoung took his work seriously.

“Master?” Kyra called out softly to a room divider, “Lady YN is here.”

“Wonderful! I’ll be with her in a moment!”

Wooyoung led an older woman out from behind the divider. Wearing a close fitting dress adorned with gold and aquamarine gems stood a demon with copper skin and thick black hair. She examined herself in the mirror, adjusting the jeweled strings around her long horns. Her nose up in the air, she examined herself from all angles. You saw Wooyoung bordering between anxiousness and annoyance, though he hid it from her well.

“Well?” Wooyoung asked, fixing a strap on her shoulder. “What do you think, my lady?”

She gave herself another look over before nodding, “It will have to do I suppose. The gems aren’t exactly where we discussed. I intended to wear this at the black mass, but I’m already three days late to the event. Transport schedules aren’t as organized as they used to be.”

“As I told you, my lady, putting gems that big so close to your waist could be uncomfortable for you,” Wooyoung said in a measured voice. “If you’d like, I can take in the waist more and add smaller stones? We can add a pattern going from hip to sternum here, see?”

“Lady Akura is the hardest woman to please,” Kyra whispered to you. “She seduced one Egyptian pharaoh-just one-centuries ago and now acts like she’s Cleopatra. It’s pathetic.”

“Clearly a woman dressing past her prime,” you replied with a soft laugh.

You turned away from the older demon to the rest of the workroom. On the table, you saw his latest design idea. A faceless female figure stood wearing a violet colored blazer with a pencil skirt, stockings and black heels. It looked classy and refined. Beside it, he drew the same thing in a neon green and black checkered pattern and another in pinstripes. On a separate paper, he’d drawn a group of models in various dresses: a button down shirtdress, a sundress, a wrap dress and a belted chemise one. All of them in different patterns and colors, you saw Wooyoung’s vision right away. His assistants delivered the first half of your new wardrobe a week ago, and already he’d finished the second. Examining more of his designs, it felt like a blast from the past. Your past.

“Ugh, that woman drives me nuts,” you heard him grumble once Lady Akura left. “Nothing ever satisfies her. That gaudy thing has been sitting in here for weeks because every time she comes, she says it's not right. Ugh, she's the worst.” He joined you by the table, “What do you think? Great, huh?”

Wooyoung wore an oversized purple blazer with a light blue lining inside, matching pants and plain shirt. Your desire for your own period reflected in the stylist’s fashion.

“I thought some professional outfits if you go to an office or just want to look like you mean business,” he said, explaining the first page. “You said you wanted some dresses, so I made a range of different ones. Each one for a different occasion. I haven’t done anything formal since I prefer making formal ones before the event.”

“These are fantastic!” you smiled, seeing a crop top and jeans number he’d drawn. “Where’d you get the inspiration from?”

“Just some magazines I had laying in the piles,” he nodded to a door left ajar where you spotted several boxes. “Also from looking at celebrities of the time and demons who’d gone upstairs during the 1980’s. Fashion back then was so progressive compared to the ages before it. There was so much color and fun patterns for me to play with. Like, here,” he pulled up a drawing of you in an off-the-shoulder 3/4th sleeve, “I did a black and white zig-zag pattern. The black would be in sequins, while the white is in regular fabric. It’d really make you stand out. I put out a call to a shoemaker I know, and he’s willing to do some sneakers and heels for you.”

“Amazing!” you looked through more designs, “You should sell some of these in the shop. You'd make a killing for sure.”

“I already have,” he replied. “I have a whole Trendsetter section. The stuff has been flying off the shelves. You should see it! It's all anyone's been talking about, and when I mentioned you'd started it, they became even more interested.”

“Why? I'm nobody important.”

“Did you forget that you're part of the nobility now?” he asked, hand on hip. “For centuries, queens and kings have set the trends of their time. You're a Marchioness, especially from one of Lilith’s children? Psh, everyone is going to want what you're wearing. You wear a red ensemble and tell them red is the new pink, soon everyone will want to wear red. You tell them Diet Coke is the new Pepsi Zero, and people would buy it by the gallon. YN,” he faced you with arms crossed, “I don’t think you get how popular you'll become around here. People will be watching you all the time. They'll want to know everything about you.”

“Like a celebrity?”

“More than a celebrity. Princess Diana, honey. That's who you're going to be around here.”

“Oh please, nobody can top Diana.”

“Maybe not in Heaven, since she's an angel and they love her up there, but down here? Oof, get ready.” He moved a bit closer, “Because everyone's going to want a slice of you. Good thing the black mass is pure-bloods only this time. Otherwise, you’d be bitten more than once.” You heard the sultry drop in his voice and saw him scanning your features. “I know I had a bite and wanted to eat the whole thing.”

“Same here,” you turned around to match his energy.

“You know, the masters put in special orders,” he admitted. “I'm not supposed to tell you because it's a surprise, but since you're here we can see if they fit?”

You eyed him closely, “Did they?”

“They did. They're beautiful.”

“Alright, sure.”

“They're gorgeous,” you breathed, feeling the soft material. “Did they say what they're for?”

He walked over to the rack of bagged clothes, rifled around before pulling out three. You noticed the names on the different tags: “Seonghwa” “Hongjoong” “San”. You couldn't think of what reason they'd buy you clothes other than for your affection. When you unzipped Seonghwa’s bag, you saw a white lace bodysuit. It suited his taste completely. You noticed the snakes and roses sewn into the lace, intertwining up and down the front and sides. You snickered when you saw the ‘SH’ worked into the pattern near the crotch. Opening up Hongjoong’s, you saw a deep plum bra and panty set made of smooth satin and lace. The slit across the bra pads barely hid your nipples, which Hongjoong would love. The subtle ‘HJ’ sewn along the panty line did not surprise you either. San’s order was a night dress of pink silk. A tiny white rhinestone ‘S’ sat right underneath the bosom like a brooch. A declaration of ownership even without the collar. You supposed it should bother you, but you loved it.

“For when they came back from the black mass,” he said. “They said they wanted you to know they’d never desire anyone as much as you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” you snorted. “It’s a present for me that's really a present for them.” You picked up Seonghwa’s gift, but then decided against it. If anyone knew you'd tried them on, it'd be the one who reads minds. So, you picked up Hongjoong’s next. “This one’s a nice color.”

“Nice material too, but I was working off the top of my head,” he said, “So I'm not a hundred percent sure if they'll fit. You should try them on to see.”

You knew exactly where he planned to take things, and you didn't mind at all. You hung Hongjoong’s set by the mirror, and saw Wooyoung take a seat on the couch. His eyes stayed on you, already undressing you from afar. He'd seen you nude a few times before, and clearly wanted to see you again.

One by one, you unbutton your blouse in the mirror. When you untucked it, you made sure he saw the white bra underneath. Sliding it off your shoulders, you did the same with your pants. You dragged them down your ass, knowing Wooyoung watched intently. He bit the inside of his lip when you removed them to show your pink panties. You thought he might not like your mismatched underwear, but he hardly noticed. His eyes trained on you the entire time, taking in what is underneath than what was covering it. Feeling desired brought out more arousal. You swayed your hips, playing with your pantyline the entire time. Wooyoung followed every movement.

“I suppose I should take this off too, right?” you asked, playing with your bra straps. “We can't know the actual size with these on.”

“Yes,” Wooyoung sighed. “Yes, absolutely.”

Smirking, you slid the straps down your shoulders until they tugged at the corners. When they did, you pulled the cotton fabric underneath them. Wooyoung let out a soft whimper once you showed them, biting his tongue. In the secluded room, nothing separating you and Wooyoung but a wooden screen, you couldn't help the knot in your lower half. The workshop did not have an actual door, only a curtain; anyone could enter at any time, which only enhanced your arousal. Squeezing your tits, you teased your nipples in front of him. You imagined someone coming upon you right then, and it added to the sensations. His eyes darkened with lust as you played with them. You could see the wheels turning in his mind; you saw him picturing all the things he’d like to do to you right then. He licked his lips when you wet your fingers to rub on your hard nipple, swallowing when you gave a soft whimper. Once you unclasped your bra, you let him take in your topless form before swaying your hips.

“You're gorgeous, honey,” he breathed, arms resting on the back of the couch. “Insanely gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” you said, sliding off your panties. “I get that a lot.”

Wooyoung slumped in his seat when he saw you. With the mirror behind you, he saw the backside just as easily. He walked over to you, picking up the bra from the hanger.

“Let me help you, my lady,” he said in your ear as you faced the mirror again.

You slipped your arms into the straps, seeing him clip it on behind you. His hands sliding to your front, he stuck his hand in the bra to adjust you into it. You gasped and giggled when he squeezed it instead, ending with a pinch that made you grind against him. He did the same to the other side, this time rolling your nipple between his fingers. When he finished, the slits in the bra just barely covered them. No doubt a way for Hongjoong to suck them without taking it off you. Wooyoung’s body now close to yours, the tension between you smoldered. You did your best to let him enjoy touching you, even if you wanted him to do more, but the noise outside reminded you where you were.

“Wooyoung,” you sighed as he kissed up your shoulder to your neck, “Wooyoung, we shouldn’t…”

“Why? Don’t want to be interrupted?” he asked, kissing underneath your ear.

“No, I don’t,” you laughed with the tightness in your stomach.

“But you need to try on the rest, my lady,” he replied, fixing the bra on correctly. “You haven’t put on the panties yet.”

Crotchless panties. You should have known with it being Hongjoong’s design. Wooyoung bent down to help you into them before dragging them up your body. The slow lift up your thighs caused a shudder to run through you. Adjusting them properly, Wooyoung made sure you felt his fingers along the lines and crotch. When he stood back up, he pressed you to him and admired you.

“What do you think?” you sneered, whirling your ass to the bulge hitting between your cheeks.

“You look incredible,” he said, running his hands up and down your stomach. Not quite sliding into the bra slits, but also not touching the crotch either. The feathery touch brought more chills to your center, which he nearly brushed with his hand. “I don’t know how you go a day without a cock in you,” he whispered, letting a hand go to the slit of your underwear. “If you were mine, I’d just chain you to my bed and fuck you whenever I pleased.”

“Is that what you do to little Kyra?” you asked, getting a surprised look from him. “Her collar gave it away.”

“All my assistants have collars.”

“Hers is special. The others have normal leather collars, but she has a velvet diamond one,” you pressed his hand further to your clit, giving a soft moan once a finger touched you. “I bet you fuck her loads. I know I would, if I were you.”

“Kyra is special,” he admitted, “But I like something different every now and then.”

You bit back a moan as a single digit toyed with your clit side to side. Wooyoung watched you wriggle in the mirror, amused by the sudden jolt whenever he grazed your clit. You held onto the arms in front of you for leverage, since you thought you might tip over from the continuous pleasure. Wooyoung brought you to the couch and patted his lap. In the mirror, you saw yourself locked against Wooyoung who put his hands back on your exposed sex. One hand circled your clit slowly, while the other teased your entrance. You sat there looking at it, transfixed by the hands bringing you so much pleasure.

“Like this right here,” he said in your ear. “I’ve been dying to have more of this since the last time. Now that I can fuck your pretty holes, it’s all I want to do.”

“Then fuck them,” you whined.

“I will,” he chuckled. “I will, don’t worry.”

Light and slow, Wooyoung’s fingers barely grazed your clit at times. In the mirror, you saw long fingers running up and down the moistening folds. One hand tenderly grasping your tit, keeping you locked in his lap, Wooyoung kept the same pace the entire time. You bit down on your lip to keep from being too loud, especially with all the people outside, but the hand threatened to break that. You gripped the sides of the couch each time his finger “accidentally” slipped inside you, nails scratching the suede fabric. You couldn’t stop staring. Your vision lined up each emotion with what he was doing to you: zigzags on your clit, fingers pushing deep inside before coming back out, and rolling your nipple painted a sinful image. When he finally slid them back in, you saw how your body adjusted to them. His palm grinding into your clit, the digits in your pussy pushed right to the soft center.

“Fuck!” you cried, knees lifting up at the intense pressure.

“Quiet, my lady,” Wooyoung whispered, “Someone might hear us and come in here. I’d hate to have to stop now. Not when you’re so wet,” he emphasized this with a few quick brushes on your clit before fingering you again.

You knew he was right. Wetting the opposite hand with your juices, Wooyoung pushed the wet fingers past your lips. Sucking on them firmly, he moaned seeing you suck them while he fingered you. You couldn’t stop yourself from whimpering too loudly when both hands sunk deep and wriggled around. Eventually, Wooyoung quickened his fingers until you shook in his embrace. The constant pressure of his fingertips pressing your core soon had you quaking, unable to push upwards or grab his hand to use it yourself. The position compromised you in so many ways, but you couldn’t look away from the mirror.

Having gone so long without San, Seonghwa or Hongjoong made you desperate for something, anything. You missed Seonghwa’s smug smirk when you came over his hand and San’s gentle kisses as he slowly fucked into you. Not having Hongjoong tying you to his bed and edging you with his toys made everything else boring in comparison. You wanted them so badly.

With a bit of moving around, Wooyoung managed to undo his pants for you. His cock, already pulsing and throbbing, stood erect against your wet sex. You reached down to rub the thick tip into your clit, the touch making both of you restrain your moans. Grinding up and down, you slid your pussy over the leaking cock in your hand. You wanted to let go. The burning desire to ride him hard and fast came to you each time the tip pushed to your entrance. Wooyoung released you from his grip, and you took this as a sign to finally push him in you. The moment you both connected, shots of relief and frustration hit you at the same time. The relief of finally being full, but the frustration of wanting more. Hands on his knees, you started off with slow, shallow movements. You kept your back arched so he might see himself buried in your cunt, while you watched yourself in the middle.

Tits jiggling as you got faster, you knew how much San would love this. He loved watching you fuck yourself on his cock, content to lay there and grab your ass or rub your clit for you. You thought of his tanned muscles, and rough hands. Thin eyes full of lust and longing would scan over you as if he might never see you again.

“Bitch,” Wooyoung hissed, slapping your ass harshly. “You’re seriously thinking of someone else while riding me?”

Your eyes widened. Had you really said ‘San’ just now? You couldn’t remember. Your mind totally blanked, lost in the vision of San inside you. A pang of guilt hit you when you realized how messed up that is.

“I’m sorry,” you panted, clenching around him. “It kind of slipped out. I-I…”

“Keep going,” he grabbed your hair to yank your head back. “Keep thinking about him,” he grunted.

“Wha-what?”

“Think about how much bigger he is than me,” he groaned, whirling his hips so his cock moved around in you, “And how he fucks you better.”

"Wooyoung, I kind of don’t get it…You like that?”

“I ask Kyra to do it all the time,” he lifted you off the chair and onto the floor. Bent over in front of the long mirror, you had a better look at his opened shirt and loose pants. “I ask her to pretend I’m her boyfriend, but she’s cheating on me with somebody else. Do that for me. Tell me how he fucks you. Tell me what he does that’s better.” He grinded against you, hands on your ass. “Tell me you wish I was him right now.”

“I wish he was fucking me right now,” you whimpered, hands curling around the fine rug beneath you. “His dick is so big he nearly splits my pussy in half.”

Wooyoung whimpered at this “confession”. He tried keeping quiet as he started pounding you again. He kept his hand in your hair so your back stayed curved. Your eyes meeting his in the mirror, you kept going.

“I miss his tongue on my clit and his fingers inside me,” you murmured. “He always makes me cum before he puts his dick in me. You can’t even make me cum once-”

“-Yes, yes, yes,” he whined. “I can’t make you cum. I’m not good at it.”

“No, you’re fucking not,” you did deflect from this by pushing against him. Your eyes rolled back at his thick length being in you to the hilt. “You don’t even eat me out. It’s all San likes to do. He keeps going even when I’ve already cummed because he likes hearing me squeal from overstimulation.”

“Fuck,” Wooyoung panted at the vivid imagery. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, both hands in your hair as he charged. “I’m sorry I’m not-n-not good enough.”

“You never will be,” you huffed, eyes rolling back as he angled himself deeper. “I miss him so…so fucking much.”

“Tell me what you miss, baby.”

“I miss how he kisses me,” you admitted. “I miss the way he touches me so carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break me. I miss him calling me ‘Darling’. I miss his tongue and his fingers.”

You missed so many other things. “And his cock?”

“Yes!”

“Yeah, you miss that too? You prefer it over mine right now?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you said through clenched jaws. They went in time with his deep thrusts, the motion driving you wild. “I want to be fucking him so badly, but here-her-here I am wi-with you.”

Cuckolding never reached the top of your favorite kinks, but you quite enjoyed it with Wooyoung. You’d been about to tell him more when a voice called out from behind the divider.

“Master?” It was Kyra.

“Yes?” Wooyoung said with a bite of annoyance. Your hips didn’t stop. You kept going, knowing any second that girl would turn the corner to see you both there.

“Lady Akura wants to see you,” she said. “She says she’s just had an idea for the dress.”

“Tell her to make an appointment tomorrow,” he said. “She had her-her chance.”

“She’s insisting, sir.”

“I don’t care.” You saw his eyes fall shut as your walls squeezed him in every push. You felt your orgasm fast approaching, especially with the rug brushing your sensitive nipples and Wooyoung reaching around to your clit. “She can come back to-tomorrow. I’m busy…very busy.”

You thought about San again. Right now, his muscles would’ve tensed, his cock pulsating against your tight walls and shaking from his oncoming orgasm. He wouldn’t bother talking to Kyra; he’d be too focused on you. You forced Wooyoung’s hand to stay between your thighs, rubbing it up and down as you stuffed a random bolt of cloth between your teeth. Using the energy from your climax to bite down, you kept back to high-pitched moans you’d normally let out. In the mirror, you saw Wooyoung close to finishing.

“But, Master, I don’t think she’ll leave until she sees you.”

Wooyoung did not answer her. He only fucked into you faster, using your sex to finish deep inside you. His hot cum shooting far inside you, fingers and cock working your clit, kept you going.

“Master?”

“Tell her I will call her later,” Wooyoung grunted, giving a few more thrusts before stopping. “I said I’m busy.”

When he withdrew, you felt globs of cum drip from you and onto your new panties. You quivered as he used the head to fuck them back inside.

“Master, please don’t make me talk to that woman,” Kyra pleaded. “She’s so mean, especially to us assistants.”

You gingerly moved out of your position, feeling your joints stuck for a moment, then turned around. Taking him in your hand, you slid the wet head over your tongue. Facing the mirror sideways, Wooyoung had a perfect view of your mouth on his cock. The sensitive muscle twitches at this, which makes you take more of it. Little beads of precum spilled from him as you licked and sucked him clean. You’d get a second round either now or later.

“Get over it,” Wooyoung said, transfixed by his cock in your mouth.

“Master-”

“-I am busy with Lady YN,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to say it?”

“Kyra,” you finally spoke up, spitting cum back onto Wooyoung’s cock, “Tell Lady Akura he’ll be out in a moment. He’s helping me try on this new lingerie set and it’s, psh, it’s just complicated. There’s so many pieces to it. I swear,” you stroked Wooyoung slowly, reaching for his balls every other time, “It’s like you need an engineering degree to figure it out.”

“Um, alright,” she conceded, “I will let her know.”

You waited for her to leave, then knelt up to Wooyoung. You considered kissing him, but then you’d be there all day.

“You certainly have interesting tastes, Mr. Jung,” you taunted playfully, removing the soiled panties. “I never pegged you for a cuck.”

He shrugged, putting them aside as he wiped himself with a cloth. “It’s hot to me. It’s cool if you’re not into it that much though. It’s not a necessity to me. I knew you were missing your boyfriends, so I thought you might want to think of them while fucking me.”

“I’m sorry about that,” you said. “I did enjoy it with you. It kind of came up out of nowhere.”

“I know,” he smirked, “It ended up working out for me. I’d love to do it again sometime.”

The both of you stood up, and cleaned yourselves as best as possible. You knew you’d pass out when you got home. The aching in your thighs and knees told you that when you walked back into the store. By the counter, Lady Akura waited impatiently for Wooyoung.

“She could give my grandfather a run for his money,” Wooyoung grimaced. “I’ll have someone bring your wardrobe tomorrow morning.”

“I look forward to it,” you replied with a wink.

Blowing him a kiss, you walked away to see Linette already near the door with a few purple and gold shopping bags. Clearly, you weren’t the only one who got a bit of retail therapy.

“I can’t wait to show you what I got,” she beamed at you when you approached. “Everything is so cute. I’m going to need reasons to put them on, but oh my god, they’re gorgeous.”

“And they’ll look even better on you,” you smiled.

“How was the wardrobe?” she asked as you both left the shop.

“The stuff Wooyoung showed me is divine,” you told her. “Absolutely amazing.”

You both slipped into your seats, and Jongho closed the door. The moment he did, Linette turned to you. “Clothes weren’t the only thing you two discussed, were they?”

You held back your laugh as you said, “Nope.”

“Mistress!” Linette gasped in surprise, then joined you in laughing. “With Wooyoung?”

“He started it,” you replied. “I was fine trying on the lingerie the masters bought me, and then things got hot,” you shrugged. “He’s apparently into cuckolding.”

“Who’s into cuckolding?” Jongho asked, getting into the seats facing you.

“Wooyoung,” you answered.

“Ah, I thought I smelled him on you.”

“There really is no hiding anything around here, is there?”

“Not a thing,” he confirmed with a teasing smile. “So, did Kyra watch or what? What happened?”

You told them everything on the way home. Your encounter with Wooyoung stuck with you the rest of the day. You had enjoyed every second, but you did feel bad thinking of somebody else. It wasn’t the first time you’d done that in your life, yet you hadn’t cared then. Returning home, Linette showed you her purchases while you lounged on your bed. Everything she bought looked incredible on her.

Wooyoung was a real master of his craft.

****

A/N: One of the shorter ones, I hope you guys still liked it! I did struggle with this one for a bit haha Lady didn't go to the Black Mass, but perhaps she might get her own invitation?

Not before meeting the Queen of Flowers herself, Lilith ;)

#pirateeznet #ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #jung wooyoung #wooyoung ateez #ateez wooyoung #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x yn #ateez smut

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sugoi-writes · 7 months ago

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In Every Sense - Part 2 to Scent Kink!Alastor x Reader

It's heeeeerrreeee~ Here are some warnings: we get some internal monolgues of Alastor hopelessly trying to seduce you, oral (f!receiving), light man-handling, begging, and some really just... absolutely raunchy filth. Please enjoy~ (please note, this is still overwhelmingly inspired by @hazelfoureyes so please please GO READ HAZEL'S CONTENT. IM BEGGING YOU. ITS SO JUICY)

Right. Where was he? Oh yes... this mess.

Alastor straightened himself out quickly, mess of his clothing and floor included. Your clothes, however, were discarded to his bed... probably never to be washed again.

After he freshed up, his eyes scanned and paused in his armoire mid-search. His taloned hands brushed against a silk top... not one of his preferred fabrics, but one he could certainly pull off. His fingers danced on it a moment more, before deciding it was worth changing it up.

Black, lattice-patterned top and tailored, wine red trousers... simple, but classy, right? As he tossed around the idea of a belt, he decided to skip that step. It would make the process of settling between your sweat-covered thighs take an eternity too long. That is... if he didn't devour you first.

Alastor threw his casual fit together, opting to keep his pointed, black dress a part of the ensemble. But should he try boots...? Would that be too much? Maybe it would be easier to kick off...?

He wondered over to his personal liquor cabinet, pouring himself a whiskey. He needed to get a pep in his step and to still his rambling thoughts. Though he usually preferred to take things slower, savoring the bite of liquor on his tongue... He instead took it as a shot, hardly reacting to the harsh intake. His shoulders hunched, huffing as he turned to look in the mirror. How ridiculous he must've looked...

Hair disheveled... eyes half lidded. His hands were sweating, the loose blouse serving as a juxtaposition to his too-tight pants. Maybe his shirt should be tucked? No, that'd look stupid without a belt...

How strange it was for him to fret... at least, fret over impressing another person. Moreover, trying to impress someone he pined for. He almost loathed the way you made him feel, and how his core seemed to clench everytime you walked by... but, there was no room for doubt now: he would make you answer for his obsessions tonight. Surely you would take responsibility, wouldn't you...?

Alastor's head shook, before he opted to tuck half of his shirt in. He saw this often in modern fashion, targeting the front corner of the shirt to show off or bring attention to his thigh and... well-- downstairs.

He quirked a brow, intrigued with this look. It was... messy. Not the neat-and-narrow hes accustomed to. And in a way, he quite liked it. Maybe with the disheveled top, your eyes would be distracted enough to be drawn below the belt...?

Hah, what a pun. It doesn't work anymore if you don't have a belt, right?

Alastor chuckled, absolutely tickled by the thought. Alastor pulled out a wine-colored blazer, which perfectly complimented his pants. Can't be too prepared for the hellish night, right? He paused, walking over to your discarded top again for one final sniff; one final tease before the real thing. He shuddered at the thought, already feeling a light twitch coming from below.

With a resolute nod, he walks out from his room, heading towards the lobby. Maybe you would be retired for the night? Maybe he could catch you before your evening shower... He sought you out, his nose steering the way as his thoughts swam with visions of you. He would have you tonight, he thought, his hands summoning and twirling his microphone with a prideful flourish.

You hadn't known how it got to this point. You hadn't known how much liquor both you and Alastor had drunk, round for round... but, Alastor's plan managed to work. He caught up with you, just before you were retiring for the night... and now, you did manage to head to bed... just the wrong one.

You yelped as you were slammed against his bedroom door, hands flying to grip the collar of his shirt. The passion of his kiss made you weak, his own knees buckled. Your sounds mirrored the other's, hips rolling in tandem as the heat between your bodies danced and mingled with one another. Alastor was already getting carried away, hands grabbing at everything he could touch... your cheek, your ass, your waist... He needed more. He needed you to be absolutely bothered and sweating.

Alastor pulled away, licking a long, wet trail from your collar bone to your ear. You trembled as ghost-like kisses were placed along your jaw, pleased sigh his reward. Your head tilted back and to the side, allowing better access to the longing demon.

"Ahh-- Alastor!"

His name fell from your lips, bruised and hanging agape as your breath came out in labored puffs. Alastor groaned, eyelids fluttering as he inhaled once more. A shaky sigh soon followed, making your thighs clench together. He licked at the sweat that ran down your neck, swirling his tongue before kissing there again.

More... he needed more of this.

No words were exchanged as his lips wandered lower, your clothing coming down and off with his lecherous journey. You could only cradle and grab at his hair, trying to slow or stop his descent when he would kiss a particularly gratifying area... but your eyes widened as his kisses lingered on your lower abdomen. Your eyes met his candy apple reds, swirling with lust and intrigue.

"Mon cher, I simply cannot bear to wait... I must have you." He couldn't contain his raspy sigh as he took your pants off, sliding them down your trembling legs. You'd be lucky to have these clothes back after this night...

Once you were bare before him, he kissed at your mound, the smell of your hormones and sweat making his brow furrow with desire. His eyes nearly rolled back into his skull as you moaned, nodding feverishly," I-I... I don't-- fuck, Al... Don't stop..."

Al looked firmly at you, mouth hanging open, but not coming closer. You huffed, trembling as your cheeks flush.

"... Pl-please... keep going... I want this."

Alastor smiled up at you, toothy grin absolutely drunk with adoration as he lowered his head. He spread your legs apart, arms moving to lift you. You were pushed up until you sat upon his shoulders, suspended a few inches off the ground. You were shaking at the realization of how powerful he was; how easily he was able to sustain you with just his shoulders. It was a strength that made your abdominals clench in anticipation.

The moment his tongue ran up your slit, you saw the light, eyes widening from the feeling of his warm muscle. Alastor grunted as he started to gently lap at your core. Finally: something that distracted him from how divinely you smelt...

Now he had a new muse (and problem) to keep him up at night... the taste of your arousal.

Like a man starved, he began to lavish you earnestly, hands trapping your thighs around his head. He showed you no mercy as his tongue alternated between stimulating your clit and delving into your relaxed hole. You convulsed with his minstrations, one hand stabilizing you against the door while the other gripped an antler for deer dear life. You soon found your hips rolling into his face, his nose brushing your clit with every thrust. Your head collided with the door as your moans transformed into animalistic whines and huffs, unable to control the ravenous sounds he tore from you. Alastor wasnt any more refined, hungry like a tramp in heat.

His expression shook and strained with pure bliss as he took you in whole: touch, sight, sounds, scent, and taste. This truly was the thing that he needed most; to seek you in your entirety. He knew now that he needed to own your body by ways of physical desire and passion... something he only became keenly aware of recently.

Now, even if your soul would so pretty under his grasp... this seemed to outweigh that desire. This was the ultimate way to both have you, and for you to tie a metaphorical leash around his neck. He hadn't fully realized it, but he was completely and utterly yours, and after this display, you'd surely have him the same way...

His dignity be damned. You were too sweet to resist.

You held his fringe out of his face as Alastor groaned with every flick of his tongue, vibrations sending your nerves into overdrive. His movements, his reactions, and his blatant obsession with your scent had you seeing stars. You ground your face harder into Alastor's obedient tongue, forcing his inhales to be rapid and short. Had he breathed any harder, one would speculate he was panicking. But ahh, what a way to die again, but by your thighs and eager cunt...

"Sh-Shit-- Alastor I'm-- fuck, y-you're too-- Hah!"

Alastor's cock twitched and strained, unable to be freed as your noises grew in tempo and pitch: you were nearing your climax.

Yes.

Yes, cum on him; cum on his face.

He wanted to see your mouth hang open in a silent wail, riddled with ecstacy. He wanted to feel your legs snap his neck from the force of your grip. He wanted to taste the arousal on his tongue as it multiplied. And most importantly... he wanted to be fully engulfed in your scent as your cunt rode his tongue... At this rate, he would be making another mess tonight.

He would never wash his shirt again, aware of the cum dripping down onto the collar of his dress shirt... a notion that nearly made him squirm. Maybe he could convince you to let him keep your outfit, as a token of tonight's debauchery?

He had no more time to think as your orgasm overcame you. Both hands held his antlers as your frantically ground into his mouth, practically suffocating him as you sprayed his jaw with your release. Alastor could only take it, choking and sputtering but absolutely living in the moment. His eyes were fully rolled back, schelaras devoured by a deep, pitch color.

When oversensitivity started to make you quiver, you pulled away, utterly satisfied. Your hands went to smooth out Alastor's scrunched-up hair as he panted. You gave it a playful ruffle, apologetic for your behavior. You smile breathlessly down to the overwhelmed demon, about to thank him... Then, a shrill scream is ripped from your throat. Alastor's seering, hot tongue is on your clit again, hands digging in to the plush of your thighs.

"Mmph... more-- Please, let me have more, cher... need it-- need you!"

You whined as Alastor's pleas fell unto eager ears, head lolling. Alastor's tongue began to awaken a new vigor in you. You were more than happy to please the starved man below you... Maybe next time, you'd tie him up in your clothes, leaving him unable to do anything but take your passion, in every sense of the word...

#alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor fanfic #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fic #radio demon #alastor radio demon #ANYWAAAAAYYYYS hope this made you squirm too!#hahah... hah. i need an ice bath

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charlotteking23 · 2 months ago

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How To Make Your Girl Happy - MV1/33

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: Once in awhile, the two of you like to go out at night without a special plan in mind and just do whatever you please. Just like tonight. It's going to be so much fun! Right?...

word count: 1.6K

You hold the broken gold chain in your hand, crying your eyes out while Max kisses your other hand, trying to calm you down and drive straight at the same time:

"I'm gonna get you another one, Princess, OK?"

"But you gave this to me for our two-year anniversaarrryyyy," you bawl, upset like never before, looking for a tissue in your purse. "Oh, look, baby, a grenade, you suddenly stop your mourning, taking it out and showing it to him.

"I didn't even know I had it in here, you think it's expired?" you wipe your tears, smiling like nothing happened.

"I don't think they expire, liefje," he winks, working his charm on you.

Thank God she got distracted, Max thinks, pleased he avoided the catastrophe. Must be that...time of the month because you always get really emotional; he really doesn't want to deal with it but he has no choice.

"Oh, no!" you suddenly gasp, digging into your purse, and your bottom lip quivers on the verge of crying again. "Maxiiiieeeee, I'm out of my gum," you whimper, staring at him. "I want my gum!"

"Say no more, I will take care of it!" he quickly agrees, really struggling to keep his cool. If he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?! He yanks at the steering wheel, going over the curve, hitting two trash cans in the process, almost killing a cat and a pigeon.

He sees the gas station and since it's so late at night there are no customers. Perfect for what you need. The two of you rush inside and see the clerk freeze in shock when he recognizes the famous F1 driver.

"Look I need gum now!" Max scowled, while you went by the counter and started looking for your gum, and...

"Maxiiiieeee, they don't have strawberry flavor in the brand I like," you whine, feeling another wave of imminent tears strolling down your cheeks.

"What?! Why don't you have strawberry?!" Max raises his voice, alarmed.

"W-we run out s-sir," the clerk stutters, closing his eyes, thinking he was in front of the Max Verstappen. "We have strawberry in o-other brands..."

"I only like this brand!" you interrupt, snorting, wiping your nose with your sleeve while scratching your thigh.

Good gracious, she's such a classy woman, your boyfriend thinks, suddenly aroused, really wanting to bite you all over.

"She only likes this brand!!!!" Max repeats, getting out of his trance, and screaming at the poor guy that trembles like a leaf. "Why are you upsetting my girl, hm? Don't you know you should have that stuff on hand all the time?"

"S-s-sorry s-sir..."

"That's it were leaving this fuckin place", taking your hand and fastly walking back to the car. "Stop crying, Princess, we'll get your gum!" he promises, starting to drive again.

He feels so aggravated, but if he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?!

After a few miles, he notices a small, lonely convenience store and slams the brakes, sharply turning so he can park.

You both run inside, while you look through their stash and let out a scream when you see what you need.

You grab a paper bag and cram in all the strawberry-flavored gum you see in the brand you like and take one last package, wanting to open it when the date gets your attention.

"Maxiiiieeeee, this is expired," you complain, your quivering bottom lip making him lose it.

"Are you trying to kill my girl?!" he snaps at the man, outraged, mostly because he has to deal with you in this state after you leave the store.

"N-no, n-not at all, I-I don't know how it happened," the guy gulps, feeling he's going to faint soon seeing Mad Max.

"They're all expired, baaabyyy," you frantically go through your bag, tossing each little package one after the other.

"Are you trying to kill your customers?! What kind of place is this? You should be reported to the authorities! No princess, don't!" Max slaps your hand when you try to open the last package because you want your gum badly and it makes you more upset when you drop it.

"Let's go, Liefje, this damn city is trying to kill us tonight," he pants, backing out and you hold on to his shirt, following him outside like a lost puppy.

"Hold on, baby," you sniffle and taking a marker out of your purse, heading back to the store and Writing 'loser, and 'don't come here unless you want to be food poison' on the door, shouting at the clerk:

"This is for trying to kill people!", You start laughing, suddenly happy, heading back to your car.

"I don't want gum anymore, can we drive to our spot?" you sweetly ask, kissing his shoulder as he starts driving again.

shit, Max thinks. Why? Because you usually go to your secret spot on top of the hill to have sex. Since you are...not able to for now, it only means one thing: you will want to cuddle and talk.

Your boyfriend takes a deep breath, pretending he's not panicking. But if he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?!

Once you get there, you crawl on the hood with him, placing yourself in between his legs so he can hold your waist from behind.

"Ahhh, this is so nice, isn't it Maxie?" you giggle, putting your hands on top of his. Max is tense but doesn't want to show it. "Wow, a falling star! Make a wish!" you get all excited, clapping and he sighs, bored. "Did you make a wish? What did you wish for?" you turn your head so you can see him

"For Goddamm Monaco to have your stupid gum!" he grumbles, rolling his eyes.

"No way! Me too!" you get on your knees, turning so you can face him. "What were the odds, baby?" You smile so brightly that his sassiness goes down a notch. "You really love me, don't you?" you bite your lip.

"Yeap," his short answer comes and you don't give up.

"How much?"

"Ummm, a lot," he quietly mumbles, uncomfortable, wishing you would change the subject.

"Really?!" you kiss him, astounded. "AWWW that's so sweet," you get all teary and sentimental.

The things he has to go through to please you. But if he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?!

"Dadddyyyy," you trace his biceps, batting your lashes at him.

Oh, hell no, Max thinks. You only call him Daddy in bed (which is not the case here) or when you want something he wouldn't agree with, which is probably the case.

"Yes, liefje?" he tilts his head, waiting to hear what else it's going to come out of your mouth next.

"I think we should have a baby, or two or three, but at least two, yes?" you blur out, enthusiastic to the maximum and he starts getting flustered, not expecting such a twist.

"I don't think so, liefje," Max utters with such determination you start bawling instantly.

"Why nooootttt?" you wail, sobbing with your face on his neck like he's been dead for three months or so. "You think I'm ugly?!"

His hands start caressing your back, trying to soothe you.

"I don't think you're ugly, I think you are a pretty princess," he says, being sincere. "You look beautiful, don't worry," he pets your hair and you wipe your tears, grinning at him. if he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?!

"So let's have kids then," you switch to your original plan, hoping for a positive outcome.

"No...I really don't want to..." he makes a comeback, stubborn and determined not to give in.

You gasp so loud it startles him: "Are you...are you having an affair?"

"What' ?! No, I'm not having an affair," he immediately defends himself, irked you would think something like that.

"Oh my God, you're cheating on me, aren't you?" The crying starts again and you weep on his chest, soiling his favorite redbull shirt with tears and makeup.

"Is she prettier, more beautiful looking than me? You wanna have kids with her and not with me?" you clench your fists on the fabric, heartbroken.

Dammit, why do you have to get like this every month? Max thinks, irritated.

"I'm not having an affair, OK?" he lifts your chin up so he can look you in the eyes. "Stop crying, Now", He requests pissed and you gulp, suddenly holding your breath so you won't make a sound you feel you need air and he watches quite amused at how you struggle to hold your breath, afraid to move. After a few good seconds, you give up and start breathing again.

"I'm not crying anymore, all right?" you kiss him, and since you don't have any tissue, you wipe your nose with your sleeve again and he gropes you,

"I love classy girls; you're so classy princess, " he charges at your cleavage, not being able to control himself anymore.

You snicker, straddling his lap, and just have to say it:

"Maxiiieeee, come on, let's have a baby, or two or three, pleaseeee," you pull his hair and scream when he bites your skin. "Unless you really think I'm ugly," your bottom lip quivers once more, your happiness going downhill as fast as his enthusiasm for the subject.

When he sees the tears rolling down your face he has to get it together with all he's got to muster the words:

"Fine, we'll have a baby," he bitterly mumbles, distressed.

If he can't keep his girl happy, then who will?!

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plutoswritingplanet · 8 months ago

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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)

a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.

Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3

Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.

You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this.

The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling.

Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.

Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren.

The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.

Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair.

Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.

The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes.

Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.

After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to.

The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.

That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death.

He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action.

- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull.

- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly.

You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way. Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher.

- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers.

It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm.

Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.

- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?

By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is.

Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep.

- With courage - he says - and grandiose.

Like a true Matador would.

***

Your bull stands completely still.

His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful.

The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move.

His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps.

Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place.

Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs.

It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.

He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.

Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode.

You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn.

He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you.

- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.

This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner.

The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.

She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would.

Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears.

That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall.

A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face.

Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him.

They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet.

When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat.

Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room.

The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window.

Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger.

One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again.

Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.

- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.

Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more.

For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words.

Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.

Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron.

His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him.

- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move.

And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns.

- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife.

Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.

- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.

To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip.

- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder.

The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently.

- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.

Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps.

He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family.

- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.

The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions.

- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.

- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?

Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain.

You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.

Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger.

Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him.

- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper.

You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand.

This is your arena. This is your bull.

This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap.

Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago.

Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.

Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you.

Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.

Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.

Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.

- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk.

Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics.

- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust.

Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready.

- You'll never get that close.

A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress.

He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time.

- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave.

Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.

Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations.

- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.

- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.

He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes.

It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters.

You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.

This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy.

His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.

- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha-

Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body.

You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost.

His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.

Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over.

The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face.

Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.

Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso.

His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily.

Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end.

It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest.

Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness.

Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.

The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again.

- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you.

You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently.

- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love.

You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it.

He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.

And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need?

#my writing #dune part 2 #dune x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha smut #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x you #dune smut #what a journey my gosh #thank you once again for following the story love y'all

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