#10k words interview | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

whoevenisjavier · 1 month ago

Text

sugar coated, lies unfolded

pairing: CEO harry castillo x exec. assistant f! reader

summary: you try to stay away, to do the right thing, but somehow, you end up back in your boss’ bed... well, your boss and his wife’s bed.

part 1 here

tags/warning: +18, mdni. harry castillo is 48 and married. reader is 25 and has a boyfriend. age gap. cheating. f!reader. partners dissing. oral sex (f! receiving). unprotected piv. anal fingering. she does stuff to him while his wife is on the phone i’m sorry.

w/c: 10k

Someone is talking about the ripple effects of the Forbes cover on New York’s business scene, explaining how the new feature on Harry Castillo will influence decisions made by investors and agents, especially now that Castillo & Co. is expanding operations in Asia.

“It’s an unbelievable feat to be on the cover of Forbes twice in just twenty months,” the public relations manager is saying.

You jot down the word unbelievable on your iPad before the rest of the sentence drowns in flashbacks from the night before, flooding your brain like quicksand made of memories, tastes, and touches.

You shift in your chair, wishing you were anywhere but a conference room at eight-thirty in the morning, and your gaze, though fixed on your tablet screen, starts to blur around the edges.

Between your legs is tender, deliciously sore in all the right ways after being claimed by the thick length of Harry until almost two in the morning, when he finally dropped you off at home.

You didn’t even make it to the bed in his Lenox Hill apartment. You had sex on the white oak floor in the living room, on top of a blanket, desperate, and everything on you is sensitive today.

You slept with your boss. You actually slept with your boss.

God. Harry has such a filthy mouth.

Someone calls your name.

“Do you think he’d want that?”

Your eyes meet those of Harry’s personal PR manager, who has one brow raised. You like her. She’s sharp and direct and doesn’t have time to waste, a trait that’s written all over the look she’s giving you now.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” you admit. “What was the question?”

An impatient sigh.

“I asked if you think Harry would want to talk about his career journey.”

“No,” you say immediately. “He covered that in the last interview, and he’ll kill someone if he has to answer the same questions again.”

The intern to your left scrambles to erase something from her own iPad.

When you leave the meeting, it’s settled that Harry’s next interview will be with Forbes, set to be edited and published on a rush schedule. Now you need to inform him, schedule the interview, send ten thousand emails.

You press the elevator button and wait. When the doors finally open on your floor—Media, Marketing, and Advertising—there are three people inside, and your boss is one of them.

Your first instinct is to stay put, but one of the men is holding the door open for you, and Harry is looking at you with an unreadable expression. Everyone knows the two of you get along well, so you can’t exactly not step in.

“Good morning,” you say as you enter, greeted politely by the other two men. You stop beside Harry, both of you facing forward, side by side. “Good morning, Harry.”

“Morning.”

His tone is polite and to the point, as it always is when other people are around.

The doors close. The elevator screen shows stops on the fifth and seventh floors before heading to the fifteenth, where Harry’s office is. Background music resumes while you focus on breathing mechanically, because even that feels too tense right now.

Is he thinking about how he practically begged to come inside you twice?

The elevator stops. One of the men steps out, exchanging good mornings.

At some point last night, he brought up your boyfriend while he was still inside you, and you wanted to kill him for it, because your body was torn between being turned on by the wrongness of it all and feeling sorry for your partner, who was probably asleep at that hour, completely unaware of how his name was being dragged through the situation. But then the irrational possessiveness bug bit Harry and he made you admit your boyfriend didn’t fuck you nearly as well.

The elevator stops again. The last person exits, leaving just you and Harry in the confined space. The music starts up again.

Harry speaks first.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks quietly, still looking ahead.

“What do…” you start to say, then remember how, toward the end of the night, you told him you were so sensitive between your legs, something Harry then soothed with his own tongue. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“You complained.”

“I made an observation,” you clarify. “Because it’s true. You and my boyfriend are different. And with you, it was hours.”

He says nothing.

“We said we wouldn’t talk about this at work,” you remind him. “Last night didn’t happen.”

The doors open on your floor, and Harry, without addressing your last comment, holds them open for you to exit first. You both begin walking to your respective places — your desk, his office — and you slip back into your executive assistant persona. The one who doesn’t know what his sweaty skin smells like, how his kiss tastes, or the sound of that deep groan when whispered into your ear.

“I need to talk to you about the Forbes interview,” you call after him. “Can we schedule a meeting at three?”

“Yes. Put it on the calendar, please,” he says without slowing down or looking back.

He enters his office and shuts the door behind him, which means: do not disturb.

So you don’t.

You and Harry are good actors. That you gotta admit.

For the next three weeks, nothing happens. He’s your boss, you’re his assistant, and that’s the only dynamic that exists between you. The world keeps spinning. And you don’t get fired, which was a very real possibility in the mental report you filed the morning after that night.

You start arriving earlier so you don’t have to stay late, which means you don’t have to be alone with him. Harry stops sending cryptic messages about his meetings. He also stops emerging from his office when you walk in wearing the red dress he once said he loved.

Three weeks later, on a Friday at four p.m., Harry steps out of his office and walks over to your desk.

You look up from the Excel spreadsheet where you’re logging his personal expenses and ask politely,

“Can I help you, Harry?”

“Are you going to the cocktail party?”

He’s talking about the Castillo & Co. event tomorrow night, celebrating the release of the Forbes issue featuring his new interview.

“Yes, of course. Do you need something?”

“I need you to come with me to the tailor and take the suit to my apartment. I’ve got something at six, won’t have time to go back to my house.”

“Okay. Now?”

“Now.”

You nod, like the good assistant you are, and save the file before shutting down your computer.

In silence, you both head down to the parking garage and slide into the back seat of Harry’s car. His driver is already behind the wheel. Harry immediately crosses one leg over the other, foot bouncing, and pulls out his phone. You turn toward the window as the car leaves the underground lot.

This is the first time you two are in a car together after that night, that had felt so different.

Harry had dismissed the driver, so he was the one behind the wheel. The silence back then was heavy with anticipation, tension, and the electric certainty that something was going to happen. When he stopped at a red light, he leaned across the console to kiss you and slid a hand under your skirt, pressing against you through your underwear in a way that made you feel completely, undeniably his.

You squeeze your thighs together and close your eyes, steadying your breath.

The moment shatters with the sound of your phone. You glance down and see “baby” on the screen — your boyfriend. You’d asked him to call to plan dinner.

Shit. Perfect timing.

“Hey, babe,” you say softly. In your peripheral vision, you catch Harry’s foot stilling. Your boyfriend is cheerful, loud enough that Harry can probably hear every word. He asks if you’re still at the office. “No, I’m heading to the tailor with Harry, then I’ll go straight to your place. Is that okay?”

He says it is. Says he bought a special bottle of wine because the pink label reminded him of you—your favorite color—and the ache in your chest tightens.

“You’re so sweet to me,” you say, and maybe it’s just in your head, but your voice sounds too guilty. He tells you that you deserve it. You don’t know what to say, so you ask, “Do you want me to pick anything up for dinner?”

He says no. Says he just wants one thing from you. You lower your voice.

“What do you want?”

The car is dead silent. Your phone volume is up too high when he says, “I want you on the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but your panties, while I cook.” That’s your assignment, he adds.

You let out an awkward little laugh, praying Harry didn’t catch it.

“Deal,” you say. “See you tonight.”

When you hang up, Harry isn’t on his phone anymore. He’s just staring out the window, unreadable.

You arrive at the tailor and the driver opens your door. Harry joins you on the sidewalk and, for the first time in nearly a month, places a guiding hand at the base of your back as you walk inside. He used to do that all the time, but apparently that kind of touch was banned after what happened between you.

The receptionist greets you and leads you to one of the private fitting rooms. Three of the walls are mirrors and two velvet couches sit in the corner. There’s a tray with water and candied orange peels, and, In the center of it all, is the raised circular platform where Harry usually stands during fittings.

She shows him the suit, neatly arranged on two hangers, and tells him to try it on. Then she leaves, shutting the door behind her.

You head straight for one of the couches, which makes Harry’s hand fall away from your back.

“Want me to wait outside?” you ask, out of habit, as you sit down. You’ve done this a dozen times.

“Nothing you haven’t seen,” he says, pulling off his shoes.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes.

Off comes the blazer, placed on the rack. Then the watch and the cufflinks are dropped into the tray. Then come the buttons—first the sleeves, then the collar, all the way down…

You clear your throat and open your phone, responding to emails, not looking at him.

“So your boyfriend cooks for you,” Harry says casually.

And just like that, you know he heard everything.

Half his chest is exposed. He’s not even looking at you as he untucks his shirt and slides it off, standing shirtless in front of you, wearing only slacks.

“Yeah, he likes to cook.”

“Is it a special occasion?”

“Does it have to be?” you counter, eyes glued to your screen.

“Just asking.”

He unbuttons his pants, and you lock your gaze on your phone.

“Anniversary,” you finally say, which makes you realize that you’ll need new lingerie for tonight.

“What if he proposes again? Will you say yes?”

“Harry,” you say firmly, lifting your gaze now that he’s put on the dress pants. “That’s none of your business. You pay me to manage your life, but that doesn’t mean you get to know everything about mine.”

“I love how passive-aggressive you get when I bring up your relationship. You hate it.”

“I don’t hate my boyfriend.”

“I didn’t say you hate your boyfriend. I said you hate your relationship.”

He starts buttoning the newly fitted shirt, and his tone is so maddeningly casual you feel heat rising in your chest.

“You just want me to hate my relationship so you can feel a little better,” you say, holding your fingers up, barely apart, “just this much better, about the fact that you hate yours too.”

“I don’t need to feel better about it. I know the truth. If we didn’t hate our relationships, we wouldn’t have had sex.”

“We agreed not to talk about it.”

“Oh, that again. Has it helped? Not talking about it has made you think about it any less?”

You lock your phone and set it aside. Adjust yourself on the couch and look directly at him. Your voice stays quiet, but sharp.

“Of course not, but what do you want me to do? I’m in a relationship, you’re married, we have lives, and I need my job. And even if I do think about that night, I can’t do anything about it. So yeah, it’s better to pretend.”

“So you do think about it.”

“If that’s what strokes your ego, then fine, yes. I think about it. There hasn’t been a single damn day since that night that I haven’t remembered it. It haunts me.”

Harry finishes buttoning his shirt, tucks it in, then slips on the blazer. The suit fits like a glove. Every seam perfect, every line flattering.

“I told you I had morals,” Harry says quietly after a beat. “But I put them aside for you. And now, here I am, with none, asking you to keep going.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Keep going what?”

“What started that night in my office. I’m not going to ask you to break up with your boyfriend, and I won’t promise I’ll divorce my wife. I can sign a five-year job security agreement if that’s what it takes to make you feel safe. But I want you.”

“This won’t work.”

“Do you want it?”

What a stupid question. You nearly die a little every day from how much you want him.

But your answer never comes, because the tailor opens the door and walks in, greeting Harry cheerfully.

And now you can’t stop thinking

You think about it as you head to Harry’s apartment to drop off his suit, ignoring the pair of gold hoops on the entryway table that make it painfully obvious he’s a married man. You think about it later, when you go to your boyfriend’s place and undress for him. And even later, in the shower, when you notice the mark he left near your breast while you were having sex.

This has absolutely no chance of ending well, and you’ve never been the kind of person who lets irrational impulses get in the way of your career. But for the first time… you’re tempted.

And the worst part? You can’t tell anyone. Maybe your therapist, but she’ll just say again how unhealthy this dynamic is, and you don’t want to hear that. And you don’t trust her that much with this kind of secret.

You think about it as you get ready for Harry’s cocktail party, aching to see him and hoping for permission to touch him.

Your boyfriend approaches, eyes wide when he sees you in the strapless red gown, and lets out a whistle.

“Are you sure I’m even allowed to be seen with you tonight?” he teases, wrapping his arms around you from behind and kissing your neck. “You look gorgeous. Stunning dress.”

“Harry gave it to me. Well, he gave me the money and his personal shopper bought it,” you say, because there’s no way you could afford a Schiaparelli, and your boyfriend is used to hearing about the things Harry buys you whenever there’s an event.

All so you look presentable as Harry Castillo’s executive assistant, of course.

“Of course he did,” your boyfriend says, rolling his eyes. “Ready?”

When you arrive at Castillo & Co.’s event hall, hand in hand with your boyfriend, you realize that, no, you’re not ready. The decor is tasteful and elegant in shades of fawn, black, and ice white and everyone is in black-tie. At the back of the room, a digital display showcases the Forbes cover. Harry looks amazing in the photo, completely fitting for the role he holds, but the headline reads: From Concrete to the Top of the World.

He must’ve hated that.

“Do we have fancy whiskey?” your boyfriend asks as you start to cross the room. “And shrimp cocktail?”

The questions are rhetorical. Before you can answer, he plants a loud kiss on your lips and heads off toward the food tables. You watch him walk away, wishing he stayed with you, but then a waiter offers you a glass of champagne and you accept. You walk toward the edge of the room, and sip while scanning the space.

People are gathered in polished little clusters, all impeccably dressed and beaming. But there’s a larger group crowded around one person, and the reason is Harry, who’s speaking with ease and commanding the social scene with effortless charm, looking absolutely delicious in a tux.

Your view is partially blocked when his wife appears beside him, placing a hand on his forearm, looking radiant in a white off-shoulder draped gown. Without stopping his sentence or glancing her way, Harry slips an arm around her waist.

She seems to glow under his touch. You understand the feeling, despite the hundred-pound weight settling in your stomach.

How ridiculous, to feel jealous of the wife. You are the wrong one, not her. And how twisted is it that, beneath the jealousy, there’s a flicker of satisfaction because Harry wants you, not just her?

Harry laughs at something one of the men says. He scans the room briefly, and that’s when he sees you. Your stomach twists, and nearly melts, when his eyes sweep over you from head to toe, so subtly that no one else would notice.

Smoothly, he turns back to the conversation, as if his attention had never strayed.

Your own attention is pulled back by your boyfriend returning.

“There’s so much food,” he says, his excitement making you laugh. He laughs too, but insists, “Seriously. It’s insane. Have you eaten?”

You shake your head, and he grabs your hand, guiding you toward the buffet tables. There are a million options, and you let yourself get distracted by them so you don’t start looking for Harry, which doesn’t work, because ten minutes later, he’s the one who finds you.

His wife is with him.

“Darling,” she says, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “That dress is stunning. It’s Schiaparelli, isn’t it?”

“It is,” you reply, and she keeps looking at you like she’s waiting for an explanation. You add, “A loan from Harry, so I wouldn’t embarrass him.”

“It’s not a loan. It’s yours,” Harry says, leaning in to greet you with a kiss on the cheek. His smell, what the fuck. He extends a hand to your boyfriend. “So you’re the boyfriend.”

“So you’re the boss,” your boyfriend jokes as they shake hands. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Castillo.”

“Likewise,” Harry says, though the tone is anything but warm. Then to you: “My PR rep asked for a few photos of us. Can you do that now?”

“Sure,” you reply, accepting his offered arm.

Harry kisses his wife lightly and says he’ll be right back. You do the same with your boyfriend. Together, you walk toward the PR team, and once you’re far enough from the crowd, Harry speaks, eyes still forward.

“Have you thought about it?”

“Do I have a deadline?”

“So you’re considering it.”

That shuts you up. Yes, you are considering it.

“If we were to do this,” you murmur to Harry, smiling politely at one of his business partners entering your field of vision, who’s always courteous to you, “I’d want that job security agreement.”

“I’ll call my lawyer right now and have him draft the contract.”

The conversation pauses as you reach Harry’s publicist—a tall man who always wears eccentric suits, whether because of the patterns or the bold colors. Tonight, he’s in blood-red with round glasses and greets you with a giant smile.

“Stunning,” he says, kissing both of your cheeks. “What an honor for Harry to be seen with such a beautiful woman.”

You shoot him a look.

“Besides Mrs. Castillo, of course!” he adds quickly, and you decide not to check your boss’s face. “Shall we?”

You and Harry pose in front of a wide LED panel bearing the Castillo Construction & Co. logo. He places a hand on your waist without a hint of a smile, and you fall into your executive posture: back straight, polite, demure smile.

Photos are taken with instructions from both the photographer and the publicist. When it’s over, but before you and Harry can step apart, he leans in, under the guise of a polite hug, and whispers in your ear:

“She’s traveling for work tonight. If the answer is yes, you know where I live.”

Then he disappears into the sea of people who can’t wait to be near him.

By sheer luck, you don’t see Harry again during the next two hours you remain at the cocktail party. Your boyfriend indulges in the expensive whiskey, and you sip two more glasses of champagne, but there’s an anticipation humming beneath everything you do, like something is lurking.

Like the night won’t end at your home, in your bed, with your boyfriend.

You leave around nine, and you practically have to guide your boyfriend into the Uber waiting at the curb. He’s nearly unconscious on the ride back to his apartment, just awake enough to walk on his own. You help him inside, stay with him while he showers, and then watch over him as he collapses into bed.

A glass of water and two aspirins on the nightstand. A kiss on the forehead. And then he’s snoring, totally out.

You close the door gently behind you and, leaning your back against it, pick up your phone.

You open your chat with Harry. The last message is a simple “ok” you sent after he asked to reschedule a meeting.

There’s no telling how long you stand there, staring at the screen and imagining a thousand different scenarios, but when you finally type something, it’s:

“Let the front desk know I’m cleared to come up.”

Because even though your name is on the list of people with access to his apartment, the building has strict policies about non-residents after 8 p.m.

Harry replies ten minutes later:

“Done.”

The doorman, an older gentleman who’s always polite, greets you as always: with a gentle tone, a compliment (this time about your dress), and a polite question about whether Harry’s being a decent boss. But you catch the slight wrinkle between his brows, the subtle confusion in his smile. It says: What the hell are you doing here at this hour?

You see the same look from the security guards, and from the person at the front desk. But you lift your chin, square your shoulders, and pretend your reason for being here is purely professional.

You build a whole story in your mind as you walk across the marble lobby, your heels clicking with each step, just to make it easier to face. Harry needs a report for Monday morning, and he’s paying you overtime for it, but the source documents are physical, and he can’t scan them.

He took them home because he planned to work on them tonight, but the cocktail party took over his evening.

You step into the elevator and enter the code for Harry’s apartment.

And he remembered the report at the event, of course he did, because the partner he’s meeting on Monday mentioned looking forward to the negotiations. So you, ever the good employee, offered to stop by and grab the documents.

The elevator doors close, taking you toward the penthouse duplex, and you shut your eyes, erasing the fake narrative.

Now, it’s just you and your conscience.

There’s no report. No meeting. No overtime. Now it’s just Harry and you, both willingly choosing to do this and hurt your partners in exchange for nothing more than physical satisfaction.

The doors open into the private foyer of the penthouse, warmly lit and lined with framed art. Harry is standing in the doorway of the apartment, barefoot, blazer gone, bowtie undone and hanging loose at his collar.

You take one step forward, leaving the elevator.

“How was the rest of the party?” you ask, trying to sound casual through your nerves.

“Good. They liked the feature.”

You stop a few feet away, feeling his eyes on you. You twist your clutch in your hands.

“We left early because she had to catch the flight,” Harry adds, answering the question you hadn’t asked. “Want to come in? I think I still have some champagne.”

You nod, agreeing, and step inside as Harry closes the door behind you. The long hallway leading into the living room, all decorated in earth tones and golden light, greets you like a witness.

“There are some things I’m assuming based on the fact that you’re here,” Harry says behind you. You turn to face him. “But obviously, I need you to say it.”

“I don’t know if I can say it out loud.”

He watches you for a beat, reading your face.

“Morals?”

“It’s called having a heart.”

He smiles, and it’s far too sensual for the subject at hand.

“Speaking of hearts… what excuse did you give your boyfriend?”

He walks past you, heading down the hallway, and you follow. The two of you move into the living room, and you settle onto the couch, watching as Harry disappears for a few seconds and reemerges with an unopened bottle of Bollinger and two flutes in his hands. He sits beside you, and within moments, the bottle is open and champagne is flowing into both glasses.

You slip off your heels. Harry tosses his bow tie onto the coffee table. And only after you’ve taken your first sip of champagne do you finally answer.

“I didn’t need an excuse. He was asleep,” you say, referring to your boyfriend. “I think he had a lot of whiskey.”

“That’s a shame. He could’ve spent the night with you, but he chose to drink,” Harry replies, settling in beside you as he clicks his tongue. “Rookie mistake.”

“You think it’s exciting to sleep with me because it only happened once and it’s forbidden. After three years, he doesn’t think like that anymore.”

“There isn’t a universe where I don’t find having you in my bed exciting.”

That makes you blink slowly at him, then at the ring on his finger, while the champagne tastes suddenly bitter on your tongue.

He notices where your eyes have landed.

“Does it bother you?” he asks, gesturing to the ring.

You don’t even need to think, which probably bumps you up twenty points on the I’m-A-Terrible-Person scale.

“No,” you say, because it’s true. “Did you feel guilty?”

“Tonight?” you nod, and he draws in a long breath. He seems to test a million possible words before landing on: “No. I didn’t. I was angry at your boyfriend, and then I felt like an asshole for that.”

When you don’t respond, Harry throws the question back at you.

“Did you?”

You take another sip of champagne, gaze fixed on the massive TV mounted across from the sofa.

“I wish I had. It would be easier to deal with all this if I felt guilty.”

Harry reaches over and takes a lock of your hair that had fallen over your chest, twirling it around his finger before brushing it over your shoulder. He does the same with the others, gently moving each strand behind you, letting it fall down your back.

Before anything else, he places his glass on the coffee table beside the bottle and settles into the cushions.

“Come here.”

The way he pulls you brings your body into his, with your back partially resting against his chest and your legs tucked beneath you.

“I usually have answers for everything,” Harry says. “But for this? I don’t.”

You tilt your head just enough to hear the rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your ear, and you intertwine your fingers with his. His arm rests over your right shoulder.

“It’s okay… I don’t need comfort. I’m here because I want to be.”

Harry makes a low sound, like agreement, and presses his hand flat against your chest. He can probably feel the same quick heartbeat under his palm.

He changes the subject because that’s the smarter choice.

“You look beautiful in that dress,” he says near your ear, his voice more intimate now, more private. You close your eyes and savor the sound like it’s dessert. “Everyone was looking at you and envying your boyfriend.”

His hand drifts lower, cupping your breast over the smooth silk of your gown, his touch feather-light. Your skin prickles.

“But I’m the one they should envy, right?” Harry keeps whispering. The dress has a slit that’s just wide enough for him to slip his hand underneath and cup your breast. “I was trying to think of a way to make that obvious.”

“That you’re cheating on your wife with me?”

His soft thumb finds your hardened nipple, and a wave of heat rolls between your legs as he circles it.

“That I got what all those wide-eyed bastards wanted.”

“You’re awfully possessive for someone who’s the other man.”

He laughs, and you feel it more than you hear it, the vibration under your cheek against his chest. You smile, and the smile stays as Harry reaches for the small zipper on the side of your dress and slowly, slowly pulls it down.

The fabric loosens with each inch the zipper drops, and you’re the one who slides the top of the dress down to your waist, exposing your breasts. His hands cover them one at a time, squeezing gently, and you push them toward his palms.

Soon, it’s his mouth on your neck, lips parted over your sensitive skin. You have to tighten your grip around the champagne flute just to keep from dropping it as Harry kisses and bites your neck, his beard scraping and tickling in a way that leaves your whole body weak.

“Turn around and kiss me,” he says, taking the glass from your hand and placing it on the coffee table.

When he leans back into the couch again, you kneel on the seat beside him, just like that first night in his office, and meet his mouth. Harry holds your face with both hands but lets you set the pace, following your movements. And you devour it, because you’ve thought about this too much. His kiss, his taste, the way he leads without ever needing to be rough.

Your mouths part wider, undoing all the restraint that’s built up over the last three weeks. Harry slides one hand down to finish unzipping the dress completely and pushes it off your hips, leaving you in nothing but panties.

You’ve barely thrown the dress to the floor before his hand is already inside your underwear, and your knees weaken. He finds the slickness there and mutters a curse under his breath before sitting up straighter to get a better angle as he rubs slow circles over your clit.

The blood is pounding so hard in your ears that you barely register the phone ringing.

Both of you freeze, breaths and hearts racing. You meet Harry’s gaze, seeking some sort of shelter in it, and he looks back at you, lips red, before glancing toward the coffee table.

Before he can move, you kiss him again. Screw the phone. Harry immediately sinks back into the kiss, and the middle finger still inside your panties traces slowly from your clit down to your dripping entrance. It doesn’t take long before he slips it inside, and you swing a leg over his lap, settling into him.

The phone stops ringing.

Harry moves slowly, probably remembering how sensitive you were last time. He takes his time with just one finger, working you open, making you wetter. Your clit is practically throbbing, and he starts to speak—

—but the words are swallowed up by the phone ring again.

“Fuck’s sake,” Harry mutters, clearly annoyed, pulling his hand from your panties and gripping your waist. With you still in his lap, he leans forward and grabs the phone. You feel his whole body tense beneath you when he sees the screen.

“What is it?” you ask.

“My wife,” he says.

You want to be a bitch and tell him not to answer, to hang up, but you can’t. Even though you know he might actually listen if you said it.

“Answer. It could be important.”

Harry squeezes your waist as you try to move off his lap.

“Stay,” he says, and clears his throat before answering. “Hi, darling. Everything okay?”

“Hey, babe. Why didn’t you pick up the first time?”

You can hear her voice clearly because she’s speaking loudly and because of how close the two of you are, but you stay quiet and still, as if moving might somehow make her see you.

The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly.

“Sorry. I was on a video call with some investors in Japan. I didn’t see the phone ring.”

You keep your eyes on his as your hand reaches the button on his pants. You undo it silently, then ease the zipper down.

Harry doesn’t stop you.

“I’m at the airport,” his wife is saying. “I upgraded to business class, but for some reason they need you to authorize the purchase on your bank app.”

“That’s strange. They’ve never needed confirmation before.”

With the zipper all the way down, you slide your hand into his underwear and pull out his hard cock. Your mouth practically waters.

“I said the same thing!” she laughs. “I think I’m just going to cancel and try using my own card… Not the joint account.”

Harry opens his mouth to answer, but it’s exactly when you lick your hand and wrap it around him. His jaw tightens and his eyes flutter shut. He pulls the phone away from his face to suck in a sharp breath.

“Harry?”

“I can authorize it from here,” he says into the phone, eyes glancing down to follow the motion of your hand. “Up to you.”

“Hmm… no worries, I’ll just use mine.” A pause. “My flight boards in thirty minutes and you know what I can’t stop thinking about?”

“What?”

You remove your hand from his cock only to quietly slip out of your panties. His gaze drops, devouring the space between your legs, and you sit back down on his thigh, not caring in the slightest if you leave a wet mark on his pants.

She says,

“The way you fingered me in the car after the party.”

Your hands freeze. You raise an eyebrow at Harry, and he gives you a small, crooked smile before replying to his wife,

“You liked that?”

“Mhm. Too bad I couldn’t make you come, too.”

You narrow your eyes and squirm with jealousy. You tighten your grip and focus on the swollen tip. Harry tries to stop you, but you challenge him and keep going, watching his expression break. You want her to hear.

“I didn’t need to,” he manages to say. “That was for you.”

Harry moves the phone away completely, whispering a curse just as her voice returns on the other end.

“But I miss sleeping with you.” Her tone is overly sweet, but there’s a hint of real sadness buried beneath it.

The smile that threatens to curl your lips is cruel and selfish, and you don’t dig too deep into what it means. Probably something about how you’re about to have what she wants. Which is awfully childish, you know that.

But part of you feels for her. That’s what you think as you lift yourself onto your knees, placing one over Harry’s thigh to get the angle right, and guide his erection to the slick heat between your legs.

You’d feel that way, too, if you were married to a man like Harry and he didn’t want you.

Harry leans his head back on the couch, avoiding your eyes. He stares at the ceiling, the knuckles of the hand holding the phone pale and strained.

“Sorry. A lot on my mind,” he says, just as you sink down on him.

His chest tightens in a heavy breath. His free hand clutches your hip, his thighs tense beneath you, a vein in his neck practically pulsing. He’s a vision of self-restraint, and you revel in it, grinding down onto him and biting your lip hard enough to nearly break skin just to keep quiet.

“I get it,” she says. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Darling, I need—”

“Promise me we’ll try harder.”

You lean forward as he stretches you, kissing the side of his damp neck while your fingers work on the buttons of his shirt, your tongue tracing the line of that vein. He shudders.

“I promise,” Harry says, his nails digging into your waist as you begin to rock in his lap, moaning against his skin. “I… I really need to go. Have to finish some documents. But text me when you land, okay?”

You don’t even register their goodbye. All you know is that Harry practically throws his phone onto the coffee table.

“Brat,” he mutters against your mouth as he pulls your hair, tugging off his shirt in one fluid motion. “Can’t believe the phone didn’t pick up the sound of this wet pussy.”

“Lucky you,” you say. “So Harry Castillo isn’t fucking his wife? What a shame.”

He tightens his grip around you and stands, pulling a gasp from your mouth as he slips out of you.

“You’re too old to be lifting like that,” you say, even as your thighs wrap around his hips. “Your physical therapist’s gonna be rich.”

“And you still want this old man?”

You nod, and Harry gives a smug little smile. Men are so easy to please.

He carries you through the hallway into the master bedroom. Your wide-eyed gaze meets his a moment before he sets you down on the enormous, messy bed. One glance to the side and you see the open door of his wife’s closet, purses and heels in view, just before Harry flips you onto your stomach and raises your hips.

You brace on your elbows, spine arching.

Two pillows rest at the head of the bed. One nightstand holds a book, a pair of glasses, and a man’s watch. The other has hand cream, a gold bracelet, a bottle of vitamins, and a pink hair clip.

It’s literally the most intimate part of a couple’s life, and this bedroom embodies that, exactly why you used to think, and agree, it was a line not to be crossed. But not for Harry, apparently, who climbs onto the bed behind you and slides into you again.

Your head drops forward, blocking your vision, fingers clutching the sheets as he sinks in fully.

Harry leans over your back, his fingers finding your pulsing clit, stroking in slow circles that make your whole body melt.

“Harry—”

“Come on my cock and I’ll fuck you.”

You writhe beneath him as his fingers move faster, smaller, tighter circles. You roll your hips forward and back in short, needy thrusts, just enough friction to push you toward the edge.

Your mouth dries, eyes squeezing shut as the tension coils in your belly. When Harry switches to horizontal strokes, rubbing directly across your clit, you come so hard it borders on painful, then dissolves into something warm and all-consuming, like being lowered into a hot bath.

“Just like that,” he whispers against your moans, slowing his movements so you can ride out every last wave. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

You nod, even though your ears are still buzzing. You nearly miss the weight of his body when he pulls back, but then one hand presses between your shoulder blades and the other grabs your hip, and he starts to thrust.

It’s almost too much. You’re still sensitive, your clit sparking with each slap of his balls, but it’s so good. You hear his grunts, low and rough, and you spread your knees wider, gripping the sheets. Your eyes land on his wife’s nightstand at the same moment Harry says,

“This what you wanted? Climbing on top of me while I was on the phone? Almost making me lose it?”

You nod. Harry pulls your left leg, then your right, laying you flat. He lies on top of you, keeping your legs tight between his, and thrusts again.

“Say it out loud.”

He kisses your neck, brushing your hair away. Your skin tingles.

“For a second, I wanted her to hear,” you admit, grateful you’re not facing him.

Harry breathes against your temple.

“Yeah?”

“I wanted her to know that what she wants…” You can’t finish before he speeds up, and you have to grit your teeth. With your legs squeezed together, every thrust hits deeper. “You’re giving it to me. And you’re so, so hard for me…”

There. You said it. This time, you break the rule about not talking about the others. And you can’t regret it, not when Harry wraps a hand around your throat, bites your shoulder, and fucks you, the slap of skin clashing with the wet sounds of his cock inside you, again and again, until he growls a curse.

He pulls out and flips you onto your back. Harry climbs over you, stroking himself, eyes roving over your body—your breasts, the space between your thighs. You touch yourself too, unable not to, watching his face tighten as he gets close.

And when he comes, it’s on your belly, whispering your name as the hot ropes of cum cover your skin.

“Open your legs,” he says, voice hoarse and skin sweaty. You fold your knees and spread your thighs. “You’re already close again… Look how you’re throbbing.”

This time it’s the tip of his cock that presses against your swollen clit, massaging it, smearing his cum across your skin as he strokes. His softening head glides over you in slow, steady movements. With his free hand, Harry uses his fingers to open you wider, and when he finds the exact spot again, he presses.

Your next orgasm isn’t as explosive as the first, but just as overwhelming. When it hits, you can’t take anymore. You clamp your legs shut and push his hand away.

He gets it. He lies down beside you, pulls you into his arms, and holds you while you catch your breath.

As your senses return, you notice the only light in the room is coming from the open closet. The bedroom is softly decorated, the sheets far too luxurious to have been chosen by a man, even one like Harry Castillo.

“Why did we have sex in here?” you ask.

“Hm?”

“You must have ten guest rooms in this penthouse. Why this one?”

He stays silent, stroking your back.

“Because doing something wrong turns you on?” you ask, turning to look at him. Harry meets your eyes, saying nothing, and his hand goes still on your ribs. “I get it. I think I got wetter when I realized where you brought me.”

Before he can reply, you ask,

“Will you think of me when you’re here with her?”

“I already do,” he says. “The difference is now I’ll have memories. Not just imagination.”

You lean in to kiss him, and Harry welcomes it.

Even so, the two of you sleep in the guest bedroom, because you don’t want to use her pillow or wrap yourself in the same sheets she does.

Harry takes you to the end of the hallway, into a room that seems like it’s never been used, even though the sheets smell like fabric softener.

The bed is bigger than yours, and after a quick shower, the two of you tangle up together, naked, beneath the covers. It’s the first time you’re actually about to fall asleep with him, and he behaves exactly as you expected: he wraps himself around you, throws a leg over yours, and presses you tightly to his body. You’re surrounded by Harry—in your skin, in your sweat, in the sheets, in the house, in the scent that wraps around you.

And just like that, sleep comes easy.

Maybe it’s the unfamiliar space, or the furnace that is Harry’s body, or the emotional chaos, but you wake up in the middle of the night.

He’s completely asleep, his legs trapping yours, and you try to fall back asleep for a few more minutes, but it doesn’t work. Slowly, you untangle yourself from his body and tiptoe out of the room to get your phone, which you’d left in your bag on the coffee table.

You sit on the couch to check for any unread messages, but the moment makes you feel exposed. The champagne bottle and flutes still sitting there give you a headache. You lower the brightness on your phone and go back to the guest room.

Harry hasn’t moved.

There’s a small loveseat by the window, and you curl up there, turning your phone screen back on. The first unread message is from your boyfriend, sent about an hour ago. He’s thanking you for taking care of him. Says you should’ve stayed at his place so he could wake you up with breakfast.

You deserve it for looking after me, he writes and you let out a humorless laugh, because you definitely don’t deserve anything.

There’s a message from your mom, a photo of her, and a few from your friends who saw your picture with Harry on Forbes’s Instagram. You click the link, and it takes you to the post.

Harry Castillo, CEO of Castillo Construction & Co., and his executive assistant, is the caption.

You both look good. You make a striking image.

Harry’s sleepy voice pulls your attention back.

“Can’t sleep?”

He’s rubbing his eyes, propped up on one elbow to look at you.

“Think it’s just the unfamiliar bed. I can’t fall back asleep.”

“That really all it is?”

You chew on your bottom lip, hugging your knees and resting your chin on them after leaving your phone aside. Even though you’re completely naked, you don’t feel uncomfortable around Harry, which is saying something.

“What now?” you ask instead, feeling sorry for him, seeing as he just woke up and is being struck with this emotional turbulence. “Are we something?”

“That was the proposal.”

“We’re gonna have to get really good at lying. You know that, right? At some point, ‘I need to stay late at the office’ won’t cut it anymore.” A headache pulses at your temples. You laugh. “This is crazy.”

“What is?”

“When I started working at the office, I was obsessed with you. I practically drooled when you walked by, watched all your interviews, melted whenever you talked to me. And then you got married, so I made it a point to find someone, or anyone, to date, just to get you out of my system.”

Harry looks at you in a way you don’t like.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I’m not some virgin girl doing this because I’m in love. You fuck me well, and I like it. That’s all.”

Harry gets out of bed and grabs a pillow. He walks over to you and, without a word, places it on the floor in front of the chair. Then he kneels, and you fall silent at the sight of Harry Castillo on his knees before you, his hair tousled from sleep.

He lifts your left ankle, holding your leg halfway out to kiss from your ankle to your knee, taking his time. The moonlight from outside casts a soft glow over his profile.

You watch, heart pounding.

“I remember your first day at work,” Harry murmurs, sleep-rough voice breaking the silence as he parts his lips to kiss the inside of your thigh. Your stomach twists with nerves and anticipation. “You were wearing a white dress. Your hair was tied up. And you widened your eyes at everyone who came near, like a damn deer.”

Your own eyes are probably wide now as he rests your right leg on his shoulder, stretching your left again to repeat the same trail of kisses. You grip the edge of the seat.

He remembers what you wore your first day, four years ago.

“You came into my office,” he continues, and lifts your left leg to join the other on his shoulders, his face now nestled between your thighs as he places open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Asked if I needed help with anything specific, and when I told you to sit beside me so I could show you how to open my encrypted report, you tripped over the edge of the rug. In that exact moment, I wanted you.”

He says the last words right before he opens his mouth over your pussy, the heat of his breath making you arch into the chair and clutch his hair.

He looks up at you, mouth still busy, and God… if you could capture a single moment in a photo, it would be this.

You slide your legs off his shoulders just to grab his face and pull him up so you can kiss him. Harry kisses back eagerly, and there’s nothing tender about the way he licks into your mouth. There’s nothing tender about the way he breaks the kiss either just to place your legs back over his shoulders and bury his face between them again. One hand presses down on your lower belly to keep you in place as his mouth seals around your clit and starts to suck.

You hold his face with both hands, pressing him harder against you, watching him, watching the way his cock hardens just from tasting you.

“So good,” you whisper, your fingers on his jaw. “You have no idea how good it feels to have Harry Castillo on his knees for me.”

He doesn’t pull away, but you swear, if he could, he’d be smiling.

What he does instead is lower his mouth until his tongue is inside you. Your eyes flutter closed. Moans echo in the room, along with the wet sounds of his mouth, and you lose yourself in all of it, until his thumb slides inside you. But just as quickly, it leaves, and instead, glides down.

You open your eyes with a jolt just in time to see Harry sucking your clit while his thumb starts circling your other entrance.

It’s different. Strange. Not unpleasant.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks, likely meaning anal.

You shake your head.

“Well, look at that,” Harry says, overly pleased, rubbing in slow circles. “So, in a way, you’re still a virgin. Can I?”

There are very few things you wouldn’t give Harry if he asked.

“Just the finger. Just one. Slowly.”

“Always, baby.”

And he goes slowly.

He waits until you’re melting under his tongue, licking his thumb before returning it to your tight rim and gently pushing in the tip. It doesn’t hurt—not with just the tip—but it’s unlike anything you’ve done, something you never even tried with your boyfriend, even though he asked.

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” Harry whispers. “Breathe. Let me in.”

You don’t know how much time passes before your breathing calms and something in you releases. You feel safer.

Harry plunges his tongue into your pussy and brings his other thumb to your clit, and you’re surrounded by him in every possible way when, slowly, he slips his lubricated thumb into your ass, pulling a deep moan from your chest. The build-up of sensitivity throughout the night, paired with the newness of it all, crashes into you, and you come in his mouth, pulsing around his fingers in both places.

He doesn’t stop, even when you try to push him away and close your legs. Harry keeps sucking your clit harder, and you shake beneath him, overstimulated. He brings you to the edge again with his mouth and hands, and just as you’re about to fall, he stops and tells you to ride him.

You do, on the floor of the guest room. Apparently, you two have a thing for sex on the floor, because it’s rawer, messier, heavier with tension. You kiss the whole time, grabbing at whatever part of him you can reach, and the two of you come together.

Harry, inside you.

You, wrapped around him.

Hardly a word between you.

The next morning, Harry drives you home in his car, without a driver.

You’re wearing one of his T-shirts over your dress, your hair still wet and your face free of makeup, and you probably look ridiculous. A charitable act from the CEO of CCC.

The good news is that the street is empty. It’s still nine a.m. on a Sunday, so there are fewer witnesses to your disastrous state. A few brave souls pass by in running clothes, others look like they rolled out of bed five seconds ago, forced outside by the physiological needs of the small dogs following on their leashes.

Harry parks in front of your building and turns off the engine.

“Too cliché if I thank you for the night?” he asks, leaning back in his seat.

“I’m not going to thank you for the orgasms, because yes, I think that’s cliché, but” you raise your index finger, watching the smug smile take over his face. “solid performance for a senior citizen. Forbes would love to know about the five orgasms.”

“Six,” he corrects, ignoring the comment about the ‘senior citizen.’ “Two this morning. One in bed and one in the shower.”

Oh, right.

“Six,” you agree. “High performance, Mr. Castillo.”

“Glad you approve,” he says. “I suppose I can’t kiss you here.”

You shake your head.

“Not here.” You exchange one last look, entirely charged. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Harry says, and you force yourself to open the passenger door. You place one foot out of the car, but before you can get out, Harry places his palm on the back of your neck and makes you look at him.

“Thank you for tonight and for accepting my proposal.”

You turn just enough to place a kiss on Harry’s wrist and get out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

When you turn toward your building’s entrance, you find another gaze on you.

That gaze runs over you from head to toe, taking in the clothes from the night before, the wet hair, the bare face, and then shifts to Harry’s Mercedes.

A freezing terror takes hold of your entire body, paralyzing you where you stand.

And then your boyfriend’s cold eyes meet yours.

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fanfiction #god if karma really exists i’m fucked #mine

2K notes · View notes

jungwnies · 1 month ago

Text

f1 grid | dts moments

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by anon) : how they would react if you were featured on drive to survive with them

୨ৎ : word count : 1070

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : these headcanons have become one of my favorite things to do in my free-time ugh i just love how simple they are but so real >.<

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

tries to act chill but lowkey watches your interview segments like they’re race replays

gets very territorial when they show another driver being even remotely flirty

“why are they zooming in on your face like that?”

begrudgingly admits you looked hot in the paddock footage

pretends not to care but checks your social media comments at midnight

yuki tsunoda

instantly comfortable with cameras; pulls you into frame constantly

brings you snacks during confessionals like "babe, tell them about baku!"

swears once and it ends up in the final cut — becomes iconic

pokes fun at your “serious face” in interviews

wants joint merch after your segment goes viral

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

preps you beforehand like it's a media training boot camp

wears matching outfits on purpose so fans “know you’re his”

gets adorably flustered when you’re shown hyping him up on the pit wall

gives the producers a “we’re a great team” quote with heart eyes

proud boyfriend mode activated when you’re trending

kimi antonelli

pretends he hates it but secretly gets smug seeing you support him

“whatever, just don’t say anything embarrassing” (blushes when you do)

gets a little shy in couple shots but stands close the entire time

whispering jokes in italian while cameras roll = your shared love language

starts calling you “netflix star” to mess with you

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

camera loves you two — like, full soft-focus couple montages

gives your hand little squeezes when they film to calm his nerves

talks about you once and social media explodes

gets a bit pouty when your fanbase rivals his

looks at you like you hung the moon during your confessionals

lewis hamilton

total professional but insists they showcase your advocacy/work too

“if she’s going to be in it, show the full picture”

takes you to glitzy events and makes sure netflix captures the glam

wraps you in his arm during chaotic press moments

posts a soft pic the day your episode drops — “my peace 💫”

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

encourages you to be chaotic on camera with him flirts with you mid-interview just to see if they’ll air it “they’re gonna cut this, but i love you, btw” fans call you the mclaren power couple and he lives for it insists on watching the episode premiere together — popcorn, blanket, the works

oscar piastri

tries to act like it’s no big deal, but gets bashful when they show you laughing at his jokes

his dry humor + your reactions = editing gold

“this is oscar’s girlfriend—” cut to you roasting him for his socks

won’t admit it, but checks reddit reactions

keeps a screenshot of your joint confessional like a proud boyfriend

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

entire segment is him being smug while you keep him grounded

“you see her? smartest thing i ever did.”

glares at the camera crew if they cut away from you too fast

gives a mic-drop quote about love and competition

ends up soft-launching your anniversary mid-season

lance stroll

doesn’t like talking about his private life but lets you be front and center

smiles more when you're around and fans notice

will 100% take you biking in the mountains and let netflix follow

looks at you in the background of shots like you hung the stars

accidentally gives a whole monologue about how much he values your support

ʚ・williams

alex albon

teases you nonstop on camera — “she’s the boss, really”

holds your hand under the table in interviews

your fashion gets its own b-roll montage

lowkey lives for the fan edits of your scenes

netflix producers love him for giving the perfect blend of silly + sweet

carlos sainz

makes sure you're filmed doing something elegant, like wine-tasting

drops a smooth line in spanish that leaves fans feral

secretly coaches you on how to pose for the camera

talks about “balance” and then gives you all the credit

gets a little smug when fans say you outshone everyone

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

nervous at first but relaxes when you make a joke on camera

accidentally goes viral for blushing when you kiss his cheek

shows you around like it’s your paddock too

netflix makes him the golden retriever boyfriend of the season

proudly brags about how smart and grounded you are

esteban ocon

calm and composed until they film you cheering for him

gets a little camera shy if you say anything affectionate

holds doors for you like a gentleman every time the crew follows

talks about your support like it’s his secret weapon

fans swoon when they see how gentle he is with you

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

makes goofy faces at you between takes

lets you sit in the garage while he does interviews

producers catch him mouthing “love you” before a race

shares snacks with you during down time, says it’s “team bonding”

viewers call you the surprise fan-favorite couple

isack hadjar

completely chill until they start asking about you

“oh, her? she’s everything” — cue flustered look

lets you borrow his team jacket on camera

posts a behind-the-scenes photo of your filming day together

doesn’t realize he smiled the entire time you were interviewed

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

total flirt — smirks at the camera when you're near

refers to you as “my sunshine” and the internet implodes

pushes for a date night scene to make things spicy

winks at you during press and fans catch it

still gets butterflies when you walk into the paddock

jack doohan

gets super shy at first but grows more confident with you around

you’re the reason he’s smiling during every talking head

talks about you like you’re his whole world

shows you off in the most lowkey, sincere way

gets adorably pouty if they don’t include enough of you

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

veteran energy — teases you and the netflix crew

“why don’t you interview her? she’s the interesting one.”

always makes sure you have a headset during quali

gives a rare soft moment when talking about how far you’ve come together

keeps you close during chaotic scenes — protective without saying much

gabriel bortoleto

baby driver energy — gets giggly when you're around

tries to act cool but full-on blushes when you wave at him

you jokingly call him “netflix’s golden boy” and he never lives it down

will drop everything to fix your hair or mic

ends up being everyone's new favorite young couple

2K notes · View notes

mochacoda · 6 months ago

Text

too nice | hjs

Pairing: Hong Joshua x GN!Reader

Synopsis: Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.

Content: Fluff | Coworkers to Lovers, Neighbors to Lovers | Office AU

Tags: slightly insecure reader, totally inspired by the youngji chocolate milk grandchildren interview, lots of elevators, lots of tension, a bit of drinking, mutual pining, "sweetheart" as a petname, gentleman agenda indeed, except he goes a bit mad at the end, seungkwan is a comedic genius, woozi is the wingman of the year, konglish w/ context clues, reader is scared of loud noises, no "y/n," loosely connected to python (seungcheol)

Word Count: 10K

────୨ৎ──── Monday

Joshua Hong is nice. Really nice. He opens the door for you every morning walking into work. He insists that he carries heavy file boxes from your boss’ office to your desk. He buys you coffee from the cafe down the street, knowing that the instant machine is almost always broken. Whenever he passes you in the hallway, he always smiles and mouths “fighting!” He notices when your enthusiastic mask slips and your tiredness peaks through. He tells you not to work so hard, and asks if you’ve been sleeping well.

He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special.

But the answer is, no.

“He’s just like that. He’s nice to everyone. Get a grip.”

You sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror hanging above your vanity. You’ve been absentmindedly rubbing moisturizer on your cheeks for the last three minutes, at least, thinking about your coworker. How have you gotten to the point of talking to yourself in attempts to rationalize the thoughts of him clouding your mind?

All of a sudden, your alarm rings. You jolt upright, reminded that you have to leave your tiny apartment and head over to your equally small office cubicle.

You quickly stand up from your vanity chair, then walk over to your closet to grab a jacket. Relying on muscle memory, your hand moves toward the hook it always lies on, only to swipe at air.

The one and only winter coat you own isn’t there.

You groan, remembering that you’d put it in the laundry bin after staining it with beer over the weekend, at that disastrous company “bonding” event. You look down at the taupe sweater you’re wearing, pinching the material to guess if it’d be warm enough. It’s barely a centimeter of fabric.

Glancing at the time on your phone, you decide that the thin sweater would just have to do.

You turn back to the mirror to do one last check of your appearance, when something catches your eye. Sitting on your bedside table is the plushie Joshua had won for you at the arcade. The bunny stares back at you innocently. You’d placed it there last night before crashing out on your bed, fatigued from the chaos of the company outing—or, more specifically, the secondhand embarrassment recalling your attempts at trying to be normal around Joshua.

You shake your head roughly. You could cringe at yourself on the way to work. Grabbing your work bag and shoving your shoes on, you rush over to the door.

Squaring your shoulders, you open it and walk out. And for a moment, as you’re turning your key to lock the door, you think that you’ll be alone for the commute to work for once.

But then you hear a familiar voice.

“Good morning!”

You tense, heart beginning to race, then turn around with a weak smile.

“Hi, Joshua.”

Somehow, you’re not only coworkers with your crush, but also next door neighbors.

“Hey,” he says, then takes a sharp breath. “It’s pretty cold today. Is that sweater going to be warm enough?”

“I’ll be fine,” you say, avoiding eye contact as you drop your keys into your bag. “It can’t be that cold.”

You adjust the bag strap on your shoulder and walk toward the elevator on your floor, pressing the down button. It immediately opens.

“You sure?”

You nod as the two of you walk inside the elevator.

Hoping he’ll stop pushing you on your lack of a coat, you ask, “Did you look into the McKinley and Lee file yet?”

“Come on, it’s not even 9am and you’re already attacking me with work!” Joshua dramatically clutches his chest, then lightly punches your arm. “What’d we say about 워라밸, huh?”

You feel your face getting hot, your right hand reflexively going up to where he’d touched your left arm. Was it always this toasty in the elevator?

Meeting his eyes for the first time today, you say, “Yeah, yeah, work-life balance. You’re right.”

His lips turn up and his eyes crinkle into bright crescent moons. You find yourself smiling back at him, despite having tried so hard to avoid his stupidly sweet gaze.

“I’m just teasin’, you know?” he says, leaning casually against the steel walls of the small elevator.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble again, rubbing the handle of your bag and tapping your foot to give yourself something else to focus on, suddenly aware that the two of you were alone.

God, could the elevator move any slower? Fidgeting with the loose threads of your sweater, you were on the verge of melting from being near his vicinity for so long.

Ever since Joshua Hong had arrived two months ago as a transfer from the Seoul branch, you haven’t gone a day without running into him. It was HR’s fault, really. The Human Resources department had placed him in yours, and also gave him the company-funded apartment next door to you.

He’d spent so much time around you that, if you didn’t see the people who regularly flocked to him, you’d think you were his only friend in the States. It was, and still is, ridiculous. His constant presence has meant that you are constantly aware of yourself. Of how you’re breathing too loud, and how your heart is beating too fast, and how you were in too much of a rush to do your full routine this morning. He makes you care more than usual about how well you perform at work, and, worse, he makes you think about how happy and funny you appear to be.

The way he teases you for being nervous (although that’s only because he’s around practically all the time) and the way he always notices when you aren’t feeling well—it’s as if he sees right through you. Yes, he sees right through you, and it’s incredibly scary knowing he could confront you at any time—maybe even in this elevator—and say that he’s known all along that you’ve had feelings for him. And what’s worse is that you know he’d be polite with his rejection. He’d be a gentleman, carefully letting you down with—

“Hello? Hellooo?” Joshua says, waving his hand in front of your face.

You jump, blinking rapidly. “Huh? Sorry, what?”

“We’re here, sweetheart,” he says gently.

“Oh,” you reply lamely.

He gestures with his hand for you to walk out of the elevator first. Inside the lobby, he walks by your side. As the two of you approach the door, he reaches it first, and opens it for you to head outside.

You’re immediately hit with a blast of winter and harsh winds. Your arms instinctively tighten around your stomach, trying to prevent the cold air from rushing up your sweater.

Joshua turns to you, brows furrowed. His eyes glance over your sweater again, and you can tell he’s about to say something. Certain it’s an I told you so, you quickly say, “Before you start, I’m fine. It’s really not that cold, and the bus is coming soon anyway.”

You march forward toward the crosswalk before the bus stop, knowing he’s following behind you. Once you reach the start of the white lines, you slow down to a stop, waiting for the signal to change.

Still behind you, Joshua says, “거기 있어봐.”

“왜?” Though confused, you listen to his request to stay where you are. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling somewhat awkward just standing with your back turned to him.

He doesn’t answer your question why, but you hear a shuffle and the sound of fabric rustling. Then you feel a warm coat draped over your shoulders.

You turn back to face Joshua with a start, opening your mouth to protest.

But before you can get a word out, he takes his pointer finger and lightly presses it against your lips.

“Shh,” he says with a smile. “Tomorrow, wear a jacket, okay?” He pats the top of your head.

Speechless, you barely bring yourself to nod, then remember to shut your jaw. Let’s just survive this bus ride, you tell yourself. God, it was unfair how nice he was. It only made it harder for you to believe he was like this with everyone—or to stop hoping that, somehow, you might be the exception.

────୨ৎ──── Tuesday

Ever since you showed up to work on Monday wearing Joshua’s coat, your coworkers have been speculating nonstop about your nonexistent relationship with the man. More specifically, your two closest friends in the department, Boo Seungkwan and Lee Jihoon, have had a lot to say.

Today would be no different. Huddled around the coffee table in the break room with Seungkwan and Jihoon, you’ve been roped into listening to their comments.

Eyes darting between the two of them, you silently sip on your coffee.

“I’m a hundred percent sure now. I swear it’s real, he’s so into you,” Seungkwan says while staring at you, waving his hands in the air like a madman.

Jihoon raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure? Remember when you said that the delivery guy had a crush on this one,” he replies while pointing at you, “only for it to be me? Your 촉 is trash.”

Seungkwan scrunches his nose, and huffs in your direction, as if you’re going to defend his skill of guessing office relationships. (You’re not.)

“Your hunch is horrible, I said,” Jihoon says, goading him.

“No,” Seungkwan frantically shakes his head. “That was a one off. Remember when I said the nepo baby in Finance liked Director Chun’s secretary? He kept staring at her and nobody believed me but I was right!”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Lucky guess.”

“No, no, no, my 촉 is excellent, thank you very much.” Seungkwan turns to you, all pouty. “You trust my 촉, right?”

Finding the entire conversation ridiculous, you can’t help but shake your head and laugh. Though Seungkwan prides himself on his supposedly superior hunches, he is really only accurate half the time.

You raise your coffee cup to your lips and sip on the liquid inside, a perfect state in between steaming hot and lukewarm.

“Kkah, this coffee is great,” you say to Seungkwan, ignoring his question.

His eyes suddenly widen, and he frantically waves his pointer finger at you. “Oh, oh! Another thing! He always gets you coffee from that expensive place next door, Cafe whatever. He never gets us coffee, but he always gets you coffee.”

Taken aback, you put the cup down, saying, “No way, he does that for a lot of people. He bought coffee for the receptionist like, last week.”

“That’s because it was her birthday,” Seungkwan says.

“And how’d you know that?” you ask.

“Because there were happy birthday balloons next to her desk?” Seungkwan says matter-of-factly.

“Well—” you retort, before getting cut off.

“You know,” Jihoon suddenly interjects. “I hate to agree, but it’s true. Joshua doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

“Right?” Seungkwan exclaims, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Come on, I’m so right. Woozi said I’m right. Trust the 촉.”

You rub your temples, feeling ambushed by your loud friends.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You wave them off as you stand up from the little coffee table chair you’d been sitting on for the last few minutes. “I’m going to head out.”

“Where are you going?” Seungkwan asks.

“Away from you,” you joke.

“I know you’re going to the vending machine,” Jihoon accuses. "You always get a snack after coffee."

You raise your hands in mock surrender.

“Can you get me a granola bar, then? You know the one I like, the blueberry one.” Seungkwan asks.

“Oh, and a Coke Zero for me?” Jihoon adds. “Y’know, not everyone has a coffee fairy named Joshua, like you do.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “You know it’s not like that. Besides, you guys just love using my money, don’t you?”

“Guilty,” Jihoon grins.

“Come on, I paid for karaoke last Friday,” Seungkwan complains. “That was way more expensive than a granola bar and a Coke.”

“Coke Zero,” Jihoon says, emphasizing the “Zero.”

“Tomato, tomato.” Seungkwan wrinkles his nose, enunciating the “ay” and “ah” in the two pronunciations of the word.

“Apples, oranges,” Jihoon insists.

“Okay, okay, let’s not fight, children. A blueberry granola bar and a Coke Zero, on your way.” You give a pretentious salute.

Grasping your coffee, you down the rest of it and get up from the table. You crumple the cup and toss it into the trash can before leaving.

Walking through the main hallway, you pass the vending machines on your department’s floor, which are known to swallow dollar bills without offering products in return. Between the youngest employees in the department—people like you, Seungkwan, and Jihoon—you’ve discovered a secret spot that has better machines.

Once you reach the elevator, you tap on the down button. When the doors open, you walk inside and press on the “G” and “Door Close” buttons.

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you tap your foot as you watch the numbers at the top right corner go down from 8. It reminds you of the awkward elevator ride from Monday morning, but you quickly shake those thoughts out of your head.

It’s best not to think of Joshua when you don’t have to.

The garage is a relatively far trek from floor 8, but it’s a worthwhile time sacrifice. The other floors (and by extension, their vending machines) are locked by key cards for employees of their respective departments, so it’s either you take a chance with the floor 8 machines or head to the basement. You, Seungkwan, and Jihoon have all found that you’d rather not take that chance.

The elevator announces your arrival to the ground floor with a ding, and as the doors open, you make a beeline toward the machines.

Seeing that someone is already using the vending machine closest to the elevator, you walk past it toward the machine closest to the doors leading out of the hall and into the garage.

“Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero. Blueberry granola bar, Coke Zero,” you repeat to yourself under your breath.

Coming to a stop by the vending machine, you scan the snacks inside. Grabbing your wallet, you fish some dollars out and double check the numbers of the items before lifting your right hand up to the combination pad.

Jihoon first, because he was slightly less annoying than Seungkwan this morning: Coke Zero, number 405. You punch the numbers into the machine. When it flashes $2.00, your eyes widen.

“Two dollars for a soda is robbery,” you groan.

Still, you count two dollars out from the wad of cash in your left hand, then feed it into the machine. The machine begins whirring, the spiral in 405 moving forward. But just as you think the drink is going to come out, the spiral stops.

“Oh, come on,” you mutter.

You press on the small button next to the number pad that you guess is made for delivering change, but it doesn’t return your money.

Maybe putting in two more dollars would make the machine move and spit out two drinks? Immediately acting on the thought, you punch 405 in the number pad again and feed two more dollars into the machine, only for it to whir without delivering the Cokes again. Another two dollars later, and the same happens.

Taking matters into your own hands, you begin banging on the front of the vending machine. After around five seconds of failing to make the machine respond to physical force, your arms fall from the screen back down to your sides.

Clenching your fists, you sigh and count out two more dollars from your left hand. Then, your right hand stalls.

On second thought, you really don’t want to lose more money to the machine. Maybe you should try to force it out one more time? You shove the remaining cash into your back pocket.

You raise your clenched fists again, but before your hands meet the vending machine glass, a voice suddenly comes from right behind you.

“Whoa, whoa.”

Unfortunately, you’d recognize that honey-coated voice anywhere.

You spin around wide-eyed, coming shockingly close to Joshua Hong. His face is dangerously near yours, and his arms have wrapped around your body to clasp your hands in his.

“Shua? Wha—” Your voice is breathless, trailing off like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“Hey, don’t fight the machine. You’ll only end up hurting your hands.”

His words are soft, but the way his thumb grazes your knuckles leaves a faint hint of warmth, like he’s lit a match against your skin. You should pull back—really, you should. But the closeness, the weight of his presence, keeps you frozen in place.

Your heart stutters in protest. This is nothing. He’s always like this. Always caring, always thoughtful. Always too close.

And yet, remembering what Seungkwan and Jihoon said, some part of you also wonders: Why does it feel different when it’s me?

Scowling, you drop his hands and take a step back, like distance will save you. "It's fine. I'm handling it."

His brow arches at your defiance, and for a moment, his gaze searches yours, like he’s looking for something you’re not ready to admit.

"Are you?" he asks, the words laced with amusement.

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, both in frustration and to keep them from reaching out for him again and betraying you.

“I am,” you insist, though the heat rising in your cheeks threatens to undermine your confidence.

But then, just as quickly, he tilts his head, and his lips curve into a smirk—soft, upturned at the corners, with those faint dimples that could bring a fortress down.

And for a moment, just a moment, you wonder if you’re the only one feeling this way.

But before you can think of a sharp retort, his voice cuts through the haze in your head.

“You should’ve just asked me for help—like always.”

The softness in his tone, the familiarity, pulls you up short. It’s almost unbearable how easy it is for him to say things like this. Like it’s normal. Like it’s not turning your brain into static.

It’s too much. He can’t keep getting away with this, with being so nice to you all the time. It’s not fair.

“Stop being so nice to me,” you blurt out, clenching your fists tighter. You’ve got to hold your ground.

Joshua cocks his head slightly. “I thought you like it when I help you?”

Your face gets, if possible, even hotter.

Honestly, what can you even say to that?

Desperately avoiding his face, you stare at the much safer collar of his shirt. It’s an off white color, like the fur of the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you at the arcade. It remains on your nightstand because you still have no idea what to do with it.

Realizing that you didn’t answer him, you finally deflect. “Where’d you even come from? I didn’t see you.”

“Over there,” he says softly, pointing at the vending machine by the elevator.

“Oh.” You press your lips together, belatedly realizing that the person you’d passed on your way to this vending machine had been Joshua all along.

“So, what’d you need? I’ll fix it for you.”

You feel your face getting hot again. “Coke Zero,” you mumble.

“I thought you didn’t like Coke?” Joshua asks.

He remembers?

“It’s not for me,” you explain. “For Woozi.”

“Woozi?”

“Oh, I mean Jihoon.”

Strangely feeling like you have to explain yourself to him, to let him know that you’re only friends, you say, “We went to college together. Me, Jihoon, and Seungkwan. We just happened to get into the same department here.”

Joshua hums in acknowledgment. “No wonder, I always saw the three of you together. Made me feel left out.”

Your heart drops. Eyes wide, you cross your arms repeatedly, saying, “I never—we never meant to exclude you at all!”

“That’s okay, I have you to talk to, right?” he says with what you can only describe as an upside down smile.

You swallow and nod.

“Y’know I was just teasing,” he says casually. “I wasn’t offended.”

Before you can confront him about the mental whiplash he’s putting you through, he grasps your shoulders and maneuvers you to the right, so that he can stand in front of the machine. His touch was fleeting, but your heart skips a beat anyway.

You watch as he grabs two dollars out of his wallet, then punches 405 into the keypad. As the spiral whirs, he sends two precise kicks to the bottom left of the machine.

Doubting his method, you raise your eyebrows in uncertainty. But just as you do, the whirring is accompanied by the sound of the soft drinks falling.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

That actually works?

Joshua bends down and sticks a hand into the bottom flap of the machine, pulling out the drinks that had just dropped from slot 405.

“Four Coke Zeros, at your service. Anything else?”

“Oh, a blueberry granola bar for Seungkwan. And those chips for me,” you say with mild surprise, pointing at slots 201 and 302.

“Sure thing.” He taps the corresponding numbers and slips some bills into the machine.

Thankfully, 201 and 302 are very cooperative, unlike 405.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to pay for those,” you say, your fingers brushing against his as you accept Seungkwan’s granola bar and your bag of chips. The faint contact sends an unexpected jolt through your chest, one you force yourself to ignore.

“Oh, it’s not for free,” Joshua replies, his lips curling into a smile that’s soft yet pointed. “You owe me a coffee from next door.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

He nods his head slightly, a gesture so casual it almost feels calculated. “How about today, after work?”

Your heart stutters. The way he’s looking at you—his eyes shining, eyebrows raised a little, with a faint crease between his brows—feels strange. It’s somewhat vulnerable, like he’s waiting for something.

No, surely not. Surely, he’s not—

The thought dies before it can fully form, drowned out by the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Sure,” you manage to squeak out, your voice embarrassingly small in the space between you.

His smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression. Relief? Satisfaction?

You swallow hard and grip the snacks in your hands like they’re a lifeline. You need to get a hold of yourself. Joshua Hong is not asking you out. He’s just nice. That’s all.

────୨ৎ──── Wednesday

“You’re joking. You’re actually joking.” Seungkwan’s voice rings throughout his waterlogged apartment.

“Most unfortunately, I’m not.” You blink, feeling a droplet of sweat getting dangerously close to your eyes.

You carefully wipe the sweat that’s gathered at your forehead using your forearm, since your hands are gloved up. You definitely don’t want the nasty residue from the rubber gloves getting on your face.

Seungkwan glares. “You didn’t tell me that you were on a date with You Know Who! Otherwise, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Well, you did,” you say exasperatedly, grabbing an antique-looking lamp and lightly placing it in the box of items to throw away.

“Tell me what happened, exactly. Don’t leave a single thing out!” Seungkwan barks, waving at you from across the room, where he’s dismantling a chair to put in the box.

In the middle of clearing out Seungkwan's damp furniture, your mind drifts back to yesterday afternoon, to the cafe where…

────୨ৎ────

…The soft hum of coffee grinders and the steady chatter of customers make you feel warm inside, easing the tension from earlier that morning. You sit across from Joshua at a tiny table near the main window, taking in how the late afternoon sun casts a golden glow over his face. He looks like royalty, and you think you could watch him for forever.

He’s nursing a cappuccino, his slender fingers tracing absent patterns on the side of the mug, while you sip on a mocha latte, its foam already starting to lose its shape. Staring at the latte, you think it’s about time you moved on from small talk.

“You really didn’t have to pay for my drink,” you say, though your voice lacks conviction. It’s hard to argue with him when he wields his secret weapon every time.

He smiles, that same boyish, disarming grin he always gives you. “It’s just coffee. I get you one almost every day, y’know?”

“Yeah, but I was supposed to—”

“Exactly,” he interrupts, eyes sparkling. “Think of it as payback. For all the mornings you made brighter just by showing up.”

Your cheeks warm at his words, heat spreading down your neck as you lower your gaze to the coffee table, suddenly fascinated by the faint scratch marks on its surface. “You’re too nice,” you manage, the words feeling as flimsy as tissue paper.

“Only to you,” he says, and though his tone is light, the words feel impossibly heavy. Like they’re carrying something you’re both too afraid to name.

Your heart twists violently as your eyes snap up to meet his. The way he’s looking at you—steady, unyielding—makes your breath hitch. This is Joshua, you remind yourself, the nicest guy you’ve ever met. And yet, you can’t ignore the way it feels like he’s waiting for something. For you.

“You don’t mean that. I don’t believe that.” The words spill out before you can stop them, shaky and uneven. But even as you say them, a part of you aches with the knowledge that it’s not entirely true.

Because deep down, you want to believe him. You want to hold onto the idea that he’s different with you, that the warmth in his voice and the way he looks at you isn’t just another facet of his kindness but something more.

But that hope is dangerous.

If you believe him and you’re wrong—if this is just Joshua being Joshua, warm and selfless to everyone he meets—it’ll break you. So instead, you tell yourself that it’s impossible. That he can’t mean it.

You clutch onto every reason why: the way he always holds the door open for others, how he buys coffee for the entire team sometimes, the way he seems to know exactly what to say to make anyone smile. It’s who he is, you think, not just with you.

The idea of reading too much into his words—of exposing your heart only to realize you’ve misunderstood everything—is unbearable. So you push it away, burying the small flicker of hope before it has a chance to grow.

But even as you deny him, there’s a quiver in your voice, a hesitation that gives you away.

He leans forward slightly, his arms resting on the table, shrinking the distance between you. “You should. Don’t you ever wonder why?”

Your breath catches. His words hang in the air, heavy and charged, and for a second, you think he’s about to say something that will upend everything you’ve convinced yourself to believe about him.

“Joshua, I—”

Before you can finish, your phone buzzes loudly on the table, shattering the moment.

You scramble to grab it, breaking eye contact as you glance at the screen.

It reads: “Kwannie Kwannie Kwannie.”

You sigh deeply but answer the call, putting the phone to your ear. “What?”

“Help!” Seungkwan’s voice comes through in a panicked shriek. You take the phone a few inches away from your ear, wincing at the sound, then stiffen. His tone did not sound like one of his regular, made-up crises. Bringing your phone closer to your ear, you hear him shout. “My apartment’s flooding! There’s water up to my knees, my coach is floating! I don’t know what to do! Jihoon’s useless with this kind of stuff, and you’re the only person who knows where my emergency shutoff is—”

“Okay, okay, breathe. 4-7-8 method. I’ll be right there,” you say, shooting up from your chair.

Joshua watches you, his brows knitting together in concern. “Everything okay?”

“Seungkwan’s apartment is flooding. I have to go help him,” you explain, grabbing your bag.

“I’ll come with you,” he immediately offers, already standing.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” You force a smile, though you’re still buzzing with the tension of whatever had just happened. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Before he can respond, you rush out the door, heart racing—not just from Seungkwan’s crisis, but from the words Joshua almost said. You hear him calling your name, but you’re unable to bring yourself to look back, afraid you’d cave.

If you had, you would’ve seen a crestfallen Joshua still standing by the table, frozen in place...

────୨ৎ────

...Seungkwan drops a chair leg.

If the water hadn’t already been drained (by you, yesterday, when you figured out how to use Seungkwan’s emergency shutoff valve), the metal leg would have made a small splash and floated in knee-deep waters. Instead, it fell obnoxiously loudly onto Seungkwan’s hardwood floor, ringing throughout the half-empty apartment with full force.

“Ah! Seungkwan!” You jump, nearly dropping your drill, which you had been using to unscrew the legs of the coffee table while retelling what had happened Tuesday afternoon.

“He was about to confess,” Seungkwan says slowly and robotically, as if caught in a trance.

You can’t bring yourself to deny it.

“He was about to confess,” he repeats.

Letting out a major sigh, you hop up onto the dining table, tapping it. “You know, we have to dismantle this too.”

“He was about to confess!” His sudden shout startles you again. “And where the hell is Woozi when we need him?”

“Probably on his way, as he was when you checked 20 minutes ago?” you say dryly.

“He needs to get a load of this. I was right!” Seungkwan waves the chair leg in the air triumphantly, far too close to the ceiling for comfort.

“Dude,” you laugh, “you’re going to scratch the ceiling, put it down!”

Seungkwan pouts. “But this is my victory leg.”

“Tell that to Woozi,” you grin. “I think you should show him the leg, first thing.”

He lights up. “Excellent idea.”

All of a sudden, you hear someone knocking on Seungkwan’s door. Jumping off of the table, you skip across the living room down to the narrow main hallway. Once you reach the door, you crack it open a few inches—as far as the chain link will let you.

“Woozi, you’re so late!” Your face breaks out into a smile upon seeing your friend.

“My bad,” Jihoon says with a chuckle.

“`Y’know, Kwannie has a big surprise for you?”

“I can’t wait,” he says with a sigh. “How bad is the damage?”

“See for yourself.” You take down the chain lock and swing the door fully open with a smile, only to falter at the sight of the one person you thought you’d successfully avoided all day.

Joshua.

For there he was.

“Here to help,” he says shyly, hands folded behind his back.

You give Jihoon a panicked look.

Jihoon explains, “I was heading out of the office when I caught him in the hallway. He said he was down to help Seungkwan, and I figured the more, the merrier.”

The sight of Joshua standing in Seungkwan’s doorway makes your stomach drop. It’s like all the tension from earlier has come rushing back in, this time amplified by the unexpectedness of his arrival.

You plaster on a polite smile, though you’re sure it looks more like a grimace. “Great,” you manage to choke out, turning on autopilot to lead him and Jihoon down the hallway.

But inside, your thoughts are spiraling. What is he doing here? Does he know you’ve been avoiding him all day? Did Jihoon tell him anything on the way over?

Your chest tightens as you think about Seungkwan waiting in the living room, blissfully unaware of Joshua’s presence. You can already imagine the chaos—Seungkwan, ever the open book, accidentally blurting out something incriminating.

What if he says something about the coffee shop? What if he mentions the way you couldn’t stop talking about Joshua just now?

You’re half a step ahead of them, your mind racing through ways to keep the situation from unraveling, but drawing nothing but blanks.

But then, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Joshua. He’s walking casually beside Jihoon, his hands tucked into his pockets, a beanie snug on his head. He looks different, less polished than usual, but still effortlessly himself. And for a moment, you falter.

Because despite your panic, there’s a part of you that’s almost glad he’s here. A part of you that can’t help but wonder what it means that he came at all.

When you reach the living room, you come to a hard stop, frantically making a small X with your arms.

But Seungkwan has his attention focused on that blasted chair leg, and of course, he immediately opens with: “Guess who has the biggest news of all time! The biggest action since the Great Orange Plaza Incident—”

Cue the obnoxiously loud laughter from you. “Joshua’s here! Say hi!”

Seungkwan turns to the hallway, where, indeed, Joshua is standing. Shocked, he drops the metal leg, and it announces its contact with the ground through a loud clang.

Wincing at the sound like earlier, you accidentally shift your body backward into someone behind you.

“Sorry,” you say, hoping it was Jihoon.

His arms come up to grasp your waist, holding you steady.

“No worries,” comes Joshua’s voice.

You shut your eyes, somehow both drowning in embarrassment and burning up at the spot where he’s touched you.

You quickly step out of his hold, trying not to let your flustered state show. “Right,” you say, clearing your throat. “Let’s go now.”

Joshua chuckles softly, his voice like velvet. “그래, 바로 가자.” Right, let’s go straight away.

Seungkwan, thankfully, is too caught up in his shock to notice the moment, though Jihoon raises a single eyebrow in quiet observation.

As you guide Joshua and Jihoon into the living room, you internally rehearse all the ways you can deflect or redirect the inevitable awkwardness. But before you can settle on anything, Joshua is already rolling up his sleeves. You avert your eyes from his biceps.

“What needs moving?” he asks.

You glance around the room, desperate for something to hand off to him. Your eyes land on the dining table—big, heavy, and far too ambitious for one person to handle. Perfect. “The dining table,” you say, trying to sound casual. “We need to get it downstairs to the lobby for pickup.”

Seungkwan perks up. “Oh, that thing’s a beast. Good luck.”

“I’ll help,” Joshua says immediately, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looks at you.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh, okay. You and Woozi can move it.”

But Jihoon smirks, catching on. “Actually, I just remembered I promised to help Seungkwan with,” his voice trails. “Something else. You’ve got this, right?”

Before you can protest, Jihoon grabs the metal chair leg and joins Seungkwan in the corner, leaving you and Joshua alone with the daunting table.

“Looks like it’s just us,” Joshua says, his teasing smile widening.

You swallow thickly, resigned. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Together, you begin maneuvering the table toward the hallway. It’s heavy and awkward, and you struggle to find a good grip on the edges.

“Here,” Joshua says, dropping his side of the table and moving closer. His hands brush over yours as he adjusts your grip, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “That should help.”

The contact sends a jolt through you, but you force yourself to focus. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper.

By some miracle, the table fits in the elevator, though the tight space forces you and Joshua closer together. You’re much too aware of how little distance there is between you, the faint scent of his cologne making your heart race even faster.

“This reminds me of Monday morning,” Joshua says suddenly, his voice soft.

Your head snaps up to meet his gaze. What is he talking about? The elevator? The coat? Both?

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?” you ask cautiously.

His eyes searching yours. “I just,” he hesitates for a moment, before continuing. “I feel like we keep dancing around something. Don’t you?”

Your breath catches, and suddenly the space feels even smaller. “What do you mean?”

Joshua steps just a fraction closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I mean,” he pauses for a second or two before picking up again. “This. Us. I feel like there’s something you’re not saying. And I’m not sure if I should say it first.”

The elevator dings, announcing your arrival at the lobby, but neither of you moves.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Shua, I—”

Before you can finish, the doors slide open, and an older woman waiting outside peers in, her curious gaze snapping you both out of the moment.

“Uh, sorry,” you stammer, quickly stepping out with your end of the table.

Joshua follows, but you can feel his eyes on you, his earlier words hanging heavy in the air.

As the two of you set the table down near the designated pickup area, he leans in slightly, his voice low. “This isn’t over.”

Your heart threatens to jump out of your chest, but you force yourself to nod, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah. Okay.”

Even as you head back to Seungkwan’s apartment, your mind is racing with the possibilities of what he might say—and whether you’re ready to hear it.

As you reenter Seungkwan’s apartment, the weight of Joshua’s words hangs like a thick fog in the air. It’s almost suffocating, the way your heart beats erratically at the thought of what he might say next.

You glance over your shoulder, half-expecting Joshua to be right behind you, but he's still out by the lobby. The sound of Seungkwan and Jihoon’s voices floats down the hallway as they continue their discussion, oblivious to the tension that’s spiraling in your chest.

You step inside, but you can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change. Joshua’s words—“This isn’t over”—echo in your mind, repeating with every beat of your heart. What did he mean? What does he expect?

“Everything okay?” Seungkwan calls from the living room, looking up with a raised brow as you walk in.

“Yeah,” you chirp, trying to act normal, but your voice comes out too high.

He narrows his eyes. “You sure? You look a little off. Everything go well?” It’s unsaid, but you know there’s a “with Joshua” attached to the end of his sentence.

You force a smile, but it’s shaky at best. “Yeah, the table's gone now.” You can’t tell him. Not yet. Not with the weight of Joshua’s unspoken words still pressing against your chest.

Seungkwan studies you for a moment, his gaze flickering toward the hallway. “I’ll take your word for it. So, you two, huh?”

Your eyes widen involuntarily, and you try to laugh it off. “아니, 아니! 그런거 아니야, it’s really not like that.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Uh-huh. Sure. Anyway, me and Jihoon are going to go to the bar. Want to come?”

The offer hangs in the air, and you realize, suddenly, that it’s the perfect distraction. You need space from your own thoughts. You need to calm your racing heart. Maybe getting out of here will help.

“I’ll go,” you blurt, before you can second-guess yourself. “Haven’t gone weekday drinking in a while. Let me just grab my bag.”

Seungkwan gives you a knowing look but says nothing more. As you step into the hallway to grab your bag off a high-hanging hook, your mind is still whirling with the unanswered questions about Joshua.

Walking further down the hallway, you find Seungkwan and Joshua standing near Jihoon.

Jihoon’s already at the door, his hand on the handle. “Come on, let’s go. I need some drinks in my system after today.”

You nod, attempting to shove your thoughts away for the night. The cool air outside greets you, and the cacophony of the city feels like a welcome distraction. As you make your way to the bar, Seungkwan and Jihoon immediately dive into their usual banter, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep glancing over at Joshua, who seems uncharacteristically quiet tonight, his usually playful energy subdued.

By the time you reach the bar and order drinks, you’re beginning to relax. Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the fact that you don’t have to think about what’s going on between you and Joshua, but you can’t help but feel like you’re walking a thin line between tension and relief.

But as the night goes on, Seungkwan and Jihoon quickly fall into drunken antics, leaving you and Joshua alone on the quieter side of the bar. The air between you both is thick, like an invisible thread is pulling you closer, yet neither of you dares to speak.

You fiddle with your glass, wondering if you should speak up first. You only have so much courage, though.

Thankfully, Joshua clears his throat, his voice low. “넌 좀,” he hesitates for a bit, before deciding to call you out, “조용한데?”

Well, it’s no secret that you’re being quiet. He was, too, at least until now.

You glance up, meeting his gaze for the first time since earlier. His eyes are intense, his lips pulled into that soft, half-smile you know and adore.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you like a dare.

Joshua leans in just slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. “What part?”

Your heart races, but you hold his gaze. “About how this isn’t over?”

He’s quiet for a beat, then smiles—just a little. “I meant what I said.”

And in that moment, you realize you’re in way deeper than you thought.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest, like a stone sinking deep into water. You want to ask him more, to press him, to demand answers, but the words feel trapped in your throat. Instead, you look away, fidgeting with the rim of your glass, your fingers tracing the condensation. The alcohol has started to mellow your nerves, but the tension still hovers in the air between you two, thick and almost palpable.

“You’ve been quiet too,” you manage to say, keeping your voice steady despite the jittery feeling in your stomach. “What’s on your mind?”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away, his gaze flickering toward the noisy group in the corner where Seungkwan and Jihoon are laughing too loudly, practically leaning on each other for support. The laughter echoes in the background, a sharp contrast to the quiet bubble that has formed around you and Joshua.

It’s the kind of moment that feels too intimate, too close to the edge of something that could change everything.

“I don’t know,” he says finally, and his voice is soft, thoughtful. “I guess I’m trying to figure out if you’re really as clueless as you act, or if you’re just pretending.” His eyes meet yours, and there's something almost vulnerable in his gaze, a flicker of hesitation that’s rare for him.

You feel your heart skip a beat, caught off guard by the question. “Clueless?” You repeat, the word tasting strange on your tongue. “I’m not clueless.”

“그래? Are you sure about that?” he asks, his smile barely there, his tone teasing but with an edge of something else—something deeper.

You narrow your eyes, a little irritated by how easily he toys with you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, and then immediately regret it. It sounds too defensive, too much like you’re trying to cover something up.

Joshua leans in slightly, his expression serious now, no longer playful. “I think you do. I think you’re scared.” His voice drops, barely above a whisper, but it lands like a truth you can’t deny. “You’re scared of what might happen if you admit what you feel.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The world feels like it slows down, the noise of the bar fading into the background as his words settle in your mind. The truth in them stings, and you don’t know how to respond.

He’s right, but you don’t want to admit it.

Not yet.

Not to him.

Before you can say anything, Seungkwan stumbles over, dragging Jihoon along with him. “You two are too quiet,” Seungkwan says with a grin, clearly tipsy. “What’s going on here? Trying to plot against us?”

Joshua straightens up quickly, his smile returning to its usual playful, disarming self. “Nothing like that, we were just talking,” he replies, his voice smooth and easy.

You take a deep breath, trying to push the moment away, but the tension still lingers in your chest. You force a smile, though it feels weak. “Yeah, just talking.”

Jihoon gives you both a sideways look, too drunk to notice the underlying current between you and Joshua. “You two really are something, huh?”

Seungkwan laughs, waving a hand as if dismissing Jihoon’s comment. “Yeah, yeah, don’t mind them. They’re just having a little ‘moment,’” he says, emphasizing the last word with air quotes.

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Contrary to Seungkwan’s comment, the moment’s long gone now, robbed by the chaos of their antics. But you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted, that you and Joshua are standing on the edge of something—something both terrifying and irresistible.

And for the first time, you decide that you’re ready to see where it leads.

────୨ৎ──── Thursday

You wake up on Thursday with a start, the events from last night already feeling faraway. Joshua had dropped you off, and you had spent most of the night restlessly thinking of him, going over how to confess.

The bright morning light filters through the blinds, causing you to squint at the time on your alarm clock. It’s much earlier than you’d usually get up. You fight the urge to go back to sleep.

With resolve, you push yourself up off your bed and run through your morning routine with extra care. And by the time your last alarm rings, you’re ready to tell him.

You walk over to the front door, waiting for the telltale signs of movement coming from the apartment next door. Only, you hear nothing. Not even footsteps shuffling around.

Your elevator ride is silent. Your bus ride is silent.

Joshua had left before you’d even woken up—and you’d woken up pretty damn early—and his absence only made you more aware of the pressing silence between the two of you.

When you reach your cubicle, your eyes graze over the desk repeatedly, finding something is wrong.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you?” Jihoon asks from the cubicle next to you.

“Nothing.” Everything.

You stare at the spot where Joshua puts a cup of coffee from the cafe next door every day. It’s empty.

“설마,” you whisper. No way. Did he decide to drop you because you didn’t answer him? But what else could explain his radio silence? You haven’t gone to work alone in over a month.

“설마 what?” Seungkwan asks, dropping into his office chair to the left of you at 9 on the dot.

When you don’t answer, he asks Jihoon, “What’s going on over here?”

Jihoon shrugs. “Probably drama with You Know Who.”

“Oh,” he says, and the two of them drop it.

Before you know it, the clock has hit 5pm, and you’ve spent the entire workday soullessly typing on your keyboard, lifting your head up every time you’ve seen movement in the room. Only, the man you were looking for was nowhere to be seen.

You miss the stolen glances and bright smiles you used to exchange. The silence had been stifling. You really did want to talk to him, to clear the air today, but he just never showed. Heart sinking, you pack up your bag and put on your coat. You stall for a moment remembering how he’d given you his coat just a few days prior. Did he really decide to give up because you weren’t responding well?

The bus ride back to your apartment is silent, but your head is full of speculative thoughts. When the driver announces your stop, your heart settles into a newfound determination.

Maybe he could let go, but you can’t. You won’t let him go.

“I’ll just barge in! Say my piece, then let him talk,” you mumble under your breath, pushing the lobby doors open.

Is it a good plan? You aren’t sure, but hopefully he’d forgive you for being hesitant for so long. You honestly don’t know how he did it—how he was able to stand your wishy-washiness?

Eyes tracing the ground, you make a beeline for the elevator, continuing your whispers. “And what am I going to say? God, I need a good opening line. Something like, please please take me back? Actually, we were never dating, so I guess that doesn’t make sense. Please please like me back? Is that too desperate? Well, I am desperate, so—”

Out of the corner, you see the elevator beginning to close.

“Hold the doors, please!” you shout, running as fast as you can. Speed is of the essence, so you can confront him as soon as possible.

You make it across half the lobby in record time, panting as you enter the elevator.

“Thank,” you say in between breaths, hands on your knees, “you—”

When you look up, your heart stops.

Joshua Hong. Dressed dapper in an all black suit and carrying, of all things, a briefcase?

“Shua?” you say breathlessly, immediately straightening.

Joshua looks down, his usual calm expression faltering for just a second when he sees you out of breath. For a moment, the two of you simply stand there in silence, the elevator’s gentle hum filling the space between you.

“Where were you?” you ask, your voice quieter than you'd intended, a hint of nervousness creeping in despite your earlier determination.

Joshua clears his throat, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Director Chun had me accompany him to the Lee meeting. You?” he asks, his gaze softening as he watches you catch your breath.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. The reality of the situation hits you hard.

This was it.

This was the moment.

But now that you’re face to face with him, you’re unsure of what to say. You should’ve prepared a real speech, practiced your words properly. Instead, the dreaded silence lingers.

“I,” your voice trails off. “I just—” You let out a shaky breath, then shake your head as if to clear the mess of thoughts swirling inside. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About things. About us.”

Joshua tilts his head slightly, a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes. “About us?”

You nod, trying to steady your breath. The elevator seems to be going slower than usual, as if the universe itself is giving you more time to process, to speak. You feel a strange mix of nerves and determination pushing you forward.

“I didn’t handle things right. I was,” you pause for a moment, carefully choosing your next words. “Unsure. Confused. And I thought maybe if I stayed quiet, I’d be able to ignore everything. But I can’t,” you say, the words finally coming out in a rush. “I can’t ignore you. I don’t want to.”

Joshua’s eyes soften, his posture shifting, his briefcase clutched tightly in his hands. “You’re not the only one who’s been confused,” he admits, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do either, but I couldn’t let you slip away without at least trying. I care about you. A lot.”

The elevator jerks suddenly, and you both look up in surprise as the lights flicker. A loud noise rings through the space, and with a groan, the elevator comes to an abrupt halt. You both freeze, and your heart jumps into your throat.

“Shit,” you gasp, instinctively taking a step back from the elevator doors, but your foot catches in a brief moment of panic, and before you know it, you’re pulled toward Joshua.

He catches you effortlessly, his hand impossibly warm at your back, steadying you as you stumble. “괜찮아?” His voice is gentle but concerned.

You can’t help but laugh nervously, shaking your head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

For a moment, the two of you simply stand there, him holding you in his arms, your heart still racing from the shock. Then you both realize the situation. No Wi-Fi. No way to call for help. Just the two of you, stuck in this tiny box, the tension thick in the air. The sound of your heavy breathing fills the silence as the elevator remains motionless.

Joshua clears his throat, his voice teasing again. “Well, if you think about it, this isn’t that new.”

In response, you lightly laugh, thinking back to all the times throughout the week where he's kept you steady. The you of Monday morning never would have thought you’d be in this position now, not to mention the you of two months ago.

You glance up at him, mind still racing. The unexpected turn of events had thrust you into a corner. And yet, in some strange way, you felt it was just the kind of moment the two of you needed.

Alone.

No distractions.

No running away.

“Well, at least we have some time to talk now, huh?” you say with a small, tentative smile.

Joshua meets your gaze, his eyes full of understanding. “Yeah. Looks like we do.”

And for the first time in days, the silence doesn’t feel suffocating. Instead, it feels like an opportunity, a moment to finally clear the air.

────୨ৎ──── Friday

You’ve been in the elevator for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. Somehow, conversation just flows.

“I liked you first,” you find yourself saying, voice barely above a whisper as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“그래?” comes Joshua’s soft reply, so close that you can feel the vibrations in his chest. Really?

You can’t believe he even has to ask. Yes, really. You were so obvious about it. So affected by him that you couldn’t even look at the stuffed bunny he’d gotten you on Sunday, reminded of his soft, kind eyes.

So you nod, “Mm-hm.”

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, your body still adjusting to the peaceful rhythm of being near him. You’d been thinking about this for the longest time, but now it feels so natural, so certain, and you can’t help but regret all the time you’d spent secretly pining over him. God, you’d even asked him to stop being so nice to you out of pure desperation. Who does that?

“Since when?” His voice is smooth, warm, like a soft melody, and you can’t help but feel drowsy with the way it lulls you into comfort.

You pause, eyes drifting to the floor of the elevator as you try to gather your thoughts. “Since when?” you repeat, the memory taking you back.

It was a chaotic day, the kind of day where everything felt so loud and full of people. You were at that welcome party for the new transfer—Joshua—but it had been too overwhelming. So, you’d slipped away, finding solace in the quiet of the cafe next door. You’d gotten a coffee to-go, and you sat outside on a bench, letting the world pass you by as you listened to your audiobook. That was your kind of perfect Saturday.

You never saw him that day.

But you did see him a week later, in the hallway of your apartment building. You’d just locked your door, ready to head out when you noticed the man next door fumbling with his own keys. His moving process had seemed slow, but that day, you finally got to exchange quick introductions before stepping into the elevator together. And somehow, in that brief exchange, you found yourself already falling, the way his laugh filled the space between you, the way you both laughed at the coincidences stacking up—the apartment, the floor, the building, the department. It was electric, the start of something special.

You glance up at him now, still leaning against his shoulder. “When we first met, in the hallway,” you finally say, voice soft.

Joshua smiles, a glint of fondness in his eyes. “That was when we first met?”

You furrow your brows, confused. “Wasn’t it?”

Joshua laughs quietly, the sound like a comforting hum in the otherwise still elevator. “I remember differently,” he says, poking your cheek gently.

You tilt your head. “If not the hallway, what was it?”

“The first day I came here, sweets,” he says, his fingers brushing a lock of your hair from your face.

Your mind races, wondering if you’ve forgotten an important memory. “But we didn’t meet, did we?”

Joshua hums, the kind of hum that carries a story behind it. “I guess you didn’t see me, but I saw you.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “When?”

He leans back slightly, eyes distant as if replaying the scene in his head. “I remember being bombarded by all the office workers. God, it was so chaotic. I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out, so I said some BS excuse about needing a drink.” He chuckles softly, then his expression shifts, softer now. “I went to the drink station by the window, grabbed whatever they had, and just stared out. I was wondering how long I could hide before it was socially acceptable to go home, when I saw you.”

You shift, intrigued by his words.

“You sat outside on the bench. You weren’t even aware of the crowd inside, just focused on,” he pauses, thinking of the right word, before continuing, “Existing? Listening to something, I guess. I watched you for a while. You were so still, so peaceful in the middle of all that noise. It made me stop and think. I’ve never really done that before. I’ve always been in ‘go, go, go’ mode. But there you were, just being, and I don’t know. I think that’s when I started thinking about you.”

His words settle over you like a blanket, warm and unexpected.

“I decided then to keep giving you coffee after that,” Joshua adds with a shrug. “You’re my elevator to my small enlightenment, if you will. You made me slow down, sweets.”

At that, your heart flutters in your chest. “I never knew,” you murmur. “I thought you were just nice to everyone. All this time, you’ve been looking at me like I’ve been looking at you.”

Joshua smiles softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’ve been thinking about you for a lot longer than you’ve been thinking of me.”

“Only a week!” you protest.

Joshua’s eyes shine as he looks at you, crinkling into crescents. His hands steadily clasp yours, thumb rubbing against the back of your left hand. “Still think I’m too nice?”

“No,” you say, burying your face in his chest. “Keep being nice to me.”

When the elevator finally dings, and you can hear firefighters shouting things past the doors, it’s a few minutes past 12am. But neither of you moves, content in making up for lost time late into the night.

Masterlist

Author's Note: yes they were stuck in an elevator for like 7 hours from thurs after work to midnight, 내 마음이야

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

Taglist: @syluslittlecrows - @junplusone

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txrully · 7 months ago

Text

WATASHI NO AIDORU SAMA!

summary: IN WHICH BLLK BOYS DATE AN IDOL!

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, hiori yo, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, michael kaiser, alexis ness.

warning: fem! reader implied

isagi yoichi

isagi is in awe of you. your determination, charm, and the way you captivate an audience—he’s lowkey your #1 fan. he’s also the boyfriend who overthinks everything. is he doing enough? are you eating properly? is his goodnight text too basic? but when you’re overwhelmed by the pressures of being an idol, he’s the one who brings you back down to earth with his soft smiles and reassuring words.

when he attends your concerts, he tries to keep a low profile, but the way he beams when you glance at him gives him away every time.

"yoichi, they caught you smiling like a lovesick puppy in the crowd."

"but you looked so cool up there! how could I not?!"

"next time, at least wear sunglasses."

"then how will you see me cheering for you?"

bachira meguru

bachira lives for the drama of dating you. the glitz and glam? he loves it. sneaking into your dressing room mid-rehearsal? absolutely. he thrives on making you laugh, especially when the idol world feels too suffocating. he even suggests the most ridiculous disguises when you want to go out, like matching frog hats or dressing up as old people.

he’s also not shy about flaunting your relationship, sending chaotic selfies to your fan club and saying, “aren’t we cute?” yeah, he’s banned from your socials now.

"bachira, stop posting pictures of us!"

"what? they love me. look, 10k likes already!"

"i will revoke your access to my phone."

"awwww :("

itoshi rin

rin doesn’t care about fame, but oh boy, he cares about you. the media knows him as the stoic, no-nonsense soccer prodigy, but behind closed doors, he’s your biggest supporter. he secretly streams your performances and even sets your songs as his alarm (though he’ll deny it if you ever find out). when you’re busy with schedules, rin shows his love in quiet ways—making sure you eat, sending random texts like, “don’t overwork yourself. i mean it.”

but paparazzi catching him sneaking into your concerts? yeah, that’s not part of his plan.

"you know they saw you, right?"

"tch. who cares?"

"rin, they’re calling you my biggest fanboy on twitter."

"...well, they’re not wrong."

nagi seishiro

nagi finds your idol schedule exhausting just hearing about it. but he loves you, so he makes the effort. he’s the type to show up to your rehearsals half-asleep, holding your favorite snacks. when you’re performing, though, he’s laser-focused, recording every moment because “you look cool up there.”

he also doesn’t get jealous often, but when a fanboy gets too enthusiastic, he’ll casually sling an arm around your shoulder and deadpan, “she’s taken.”

"sei, were you napping backstage?"

"mm. comfy couch."

"you’re unbelievable."

"but i got your favorite chips."

"...okay, forgiven."

mikage reo

reo is the ultimate boyfriend-slash-manager. need help with your contract? done. overwhelmed with schedules? he’s already booked a spa day for you. he’s your rock in the chaotic idol world, always reminding you that it’s okay to take a break.

he also spoils you shamelessly—designer dresses for red carpets, private dinners after concerts, and the fanciest bouquets delivered to your dressing room.

"reo, you didn’t have to buy out the whole bakery just because i said i liked their croissants."

"but you deserve the best."

"...i’m keeping the chocolate ones."

"all yours, my love."

chigiri hyoma

chigiri gets it. as someone constantly in the spotlight himself, he knows how draining it can be. he’s always there to hype you up, whether it’s helping you perfect a dance move or rehearsing lines for interviews. when you feel insecure, he’s the first to remind you of how talented and beautiful you are.

his favorite moments are when it’s just the two of you—no cameras, no fans, just quiet walks or lazy afternoons.

"hyo, do you think i’m doing okay?"

"you’re doing amazing. and even if the whole world doesn’t see it, i do."

"you’re too sweet."

"only for you."

hiori yo

hiori loves your passion for performing, but he worries about how much it takes out of you. he’s the type to leave little notes in your bag—"you’ve got this!" or "don’t forget to eat!"—and surprise you with coffee during long rehearsals.

he doesn’t love the spotlight, but for you? he’ll put up with it, even if it means sitting front-row at your concerts surrounded by screaming fans.

"yo, are you okay? you looked uncomfortable out there."

"yeah, i’m fine. just not used to being around so many people."

"next time, i’ll get you noise-canceling headphones."

"i’ll wear them if they have your voice recorded on loop."

shidou ryusei

shidou lives for the chaos of your idol life. paparazzi? fans? scandals? bring it on. he thrives on being the center of attention, especially when it involves you. he’s the boyfriend who gets caught sneaking onto stage mid-performance just to blow you a kiss.

he’s also fiercely protective, ready to throw hands with anyone who disrespects you. but when it’s just the two of you, he’s surprisingly soft, reminding you why you fell for him in the first place.

"ryu, you can’t just interrupt my concerts!"

"what? they loved it. besides, i missed you."

"you saw me five minutes ago!"

"five minutes too long."

itoshi sae

sae isn’t the best at expressing his feelings, but his actions speak volumes. he doesn’t show up to your events often, but when he does, it’s with flowers in hand and a rare smile just for you. he admires your dedication but worries you’re pushing yourself too hard.

he’s also your harshest yet most supportive critic, always giving honest feedback because he wants you to be your best.

"sae, was my performance okay?"

"it was good. but you can do better."

"...you could’ve just said you’re proud of me."

"i am. but you already knew that."

michael kaiser

kaiser adores the spotlight, and dating you? it only adds to his charm. he loves flaunting your relationship, whether it’s through matching outfits or casually mentioning you in interviews. he’s cocky, but his support is unwavering, always hyping you up like your personal cheerleader.

he’s also lowkey competitive, challenging you to see who can trend on social media first after a big event. spoiler: you always win.

"kaiser, stop refreshing twitter."

"i need to know if we’re trending."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you."

alexis ness

ness is the sweetest, most wholesome boyfriend. he’s constantly in awe of your talent and works hard to make you feel appreciated, from writing you letters to learning your favorite songs on the piano. he’s also your biggest fan, always gushing about you to anyone who’ll listen.

he gets flustered when fans recognize him as “your boyfriend” but secretly loves it.

"ness, are you blushing?"

"n-no! i just—your fans are so nice."

"you’re adorable."

"not as adorable as you."

do not copy, translate or plagiarize my works.

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trashytracktales · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/trashytracktales/778028575513280512/hey-babe-i-cant-stop-thinking-about-lando-fucking

a fic like this would probably kill me, just saying...👀

Season opener | LN⁴

🔸️ inspired by this ask

🔸️ summary ──── After securing his first win of the season, Lando can’t wait to celebrate with his girlfriend.

🔸️ pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🔸️ rating ──── explicit

🔸️ warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, desperate!Lando, unprotected sex (against the wall), mild praise kink and possessiveness, overstimulation, interrupted intimacy (oops 👀).

🔸️ word count ──── 2.7k

🔸️ date ──── Mar. 25, 2025

🔸️ a/n ──── Here’s a little quickie to hold you over before I drop a 10k (so far) one-shot later this week. That mf has been living rent-free in my brain for a month now, and if I don’t end up posting it, you guys officially have permission to throw tomatoes at me. Enjoy this while you wait 💋

THERE’S STILL A lot of noise ringing in Lando’s ears, even as he’s dragged from one obligation to the next. The podium was nice, the feeling of being drowned in champagne and cheers always welcome, even though it can get really uncomfortable. It’s been a weekend full of twists and turns that, thankfully, is coming to a happy ending for him. But the real celebration awaits in his driver’s room.

However, it seems like the universe has decided to taunt him some extra today, with the post-race interviews where every question feels like it stretches time longer than naturally possible, and the conference where he has to relive every lap, as if there weren’t thousands of cameras that captured every angle of the race.

A real-life purgatory, that’s what it feels like.

His body is still running hot, adrenaline refusing to settle and, trough it all, there’s only one thought consuming his mind. He’s trying not to think about her, though, or the orange mini dress she picked out weeks ago for the season opener. He even tries not to imagine the curves of her body every time he blinks or to hear her soft voice in his mind, that sweet whimper that makes him more tense with every touch.

Lando grips the back of his neck as he listens to another useless question, his patience wearing thin. He can still feel the weight of her teary eyes on him earlier, the way she had smiled at him when he climbed out of the car. It was quick, a moment stolen in the chaos, but he caught it. It was theirs. And ever since, he’s been aching to get back to his girlfriend.

From the conference he is dragged straight to the debriefing and, by the time that finally ends, Lando is already moving before anyone can stop him; he mutters something about needing a minute and storms down the hall. His race suit is still damp from sweat and champagne, hugging his muscles, the collar pulled loose where he had yanked at it earlier. His curls are a mess, damp at the roots, and his entire body is vibrating with something more than just the thrill of the first win of the season.

He doesn’t hesitate at all when he reaches his room. Just opens the door eagerly, closing it just as quickly. The second he sees her, his stomach flips.

She’s already standing up from the little couch, her face lighting up the moment she realizes it’s him. “Congratulations, my lo—”

Lando is on her in an instant, crossing the small space with long steps and grabbing her waist, lifting her off the ground. She gasps in surprise, laughing breathlessly as her arms wrap around his neck, her fingers threading into his damp curls at the back of his head.

“Oh! Someone missed me, I see,” she giggles, breathing against his cheek.

Lando exhales deeply, his chest heaving, hands tightening around her hips. He can’t think straight, can’t focus on anything but her warmth against him, the scent of her sweet perfume mixing with the sharp tang of champagne on his suit.

“You have no idea. I was losing my fucking mind,” he admits, chuckling in return. He presses his forehead against hers, his breath hot. Purposely, his hands slide down her back, pressing her flush against him. “Thought about you the whole time. Could barely focus.”

Before she can catch her breath, her back meets the hard surface of the nearest wall. Another startled gasp leaves her lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth, his kiss demanding in ways she’s felt it before.

But not like this.

It’s the kind of kiss that takes her by surprise, leaves her thoughtless and very, very aroused. The dress has already lifted up her thighs, and they’re squeezing around him as if Lando could get out of her embrace if she’s not careful. What soothes her, however, is the fact that he is the one who pushes himself even harder against her, pressing his chest against hers until he almost leaves her out of breath.

Lando’s race suit is tight around his body, but he doesn’t have enough energy to care about anything else but her. All he knows is the way her lips part, letting him in like she has no choice, the way her fingers grip his shoulders, and the way his entire body feels like it’s still racing. Only now, it’s for and because of her.

She deepens the kiss, messy and uncoordinated, teeth grazing and tongues tangling in a tender yet rushed desire. Her hands run up the expanse of his arms, feeling the tension in his muscles as he holds her up effortlessly, her feet barely touching the ground. His biceps flex under her touch, and the realization that he’s holding back, restraining himself just enough so he doesn’t break her against that wall, only makes her more pliable in his arms.

“In here?” she asks between kisses.

Lando lets out a little noise while exhaling, feeling her heat pressed against him even through layers of clothing. One of his hands moves, lifting her dress even higher, until it hangs somewhere around the middle of her waist. His fingers are hungrily skimming her bare skin, until they find the waistband of her panties. He doesn’t have enough patience to tease. Just pulls at them, dragging the thin fabric down her thighs and letting it pool at her ankles.

“That answers your question?” asks Lando, feeling her nails digging into his shoulders as she tries to steady herself.

“Mhm,” she lets out a shaky breath, “So eager.”

Lando grins, shrugging, “Got some adrenaline left I need to burn off.”

He groans in frustration as he fumbles with his zipper, refusing to let go of her even for a second. Finally, he yanks it down just enough, his breath heavy as he works himself free with a sharp hiss. In all the rush, Lando’s hands won’t stay away from her hips for too long, keeping her exactly where he needs her.

The girl watches him, eyes filled with amusement despite the heat between them. Then she laughs, a silky sound that makes his heart race in his chest. Lando looks at her and something tender flickers in his gaze, even as he pushes his hips forward, even as the impatience still coils hot in his veins.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, lips curving into a smirk.

She shakes her head, though still amused at the image in front of her, and the way he’s so impatient he can’t even get out of the suit properly. “Nope. I think it’s hilarious.”

Lando scoffs dramatically, like he can’t believe her audacity. “Oh, yeah?” he challenges, his voice lower now. “Let’s see how funny you find this, then.”

Before she can throw another quip his way, his hand slides between her thighs, fingers trailing over her entrance with a lazy kind of intent. She sucks in a breath, all the amusement vanishing in a blink of an eye, her head knocking back against the wall as her body responds to his familiar touch.

Lando watches her reaction, the smirk widening on his flushed face. “Shit, you’re right,” he agrees, dipping his fingers in just enough to make her shudder. “It is hilarious,” he tilts his head, pretending to think. “Yeah. Getting wet so quickly almost has me rolling on the floor.”

He slides his fingers up and down her opening, then pushes two at once inside, curling them right before pulling out, only to make her squirm. Her thighs tighten around his waist, demanding more, but it’s not about her right now. It’s about him, making it a moment worthy of the Winner’s Room.

He’s painfully hard next time he cups himself, and the first press of his cock against her clit sends a shiver up her spine. Lando drags his length down her folds with uncharacteristic patience, until the distance between them diminishes completely, and he kisses her again, lazier than before. Their world becomes substantially smaller, and there’s just hot skin, erratic breathing, and the slick, aching need to be as close as possible. He lines himself up and thrusts in one smooth motion, punching a moan from her lips that she barely manages to swallow down.

Lando lets his forehead fall to hers, chuckling gently. “Not too loud, yeah?”

She shakes her head, “Don’t ruin the fun.”

He’s buried inside her, stretching so sweet that it sends a full-body shudder through her. The wall behind is harsh, but all she can focus on is the way he fills her completely. How he holds her there, with no chance to slip away. Not that she wants to be anywhere else but here, right now, with him.

Lando’s fingers grip her tighter as he pulls back, then slams into her again, feeling her walls pulsing faster around his cock. A broken whimper escapes her, her head falling defeated on his shoulder. It makes him curse under his breath, finally finding a rhythm that’s both deep and devastating. Each thrust forces a soft cry from her throat, her body moving in unison with his, nails raking down his sweaty back.

The way she pulls him in turns Lando on even more, the only sounds between them the ragged breaths and the wet, obscene noises of him fucking her right there, against the wall.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” exclaims Lando, biting down on her shoulder, his hips snapping up harder.

She lets out a hiss, her head is spinning while pleasure is building gradually, her body burning from the inside out. She fists his curls, dragging his mouth back to hers, swallowing his groans as she squeezes him.

“That’s so good, baby. Shit. Keep doing that.”

The way she feels around him, the way she moans and gasps his name, the way her body reacts to him like she was made for him — everything gets too much for Lando. Yet, he somehow finds himself craving more of her. His movements grow sloppier, pushing him to drive into her faster.

“Lando…” she moans his name in a whisper, cupping his face with the intention to kiss him. But the way he’s moving inside her makes her weak, so she ends up holding on to him with limited strength, like her life depends on it.

And right now, it does.

Their eyes meet just as he lifts her thigh higher on his waist, the small adjustment allowing him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, Lando,” she whines, her voice barely more than a breath. “You feel so—”

He doesn’t let her finish. A hard thrust has her choking on her words, and the way she clenches down around him makes his jaw go slack.

“Yes, tell me,” he urges, his voice too unsteady, hanging on by a thread, while his fingers press into the curve of her waist like he’s trying to brand himself into her skin.

She loses it, her hands tugging at his hair just to hear his little noises in return. “Feel so good, love,” she breathes heavily, her head falling back, exposing her throat. “Fucking me so good.”

A guttural curse escapes him, dragging her against him with a pace that makes her cry out in pleasure. “That so?” he rasps, his teeth grazing her jaw before his lips claim hers, swallowing every desperate sound she makes. “Then take it, baby,” he orders gently, “All of it. All for you.”

“Shit—don’t stop,” she begs, her eyes teary because of how tense with pleasure her body gets.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Feel how perfect you are? How fucking tight, hm? That’s it,” he encourages her, watching the way her lashes flutter open to look at him. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart?” asks Lando, going somehow even deeper with each thrust.

Her back arches, a broken moan spilling from her lips. She’s so full and desperate to come, and he knows she’s close; her whines and the way her body reacts giving it away in the most obvious way.

“Need you, Lan,” she breathes in spasms, “Please.”

“I can see that, baby. Come on,” he grits out, his movements turning frantic. “Let me have it.”

Her body trembles at his words, at the sheer heat in his voice. The way he holds her, firm and possessive, sends her spiraling. Every thrust, every rough snap of his hips only winds her tighter, like he’s pulling her apart piece by piece just to put her back together again.

“Lan-do,” she breathes, voice breaking on his name. “I… oh, fuck,” she can barely think anymore, barely breathe with the way he’s fucking into her, like stopping isn’t even an option.

His hand slides up her side, gripping the back of her neck, tilting her head so she has no choice but to meet his gaze again. His eyes are way too dark now, blown wide with lust, sending another wave of heat flooding through her veins. He goes harder when he sees the desire on her face, pushing her further against the wall, and she lets out a high-pitched moan before biting her lip, remembering where they are.

“Wanna feel you all over my cock,” she hears him saying, but she’s so overstimulated now that can’t quite process the meaning of his words. She’s not sure she’s even breathing as Lando presses his body against her with more force, continuing, “Be a good girl and let go for me.”

That’s all it takes. Her body seizes, her head spinning as pleasure rips through her, hot and intense. And endless. She clenches around him, pulsing, shaking, and the feeling, the sight of her unraveling for him, sends Lando spiraling too.

He chokes out a curse, burying his face in her neck as he surrenders, his hips pressing deep and desperate to keep her close as he fills her. The warmth spreads between them, spilling down her thighs, and the sheer filthiness of it only makes her moan, her fingers flying to curl in his hair once again.

Lando rests his forehead against hers, panting, his lips ghosting over her cheek. He doesn’t move away just yet. Instead, he pulls out, and a sharp whimper escapes her as she feels the mess they’ve made drip down her thighs.

Then, without warning, he pushes back in making her gasp silently this time, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Wait, Lan,” she almost cries, her voice raw.

He keeps her still while he rolls his hips, slow and teasing, his other hand trailing down her stomach before settling low on her belly.

She shudders at the touch and at the way he’s still so deep inside of her, tilting her head and blinking heavy-lidded. “Wh—what are you doing?”

Lando barely hears her. His attention is caught on where they’re still connected, mesmerized by the way his cock glistens with their release as he continues to lazily move in and out. He watches the way her spent body still takes him in, so perfectly, his jaw clenching as pleasure coils in his gut all over again. It sends his head spinning, the wet sensation of skin on skin almost maddening.

Every shift, every sudden flutter of her walls around him, threatens to pull him under completely.

“Fuck, baby,” his raspy voice is laced with adoration. “I can look at you all day.”

Her body is already responding before her mind can catch up. She clenches around him again and again, and Lando chuckles lowly, the sound rich with satisfaction.

“Oh, shit! You like that, don’t you? Hearing how good of a girl you are for me, hm?”

She nods and, without meaning to, she tightens around him harder.

Lando’s grin turns smug. “Yeah, you do,” his hips still for a beat, his hands flexing against her waist before he gives her one hard thrust that knocks the air from her lungs. “Like that, baby,” he groans, the words dripping with heat. “Keep me in.”

The sensation of her pulling him even deeper rips a moan straight from his throat, and Lando drops his forehead to her shoulder, breathing heavily.

“Fucking hell, you’re killing me,” he rasps, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against her damp skin. “Swear to God, I’ll come again if you—”

“Lando?” a muffled, familiar voice rings out from the other side of the door, accompanied by knocking. “Your parents are waiting, mate. You good in there?”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

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sortagaysortahigh · 1 month ago

Text

Loverboy | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds

A/N: Ok yall i had to get Bob out of my mind ok, idk man, ive got some hurt/comfort cooking up in my drafts but i wanted something cutesy and loving ok!!! Plus im on a witch!reader high rn like sorcerer type shi, it's only really mentioned a few times, nothing too crazy fr, Contains Thunderbolts* spoilers

Summary: It started as a joke, but truthfully, you would be the only one riding Bob into space. (Somewhat established relationship)

Warnings: Spelling and grammar errors </3, 2ND PERSON POV, Fluff!!!, cursing, mentions of violence, allusions to child abuse (bob/readers past), John Walkers a dick sorry guys im a hater, mention of Sam and Buckys divorce </3 smut: hair pulling, kissing (with tongue! o em gee!!), grinding, lowkey dry humping, handjobs, p in v unprotected secks (wrap it before you tap it), dirty talk if you squint, praise!, switch!bob & switch!reader tee hee, oral (m receiving), spitting, hand holding

Word Count: 5.9k (shoutout to me for writing smth under 10k)

Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Witch!Reader

Idk bro id kiss him on the mouth fr, even if he has thin lips he can still get a kith!!

It was supposed to be a joke, something light hearted! Today was already stressful enough, you hadn’t meant to make things awkward or tense!

Typically the New Avengers base wasn’t that bad, sure everyone had their quirks, and you honestly couldn’t stand John Walker, but over the past year or so, things had been going relatively well.

Everyone had found a sense of purpose, something that most of the anti-heroes lacked prior to deciding to become the ‘Thunderbolts’. Of course there were still bad days at the tower, everyone had bad days, especially a ragtag group of ex-criminals that had initially been sent on a mission to kill one another.

But, the more missions everyone went on, the stronger their bonds became.

That wasn’t enough to distract from the elephant in the room, being the fact that Valentina’s introduction of you all as the New Avengers spiked a multitude of controversy and bad press. Yes, you’d done good things together, but you weren’t exactly good people, not going into this at least.

Then there was the ongoing lawsuit between the ‘New Avengers’ and the team of Avengers that Sam Wilson had been creating. Those were the people that were deemed as real heroes, they were loved and adored, meanwhile you all were questionable at best.

The newest Space threat had been stressing Yelena out for a few months now, and considering most of the people in the room were juiced up super soldiers, science experiments gone wrong, and former assassins, it wasn’t exactly easy to get the U.S. Air Force and NASA to agree to provide you all with adequate ships that would transport you into space.

So all everyone could do was continue to monitor the situation.

You didn’t necessarily agree with being forced into the New Avengers, not when the only reason that you’d been there for the entire Void fiasco was because Sam had sent you to Washington D.C. to help with Bucky’s political agendas. More specifically his lackluster ability to speak on camera and in interviews.

“He’s a dumb, litigious man” you scoffed at Alexei, throwing the water bottle in hand at him, the bottle hitting him right in the abdomen earning a loud groan as the older man winced while grabbing the right side of his body. “Seriously? Why are you attacking me! I am right, Sam Wilson does not know anything”

You rolled your eyes from your seat beside Bob, now standing and walking over towards everyone while shaking your head.

“No, Sam Wilson is right, we were never supposed to be the Avengers, and I’m sorry but I don’t ever recall the Avengers working under the government. It makes sense that everyone ever is literally on his side, not ours”

Yelena sighed, now slumping over in her seat while looking down at the digital satellite report.

“If you were ugly and didn’t have super cool witchy magic, it would be so much easier to dislike you, you know?” you laughed at her, smiling as you took a seat on the large sectional beside her, glancing at the report, brows knit together in confusion.

“Your diagnostic scan is off, somethings interfering with the feed” Yelena looked from you to the tablet screen, then across the room at Bucky who looked miserable.

Everyone knew he wasn’t handling his ongoing fight with Sam well, and the fact that he was no longer a congressman as he didn’t get re-elected really damaged his ego.

You always told him he’d be fine, it’s not like he was turning into a full fledged brainwashed murderer anymore! A marital dispute wasn’t that bad. They weren’t even married, but the way they’d been bickering over the phone for the past six months, it sounded as if Sam and Bucky were in the middle of a heated divorce.

Then Alexei started on one of his rants about team, and unity, and the very eccentric jumpsuit he had on. He looked like a mediocre NASCAR driver, and the suit was way too colorful for you. Plus the velcro patched on ‘z’ at the end of Avenger was making it look even worse.

“I’ve got one for all of you!”

You shook your head, then glanced back towards Bob who was already looking in your direction, you smiled at him before focusing back on Alexei. It was easy to drown everyone out, you’d gotten used to their presence, most days it was like Walker and Ava weren’t even there.

Although, Ava liked to keep to herself, so that part made sense. But Walker? He was constantly flirting with you, especially after practically announcing to the team that he and his wife were splitting for a while, but he did get to visit his kid often. He was like a feral dog trying to chase whatever bitch in heat he could find.

Except you were not a bitch in heat, and you did not like that man whatsoever.

“If only we had the Sentry who could fly!” you sighed again but before you had the chance to give Alexei shit for talking about Bob, he’d already responded.

“Sorry guys, I can’t be the Sentry without, well y’know” you nodded at him, he’d spent countless nights telling you about it, his fear of becoming the Void again, his fear of hurting everyone, of hurting you.

Before Alexei could respond you waved a hand, now the man couldn’t speak, frustration evident in his expression while he shook his head, hands waving in the air as he glared at you.

“I did the dishes though” you laughed a bit, smiling while looking back at Bob, shooting him a quick wink. Then you waved your hand again, Alexei now being able to speak.

“Woman! I have told you to stop doing that to me!” he shook his head, hands on his hips like a disappointed father while you shrugged, exchanging a look with Yelena before the both of you laughed again.

Then John spoke up “What are we just gonna ride Bob into space?” you responded before fully thinking about it. It was just a joke afterall.

“I’m the only one riding Bob.”

The tablet Bucky was holding was now on the floor, having slipped and fallen face-first against the concrete floors, while Bucky looked utterly shocked and disturbed at the comment.

Yelena simply laughed, nodding her head while high-fiving you.

Alexei’s neck cranked back as he held a disgusted look “you are like daughter to me! Don’t speak like that in front of me! I do not need to know what you and Bob do!”

Ava’s eyes widened, looking from you to Bob, back and forth over and over again “Oh my god! Is that what you two are always doing?! Having sex?! I thought you two just like really liked to read and stuff oh my god!”

Then John scoffed, arms crossed in front of his chest, rolling his eyes at the comment. “Yeah right, we all know Bobby over there isn’t getting laid” your brows knit together at that, slowly turning to face John, who now held eye contact with you.

You were debating on smiting him, it wasn’t the first time either. Bucky had stopped you from fighting John Walker on several occasions, he was always a pompous asshole, sure he’d gotten a bit better, but it was like he never recovered from getting the shield and his military honors revoked.

Then Bob spoke up “Sounds like you’re just jealous man”

Your jaw practically hit the floor.

Yelena nodded her head a few times, a proud look on her face while she observed everyone’s reactions. “The Bob I met fourteen months ago would’ve never said that, I’m proud of you-” she then glanced back at you “-and you, keep doing your thing with him” then she winked.

Before you knew it you were on your feet, rushing over to him and practically dragging him away with you while the room was full of shouts and cheers. Yelena had even been clapping.

Once you were fully out of earshot you turned to face him, lightly slapping his chest, your face and neck were on fire, your skin felt flushed and you were a definitive mixture between embarrassed and turned on.

“Dude! What the hell!” he laughed, the same shy smile that you’d fallen in love with on his face while he shrugged.

“Baby he had it coming” you nodded at that, shaking your head again with another groan “we’re never living that down! Did you hear what Ava said! Geez, mister confident over here” he smiled again, nodding at you before shrugging.

“He’s just kind of an asshole, I had to defend you-or us I guess…wait is there an us?”

It wasn’t a secret that you’d both grown rather close, it initially began when everyone had settled into the tower, the team getting more and more missions, and because you believed in free will, anytime they’d try to make you join them, you would decline. This wasn’t something that you’d wanted, your job was supposed to be one of Bucky’s political advisors pertaining to public relations.

You’d moved past using any form of magic to fight evil, especially after what had happened to Peter, but the only people who remembered him were at peak stages of insanity, or from other universes. Then there was you, the both of you had practically grown up together at one point, but he Blipped and you didn’t.

But after nearly breaking the fabric of the universe to combat the idiotic spells that Stephen Strange had cast to prove a point, you swore off of sorcery. It had it’s helpful moments, small tasks here and there, but fighting crime or being a hero wasn’t something you wanted for yourself.

So you opted to stay at the tower on ‘Bob duty’, and at first it was awkward, a lot of silent exchanges, a few accidents pertaining to dropping things or jump-scaring one another, but then something changed one day.

He asked you to brush his hair, it was so soft and subtle, he said he’d tried, but he just couldn’t, that he was too tired, he’d even explained how difficult it was to leave his room. So you invited him into your space, had him sit between your legs, and you brushed his hair for longer than necessary, running your fingers along his scalp to offer some form of comfort.

Then you both started warming up to one another, you’d ask him for help with the dishes, he’d ask if you wanted to read with him, and the more time spent together, the more you’d both started opening up to one another. Hell, you’d even dragged him plant shopping with you several times under the guise that ‘Bucky said I can’t leave you alone’.

It wasn’t difficult to fall for Bob, he made it really, really easy.

Sure, he had his bad days, but so did you.

He was one of the few people to ask you about your childhood for genuine reasons, most just wanted to know where the whole ‘magic’ thing came from. He asked you about the good and bad times, it was comforting in a way that you hadn’t expected.

You’d both sit together for hours when the tower was relatively empty, some days all you would do was read, others you’d talk through the sunset, into the sunrise. He’d shared bits and pieces of his past with you, gradually giving you more and more details.

Bob had even told you why he hated when Walker called him Bobby, you weren’t there in the void with them at that point, they had to find you in your own shame room. It wasn’t exactly horrible for you though, by the time they’d found you, you were repeatedly punching your own father in the face.

Everything had felt so real that day, when Bucky dragged you away, you’d thrown him off of you at first.

It wasn’t until a few months ago though, that you’d both finally crossed the line between being just friends and something more. You’d been watching the sunset on the rooftop of the building, your head leaned against his shoulder while you both sat in a comfortable silence when he finally asked why you constantly rejected Walker.

At first all you said was ‘cause he’s an asshole’, but when you finally moved to make eye contact with him, he was already looking down at you, and when you caught him, he didn’t blush and look away like he usually did.

He did blush though, but then you’d made the first move, slowly leaning into his space more and more until your lips were on his.

That night pushed you two past just being friends, and since then, he’d been wrapped around your finger. But to be fair, you were wrapped around his as well.

Things had gotten heated relatively fast, a few nights of built up tension led to you falling into his sheets easily, of course the first few nights did involve a few shattered glasses, one broken plant pot, and a cracked window, but once he figured out how to fully control the overwhelming rush of emotions that went hand-in-hand with genuine intimacy, things got easier.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together while he stared at you, you weren’t fully focused on him, a distant look in your eye at his question. You were clearly zoned out, thinking about something and at this exact moment he wished he could read minds. He was starting to overthink things, maybe you two were just friends and he’d been thinking too far into it, people that were friends hooked up all the time.

But he wasn’t sure if they stayed together for hours after, holding one another while speaking in hushed voices about anything and everything.

“Uh it’s okay if we’re not y’know-a thing, uh” you shushed him, blinking a few times, then your smile was back on your face. You were quick to lean in and kiss him, it was a fast kiss, if anything, just a light peck.

But your smile was genuine and reassuring “Yes-there is an us”.

Then the door to your left slammed open, smacking the wall while Yelena and Ava fell to the floor.

Without thinking Bob had pulled you towards him so you were now standing a bit behind him, it was instinctive. Meanwhile Yelena and Ava rolled over, now on their backs while they caught their breath.

“You know, you two are so cute! I knew I was right about you guys! Ava didn’t believe me, can you believe that! Also why are the floors so hard here, that really hurt” you shook your head at Yelena, doing your best to fight the laughter bubbling in your chest as you grabbed Bob’s hand.

“Okay nosey rosies, we’re gonna be in my room! See you guys later!” with that you gently pulled him behind you, walking towards the elevators that led to your floor.

The elevator ride was relatively quiet, but it was a comfortable silence between the both of you, and once the elevator had stopped at your designated floor, without zero hesitation you grabbed his hand, dragging him behind you while heading in the direction of your room.

He didn’t protest, instead he walked right behind you, the same dopey smile on his face that he always had when you two were together.

Once you were both inside, you locked the door while he made himself comfortable on your bed, now laying flat against the plush mattress and pillows. Turning around made you laugh at the sight, he was surrounded by your several different pillows and blankets while he leaned his head forward a bit to look at you.

“You’re so pretty” your smile was bright as you approached the bed, easily slotting yourself beside him, pushing a few blankets to the ground in the process of getting comfortable. It wasn’t like the bed was small, but you’ve always been the kind of person to need twenty pillows.

Eventually you ended up on your stomach, one leg tangled between his, meanwhile you held your upper body up with one hand resting against your chin, the other tracing shapes into his chest. He was flat on his back, one hand resting against his abdomen, the other outstretched to make space for you beside him.

“Robert, do you wanna get married and run away?” his eyes shot open, he’d been enjoying your embrace, eyes shut while he relaxed, but the minute you finished your sentence his heart was practically pounding out of his chest.

“W-what?” you couldn’t hold in your laughter.

“Okay I’m sorry, bad time for random jokes, I just wanted to see if you were awake” he nodded his head, eyes still wide, facial expression emulating distress and shock.

“I’m definitely awake now, y-you can’t just say things like that to me” you raised a brow at that “why?” he sighed “because-you know why-what the hell baby?” The nickname made you smile again, now leaning closer to his face, a few inches away from him.

“I don’t think I know why, you think I’m like un-marry-able or somethin? I’d marry you, probably give it a year or so, but I would” the tone shift in your voice was evident as you spoke, starting off in a joking lighthearted manner, then flowing into a seriousness that you only reserved for specific occasions.

“But I think I’m okay with being your annoying girlfriend for now, besides, I love you” his fingers intertwined with yours, offering a gentle squeeze while his brows knit together, eyes studying your features as if he was looking for an ounce of doubt. He’d never heard you sound so sure of something.

“Y-you love me? You sure?” you looked taken aback by the question.

“Did you just ask me if I’m sure I love you?” he nodded at that. So instead of responding you took a second to sit up, then grasped his arm, pulling him forward slightly, using a tinge of magic to help. Now he was sitting up and you were resting on your knees staring at him.

“I mean I’m me, and you’re-well you’re you. I dunno, I just didn’t think you’d like let alone love someone like m-” you shushed him, jaw clenched slightly as you shook your head “don’t even say that. You’re perfect the way you are, and yeah you’ve been through some rough shit, but we all have. It doesn’t make you unloveable or undeserving Bobby”

There it was, the nickname that you’d only ever brought out in moments like these, private moments away from the world, when it was just you and him.

It was the only time that he loved the nickname, if anyone else called him it, it brought forward feelings of distress, anger, and shame, but with you, you said it so softly and lovingly. It was as if all of the bad had been washed away the second the word would slip past your lips.

He bit his bottom lip, glancing down at your hands, now noticing that you’d still been holding his hand, except now you held his larger hand in both of yours, thumbs carefully caressing his skin in back and forth motions. He took a few moments to look at you, the soft golden glow in the room highlighted against your skin, painting you like an angel.

He didn’t know what he did to deserve someone like you in his life, someone who cared so deeply and loved so passionately. Plus you were mean to anyone that was an asshole, so that was always a bonus.

“I love you. I don’t care if we’ve only known each other a year, I don’t give a shit if it makes me crazy, I don’t care- I love you” as you spoke, you straddled his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders, resting your forehead against his.

“I love you too”

Then your lips were against his again and your hands were in his hair. You took the lead, your body was practically on auto pilot as your lips connected with his. The kiss wasn’t soft, but it was passionate, lips moving in sync, a bit of teeth clashing as you lightly tugged on his hair, then the kiss was filled with heavy breaths, tongue, and smiles.

Naturally your hips started slowly grinding against him, one of his hands on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, pulling you into him even further. The deeper the kiss got, the faster your hips moved against his prominent bulge.

When you pulled away for air you made sure to bite his bottom lip slightly, offering a sultry smile after, eyes moving from his now swollen lips to his hooded eyes, they were glazed over, a hint of gold shining through his pupils.

“I’m the only one riding you right?” he nodded his head, his dopey smile back on his face, then you leaned back into his space, except you were now trailing kisses along his jaw, your teeth lightly nipping at his ear before whispering “can I ride you today?”.

Then your lips were back on his throat, sucking and nipping marks into his skin, prior to his, you did your best not to leave any visible marks on him, but after certain comments today, you had a point to prove.

His breathy moans spurred you on, your hips still grinding against him, moving a bit faster while you focused on his throat, moving from one side to the other before lightly tugging on the collar of his sweater then slowly biting against his pulse point.

You looked at his throat like a piece of art, a satisfied smile on your face at the look of the pink and red marks covering his pale skin. Then your eyes found his and he stared at you with a sea of emotion, the slight golden flicker prominent while he bit his bottom lip, smiling.

“I think you’ve proved your point” you shrugged, laughing a bit “mmm, I dunno Bobby, I haven’t even gotten to take my ride” with that your hands moved to the bottom of his sweater, slowly sliding it up his torso until he’d pulled it off, tossing it aside somewhere, then you were pushing him back onto the bed again, lips back on his skin.

He let you do whatever you wanted to him, one hand behind his head, now watching your movements, his other hand grasping the comforter below.

You moved lower and lower, kissing along his defined abdomen, leaving a trail of wet bruising kisses against his warm skin, then you were staring at him from between his legs, eyes half-hooded, biting your bottom lip, while you dragged your fingers along his waistline, tracing the defined edges of his lower abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his pants.

“You’re gonna kill me baby” you smiled at that, nodding your head “if I wanted to, I would pretty boy” he practically whimpered, the sound made you giggle while unzipping his pants, taking a moment to lightly tug them down his hips a bit, giving yourself more access to him.

“Can I see you?” the question was so sweet and subtle, his mind felt hazy watching as you stared up at him, eyes on his own while you waited on his answer. He nodded his head a few times, letting out a low gasp as you slowly slid his briefs down, fingers grazing over the thick shaft of his cock.

Once you’d pulled his cock out of its constraints you moaned, the sound had him bucking his hips into your hand that was wrapped perfectly around him. Your movements were slow and precise, it was clear that you were teasing him, but before he could protest, you were spitting on his cock, pumping your hand along his cock faster and faster, giggling at his strained moans and whimpers.

You leaned forward, placing a kiss to the tip of his cock before kitten licking it a few times, then wrapping your lips around him, taking him slowly into your mouth, inch by inch until you’d gone as far as you could-gagging on him slightly.

Then you moved away, a string of spit connecting your bottom lip to the head of his cock.

“Have I ever told you how pretty your dick is Bobby? How pretty you are?” he nodded his head again, both hands now on his face while he leaned back into the pillows, muffled moans leaving his parted lips.

Your eyes moved along his cock from its base to the reddened tip, tracing the few prominent veins along his shaft, alongside the swollen head of his cock, all of it with a spit-slick sheen. Then your tongue was back on him, licking along the thickest vein, tracing it like a lollipop.

Beads of precum were leaking from his tip, you switched between using your tongue to gather it, and spreading it with your thumb. You were playing with him, and he was going crazy.

“Baby-please fuck-honey” you looked back up at him, tongue out as you tapped his cock against it, he was now looking at you, desperation evident on his flushed features. His entire upper body had a light red flush, his chest rapidly rising and falling while he moaned above you.

“Okay, I’ll stop teasing you” With one final kiss to the head of his cock you stood up, making a show of taking off your pants, slowly unbuttoning them, bending over and arching your back as you slid them down your body. Once they were off, you reached for your sweatshirt, taking it off and tossing it at him-earning a laugh in response.

You stood in front of him in just your panties and a fitted spaghetti strap tank top.

“You want me to do a little dance for you?” he smiled, shaking his head, now sitting up on his elbows, eyes moving along your figure, very clearly admiring you with a shy smile as if you weren’t just sucking him off. Then you spun around, laughing while jumping a bit, the fat of your ass jiggling at the motion-then you were bending over and his eyes were wide as he watched you slowly slide your panties down your legs.

The evident wet patch in the dark fabric had him biting his lip, but the way they slightly stuck to your slick cunt as you shimmied out of them had him groaning again. Then you were standing up again, facing him while tossing your panties directly at his face.

“Consider it a gift for later” you winked while getting back on the bed, easily slotting yourself above his waist, straddling him yet again, then you were reaching between your thighs, grasping his cock again, slowly sliding it along your cunt before sinking down. You were tired of the teasing, and truthfully, you’d been soaked the entire time.

It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Bob, one of his hands now on your waist, the other intertwined with your own while you did your best to focus on riding him, your hips rising and falling, bouncing against him, enjoying the fullness.

Your moans were getting louder, and your pace was faltering.

While you usually took the lead, you didn’t exactly have the best stamina, not when it came to riding him especially given his size. It wasn’t an easy adjustment the first few times you’d slept together, but now you were used to it, and it drove you mad.

He knew you were already getting tired, offering a love-drunk laugh as you leaned down, forehead resting against his shoulder while you bounced on his cock. He slowly started meeting your movements, hips lightly rising into you, the new movement made you whimper, teeth grazing against his skin.

“You’re doing so good baby” you nodded at his praise, moving to place open mouthed kisses along his jaw. “Just like that, ‘s okay, keep going honey” you whimpered, doing your best to keep going, but your thighs were burning and the pleasure was overwhelming.

Then he wrapped his arm around you, and in seconds you were on your back and he was above you, the sudden movement making you laugh while looking up at him, you squeezed his hand, smiling at the sight of your intertwined fingers.

“Figured you needed a break” you giggled again, rolling your eyes, voice a bit raspy as you mumbled “was it that obvious?” he nodded his head at that, now laughing with you.

Then he was using his other hand to push one of your thighs back slightly, adjusting the angle of his hips before he started slowly thrusting into you, both of your moans blending into one another while he built his own rhythm.

It wasn’t too fast or too slow, the perfect inbetween that had your nails scratching along his back, while you moaned his name, over and over again-enjoying every second of this.

Once he had the perfect angle, he used his free hand to gently pull your tank top down, your tits bouncing with every thrust, the sight had his mouth watering. He was quick to lean into your space, lips on your chest, kissing along your breasts, tongue trailing your hardened nipples one at a time, earning several moans.

While he nipped marks into your skin, he moved his hand to hold your thigh in place, using it to better leverage himself.

Your hand was in his hair now, tugging at the chestnut locks while you moaned his name. The coil in your abdomen was tightening, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

“I’m gonna cum” he nodded his head, now moving his hand from your thigh to between your legs, fingers quickly finding your clit, rubbing half-moons into the sensitive bundle of nerves, as he listened to your high-pitched gasp, your walls fluttering around him at the added pleasure.

You started rolling your hips into him, using your free hand to pull him closer to you, lips back on his, struggling to kiss him as you whimpered against his lips. Your nails dug into his back while you held him close, feeling the coil in your abdomen getting even tighter to the point that you were practically panting against his lips.

Your words were clear as you moaned “I fuckin love you-oh shit”, your back arching into him, hand pulling him closer as your orgasm washed over your entire body, legs shaking slightly at the feeling of him fucking you through it, cock still rocking into you, prolonging your orgasm.

Then as you slowly started coming down, you felt his hips tense slightly, then he was pulling out of you with a low moan, and in seconds he was coating your stomach with thick ropes of cum, the sensation making you giggle.

“Y’know, you could just cum inside of me” he groaned, head now resting in the crook of your neck as he caught his breath, then he slowly moved back, resting on his haunches while you lifted yourself with your elbows, glancing down at the edge of your now ruined tank top, and the evident strings of cum coating the soft pudge of your stomach.

“I don’t think I’m ready for a kid” you were laughing again, hazy smile on your face as you shook your head at him.

“Seriously pretty boy? I’m on the pill y’know” he shrugged at that, slowly tucking himself back into his briefs as he stood up, adjusting his pants for a second before walking towards your en suite bathroom. He was back within a few minutes, now holding two small towels, one wet, the other dry.

He took his time cleaning you up, he always did. “Even if you’re on the pill, we uh-gotta work up to that. I think I might shatter a window the first time I do that” you smiled, shaking your head, now glancing over at the window on the opposite side of the room, eyes tracing the glass to check for any cracks.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t break anything-I already looked around” he spoke as he walked towards one of your dressers, opening the second drawer from the top, pulling out a pair of pajama shorts and a tank top for you, he then threw them at you, smiling while you caught them, tossing your ruined shirt on the ground beside your shared pile of clothes before pulling the new top on.

After freshening up in the bathroom, and putting the new shorts on, you joined him in bed once again, except this time he was in pajama pants without a shirt on, clearly waiting for you to join him.

“Y’know maybe John’s always an asshole cause he’s totally jealous of your abs” you wiggled your brows while you spoke, climbing into the bed beside him, easily propping yourself up beside him, fingers back on his chest and abdomen while he wrapped an arm around your shoulders knowing that it would most likely be numb within ten minutes.

“Or he’s an asshole cause he’s just as asshole” you nodded at that “yeah, probably huh?”

Then you kissed him again, a light peck “I love you Robert” he laughed at your serious tone, followed by you wiggling your brows at the mention of his full name.

He said your full name, winking “-and I love you too”.

The two of you had fallen asleep shortly after that, you were nuzzled into his side and he was flat on his back, embracing you and your warmth.

It wasn’t until several hours later that the hushed commotion in the room had woken the both of you up, well that combined with the large overhead lights that you hated turning on, being on.

“See! I told you it was real! I mean look at Bob! He looks like he was attacked by a vampire! And look how close they are! Plus the pile of clothes! They’re clearly dating and having sex!” Yelena’s whisper was more like a hushed shout as she motioned around the room, then at the two of you in bed together.

“Yel, invading their privacy isn’t being good team members or found family members or whatever your dad calls it!” Ava groaned, her hands on her hips while she looked from Yelena to you and Bob’s resting figures. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed you shifting around, and in turn, Bob moving as well.

“God damnit, here Yelena” John was clearly irritated as he handed Yelena two twenty dollar bills, shaking his head at the sight of Bob’s hickey-covered skin, and you nuzzled against his skin. It didn’t help that you were both also sharing a blanket, and you looked so calm and comfortable, the exact opposite of how you typically looked.

“Can you all shut the fuck up and get out?” your voice was raspy and hoarse as you squinted your eyes, sitting up slightly at the sight of them. Then Yelena shushed everyone else, mumbling out ‘sorry to interrupt! Please go back to sleep and being in love and stuff!’ then the lights were off and the door slammed shut.

Bob laughed, leading to you lightly slapping his chest.

“Don’t encourage them before they try to ride you into space” he snorted at your joke, shaking his head, a sleepy smile on his face.

“I thought you were the only one riding me?”

Thanks for reading secksies <3 MWAH

#bob reynolds x reader #bob sentry fic #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds fluff #bob reynolds smut #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds smut #robert reynolds fluff #robert reynolds fic

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yoongihan · 4 months ago

Text

Services Rendered - BC - 1/3

pairing: escort chan x femreader

genre: smut, with little plot, a lot of talking, fluffy,

word count: ~ 10k

warnings: sex work, smut: pentrative safe sex, fingering (fem rec); a lot of kissing, older reader, chan goes by chris, use of 'baby' and 'yeonin' (don't ask, just writing him required all the endearments), the most ethical escort service ever; a little alcohol imbibed, but no one's drunk., some discussion of insecurities on both chris's and reader's parts. if i've missed something, let me know.

rating: 18+/M

summary: seeking a solution to your lack of experience, you assume the process will be business-like. you're entirely wrong.

a/n: vaguely based on the film Good Luck to You, Leo Grande. decided this couldn't be a one-shot they way it was going. so since the time frame is a weekend, they'll be another part for the second day, then perhaps an epilogue. thank you for the interest on the teaser. this is probably the softest sex worker au known to man.

Part One

The knock on the door startles you. It shouldn’t. You’ve known that he’ll be showing up at seven pm since you received the confirmation email; after the survey, the video interview, and the background check.

You look down at yourself at the knock, an immediate and instinctual check. There isn’t anything you can do in two seconds to change how you look, who you are; but the quick look is years and years of the world reminding you that you are not what the world wants. Which sometimes you can pride yourself on. But today, you can’t muster up that bravado.

But it’s been seconds since the first knock, so you hurry as the second rap sounds against the wood. You don’t look through the peephole because you’ll lose your nerve, and unless there are serious red flags with the person on the other side of the door, you are doing this.

It’s past time after all.

You open the door, smile on your face even if it’s the fakest you’ve ever pasted on.

The answering smile is far more sincere and confident than yours. And includes dimples.

Oh god, they’d taken you seriously about often liking younger men.

“Hi?” He starts when you don’t utter a word, shell-shocked. He says your name with a similar question mark at the end.

“You have a beautiful smile.” You’re frozen, eyes sweeping up and down, taking in his casual air, amplified by the soft cardigan, shirt, and nice jeans. Then you actually hear what you’ve just said. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Um, please come in…Christopher?”

The confirmation email hadn’t given you a lot of details, but it did have his name.

“Thank you and Chris is fine.” He’s still smiling as he walks in and you close the door behind. You watch him scan the room, taking in the couch, the view of the city beyond it. It’s the nicest hotel you’ve ever stayed in, but neutral territory had been recommended. “This is stunning.”

Your brain kicks back in, your eyes admiring the picture he made against the city lights. “You’re…your accent…Australian.”

He turns from taking in that spectacular view, his grin wider. “Good ear.” He sets his two bags, one messenger and one overnight (the implications of that second one sends another wave of anxiety through you) on the couch before seeing the two wine glasses on the coffee table. “Will you think less of me if I don’t drink?”

“Oh. No, not at all.” Your hands are clasped in front of you, like a caricature of an anxious woman. “There’s sodas in the minibar. Would you prefer me not to drink as well?”

He stands between the sofa and the window, eyes on you. “Will it help you relax?” He’s in profile, and you gaze at him, the strong nose, chin, and as you let your eyes travel down, the absolutely gorgeous ass.

You didn’t even know you had opinions about mens’ asses until this very moment.

You cough a laugh, focusing back on his question. “Obvious huh?”

“It’s pointless of me to say not to be nervous, but I hope you know that you’re safe.”

You take a deep breath, walking over to the minibar and searching for two bottles of water. You force yourself to walk over to him, offering him one.

“I know your company is reputable.”

He takes the water bottle from you, letting his fingers lightly touch yours. It’s nothing more than that, but you suspect it’s intentional.

“It is. You did your research.” He tilts his head to the side, endearingly like he’s going to see you differently by just that change of angle. “Four months, wasn’t it?”

“You watched the interview?”

“Of course I did.”

If one of your hands wasn’t still holding a now sweating bottle of water, you would cover your face in embarrassment. You resist the impulse, just barely.

“Do you think I’d come here without doing my own research?” He’s amused, voice still warm with his accent and what you would normally categorize as fondness, but that’s impossible just meeting him seconds ago.

“But I know nothing about you, just the company. They were very cryptic.”

“Well….isn’t that the fun of a date? The getting to know someone?” He gestures for you to sit on the couch before he untwists the cap and takes a swallow of water. He sits down once you do, leaving several feet between you.

“Is that a better choice of word than assignation?”

He chuckles, pointing at me. “Smart. That was apparent pretty early on.” He seems completely at home even though you’ve been in the room since early afternoon, and are sitting with your back ramrod straight. “Didn’t even have to mention your job situation to know you’re smart.”

There is no natural segue into this, but you have to know. Even if he lies to you, you have to know. “Do you have a choice? I mean, do they assign you clients who fall under certain types, or do you have a quota?”

“You want to talk about my work?”

You take a breath, setting down the bottle on the table. “I guess not. I hope this isn’t horribly unwanted. I know it’s work for you, but I hope you–”

He shakes his head, immediately straightening up from his relaxed position, hand falling to your knee, not bare because you couldn’t see meeting him in a dress, even if that was encouraged for ‘heightened romance’ and ‘efficient disrobing’. Despite that you’re wearing a blue jumpsuit, his hand is so warm through the fabric.

“This okay?” He nods to his hand placement.

“You have carte blanche to touch me, Chris. I’ll tell you if I’m not okay with it.” That’s something you feel sure about at least.

His eyes widen and his smile grows. “Okay then. Same, by the way.”

There goes your confidence running out the door; that you can touch him in any way you want.

“Back to your question. I chose you.”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs and gently squeezes your knee before drawing back. You’re somewhat befuddled by the simple touch and you remind yourself that you’re in for a lot more than that and to stop being so sensitive.

“I watched your video, read your survey answers…and said yes.” He puts down the water bottle and leans forward a bit. “If no one had said yes, you wouldn’t have gotten that confirmation email.”

“You can choose?”

He nods.

“And you were okay with me?”

“Wow.”

You recognize it, the immediate words of chastisement that come when you say things like that, so you continue quickly.

“I know, I know. I should be confident, right? Love myself, blah blah blah. I don’t hate myself. I just also know that I’ve never had someone interested in me enough to make me think that anyone would choose me.”

He doesn’t say anything at first. And you realize you’ve just made this all the more awkward and put words into his mouth, which is highly presumptuous of you.

“I’m sorry.” It’s easier to stare at the city lights than at him, no matter how beautiful he is.

“Why?”

You look at him. “I…I was rude.”

“You were honest.”

You scoff. “That’s not usually a problem for me.”

“Good.”

You tuck your feet under you, leaning one elbow on the back of the sofa, eyeing him like he isn’t real.

He’s not. You’ve paid a lot of money for an illusion.

“Really?”

“I like honesty.”

“Even if you’re playing a part for me?”

“You did not mention roleplay on that survey.” His smirk is delighted when you drop your gaze. “I’m not playing. Yes, I do what I do, but I’m going to be myself.”

“Even if all I want is so vanilla it barely qualifies for your line of work?”

He shakes his head. “Even if that’s all. But I don’t think that’s entirely true.” He reaches out, hand hovering over yours. “Okay?”

“Carte blanche.” You nod. You’re pretty sure you mentioned that you were touch-starved in the application process.

He slots his fingers with yours, his focus on the meeting of your hands. “Do you want to talk about why I’m here?”

You wish you could say no, but that’s cowardly. And you do want to be brave.

“That I’m a virgin and have so little understanding of sexual pleasure so I hired an expert to do what I can’t even do for myself?” your voice breaks and you hate yourself for it.

“Why are you a virgin?” he asks. “Sex is not difficult to find if you really want to.”

“I said all this in my–”

“I’d like you to tell me anyway.” He doesn’t do more than hold your hand and his warmth, the lyrical quality of his voice seems to calm you just a touch. “Please?”

He has beautiful eyes. He probably knows that, and knows how to use them. But you can’t help but get lost in them when he says ‘please’ just like that.

“I’m…I think or I thought that it should be something special, you know? I get that maybe I idealized it a bit much, growing up, eyes all starry with thoughts of romance and being intimate. But even recognizing that, I didn’t want to just…say yes to the drunken proposition at a bar. And…well, I’ve never been in a relationship, so being with someone I trusted wasn’t on the table either.”

“And why haven’t you been in a relationship?”

“It’s not just on me…the other person has to want to as well.” You’re beginning to sound like a petulant child and that’s not ideal.

“You’re telling me no one wanted to?”

You stare at your combined hands. “If someone wanted to, I didn’t. If I wanted more than just a moment, he wasn’t interested.”

He says your name and you look up. You aren’t sure what he’s thinking, but it’s not pity in his eyes. That’s nice at least.

“Why now? Why the company?”

“I’m…” You let out a heavy breath. “You saw my information. You know how old I am.”

“I do.”

“I’d like to know what an orgasm feels like before I get any older, because time seems to be running so fast and I’m frustrated that this part of life, of the human experience, is blocked from me.”

“It’s not.” He loosens his grip, turning your hand so it’s open, face-up, on your knee. He starts to trace along the lines there. “You can have an orgasm any time you want.”

“You think I haven’t tried?”

“What’s the problem?” There is no judgment in his tone, nothing but consideration. When you don’t immediately answer, he continues. “This wasn’t in your application or interview.”

“I get scared.”

To his credit, he doesn’t stop the light touching of your hand, even if admitting this feels like the quintessential ‘walking into your classroom naked’ nightmare.

“Do you know why?”

You shrug, completely focused on the chaste and sweet brushes of skin on skin. “I haven’t been to therapy in a couple years, but I can speculate.”

He waits, a quirk of a smile when you don’t say anything.

“I’ve probably built it up, in my head. Made it such a big deal that the anticipation is insurmountable. Or…I hate that it’ll just be me. That my first one will be on my own. I don’t know.”

“Or societally-taught shame.”

You laugh. “Or that.”

He finally draws away after your hand feels thoroughly seduced. He leans back, waits before speaking. He doesn’t seem to rush anything, which is both nice and absolutely maddening.

“Will it still be special if you’ve paid for it?”

That is the question, isn’t it?

“Maybe not. But at least, you’re contractually obligated to make sure I enjoy it, right? That seems pretty special after hearing everything from women I know about the men they sleep with.” The stories you’ve heard. It’s enough to question whether sex is even what you hope it might be.

“And that’ll be enough?”

You want to reach out and touch him. Trace the lines of his face; the strong nose, the dimples, the curves of his eyebrows and lips. Touch the dark hair, wavy and messy that contrasts with the striking facial features.

You could, you suppose. You paid for such access, right?

As beautiful as he is, as lovely as his voice is, and perhaps it’s because of those very things that you cannot be bold physically. Even if all you want is to be held.

“I guess it has to be.”

He nods and opens his mouth to speak, but your stomach decides right then to make the most egregious sound. He laughs, a full session of giggling as you heat in mortification. He stands and offers his hand.

“Let’s have dinner then?”

“Oh but.” How do you word this? “Is that good to do before–?” You’re an adult but you can’t for the life of you say ‘making love’ which isn’t even accurate. But ‘fucking’ feels incredibly crass.

He rubs his thumb over your knuckles. “You’ll need your energy, right?”

He’d know of course.

Some of the tension, the awkwardness, dissipates when you both look at the room service menu and order. Chris admits that spicy food is not his thing and you think it funny that this is the first thing you both have in common.

“Do you…do you abstain from alcohol because of struggling with it?”

He has poured you a glass of the sparkling sweet stuff you’d picked up for yourself. You were pretty sure he wouldn’t like it, most men don’t or don’t admit that they do. The wine, like this entire experience, is for you.

Your mind likes to tell you that you’re being selfish, but you’re choosing not to listen closely.

He sets down the bottle before gesturing that you should sit again on the sofa while waiting for dinner. He waits until you sit before doing the same. You note mentally, in all capital letters, that he sits closer to you.

“I generally don’t like it. Nor is it something I ever want to rely on…” He watches you take a sip and you find that a skill you tend to do well (drink something) is hindered by such an attentive gaze. You wipe your mouth quickly and set the glass down, looking away. “It’s my job. And I don’t want to do it with an inhibited mind.”

“Oh.”

“Can you do something for me?” he asks softly, reaching out once again to take your hand. You let him, hoping he will as successfully seduce this as he��d done with the other.

“What?”

“When you have a thought, like you just did? Just tell me.”

“Without a filter?”

He grins, wide. “Absolutely without a filter.”

“Why?”

He chuckles and starts tracing the lines of your palm and fingers. “How am I going to get you to let go if I don’t know what is going on inside that head of yours?”

“I was hoping you’d just shut it down for me instead.”

It’s a glint. A quick, but potent change in his eyes. “Gotta know how it works before I render you senseless.”

His voice has changed too. No longer warm, but hot. No longer lyrical, but sharp.

“It’s noisy,” you say slowly. “My brain rarely slows down or gets quiet. I went to a concert once, one I was super super excited about, and I kept telling myself to enjoy the moment, being present right then. But just telling myself that…”

“Means you weren’t. Present.”

You shake your head. “I’m going to overthink this.”

He nods. “Understood.” He lets his touch carry up the inside of your forearm and elbow. You shiver. He meets your eyes with a smirk.

“How long have you been doing this? With the company?”

“A few years,” he says, fingers still lightly brushing your skin. “It’s not my only job. It’s just the better paying one.”

“What else do you do?”

“Act. Or try to. I go to quite a few auditions, but the results aren’t great.” His lips twist as he thinks. “But I like it. I like the process of character work.”

“Do you do community theatre?”

“Some.” He grins. “You a theatre kid?”

“Once upon a time.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but there’s a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh but–”

He stands, hand out to keep you where you’re at. “It’s your weekend, right? Let me serve you.” The emphasis on ‘serve’ is left hanging as he goes to the door to retrieve dinner. You take a big gulp of your drink, unbidden images in your mind. You have no practical experience, but your imagination is as active as the rest of your brain.

He returns with a large tray, setting down the dishes with ease.

“Worked in food service?”

“Who hasn’t?” He returns to the spot next to you and rests his hands on his knees. “You?”

“Food service? Yes. I was terrible at it.”

He laughs before removing the lids of each plate. He offers you one, silverware in his other hand.

“Here you are, madam,” his grin is unburdened, very playful and bright. You could stare at it for hours. “Why were you terrible at it?”

You set your plate down, waiting for him to get his own food before you start. “Too many things to remember. And trying to interact with people like that? It was just…awkward. I'm decent with people, but for whatever reason, having to take their orders, bring them food and drink, figure out when is the appropriate time to bring them their check, just makes me awkward.” I shrug. “Also, murder on the feet.” You take a bite and chew, enjoying the flavors.

“It really is. Which is why I prefer to do my work lying down.”

You can feel the immediate heat in your face at his words and he laughs so hard, he falls back on the couch.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry. It’s such a bad joke, but your face.” He squeezes your knee again, before taking a bite of his own meal. When you don’t say anything, he swallows and looks back at you. “What? Cheesy jokes aren’t your thing?”

It’s the smile. The crinkling of his eyes and scrunch of his nose.

You lean close to kiss his cheek. “I just wanted to do that,” you say softly before pulling back and trying to focus on your food. You can feel his gaze as you take a few more bites. You know your embarrassment is more than obvious if he’s looking at you.

Finally after several seconds of silence, you make eye contact.

He smiles once you do, not saying anything, but returning to his meal. You both concentrate on that, the conversation mostly paused for sustenance. He refills your glass, but you’re careful not to drink too much, recognizing that you are a lightweight and you want to remember whatever happens.

“We can order dessert?” he prompts when each of your plates are more empty than full.

You lift your glass. “Plenty of sweet right here.”

“Can I try?” He doesn’t go for the extra wine glass still on the low table. He reaches for yours. It’s familiar, the drinking after someone else. You know it’s dumb to focus on it as you hired him for sex, but as you watch him sip it and stare into nothing as he ponders if he likes it or not, you feel the intimacy.

“Well?”

“I like it.” He hands the glass back. “Doesn’t taste like alcohol.”

“Which makes it dangerous and this should be the last for me.” You look back to your plate, not completely done, but you’re thinking too much again and you can’t stomach any more.

He stands and starts to clean up, shaking his head the moment you move to join.

“I’m not good with just…not doing anything.”

“I can see that.” He doesn’t have to seem so amused. “Makes it fun.”

Mock-annoyed, you take your glass and walk to the windows so you can take in the view. The sun has been set for at least an hour now, and the lights from the city buildings are plentiful. You take a few deep breaths, realizing that now dinner is done, there is nothing hindering the ‘just do it’ portion of the night.

You hope he’s okay with a lot of foreplay because you, in the little you know about your body, need a lot of build up.

The door opens and shuts with him setting out the dishes for hotel staff to retrieve and soon you hear him rustling through his bag. You turn to see him pull out a zipped pouch. He winks at you.

��Gonna brush my teeth?”

“Oh. Oh sure.”

He chuckles at your response, and you force yourself to look back out over the city. Then in an almost panic, you finish the last of your wine, set down the glass and hurry to your overnight bag by the king-sized bed. You dig through to find your own toiletry bag, and tug it out. He comes out of the bathroom, glances over to see you’re no longer by the window.

“I thought…” You feel so stupid. “I’d do the same.”

He smiles and gestures toward the bathroom. You hurry past him and shut the door behind you. You regret looking in the mirror as your face is decidedly not a poker face. Your nerves show in your eyes, the swollenness of chewing on your lips, the sheen of perspiration on your skin.

You wipe under your eyes as your makeup is smeary before quickly brushing your teeth. You soak one of the pristine white washcloths and twist it so it’s damp and not dripping. You press it lightly to your face, hoping the cool will calm you down. You fiddle with your necklace, pulling the clasp to the back of your neck as though that will make any difference in how you appear to him.

When you open the door, he’s standing by the end of the bed, hands in his pockets, looking at the two books you have on the nightstand. He points to them before speaking.

“Planning on doing a lot of reading?” He’s teasing, and that helps you calm down a little bit.

“I can’t go anywhere without at least one book. Even if the chances of getting to read are slim to none.” You mirror his posture, sliding your hands into the pockets of your jumpsuit.

“You okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

“Theoretically? Absolutely.” Your tone does nothing to confirm your words.

“Wanna sit with me?” He sits at the end of the bed and pats the space next to him. You hesitate. “Or we can sit on the couch?”

Dumb, you are dumb. The bed is the obvious final destination, but for whatever reason, the couch feels safer right now.

“Please. The couch.”

He gets up and walks over to where you are still standing. He slips his hand in yours.

“Come on, yeonin,” he says as he leads you back to the couch. He tugs you down next to him and you sit stiffly, hand still in his, other hand on the edge of the cushion like you’re about to escape. You force yourself to take a deep breath. “That’s better.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

You look at your hands entwined. His are, like the rest of him, really attractive; bigger than yours, veins prominent in the way that epitomizes sexy.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight. We don’t have to do anything the entire time,” he reassures you, making you look up to his face. “This is for you. It can be on your timeline.”

“But…but if I don’t do it now…I don’t think I ever will.”

He lifts your hand to his lips, presses a kiss to your knuckles, causing you to stare at him. “I think you’re psyching yourself out.”

“Oh, I am absolutely doing that,” you agree. “I can’t seem to stop it.”

He purses his lips in thought, then draws your hand against them again. He has to hear the catch in your breathing because he smiles.

“Let’s start with what you are comfortable with. What you’ve done previously. What you want to do. With me.” His voice drops at the end, and you feel it pulsate through your body.

“Okay.”

He waits, patiently. You pull your hand out of his and turn toward him, trying to relax yourself enough that you don’t look primed to run away. You tuck one leg under you before taking his hand again. He smiles as you do, slotting his fingers with yours, watching you as you watch how your hand looks in his.

“I like your hands,” you say softly.

“Yeah? Why?”

You like how his voice doesn’t betray any judgement at your words, or offense. Just curiosity. When you meet his gaze, you can see the top of his cheeks are a little pink.

Is he blushing?

“Well, one, they’re very warm.” You laugh. “I like the way they’re shaped.” You trace his index finger as you continue. “I know masculinity and femininity are products of our society, but they’re very masculine.” You shrug before shivering.

“You cold?” he asks quickly, letting go of your hand to tug off his cardigan. He has it on your shoulders, pulling it closed, before you can even protest. His white t-shirt underneath stretches taut across his chest and shoulders, catching your attention for a good few seconds.

“I…thank you,” you reply, burying yourself more in the soft fuzzy material. “I like this cardigan.”

“I thought you might.” He’s gone back to holding your hand, other arm propped against the back of the sofa.

His words spark something. “Wait…do you pick your clothes based on your clients?”

He grins, leaning his head on his hand, eyes sparkling. “You really want me to talk about work?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t, but I’m really fascinated.”

“Well…yes. It’s a costume. Some clients want a type of escort who’s very put together, like in a suit.”

The image of him in a well-tailored suit pops into your head immediately. “I imagine you look stunning.”

The pink spreads in his cheeks and you are beyond amused that this man, with the job he has, could at all be embarrassed by something as simple as a compliment.

“I…I have a few nice suits.” He clears his throat. “But dependent on what a client is looking for in an…encounter, dictates outfit as much as persona.”

“I wouldn’t have minded seeing you in a suit.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand before letting it go and tapping a random rhythm on your leg. “I speculated, from your interview, the way you looked at the camera, that you probably prefer authenticity over any sort of glamour. Someone a bit more real.”

“And that’s a cardigan?”

“For me it is. I was grateful I didn’t have to use anything in my hair.” He laughs now and you reach to touch his hair instinctively, caught up in the coziness and comfort of him and the simple conversation. His hair is soft, without any hair product. You can feel his eyes on you as you let your fingers brush through the strands.

“So…you’re telling me,” you ask, drawing back after another minute. “You are being yourself, right now?”

“As much as a person can be with someone they’ve just met. And hope to–” He looks up, searching for the word.

“To fuck?”

His eyes dart back to you. “Simply put. But I would like to imagine it’d be a bit nicer than that.” Neither of you say anything and you’re back to second-guessing yourself. “Hey,” he begins. “Come here.”

He takes both of your hands, pulling you so you are almost in his lap. He lets your hands fall to his shoulders, his own holding about the waist. The position means he’s looking up at you.

His thighs are warm between your legs, his eyes accented by dark lashes. You draw one finger down the length of his nose. He scrunches it at your touch.

“It’s big.”

You laugh at his self-deprecation and the underlying innuendo that was probably unmeant but who cares?

“It’s a very nice nose,” you reply, cheeky grin. He responds with his own smile. “It fits your face, so it works, right?”

“We all have our insecurities, right?”

You brush back his hair, thinking. “Some of us have so many it’s hard to see what’s not tainted in dislike.”

His hands tighten at your waist. “Tell me something you like about yourself.”

“Oh my god, you sound like my college counselor, who had me write five good things for every bad thing I said about myself.”

His smile is softer and one hand slides up your back, under the cardigan. “I’m asking for just one.”

“As much as it gets me into trouble,” you state slowly, your own hands mapping the journey of his shoulders to his neck and back again. “I like that I’m honest. That’s my default.”

“Another.”

“You said just one.”

“I did, but I’m greedy. Another and it has to be shallow.”

“Shallow?”

“Your looks.”

You frown at him, but he’s so pretty like this, looking up at you like he has all the time in the world, that he’s not on the clock. That this entire experience isn’t funded by your savings account and a plan months in the making.

“I…”

“You can do it.”

You slap his shoulder and he laughs. “Do not patronize me.”

“I’m not. I’m encouraging.”

“Please.”

“Another good thing, about you.” His hand that had slid up your back has now drifted down, resting right at the curve of your ass.

“My eyes?”

“What about them?”

“God, you are my college counselor.”

His smile is unrepentant.

“They’re nice.”

His expression morphs into mild annoyance. “They’re beautiful. I like the color. And how much they show. You’d be shit at poker.”

“I’ll have you know that I mask my feelings decently well in everyday life. I’m just tired.”

He nods.

“You’re not going to ask me to say another nice thing, are you?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

You lean down slightly, lessening the distance between your faces. His eyes don’t flicker away.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

“Maybe?”

“I like when you’re like this.”

“Like what?”

“Confident. It’s sexy.” His voice drops lower with these words and you belatedly realize that in your effort to evade having to say another nice thing about yourself, you’ve invaded his personal space (not that he looks like he’s bothered by it) and if this was a movie or any type of story, your next move would be to kiss him.

Which means now you’re looking at his lips. They, like everything you’ve seen of him so far (oh my god, you are going to see all of him at some point if this experience is at all successful) are beautiful, perfectly-shaped, enticing.

He says your name in the same low voice, a promised whisper. “Kiss me.”

You swallow nervously. “It’s been a minute.”

“All the reason to practice on me.”

He’s good at this. Softening a moment that feels like too much for you. Making you smile when you feel overwhelmed and doubtful.

“Use you?”

“Please.” His hand slips farther down and there’s no denying that he has moved to less than appropriate places.

You let your eyes close as you cover the last bit of space between you and him, your lips touching his so lightly it feels like a wisp of a daydream. He doesn’t let you get away with it though. Hand cupping the back of your neck, he keeps you there, the kiss lengthening and lingering in a way that brings back the shivers you thought the cardigan had dispelled.

When he draws back, your breathing is a bit labored. He caresses where his hands sit, neck and ass, watching you carefully. You expect him to say something, maybe about you needing some practice for sure, but he doesn’t. He just watches before moving back in.

“Open up, yeonin,” he whispers, and your lips part instinctively at his words. Eyes close and you feel his tongue trace the inside of your lips before sliding in to stroke yours.

You whimper and his hand tightens its grip on your ass. You run your fingers through his hair before moving closer. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’s good at kissing…it’s probably a requirement of his job. But where so many can use their tongue to excess, he’s found the perfect balance of tongue, lips, and teeth.

When you decide to be a bit bold and nibble on his lower lip, his hand tightens, a sharp exhale.

“Confident,” he murmurs against your mouth before leaving it to press kisses to your jaw line, down to your neck. There’s a light nip and you gasp, your own fingers digging into his shoulders. He squeezes the back of your neck gently.

“Chris,” you breathe, and he draws back, looking up at you. His lips are swollen, pink and plump. The color high on his cheeks, his hair even more tousled.

“What is it, baby,” he asks softly, the quiet of the hotel room overwhelming. Should you have put on music? Isn’t that often the precursor to a night like this? His kiss on your lips is quick and almost careless. “Stay with me. I can see you thinking too hard.”

You half-laugh, embarrassed, loosening your hands and starting to sit back on your heels practically. He holds you firm so you can’t put any distance.

“Don’t. Don’t move away.” He rubs your back, soothing. “What is it?”

“I just…you’re right. I’m thinking again.”

He smiles, leaning in so your noses touch. “Kiss me again. You’re good at it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His smile widens when you swoop back in. He lets you lead, eager to taste him, eager to enjoy this moment without thinking it’ll end in minutes. You play with his hair, while he kisses you back, tongue curling with yours. It takes you a moment or three, realizing that his hold on your ass, tightens ever so much, ever so slowly closer until when you break from his lips to suck a mark on his neck, his hips buck right up against you.

And you freeze.

“Hey, hey,” he says, still in that soft soft voice.

“Sorry, sorry,” you breathe.

“Scared?” You’ve tucked your face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, trying to relax.

“It’s dumb. It…you feel good. It’s just…surprising. I’m sorry.”

He kisses the side of your head, the hand again rubbing circles on your back. “Don’t apologize.” He waits. “Look at me.”

You lift your head, your face burning with humiliation. He cups your face in his hand.

“Your pace, okay? If you’ve never been with someone, it would be a little scary.” He holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger. “But if it worried you at all, I do want you.”

You take a deep breath, watching his face as though there might be something to tell you he isn’t being truthful.

“You’re way too nice.”

He chuckles, kissing you softly. “I like being nice. I like being nice to you. I like listening to the sounds you make when you’re excited, how you move closer when turned on.” He stares at you with no shame. “I like that it’s me making you do those things.”

Your cheeks burn.

“Come on,” he says, and without any sort of visual effort, he lifts you. You squeak, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s laughing at your shock, carrying you toward the bed. You can feel your breathing shorten as he lays you down with ease. He regards you, rubbing one hand on your thigh that starts to relax, his other against the mattress, so his entire weight isn’t on you.

You stare up at him.

“What are you thinking now?”

“That I’m warm.”

His grin is infectious. “Probably ought to get rid of that cardigan.” He rolls to his side, gently tugging the garment off your shoulders, down your arms. You push yourself up so he can pull it from under you. You fall back, the bed bouncing. He waits for a second.

“Still warm?” he asks, fingers tracing the buttons in front of your jumpsuit. His eyes flick to yours. “We still good?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not entirely convinced by that,” he teases, leaning to kiss you just as he undoes the top button. You focus on the feel of his mouth, the wet heat, even as it leaves your lips, trailing down to your neck and then the middle of your chest as he undoes the rest of the buttons. “Pretty,” he comments when your bra is revealed by the unbuttoning. He looks up at you through his lashes.

“Pretty,” you repeat, tugging on the shoulder of his t-shirt. He laughs as he sits up and does the very attractive guy thing, of pulling it off from behind his neck. “Oh.”

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at his half-naked state. “I mean, I did have dinner, so…” There’s humor, but you hear the self-deprecation.

It’s instinct, you sitting up and reaching out to touch him. “The ‘oh’ was pure admiration, Chris. Like, you are stunning.” Your hands trace down his arms. “I…it’s a little intimidating, honestly. I know that for your job…both jobs probably…you need to look perfect…but perfection is daunting.” You don’t think that your hands are boldly caressing his bare skin, until you feel the top of his jeans at your fingers. Your eyes widen and you pull away as though burnt.

He’s giggling, grabbing your hands and placing them back on his shoulders. “Carte blanche, remember. God, you’re cute.” He keeps his smile even when the giggles subside, carefully nudging your clothing off your shoulders. He draws one finger up the valley between your breasts.

“I am not perfect-looking.”

He doesn’t look away from you, eyes heating at your bare skin, his hand resting on your arm. You start to pull away, fidget at the quiet and his lengthy perusal. His hand tightens, keeping you still.

“Chris.”

His eyes move up to yours. “Stunning.”

You don’t believe him, why would you when he looks like he does? But there’s something in his gaze that makes you think he believes it, and in matters of whether or not someone is beautiful, it really is in the eye of the beholder, right?

And he is beholding, currently.

It’s too much for you at this point, his acute focus on you, so you move in to kiss him again, more than happy to get back to the familiar. He returns kiss for kiss, and you fall backward into the mattress and pillows, his body on yours, a pleasant weight. When he leaves your lips this time, you think you’ll feel him against your neck, leaving marks; but the wet heat of his mouth encases your covered breast. The gasp you let out is barely audible, the sharp inhale of air. It sends a frisson through you, as his hand slips under the still open fabric covering your hips. The combinations of heat from his mouth and his hand overwhelms, and you can’t stop shuddering. You make some nonsensical sound when he proceeds to lavish the same attention on your other breast. The wet lace and satin scratches in the most indulgent way.

“Do something for me?” he whispers, his breath chilling your damp skin.

“What?”

“Since it’s new, use the stoplight system? Red means full stop. Yellow means a pause, perhaps take a break, and green means you’re good, not scared, not hurting.” His eyes zero into yours without flickering away.

You nod, breathless. “Okay. I…I can do that.”

“Cause I’m gonna touch you now, and you gotta tell me what works and what doesn’t.” He kisses your nose. His fingers sneak under your underwear, slowly like he believes you’re still skittish (you are, but you also want something down there). He’s so gentle, kissing you as he drags the pad of his finger along your entrance. “Color?” he says against your mouth.

“Huh?”

He lifts his head a bit more, smiling down at you. “What color?”

“Oh. Oh! Green.”

He chuckles, murmuring, “Cute,” before going back to kissing you. His thumb presses on your clit and your hips buck. “Easy,” he says, his other hand on your hip to hold you down.

“Chris…that…that feels good.”

He does the same movement again, your hips try, but his hand is heavy to keep you steady. “That?”

You narrow your gaze, even though you’re quivering with his touch. “You’re making fun of me.”

He leans in, smile as wide as can be, dimples deep. His nose brushes yours.

“Absolutely.”

You raise up to meet his lips, fingers seeking his hair. He hums, his fingers playing with you, as though seeking the destination immediately isn’t the point. You trace down his neck to his shoulders and arms.

“You know,” you begin, gasping when he slides one finger into you. His smile is so arrogant.

“You were saying?”

“I…”

He circles your clit with the barest of touches, his other finger curling up inside. Your breath hitches.

“Breathe, baby. Yeonin, you’re okay, just breathe.” His gaze is soft on you as you can’t help but close your eyes tight as the liquid pull of pleasure grows. You feel like a band drawn tight, seconds away from breaking. You feel his lips on yours, careful before speaking. “Don’t be scared, just let go.”

It ramps up, the tension building and building, and you are gasping, opening your eyes to see that his gaze is resolute on you.

When his second finger slips in, curling with the other, you shatter.

He licks into your mouth, as you have no voice to make a sound. You’re only aware of the sensations; his tongue on yours, your fingers biting into the skin of his arms, how your legs tremble.

How the quiet and ease flickers back into your brain after the quivers lessen, and the muscles ease.

His fingers are still in you, still touching you and you shake your head.

“Too much?”

“Yellow.”

He pulls his hand away, quietly adjusting your underwear. The hand that held your hip slides up to your stomach, warm and comforting.

You take a deep breath, finding his eyes. “Wow.”

He laughs, falling down next to you, no longer propping himself up. If your face was hot with exertion and arousal earlier, it’s now hot with embarrassment.

“That’s the best feedback I’ve gotten,” he says, his hand cupping your waist, so he can roll you toward him.

“I doubt that.”

He leans in to kiss you quick. “How do you feel?”

“Both exhausted and energized. I think.”

“Sounds about right.” He rolls to his back, looking up at the ceiling. You push yourself to your elbows, unable to look away from him. He eventually glances over. “Yes?”

“That’s not it, is it?”

He snorts, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Not at all. But I thought you might want a break.”

Your gaze moves from his beautiful face to his arms. “I remember what I was going to say before you…”

“Before I…?”

“Shut up.”

He’s snickering.

“I was going to say how it’s wrong that they only talk about curves in regards to women. Men have curves too.” You smooth your fingers along his arm, wrist to shoulder. “Just as beautiful.”

His snickering fades. “Really?”

“Arms…jaw line.” You trace each as you speak. “Lips.” Which part when your finger makes contact. You meet his eyes for a second before hoping it’s an invitation, slip your finger in. His lips wrap around it, his teeth dragging against the pad of your finger. “Oh god.”

He smiles before sucking then releasing. He sits up, finger under your chin so you’re facing him. He kisses you lightly, before toying with the last button on your jumpsuit. “I think we should remove this.”

As much as you’d like to see more of him, completely baring yourself is something you haven’t done outside of your own bedroom, and in a doctor’s office. But you can do this. “Okay..if…” You gesture to his jeans. “Equality and all that.”

“For equality,” he teases, moving to stand at the end of the bed. You follow, reaching for the button on his jeans. “You want to?”

“Yes.” You focus on your fingers working properly, though you’re still a bit shaky from your…orgasm. At some point, you are going to have to process through that. His hands cover yours. “I can do it, I’m just a bit jumpy.”

You feel his lips on your forehead. “You know, we don’t have to do this tonight. I could just eat you out.”

Your head shoots up in surprise. He seems unbothered by how casually he talks about oral sex.

“But you’re…” With your hands near and your attention at the fastening of his pants, his arousal is more than obvious.

“Yes, I am.” He doesn’t let go of your hands, even as you undo the button and pull down the zipper. There’s a strain to his voice when your fingers unthinkingly brush him. There’s a twitch and you find yourself fascinated by it. “But this is easily dealt with if you want. You’re still a virgin, but you know what an orgasm feels like. So, we could just stop–”

“No,” you interrupt, looking up at him, letting your hand stroke him through his underwear. There’s another twitch, and his face tenses slightly. After being so completely undone by his touch, you want to ‘return the favor.’ See him undone. “Please?”

Your hands are bolder, tugging down his jeans so you can cup him easier. He breathes sharply through his nose, head dropping slightly.

“You do not have to say please, I’m more than willing.”

You peer up at him. His eyes are half-mast, another edged inhale. You push down his jeans completely, letting him step out of them, kicking them away. He wears black boxer-briefs that are straining currently. You reach for them, but he wraps his hands around your wrists, halting you.

“No?”

“Equality,” he says, the amusement back in his voice.

Right, you still have your jumpsuit on, well, half on.

He lets go, moving a step closer so you can feel his body heat, smell whatever fresh cologne he wears, heightening his natural scent. He slides his hands between your skin and the jumpsuit, hands so warm you shiver despite not being chilly. Your clothing falls, following the journey of his hands, hips to thighs to ankles. He’s at your feet, looking up at you; those eyes so dark, you can’t see the warm mahogany.

You step out of the pile of fabric and he tosses it over the back of the chair several feet away.

You are essentially without clothing, your underwear (hand-picked for this weekend as you figured you might as well try something pretty) covering enough, but not enough. If he senses this, he doesn’t indicate, walking back to you and cupping your face in his big hands, tipping your head up for a kiss. You welcome this, the heat of his mouth. It’s been only minutes since he’s kissed you, but you crave like an addict who’s going through withdrawal.

Stroking his bare back has you humming against his lips (how could a back feel so good? But here you are). You can feel his smile, his tremble and goosebumps as the room isn’t exactly at temperature for as little as you two are wearing.

“Cold?” you ask softly. He pecks your lips before drawing back to make eye contact. His hands stay on your face, and you feel cherished, which a voice in your brain tells you is stupid as you’re paying this man and his company to make you feel like that.

He’s a really good actor.

“A bit,” he replies to your question. He brushes his nose with yours. “I’ll grab a condom.”

Your eyes widen, but you nod, immediately colder when he lets go. He sits at the end of the bed, rummaging in his bag. You grab something out of yours, your face hot with embarrassment. He looks over at what you offer.

“I…uh…did research and a friend recommended this.”

“Lube?” he asks, taking it and glancing at the label. “Okay.” He’s smiling at you, like you’re funny, which might be true even if you aren’t trying to be.

You sit on the bed, in the middle, a bit at a loss now that you have nothing in your hands. “I would have bought condoms, but there’s so many kinds and sizes and I was worried I might offend you with getting the wrong size. I wouldn’t even know.”

He looks over his shoulder, still smiling. “Tends to be a required thing I bring.”

“Of course.”

He, having retrieved said prophylactic, crawls to where you’re sat (the bed is king-sized and it feels monstrously large). He sits next to you, cross-legged like you are.

“Again, we don’t have to. I can get you off as much as you want without–”

“It’s weird,” you say, glancing at him. “Just talking about this. I’ve talked in theoreticals about sex my whole life and now, it’s just…it’s such a normal thing, right? Just this thing a lot of people do but I haven’t.”

He bumps shoulders with you.

“I’m sorry. I’m going off on a tangent again. I’m sure it’s annoying.”

He links his hand with yours, resting them on his knee. “I’m not annoyed. I like talking to you. And I want you to be comfortable and have a good time, not feel pressured or coerced in any way. We can talk all night.”

“No. I mean, that actually sounds like fun with you.”

His answering smile is brilliant.

“But…I want to. I’m just nervous.” You lift his hand, still wrapped around yours, to your lips. You meet his gaze. “I’m so glad you chose me.”

The fondness melts into something hotter in his eyes, pupils dilating. He eases you onto your back, kissing you softly, mouth at your mouth, then your neck and collarbone. You squirm, as he hovers over you, raising up to check on you. It’s criminal how good he looks, hair messy (from your hands), lips swollen (from your lips). He toys with the clasp of your bra, his fingers brushing the edges of your curves.

“Can I?”

You nod, your breathing hindered by how easily he’s wound you up again, with only kisses. He undoes the clasp without difficulty, gently peeling off the lace from your breast, exposing them to his regard.

With a glance at your face, another check in, he lowers to suck on one nipple, the feeling entirely different without fabric hindering. You hiss out his name, hands scrambling to grab his arms, something to ground you. His chuckles vibrate against your skin and you moan more wantonly than you believed you were capable of. He moves to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. Your fingers dig into his arms; you’ll leave marks.

You hope you leave some sort of impression on this man.

Once he’s done twisting you up, he removes your bra, tossing it aside before snapping the band of your underwear, causing you to jolt.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Please. Yours too?” Your words aren’t more than whispers. He smirks, before shedding his and tugging down yours. You stare, openly and blatantly at his nudity.

“I’m debating on telling you whether I’m average or not,” he teases, making you look away from his cock to his face.

“Does it matter? Really?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“I think you’re beautiful,” you say, prompted by the visual you have.

His cheeks, already pink from arousal, deepen all the more and you laugh. He makes a face at you before moving back to kissing you.

“Aren’t you just trouble,” he murmurs, slipping the foil packet into your hand. “Put it on?”

You push yourself back up to rip open the packet, and roll it on him. You don’t draw back, fascinated by the immense heat he radiates, how delicate the skin is, even under the latex. He twitches at your exploration.

“It feels okay?”

“Feels great,” the words on a heavy exhale. He does, however, take your hand away, assisting you back onto the bed. “So…there’s a lot of ways to do this, and I would like to try them all with you, but this is probably the easiest for your first time.”

“Missionary?”

“A classic,” he jokes before his expression smoothes into something more serious. “You can tell me to stop at any time.”

“Green, yellow, red.”

“Exactly.” Moving himself, so he’s kneeling between your legs, he squeezes out the lube into his hands, warming it before sliding it onto his cock, and then to your cunt. You jump at the feel of it, but his hands haven’t forgotten how to play you and that build that you felt not that long ago, starts its climb yet again.

“Chris,” you reach out for him, shuddering as he toys with your clit. He leans down so you can grab him, feel that smooth back. His mouth attaches to yours, as his fingers circle, press and increase the anticipation. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his dick, intent because even with no experience, you clench; your body instinctively craving something to fill you. He curses at your touch. “No?”

“You’re good, baby. Hand feels good,” he reassures, lips and teeth sloppily moving against yours. “Still green?” You tense when you feel him at your entrance.

“Yes. Green, please.” You want so desperately.

He pushes in, incrementally. “Breathe through it. You have to relax.” He’s watching you so carefully as he continues. You stare back, he seems blurry right now. The stretch is borderline painful, but you still want it. Your hand slides to his hip and then his ass, where you grip hard.

“Color?” He seems so calm, but his voice is labored, tension coloring it.

“Green.” Can he even hear you? You don’t know if you’ve even given voice or just mouthed it. “Fuck. I’m so full of you.”

He curses again. “You can’t say shit like that.”

You blink away some of the haze, to focus on him. Veins bulging in his neck, and arms. “I can’t?”

“I mean…” He takes a deep breath, expression softening slightly. “You feel so good, but I need to be careful with you.”

“I do?”

He laughs brokenly at how pleased you sound. “So fucking cute,” he mutters. “I’m gonna move, okay?”

“Okay.”

He pulls back, not as slowly, but still with patience you can’t fathom. The stroke, how he slides against your core is delicious and strange and wonderful. He pushes back in.

“Feels good,” you sigh.

He hums in response, repeating the motion before chuckling. Your eyes shoot open as he looks down at you.

“What?”

“Helps if you move too.”

You’re already very hot from everything, but you can feel the blood rush to your face. He’s still giggling and moves to kiss you.

“You’re okay, I’m just giving you a few pointers. You can absolutely just lay there if you want. It’ll probably feel better though if you move.”

“I guess I’m a bit rubbish at this.”

“Nah, just learning.” He brushes his nose against yours. “No one is an expert their first time.”

As you clench and try to find a rhythm with your hips that matches his, “I bet you were.”

He laughs, strained but joyous. “I definitely wasn’t.” He keeps himself propped up with one hand on the bed, but his other returns to your clit, the mere touch pushing that climb again. There’s a moment when your hips align and you just know you did it right, but it’s half a second and you find you’re off again, especially with his attention on your clit.

“Chris,” you whine.

“You can let go, yeonin. It’s fine.”

When you break, it’s different than the first time, not as intense, but lovely and shattering. The rolls through you, tremors and muscles relaxing.

No wonder everyone does this.

“Stay with me,” you hear him. You open your eyes to see that he’s still moving, his thrusts more erratic. You squeeze him, out of some instinct you didn’t know you had. He groans. “Yeah, that’s good.” You don’t feel like you have much strength after a second orgasm, but you roll your hips and clench as best you can as he speeds up.

It’s fascinating to watch him climax, the tension in the neck veins, the jaw muscles tight, the furrow in his forehead. It’s a different kind of beauty, heightened by the knowledge that you, or your body at least, did that. He falls on top of you, his hands trying to keep his weight off, but you wrap yourself around him as he shudders from release.

After several minutes, when it seems like his trembling has ceased, you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. “Color?”

He chuckles. “Fucking green.” He kisses the top of your chest before lifting up to see you. “You?”

“That was really…yeah.”

He grins, boyish charm. “Good.” He stares at you for a few seconds. “You look a little sleepy.”

“Yeeeeah. Maybe.”

He laughs before rolling off and out of you. You wince at the loss. He disposes of the condom before tugging you off the bed.

“Did we ruin the comforter?” you ask, standing but a bit wobbly.

“Probably not,” he says, pulling the comforter off and onto the floor. He wraps an arm around you, at ease in his nakedness (your brain is foggy still and you just now are realizing how naked you are too). “Pajamas?”

“Yes…” you slur a little, exhaustion from all your nerves today, anticipation and worry catching up. He sits you down on the sheets before going into the bathroom. He returns with a wet washcloth. “Oh, I can…”

“Hush,” he admonishes, cleaning you up reverently. He tosses the washcloth on top of the discarded comforter and then goes to your bag and pulls out your faded t-shirt and soft flannel pants.

“I…I have a…lingerie nightgown in there.”

He shakes his head, coming to kneel in front of you. He slides on the pants, then the t-shirt over your head.

“Something comfortable. You can show me the nightgown tomorrow night.” He pulls back the sheets and gets you settled in. You curl to your side, eyes closed against the pillow. You hear him move around the room, the few lamps that were on turn off. It feels like seconds or days until he slides in next to you. He touches your side lightly, saying your name.

“Hmm?” you reply, before reaching to grab his hand and wrap it around your middle. There’s a half-laugh.

“Guess you like cuddling, too?”

You make an affirmative sound as he curves around you, his lips touching the back of your neck. You shiver and lace your fingers with his.

“Chris?” you say a few minutes later, the threat of sleep looming.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Thank you. I want to make sure I say it.”

He doesn’t say anything, but kisses your shoulder. “You’re welcome, yeonin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You can’t wait.

---

part two

---

© yoongihan 2025. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.

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lizardkingeliot · 1 year ago

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trying to write a fic that's not only emotionally satisfying and romantically devastating but also astoundingly horny and thematically consistent on a self-imposed deadline is so much work you guys lol

#my brain also does this fun thing where i have absolutely no idea if what i'm doing is working until i finish the entire draft lmao #it usually works out fine but... you know...#anyway i'm nearly 10k into the post-finale fic and we are... going to need several thousand more words still lmaooo #i'm having fun but i do not envy the version of myself that is going to have to edit this later in the week 💀#i will have this thing posted by sunday i will have this thing posted by sunday i will #interview with the vampire #loustat #otp: all my love belongs to you #writing tag

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written-in-flowers · 5 months ago

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Model Behavior: YunHwaGi x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Seonghwa x Yunho x Mingi x fem!Reader | side pairing: ot8 x fem!reader

Word Count: 10k

Genre: Smut, smut, and more smut with a sprinkle of fluff on top | AU: sugar baby, idolverse

Summary: The newest episode of YNteez features you, the boys and a photoshoot. With all the risque outfits they've selected themselves, just how wholesome is this shoot going to be?

Tags: polycule, polyamorous, established relationship, sugar baby, blowjobs, sloppy blowjobs, deep throat, face fucking, face sitting, 69-position, male masturbation, teasing, orgasm denial, edging, light role play, oral sex, sex toys, squirting, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), slight free use, nipple play, peeping through windows, and group sex (foursome).

Previously on YNteez

****

Eight costumes. Eight sets. Eight times you'll have to change your outfit, hair and makeup over the course of three days. The exhaustion already started weighing on you, and nothing started yet. Standing in your private dressing room, you gazed at the rack of clothes in front of you. The producers told you the members picked the costumes themselves, so naturally the outfits are tailored to their taste. You looked at each of them while you waited on hair and makeup, and saw the different costumes the staff managed to procure. They certainly did not look cheap. You’d expected clearance rack outfits with flimsy fabric and lots of velcro and zippers. The current costume you held, an Animal Crossing character, was made of good material, your proper size, and could pass off as a real cosplay outfit. You put the costume on the rack, and turned to the large mirror behind you.

You’d come to the set in a simple t-shirt and jeans, since you’d be changing three different times today. The stylists recommended you come as plain faced as possible, since any makeup you wore will be removed. The prospect of a photoshoot excited and worried you. The last time someone took photos of you, it’d been for your Companion portfolio. A photographer took a bunch of boudoir pictures with a few headshots thrown in to attract potential clients. You didn’t mind dressing down for a camera, since the outfits and makeup helped you hide behind them, but the photographer won’t be the only one present. A staff of at least twenty people will be filming, monitoring, adjusting, lighting, and observing your every move. The classroom episode was through hidden cameras, so there’d been only you and the boys. Now, there’d be people, which was different.

“There you are,” a voice said when the door opened. Seonghwa came walking into your dressing room, pecking your lips and looking over your face. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“The producers and stylists told me to wait here for them to show up with the cameras,” you replied. They mentioned interview moments during the episode to capture your thoughts and emotions. “Does it always take this long?”

He laughed, “Yeah, it does. It’s even worse for whoever is last in line to get their makeup and hair done. But, our stylists are fantastic, and I think you’ll love what they do with your looks. Minsu already showed me the look they’ll be giving you for my shoot.”

“What?” you said, disappointed. “Why did they show you and not me? It’s going on my face.”

“It’s supposed to be a secret, remember?” he said. He looked over to the clothing rack, then back at you with suspicion in his eyes, “Have you been looking in the clothing bags?”

“No,” you said innocently. “I would never spoil a surprise.”

“Mhm,” he remained unconvinced. He took a seat on a makeup chair next to yours, “I think I should stay here and, you know, supervise you. We don’t want you spoiling everything for yourself.”

You pouted, taking the seat in front of the vanity, “What about you? Don’t you have to get ready too?”

“I’m third in line,” he said. “They’re still working on Yunho.” He stared at you for a moment, then said, “Are you nervous?”

“A little bit,” you admitted. “I haven’t had my picture taken in a long time, and these aren’t like ‘normal’ photos either.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh come on. Me in skimpy outfits you guys personally picked out? On sets of your design and you control what sort of pictures we take? They’re not going to be exactly PG are they?”

“No, not at all,” he said with a laugh. “What I picked is pretty wholesome and simple,” he then smiled, “But I know a few members whose outfits are way more revealing than mine.”

“Like who?” you asked, wanting to suck a spoiler out of him.

“Nope,” he shook his head, amused by your eagerness, “Not telling you. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“You won’t give me a little hint? A tiny one?”

“You already know mine, since you looked in the clothing bag,” he accused with a grin.

“I did not,” you lied. “I haven’t even touched those bags.”

“Liar,” he nudged your foot with his, “That zipper was all the way up when I left here. Now it’s like an inch or two down.”

“Is not. You’re remembering it wrong.”

Your insistence made him chuckle. “At least your shoot is going to be the course of three days,” he said, “Our shoots usually run all day.”

“Three of you today, three tomorrow, and the two after that,” you said, “I wonder why they did it that way?” you looked at him expectantly.

“Have no idea,” he shrugged, pretending you didn’t notice him.

“Not one?”

“Nope.”

You moved over to him, and took a seat in his lap. “Could it possibly be because certain members of this relationship won’t be able to contain themselves and might get a bit naughty with me?” you rested against him, fingers dancing on the collar of his shirt. “They might not be able to control themselves,” You heard him audibly inhale as you drew closer, “And let their natural instincts take over?”

“Maybe,” he put his hand on your thigh, giving it a small squeeze before bringing his lips an inch from yours, “But can you blame them? You know exactly what to do to tempt them, and you do it well.”

“I've had a lot of practice.”

The both of you kissed right as someone else entered the room. The stylists came in with their bags full of supplies, and the producer followed with a camera crew. Your hands suddenly felt clammy, and you wiped them on your jeans. Seonghwa noticed this and squeezed you again, but more affectionately than before. His reassuring grin relaxed you somewhat, yet seeing everyone setting up for the episode distracted you again.

“Seonghwa,” the producer called to him, “We’re going to start filming now. The stylists next door wanted me to tell you they’re ready for you.”

“Alright,” he nodded. He pecked your cheek, then said, “See you out there.”

“See you.”

You’d know the KQ film production team for a long time, so they felt more like friends than colleagues. The clothing stylist, Juwon, came right over to you. Slender and narrow, Juwon never failed to make you drop-dead gorgeous with his outfit designs. He hugged and kissed both your cheeks when he spoke:

“Ready for today?”

“As ready as I can be, honestly,” you said.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you, “Minsu and I are going to make you look absolutely divine. Those boys will be regretting their choices when they see you. Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He took the bag with Seonghwa’s name tag on it, and opened it up. Inside, you saw the green plaid vest, white shirt, and a mini skirt.

“Who is it?” you asked him, hoping he’d answer you.

“It’s this character in that game he likes,” he answered you. “I have the lingerie that goes with it too.”

Behind the costume was the white mesh and lace lingerie set they’d sent you a month ago. The mesh parts went over your breasts, sex, and ass, but were bordered by lace designed strings. The matching stockings and garter belts were no doubt Seonghwa’s idea. Right away, you took the bag and went behind a curtain to change. You’ll have to do this two more times. How did models do it every day? You pulled on the lingerie, the belts, the stockings, and the costume itself. The outfit was snug on your skin, and you noticed the shirt and vest revealed way more cleavage than the original character. The skirt also goes high up your thighs so that any bending of your thighs or legs will lift it up further. Yes, very wholesome indeed.

Seonghwa always liked leaving something to the imagination.

“You look so cute!” Juwon cheered when he saw you. “Give us a twirl…Yes, excellent. It fits you perfectly, and isn’t too showy. Seonghwa said he wanted it to be sexy, but not so much that it ruined the illusion of the character.”

“He would say that,” you agreed. “He’s never liked me in lingerie that shows too much of my body. Mostly babydoll dresses or open front ones are good enough for him.”

“Ugh, you’re going to knock him dead,” Juwon awed, unable to look away from you. “That photobook is going to be priceless.”

Yes, you’d forgotten the photobook idea. You’d suggested it during a YNTEEZ meeting. Since they’re going to be doing it anyways, you thought about perhaps using the photos to make a photobook. Atinys can purchase them online and get special bonus gifts. You did give a small spoiler on your personal Instagram account where you’d promoted the group’s newest album; you mentioned their photobook and soon having one of your own, which intrigued a lot of people.

“Yeah, I forgot the photobook. I hope people like the pictures though,” you said, knowing not everyone will be thrilled for you to be in the photos. They wanted shirtless Seonghwa, not a half-nude YN.

“Oh come on, not all of them hate you,” the director assured you. “They’ll be into it.”

You went over to Minsu next, who turned your chair around and pumped it to the right height. She smiled when your eyes met hers in the mirror.

“You’re going to look fabulous today,” was her catchphrase whenever she worked on your face and hair. “Are you ready?”

“Ready,” you responded with a deep breath. “When was the last time I got this glammed up? KCon?”

“I think it was Global Dream Awards,” she answered, putting her makeup essentials on the counter, “When you wore that gorgeous purple gown. Ugh, I was so jealous of you. It looked amazing.”

“But it’s been a while since then,” you said, eyeing the materials on her counter. You then noticed an assistant taking out wig boxes from a container they’d wheeled into the room. “And plus there’s going to be loads of people in the room with us.”

“So?”

“One of the biggest points of these types of shows is the sex, and knowing my boys, it’s going to get steamy,” you felt knots already forming in your stomach. “I don’t think I can do that with so many people watching.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” she said, “You know that. Plus, you’ll have your boyfriends there, so you’ll be comfortable the entire time. You’ll get so wrapped up in each other, you won’t even notice the rest of us there.”

“I hope so.”

“You’ll be fine,” she insisted. “Besides, today is only Seonghwa, Yunho, and Mingi. The sweeties,” she added a smile.

“They're all sweeties.”

“Sweeties with a horny streak,” said Juwon from the clothing rack, searching for shoes in a box.

Minsu then turned around to face you, moisturizer in hand. “Okay, let’s get you ready for your modeling debut.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. She began prepping your face for makeup when the producer got the camera ready to film. Your nerves shivered inside you once you realized it was on by the red light in the camera.

“YN, are you excited about today’s shoot?” he asked first.

“I’m excited, but also a bit nervous. It’s been a while since I modeled for anyone before…”

His questions remained fairly innocuous. He asked you about your modeling experiences, which were very few and far in between, and if you’d made any guesses as to what the members have planned. You told him you guessed it’ll have to do with concepts they like or things they enjoy. Since the members will be part of the shoot, they will wear costumes similar to yours.

When Minsu finished with your base makeup, she took out a face-paint palette and dipped a brush into the black section. Looking in the mirror, you noticed her covering the tip of your nose; then she dipped it into the white to start painting around your nose and mouth.

Isabelle. You’re Isabelle from Animal Crossing, Seonghwa’s favorite comfort game. You only knew who she was because Seonghwa told you when you saw him playing. Your eldest boyfriend knew it so well, he could perfectly mimic their funny little language. When Minsu finished your makeup, she put your hair into a bald cap to prepare you for the wig. Short and blond, the bangs hung above at your eyebrows, and the rest of the hair fanned outwards in the back. Minsu attached a fake hair bun to the very top, tied there with a red ribbon with bells on it. You giggled as you moved your head, the little bells clinking in the process. They then attached yellow dog ears that drooped from the sides of your head. You trusted Minsu’s abilities enough that you knew they wouldn’t fall off.

“Ah, you look so cute!” Minsu beamed.

“Adorable!” Juwon agreed with a grin. “He’s going to love it.”

“It’s exactly as I pictured it in my head.”

“Thanks,” you grinned shyly.

You hoped Seonghwa liked it most of all. You’d hate it if you went out there and the outfit isn’t what he envisioned for you. The camera then looked at you again.

“How do you feel about this concept?” the producer asked you.

“It’s very Seonghwa,” you laughed, admiring yourself in the mirror. “I knew he’d pick something he liked, but I’d guessed Star Wars since he likes that a lot. This is much cuter though.”

“Do you play Animal Crossing too?”

“Not that much,” you said. “I played it for a while when it first came out, but then I fell out of it. Seonghwa always tells me to play with him so we can visit each other’s islands,” you chuckled remembering the times he’d asked you so cutely to play with him, “And send gifts and stuff. I’m not as into it as he is, though.”

He turned when someone came into the dressing room to tell him they finished the members’ introduction to the episode. Funny. It’s your show, but they’re doing the intro. This didn’t bother you that much, and you followed them out onto the set. Minsu and Juwon kept you back from the rest of the group, putting you behind a curtain. Ahead of you, you saw staff members wheeling in a small stage. On it, you saw the familiar villager house from the game, a red triangle roof, cream colored walls and a red door. They’d done quite a good job with the set. It came with a bed of fake flowers, a mailbox, an apple tree beside the house, and the house was big enough for you to fit inside of. You spotted Seonghwa standing nearby while they finished putting things together.

He'd never looked cuter. Seonghwa stood wearing an aqua and white floral shirt with khaki shorts with his nose painted and wearing pointed ears. You guessed he must be Tom Nook, a racoon character in the game. He looked sweet and adorable in his costume, but you know that can turn sexual at the flip of a coin.

“Alright, YN, come on out,” the director called to you.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened when you walked onto the set. They scanned you from top to bottom, and you smiled sweetly at him. He stood in awe of you, turning to the camera crew in disbelief, before looking back at you. You gave him a wide smile and said:

“Aw, you're the little bear guy!”

Seonghwa held back a smile, “He's not a bear. He's a raccoon.”

“But isn't there already a raccoon? Raccoons are black and white, right?”

“There is, but Tom is a brown one.”

“Eh, I still think he's a bear.” You hugged him around the middle, and he still embraced you, laughing with you. “A big bear with a cute nose.”

“He's a raccoon,” he squeezed you until you let out a small whine, then released you. He gave you a once over, then said, “You look so cute. It’s exactly how I imagined.”

“I’m happy you like it.” You glanced at the set, “Shall we go be the bear and the puppy?”

“He is a raccoon!”

You giggled as you stepped onto the small set, and turned to the photographer nearby, “Hi, I'm YN.”

“I'm Nami, nice to meet you,” the photographer said, wearing a plain shirt and jeans.

“Nice to meet you,” you replied. “Where do the bear and I start?-”

“-Tom is a raccoon!-”

“-We can start with some poses,” Nami laughed, “And we can do a few scene photos.”

“Okay, sounds good! What do you think, Tom?”

Seonghwa held back his laugh through a strained smile, hands on his hips, “That's fine.”

Nami directed you both into the middle of the stage and the shoot began. It started with simple couple shots with lots of smiles, giggles and playful poses. You didn't know much about modeling, but years of doing promotional shoots made Seonghwa a natural.

“Just be cute,” he said in one picture, where you both stood facing one another and pretending to rub your noses together. “Do cute faces and stuff like that, and you'll be fine.”

“Should I talk like they do too?” You teased when Nami finished taking photos of it. “How does it go? Meemeemoopmoop?”

“It does not sound like that at all,” he chortled.

“Then how does it sound?” you giggled seeing his shy expression, and him turning away to the tiny house nearby. “Come on, do it,” you urged him, pouting and tugging his sleeve. “It’s cute when you do it.”

He let out a small stream of high-pitched squeaks that had you grinning widely. When he stopped due to his own laughter, he handed you a net. Small fake butterflies were stuck to the insides as if being caught, while his fishing pole had a multi-colored fish hanging from the hook. Nami directed him to take a seat on a bench by the house while you swish the net in the air pretending to catch butterflies.

Having researched pin-up girl poses the previous night, you lifted one leg to your knee to show off the garter belts in Seonghwa’s direction. You could feel his eyes on you every time that skirt lifted up your thighs. Since you first met him, you knew Seonghwa preferred the more subtle suggestiveness. Flashes of cleavage or thighs grabbed his attention immediately, and he liked the baby doll dresses and bodysuit lingerie pieces you wore. Something skimpy, but not too showy. While you pretended to catch butterflies in various ways, Seonghwa sat there observing quietly.

“Let’s have you both garden,” Nami said next after snapping close up and wide shots of the scene. “Just do whatever comes natural.”

You knelt beside a bed of fake colorful flowers, and Seonghwa took the space in front of you. He was standing with a pail and a small hand rake, while you pretended to be digging holes in the earth. This left you kneeling at his feet, looking up at him innocently while he stood over you. You kept your cleavage in full view for him, pulling and pushing down on the flowers in front of you. Nami’s camera clicked numerous times in a row as she captured the suggestive moment. Seeing him above you, his groin right above your head, you had the urge to grope him. He wasn’t the only one who enjoyed the innuendos going on at this shoot. You knew he picked this up when he knelt behind you, and bent down to your ear.

“You must be getting pretty warm in that vest,” he said, hand going up your side to your chest. “Maybe you should take it off so you’re more comfortable?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you asked, pretending as if you brushed into him by accident.

“I’m only thinking about you,” he insisted, fingers getting closer to the buttons of your vest. “It’s supposed to be a sunny day on an island. Gardening can be hard work and Isabelle might get warm wearing a little vest like this one.”

“But Isabelle is so innocent and sweet,” you said, putting his hand closer to your breast. Suddenly, it didn’t matter that Nami stood a few feet away, taking photos of this intimate moment. “I don’t think she’d just shed off her clothes like that.”

“She would if she had a bit of help. Kneel up for me.”

You dropped the hand rake, and pressed your back to his chest. His lips left small kisses on your neck as he unbuttoned the vest. The moment he pulled it off you, you turned to Nami.

“Is this good or do you want us to do something else?”

“The apple tree,” she said, picking up on what you were really asking. “YN, you can be getting some apples from high up, and Seonghwa can be giving you a little boost.”

“Makes sense for his bear character-” you said, forcing yourself to leave Seonghwa’s arms for the fake apple tree nearby.

“-He’s a raccoon!-”

“-He looks like the kind of guy that would make his islanders do all the work while he just sits there in his little shop taking their money,” you continued, grabbing a wicker basket of fake red apples. “The little charlatan,” you gruffed.

This made the crew laugh with you and Seonghwa. “How’s he a ‘charlatan’?”

He stood holding the small ladder, his face closer to your lower back. “First off, you pay to go on this big island getaway, which in the name implies you’re going for a short time and not the rest of your life-”

“-It’s meant to be an experience-”

“-An experience in what it feels like to be hoodwinked!” another statement that made everyone laugh. “He never tells you what exactly is going to happen on the island until you arrive,” you said, reaching up into the branches and letting Nami take a few shots.

“He shows you a video of island life!” Seonghwa reasoned.

“On the plane ride! When you have no choice to turn back or not.”

“Guys, it’s a video game,” chuckled Nami. “It’s not supposed to make sense.”

“She only does this to tease me,” Seonghwa said, pinching your ass lightly. “Little brat…”

“You know I’m right,” you arched your back so your bottom sat closer to his face, “Anyway, the video makes you think all that stuff is already available on the island, but when you get there, you only see a bunch of empty houses and a campsite. I know I’d feel duped if it was me.” You then whispered to one of the cameras, “I think the bear is a cult leader.”

“He’s not a cult leader, stop it,” Seonghwa smacked your ass over the skirt, which only made you laugh more.

“Seonghwa doesn’t play when it comes to AC,” you joked with the crew, and earned yourself another smack.

You suddenly gasped when Seonghwa cupped both your buttocks for a gentle squeeze through your underwear. Cold hands and warm lips briefly pushed out any more taunts you’d have about Seonghwa’s game. But, you wouldn’t let him win. You pretended to reach for one of the lower hanging apples, which gave him the opportunity to feel underneath briefly. You gave another fake gasp, though it brought more warmth to your underwear.

“Then, he makes YOU build his island and make it cool,” you said, “And if you want to upgrade your island, you gotta pay him construction fees and stuff. Like, dude, it is supposed to be a getaway, not a construction job!” You dropped the apple into your basket. “That’s my hard earned money, so I don’t think I should be paying the guy who dropped me on a deserted island. I mean, what happens if I don’t make enough money to upgrade my shabby tent or house because I got tricked into staying there, hm?”

“I’m sure Tom would take other forms of payment too,” said Seonghwa, placing kisses on your lower back while he kneaded your cheeks. Your sex stirred when he started feeling underneath your pantyline, “Any kind you can think of.”

You let out a fake gasp, “So that’s his plan! Trick innocent, pure souls onto his island, takes all their money which causes them to have to do favors to get what they need. Disgusting bear.”

“That’s not why he’s doing it, and he’s a raccoon,” Seonghwa’s laugh was muffled by your shirt. “He wants to give you a nice experience,” he slid both sides of your underwear between your cheeks, “He is a good businessman who wants to build a nice island.”

“Where he can start his own weird, depraved sex cult,” you said, despite the warmth between your thighs. You knew Nami continued taking photos of Seonghwa groping and kissing your backside. You pretended to be shy, hand over your mouth and shock in your eyes. “Psh, jerk. Taking advantage of people looking to get away from their stressful, boring lives.”

“Speaking of tiny island homes,” interrupted Nami, “I think we should get some shots of you inside the house, YN.”

“And what does Seonghwa do?” you asked her, climbing down back into Seonghwa’s arms. You felt him yearning to touch and kiss you again, but fiercely restraining himself.

“Tom is going to be…safeguarding her house,” she suggested with a knowing smile.

You knew immediately what that meant, and walked into the house with the basket. The roof sat about a foot above your head, made of wood with cut out flowers in a box at the window. It was very well made. You opened the door to find nothing inside except a bedroom backdrop against the opposite wall. The window itself was wide and tall enough that Nami’s camera captured your top half at the right angle. You looked over Seonghwa standing outside the window, and couldn’t help noticing the slight bulge in his pants.

“Safeguarding her house, huh?” you asked, eyes on your boyfriend.

“Tom cares about the safety of his islanders,” said Seonghwa, leaning against the window. “You are an assistant to the Island Representative, and it’s important you’re safe from bugs on the island.”

“Oh, of course,” you said sarcastically, “I’m sure it has nothing to do with him being a greedy, corporate pervert.”

You started unbuttoning the few buttons left on your shirt, pretending as if Seonghwa wasn’t there. Soft clicks of the camera told you that Nami was capturing every second frame by frame as you undressed. You let the shirt slide off you bit by bit until you tossed it aside, your bra fully exposed now. Seonghwa stared down at your chest, acting as if he was hiding behind a curtain outside your window. No doubt the real scene is Tom Nook spying on an unsuspecting Isabelle. You then pulled your bra straps down your shoulders, and tugged the bra down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. Seonghwa bit his bottom lip as you gently massaged your chest in front of him; the lace fabric brushed on your nipples, which only made them harder.

Since Atinys over nineteen can purchase a NSFW version of the photobook, Seonghwa was free to unzip his shorts. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him slide his hand into his pants. His soft groan told you he’d grabbed hold of himself and started stroking. The image of his long, thick shaft in his hand made you bite the inside of your lower lip. You kept massaging your breasts over your bra for him, not glancing his way. When you pulled your bra down to right against your nipples, both of them just barely visible, Seonghwa groaned. You thought of his cock already throbbing and leaking in his hand, and wished you could suck him dry.

The scene continued until you wore nothing but the lingerie set. Seonghwa was already pumping himself faster, his back arching and eyes half-open and gazing at you, turning into an erotic sight. He finally came when you removed your bra and played with your nipples. You couldn’t help the deep, throbbing inside your panties. It begged you to go over to him, tug down his shorts and let him fuck you through the window. You listened to Seonghwa groaning, then huffing as his orgasm subsided and he slumped against the window frame. Nami asked for a few shots of him having a post-orgasm, which required him to tug down his shorts to show his wet cock.

“Hwa…” you whimpered. God, you needed him right then. Simply doing it yourself wouldn’t work, not with his big cock so close by and needing to be cleaned with your tongue.

“What is it, baby?” he asked, smirking as he stroked his softening length to make it glisten. “Are you horny too?” He laughed when you nodded, pleading with him. When Nami had enough shots, you expected him to bring you closer, but he didn’t. “I think we can wait until later, no?”

“But Seonghwa,” you pouted, finally pushing yourself as close as your little window allowed, “I’m so wet.” You reached for his hand and he pulled away.

“You’ve been quite bratty today,” he smiled wickedly, smugness in his eyes. “I don’t think you deserve it right now. Plus, you have two more sets to do too. I don’t think it’s fair to keep Juwan and Minsu waiting on you.”

A punishment for dissing his favorite game. You huffed, pulling up your bra, “It’s not as if Yunho or Mingi will say no to me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he planted a quick kiss on your lips, and moved to walk away, “Have fun, angel. See you soon.”

His response left dread in your stomach. You pulled on a robe Nami gave you, then went back to the dressing room as per the director’s instructions.

****

Yunho’s set was a small bedroom of green and black. A full bed sat beside a wide computer desk with a two monitor setup, and a comfortable computer chair. Valorant and other various game posters were plastered on the walls, as well as figurines sitting around the computer. You quite liked it. Being the biggest gamer of the group, you weren’t surprised by the oversized Valorant t-shirt and tight, green briefs that Juwon presented you with in the dressing room. Yunho dressed casually, in a long shirt and shorts with socks, but you still liked the plain, simple look. You couldn’t help staring at his long, lean figure from afar.

“Look at you,” he smiled, seeing your hair up in a bun with cat-ear headphones around your neck. “Aren’t you cute?”

“You think so?”

You walked into his arms, hands on his shoulders as he pecked your lips. Your arousal from the previous shoot died down significantly, but it didn’t go away. Seonghwa likely told Yunho about his photoshoot, and the two will conspire together to make it worse. If anything, he’ll convince Mingi to join him in the torture. You considered the three men to be your angels, your “white swans”. They’re usually the most gentle and sweetest when it comes to sex, and even more so outside of the bedroom. Not that the other five couldn’t be sweet, but their harder sides tended to come out in bed, while your white swans remained gentle throughout. Though, they can be equally mean.

“Very cute,” he said, his large hands resting on your hips. “I like this simple style on you. You look so cozy and cute,” he nuzzled your nose softly. He then said in a whisper, “And there’s less for me to take off you.”

“Yuyu,” you laughed, cheeks burning. That was his special talent: making a simple phrase dirty. “Let’s get the shoot done.”

Nami directed you both towards the desk, and it went how you expected it to go. You sat on Yunho’s lap, both of you given controllers to act as a gamer couple. When you realized the game on the screen was a Youtube video and the controllers weren’t connected, you let out a soft giggle. Yunho looked over at you quizzically.

“What’s so funny, huh?” he poked your stomach, which made you laugh more.

“This reminds me of that porno we watched the other night,” you said.

You didn’t watch porn videos with your boyfriends often, but when you did, it was mainly Yunho with a toy nearby. The other night after dancing and drinking, you’d put on one you thought he might like. It featured three women “playing” a video game before the boyfriend of one of them appeared, and started fondling and teasing them. Yunho didn’t mind it until he noticed one minor detail.

“The controllers weren’t on,” Yunho blurted out incredulously, and you laughed again. “They’re there moving the sticks and pressing buttons but the controllers weren’t even turned on.”

“Baby, considering it was an adult film, I don’t think it matters,” you replied.

“They could have made an effort, is what I’m saying,” he defended. “The game was going on in the video even after they stopped playing.”

“Only you would make a fuss about that,” you chuckled, kissing him softly. “So, you’re telling me that if you ever fuck me during a game, you want me to be actually playing instead of pretending?”

“It’d be hot,” he shrugged, smirking at the suggestion.

“Hm, good to know.”

You straddled his lap with your back to him, and put the headphones on your ears. Nami took this cue to start taking photos again. Yunho brought you to his chest, his head on your shoulder as he also matched your pose. You shifted around on his lap every so often to feel his cock through your shorts. The sensation of his bulge growing against your ass brought back all the arousal from before.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, you know,” you said in his ear, kissing the spot underneath it. “I’m surprised we haven’t done it yet.”

“Done what?” he asked, but he knew what you meant.

“Give you a blowjob while you were gaming,” you answered, grinding onto his lap until he let out a low growl. “But you’re always so focused, I doubt you’d notice I’m there.”

“Trust me,” he said, “I’d notice if I had your pretty lips wrapped around my dick. I wouldn’t be able to focus on the game.”

“But you’re such a pro at it that you’d win anyways,” you smiled. “I bet you can do it with your eyes closed,” you whirled your hips around, “While you’re fucking my throat until you cum.”

“Seonghwa left you very horny, didn’t he?” he chuckled.

“And you do too,” you added, almost forgetting the camera clicking beside you. Reluctantly, you stood up from Yunho’s lap to see his bulge starting to poke a tent in his pants. “Clearly, I have the same effect on you”

“Always,” he admitted.

Walking over to the bed, you both laid against the pillows. Yunho took up a Nintendo Switch that you recognized to be his, and started playing a real game on it. A bit of realism, you supposed. You also realized he gave you the exact opportunity you just described.

“You can’t ride me,” Yunho said, pressing the ‘start’ button. Mario Kart. The man’s playing Mario Kart in the middle of a photoshoot with you nearly naked beside him. “You can only use your mouth or hands.”

“But what about-”

“-Mouth or hands, YN,” he glanced at you to repeat the order, then went back to choosing his character. “Should I play Mario or Bowser? Bowser has a cooler car though…”

You lifted his shirt as high as his position allowed, showing the camera Yunho’s stomach. While he did work out, he didn’t have the sculpted abdomen of San or Mingi. Sliding your hand further up, you rubbed your thumb over one of his nipples, which you knew excited him just as much.

“I like Peach the most,” you said, pinching his nipple softly and knowing what it’s doing to him.

“That’s just because you like her car and she’s a princess,” he gave a snort as the game started.

“I think she’s a relatable character,” you lied, lifting his shirt to kiss at his sternum. Straddling his thighs, you started playing with both nipples while kissing up and down his stomach. “She’s a young lady with a lot of responsibilities who is constantly sought after by various men in power.”

“You have a very strange take on video games,” Yunho laughed, “Like with Valorant.”

“I don’t get it,” you grunted, going further down his body to his shorts. Cupping the outline of his cock, you realized he didn’t wear boxers underneath. The heat radiated against your hand, and you felt it grow harder under your touch. “Is it there a storyline of some kind?”

“Not really,” he answered, the sound of the buttons being the only sound between you. “You make matches with different characters and gain XP to get more.” He glanced at you for a brief second, “You’d hate it.”

“I like games with a story,” you shrugged. You slowly felt up his thighs with soft kisses and squeezes, the muscles flexing when you hit a sensitive spot. The thought of his length inches away made your mouth water. You started rocking your hips for any form of friction, your clit pulsating much like the cock so close to you. “It gives me an objective,” you lowered your voice as you hovered over his groin, “Something to focus on and work through.”

Only one layer separates you and his dick. No doubt he’d done this strategically after Seonghwa told him about the Animal Crossing shoot. You traced your hand over the outline poking through the thin fabric, his stomach tensing when you felt his tip. His length growing, you grabbed it through his shorts once it started rising. Yunho clearly had trouble concentrating as you stroked him to a full erection with his own clothes; he bit his lip when you kissed back up his stomach to his sternum. Teasing your boyfriend dragged out your own arousal, which made you grind into the flat mattress underneath. Your entrance clenched for something to grab onto, but fluttered when nothing came. Simply toying with Yunho while he ignored you for a game had your clit throbbing for his attention. You sat up and removed the shirt to reveal a dark green bra underneath. Everything inside you screamed to reach for his hand after you took off the bra, but he needed them to hold his console. Instead, you laid back on top of him and made sure his clothed hardon nestled between your thighs.

“I don’t get the appeal of it though,” you said, sliding his shirt further up to take a nipple in your mouth. The soft flesh hardened once more and you heard Yunho intake a breath sharply. “You’re just shooting other people. It gets boring,” You made sure he felt your own nipples dragging up his stomach as you took the other nipple in your mouth. If only you had clamps to put on them; Yunho enjoyed that more than the others. “Can’t be that hard.”

He chuckled through a moan, shifting when you nipped at one with your teeth. “It is,” he replied. “You have to concentrate a lot, and be good at aiming. It’s not the game’s fault you suck at aiming.”

“I suck a lot of things,” you said, swirling your tongue around a nipple, “But aiming isn’t one of them.”

Were there not a whole staff of people and a photographer nearby, Yunho would’ve put the switch aside and rolled you onto your back.

“I beat you in every match when you’ve attempted to play,” he said, playing another round of Mario Kart.

“Because you have more experience than me,” you pouted, starting to kiss back down his body once more. Yunho paused the game to remove his shirt, since his cheeks and neck started to flush. Atinys would love this just as much as you. “So, it’s not fair.”

“Maybe when we get home, I can teach you how to play properly,” he suggested, “Since your approach to video games is ‘figure it out as I play’. Tutorials be damned.”

“Tutorials take the fun out of it,” you giggled.

Yunho moaned once you pulled off his shorts, and took his cock in your hand. You realized he’d stopped playing, watching you as you started licking up his shaft to his tip. A part of you knew that this photobook is really for Atinys who’d want to see the members naked, so your naked body won’t be the focus of the photos. Even then, you saw Nami hovering to take photos of Yunho’s lust filled eyes and parted lips. You knew you’d love these photos as much as the fans. Stroking him lightly, you went back up his body to the base of his neck. Yunho’s long neck always looked pretty with hickies against the peachy skin. You sucked on the tender flesh as he started grinding into your hand. He clawed at the sheets underneath you both, eager to touch you but forcing himself to stay still. Good.

“Don’t you want to touch me, Yuyu?” you whined, “I love it when you touch me with those big hands of yours.” You kissed up his neck to his ear, giving it a soft nibble before saying, “When you grab my breasts while you’re pounding me into your bed…When you finger me…When you slide them into my mouth like this…” you took one hand and put two long digits in your mouth, humming softly.

“Tease,” he chuckled through gritted teeth, removing his thumb to trace your bottom lip. “You know I do. But, I think I’m pretty okay with you touching me.”

You went back down to his crotch where his cock started bumping against his lower stomach. Giving it a long, flat lick from bottom to top, you brought the reddening tip into your mouth. His dick throbbing on your tongue, pre-cum starting to slowly leak out, you imagined his tongue languidly rolling around your clit. Moving your hand in time with your mouth, giving soft squeezes right to the tip to make him groan, you thought of his mouth latched to your pussy. Lips would be wrapped around your clit as he suckled it gently, every groan vibrating against your clitoris. You pictured his hands grasping your buttocks, squeezing and spanking them lightly as his tongue lashes at your sex. When you felt yourself grinding against the mattress, you started riding the sensation as you pushed him to the back of your throat. Your moans rumbled in your throat, cut off and gagged by his thick tip.

"Fuck, baby," Yunho moaned, hands sliding into your hair just to touch a part of you, "Fuck, yes, just like that." His encouragement made you let out a pitiful moan. When he looked down to see you humping the bed, he chuckled. "I bet you're absolutely aching down there, huh?"

“Mmm-hmm,” you gave a muffled reply that you made sure he felt.

“Let me see.”

You knelt up from your position and pulled down both shorts and panties. Yunho’s eyes, half-open and driven by lust, zeroed in between your thighs. He reached down to the pool of wetness nestled in your folds, spreading it around your lips and clit as you squirmed in place. Shifting positions so his head rested at the side of the bed, you knew this new position gave Nami a glimpse of your aching center inches from Yunho’s mouth. Gentle hands smoothed up and down your back as you continued sucking him again.

“I can’t stand to see my kitten like this,” he purred, kissing your inner thigh. “I hate leaving you wanting more.”

“Yunho, please…” you whimpered, knowing better than to rest your hips right on his face even if you wanted to.

You clutched his thigh the moment you felt his tongue on you. In this angle, Atinys will see Yunho’s expert mouth skills while also seeing his tongue glistening from spit and your juices. You were still aware enough to pull off him, jerk his wet cock a few times for the light and camera to capture it. Yunho kept his licking light and teasing, but that was enough to drive you wild. After a few more licks, you started shuddering and quaking on top of him. Sensing your orgasm approaching, Yunho pulled your lips apart and focused directly on your clit. Sparks of sensitivity joined the tightness threatening to explode any moment. After a few deep grunts and groans, Yunho forced himself deep into your throat as thick, hot cum shot from the tip. Taking it slow, you breathed through your nose to avoid suffocation and quickly swallowed the oozing substance. You made sure to eventually pull away for shots of cum leaking from the head and in between the slit to his shaft. Yunho always came a lot when you had sex. Mostly because he didn’t pursue you as much as other members, preferring to save sex for special moments instead. Not that you minded. You swallowed every drop regardless of how much it was.

Yet, he pulled you off once he finished. The phantom sensation of his tongue lingered, but quickly disappeared. A frustrated whine escaped you once again. “Yuyu!” you pouted, shaking on the bed to try tempting him, “I didn’t finish.”

“I didn’t say you would,” he breathed, smirking at your desperation. He leaned over to you, kissing you deeply, “Don’t worry. Mingi’s next,” he muttered to you, giving you the shirt to throw on over your naked body, “And he never refuses,you anything.”

“How do you know?”

“He’s been watching this whole time,” he shifted his eyes to the corner where you’d entered through. In the darkness, you could almost make out a shape hiding behind the curtain. Seeing a glimpse of an arm, you guessed it might be him. “And I know he’s rock hard by now.”

“I would imagine so,” you replied, spreading your legs slightly in his direction. “Is it slutty of me to say that I can’t wait for it?”

The figure shifted around when you said it within earshot.

“Very slutty,” Yunho answered, kissing your cheek, “But we like that.”

“What’s his theme?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“A hint then?”

“Nope. Now, get back to the dressing room,” he said, nuzzling your neck until you giggled. “Before I get tempted and start teasing you again. Mingi’s waiting.”

The both of you laughed, but you still forced yourself off the bed and out of his embrace. Anyone else might feel embarrassed by what just happened, but you only worried about the taste still in your mouth. Nothing a lemonade cup doesn’t fix.

***

You smiled widely at the pastel pink crop top and white shorts waiting in the dressing room. Juwon said Mingi chose a pastel kawaii appearance for you, since he always likes your ‘cute’ outfits. Juwon dressed you in the outfit, complete with white tennis shoes and rainbow knee-high socks while Minsu added heavy blush on your cheeks and faded lip gloss. She made your eyes appear larger, made your nose smaller, adding freckles shaped like stars and a little heart jewel to your makeup. Hair clipped back, they added pink and purple with Pusheen hair clips.

It was utterly and sickeningly adorable. You never felt cuter, and the set amplified your appearance somehow. Walls painted bright yellow, the fluffy carpet matched the purple and yellow bed dotted with strawberries and strawberry milk cartons. Several squishmallow plushies covered the headboard, and you didn’t stop yourself from diving into them.

“Can I keep these?!” you asked, hugging a birthday-themed Pusheen plushie, “Ah, I want them all.”

“We’ll see,” said the director.

You already started deciding which ones you’d be stuffing in your duffle bag when you noticed something tucked underneath the stuffed toys. Pulling it out, you saw it was a basic porn magazine. A half-naked woman knelt in front of white backdrop, giving you a seductive expression. You flipped through it to see more naked women in various poses, and wondered what it could be for until you saw the rabbit vibrator sitting underneath a boba-tea shaped plush toy. You laughed, turning on the pink and translucent toy to feel it vibrate in your hand. Mingi will want to use it, and that makes you hornier.

“I’m guessing you like it then?” Nami asked, approaching the stage.

“I do,” you grinned, picking up a Pusheen sushi plush, “I knew Mingi’s would be something cute. He always says he likes my ‘cute side’.” Yes, you’re taking sushi Pusheen.

“He was very descriptive in what he wanted,” she told you. “He even picked out the plushies on the bed. He said he wanted it to be ‘realistic’ to your tastes.”

“Does that include the toy and porn mag?” The two of you laughed.

You wondered how long this innocence will last before his boner takes over. “Do you consider Mingi a cute person?” asked a producer.

“Very,” you smiled, nodding as you held a Hello-Kitty angel plush. “I know on stage he’s all sexy and intimidating, doing all his hip thrusts and expressions, but in real life, he’s an angel. He always cares about others, sometimes more than himself, and he’s so loving.” It brought on a bout of sadness, knowing the internal struggles Mingi feels on occasion. The time he’d taken a hiatus for his mental health scared you the most, since you’d seen it bring him to his lowest point. It made your heart ache. “Ever since I met him, he’s told me he wants to be someone I can lean on when I’m sad. He heard from other idols that Companions can have it rough because of their idols’ schedules or that they have to manage multiple members, and he worried about me. So, yes, he’s a very sweet person.”

Though, you didn’t mention that your sweetheart had a dirty side. Yes, he could be submissive at times, but not always. Seeing your outfit and the set, Mingi wanted to corrupt his cute kitten. The thought alone made your clit pulse again. When Mingi came out, you weren’t surprised. In a sleeveless black shirt, baggy black pants, with several chains and rings, Mingi dressed up as the bad boy to your innocent character. Seeing his muscled arms and sides made you shudder; the sight of his rings had your thighs clenching. He came right over to you, unable to focus on anything but you on the bed.

“You look so pretty,” he said between kisses, “Much prettier than I thought.”

“Thanks,” you beamed, giving a sweet smile. “Why this?”

“Because,” he kissed you again, sitting down and bringing you into his arms, “Ever since that classroom shoot I haven’t stopped thinking about you like this.” He cupped your chin, looking over your blush and freckles, “A sweet, innocent girl who's secretly a total slut.” You shuddered when he kissed your neck, starting at the top by your ear and going down, “Who watches porn and plays with herself all the time.”

“And you’ll be the tough guy who catches me?” You guessed, knowing it was a fantasy of his.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Who else would I be, hm?”

“I think we should get started now,” said Nami, setting up her camera again. “Mingi, you could go by the door and pretend you’re peeking in her room. YN, you can pull out the mag and just do what comes natural to you.”

Your arousal reigniting, you didn’t hesitate to open the magazine to a random page and spread your legs apart. Nami got full shots of the scene, capturing Mingi poking his head in the door to watch you. You grabbed the vibrator to slide up and down your clothed sex, only just feeling the head cast over your slit over and over. You whined at the tight sensations coming back to you. The woman in the photo was in a bathtub, rose petals clinging to her wet, soapy skin, as she delicately touched herself. It reminded you of the times Mingi caught you in a bathtub or a shower. You learned quickly he liked the “catching-you-in-the-act” scenario, and you sometimes did it just to tease him.

Nami then instructed Mingi to open the door and look at you in shock, and you did the same thing. A few shots later, Mingi is on the side of the bed and holding the toy. The magazine opened to a new page beside you, neither of you paid attention to it as he slid off the shorts to reveal your soaked panties. Pure white, the cotton fabric did nothing to hide your wetness and Mingi licked his lips.

“Naughty,” he said, kissing from your chest to your neck, “Did Seonghwa and Yunho get you that worked up?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin. You looked down to see him lazily slide the toy up and down between your legs. “God, I wanna cum so badly.”

“I know, baby,” he stopped the teasing to lift your shirt over your breasts, “And we’ll get there soon. Don’t worry.”

You kept an innocent face as he pulled down your bra to reveal your tits. Nami took shots of him sucking the hard nubs; Mingi made sure she saw his tongue flicking and swirling around them after every suckle. You couldn’t stop yourself from wriggling underneath him. Everything leading up to the point inflated the balloon waiting to burst inside you. Their touches. Their kisses. It all sent you spiraling, and you didn’t care about the crew watching nearby. You didn’t care if this turned into softcore porn for Atinys to enjoy. You only cared about Mingi using his lips and his toy on you before fucking you himself.

“Mingi,” you cried, “Put it in me, please.”

“Soon,” he promised, “You’ll get it soon. Here…”

He turned on the vibrator and pressed it to one of your nipples. The tip tickled the supple skin and sent sparks through the center. He gently swished it over each one until you were writhing on the bed. You thought you might finish right there before he suddenly stopped. He chuckled at your pathetic mewling, then removed his shirt. His body, well defined, was mouthwatering. Reaching forward, you brought him close to kiss him deeply. It gave you an excuse to feel his soft muscles and smooth skin.

“Stroke me,” he murmured as he unzipped his pants.

He didn’t need to say it twice. He knelt beside you so you could easily withdraw him from his boxers. Already rock hard, it sprung out once you pulled them down and you instantly took hold of him. A low groan escaped him as you began lightly stroking him. Atinys said they loved his size, and so did you. After stroking him for a short while, envisioning it buried hilt-deep inside, you blinked up at him innocently.

“Oppa,” you said innocently, “Can I put it in my mouth like in class? I really like doing it now, and Mr. Jeong says I’ve gotten better.”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes full of lust and focused on you. “Go ahead.”

Slowly, you slipped his tip into your mouth. Nami took photos of his euphoric expression, catching closeups of your lips around his length and his muscles tensing from the pleasure. You’d almost forgotten her and the crew in the heat of the moment. Something in you wanted to be more impressive than usual. Sliding him further into your mouth, you stayed flushed to him to keep his cock near your throat. Mingi groaned deeply at this, unable to stop his hips from pushing forward. The toy in his hand went back to your pussy, the distance only putting the tip against you. He only broke away from you to pull down your panties, exposing your dripping sex to the camera. Once he was back, you continued working him with both your hand and mouth. Twisting your hand in every stroke drove him crazy, and he rapidly rubbed the toy over your pussy so you moaned around him.

“Just like that,” he huffed, “Just like in class. You’re doing such a good job.”

“I’ve been practicing,” you said, playing along as you licked his dripping tip.

“Oh yeah?” he chuckled, tapping it on your tongue before pushing back inside. “With the other guys?” You nodded, and he grinned. “Slutty girl,” he forced himself deep in your throat to gag you, “We’ve got you well trained, don’t we?”

“Yes,” you coughed, “I can’t stop touching myself now.” You slobbered over his tip, making sure the clicking camera caught it, “It’s all I think about. All I want is your cocks deep inside me,” you gave a whimper before putting him back in.

“I’ll remember that for our next class,” he said, putting the toy on your stomach, “So you can show everyone what you’ve learned. Like how you use toys. Put this in there for me, and show me how you use it.”

You didn’t hesitate to grab the rabbit toy and push the tip inside. Moaning around his width, you slid the vibrating toy in and out of your tightness. The light buzzing joined your muffled moans; the rabbit ears continuously pressed to your aching clit while the curved tip pushed on your g-spot. Mingi muttered occasional encouragement and praise as you let your pleasure fully take over. At one point, you held it inside, causing your legs to lift and quake from the sensations overpowering you. It moved to the pulsing of your walls, and you nearly came hands-free.

“No, no, no,” Mingi said, removing the toy and smiling when you whined, “You don’t get to cum before me. This is all for me,” he rubbed your throbbing clit with his hand, rapidly moving it side to side, “This is meant to pleasure me, not you.”

“Mingi!”

“Keep sucking my dick,” he ordered, shoving himself back inside, “And fucking your pussy.”

A bit more forceful this time, you relished in the change as you obeyed his command. The both of you watched the other come undone. The sweetness Mingi was known for shed entirely, turning into a hard dom who’d edge you as long as he liked. You still hadn’t gotten the complete hang of it, even after a few practice sessions with Hongjoong. You knew once that orgasm approached, you’d chase it down. With Mingi fully fucking your mouth, it was only a matter of time. The buzzing on your cunt and his length penetrating your throat, you started shaking and moaning louder.

“Stop,” he said, reaching around to take the toy from you. You kicked your feet and cried, though this was muffled by the dick in your mouth. “I don’t care,” he replied, hearing your protest, “I haven’t finished yet. Make me cum and I’ll think about letting you finish.”

You did what you knew he liked: working the tip with your tongue. Each time he slid in or out, you made sure your tongue grazed the wrinkled underside of the head. It had been when he leaned forward for a different angle that the bed dipped on either side of you.

“Look how pretty our little dongsaeng is,” cooed Seonghwa, pushing stray hairs from your temples. “She takes it so well, doesn’t she?”

“Every time,” Yunho answered, grabbing the rabbit toy. He turned it back on and put it close to your clit. “I give her private lessons, and she’s always so good for me.”

“I should join,” he replied. “I could use the practice and you know she loves more than one.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” Mingi panted, not showing you any mercy as he choked you with his cock in different intervals. “I’m so close. Keep sucking me like that, just like that.”

He kept your cries muffled as Yunho pushed the toy back inside you. Moving tortuously slow, you shook and twitched to the teasing sensation. Even at this speed, you felt yourself close to your orgasm.

“Make him cum, YN-ssi,” Yunho said, “Make him cum in your throat like you do with me. I know how much you love it.” He gradually picked up the pace, “Our sweet YN loves cum.”

You did and you hated that they knew that. Soon, Mingi gripped the headboard tightly as he hunched over. Muscles tight and hard in their constriction, he shuddered as he came. Thick, hot and slightly tangy, Mingi’s cum filled your mouth and throat. You swallowed what you could manage before he withdrew, strings of it coming out with him. Nami grabbed photos of those when the other two moved away to give her space.

When Mingi finally dismounted, the other two converged on you. Seonghwa licked and sucked on your breasts while Yunho kept your legs wide open for the toy.

“Go on, baby,” Seonghwa groaned, “You can cum now. You’ve been such a good slut; you deserve it.”

“Yo-you promise?”

“We promise,” Yunho said, not holding back with the toy, “We want to see you cum for us. You look so pretty when you do.”

Streams of curses escaped you as your orgasm finally hit. All the pressure inside you came out in small uncontrollable spurts. Their constant praises and light touches only helped you along. You thought it might go on forever, and you wanted it to, chasing it down by pushing into the toy. The vibrating ears suddenly spiked your sensitive clit, making you close your legs before Yunho forced them back open. He didn’t stop despite the little sparks radiating inside.

“Aw, look at the little mess you made,” Seonghwa grinned, nuzzling your cheek. “You’re leaking all over.”

“Someone should clean that up,” said Yunho, who didn’t hesitate to start licking the trails leaking out of you. Nami took the opportunity to get a few quick shots.

You let out soft cries as Mingi and Yunho took turns lapping and sucking up your juices. As Seonghwa gently soothed you, a part of you wished the crew would leave you with them. They’d gotten their pictures and shots. They could go now.

“How about we continue this at home, hm?” Seonghwa suggested as he kissed your cheek. “You’re more comfortable there and we’d be alone.”

“Please,” you said, finally taking in the people there. You didn’t think you’d feel this way afterwards. Heat filling your cheeks, you sort of hid in his shoulder which made the three men laugh softly.

“Now is when you’re shy?” he teased, kissing your temple. “Come on. We’re done here.”

They properly cleaned you with warm, damp towels given to them by the staff, giving you more praise and kisses as they went. Juwon brought over a robe and comfortable clothes for you. This felt different from the previous episode, since then there’d been no staff watching you together. It almost killed the bliss currently coming over you. Even if they weren’t, you imagined some seeing you differently now that they’d seen what you’re like in bed. A part of you wondered, as you got into the van an hour later, if you’d end up regretting this decision. It hit you that people would be seeing most of the photos, and watching the episode. You liked to think the staff would make it tasteful and not so graphic, since they’d done that with the classroom episode. But, the point of Companion shows was the sex; it was the main focus that drew people 19 and over in.

“Come here,” Yunho brought you into his arms once you arrived home, kissing your neck and lifting your shirt.

Clothes ended up on the floor leading to his bedroom, where the three of them cornered you on the bed. Soon, the four of you were whimpering, moaning and groaning as you tangled in each other. You couldn’t get enough of each man. You rarely felt so desperate for their touches before. By the time it was over, you became a pile of sweaty, panting puddles on Yunho’s bed. Curling up close to him, his arm around your waist and nose buried in your hair, you slowly fell asleep.

You couldn’t think of a better place to be.

****

Y/N: heeeeey been a while since I did one of these! God, can anyone stop these folks from getting it on?? No, and nobody wants to either! I hope you guys liked this one, and reblog/like <3

#ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #song mingi #mingi ateez #seonghwa ateez #yunho ateez #ateez x reader #ot8 x reader #idol companion series #seonghwa smut #yunho smut #mingi smut #ateez smut #pirateeznet

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

Note

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

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pedgito · 1 month ago

Text

ORBIT YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆ CHAPTER FOUR: VENUS

↝ series masterlist | joel miller masterlist | full masterlist

summary — joel gets injured and both of you have some startling realizations in the process of looking after him.

author's note — the two chapters following this will be a little delayed, editing them has been a little tiring but they will be coming i swear! this is a lengthy one, i hope that makes up for it.

content warning — 18+ MDNI, dbf!joel, age gap (20s/40s), more openness on joel's behalf, some fluff, joel gets injured at work, devious actions by reader, some subtle domesticity, somnophilia (dubcon-ish), oral (m receiving), panic attacks, family drama, loss of virginity, protected piv

word count — 10k

Joel wasn’t handling the girls’ short-lived vacation as well as he liked to think.

It was always hard when they left.

When they hug and Joel helps them pack the car, it’s emotional.

It never got easier; letting them go.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Joel admits when they’ve pulled off down the street and turned the corner, always vehemently aware of his surroundings when he pulls you in for a hug, pressing a kiss to your head—to an outsider, it was a sweet moment between a supposed father and daughter.

Yet, you were anything but.

Still, you pulled him in close and rocked with the gentle sway of his body.

“You thought about going home at all?” Joel asks randomly, feeling you pull away in an instant, “Oh, sweetheart—I’m not tryin’—this ain’t me hintin’ at nothing, I was just curious…”

His voice trailed off, leaving an air of tension hanging between you.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, and there was an unspoken understanding that lingered just beneath the surface, "I’m more comfortable here with you and Tommy than I ever have been there," you replied quietly,

Joel's gaze flickered down to your lips, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded away. You wished he kissed you more—or, at all, “Good,” he said, almost too softly, his voice unlike him.

His brow furrowed slightly as he looked at you, suddenly serious, “Didn’t realize how lonely this place was without you,” he confessed, his fingers brushing against your arm in a way that sent shivers racing down your spine, “always keepin’ me on my damn toes,”

You had a freakily precise timing that Joel would never understand.

He’s been on the receiving end of your quiet laughs and smiles when you catch him showering in the middle of the night after a long shift at work, wandering into the kitchen for a glass of water or a snack, waking up with a mission.

Joel was still careful with Tommy around, keeping his distance as much as possible when he was around, unwilling to be at the receiving end of a lecture from a man who did nothing but make mistakes in his life up until about five years ago.

Joel wasn’t sure what changed, but something did.

You’ve been job searching for a few weeks, coming up empty-handed.

Joel has always reassured you that there wasn’t a rush, or a necessity for it, really.

He owned his own company, lived off a cushy, comfortable salary and knew how to save—it was exactly why both of his girls’ colleges were completely paid for while you had lucked out on a full ride, knowing that any debt would ultimately be your responsibility.

But, you do get bored while he’s away when you’re not out trying to get interviews or run a few errands that the brother’s would never do for themselves—and one morning, Joel makes the fatal mistake of leaving his phone on the counter as he and Tommy drove to the store to grab a new stock of coffee beans.

He had work in thirty minutes and he’s kept his distance incredibly well since your birthday, aside from the occasional glance or touch of his fingers when he passed by, only distant memories to satiate the hunger that was no longer lying dormant.

You could shower quick, be done before he even returned, but you decidedly take your time, propping his phone up against wall behind the sink and the faucet and pressed record on his camera, leaving the curtain pushed back just a sliver as you went about your normal shower routine for the first half of the video.

The second half is entirely different, the suds from the soap foaming around your tits as you washed your skin, squeezing for a show as your thumbs dragging over your nipples before you were dragging a curious hand between your thighs, head thrown back as the stream of water cascaded over your body, moans of pleasure escaping your lips as you continued to tease yourself, the camera capturing every breathless gasp and shudder as you brought yourself closer to the edge. The warmth between your legs intensified, and you couldn't help but imagine it was Joel's hands instead of your own. You knew exactly what they felt like, closing your eyes to picture it. It’s not long before you’re crying out at the mere thought of him touching you.

After drying up, you carefully cleaned up any evidence that you had been messing with his phone, closing out of any apps and placing it back on the counter exactly where you had found it, remaining blissfully ignore as both of the men return as you were making your own breakfast, damp hairing drying over your shoulders as Joel glances at you, a full body stare.

He was oblivious, obviously.

It felt like revenge for the restraint he was still attempting to show, but a sweet treat to surprise him before the end of the day, knowing undoubtedly you would get under his skin about it.

–

His actual day of work starts fine—he moves through his normal routine, but stopped at a newer site to check on the progress, walking alone around the property, minding his step around the pile of equipment scattered around, reaching into his back pocket for his phone as he meant to pull up his camera to take a picture of the progress so far, mistakenly opening up his gallery instead.

It was mostly normal, pictures and videos he recognized because he had taken them—but instinctively he scrolls to the bottom, spotting one video he knows he had no involvement in and definitely no knowledge of and his heart raced as the thumbnail caught his eye, your silhouette recognizable even within the confines of the small square.

Joel's breath hitched, the gentle pulse of adrenaline coursing through him as he pressed play, the sound of water mixing with soft breaths filling his ears, quickly turning down the volume even though he was alone.

The sight was intoxicating—a perfect blend of innocence and deviance.

He was completely captivated as you washed your body, each movement deliberate, showcasing curves he’d spent too much time tracing with his fingers. The moment you dragged your hands over your breasts, his pulse quickened and he took a step, attempting to head back to his truck, picture forgotten.

But, he’s distracted.

It was stupid—easily avoidable.

Joel has enough reaction time to curl his body in and land on his ass rather than his face, phone coming out unscathed, but the warmth that spreads in his knee is almost immediate.

He exclaims in pain, knowing almost instantly that he had tweaked something in his knee–not that it was serious, but at his age, it wasn’t going to come and go overnight.

Joel, despite his annoyance with his slip-up and distraction, still follows protocol.

Though, you were an issue to deal with later.

He’s insistent that he’s fine despite the obvious limp and as stubborn as he is, his HR team doesn’t press him to go through the process of seeing a doctor but rather than he rests for at least a week after much back and forth of how it wasn’t an issue with the workplace being insane but rather Joel’s own incompetence that morning.

They relent without a ton of fight.

And you’re typing away quietly on your laptop when he comes through the door, a surprising sight married with the fact he was clearly in pain and also grimacing, eyes locked on you with a look of knowing.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, slamming close and tossing your laptop aside, immediately at his side, “are you okay?”

“M’fine,” he gripes, hands tucking under the edge of his shirt to shift it down subconsciously, but you spot the fresh scrapes that have you stopping him dead, hand pressing against his chest.

“Did you fall?” you ask curiously, “Trip?”

His face flushes slightly and you crowd him against the wall, shoving his shirt up, ignorant to the way he was staring at you, eyes following your careful movements as your fingers graze his hips, just above his belt.

“I, uh,” he cleared his throat, “saw….the video,” he admits, your eyes widening for a second before a smile forms and the faintest hint of a laugh that was, undoubtedly, poor timing, “I mighta tripped over some equipment ‘cause of it,”

“Oh my—” you giggle, “I’m so—I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d find it until later while you were on lunch,”

“Where the hell did you find the time?” Joel asks, looking incredulously at you.

“You left your phone here this morning,” you say defensively but playful, “and I’m a little…touch starved and I was tryin’ to be more careful this time around, figured this was smarter….”

“Touch starved?” Joel asks, eyes widening for a moment as your hands seem to drift away and he carefully pushes his shirt down, “I touch you plenty.”

“Not how I want you to,” you argue and Joel goes rather quiet, wincing as he pushes away from the wall, “hey—no, just sit down,”

Fortunately, he doesn’t argue.

“I wouldn’t have done that if I knew you were gonna get hurt,” you remind him, arm circling his bicep as help guide him onto the couch.

“It ain’t your fault, not really,” Joel admits, “I saw it, knew what was goin’ on, but I watched it anyways—work has me on light duty for a week, so I’m working from home and takin’ calls until I can go back,”

You’re still eyeing him wearily and Joel chuckles to ease your worry.

“I got a shit knee and some scrapes,” Joel explains, “I’ll take some painkillers and rest while I can, alright? You don’t need to waste your time worryin’ about me,”

There’s a stretch of silence as you look at him before he interrupts, quietly unbuckling his belt to release the tension on his waist, a gesture that isn’t sexual at all but has your eyes locked on the sight and Joel knows, so he speaks.

“How’s the job searchin’ going?” He asks.

“Uh, no luck,” you admit, “I worked one job serving coffee through college and I’ve been holding out for an internship but those are few and far between—I don’t have enough experience yet, I guess,”

“You know, I don’t mind giving you a spot up at the company,” Joel admits, “I could use a secretary, someone to handle the paperwork and day to day stuff for me while I’m out—could you handle that?”

“I can handle you,” you tease, cheek resting against your fist where it was propped against the back of the couch and Joel chuckles at that but looks away, down at the frayed spot in his jeans where he fell, “no—no, I wanna try and do this on my own, okay?”

“Yeah,” Joel nods, “jus’ if you need a fallback, I’m right here,”

You offer a warm smile and lean forward, noticing the way his eyes track to your lips only hesitating briefly before he nods, barely, his hand rising to cup your face as you kiss him softly, soaking in the way his lips part with a coffee tainted breath, losing yourself only long enough to feel him pushing you away, wincing slightly in pain.

“Fuck, hold on,” you tell him, holding up a quick finger before you’re sprinting off to somewhere unknown—Joel leans over his shoulder to see you disappearing around the corner and down the hall, coming back a few minutes later with a noise attached, pills rattling in a bottle held out to him as you return, “take two—I’ll grab you a glass of water,”

He listens dutifully, catching the bottle you toss at him before you grab him the glass of water, watching him place the pills on his tongue before he washes them down, offering a quiet thank you as you return to your spot beside him, though keeping your distance from his fresh injuries.

“We’re not tellin’ the girls about this,” Joel says, “it’ll only worry ‘em,”

“How are you gonna explain it to Tommy?”

“Already did,” Joel answers, “I just told him I tripped, nothin’ about it.”

You find yourself laughing again, a quiet chuckle as you attempt to stifle it with the back of your hand.

“You’re eatin’ this shit up,” Joel realizes, “ain’t you?”

“I mean, you could say that,” you reply, your voice teasing, letting a playful smirk curl on your lips, “not ‘cause you’re hurt but I like seeing you—what’s the word—embarrassed?”

“I ain’t embarrassed,” Joel defends.

“Oh?” You press, tilting your head to look at him.

“I appreciate the…gesture,” Joel tells you, switching topics as a means to avoid the conversation, “are you gonna make me delete this one?”

You crack a wide smile and shake your head, “All yours,” you say, hands held up.

–

Joel was capable, but he finds himself helpless under your care.

During your job search, in and out as the days begin to pass, you’re always there whenever Joel needs it, even without asking.

Coffee brewed and ready before he was out of bed, medicine set aside if the pain was particularly harder on his body that morning, scattered paperwork from the night before stacked up and separated accordingly, a clear distinction in the way Joel went about his life.

He was focused, but scattered. He could take on a heavy workload, manage through his days with little sleep and running on mostly fumes, but you had unknowingly relieved some of that weight for him.

You bring make him lunch unprompted, even if it was mostly sandwiches or whatever you could scrounge up with what was left in his kitchen before you finally cave and tell him to make you a list, going on a hefty grocery run to stop giving him and Tommy the excuse to order out or skip meals altogether.

It was a rhythm that Joel falls into easily, without even realizing.

In your mind, it only seemed fair.

You were taking up space in his home, living there without an expectation of anything in return, and by the pinched look in his face, you could tell he was clearly hurting, even as the week stretched on.

“Do you have any vacation time saved up?” you ask curiously, handing over his glasses that he had wordlessly asked for, already knowing, he smiles slightly as he pries them from your grip.

“I do,” Joel admits, typing up a lengthy email as you leaned over the back of the couch he was set up on, his sleep-mussed hair curling and framing his face in a way that forced you to keep some distance, wanting to run your fingers through it, “I know what you’re gonna say—I’m gettin’ better, I’m on the mend,”

“Yeah, but,” you shrug, chewing at the inside of your cheek, “you’re not really resting now. You’re still working, from the time you wake and go to bed you’re either on the phone or you’re writing emails—I just think you deserve a real break, no work. You’ve got plenty of help, don’t you?”

Joel nods, looking up at you sparingly between words typed out slowly on his laptop, “Sure this ain’t jus’ you tryin’ to keep me to yourself?”

“You like it,” you counter him, “admit it—I’m good at keepin’ up with you,”

Joel chuckles and nods in defeat, “It ain’t easy, but you’re doin’ a good job,”

You smile at that, wider than he’s seen.

The praise.

Always the praise.

Joel shifts slightly and closes his laptop, silently making room for you on the couch with a slight wince and sharp pain that strikes through his knee, masked by him clearing his throat.

Selfishly, you sift your fingers through his hair anyways, finding the urge unavoidable as you sit with him, brush the few stray curls hanging down his forehead back, stopping as you curve around his ear and Joel’s doesn’t even flinch.

It was relaxing, admittedly.

His eyes close for a brief second before you feel his own unoccupied hand settle against your knee—touch for touch and neither of you had any qualms about it, not that you would.

“There’s this thing called burnout,” you begin and Joel scoffs in amusement, “I think you’ve been bordering that line for a while, s’all I’m saying,”

He laughs at that, like you’ve caught him, “Alright, alright,” he concedes, letting his hand extend further up your thigh, “I’ll take a break, ‘bout time I took one anyways,”

“Good—plus, you’ve got me here to take care of you,” you say, satisfied as your fingers trailer around the bump of his collarbone and against the rumpled fabric of his shirt, “so, how’s the knee?”

“Hurts,” Joel admits, “but I’m not complainin’—got a nice view and a pretty girl helpin’ me out,”

If anyone else had asked him to take a break, he wasn’t sure if he could commit himself to it.

Everyone knew Joel was a workaholic and that it helped keep him distracted, even if he lacked taking care of himself as a result, starting to feel the weight of his age with how slowly his body was healing, not as forgiving when he was in his late twenties and chasing the girls around the house without care.

He could manage, but there wasn’t the urgency without anyone else around, knowing he had more than capable hands at his disposal.

You.

A distraction, but a welcomed one.

Joel knew this was your escape, aware of the avoidance you were actively pursuing in his house and away from your father—he’s been doing most of the same as much possible, unable to face your father for longer than a few minutes before he’s struck with the thought of a good friend’s daughter spread out on his bed, moaning his name with the same voice that used to come crying to him when the yelling had become too much.

He’s struggling, still—but he's also trying.

“What time is it?” Joel asks curiously, hiding a yawn behind his fist.

“Shoulda been dinner an hour ago,” you admit, “you hungry?”

Joel’s eyes roam instinctually, giggling softly as your hands press into the cushion between your thigh, breasts pressed together as you rock forward toward him, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips that is welcome with a similar laugh as you carefully work yourself over Joel’s lap, careful to avoid his injured knee and gasp at how tightly his hands grip your hip, quick to ravish your skin whenever you’re settled against him, hands twisting into his hair as he mouths at your chest.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you sigh, hearing Joel hum in response.

“M’just tryin’ to thank ya,” Joel explains, “been doin’ so much for me and won’t let me say thank you—figured you wouldn’t say nothin’ when I gotcha like this,”

Joel seems satisfied with your silence as his hand curves around the back of your neck and brings you closer, one kiss against your neck, “Thank you,” slower, his lips drag against your jaw and to your lips, “such a sweet girl,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling away to peer at your awestruck gaze, enraptured by his words.

“You—you’re welcome,” you answer softly, noticing Joel glance briefly at his watch before cursing, comforting you with a gentle squeeze to your hip, “what—what is it?”

“Tommy should be here any minute,” Joel admits, his voice low and tinged with annoyance.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of disappointment at the interruption,

“Can’t we just—” you started, pulling back slightly to gauge his reaction, the need to push boundaries was intoxicating, and Joel had been increasingly more susceptible lately.

“Sweetheart,” Joel warns and you slump in his lap slightly, tapping your finger silently against his shoulder as the gears and cogs in your brain turn, “alright—spit it out,”

“How do you feel about surprises?” you ask earnestly, still seated comfortably in Joel’s lap.

“Ain’t much of a fan,” Joel admits, “if I’m bein’ honest. Why?”

“But, if it was from me?” you push the conversation further, curious.

“Then I might be in trouble,” Joel replies quieter, hearing the roar of Tommy’s truck coming up the street, his thumb brushed against your hip bone and pushing, understanding his silent plea as you gentle move off of him, “If you got somethin’ planned, I’ll make an exception, just…nothin’ reckless, alright?”

“Hey, I’m reformed,” you promise, hands held up in surrender as you hear the truck cut dead and walk aimlessly toward the kitchen before pausing to add, “sort of—not really,”

“Thin ice, sweetheart,” Joel warns playfully, though there is a hint of seriousness lingering under his tone, your conversation cutting short as Tommy walks through the door, none the wiser.

It was easy to forget that small world you and Joel had created within his home, within the past few months, floating around in a galaxy entirely its own.

It had become nearly impenetrable, even as Tommy tied his brother up in a lengthy conversation about work, his eyes still lingered on you while Tommy remained amiss.

Joel wasn’t just hungry, he was insatiable.

–

Yet, he wouldn’t act on it.

Joel did make the arrangements that night, though—allowing himself the break he desperately needed but refused to give himself, but with a gentle nudge from you, he had caved.

The hold you had over him was unexplainable, perplexing, even.

So, he hated surprises—he did.

But, you were positive this one would be welcomed.

He’s slept soundly, the constant noise from his overhead fan humming alongside the monotone buzz of the house, creeping into his room during the early morning hours while Tommy was asleep upstairs in his own room and you were tossing and turning, fidgeting with a restless that wouldn’t subside.

You’d been thinking about him most of the night—all day, if you were honest.

Not just him, or his voice, but every part of him.

The heft of his hands and his callouses, his naturally strong grip that squeezed into the squishy flesh of your thighs, a chest so broad and wide it didn’t seem real, sturdy shoulders to keep you anchored, but his cock—

You’ve only seen him like that once, up close since the night at the picnic table, the actions rushed and adrenaline fueled under the shade of moonlight, otherwise across a screen and miles away.

You couldn't shake the thoughts, the fantasies that had unfurled in your mind since that moment, and as you lay there in the stillness of his room, you felt the heat pooling low in your belly. Unfulfilled desire, drowning in a pool of forbidden taboo.

This was all still a secret—and more inevitably, fleeting.

A blip. A summer fling.

You both would go on with your lives and laugh about it later, surely.

It was stupid and reckless, but you found your feet pushing forward without thinking.

He’s always slept heavy, not even a flinch or a groan on the mornings when you would arrive to babysit the girls while he was still sleeping, squeals and giggles filling the quiet home.

The comforter is bunched at his waist, tanned and broad shoulders on display as his hands were stuffed under his pillow, spotting the splotchy bruise on his knee that was beginning to heal alongside the marred skin and the peek of his boxers that was visible with the shift of the blanket as he rolled halfway to his back, favoring his left side as his right hand moved to rest against his bare stomach.

He looked peaceful but vulnerable in sleep, a sight that tugged at your chest and held your heart in a vice grip, leaning the weight of your knees into the bed testingly.

He doesn’t even stir.

There was something else there, though—something primal that gnawed at your gut.

You wanted him awake—overtaken by desire, but with your mouth wrapped around him, and more specifically, his cock.

You gently pry the comforter away, left with thin sheets that outline his hips and legs.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you rested on your calves, one hand pressing into the mattress as the other slid over his soft cock, toying gently with the waistband of his boxers, watching his eyes scrunch tightly for a second.

You freeze, chest tight, but eventually he relaxes.

Though, not everything.

His cock twitches under your palm, squeezing the length of him even while your hand can’t encompass it, far larger than most men you’ve encountered. If any, painfully aware of how inexperienced you were with this aspect of your life.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you squeeze him through his shorts, eyebrow creasing to match his expression as he flattens himself out on his back, pausing your movements as you quickly pull your hand away, his other hand joining the one already laid out on his stomach.

You studied him carefully, the way his body responded to you even in sleep.

Carefully, you climbed between his spread legs and leaned down, pressing your lips softly against his inner thigh—just a teasing brush of your lips, barely there. Joel stirred again, a low groan rumbling from deep within him as his body reacted instinctively, muscles tensing and shifting against the sheets.

The effect you had on him was obvious, even in his slumber.

With some trepidation,you slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers.

Your breath hitched as your fingertips grazed against the silken skin below his navel and the patch of hair that trailed down to the base of his cock, your heart racing in tandem with his own, feeling the rapid pulse near his femoral.

Joel shifted slightly again as a groan escaped his lips and you took it as permission.

Carefully, you pulled the waistband of his boxers down until they were tucked underneath his balls, looking full and heavy and your mouth waters at the sight of him, watching as his cock bobbed up against his stomach.

Your mouth comes first, gentle kisses against his thighs that led to his groan, presses your lips against his cock from base to shaft and down against, your nose nestled into the trimmed patch of hair that smelled of fresh body wash from his shower the night prior but also so distinctly him.

You couldn't help but admire the size of him, heat pooling between your legs as you took in every inch of him, committing the image to memory. Joel groaned again, this time more awake than sleep, but he didn't open his eyes.

Instead, he let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching the sheets.

Maybe he was dreaming?

You gently took him into your mouth, just the head at first, using your tongue to glide over the slit before you took him an inch further, further, curious of how much of him you could fit into your mouth until it was too much, easily leaving another inch of untouched skin.

You savored the taste of him, salty but delectable, along with the way his hips bucked involuntarily in response. It spurred you further, bobbing your head slowly, a confidence that grew with every moan that left his lips.

You’ve only attempted this once or twice, all fumbling hands and over much quicker than you would have preferred, but Joel was practiced. He was older, wiser—and he had plenty to offer.

The way he groaned sent a surge of exhilaration through you, as you took him deeper, lips gliding over the soft skin of his shaft matched with your tongue, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock that stopped just below the head.

Each flick of your tongue coaxed more from him—moans and groans and you felt his body respond in ways that made you ache, begging to be filled in other ways.

“Jesus,” Joel’s voice was rough, thick with sleep that barely broke the haze of his slumber but held enough awareness to pull at the edges of his consciousness, blinking himself awake.

You looked up at him through your lashes, watching as his eyes finally fluttered open, a mix of confusion and lust flooding his features as he realized what you were doing, head rising for a moment before ultimately falling back against the pillow as you pointedly took him in your mouth again while he looked at you, his mouth parting in a silent gasp.

“Surprise,” you smirk with a cheeky expression when you pop up from his cock, licking your bottom lip.

“You’re killin’ me,” he began, but then his breath hitched as your lips wrapped tighter around him and his hand found its way to the back of your head, twisting in the strands of your hair as his thighs tensed.

You could see the struggle in his expression—the want and need battling with surprise and concern, wondering if he had somehow coerced you into doing this.

“Just let me,” you mumble quietly, “I want to,”

The rhythm you settled into was intoxicating.

Each pass of your mouth sends ripples of pleasure through him, watching his stomach clench when the head of his cock pressed against the back of your throat, hearing you gag slightly as you pull away, breathless.

You felt every reaction, the way his body tensed and relaxed under your ministrations, the quiet groans spilling from his lips encouraging you to go further, take him deeper.

“Goddamn,” he groaned thickly, voice raspy from sleep still but his gaze locked onto you, heavy-lidded but sharp with awareness. “you’re doin’ so good, sweetheart,”

If it wasn’t the praise that did it—it was the fucked out expression on his face, eyes drifting toward the ceiling against and shut as his hand rested against the back of your head, not guiding or pushing, allowing you full control over him as you bobbed your head at a quicked pace, swirling your tongue over the head of his cock until he was releasing a string of curses that only meant one thing.

Without thinking, your tongue flattens against his head despite his weak urgency to push you away, “Shit,” he curses, “you ain’t got—gotta—”

You shake your head in defiance as he groans, his jaw going tight as he came with a pinched expression, his hand instinctively wrapping around his cock as he jerked it into your mouth, the strings of cum painting your tongue as you looked up at him endearingly.

You met his gaze with a wide smile, emboldened by his reaction.

“Good morning,” you teased lightly as you swallowed down the heady taste of him, your breath warm against his skin, slowly crawling up his body until your hips were positioned over his groin, his cock softening against his stomach as Joel looked up you with an indecipherable gaze, almost awestruck.

This ain’t love, he thinks.

It couldn’t be, not with you.

But, damn was it close.

“Sure is,” He groans, but with a stretch to wake his body, “s’that what you were bein’ all coy about yesterday? Planning to sneak into my room like that?”

You shrug, “Didn’t seem like you were complaining,”

“I’m not,” He shakes his head slightly, his mouth forming into a slight frown of indifference that quickly cracks into a smile.

“I’m going out today,” you tell him, resting gently against his stomach, his hands reaching for your hips without thinking, “...lunch, with my dad,”

Joel’s eyebrows raise, “Oh?”

“I was going to spring it on him later,” you shrug, “I’m trying to make an effort, I guess.”

“Don’t know if he deserves much of it,” Joel admits, “but I think it’ll be good for you,”

“And,” you press your finger into his chest, “I’ve got an interview at the diner on Springview—the pay isn’t great but the hours are good and it’ll help hold me over, I can even pay you for letting me stay here—”

“You’re outta your damn mind,” Joel interjects and you scoff in amusement, “I don’t need your money, sweetheart. You’re welcome here whenever you need it, free of charge.”

“Are you only saying that because we’re,” you pause, trying to decipher what it actually was that you two were doing, “like…you know,” Joel watches your head spin with ways to explain, but you fall short, tapping your thumb against his chest idly, “...doing this?”

“You’ve done more for me than I’ll ever be able to repay you for,” Joel admits, “you’ve covered my ass with the girls more times than I can count, helped ‘em stay outta trouble, I don’t forget that,”

You nod despite the emptiness that spreads in your chest, unsure why.

Something was missing here—but you weren’t quite sure what it was.

–

Lunch was…fine.

When you asked your father, he seemed more eager than usual.

But, the conversation, while inevitable, was awkward.

“Joel treatin’ you alright?” Your father asked randomly as your food had arrived.

“What—” you crease at your initial reaction, confusing what your father meant for the fear that swarmed in your chest, “oh, yeah—they’re always hospitable, you know? Joel and Tommy are good company,”

“I got your room all cleared,” he tells you, “I’d love to have you for the rest of the summer,”

“I’ve really settled at the Miller’s,” you admit, “not—not that I don’t want to,”

It was just the truth. You were more comfortable there for the time being then home.

“But, comin’ around more,” you suggest, “I’d be alright with that,”

There was a distinct reason why you didn’t come home last summer, avoidant of your father’s harmful tendencies to fall back into his old ways—the drinking, the filth, the sweltering and suffocation guilt that ate away at you when you knew there wasn’t much you could do to help.

When he was good, he was really good. But, when he was bad, it was low.

“And I’m sorry ‘bout your birthday,” he offers, “your mother really did a number on me,”

It seemed like a half-assed excuse for his own forgetfulness or lack of caring but you disregard it for the moment, attempting to have a cordial meal without issue.

“Why do you still have her things?” you ask cautiously, “I thought you said she took everything,”

“She’s been meanin’ to come pick the rest of it up,” your dad slips, “but, uh—”

“Do you still talk to her?” your head tilts, suddenly confused, “Dad she cheated on you for years, she tried getting with your best friend, don’t tell me that—”

“Wait, Joel?” he interjects, holding his hand up to stop your rambling, reiterating, “Joel?”

You realized that was private information, something that Joel had shared with you in confidence.

Fuck.

“Tried,” you emphasized, “he didn’t want anything to do with her, you know that,”

“How’d you come to find this out?” he pries, suddenly less interested in his meal.

“It—he mentioned it a while back,” you explain, “I mean, he is the one that caught mom,”

It was clear that Joel had overstepped somewhere, the way your father’s face goes cold.

“Dad, I asked him to tell me what happened,” you explain, “you’ll barely talk about it.”

“Is that what you two like to talk about?” your dad snarks surprisingly, catching you off-guard.

You’re dumbstruck, shaking your head in confusion.

“My failed marriage, how terrible I’ve been with you,” he begins, feeling the spiral build and threatening to explode, “He ain’t your dad, you know that? Don’t you?”

Frankly, you were well fucking aware of that fact.

“I’m not doing this,” you quickly snip, “I should’ve known you can’t have a single conversation with me without immediately getting defensive—”

“Now that ain’t what this is,” he defends, “I outta give him a piece of mind, though—shouldn’t have to think about your mom in that way, even if she—”

“She tried me like shit, treated you like shit,” you retort, “Joel only told me because I asked,”

“Still, that isn’t his business,” He continues and you scoff, laughing.

“You never believed when I told you,” you shoot back at him, “when I saw it happening,”

“I just figured you were…mad at her,” your father explained, “you two were always fighting,”

“What do I gain from that?” you ask, “How do I benefit in that situation?”

Your father grows silent as he fishes into his wallet to cover the tab as you quickly fetch your things, “Why do you think I spent so much time at Joel’s?”

Your father doesn’t answer, awaiting your answer with a disgruntled expression.

“I feel safe there,” you admit, “half the time you and mom wouldn’t even notice I had left because you were too busy arguing. Joel was there for me when neither of you were,”

They still weren’t, not really.

“Honey,” your father begins but you shake your head.

“I’m not mad,” you quickly interject, “I’m tired of being upset. But, I’m not coming home,”

He didn’t have much of a choice, sliding the wad of cash onto the table with a somber, darkened expression. It wasn’t up for debate—you weren’t a kid anymore, your decisions were entirely your own.

Thankfully, you survived the lunch mostly unscathed aside from a few simmering emotions.

But, the drive home was even more awkward.

–

Joel senses it the moment you walk through the door.

He’d spent the day on his leg, trying to recover some of his strength as he stood over his laptop, typing out an email despite your orders otherwise, looking increasingly guilty as your sour expressions turned softer, slowly making your way toward him as he shut the laptop.

Silently, you pluck his glasses from his nose and stare at him pointedly.

Joel was struck with a feeling.

It scared him, his expression going from relaxed to tight, concerned.

He remembers it from his younger years, fresh into his twenties with a baby on the way.

When he had met Sarah’s mom, he figured she would be the one.

She should have been—Joel tried his hardest to make it work, but it just…didn’t.

It had been thirties years since he’s felt that yearning that was so distinct in his chest, his heart fluttering like a teenager with the way you looked straight through him—almost like you were seeing within him, your eyes scanning his face with a soft smile that you used as an attempt to hide whatever was bothering you.

But, Joel could see through you too.

His hand slides up to cup your cheek, feeling you relax instantly into his touch.

“What happened?”

It shouldn’t have broken you, but it did.

Joel could recount the times you’ve come to him when you were younger, sobbing and speaking something incoherent, tumbling toward the beginnings of a panic attack. He’d always been good at coming you down, but he was also good at listening.

“I have this feeling,” you admit, sniffling through silent tears.

He’d eventually guided you toward the couch, letting you cry for a long while before you finally found the courage to speak, both of you sat on opposite ends of the couch but staring intently at one another.

“I think he and my mom might be talking,” you begin, “or—that she might be trying to manipulate her way back,”

“She’s real good at that,” Joel agrees, watching as his fingers curl around your ankle, rubbing at the sensitive skin there—you hadn’t realized how frequent his touches have become over the time you’ve spent back home, and it was so mundane, but it brought you a comfort only Joel could provide, “but your father was tore up about the whole situation, I don’t see him forgiving that easy, not after how nasty the divorce was,”

It was fueled by greed and something you wanted no part in.

“Like I said, just a feeling,” you shrug, focusing on your hands that tremble in your lap.

Joel notices it instantly.

“C’mere,” he beckons, motioning with his hands for you to move forward.

You hesitate briefly before taking a breath and deciding to move, immediately met with his hands against your cheeks, fingers covering your ears to deafen the world around you while his thumbs drifted over your eyelids and you allowed them to drift close.

“Don’t let it in,” Joel reminds you, his voice soft and dull, but comforting.

It wasn’t the first time he’s guided you through a panic attack, but the weight of his hands felt different—it was difficult to explain, but as he spoke to you, the world went quiet.

He presses his lips to your head and pulls you into his chest.

You melt instantly.

“What’re we doing?” You ask suddenly, a loaded question that earns a pained chuckle from Joel.

“Sweetheart, I ain’t got the answer to that,” Joel admits.

Neither of you can pinpoint who moved first, but the second you tilt your head up to look at him, his lips are against yours, seeking asylum.

It was far more needy than anything he’s felt with you, almost like you were attempting to claw your way inside of him, the kiss ramping up quickly as his hands drift down your body and you settle over him, gasping into his mouth as his fingers squeeze into your hips.

He knows where your mind is, where you were steering this interaction, and he’s immediately hesitant, shaking his head as you chase his mouth with a gentleness that makes it hard to ignore your meek and needy expression.

“We’ve gotta stop,” Joel tries—he does.

“I need you,” you admit to him, eyes wide and hopeful, “Joel—please don’t give me the speech,”

“This ain’t something I take lightly,” Joel explains, “not with you—not this,”

“Stop,” you beg, sliding one hand down between your bodies to drag over his closed zipper, feeling the sizeable bulge through the denim that told you everything you needed to know.

“Are you sure?” Joel asked, voice rough but quiet. “I need you to mean it—”

You nodded fervently, heart pounding behind your ribcage as your fingers twisted into his shirt.

“I want this. I want you.”

He let out a long breath, like it was hurting his chest to hold in, tucking your hair behind your ear as you looked at him, gaze curious and lust-filled, “We’re takin’ this slow. You tell me what feels good, you understand? I’ll know if you’re lyin’—I don’t like when you do that,”

Joel had no reason to let morality take over now, too far gone.

–

Every movement after that was deliberate.

Even the quiet walk to his room, taking in the sight of his unmade bed, sheets still thrown around from your surprise earlier that morning, feeling his hand slide along your waist as the door clicks shut behind you.

He undressed you like he had all the time in the world.

Joel didn’t shy away from you either—no redirecting your touches or pushing you away.

He kisses every inch of your skin within reach; shoulders, collarbones, neck, back.

It was every bare inch of you, grounding you so deeply to him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled against your shoulder, his breath warm and inviting as it tickled your skin, fingers dragging against the bare skin of your sides before his hands squeeze at your tits, admiring the view of them over your shoulder as your head tips back, every article of clothes you were wearing aside from the thin, lacy underwear were on the floor.

His hands were firm yet gentle, coaxing out soft gasps and sighs that fell from your lips like a melodic tune in the stillness of the room, the quiet murmuring of praises in your ear as your arm searched behind you to find its way into his hair, pulling gently.

His groan dissolved into a chuckle as he slowly walks you toward his bed, his thighs pressed against the back of your own as you fall toward the bed, quickly turned by his hand gripping your ankle and tugging you back toward him and onto your back, squealing in surprise.

His fingers tangled into your hair, pulling you close as he leaned down to meet your lips, slow at first before deepening the kiss until you were nearly drowning in him. Each brush of his tongue against yours coaxing you further into his touch, urging you to pull him closer until he had no choice but to join you on the bed, his knee digging into the mattress and a hand spread out beside your head as you fell against the mattress, your hand exploring innocently underneath his shirt.

“Joel,” you barely managed to utter between kisses, “Enough—”

He shakes his head, silently allowing his hand to drift between your bodies until his palm is cupped over your underwear, his fingers rubbing slowly into the dampened fabric.

You gasped, arching your back against the sheets as he pressed his palm against you, the friction so enticing against your clit, feeling the pressure of his fingers as they teased your entrance despite the barrier, your brow creasing as you searched his face.

There was nothing but adoration and care, his eyes careful examining your reactions.

He was practiced, attentive—it had to be him.

In your mind, it made sense.

With deft fingers, Joel slid his hand beneath the fabric, skin meeting skin.

Warmth meeting your slick folds, you gasp.

“Responsive,” Joel notes, “that’s good—perfect, sweetheart,”

Keep it up, he thinks.

At this rate, he’d bust his load before he was even inside of you.

It had been too terribly long for him. It was embarrassing, really.

The pressure of his fingers sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. He spent ample time circling your clit before his fingers dove inside of you—one to start, to adjust, before he added another…then another, soon all you could focus on was the sound of your cunt as it greedily squeezed around his fingers.

It felt like hours, but it was only a handful of minutes.

Still, Joel didn’t want to rush this.

“Just like that, baby,” he tells you, voice heavy with lust, “tell me what feels good.”

You nod, gasping as his fingers curl inside of you, watching his eyes narrow as you nod again, shaky but confirming that he was right where you wanted him before your own eyes fall shut and succumb to his fingers, “F—fuck,” you sigh, “that’s—” you swallow, attempting to take a breath, “feels fucking amazing.”

Joel chuckles, a sacred sight.

The orgasm that takes over is slow, drawn-out, falling apart under the guide of his hand.

As it wanes, his fingers leave you, but his palm stays put. He quickly uses his free hand to work at his jeans, undoing them with shaking hands as he shoved the fabric down.

His cock sprang free, hard and aching.

Reality seems to come crashing down in an instance, slowly moving to sit while he removes his hand to please your curiosity as you reach for him almost immediately, rising to your knees and curling your hand around the back of his neck to press your lips to his.

"Look at me," Joel commanded softly after you slip a few hurried kisses between his attempt to grab your attention, “hey, sweetheart—look at me,”

You pull away slightly, only enough to catch his gaze but still close enough that your noses brush.

You can see it in his face—at war with himself.

Instead of burying it, he speaks candidly.

“You’re too young for me,” Joel admits, feeling your fingers scratch over his greying beard in response, dismissive as you shrug, but his fingers circle your wrists to pull your attention center, “but goddamn, I wanna ruin you in the softest way, sweetheart.”

You smile, something akin to cocky smirk but not quite, “Do it,”

Joel shakes his head in amusement as you lean in again, echoing your words.

“Do it,” you tell him, “I want it,”

“Alright,” he breaths, voice thick with desire as he leans closer, noticing the visible darkness in his eyes as he wraps his hand around the base of his cock and squeezes as he moves up, stroking slowly while he nods for you to move back, “but you’re gonna listen for me and keep your hands to yourself for a minute,”

You giggle at the sudden sense of deja-vu, not missing the chance to slip your underwear the rest of the way off as you fling them with your foot against his chest and lean back on your elbows, spreading your legs for a saccharine sight that Joel drinks in.

He hastily pulls his shirt over his head and you notice the flush to his chest, using every ounce of self-control you had to not lean forward and touch him, pull him to you, down, and sink onto his cock without a single hesitation.

It was lewd, but you were eating it up.

The anticipation was driving you crazy, a delicious torture that had your core aching and clenching in want. Joel witnessed every bit of it, his thumb teasing over the head of his cock as your mouth watered at the sight.

He’s massive, glistening with a copious amount pre-cum, only inches from where you needed him most, a single adjustment of your hips would have the head of his cock brushing through your folds.

You bit your lower lip and stayed dutifully quiet, watching Joel pleasure himself in a way that almost felt punishing on your end, months you’ve spent teasing him relentlessly

"Joel," you moaned out his name, unable to take it anymore, "I need—"

Joel's eyes darkened further as he stroked himself slowly, easing his knee into the mattress as your head tipped up to meet his gaze, "Don’t get choked up just yet," he spoke roughly, strained.

You'd never heard him sound this way before, almost breathless.

“We don’t have to, you know,” you begin and Joel senses what you’re getting at, “I’m on the pill.”

“We’re doin’ this right,” Joel responds, “I may be goin’ to hell but I’m not setting the standard for what you think you needa settle for,”

You smile gently in return and nod.

He reached for the condom he'd stashed away in his nightstand drawer, leaning around you.

Admittedly, he just kept them stashed away for Tommy—after twenty years, it never failed.

Joel would always be the big brother saving that day.

But, he'd never imagined himself being in this situation with you.

Yet, here he was, teetering on the edge of logical reasoning and desire, lust-drive.

You grab his hand as it draws closer, bringing the foil package to your teeth as you rip it open, spitting the foil off to the side and Joel’s cock twitches at the sight as sheathes himself in record time, never once breaking eye contact with you.

Without being told, you move, making space for Joel as he positions himself between your legs and at your entrance—you can feel the heat as he moves closer, radiating off of him like a furnace, watching as his hands drag delicate along your thighs before pulling you closer at the hips, his cock brushing against your cunt.

“Y’tell me when you’re ready,” Joel says, eyes locked on the sight of his cock as it slides through your folds, a teasing touch that drives you insane.

You nod shakily, “Just do it,” you beg, “please,”

With a grunt, Joel shifts over you as you lay against the sheets, his lips capturing your own as he presses into you, startled by the stretch of him as you gasp, but he listens to you—your body, he’d go as slow as you needed.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby.” He assures you, pressing his forearms into the mattress on either side of your head, his pointer finger brushing away the hair from your face as he stills and waits for your nod, only moving as fast as you let him.

“Just breathe,” Joel reminds you, watching your teeth sink into your bottom lip as he begins to fill your further, fuller—his words are like a soothing balm, encouraging,”there you go, I gotcha,”

Your body responds with a soft clench around him, eyes fluttering shut as the sensation of him stretching you sends you into delirium, fingers squeezing into his sides.

“Fucking Christ,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering slightly until he’s fully sheathed inside of you.

“Are you—are you okay?” you ask curiously—he’s never heard something so sincere and genuine and Joel can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as his brow creases and his face quickly morphs into something much softer.

“I’m alright,” he assures you, “s’been a while—and you’re not goin’ easy on me,”

“Feel so good wrapped around me,” Joel murmured into your neck as he leans forward, his breath warm.

“Please,” you pleaded with some minor impatience, urging him to move, to give you what you desperately craved, “please, move—”

It was a simple request, one Joel followed with ease.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze with intensity before he surged forward, groaning low and soft as he looked at you, thrusting into you with a controlled force.

Each stroke was perfectly timed, deep and precise, and the sting seemed too dull as his thrusts sent you into a state of euphoria, oblivious to everything but this and him.

Nothing else mattered.

Joel's hips rocked against yours, each thrust pulling a gasp from your chest, easing out with every breath you took. His lips trailed to your neck, leaving a wet line of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, eliciting soft, subtle moans between Joel’s thrusts.

The sound of skin against skin and your muffled moans as you pulled him to you, mouth pressed against his shoulder, filled the room.

Both of you knew there was a distant chance anyone could walk in the house—there was always that fear, of being caught, shamed, judged. But, in this moment, neither of you cared.

"Talk to me, baby," Joel groaned into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "you still with me?”

Your nails dig into his back in response, hips arching upwards to meet this thrusts, overwhelmed by the sensation of him, his cock, his hands.

He slips one arm under your head to prop it up as the other squeezes against the top of your thigh where it was resting against his hip, his chin tipping down to catch the sight of his cock as it steadily disappeared inside of you.

“Maybe,” you joke weakly, letting out a soft whine as he snaps his hips sharp and harsh in response, but only once, “fuck—no, do—do that again,”

Joel growled low in his throat, a vein bulging in his neck as his chin stretched up, angling his hips as he pulled back slowly before snapping them into you "You like that, huh?" he managed to grunt out as he angled his hips in a repetitive motion grazing that sensitive spot inside again and again. You nod weakly.

Joel releases a tight hiss through clenched teeth as you claw at his back, gasping into his sweat-slick skin as he covers you like at blanket, tucking his face against your cheek, soft grunts sending you into a spiral of madness as his thumb sneakily moves to circle against your clit, already feeling too over sensitive, but Joel’s persistence is apparent.

"Joel," you moaned, your eyes rolling back into your head as he lifted his face slightly to check on you, mouth hung open because despite the words you wanted to say, you were speechless.

“Yeah,” he knows, nodding in reassurance, “I know, sweetheart, I feel ya,” his thrusts have faltered slightly, the crease in his brow growing deeper as he pants into the sheets beside your head.

Your eyes flutter shut as your visions begins to blur, feeling the heat swirl in your belly as you gasp, “Oh—oh, fuck,” you whine, “I’m—”

“Yeah,” Joel encourages, voice soft as satin, “yeah—god, if you’re so fuckin’ perfect,”

You laugh weakly, sounding only slightly pathetic in the way you gasp as Joel shifts up again, angling his hips up, a much more intense feeling that was you gripping the sheets above your head as he groans out, hands wrapped tight around your thighs as he snaps his hips once, twice, and then he’s spilling into the condom, the faint pulse of his cock as he stills inside of you.

As the moment calms, Joel lets the reality of the situation and scene unfold before him.

He drags a hand through his mused hair and curses, pulling out of you with a weak grunt as his favors one leg over the other, discarding the condom away as hastily reach for your clothes, ruminating in the quiet aftermath as you slip your underwear back on and attempt to clasp your bra with blind hands.

Joel’s touch comes after a few silent seconds of struggle.

“We really need to talk ‘bout all this,” Joel says after a while and you peek over your shoulder, realizing just how serious he was, “I mean, just—so we’re both clear what we’re doin’ here,”

You turn slowly as his hand slides against your back, noting that he had only redressed into his jeans, underwear forgotten entirely, the thick patch of hair leading down, eyes dragging toward the sight.

Joel’s finger taps at the underside of your chin, eyebrows raising with intent.

“I’ll admit my faults here, but I need you to understand something,” Joel explains gently, his hand cupping around the back of your neck as you lean into the touch, eyes locked on his face.

“Don’t tell anyone, this is our secret, we’ve gotta be careful,” you begin, listing off a few things you know are stirring in the back of his mind, “I’m not that ignorant, Joel,”

“I’m not sayin’ that,” Joel responds, “wasn’t even gonna touch on that, actually,”

“Then what?” you ask, inching closer as vulnerability settles in the air between you.

“I want to make sure you know where your feelings are at with this,” he says, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, his thumb rubbing at the spot behind your ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt something like this—but it’s…you’re—” his eyes search yours as he stops himself, weighing the gravity of what he’s about to say. “I just don’t want you to regret anything or feel like things’ll be different if you change your mind along the way,”

“Joel,” you begin, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“Hear me out, alright?” Joel pleads, “Don’t think you owe me anything,”

“Are you only saying this because of what just happened?” you ask curiously.

Joel shakes his head, “I care about you more than I should,” he admits, “but you’ve got so much life ahead of you,”

His words sink into your chest, filling the void of uncertainty that had lingered for a while now.

You understand where he’s coming from, smiling sadly as his face softens.

The weight of his gaze holds you captive, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within your chest.

“I don’t wanna fuck anything up for you,” Joel admits, the vulnerability piercing through your chest, “now, later—ever,”

A brighter smile creeps on your face, though subdued, “Then don’t,” you tell him.

The sincerity in your voice held Joel captive.

“God dammit,” he murmured just before closing the distance without thinking, pressing his lips to yours unexpectedly.

When he pulls away, you find yourself chasing his lips stubbornly, “What was that for?”

“You’re just so damn difficult,” Joel tells you, his voice flowing with fondness.

“Keeps you on your toes,” you shrug, before rising up to kiss him quickly.

That’s for damn sure, Joel thinks.

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#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #the last of us fic #dbf!joel #reader #x reader #my writing #fic: orbit you

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armandyke · 16 days ago

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Remember then that it was love: The relationship between Amadeo and Marius in Blood and Gold, and how it conflicts with Armand’s version of events

Now that I’ve read both books I want to look at all the discrepancies between Armand’s original account of his relationship with Marius in The Vampire Armand compared to what Marius tells us in Blood and Gold.

I’m leaving all criticisms of Anne Rice’s possible sloppy writing at the door because we could just go around in circles with that. It’s possible that all of these discrepancies are just results of Anne misremembering what she wrote originally, not hiring editors, etc. but we’re not doing that today. I’m going to be taking everything within these books as intentional and exploring what it says about Marius as a character that he would change/erase/contradict different things.

(Note: there is literally a 10K word essay below)

Blood and Gold isn’t framed as being Marius’ response to The Vampire Armand, at least not in the way that The Vampire Lestat was Lestat’s response to Interview with the Vampire. He’s not being argumentative, or making a point of contradicting Armand, but considering this book follows on from The Vampire Armand in the series, it does feel like this is his attempt at setting the record straight, and putting out his own version of events.

Within the context of the book, Marius is explaining all of these events to Thorne, a new character who has spent hundreds of years asleep and only recently awoken. He is vaguely aware of the events of Queen of the Damned through to Memnoch the Devil, which he picked up on while he was asleep, but beyond that he doesn’t know the rest of the characters. More specifically, he hasn’t read Armand’s book, and I think that context is important to remember as I go through this. Marius is speaking to somebody with no prior knowledge of who Armand is, or of the story he told. Essentially, he has the opportunity to deliver his account of events to a completely unbiased, blank slate. This could also explain why he isn’t argumentative in the way that Lestat was in his first book.

I’m going to try and break this down into sections rather than going through the book chronologically, because otherwise I’m gonna end up repeating the same points over and over. So take my hand and let’s go on a journey into the mind of Marius de Romanus.

(Also, I’ll be referencing page numbers when I include quotes from the books, more for the sake of helping me keep track of the timelines in both books than anything else since I’ll be going backwards and forwards a bit. These numbers are based on the pdf versions that I have which you can download here and here)

Violence

For me the most notable difference between The Vampire Armand and Blood and Gold is the lack of violence in Marius’ account of events. It’s gonna be hard to draw direct comparisons between the two books for this because I’m pointing out an absence of something, so this is mostly going to be me pointing to quotes from Armand’s book and yelling “But Marius never mentioned any of that!!”

I will, however, start by taking a moment to point out these lines, which I read and literally laughed at.

“Now, I am by nature not given to physical combat, but in a rage I pushed him off me with such force that he was thrown across the floor and back against the wall. ‘How dare you?’ I asked fiercely. I struggled to keep my voice low so as not to alarm the mortals in the banquet room. ‘I ought to kill you. What peace of mind it would give me to know you were dead. I could cut you into pieces that no sorcerer could reassemble. Damn you.’ I was trembling with this uncharacteristic and humiliating rage. (Blood and Gold, pg. 134)

I could go into detail about how many times, in this book alone, Marius becomes angry (27), furious (12), or filled with rage (9), but that’s neither here nor there.

From the combined information in The Vampire Armand and Blood and Gold, we still don’t know a huge amount about Marius’ relationship with the other boys in the palazzo. Within his book, he never mentions anything about using any kind of violence with the boys, nor does he ever mention that the teachers he hires for the boys also use corporal punishment. You could argue that this was common practice in those days, so it wouldn’t have even occurred to him to mention, but this is just the first in a long list of cover ups, so it feels relevant to mention. We know for a fact that physical abuse was common within the palazzo, and Marius was not opposed to punishing the boys himself.

“He whipped Riccardo for it. I was full of shame. Riccardo took it like a soldier without cries or comment, standing still at a large fireplace in the library, his back turned to receive the blows on his legs. Afterwards, he knelt and kissed the Master’s ring. I vowed I’d never get drunk again.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 57)

This is the only time we get an explicit description of Marius physically punishing other boys in the palazzo, but I think Riccardo’s ability to take his punishment silently makes it clear that this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence.

Then, of course, there’s the violence towards Amadeo himself. In Blood and Gold Marius only ever describes one instance of him physically hitting Amadeo.

“‘I cautioned you on this, did I not?’ I said furiously. ‘And now you weep like a child?’ In a rage, I slapped him. And in shock he fell back away from me, but his tears flowed all the more.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 361)

Interestingly even in this one account, he mentions Amadeo being shocked by the physical assault, when in Armand’s account of events we get lines like this:

“He approached me and I shrank back, actually afraid. But by the time he struck me, hard across the face, he’d recovered himself, and it was just the usual brain-jarring blow.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 226)

It’s also interesting that this is the one and only time Marius admits to hitting Amadeo, considering the rest of the context of the conversation. This is a moment shortly after Amadeo’s turning, and after being reunited with Bianca for the first time. Amadeo wants to be able to give the blood to Bianca, and Marius is arguing against him.

“‘Master, why can we not make her one of us! Why can we not share the Blood with her?’ I took him roughly by the shoulders. He didn’t fear my hands. He didn’t care.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 361)

It could easily be said that this is an argument where Marius seems, from a completely objective perspective, to be right. Amadeo, still a child and also newly turned, is quickly hurtling towards the idea of turning everybody he loves into a vampire so that he can be with them for eternity. It’s an unrealistic and dangerous idea which Marius then puts a stop to, and by doing so he’s also saving Bianca from being turned. Is that why he’s comfortable admitting to using physical force here? Because it’s a situation where it can be more easily justified? Let’s look at some of the violence Armand details in his book, and which Marius never mentions.

Obviously the most glaring omission in Blood and Gold is the whipping scene. Marius actually uses a whip on Amadeo twice in The Vampire Armand and I’ll get into the second moment in a little bit, but it’s the first scene where we get the most vivid account of the violence he used.

“I felt the nudge of his knee in the small of my back and then down came the switch across my thighs. Of course I wasn’t wearing anything but the thin stockings that fashion decreed, so I might as well have been naked. I cried out in pain and then shut my mouth tight. When the next few blows came, walloping my legs, I swallowed all the noise, furious to hear myself make a careless impossible groan. Again and again, he brought the switch down, whipping my thighs and then my lower legs as well. Enraged, I struggled to get up, pushing vainly on the covers with the heels of my hands. I couldn’t move. I was pinioned by his knee, and he whacked away without the slightest deterrent.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 88)

This is just a small snippet. It’s one of the most drawn out, brutal scenes in the book (five pages total in my pdf). Now let me show you Marius’ summary of events.

“I sent him off to the best brothels to learn the pleasures of women, and the pleasures of boys. He hated me for it, and yet he enjoyed it, and he came home to me eager for the Blood Kiss and nothing else.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 322)

I’m gonna be coming back to this scene again later when I talk about the sexual aspect of their relationship. But for now I’m focusing purely on the physical violence, or, more specifically, the complete lack of it in Marius’ account.

I think it’s important to note at this point, for people who haven’t read the book, that Marius hasn’t been shying away from detailing other acts of violence in here. He gets into physical altercations with Mael, attacks and kills Eudoxia, and kills multiple unnamed vampires. Even when it comes to his relationship with Pandora, he talks a lot more openly about acting aggressively and forcefully with her.

“‘Stop it, Pandora. It isn’t necessary that I give her up. We are not mortals! We can live together.’ I took her by the arms. I shook her. Her hair did come loose and then violently and cruelly I pulled at it, and I buried my face in her hair.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 513/514)

So what’s the difference? Why can he be open about his aggression towards Pandora and the other vampires, but not towards Amadeo. I have a lot of thoughts about this, and I’m gonna go a bit more in depth on the differences specifically between his accounts of his dynamics with Pandora and Bianca compared to Amadeo, but perhaps it comes down to the simple fact that Pandora was a centuries old vampire, and Amadeo was a child. A human child. Perhaps it comes down to the simple fact that Marius knew there was no way to spin this moment without painting himself as a monster.

Moving on to the second time he whips Amadeo, this is when we get one of the more glaring discrepancies. In this case we don’t just have Marius omitting something, we see him actively contradicting Armand’s account of events.

Interesting to note that in this second moment Amadeo is a vampire, though still a child and quite newly turned. This is another scene that’s quite drawn out in The Vampire Armand so I’m gonna break it down by showing the initial assault first, because I think it’s important to emphasise just how violent Marius was in Armand’s version, and then I can explain some of the context of the scene and get into the contradictions.

“I turned away from him. I figured he was being dramatic and that he would go away. The switch came crashing down again and this time there followed a volley of blows. I felt the blows in a way I’d never felt them when mortal. I was stronger, more resistant to them, but for a split second each blow broke through my preternatural guard and caused an exquisite explosion of pain.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

This scene comes shortly after Marius takes Amadeo to Kyiv to see his home and his family again. Pretty understandably (to me at least) Amadeo goes into a bit of a slump after they return to Venice, coming to terms with all of the memories he's finally recovered, as well as the fact that he will never be the person from those memories again. He’s seventeen and coming to terms with the fact that the family he’d forgotten loved him, that they still do love him, and that he’s now had to say goodbye to them forever.

And Marius does seem to understand this. To some extent at least he seems to acknowledge the conflict going on in Amadeo’s head and appreciates why he's become withdrawn. Now let's compare the two scenes.

“‘You’ve had enough time to grieve and to weep,’ he said, ‘and to reevaluate all you’ve been given. Now it’s back to work. Go to the desk and prepare to write. Or I’ll whip you some more.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

“When would he finally pick up the brushes and paint? I didn’t know, but such a question didn’t matter anymore. He was mine and mine forever. He could do what he pleased.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 375)

“He smacked me across the face. I was dizzy. As my eyes cleared, I looked into his. ‘I want your attention again. I want you to come out of your meditation. Go to your desk and write for me a summary of what your journey in Russia meant to you, and what you see now here that you could not see before. Make it concise, use your finest similes and metaphors and write it cleanly and quickly for me.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 211)

“I tried to forget my jealousy or ignore it. After all, what was to be done about it? Should I remind him of his journey and torment him with questions? I could not do such a thing.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 375)

I don't think you really need me to point out the glaring difference between the two. From Marius’ perspective he was understanding and patient with him, waiting for him to return to his activities in his own time. From Armand’s account Marius physically beat him and continued to threaten him with more violence unless he complied and went back to work.

Again we have to remember that Blood and Gold followed after The Vampire Armand. And you have to question what effect Armand’s account had on the story Marius then went on to tell. He claims he understood Amadeo’s feelings and struggles at the time, but did he? Or is he able to understand them now in hindsight, having read Armand’s version?

Sex and Romance

Much like the physical violence, this is another case of omission rather than direct contradiction, so it’s harder to draw direct comparisons between the two books. A pretty significant aspect of The Vampire Armand is the sexual relationship between Amadeo and Marius, but in Blood and Gold this is almost completely erased. The only time Marius mentions any kind of sexual act with Amadeo is in the initial bathtub scene, which remains mostly unchanged between the two versions.

“Taking Amadeo into the bath, I cleansed him myself and covered him with kisses. I drew from him an easy intimacy which he had denied all those who had tormented him, so dazzled and confused was he by my simple kindnesses, and the words I whispered in his tender ears. I brought him quickly to know the pleasures which he had never allowed himself before. He was dazed and silent; but his prayers for deliverance were no more.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 308/309)

“I groaned for all of this. I sank against him in the warm water, and his lips went down my chest to my belly. He sucked tenderly at the skin as if he were sucking up the salt and the heat from it, and even his forehead nudging my shoulder filled me with warm and thrilling sensations. I put my arm around him, and when he found the sin itself, I felt it go off as if an arrow had been shot from it, and it were a crossbow; I felt it go, this arrow, this thrust, and I cried out.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 41)

Throughout the rest of The Vampire Armand we get multiple more accounts of sexual acts Marius performed on him, and I’m not gonna sit here and quote all of them because I don’t think it will add anything to my argument. Instead, let’s look at how Marius describes things, or, more accurately, the way he doesn’t. This next quote is one of the only hints at any other physical relationship between the two of them following the bath scene.

“Yet in the late evenings, when the lessons had ceased and the little boys had been put to bed, and the older boys were finishing tasks in my studio, I couldn’t stop myself from taking Amadeo into my bedroom study, and there I visited on him my carnal kisses, my sweet and bloodless kisses, my kisses of need, and he gave himself to me without reserve.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 315)

This is probably the closest he gets to hinting at his desire for Amadeo, but it’s certainly nothing close to the levels we see in The Vampire Armand. It’s also the last reference we get to the sexual side of their relationship, and it’s soon followed up with this line.

“Here in Venice for Marius de Romanus, there was none. But Amadeo had his suspicions, not as to the kisses that were fast becoming all too chaste for him, but as to the man of seeming marble, who never supped at his own table, nor took a drop of wine from a goblet, or ever appeared beneath his own roof during the light of day.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 316)

This quote references another, much longer scene in The Vampire Armand, in which Amadeo confronts Marius about the nature of their relationship. Specifically about the fact that Marius performs sexual acts for him while not wanting anything in return.

“‘Well, now,’ I said. ‘There’s a great mystery here and you know it. It’s time you told me.’ ‘What?’ he asked obligingly enough. ‘Why do you never… Why do you never feel anything! Why do you handle me as if I were a poppet? Why do you never…?’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 66)

And this is one of those moments where I think it’s important to remember the context of the book. As readers, we know that “kisses that were fast becoming all too chaste for him” is referring to Amadeo wanting more from a relationship that is already sexual. But Marius isn’t speaking to us, he’s speaking to somebody with no prior knowledge of Armand or his book.

From an outside perspective, with none of the additional context, couldn’t “fast becoming all too chaste for him” easily be interpreted to mean there was no sexual relationship at all?

And again, just like with the violence, this isn’t a topic that Marius avoids altogether in his book. He gets quite explicit during a scene with Bianca.

“And as my fingers tightened and caressed her, as his kisses grew more fervent, she grew bloodred with her cresting passion and fell softly against Amadeo’s arm. I withdrew, kissing her forehead as though she were chaste again.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 359)

I’m also including that follow up line, just to emphasise the previous point that Marius absolutely means “non-sexual” when he refers to his relationship with Amadeo as “chaste”.

So, once again, you have to wonder what the difference is. Why is he comfortable sharing explicit details of a sexual act with Bianca, but not Amadeo? Is it, again, down to the simple fact that Amadeo was a child? Or does it go deeper?

When Marius comes upon Amadeo, he takes him home and we get the bath scene, the one and only time he references anything sexual happening between them. It’s after this that he then has the idea to groom Amadeo into the “ideal” vampire companion.

“This was a foundling who could be educated for the Blood! This was a child utterly lost to life who could be reclaimed specifically for the Blood.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 309)

Which then leads us to this thought.

“My mind went back swiftly to Eudoxia and how she had spoken of the perfect age for the Blood to be received. I remembered Zenobia and her quick wits and knowing eyes. I remembered my own long ago reflection on the promise of a virgin, that one could make of a virgin what one wished without price.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 309/310)

Earlier in the book Marius met Zenobia, a fledgling of Eudoxia’s who explained some of her background to him. She tells him that she believed Eudoxia chose her as an ideal companion because of her youth and her virginity (interestingly, she was also a slave, though Marius never reflects upon this additional similarity).

Of course, this completely contradicts what he finds in Amadeo, a child sex slave. Marius is well aware of the abuse Amadeo has suffered, he knows he’s not a virgin, but he still has these thoughts all the same. My personal interpretation is that Marius is referring to Amadeo’s amnesia. The fact that, having pulled Amadeo from the brothel and given him a home, he has essentially been “reborn”, making him a virginal figure in that sense rather than specifically referring to his sexual history. But I still don’t think it's insignificant that Marius makes this observation and then goes on to erase all the subsequent sexual interactions they had, retroactively purifying him in a sense.

This is slightly contradicted by the fact that Marius does admit to sending Amadeo to multiple brothels. It seems that Marius is only concerned with removing himself from the equation, rather than completely erasing Amadeo’s sexuality.

Another very significant omission from Blood and Gold, which also slots into the topic of their sexual relationship, is the blood drinking. In The Vampire Armand, Marius begins drinking Amadeo’s blood after he confronts him about his lack of sexuality. He then continues to do this throughout their relationship all the way through to Amadeo’s turning. In Marius’ account, however, he never mentions this.

We can see how intertwined the blood drinking is with their sexual relationship here.

“‘Amadeo,’ he said, his lips on my throat as they’d come and gone a thousand times, only this time there came a sting, sharp, swift and gone. A thread stitched into my heart and was jerked all of a sudden. I had become the thing between my legs, and was nothing but that. His mouth nestled against me, and again that thread snapped and again.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 67)

This is the first instance of Marius drinking Amadeo’s blood, and it then continues to happen in each subsequent sexual encounter we see.

I think it’s important to consider the use of blood drinking as an allegory for sexual assault throughout the book series, especially in The Vampire Armand. Amadeo, still a child, feels Marius drinking from him, but doesn’t fully understand what is being done. It’s not until much later when he sees Marius drink from somebody else that he fully understands what was happening.

“Astonished and enthralled, I watched as my master closed his smooth eyes, his golden eyelashes seeming silvery in the dimness, and I heard the low wet sound, barely audible but horribly suggestive of the flow of something, and that something had to be the man’s blood.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 96)

It’s easy to draw parallels between the blood drinking and CSA. Amadeo was a child, being sexually assaulted, and still too innocent to understand what was being done to him. So I think it’s significant that, as well as erasing the explicit sexual acts, Marius also never admits to drinking Amadeo’s blood.

The reason for Marius omitting this from his account to Thorne could, again, be because on some level he recognises that the things he did to Amadeo were wrong. But I think it may also relate to Marius’ constant insistence that vampires only drink from “the evil doer”.

“‘I understand it,’ she answered too quickly. ‘So Amadeo told me all that you’d taught him. Only the Evil Doer. Never the innocent, I know.’” “Blood and Gold, pg. 421)

This is one of the most steadfast rules Marius follows, and one he impresses on every other vampire he meets. In fact one of the main reasons for Marius viewing Armand as “lost” to them after joining the Children of Darkness is that he witnesses him drinking from innocents.

“‘Well, he’s no child now, Bianca. He may be as beautiful as when I made him through the Blood, but he is a patriarch in the dust. And all of Paris, the wondrous city of Paris, surrounds him. I watched him move through the city streets alone. There was no one there to restrict him. He might have sought the Evil Doer as we do. But he did not. He drank deep of innocent blood, not once but twice.’ ‘Ah, I see. This is what has so embittered you.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 490)

But surely he considered Amadeo to be innocent. Certainly not evil at least. Well, there’s an argument that could be made about Marius always viewing Amadeo as inherently barbaric, purely due to his nationality, but I’m not gonna get into all that here. No, I think that Marius is aware of Amadeo’s innocence. I think that he couldn’t resist drinking from him, and he redacts that part of his story because he knows it goes against everything he’s ever preached.

I think the most important thing to consider on this topic is, if Amadeo truly enthusiastically consented to all the sexual activities happening in The Vampire Armand, why did Marius erase it?

Personality/Dialogue

Getting now into something that we can compare more directly, I wanna look at Amadeo as a character and how starkly different he is in Blood and Gold compared to The Vampire Armand. To an extent there were always going to be differences, because we’re comparing how a character perceived themself vs how they are perceived by others, but the differences here are so severe that I think it speaks volumes about how Marius viewed Amadeo in general.

To put it as bluntly as possible, Amadeo is barely a character in Blood and Gold. He doesn’t contribute to discussions, or to the narrative as a whole. In essence, he’s Marius’ sexy lamp. It becomes very apparent very quickly how differently Amadeo is going to be portrayed, even from their very first conversation.

“My Master looked at me and in a tongue I knew, I knew perfectly, he said that I was his only child, and he would come again that night, and by such a time as that I would have seen a new world. ‘A new world!’ I cried out. ‘No, don’t leave me, Master. I don’t want the whole world. I want you!’ ‘Amadeo,’ he said in this private tongue of confidence, leaning over the bed, his hair dry now and beautifully brushed, his hands softened with powder. ‘You have me forever. Let the boys feed you, dress you. You belong to me, to Marius De Romanus, now.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 41)

“‘Master,’ he said softly in the Russian tongue. I felt the tiny hairs rise all over my body. I wanted so to touch him once more with my cold fingers but I did not dare. I knelt beside the bed and leant over and I kissed his cheek warmly. ‘Amadeo,’ I said to him so that he might know his new name. And then using the very Russian tongue he knew, but did not know, I told him that he was mine now, that I was his Master just as he had said. I gave him to know that all things were resolved in me. He must never worry, he would never fear again.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 312)

Throughout the entirety of Blood and Gold, Amadeo’s dialogue is very limited. He rarely speaks unless spoken to, rarely argues back, and, for the most part, seems only to parrot the things Marius has already told him. This massively contradicts Armand’s account of himself in The Vampire Armand. Obviously, we can’t rule out the possibility that Armand was also exaggerating his personality in his version of events. Considering the brutal punishments Marius inflicted on him, I think it would be understandable for Armand to exaggerate how often he misbehaved and argued back in some attempt to make sense of why he was treated that way.

Another thing to take into account is that from Marius’ account, we get a much better idea of the severity of Amadeo’s amnesia and the way it affected him. It seems that Amadeo was frequently dissociating whenever Marius attempted to force him to remember his past. Perhaps the dissociation means that Armand simply doesn’t recall a lot of these moments in Venice, whereas Marius had a more objective view at that time. Still, I don’t think that accounts for such a drastic difference in behaviour.

Consider the last quote from Blood and Gold, which is the first dialogue exchanged between Marius and Amadeo. It will be over twenty pages before they have another full conversation (arguably their first actual conversation of the book so far). And between those two exchanges Amadeo has only one line of dialogue.

“‘Do you know her, Master?’ he asked me soberly, surprising Riccardo, who said nothing.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 317)

For over twenty pages Marius describes the development of his relationship with Amadeo, and the progress of his education, and in that entire time Amadeo will speak five words.

I’ve talked before about the issues with Anne Rice’s dialogue, how when the characters speak their voices are all very one note and practically indistinguishable from each other. Despite that, however, there were multiple points while reading Blood and Gold that it seemed noticeable that Amadeo’s dialogue wasn’t his own. The example that most stood out to me was the conversation between Marius and Amadeo after Marius has revealed his nature and killed in front of him several times. It’s one of the few conversations that is directly repeated in both books, but there are still notable differences. Sorry in advance for the long ass quotes but I want to try and show the full conversations here.

“‘If I drink such as that, Master, the blood of the wicked and those whom I overpower, will I become like you?’ He shook his head. Many a man has drunk another’s blood, Amadeo,’ he said in a low but calm voice. His reason had come back to him, his manners, his seeming soul. ‘Would you be with me, and be my pupil and my love?’ ‘Yes, Master, always and forever, or for so long as nature gives to you and me.’ ‘Oh, it isn’t fanciful the words I spoke. We are immortal. And only one enemy can destroy us - it’s the fire that burns in that torch there, or in the rising sun. Sweet to think on it, that when we are at last weary of all this world there is the rising sun.’

‘I am yours, Master.’ I hugged him close and tried to vanquish him with kisses. He endured them, and even smiled, but he didn’t move. But when I broke off, and made a fist of my right hand as if to hit him, which I could never have done, to my amazement he began to yield. He turned and took me in his powerful and ever careful embrace. ‘Amadeo, I can’t go on without you,’ he said. His voice was desperate and small. ‘I meant to show you evil, not sport. I meant to show you the wicked price of my immortality. And that I did. But in so doing, I saw it myself, and my eyes are dazzled and I am hurt and tired.’ He laid his head against my head, and held tight to me. ‘Do what you will to me, Sir,’ I said. ‘Make me suffer and long for it, if that’s what you want. I am your fool. I am yours.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 120/121)

“‘Master,’ he asked, ‘if I drink the blood of those who are evil, will I become like you?’ We stood before the closed doors of San Marco. The wind came mercilessly off the sea. I drew my cloak about him all the more tightly, and he rested his head against my chest. ‘No, child,’ I said, ‘there’s infinitely more magic in it than that.’ ‘Master,’ he said, as I held him close to me, ‘long years ago, or so they seem to me, in some far-away place, where I lived before I came to you, I was what they called a Fool for God. I don’t remember it clearly and never will as both of us well know. But a Fool for God was a man who gave himself over to God completely and did not care what happened, whether it was mockery, or starvation, or endless laughter, or dreadful cold. That much I remember, that I was a Fool for God in those times.’ ‘But you painted pictures, Amadeo, you painted beautiful ikons-’ ‘But listen to me, Master,’ he said firmly, forcing me to silence, ‘whatever I did, I was a Fool for God, and now I would be a Fool for you.’ He paused, snuggling close to me as the wind grew stronger. The mists moved in over the stones. There came noises from the ships.’ I started to speak but he reached to stop me. How obdurate and strong he seemed, how seductive, how completely mine. ‘Master,’ he went on. ‘Do it when you will. You have my secrecy. You have my patience. Do it when and how you will.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 342/343)

I wanna start by talking about the difference in Marius’ involvement in the conversation. In the version Marius tells, he is very passive, listening while Amadeo, apparently unprompted, speaks deprecatingly about his past religion before going on to devote himself to Marius. In Armand’s version, Marius asks him directly to state his devotion to him, asking “Would you be with me?”

Then there’s the fixation, in Marius’ account, on Amadeo being a “fool for God”. This is something Amadeo does also mention in The Vampire Armand, though it’s spoken in an earlier conversation in Armand’s version.

“‘Don’t think me cold, Sir,’ I said. ‘Don’t think me tired and used to things brutal and cruel. I am only the fool, Sir, the fool for God. We don’t question, if memory serves me right. We laugh and we accept and we turn all life into joy.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg 100)

The change in context is important here too. In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo refers to himself as a “fool for God” as a way to explain why he wasn’t horrified or disgusted by the revelation of Marius being a vampire. To him this phrase means that, through his religion, he was able to accept negative or even horrifying events, and to find joy and meaning in them. It doesn’t seem, at least in Armand’s eyes, that this was necessarily a negative thing. He’s simply explaining that his religion taught him how to cope with frightening things.

Conversely, the Amadeo in Blood and Gold uses the term “fool for God” as something derogatory, and this is what I mean when I say his dialogue in this book doesn’t seem like his own. We know from his interactions with Pandora, Mael, and numerous other characters that Marius has a very negative opinion of religion and worship (despite the fact that he himself frequently performs religious rituals and prays to Those Who Must Be Kept, he refuses to acknowledge this as a form of worship). The changes in wording between the two books are subtle, but we can see clearly how Marius’ own views are being spliced in. “We accept” becomes “did not care”.

Despite all of this, it’s then interesting to note that in Blood and Gold, we then see Amadeo effectively proclaim Marius as his new god. While Amadeo does refer to himself both as “a fool for God” and “your fool” within The Vampire Armand, these are in two separate conversations, and it doesn’t appear as though Amadeo was referencing the previous conversation when he says this. But in the version Marius presents, Amadeo explicitly states “I was a fool for God, and now I would be a fool for you.”

It gives the impression, to me at least, that for all Marius’ disdain for the idea of worship and religious idols, he wants to present himself as someone to be worshipped by Amadeo. Or, at least, he wants to present the idea that this is what Amadeo believed.

The final thing I want to look at before I move on from this conversation is the tone of Amadeo’s final line in each version.

“‘Do what you will to me, Sir,’ I said. ‘Make me suffer and long for it, if that’s what you want. I am your fool. I am yours.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 121)

“‘Master,’ he went on. ‘Do it when you will. You have my secrecy. You have my patience. Do it when and how you will.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 343)

And again this is what I mean when I say Amadeo’s dialogue doesn’t seem to be entirely his own in Blood and Gold. There’s a flatness to the things he says a lot of the time, a lack of any kind of emotion. To me it gives the impression that Marius was very uninvested in Amadeo as a person. Unlike his retelling of his relationship with Pandora or Bianca, or even any of the other characters, in which he describes their passion and emotional responses with much more depth, this section of his story has an almost clinical feel to it. It’s as if he sees it as simply a series of plot points he has to get through in order to tell this part of the story, rather than a relationship he recalls with any fondness.

There’s also the subtle difference in language again. “Do what you will to me” becomes “Do it when you will.” “Make me suffer” becomes “You have my patience.” Armand’s version gives much more of a sense of his passion and longing, while Marius’ version presents Amadeo as flatly obedient.

Returning to the idea that Amadeo’s dialogue in Blood and Gold tends to reflect Marius’ own views, rather than being an honest representation of the things Amadeo said, I want to look at this quote again.

Much later in the timeline of events in Blood and Gold, we get this quote from Amadeo after he has become a vampire, explaining why he believes Marius chose him for the blood.

“‘There’s a bitter cold in me,’ he said, ‘a cold which comes from a distant land. And nothing ever really makes it warm. Even the Blood did not make it warm. You knew of this cold. You tried a thousand times to melt it, and transform it into something more brilliant, but you never succeeded. And then on the night that I came near to death - no, was, in fact, dying - you counted upon that cold to give me the stamina for the Blood.’ I nodded. I looked away, but he put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Look at me, please, sir,’ he said. ‘Isn’t that so?’ His face was serene.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 363)

It’s quite a shift in belief, as far as Amadeo is concerned. In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo doesn’t want to be seen as cold and unfeeling, in fact he actively argues against it when Marius tries to imply that this is the case. But in Blood and Gold, it is Amadeo who refers to himself in this way. And again this raises the question of how much of Amadeo’s dialogue in Blood and Gold is true, and how much is simply a reflection of Marius’ existing opinions and biases. By giving this dialogue to Amadeo, Marius is effectively shifting the blame away from himself. Marius wasn’t making unfair judgements or assumptions about Amadeo, because it was Amadeo himself who first said these things.

As I said earlier, a large amount of Amadeo’s dialogue from The Vampire Armand is cut out from Blood and Gold, but now let’s look at an example where the inverse happens. We’re still at roughly the same point in time (because this is one of only a few occasions in Blood and Gold where Marius actually details any conversations occurring between him and Amadeo). These quotes are from slightly earlier than the conversation we were just looking at, and take place immediately after Amadeo witnesses Marius killing somebody for the first time.

“I was speechless. Fear, loathing, these things had no part in it. I was simply amazed. If I thought, I thought it was wondrous. In a sudden fit of seeming anger, my Master hurled the man’s body to his left and ot into the water where it fell with a dull splashing and bubbling sound.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 97)

“‘Have you no tears for the man, Amadeo?’ I asked. ‘Have you no questions as to the disposition of his soul? Without Sacred Rites, he died. He died only for me.’ ‘No, Master,’ he answered, and then a smile played on his lips as though it were a flame which had sprung from mine. ‘It’s marvelous what I saw, Master. What do I care for his body or his soul?’ I was too angry to respond. There had been no lesson in it! He was too young, the night too dark, the man too wretched, and all that I had foreseen had come to nought.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 338)

In this case, Marius actually inserts some dialogue where in The Vampire Armand we had none, and this decision raises a particularly interesting question. Does Marius conflate Amadeo’s inner thoughts with his spoken dialogue? It’s a pretty terrifying prospect, that Marius could at any point lash out angrily in response to Amadeo’s thoughts in the same way he would to something he speaks out loud. Who hasn’t had negative, mean spirited thoughts pop into their head at some point or another? Especially as a teenager.

Overall, there are several factors that might explain why Marius chose to change so much in terms of Amadeo’s personality and behaviour. It’s interesting to note as well that Amadeo’s aggression and violent outbursts are also cut from Blood and Gold, so it isn’t necessarily that Marius is attempting to paint a picture in which he was always the good guy trying to keep Amadeo under control.

Being completely honest, I think it boils down to Marius just not caring about Amadeo. I think he loved him, but he loved him purely as an object and as a project to see through to completion. His relationship with Amadeo is barely even portrayed as romantic, in comparison to his relationships with Pandora and Bianca. From the moment Marius found him, he viewed Amadeo as something he could shape into the “ideal” vampire, and so his personality and identity outside of Marius was just… never important to him.

Timeline

Now we’re really cooking with gas, let's get into the timeline conflicts. There are two that I’m gonna talk about here which I noticed, though there might also be others as well.

The first one I want to look at is something I didn’t pick up on until my second read through while writing this essay/thesis/ramble, and though it’s not necessarily a complete conflict in terms of the timeline, it is very odd. Unfortunately it means we have to return to my beloved enemy, the whipping scene.

While the whipping scene is completely absent from Blood and Gold, there is an event which follows on from that scene which is present in both books, and this is the conversation in which Marius first reveals the subject of Those Who Must Be Kept to Amadeo.

“‘Child. I go to see Those Who Must Be Kept. I have no choice in this.’ For a moment I said nothing. I tried to understand the denotation of the words he’d spoken. His voice had dropped, and he had said the words halfheartedly. ‘What is that, Master?’ I asked.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 92)

“‘That I cannot do,’ I answered. And out of my mouth there came words I thought I’d never speak. ‘I go to Those Who Must Be Kept,’ I said as if I couldn’t hold the secret within me. ‘To see if they are at peace. I do as I have always done.’ What a look of wonder came over his face. ‘Those Who Must Be Kept,’ he whispered. He said it like a prayer.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 333)

So, without the whipping scene, you might be wondering what precedes the same conversation in Blood and Gold. Well, according to Marius, this is also the day that Mael visits the palazzo.

“Amadeo saw him. Again, for several fatal moments, Amadeo saw him. And I knew that something deep inside Amadeo recognized Mael for the creature that he was. But like so many things in the mind of Amadeo, it wasn’t conscious, and the boys left me with quick kisses, off to sing their songs to Bianca, and be flattered by everyone there. I was impatient with Mael that he had come out of the bedchamber, but I didn’t say it. ‘So would you make a blood drinker of that one,’ he said, pointing to the door through which the boys had left us. He smiled.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 330)

This is something I only noticed when reading the two books side by side and spotting the repeated conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, but yes, according to Marius’ account of events, the night that he whipped Amadeo bloody was apparently also the same night that Mael was staying in the building.

In The Vampire Armand, Armand makes no mention of Mael’s visit. However we have evidence from as early as Queen of the Damned that this visit did happen.

“‘And so you would make that one?’ Mael had asked with simple directness. ‘When it’s time,’ Marius had said dismissively, ‘when it’s time.’” (Queen of the Damned, pg. 282)

So, what does this mean? The way I see it there are two possibilities: Either these events did take place on the same day, or they didn’t.

If these events did take place on the same day, it would be completely understandable that Armand wouldn’t mention Mael’s visit, considering everything else that happened to him on that one night. Honestly, I think it would be believable that even in the moment Amadeo completely forgot about the strange blonde man he’d seen loitering around the palazzo after then being whipped to the point that he had to dissociate to try and cope with the amount of pain. I think it would certainly be very weird if the two things did happen on the same night, but it’s possible.

However, the whole point of this essay is to explore what the reasons might be for Marius excluding or changing certain things, so let’s consider that. Let’s consider the possibility that these events didn’t occur at the same time.

Armand didn’t mention Mael’s visit in his version of events, which essentially gives Marius free reign with the timeline, so why choose specifically this day to claim that Mael was there? Well, for starters, Marius has given himself a witness. Suddenly this is no longer just Armand’s word against Marius, it’s now become Armand’s word against Marius and Mael. With very minimal effort, Marius has managed to throw Armand’s entire account of events into question. Why didn’t he mention Mael? Does Armand even remember Mael? How can we trust any of the things he said if he can’t remember?

Considering all of this, I also want to point out this line at the end of their conversation in Marius’ account.

“I bent to kiss Amadeo, and the heat of his body inflamed me. ‘Master, give me the Blood,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Master, tell me what you are.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 334)

This is the closest we get to Marius’ account of the whipping scene, and he reduces it down to almost a single line, in which Amadeo asks for it.

Following directly on from this scene, we get to the biggest contradiction between the two books. In this case, it isn’t just the timelines aligning strangely, we actually get a completely different ordering of events.

In The Vampire Armand, after the whipping scene and the conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, Marius then decides to reveal his vampire nature to Amadeo. He kills several times in front of him, and then leaves to visit Those Who Must Be Kept. While Marius is away, Lord Harlech attacks the palazzo and fatally wounds Amadeo, who is then tended to by Bianca for several days until Marius returns and gives him the blood. I think the most important thing to emphasise is that in Armand’s account, Marius wasn’t at the palazzo, or even in Venice, when Amadeo was attacked.

“‘The Master will know,’ said Riccardo. He looked drawn and miserable, and his lips quivered. His eyes were flooded with tears. Oh, ominous sign, certainly. ‘The Master will know somehow. He knows all things. The Master will break his journey and come home.’ ‘Wash his face,’ said Bianca calmly. ‘Wash his face and be quiet.’ How brave she was.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 132)

However, in Blood and Gold, we get a completely different order of events. Following the conversation about Those Who Must Be Kept, Marius then leaves to visit them and ask permission to reveal his nature to Amadeo. When he returns, he kills several times in front of him, and it is only the following day that Lord Harlech attacks, while Marius is at home in Venice sleeping nearby the palazzo.

“No one had to tell me, as I rushed down the stairs from the roof, that a drunken violent English lord had come rampaging into my house in search of Amadeo for whom he harbored a forbidden passion, which had been somewhat fed by Amadeo’s dalliance on random nights when I had been away.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 345)

It’s easily the most noticeable change in the book, considering in The Vampire Armand we get an entire chapter dedicated to Amadeo fighting off the poison and fever until Marius finally returns home, but in Blood and Gold this is completely rewritten. Why? I think the most obvious answer is that Marius was well aware of the danger Amadeo was in when he left him. He knew the risks, abandoned Amadeo anyway, and it backfired, essentially resulting in Amadeo’s death. So, in his version, he tried to absolve himself of any responsibility by claiming he had been there the whole time.

Or, maybe, it’s not about Amadeo at all. Maybe it’s about Those Who Must Be Kept. In Blood and Gold, Marius went to them specifically to request permission to reveal his nature to Amadeo, while in The Vampire Armand he did this before consulting them. Perhaps even now Marius is still ruled by his devotion to them, and he couldn’t bring himself to admit to acting without permission.

Armand’s Turning

While the timeline is up for debate, what we know for certain is that after Amadeo was poisoned, Marius made him a vampire. The process is described in both books but, again, there are differences between the two versions. The change in the timeline already significantly impacts things. In The Vampire Armand we don’t have a good idea of how long Amadeo is suffering before Marius finally returns, but it’s drawn out across two chapters which seems to indicate it was at least a day if not more, whereas in Blood and Gold Marius was there to immediately ease his suffering. The overall impression in The Vampire Armand is that Armand’s turning was a frightening, painful experience, while Marius gives the impression of a very controlled environment.

“‘Come to me, Amadeo.’ ‘I’m too weak, Master, I’m fainting, I’m dying in this glorious light.’ I took one step after another, though it seemed impossible. I placed one foot before the other, drawing ever closer to him. I stumbled. ‘On your hands and knees, then, come. Come to me.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 158)

“‘Come to me,’ I said. I held out my arms. He took the first steps, unsure of himself, so full of my blood that surely the light itself must have amazed him, but his eyes were moving over the multitudes of figures painted on the wall. Then he looked directly at me.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 351)

Obviously, it makes sense that from Marius’ perspective this scene would be less emotionally charged, since he’s viewing it from an outside perspective while Amadeo is living through it, but the difference in tone is pretty significant. In Armand’s version, he remembers having to literally crawl on his hands and knees to get the rest of the blood from Marius and complete the transformation. He’s barely strong enough to move, but Marius forces him to fight to stay alive.

Meanwhile in Blood and Gold, we get no real impression of how much Amadeo was struggling. He doesn’t mention forcing him to crawl to him, only that he was “unsure of himself”.

“I lay on the floor. He stood above me, and his hands were open to me. ‘Get up, Amadeo. Come, come up, into my arms. Take it.’ I cried. I sobbed. My tears were red, and my hand was stained with red. ‘Help me, Master.’ ‘I do help you. Come, seek it out for yourself.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 159)

“‘Come, Amadeo, come and take it from me,’ I said, my eyes full of tears. ‘You are the victor. Take what I have to give.’ He was in my arms instantly, and I held him warmly, whispering close to his ear. ‘Don’t be afraid, child, not even for a moment. You’ll die now to live forever, as I take your blood and give it back to you. I won’t let you slip away.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 351)

In The Vampire Armand, Amadeo is on the floor, crying and begging for help while Marius barks orders at him and refuses to do anything to ease his suffering, but in Blood and Gold we get a completely different picture. Marius describes himself as overcome with emotion, as holding Amadeo “warmly”, whispering words of comfort to him.

It’s possible that Armand’s turning was an incredibly traumatic experience, and that’s why he remembers it in such a negative light. But then, if Marius was as caring and gentle with him as he claims, would it have been a traumatic experience at all? If Marius held him through it and comforted him the way he described, why does Armand remember crying and dragging himself across the floor, fighting to stay alive?

There’s another small detail I want to point out before I move on completely. It’s not part of the turning per say, but it is part of that overall scene and I wasn’t sure it really fit into the other sections.

Before turning him, in both books, Marius bathes him and heals all his wounds, preparing him for immortality. It’s pretty much the same from both accounts but there is one tiny detail that I clocked immediately when reading Blood and Gold for the first time.

“I stripped off his thick and soiled velvet clothes. And then into the warm water I placed him, and there with the blood from my mouth I sealed all the cuts in the flesh made by Lord Harlech. I shaved off for all time any beard that he might have.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 350)

Why did reading that send of Kill Bill sirens in my head? Because in the same scene in The Vampire Armand we get this instead.

“He broke up handfuls of water to bathe me. He bathed first my face and then all of me. His hard satiny fingertips moved over my face. ‘Not a vagrant hair yet of your beard, and yet you have the nether endowments of a man, and now must rise above the pleasures you have so loved.’” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 145)

It’s such a throwaway line but really hammers home the difference between the stories Armand and Marius are trying to present. With a few words Marius is able to present Amadeo as slightly older, slightly more mature. It still wouldn’t make Marius’ actions okay, but it might at least come across as a little less shocking if Amadeo was at least past puberty.

Pandora, Bianca, and Accountability

For this final part I’m gonna be looking less at comparisons between the two books, and more at some of the other parts of Blood and Gold which highlight the difference in the way Marius talks about Amadeo compared to his other relationships.

First I want to point out a discrepancy between the books and more of a discrepancy within Blood and Gold itself because I think it works to illustrate the levels of dishonesty in Marius’ entire account of his time with Amadeo. As part of his description of the moments following Amadeo being turned, Marius says this.

“And as he drank from me, I gave him my lessons, my secrets. I told him of the gifts that might one night come to him. I told him of my long ago love for Pandora. I told him of Zenobia, of Avicus, of Mael. I told him all but the final secret. That I kept from him.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 353)

Already this contradicts Armand’s account, because he doesn’t mention any of these characters or their stories when explaining the things Marius told him. But Marius then goes on to contradict himself later in the book when telling these things to Bianca.

“I told her of the Druid grove again, and how I had been the god there and fled those who would have entrapped me, and I saw her eyes grow wide. I told her of Avicus and Zenobia, of our hunting in the city of Constantinople. I told her of how I cut Zenobia’s beautiful black hair. And telling her these tales, I felt calmed and less sad and broken and able to do what I must do. Never in all my time with Amadeo had I told such stories. Never with Pandora had it been so simple. But with this creature it seemed only natural to talk and to find consolation in it.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 431/432)

So we know Marius is lying, at least about some aspects. Lying to such an extent that not only is he contradicting Armand, he’s now contradicting himself in places.

And the thing is, there are many occasions within Blood and Gold where Marius lies, always for selfish reasons, but what’s interesting is Marius’ willingness to admit to this.

“My soul was wondrously soothed by this event. I am only confessing now what it meant to me. For having lied to Bianca I lived with an unbearable guilt, and now, having given her this gift of the Mother’s blood I felt a huge measure of relief from it.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 496)

In general, Marius goes into far more depth about his relationships with Bianca and Pandora than he ever does with Amadeo. In fact, without the context of the previous books, it would be easy to miss the fact that his relationship with Amadeo was romantic at all. And while Amadeo has his character stripped back to almost the bare bones within Blood and Gold, the same doesn’t happen for Bianca or Pandora. We see the passion of their relationships, and, while it could be argued that Marius is still leaving out a substantial amount of violence that is only implied by the women' s reactions to him, he certainly doesn’t cut it out completely.

We see incredibly heated arguments between Marius and Bianca throughout their relationship.

“I glared at her. A madness took hold of me. I rose to my feet I looked about the shrine furiously. ‘Gather up all you possess,’ I said suddenly. ‘I’m casting you out of here!’ She sat still as she had been before, gazing up at me in cold defiance.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 466)

From the minute Marius is reunited with Pandora we see how violent and possessive he becomes.

“Quickly I crossed the dance floor and bowed before her. I lifted her cold white hand, and led her out and into the dance, and would take no resistance from her. ‘No, you’re mine, you’re mind, do you hear?’ I whispered. ‘Don’t pull away from me.’” (Blood and Gold, pg. 509)

The point being, Marius absolutely doesn’t attempt to paint his relationships with Bianca and Pandora as perfect, and his complete erasure of any violence or anger is something he does specifically with Amadeo.

I think Marius definitely views Amadeo separately to the way he views Bianca and Pandora. The difference specifically between Amadeo and Pandora is easy enough to notice. After losing her, Marius spends almost the entirety of Blood and Gold trying to find Pandora, while he gives up on Amadeo almost immediately. Both Pandora and Bianca are treated as characters with agency, while Amadeo is spoken of as a piece of property.

“I had little strength myself to comfort her, but I knew that she needed what little strength I had. It was hitting me again like so many violent blows that my world was dashed, that my house was ruined, that Amadeo was stolen from me.” [...] “But that was gone. All was gone. Amadeo was gone. My paintings were gone.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 424)

As I said before, a lot of the editing and omitting of Amadeo’s story could be down to the fact that he was a child (a human child) and couldn’t defend or fight for himself in the way that Bianca and Pandora could, but I don’t think we can ignore the way race and nationality plays into this either.

Both Bianca and Pandora are Italian born, the same as Marius, while Amadeo came from Ukraine (Marius continues to refer to this as being in Russia in the present day, which, since I’m writing this essay from a totally Watsonian perspective, means he’s also an idiot).

Marius has a lot of incredibly racist and xenophobic prejudices in general, specifically his outright hatred of “The East”, and it’s clear the negative views he has of Amadeo’s home country.

“The following night I told him the story of his native city. Kiev had once been magnificent, its cathedral built to rival Hagia Sophia in Constantinople from which its Christianity had come. Greek Christianity had shaped its beliefs and its art. And both had flourished beautifully there in a wondrous place. But centuries ago, the Mongols had sacked this grand city, massacred its population, destroying forever its power, leaving behind some accidental survivals, among them monks who kept to themselves. What remained of Kiev? A miserable place along the banks of the Dnieper River where the cathedral still stood, and the monks still existed in the famous Monastery of the Caves.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 366/367)

“Always before this journey to Russia I had thought the split in Amadeo’s mind was between the rich and varied art of Venice and the strict and stylized art of old Russia.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 374)

Considering that, let’s also look at the difference in the way he describes them.

This quote, from just after his most explosive row with Bianca:

“I went back to her. She was standing as I had left her, her face as solemn as before, her brilliant oval eyes fixed on me.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 467)

This quote, from his argument with Pandora:

“‘You dream,’ she said and the first coldness came into her face and into her voice. It was in her brown eyes, a coldness that comes from sorrow.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 510)

And then this quote, which isn’t from any argument or disagreement, just Marius describing Amadeo now that he can’t read his mind:

“Now I must read his facial expressions, his gestures, the depth of his secretive and faintly cruel brown eyes.” (Blood and Gold, pg. 354)

Even at their “worst” moments, Bianca and Pandora are described with far more grace than Amadeo gets during a totally neutral moment. Bianca is solemn, Pandora is cold yet sorrowful, but Amadeo is cruel. I definitely think that Amadeo’s race plays a part in Marius’ disregard for him compared to Bianca and Pandora, and likely also contributed to how quickly he gave up on Amadeo after he was taken by the Children of Darkness.

Conclusion

We did it. Let’s hold hands. To wrap things up, I wanna say again that the fact of the matter is, a lot of this could be down to the author rather than the character. Maybe Anne Rice didn’t want to rewrite every detail from The Vampire Armand from Marius’ perspective. Maybe she forgot things, maybe she got the timelines muddled.

The fact is, regardless of the reasons why, this is the story we ended up with. And to me at least, this story appears to be one of an abuser attempting to discredit the words of his victim. Marius uses every trick in the book to discredit what Armand wrote: omitting information, contradicting him, even bringing in other people to back up his version of the story, while still admitting to some of his less “severe” mistreatment of Bianca and Pandora in order to paint himself as a man who is able to reflect and take accountability for his actions. Yet, at the same time, this book also gives the impression that, above all else, Amadeo was never that important to him. Perhaps this is just another way to distance himself from Armand.

And I can’t help but consider the in-universe implications of this. As it is, Armand still isn’t at a point where he recognises the things that happened to him as abuse. We get an inkling every now and then that he might be beginning to realise that Marius wasn’t purely the good and merciful saviour he believed him to be. Sometimes he does fear him, especially after losing Benji and Sybelle to him too. But I wonder how much reading this book could set him back again; how much all the contradictions would muddle the memories he already struggles to make sense of. And I wonder if, to an extent, that was Marius’ plan all along.

All of this to say that after all of this I can’t help but come back to what, to me, is one of the most sinister quotes from the entire series.

“‘And when you think back on this time, when in half-sleep at night you remember me as your eyes close on your pillow, these moments of ours will seem corrupt and most strange. They’ll seem like sorcery and the antics of the mad, and this warm place might become the lost chamber of dark secrets and this might bring you pain.’ ‘I won’t go.’ ‘Remember then that it was love,’ he said.” (The Vampire Armand, pg. 69)

#the vampire armand #blood and gold #marius de romanus #the vampire chronicles #iwtv #well.. there you go 😭#my essay #with the quotes included this has a higher word count than my actual dissertation #marius de fuckface #interview with the vampire #river reads tvc

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jungwnies · 2 months ago

Text

f1 grid | southern drawl

୨ৎ : featuring : all drivers on the grid ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @itscalledastrategyfred) : how the grid reacts to a texan!driver!reader and her southern accent — from flustered blushing to terrible cowboy impressions and a whole lotta “yes, ma’am.” 🤠💬

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2116

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : yall i missed the race cus i fell asleep... am i cooked?

ʚ・red bull

max verstappen

gives you so much shit for your drawl at first.

“did you really just say y’all while threatening me?”

can’t stop smirking whenever you get riled up... especially when you say something like “i swear to god, i’ll whup your ass.”

fully imitates your accent when teasing you... and it’s terrible.

lowkey loves it though. it reminds him of daniel, in a way that’s nostalgic and soft.

once heard you say “darlin’” to someone and just froze for a second like okay, maybe this is the hottest thing alive.

pretends not to care but definitely perks up every time you say something country-coded.

yuki tsunoda

is very confused at first. “why do you sound like a cowboy?”

teases you constantly but in a very you’re my favorite person to annoy way.

starts mimicking your phrases just to make you laugh — “howdy” becomes part of his vocabulary purely to irritate you.

calls you “cowgirl” when you beat him in anything and grumbles when you call him “city boy” back.

secretly adores how unapologetic you are about it. says it makes you sound confident.

would 100% ask you to translate slang and then say it in his best impression just to see you roll your eyes.

ʚ・mercedes

george russell

first time he hears you say “bless your heart,” he panics. “wait… is that… a good thing or not?”

tries to keep it professional but gets flustered when you throw a “yes, sir” his way with that southern sweetness.

definitely raises an eyebrow every time you drop a “y’all” during press, but secretly thinks it’s endearing.

once tried to imitate your accent on live tv and it came out as australian. never lived it down.

thinks it’s hilarious how you say things like “fixin’ to win this race” — quotes it back to you every chance he gets.

might tease you gently, but 100% defends your accent if anyone else makes fun of it. “it’s not weird, it’s hers.”

kimi antonelli

very confused at first but listens so intently whenever you speak — your accent is like a whole new language to him.

starts asking what everything means. “what is… ‘rode hard and put up wet?’”

tries to mimic you saying “howdy” once and instantly turned red when you burst out laughing.

quietly loves the way you talk. it’s soft and warm to him, even if you’re smack-talking.

calls you "texas" like it’s your nickname. “hey, texas. need help with your helmet?”

100% memorizes your slang and starts slipping it into conversations to make you smile.

ʚ・ferrari

charles leclerc

confused the entire first week. just stands there smiling while you say things like “i’m fixin’ to head out” and later quietly asks carlos what it meant.

blushes furiously the first time you call him “darlin’” — tries to play it cool but is visibly short-circuiting.

imitates your accent once during an interview and gets roasted online for how bad it was. “i wasn’t even that bad, right?” you nod slowly, hiding laughter.

starts calling you “cowgirl” in private, just to see you roll your eyes and smile.

says your voice sounds like “sunlight on hot pavement.” he’s a romantic.

lowkey tries to learn country music just to bond with you — gets too into kacey musgraves and now you catch him humming “slow burn” on race days.

lewis hamilton

absolutely obsessed. tells you it’s “the sexiest accent” he’s ever heard.

constantly asking you to say things again, slower this time — just so he can hear it twice.

you say “yes, sir” once and his whole soul leaves his body.

teases you when you get heated and slip into full-blown southern mode, but with the softest grin. “there she goes, my wild southern girl.”

absolutely convinced you two need to do a cowboy-themed photo shoot. insists on wearing the hat too.

ʚ・mclaren

lando norris

the second he hears your accent, he’s already planning impressions.

“well howdy y’all, ah’m fixin’ to win me a lil ol’ race today!” — said in the worst cowboy voice imaginable.

you threaten to fight him. he grins harder.

calls you “ma’am” dramatically and tips invisible hats at you in the paddock. you once slapped him with your water bottle.

has no idea that it’s kind of hot until you call him “sweetheart” mid-argument and he just shuts up entirely.

you catch him watching country tiktoks so he can learn phrases to throw back at you. he says it’s “research.”

may joke nonstop, but the second someone else mocks you? “nah, only i get to call her cowgirl.”

oscar piastri

didn’t expect to fall in love with your accent, but here we are.

says nothing when you speak, just blinks slowly and listens like it’s music.

every now and then you catch him smiling to himself after you say something super southern like “he ain’t got the sense god gave a goose.”

finds your little quirks adorable. “you just said ‘buggy’ instead of shopping cart,” he says softly, grinning.

doesn’t mimic your accent. not even once. too respectful.

will 100% ask you to teach him how to say certain phrases, then casually use them later to make you laugh.

you say “c’mere, sugar” once and he actually blushes. he’s so gone.

ʚ・aston martin

fernando alonso

pretends like he doesn’t care but he’s obsessed with your accent.

the first time you say something like “sugar, that was a rough quali,” he just stares for a second before going, “say it again.”

tries to mimic you with his own spanish accent and ends up sounding like a cowboy in a telenovela.

“how do you say it? y’all? yuhhhll?”

laughs at himself when you make fun of it but still keeps doing it because your eyes light up every time.

secretly loves how fiery you get when you're mad — especially when you let the accent fly. “you gonna kill me, cariño?” he teases.

absolutely calls you "cowgirl" in the most smug voice imaginable.

lance stroll

immediately thinks your accent is the cutest thing alive.

“you sound like a character from a movie. it’s awesome.”

gets super flustered when you call him anything sweet — “baby,” “darlin’,” “honeybun.” it kills him every time.

has a weird little canadian twang himself so when he tries to imitate you, it comes out like “howd-eh y’all.”

you cry laughing. he commits to it anyway.

lowkey loves how different you sound from everyone else — thinks it makes you magnetic.

tries to “cowboy up” next to you in interviews and fails miserably. “we’re a dynamic duo,” he says. “city boy and the wild west.”

ʚ・williams

alex albon

thinks your accent is the best thing ever, and won’t shut up about it.

constantly repeats your phrases back to you in a horrendous mock accent just to make you laugh.

“well shoot, sugar! i reckon we got ourselves a pole!” — said at full volume in the paddock.

you threaten to hit him with your boot. he tells everyone “she threatened me in southern again. it was so hot.”

teases you with names like “rodeo queen” and “yee-haw y/n” but goes feral the first time you call him “sweetheart” on comms.

100% starts saying “y’all” unironically. refuses to admit it.

tells his PR team you’re his “emotional support cowboy.”

carlos sainz

tries to act unfazed like “it’s just an accent” but his eyes go all soft when you call him “darlin’.”

loves hearing you talk — especially when you ramble. just nods along and smiles like he understands every word even when you say things like “that boy ain’t right.”

calls you mi vaquera under his breath when you walk away.

one time you called him “baby” and he blinked twice, turned red, and muttered “mi vida...” like a reflex.

doesn’t tease, but subtly flirts back in spanish until you’re the one blushing.

quietly practices a southern phrase or two just so he can surprise you later. you catch him whispering “fixin’ to win” before a race and nearly crash your scooter laughing.

ʚ・haas

ollie bearman

absolutely thrilled the first time he hears you speak. grins like a little menace and goes “wait, say that again.”

becomes obsessed with getting you to say weird southern phrases. “wait wait, what’s the one about biscuits and gravy again?”

mimics your accent constantly but in that annoying younger brother way. you threaten him with a tire gun. he laughs harder.

teases you with a fake lasso motion every time you walk into the garage. “woah there, cowgirl.”

once called you “ma’am” in a joking tone and you shot back with “watch your mouth, sugar.” he shut up immediately.

genuinely adores it though. thinks you’re the coolest person alive.

starts picking up your slang accidentally. pr catches him saying “fixin’ to” in an interview. he panics.

esteban ocon

acts completely unbothered at first. nods politely while you talk, no visible reaction.

but he’s so internally flustered.

one day you say “yes, sir” in that sweet, drawling tone and he just stands there blinking like you short-circuited his brain.

asks pierre what certain things mean later in private. “what’s a ‘hoot and a half’?”

doesn’t tease, but is very intrigued. tells people he likes how “unique” you sound.

once tried to say “howdy” as a joke but it came out awkward and overly French. he never attempted it again.

secretly loves when you call him something soft in that accent. might not say much, but his smile says everything.

ʚ・racing bulls

liam lawson

pretends to be unbothered but he’s fully gone the first time you say “darlin’.”

literally pauses mid-sentence when you call him “sweetheart” like… yeah. that’s it. you’ve got him.

teases you gently, but it’s always with heart eyes. “you really gonna charm everyone with that voice, huh?”

obsessed with how passionate you sound when you’re fired up. just lets you rant and watches, smiling like an idiot.

tells everyone “i don’t get the hype” and then immediately melts when you rest your boots on his lap.

absolutely wants you to teach him how to two-step. “for educational reasons.”

isack hadjar

chaos incarnate. tries to mimic your accent constantly and fails in the funniest ways.

“whatchu doin’, sugarplum?” he says. you throw a wrench at him. he ducks and cackles.

you start mimicking his french accent right back. “ohhh la la, baguette!”

you two are just rude to each other and completely in love about it.

insists on calling you “sheriff” like it’s your job title. even salutes you sometimes.

if you ever call him “baby” or “mon cœur” in your accent, he shuts up immediately.

secretly thinks your voice is the most comforting sound on earth, even when you’re yelling.

ʚ・alpine

pierre gasly

absolutely loses it the first time you call him something soft like “sugar.” full flirty grin, immediately flirting back.

“you keep talkin’ like that and i’m gonna start fallin’ in love, mon amour.”

mimics your accent way too often and does it so dramatically it’s offensive.

“well HAW-DEE Y’ALL,” he says, strutting into the motorhome in your cowboy boots. you throw a towel at him.

turns every southern phrase you say into something scandalous.

“i’m fixin’ to fight you, pierre.”

“please do.”

but when you’re soft? when you call him “darlin’” and it’s not a joke? he’s quiet. maybe even a little breathless.

“don’t stop,” he mumbles. “say it again.”

jack doohan

acts cool at first but the second you hit him with a “yes, sir,” he’s toast.

blinks. stares at the floor. full body flush.

“you alright?”

“yep. yeah. mmhm.”

loves your voice but doesn’t tease. just listens. takes in every word.

gets kind of protective when people joke about your accent. “don’t be weird. it’s just how she talks.”

one time you called him “honeybun” in the middle of a race debrief and he messed up a tire strategy.

definitely the type to lowkey start picking up your phrasing — you catch him saying “reckon” once and he immediately denies it.

“i didn’t say that. you imagined it.”

he 100% said that.

ʚ・kick sauber

nico hulkenberg

pretends he’s unfazed but absolutely notices every time you say something country-coded.

raises an eyebrow and goes “what does that even mean?” but secretly writes it down for later.

makes sarcastic comments like “you gonna ride a horse to the race next?” while absolutely staring when you wear boots to media.

calls you “cowgirl” in the driest voice imaginable but it makes you grin every time.

once heard you say “lord have mercy” under your breath and now repeats it back in a bad drawl just to mess with you.

claims he’s above it, but the second you call him “baby” in a sweet voice, he forgets how to speak.

accidentally got flustered once when you offered to teach him how to line dance. “oh. uh. yeah. maybe.”

gabriel bortoleto

fully enchanted from day one. like… heart-eyes level enchanted.

asks you a million questions. “wait, say that again? what does it mean when you say ‘bless his heart’?”

doesn’t mock, just listens with a little awe in his expression.

is super respectful, always like “you sound really cool” instead of teasing.

lowkey tries to learn southern slang so he can flirt back better.

once called you “sugar” in a heavy brazilian accent and you nearly fainted.

gives you that boyish grin and shrugs like “you started it.”

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