#All roads lead to MESS | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lvrclerc · 1 month ago

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LET'S (NOT) TALK ABOUT IT

summary: max verstappen never gets too drunk, except the one time he does. and it's your turn, his best-friend, to take care of him! but vodka doesn't mix well with the unsaid and max ends up spilling more than just a drink on his shirt, including the tiny, insignificant little fact that he has been hopelessly in love with you for years.

F1 MASTERLIST | MV33 MASTERLIST

pairing: max verstappen x best friend!reader wordcount: 4.8K content: alcohol, drunk confession, best friends to lovers, angst if you squint, mention of vomiting. note: requested here! lei you sent this AGES ago and i forgot about it..... but here it is! hope you'll enjoy it because it was definitely a very fun bit to write, and you know i always love writing for max ‹𝟹 fun little one before the next bible i'll put out!

KNOWING MAX EMILIAN Verstappen for as long as you had, you were well-acquainted with his irritatingly specific alcohol preference, honed through your blossoming epoch of shared adolescence and reckless partying, when he had the time. You mostly blamed his upbringing: he didn’t like anything too sugary, outright refused crémant while holding an enduring love for champagne, and sporadically drank “casual” alcohol like vodka and tequila but looked down on it when it was pure. Not whiskey, though. Never whiskey.

So, given how ridiculously finicky he was with booze, you genuinely couldn’t figure out how Max had gotten this drunk at a club only serving badly mixed, downright diabetic cocktails.

His arm was slung clumsily around your shoulders, and the full weight of his body leaning into yours made it significantly harder to drag him along the road leading to his apartment. Monaco still breathed the leftover heat of the day; the tiled streets were warm under your bare feet, each step further tattooing the memory of the sun into your skin. Drunk stragglers littered the road, trading laughter for the beating of a heart.

The muffled thump of music spilled from nearby clubs, weaving in with the distant hush of ocean waves. Trees along the French Riviera swayed lazily with the tepid breeze and amid all that balmy, quiet mess, your hand stayed firm against the sweat-slicked fabric of your best friend’s back.

“You’re heavy as fuck, you know that, right?” you huffed, the damp heat of his shirt clinging to your side.

Max mumbled something, low and gravelly, just clear enough to make through his inebriated haze. “You didn’t complain when I carried you out of that party in Miami…”

“You were sober then,” you shot back with amusement. “Now, you’re a glorified sandbag.”

“This sandbag won four championships!” he announced proudly, albeit loudly, stumbling a little as you adjusted your grip to keep him steady— and to avoid the perfidiously placed lamp post in front of him.

You snorted at his antics and at the little stagger in his steps as he walked. No matter how long you’d known each other, or how close you were, it was rare to see Max Verstappen—the Dutch Lion, Mad Max himself—in such a state: vulnerable and unguarded, with his emotions laid bare in the crack of his tone and the gleam in his eyes. “This sandbag,” you said, “is about five seconds away from face-planting into the gutter. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘champion’ to me.”

Max turned his head toward you, and only then did you realize how close he actually was. His nose grazed yours as you looked up at him, his breath, warm and laced faintly of citrus and tequila, ghosted over the indents of your lips. His hair was a tousled, sweaty mess of dirty blonde clinging to his forehead, and his gaze half-lidded, but still intense enough in the way the blue of his irises traveled from your eyes to your lips, sparkling with mischief as his mouth parted in a lazy grin.

Your heart wavered. So did your steps.

Max was a good-looking man; this was never up for debate. But still, he was your Max.

You whipped your gaze forward again as his laugh split through the night air. “And yet, you’re still carrying me.” His tone was dipped in the same bratty, I-told-you-so lilt he used whenever he beat you at trivia games, almost child-like.

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re not in the capacity to actually make it home by yourself.”

He gasped. Gasped, with his hand on his chest and everything, and you really, really had to concentrate not to burst out laughing. “You could’ve left me,” he said with mock offense, “if I were too inconvenient. I am… plenty capable.”

Something scrunched up in your face at the notion. You gave him a look. “Max, you’re drunk, not stupid. You know damn well you’re not an inconvenience to me. If you were—” you hoisted him up straighter on your side, pausing at a crosswalk. The red light bathed the pair of you in a soft, hazy glow. “ —I’d have dropped you when we were 18 after you threw up in my kitchen sink, and made me tell my parents it was me.”

“That was an intense party,” he mumbled defensively. “And I didn’t wanna make a bad first impression on your dad.”

You hummed. “It’s true that blaming me for projectile vomiting into our plumbing system is just so much better.”

“Your mom said the sink could handle anything!” Max dared to actually look offended.

“It’s a sink, Max. She meant, like, vegetable scraps. Not whatever diabolic thing you decided to ingest that day.”

Another laugh escaped him, this time soft as silk sliding over bare skin, and you found yourself punctuating his fit with a chuckle of your own. The memory was grotesque, sure, but it was something entirely yours. One of many.

When the laughter faded, the silence left behind was mellow. Without thinking, as some kind of reflex, you murmured. “You know I’d never leave you.”

And even though you can’t see his face, you know the usual sharpness in it has softened by the way his fingers loosen their grip on your shoulder, or how his body leans a little further into yours as the red light finally flickers to green. You’d mapped him out years ago.

“I know you wouldn’t,” he mutters back, and it almost feels like a secret he’s sharing with you, if there was any left to share. Something that said, Hey, I trust you. I know you. I know you wouldn’t leave me behind.

And with Max Verstappen, trust has always been the rarest thing of all.

He exhales, letting his head fall on top of yours— well, more like it bonks it. You hiss in pain, but a laugh bubbles out of your lips before you can stop it.

“God, I love your laugh,” Max whispers, as if to himself. Then, quieter, “I love you.”

Your thoughts all reels to a halt, leaving the words to seep into every crevice of your mind until it reaches your heart. They echo with painful precision: love, love, love, hammering in your chest so hard you could double over with the pain of your ribs breaking, a mantra trying to root itself into the space it left.

I love you.

He stumbles again, like the words cost him balance, and you barely manage to catch him in time. The wind brushes your skin, colder now, hitting you with a reality check: Max was drunk out of his mind. Nothing he could say right now would hold up in a court of law, much less in the court of morning light. Why would it matter?

You try to swallow it down as his apartment finally comes into view. The words you’d longed for years had been said. But they’ve been slurred, not meant.

Such sweet hypocrisy.

“...Right,” you mutter. Your finger flexes on the small of his back, trying to grasp something so desperately out of reach. “Let’s get you home.”

If carrying Max from the club to his home was an arduous task, getting him into bed was something of a Herculean effort.

First, he became physically incapable of taking off his own shoes, preferring to sit inert on the shoe rack, rendered useless by tequila. Obviously, you had to crouch down and untie the shoelaces of the sneakers he refused to let go of. His only contribution was to absentmindedly play with your hair, twirling strands between his fingers with all the grace of a tipsy toddler.

“You have such pretty hair,” he’d mumbled, brushing a piece off your forehead and tucking it behind your ear. The movement was clumsy, somewhat hesitant, but so tender that the heat in your cheeks flared in your entire body, and had nothing to do with the sun that filtered through the open blinds all day.

“I love it,” he continued, with the confidence of someone discovering poetry for the first time. “They’re so soft. It— it… flies. When you walk.”

You blinked up at him. “That’s the wind, Max.”

“No,” he squinted back at you. “You’re the wind.”

Right. Good luck figuring out what the hell that meant.

Then, no matter how sticky he was, he categorically refused to even look at the bathroom. You reminded him multiple times that he was coated in a ridiculous amount of glitter and sweat, and that he reeked like the obscure depths of a frat party, but it fell on deaf ears.

“If I go,” he said solemnly, placing both hands on your shoulders, “Will you go with me?”

Your eyes had shot wide open. “Max. I am not showering with you. Jesus. How many grams of alcohol are you operating on?”

He sighed and collapsed against your shoulder, completely defeated. “Then I don’t want to. I love being with you. I don’t want to leave.”

Classic Max Verstappen. Relentlessly stubborn, whether drunk or sober, so you dropped the issue. Arguing with him in such a state wasn’t a hill you were willing to die on.

Every attempt to get Max to cooperate came with a new confession. You opened the door of his bedroom, something you’d done more times than you can count, and he loved that you always knew your way around his place. You dropped him onto the mattress, and he grinned up at you, told you he loved that you didn’t even need to ask what side he slept on. Apparently, post-drinks Max had an unlimited supply of love to give, as well as no filter. He loved your eyes, he loved your laugh, he loved your presence.

Not the kind of love that truly mattered, though, but you weren’t quite ready to pull that thread apart.

You turned to grab a clean shirt from his closet and, behind you, all sense of gravity seemed to escape Max as he flopped onto his back, limbs starfish-spread. The mattress groaned under him in protest. You had to keep yourself from sighing.

“Max,” you called, holding up the soft white tee, “take off your shirt.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows with the last of his strength. He tilted his head, a slow smile appeared on his lips, warm and undeniably pleased with what he was about to say.

“You do it.”

It wasn’t crass, nor was it sexual: the smile wasn’t a smirk, and his eyes didn’t dart at the hem of your skirt that rode up higher than necessary due to your efforts. Instead, something almost tender pulled at Max’s tone. All of a sudden, his room felt too intimate for the space taken by the friendship you spent a lifetime not to ruin.

Still, you sat down next to him. He was all obstinate limbs, you thought to yourself. There was no need to argue with him longer than necessary. You wouldn’t win this fight.

The bed recognized you out of muscle memory, sighing under your weight and the covers pooling around you like it memorized your shape from the many times you’d spent your nights next to him. You were close enough so that your knees brushed with the hesitancy of teenagers. In the charged quiet that settled between you, your pulse beat loud enough for two.

You reached out, silent, fumbling slightly with the first button of his shirt. The fabric was warm with the heat emanating from his body, and the soft linen slipped between your trembling fingertips.

Max didn’t move. However, his breath hitched when your nails grazed the skin of his neck, as if you’d burned him. His gaze was locked on your face like you were a shooting star in the middle of his ceiling, reminiscent of the glowing stars on yours when you were a child. His lips parted at your every movement, his intakes of air slowing down to match the motion of your fingers. You were sure he could hear your heart. That he could feel the hesitation shaking in your knuckles every time you brushed over a parcel of skin.

The second button took longer.

Max cocked his head, brows drawn together like he was trying to decipher you. “You’re so pretty,” he whispered. This time, he took his time enunciating it: none of the syllables were slurred, and each of them echoed clear as day in the hollow between your ribs.

You shook your head. “And you’re so drunk.”

His brow furrowed further in sheer incomprehension. You made your way to the last button as he struggled with words, opening and closing his mouth around silent consonants. Frankly, you didn’t want him to speak. You wanted him dressed and gone to sleep, so you could put all this false hope to bed with him.

You slipped the blue button up from his broad shoulders, careful about keeping your eyes away from his bare chest, but a small pressure on your wrist stopped you in your movements.

“You don’t get it,” Max insists. You froze at the intensity of his voice, the unbuttoned shirt slack in your hands. You could feel his frustration mounting—not at you, but at the way the words tangled before leaving his mouth.

“You don’t get it,” he repeated, slower now. “You’re so, so pretty. Like— you’re the wind.”

This time, an audible groan slipped past your lips. “Not this again.”

“Can you just— listen? For once?” he said, waving a hand as if you were the one interrupting. “I’m trying to tell you something very important right now.”

Knowing him, you knew that restless mind of his wouldn’t shut off until the thought clawing at his throat was out in the open and landed somewhere, preferably with you. With a soft sigh, you tossed the bundled-up linen shirt to the side, folding your arms across your chest as you gave him a single, begrudging nod. “Okay. Go on.”

He sat a little straighter, seemingly preparing for verbal battle. His spine wobbled with the effort. “Okay. So. The wind,” he stated, very seriously, and you had a hard time believing this metaphor was about to change your life.

“You are the wind.” Encouraged by your stunned silence, Max continued. “Like, you move through people. And places. You always belong everywhere and… and you make everything feel lighter, easier.” He waved his hand in a vague circle, trying to manifest the image. “You made me lighter, I think.”

It made some level of sense, albeit stumbly. Still, Max wasn’t done.

“I’m— fuck,” he curses, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been carrying this around since I was seventeen, this feeling. It’s stupid. It’s heavy. You’re just— you’re there, all the time, and it’s a lot—”

“Thanks, Max.”

“No! No, not in a bad way. It’s— God. You’re so pretty,” he murmured, and his voice broke on the word. “And you’re kind, and smart, and you make me laugh, and you make me better, and— tonight, you carried me home and helped me take off my shoes and you’re literally changing my fucking shirt and I’m so in love with you it’s making me useless.”

Max leaned forward, forehead gently pressed to your collarbone. His breath was hot against your neck, his hand lax at his sides. He hadn’t noticed you had frozen still, or maybe he did but just didn’t care, too caught up in his own thoughts.

Slowly, almost sheepishly, his arms wound around your waist. His fingers, rough and calloused, found home brushing your sides and resting against your lower back, palm pressing delicately as if he was afraid you’d break. You couldn’t move: the thing you’ve been trying not to want for years was suddenly happening, it felt bittersweet, and you didn’t know how to breathe around it.

Max’s voice came muffled against your collarbone. “Can you stay?” Your heart gave a traitorous lurch. Faced with your silence, he continued, quieter. “Just like this.”

You exhaled a laugh, wet and shaking. The humor was barely present in it. “You’re going to regret this in the morning.”

“No I won’t.” There was the stubbornness you had grown to love, turned childish by the tangy aroma of mixed liqueurs. “Let me have this one.”

His earnest tone did something to your chest. A small stab blooming into a blood-colored rose.

You hesitated a second longer. You let your body move before your mind could catch up: softly, you maneuvered both of your bodies to fit into the middle of the bed. Reaching for the light covers bunched near the end of the bed, you tugged them over both of you with one hand while the other found its place on the slope of his shoulder. Max shifted so his arms swallowed your waist entirely, his face buried in the crook of your neck, and it felt like somewhere you should have been a long time ago.

“Five minutes,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

He was already half-asleep when he answered. “Five.”

But neither of you moved again. Not in five minutes, not in ten. Sleep came slowly, and you couldn’t recall which one gave in to the weight of the night first.

Max crossed the threshold of his bedroom door, looking like a man who had narrowly survived war. His hair stuck out at angles defying gravity, his under-eyes bore the haunting hollowness of the dehydrated, and the single second a shard of sunlight brushed his cheekbone, he physically recoiled.

Still, even in his pitiful state, he’d managed to throw on the clean t-shirt you had gotten out for him last night and a pair of sweatpants, presumably after successfully peeling off whatever clothes he’d passed out in. You noted, with quiet amusement, that his shirt was inside-out. Baby steps.

You, on the other hand, had been up for hours.

Waking up in Max’s arms had been… something. The blinds you forgot the shut had lit up the room bright orange too early, and the sudden feel of his arm still slung protectively around your waist had sent you into tachycardia. You’d disentangled yourself as gently as possible, pulled on some of his older clothes from the drawer he kept aside for you, and set about pretending the night before never happened.

You made coffee and laid out the Ibuprofen, waiting for him to wake up like he was a ticking bomb.

Now, Max collapsed onto the couch with a groan, dropping his full weight into the cushions. You approached him quietly with a mug and a pill in hand, wordlessly handing them over, which he accepted without a hint of grace. He swallowed the tablet with a sip so long and grim you thought he might weep.

“I’m never drinking again,” Max muttered hoarsely.

You snorted, easing yourself down next to him on the couch. “You sound like a broken record.”

He lifted the cup halfway to his mouth and, behind the rim, smiled.

You stared at the motion longer than you meant to. Your fingers twisted at the hem of his sleeve you were wearing. “Well,” you said, eyes fixed on the swirling steam of your untouched cup, “you’ll probably forget about that promise, like you forgot everything else about last night.” You offered it with a little shrug and a chuckle like it was nothing, while your heart thudded unevenly in your chest.

You were probing for answers, so you peeked at him.

Max was staring at the floor, his fingers tight around the coffee mug. His brows were pinched, like he was either trying to solve a complicated equation—or simply trying to wrestle down the lingering effects of alcohol amidst the fragments of last night. For a moment, you were sure he didn’t remember.

You braced yourself. It was fine. It was better like this, truly.

“Actually, uh,” he spoke up. “I do.”

Everything went quiet.

“I remember all of it.”

The cup between your fingers almost slipped from your grasp.

The words had the same effect on you as an earthquake would have had. It messed with your balance, breath catching with your throat as you catched Max’s eyes. You searched it, desperately, for a joke, or maybe something akin to regret. Yet, he simply looked back at you, with the same resolution he always seemed to carry.

You laughed, a tight, high-pitched sound that didn’t sound like you in the slightest. Carefully, you placed your coffee mug on the table. It clicked too loudly against the wood.

“Okay, don’t worry,” you began, waving a hand toward him to dismiss… whatever that was. “I know you were drunk and—”

“Y/N—”

“—you don’t have to feel bad or embarrassed, really, like, we all say dumb shit when we drink—”

“Y/N.”

“—I mean, God, remember that one time I told Willem Jansen I wanted to go on a date with him even though I only wanted to ask him the time and I panicked—”

Max’s fingers found your wrist, overly delicate, and all the memories of barely a few hours ago flashed before your eyes, snapping your mouth shut. The world stilled around his touch, anchoring you right in that little pocket of feelings you’d been avoiding. His thumb brushed over your pulse.

His eyes were clear of any haze this time around.

“I meant it,” Max said, voice low. “All of it. Drunk, sober, it makes no difference. I think the same thing.”

Your eyes searched his face, terrified of what you might find and even more terrified of what you wouldn’t. Max just held you like he was afraid you might be the one disappearing next.

And in the face of what you’ve been waiting to hear for years, all you could muster was a downright pathetic, “Oh.”

Max hummed, a small noise of acknowledgement. He probably expected more, or maybe he expected even less. You couldn’t know, but “oh” was all that could leave your lips at the moment. The silence that followed stretched long and tight, just a few seconds shy of turning awkward. Your fingers tapped once against the side of your cup. His did the same against the arm of the couch.

Finally, Max broke the quiet.

“I think I drank more last night because it’s been a while since we went out together,” he recalled. “My schedule and all. And you looked…,” he paused, shaking his head. “Beautiful.”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “And I’ve, you know. I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a while. Years, actually. The feeling had just doubled. I thought if I drank enough, I’d stop thinking about it,” he lets out a sheepish laugh. “And if I stopped thinking, I’d stop wanting to kiss you.”

While your body was as stiff as a rock, your mind was the tornado centered around it. A whiplash of years spun through your head: the late nights, the race weekends, your shoulder against his on hotel couches, the way he always found you first in the crowd, how you’d make fun of all the older drivers scared of a teenager. The times you spent trying not to fall into the delusion that it might not be as unrequited as you made it out to be.

All those emotions, swirling and fighting, slipped out in a fashion unique to you. “You’re a twenty-seven-year-old man,” you blurted, tone more incredulous than scolding. “You’re pushing thirty. Wasn’t there a more mature way to… I don’t know, process that?”

Max barked out a full-bodied laugh, the ones you didn’t see all that often on camera. It was unashamed, not even a tad surprised or bashful, twisting a warm sensation in your stomach just because he looked so at ease.

“Well,” he said, turning his head to face you properly now. His mouth was curving in a way that made him even more stupidly handsome, and soft, just for you. “We met when we were seventeen, and I’ve loved you ever since. So I guess I tend to revert back to that when it comes to you.”

There it was.

Love, love, love. This time, the words thrummed behind your skin, rushing in your bloodstream and mixing with oxygen feeding into the beating of your heart. It got you drunk in a way alcohol never could, and there was the irony of it: it was the clearest confession you had gotten, from the most sober version of him. I love you. The unadulterated truth. It rendered you speechless.

Max mistook it for hesitation. You couldn’t blame him, you’d try to backpedal to save your dignity too if he had pulled the same move on you.

“I’d understand if you don’t feel the same,” he rushed out. “Yesterday must have been a lot for you. It won’t impact our friendship, I just wanted to be upfront with you—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence.

You launched yourself toward him with a force that made him grunt as you collided, lips meeting with such strength it sent him sprawling back against the couch. His hands instinctively gripped your hips to steady both of you, but the momentum had already taken over. You were practically straddling him now, your hands cupping his jaw, threading into his hair, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

And Max. He kissed you back like a man starved, as if the last ten years had been a long inhale and you were the only thing that could let him breathe out. It wasn’t clean, or practiced. You were both messy and desperate, all tongues and teeth trying to scrape the part of the other that didn’t already reside in you. Max tasted like coffee, and you needed him like an addict.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were flushed and panting, foreheads pressed together because parting seemed inconceivable.

“Don’t even think about implying I don’t feel the same,” you breathed out.

Max grinned, both smug and dizzy. “Jumping on me like that erased every other possibility. Even though my headache got worse.”

You let out a short laugh with the little air you could gather. You smacked his chest. “Being that hungover was not the perfect setting for a first kiss. You’ve only got yourself to blame.”

“Okay, yeah,” he winced playfully, thumbs rubbing circles into your waist. “Maybe not how I planned it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You had ten years.”

“Fine, I didn’t exactly plan it,” Max admitted. He had given up all subtlety, his eyes flicking down to your lips. You couldn’t be more grateful for it. “But it’s fine. We can retry.”

He kissed you again, slower, more carefully. You savored the sensation of his lips gliding against yours as if it would be the last time, and quietly cursed him out when he stopped.

But soon enough, his lips found your flushed cheeks. “And retry,” he murmured.

This time, he pressed a kiss to your neck, just beneath your jaw. “And retry.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. Everything felt so much— his lips lingering on your skin, the way you were practically draped across him, your heart pounding. “Damn Max,” you whispered, the corners of your mouth pulling up as your fingers brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “Take me out on a date first.”

“That’s a yes,” he states.

You huffed out a laugh, unable to help how your cheeks warmed. “It was a yes, just prefaced by human decency. You know, food, a table… clothes, even.”

He groaned in protest. “Max!” you snorted, burying your face in the crook of his neck. You were now fully lying on top of him, his arms wrapped around you. The smell of him grounded you. Warm skin, lingering traces of cologne… it was him, who was yours, now.

You felt his smile pressing against the top of your head. “I’ll take you out, you can name the time and place.”

“Tomorrow,” you said without hesitation. “The restaurant by the beach.”

There was a beat of quiet during which you both cradled the other’s presence like something breakable, as if the wind could break it. You figure you’d outgrow that phase, one day. Just not today.

The wind.

“Though,” you broke the silence. “One of the conditions is that I get some clarification about the wind metaphor.”

Max groaned, and hearing him just like that felt like you had physically wounded him, arms tightening around your shoulders in protest. You laughed, giddy, love stretching across your entire chest and further out, enveloping you both. You pressed a kiss to his neck.

Max could explain it to you later. Maybe over pasta, or wine, or whatever your mind will set upon as you hold his hand next to the menu and salt shakers. There’d be a plethora of other kisses and shared mornings, with no hangovers in sight, with plenty of other metaphors that made more sense waiting to be invented or unraveled.

Maybe he’d explain it to you tomorrow, or even the day after. You had a lifetime to figure it out, now. You were patient to wait for ten years, you could be a patient a little while longer.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

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starw1sh · 1 year ago

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folklore studies I missed you

#I'm studying history and religious studies so and like folklore studies doesn’t come up as much as you'd think it would even in the overlap #but I've fallen down an academic paper rabbit hole about dogs as manifestations of the devil #in European and American folklore #and truly all roads lead back to Faust in talking about the devil in European adjacent folklore #anyway. this is for a writing project I've been messing with since fcking high school #and I wanna be firm in my knowledge on the folklore I'm borrowing from #into the void

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kisseobie · 1 year ago

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car sex w/ piwon? them dropping you off to your house after hanging out at the dorms at night, and you start staring at their hands gripping the wheel for a bit long.. and things just develop (im a car girl don't blame me 🙏)

car sex with p1harmony

pairings: ot6 p1harmony x reader

warnings: nsfw (mdni)

a/n: car sex is one of my biggest kinks so i’m def not judging girl :P oh also i’m dedicating this to my new bff @whimperly go support bella’s blog

listening to: diet pepsi by addison rae ♪

✶ keeho

kyo would look soooo delectable driving, especially late at night. you’re fighting sleep, the streetlights bright and hazy. he’s on aux, blasting sensual songs and humming along, reversing with his arm draped on your headrest for support, leaning his head back and driving with one hand. your window is down, your head peeking out slightly to bask in the cool air hitting your face, getting drunk on the feeling. you glance at your boyfriend and he catches it, smirking at you before turning his attention back to the road—but you can’t focus on anything but him. the air in the car is different now, you both already know where this is heading. when he eventually pulls into your driveway and halts the car, you’re wasting no time and pulling him into a needy kiss, whimpering out a crazed “i need you, kyo”, to which he just replies “bet” and gets to fucking work.

fucks you deep in the backseat of his fancy car, gives no care in the world for the mess you both are making, just wants to pound into your pussy until you’re whining out his name. the music is still on, ac on full blast, but it does nothing to prevent his sweat dripping onto your bare chest with every deep thrust of his practiced hips. after a few rounds of lovemaking i’d imagine he’d just lay with you, pulling your back to meet his chest, playing with your hair and stroking your tummy so sweetly <33 you two would quite literally get lost in each other

✶ theo

for yangie i’d imagine you both would be at a drive inn theatre date, the movie long forgotten as you’d be more preoccupied in swapping spit in his backseat. he’s wearing that leather jacket you oh so love, hair long and groomed and simple studs adorning his ears… tl:dr—he looks fine. at first it would start innocent, theo kissing your cheek as you got lost in the plot of the film, but he’d eventually grow bored and start sucking into the nape of your neck, not missing the way you’d rub your thighs together at the contact. after an impromptu makeout session, he’d whisper some shit into your ear about finding you much more interesting than the movie, and you couldn’t help but agree, wanting to see where this would lead the two of you.

so where did you both end up? fucking like rabbits in the back of his car of course! the movie had already ended, parking lot of the outdoor theatre now completely vacant, but the two of you don’t really notice, not when theo has your legs draped over his shoulders as he slams into your puffy cunt, thumb circling against your clit so harshly you feel lightheaded. he’s grunting so fucking loud, pupils blown out with lust as he just thrusts and thrusts, despite already cumming a few times. the car is foggy with the stench of sex, cherry cola slurpees, and theo’s cologne. you’re sobbing, tears drooping down the sides of your face and puddling against your ears, hair, and of course, his car seats. it’s just soooooo gross and so animalistic but he can’t stop :(

✶ jiung

eats you out, knee deep.. in the passenger seat (thank u chappell roan). i feel like he’d be all horny at the dorms, but wouldn’t do anything about it because he knows you two aren’t alone in the space (def is uncharacteristically handsy though). it doesn’t help that he hasn’t fucked you in weeks because of how hectic group promotions have been, and that you came over to the dorms wearing the tiniest little skirt he’s ever seen. when it’s time for you to leave, he doesn’t turn the car on, doesn’t pull out of the dorm driveway before occupying your space, kissing you deep and descending down to your legs. the tight space is cramped for sure, but he doesn’t really give a fuck, not when he has you above him, panties wet and in his line of vision. presses little kisses onto your clothed pussy, loving the way you’re already pulling at his hair and mewling at such little contact.

eats you out so slowly it makes you insane, no amount of you begging him to “just fuck me already!” halting the lazy way he devours your cunt like it’s his last meal. after all, he deserves this after working so hard, so just shut up and take it :( isn’t mean enough to not fuck you though, he’s not strong enough to dismiss your begging forever. doesn’t bring you to the backseat like you’d expect, he just towers over you and fucks you right into the passenger seat. complains cutely the next day that he’s cramped and sore, but it was worth it ^_^

✶ intak

lovesssss car sex to the point where you’re already anticipating it everytime you two are on a drive alone. it just makes him feel so dirty in the best of ways, the way he can’t control himself around you, the way your pussy squeezes his dick in a vice grip with every thrust, how his cum drips out of you onto his leather seats. i also imagine intak would want to film himself fucking you in his backseat, giving you the nastiest backshots known to man as he makes eye contact with the camera, smirking at how you attempt to hide your face in embarrassment. definitely talks you through it, especially when you ask so kindly to ride him in the backseat :P praises you for taking his dick so well, for letting him fuck you somewhere where anyone could find you both.

his favorite sight though? definitely the image of your bare tits pressed against his windows when he’s pounding into your sloppy cunny. makes him feel like the man, for sure. and on the rare occasion that you’re the one asking to fuck in his car? he’s so giddy, knowing that he’s corrupted his little princess and turned her into a cockwhore :D

✶ soul

i can’t write this prompt for soul and not include the reader giving him head! you’d just be sooo appreciative and full of love for your boyfriend sho, he was so nice to you today, bought your entire saved cart on your favorite online shopping site, purposely let you win when playing smash bros with you, ordered takeout to his dorm and hand fed you :( you feel the need to thank him, to reward him for being such a sweetie pie, and what says thank you better than some sloppy toppy? he’d be sososo shy, begging you to let him park before you unbuckle his pants but you’re too desperate to make him feel good!! when he parks into your driveway he lets go of his coy attitude, fully fists your hair and pushes your head against the base of his cock to the point where you’re loudly gagging against his shaft. when you pull up for some much-needed air you’re beaming at him, giving him the widest smile and wasting no time in dropping back down to your previous position.

i can practically hear shota praising you with a satisfied “atta girl, suck this fucking cock”, cumming into your mouth, and roughly fingering you afterwards as thanks for being such a thoughtful girlfriend :O

✶ jongseob

this def isn’t for everyone but i’m so obsessed with the idea of jongseob being your dealer and boyfriend all in one. he’d drive you to some empty park late at night, would smoke a few pre-rolls with you on the abandoned swings, and get horny and lead you back to his car. the pair of you are stumbling into the backseat, dizzy and giggly, making out with urgency (and some sloppiness) and peeling off each others clothes until you’re both fully naked. ride him while he lights up another joint, it’d be sooo sexy. oh and of course he’d let you take the first puff, would gladly let you grab at his face afterwards and push the smoke into his mouth before crashing your plump lips against his. the effects of the weed has your hips slightly uncoordinated, but none of you really care. seob would smack your ass as encouragement too :3

like keeho, i think afterwards you’d both just lay there, fully bare, cuddling, kissing, and smoking in a comfortable silence. maybe even nap until seob is okay to drive you back home <3 and like i always say, i’m convinced he’d take some polaroid of you, sat on his cock, smoking a joint and staring at the camera all slutty ..

taglist: @woozixo @hearts4chanhee @kyokopi @astro-doll-the-star @soobiary @kyaaramello @angelcbf @idontknow-1s-world @dprvivi @elissasimp @imjustayapper @ihatewreckingballmains @sosaverse @seobing @www90kitsch @khfviq @barbiekh86t @bbyjjunie @taeyangi @fullsunstrawberry @jihnyah @intheemptymirror @watamotee33 @dreamer1299 @jixnnsie @wonootnoot @yukx-x047 @sundancearchives @chuuswifereal @seisyiss @fishsquishh @sunnyyangie @asianpenguin04 @lunepoesie @haku-s0ultrain @tkooooop @taehyux

✶ <3

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science-hoes · 4 months ago

Text

Afterglow

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: SMUT, 18+, Minors DNI, unprotected sex, angst but then smut

Description: After a disagreement in patient care, Robby snaps at the Reader in front of the entire Pitt. It's up to him to clean up the mess he made.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

You could feel somebody’s eyes burning a hole through your head as you finished charting for your last patient of the shift. You knew it was Robby. The patient was a young woman who had come in after fainting for the first time. Robby suggested dysautonomia and wanted to discharge after observation, but you weren’t so sure. So you ordered an EKG, revealing a second degree Monitz Type 1 heart block. These were benign but important to explain her fainting. The only problem? You did it after Robby explicitly told you no.

Your relationship with Robby was perfect. Most of the time. He provided for you, cared for you, and protected you. And you were eager to reciprocate it. After a year of dating, you both kept the privacy of your relationship at work. Only Dana and Abbot knew. Robby treated you like every other resident, but sometimes, that wasn’t a good thing.

You finished typing in the chart and logged out of the computer. You stood, ready to go grab your backpack and head home. But when you turned around, Robby was towering over you with his arms crossed.

“We need to talk.” He said gruffly.

You raised an eyebrow, not able to read the emotions behind his eyes. “About…?” You asked.

“I told you not to order the EKG for Room 3. Explain to me how that got lost in translation.” His eyes were narrowed, and you grew uncomfortable under his piercing gaze.

You crossed your arms, mirroring him. “Because she’s an athlete. Second degree Type 1 is very common in young female athletes.” You stated firmly.

“Which is also benign. The dysautonomia could also account for her fainting.” He countered.

You shook your head in confusion. “I don’t understand. We helped a young woman learn about a block that could be a problem down the road. What is the problem?” You asked.

Robby chuckled, but you knew that laugh. The one before he blew up on a medical student. “The problem is that you went behind my back and ordered an EKG I explicitly told you not to.” He explained, bordering condescending.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “Because I didn’t think your diagnosis was correct.” You responded, feeling anxiety rush through your veins as you stood up for yourself.

He shook his head “I don’t care. You are the resident, and I am the attending.”

He pulled his rank on you. He’s never done that. Even before you were dating. You huffed and clenched your jaw. “But I was right.” You said.

“You were right this time. But making a habit of defying your superiors can lead to somebody dying.”

“But-“

“I don’t want to hear excuses, I want to hear ‘yes, sir.’ Do you understand me?” Robby said, nostrils flared, face red.

You could not BELIEVE the audacity of this man. You looked around, and every single person in the Pitt had their eyes on you. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment and tears stung your eyes. “Yes, sir.” You hissed.

Robby watched you storm off to the doctor’s lounge. The anger in his chest began to dissipate as he looked around the room and noticed the scene he had caused. “Get back to work.” He ordered, and everyone began to awkwardly continue about their shift.

He sat down at the desk you had been working at and rubbed his hands on his face. Regret began to sink in.

“Hey, man. What the fuck was that?” He heard Dana ask him.

Robby looked up and shook his head. “I don’t know.” Was all he managed to say.

“Well, you just humiliated a resident and your girlfriend in front of the whole Pitt. Let’s start there.” Dana said as she sat down next to him.

“She went behind my back and-“

“Yeah, yeah, I heard the story. Everyone did.” Dana deadpanned, and Robby rolled his eyes. “Why did you feel the need to berate her like that?”

Robby shrugged. “I didn’t berate her. I had to remind her that she can’t just defy orders as a resident. That could both of us in trouble if something bad happened.” He explained.

“Sure, that makes sense. But you were a dick about it.” Dana replied.

“It just happened. I was angry.”

Dana leaned in closer, keeping her voice quiet in case any nosy nurses were listening. “You are in a relationship with a power imbalance. Maybe it’s equal at home, but not here. You can’t just drill her like that.”

“I have to treat her like she is a junior resident. I can’t give her special treatment because she’s my girlfriend.”

Dana laughed, unable to handle how dense Robby was being. “Special treatment? Robby, you are way harder on her than you are on anybody else in the Pitt. Even the senior residents.”

Robby looked to Dana. “She is defying me in front of the senior residents.” He defended.

“She is standing up for herself. Just like Langdon, just like Collins, just like any resident would. Whatever pride is getting in the way of your relationship, you need to let it go.”

“It’s not pride.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Dana sighed heavily. “Robby, I have seen you in a work relationship up close. You did not act this way to Collins. But I also know you didn’t love Collins.”

Robby felt an internal sting of guilt at the mention of his past relationship. But Dana was right. “What’s your point?”

“You are about to destroy the one thing that makes you a tolerable person.” Dana said bluntly.

Robby sat there for a moment, the words echoing in his ears. He had never considered that he might be hurting your relationship. All he was worried about at work was turning you into the best physician. Even if that came with tough love. But today wasn’t tough love. It was his pride and arrogance pushing through the surface and bearing its ugly teeth.

“You had better go and get her before she’s gone.” Dana’s words snapped him out of his thoughts.

Robby nodded and stood up. He squeezed Dana’s shoulder. “Thanks.” He said.

Dana leaned back in her chair as Robby turned to leave. “First relationship counseling session is free. Next one, I’m charging 50 bucks.” She teased.

Normally, Robby would have made a sarcastic comment back, but the only thing he could think about as he walked to the doctor’s lounge was you. He opened the door to the lounge, and his heart sank when he saw that your belongings were already gone. So, he collected his backpack and hurried out the door to your apartment.

—

You managed to hold it together until you got home. You dropped your backpack on the ground and burst into tears. Robby had never yelled at you like that, and honestly, you were a little frightened by it. You knew he would never lay a (non-consensual) finger on you, but you never imagined you would be on the receiving end of his meltdowns.

You collapsed onto your bed and pulled the pillow to your chest as you cried. The image of Robby’s angry red face was terrorizing your mind. And even worse, you felt unstable in the relationship for the first time. You had never fought with Robby, not really. Tiny arguments over thermostat settings were the worst altercations, and you both laughed the whole time.

The age gap between you and Robby was not a problem. You both had an honest conversation about what it would mean to work with each other before you started officially dating. There had not been any issue. Sure, you noticed that he was more critical of your work. You figured you deserved it, but you didn’t notice any difference between that and the criticism he held for other residents.

You heard the front door lock click, and the door opened. “Hey, kid. I’m home.” A voice called out.

You suddenly felt anger bubble in your chest. Robby walked around the apartment for a moment until he saw you through the open bedroom door, curled up with the pillow. He sat down on the opposite side of the bed, looking down at you.

“I’m sorry.”

The words didn’t mean anything to you. You wanted to yell and scream and get back at him. Make him feel as bad as you did. But you didn’t. That wasn’t healthy.

Robby took your silence as the response. “I fucked up today. I belittled you in front of everyone, and I didn’t respect your education and decisions.” He continued.

You watched him through teary eyes. And it broke his heart. He wanted to hold you close and wipe them away and kiss the stains they made on your cheeks. But he knew he caused them. He rubbed the back of his neck, his anxious tic.

“I know you’re mad. And I know that you will be for a while. I let my pride and arrogance get ahead of me, and I didn’t respect you as a resident.” He said and reached a hand to stroke your hair out of your face. “But more importantly, I didn’t respect you as my girlfriend. My partner.” He added.

You felt the anger begin to dwindle but kept your guard up. “You‘ve never yelled at me like that.” You whispered and a fresh wave of tears streamed down your face.

Robby felt like a knife was twisting in his chest at the sight of you. “I know. And I’ll never do it again. That’s a promise.” He replied. “I know I’m harder on you than the other residents. I just want you to be the best physician. Better than me.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer. “Shouldn’t you want all of your residents to be the best?” You asked.

Robby bit his bottom lip in thought. “Yes. But I want you to be better than all of them.” He said.

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

Your heart jumped to your throat. He loved you. He said he loved you. Robby had never dared utter the words prematurely. Sure, you knew you loved him months ago. But you weren’t going to risk scaring him off if he wasn’t ready for that.

“I love you, kid.” He reiterated when he saw that you were processing his words carefully. “And I have for a long time. You have shown me what it means to be happy. I used to dread waking up every morning, and now I wake up with you by my side. Every decision I make is for you. For our future. You are my anchor to reality. I was scared to say it because I didn’t want karma or fate or whatever to take you away from me.”

Your face softened, but the tears kept coming. For a different reason this time. You reached your hand out and pulled him by the strings of his hoodie to lie down next to you. Robby’s sad brown eyes began to well with tears as he stared into yours.

“Do you love me?” He asked, scared like a child.

You realized you hadn’t said anything since his initial confession. A smile graced your lips, just slightly. “Michael, I love you more than anything.” You whispered.

Relief washed over Robby’s face, and his heart skipped a beat when you said his first name, which you rarely did. Only in intimate moments like this. “Can I kiss you?” He asked, the tears starting to fall down his face, but not wanting to push boundaries if you were still upset.

You answered by leaning in and capturing his lips with yours. Robby wrapped his arms around you tightly, afraid you would disappear if he let go. The kiss was not hot or desperate like the ones you were used to after a long shift. This one was slow and soft. He pulled gently at your top lip and took advantage of your ensuing moan to slip his tongue in your mouth. You let him explore like it was your first kiss and slid your own tongue against his.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He whispered into your mouth over and over.

You ran your fingers through his dark thinning hair and anchored them at the base of his neck, guaranteeing that his lips couldn’t leave yours. His beard began to burn against your chin, but you didn’t care.

“I love you.” You whispered in return.

Robby’s mouth finally left your lips and began kissing anything he could find. Your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, your jaw. Moving down to your neck, sucking gently but not leaving a mark, as according to the rules you both set for work. The hot open-mouthed kisses on your carotid sent chills down your spine, and you squirmed in his grasp, legs weaving between his. He tugged at your scrub top, and you momentarily left his grasp to pull it off.

Once you were back in his arms, Robby’s mouth latched to your chest, pressing more kisses down the valley of your breasts. His hands expertly unlatched your bra in the back, exposing your soft nipples to the cold air of the room. His beard tickled your skin as he moved to your right breast. Your head dropped back on the pillow when his tongue glided across your nipple, making circles to excite it. Once it hardened, he took the bud in between his teeth and sucked gently.

A shaky breath left your lungs, the polarity of sensations driving you crazy. One of your hands remained in his hair as he nursed on you, the other digging into the skin of his back. After what he deemed enough time for your right breast, he moved to the left one, giving in the same treatment.

It wasn’t like Robby to move slowly like this. Usually, he had you on your stomach, ass in the air, and pounding away within five minutes of getting home. But he didn’t want to fuck you tonight. He wanted to show you his love.

You finally pulled at his hoodie, wanting to feel more of his skin on yours. He sat up, a small smile on his face, and shed both his scrub top and hoodie, exposing his broad but toned upper body. He fell back down to you, but moved lower this time. His mouth left kisses down from your breasts to your navel, fingers pulling at the waistband of your scrub pants and underwear. As you lifted your hips to help remove them, he left love bites along your waist, which was fair game.

When he tossed your scrubs and panties aside, Robby lifted your thighs, placing them on his shoulders. This position you were very familiar with. He planted kisses on the inside of your thighs, met with slick wetness as he got closer to your weeping pussy. You could feel him smile from the way his beard moved against your skin. It didn’t matter if he was fucking you after work or eating you out while on break in the call room, it boosted his confidence tenfold to know how wet you got for him.

“All this for me?” He asked, looking up to you those boyish brown eyes glistening in the dark light of the room.

You breathed a laugh, squeezing your thighs a bit around his shoulders. “Only for you.” You confirmed.

“That’s right.” He breathed.

His tongue gently teased your slick folds. His mouth began to water once he could taste you, and he needed more. He tightened his grip on your hips and buried his face in between your legs, ungodly sounds coming from his throat as he devoured you.

You screamed and twisted the bedsheets in your fists. Your thighs squeezed around his neck involuntarily, and it drove him crazy. He reached a hand down to your mound and rubbed strong circles with his thumb as he ate away at your pussy. You didn’t have to tell him that you were close. He knew by the way your hips bucked into his mouth that you were losing control.

“Come for me, baby girl.” He mumbled against you.

The white hot sensation exploded from your core across your body after another few expert maneuvers with his tongue. He lapped up all of the juices that spilled onto his tongue, swallowing them like a starving man. His free hand rubbed soothing circles on your abdomen as your body finally went limp.

Robby kissed your inner thighs when he finished his meal and moved back up the bed, hovering over you. His beard glistened with your juices, and you pulled him down to kiss them off.

“You got one more in you?” He asked, gently pressing his clothed hips against yours.

You smiled and reached for the drawstring of his scrub pants. “Always.” You whispered.

Robby kicked off his scrub pants and boxer briefs, unleashing his painfully hard cock, already leaking with precum. You instinctively started to roll onto your stomach, but he grabbed your hips, planting them firmly against the bed.

“No. I want to look at you while I fuck you tonight.” He said.

Even after a year, Robby could still make you blush. You nodded, spreading your thighs as he centered himself at your pussy. He pushed in slowly, his cock filling you out completely. You unconsciously moaned the entire time until he bottomed out. He pressed a kiss against your neck as he pulled out again.

“That’s a good girl.” He breathed.

His hips began to thrust, making a slow but intentional pace. He indulged in every pitiful sound that fell from your lips as he gently fucked you.

“You feel so good.” You managed to mumble into his ear.

He grinned and pressed a kiss to your cheek, then resting his forehead against yours. The thin gold chain that hung around his neck slapped your chin with every thrust, the cool metal providing an extra sensation to your already overstimulated body. Your fingers dug into his back, scratching and slipping on his sweaty skin.

“I’ll make you feel better.” Robby said, and he pushed your knees to your chest, ankles around his shoulders, compressing his cock even more within your walls.

You let out a string of explicatives as the new position enhanced your pleasure. Robby chuckled as he continued to thrust, slowly picking up more speed. Tears squeezed through your eyes as your second orgasm began to rise. And like always, he knew you were getting close.

“That’s it, baby girl.” He praised, his pace unfaltering.

Your second orgasm hit stronger than the first, rendering you numb and weak. Robby kept pounding against you, struggling to maintain a consistent pace as his own orgasm was nearing. But just like he could sense yours, you knew when he was about to come.

“Come inside me.” You begged, the first time you had ever requested it.

Robby’s eyes widened, and he grunted as he tried to hold off his orgasm. “Are you-are you sure?” He asked, squeezing your waist tightly.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. Please come in me. I want to feel you.” You pleaded again.

A small grin made its way to Robby’s face. But the thought was too exciting for him, and his orgasm hit him harder and faster than he was used to. You could feel each hot spurt of cum coat your walls, each pulse of his veined cock twitch inside you. His arms trembled, and he collapsed on top of you, the weight of his body rather comforting.

You rubbed soothing circles on his back and kissed his sweat-covered forehead. “I love you, Michael Robinavitch.” You whispered.

Robby smiled as his head rested on your bare chest, listening to your heartbeat. “I love you, kid.” He responded, feeling happiest he had ever been.

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #doctor robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt hbo #doctor robby x reader #dana evans

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bettys-redwinesupernova · 6 months ago

Text

SOMEONE TO STAY

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: when rafe’s girlfriend doesn’t show up to his safe house during a hurricane he fears the worst, and wonders if he’ll get to tell her that he loves her.

based on this ask !! i hope this is what you wanted anon :) i wasn’t sure if you meant pogue!reader or actually meant pogue!rafe so i kept this open as to not interpret it incorrectly !!

A/N: my drew starkey & characters masterlist is here !!

WARNINGS: cursing, hurricane, fear of loved ones dying, crying, panic attack, arguments, angsty love confession, angst to fluff !! (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

SECOND PERSON +

The storm came fast and without mercy. What had started as a mild tropical storm rapidly intensified into a Category 4 hurricane barrelling toward the Outer Banks. Mandatory evacuation orders were issued for the Pogues and parts of the Cut, but for the Kooks in Figure Eight, the luxury of reinforced homes and private shelters meant hunkering down. The air felt thick with panic and pressure as everyone prepared for the worst.

Rafe had been at his father's old office on the more secure side of the island, trying to sort out some financial mess left behind by Ward, when the weather reports turned grim. His phone buzzed incessantly with texts and calls from people checking in or offering refuge. But Rafe didn't care about any of them.

He cared about one person.

"Y/N, just listen to me for once!" Rafe snapped, pacing the office as the storm began to howl outside. His voice was sharp, desperate even, as he tried to reason with his girlfriend. "Don't try to be a hero. Don't stop for anything. Just get in your car and come straight to the safe house. I'll meet you there."

"Rafe, I'll be fine," you said over the phone, your voice calm but firm. "I'm already on my way."

"You're sure? I can come get you. I should come get you," he pressed, running a hand through his hair. "This storm's getting worse by the second. I don't want you driving in this."

"I've got it under control," you reassured him, a smile in your tone even though he couldn't see it. "I'll see you soon."

But the second the line went dead, unease settled deep in Rafe's chest. He tried to tell himself you were capable, smart, and resourceful—qualities he loved about you. Still, that didn't stop the gnawing anxiety that clawed at him as he headed toward the safe house.

—

The drive was hellish. Rain lashed against your windshield, the wipers barely able to keep up. Floodwaters licked at the sides of the road as you maneuvered carefully toward Figure Eight. It wasn't long before you lost signal entirely, your phone cutting off mid-text to Rafe. You cursed under your breath but pressed on.

You'd been almost to the safe house when a thought struck you like lightning. Earlier that week, Rafe had been pouring over some old financial records and papers that he needed for his next move with the family business. He'd spent hours meticulously going through them, and you knew they were stored in his father's house.

Your chest tightened. If the storm destroyed everything, Rafe would lose all that work. Against better judgment, you turned onto the road leading to Tannyhill. You told yourself it wouldn't take long—just in and out.

By the time you made it to the safe house, it was well past dark, and the storm had intensified. The wind howled like a living thing, rattling the reinforced windows and slamming against the door as you stumbled in, soaked to the bone.

"Rafe?" you called, setting the plastic bag containing the saved papers down on a table. "I'm here."

It took less than ten seconds for him to appear. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled from hours of pacing. The moment his eyes landed on you, relief flickered across his face—but it was quickly replaced by something far darker.

"Where the hell have you been?" he shouted, storming toward you. His voice was a mix of anger and panic, his chest heaving as he stopped in front of you. "I've been calling you for hours! Do you have any idea—" His voice broke, and he ran a hand down his face. "I thought something happened to you."

"Rafe, I'm fine," you said, trying to placate him. "I—"

"You're not fine!" he snapped, his voice rising again. "You think this is fine? Driving through a hurricane, ignoring my calls—what were you even doing?" His eyes darted to the bag on the table, and something clicked. "You stopped for papers?"

"Rafe, I know how important they are to you—"

"Papers?" he interrupted, his voice incredulous. "You risked your life for some stupid papers?"

"They're not stupid!" you fired back, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. "You've been working so hard on this, and I didn't want you to lose it all."

"I don't care about the damn papers!" he yelled, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "Don't you get it? I don't care about any of that fucking shit if it means losing you!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his breathing growing erratic. His hands trembled as he backed away, pressing his palms to his temples. "I can't—God, I can't do this," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought you were dead, Y/N. I thought I lost you out there.”

"Rafe—"

"You're all I have," he said, his voice breaking completely as tears streamed down his face. "You're all I have, and I can't lose you. I won't survive it."

His words hit you like a tidal wave, the raw vulnerability in his voice leaving you momentarily stunned. You stepped toward him cautiously, reaching out to touch his arm. "Rafe, I'm here. I'm okay," you said softly. "I'm right here."

But he didn't seem to hear you, his breathing growing more rapid as he sank onto the couch. His chest heaved, and his hands gripped the edge of the cushion like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You knelt in front of him, your heart aching at the sight of him falling apart. "Rafe, look at me," you said firmly, taking his hands in yours. They were cold and clammy, shaking like leaves in the storm outside. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

He tried to match your breaths, but his body refused to cooperate. Desperation clawed at him, his gaze wild and unfocused. "I can't—I can't—"

"Yes, you can," you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. You guided one of his hands to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your heartbeat. "Feel that? I'm still breathing. I'm still alive. I'm here, Rafe."

Something shifted in his eyes as he focused on the steady rhythm beneath his hand. He gripped your shirt like a lifeline, his breathing slowly evening out. "You're here," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "You're here."

"That's right," you said, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm raged on outside, but inside, the only sound was the quiet rise and fall of your breaths. Finally, Rafe pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into your hair. "I'm sorry for yelling. I was just so scared."

"I know," you said, your voice muffled against his chest. "I'm sorry, too. I should've just come straight here."

He pulled back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his blue eyes searching yours. "I don't say this enough—or at all—but you mean everything to me, Y/N. I don't know what I'd do without you. You’re my whole world. Not work, not money, not anything; you. I love you, so fucking much.”

Tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they were from something far warmer than fear. "I love you, too," you said, leaning into his touch.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other's arms as the storm began to lose its fury. Whatever chaos the hurricane had brought, it couldn't touch the calm you found in each other.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

i hope this is what you wanted anon !! this was such a cute one to write and i love me some angst to fluff😫

pls request some more angst guys !! i absolutely LOVE writing it :) and as always, likes and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#bettys asks !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#drew starkey #rafe cameron #bettys work !! ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚#outer banks #fluff #obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron obx #rafe cameron fanfiction

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lqveharrington · 6 months ago

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Just One Smile | F.W.

summary: fred weasley was always trying to see you smile. even for just a second.

pairing: fred weasley x malfoy!reader

includes: imprisonment, draco going through hardships, crying, cursing, small bit of angst, mainly fluff, fred being the best boyfriend, kissing

a/n: i’m so busy for the next couple of months 😭

When you graduated Hogwarts, the last thing on your mind was your father’s imprisonment. You knew he was doing horrible things for the Dark Lord and he got the strict punishment for it. However, you were not onboard when they suddenly chose Draco to replace your father. Draco was merely sixteen when your aunt suggested he become a Deatheater.

You were heartbroken at the development — even more so when Draco came to your room and cried in your arms right after he received his Dark Mark. He said it burned.

Unfortunately, the visit to Diagon Alley — the one place you and Draco loved to visit — wasn’t any better.

Many shops you used to enjoy as a kid had closed and the only lively place was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Everything else seemed ransacked or broken into, and it terrified you. The impending war already began and you knew it would be for the worse. Even Narcissa Malfoy found herself holding her children’s hands tightly when they entered Borgin and Burkes.

The Deatheaters were to give Draco his task regarding the Vanishing Cabinet, but you simply couldn’t bear the thought of your baby brother being broken down into pieces of the boy he once was — it was torture. Before anyone else could regard your presence, you slipped out of Knockturn Alley and hid in the shadows of Diagon Ally.

You tipped your head back on the brick wall and simply existed. You listened to the soft wind blowing through the broken signs and the clacking of hurried feet across the bricked road. Your eyes were shut as you thumbed the engravings of three simply words on your necklace before releasing a tired sigh.

With your father in Azkaban and your mother in shambles about the entire situation, you were in charge of caring for Draco — and Merlin knows that boy could be stubborn. All you wanted to do was run away from the mess the Dark Lord created and completely leave the wizarding world, but you could never do that to your mother and brother. You could never leave him.

Taking another shaky breath, you composed yourself and entered Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. You prayed that the store would ease — distract — your mind for at least a few minutes before your mother would come find you.

And distract it did.

There were fireworks going off at every corner and the displays were so colorful you swore you were in a children’s coloring book. There were little kids running around moving staircases leading up further into the store and students testing out products that would surely get them out of class.

You only just missed a Gryffindor trying out a portable swamp. You would’ve thrown a fit if the muck got on your clothing — your aunt Andromeda gifted you the black dress for your birthday.

Tucking a strand of your platinum blonde hair behind your ear, you snuck past the love potion display and headed up the stairs, gaze glued onto a product you were a victim to many times.

Flashback: Year 3

“Why do you spend all your time trying to impress Malfoy? You know their entire family hates us.” George rested his head against his palm as he watched his twin set up an elaborate prank down the end of the dungeon hall. “More importantly, she hates you.”

“She does not!” Fred protested and settled beside him, string wrapped around one hand on his. “Besides, I just want to see one tiny little smile from her — that’s all.”

George rolled his eyes and patted his brother on the back, “Whatever you say, Freddie.”

He knew that setting dungbombs on you was not going to make you happy, but George wanted to see his twin crash and burn after your wrath. It was truly going to be a sight to see; The Slytherin Princess cursing out the Joker of Gryffindor.

Fred shoved a hand to his brother’s shoulder before peering over the half wall to spy on the students leaving the Slytherin common room. It took him weeks to memorize your schedule, and he knew Fridays were the days you would head out to the Black Lake to read.

Why willing spend your free time reading when you could do anything else? We go to a magic school, for Godric’s sake. Fred thought before shaking it off, eyes locked on your approaching figure.

Unfortunately, Frederick Gideon Weasley was about to catch you after the worst week of your life.

You were walking with your godfather when a fog of green consumed your every being. A horrid stench filled the air as you began to wave your hand in front of you face, eyes watering from how pungent the scent was. The green muck colored your blonde hair and your perfectly pressed clothes were wrinkled from how abrupt the attack was.

Snape waved his wand over the hall and scanned the growing crowd of students, piercing eyes scouring for guilty faces before scoffing. He pulled you with him and headed straight for the horrified twins he found hiding behind the stone wall.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor. Each." He glared at the Weasley boys and confiscated Fred's leftover dungbombs. "I will be owling your mother and Professor McGonagall will determine your punishments. For now, I expect you both to apologize to Miss Malfoy this instant."

You looked away from the red-haired boys, refusing to show how vulnerable you were at the moment. You were supposed to be composed and poised, but they always made your life difficult. Perhaps your father truly was right about them.

George apologized quite quickly — he knew he wasn't at fault here. On the other hand, Fred ran his fingers through his hair and met your eyes, his own widening at how cold they were. You were on the verge of tears, yet you looked like you were going to murder him.

"I'm so sorry, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—"

You shook your head and pointed a manicured nail to his chest, your grey eyes practically red. "Stay away from me, Weasley. I don't know what you and your brother have against me, but I swear to Merlin this is the very last time you prank me or my father gets your muggle obsessed father fired."

Leaving a gaping Fred and George, you whipped around toward the Slytherin common room and stayed there for the rest of the day. Snape rolled his eyes at the two boys before taking his own leave — presumably to McGonagall's office.

"Bloody hell." George rubbed his face and shook his head, eyeing his brother. He didn't know what he was thinking, but the stupid look on his face meant another stupid idea. And their pranks were rarely stupid. "What are you thinking about now?"

"How to apologize correctly."

End of Flashback

Shaking your head at the memory, you placed the colorful box of dungbombs back on the shelf and wandered across toward the stained glass window. The colors reflected their logo — purples, yellows, and oranges sticking out compared to the darkness of the current state of Diagon Alley.

More students ran behind you as they chased one another with fireworks, their shouts occupying the space. One student grabbed a Pygmy Puff and rested it on their shoulder, smiling brightly at the pink creature before running after the rest of the students.

You smiled at how joyful it truly was in this store. No matter who walked into the store, you were sure a smile instantly appeared on their faces. Turning your attention back toward the beautiful window, you noted the different shapes taking place.

Your finger traced the intricate details on the colored window, smiling at the stars decorating the edges of the logo. The stars were so messy compared to the rest of the window and you knew it was his personal touch to the logo. Especially the oh-so familiar constellation your middle name came from.

Flashback: Year 6

The Yule Ball was as entertaining as Professor Kettleburn teaching about Flobberworms. Intriguing at first but boring by the time you got to handle the actual event itself. You didn't even have a proper date because Draco or your father didn't approve of any of the men asking you. Instead, you went with a family friend from Durmstrang. But it couldn't be worse than Draco's date. He ended up taking Pansy Parkinson because he was so invested in all the different men asking you he forgot about his own date.

How pathetic.

By the end of the Yule Ball, you were already long gone. You found yourself climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower and clinging to your shawl at how frigid the air was when you made it to the top. Luckily, the sky was perfectly clear — just how you liked it when you wanted to find constellations.

You always made it your job to find your family's stars and constellations whenever you had the time, and tonight was no different. Instantly, you found aunt Andromeda's constellation, aunt Bellatrix's star, uncle Sirius' and uncle Regulus' bright stars, and your own constellation.

Right as you found your brother's dragon, you picked up on heavy footfalls ascending that staircase. You pulled your wand out only to find yourself releasing a breath of relief. If it were anyone else climbing those stairs, they would have found themselves stuck up here until someone came to counter the binding curse.

"You looked quite happy with your date." You murmured and wrapped your fingers around your necklace, allowing him to join you on your right. "Angelina Johnson?"

He hummed and looked up at the stars, "She thought I was Georgie when I asked her. Granted, I didn't think she would go with me."

"Mhm." You tilt your head to the left and gaze at his face, his features practically glowing underneath the night sky. "Did you want to ask her? To be your date, I mean."

Fred crossed his arms over the railing and met your curious stare, biting back a smile at how gorgeous you were when you didn't have to uphold your family's status. "No."

"No?"

"No." He cleared his throat and conjured a piece of parchment with a wave of his wand, unfolding the crinkled note. "I wanted to ask my dear girlfriend to the ball, but it seemed like her brother was out to get every male she encountered."

You rolled your eyes and rested your head in your palm, tucking a loose piece of blond hair behind your ear. Draco was out to get everyone for the last two months and you were glad he nor your father knew about you and Fred. It would cause an uproar between both families.

"What's that?" You gestured to the parchment in his hand, eyes gleaming with curiosity when he handed it to you. On the inside of the note, there was a messy drawing of the Lyra constellation. Each star did not look like a star, but you appreciated the effort. "When did you make this, Weasley?"

"Meant to give it to you with your Christmas Present." Fred shifted around his spot to lean back on the railing instead, keeping you in his eye line. He narrowed his eyes when you cracked the smallest smile, "What are you laughing for?"

"M'not laughing." You tuck the parchment away and school your expression. "It's just... Your stars aren't stars."

He gasped and clutched his heart in a dramatic fashion, making it seem like he was about to fall off the tower. "You wound me, princess. I worked hard on making that drawing for you."

"Well, I love it either way." You pat his chest and melt in his arms when he pulls you in, his lips kissing your forehead in an affectionate manner you were never used to. "Maybe I should put you up for drawing lessons if your Weasley products are coming out of your designs."

"George designs all our products," He countered and thumbed your green dress, the silk touch rival to the softness of your hands. "I'm merely the genius behind all charms and potions."

You hum and lace your hand with a free one of his, letting him sway the both of you to the nonexistent music. You weren't exactly sure when you stopped loathing Fred after his horrid pranks toward you, but you wouldn't change the outcome. Sure, you had to hide your entire relationship from everyone — everyone except George — but you were sure it was going to be alright eventually.

"I expect to see that brilliant mind of your displayed in a store then."

"Expect it soon." He grinned and leaned down to capture your waiting lips. "Our shop will be displayed for everyone to see, even your dear father and brother."

End of Flashback

You were so enthralled by the added constellation that you didn't notice the looming presence behind you until a voice spoke up, spooking you. Your heart was racing when you heard your name fall from the person's lips only to find the person you hadn't seen in months.

"I've been waiting for you to visit, princess." Fred crossed his arms and leaned on the shelf beside him, waving his hand to redirect a staircase toward the other side of the room, leaving the both of you isolated on a small platform of the store. "How are you feeling?"

"So tired." You whispered before wrapping yourself in his familiar hold, burying your head in his chest. "Nothing good has happened since you left, Freddie."

"I heard about your father." He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I'm sorry."

You scoffed and shook your head, eyes drawn to his crooked lapels. Straightening out his suit, you smoothed your hand over the front and curled your other hand lightly around his mustard colored tie. Despite everything going on, you attention to detail was always on. "Don't be, he deserved what was coming for him. I'm more worried about mother and Draco."

Fred nodded and scanned over your face. It was rare for him to ever worry about you — you were always so independent — but right now, you needed all the love an reassurance. He could see all the stress taking a toll on you. The makeup you wore did little to conceal the dark spots underneath your eyes. Most likely, you were in charge at home. With Lucius in jail and Narcissa worrying about her baby boy and husband, you had to handle all other affairs.

"Do you need a second away from all the chaos?" He gestured to the office a few steps away, lacing his hand with yours. "I can take a short break to hang around."

"I just needed a second away from the impending war outside." You muttered and flattened your hand over his heart, counting the beats per minute. "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes does help distract the mind."

"It does." He smiled down at you, earning a weak grin back. "Oh, come on. Let me see a big smile."

"I don't have one in me." You sigh. No matter what you did, the happy memories you had locked away in your mind wasn't enough to conjure a pure smile. You don't think it would be enough to even create a simple Patronus.

Fred kissed the back of your hand and watched your eyes light up at the simple gesture. "Just one smile, princess."

"Fred—"

"Please? I want to see if the former Slytherin Princess can still smile for the former Gryffindor Joker. Even for a split second." He murmured, pulling you closer to him until there was no room for movement. Tilting his head down to accommodate your height, he met your glossy eyes. "What?"

"I missed you." You admit and peck the corner of his lips. "Nothing at home can ever replace the feeling I get when I'm with you..."

"I think you missed." Fred tapped his lips with a singular finger, a mischievous grin replacing his innocent smile.

No matter your shared history with him, he would always be the prankster you met your first year. The same person your father warned you about since your birth. The memory of him pranking you in his third year haunted Fred like a ghost, but his apology made those ghosts disappear and hopefully — even if he didn't know the extent of your home life — he could make your ghosts disappear.

You narrow your eyes but make no move to correct your miscalculation, teasing him ever so slightly. "I don't make mistakes, Weasley."

"Sure, you don't." He dipped you and captured your soft lips with his, catching you by surprise. Hell, he even swallowed your gasp before you allowed yourself to get lost in his gesture. When he pulled away, he caught your bashful smile and tinted cheeks. "There we are."

"I feel like you broke some company conduct, Weasley." You put a hand over your mouth like you committed a crime, cheeks reddening by the second.

He shrugged, "I own the company."

"Fred." You gently smack his chest, earning a chuckle from him. Glancing at the huge clock behind him — each character that was displayed on the numbers representing a person in the Weasley family — you silently curse and separate from him, leaving one last kiss to his lips. "I have to go before mother realizes I completely left her side."

"Owl me when you can, princess." He squeezed your hand and sent you one last smile before you wandered out of the store.

Fred Weasley may have been an enemy from the beginning, but he was everything you could ever hope for. Especially when he could get a simple smile to grace your lips despite everything you have ever been through.

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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cw: possible dubcon, cheating in toxic relationship, reader is simon's dream girl.

retired simon ghost riley that dreams about having a sweet little bird to himself, adorable housewife that would make his days brighter by her tasteful cooking and little sanctuary between her supple thighs, all his to keep and devour.

that's when he meets you, sugary sweet thing that moved into his neighborhood, just a small road across his house where your own located, place slightly big for you alone to live, until he founds out you have a husband.

some disgusting likeness of a person, a man that treats you nothing like some pet, all sugary to you when someone's near, but making you carry your things all by yourself inside the house, letting himself huff at you displeased, tell you to “not annoy him„ when you suggest to say hello to the neighbors.

simon knows it's not a problem for him at this point, when someday he hears how you argue with your husband outside, for everyone near to hear, with your soft voice breaking down, hands clutched in shaking fists.

it's clear as a day that you need someone better, him, and not anyone else, not your pathetic type of a husband that makes you always wander outside alone, you need kind of a man that wouldn't make you shed your tears in vain, on the porch outside.

that's how he founds you, sitting late in the cold evening with your hands concealing your face that you can't stop wiping, your eyes and nose a watery mess, not even noticing someone approaching you.

simon's appearance makes you yelp, like a ghost appearing in front of you to snatch you away, and you jump on your legs, skittish, looking at him with hurt and distrust as you back away towards the door, until he lifts his arms in surrend and grumbles for you to “calm down, little tigress„

you do calm down, defiance slipping away under his hard and dark gaze as you mumble about what he wanted, that your husband isn't home right now if he's here for him, and it makes simon frown, all but wondering why would your husband mess with men that look like him, as you break in tears again.

little hiccups and chocked sobs slipping past your lips in broken melody, streaming down your wet cheeks and lingering on your lips where you lick them off, whimpering, and simon takes it like an opportunity.

his rough voice turning in grumbled coos, as quiet and soothing as he can muster when his hand settles on your lower back, a light touch, making his skin tingle as he tries to press you closer to him, close the distance and step away from your porch, which you do.

walking towards him on your own, where you brush against his sturdy chest gently, making him tug you in his arms for a careful hug, he knows he needs to be cautious with you, studies the way you remain a little stiff, and there's a lingering doubt in your head, because he's a stranger, an unfamiliar man, but you need this.

need these soothing cooes in your ear, a small pats on your hair as his thumb rubs circles on the small of your back, murmurs reassuringly about how “it's gonna be alright, little one„ and leads you with him, further away.

across the small road, from your house and towards his own, and you don't really resist, only hiccup brokenly about where he leads you, still attentive, smart girl that soon would be his, as he murmurs something about a cup of water.

he lurs you inside his house so easily, pressing a glass of water inside your hand and making you drink it down, cold liquid soothing your slightly raw throat, as he gazes at you openly, swallowing whole and still pressing you closer, calloused hand on your back that he can't stop rubbing.

you don't understand your own situation until he takes the empty glass from your shaking hand, as his own lifts to cup your cheek, and it's too intimate for a stranger, despite that you both live in the same neighborhood, because you barely talked once to each other, yet, it can't down the yearning inside of you.

for some care, the gentleness with which simon rubs at your cheek, looks into your still slightly damp eyes, before he lowers his face and brushes his lips carefully against yours, testing the waters.

through he's already bounded you against him, your softness brushing against his sturdy frame, and it takes nothing for him to take you apart, devour, greedy hands all over you without a fuss, every little whine and whimper devoured by simon's mouth.

devoured like your glossy pussy that he eats on the counter, perching you on the cold and harsh surface with his warm tongue ravaging the rich sweetness between your puffy folds, pink muscle wiggling inside your tight hole as he slurps and thrusts inside of you, hungry.

separating your soul from flesh and bones with his kisses, feral and ardoring touches that he softens as soon as you twitch under him, soothing you with a sharp suck on your clit that makes you mewl, shooting sparks to your eyes.

simon spares you on his cock in his own bed, on soft and dark sheets that look better with your body sprawled on them, supple flesh naked with your fat for him to grope, at your round tits, at the doughy thighs that he spreads to see the way his rudy cock nudges against your sopping and tight entrance.

he would keep you here, to himself alone, fuck you until his hips would sputter and his cock fill your pulsing hole with thick cum, intil you would pass away overstimulated and trembling, satiated, cheeks wet and warm with tears not from hurt, but from pleasure, the one simon kisses off your face while you curl on his chest and snore quietly.

you wouldn't need to come back to your husband, to the house that next day would be empty from half of the things that were belonging to him, he will disappear without a trace and leave your life as pure as if nothing had happened, letting simon keep you, make you his.

main masterlist. quidelines.

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elikajinnie · 2 months ago

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P: Psycopath!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Dark Themes, Obsession, Mentioned Stalking, Psychological Manipulation, Yandere Behavior, Murder, Mental Instability, Dubious Content, Suggestive Content, Bondage.

Synopsis: You thought Jungwon was harmless, until people around you start vanishing. When you uncover the truth, it’s too late. He’s not just obsessed. He’s in love. And he’ll kill to prove it.

a/n: I pushed everything else away for this, but still feel its kinda rushed? (Requested by @chaerrysluv ) Reblogs and comments are highly valued!!

now playing: prom queen by insane clown posse | haunted by beyonce | two face by jake daniels | worship by ari abdul

A new start, that’s all you wanted.

Leaving behind the noise, the pressure, the mess you didn’t want to keep cleaning up. The small town you found was quiet, almost too quiet, but that’s what made it perfect. A place where no one knew your name, no one asked questions, and no one expected more than a smile and a polite nod.

Your house sat at the very edge of town, nestled near the woods and close enough to the lake that you could smell the water in the morning. It was old, with needed renovations and ivy climbing the porch railings, but it felt like something you could finally call your own. Peaceful. Private. Safe.

You enjoyed the silence that came with it, no more car horns, shouting neighbors, or blaring sirens. Just birdsong in the morning, wind brushing through the trees, and the occasional creak of the old house settling into itself. It was a kind of quiet that made you feel like you could finally breathe.

You had two neighbors, though you’d only officially met one—Minjae. Odd guy, always smelled like spices and coffee, but he was good at small talk, although he was an asshole. He’d mentioned your other neighbor once, in passing. Jungwon.

Apparently, Jungwon didn’t come out much during the day. Liked his solitude. Kept to himself.

Which explains why you hadn’t seen a hairstrand of him, and it had been over a week.

Minjae had laughed it off. Said something like, “He’s not the social type, don’t take it personally.”

You hadn’t thought much of it at the time. Some people just liked to be left alone.

But your curiosity still gnawed at you.

Jungwon’s house sat just a few trees away from your own, the rooftop visible through the gaps in the branches. And yet you never heard anything. Not the hum of a television. Not a door creaking open. Not even footsteps on the gravel path leading up to it.

It made you wonder if anyone even lived there at all.

There were no lights in the windows at night. The mailbox stayed empty, the yard overgrown but not quite wild. As if someone tended to it, just barely enough to keep up appearances.

Once or twice, you thought you saw movement behind the curtains, just a twitch, just a shift of shadow—but when you blinked, it was gone.

You tried to ignore it. Told yourself you were being dramatic.

After all, there had to be a reason Jungwon wasn’t so… well, social. Maybe he had anxiety, or health issues. Maybe he worked from home and liked his privacy. It wasn’t your business—people had their own lives, their own routines. Still, he’d have to leave the house eventually. For groceries, at least.

But every time you drove past his house on your way to the main road, the garage door was shut tight. The curtains stayed drawn. No porch lights flicked on, no signs of life behind the windows just stillness. As if the house had fallen asleep and never quite woken up again.

Sometimes you’d linger a second too long at the stop sign near his driveway, eyes scanning for movement.

Nothing.

and you tried not to think too hard about it.

Until… well, until you had to.

Because you saw him.

For the first time in a whole fucking month you caught sight of him.

It was late, the kind of late where the town felt like it didn’t exist. You couldn’t sleep, your head too full, so you decided on a walk to clear your mind. The air was cool, crisp, the scent of pine thick around you.

You hadn’t even looked toward his house at first. But something, some shift, some instinct made your eyes flick in that direction.

And there he was.

Standing just at the edge of his porch, his head was tilted slightly, like he was listening. Like he’d heard you coming. He wasn’t doing anything special. Just… standing. Watching with his eyes on you.

You froze.

For a second—less than that, really you wondered if he was sleepwalking. Or if he’d heard something outside. Maybe he’d just stepped out for air, like you.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t speak.

Just stood there, staring like you were the unusual thing here. Like you were the one being observed.

Your heart picked up.

You gave a tight nod, a polite gesture, and turned your feet back toward your driveway.

You didn’t go on that walk.

After that night, things changed. You started seeing Jungwon more and more. Never during the day—never when others were around. Only in fleeting moments, when the world was still and the street lay empty under the quiet hush of twilight. Sometimes it was random. A glimpse of him at the edge of the trees when you stepped out to water the garden. His figure crossing behind a window as you passed by on your evening run. Always distant. Always brief. Other times… it felt timed. Too perfectly timed. Like the moment you’d open your front door to leave for work, and there he’d be, standing just outside his garage, as if he’d been waiting. Not doing anything, not even pretending to look busy. Just there. Eyes meeting yours for a fraction too long before he'd turn and vanish inside again.

Or the night you came home late, headlights sweeping across his driveway and caught him sitting on his porch steps in the dark, staring down the road. He didn’t flinch at the light. Didn’t look away. You locked your doors extra tight that night. You told yourself it was coincidence. A weird neighbor with a weird schedule. Nothing more. But the sightings kept happening. And soon, you realized—you weren’t just noticing him. He was watching you notice him. And not once, not ever, did he smile.

It got harder to pretend it was just coincidence.

Especially when it kept happening. When your door creaked open for the mail and he was suddenly at his window. When you went to take out the trash and heard footsteps stop like someone had been walking and suddenly paused.

And it was always just too late to catch him in the act.

Until the night it wasn’t.

You’d been out late, visiting the small 24-hour market on the edge of town, grabbing tea and snacks to distract yourself from the way your nerves had been crawling lately. The streets were empty on your walk back, save for the steady crunch of gravel under your shoes.

You turned the corner to your street and nearly dropped the bag.

Jungwon was standing in front of your house.

Not near it. Not passing by.

In front of it.

Facing your door. Like he’d been knocking. Or about to.

But he didn’t flinch when he saw you. Didn’t seem startled at all. Instead, he turned to face you slowly, as if he’d known you were coming all along. And then, he smiled.

Not a small smile. Not a polite one.

A wide, bright grin that split his face in a way that was so perfect, with dimples creasing both cheeks so deep it made him look innocent.

That was the first thing you noticed—his dimples.

The second was how his eyes looked. Catlike. Slanted and sharp, like he was amused by something only he understood. His nose scrunched slightly as he spoke, voice light and pleasant.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, holding out a medium-sized box. “This was left on my porch this morning. Must’ve been delivered to the wrong house.”

You blinked, caught completely off guard. His tone was so casual. So normal.

“I figured I’d give it to you myself. Didn’t want it to get wet or anything,” he said, flashing another grin.

And just like that everything you’d suspected about him, the unease and the quiet dread… it all slipped quietly out the window.

Because how could someone with a smile like that be dangerous?

“Thank you,” you said quietly, reaching out to take the box from his hands.

Your fingers brushed his.

And for a second, you paused.

He wasn’t cold exactly, not like ice but there was a definite chill to him. Like he’d been standing outside far longer than you’d thought. Or.. like the warmth just didn’t quite reach his skin the way it should.

Still, he didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“You always keep your lights on late,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was sharing a secret. “It makes the street look… nicer. Brighter.” His eyes flicked to your porch light, then back to you. “Makes it feel less lonely out here.”

You gave a small smile, unsure of what to say. Trying to steer the conversation somewhere more neutral, you asked, “Have you lived here long?”

He nodded. “Long enough,” he said easily. “I know this town like the back of my hand. Every street. Every shortcut. Every sound the woods make when the wind picks up.” Then, with another smile—this one smaller, more thoughtful he added, “I think I was here before most people on this block.”

There was something in the way he said it. Not proud. Just… certain.

Like this place was his long before it had ever been yours.

You held the box a little tighter to your chest, not out of fear, but instinct. There was something about Jungwon that kept you suspended between comfort and unease, it was like he balanced delicately on a wire stretched between charming and unknowable.

He didn’t move right away. Just stood there, eyes flicking between you and the soft glow coming from your windows. “I’m glad you moved here,” he said suddenly, voice lower this time, like it wasn’t meant to be heard too loudly. “It’s nice having someone new on the street.”

You offered a tight smile, nodding slightly. “Yeah… it’s been nice so far. Quiet.”

He hummed at that. “It’s always quiet. That’s why I like it.”

A pause.

Then, he took a single step back, giving you space.

“Well,” he said, dimples flashing again, “I’ll let you get back inside. Long day, I’m guessing.”

You gave a quiet “yeah,” not entirely trusting your voice.

He nodded once more, then walked towards his house without another word. He didn’t rush. Didn’t even glance back.

But you watched him the entire time until his figure disappeared into his house, where the lights seemingly never seemed to turn on.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Jungwon let out a slow breath and leaned back against it, eyes fluttering shut.

So pretty. So flawless. Smells good. So lovely. So unmarked. Can’t stop wanting. Need. Desire. I need. All mine.

The thoughts circled like vultures, silent and persistent, scratching at the corners of his mind. They’d come on strong the second your fingers brushed his, just one small touch, but it had burned into his skin like a brand. A delicate moment, but to him, it felt like the world tipping off its axis.

He dragged his hands down his face and clenched his fists tightly at his sides, nails digging crescents into his palms.

Resist.

His breath shuddered.

Don’t want to.

You were just so... warm. So real. The light from your door still echoed behind his eyes, the shape of your smile hauntingly clear.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep grounded. Had to remind himself not to get carried away. But even then, the restraint was paper-thin.

Need. Must have.

He opened his eyes slowly.

Then rubbed his face with both hands, dragging them down with a muffled groan before tossing his head back to look up at the ceiling. “God,” he breathed, a strained laugh curling at the edge of his voice. “This is ridiculous.”

He groaned again, this time quieter, as if giving in to something he’d been fighting for too long. The thoughts were too loud tonight. Too vivid. You had been right there. Smiling. Talking. Trusting.

He let his hands fall to his sides, fingers twitching.

And then… he smiled.

Not from joy.

From surrender.

Because it was over now, any hope of pretending he didn’t want you. Of pretending this was something he could control.

You were close. Too close.

And that was all he needed.

Because in his mind, you belonged here. With him.

You weren’t much of a morning person. Waking up was always a slow, miserable process, each second before your alarm spent burrowed under warm covers, clinging to the last traces of sleep.

Although recently… sleep hadn’t been so kind.

You’d been plagued by dreams. Vivid ones. The kind that jolted you awake in the early hours, chest heaving, skin clammy, heart pounding like you’d sprinted through a nightmare, but they weren’t nightmares. Not exactly.

Because every time, it was the same.

Jungwon.

His face. Too close. Too clear. Smiling like he knew something you didn’t. Eyes dark and unreadable. His voice softer than usual, lower, like a whisper curling against your ear, warm and invasive, sending shivers down your spine. His hands… you didn’t even want to think about his hands. But you did.

Even now, you could feel the phantom sensation of them trailing along your arm, brushing your waist, resting against your throat like a promise.

And every time you closed your eyes, you saw it all again.

You hated how real it felt. Hated how your body reacted. Most of all… you hated how it left you wide awake, every damn night, staring at the ceiling in silence.

And you didn’t even know why you reacted like this.

You’d only had one real conversation with him—one—but your mind and body refused to let it go. It looped endlessly, the smile he gave you, the way his fingers brushed yours, the soft timbre of his voice as he spoke your name like he’d practiced it before. It wasn’t normal. None of this was normal.

But maybe that was on you.

Maybe it was your own fault for always falling for the morally grey characters in books and movies. For crushing on the charming villains. For feeling your heart skip a beat when the dangerous ones smirked from across the screen. You liked characters with sharp edges. Broken things. The ones that looked at the world like it was something they wanted to hold and tear apart all at once.

And Jungwon… well. He had that look.

The kind that made you wonder what he was thinking. What he wanted.

Even if he gave off a strange, unsettling vibe sometimes.

You really tried to put distance between yourself and Jungwon. It should’ve been easy right? After all, the guy was practically a ghost. Barely ever seen outside his house, silent as the shadows that clung to the edges of the street. You thought avoiding him would be simple. You told yourself it was just your imagination running wild, that the strange pull you felt wasn’t real.

But it wasn’t that simple.

Somehow, in the span of just a few days, you’d become a light and Jungwon the firefly, constantly drawn to you. The harder you tried to keep your distance, the closer he seemed to come. It was like the universe had conspired to make you the one person who could pull him out of the shadows.

You weren’t sure if it was just curiosity that kept making you look, kept making you wait just a little longer for the next chance encounter.

And no matter how much you told yourself to look away, to keep moving, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was exactly where he wanted to be, lingering just at the edge of your life, waiting for you to let him in.

You weren’t the only one who had noticed Jungwon’s strange behavior—or rather, his rare appearances. One afternoon, as you were closing the gate to your little house, Minjae’s car pulled up smoothly beside you. He rolled down the window with a friendly grin, starting up a conversation like he always did. It was lighthearted, normal chatter about the weather and how quiet the neighborhood had been lately.

Then, without warning, Minjae lifted his hand and waved toward something behind you. You turned around instinctively, following the direction of his motion, and your eyes locked onto a figure standing on the porch of the house next door.

Jungwon.

He was just standing there, still as a statue, but his eyes were fixed entirely on you. Not just glancing or casually watching, but staring, like he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. Your heart skipped a beat, and you found, almost against your will, that you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.

It was Minjae’s voice that pulled you back to reality. “You know,” he said with a half-laugh, ��you’re a miracle worker.”

You blinked, puzzled. “What?”

He nodded toward Jungwon again, still watching you from his porch. “I mean, look at him. He barely leaves the house, right? And now here he is, actually outside, and you’re the reason. You’ve somehow brought Jungwon out of his shell.”

You chuckled nervously, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I don’t know about that. I’m just living my life.”

Minjae smirked, obviously not convinced. “Come on, tell me your secret. What did you do to make the impossible happen?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off, but Minjae was insistent. Then, with a casual ease that made you pause, he said, “Honestly, only someone as pretty as you could make that kind of miracle happen.”

The words hung in the air, but something about them felt… off.

It wasn’t like when Jungwon would call you pretty. That compliment was different, almost shy, like it came from a place of quiet admiration. The way he said it made you feel seen in a way that was almost tender.

Minjae’s words, on the other hand, felt like a label. Like an objectifying gaze, rather than genuine praise. It was as if he saw you as a prize or a tool, a way to coax Jungwon out, rather than a person in your own right.

You forced a smile, but inside, a little knot of discomfort tightened.

With Jungwon, you often found yourself wondering why he isolated himself from the world. When he was with you, he was warm, engaging even charming in that quiet way of his. He made you laugh, made you feel seen. There were times when you completely forgot he was ever the reclusive neighbor you’d only heard about from a distance. Around you, he seemed normal. Happy, even.

And maybe that was what made the contrast so jarring when you tried to leave.

It started small.

“Stay a little longer,” he’d say, voice quiet, hopeful. “Just until the rain lets up.” Even when there was barely a drizzle.

Or, “I made coffee. Your favorite,” even though you never actually told him what that was.

Little things. Little excuses. And the more time you spent with him, the more you began to realize that he didn’t want you to leave him.

He’d linger at your gate, walking you out only to hold onto your sleeve as you turned to go. His fingers would brush your wrist and he’d offer one more reason. “It gets so quiet when you’re gone.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that.

There was a neediness to it—not desperate, or dramatic but quietly intense. Like he wasn’t just fond of you, but dependent on your presence to stay grounded. You noticed how his shoulders drooped when you said goodbye, how his gaze followed you all the way until you disappeared from sight. How sometimes, when you didn’t come by, he’d appear at your door with some vague excuse, or a “hey, just checking in.”

He never said the words, but you could feel them lingering between you...

Please stay. Don’t go.

But you would never admit the fact that you kind of… liked the feeling. There was something about the way Jungwon looked at you, like you were the center of his universe. Like your presence alone kept his world spinning. He was a yearning man—and you were into it. Maybe it was a little twisted. Maybe it should’ve creeped you out. But it didn’t.

It made you feel wanted. Needed. Chosen.

And that quiet hunger in his eyes? It was hard to ignore. Harder not to feel a little thrill every time you caught it.

You were, in fact, so distracted by Jungwon the past week, your thoughts wrapped in the way he said your name, the way he smiled when you laughed that you hadn’t even noticed something else. Something small. Something strange.

You hadn’t seen Minjae.

Not once.

No casual waves as he passed by in his sportscar. No afternoon chit-chat over the fence. No light in his front window. The last time you remembered speaking to him was that day outside your gate. When Minjae had joked that you were a miracle worker for dragging Jungwon out of hiding. When he’d called you pretty.

That compliment still sat uncomfortably in your mind. Not because it was unwelcome, but because it felt... off. Too direct. Too aware of something you hadn’t even admitted to yourself yet. Something that made your skin itch under the surface.

You shook the thought off again.

Minjae was probably just busy. Or out of town. People had lives. You shouldn’t overthink it.

Still, you felt it was suspicious.

Minjae was the kind of neighbor who always made his presence known. Whether it was a wave from his porch, a casual comment over the fence, or him pulling up just to chat—he was there. Almost too often, sometimes. So for him to just vanish without so much as a goodbye? No lights on at night. No deliveries left on his doorstep. No sound from his side of the street.

It didn’t sit right with you.

You told yourself not to spiral, not to start imagining worst-case scenarios. You weren’t in a movie, and Minjae was probably just on vacation. People disappeared for a few days all the time. But something about the stillness around his house made your gut twist.

So when you finally gathered the courage to ask Jungwon—half-laughing, trying to keep it casual “Hey, have you seen Minjae around lately?”

He didn’t laugh with you.

He just looked at you for a moment too long, head tilting ever so slightly. Then that same soft smile returned to his face, and he said, “People like him tend to drift off when they’re not needed anymore.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d heard right. “What do you mean by that?” you asked, trying to sound casual. Curious, not alarmed. But there was an edge to your voice even you couldn’t mask.

Jungwon didn’t answer right away. He just kept smiling. That same soft, calm expression that had started to feel more and more like a mask. Like something carefully placed.

Finally, he shrugged lightly, looking off toward the trees lining the back of your neighborhood. “Some people... they like being in everyone’s business. Always asking questions. Watching. They forget their place.” He looked back at you then. “Eventually, they get bored. Or they bother the wrong person. And then they leave.”

His words were still gentle. His tone kind. But something about them felt heavy. Measured. Too intentional to be offhanded.

You laughed, nervous. “You say that like it happens often.”

Jungwon leaned a little closer, eyes gleaming like he knew something you didn’t. “In small towns,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “it happens more than you’d think.” Then he straightened again, brushing invisible dust from his sweater like nothing had happened. “Anyway,” he added brightly, “you’ll be fine. You’re not like him.”

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah?”

Jungwon nodded slowly, but his gaze shifted over your shoulder before he could answer. His eyes narrowed just a little, then lit up, like he’d spotted something that genuinely delighted him. “Oh—” he said suddenly, voice perking up. “You got new flowers for your porch!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone. “Oh… yeah,” you said, turning to glance at the small planter box near your front step. “Picked them up yesterday. Thought the place needed some color.”

“They suit you,” Jungwon said warmly, stepping closer to peer at them like they were the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. “Bright. Soft. Kind of hard to ignore.”

You swallowed, unsure if he meant the flowers at this point or you.

He crouched down slightly, fingers brushing the edge of one bloom without picking it. “You’ve really made this place yours,” he murmured.

You looked at him, unsettled by the way his attention lingered on the petals like they were something precious. Fragile. “Did you… ever talk to the people who lived here before me?” you asked quietly.

Jungwon stood again, that easy smile back on his face. “No,” he said simply. “They weren’t worth getting to know.” And just like that, he turned to you again. “Want help watering them later this week? I’m good with plants.” His head tilted. “Or I could teach you.”

Your heart beat faster, but you nodded slowly, trying not to let it show.

“Sure,” you said. “Maybe.”

Jungwon’s smile widened. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

As time passed, the line between comfort and dependency blurred.

Jungwon had a way of filling your space without ever overwhelming it. A warm smile, a quiet presence, a helping hand before you even asked. He was always there when you needed something. A lightbulb fixed, a jar opened, a walk shared when you were feeling low. It felt natural. Easy.

You didn’t even notice how often you reached for your phone to text him before anyone else. You didn’t notice how you hadn’t seen Minjae or anyone else, really in weeks. It wasn’t like you meant to drift from the rest of the town. You were just busy. Focused. Comfortable.

Jungwon made it easy to forget.

He never told you to stop going into town. He never said you couldn’t visit others. But somehow, whenever you tried, something got in the way. Plans fell through. People stopped responding. Your car wouldn’t start. A “small accident” at the store left you rattled, and Jungwon was the only one who showed up to help.

“Coincidences,” he’d hum, brushing your hair back from your face. “This town’s weird sometimes, isn’t it?”

You’d nod, resting against him. Trusting him. Because he was safe. He was there.

You didn’t question why you always felt so tired when he wasn’t around. Why it felt wrong to laugh too loudly with anyone else.

Jungwon never rushed. Never forced.

He was a slow, calculated tide that wore down your edges until all that remained was his shape. His name on your lips. His hands that you reached for. His words that echoed in your head late at night.

You didn’t notice the strings he tied around you. Not until they were woven too deep to undo.

Because why would you?

Jungwon was your sweet, harmless, and totally normal (handsome) neighbor. The kind of guy who remembered your coffee order after hearing it once. Who fixed your mailbox without asking. Who brought you soup when you had a cold and stayed just long enough to make sure you took your meds. Who smiled like the sun only rose if you were there to see it.

Sure, there were tiny moments, flickering seconds where something darker peeked through. Like when his voice dropped just a little too low when someone else said your name. Or how his eyes didn’t follow the conversation, but followed you. How once, just once, you saw red stains on his sleeve, and he brushed it off with a laugh: “Cooking mishap, you know how clumsy I can be.”

You had blinked, hesitated and then smiled back. Because he was so normal about it, so casual, that you felt silly for even asking.

Because every time your instincts whispered run, Jungwon countered with warmth, with gentle words and soft chuckles. He smoothed over your worries like wrinkles in a bedsheet. Wrapped you in the illusion that you were safe, wanted, loved. And eventually, you stopped listening to that inner voice. Because it was easier. Safer, in a way. After all… it wasn’t like he was hurting you.

Right?

Just caring for you.

in his way.

And in fact, that was his downfall.

He had gotten too close. Too used to your warmth, your attention, your trust.

That’s why it didn’t feel wrong to surprise him. It felt sweet. Thoughtful. Just like all the little surprises he gave you. And after all, he hadn’t been feeling well lately, said he was tired, worn down. So you had baked him muffins, his favorite kind, warm and sweet with a hint of cinnamon. You even wrapped them in a cloth to keep them from getting cold.

Smiling to yourself, you made your way up his driveway, your breath puffing softly in the chilly evening air. The trees rustled around you, the old swing on his porch creaking slightly in the wind. You bent by the old tree stump and lifted the loose bark, retrieving the spare key he didn’t think you knew about. But of course you did. Jungwon always forgot how observant you could be.

You turned the lock and pushed open the door.

Darkness. As always.

The thick blackout curtains were drawn tight, swallowing all natural light. You stepped inside and closed the door gently behind you, the soft click echoing a bit too loudly for your liking. The air was still. Cool. That unnatural cold that clung to his house no matter the season. You had always teased him about it. "You live like a vampire, Won," but he’d just smiled and said your place was cozier anyway.

Balancing the plate of muffins in your hands, you bent to untie your shoes, calling out lightly, “Jungwon? I brought you something!”

Silence.

You straightened, furrowing your brows. That was odd. Usually by now, he’d be thundering down the stairs like an excited puppy, a grin on his face and the dimples you secretly adored showing.

But nothing.

Just quiet.

You stood still for a moment, letting your eyes adjust to the dimness. The only sound was the low hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the faint creak of the house. You stepped further in, your socks brushing against the cool wood floors.

“Won?” you called again, voice a little softer this time. A little more cautious.

Still no answer.

Weird.

Your fingers curled tighter around the plate. Maybe he was asleep? Maybe he’d taken something for the headache he’d mentioned and was knocked out? That wouldn’t be unusual.

But even as you told yourself that, something felt… off.

You moved deeper into the house, past the living room where the furniture was always too clean, too untouched. Like it was for show, not use.

“Jungwon?” you called again, softer now, unsure if you wanted an answer. Confusion gnawed at you. He was always here. He always answered. Even when tired, he’d greet you with a smile. So where the hell was he?

You turned back toward the front door, heart picking up as you considered just going home and calling him later. But then—

Your eyes dropped to the floor.

Your steps faltered.

There, near the hallway that led toward the kitchen, a faint discoloration marred the wooden boards. Faint streaks that stood out starkly against the polished surface. You took a slow, cautious step forward and crouched down, squinting.

Stains.

Your brows furrowed. Wet-looking. Dark.

Your fingers twitched, tempted to reach out but you stopped yourself. That wasn’t juice. That wasn’t water. And Jungwon… Jungwon hated mess. He vacuumed twice a week. He color-coded his closet. He folded your hoodie when you left it on a chair once and jokingly called it “chaos.”

You stood, pulse quickening now, and looked further ahead. The stains didn’t stop there, they trailed forward in uneven drags. Like something had been pulled.

You followed, slow, careful steps guiding you past the silent kitchen. The stains eventually stopped at a door you hadn’t paid much attention to before.

A door with a padlock that was now hanging open.

You stared at it.

This was the basement.

You remembered him telling you offhandedly, once, that he didn’t like going down there. Said it was dusty, cluttered, not worth the trouble. And you’d believed him. Why wouldn’t you?

But now? Now as you stood with a clear head?

Now that excuse felt wrong. Off-key. Hollow.

Because how could someone like Jungwon, so meticulous leave a whole part of his house in disarray? Let it sit, untouched, messy? It didn’t add up. Not when everything else about him screamed control. Cleanliness. Perfection.

You reached out slowly, fingers brushing the cool metal of the doorknob. You hesitated, your heart thudding heavily in your chest. Something was wrong. You felt it. Knew it. But curiosity.. It had already sunk its teeth in.

Hesitantly, you fully opened the door, cringing at the sharp clang as the padlock slipped from its hook and hit the wooden floor. The sound echoed louder than expected, like it didn’t belong in the stillness of this place. You froze, ears straining.

Nothing. No footsteps. No sound of Jungwon calling out. Just silence.

You exhaled, slow and shaky, then leaned over to peer down the narrow staircase. It was steep, poorly lit, and the air wafting up from below hit you like a wall.

Metallic.

Old.

Foul.

You wrinkled your nose, instinctively covering it with your sleeve. “Jesus, Jungwon…” you muttered to yourself, trying to play off the chill climbing up your spine, “you seriously need to find the source of that smell. It’s atrocious.”

With the plate of muffins still awkwardly cradled in your arm, you gripped the banister and took your first step down. Each board creaked beneath your weight, announcing your presence. You moved slowly, not even sure why you were whispering your movements into the quiet.

The further you descended, the colder it became. Not the kind of cold that came from lack of heating but the kind that sank into your skin, heavy and unnatural.

Jesus, Jungwon really sets the basement mood, you thought bitterly, forcing a weak laugh that died in your throat as soon as it left your lips.

Your foot hit the cold concrete at the base of the stairs, and with trembling fingers, you reached up to tug the dangling string of a single bulb. The old lamp crackled, flickered once, and then sputtered to life with a low buzz.

The basement flooded in dim, yellow light and your breath caught in your throat.

You were going to be sick.

In the corner, a cluster of large black waste bags were stacked on top of each other like a grotesque sculpture. The floor beneath them was stained dark red, the sticky sheen of old blood glistening faintly in the light.

Your gaze jerked to the wall, where tools hung in a perfect, obsessive arrangement, neat and polished, despite the horror of their placement. But the table directly beneath them… that was a different story.

The tools there were used. Bloodied, dried chunks clinging to their edges. A bone saw. A scalpel. Pliers. Things no sane person kept in their basement.

Your knees nearly gave out as your eyes swept further across the room and that’s when you saw them.

Chains.

Heavy metal chains hanging from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if someone had moved them just moments ago. And in the far right corner, barely lit by the bulb, a man was hanging by his wrists. His head lolled forward, body limp. Blood soaked his shirt, streaked down his arms. You couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead.

Behind him, resting too casually on another worktable, was a chainsaw—massive, streaked in fresh crimson, its handle glistening.

You dropped the plate of muffins.

It shattered on the floor, ceramic and chocolate scattering across the bloodstained concrete like confetti at the world’s sickest celebration.

Your breath hitched, your pulse roaring in your ears.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Your body was shaking, your head reeling. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or throw up—or both. The sight before you was grotesque, a sickly distortion of everything you thought you knew. Your skin felt too tight for your body, your lungs too small for your breath. Panic buzzed like static under your skin, your heart pounding so violently in your chest you swore it would give out.

The air smelled like rust and rot. The kind of scent that clung to your clothes and hair.

You wanted to cry, but your body was in too much shock to produce tears. Your eyes just stung, dry and wide, unable to blink, unable to look away.

And then—your gaze lifted.

A cork board.

Right in front of you.

That’s what made you move. That’s what made your brain finally snap into place, as your body responded before your mind could even fully comprehend it. You stumbled back with a choked breath.

The cork board was covered in photos. All of you.

Some were recent—your walk to the grocery store last Thursday, when you thought you felt someone watching you. You sipping coffee on your porch. You closing your gate behind you. You in your kitchen window, tying your hair up. One of you sleeping... inside your bedroom.

Your knees gave out and you hit the floor, palms scraping against the concrete. A dry sob wracked through your chest.

They were pinned in perfect rows, marked with little notes scribbled underneath in tight, obsessive handwriting.

“Blue sweater. Pretty. Smiled at me today.” “Talked to Minjae. Upset.” “Slept at 2:43 AM. Dreaming again?” “Jealous. Looked too long at cashier.” “No one else but you”

And beneath the board, on a small table, a journal. You didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to know, but your body moved on its own. You flipped it open, and it was pages and pages of more—more pictures, sketches, descriptions. Timelines.

You were being studied.

Stalked.

Catalogued like a beloved pet or a future possession.

You were so caught up in the horror you didn’t notice anything else until a soft giggle rang out behind you.

You whipped around so fast it made your vision blur, the motion jerking your whole body like a snap. Whiplash shot through your neck and shoulders, but it didn’t matter.

Because standing there… was Jungwon.

His clothes were spattered in red. His face, normally so calm and sweet, now twisted into something else. Something delighted. Like he was genuinely happy to see you.

And in his hands… was the chainsaw.

You glanced to your left. The one you’d just seen moments ago on the table. The same one. But he hadn’t passed you.. Hadn’t made a sound... How had he—

Jungwon giggled again, eyes raking over you from head to toe like you were his favorite thing in the world. His tongue peeked out to wet his lips, and then he tilted his head, speaking in that same gentle, lilting voice he always used when he dropped by your porch with tea or borrowed sugar.

“I told you not to come, didn’t I, baby?” he said, voice light and lilting. “Told you I didn’t want you catching whatever I have.”

He smiled again, wider this time.

Like this was all some elaborate joke. Like he wasn’t holding something meant for destruction. Like he hadn’t just shattered the thin glass of the world you thought you understood.

Your heart thudded so loudly it drowned out everything else. You didn’t know whether to run… Or scream. Or beg.

You tried to speak, but your throat tightened and your words caught in a choking sob. “Please… just leave me alone,” you managed to choke out, voice trembling and barely a whisper. “I don’t want.. I don’t want any of this. Just… go away.”

Jungwon didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He simply stood there, watching you with those cold, catlike eyes that seemed to pierce right through you before he let out a short, almost amused laugh. “That was… cute,” he said, tilting his head to the side like you were an interesting puzzle. “But no,” he whispered, his voice dropping into something softer, almost tender, but no less chilling. “I would never leave you alone. Not now. Not ever.” He stepped closer, the chainsaw forgotten at his side as his gaze locked onto yours. “You’re everything I need. Everything I want.”

Jungwon set the chainsaw down with unnerving gentleness, as his fingers found the thick, bloodied rope hanging from the handle and tightened it around his hands with slow movements, his gaze never once leaving you. His eyes were heavy-lidded and glassy, like he was somewhere far away, but still utterly focused on you.

“This won’t hurt at all, baby,” he said in a dazed, almost hypnotic tone, each word dripping with unsettling sweetness. “Just need you to stay still…”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, panic exploding inside your chest. Desperation drove your hand to the nearest object on the table: a heavy, cold wrench. You gripped it tightly and swung with everything you had, hoping to catch him off guard.

But Jungwon was faster. His hand shot out like a striking snake, wrapping around your wrist and halting your movement mid-air. A shock ran through you when you realized the wrench was stained with fresh, sticky blood—your fingers now coated in it, too. Your stomach turned violently, bile rising.

You let out a raw, terrified scream, the sound tearing through the heavy, silent air of the basement. You struggled, twisting and pulling to free yourself from his grip, but he only pressed you harder against the unforgiving surface of the table.

Jungwon’s lips parted in a chilling, high-pitched giggle as his voice dropped to a whisper, laced with cruel amusement “No one can hear you scream. I soundproofed the basement myself.”

Before you could fully register the weight of his words, he gripped the bloodied rope tightly in his hand. Without hesitation, he wrapped it swiftly around one of your wrists, the coarse fibers biting into your skin as he pulled it tight, securing the knot with a practiced hand. Your pulse raced, panic flooding your senses, and just as he reached for your other wrist to bind it as well, a sudden surge of desperation propelled you into action.

With every ounce of strength, you drove your knee sharply into his groin. The sound of his breath catching was almost as loud as your pounding heartbeat. Jungwon groaned, doubling over in pain, clutching himself, his grip on the rope loosening instantly.

The moment was yours.

You stumbled backward, adrenaline lending power to your legs, and pushed past him, your breath coming out in ragged gasps as you scrambled toward the stairs. Each step felt like it dragged you closer to freedom, even as your body screamed for relief.

When you reached the basement door, you threw yourself against it with everything you had. The door slammed open with a brutal crash, echoing off the walls as it violently hit the wall. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before scrambling upright, ignoring the sharp sting of the rope cutting into your left wrist as you moved.

Your mind was racing, heart hammering painfully against your ribs, drowning out Jungwon’s desperate shouts trailing behind you.

“Wait! Don’t leave me! Please! Come back!”

Panic surged through your veins, and you forced your legs to carry you faster, your bare feet slipping inside your damp socks as you stumbled out into the cold night air. The back door was just steps away, the only real chance for escape. Your fingers fumbled with the handle, finally wrenching it open as you spilled out into the wild darkness of the forest.

The trees stood tall and unyielding, shadows blending with the night sky, but you didn’t hesitate. Moss cushioned your frantic footsteps as you pushed forward, branches clawing at your arms and face, but you barely registered the scratches. Your entire focus was on putting distance between yourself and that suffocating basement.

Behind you, the dreadful sound started low at first, the unmistakable growl of a chainsaw revving to life. It cut through the stillness of the night like a predator’s roar, and terror twisted in your gut. Your breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning as you pushed harder, every muscle screaming in protest.

The chainsaw’s roar grew louder, relentless, a nightmare chasing you through the forest’s tangled embrace. Your eyes darted around wildly, searching for any glimmer of safety, any break in the endless trees. But all you could do was run, run with every ounce of strength you had left because behind you, the nightmare was catching up.

Every time your foot caught on an exposed root or a patch of uneven earth, you hit the forest floor hard but every time, you pushed yourself back up. Dirt clung to your hands, leaves stuck to your clothes, and your knees throbbed from the falls. Still, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

You cursed yourself silently. Running into the forest had been a mistake. The fear had taken over, and your only thought had been escape, an exit, any exit. In the rush, you’d completely forgotten the front door, the one that opened onto the street, onto people, onto safety. But now you were too deep. You couldn’t even see Jungwon’s house anymore, and turning back wasn’t an option.

The only thing keeping you from breaking down entirely was the quiet.

The chainsaw was gone.

The loud, gut-churning roar that had chased you through the trees had faded, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the whisper of wind through the branches. You slowed to a stop near a cluster of tall pine trees, bracing yourself against one of them as you struggled to steady your breath. Your chest rose and fell in quick, sharp movements, heart still pounding in your ears.

The silence was eerie, but it was also the first chance you had to really think.

Maybe he gave up.

Maybe he couldn’t track you in here.

You let out a shaky exhale, closing your eyes. The rope still tied around your wrist felt heavier now, a bitter reminder.

Then— A breath.

Not yours.

It ghosted over your neck before a low, almost gentle voice said, “There you are.”

Your blood turned to ice.

Jungwon’s arms came around you like a lover’s embrace, one hand pressing over your mouth before you could scream. The other wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He was warm. His heartbeat against your spine was steady. Calm. Unlike yours.

“You really made me chase you,” he whispered, sounding more amused than angry. “That was naughty, bunny.”

You shook your head, whimpering under his palm. He just chuckled, leaning closer so his breath brushed your ear.

“Did you really think you could run from me? After everything we’ve shared?” His voice dropped, coaxing. Mocking. “After all the time I spent making you mine?” He slowly pulled his hand away from your mouth, waiting to see if you’d scream. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Fear had strangled your voice.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispered sweetly, brushing your hair back with blood-stained fingers. “Let’s go home now.” His tone was gentle, coaxing… but behind it, there was iron. Finality. You could feel it in your bones.

You didn’t resist as he turned you in his arms. Not yet. Not now. But your mind was racing. Because if you were going to survive this, you’d need to be smarter. Smarter than him. Smarter than the sweet nightmare with a smile stitched in lies.

You let him lead you back—half pulled, half dragged—through the forest. Your wrists were bound tightly in front of you with the same rope he’d tried to use before, now knotted so expertly there was no hope of slipping free. The scratch of branches against your skin barely registered. Your mind was a blur of white noise and racing thoughts, flipping through options you didn’t have.

Jungwon didn’t speak as he walked. His grip on your arm was firm but not painful, almost like he thought this was normal. Like he believed this was still salvageable. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He looked content enough.

You needed a plan.

Something.

Anything.

That’s when you saw it up ahead—the ravine. It wasn’t huge, but the drop was enough to matter. The slope wasn’t a sheer cliff, but it was uneven, slick with moss and just far enough across that it might buy you time. If you could make it.

You had one shot.

You slowed your steps, carefully adjusting your breathing as if you were calming down, eyes softening when you glanced at Jungwon. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, just above a whisper, letting your voice tremble with fake vulnerability. “You scared me… that’s all.”

He stopped, blinking down at you like you’d just confessed something precious. His expression melted into something close to adoration, lips parting slightly.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” he said, voice so soft it nearly caught in the breeze. “I just want to take care of you.”

That was your cue.

You leaned forward, lifting your bound hands like you were going to touch his face. He leaned in instinctively—lovesick and completely unaware.

Perfect.

With everything you had, you pulled your fists back and slammed them into his face.

His head snapped to the side, a startled grunt escaping his lips as he staggered, cussing out. Blood sprayed from his nose, and for the first time, his expression twisted, not in pain, but in disbelief.

You didn’t wait to see more.

You ran.

You sprinted full force toward the ravine, legs screaming, lungs burning. Your socks slipped on the mossy ground, but momentum carried you. You didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

And when you reached the edge, you leapt.

Your stomach dropped as you flew through the air, barely making it to the other side. Your knees hit first, hard, sending a jolt up your legs. You scrambled on all fours, digging your fingers into the earth, dragging yourself up over the edge.

Then you turned.

Jungwon was still on the other side.

His nose was bleeding, smeared red down to his chin. His chest rose and fell with short, rapid breaths. His hair was wild now, curling damply at his forehead from the sweat and heat of the chase. But it was his eyes that froze you in place, wide, crazed, and fixed on you like a predator denied its kill.

He didn’t shout.

He didn’t move.

He just stared, fists clenched at his sides, rage and obsession twisted into something inhuman across his face.

You stood, still shaking, backing away one slow step at a time. You didn’t blink.. You couldn’t. Not with Jungwon staring at you like that, chest heaving like he might leap across the ravine after you.

And then… something in him snapped.

His lips curled into a grin, and his head tilted, ever so slightly. “Oh, you bad bunny,” he called out, voice sing-song sweet and bone-deep wrong. “Running… hiding… making me chase you. Tsk, tsk. You know this is pointless, right?”

His smile widened, blood staining his teeth now. “You’re only prolonging the inevitable. But that’s okay. I like the thrill.”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

You turned and ran.

You finally burst through your front door, heart pounding wildly as if it might leap right out of your chest. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to keep moving, scrambling toward the kitchen, desperate to find something sharp to cut the ropes binding your wrists.

You rifled through drawer after drawer, panic making your hands clumsy.

A breath, close and warm suddenly brushed your ear.

“Caught you,” Jungwon murmured, voice low and dangerous yet oddly gentle. He moved quickly before you could comprehend anything, strong hands grabbing you and flipping you around before you could react. Your tied arms went over his head, and around his neck as his grip tightened, pulling you close until your chest pressed firmly against his.

He brushed the stray strands of hair away from your face with an almost tender touch, his fingers lingering on your cheek just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Making me lose control like that... bad bunny,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety, dripping with teasing warmth.

Before you could even find the words to respond, his lips pressed against yours, hard and shockingly electric. The suddenness of the kiss caught you completely off guard, your breath hitching as your body froze in surprise.

Taking the chance, Jungwon deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly as he leaned closer, holding you tight against him. His hands tangled gently in your hair, pulling you just enough to claim your attention fully.

Your mind raced, heart pounding like a wild drum in your chest. Every nerve seemed to ignite beneath his touch, caught between fear and something you couldn’t quite name. You wanted to pull away, in gact your instincts screamed at you to, but the strength of his hold and the kiss kept you rooted in place.

His breath mingled with yours, warm and heavy, as he slowly eased the pressure, giving you just enough space to catch your breath but not enough to break the hold. His eyes searched yours, dark and deep, like he was trying to read every hidden thought inside you.

“See?” Jungwon murmured softly, his voice a mixture of challenge and affection. “You don’t want to run away after all.”

He tilted your chin up gently, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate line across your bottom lip. “Now be still,” he whispered, voice low and coaxing, “so I can give you exactly what you need, bunny…”

me now:

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mrsfancyferrari · 10 months ago

Text

Our Doggie

Summary: After McLaren let you watch your boyfriend interact with the animals from the Battersea. One dog found a clear interest in you instead.

Song: Miguel - Sure Thing

Part 2

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! <3

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

As you settled into the car, Lando glanced over at you, a hint of concern in his eyes. "Are you really sure you want to join me today?" he asked, his fingers gently intertwining with yours.

He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, a gesture that both comforted and excited you.

The thought of watching him interact with the animals at Battersea was thrilling, yet the idea of being around dogs made your heart race with anxiety.

You had promised him you would be there, and despite your fears, you were determined to support him.

"I know I said I would come, but you have to understand, Lando," you replied, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Dogs make me really nervous. What if one jumps on me or barks? I just don’t know how I’ll handle it."

You could see the warmth in his eyes as he listened, his expression a mix of understanding and encouragement. "I’ll be right by your side the whole time," he reassured you, his smile infectious.

"And I promise, I’ll make sure you’re comfortable. Just think of all the cute puppies we might see!"

With a deep breath, you nodded, trying to quell the flutter of anxiety in your stomach. "Okay, I’ll give it a shot," you said, determination creeping into your voice.

"That’s a good girl," Lando murmured softly, his breath brushing against your knuckles as he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The warmth of his words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, easing some of the tension that had built up inside. As the car sped along the winding road, you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

"You really think I can do this?" you asked, glancing at him with a mix of hope and uncertainty.

Lando shot you a reassuring smile, his confidence in you shining through. "Absolutely. Just remember, it’s all about believing in yourself. I’ll be right here with you every step of the way."

As you pulled into Battersea, the sight of a bustling crowd of staff waiting eagerly for Lando caught your attention.

The moment he parked the car, he hopped out with a bright smile, rushing around to open the door for you.

"After you," he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. You stepped out, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as the staff greeted you both warmly.

"Welcome! We're so glad you're here!" one of them exclaimed, leading the way inside.

Once inside, a friendly veterinarian approached you, clipboard in hand. "Thank you both for coming today. We’re thrilled to have you support our charity," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "The video will feature Lando holding some of our adorable animals to help raise awareness."

Lando's face lit up at the mention of the animals. "I can’t wait to meet them! They’re going to steal the show!" he replied, his enthusiasm infectious.

You, however, felt a flutter of anxiety in your stomach. "What if I mess up and scare them?" you whispered to Lando, glancing around at the bustling staff.

Sensing your unease, Lando gently squeezed your hand, offering reassurance. "You’ll be amazing, trust me. Just think of all the good we’re doing here," he said, his voice steady and calming.

"And besides, it’s just us and some cute animals. What could go wrong?" You took a deep breath, trying to absorb his confidence.

"Okay, you’re right. Let’s do this," you replied, feeling a little more at ease.

Lando settled onto a stool, his excitement palpable as he prepared for the video shoot.

Behind the cameraman, you offered him a reassuring thumbs up, a gesture that made him beam with enthusiasm. "Thanks for the support!" he called out, his voice filled with warmth.

The anticipation in the room was electric, and Lando couldn't wait to share his passion for Battersea, where he would soon meet some adorable furry companions.

As the camera began rolling, Lando's face lit up with a genuine smile. "Hey everyone! I'm thrilled to be here today to talk about Battersea," he began, his tone inviting and friendly.

"This amazing charity does incredible work for animals in need, and I can't wait to meet some of the little ones looking for a forever home."

Just then, a staff member entered the frame, cradling a fluffy cat in their arms.

With a gentle motion, they placed the feline on Lando's lap, and he instantly wrapped his arms around it, his heart melting at the sight.

"Look at this little guy!" Lando exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with joy. The cat purred contentedly, and Lando leaned in closer, speaking softly to it.

"Aren't you just the cutest? I bet you have a lot of love to give." He turned back to the camera, still cradling the cat.

"If you're thinking about adopting, I encourage you to visit Battersea. There are so many wonderful animals just waiting for someone to take them home."

His passion was infectious, and it was clear that this moment was just the beginning of a beautiful connection between Lando, the cat, and the cause he so deeply cared about.

Lando was having the time of his life at the animal sanctuary, surrounded by a delightful mix of creatures both big and small.

"Look at all these animals!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he spotted a fluffy dog wagging its tail and a curious cat peeking from behind a door.

However, not everyone was as enthusiastic. You were sitting on the ground, feeling a bit overwhelmed as some of the animals approached you.

"Oh no, please don’t come too close!" you squeaked, making a noise that startled them away.

Watching them retreat made you feel a little sad, as you wished you could enjoy their company without the fear.

As Lando continued to explore, he stumbled upon a trio of playful puppies who were clearly the best of friends. "Hey, look at these little guys!" he called out, plopping down on the floor to get a better view.

The three puppies bounded over, their tiny paws pattering against the ground as they curiously sniffed at Lando's watch and playfully tugged at his necklace.

"Aren't they just the cutest?" Lando laughed, his heart melting at their antics.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, feeling a warmth spread through you as you watched the joyful scene unfold.

Suddenly, one of the puppies broke away from the group and trotted over to you, its little tail wagging furiously. "What are you doing down there?" it seemed to ask with its big, innocent eyes.

Despite your noise of fright, the puppy was undeterred and continued to inch closer until it finally climbed into your lap.

"Oh, hey there, little one!" you said softly, your heart racing with a mix of fear and delight.

You gently scooped the puppy into your arms, feeling its soft fur against your skin.

"You’re not scary at all," you whispered, beginning to pet it slowly.

The puppy leaned into your touch, and in that moment, all your worries melted away, replaced by the pure joy of connection.

"Aren't you a brave little one?" you said, your voice softening as you reached out to stroke its head.

Lando watched the scene unfold with a teasing grin. "See? I told you they weren't all bad," he remarked, his tone light and playful.

You glanced up at him, a smile spreading across your face as you continued to pet the puppy, feeling its warmth and energy.

"I guess you were right," you replied, your heart melting at the sight of the puppy snuggling into you.

The room filled with laughter and joy as the other two puppies joined in, creating a delightful whirlwind of fur and fun around you both.

As the video played on, the two other puppies scampered off, leaving the first one nestled comfortably on your lap, its tiny body warm and still.

You found yourself mesmerised by the scene unfolding on the screen, your fingers gently stroking the soft fur of the puppy.

Lando was busy at work, his focus unwavering as he played with more furry friends but your attention was split between the adorable creature in your lap and the captivating content of the video.

When the video finally came to an end, Lando stood up and made his way over to you, a playful grin lighting up his face. He knelt down beside you, reaching out to give the puppy some affection as well.

"We should definitely take this little guy home," he said, his voice filled with excitement as the puppy eagerly licked his fingers, its tail wagging furiously.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but a sense of reality quickly washed over you.

"Lando, we can't do that," you replied softly, trying to avoid the puppy's pleading gaze. "You know we have enough on our plate already, with your job and my work."

You felt a pang of guilt as the puppy looked up at you with those big, innocent eyes, but you knew that bringing a new pet into your lives would only complicate things further.

Lando sighed, his enthusiasm dimming slightly, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. "Come on, just think about it! This little one needs a home, and we could give it a great life," he countered, his eyes sparkling with hope.

You could see the determination in his expression, and for a moment, you found yourself wavering.

It turned out that the puppy you had fallen in love with was not meant to be yours.

As you showered the little furball with affection, the staff gently pried it away from your arms, the puppy's mournful howls echoing in the air as it was taken back.

"I’m really going to miss you, little one," you whispered, your heart aching as you watched the staff carry the puppy away.

The warmth of its tiny body lingered on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss as you left the shelter.

On the drive home, Lando glanced over at you, noticing the distant look in your eyes. "You okay? You seem a bit out of it," he asked, concern etched on his face.

"I just can’t stop thinking about that puppy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It was so sweet, and I felt such a connection. I wish I could have taken it home."

Lando nodded, understanding your sentiment.

"I get it. That place is full of amazing dogs. But hey, we can always go back and visit," he suggested, trying to lift your spirits.

Dinner was a quiet affair, with Lando chatting about the other dogs he had seen at Battersea. You nodded along, but your mind was elsewhere, drifting back to the puppy's big, soulful eyes.

"You know, I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to have that little guy running around the house," you mused, a smile creeping onto your face despite the sadness.

Lando chuckled, "Well, if you keep daydreaming about it, we might just have to make a trip back to the shelter. Who knows, maybe it’s meant to be!"

His playful tone brought a glimmer of hope, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to dream again.

It was the day of the British Grand Prix, and Lando was buzzing with excitement to race on home soil. He was deep in conversation with his team, going over the strategies that could make or break his performance on the track.

Meanwhile, you found yourself in the Ferrari garage, catching up with Alex, Charles' girlfriend.

The atmosphere was electric, filled with the sounds of engines revving and the chatter of team members preparing for the race.

"Hey Y/N! It's so good to see you!" Alexandra exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rushed over to give you a warm hug.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm. "I'm great, thanks! And you look absolutely stunning today," you complimented, taking a moment to admire her vibrant outfit that perfectly matched the Ferrari colors.

"Thank you! I wanted to wear something special for the race," she said, twirling playfully. "Are you excited to see Lando in action? I know you can’t wait to cheer him on!"

"Absolutely! He’s been working so hard, and I know he’s going to give it his all out there," you replied, glancing towards the pit lane where Lando was deep in discussion with his engineers.

Alexandra nodded, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I just hope Charles can keep up with him! It’s going to be a fierce competition today."

You both shared a laugh, knowing how competitive the atmosphere could get. "I think it’s going to be a thrilling race. The energy here is incredible!" you said, gesturing to the bustling garage filled with mechanics and team members.

As the minutes ticked down to the start of the race, you and Alexandra decided to grab a quick snack from the hospitality area. "Let’s go grab some food before it gets too hectic," she suggested, leading the way.

While walking, you chatted about everything from the latest team updates to your favorite moments from previous races. "Remember that time Lando almost won in Silverstone last year? The crowd went wild!" you reminisced, laughing at the memory.

"Yes! I was on the edge of my seat! I can only imagine how he feels racing here today," Alexandra replied, her excitement palpable.

Once you reached the hospitality area, you both grabbed some sandwiches and drinks, trying to soak in the atmosphere.

Alex took a sip of her drink, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Is there something on your mind that you wanted to discuss?"

You feigned surprise, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Come on," Alexandra replied, leaning in closer. "You always have these little heart-to-hearts before a race if something's bothering you. Is it about Lando?"

"Absolutely not!" you exclaimed, a bit too quickly.

With a resigned sigh, you shifted the conversation. "Okay, let me ask you this: when did you realize that Leo was the perfect dog for you?"

Alex's expression softened, and she set her drink down, clearly intrigued. "Oh, that’s a story! It was a chilly afternoon at the shelter. I was just browsing, not really planning to adopt anyone. But then I saw him—this scruffy little mutt with big, soulful eyes. He was just sitting there, looking up at me like he knew I needed him."

You leaned in, captivated. "What happened next?"

"Well, I walked over, and he wagged his tail like crazy. I knelt down, and he licked my face as if to say, 'Pick me!' I was smitten right then and there. But I hesitated. I thought about my busy schedule, the races, the travel. Could I really take care of a dog?"

"That’s a tough decision," you said, nodding. "What made you go for it?"

Alex chuckled, her eyes lighting up with the memory. "I took him for a quick walk around the block. He was so full of energy, darting around and sniffing everything. I felt this connection, like he was meant to be part of my life. By the time we got back, I knew I couldn’t leave without him."

"That’s amazing! So, you just went for it?" you asked, genuinely impressed.

"Pretty much! I filled out the paperwork, and before I knew it, I was walking out of there with Leo by my side. It felt right. He’s been my little sidekick ever since, always there to cheer me up after a tough or long day."

"Why did you ask though, last time I checked you were scared of animals," Alex asked curiously.

"Me and Lando went to Battersea yesterday and there was this dog who really bonded with me, he was literally begging me not to leave him," you explained.

"Aww Y/N, you already had all the signs you needed but are you sure you're ready for a dog, it can be hard work,"

You gave a small smile, "I'm sure, I'm already missing him,"

As you stepped into Battersea, a wave of excitement washed over you. The atmosphere buzzed with the sounds of barking and playful yips.

You approached the receptionist, your heart racing with anticipation.

"Excuse me, could you please direct me to the three dogs?" you inquired, your voice filled with eagerness. The staff member smiled warmly and gestured for you to follow.

Soon, you found yourself in a cozy room where three adorable puppies were tumbling over each other, their tails wagging furiously.

The sight brought an instant smile to your face, a moment of pure joy.

Just then, one of the puppies, a half-brown bundle of energy, caught sight of you.

Without a moment's hesitation, he broke away from his siblings and dashed toward you, his little legs moving so fast that he nearly stumbled.

You couldn't help but laugh at his clumsy enthusiasm.

As he reached you, you bent down and scooped him up into your arms, feeling the warmth of his tiny body against you.

"Hey there, little guy! Remember me?" you cooed, your heart swelling with affection.

The puppy looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes, and in that instant, you knew there was a connection.

"Can I adopt him?" you blurted out, your voice filled with urgency and hope.

The staff member, who had been observing the interaction, nodded with a knowing smile. "Absolutely! He’s a real sweetheart. We call him Chase," she replied, her eyes twinkling with delight.

You could hardly contain your excitement as you cradled Max in your arms, envisioning all the adventures you would share together.

"I can’t wait to take you home, buddy," you whispered, feeling as if you had just found a missing piece of your heart. . . .

He had just achieved a remarkable milestone by winning a home race for the very first time! As soon as he parked his car, an overwhelming rush of excitement surged through him.

He leaped out and was immediately enveloped by his team members, who caught him in a jubilant embrace, their faces beaming with pride and happiness for his victory.

The atmosphere was electric, filled with cheers and laughter as they celebrated this significant moment together.

After a few moments of revelry, Lando removed his helmet, taking a deep breath as he scanned the crowd for a familiar face.

"Where is Y/N?" he inquired, his voice laced with curiosity as he approached one of the staff members.

The staff member looked around, momentarily puzzled, before exclaiming, "I haven't seen her—oh, there she is!" They pointed excitedly behind him.

When he pivoted on his heels, he was completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

There you stood, radiating beauty in a vibrant papaya-colored dress that hugged your figure perfectly, the fabric shimmering in the sunlight.

The dress, adorned with delicate floral patterns, swayed gently with the breeze, accentuating your every movement.

In your arms, you cradled a half-brown dog, its fur a delightful mix of rich chocolate and warm caramel, with big, expressive eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief.

Without a moment's hesitation, Lando dashed over to you, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"I'm sorry I was late," you said, a hint of guilt in your voice as you looked up at him.

He shook his head, dismissing your concern with a soft smile. "You're just in time, baby," he murmured, leaning in to plant a gentle kiss on your lips.

The world around them faded away as they shared that intimate moment, the joy of his victory mingling with the warmth of your presence, making it a day he would never forget.

You were the first to pull away, your heart racing as you playfully slapped his chest. "You can't just kiss me like that in front of everyone!" you exclaimed, half-laughing, half-serious.

He shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I don’t care," he replied with a smirk, clearly enjoying the moment.

"This dress looks amazing on you. And who’s this little guy?" He leaned closer, his curiosity piqued by the playful pup that wagged its tail enthusiastically, as if it could sense the warmth of the moment.

You felt a rush of warmth flood your cheeks as you smiled back at him. "This is Chase, our new dog," you replied, your heart swelling with pride.

Lando's expression shifted to one of surprise, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Our dog?" he echoed, clearly taken aback by the sudden addition to your little family.

You nodded enthusiastically, eager to share the news. "Yeah, I filled out the paperwork yesterday and even picked up some toys for him before I came over."

Before you could finish your thought, Lando leaned in and kissed you softly, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Oh hi buddy! I'm your dada now! Come here!" he exclaimed, his voice rising in pitch as he scooped Chase into his arms.

The puppy squirmed happily, licking Lando's face as if to welcome him into the family.

You watched the scene unfold, your heart brimming with happiness, knowing that this was just the beginning of many joyful moments together. . . .

The presenter beamed at Lando Norris, excitement radiating from his voice. "Lando Norris! You've finally clinched victory at your home race. What’s going through your mind right now?"

Lando, balancing the microphone in one hand while cradling his dog, Chase, in the other, took a moment to gather his thoughts.

He gently shushed Chase, who was squirming with enthusiasm, and the dog settled down, resting comfortably in his arm.

With a broad smile, Lando replied, "Honestly, it feels incredible to win here! There have been so many unexpected twists and turns throughout the race, much like my little buddy here."

He gestured toward Chase, who seemed to understand the moment and wagged his tail in agreement.

The crowd erupted in cheers, their energy palpable as they celebrated the local hero's triumph.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a warm welcome to Chase Norris!" Lando announced, holding the microphone closer to the dog.

Chase responded with an enthusiastic bark, which only fueled the crowd's excitement further.

Lando laughed, feeling the joy of the moment wash over him.

"This victory is for all of you, and for my family—both human and furry!"

The audience roared with approval, happy to see another furry friend on the paddock.

Lando chuckled, leaning closer to the mic again. "You know, this little guy was a gift from Mrs. Norris," he quipped, casting a sidelong glance at you.

The moment he said it, he could see your eyes widen in disbelief, your expression a mix of shock and amusement.

It was a classic Lando move, and he reveled in the reaction he had sparked.

"Mrs. Norris?" The presenter repeated, their eyebrow raised as they also looked at you.

"Well it will happened soon so might as well get used to the name now," Lando said, grinning. "And guess who's going to be the ring bearer in my wedding, yeah you Chase! You're the ring bearer!"

You had to forcefully take Chase away for Lando to finally concentrate in his interview.

As you looked at Chase, you know this little doggie was going to be the mini version of his dad but you weren't complaining.

Our little Chase Norris. . . .

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novy2sirius · 30 days ago

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numerical notes vol. 9

- numerology readings for sale!!!

tw: death, bullying, freak accidents | find ur numerology ♡

⋆ ppl born on the 3rd/12th/21st or 3 life paths often have a baby face or youthful features and get mistaken for being younger than they r all the time. they do age very well tho

⋆ we become better ppl by doing things for others. that’s what helps our soul improve. this is why ppl w 6 energy tend to be the best ppl bc 6 is the most giving and caring number. their literal purpose (if 6 is their life path number, day number, or attitude number) is to do things for others and help others in some way

⋆ often 7 life paths or ppl born on the 7th/16th/25th r seen as bad ppl when they don’t mean to come off that way. they’re one of the most misunderstood numerical energies. it’s not that they literally hate ppl but they just tend to enjoy being alone more than going out all the time or partying. they’re often very shy too. especially if a person has multiple 7 energies they can be rly quiet ppl or perceived as weird when they don’t mean to come off that way. an example is madeline argy - she has 3 seven energies and said she didn’t talk at all when she was at school when she was younger and her teachers all thought she was weird and she didn’t have any friends for a while

⋆ ppl with 9 energy can be rly paranoid due to insecurity. ppl with 13 energy can be rly paranoid due to fear and anxiety. these two energies r always analyzing others and on the lookout in case something bad happens. although the difference between the 9 and 13 is that the 13 isn’t as forgiving. if a 9 does end up being paranoid for the right reason and their suspicions were right sometimes they’re too forgiving and let ppl walk all over them. it’s only bc they usually r very compassionate toward others and the things they do since they’ve been thru a lot themselves. they try to be understanding and accepting of ppl for their faults

⋆ people w 4 and 8 energy tend to be the best drivers. not sure why i think it’s just bc these numbers like things to be in order and like to have control in situations. when things r out of line it can bring them lots of stress. they’re the type of ppl who stay at the exact speed limit. these ppl still do have bad road rage tho. just not as bad as ppl with 1 energy and the way they road rage

⋆ spiritual rank is definitely real in my opinion. no matter what ur numerology is if u hurt a master number (11, 22, 33) or 3’s (favorited by the matrix) then u will not just receive karma but ur entire life can literally fall apart. unless u r simply just defending urself. there’s never anything wrong w that. however, bullying or repeatedly attacking these older souls for no good reason is harmful to ur life. it’s bc these master numbers have been thru a lot of karmic lessons and incarnations to be where they’re at. this gives them an extremely powerful energy and makes them very spiritually divine ppl (more so than other numbers). avoid messing w divine contracts

⋆ ur name is the vibration of ur soul that ur parents subconsciously picked up on while u were in the womb/when u were born. it’s not something that’s an accident. letterology is very important although not as important as ur other numerical energies!

⋆ the reason why there’s been so many deaths this year is bc it’s a 9 year (2+0+2+5). there’s also been a lot of plane crashes and other types of freak accidents. in 2026 this all will come to an end. 9 is the number of death

⋆ as long as 8 life paths live a righteous life and aren’t bad ppl they will be able to gain wealth. if they do gain wealth and abuse their position of power tho it can lead to bad things and the loss of money. they also need to be careful of how they spend their money once they do gain wealth bc often they spend it impulsively

⋆ if ur child is born on the day of ur lucky number they can bring lots of luck and abundance into ur life. even wealth. for example, if ur lucky number is 23 and they’re born on the 23rd or r a 23 life path (unreduced) then they can bring fortune into ur life

#numerology #numerology community #numerical notes #matrix #life path number #life path #numerology blog

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iconbyunghun · 5 months ago

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Drive Me Home

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: A simple ride home takes an unexpected turn when tension and desire get the best of you, especially when the man driving is your best friend's father.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (early 20s/50s), car sex, unsafe sex, creampie, slight degrading.

Word count: 3.1 k

a/n: I don’t know where all these words came from; this was supposed to be short. uh, I hope you enjoy it!

The gentle breeze coming through the car window tousled a few strands of your hair. With a mischievous smile on your lips, you glanced sideways at the man who had just settled into the driver’s seat.

Hwang In-ho, your best friend’s father, was the one responsible for driving you home after the party you and his daughter had organized with some university friends. You were a little tipsy, and your friend had suggested that her father take you home in his car. Despite your attempts to convince her that you could just call a taxi, her concern made you give in.

It wasn’t the first time he had driven you home, so he already knew your address. Of course, on previous occasions, his daughter had always been present.

He couldn’t help but regret agreeing to let them throw a party at his house—by morning, he’d have to clean everything up and take inventory of all the broken glasses and other damaged things. He sighed, resigned. That would be a problem for later. Right now, his main concern was you, alternating between watching the road and stealing glances at him—furtive, yet not at all discreet.

“Won’t your parents say anything about you coming home at this hour… and drunk?” he asked, trying to break the ice.

“My parents are traveling, and I’m not drunk,” you replied, pretending to be offended, though the slight slur in your words made him chuckle.

“Riiight, not drunk at all,” he teased, playfully mimicking your tone. You couldn’t help but laugh. His charisma was your weakness—that, and the fact that he looked amazing for a man in his fifties.

“Hm, if your parents aren’t home, you could’ve stayed over,” he added.

“Yeah, I could have, but I didn’t want to impose,” you half-lied. “Besides, I also didn’t want to be stuck cleaning up the post-party mess on a Sunday morning.” You shrugged.

“Of course, let the old man do all the cleaning,” he said, feigning irritation.

“Old?” You looked at him, this time more intently. His hair was slightly tousled, and the sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms, where veins ran down to his large, masculine hands, firmly gripping the steering wheel. For a brief moment, you imagined what it would feel like to have them on your body.

He glanced at you for just a couple of seconds. The city lights reflected on your face—not too bright, but enough to highlight the sparkle in your eyes as you observed him with a mix of curiosity and admiration. He wondered if it was the alcohol that had you looking at him like that.

“I guess I am a little old,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.

He turned his attention back to the road, hoping you’d do the same and stop scrutinizing him. But this time, you didn’t follow his lead. Instead, you shifted in your seat, curling your legs up and hugging your knees against your chest. The movement caused the hem of your dress to slide up past your knees, so you pressed your legs together, trying not to reveal too much… at least not yet.

From your new position, your entire focus was on him—concentrated on driving, oblivious (or perhaps not so much) to the way you were watching him.

“Well, you look better than any guy I know,” you blurted out without a filter, uninhibited—whether by the alcohol, the night… or by him.

He let out a low chuckle, though he seemed slightly uncomfortable as he stopped at a red light. Your comment had caught him off guard.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. That was the truth,” you said with a playful smile. “Guys my age are all idiots.”

“I suppose you have plenty of those idiots chasing after you,” he said, turning to gauge your reaction.

“There’s always a few,” you paused, debating whether to say what was on your mind. “But… I prefer older men.”

Your eyes locked onto his just as you bit your lower lip slightly, under his intense gaze—a gesture both casual and deliberate.

In-ho smiled, the slight curve of his lips confirming that he knew exactly where you were going with this. Of course, he wasn’t a naive man. At his age, he could easily recognize blatant flirting, and you were making it painfully obvious.

There had been too many signs he had been trying to ignore—those short dresses that always seemed purposely chosen whenever you visited, the kisses that landed dangerously close to his lips when you greeted him, the hugs that lasted a little too long, your chest pressing against his. The way you always found an excuse to brush against him, with a sweetness that pretended to be innocent… but neither of you truly believed that.

He had always tried to keep his composure, to act with the restraint expected of someone his age. After all, you were just a reckless young girl with raging hormones. And he, despite having been divorced for over two years, had neither the time nor the patience to date again—especially not someone so young.

At least, that was what he had always told himself. But this time, the situation felt different. There was something about the contrast between the rosy tint on your cheeks and your slightly tousled hair, the way you looked at him with that almost pleading gaze. You were completely alone, and the darkness of the night made everything feel more intimate.

His eyes traced down your exposed legs to your crimson heels. Under any other circumstances, he would have scolded you for dirtying his car seat. But not now… not when you were so dangerously close that it would only take him a few seconds to slide his hands over your thighs and take you as he pleased. Oh, just the thought sent an electric pulse straight to his cock.

“You’re a bold little thing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze returned to your face. Something in his expression had changed.

“Hmm, well, you don’t seem to mind. Or do you?” you shot back almost instantly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh no, it doesn’t, sweetheart."

The way he said that pet name sent a flutter through your stomach. You briefly glanced at the traffic light, which had already turned green, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to move. Not that it mattered—at this hour, the street was completely deserted.

Before you could react or come up with a witty response, he acted first. With unsettling ease—or maybe simply because you didn’t resist—he took your right hand and, with a gentle tug, pulled you toward him. The sudden closeness made you lower your legs back onto the car floor, seeking stability. His face was now dangerously close to yours.

Before you could process it, he guided your hand with determination straight to his crotch.

"Do you want to see just how much I like that little tease of yours?" he added in a deep voice.

A sharp breath escaped your lips as you felt how hard he was and how his much larger hand pressed over yours, keeping it firmly against his arousal.

Shit. If this was some kind of alcohol-induced dream, you hoped you’d never wake up.

The look of surprise on your face only seemed to amuse him more. His gaze dropped to your lips, and without a second more of hesitation, he closed the distance between you. His hands slid up to your face, ensuring you followed his pace. Within seconds, his tongue parted your lips, exploring your mouth with restrained hunger.

A shiver ran down your spine as you searched for something to hold onto, something to steady yourself. With your free hand, you tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at a few strands.

His reaction was immediate—a soft gasp, barely a whisper against your lips, his body shuddering under your touch—clumsy, yet eager—both in his hair and over his straining length.

When the need for air became unbearable, you broke apart.

The sight of your tousled hair, your heavy breathing, and your swollen, glistening lips—slick with both your saliva and his—completely shattered the last threads of his self-restraint.

"Come here," he demanded.

Adjusting his position, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reclined his seat back, making enough room for you to kneel between his legs.

You settled yourself as best you could, your face just inches away from his erection, still concealed beneath his pants but under the weight of his intense gaze.

"This is what you wanted so badly, isn’t it?" he murmured. "To be on your knees, ready to suck my fucking cock?"

The sheer filth of his words only made the fire inside you burn hotter.

You nodded clumsily, placing your hands on his thighs.

"Good. If you’re going to act like a little slut, you’d better take responsibility for it."

Without waiting for an answer, his hands went straight to his belt, swiftly undoing it. Your hands moved on instinct, reaching for the button of his jeans. He let you take over, pulling his hands back as you continued.

Once unbuttoned, you slowly unzipped his jeans, dragging it out in a torturous way—for him, at least. He helped by lifting his hips slightly, and soon, his jeans were pooled around his ankles.

In front of you, his hard length strained against the fabric of his gray boxers, a small damp spot visible where the tip pressed against the material. You hadn't been wrong to fantasize about its impressive size. Eager for more, you ran your tongue over it through the fabric before hooking your fingers into the waistband, carefully freeing him.

He smirked at the expression of raw desire on your face, a flicker of pride mixing with arousal. The thought of someone so much younger, eager to take him in her mouth, sent a spark of heat through him.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you stroked him slowly, feeling his heat and velvety texture. Finally, your lips parted, and as you took him into your mouth, a shudder ran through you. The salty taste of his skin flooded your senses, making your core tighten with anticipation. You took him as deep as your throat allowed, swirling your tongue around him and sucking gently as you pulled back. Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on the sensation—his heavy breathing, the way his fingers slid into your hair, guiding your movements.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice rough with need. His grip tightened as he tugged your hair, pulling you back just enough to leave only the tip resting on your tongue. Your tear-brimmed eyes met his, a sinful mix of pleasure and submission. The sight alone nearly undid him.

The car's interior felt suffocating, thick with heat and tension. Fogged windows bore witness to the electricity crackling between you.

With a firm pull, he shifted you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs. The moment you settled, his mouth claimed yours again, devouring you with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His tongue moved with purpose, teasing, demanding, leaving you breathless beneath him.

His hands wasted no time finding the hem of your dress, sliding it upward, exposing more of your heated skin beneath his eager touch. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive, his fingertips digging into your flesh—enough to ensure you'd still feel him tomorrow.

His lips broke from yours, trailing lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth grazed your skin before his lips soothed the sting, marking you in ways you knew would linger long after this night.

"I-I need you…" you whimpered, feeling the firm press of his arousal against the softness of your inner thighs.

A shaky breath left him before his hands found the waistband of your panties. He toyed with the delicate fabric, stretching it, teasing you with just enough friction to make you squirm. A wicked grin tugged at his lips before he gave a sharp tug, tearing the fabric effortlessly, discarding it without a second thought.

Gripping himself, he lined his aching length up with your entrance. His gaze lifted to yours, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, and the way your eyes silently pleaded for more.

"Be a good girl and ask me nicely," he demanded, savoring your anticipation as he teased your entrance, using your own arousal to lubricate himself.

"Fuck me... please," you begged, moving impatiently in search of more friction.

With a satisfied smile, he aligned himself before slowly pushing in to the hilt, a deep, guttural moan escaping his throat. His large hands gripped your hips, kneading your flesh.

"I-In-ho... fuck, it's... so big," you squealed, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, lost in the sensation of his length stretching you. "It feels so good."

He remained still for a few seconds, savoring the way you clenched around him, the warm wetness enveloping him so perfectly that, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in you over and over again.

When he finally began to move, he did so with slow, deep thrusts, letting your body take him in completely. Your slickness made everything easier, making him crave more of your tight pussy. His pace quickened—deeper, harder, more of your breathless moans filling the air.

Ragged groans escaped his throat as he pressed his head against the backrest of the seat. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had sex, and the sensation of your walls gripping him, your nails digging into his skin, and the desperate, needy whimpers spilling from your lips right next to his ear had him on the verge of madness.

At that moment, nothing else existed—just the two of you, the tension, the relentless collision of your bodies, the frantic heartbeat that kept you both trapped in the moment.

And when everything finally reached its peak, your lips found each other in desperation. Your orgasm hit first, overwhelming, your hips moving on their own as you ground down on him, desperate for more. The way your pussy clenched and pulsed around him sent him over the edge. He gripped your hips tightly, his movements becoming erratic, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, spilling his release as your walls throbbed around him, milking every last drop.

You collapsed against his chest, pressing your head over his racing heartbeat, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

A few seconds passed before you felt his arms wrap around you.

“Fuck,” he exhaled in a breathy sigh. The haze of lust slowly began to lift from his mind, and reality started to set in. “My daughter can’t find out about this,” he muttered. His voice was still heavy with exhaustion, lacking the sharpness to sound truly serious.

You slowly opened your eyes and pulled back slightly to look at him.

“Don’t be stupid,” you scoffed, giving his chest a playful slap. How could that be the first thing on his mind after the way he just fucked you? “Of course she won’t find out.” You rolled your eyes, and he fell silent.

The air inside the car was still thick, heavy with the scent of sex, a lingering reminder of what had just transpired. Your breathing had steadied, but the heat between you had yet to fully dissipate.

You felt him softening inside you and shifted just enough for him to adjust his boxers and pants. You smoothed out your dress with deliberate slowness, running your hands over the fabric in a way that was almost teasing. In-ho averted his gaze, turning toward the window as he fastened his belt, but his attempt at indifference failed—his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to your chest before he could stop himself.

“You owe me a new pair of panties,” you remarked with a mischievous smile, rocking your hips slightly on his lap.

He let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain his composure.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his dark eyes tracing your face. You were absolutely stunning.

“Didn’t seem to bother you a few minutes ago.”

His jaw tightened, as if holding back the words he really wanted to say.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before slipping back into the passenger seat. He wasn’t sure whether to take it as an affectionate gesture or as pure mockery.

The rest of the drive was quiet—but not in an uncomfortable way. The tension still lingered in the air. When he finally parked in front of your house, you made no immediate move to leave. Instead, he was the first to open his door.

“You don’t have to walk me to the entrance.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping out and circling the car.

He opened the door for you—a gentlemanly gesture that starkly contrasted how he had handled you just minutes ago. As you stood, you felt his eyes briefly rake over your figure. It was involuntary, but you noticed. And you loved it.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, leaning casually against your front door with a playful smile.

“Thanks for…” In-ho paused, seeming to reconsider his words. “…Nothing. I’m not saying anything else.”

You laughed softly, tapping a finger against your lips in mock contemplation.

“You know, you could come in for a bit,” you suggested casually, pretending to search for your keys in your bag. “It’s late. We could have a drink.”

He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and warning, as if you were temptation itself standing before him.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer, closing the space between you.

“I think I can handle a little more,” you whispered, resting your hands against his chest, tilting your head slightly.

Silence stretched between you until In-ho let out a sigh—part surrender, part anticipation.

“Do you have whiskey?”

You bit your lip, holding back a victorious smile as you turned to unlock the door.

“You’ll have to come inside to find out.”

In-ho followed, a nearly imperceptible smile playing at his lips. This time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. That would come tomorrow, when the weight of the night could no longer hide the guilt of his actions.

#hwang in ho x reader #hwang in ho #in ho x reader #hwang inho x you #front man squid game #squid game #squid game imagine #lee byung hun #lee byung hun imagine #lee byung hun x reader #lee byung hun x you #squid game in ho #smut #Reminder that English is not my first language #so I apologize for any writing mistakes.

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uhuhmaries · 2 months ago

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PART 2 (A.A.) — Control Freaks

Summary: Diving into the filthy mess. Literally just pure FILTH.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, oral (f & m receiving), 69 position, dom!Harry with light sub undertones, praise & teasing, public-ish sex (curtains open), unprotected sex (don’t do this irl pls), age gap (reader is mid-20s, Harry is early 30s), power play, mutual obsession, emotional tension, one-night stand vibes that evolve, slight possessiveness & rough edges, minor alcohol references

Series: Almost Acquaintances

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

You…. Gave in.

The door to the black SUV slams shut behind you before you can say a word. Harry’s hand is still loosely wrapped around your wrist, but now it’s just the two of you in the quiet hum of leather seats, the party music muffled into the distance.

You shoot him a faux-scandalized glare. “So this is what getting kidnapped by a pop-star feels like?”

He leans back in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel, the other rubbing his jaw with the slowest, smug grin. “You seemed like you wanted rescuing,” he murmurs. “Thought I’d offer a ride. Somewhere quieter.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Quieter, or dirtier?”

His laugh is low, scratchy. “Depends on you, bunny.”

The ride to his house is slow—he makes sure of it. Every red light feels intentional. You sit with your legs crossed, acting like a good girl, but he can feel your gaze tracing the tattoo peeking from under his sleeve, the way you slightly shift every time he rests his hand near the gearshift.

“I can feel you staring,” he says, eyes still on the road.

You blink innocently. “Just wondering how many girls you’ve kidnapped this week.”

He chuckles, glancing at you sideways. “None with that fake innocence as badly as you.”

You smile sweetly, “Good. I like to stand out.”

When you arrive, his hand grazes your lower back as he leads you inside… a mansion, of course, dimly lit, clean, and way too quiet. He offers you water. You decline.

“You can stay, y’know,” he says, voice suddenly softer. “You don’t have to go.”

You hum, letting your back turn to him. “Oh? Generous of you offering me just to stay the night after kidnapping me from a party.”

And then, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world, you hook your fingers under the zipper of your bodysuit and slowly, deliberately drag it down. The soft sound of the zipper feels loud in the silence. His breath catches before you even make it halfway.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder.

“Are you staring, Styles?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then the sound of his footsteps—fast, firm. His hands grip your hips and spin you around before your bodysuit’s fully undone, but he doesn’t push it back up.

Instead, he leans in, eyes blazing. “You think you’re clever?”

You smirk. “I know I am.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

His mouth crashes into yours before you can say another word. Hot, desperate, bruising. He walks you backward, tongue claiming yours with no hesitation, until your back hits the edge of the kitchen island. He pulls away just enough to speak, voice low and wrecked.

“Keep teasing me like that, and I’ll ruin you right here.”

Your hands tug at his costume, hinting him to take it off. “Isn’t that the point?”

He growls under his breath, easily stripping himself from his costume. Leaving him only in his shorts, then he lifts you easily–setting you on the cold countertop. His hands roam fast, possessive, and greedy–but he slows down when he gets between your thighs. His fingers drag up your lace-covered core like he has all the time in the world, even though his eyes look ready to snap.

“You play innocent, but your body’s screaming for it.”

You tilt your head. “Then give it to me.”

And he does.

He pulls your panties aside and sinks two fingers inside you—slow, deep, just to hear how you gasp. His thumb circles your clit in rhythm, while his other hand wraps gently around your throat, his grip firm but never cruel. You feel him twitching hard against your thigh, straining in his pants, but he doesn’t rush.

“You like letting me take control,” he says in a growl. “But you want to see how far you can push me first, don’t you?”

You meet his eyes and catch it—a flicker of something softer. Controlled, yes, but waiting. Waiting for you to take just a little more.

“You like when I take the lead,” you whisper, wrapping your legs around his waist, “but I bet if I told you to get on your knees right now, you’d do it and beg me to pull your hair.”

His eyes darken.

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. But his jaw tightens. His fingers curl deeper inside you. And his voice drops to a whisper.

“…You’d be surprised.”

His stare lingers on you for a moment too long—like he’s trying to decide whether to throw you over his shoulder or drop to his knees and worship. But instead, he grabs your chin gently between his fingers, tilting your face to his.

“You don’t want to start a game you can’t finish,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours but never fully giving in.

You smile, breathless but composed. “Who said I ever quit?”

And that’s it. That’s the moment he breaks.

He hauls you off the countertop and drags you into the living room like he’s on a mission—his grip tight around your wrist, guiding you to the plush velvet couch with his steps controlled. The curtains are open. The city lights pour in through the giant windows, neon streaks dancing across the walls. You know damn well anyone in the buildings across could see you both. That’s what makes your pulse race harder.

The bodysuit hangs halfway off you, undone and inviting, and Harry doesn’t give you a moment to adjust. His lips trail down your jaw, then your neck, then lower.

You glance over his shoulder at the view and smirk. “You’re not even going to close the blinds?”

He doesn’t even look up. “Why would I?” he murmurs against your chest, voice thick with desire. “Let them watch.”

His mouth wraps around your nipple, tongue swirling before he sucks, slow and deliberate. His fingers slip between your thighs again, making you arch into him with a gasp you barely manage to muffle. Your hips roll against his palm like they’re aching for more, and they are.

“Still acting like you didn’t come here just for this,” he whispers.

“And you’re still pretending you don’t want to be told what to do,” you murmur back, threading your fingers through his hair and giving it a little pull.

He stills for a second (barely) then growls low in his throat and hooks your thighs over his shoulders.

“Careful, Y/N,” he says, the nickname now soaked in lust. “Say one more thing like that and I’ll have you screaming with the windows wide open.”

You giggle, breathless, but it cuts off when his tongue drags up your center—slow, teasing, thorough. He eats you like he has something to prove: that he’s still in control, even if your moans are the ones echoing off the windows. His tongue flicks and circles, then flattens, then plunges until your back arches and your hands claw at the couch cushions.

You look down, and for a split second… there it is.

The way his eyes flutter closed when your hand grips his curls tighter. The way he groans into you when you press your heel into his shoulder.

He’s still in charge. But part of him likes being taken there: led, dragged, used.

You file that away for later.

“Harry,” you pant, your voice cracking, your legs trembling, “You’re gonna make me—”

He doesn’t stop. In fact, he speeds up. And when you finally fall apart on his tongue, he groans like he’s the one unraveling.

He stands, mouth glistening, eyes dark and blown wide. You barely get a chance to recover before he pulls you up and spins you around, pressing your chest to the back of the couch. The city lights blaze in front of you, a full view of the world while your knees dig into velvet and your hands brace the edge.

You feel him behind you, thick and ready, rubbing against your folds. He pauses, breath hot against your ear.

“You gonna fake innocence now, sweetheart?” he murmurs.

You throw a look over your shoulder. “What do you think?”

With a low, strained curse, Harry guides the tip in slow, deliberate. It pulls a soft whimper from your throat, your body betraying you as your hips roll back, eager and greedy, swallowing him whole in one obscene, perfect motion.

He stills, breath catching as he watches. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “That was the filthiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

The stretch steals the breath from your lungs, your eyes fluttering shut, jaw slack as your body struggles to adjust around him but he doesn’t give you time.

He pulls back just enough to slam forward again, setting a brutal pace from the start—each thrust sharp, punishing, deliberate. The couch creaks under the force of it, a helpless witness to the way he’s completely unraveling you.

Your palms slap the cushion.

Your body jolts with every thrust.

And the windows stay wide open.

He wraps your hair around his fist and pulls just enough to arch your back. “You feel so fuckin’ good. You gonna take it all for me?”

“Y-Yes,” you manage, barely. “Harder.”

He groans, deeper this time. “Fuck—gonna give you everything, baby. But you’ve gotta beg nicely.”

You turn your head, voice raw, flushed, grinning through it:

“Please, Harry. I need you to break me. Use me. However you want.”

That does it.

He fucks you like punishment, yet he’s the one panting your name like a prayer.

Your body’s trembling against the back of the couch, every breath coming out in shaky gasps as he slams into you over and over again. The slap of skin, the sharp whine of the velvet cushions underneath you, the obscene sound of your arousal filling the room—it’s all too much and still somehow not enough.

Harry’s grip on your hips definitely will be leaving marks now. His breath is ragged, jaw clenched as he fucks you harder, deeper, chasing the edge with everything he’s got.

“Fuck, bunny…” he growls through gritted teeth. “You’re taking me so well—so fuckin’ tight—so filthy, letting me do this where anyone could see.”

You whimper his name, collapsing forward as his hand finds your clit again—rough, fast, relentless. Your second orgasm crashes into you like a wave breaking through glass. Your whole body clenches around him, and you hear him snarl behind you.

“Jesus—fucking—Christ—”

His thrusts stutter. You feel him pulse deep inside you, spilling himself with a strangled groan that sounds like he’s unraveling right at the seams. His body folds over yours for a moment, forehead pressed to the back of your shoulder, his breath hot and uneven.

Neither of you move for a second. Then he pulls out slowly, with a soft hiss between his teeth. You feel the warmth of him dripping down your inner thigh.

And then he drops to his knees.

You blink, turning slightly to look back– but he’s already spreading your legs, gentle now, parting you like something sacred.

“Let me clean you up,” he mutters, voice low and hoarse, eyes not even meeting yours at first. He’s focused like he’s desperate to make it right.

You watch, breath still caught in your throat, as his tongue slides up your thigh, slow and purposeful. Then higher—tasting himself and you, licking up every trace he left inside you like he’s starving for it. His hands hold your hips steady while he works, making soft, filthy sounds against your overstimulated skin.

You should feel powerful. And you do.

But the way he moans into it—the way his tongue lingers, reverent and possessive—makes you realize something else:

He likes being on his knees for you. Or honestly, most likely just for anyone.

Not just because he has to.

Because he wants to.

His tongue is still working between your thighs, savoring the mess he made—lapping it up like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to taste.

You stare down at him, chest heaving, flushed and unsteady, and something about the sight of him—on his knees, hands gripping your thighs like he’s anchoring himself, pupils wide and wild, sparks a heat low in your belly that doesn’t go away with release.

It grows.

“You look pretty good down there,” you murmur, voice rough and sticky with desire. You run a hand through his curls, gently, like a reward. He lets out a soft, breathless laugh against you, but he doesn’t stop. His tongue stays locked on your soaked center, devoted and unrelenting, like your approval only fuels him.

You tug lightly. “But I’m not done with you.”

Harry leans back on his heels, blinking up at you, dazed. “Oh?”

You nod once toward the wide couch, and your voice drops to a tone you didn’t know you were capable of:

“Lie down, Styles.”

He obeys immediately. Eager, curious, and cocky but there’s a flicker of something else in his expression now. Something pliant.

He stretches out along the velvet, chest rising and falling fast, lips wet, eyes never leaving yours. He even props one arm behind his head like he’s trying to act casual, but the way he shifts beneath you betrays him—already hard again, already needy.

You straddle him slowly, your thighs on either side of his waist at first. He thinks you’re going to ride him. You lean in like you are. His mouth parts.

But then…. You lift up, scoot forward, and settle yourself directly over his face.

Harry’s breath catches, sharp and surprised but then he groans, deep and low, hands flying to your hips. You feel the grip, tight, almost possessive, but he doesn’t guide— he waits.

And you smile. “You gonna let me use your face, sweetheart?”

The whimper that leaves his throat could be classified as dangerous. His eyes flutter shut as his tongue flicks out, barely grazing your folds. You grind down in response—slow and slick and deliberate.

And he fucking moans.

You take your time. Ride his face like you’re savoring every second, every stutter of his breath, every twist of his tongue. His nose nudges your clit, and you rock forward with a gasp. His hands tighten, but he’s still letting you lead.

“Mmm—look at you,” you pant, glancing down. “Getting off on this already?”

He nods—fucking nods—his mouth still working, relentless.

His tongue moves like he’s mapping every inch of you—messy, greedy, obsessed. You ride it with your head thrown back, hands in your hair, moaning shamelessly into the open room. You don’t care about the view anymore.

“Fuck—Harry!” You gasp, grinding harder now, the pressure just right, the rhythm frantic. “I’m—gonna—oh—”

He sucks your clit at just the right second and that’s it. Your vision whites out. Your thighs tremble around his face, and you lose yourself—loud, raw, aching.

You twitch and roll your hips through the aftershocks, still straddling his mouth, his tongue giving soft, slow licks like he’s milking every last wave out of you. Like he’s addicted.

When you finally lift off him, your legs nearly give out.

Harry’s wrecked beneath you—lips swollen, chin wet, eyes heavy and so fucking gone.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers hoarsely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but not breaking eye contact. “You’re gonna be the end of me.”

You crawl down his body, press a soft kiss to his jaw, then his lips. He kisses your mouth slowly, messy, claiming—and you kiss him back like you want to ruin him. His hands roam your body with a mix of reverence and urgency, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against his already-hard-again length. He’s insatiable. And so are you.

You slide down his body with intention, every movement deliberate. Settling on your side, this time your face– especially your lips hover near the thick, pulsing length aching for attention just as he shifts beneath you, hooking your thigh and guiding you back toward his mouth, tongue finding your heat like he’s starved for it.

You both exhale– shaky, desperate.

Your head rests just beneath his hips. His tongue parts your folds with a slow, deliberate stroke, and your breath catches as heat floods through you. Your hand wraps around his shaft, teasing the head with the flat of your tongue, savoring the twitch he gives in response.

He groans into you, the sound muffled but dark, and the vibration sends a jolt through your spine.

This isn’t gentle—it’s ravenous. You both take and give in tandem, your bodies locked in a rhythm of gasps, moans, and messy devotion. His grip tightens on your thigh, trying to keep control. But from the way he’s trembling under your mouth, he’s already losing it.

Your cheek rests just below his waist. His cock grazes your lips, heavy and warm, while his mouth finds your heat again—tongue sliding between your folds with practiced ease.

Your thighs already tremble, anticipation tightening every nerve as he moans softly against you, lost in the taste of you. The heat is immediate. All consuming.

He licks you right at the core—flat, slow drags of his tongue that make your toes curl. You moan against the head of his cock, and he shudders, hips twitching forward involuntarily.

“You’re unreal,” he mutters into your cunt. “Taste like heaven. Sound like sin.”

You take him into your mouth—slowly at first, savoring the weight and heat of him on your tongue—and he groans, bucking forward slightly before catching himself.

It’s a game of control now.

He sucks your clit and you moan around his cock. You swirl your tongue around the tip, and he practically whimpers against you. He’s relentless. You’re merciless. It’s mutual destruction.

His fingers dig into your thigh as his tongue works deeper, wetter, more desperate, and your hips buck uncontrollably.

You pull him deeper into your throat in retaliation—and that’s what finally does it. You feel him twitch in your mouth. He pulls off your cunt with a sharp gasp, panting into your skin.

“Fuck—don’t stop—fuck, bunny—”

You hum around him, moaning just to make it worse, and he loses it—spilling into your throat with a strangled cry, one hand gripping your hip while the other fists the couch cushion.

You swallow all of it.

Moments later, he comes down from it still panting, but his tongue never leaves you.

You arch back into him, crying out when his fingers replace his mouth just long enough to draw out your final orgasm of the night. You shake through it, legs kicking, breath broken and high.

He kisses your thigh softly, one last time. You both collapse—sweaty, panting, wrecked.

There’s a long silence between you. You feel his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you into his chest.

Stillness.

“I wasn’t supposed to like that that much,” he finally whispers, voice raspy against your neck.

You turn your head to look at him.

“Did you?”

He nods once, serious. “I did.”

You could laugh, but you don’t. You just let the silence fall again, warm and strange. You don’t know what this is yet. Or what it’ll mean when morning comes.

But tonight, it means everything.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

�� Author’s Note:

I’m dyinggggggggggg. Feeling feral at 10am. I kinda didn’t read it after revising each paragraph so IM SORRY IF ITS KINDA SHIT. Next chapters will be a little more angsty I feel like to calm us all down 😭🙂‍↕️👁️

@thenovarose

#harry styles series #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic rec #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry fanfic #harry styles #harry styles x you #1d fandom #1d fanfiction #smutty one shot #one direction smut #one direction fanfiction #smut #filthy

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littlegochu · 2 months ago

Text

"just friends" part 5 │ jjk 18+

"no feelings. no promises. just a night that didn’t end when it should’ve."

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader (f)

genre: friends with benefits, cold male lead, cold female lead

rating: 18+, smut

synopsis: we weren’t close. just mutuals. he was mia’s boyfriend’s friend — always quiet, always there, always looking like he didn’t care about anything. then we hooked up once. and then again. now it’s late-night texts, locked doors, and pretending not to look at each other during group hangouts. no feelings. no rules. just whatever this is. and yeah, maybe i’m in too deep — but if he is too, he’s not saying it either.

📧 @ jkarchive has posted [jungkooks main, photography account]

📧 @ y/shidden has posted [y/ns spam account]

"YOU GUYS FUCKED?"

Leon nearly chokes on his water bottle, one hand tightening on the steering wheel.

Mira jerks in her seat, staring at you like you just grew another head.

You sip your iced coffee like you didn’t just casually drop a bomb in the backseat. "Just figured it’d be worse if you found out mid-trip."

Leon glances at you in the rearview, mouth still open. "You’re telling me this now? While I’m driving?"

"Figured it’d keep you alert," you say.

"YOU GUYS FUCKED," he repeats, like his brain needs time to register it.

Mira is still staring. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I need to open a window."

"It’s not that deep," you mutter.

"It is exactly that deep," Leon says, eyes wide. "You’ve been walking around acting like nothing happened, and then you just—what? Drop that like a spoiler in the middle of season three?"

You shrug. "It was a while ago. It’s not a thing. Just… happened."

Leon shakes his head slowly, then exhales. "Okay. Alright. Okay. I need, like, a second. Jesus."

Mira finally blinks. "Are you okay?"

"No, I’m not okay," Leon says. "It's Jeon-fucking-Jungkook. This car ride is gonna kill me."

You laugh. A little. "Just don’t crash the car."

Leon throws his hands up. "Too late. Crashed emotionally. This whole weekend just got a plot twist."

"LEON, OH MY GOD!"

"What?" he laughs, hands steady on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview. "I’m just saying what we’re all thinking."

You blink, iced coffee halfway to your lips. "Excuse me?"

"You and Jungkook," he says, as if it’s obvious. "There’s no way that’s a platonic."

Mira groans. "Can you be normal for one road trip? One?"

"Nope," Leon says cheerfully, then nods toward you. "So, what’s the verdict? You guys hooked up, or are you still riding that denial train into hell?"

You take a long sip of your drink. "We’re just friends."

Leon raises a brow. "Right. That’s why you gave me a heads-up the second we confirmed this trip. ‘Just in case things are weird,’ remember that?"

Mira lets out a wheeze, trying to hide her laughter behind her hand. "Please stop. She’s already dying."

"Look, Y/N," Leon says, tone dipping into something almost serious. "You’re a grown woman. You can do what you want. But if you’re gonna mess around with Jungkook, at least don’t let it mess with your head. That guy... he’s a little too good at keeping people at arm’s length."

You glance out the window, jaw tight. "I know."

Leon softens. "Just don’t let him hurt you. Or I’ll run him over. With this car."

Mira rolls her eyes. "This car’s a Prius. You’d bounce off him."

"It’s the thought that counts."

They’re waiting outside a corner shop when you pull up—Jungkook in black slides, shorts, and a teal shirt clinging to him like it’s already been through one swim. Jimin beside him, scrolling his phone, sipping on a bottle of water.

Jungkook doesn’t smile when he sees you.

Your stomach flips.

He tosses his bag into the trunk. "Shotgun’s mine."

Leon shrugs. "Called it."

Mira helps Jimin shove his bag in. "Sorry. Middle seat for now."

Jimin climbs in with zero resistance, settling between you and Jungkook. He smells like laundry detergent and sunscreen. Familiar.

"Hey, stranger," he says lightly.

"Hey," you smile.

Jungkook says nothing.

The next thirty minutes are filled with light chatter. Jimin’s shoulder brushes yours occasionally, but it’s natural. You two have been over for years, and yet somehow never lost that comfortable rhythm. You laugh at his dumb commentary. He gently roasts your taste in snacks. It’s easy.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word.

"Remember that time Leon thought he could outswim a jet ski?" Jimin says.

"That jet ski came out of nowhere," Leon defends.

"You ran like a cartoon character," Mira laughs.

"He slipped on a pool noodle," you add, grinning.

Jimin chuckles beside you. "You still laugh like that, huh?"

You blink. "Like what?"

"You do this snort thing when it’s really funny," he says, and you immediately feel your face heat.

"Don’t expose me like this."

"It’s cute," he shrugs.

Jungkook doesn’t react.

And for all the jokes and the memories and the comfort of being squished in a car full of friends, there’s still something stiff on your right—silent, still, and watching everything with the kind of awareness that makes it hard to breathe.

You lean closer to Jimin without realizing it.

At the hour mark, you stop at a gas station with a little diner attached.

Everyone piles out. Stretching, yawning, Mira dragging Leon inside to find energy drinks. You head toward the restroom while Jimin buys gum.

When you come back, Jimin is already leaning into the car, giving Jungkook a shove.

"I’m done. Your turn, middle boy."

"Wait—what?" You freeze.

"Sorry," Jimin says, slipping into the far seat. "You’re up, champ."

ack on the road. Now it’s worse.

Jimin leans against the door and slips in his earbuds, dozing off easily, his head turned away. The car falls into a sleepy quiet, except for the occasional turn signal or the low hum of the tires against pavement.

You’re too aware. Of the space between you and Jungkook. Of the space that no longer exists.

His arm is barely grazing yours. His knee bumps yours every few minutes. It feels deliberate. Or maybe it’s not. You don’t know anymore. But it’s driving you insane.

You can feel his warmth. His silence. The way he hasn't looked at you once.

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

You glance sideways—he’s staring straight ahead, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Like he’s trying not to think. Or trying too hard.

The air feels heavier by the second.

Leon glances at the mirror again. He notices. Of course he does. But he says nothing this time. He just watches. Then looks away.

Jungkook shifts slightly, and his pinky brushes yours.

Once.

Twice.

The third time, he leaves it there.

Neither of you says a word.

You don’t look at him.

But your pinky curls—just a little—until it hooks around his.

He doesn’t pull away.

When you blink awake, it takes a second to realize the car isn’t moving. The sky’s gone soft with early evening light, and the air inside is thick with leftover warmth.

You’re still in the middle seat, and Jimin’s head is lolling gently toward yours. He stirs around the same time you do, stretching with a grunt.

“Are we... here?” you mumble, groggy.

Jimin rubs his eyes. "Guess so."

You glance around. The parking area is quiet, trees swaying gently outside the open car windows. The others are gone.

They left you two in the car.

You blink down. Your hand is free now. Your pinky cold.

Was I holding Jungkook’s pinky? The thought slams into your chest.

Did he fall asleep like that? Did you?

Was it real or just—some kind of noncommittal moment? A stunt?

You rub your hand over your face. Why is it bothering me?

You barely have time to spiral deeper because Mira's voice cuts through the air. “Y/N! You guys up?”

You glance up to see her poking her head out of the cottage door, hair pulled up, a drink in her hand.

Jimin groans and opens the door beside him. “We were enjoying the AC, thanks.”

You follow him out, legs stiff, mind buzzing.

Mira waves you both toward the trunk. “Come grab your stuff before Leon steals all the good rooms.”

And just like that, you’re swept into the motion of arrival—stretching, unpacking, pretending like everything’s fine.

Even though your hand still remembers the weight of his.

The sun's lower by the time everyone’s unpacked, bags tossed into rooms, swimsuits swapped out for shorts and tank tops. You step outside with Mira, sunglasses perched on your head, and catch the tail end of Leon and Jimin messing around near the boat tied at the dock.

Jungkook is a little farther off, standing near the water with a towel slung over his shoulder, talking to one of Mira’s cousins. His shirt is still on—a fitted blue one that makes his arms look unfair, the fabric hugging his biceps like it’s clinging on for dear life. You look once, then immediately regret it. Then look again.

“Earth to Y/N,” Mira says, elbowing you. “We’re heading out in ten. Boat’s packed. Sunscreen?”

You blink. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ve got it.”

She tosses you a bottle before jogging ahead. You linger near the porch steps, scrolling your phone half to kill time, half to pretend you're not watching him.

You open your camera and snap a photo without thinking—Jungkook standing beside Jimin, both laughing at something Leon said, sun sharp against their skin, wind in their hair. It’s stupidly perfect.

The boat rocks gently as everyone loads in—coolers clunking, towels being thrown around, someone blasting a summer playlist from a tiny waterproof speaker. Leon and Jimin are already bickering over who gets to steer, Mira is yelling at them to stop shaking the boat, and Jungkook moves quietly, untethering the rope with one hand, eyes flicking up just once—to you.

You pretend not to notice.

Mira pats the seat beside her but you slide into the front instead, next to the cooler. Distance.

The engine kicks up with a sputter and hum, and soon you’re skimming across the lake, wind curling through your hair and the sun casting everything in a soft, hazy gold. You lean into it. Let yourself drift.

Jimin breaks out a pack of drinks. Leon nearly spills one when a wave bumps the side of the boat.

“You’re gonna drown us all,” Mira says.

Leon: “If I go down, I’m taking the aux with me.”

Laughter rolls over the water. You sip your drink slowly, eyes trailing toward the back of the boat where Jungkook is perched on the edge, one leg bent, hand braced casually against the side.

He looks good. Relaxed, but not fully. Always a little distant. That blue shirt still on, clinging slightly from the mist, the sleeves pulled tight against his arms.

“Alright,” Jimin announces. “Everyone in. It’s officially too hot to pretend we’re chill. Let’s go.”

Mira stands. “Wait, not all at once!”

But Leon’s already mid-jump, crashing into the lake with a splash.

You stand and peel off your tank top, leaving your shorts on over your bikini. The water looks good—cool, inviting. Jimin dives in next, yelling something incoherent before disappearing under the surface.

Jungkook doesn’t move.

You glance at him. He meets your eyes for just a second. Then shrugs his shirt off.

Your mouth goes a little dry.

You look away.

“Go,” Mira nudges.

You jump.

The cold is shocking in the best way. It steals the breath from your lungs, wraps around your legs and pulls you under. You surface with a gasp and a laugh, flicking water from your lashes, just in time to see Jungkook dive in cleanly—arms slicing through the surface like he’s done it a thousand times.

He pops up nearby, pushing his wet hair back with one hand.

You pretend not to notice how good he looks wet.

He doesn’t look at you. But he’s close.

Jimin splashes Leon. Mira yells something about sunscreen. The boat drifts nearby, anchored loosely.

You float, tilt your head back to stare at the sky, and try to forget the tension clinging to your ribs.

But under the water, you feel a brush—light. Intentional.

A hand grazing yours. Just for a second.

You exhale slowly, wiping your face, pretending nothing happened—pretending your heart didn’t skip a beat. But the water’s too clear, and Jungkook’s too close now. You catch a glimpse of his smirk just before he looks away, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Like he wants you to wonder.

You narrow your eyes. Is he teasing me?

He dives again, and when he surfaces, he sends a small splash your way—light, almost playful. You splash back without thinking, eyes sharp. He smirks again.

Definitely teasing.

You tread water, jaw tight. He acts like it’s nothing. Like you didn’t hold hands for an entire stretch of highway. Like that moment didn’t sit in your chest like a second heartbeat.

What is this? A joke to him? A game?

You look away, annoyed at yourself for caring.

authors note: i had this story already written but private on my wattpad, obviously added many tweaks so idk if the story is going to my expectations anymore i feel like its going to fast/getting boring but lmk and give me some suggestions!

part 6 here

#bts army #bts jungkook #bts smut #jungkook #jungkook scenarios #bts #bts x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #bts fanfic

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appalachiancowboy99 · 11 months ago

Text

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air. Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else.

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

#Thank you for reading - from the bottom of my little Appalachian Heart <3 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader smut #arthur morgan #rdr2 community #grumpy #fluff #arthur morgan rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #john marston #rdr #dutch van der linde #molly o'shea #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

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