#fabric-of-shared-perception | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yvesette · 1 year ago

Text

WE GOT MARRIED!

ִ ࣪𖤐 ۪ ݁ 𓈒 ── choi seungcheol

SUMMARY: ── the premise of the popular reality show, "we got married," was simple: you and another celebrity would pretend to be married for two weeks, navigating various romantic and domestic challenges together. when your partner turns out to be choi seungcheol however, feelings complicate your perception of reality.

PAIRING: [choi seungcheol (s.coups) x f!reader] GENRE: [eventual smut, domestic fluff, angst, idol!au, fake dating, one bed, all the good shit]

CW: afab!reader, nicknames (angel, babygirl, baby, good girl), arguing (it’s sorted out), soft!dom ?? + pussydrunk cheol, big!dick cheol, fingering, penetration, safe sex (ofc), possessive!cheol, hair pulling, light choking

℘　　◌　　﹒　⠀ ꢾ꣒⠀　 ׅ⠀ㅤ　⑅

── pre-show interview:

interviewer: "thank you for joining us today! can you tell us a little about yourself and what initially made you hesitant to join 'we got married'?"

you fiddle with your hands and compose yourself into a smile.

“of course. i’m y/n, and to be honest, when i was first approached about the show, i had a lot of reservations. being an idol, my life is already under constant scrutiny, and the idea of faking a marriage on national television was daunting. i was worried about how my fans would react and whether I'd be able to genuinely connect with my on-screen partner."

interviewer: "what eventually convinced you to participate?"

you think, “it was a mix of curiosity and encouragement from my friends and management. they believed it would be a good opportunity for me to show a different side of myself, one that isn't always visible on stage. plus, the idea of experiencing something as unique as a reality show marriage was too intriguing to pass up."

interviewer: "do you know who your partner will be yet?

you smile nervously, “no, i don't. it’s a complete surprise for me. all i know is that it's someone from a well-known group. i’m really curious to find out who it is!"

interviewer: "that must be exciting! can you share what your ideal type is for the camera?”

you grin thoughtfully, “my ideal type is someone who is kind-hearted and takes care of the people around them. they should have a strong sense of responsibility but also listen and understand. a good sense of humor is a must — oh and physically, i guess i find myself drawn to someone with a warm smile and expressive eyes. someone who can be both charismatic on stage and down-to-earth in everyday life."

interviewer: "finally, do you have any worries or concerns going into the show?"

you: "i’m a bit worried about how awkward it might be at first. there’s always that initial nervousness when meeting someone new, and this situation is quite intense. i hope we can get past that quickly and have a good time together.”

—

day 1:

you stood in front of the door to a luxurious townhome, hands fidgeting nervously at your sides. this would be your new home for the next two weeks. the camera crew gave you a nod, signaling it was time to head inside. taking a deep breath, you open the door and step into the living room, where a warm, cozy ambiance greets you. as you set your bag down, you hear the sound of the front door opening again. you turn, breath caught in your throat, and a man, looking slightly familiar to you, enters the room.

he was wearing a white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, paired with dark jeans that accentuated his tall, athletic frame. his broad shoulders and well-defined chest were subtly outlined by the fabric of his shirt, hinting at the strength beneath. the open collar revealed a glimpse of his collarbones, which added an effortlessly sexy touch to his appearance and you thanked god you’d been paired with someone this attractive, as selfish as it sounded. his face was a perfect blend of boyish charm and mature masculinity and his dark hair was styled in a slightly tousled manner.

the man in front of you carried a polite smile. for a moment, you both stood there, slightly taken aback by the reality of the situation.then, as if on cue, you both bowed to each other in polite, awkward unison. "hello!" you said at the same time, voices overlapping. realizing what happened, you both laughed nervously and bowed again, this time with even more formality.

“hi, i’m y/n," you said, smiling despite your nerves.

“i’m seungcheol. it’s nice to meet you,” he said, returning your smile.

there was a brief pause as you both sized each other up, trying to gauge the other's reaction. something about him seemed familiar, but you couldn't quite place it.

your heart skipped a beat as recognition dawned on you and you remembered his face from music and award shows. you were almost certain the man in front of you was a member of seventeen and your mind was almost more eased you were paired with another idol.

as you shook his hand, your mind raced with a million thoughts. should you mention that you know who he is? would it be weird? awkward?

before you could decide, seungcheol spoke again, his voice cheerful and inviting, “i know this is a bit of an odd situation, but let's make these two weeks memorable, okay?”

you nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from his face and your cheeks flushed slightly.

the first task was to explore the house together, finding little notes and hints left by the producers about upcoming challenges and activities. as you moved from room to room, seungcheol’s playful nature shined through. he made jokes about the odd decorations and even tried on an oversized apron in the kitchen, to which he realized how easily he could make you laugh.

in the living room, you found a note instructing you to cook your first meal together. seungcheol looked at you with genuine curiosity in his eyes. "do you cook often?"

you shook your head, “i try, but i’m not the best. how about you?”

he shrugged, “i can manage, could you hand me those eggs?”

working side by side in the kitchen, you both stumbled through the recipe, exchanging glances and giggles as you tried to make sense of the instructions. seungcheol’s presence was comforting; his easygoing demeanor made it feel less like a staged activity and you had to remind yourself of your situation every once in a while.

“careful!" you warned as he nearly knocked over a bowl of flour.

“oops," he laughed, catching it just in time. "oh my god, thanks for warning me.”

when the meal was finally ready, you both sat down at the coffee table, a sense of accomplishment and camaraderie settling in.

“you know," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial, "i have to admit, i was a bit of a fan of yours before this."

you almost spit out your food and your eyes widen in surprise, “you were?”

he nodded, a shy smirk playing on his lips. "yeah, i may or may not have listened to…a few, songs.”

you couldn't help but laugh, feeling a rush of disbelief, “well," you said, unable to hide the smile on your face, "i guess we both have some fangirling/fanboying to do then.”

seungcheol chuckled before taking a sip of his drink, “looks like we're off to a good start then."

later that evening, as you both settled on the couch to go over the day's events, you found yourself stealing glances at seungcheol when he wasn't looking. the cameras captured every moment, but by now, they had become background noise. seungcheol’s arm rested casually on the back of the couch, his presence reassuring.

"so what did you think of our first day together?" seungcheol asked, turning to you with a gentle smile.

you smiled back, feeling more at ease now. "honestly , it was fun. a bit overwhelming at first, but i think we handled it pretty well."

he nodded, his expression thoughtful. "yeah , i think so too. it’s all about getting comfortable with each other, right?"

you laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "exactly."

as the night continued, the two of you talked about your experiences in the industry, sharing stories and laughing over funny moments. the more you talked, the more you realized how much you had in common. it was easy to forget the cameras were even there.

—

day 5:

it had been a few days of filming and your arranged marriage with the charming seungcheol was off to an...interesting start. between the awkward getting-to-know-you interviews and staged "newlywed" activities for the cameras, you were still trying to find your footing in this bizarre situation.

one minute, you and seungcheol were bickering like an old married couple over whose turn it was to do the dishes, (it would always end with him insisting he did the chore.) the next, you'd catch him shooting you an ambiguous look from under those ridiculously long lashes, causing a fluttery feeling to erupt in your stomach. it was a constant back-and-forth of feeling flustered yet intrigued by your new husband.

today, the production crew had you and seungcheol participate in a silly pillow fight "challenge" meant to showcase your playful newlywed dynamic. what started off as an innocent, goofy bout of whacking each other with the plush objects quickly devolved into an all-out war.

giggling breathlessly, you launched another fluffy projectile at seungcheol’s head, who had now affectionately insisted you call him cheol.

he taunted with a roguish grin, deflecting your pillow attack.

you both scrambled for ammunition, whacking each other relentlessly. you shrieked as a particularly fierce blow sent you tumbling backwards onto the bed.

in a flash, seungcheol pounced - pinning your wrists above your head as he straddled your waist. his sculpted body pressed against yours, stealing your breath away.

"i win," he murmured huskily, drinking in your flushed, disheveled state. a few dark strands of hair had fallen over his forehead, making him look ridiculously pretty and you both froze as the heated tension reached a tipping point, chests heaving from the exertion of your pillow fight.

then, all at once, realization seemed to wash over both of you. this had crossed a line, strayed too far from the realm of pretend into something that felt a little too real for your comfort. seungcheol quickly released your wrists and rolled off you, running a flustered hand through his tousled hair as the cameras cut and the producers applaud your chemistry ‘played up’ for the show.

“i…sorry, i got a bit carried away there," he muttered gruffly, unable to meet your eyes.

you pushed yourself into a sitting position, clutching a pillow protectively to your chest. “no, it's...yeah, me too," you mumbled, cheeks burning.

as seungcheol swiftly excused himself, you couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper and more complicated had been irrevocably awakened on your end, you watched your fake husband’s broad back retreating towards the door, then he paused and glanced over his shoulder at you.

despite the flustered awkwardness of moments before, his gaze openly raked over your disheveled form in a way that made heat lick through your veins. you clutched the pillow tighter, suddenly feeling very exposed under his molten perusal.

as quickly as the blazing look had appeared, it faded to a neutral expression once more as he gave you a brisk nod. "i’ll...see you later," he murmured in a rough rasp before ducking out of the room, leaving you flushed and wondering what the hell had just happened.

—

day 9:

the sweltering summer heat had prompted the producers to film a scene with you and seungcheol enjoying some relaxation at the rooftop pool.

you tried not to stare too openly as seungcheol stripped off his shirt, revealing a toned, sculpted torso that made your mouth go dry. rivulets of glistening water trailed tantalizing paths down those firm abs as he sank into the cool pool with a contented sigh.

“you coming in or what, y/n?" he flashed you a lopsided grin, sending your pulse into an erratic stutter.

shaking yourself free of your momentary thirst, you made a big show of daintily dipping a toe in to test the temperature, “oh my god it’s freezing.” you step out of the water onto the poolside and shiver from the contact.

cheol arches an incredulous brow at your overly dramatic reaction. then without warning, he kicked up an arched wave that splashed you squarely in the face.

you sputtered in outraged shock as he cackled at your drenched, bedraggled state. you cursed at him and then tilted your head, “oh you’re gonna get it now…”

retaliating, you cannonballed directly towards him, prompting a yelp as he tried dodging the cascading wall of water.

what started as an innocent pool dip quickly devolved into an all-out splash fight, filled with laughter and shrieks, water spraying everywhere. at one point, seungcheol grabbed you around the waist from behind, holding you flush against his chest as you squealed and squirmed playfully...

as the sun dipped low on the horizon, it set the sky ablaze with vibrant shades of orange and red bled across the heavens, intermingling with streaks of brilliant pink and lavender. the surface of the rooftop pool shimmered like liquid amber, endlessly rippling and refracting the spectacular colors above.

as the playful battle subsided, you found yourselves standing chest-deep, catching your breath. seungcheol, hair plastered to his forehead, offered you a sheepish grin. his hand, reaching out to brush a stray strand from your eye, hesitated in mid-air.

the air crackled with a sudden tension, a shift from playful banter to something more intense. you held his gaze, unsure of where this unexpected touch might lead. the playful facade, for a moment, seemed to falter, revealing a vulnerability that sent a shiver down your spine.

as the camera crew wrapped their filming of the segment momentarily, cheol leaned against the pool deck, catching his breath, while you treaded water, a satisfied smile playing on your lips.

“you know," seungcheol said, his voice slightly breathless, "for someone who almost drowned me with pool water ten minutes ago - you’re pretty fun to do this whole fake marriage this with.”

his compliment caught you off guard, a blush creeping up your cheeks. you looked away, fiddling with the straps of your swimsuit and snorted, “you would have survived, trust.”

you bit your lip, “but you’re not…awful, to do this with. i’m glad it was you.”

his biceps flexed as he pushed himself off the wall, the water cascading down his toned arms. he smiled and ran a hand through his hair, which was now drying in messy waves.

you had to admit to yourself, in another situation, he was pretty close to your type. your mind took a sharp turn and a thrilling image of cheol, those big arms holding you close, pinning you down. he could easily manhandle you, and the thought sent a forbidden thrill through you.

taking a deep breath, you forced your gaze away from him, the delicious heat replaced by a cold wave of reality.

—

that evening, the producers insisted that as a "newly married couple," you and seungcheol needed to share the bedroom set for an authentic experience. your heart pounded as the camera crew ushered you both into the dimly lit bedroom, pulling the covers back invitingly.

"alright you two, get nice and cozy for us!" the director called out teasingly. "we’ll get some candid footage of your first night spent in the same room together as husband and wife."

you shot seungcheol an awkward look, but he just gave you a reassuring smile as he slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you close. the cameras rolled as you climbed stiffly into bed together, maintaining a prim distance at first.

however, as soon as the crew lights winked off and you were left in intimate shadows, cheol’s touch grew bolder. his arm snaked more fully around you, hand skimming along your curves as he tugged you flush against his solid frame and he watched your face for approval.

"just go with it for the cameras," he murmured in your ear, making you shiver at the feel of his warm breath fanning your neck.

you gave a shaky nod, trying to ignore the rampant spiraling spawning low in your belly from his nearness. but as the man next to you nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, letting out a contented sigh, you felt yourself instinctively relaxing into his embrace.

before long, the camera crew was dismissing themselves, leaving you and seungcheol tangled together intimately. you started to pull away, murmuring about giving him some space, but his arms only tightened around you.

“stay," he rumbled in that deep velvety tone that made heat curl low in your belly. "please. just for tonight."

you couldn't help but overthink the situation as you lay cocooned in seungcheol’s strong arms later that night. his slow, even breathing tickled the nape of your neck as he slumbered peacefully behind you.

this whole scenario - cuddling intimately, sharing a bed, his persistent insistence that you stay - it was quickly becoming difficult for you to differentiate reality and the fake of your friendship, or whatever you could call it.

realistically, there was no way seungcheol actually had romantic feelings for you, right? you were just some virtual stranger he'd been assigned to act affectionate towards for the sake of entertainment.

no, you reasoned to yourself, cheol was simply an incredibly dedicated performer who happened to be devastatingly good-looking. he was merely playing the role of an infatuated newlywed husband exceptionally well. all those lingering looks, the electrifying touches, the way he'd pulled you insistently into his embrace - it was just him staying committed to the act. you were just a tolerable person for him to pretend to be married to for the cameras. that’s all this was. if you started projecting more meaning onto your partner’s actions, reading into lingering touches and heated glances, you'd only end up getting your hopes up and complicating things.

chewing your lip, you willed yourself not to dwell on the intimacy of your current position - pressed snugly back against his toned chest, legs tangled together, breaths mingling. it didn’t mean anything. he was just...really, really good at making this fake marriage feel real.

you lay there for a long while, keenly aware of every rise and fall of seungcheol’s chest against your back, the whisper of his warm breath fanning your nape. his arm was a solid, heated band around your waist, anchoring you to his slumbering form.

carefully, you began extracting yourself from his arms, trying not to rouse him. he made a soft grumbling sound of protest as you slipped out of bed, his arm reflexively tightening for a moment before falling away. you froze, watching him with bated breath, but he merely rolled onto his back with a gusty sigh, face relaxing back into peaceful slumber.

for a long moment, you simply stood there drinking in the sight of him - all tousled ebony hair, chiseled features, lips slightly parted as he slumbered. your heart gave a powerful thud, desperate longing temporarily overwhelming rationality.

then, you wrenched your gaze away, wrapping your arms around yourself as you crept towards the door on soft feet and went to your separate bedroom. this was for the best. putting some distance between you before things inevitably became more tangled and awkward.

—

day 12:

"you’re burning it!" seungcheol suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the pan on the stove where the sauce was starting to smoke.

by late afternoon, you were both working on preparing dinner in the kitchen. the producers had given you a complex recipe to follow, and the pressure was mounting. seungcheol was chopping vegetables while you tried to manage the stove, but things weren't going as planned.

you glanced over, feeling flustered. "i know, i know! i’m trying to fix it!"

"well, you need to do it faster! we can't serve burnt food," he retorted, his tone sharper than you expected.

you felt a surge of irritation. "why don't you come over here and do it then if you're so concerned?"

seungcheol put down the knife he was holding, his jaw tightening. "i’m just trying to help. there’s no need to get defensive."

you turn off the stove and face him, your frustration boiling over. "it feels like you're criticizing everything i’m doing. this is supposed to be fun but—“ you sigh.

seungcheol’s expression softened slightly, but he didn't back down. "i’m not trying to criticize you. i’m just stressed because i want this to turn out well. we’re both under a lot of pressure.”

his words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. you felt a warmth bloom in your cheeks, a prickling awareness that transcended the confines of the tiny kitchen. it wasn't just the heat from the stove anymore; it was the sudden, electrifying tension that crackled between you.

whatever this "show marriage" was quickly becoming, it was growing increasingly difficult to remember it wasn't real.

his gaze held yours, a storm brewing in his dark eyes. was it just the stress of the competition, or was there something more? maybe it was the way his thumb brushed against yours as he reached for a spatula, a touch that lingered a beat too long. maybe it was the way his voice seemed to drop an octave whenever he spoke directly to you.

the air grew thick, the playful banter of the morning replaced by a charged silence. you weren't talking simply about cooking anymore. this felt like something more, something simmering beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

suddenly, a loud clang from the living room shattered the spell. the cameraman had accidentally knocked over a vase, the sound breaking the intimate bubble you'd somehow created. seungcheol offered a grin of reconciliation, the tension momentarily broken.

as you both cleaned up the broken vase, a playful jab exchanged here and there, you couldn't shake the feeling that cheol’s feelings for you mirrored your own. maybe it was just wishful thinking, fueled by the close proximity and manufactured intimacy of the show. but a tiny, hopeful spark ignited within you. perhaps, just perhaps, this fake marriage could be a gateway into something else.

the air crackled with an unspoken apology after your argument in the kitchen. the rest of the day was filmed in a tense silence, punctuated only by the polite pleasantries expected for the cameras. seungcheol stole glances at you every now and then, his gaze laced with regret, but you studiously avoided his eyes.

dinner was a quiet affair, the weight of the fight hanging heavy between you. as the last crew member packed up their equipment and said their goodbyes, a heavy sigh escaped seungcheol’s lips. you remembered you only had two more days left with him before you parted ways and continued your daily, busy lives.

you lean against the doorframe of cheol’s assigned bedroom. he’s reading something foreign and doesn’t notice your presence at first. "hey," you started hesitantly, the artificiality of your fabricated married life suddenly feeling suffocating. he looked up, his eyes filled with a vulnerability you hadn't seen before.

"i shouldn't have snapped at you," he said, his voice rough. "this whole thing... the pressure, the cameras... it just — you know, gets to me sometimes.”

you understood. the world only saw the polished, perfect idols on stage, not the stress and anxieties that gnawed at them behind the scenes. partially this show felt like a risk of balance between speculation and approval. “i know," you admitted softly, surprised at the tremor in your voice. "it gets to me too."

silence settled again, but this time it wasn't tense. it was a comfortable quiet, an unspoken understanding blooming between you.

you took a seat on the mattress and asked him what he was reading.

“amour,” he says, flipping the book over to show you the cover.

“amour?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "isn’t that french for love?"

cheol rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "yeah, it is. found it at the airport bookstore. it’s about a journalist who travels around france asking people about love."

a playful glint sparked in your eyes. "funny," you said, tracing the title with your finger, “didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

a wry smile tugged at the corner of seungcheol's lips. "maybe i’m just curious," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur that made you nervous. "especially after all this... 'pretend' marriage stuff." he paused, his gaze flickering from the book to your face. "maybe the line between pretending and feeling is a little more blurry than we thought."

he words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. the playful banter you'd used as a shield these past 2 weeks suddenly felt inadequate. you met his gaze, the air crackling with a new kind of tension.

"maybe it is," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

the glint in your eyes softened into something deeper, something that mirrored the sudden intensity in cheol’s gaze. he set his book down on the nightstand with a soft thud, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence that had descended upon the room.

he took a slow movement towards you across the bed, his eyes searching yours with a depth that made your breath catch. you could practically feel the unspoken question hanging in the air, a question your heart already knew the answer to. there was a palpable tension between you, an invisible thread pulling you closer.

without another word, seungcheol closed the remaining distance between you. his hand reached out to cup your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. his thumb brushed against your soft skin, a gentle caress that spoke volumes. it was as if he was trying to communicate everything he felt in that simple touch, the unspoken emotions and the growing connection between you.

his eyes flickered down to your lips before meeting your gaze again, asking for permission without uttering a single word. you gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

then, he leaned in. the kiss was hesitant at first, a soft exploration that tasted of unspoken longing and a newfound vulnerability. hips lips were warm and tender against yours, moving with a gentleness that made your heart ache and charged with the electricity of forbidden desire and the sweetness of a connection that transcended the cameras and the manufactured reality of your "marriage."

as the kiss deepened, seungcheol’s other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. you responded instinctively, your hands sliding up to rest on his broad shoulders. the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in that moment. the kiss grew more passionate, an unspoken promise of the bond forming between you.

his fingers threaded through your hair, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss. the heat of his body pressed against yours, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart mirroring your own. every touch, every movement was filled with a mix of tenderness and urgency, a dance of emotions that neither of you could deny any longer.

in one swift movement, seungcheol lifted you onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around you securely. the sudden shift made you gasp, breaking the kiss momentarily. he took advantage of your parted lips, diving back in with a new intensity. his hand tangled in your hair, gripping it roughly as he deepened the kiss. the raw hunger in his actions satisfied a need you’d had since the moment you met him and ignited a new thirst in you for more than a kiss.

his lips left yours, trailing hot kisses down your jaw and neck. seungcheol’s breath was warm against your skin, each kiss sending shivers down your spine. "cheol-ie," you breathed out, your voice shaky with desire. "i’ve needed you so bad.”

he groaned against your neck, the sound vibrating through you and making your core tighten with need. "you have no idea how much I’ve wanted you babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough with longing. the nickname makes you feel weak in his arms as they roam over your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

you began to move against him, grinding your hips down on his lap. the friction elicited a deep, guttural moan from his chest, his grip on your hair tightening. his lips continued their path along your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin. each touch, each kiss, was driving you both closer to the edge.

your hands slid under his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours and see the body you’d thought about and fantasized about at the pool. his muscles tensed under your touch, and he let out another low groan. the sound sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, making you grind harder against him.

feeling the need for more, you reached for the hem of your top, and without hesitation, cheol’s hands followed suit, helping you remove the garment until it fell forgotten to the floor. his eyes drank in the sight before him, the intensity of his gaze sending a thrill through you. with a passion that matched your own, he leaned in to capture your lips in a feverish kiss, his movements urgent and commanding.

seungcheol’s hands moved to your breasts, his touch sending electric pulses of pleasure coursing through your body. his lips followed suit, trailing hot kisses down your neck and collarbone before finding their way to your exposed skin. the sensation of his warm mouth on your sensitive flesh made you gasp, a moan escaping your lips as you arched into his touch.

as he sucked and massaged your breasts with a hunger that bordered on desperation, you couldn't help but whine his name, the sound echoing in the room like a symphony of desire.

his only response was a deep, guttural groan, the sound vibrating through you.

cheol’s hands moved to your hips, guiding your movements and matching your rhythm. the sensation of his hardness pressing against you was intoxicating, heightening the desire coursing through your veins. “i need you," he whispered hoarsely against your neck, his breath hot and heavy.

you pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. the intensity you saw there took your breath away. "i need you too, cheol," you whispered back, your voice filled with the same raw need.

"show me," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative tone. "show me how much you want me."

you bit your lip and your mind was urging you to shed the last remnants of clothing separating you from seungcheol’s touch. with a sense of urgency, you sat up, for just a moment to rid yourself of your pajama shorts and panties. he gently helped you slip out of the remainder of your clothes until you were completely bare in front of him.

as you returned to straddle him, seungcheol’s eyes darkened with possessiveness, his slightly dumbfounded gaze raking over your exposed form with undisguised lust. you reached for his hand, guiding it to where you needed him most.

his fingers moved in circles with a skill and reverence that bordered on worship. as he teased and caressed you with one hand, his other grabbed the back of your neck to pull you into his orbit.

"cheol," you gasped, your voice filled with need as his touch sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. "pl-please, want you inside of me..”

his response was a low, guttural growl, the sound sending shivers down your spine. he pressed his fingers against your throbbing center, the sensation driving you crazy, and leaned against your ear, “i know angel, i know, need to prep you.”

he slipped two long fingers inside you, his movements slow and deliberate. you couldn't help but arch impossibly back into his touch, a high pitched moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely. his fingers curled inside you and slipped in and out, stretching you and sending waves of pleasure over you that you could feel building closer and closer to your climax.

cheol pulled your face closer to his by your neck as he pumped his fingers in and out of you and whispered in his deep voice words of praise, “you’re so good for me.” his voice was rough in responsive to your obedience.

“such a good girl.”

the words sent a thrill through you, and your breathing that had gotten more quick by the second let all the air escape from your lungs as you completely gave in to the sensations in your body. you reached your peak screaming his name and collapsing onto the bed with your back. now on top of you, cheol guided you down from your high, and his movements became slower and more gentle until his fingers pulled out of you.

you felt his hand move to your lips, gently pressing against them. with a mix of hesitation and curiosity, you parted your lips, allowing cheol to guide his fingers inside your mouth so you could taste yourself.

“that’s it babygirl,” he said, a low groan escaping his lips. the sight of you, so willing and eager for his touch, only fueled the fire burning inside of him. he pulls his fingers from your mouth to press gentle kisses on your lips and your cheek - a sharp contrast from the intensity that had taken over him before.

as the passion of the moment continued to build, you couldn't help but notice the unmistakable hardness pressing against your thigh. seungcheol’s arousal was evident, his desire matching your own in its fervor. a surge of need washed over you, and you found yourself craving him in a way that was almost overwhelming.

desperation clawed at your insides, urging you to beg for him, to plead with him to take you in his arms and fuck you until you saw stars. but as you glanced into his eyes, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, a hint of fear lurking beneath the surface.

you reached for him, your fingers tracing the outline of his arousal through his pants. the intensity of his desire was palpable, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through you. you wanted him, needed him, in a way that bordered on obsession. but as you moved to undo his pants, you felt him hesitate, his hands shaking slightly. "i…i don’t know if i can," he whispered hoarsely, his voice filled with a sigh.

you whispered, your voice soft and filled with sincerity. "i want this, with you."

a flicker of relief flashed across his features, his shoulders relaxing slightly at your words. but the worry still lingered in his eyes, the fear of causing you pain evident in every line of his expression. he reached down to free his member from the confines of his sweatpants, discarding the clothing with a swift movement. as his length sprang free, you couldn't help but gasp at the sight before you. he was almost comically big, his arousal standing proudly against his abdomen, thick and pulsing with desire.

a mix of excitement and nervousness coursed through you as you watched him, desire pooling low in your belly. you couldn't help but wonder how he was going to fit inside of you, the thought sending a thrill of anticipation racing through you. seungcheol reached for his wallet on the nightstand, retrieving a condom with practiced ease and slipped it on.

cheol lifted your legs over his head, moving himself between them, a gasp escaped your lips at the sudden change in position. you felt him slowly enter you, his size stretching you in a way that was both exhilarating and slightly painful. the stretch stung, sending a jolt of sensation coursing through your body, but it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. he had to be the biggest you'd ever had, filling you completely and leaving you breathless with desire.

“‘s-so big,” was all you could breathe out with awe in your voice.

“you’re so fucking tight,” he murmured with both hands holding your legs over his shoulder so he could stretch you out as much as possible. bottoming out, he studied your face for signs of discomfort and deciding he could move. as seungcheol began to thrust gently at first, you felt his movements cautious and tender, as if he were testing the waters. each slow push and pull sent waves of pleasure rippling through you, his size stretching you in ways that ignited a fire deep within.

“feels so fucking good, your perfect pussy…” he groans into your neck.

you couldn't help but vocalize how good you felt as well, “don’t stop baby, please.”

something about that nickname makes his movements became more urgent, more desperate, as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of being inside you. with each thrust, you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable crescendo. his thrusts became rougher, more dominant, as he took control of the rhythm. with a growl of desire, he reached for your throat, his grip firm but not constricting.

the sensation of his hand around your neck sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through you, the combination of pleasure and pain driving you wild with desire. "who makes you feel this good?" he demanded, his voice rough with need.

you gasped at the sensation, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. "you," you screamed, your voice filled with rawness. "It's you, cheol."

he flipped you over onto your hands and knees, positioning you perfectly for him to take you from behind. you gasped at the sudden change in position, the feeling of vulnerability and excitement coursing through you. but before you could react, seungcheol’s hands were on you, grabbing your ass possessively as he pulled you towards him. the sensation of his grip on your flesh sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine, curved for him to hit your perfect angle.

as you thought you couldn't take any more, you felt his hand tangle in your hair, pulling you back towards him with a force that left you breathless. “want you to be mine..” he choked out, his words claiming you.

“‘m yours," you gasped, your voice surrendering yourself completely. with a final, desperate thrust, cheol buried himself deep inside you, sending you both hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. pleasure exploded through every nerve ending in your body as you both reached the peak together, your cries of passion mingling in the air as you rode out the waves of bliss together.

seungcheol slowly withdrew from you and as you caught your breathe, he removed the condom, discarding it thoughtfully before turning his attention back to you. his demeanor shifted, his previous intensity giving way to a tender concern. leaning in, he pressed soft kisses to your tired face, his touch gentle and reassuring. "are you okay?" he whispered, his voice filled with genuine concern as he traced a soothing hand along your sweaty cheek.

you nodded, a contented smile gracing your lips as you bask in the warmth of his affection.

he tenderly cleaned you with a warm, damp cloth that he quickly fetched from the bathroom, his movements gentle and careful as he ensured tour comfort. once satisfied, he disposed of the cloth and returned to your side, pulling the covers over the both of your naked bodies.

you lay in each other's arms, the quiet of the room enveloping them like a comforting embrace. the air was filled with a sense of contentment but also questions rang through your mind. unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you spoke up. "cheol, earlier... did you mean what you said?" you asked, her voice tentative yet filled with hope.

seungcheol turned to you, his gaze soft yet filled with meaning. “every word," he replied, his voice steady and sure. “if you want — then you’re mine, and i’m yours.”

your mind buzzed with uncertainty and you sigh, snuggling closer to him. the realization that your time together on the show was fleeting weighed heavily on your heart, casting a shadow over the intimacy you had shared.

"seungcheol," you begin, switching from the nickname you’d been using. “i can’t help but wonder...after filming ends, what happens to us? we haven't known each other for long, and...” you gnawed at your lip, “what if we’re just caught in the moment?”

his expression faltered, a flicker of hurt flashing across his features at your words. he had been so certain of your connection, so confident in the depth of your feelings for each other, that your doubts came as a painful blow.

he reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently cupped your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his. "caught in the moment?" he repeated, his voice filled with an anxiety-ridden tone you had never heard before. "is that really what you think this is?"

your chest clenched at the anguish in seungcheol’s eyes, the weight of your words settling heavily between the two of you. you hadn't meant to hurt him, hadn't realized the impact your doubts would have on him.

"no, seungcheol, that's not what i meant," you hurried to explain, sitting up — your voice thick with regret. "i just... i’m scared. scared that what we have isn't enough to survive once the cameras stop rolling."

seungcheol sat up, shoulders slumped, the weight of your uncertainty pressing down on him like a boulder. "i need some time to think," he said, his voice strained. without another word, he stood up, dressed himself with the clothes he’d discarded on the floor as you protested, and left the room, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing through the silence.

you curled up under the covers, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt.

—

day 13:

the next morning dawned with a heavy sense of awkwardness hanging in the air. as you emerged from your room, the weight of last night’s conversation still pressed on your chest. cheol was already in the kitchen, his back turned to you as he prepared breakfast. the usual warmth and easy smiles were conspicuously absent.

"good morning," you said softly, trying to break the tension.

"morning," he replied flatly, not turning to face you. his tone was distant, a stark contrast to the intimate moments you had shared just hours before.

breakfast was a quiet affair, the silence between you filled with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. every clink of cutlery felt amplified, every glance avoided a reminder of the rift that had formed.

filming started shortly after, the crew bustling around to set up the day’s scenes. you and seungcheol went through the motions, but the chemistry that had once made your interactions effortless now felt forced. the cameras captured your strained smiles and awkward pauses, the tension between you palpable.

by the end of the day, the weight of the unspoken words and unresolved tension was nearly unbearable. as the crew packed up and the lights dimmed, you felt a deep sense of despair settle in. the connection that had once felt so strong now seemed fragile.

the newly familiar routine of brushing your teeth and changing into pajamas felt strangely hollow without seungcheol’s presence by your side. as you slipped under the covers, the cool sheets seemed to amplify the emptiness of the space beside you.

—

day 14:

the next day dawned with a sense of finality, the knowledge that it was the last day of filming adding a layer of bittersweet tension to the air. you went through your morning routine mechanically, each action feeling heavy with the weight of the unspoken words and unresolved emotions between you and your fake husband.

the filming started early, the crew bustling around to capture the last few scenes of your time together. you and seungcheol interacted politely, tension still lingering. you found yourself stealing glances at him, wishing for a moment alone to bridge the gap, but the demands of filming left little room for personal conversations. the day moved swiftly, and before you knew it, it was time for the post-show interview.

—

post-show interview:

you sat in the brightly lit room, the camera trained on you as the producer asked the final questions. the weight of the moment pressed on you, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves.

interviewer: "so, how do you feel now that the show is ending?”

her voice was gentle but probing.

you paused, considering your words carefully. "its been an amazing experience," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "i’ve learned so much about myself and about what i want in a relationship. and...i’ve come to care for seungcheol deeply. more than i expected."

the interviewer leaned in, sensing the depth of your emotions.

interviewer: “can you elaborate on that? how has your relationship with seungcheol evolved?"

you nodded, your heart pounding. "at first, it was just about getting to know each other, but as the days went by, i found myself feeling…a certain way about him. he’s kind, supportive, and has this way of making me feel seen and valued. i’ve realized that i fell for him and that my feelings were real.”

a pang of regret hit you, remembering your doubts and the hurt in cheol’s eyes. you wondered if you should share your feelings fully, fearing the consequences of the media. but then, you decided—if there was a chance that he would see this interview when the show aired, perhaps he would understand the depth of your feelings and know that you regretted your words.

“i’ve fallen for seungcheol," you confessed, your voice breaking slightly. "and i regret the doubts i voiced. i wish i could take them back. i hope... i hope he can see how much he means to me."

the interviewer smiled softly, sensing the raw emotion in your words and the scoop she had just gotten. “thank you for sharing that," she said gently. "it’s clear that this experience has been transformative for you."

—

the weeks after the show wrapped up were a whirlwind of activity as you dived back into your work. your agency had announced a comeback, and preparations were in full swing, leaving little time for anything else. yet, despite the hectic schedule, thoughts of seungcheol lingered in the back of your mind, a constant undercurrent to your busy days. you cherished the rare quiet moments in your dorm, where you could catch up with your girl friends or simply relax. even during these times, you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a message from the person you longed for. as the days passed with no word, a sense of uncertainty grew, mingled with the hope that he would reach out once the show aired.

when the show finally did air, you watched your post-show interview with bated breath, wondering how seungcheol would react. the raw honesty of your confession, the vulnerability you had shown, left you feeling exposed but kept you waiting next to your phone.

then, the call came. hearing cheol’s voice, filled with emotion and understanding, was like a balm to your weary heart. his words of reconciliation and his desire to give your relationship a real chance were everything you had hoped for. the prospect of meeting him off-camera, to explore your connection without the pressures of the show, filled you with a renewed sense of excitement and somewhat worry.

the next day, you found yourself standing outside a small, cozy café, your heart racing with anticipation. the door opened, and there he was—your same old cheol, looking just as nervous and hopeful as you felt.

he smiled as he saw you, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made your heart flutter. "hey," he said softly, stepping closer.

"hey," you replied, your voice quiet and your eyes watery.

without another word, he pulled you into a hug, holding you close. the warmth of his embrace, the familiar scent of him, it all felt right.

you both sat down, ordering drinks and talking about everything and nothing. the conversation flowed easily, the tension from the show slowly melting away as you reconnected on a deeper, more personal level.

"i’ve been thinking about you every day," he confessed, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "i want to explore this, see where it leads. no cameras, no scripts—just us."

you nodded, tears of happiness glistening in your eyes. "i want that too, cheol. i want us to have a real chance."

as seungcheol and you left the café, a small crowd had gathered outside, eager to catch a glimpse of the two of you together. camera flashes illuminated the sidewalk as fan-sites and news networks alike snapped photos, their interest palpable in the air. reporters shouted questions, their voices blending into a cacophony of speculation about your relationship.

online, netizens dissected every detail, analyzing photos and videos from the show and your recent café outing. comments and posts flooded social media platforms, with hashtags trending worldwide. the public's curiosity and excitement seemed to know no bounds as they speculated about the nature of your relationship.

cheol took to his instagram, posting a photo of the two of you holding hands outside the café with a quote from “amour,” the novel he had read previously.

— “ there will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning. “

—

end.

2K notes · View notes

robinvomit · 4 months ago

Text

† a flare in green. : damian.

♦ request: yes - jealous damian.

♦ beta'd: never lol

♦ a/n: it's probably not as flashy fanon as most would enjoy but, ig, complain in my inbox if you feel the need.

it starts small. the kind of thing only someone who truly knows damian wayne would notice. a slight shift in his posture, the barely perceptible narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers flex then curl into a fist before forcing themselves to remain at his sides.

it isn't anger, not exactly. it isn't jealousy, or at least not the kind that's irrational and baseless. but it is something, something sharp and restless, something that coils in his chest and refuses to settle.

you, of course, remain blissfully unaware.

it's not your fault.

you've always been magnetic, always drawn people in without trying. it's never been about charm or beauty; it's the way you exist in a space, the way you make people feel heard, seen, like they matter. people linger when you speak. they gravitate toward you like the sun, seeking warmth, seeking light. damian has never faulted you for it. how could he, when it's one of the very reasons he was drawn to you in the first place?

but tonight, it's different.

the gathering is casual; an event filled with idle conversation and polite laughter. nothing like the grand galas he's used to, where masks are worn in more ways than one. this is smaller, more intimate. and yet, there are still eyes that linger too long, hands that hover too close, words that come with just enough intention to make something in him bristle.

the man speaking to you is unremarkable.

he does nothing overtly inappropriate, crosses no lines, but his presence is wrong. damian sees the way he leans toward you, the way his fingers twitch, hesitating before thinking better of resting against your arm. he hears the way his voice lowers, not in a whisper, but in a way meant to create something shared between just the two of you. he watches, and though his expression does not shift, the weight of it grows heavier, sharper.

damian doesn't react impulsively. he's been trained against it, conditioned to remain still until it is time to strike. but he isn't blind to his own emotions, and tonight, they are louder than usual.

he moves before he fully decides to, closing the space between you with a quiet efficiency that is neither rushed nor hesitant. he doesn't interrupt, doesn't place himself between you and the conversation- but he is there, suddenly, entirely. the presence of him is not just seen, but felt. his hand finds the small of your back, not gripping, not claiming, simply resting there as if it has always belonged. his fingers press lightly into the fabric, an anchor, a silent message meant only for you.

you glance up at him, amused, a knowing smile teasing at the corners of your lips. "hey, you okay?"

his gaze flickers down to yours, and for a moment, his expression softens, something unreadable shifting in his eyes before it disappears beneath careful control. "fine."

your attention shifts back to the man in front of you, who is suddenly less confident, less sure of his place in this conversation. damian doesn't glare, doesn't sneer, doesn't offer a single threatening word. he doesn't have to. the weight of his presence is enough. his posture is relaxed, but intentional. his eyes, sharp but unreadable, settle on the man with all the weight of a predator sizing up something unfortunate enough to wander into its space.

it takes only a few more moments before the man laughs, awkward, forced, his words becoming shorter, his body shifting away inch by inch.

and then, finally, he is gone.

you exhale a quiet chuckle, turning fully toward damian now, tilting your head as you study him. "that wasn't necessary, you know."

damian lifts a brow, unimpressed with your amusement. "it was entirely necessary."

a slow grin spreads across your lips. "were you jealous?"

"i was irritated."

your eyes gleam with something delighted, something dangerous. "so, jealous."

damian exhales, slow, measured, but the faintest ghost of something resembling a smile betrays him. "you are insufferable."

"you love me."

his fingers tighten at your back, pulling you closer, the warmth of him now entirely against you. his voice is quieter when he speaks again, something lower, something meant only for you.

"yes," he murmurs, "i do."

#dc comics #dc scenarios #batfam #batfam x reader #batboys #batboys x reader #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader

516 notes · View notes

iniquitousyearning · 1 year ago

Text

tom riddle. | this is your punishment

PAIRING: tom riddle x fem!reader

SUMMARY: prefect tom riddle catches you breaking the rules again, and this time decides to provide a different type of punishment he’s certain you won’t soon forget.

WORD COUNT: 4.7k

TAGS: 18+, SMUT MDNI, dubcon (entirely consensual), dom!tom, brat!reader, BDSM (light), intense humiliation kink, sexual punishment/ forced orgasm, inappropriate use of magic/spells, clit-stim orgasm, begging.

You had thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes to dance with disaster. Thirty minutes to dodge destruction. Thirty minutes to descend into the depths of the library, infiltrate the restricted section, slip the book on occlumency you clandestinely borrowed back into its rightful place, and ascend back to your dormitory before the harbinger of your nightmares—Head Prefect Tom Riddle—emerges from the prefects' bathroom and winds his way back down to the dungeons.

Thirty minutes felt like both an eternity and a heartbeat. The weight of impending doom pressing down on your chest as you crept through the darkened corridors, each shadow a lurking menace, each creak of the ancient floorboards a deafening scream that could betray your presence.

And though the stakes were disastrously high, you weren't entirely worried; you knew Tom Riddle's schedule as intimately as the lines on your palm, and he was nothing if not a creature of habit. But of course, there was always the chance. The slim, terrifying possibility that he might deviate from his usual routine. And being caught by him was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

Every second felt like a blade poised above your head, ready to drop at the slightest misstep. It was no secret that Tom Riddle had it out for you. By now, it was practically etched into the very stones of Hogwarts, a fact as immutable as gravity. Everywhere you went, every step you took, he was always there—watching, waiting, eager to catch you in some transgression.

The relentless scrutiny was exhausting. The number of detentions you'd served was staggering, the punishments you'd endured endless. Not to mention the droning, entirely condescending lectures and disappointed yet gleeful stares he always made sure to give you as he personally hauled you to Dumbledores office.

It was all bullshit, and certainly had nothing to do with your frequent rule-breaking or constant sneaking around. No, of course not. You most definitely never toed the line. You were as innocent as they come. As pure as the driven snow. In your mind it all boiled down to the fact that Tom Riddle had it out for you, plain and fucking simple. A personal vendetta written into the fabrication of his identity.

Because even if he did. Even if he did somehow manage to track you and uncover your clandestine activities by just being the perceptive cunning bastard that he is, there are certain things that simply defy logic. Some occurrences that just don't add up.

There are just some instances that can't be explained, save for the simplest conclusion: Tom Riddle has been inside your mind for months.

And that was precisely why you sought out the book on Occlumency—you needed it. Needed to learn how to block Tom out because if he wanted to play mind games, you were determined to play better. You were determined to keep up.

You knew Tom took pleasure in continually getting one step ahead of you, and as much as it utterly ticked you off—perhaps a twisted part of you enjoyed being caught by him—savoured the banter you shared including his threats that next time he'd take matters into his own hands, since even Dumbledore was growing tired of your antics. Perhaps you revelled in provoking him, in defying him like no other student dared, relishing the thrill of the chase.

Perhaps you simply loved to hate him. Because he was always so goddamn good at everything, always in control. It was maddening, intoxicating, and you couldn't deny the rush it gave you. His perfection was a thorn in your side, and yet, you craved it, sought it out like a moth to a flame, even if you'd never admit it.

Not to yourself, and most definitely not to him.

As the night droned on, you managed to make it to the library unscathed, slipping into the restricted section unseen. Everything was going according to plan, not a soul around to forsake you. And yet, just as you slipped the book back onto its origin shelf, you heard a distant yet distinct voice, accompanied by the determined clacking of perfectly polished dress shoes.

"—ah, yes. I believe I informed him that I would have an answer by tomorrow evening."

That voice. You could never fucking mistake it.

"—well, yes, Mr.Riddle—but he said—"

"No matter." The footsteps ceased. "You'll both await my determination until tomorrow's eve. Continue pressing and I will see to make you wait two more."

The bile rose in your throat, threatening to spill over onto the floor beneath you. His arrogance had always been a towering monument, casting shadows that seemed to suffocate all reason. Sure, he was the brightest star in the firmament, undeniably brilliant with features rivaling the gods themselves—chiseled jawline, captivating dark eyes—practically born to bask in his own glory.

Yet, for all his outward perfection, his self-assurance bordered on the verge of the grotesque.

"—yes, o-of course, Mr. Riddle..." you stifled a distasteful scoff. You weren't sure how that individual was even standing with such lack of spine. "—t-thank you, sir."

You didn't stick around to hear a response or the lack thereof. The voices were far enough to keep you breathing but close enough to damn near make you faint because you knew he was most likely just outside the iron gates. You couldn't afford to ponder the improbability of his presence or the surrealness of your predicament. You had to move—deeper, further out of sight.

Which was going perfectly well until you rounded a corner with a little too much intensity and collided directly into a small round table. The sharp screech of wood against wood cutting through the thick silence like a blade, echoing ominously in the vast, dim library. Panic seized you, every nerve electrified, as if the table's cry had been your own.

And it was roughly ten devastating seconds after this that you heard the creak of the iron gates opening behind you, and those same polished footsteps drawing forward with haste.

Fucking hell.

You'd spent enough time in the Forbidden Forest to know how to keep your calm, to know how to effectively avoid being noticed—how to silence your footsteps and slip around obstacles without leaving a trace, how to mask your scent with earth and leaves, how to blend into the shadows to avoid becoming prey to the creatures that lurk in the depths. Yet, the only predator you'd never been able to successfully evade was the one you were currently running from.

Tom Marvolo Riddle.

A shadow that clung to you, a hunter whose senses were always sharper, whose instincts were always keener. No matter how well you hid, he always seemed to find you, as if he could sense the very beat of your heart.

Tonight—to your naive surprise, was no different.

"Think you can hide from me, do you?" Tom's voice slithered through the narrow gap between the shelves, smooth and dark as midnight. "Not quite stealthy enough, I'm afraid."

You pressed your back against the cold wood, trying to steady your breathing, but his words seemed to wrap around your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs and replacing it with something dizzying.

"Why don't you come out, little snake?" He purred, his footsteps drawing closer, each one a death knell. "We both know how this game ends."

Little snake. Two words that rooted you to the spot. It was impossible, inconceivable that he could know it was you. Yet the nickname, the venomous familiarity of it, left no room for doubt.

You slipped around the corner, the two of you making calculated moves like chess pieces. Your board was one of evasion, his one of domination. The gates were in clear view now as you paused to determine his position, silently mapping the space between here and there, certain that if you ran fast enough you could make it—if you moved quietly enough he wouldn't know which direction you were heading.

"You're only making this worse for yourself, darling." Arrogance so thick you weren't sure how he wasn't choking on it. And as much as you detested it, something about it sparked heat between your thighs. "You know I always win."

With the desperation of a cornered, wounded animal, you decided you were done playing and began making a silent yet brisk path toward the gates. You knew you could get about three shelves deep before you needed to take cover again. The silence was deafening, urging you to move faster.

And just as you were about to reach your next hiding spot, just about to duck back in between the shelves, a sudden sensation of pressure coiled around your ankle, cementing you to the spot.

"What the f-"

It was as if the very air had turned to iron, suffocating you with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared down, disbelief flooding your senses. The once innocuous carpet beneath your feet now glowed with enchantment, its fibres twisting and contorting, snaking around your ankles and climbing steadily up your calves.

"There she is." It was an echo from behind you, deep vocal inflection choking you with its pride. "Always so deliciously predictable.”

The fibres wound tightly around your upper calves, constricting tighter against your leggings as you squirmed, struggling to free yourself. Tom appeared beside you with a leisurely saunter, his smirk so smug it seemed almost tangible.

Your frustration bubbled over into a groan of disbelief. "You charmed the fucking carpet?"

"Of course," Tom replied. "Why do things the hard way when magic can do it for you?" He stepped closer, his eyes roaming over you, drinking in your entirety, running the tip of his wand up your arm. "You should know, little snake, I always find a way to catch my prey."

You watched as two dark eyes dipped low, lingering over the thickness of your thighs, fighting against the tendrils of the enchanted carpet that had now crawled tightly around them. You certainly felt like captured prey, tangled in a web of his making, awaiting his next move—and he certainly didn't miss how tantalizingly prepared for him you were, like a gift waiting to be unravelled.

"Impressive, Riddle—you've really outdone yourself this time," you spat the words through clenched teeth, fighting the urge to smack his wand away, battling the unwanted heat pooling in your core. It was the way he was looking at you. The way you wanted him to keep doing it. "Guess you can add 'carpet tamer' to your long list of accolades now, huh?"

Tom huffed, a glint of amusement dancing in his dark eyes as he forced them up to meet yours. The corners of his lips curled upward in a smirk, every pore radiating control. He looked at you as though you were a puzzle he had already solved, a game he had already won.

"Now now, darling, no need to be so dramatic." His free hand reached up and grasped your jaw, kinking your neck back as he stepped closer to you. "Though, I think 'little fucking brat tamer' might be the more notable achievement to add to the list."

Your stomach leapt, your teeth sinking into your tongue for a moment as you fought to gather your sanity. Your defiance was draining like sand in an hourglass.

"Hm." You huffed, the grip on your jaw firm as steel. "Quite the mouthful."

"So I've been told," he shot back, his eyes glinting like shards of glass under the dim light. "You'd know all about mouthfuls, wouldn't you?"

"You fucking wish." You hoped he did.

His smirk deepened, his fingers digging into your skin like iron claws. You could tell he was amused by you, as though you'd just delivered the punchline of the century, as though you were the world's most revered stand-up comedian. It was maddeningly infuriating and dangerously captivating all at once.

"Still wielding that weapon of a tongue, even when you've so clearly lost." He remarked with a click of his own tongue, releasing his grip on your jaw. Stepping back, his eyes devoured the sight of his spell tangled around your thighs. You caught the tension in his jaw before his eyes snapped back to yours. "Tell me, little snake, do you know why I admire this spell so much?"

Your gaze remained fixed on him, anticipation crawling over your skin like a colony of ants as he scrutinized you. You offer him a shake of your head, a scowl etched deep on your features. "Can't read your mind, Riddle. Not everyone is a skilled Legilimens like yourself."

Tom's chuckle rang out, swallowed by the thick tension in the air, suffusing the oxygen you desperately tried to gulp down. He moved to circle you, and you felt his presence looming behind you, his body brushing against yours like a whisper in the wind. One hand found your hip, however softly, as though he was reluctant to touch you.

"It's a very versatile spell, darling," he dismissed your sass, his voice stripped of all emotion as his lips hovered closer to your ear. "The best part being...I know exactly how to manipulate it to get you to listen."

Words withered on your tongue, attitude wilting in your lungs, and oxygen fleeing from your veins—never to return. Tom's looming presence behind you was enough to make your chest constrict, but his words—his words were a different beast altogether. In the countless times he's caught you, never once did you imagine yourself here, like this, with him.

And never once did you imagine yourself enjoying it this fucking much.

"One might describe it as remarkably adaptable, catering to a multitude of desires..." his hand floated away from your hip, his fingers subtly dancing—the coils responding to his ministrations and slithering higher up your thighs. "And you, little brat, have a plethora of desires at this moment, do you not?"

Your jaw nearly smacked the floor as you watched him command the spell without the aid of his wand. You felt your stomach twist into an iron knot, something heating your blood to flame. Perhaps you underestimated him, perhaps you-

"F-fuck-" you gasped as the charmed fibres slithered between your thighs, coiling higher and higher, wrapping around your waist and ensnaring your arms at your sides. The pressure on your cunt sent your head reeling, your entire body quivering. "Tom...what..."

You know Tom is just beaming with satisfaction, the tremor in your voice eliciting a low growl from deep within him as his hold on your hip resumes, his lips teasing the sensitive skin behind your ear.

"Speak up, little doll, articulate your thoughts," he murmured, his words dripping with cunning like poison. "I know you possess an abundance of them."

You suppress a groan, squirming in a futile attempt to free your wrists, to move against the relentless hold. The heat of Tom's presence behind you has your senses in a frenzy. Your head spinning, your body silently yearning for more. You despise how much you're enjoying this, whatever this even is.

You whimper, lids fluttering. "This...this isn't fair..."

"Neither is disobeying the rules every fucking chance you get—but here we are," his hand brushed against your thigh, fingertips barely grazing, his voice drifting further from your ear. "You should understand, this is all your own doing...the charm merely responds to your desires, adapting to fulfill them.”

That insufferable bastard. The list of descriptors you'd use to paint his portrait would stretch longer than the very library you're standing in, and then some. Every time you think you've unraveled his mysteries, he unveils another layer that exposes just how brilliantly twisted he truly is. How charming. How intoxicating.

You loathe him, relish in despising every fiber of his being. Yet you can't deny the fact that he outmaneuvered you, in the most tantalizing manner imaginable.

But still, you attempt to deny it. "That's...that's not..."

He muses. "Isn't it?"

Tom withdraws his hand from your thigh, and almost immediately, you ache for its return, the absence of his touch leaving you yearning. Caught off guard by the tendrils of the charm exerting pressure against your core, teasing over your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into your lip to stifle any sounds.

"It appears you have a penchant for challenging me..." his voice is a certain murmur. "It seems the charm knows precisely why.”

All the smugness of a deity himself, a walking, talking colossus among mere mortals. As inevitable as the sunrise each morning. It made you want to bare your teeth at him, but instead, all you could manage was a groan, struggling against the pleasure his charm inflicted upon you.

"I'm not quite certain what you would deem a fitting punishment..." he continues, voice as deep as the depths of your desire. As dark as an all encompassing black hole. "—given the countless ones you've endured in the past months, which have clearly taught you nothing."

You groan again, your head bowing as you gaze down at the tendrils of the enchantment, ensnaring you in the clutches of a man with teeth of diamonds, fingers like razor-sharp claws. It'd been a relentless dance of dominance between you for years, a battle of wills that always seems to end in his favor.

You despise how he effortlessly wields his power over you. How he has so easily read between the lines of your story—knowing precisely the effect he has on your body, knowing exactly what you crave.

You fight back a moan. "Mmmff—fuck..you..."

Tom maneuvers his mouth to your ear, his presence pressing against you from behind, the ghost of his breath caresses your skin as he whispers;

"You wish you could."

Beautiful, insufferable bastard.

"Fuck," you huff through gritted teeth, sweat gathering behind your neck, fingernails biting into your palms as you clench your fists, still battling against the overwhelming pleasure. "Get out of my head.."

You feel a low chuckle resonate against your back, its vibrations stirring something primal within you, his fingers grazing against your side.

"Do you truly believe this is mere manipulation, little snake?" Tom's touch begins to ascend, feather-light and elusive, barely registering against your clothes as he presses closer behind you. "I am intimately acquainted with your desires, darling. I've been privy to them for months." You can almost taste the smugness in his voice. "The truth is fairly simple—you crave me, and you despise yourself for it."

Tom takes a deliberate step back, circling around to stand before you, his gaze sweeping over your disheveled form. Your breath comes in rapid gasps, your skin flushed with desire, and you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him. You yearn for more of him, yet you resist acknowledging it, even to yourself.

It's as though he can see your thoughts, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in. "You'd go to any lengths to avoid admitting it, wouldn't you?"

"Gods—" he's right, and you hate him for it. “Mmmf.”

Tom hums softly, his lips barely suppressing a smirk as he steps closer to you. He reaches up, his fingertips brushing against your skin as he tilts your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

"How about we try a simple question?" His dark eyes bore into yours, their depths ablaze with a devilish glint. "Do you wish it to stop?"

You're rendered speechless. The egotistic side of you wants you to say yes—while the other, larger part is consumed with an insatiable hunger for more, for him. The charm swirls over your clit, applying increased pressure against your leggings, causing you to bite down on your bottom lip again to stifle a desperate moan. You couldn't answer him if you tried.

Tom's eyes roam over your face, not willing to miss a thing. "Use your words...tell me what you need..."

The sensation against your clit intensifies further, as if dancing to the rhythm of his words. You can feel his gaze boring into you as the heat between your thighs surges, and you realize you're on the brink of climax. And Tom knows it.

"Fuck..." your hips twitch involuntarily—torn between craving more friction and fleeing from it—your mind a whirlwind of uncertainty. Tom brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on his own movements, and you feel yourself unraveling, succumbing to the scorching intensity of his eyes—two dark pools of permanent ink. "Tom...please..."

His grip tightens. His jaw clenches. "Say it."

Shame courses through your veins, searing your skin like molten lava, the prickling sensation drowning you. You're on the verge of climaxing from an enchanted carpet, a manifestation of his spell, and the humiliation threatens to consume you.

"I need you-" you gasp, the words tumbling from your lips in a pitiful plea, desperation sinking its claws into your soul. So close...too close. "Please—please, I—I don't want to cum from this—I..."

Oh, but you do. You most certainly fucking do though the mere thought of admitting it feels like a dagger twisting in your gut. Tom's eyes glint with amusement, his head cocked slightly as he regards you with a faux expression of pity, as artificial as the plastic plants in the common room.

"I've truly made a mess of you, haven't I?" His hand glides down from your face, tracing a path along your neck, lightly grazing over your collarbone. "Tell me what you want from me."

Gods, you ache to strike him—yet crave to kiss him and cry out his name with equal fervour. Your defiance lies shattered, a broken relic at your feet.

You peer up at him, pleading. "Please, Tom, please touch me—I need you..."

A smirk toys at his lips, his fingers slipping under your jaw once more to hold you steady as he leans in closer.

"Touch you?" His voice is like a loaded gun, his fingers the bullets—intent cocked and ready to annihilate, but instead he taunts you, keeps you on edge, pressing the barrel against your temple just to see the look in your eyes. "You want me, the man you so madly fucking detest, to touch you."

You lack the strength to command him to go to hell, but oh, how you wish you did. Just to witness his reaction, to see what he’d do next. Despite his appalling self-assurance, you can see behind the mask—see how he is genuinely taken aback by your submission, as though he never expected you to surrender, to confess your desire for him.

"Tom, please..." you beg, trembling with anticipation, your impending climax a rapidly swelling tide. "I want you...I want you to make me cum—you-you win."

Tom pulls back from your ear to regard you, his gaze fully focused this time. He takes in the sight of you—trembling, panting, wide-eyed before him—his expression conveying complete contentment in simply observing you as you struggle to persuade him to touch you.

That familiar taunting grin lingers upon his lips, uncontainable, and you know he's relishing this moment far too much.

"I know," he says softly, his thumb tracing your jawline as his hand falls to your neck. "I always do, don't I, little doll..."

His voice drifts over you like smoke, thick and intoxicating, wrapping around you in a dizzying embrace. The intensity of the charm wavers slightly, granting you a momentary reprieve to catch your breath as Tom leans in, so close that you can feel his exhales caressing your lips. Your head spins, every sense overwhelmed by his presence.

"But you deserve this—" he continues, his voice a rumble like thunder through your veins. "—you deserve to be humiliated like this, to break for me without my hands ever touching you." His mouth hovers just millimeters from yours, taunting you with its nearness. "This is your punishment, little doll...and you're going to take it."

The pleasure between your thighs swells once more as the charm resumes its sinuous movements and you can't suppress the moan that escapes your lips, mingling with the groan of utter frustration. All you can do is stare at him.

Tom hums, amused. "Because you revel in it, don't you? Being a little disobedient brat..."

Your eyes glaze over, your pulse soaring as Tom's breath once again brushes against your parted lips. The ache for him is almost unbearable, as if he's injected something into your veins, rendering you unable to function without him. It's maddening, in the most exquisite way imaginable.

"You're-ohh-fuck.." your voice comes out as a moan, low and breathy, the words trailing off as the charm adds pressure to your clit, stars dancing at the edges of your vision. "Gods..."

"There we go, just as I like you,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your jaw. "Unable to unleash that pretty little mouth. Perfectly shattered for me."

You clench around nothing, yearning to scoff. "Mmmf—never..."

Tom chuckles at your feeble attempt at defiance, though the sound carries a hollow, half-hearted quality. You both know you've passed the point of return. His fingers trace along the edge of your jaw, until his palm cradles your face, his thumb brushing gently across your lips.

"Is that so?" He murmurs softly, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "Well then, go ahead...let that pretty mouth run wild...prove that your defiance is more than just an act..."

The way he wields his power has you teetering on the brink of madness, and you despise the fact that you've revelled in every torturous moment of it. You long to snap back, to wield your tongue, to curse him—anything to grasp onto even a shred of control. But every fucking word is a struggle, every moment not focused on your breathing is an achievement.

You squeeze your eyes shut, channeling all the energy you have left. "You...you're such an...arrogant—mmf—I...I hate you..."

"Mhm. You hate me." He cooes. "And yet, here you are..." his voice is as soft as feathers, as warm as the morning sun, the unmistakable taunt laced within. His thumb presses against your bottom lip, slipping between your teeth. "...falling apart for a mere spell, begging for me, for my touch..."

You feel Tom's thumb pressing against your tongue as you whimper. You attempt to speak, to convey something, but instead, you find yourself instinctively sucking lightly against his thumb in response.

"Mm." Tom's brow lifts slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. He seems pleased with your reaction. "A much better use for that mouth."

You're beyond caring about the way he's taunting you, how he's systematically humiliated and debased you, stripping away every ounce of defiance without ever even touching your skin. Tremors wrack your body from the overwhelming sensations, rendering coherent thought nearly impossible.

Your head lolls to the side, constrained by his hand, as waves of pleasure crash over you, your climax approaching rapidly and dangerously.

"Fuck-I'm..." you manage to squeak, his thumb still nestled in your mouth. "Mmmf-"

Tom's eyes darken with satisfaction as he watches you unravel, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, a silent command for you to keep sucking. The enchantment continues its relentless assault—tightening around you, swirling over your clit and amplifying the pleasure until it's almost unbearable.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice a blend of silk and steel. "Let go for me. Show me just how much you need this."

Your body trembles violently, your muscles tensing as the climax rips through you. You can't hold back the moan that escapes around his thumb, your entire being consumed by the intensity of the release that you've desperately fought off for so long. Tom's grip on your jaw tightens, keeping you in place, ensuring you can't escape the exquisite torment he's orchestrated.

"There it is," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Perfectly broken, just for me."

Your eyes are squeezed shut so tightly it's almost painful, his thumb buried in your mouth muffling any sounds of pleasure that threaten to escape. The evidence of your desire pools between your thighs, your embarrassment stripping you raw as you slowly begin to return to reality, the spell gradually losing its grip around you.

You struggle to find your breath, your thoughts, your sanity, but Tom doesn't grant you much reprieve before he's tugging your head back towards his, forcing you to focus on him.

"You should see yourself." He withdraws his thumb from your mouth, trailing the remnants of saliva over your cheek as he assesses you. "You're a vision."

You try to summon the strength to argue, to reclaim some semblance of defiance, but the attempt dies in your throat, unable to comprehend the fact that those words sounded like a fucking compliment. Your body is trembling with the aftershocks of your climax, and you can only manage a soft whimper. He looks at you as if you are his masterpiece, perfectly crafted and beautifully ruined.

"Remember this, little snake," he whispers, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Remember how easily I can break you. How much you crave it."

You exhale slowly as you feel the charm dissipate, the carpet settling back into its rightful place at your feet. Tom's hand falls away from your face, but the tension between you remains palpable, neither of you daring to make a move.

"And as for the book," he adds, his eyes flashing to the bookshelf behind you, the one home to the Occlumency text you borrowed. "You may want to keep it. You're not nearly as skilled as you think you are."

And with that, he smooths out his uniform and strides past you without a second glance.

thank you to my babies @doremimosasol and @pizzaapeteer for proofreading this. means the world to me🖤

2K notes · View notes

ghsface · 8 months ago

Text

Passager Princess - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: On a lonely road, a simple caress from Matt ignites the desire between them.

Warnings: smut +18 orgasm denial, sexual tension, explicit content, use of fingers, semi public sex, unprotected sex (don't do it), softdom!matt x fem!reader, I don't think I've forgotten anything, if I do, let me know.

A/n: Ok I don't know what this is, I was bored and started writing so, tbh I don't know if this is good enough but I wanted to post it, my first language is not English and I'm sorry if there are things that are not understood or words are misspelled.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

Driving silently on an empty road, Matt kept one hand on the wheel and the other gently dropped on your thigh. The unexpected touch made you shiver, and a slight heat began to spread through your body as you felt his warm palm on your skin.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a barely perceptible smile appearing on his lips as he noticed your reaction. His thumb began to draw small circles, each one going a little higher up your thigh, teasing you in a way that made your breathing become faster and faster.

“Do you like it?” he asked in a low tone, still looking at the road.

You nodded, unable to respond with words as he continued to increase the intensity of his caresses. His fingers traveled to the inside of your thigh, making a shiver run through your body and, without realizing it, you began to lean into him, letting anticipation fill the space between you.

With a knowing look, he slowed down and, in one confident move, stopped the car on the shoulder of the road. Without saying a word, he looked into your eyes, the intensity in his eyes speaking more than a thousand words, and you felt your cheeks burn as you noticed his gaze fixed on you.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he said in a husky voice, leaning in to kiss you deeply, while his hand slid gently down your neck and then your waist, pulling you even closer to him in the seat.

As you both lost yourselves in the kiss, his hands traveled down your body, making you sit on his lap, each touch seeming to turn you on even more, and the small space of the car made everything feel more intimate, more forbidden. In the front seat, feeling completely caught up in his embrace and the heat of the moment, you surrendered to his every move, letting yourself be carried away by the intensity of the passion you both shared.

The kiss deepened quickly, filling the air in the car with a mix of desire and urgency. He grabbed you by the waist and gently pushed you back, making your back rest against the seat.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this here,” you whispered, feeling the adrenaline rush through every part of you, knowing you might get caught.

He smiled, his intense gaze drifting to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

“Sometimes the forbidden is the most exciting, love,” he replied, his deep voice laced with desire.

While his hand still rested on your thigh, he began to press a little harder, bringing his hand closer to your crotch. Anticipation made you hold your breath. He leaned forward, moving closer to you, his breath warm against your face.

“You like it?” he asked, his tone hinting that he already knew the answer.

“Yes, Matt, yes,” you replied, almost in a whisper, letting yourself get carried away by the emotion of the moment.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his hand still resting on your thigh. With a slow, deliberate movement, he slid his hand up, feeling the softness of your skin under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his deep voice echoing inside the vehicle.

You shivered at his possessive tone. Each word was a reminder of what was to come. When his hand stopped at the hem of your skirt, your heartbeat quickened again.

His hand slid beneath the fabric, feeling the warmth of your skin. Excitement washed over you at the feel of his touch, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes as a wave of pleasure ran through your body again.

“I want you to feel everything,” he said as he began to caress your crotch, his fingers pressing right where you wanted him most.

The combination of his voice and his movements made you moan softly. Each brush was electric, and as he continued, your body responded to his touch, pushing your hips forward in search of more.

“Keep your hands on the seat,” he commanded dominantly, his gaze fixed on the road, but knowing he had your full attention.

You obeyed, holding on to the seat as he increased the intensity of his caresses. Your legs spread a little wider, allowing him better access, and he smiled as he noticed your surrender.

“That’s how I like it,” he said, his voice full of satisfaction. “You’re so obedient.”

As his hand moved confidently, his fingers found the exact spot that made you lose track of time. You let yourself go with the sensation, feeling the pressure build inside you. Every touch, every caress, was a game between dominance and pleasure.

“Do you like this?” he asked, his tone playful as he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Yes… a lot,” you replied, feeling the need growing inside you.

“I want to hear you say it,” he insisted, his voice now lower and deeper.

“I love it when you fuck me with your fingers, matt,” you confessed, feeling your cheeks burn.

In response, he pressed more firmly, his fingers moving in a rhythm that made you lose control. The combination of his dominance and your submission created an atmosphere charged with desire.

The pleasure built up, and when he sensed you were close to the edge, he suddenly stopped his movement. Frustration built up in your chest.

“No… please don’t stop,” you pleaded, your eyes filled with need.

“Don’t worry, my love.” I just wanted to make sure you were ready,” he said, a playful smile on his face as he began to unbutton his pants.

You nodded, feeling the need intensify. He smiled, a satisfied expression on his face as he positioned himself in front of you.

As he did, the air grew even thicker with anticipation. As he moved, you felt your body respond to every little change. When he finally got close, his eyes were shining with desire.

In one swift movement, he positioned himself, letting the tension between the two of you reach its peak. He held you tightly, his hands keeping you firm in the seat as he began to move inside you, filling you completely.

With a firm touch, he began to slowly penetrate you, feeling your body adapt to his size. The sensation was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and a slight pain that only intensified the desire.

“That’s right,” he whispered, as he pushed deeper, his voice full of control.

The movements were passionate, intense. He controlled the rhythm, pushing in and out with a force that made your body respond instantly to each thrust. Your moans mixed with the music of the night as you let yourself be carried away by the wave of pleasure that enveloped everything.

The thrusts became deeper, and each movement made the pleasure build up inside you. The combination of his strength and your submission created a symphony of sensations, and you let yourself go.

“Do you like it, darling?” he asked, his penetrating gaze full of desire.

“Yes… I love it,” you answered, each word full of need as you felt him move faster, hitting your most sensitive spots.

He picked up speed, his movements firm and controlled. You could feel each thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body, bringing you closer to that climax you so craved.

“Give me more,” you pleaded, feeling the pressure build in your abdomen.

Smirking, he leaned forward, his body pressing hard into you, bringing you to a state of ecstasy. His lips found yours, and as you kissed, the intensity increased, each thrust becoming deeper, more desperate.

The sound of your bodies rubbing together filled the car, and your body responded to his rhythm. You gave yourself over completely to the sensation, feeling everything intensify until, with one last thrust, you were both brought to climax, a torrent of pleasure that completely engulfed you.

He stayed a few more moments, enjoying the warmth of your body before slowly backing away, making sure you were okay before pulling away.

“You’re amazing,” he said, his voice low and filled with admiration as he looked at you tenderly.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

Tags... @bsturnzmtt @sophand4n4 @matthewsroses

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly, and feel free to leave a request ✮

684 notes · View notes

beloveds-embrace · 3 months ago

Note

If I might give a brain worm unto you that has been wiggling around my noodle: Dukedom AU x Designationless reader AU.

The boys treat her the way they do partly because of their relationship and the threat she is to it, but also because she’s not like them. The staff of course follow suit.

The reader, while having long since adjusted to the terrible circumstances surrounding her simply just existing, was really hoping that this would be a new start. She’d heard on and on about what a hero and a good man Duke Johnathan Price was and built up a fantasy in her head of what he would be like. Maybe he’d look past what was “wrong” and treat her like a person. He did ask for her hand in marriage after all. That had to mean something, right?

It breaks her heart when she recognizes the scrunch of his nose, the disdain, the explicit barring from nests and bonding expected of a pack. It was the same situation she’d always been trapped in, but in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people.

Or something like that.

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH 😩😩

The first time you see him- truly see him- you believe your heart and mind have played a cruel trick on you.

You’ve heard so much about Duke Johnathan Price. His reputation precedes him, woven into tales of heroism and integrity. A man of honor, a soldier, a leader. A man who chose you. The supposed man of your dreams.

Even now, sitting stiffly across from you on your first dinner as husband and wife, he looks every part of the noble figure painted in stories. Broad shoulders draped in fine fabrics, a beard neatly trimmed, hands steady as he cuts into his meal with a precision that speaks of years spent wielding a blade. He is handsome, powerful. Capable.

And yet, when he looks at you, there is nothing in his eyes.

Not curiosity, not warmth. Not even disdain at first- just a lack of acknowledgment so profound it makes your throat tighten.

Then his nose scrunches, barely perceptible but devastating nonetheless. Because it's not the first time this has happened, and you’ve seen that expression before. It won't be the last, either, but you had hoped...

Your stomach churns.

It is the same look others have given you when they realize what you are. Or rather, what you are not.

Not an Alpha, nor an Omega. Not even a Beta.

Just a ghost of what should have been.

You set your fork down carefully, hoping he doesn’t notice how unsteady your hands get. Across the table, Chef Johnny emerges from the kitchen, setting down a fresh plate for Duke Price with far too friendly smile. The dish is a work of art, beautifully plated, steam curling in delicate wisps.

Your own meal is… not the same. The vegetables are overcooked, the meat a little too dry. A careless oversight, perhaps?

But then you notice how Kyle, the head butler, watches you with an impassive expression. How none of the maids refill your glass as swiftly as they do John’s.

How the room feels colder than it should.

You eat what you can, ignoring the tightness in your throat, ignoring the stares.

This marriage was meant to be a new beginning.

You had dared to believe, just for a moment, that Duke Price would be different. That he would not look at you like you were wrong. But it seems you were severely mistaken.

The rejection from him, thus, is quiet. The rejection from the rest of the duchy, thus, is just as quiet.

There are no harsh words, and no blatant cruelty. But there are barriers. Invisible ones, carved deep into the very bones of the household.

Certain rooms are not meant for you. The Duke’s- because calling him John now feels far too inappropriate for you, his damn wife- study is always closed when you pass. The library, though technically open, is always occupied when you wish to visit. You are never explicitly barred from entering, of course, yet when you step too close, the weight of silence and the stares and the whispers push you back.

And the nesting rooms- warm, safe places where bonds are nurtured and scents are shared- are not for you.

You learned long ago that you do not belong in such spaces from your own parents. But you had still hoped...

The first time you wander too close, you barely make it past the threshold before Duke Riley blocks your way. He is taller than Price, broader in some ways, with sharp, piercing eyes that assess you coolly. You've early on caught to the... relationships your husband has.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around your skirts. “I was just- ”

“Off-limits.” His voice is flat. Final.

You nod, pulse stuttering. You do not need to be told twice.

But it is not just Simon.

Kyle remains distant, fulfilling his duties with impeccable efficiency yet never offering you so much as a fleeting smile. The other servants follow suit eventually, mimicking his detachment. Even Johnny, who seems the warmest of the three, does not linger in your presence the way he does with the others.

But it's the absence of touch that is the worst.

In a household full of Alphas and Omegas, where scenting and casual touches are second nature, you are untouched. Unacknowledged.

Not wanted.

The realization festers deep in your chest, an old wound reopened in a new, unfamiliar place.

You do not cry beyond shedding a few, lonesome tears in your rooms.

Instead, you simply adjust, and that adjustment means the shrinking of your world.

At first, you try to push forward, to do your duty as a Duchess with grace. You ensure the estate runs smoothly, oversee the staff, attend the necessary gatherings.

But the strain of existing in a space that does not want you wears you thin.

So you stop attending the dinners, no longer willing to sit across from a husband who does not see you.

You withdraw from the bustling halls, the grand rooms filled with people who murmur behind your back but never speak to your face.

Even your reflection in the mirror begins to look unfamiliar. The light in your eyes dims, your gowns hang looser on your frame. You hear the maids whispering.

"She’s wasting away."

"Maybe it’s for the best."

"No one can love someone who fades into the walls."

"No one can love someone so different. So... unnatural."

You wonder if it even matters, curled in your bed. They will continue their whispers even if you appear, even if you don't appear.

And still, no one comes for you. No one considers you.

Not your husband, and not his pack that you will never be a part of.

Not a single soul.

#noona.asks #noona.writes #cod omegaverse #i love this idea so so much omfg

357 notes · View notes

donatellawritings · 1 year ago

Note

thoughts on best friends dad!rafe!

introducing bfd!rafe & dolly!reader

there was pathetically sick part of rafe that got off on knowing that he still had it — especially with such a young girl like you who was an absolute knockout, absolutely eager and willing to bend to his every whim. he had watched you bloom into the young woman you were today, but the moment you turned eighteen, you became a bit more forward with your intentions. from wearing skimpy bikinis whenever you joined his sweet son on family trips, to the thin satin dresses that tented with your hard nipples on thursday dinners — you made sure to always look your best for mr. cameron.

but what made rafe melt was the way you were so immersed in him, you completely dismissed how his son was head over heels in love with you — and you can call rafe a sick man, but he always craved being the center of attention, no matter the costs. his little boy would just have to move on, not that he ever stood a chance against his overpowering and domineering father.

so, when rafe’s son asked if you could spend the summer at tannyhill, rafe was eager to oblige, masking his reasoning with ‘wanting his next of kin to be happy at home’, despite his true intentions of having you surrender all of yourself to him, now running rampant is his tainted and somewhat deranged mind.

on the first night of your extended stay, you found yourself sat beside your best friend’s father, your tooth-achingly sweet and doting best friend seated directly across from you, completely oblivious to the way his father stared at you with that same sense of longing and desire.

you liked mr. cameron — he was always so sweet to you, he bought you the finest birthday presents, complimented your girly, but borderline inappropriate outfits, and he always seemed to know exactly what you needed at any given time.

and maybe, just maybe there was a part of you that knew he felt the same way about you too.

carelessly leaning over the dining table, you fought back a knowing smirk as your swollen tits bulged against the hem of your sleeveless romper, the ribbed fabric clinging to your warm frame as you reached for a piece of bread, “thank you for having me, mr. cameron,” you sang, your sweet voice all light and airy as you glanced at the older man, your heart jumping as you caught his eyes stuck on the fat of your plush ass cheeks that managed to swallow the romper.

masking his faux pas with a forced clearing of his throat, mr. cameron licks over his lips with a smile, “well — ahem, f’course, my wife and i really appreciate how good of a friend you’ve been to our boy, isn’t that right, honey?”

rafe knew exactly what he was doing, his trained blue eyes carefully taking in the way your plump smile faltered into a brief frown and how the sparkle in your eyes dimmed. your bubble of security had been popped in that very moment as you tugged on the top hem of your romper, your nailed fingers lightly grazing over the baby pink bow that had been sewn between the valley of your breasts.

your oh so pretty and fake smile only intensified as mrs. cameron sauntered into the dining room. you absolutely hated how your shared likeness towards mr. cameron had soured your perception of the clueless woman who still viewed you to be the daughter she always wanted.

placing a manicured hand atop of mr. cameron’s shoulder, you watch as the woman leans down to capture rafe’s lips in a quick kiss, “mhm. you know that we love having you over, sweetie. you keep us on our toes, dolly” she laughs, gently nudging the apple of your cheek as she makes her way to her seat, directly across from mr. cameron.

dolly — the dear nickname that you’d been given by mr. cameron, you’d always been so wet behind the ears, dainty, and entirely too vulnerable. but, it didn’t feel right coming from her.

answering with a short nod, you are a bit too eager to change the topic of discussion, a silent huff of stress leaving your faded plum stained lips as your best friend furrows his brows at your standoffish behavior, “y’okay?” he mouths, softly nudging your shin with the tip of his converse.

“i’m okay,” you mouth back, a soft smile on your pillowy lips as you steal a quick glance at mr. cameron who catches your sneaky gaze, sending you a quick wink as he takes a sip from his glass of chilled red wine.

licking over your dry lips, you swallow thickly, popping a warm and fluffy piece of bread into your needy mouth as mr. cameron’s long and slender leg brushes against yours. fighting back a smile, you remain silent as mrs. cameron enlightens the table about her new endeavors at cameron development, your eyes glazed over as you quietly hook your leg over his firm thigh.

honing your focus into chewing the piece of bread in your mouth, you watch from the corner of your bambi eyes as rafe inconspicuously slides a large hand over the smooth skin of your waxed leg.

now lost in the sensation of mr. cameron’s hand gently kneading soothing circles around your ankle, your eyes widen as rafe’s voice cuts into your dazed state, “y’seem pretty sleepy over there, dolly — everything a’ight?” he questions knowingly, his buzzed head tilted to the side as his pink lips part in anticipation of your next words.

feverishly nodding, you send rafe a forced courteous smile, “yes, mr. cameron — just sleepy,” you answer politely.

returning his attention to his son and wife, rafe keeps a tight hold on your small ankle, the cold bite of his wedding band digging into your warmed and bronze skin. you always loved to prance around tannyhill barefoot, you’re pretty pink toes on full display, ever since your younger days.

and rafe was painfully reminded of that, a feigned smile of interest on his handsomely structured face as he gave your cute little toes a gentle squeeze, every now and again.

all while his poor son and unsuspecting wife sat and ate their overly priced steak dinner.

#asks #anon #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #bfd!rafe #dolly!reader #rafe x reader

791 notes · View notes

aventurineswife · 10 days ago

Note

Hello! I saw a recent post of yours where you mentioned asks were opened! I’d like to request a Dan Heng x Reader (fem preferably), where the Express stops at the reader’s home world to attend a festival for a much needed break. Reader is a gentle, yet playful soul who was raised with a somewhat proper upbringing- but they do not often voice their feelings out of fear of coming off selfish. There is some unspoken, quiet, mutual pining between Dan Heng and the reader and March and the Trailblazer conspire to send them off on a little “date” as a small nudge. They tell the reader and Dan Heng to meet them at a certain location- only for Dan Heng and the reader to be the only ones who show up. After waiting for a while, they both end up spending the whole event together… Maaaaaybe even getting a bit closer?

Between the Lanterns and Us

Summary: During a festival on your homeworld, March and the Trailblazer conspire to set you and Dan Heng up for a quiet evening together. Though initially caught off guard, the two of you end up spending the night exploring the festivities, growing closer through shared moments of understanding and quiet companionship. Unspoken feelings linger in the air, and while neither of you voice them just yet, the night marks a step toward something more.

Tags: Dan Heng x Female!Reader (can be ready as GN), Mutual Pining, Fluff, Slow Burn, Quiet Affection, Subtle Romance.

The city was alight with lanterns, their soft glow illuminating the winding streets as laughter and music filled the air. Tonight was a night of celebration, a festival unique to your homeworld, and for the first time in a long while, the Astral Express crew was taking a well-deserved break.

You adjusted the fabric of your festival attire, the delicate embroidery shimmering under the lantern light. It had been a while since you’d been back, and though the familiarity of it all brought you comfort, there was an underlying nervous energy in your chest—especially when you thought about Dan Heng.

It wasn’t as though anything had been said outright between the two of you, but there was something—an unspoken understanding, a quiet warmth that lingered in his presence. He was reserved, often keeping to himself, but you’d grown to recognize the subtle shifts in his expression, the way his gaze would linger on you for a fraction longer than necessary.

March had approached you earlier with a knowing glint in her eyes, insisting that you meet up with her and the Trailblazer near the main plaza. It wasn’t until you arrived at the designated spot that you realized something was amiss.

You weren’t alone.

Dan Heng stood there as well, his usual dark attire exchanged for something a bit more fitting for the festival, though he still retained his composed demeanor. His eyes flickered to you, a brief moment of surprise passing over them before he let out a quiet sigh.

“They planned this, didn’t they?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with the faintest hint of amusement.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “Looks like it.”

Neither March nor the Trailblazer was anywhere to be found. The realization dawned on both of you—they had set this up.

A cool evening breeze passed through, stirring the gentle hum of wind chimes from a nearby stall. You glanced at Dan Heng, watching as he looked around, taking in the sights of your homeworld’s festivities. He didn’t seem opposed to staying, and though he remained ever-composed, you caught the way his fingers subtly traced the hem of his sleeve, a small tell of uncertainty.

“Well,” you started, shifting on your feet, “since we’re already here, we might as well enjoy the festival.”

Dan Heng’s gaze met yours, a quiet moment passing between you. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, he gestured forward. “Lead the way.”

As the evening carried on, the initial awkwardness faded into something far more comfortable. The two of you wandered through the lively streets, stopping to observe street performances and sample local delicacies. Dan Heng wasn’t one for grand expressions, but he listened attentively as you explained the traditions of your homeworld, occasionally offering a quiet remark or a small nod.

“What will you wish for?” you asked, glancing at Dan Heng as you dipped the brush into the ink.

At one point, you came across a wishing lantern booth. The vendor handed you each a small lantern, a delicate paper vessel meant to carry your hopes into the sky.

He hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he answered, “To keep those I care for safe.”

Something in your chest tightened. You wrote your wish in silence, then watched as your lanterns ascended together, their warm glow mingling in the vast night sky.

The night carried on in a quiet, comfortable rhythm, the both of you drawn closer by the shared experience. As the festival began to wind down, you found yourselves at the outskirts of the celebration, the distant hum of festivities fading into the background.

“Thank you for staying,” you murmured, hugging your arms lightly.

Dan Heng studied you for a moment before speaking, his voice softer than usual. “I didn’t mind.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t the kind that was uncomfortable. Rather, it was filled with something lingering—something neither of you were quite ready to voice.

Perhaps, for tonight, the quiet understanding between you was enough.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward something more.

107 notes · View notes

luckyroll3 · 1 month ago

Text

Thank You, Daddy Chapter 4

Masterlist and Summary

Previous Chapter

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Additional warnings: Talk about domestic violence and physical abuse.

Word Count: 8,003

Days melt into one another in Christopher's mansion, each falling into a pattern that grows more comfortable than you'd like to admit. Within the first two weeks, mornings find you in his bed more often than your own, though you sometimes retreat to your wing when you need space to remember who you are outside of his orbit. The mansion staff move around you with practiced invisibility, and you find yourself settling into the rhythm of this temporary life, this borrowed luxury that fits like someone else's expensive coat; it’s beautiful, but not quite yours.

It's during a quiet dinner on the terrace, the Los Angeles skyline twinkling below like earthbound stars, that the first real crack appears in the formal wall between you. Christopher has been less tense today, his usual sharp edges softened by good news from Taiwan and a rare afternoon free from meetings. The wine is excellent, as always, and you've grown to appreciate the chef's impeccable taste. Tonight's sea bass is buttery perfection and the pairing is exquisite.

"Tell me about your family," Christopher says suddenly, setting down his wine glass with deliberate care.

The question catches you off guard. Clients don't usually ask about your background; they prefer the fantasy, the blank canvas onto which they can project their desires.

"What do you want to know?" you counter, buying time to decide how much truth to offer.

Christopher's eyes, dark and observant, study your face. "Whatever you're willing to share."

You consider fabricating something palatable, like a middle-class upbringing, parents who are conveniently deceased… the standard escort backstory that invites no further questions. But something about the genuine interest in his gaze makes you offer a piece of truth instead.

"Working class," you say, watching for his reaction. "Only child with a single mom who worked three jobs. Dad wasn't in the picture."

Christopher nods, no judgment in his expression. "Which jobs?"

"Diner waitress mornings, hospital custodian evenings, weekend shifts as a cashier at a 24-hour drugstore." You take a sip of wine. "She was always tired, but the rent and utilities got paid."

"Sounds familiar," Christopher says, surprising you. "My mother cleaned office buildings overnight. Came home smelling like industrial disinfectant every morning."

You tilt your head, reassessing the man across from you. "I thought you came from money. The mansion, the clothes, the art collection..."

A dry smile touches his lips. "All earned, not inherited. I grew up in a two-room apartment in Queens. Father worked construction until his back gave out, then drank himself to an early grave." He says this without self-pity, just stating facts. "Mother raised three of us on minimum wage and stubbornness. I’m the oldest; I helped where I could."

The revelation shifts something in your perception of him. Not the ruthless titan born to privilege, but someone who clawed his way up from circumstances not unlike your own. You find yourself offering another piece of truth, unprompted, in exchange.

"We moved a lot. Rent increases, evictions, following my mom's jobs. I went to six different schools before high school."

Christopher nods, understanding in his eyes. "Must have been hard to maintain friendships."

"I stopped trying eventually," you admit. "Easier that way."

"Smart," he says, and there's respect in his tone. "Self-protection is an underrated skill."

The conversation flows more easily after that, each of you trading small truths that build a bridge between your worlds. You learn that Christopher earned a full scholarship to Dalton, an exclusive prep school in Manhattan, at fourteen; it was his ticket out of poverty.

"The first day was a nightmare," he tells you, refilling your wine glass. "Designer clothes everywhere, kids talking about summer homes in the Hamptons, the French countryside, and St. Barts while ordering take out. I showed up in Walmart's finest, a bagged lunch that I made mysefl, and an accent that screamed outer borough."

The image of a young Christopher, proudly defiant amid wealth he couldn't comprehend, tugs at something in your chest. "I get it. I had a similar experience."

His eyebrows rise in question.

"Brentwood in LA," you explain. "Full academic scholarship my sophomore through senior years. The girls had handbags that cost more than my mom's three month salary."

Christopher's expression brightens with recognition. "You too, huh? How did you handle it?"

You smile, remembering. "Studied their accents, their mannerisms. Thrift stores for designer castoffs. Learned to fake it until they couldn't tell I didn't belong."

"Chameleon survival," Christopher nods. "I did the same. Though I was less into blending in and more about proving I was better than them despite my background."

"Chip on your shoulder?" you tease gently.

"A fucking mountain," he corrects with unexpected humor, leading you to chuckle. "Still there, just better disguised now."

As dinner concludes and you both move to the lounge, the revelations continue. You discover you both majored in business; you at USC Marshall, him at Columbia. Both first-generation college students. Both driven by a hunger born of early deprivation.

"So how did finance win out?" you ask, curled in an armchair across from him, shoes discarded, feet tucked beneath you in a posture more relaxed than you'd normally allow yourself with a client.

Christopher's fingers tap thoughtfully against his wine glass. "Money equals security. I watched my mother count pennies, literally, at the grocery store while people watched annoyed because she was holding up the line; decide between electricity and heat in winter; patch our clothes instead of buying new ones. I never wanted to make those choices again." His gaze grows distant. "And I was good at it… understanding markets, predicting movements, taking calculated risks."

"With Hyunjin?" you prompt, recalling their easy rapport despite their different styles.

A genuine smile crosses Christopher's face. "Hyunjin was my first ally at Dalton. Really my first friend there. Old money, but never made me feel like the ‘scholarship kid’. He understood the game but never took it too seriously. And he taught it to me." Christopher shakes his head. "We immediately became inseparable; best friends. His friendship and status offered me a bit of protection, I guess. We have complete opposite approaches to life, but somehow it works. He smooths my edges."

"I've noticed," you say wryly, thinking of Hyunjin's casual invasion of Christopher's space, the way he teases Christopher and also seems to delight in drawing his best friend out of his well-manicured shell. "He gets away with things no one else would."

Christopher acknowledges this with a cute giggle that makes you smile. "Jin tends to do that." He pauses, his eyes more probing now. "What about you?" he asks, his voice slipping into a different register, one loaded with curiosity. "How did you decide to start escorting?"

The question shouldn’t surprise you given what you’ve both been sharing about your lives, but it does. It's one clients rarely ask, a subject that usually remains as untouched as the emotions you're not supposed to have. You tap your nails against the wine glass as you weigh your response, momentarily tempted to give him the standard story: college loans, a suggestion from a friend, a temporary gig that turned lucrative. But you sense Christopher won't be satisfied with clichés. "It seemed like a better option than unpaid internships, minimum wage jobs, and ramen noodles for dinner every night," you say, letting a hint of humor show. "And I was good at it. Still am, according to some sources." You wink at him.

Your comment makes Chris grin. “So you started in college?”

“Officially, yes. But really it was high school,” you reply. You watch as Christopher's eyebrow raises at the confession. You know he’s silently urging you to elaborate, and you decide to give him more than the usual guarded truth.

“Started when I was seventeen,” you tell him as his expression shifts to one of disbelief mingled with intrigue. “I had already been sexually active for a few years and really enjoyed sex. But sex with other people my age was just not great. Teen guys think they’re amazing at fucking because they watch porn all the time.” You roll your eyes. “So I eventually started dating older men. One of my first boyfriend’s, and I use that term lightly because we never really ‘dated’, was older. Much older.” You pause, letting that sink in. “He liked taking care of me, buying me things. And I let him.”

You notice Christopher forming a response, but before he can interrupt with a question, you continue.

“He introduced me to other older men who liked giving me expensive gifts in return for my time. And it was easy because most never really wanted sex. They wanted to talk, to be held, to have someone young and cute on their arm to impress their buddies. But when they did want sex, I made it worth my time physically and financially.” You can see the understanding beginning to dawn in Christopher's eyes, the pieces clicking into place. "No one called it escorting, but that's exactly what it was. I wasn't forced into anything or taken advantage of; I was just having fun and getting off at the same time."

You sip your wine, recalling the thrill of power and independence that came with those first encounters.

“I sold most of the things they gave me and used the money to help my mom pay bills, while also building my savings. The best was when I’d have the same purse or clothing item as one of the popular mean girls; they’d wonder how I was able to afford it not knowing that it was their dad who gifted it to me and probably bought it at the same time as theirs.” You chuckle to yourself. “By the time I got to college, I knew exactly how to play the game.” You hold his gaze, unapologetic. “And I knew I was good at it.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "But why stay in it? You have the degree, the skills. Why not go corporate?”

You take another sip of wine. "Because it’s not as different as you might think. Invest some time upfront identifying your target audience and crafting the brand, create a marketing plan to sell the product, build a loyal client base, and the returns are higher than most entry-level jobs. And," you add, giving him a pointed look, "I don’t have to answer to anyone but myself."

Christopher considers this, his expression shifting from inquisitive to something closer to admiration. "Using your degree after all," he says. It’s not a question.

"From day one," you confirm. "Business school really taught me how to operationalize what I was already doing organically. And I was able to use my ‘hypothetical’ business plan as my honor’s senior thesis; I won the top award and even had a couple of the judges approach me to inquire about investment opportunities to get my company off the ground, not knowing that I was already three years in. I always knew what I was getting into, and I set the terms. No risk of a glass ceiling in my line of work."

There's a moment of silence as he absorbs your words, and you wonder if you've revealed too much or just enough. You feel exposed, but not uncomfortable. It’s strange, this impulse to tell him more than you should.

Christopher's eyes refocus on you, something warm and assessing in his gaze. "You're not what I expected," he says finally. “At all.”

"What did you expect?"

"Someone more... calculated. Less genuine." His admission surprises both of you. "The women I've had arrangements with before were skilled at telling me what they thought I wanted to hear."

"Hmm… Maybe you weren't listening properly," you suggest, not unkindly.

He considers this, head tilted slightly. "Maybe I wasn't interested in hearing. From them anyway."

The moment stretches between you, laden with implications neither of you are ready to examine too closely. Finally, you break it with a yawn that's only partially performative. "It's getting late."

Christopher rises, offering his hand to help you up, a gentlemanly gesture at odds with the dominant force who took you on one of the pool chairs two nights ago. "Eastern wing or mine tonight?" he asks, giving you the choice.

"Yours," you answer, the decision made before you fully consider it.

His smile, small but genuine, warms something deep in your chest that you promptly try to freeze again.

This is business, you remind yourself.

Just business.

The next morning, you encounter Hyunjin in the kitchen, helping himself to breakfast pastries as if he owns the place. Christopher has already left for an early meeting, leaving you to navigate his friend alone.

"Morning, sunshine," Hyunjin greets you, sliding a cup of coffee from a local cafe across the counter. "Christopher mentioned you take it with a splash of creamer."

You accept the coffee with murmured thanks, suddenly aware you're wearing only Christopher's discarded dress shirt from yesterday. Hyunjin’s eyes are observant but not leering.

"You look comfortable," he says instead, leaning against the counter with feline grace. "That's new."

"What is? This shirt?"

"No. Christopher allowing someone to look comfortable in his space. Usually he prefers everything and everyone as tightly coiled as he is."

You sip your coffee, considering how to respond. "We have an arrangement. It's professional."

Hyunjin's laugh is soft and knowing. "Sure it is. That's why he cancelled our standing Thursday dinner for the first time in six years last week. Because it's 'professional,'" he says sarcastically, his fingers curling in air quotes.

The information catches you off guard. "He did?"

"Said he wanted a quiet evening at home." Hyunjin's gaze is too perceptive. "In the eighteen years I've known him, Christopher Bahng has never once prioritized 'quiet evenings' over work or obligation."

You maintain a neutral expression, though something flutters in your stomach. "People change."

"They do," Hyunjin agrees, studying you over his coffee cup. "But not usually this quickly." He pushes off from the counter, moving toward the door. "Just an observation. Do with it what you will."

Before he leaves, he turns back.

"Oh, and he actually smiled during yesterday's board meeting. Nearly gave old Jenkins a fucking heart attack." His expression grows more serious. "Whatever you're doing, it's working. Just... be careful with him, okay? He doesn't do casual very well."

After Hyunjin departs, you stand in the kitchen, coffee cooling in your hands, his words echoing in your mind. The warning, be careful with him, strikes you as backwards. Shouldn't he be warning Christopher to be careful with you? You're the escort, the temporary arrangement, the one who will walk away back to your non-billionaire life when the contract ends.

Yet as you move through the mansion that's becoming familiar territory, as you shower in a bathroom where your products now sit beside Christopher's, as you slip into clothes from a closet that holds both his gifts and your own possessions, you recognize the danger. The lines, professional and personal, business and pleasure, are blurring.

You retreat to your wing, needing space to think. Sitting on the edge of your barely-used bed, you run through mental exercises you developed years ago when you first started escorting. Reminders of what this is and isn't. Boundaries that must be maintained. The danger of mistaking transaction for connection.

But your usual mantras ring hollow against the memory of Christopher's face when he spoke of his mother, the unexpected humor in his eyes when he admitted to his chip-on-shoulder past, the gentleness of his hands caressing your skin when he thought you were sleeping.

You're good at your job, at giving clients what they need all while protecting your core self. It's what's made you successful, sought-after, well-compensated. But as you sit in your beautiful room in Christopher's mansion, you face an uncomfortable truth: the wall you've carefully constructed between your professional and authentic selves is developing hairline fractures.

And Christopher Bahng, with his unexpected vulnerability and careful attention, is finding every single one.

****

“You look good.”

Eva’s voice greets you the second you step into your penthouse. Her greeting, blunt as ever, is paired with a glass of wine and a knowing smirk. You abandon your small bag by the door and take both.

"Good to see you too. You still have my key, huh?" you reply, sinking into your plush sofa next to her. It's strange how it doesn't feel as much like home as it used to. "And thanks for that."

Her eyes narrow, appraising as you bring the glass to your lips. "You've got that 'man' glow. The one that says you're getting fucked regularly but not thinking clearly."

You laugh, a real one, because only Eva could frame it like that. "Is there any other kind of glow?"

"Not for us." She leans forward, curiosity naked and unapologetic on her face. "So? How's the arrangement going?"

You knew this was coming. "More intense than I expected," you admit, swirling the wine before taking a sip.

"After a month? Ooh, do tell."

"He's... different." You're surprised by how much you mean it. "Not quite as straightforward as I thought."

Eva arches a brow, her interest piqued. "Different how? Kinky? Controlling? Batshit crazy?"

"Yes to all three," you say, and she laughs again, demanding details with a tilt of her head. You give in, recounting the first night at his mansion, the unexpected chemistry that's only grown since.

"And he's opening up to you?" Eva asks, her voice edged with disbelief.

"More than I expected," you confess. "He's told me some pretty personal things."

"Like?"

You hesitate but know there's no point holding back; Eva will get it out of you eventually. "About his family, like his alcoholic dad. And about his past, his childhood."

"The poor little rich boy routine?" she probes shrewdly.

"No," you say quickly, more defensive than you mean to be. "It's real. Our upbringings are actually pretty similar. Single moms working multiple jobs, scholarships to private schools, etcetera etcetera."

She studies you closely before speaking again. "What else?"

“He cancelled dinner plans with his best friend to spend an evening with me,” you say, watching her reaction closely.

Eva whistles low. "That’s serious. Sounds very personal."

You shrug off the accusation even though something in your chest tightens at the truth behind it. “It’s not supposed to be serious,” you insist, even as doubt creeps in. "It's still business."

“And yet…” She lets the words hang, unspoken implications weaving through the air between you.

You let out a breath and shift topics before the conversation gets too close to places you're not ready to go. “Enough about me. How was Miami?”

Eva takes the hint with a knowing smile. “Profitable and exhausting,” she says, leaning back with practiced grace. “The usual wolves in designer clothing. No one worth remembering.”

“Didn’t meet any potential benefactors?”

“No one who could compete with a billionaire who actually listens,” Eva retorts.

You try to mask how much that statement hits home by draining your glass and pouring another. "It's not all roses," you say lightly. "He's demanding as hell."

"Bet he is." Her eyes twinkle mischievously. "In bed too?"

Your answering grin is wicked and unguarded. "Especially in bed."

She laughs, rich and full-throated.

The rest of the evening passes in a familiar blur of laughter and too much wine, Eva sharing more stories of her own clients and their absurd expectations until you're both doubled over in hysterics.

When Eva finally leaves with a hug and a warning to keep your head on straight ("or bent over if that's what he prefers"), you're left alone in the silence of your penthouse. It feels emptier than usual without her kinetic presence or Christopher's steady intensity filling the space.

You wander from room to room, picking up your phone more than once before putting it down again with a frustrated sigh. It's ridiculous how much you want to call him, hear his voice, even though you've only been away from him for a few hours.

****

The weeks unspool in a blur of luxury and unexpected intimacy. Your life with Christopher settles into rhythms both planned and spontaneous with formal events where you play the role of the exquisite companion on his arm and quiet moments of startling connection that weren't outlined in any contract. Time becomes marked not by dates on a calendar but by the gradual shift in temperature between you and the slow dissolution of the carefully constructed boundaries. You tell yourself it's just excellent acting, just the professional adaptation to a long-term client. The lie tastes bitter even as you repeat it nightly, like swallowing medicine that doesn't quite work.

The first charity event arrives five weeks into your arrangement. Christopher delivers a garment bag to your room personally, watching with undisguised anticipation as you unzip it to reveal a gown that catches light like trapped lightning. It’s silver and midnight blue, cut to accentuate every curve while maintaining an elegance that whispers old money rather than shouting new wealth.

"Tom Ford," Christopher says, fingers trailing over the fabric. "Couture."

The implication isn't lost on you; he had this made specifically for you, which means he'd been planning your public debut long before you'd agreed to the arrangement. The presumption should annoy you. Instead, something warm unfurls in your chest at the thought of him imagining you in this dress, directing designers to capture your essence in fabric and thread. You also wonder how in the hell he somehow managed to get his hands on your exact measurements.

That night, you stand before the mirror as Christopher fastens a diamond necklace around your throat, his reflection watching you with that particular intensity that makes your skin prickle.

"Perfect," he murmurs, hands lingering at the nape of your neck. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there."

"That's what you're paying for," you remind him, the words automatic, a defense mechanism.

His eyes meet yours in the mirror, something flashing in their depths. "No. That's just who you are." You feel heat rising in your cheeks and hope you’re not blushing.

The event passes in a whirl of champagne flutes and calculated small talk. You play your role flawlessly. You’re charming, intelligent; the perfect accessory to Christopher's power. But you notice how his hand never leaves the small of your back, how his eyes track you even across crowded rooms, how he introduces you as his date with a possessive inflection that makes his claim clear without words.

Later that night, he fucks you against the balcony door of his bedroom, your face and tits pressed against the glass, the city lights spread beneath you like a carpet of stars, his grip bruising on your hips as he whispers "mine" against your skin with each thrust. You cum with his name on your lips, and the line between performance and truth blurs a little more.

You fall asleep against his pecs, lulled by the warmth of his skin and the steady rhythm of his breathing. His arms are tight and possessive around you, clutching you like you might disappear at any moment. You find the comfort unsettling but addictive, leaving you unable to pull away despite knowing you should. The house is quiet, the only sound is the gentle rustle of the sheets as he shifts closer in his sleep, murmuring your real name with a tenderness that makes your heart squeeze in your chest.

You wake to him tossing, turning, his forehead creased with lines of tension. He's still holding you, but his grip changes; it’s less conscious, more frantic.

He's having a nightmare.

His body jerks, and his breathing turns ragged against your neck. You cradle his face, whisper his name softly until his eyes blink open, haunted and disoriented.

"Hey, you’re okay," you say gently, brushing damp hair from his forehead, feeling a strange twist of emotion when he calms at the sight of you.

He doesn't pull away or try to downplay his vulnerability. He just presses his face into your shoulder with a low, relieved breath.

You’ve never seen him anything less than in control, and the unguarded moment overwhelms you, makes you do something stupid like care. You rub his back soothingly until his muscles relax, until his hold on you becomes less desperate, until he falls back into a deeper, more peaceful sleep.

And somehow, despite knowing better, you do too.

The pattern repeats. Another week. Another occasion. Another dress tailored and delivered. Another event blurring the line between business and indulgence.

This time, it’s a dinner with investors where Christopher positions you beside him rather than at the opposite end of the long table, a calculated placement designed to show everyone present exactly where you fit into his life, how he views your relationship.

The attention from the other investors flickers over you with interest, but Christopher's gaze is relentless, claiming. As dinner is served, his hand finds yours beneath the tablecloth, a subtle intimacy breaking through the polished, professional veneer. His thumb strokes your palm, and the deliberate intervals at which he reaches for you make your pulse escalate, make you hyper-aware of each touch and the promise it holds. Each course arrives with more intensity, more heat building between you, the food a secondary indulgence to the simmering electricity.

Christopher leans in to murmur something that sounds like an offhand comment about the market, but all you register is his breath on your ear, something far more intimate. His hand slides from yours, and you nearly gasp when it finds your thigh. He's talking to the table about the latest economic forecast, but it feels like he's speaking only to you, each word causing his fingers to inch higher, under your dress, teasing the edge of your panties while you struggle to keep your expression neutral. The investors around you are mostly oblivious, absorbed in their own conversations and the high-end wagyu steak dinner, but you're sure that everyone can hear the erratic beating of your heart. Your breath catches, and Christopher pauses, as if waiting for you to protest or stop him. When you do neither, he resumes his exploration, his fingers slipping beneath the lace of your underwear, and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound. His eyes meet yours, dark and knowing, as two fingers sink deep, curling in exactly the right way to make you clamp around him.

You try to focus on the discussion about projections for the next quarter, on maintaining some semblance of decorum, but Christopher is ruthless, relentless, moving inside you with rhythmic precision. Your nails dig into his forearm, a silent plea that only makes him go deeper, more insistent. You’re on the brink, legs trembling, your free hand clutching the table for stability. The world around you fades, the conversation becoming white noise as Christopher crooks his fingers and presses his thumb to your clit.

After you cum quietly around his fingers, he sucks your juices off of them while one of the investors tells a joke, then leans over to press a soft kiss to your bottom lip. .

At a gallery opening a week later, he watches your reaction to the art more intently than the pieces themselves. A few days after, you return to the mansion after pilates to find one of the paintings you’d lingered at mounted on a wall in your east wing bedroom.

Then there’s a weekend brunch with Hyunjin and one of the many women he keeps in rotation, where the conversation and inside jokes flow so naturally you almost forget this is a temporary arrangement.

A work event at Christopher's firm reveals new dimensions to his possessiveness. You wear a conservative but striking maroon dress, appropriately elegant for a corporate function. Christopher's expression when he sees you is approving, but there's a tightness around his jaw you've learned to recognize: desire held in check, control exerted.

Martha greets you with an enthusiastic hug, her warm energy wrapping around you just as tightly as her arms. She is one of the few people in Christopher's company who talks to you like a real person rather than a precious artifact he's decided to display. There's genuine affection in her voice as she compliments your dress, her eyes sparkling with something akin to approval. “You’re simply adorable, dear,” she gushes. You beam, as you can’t remember the last time someone called you ‘adorable’.

Martha is charming in her efficiency, seamlessly transitioning between small talk and event logistics when someone interrupts with a question without missing a beat. You laugh when she mentions that Christopher will likely have a coronary if even one tray goes unsampled. "I don't want to be the one to resuscitate him," she jokes, glancing over your shoulder with a wink.

You follow her gaze and see Christopher watching you from across the room, a small smile playing at his lips. The look is possessive, approving, and entirely too satisfied, as if he knew you'd charm everyone effortlessly and he's proud of the show. He nods when he catches your eye, a silent signal that he's pleased, and you feel a ripple of satisfaction… or maybe that's just the champagne.

You're surprised when he doesn't immediately stake his claim, instead allowing you to navigate through the room with freedom. It feels like a test, like he's seeing how far you'll go and how long you'll last without him by your side. Then you realize with a smirk that he's just as likely pacing himself, saving his appetite for dessert.

The evening progresses smoothly until you find yourself in conversation with one of Christopher's colleagues, a silver-haired man with sharp eyes and sharper wit. He's entertaining, making you laugh in a way that feels genuine rather than practiced. You're mid-anecdote when you feel Christopher's presence behind you, his hand sliding around your waist in a gesture that appears casual but conveys unmistakable ownership.

"Lee," Christopher acknowledges the man by his last name, voice cool. "I see you've met my partner, Noelle."

The word choice, partner, not date or companion, raises eyebrows, including yours, though you maintain your composure.

"Indeed I have," Lee replies, eyes shrewd as they move between the two of you. "She was just telling me about her thoughts on the Miyazaki acquisition. Sharp mind, this one."

"Yes," Christopher agrees, fingers pressing slightly firmer against your side. "One of many reasons I’m attracted to her."

The possessiveness should feel stifling. Perhaps with another man it would. But you recognize something beneath Christopher's territorial display, not just ownership but pride. He wants everyone to know you're his, yes, but also that he recognizes your value beyond the physical. It's a distinction that matters more than it should.

Later that night, when you ask about his choice of words, Christopher pauses in the act of removing his tie, expression unreadable.

"Lee has a reputation," he says finally. "I wanted to be clear about your status."

"As your possession?" you challenge, testing boundaries that have grown increasingly flexible.

Christopher approaches slowly, stopping just short of touching you. "As someone who matters to me." His admission hangs in the air between you, more intimate somehow than the countless ways he's had your body. "Does that bother you?"

The truth, that it doesn't, that it warms something cold and protected inside you, feels too dangerous to acknowledge. "Just clarifying the parameters," you say instead.

His smile is knowing, seeing through your deflection. "The parameters are evolving. Isn't that what happens in any relationship?"

But this isn't a relationship, you want to say. This is a contract, a transaction, a temporary arrangement beneficial to both parties, designed to fulfill both of your needs. You should counter his words, remind him of what he’s paying for, but the way he watches you makes you hesitate.

The words stick in your throat, dense and unspoken, as he spins you around and bends you over the dresser, holding your face down against the smooth polished wood, hips pressed against your ass before you can push back.

You smile when you hear him undo his zipper with his other hand before he flips up your dress and plunges into you roughly from behind.

“Ugghhh!” you groan.

His hands pin your wrists in place on top of the dresser as he thrusts into you.

The motion is hard, immediate, a declaration without the need for language. He fills you completely. His hips crash into you, each hard plunge rattling the dresser and driving you to the edge of something you can’t quite define. He’s relentless, pounding so deep, over and over, like he needs to remind you in every way how he owns you, like he knows exactly how you’re starting to question everything. There's nothing soft or careful about the motion. It's blistering, primal, tearing down the walls you've built, making your vision spark white and your thoughts scatter, and you wonder if you're the one who's been wrong all along.

You’re gasping, breathless, the impact shredding through your carefully constructed defenses and unmooring the truths you’ve clung to, until all that’s left is Christopher pushing you to the very brink.

You moan loudly in absolute pleasure when you cum.

****

Saturday mornings become sacred somehow, an unspoken ritual neither of you planned. Christopher, usually awake before dawn even on weekends, lingers in bed, his usual precision softened by morning light and the absence of anywhere he needs to be.

You discover he reads poetry; Neruda and Angelou and contemporary voices you don't recognize. Sometimes he reads aloud, his voice roughened by sleep, words flowing over you like warm honey.

One such morning, as Christopher sits with his back against the headboard and you lie next to him, you find yourself tracing the scar on his ribs, the question you've wondered about for weeks finally finding voice.

"How did you get this?"

Christopher's hand covers yours, pressing your palm flat against the mark. "Street fight when I was sixteen. Three of my classmates decided the scholarship kid needed a lesson in hierarchy. So they found a way to distract Hyunjin after his swim practice and jumped me from behind as I walked towards the subway station." His tone is matter-of-fact, not seeking sympathy. "They learned a different lesson instead. Rich kids never realize they can’t fight until they actually fight someone who’s not from their neighborhood. And when Jin realized what was happening, he ran from where he was and his scrawny ass leaped onto the back of one of them. I think he broke that fucker’s nose for me." He smiled as he thought of the memory.

You can picture it, young Christopher, outnumbered but refusing to yield, that same intensity in his eyes that you see when he negotiates deals or fucks you. The image stirs something protective in you that has no place in this professional arrangement.

"And this one?" Your fingers drift northward to the scar on his shoulder.

His expression shifts, something vulnerable flashing before it's tucked away. "My father. Broken bottle. I got between him and my mother when I was ten and paid the price."

The simple statement reveals volumes about his childhood, about the origins of his need for control, about the boy who became this carefully constructed man.

You press your lips to the scar, a gesture of comfort decades too late but offered nonetheless. You feel his story in the warmth of his skin, the way his muscles initially tense when your lips touch the raised tissue. Christopher's fingers tangle in your hair, holding you close against his chest, a silent plea for closeness that he doesn’t need to vocalize, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.

"I think you're the first person I've told," he says quietly, “other than Jinnie,” and the admission feels like being handed something fragile and irreplaceable, a token of trust so unexpected that it makes your chest constrict with a mix of emotions you’re not sure you can name. In that moment, the lines blur beyond recognition: personal and professional, fake and real.

You lift your head to kiss him on the lips, intending comfort but finding something deeper, a connection that scares you as much as it draws you in. You straddle him without breaking the kiss, your need to be closer to him a magnetic force that pulls you out of yourself and into this moment.

Beneath you, you feel his cock start to harden, and your hips respond automatically, sliding back and forth against him like it's the only thing they know how to do. When he’s fully erect, you reach down and position the tip of his dick at your entrance before sliding down on it fully, taking him with a smoothness that feels like inevitability.

Christopher groans into your mouth, a sound so raw and needy that it sends a jolt of electricity down your spine, amplifying your desire, making you wetter, hungrier. "Fuck," he breathes as you set the pace, riding him with long, deep strokes that leave no room for pretense or defense mechanisms. Just skin on skin, all boundaries obliterated.

You sink your teeth into his shoulder, the sex too good, your need too great to contain quietly. The bite makes him thrust upwards, hitting you at an angle that makes your vision blur and your breath catch. You dig your nails into his chest, marking him, claiming him in the only way you know how. As you drop onto him again and again, you see the earlier hurt in his eyes replaced by something intense and adoring.

The vulnerability of his confession shifts into possession. His hands grab your hips, taking control, guiding you up and pulling you down with a ferocity that shatters your last defenses. "Baby Girl," he rasps. "I'm not going to last." The words should be a warning, but they push you closer to the edge. You want him to lose it. You want him to know he's the only one who can make you like this, trembling, incoherent.

As his thrusts become desperate, frantic, you slip a hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit, circling, pressing, needing that final spark to send you over. You clench around him, and Christopher’s growl is primal, possessive, as if claiming every part of you. This time, he cums first, burying himself so deep inside you that you can’t tell where you end and he begins. But he continues thrusting upwards until your orgasm hits, violent and consuming, his name tearing from your lips.

You collapse against his chest, your head resting on his shoulder as he leans his back against the headboard, both of you trying to catch your breath, the room ringing with the aftermath of what just happened. Words feel inadequate, too small for the enormity of what lies between you. Christopher strokes your back, a gentle counterpoint to the way you’ve just fucked him, and you let your eyes close, savoring the unexpected tenderness amid the wreckage of your carefully constructed barriers after only a month and half. You’re not sure how you’ll ever keep your distance, how you’ll ever keep it strictly business. But maybe, you think as you curl up beside him, maybe... you don’t want to.

****

The Tokyo business trip comes as a surprise: not the trip itself, which Christopher had mentioned weeks ago, but his insistence that you accompany him.

"I'll be in meetings most days," he explains as you pack. "But the evenings will be ours. There are restaurants I want to show you, places I think you'll appreciate."

The thought he's put into imagining your preferences, into planning experiences you might enjoy, catches you off guard. This goes beyond the parameters of your arrangement, beyond what you're being paid for. You tell yourself he's just maximizing his investment, ensuring his exclusive companion remains available even during travel.

The lie grows thinner each time you repeat it.

Tokyo unfolds around you like a revelation with neon and tradition interwoven together and energy humming beneath meticulous order. Christopher keeps his word about the meetings, disappearing each morning with Hyunjin in tow, returning each evening with the day's tension melting as soon as he sees you waiting.

He takes you to tiny restaurants hidden in back alleys that require passwords or personal connections to enter. He guides you through temple gardens at dawn, before the tourists arrive, his knowledge of Japanese culture surprising and extensive. He buys you small, thoughtful gifts: a silk scarf from a fifth-generation artisan, a rare edition of your favorite poet found in a dusty bookshop, a pair of earrings that he says catches the light ‘exactly as your eyes do when you laugh’. That last one makes you roll your eyes playfully, which he smirks at until you kiss it off his face.

None of these gestures were stipulated in your contract. None fall under the obligations you agreed to. Each feels like a stone added to a scale that's increasingly tipping away from the transactional and toward something you're afraid to name.

In bed at the hotel, with Tokyo sparkling beyond floor-to-ceiling windows, Christopher maps your body with the dedication of someone memorizing territory they never want to forget. His usual domination is tempered by something that feels dangerously like reverence.

"Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your inner thigh, each word a breath on your skin.. He’s asked this before, his voice typically a low growl, an insistence. But not this time. There’s a difference in his tone now, a softness. This time it’s a request, not a demand, leaving the power squarely in your hands. It’s a change that thrills you more than you expected. You guide his head between your legs, your fingers threading through his hair, and he gives in to your silent response, his mouth on you with worshipful precision. Each flick of his tongue pushes you closer to the edge, unraveling you, turning your request into a litany of whispered “please” and “right there, daddy” and “more.” And when he's made you so wet and desperate that you're no longer sure if you’re begging him to stop or never stop, he pulls away.

He’s inside you in one hard thrust, his body covering yours, his skin burning against you, his lips seeking yours with a yearning that matches your own. His moves are careful but determined, like he wants to consume you whole but is savoring each moment before he does. You hook your legs around his waist, forcing his thrusts deeper, faster, feeling the full possession of him. You bite his bottom lip, too close to stay silent, too close to hold back. Each drive forward is a question. An answer. A promise. A plea.

Tonight, when you come apart beneath his mouth, his hands, his body joined with yours, the name you cry isn't ‘Christopher’ or ‘Daddy’ but ‘Chris’, the forbidden diminutive only Hyunjin is allowed to use.

Instead of the correction you expect, his rhythm falters, his control slipping as he nuzzles the tip of his nose to yours and follows you into release with a hoarseness in his voice that sounds like surrender when he calls your real name.

Neither of you mention it afterward. Some revelations are too raw to acknowledge in words.

Back in Los Angeles, the pattern of your days continues to evolve. Christopher starts adjusting his schedule to maximize time with you. He’s leaving the office earlier, bringing work home to complete after you've fallen asleep beside him, scheduling his most demanding meetings early so his evenings remain uncompromised.

"You have a five o'clock with the Singapore team," you remind him one afternoon, having overheard his conversation with Hyunjin earlier that day.

"Rescheduled for tomorrow morning," Christopher replies, sliding his laptop closed. "I thought we could drive up the coast for dinner. There's a place in Malibu I think you'd enjoy with a fantastic view of the sunset. You interested?"

The casual reprioritization of his time, Christopher Bahng, who built his reputation on ruthless efficiency and availability to clients, speaks volumes. Even more telling is how he no longer phrases these changes as demands, assuming your consent, but rather as invitations for shared plans, assuming your desire to be with him.

The most unsettling part is how rarely you want to refuse.

Hyunjin notices, of course. His perceptive eyes miss nothing, especially where Christopher is concerned. You find him in the kitchen one morning, contemplating the coffee maker with theatrical confusion.

"This thing gets more complicated every time I visit," he complains, though his smile suggests the helplessness is at least partially an act.

You take pity, preparing his coffee along with your own. "Christopher's already left for his soccer game," you inform him, assuming that's who he's looking for.

"I know." Hyunjin accepts the mug with a nod of thanks. "I came to see you, actually."

The admission surprises you. "Me? Why?"

Hyunjin leans against the counter, studying you with that gaze of his. "Because Christopher's different with you. Calmer. More present." He sips his coffee. "Less like he's waging war against the world and more like he's found something worth protecting in it."

You don't know how to respond, so you focus on adding cream to your coffee, stirring longer than necessary.

"He's never brought anyone to the Tokyo restaurants," Hyunjin continues, his voice gentler now. "Those were places we discovered together years ago. Our private sanctuaries in a city that never stops moving."

The revelation sits heavy in your chest. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I care about him. And because I think, despite your best professional intentions, you're starting to care too." Hyunjin's directness is kind but uncompromising. "The question is what happens when your contract ends."

The question follows you through the day, through the week, through moments when Christopher's hand finds yours without conscious thought, when his eyes seek you out across rooms as if confirming you're still there, still his. The evidence accumulates like the formation of snowflakes—small, individual moments that together create something that shouldn’t exist, something substantial and something impossible to ignore:

The way he's memorized how you take your coffee.

The book of poetry he left on your nightstand, passages marked that made him think of you.

How he calls you by your real name in private, never Noelle.

The protective way he positions himself between you and crowds.

The genuine interest when he asks about your day, your thoughts, your dreams.

At night, in the darkness of what has become undeniably "our" bed rather than "his," you face the truth you've been avoiding. Your professional detachment, your carefully maintained boundaries, your emotional self-protection, all compromised by this man who approached your arrangement like a business transaction but somehow transformed it into something else entirely.

You suspect Christopher Bahng is falling for you, in his own controlled, measured way. Worse, you might be falling for him too. Most dangerous of all, you're no longer certain you want the contract to end in four months' time.

The realization terrifies you. You've built your career, your independence, your entire adult life on maintaining control, emotional and financial. On keeping transactions clean, boundaries clear. On never needing anyone enough that losing them would matter.

Christopher shifts beside you in sleep, his arm instinctively tightening around your waist, pulling you closer against him. Even unconscious, he seeks you out, claims you. In the sanctuary of darkness, you allow yourself to sink into his embrace, to acknowledge the warmth that spreads through you at his touch.

Your guarded heart, the one you've protected so carefully for so long, is quietly, treacherously surrendering. And despite every professional instinct screaming caution, you find yourself letting it happen, one moment, one touch, one shared breath at a time.

A/N: This was probably my favorite chapter to write. Hope you enjoyed it.

116 notes · View notes

its-avalon-08 · 1 year ago

Note

Can we have some hurt comfort with Lando Norris. Like Lando and her haven’t been spending a lot of time together and when he is free he’s spending all his time gaming or golfing and reader is feeling like he doesn’t love her anymore because of that.

But happy ending.

brick on my heart (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, tears, fluffy ending

Y/n sat perched on the edge of the sofa, a half-finished cup of tea growing cold in her hand. The television broadcasted a pre-race interview, Lando's face filling the screen. He was animated, talking strategy with a practiced ease that had become a trademark. But the excitement in his voice didn't translate to his eyes. They held a weariness, a hollowness that mirrored the growing emptiness in her own chest.

Across the room, Lando was hunched over his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard. The rhythmic click-clack was the only sound in the once-lively apartment, a stark contrast to the playful banter and movie nights that used to fill their evenings. Y/n had planned to surprise him with dinner - a gourmet pasta dish she'd spent the afternoon perfecting. Now, the aroma just mocked her, a forgotten promise of connection in the sea of Lando's single-minded focus.

A notification chimed on his phone. He glanced at it briefly, a fleeting smile tugging at his lips before he returned to the game. Y/n's stomach lurched. Was it a message from a teammate, a sponsor, or maybe even a fan? It certainly wasn't from her. The silence between them, once comfortable, now felt suffocating.

She rose silently, pushing the untouched pasta towards the back of the fridge. Lando didn't react, his eyes glued to the screen. Maybe a part of him registered her movement, but it didn't translate into a question, a "Hey, where are you going?"

Y/n retreated to the bedroom, the sting of unshed tears pricking her eyes. She picked up a book, the worn pages offering a refuge from the cold reality of their apartment. But even the fictional world couldn't hold her attention. The echo of Lando's laughter from a past game night played on a loop in her mind, a cruel reminder of what they'd lost.

Later that night, when Lando finally emerged from his gaming trance, he found Y/n curled up asleep on the bed, the untouched book lying on the floor beside her. Her peaceful slumber masked the storm brewing within. In the dim light, he didn't see the silent tears that stained her cheeks, the growing distance between them, or the love slowly withering in the absence of his attention.

The Monaco sun beat down on the bustling paddock as Y/n followed Lando, his pace brisk and focused. Conversation was a forgotten luxury, replaced by the rhythmic crunching of gravel beneath their feet. As they passed by the Red Bull garage, Daniel Ricciardo gave Y/n a bright smile and a cheery, "Hey there, sunshine!" but it fell flat. His usual banter felt forced, his eyes lingering on Lando's oblivious form.

The McLaren garage, once a haven of laughter and shared excitement, now felt cold and sterile. Mechanics scurried around, their greetings to Y/n polite but perfunctory. Lando disappeared into a briefing, leaving Y/n awkwardly adrift in the sea of racing paraphernalia. She found herself drawn to the relative quiet of a secluded balcony overlooking the track. Leasing her back against the railing, she allowed the weight of her unspoken words to crush her. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image of the sleek cars below.

"Y/n?" A familiar voice startled her. Carlos Sainz, his usual smirk replaced by a worried frown, stood beside her. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Y/n choked back a sob, shaking her head mutely. Carlos, ever perceptive, understood. Without a word, he enveloped her in a warm hug, his strong arms a comforting presence against her shaking frame. The tears came then, hot and uncontrollable, soaking into the fabric of his shirt.

"Lando?" he asked gently, his voice barely a whisper.

She shook her head again, the effort to speak a betrayal. Carlos held her tighter, a silent promise of understanding hanging in the air. He wasn't just her brother's teammate; he had always been a confidante, a protector.

Exhausted from the weight of her unspoken pain, Y/n leaned sleepily against him. The rhythmic thrum of the engines below served as a lullaby, a distant echo to the storm raging within her. When Lando finally emerged from his meeting, searching for Y/n, he found her fast asleep on the couch as Carlos lay a blanket over her.

The sight hit him like a physical blow. The worry etched on Carlos' face, the vulnerability in Y/n's sleeping form, it was a stark reminder of his neglect. Shame burned in his chest, replacing the usual pre-race nervousness. The starting grid, once a symbol of his ambition, now seemed insignificant compared to the love he felt slipping through his fingers.

The checkered flag fell, signaling the end of the grueling Monaco race. Lando, his face flushed with exertion but a triumphant smile playing on his lips, emerged from his car. He scanned the crowd for Y/n, his heart sinking when he spotted her standing stiffly at the edge of the podium.

He jogged towards her, expecting a celebratory hug. Instead, she offered a weak smile and a forced, "Congratulations, Lando."

His smile faltered. "Hey, you okay?" He reached for her hand, but she subtly pulled away.

"Yeah," she mumbled, staring down at her feet. "Just... tired. I think I'll head back." She knew about the post-race party, the usual celebratory affair Lando relished. She didn't want to be a burden with her heavy heart.

Lando's stomach twisted. "You sure? I could—"

"No," she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Go celebrate. I'll see you later." She turned and started walking away, her steps heavy and defeated.

Lando watched her go, a knot of guilt tightening in his chest. This wasn't right. He needed to talk to her, to fix this. He glanced at his car, then back at Y/n's retreating figure. With a determined sigh, he changed his mind.

He caught up with Y/n outside the paddock, keys jingling in his hand. "Change of plans," he said, his voice firm. "You're coming home with me."

Y/n looked up, surprise flickering across her tear-filled eyes. Too tired to fight him, she simply nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. The silence on the drive home was thick, pressing down on them like a heavy fog.

Once inside the apartment, the silence shattered as Y/n finally broke. The dam holding back her emotions crumbled. "Lando," she choked out, her voice thick with unshed tears, "you don't love me anymore. It feels like there's nothing left in here," she clutched her chest, a gesture mirroring the hollowness she felt inside.

The raw pain in her voice hit Lando like a punch to the gut. He saw the hurt etched onto her face, the love he had taken for granted slowly fading away. Tears welled up in his own eyes.

"No, Y/n, that's not true!" he rushed out, his voice thick with emotion. "I love you more than anything. This season… it's been chaotic, it's swallowed me whole, and I… I was stupid. I didn't realize how much I was neglecting you, pushing you away. Y/n, listen to me. I know I've messed up, big time. But that's no excuse. The truth is, I've been so focused on winning, on proving myself, that I completely forgot what truly matters. And that's you."

He sank to his knees in front of her, his head bowed. "

Seeing you walk away after the race… it hit me like a ton of bricks. You looked so… empty. And the worst part? It's my fault. All this time I've been chasing trophies, podium finishes, while neglecting the biggest prize in my life – you."

"The late nights spent gaming, the hours practicing golf, the quick goodbyes for training… I never realized how much I was pushing you away. I took our love for granted, assumed you'd always be there."

"But you're not just a trophy girlfriend, Y/n. You're my teammate, my confidante, the person who makes me laugh even after the worst race. Seeing the hurt in your eyes… it tears me apart."

"Please, believe me when I say I love you. More than anything. I know my actions haven't shown it, but you're the sunshine in my day, the calm in my storm. I can't lose you. This season can wait, the sponsors can wait, the races can wait. But you? You're irreplaceable. Please, Y/n, believe me. I can't… I can't lose you."

Y/n, witnessing his genuine remorse, felt a flicker of hope rekindle in her chest. She knelt down, gently cupping his face in her hands. "I love you too, Lando," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But we need to fix this, together."

He looked up, his eyes searching hers. Relief and gratitude washed over him. "We will. I promise. No more neglecting you. No more letting the racing overshadow our lives." He took her hand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "We'll race together, laugh together, love together."

Y/n smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. This time, it wasn't a tear of sadness, but a promise of a new beginning, a love strong enough to weather any storm. In the quiet of their apartment, they held each other close, their tears mingling, a testament to a love that had been bruised but not broken, ready to face the future together.

723 notes · View notes

mrsfancyferrari · 5 months ago

Text

His Feast

Summary: LH44 + slow feasting on you

Song: Pipe · Christina Aguilera

Author’s note: Thanks @urfriendlywriter for the prompt idea. Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 3.8k

MASTERLIST - F1

The way you moved had become a carefully choreographed dance, a soft sway designed to conceal more than it revealed. Every morning, the ritual started with the oversized t-shirt, the one that swallowed your frame whole, a deliberate shield against prying eyes - and the eyes you felt most drawn to, those of Lewis.

You hadn’t always been like this, a creature of shadows and loose fabric. There was a time, not so long ago, when you’d pranced around in shorts and tank tops, comfortable in the skin you inhabited.

But somewhere along the line, a whisper of doubt, a chorus of insecurities, had grown into a deafening roar in your mind.

Lewis, with his infuriatingly open affection, only heightened your shame. He’d always been vocal about his appreciation for your body, for the curves and the dips that you were now so desperate to hide.

He’d trace the line of your collarbone with a soft finger and say, “You’re stunning, you know that?” His words, once music to your ears, now felt like a spotlight, exposing every supposed flaw.

You tried to deflect his compliments, to change the subject with a nervous laugh, but his gaze always held a knowing tenderness that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.

You’d started avoiding mirrors, your reflection now a source of painful scrutiny. The gym had become a prison, each session a grueling exercise in self-loathing.

You’d catch Lewis watching you sometimes, his expression a mix of concern and confusion, and you’d quickly turn away, ashamed of your attempts to shrink, to disappear.

You knew you were being ridiculous, but the voice in your head was relentless, painting you as flawed, as something less than beautiful.

One evening, you were getting ready for a quiet night in. You pulled on an old, baggy sweatshirt, the one that Lewis had jokingly called your ‘hibernation tent.’

He was in the kitchen, humming softly as he prepared dinner. When he came into the bedroom, he paused, his smile faltering.

“You okay, love?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Yeah, why?” you replied, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt.

“Just…you’ve been wearing this a lot lately," he said, his eyes lingering on the oversized fabric. "And the jeans, even when it’s warm. Everything seems so…covered.”

You felt your chest tighten. You wanted to lie, to tell him you were just cold, but his gaze was too understanding, too perceptive.

“I’m just…comfortable,” you mumbled, looking away.

He stepped closer, his hand lightly touching your arm. “You look comfortable, sure, but you don’t seem comfortable. Are you…are you hiding from me?”

His question pierced you like a shard of glass. You couldn't hold it in anymore. “I’m not as beautiful as you say I am," you blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips. "I... I see things in the mirror, things I don’t like. Things that you think aren’t there, but they are.”

His forehead furrowed, his touch becoming firmer, yet softer. "What things?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. "Tell me.”

You hesitated, the shame rising like a tide. “My…my tummy, the way my thighs look, my arms…everything.” You closed your eyes, the tears threatening to spill.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment. When you opened your eyes, he was still looking at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your throat ache. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

You nodded, shame washing over you in waves. “I’m sorry," you said, your voice cracking. "I know it’s silly but…”

He stepped forward, pulling you gently into his arms. “Don’t you ever,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair, “Don’t you ever apologize for feeling something. And please, never call what you feel, silly.”

You clung to him, burying your face in his chest, the tears finally escaping. “I just want to be the person you see,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt.

He held you tight, his hand stroking your back. “I see you, love,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I see all of you. And all of you is beautiful. It’s not just what’s on the surface, though that is stunning obviously, it’s also the way you laugh, the way you care, the heart that you have. That’s what makes you beautiful. Do you trust me?”

His question hung in the air. You looked up at him, your eyes red and swollen. “Yes,” you said, your voice barely audible. “I do.”

He smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your heart ache in the best possible way. "Okay then," he said, taking your hands. "Let’s do something about this.”

The room was a symphony of shadows and candlelight as Lewis guided you to the bed, the soft glow playing over his chiseled features, painting a picture of raw masculine beauty that made your knees wobble.

The air was thick with anticipation, charged with the electricity of a thousand unspoken words. You felt the heat of his gaze as he took in your form, the hunger in his eyes making you quiver with a need so deep it was almost painful.

"Take off your clothes," he said, his voice a gentle command that resonated through you like a bass note from a distant cello.

His eyes never left yours as you fumbled with the buttons of your blouse, the fabric sliding away to reveal the swells of your breasts.

He watched you with the intensity of a hawk eyeing its prey, his pupils dilating as your vulnerability laid bare before him.

The fabric of your skirt whispered against your legs as it fell to the floor, leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear. He took in the sight of you, his breath hitching slightly as he traced the edge of your panties with the tip of his finger.

"Do you know how much I love watching you undress for me?" he murmured, his voice a soft caress that made your stomach flip.

You nodded, feeling a blush creep up your neck. His touch was like a brand, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he gently eased down your panties, revealing the dampness between your thighs.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin, and whispered, "I want to show you just how much I crave you."

And then he did. His mouth found the sensitive spot where your neck met your shoulder, his teeth grazing the soft skin as he kissed you.

His hands roamed your body with a confidence that made you feel like the most precious treasure in the world, each caress a declaration of his love for your every curve and dip.

His thumb slid between your folds, teasing your clit, as he whispered sweet nothings about your beauty into your ear.

You moaned as he slid a finger inside you, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out the pleasure until you were begging for more.

He added another, filling you up as his thumb continued to dance over your swollen bud. The feeling was almost too much, a delicious agony that made you arch your back, desperate for relief.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice a gruff whisper. You met his gaze, his eyes dark with lust and something else, something deeper.

Something that made your heart stutter in your chest. "See what you do to me," he said, gesturing to the bulge in his pants.

You couldn't help the smug smile that curved your lips. You knew you affected him, knew that he wanted you as much as you wanted him. But seeing it laid bare like this was intoxicating.

He took your hand and placed it on his hardness, his eyes never leaving yours as you squeezed gently.

"Take off your bra," he said, his voice hoarse. You complied, the fabric falling away to expose your breasts to the cool air. He cupped them in his hands, his thumbs teasing your nipples into hard peaks.

His mouth followed the trail his hands had set, kissing and nibbling his way down your body, leaving a path of fire in his wake.

When his mouth reached your breasts, you thought you might die from the pleasure. His tongue flicked and swirled around your nipples as his hands kneaded and squeezed, the sensation sending bolts of pleasure straight to your core.

"You're so responsive," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "I could play with these all night."

Your body was a canvas, and he was the artist, painting strokes of pleasure that had you writhing beneath him. You felt the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your orgasm building like a storm at sea, ready to crash over you at any moment.

"Lewis," you breathed, your voice a plea.

He pulled away, a wicked glint in his eye. "Not yet, baby," he said, his voice low and husky. "There's so much more I want to show you."

And with that, he stood and began to strip away his own clothes, his body revealed inch by glorious inch. You watched, transfixed, as he shed the last of his garments, his erection standing proud and thick, a testament to his desire for you.

"Are you ready?" Lewis murmured, his gaze never leaving yours.

You nodded, your eyes wide with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The weight of his question was palpable, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest.

This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment where you would let go of your fears and insecurities, and let him love you completely.

"Good," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. He stepped closer to you, his naked body a sculpture of desire in the flickering candlelight.

The heat of him washed over you, making your skin prickle with goosebumps, and you could feel the tension in the room ratchet up a notch.

With a gentle touch, he cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "I'm going to show you just how much you mean to me," he murmured. "How much I love every inch of you."

His mouth met yours in a kiss that was at once tender and fierce, a promise of the passion to come. His tongue slid against yours, teasing and tasting, as his hands slid down to grip your hips.

He stepped closer, the length of him pressing against your stomach as he lifted you onto the bed, never breaking the kiss.

You felt the softness of the sheets beneath you, a stark contrast to the hardness of his body above. His weight was a comfort, a reassurance that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"Look at me," he said again, pulling away slightly so he could gaze into your eyes. "I need you to see me, to know that this is real."

You nodded again, unable to find the words to express what you felt. He positioned himself between your legs, his hands sliding over your thighs as he bent his head to kiss you again, his tongue tracing the line of your jaw before moving lower, to the hollow of your throat.

His kisses grew more urgent, his teeth grazing your skin as his hands roamed further, one hand finding its way back to your breast while the other slid down to cup you between the legs.

You gasped as he began to rub you in slow, firm circles, the pressure building as your body responded to his touch.

The first wave of pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you and leaving you gasping for air. You clutched at the sheets, your body arching off the bed as Lewis watched you with hooded eyes, his own desire evident in the tightness of his jaw and the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

He whispered sweet, filthy things into your ear, his voice a dark symphony that sent shivers down your spine. His mouth moved to your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin as his fingers danced over your clit.

You felt his cock nudging against your entrance, the blunt tip probing gently as he kissed a line of fire down to your chest.

"I'm going to make love to you now," he murmured, his voice a velvet promise. "I'm going to show you just how beautiful you are, how much I crave you."

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your body already singing with pleasure. And then he was inside you, filling you up in one slow, deep stroke that had you crying out his name.

His eyes never left yours as he began to move, his hips rocking into you with a steady rhythm that had you seeing stars.

The sensation was exquisite, a perfect blend of pleasure and pain as he stretched and filled you, his every movement a declaration of his love for your body.

You could feel your walls clench around him, desperate to hold him in, never let him go.

You watched as he took his own pleasure, his eyes dark with passion, his jaw tight as he fought for control. And when he finally let go, when he came with a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room, you felt a sense of accomplishment, of belonging, that was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

He collapsed onto you, his weight a comfort as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice muffled. "All of you. And I'm never letting go."

And in that moment, you knew it was true. You had found your home, in the arms of the man who had just shown you that love was more than just a feeling; it was an act of worship, a celebration of the beauty that lay within.

"I'm yours," you whispered back, your voice trembling with the intensity of the emotions that surged through you.

Lewis pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt or hesitation. Finding none, he kissed you again, this time with a tenderness that made you feel like the most cherished person in the world.

His cock, still hard within you, throbbed with the beat of his heart, and you felt a renewed sense of connection, of unity.

"I want you to come again," he murmured, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. "I want to feel you shatter for me, baby."

With gentle coaxing, he began to move again, his strokes long and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and you could feel your orgasm building once more, a crescendo that threatened to overwhelm you.

Your breath grew ragged as you chased the peak, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks that would serve as a testament to the passion that had consumed you.

His own breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his body tense with the effort of holding back, of waiting for you to reach that perfect moment.

And when it came, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. It was a symphony of sensations, a maelstrom of pleasure that tore through you, leaving you shaking and gasping beneath him.

His name was a litany on your lips, a chant that matched the rhythm of his hips, the pounding of your heart.

As the last vestiges of your climax faded away, he kissed you softly, his movements slowing to a gentle rock as he allowed you to come down from the high.

His arms tightened around you, and you knew that in this moment, you were where you belonged.

He rolled to the side, taking you with him so that you lay entwined, his cock still buried within you. "I love you," he whispered, the words a soft benediction against your ear.

You turned your head to look at him. "I love you too, Lewis."

He kissed you again, a chaste peck that held more promise than any grand gesture could ever convey. "Now, let me show you just how much."

And with that, he began to move again, his touch tender, his kisses reverent. This time, there was no rush, no urgency. Just the two of you, lost in the sweetness of each other's embrace, exploring the depths of the love that had brought you to this place.

The night stretched out before you, a tapestry of passion and pleasure, and you knew that no matter what the future held, you would always have this moment, this perfect union of bodies and souls.

"Look at me," he said again, his voice a gentle coax. You obeyed, your eyes meeting his, the intensity of his gaze making you quiver.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "So perfect. And all mine."

Your insecurities were a distant memory as you felt the warmth of his love surrounding you, a cocoon of acceptance and desire that made you feel more alive than you had ever been.

And as he brought you to the brink once more, and pushed you over the edge into oblivion, you knew that you had been reborn, not just as a lover, but as a woman who had finally learned to embrace her beauty, her passion, and the love that she had been so desperately seeking. . . .

338 notes · View notes

diamonddaze01 · 6 months ago

Text

bad for business

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 0.9K genre: humor, fluff, suggestive | au: f1 au | rating: pg-13 warnings: suggestive. no actual sex. a/n: based on an ask by @ylangelegy for my follower celebration! love you so much kae <3 // takes place after full throttle // based on bad for business by sabrina carpenter

We look good in photographs I like the way you like to laugh at dirty jokes I know they'll always land Used to get work on time But now you're taking up my nights Never been so glad to be so tired

The cameras loved Jeonghan almost as much as you did. The way the flashbulbs caught the sharp angles of his face, the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—it was no wonder the photographers jostled for position every time he turned his head. He looked like he belonged in this world, draped in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the satin lapels catching the glow of the chandeliers spilling out from the Hôtel de Paris.

His hand never left your back, a steady, grounding presence as you posed for photos. You felt his thumb brush the fabric of your dress—barely perceptible but enough to send a thrill up your spine.

“You know,” he murmured, his lips just brushing your ear as the cameras clicked furiously, “this dress is dangerous.”

You glanced at him, your lips barely moving as you replied, “How so?”

“It’s doing things to me.” He smirked, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m also thinking about how easy it’d be to get it off you later.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you held your composure, only narrowing your eyes at him. “Behave,” you whispered.

“Not a chance.”

Inside the gala, the air buzzed with champagne-fueled conversations and quiet deals being struck beneath the glittering chandeliers. You found yourself stuck in a polite discussion with a sponsor, Jeonghan lingering at your side like a shadow.

“That’s a lovely necklace,” the sponsor remarked, their gaze lingering on the delicate chain around your neck.

“Thank you,” you said, your fingers brushing over the two charms: a microphone and the letter J.

“She hasn’t taken it off since Christmas,” Jeonghan interjected smoothly, his voice tinged with pride.

“And why would I?” you teased, turning to him with a playful look.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he said under his breath, low enough that only you could hear. “Starting with how good it’d look dangling against your skin while you’re wearing nothing else.”

You barely managed to stifle your laugh, but it bubbled out in a way that made the sponsor glance at you curiously. “Excuse me,” you said hastily, covering your mouth as Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

Later, as you mingled through the crowd, he caught your hand, tugging you close enough that your hips brushed. “You’re laughing too much tonight,” he said, his tone light but his fingers firm around your wrist.

“Maybe someone keeps whispering indecent things in my ear,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“You love it,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a way that made your heart stutter.

By the time the gala ended, you were exhausted but giddy, a heady mix of champagne and Jeonghan’s constant teasing swirling in your veins. He didn’t wait for a car to be called, instead pulling you by the hand through the glittering streets of Monaco.

“Jeonghan, we have media tomorrow,” you protested as he led you up the narrow staircase to your shared apartment.

“And?” he said over his shoulder, his smirk illuminated by the golden streetlights.

“And you’re going to regret this when you’re sitting in a press conference tomorrow, struggling to keep your eyes open.”

“I don’t regret anything when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, stopping just outside the door. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Besides,” he added, his lips brushing your ear, “I think I’ve proven I’m at my best when I’m running on no sleep.”

The door to your apartment had barely closed behind you before he was on you, pressing you against it with a kind of urgency that made your head spin.

“I like you tired,” you teased between kisses, your fingers tugging at his hair in a way that made him hiss against your lips.

“I like you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, “in red.”

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, though your fingers betrayed you, tangling in the loose knot of his tie.

“I’m yours,” he said simply, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second, but it quickly deepened. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he said, “You wore red tonight just to kill me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your voice breathless as you smiled up at him.

“Well, mission accomplished,” he said, his lips ghosting over your collarbone before trailing back up to your jaw. “But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows woke you before your alarm. Jeonghan was still asleep, his arm draped over your waist, his hair a tousled mess against the pillows. You couldn’t help but smile as you traced lazy patterns on his bare shoulder.

As if sensing your gaze, he stirred, cracking one eye open. “What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” you said softly, brushing a kiss against his temple.

“Worth it,” he replied, a slow grin spreading across his face as he pulled you closer.

And as you lay there, tangled up in each other, the exhaustion was nothing compared to the warmth blooming in your chest. Some things were just worth losing sleep over.

participate in my follower celebration HERE!

325 notes · View notes

monstercangirlofficial · 1 year ago

Text

People have to understand that, as soon as you are in a callout, you are marked, and are labelled with a discrediting attribute that you're burdened with. This reduces and delegitimazes your voice and your ability to be trusted and interacted with, leading to being ostracized and excluded. That is the point of the callout. After being marked and labelled, those who aren't stigmatized will avoid contact with the "stigma bearer." When marked, anytime the stigma bearer is recognized, they generate a response of aversion and disgust in those who have seen or are aware of the callout, which they rationalize and justify through the notion that those who receive callouts "deserved it"

This way, the stigma is seen by others as transferable by association and as a threat that's understood as a fair and legitimate reason to keep a safe distance, as to avoid becoming a stigma bearer. When those who aren't associated, and are sufficiently separated from the stigma bearer, support and defend the stigmatized, they become "infected" by association. But, those directly marked will always be affected the most, as they're exposed first and more widely. When labelled as a stigma bearer, the perception of you being unsafe is spread around as a warning, which is done under the guise of maintaining the safety and sanctity of the community

People don't even have to believe in the callout for the stigma to work. They don't even have to see the original post, if others relay the information through other means. Once the stigma is created, it stays almost permanently. When the callout has been around for long enough misinformation will also become easier to spread, as the original source is harder to track, and it becomes "common knowledge." It may even become in fuel for another callout, creating a history or track record, as "they were already called out before." This is why the callout is inherently effective. The callout is designed to be a weapon first, making sure it damages and stigmatizes the "brand" of a user. This way, their url, name, mutuals, posts and even profile picture bear the stigma

This policing of "bad actors" is weaponized to get rid of those that are undesirable within the community, and callouts are used against those that are marginalized, as they usually lack the social resources to retaliate, and because they're seen as "reasonably capable" of doing what they're accused of. Those that divert from the norm are also the most likely to be in risk of suffering real life consequences when separated from their communities and support nets, and callouts are intentionally made to socially murder them and their brand. This is why these warnings are shared "just in case," so people can feel morally righteous for defending the community, as it is easier than taking tangible actions to stop actual issues

Callout post are designed and intentionally spread to socially murder others, and the more likely the targets are believed to be guilty, the more effective the callout post is. People will only jump to defend targets of callouts when they're sure they're innocent (which you can only know if you personally know who's being targeted). But nobody deserves callout posts, and thinking that people who are guilty deserve them too, perpetuates this problem, and is part of the reason why callouts are so effective. Callouts don't stop abusers or abuse

Evidence will be fabricated, people will lie, spread rumors, and things will be blown out of proportions, but, even if the accusations are real, ask yourself what narrative a callout is fabricating. People making callouts know that most victims of them haven't actually harmed anyone, so they instead paint them as groups that "have the potential to harm others." You're left to fill in the blanks with whatever morally repugnant thing they could've done. Just the suggestion of possible fault and wrongdoing will make most people react with aversion and disgust, and this is enough to turn a target into a stigma bearer. People will avoid them, because the feeling of rejection is strong enough to rationalize stigma bearers as abusers

The weaponization of "the truth" is also an issue in itself. People making callouts will lie, and then it's on the stigma bearer to prove that's a lie, but only to their audience. It's also specially difficult for a stigma bearer, because they have to prove they didn't do something, and how do you prove you didn't do it when your voice is being put into question by the callout? Once the callout is out there, any statement in it will be taken at face value and spread, unless challenged or ignored. Focusing on "what parts are true" is also a weapon of the callout, as the debate of the validity of a callout also helps it to spread, as stigma bearers want to clear their names, but this leads to curiosity in onlookers, which spreads the stigma

When you're targeted by a callout post (and survive the social isolation), you don't learn a lesson, you don't grow, you're not allowed to change and be reintroduced to your community. It doesn't matter if you're innocent or guilty, because people don't even have to believe a callout post in order to act on the implicit call to action and harassment. If others consider you a danger you will be isolated and bullied, sometimes to the point of suicide, and the people who decided to target you will consider this a victory. Callouts aren't interested in rehabilitation and growth, they're not interested in questioning the institutions and contexts that allow for the abuse of power and real harm to be done. Callouts are a means for quickly obtaining social capital for removing "bad actors" and keeping the community "clean"

#mine #made some corrections to the original post

642 notes · View notes

dreamersworldduh · 5 months ago

Text

HIS AWAKENING —PART 3

TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT

• NATE JACOBS x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Though Nate has finally admitted his feelings for Y/N, expressing them is an entirely different battle. Used to guarding his emotions behind arrogance and control, he struggles with the vulnerability that comes with actually showing Y/N how much he cares. Every touch, every lingering glance, every unspoken word feels like unfamiliar territory—territory he’s not sure how to navigate.

Y/N, ever perceptive, notices the hesitation. While he appreciates Nate’s confession, he refuses to settle for half-measures. He wants something real, not just words spoken in the heat of the moment. And if Nate truly wants him, he needs to prove it—not just with declarations, but with actions.

Now, caught between his pride and his undeniable need for Y/N, Nate faces his biggest challenge yet: learning how to love without fear.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.7k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Of course the story of Nate Jacobs wasn’t over. I have a few more plans for our lovely toxic duo. Also working on get those requests done. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy!

PREVIOUS PART! — HIS AWAKENING PART 2

NEXT PART! — MY HEART BELONGS TO YOU

The following weeks passed in a blur, and everything between Y/N and Nate had shifted in ways neither of them fully acknowledged—but both of them felt. The tension that once simmered between them had evolved into something more potent, more charged. It wasn't just about lingering glances or teasing remarks anymore. It was something unspoken, something that had settled into the very fabric of their everyday interactions.

Mornings were different.

Y/N used to wake up to the sound of Nate moving around the dorm, the rustling of fabric and the muffled sighs of someone half-asleep and grumpy about early practice. Now, he often woke up to the warmth of Nate's arm draped lazily over his waist, their bodies tangled in a way that no longer felt accidental. The first time it happened, Y/N had tried to slip out quietly, but Nate had pulled him back without opening his eyes, murmuring a sleep-heavy, "Stay."

And Y/N had.

Classes were different.

Before, they'd sit apart, pretending not to notice each other in lecture halls. Now, Nate made a habit of sitting beside Y/N, stretching out in his seat like he owned the space and shooting Y/N knowing smirks when their knees brushed under the desk. Occasionally, he'd pass him a note written in Nate's barely-legible handwriting—sometimes sarcastic, sometimes suggestive, always smug.

You looked good this morning.

Caught you staring. You're not subtle.

Meet me after practice. No excuses.

Afternoons were different.

The football field and track had once been separate worlds, their teams rarely crossing paths outside of shared locker room banter. But now, Nate's eyes found Y/N easily across the field. When Y/N stretched with his track team, his shorts riding high up his thighs, he could feel Nate's gaze on him. He would smirk, deliberately holding his poses a little longer than necessary, pretending not to notice the way Nate clenched his jaw.

And Nate? He was just as bad. During football drills, when he'd strip off his sweat-soaked jersey, he'd make sure Y/N was watching before wiping his face with the hem of his undershirt, letting Y/N catch a glimpse of hard-earned abs. And when he threw a perfect pass, he always turned to Y/N first—just to see if he was impressed.

Nights were the most different of all.

What started as shared, comfortable silence in their dorm had turned into something heavier. The space between their beds seemed smaller. Some nights, they barely spoke, the tension so thick it felt like an invisible string stretched between them, ready to snap. Other nights, Y/N would throw a teasing comment at Nate, just to see how much it would take before Nate's patience broke.

And sometimes, Nate wouldn't break at all. He'd just smirk, push off his bed, and walk toward Y/N with that look in his eyes—the one that made Y/N's breath hitch before Nate even touched him.

But they hadn't talked about it.

Not once.

Not about what they were. Not about how things had changed. Not about how, in public, Nate still acted like nothing had shifted, but behind closed doors, he touched Y/N like he belonged to him.

And maybe that was the most interesting part of all.

Because neither of them seemed ready to bring it up.

And neither of them seemed willing to stop.

For Y/N, this was nothing more than casual sex. A mutually beneficial arrangement between two roommates who happened to have undeniable chemistry. It wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this kind of situation—hooking up with someone for the thrill of it, for the fleeting heat of the moment, without the baggage that came with emotions.

He knew better than to let himself catch feelings.

Feelings were messy. Feelings led to expectations, and expectations led to disappointment. Y/N had learned that lesson the hard way before, and he had no intention of repeating it. He wasn't the type to sit around hoping for something that wasn't guaranteed.

And Nate?

Nate was just another notch in the bedpost, another mistake he refused to let turn into something more.

At least, that's what Y/N kept telling himself.

But despite every effort to keep things detached, Nate was growing on him.

It was the little things—the way Nate always seemed to find him in a crowded room, the way he'd smirk like he had a secret only Y/N knew, the way he lingered a little too long after they were done, his fingers ghosting over Y/N's skin like he didn't want to let go.

It was the way Nate said his name.

It was the way Nate looked at him.

Y/N wasn't oblivious. He saw the shifts in Nate's behavior, the way he acted differently with him than he did with anyone else. The way his cocky bravado softened ever so slightly when they were alone.

And Y/N had to admit—he had a soft spot for the guy.

It wasn't just about the sex anymore, not really. He liked the way Nate got competitive over stupid things, the way he'd steal Y/N's snacks and then buy him more without being asked. He liked the way Nate absentmindedly played with the hem of Y/N's sleeve when they sat close, the way his smirks turned into real smiles when Y/N got under his skin in just the right way.

But liking Nate didn't mean he was going to fall for him.

Not unless Nate gave him a reason to.

Not unless Nate said it first.

Because Y/N wasn't about to set himself up for heartbreak. He wasn't going to be the one holding onto something that wasn't reciprocated, waiting for Nate to figure himself out while Y/N suffered in silence.

No, if Nate wanted more, he was going to have to be the one to say it.

Until then, Y/N was single.

And if Nate thought otherwise?

Well, that was his problem

Whereas for Nate, everything about this was uncharted territory.

He wasn't the type to hesitate, wasn't the kind of guy who struggled with words or second-guessed himself. On the field, in the locker room, in every other aspect of his life, he was confident—in control.

But with Y/N?

With Y/N, Nate felt like he was stumbling through the dark, grasping at something just out of reach, something he barely knew how to define.

He hadn't even admitted to himself that he wanted Y/N—not just physically, but in a way that made his chest tighten whenever he saw him smile, in a way that made his stomach twist whenever he caught Y/N flirting with someone else at a party.

It had taken him weeks just to acknowledge that he had feelings for Y/N, and even now, he barely knew what to do with them.

Y/N wasn't making it easy, either.

The way Y/N carried himself—always so detached, so effortlessly casual about everything—was driving Nate insane. He acted like this was just another hookup, like there was nothing more to it, like what they were doing didn't mean anything.

And maybe it didn't—to him.

But to Nate?

Every time Y/N smirked at him from across the room, every time he ran his fingers through Nate's hair in the middle of the night like it wasn't a big deal, every time he laughed at one of Nate's dumb jokes like it was the easiest thing in the world—it meant something.

But how the hell was he supposed to say that out loud?

How was he supposed to admit that he wanted more, when Y/N acted like there wasn't even a "they" to begin with?

It pissed him off, honestly.

The way Y/N would tease him, get under his skin, rile him up, and then act like it was nothing. The way he would kiss Nate breathless one moment, then shrug him off like it was just another part of their routine.

Like Nate was just a roommate.

Like Nate was just a good fuck.

And maybe that's all this was for Y/N.

Maybe Nate was the only idiot who was making it into something more.

The thought made Nate clench his jaw, his fists tightening as he sat on the edge of his bed, watching Y/N from across the room. Y/N was scrolling through his phone, looking completely unbothered, like he hadn't spent the previous night gasping Nate's name, trembling under his hands.

Nate exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

He needed to get a grip.

He couldn't be the one to bring it up first. He wouldn't be.

Because if Y/N really didn't care—if this really was just casual for him—then Nate wasn't going to be the one making a fool of himself.

So he bit his tongue.

Swallowed every confession before it could leave his mouth.

Kept playing the game, even though he wasn't sure how much longer he could pretend that the only thing he wanted from Y/N was this.

Because the truth?

The truth was, Nate didn't just want Y/N in his bed.

He wanted him in his life.

And he had no fucking idea how to say it.

The lecture hall was filled with the monotone drone of the professor's voice, echoing off the walls as students either scribbled down notes diligently or stared off into space, barely paying attention. Y/N, ever the diligent student, sat upright, pen gliding smoothly over his notebook as he copied the key points from the lecture slides. His brows furrowed in concentration, his fingers tapping absently against the paper as he underlined an important concept.

To his left, Nate was struggling.

Slouched in his seat, arms crossed, his head bobbed slightly with each passing second, his eyelids growing heavier as the minutes dragged on. He barely even tried to hide it, his mouth parting slightly as he fought off sleep, only for his head to tilt dangerously forward before he caught himself at the last second.

Y/N side-eyed him before nudging him with his elbow. "You keep nodding off like that, and you're gonna wake up drooling all over your desk," he murmured under his breath.

Nate cracked one eye open, blinking sluggishly before stretching out his legs under the desk. "Mm," he grunted, voice thick with exhaustion. "This class is pointless."

Y/N scoffed, flipping to a fresh page. "It's not pointless if you actually pay attention."

Nate made a dismissive noise, letting his head tip back against his chair. "Why should I? You're already taking notes for me."

Y/N paused mid-sentence, turning his head to shoot Nate an incredulous look. "Excuse me?"

Nate cracked a smirk, tilting his head toward Y/N but keeping his posture lazy. "Come on," he said, voice low and smooth. "You know you're gonna let me copy them."

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "And what makes you so sure about that?"

Nate's smirk widened as he leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower, enough that only Y/N could hear. "Because you like when I owe you favors." He let the words linger before adding, "And we both know I'm very good at paying them back."

Y/N's grip on his pen faltered for just a second, his cheeks flushing faintly as the meaning behind Nate's words settled in. He turned to glare at him, but the effect was ruined by the small, involuntary smirk twitching at the corner of his lips.

"You're annoying," Y/N muttered, shaking his head as he tried to focus back on his notes.

Nate just grinned, leaning back in his chair like he'd won.

Unfortunately, their whispered exchange hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Mr. Jacobs. Mr. Y/L/N," the professor's voice rang out from the front of the lecture hall, immediately silencing the murmurs of other students. "Since you both seem to be having such an engaging discussion, perhaps you'd like to share your thoughts with the class?"

Y/N's head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly as he realized every pair of eyes in the room was now trained on him and Nate.

Nate, on the other hand, remained completely unbothered. He didn't even sit up properly, just lazily turned his head toward the professor with an easy smirk. "Oh, I'd love to, but I'd hate to take up time from your lecture," he drawled, voice dripping with faux innocence.

A few students chuckled under their breath, clearly entertained by the interaction, while Y/N resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands.

The professor, unimpressed, sighed. "I'd suggest you both start paying attention before the midterm surprises you."

"Of course, professor," Y/N said quickly, elbowing Nate hard in the ribs as he dropped his gaze back to his notebook.

Nate let out a small grunt at the impact but merely smirked, glancing at Y/N from the corner of his eye. He leaned in one last time, whispering just low enough that no one else could hear.

"Admit it," Nate murmured, voice teasing. "You like having me around."

Y/N didn't look at him, didn't give him the satisfaction. But the small, amused shake of his head as he kept writing told Nate everything he needed to know.

The moment class ended, students moved like a tidal wave toward the exit, eager to escape the monotony of the lecture hall. Y/N gathered his notebook and slung his bag over his shoulder, slipping out of his seat just as Nate got held up near the front of the room, laughing at something one of his football teammates had said.

Y/N didn't wait for him. Why would he? He had his own schedule, his own life. Besides, it wasn't like Nate had asked him to wait.

He maneuvered through the mass of students, his mind already on his next class when—

Thud.

He collided into someone, his momentum halted as a firm chest absorbed the impact.

"Shit," Y/N muttered, stepping back quickly. "I really have to stop running into people."

The guy he'd bumped into let out a short chuckle, his hands raising in an easygoing gesture. "No harm done," he said, offering a friendly smile. "Happens in the stampede of post-class freedom."

Y/N exhaled through his nose, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, apparently I have a talent for it. Sorry about that."

"No worries." The guy shifted his backpack higher on his shoulder before extending a hand. "I'm Aaron, by the way."

Y/N reached out instinctively, shaking his hand. "Y/N—"

"I know," Aaron interrupted, a grin playing at his lips.

Y/N blinked in surprise. "You do?"

Aaron chuckled, tilting his head as if the answer was obvious. "Yeah. You're the Y/N. Star of the track team, campus favorite for breaking records. Kinda hard not to know who you are."

Y/N huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, now I feel like a minor celebrity."

Aaron smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not about to ask for an autograph or anything."

"Good," Y/N teased, adjusting his bag. "My handwriting's terrible."

Aaron let out another laugh, an easy warmth to his demeanor. "Where you headed?"

"Next class," Y/N said, glancing at the clock on his phone. "Bio 201."

Aaron's eyebrows lifted slightly. "No way. I've got that too."

Y/N raised an amused brow. "You sure you don't just know that because you did some secret research on me?"

Aaron grinned, shaking his head. "I promise, total coincidence. But hey, now I have a walking buddy."

Y/N smirked, falling into step beside him as they started down the hall. "Well, let's see if you can keep up, Mr. Football."

Aaron let out a scoff, nudging Y/N's shoulder playfully. "Please. I may not be as fast as you, but I think I can manage walking."

The conversation flowed effortlessly as they walked together, the natural ease between them making Y/N forget the crowded hallways, the pressure of the upcoming class, and the lingering soreness from morning practice.

But what neither of them knew—what neither of them even thought to check—was the sharp, focused gaze watching them from a few feet away.

Nate stood near the door of the lecture hall, having just finished his conversation with his teammate. His easy smirk had disappeared the moment he caught sight of Y/N—his Y/N—talking and laughing with some other guy.

His arms crossed over his chest, jaw tightening slightly as he watched the interaction unfold.

Aaron.

He knew of him. A decent player, decent stats, never really had a reason to pay attention to him before. But now? Now Aaron had his full attention.

And Nate didn't like what he was seeing.

Not one bit.

The hum of conversation filled the hall as students spilled out of Bio 201, most eager to escape the droning lecture and stretch their legs. Y/N emerged alongside Aaron, his hands casually shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as they talked.

The past hour had passed easily, filled with quick banter and stolen glances. Aaron was charming, quick-witted, and confident in a way that made it effortless for Y/N to match his energy.

"So," Aaron said, nudging Y/N's arm playfully. "If you're such a track star, when am I getting VIP seats to one of your meets?"

Y/N arched an eyebrow, tilting his head with mock consideration. "Oh, I don't know," he mused, biting back a smirk. "VIP spots are reserved for special people. What makes you think you qualify?"

Aaron grinned, leaning in slightly. "I guess I'll have to work on that, then."

Y/N hummed, pretending to think. "Mmm. Maybe I'll save you a seat."

Aaron let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with something playful—something unmistakably flirtatious. "I'll take what I can get," he replied, his voice dropping just slightly.

The air between them shifted, the flirtation now laced with a subtle tension, a challenge silently hanging between them. Y/N wasn't opposed to letting it linger, to seeing where this could go—

But then the air really shifted.

Because suddenly, a new presence made itself known, stepping right into the space between them like it belonged there.

"Funny," a familiar voice drawled, cool and sharp like a blade sliding into place. "Didn't realize we were handing out VIP passes now."

Y/N didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

Aaron, however, did—his easy expression shifting as he straightened slightly, clearly taken off guard by the interruption.

Nate stood there, casual as ever, but there was an undeniable weight in his presence. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes flicking between Y/N and Aaron, his smirk just a little too tight to be playful.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly as he looked at Nate, unimpressed. "Didn't realize you were invited to this conversation, QB."

Nate's smirk deepened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, I don't need an invite," he said smoothly. "I was just passing by and couldn't help but overhear." He turned his attention to Aaron, his expression unreadable but undeniably assessing. "Aaron, right?"

Aaron blinked before nodding. "Yeah. And you're Nate Jacobs."

"Guilty," Nate said, his tone light but laced with something harder beneath the surface. His eyes flicked back to Y/N. "Didn't know you made new friends so quickly, Y/N."

Y/N arched an eyebrow, his smirk not wavering. "I have a lot of talents, Nate."

Nate chuckled, shaking his head slightly before stepping in just a little closer—so subtly that to an outsider, it wouldn't seem like much. But Y/N felt it. He felt the shift, the unspoken territorial energy radiating from Nate like a silent warning.

Aaron glanced between the two of them, clearly picking up on the tension but not yet understanding the full weight of it. "Uh," he started, shifting his bag on his shoulder. "Well, I should probably—"

Y/N, ever the instigator, smirked up at Nate and decided to push.

"You should come to the meet this weekend," he told Aaron smoothly, his voice light and easy, but his eyes locked on Nate's. "It'll be fun."

Aaron hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Yeah. Sounds good."

And just like that, Nate's smirk vanished.

Y/N could feel the shift, the way Nate's entire body tensed beside him, his jaw tightening just slightly. But instead of lashing out, Nate did something even more dangerous—he relaxed.

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slow, lazy, dangerous.

"Oh, yeah," Nate said smoothly, his voice dropping low as he glanced at Y/N. "He should definitely come."

And Y/N had to fight the shiver that ran down his spine.

Because that? That wasn't a smirk of someone backing down.

That was the smirk of someone ready to play.

The door to their dorm slammed shut behind them, the tension from earlier still thick in the air. Y/N barely made it two steps inside before he spun around, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes locked onto Nate.

"Alright," Y/N started, voice clipped, "what the hell was that all about?"

Nate, who had just shrugged off his backpack and tossed it onto his bed, arched an eyebrow like he had no idea what Y/N was talking about. "What was what all about?" he asked casually, stretching out his arms before leaning back against the wall, completely unbothered.

Y/N scoffed, his hands going to his hips as he glared at Nate. "Oh, don't even try that innocent act with me, QB. You know exactly what I'm talking about." He stepped closer, his chin lifting slightly. "You all but crashed my conversation with Aaron like some jealous boyfriend."

Nate smirked, tilting his head as he looked down at Y/N. "Jealous?" he echoed, his tone amused. "Now that's a reach."

Y/N rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "You—" He exhaled sharply, composing himself before leveling Nate with a pointed look. "You interrupted our conversation. You practically put yourself between us like you were staking some kind of claim."

Nate crossed his arms, that smug smirk never leaving his face. "Maybe I just didn't like what I was hearing."

Y/N huffed out a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "Oh, please. What, you didn't like that I was flirting with someone else?" He stepped even closer, pushing at Nate's chest lightly. "That bother you, Jacobs?"

Nate didn't budge—he was too solid, too rooted in place. Instead, his smirk deepened, and he leaned down slightly, getting right in Y/N's space. "You're really fishing for an answer, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and smooth, laced with something dangerous.

Y/N's breath hitched for just a second—just long enough for Nate to notice. And the moment he did, his smirk turned absolutely predatory.

"I don't fish," Y/N said finally, regaining his composure. "I just like calling out bullshit when I see it."

"Bullshit?" Nate repeated, his voice still maddeningly calm. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning Y/N's face like he was amused. "So, let me get this straight—you can flirt with whoever you want, but I can't say anything about it?"

Y/N blinked, thrown off for half a second before he scoffed. "You don't get to say anything about it, because as far as I'm concerned, we're just roommates who occasionally fuck."

Something in Nate's expression shifted then, so subtle that most people wouldn't have caught it—but Y/N did.

A flicker of something—irritation? Possession?��crossed Nate's face before it was quickly masked by that ever-present smirk.

"Right," Nate said smoothly, nodding as if the words didn't affect him at all. "Just roommates."

Y/N swallowed, suddenly feeling like he had no control over this conversation anymore. "Exactly," he said, standing his ground. "Which means I can do whatever I want."

Nate let out a slow breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly before taking a step closer—so close that Y/N had to tilt his head to maintain eye contact. "Then do whatever you want," Nate murmured, his voice low and taunting. "Flirt with Aaron. Let him take you out. See if he can make you moan like I do."

Y/N's entire body tensed, his breath catching as Nate's words sent a pulse of something down his spine.

Nate smirked, seeing the reaction. "Yeah," he murmured, voice thick with amusement. "That's what I thought."

Y/N hated how easily Nate could unravel him—how he could turn the entire argument around and make it about this, about them, when Y/N was trying to keep it casual.

But Y/N wasn't going to let Nate win that easily.

So he squared his shoulders, looked Nate dead in the eye, and said, "Maybe I will let him take me out."

Nate's smirk dropped.

It was quick—so quick—but Y/N saw it. Saw the way Nate's jaw clenched, how his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.

But then, just as fast, Nate recovered.

He took a step back, that cocky grin sliding right back into place. "Go ahead," he said, voice lazy, unaffected. "See how that works out for you."

And with that, Nate turned, grabbed a towel, and walked straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him like he hadn't just dropped a bomb in the middle of their dorm.

Y/N stood there, his heart pounding, his mind racing.

Because if there was one thing he knew about Nate Jacobs—

He never backed down from a challenge.

However, Y/N had never been the type to back down from a challenge. If Nate thought he could rattle him, if he thought he could get under his skin and win whatever game this was between them—well, he had another thing coming.

Because Y/N wasn't going to let him.

That's why, when the weekend of the track meet rolled around, Y/N didn't hesitate. He knew Nate had been watching him ever since their argument in the dorm, knew that Nate's presence had been looming in the background like a shadow. It was almost amusing, really—how Nate acted so indifferent, so unbothered—but Y/N wasn't stupid.

He felt the way Nate's eyes followed him across campus.

He noticed how Nate's jaw clenched when Y/N got a little too close to Aaron during lunch.

And he definitely caught the way Nate's hands curled into fists when he overheard Aaron casually asking, "So, you wanna grab something to eat after your meet?"

Y/N didn't even hesitate. He smirked, tilting his head slightly as he pretended to consider. "Yeah, sounds fun," he said easily, just loud enough for Nate to hear.

Aaron grinned, oblivious to the fire that had definitely ignited behind them. "Cool," he said, nudging Y/N's shoulder. "It's a date, then."

Y/N didn't correct him.

Because if Nate wanted to act like he didn't care?

Then Y/N would make sure he really didn't care.

The track meet was packed. Spectators lined the bleachers, teammates clustered near the starting lines, and the sharp scent of sweat and adrenaline filled the air. Y/N stood with his team, stretching, rolling out his shoulders, his muscles already buzzing with energy.

He lived for this. The rush of competition, the way everything faded the moment he stepped onto the track—nothing mattered except winning.

But today, something was different.

Because when he glanced toward the bleachers, his eyes immediately found Nate.

Sitting in the middle row, legs spread like he owned the damn place, arms slung lazily over the back of the bench. His face was impassive, unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto Y/N with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

He shouldn't have cared.

But something about Nate being there—watching him—made his pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with the meet.

Y/N rolled his neck, shaking off the thought. Focus.

The announcer's voice rang out, calling for his event. Y/N stepped forward, adjusting his stance, feeling the familiar burn of anticipation settle in his chest.

He didn't look at Nate again.

But he knew, without a doubt, that Nate was watching every second.

The energy from the track meet hadn't died down, even after the final race was over. The team was buzzing, hyped from their victory, their adrenaline still running high as they spilled out of the stadium in groups, talking and laughing loudly.

Y/N was at the center of it all, sweat still clinging to his skin, his body thrumming with the residual thrill of competition. He loved this feeling—the high of winning, the rush of accomplishment. His teammates clapped him on the back, throwing playful jabs about his speed, about how he'd left the other runners in the dust.

And somewhere in the chaos of celebration, someone suggested food.

"Let's hit up that diner near campus," one of Y/N's teammates said, tossing an arm around his shoulder. "I need a burger and fries. I'm starving."

There was no argument.

And somehow, along the way, the football team got roped into the plans.

Y/N wasn't even sure how it happened—one second, it was just the track guys, and the next, a handful of football players had invited themselves along, their towering figures blending into the group like they belonged there.

Which, of course, meant Nate was there too.

Y/N wasn't surprised.

After all, Nate had been watching him all day. He hadn't spoken to Y/N, hadn't even approached him after the race—but Y/N felt his presence. Every time he glanced toward the bleachers, every time he turned his head slightly during cooldowns, Nate was there. Just sitting. Just watching.

So, of course, he was tagging along now.

Y/N didn't acknowledge him, though. He just kept walking with Aaron beside him, their conversation easy, their shoulders brushing every so often as they made their way to the diner.

If Y/N happened to glance over his shoulder and happened to catch the way Nate was looking at them—his jaw set, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pockets—well.

That was just coincidence.

The diner was packed by the time they arrived, but somehow, they managed to push a few tables together, turning the place into their own private post-game celebration.

Y/N slid into an empty seat, laughing at something Aaron had said, barely even paying attention to where everyone else was sitting—until he heard a chair scrape across the floor.

And then Nate was dropping into the seat right beside him.

Y/N blinked, caught off guard for half a second. Because wait a minute—

He looked across the table and saw Aaron, now seated directly across from him, a bemused expression on his face.

Aaron frowned, shifting slightly in his seat. "Uh, wasn't I just—"

"Guess not," Nate cut in smoothly, grabbing a menu like nothing was wrong. "Seats are first-come, first served, right?"

Y/N's lips parted slightly as realization dawned. He stole his seat.

Nate had stolen Aaron's fucking seat.

Aaron stared for a second, clearly confused, but then he just shook his head with a light laugh, like he wasn't going to make a big deal out of it. "Right," he muttered, picking up his own menu. "Guess I'll sit here, then."

Y/N's gaze flicked to Nate, narrowing slightly.

Nate didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge what he just did.

He just leaned back in his chair, one arm resting lazily along the back of Y/N's seat as he skimmed the menu like he hadn't just pulled some petty, possessive bullshit in front of everyone.

Y/N's jaw clenched.

Oh, this was a game now.

Fine.

Game on.

The track team and football players had settled in comfortably, their victory-fueled energy carrying over into dinner. Plates of food were being passed around, drinks refilled, and the chatter was endless.

Y/N, however, was thoroughly engaged in his conversation with Aaron.

Leaning slightly forward, his elbows resting on the table, Y/N smirked as he listened to Aaron talk about an embarrassing moment at one of his recent games. "Wait, you tripped over nothing on the field?" Y/N teased, raising an eyebrow.

Aaron groaned, rubbing his face. "I swear there was a divot in the grass, but of course, nobody believes me. My coach still won't let me live it down."

Y/N chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "I mean, I get it. Falling on your ass mid-play? That's rough."

Aaron pointed a finger at him. "Alright, track star, don't get too cocky. I'd like to see you try dodging three guys while catching a pass and watching your footing."

Y/N smirked, about to fire back—

Until he felt it.

A large, warm hand settling casually on his thigh.

The touch was so casual at first, so light, that Y/N almost didn't react. But then—it moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

Inching higher.

Y/N's breath hitched for a fraction of a second—so brief that nobody but him noticed. He didn't have to look to know exactly whose hand it was.

Fucking Nate.

The bastard didn't even acknowledge what he was doing. He just sat there, pretending to be invested in his food, twirling a fry between his fingers as if his hand wasn't currently sliding up Y/N's thigh under the table.

Y/N swallowed, refusing to react, refusing to give Nate the satisfaction. He turned his attention back to Aaron, keeping his voice perfectly steady. "I think I'd manage just fine," he said, smirking. "Track makes you quick on your feet. Unlike some people."

Aaron laughed, rolling his eyes, but Y/N barely processed it—because Nate's hand was still moving.

Up.

And up.

Y/N clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around his fork.

And then—enough was enough.

With a quick, decisive movement, Y/N swatted Nate's hand away, shoving it back toward his own damn lap.

Nate finally reacted.

He let out a small, quiet chuckle—one only Y/N could hear. It was low, smug, vibrating in the small space between them.

Y/N shot him a look—sharp, unimpressed.

Nate just grinned, his blue eyes glinting with something dangerous.

The worst part? He didn't even look the slightest bit guilty.

Y/N turned back to Aaron, ignoring the way his skin still burned from Nate's touch. He wasn't going to give Nate the reaction he wanted.

This was a battle of control.

And Y/N was not going to lose.

If Nate wanted to play games, then Y/N was more than happy to remind him that he never lost.

So, while he continued his conversation with Aaron—laughing, teasing, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary—he let his hand drop beneath the table. Slowly, deliberately, he rested it on Nate's thigh, mirroring the exact move that Nate had pulled just moments ago.

At first, Nate didn't react. He remained lounged in his seat, chewing idly on a fry, his posture exuding casual arrogance.

But then Y/N started to move.

His fingers traced slow, featherlight strokes over the fabric of Nate's jeans, his touch casual—innocent, even. The kind of touch that wouldn't seem out of place if someone glanced their way. But beneath the surface, it was a challenge. A warning.

Nate didn't tense.

Didn't flinch.

Instead—he smirked.

Y/N didn't have to look to know. He could feel the amusement rolling off of Nate in waves, that cocky bastard reveling in the fact that Y/N had engaged with him. That he had reacted.

And then—Nate adjusted himself.

Not in an overt way. No, that wasn't Nate's style.

It was subtle—the slow shift of his hips, the deliberate way he spread his legs just slightly, offering Y/N more access.

Y/N clenched his jaw, keeping his face neutral, not letting it show how that single movement sent a wave of heat coursing through him.

But two could play at that game.

Y/N let his fingers move higher, grazing along the zipper of Nate's jeans, trailing over the hard lines of his thighs. Nate remained still, his breathing unchanged, but Y/N knew he felt it.

And then, without breaking his conversation with Aaron, without faltering once, Y/N took it a step further.

With practiced ease, he slid his fingers to Nate's zipper and pulled it down.

The soft sound of the zipper unfastening was drowned out by the chatter around them, by the clinking of plates and the hum of the diner.

Nate still didn't react—not outwardly.

But Y/N felt the shift.

Felt the way Nate's breath hitched, just barely.

Felt the way his body tensed for the briefest moment before relaxing again, as if daring Y/N to continue.

And Y/N, never one to back down, did.

His hand slipped past the waistband of Nate's boxers, his fingers grazing warm, hardening flesh. The moment he wrapped his fingers around Nate's dick, he felt it twitch in his grasp—growing, stiffening beneath his touch.

A thrill shot through Y/N's spine.

But still—Nate remained calm.

His breathing never changed. His posture never faltered.

But when Y/N squeezed slightly, teasing the sensitive skin with the lightest of touches—that was when Nate finally reacted.

It was subtle—a slow exhale, controlled, measured.

But Y/N felt it.

Felt the way Nate's thigh muscles tensed beneath his palm.

Felt the way Nate's dick pulsed in his grip.

And when Y/N risked a glance, he was met with pure smugness.

Nate's lips were curled into a smirk, his blue eyes sharp and focused as he turned his head slightly toward Y/N.

That look alone sent heat flooding through Y/N's veins.

Because Nate wasn't annoyed.

Wasn't flustered.

He was enjoying this.

Enjoying the fact that Y/N was touching him—that Y/N wanted to touch him.

It pissed Y/N off.

And turned him on.

So, as Aaron continued talking, completely oblivious to the war happening beneath the table, Y/N did the only thing he could do.

He kept going.

Sliding his fingers up and down, slow, teasing, his movements careful but deliberate.

And Nate?

Nate just smirked wider.

Because Y/N had fallen into his trap.

And he knew it.

But just as quickly as Y/N had started—he stopped.

Without warning, Y/N pulled his hand away from Nate's dick, sliding it casually back to his own lap as if nothing had happened. The sudden loss of warmth sent a wave of irritation through Nate, but before he could react, Y/N turned away from him entirely, shifting his attention back to Aaron with an easy, deliberate smile.

"Hey," Y/N said smoothly, tilting his head, "feel like going for a walk?"

Aaron blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Oh—yeah, sure." He glanced around at their half-finished meals. "Right now?"

Y/N nodded, already pushing back his chair, stretching his arms as if he wasn't just fisting Nate's dick under the table a second ago. "Yeah, I could use some air." His tone was casual, effortless—like this wasn't a power move.

But it was.

And Nate knew it.

Because Y/N didn't just pull away—he was making a statement.

Aaron grinned, oblivious to the battle happening right beside him. "Alright, let's go."

Nate clenched his jaw.

His fingers curled tightly around his fork, his grip so strong he could probably snap it in half if he wanted to. His body was still thrumming with heat, still aching from the way Y/N had just been touching him. He could still feel the ghost of Y/N's fingers wrapped around his dick, still felt the way his body had been climbing toward something more.

Only to be denied.

And now Y/N was just going to get up and walk away with some other guy?

Not just any guy—Aaron?

Nate felt something dark coil in his chest. Something possessive.

He didn't move, didn't speak.

But the moment Y/N and Aaron walked past him, heading toward the diner's exit, Nate turned his head ever so slightly—just enough to watch them leave.

And just as Y/N stepped through the door, he cast a glance back at Nate, his smirk devilish.

Nate's jaw ticked.

Oh, so that's how Y/N wanted to play it?

Fine.

Two could play this game.

And Nate never lost.

The cool evening air wrapped around them as Y/N and Aaron strolled side by side, their footsteps falling in sync against the pavement. The city lights flickered in the distance, casting a warm glow over the quiet streets as they walked away from the crowded diner.

For the first few minutes, their conversation was light—casual teasing, easy banter, small laughs exchanged under the dim glow of the streetlights. But then Aaron's tone shifted, his curiosity evident in his next question.

"So... what's the deal with you and Jacobs?"

Y/N nearly stumbled but caught himself before it was noticeable. He glanced at Aaron, raising an eyebrow. "Nate? What do you mean?"

Aaron smirked knowingly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Come on, Y/N. You can't tell me you didn't notice the way he was looking at you back there. And don't even get me started on the seat-stealing stunt."

Y/N let out a scoff, rolling his eyes. "That was just Nate being an ass. He's like that with everyone."

Aaron chuckled, shaking his head. "Nah. That wasn't just him being an ass. That was territorial."

Y/N hesitated for a split second before quickly composing himself. "There's nothing going on between us," he said, shrugging. "We're just roommates."

Aaron gave him a sideways glance, as if trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth. "Just roommates?"

Y/N smirked. "Just roommates."

Aaron's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, then he grinned. "Good," he said simply.

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "Good?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah, because if there was something going on, I'd have to rethink what I was about to say next."

Y/N tilted his head slightly, curiosity piqued. "And what exactly were you about to say?"

Aaron turned toward him fully, slowing his steps as they neared the entrance to Y/N's dorm building. "I was going to say," he said, voice dropping slightly, "that I want to take you out."

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard. He wasn't surprised necessarily—Aaron had been flirting with him all night—but hearing it spoken so directly still sent a jolt of unexpected warmth through him.

A date.

An actual date.

Not a game. Not a chase. Not the tangled mess of mixed signals that Nate constantly threw his way.

Something simple. Something normal.

Y/N hesitated for a brief second before offering a small, genuine smile. "That so?"

Aaron nodded. "Yeah. So what do you say?"

Y/N exhaled softly, glancing up at the dormitory doors before looking back at Aaron. "I say..." He paused, letting the tension build for a moment before smirking. "Ask me properly tomorrow."

Aaron laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, alright. I'll do that."

They stopped just outside the entrance, standing close enough that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating from Aaron's body despite the cool air.

Then, without much hesitation, Aaron leaned in.

Y/N knew it was coming, saw the way Aaron's gaze flickered to his lips before closing the distance, giving Y/N the perfect opportunity to pull away if he wanted

to.

But he didn't.

Instead, he let Aaron press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, the touch light yet confident, like a promise for something more.

When Aaron finally pulled back, Y/N could still feel the ghost of the kiss tingling on his lips.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Aaron murmured with a grin.

Y/N huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Night, Aaron."

With that, Aaron stepped back, giving him one last glance before turning and walking away, disappearing down the dimly lit street.

Y/N stood there for a moment longer, exhaling slowly before finally stepping inside the building.

And as he walked toward his dorm, one thought nagged at the back of his mind.

He should feel excited.

And yet, all he could think about... was what Nate would do when he found out.

As soon as Y/N stepped inside the dorm, he let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he stripped off his jacket and tossed it onto his bed. The air inside was noticeably warmer than the cool evening outside, but something else made the space feel heavy—something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up before he even turned around.

Nate was there.

Sitting on his own bed, elbows resting on his knees, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and unreadable.

Y/N had barely taken two steps toward his dresser to grab some fresh clothes for his shower when Nate's voice cut through the air.

"Where did you and Aaron go?"

Y/N paused, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. He arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking in amusement. "Excuse me?"

Nate's gaze was steady, sharp. "You heard me," he said, voice level but laced with something simmering beneath the surface. "Where'd you go?"

Y/N scoffed, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from his dresser. "Not your business, QB."

That answer wasn't good enough for Nate.

In a blink, he was standing, his height and presence taking up way more space than should have been possible. He didn't move closer, but he didn't have to. The weight of his stare was enough.

"Y/N," he said, his voice lower now, more deliberate. "You are my business."

Y/N let out a short, sharp laugh, turning fully now to face Nate. "Oh, am I?" he mocked, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's funny. Because last I checked, we were just roommates who occasionally fuck."

Nate's expression didn't shift—at least, not in an obvious way. But something flickered in his eyes, something that told Y/N his words had landed exactly where he wanted them to.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence stretched between them, thick and charged, a standoff neither was willing to back down from.

Then, slowly, Nate took a step forward.

Y/N didn't move.

Another step.

Y/N stood his ground.

Nate stopped just a breath away from him, his voice quiet but firm as he said, "You know it's more than that."

Y/N swallowed.

He hated how those words made his heart stutter, how they sent a thrill down his spine even as he fought to keep his face impassive.

So, instead of acknowledging it, he pushed back.

"Do I?" Y/N tilted his head, his smirk sharp, challenging. "Because all I remember is you saying you were straight."

Nate's jaw clenched, and there it was again—that flicker of something, something he was fighting hard to keep buried.

But Y/N saw it.

And that was all the confirmation he needed.

With a smirk, he stepped around Nate, brushing past him deliberately as he walked toward the bathroom. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he threw over his shoulder, "I've got a shower to take."

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Nate standing in the middle of their dorm—seething, breathing hard, and definitely not as in control as he wanted to be.

The steady stream of hot water cascaded over Y/N's shoulders, soothing the lingering tension in his muscles as steam filled the small dorm bathroom. It was peaceful, the kind of solitude he needed after the long day—the adrenaline of the track meet, the mind games with Nate, and the unexpected kiss from Aaron.

Aaron.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back under the spray. He shouldn't be thinking about it. It wasn't a big deal. It was just a kiss—a normal kiss—from a guy who actually wanted him in a way that wasn't shrouded in ego and possessiveness.

But for some reason, he knew it wasn't really Aaron he was thinking about.

The door creaked open.

Y/N's eyes snapped open instantly, water running down his face as his body tensed. The only other person who had access to this bathroom was—

The shower curtain was yanked back slightly, and before Y/N could even process what was happening, Nate was stepping inside, completely unbothered by the invasion of personal space.

Y/N blinked, half in disbelief. "Are you serious right now?"

Nate didn't answer.

He just stood there—completely naked, broad frame towering over Y/N, his blue eyes dark and unreadable through the steam.

Y/N let out a sharp breath, immediately turning back to the water as if Nate wasn't standing there with him. "I don't have time for this, Nate," he muttered, grabbing the soap and lathering it over his chest. "I actually came in here to shower, not deal with whatever this is."

Nate ignored the dismissal completely. "We need to talk."

Y/N snorted, shaking his head as he scrubbed his arms. "No, you need to talk. I don't have anything to say."

The tension in the air thickened.

Y/N felt Nate shift closer, the heat from his body contrasting against the water. "Bullshit," Nate said, his voice low but firm. "There's plenty to say."

Y/N rolled his eyes, refusing to look at him. "Not unless you're finally dropping your damn pride and admitting what we both already know."

That made Nate pause.

Y/N could feel him staring, could sense the tightness in his posture.

But still, he didn't stop. He grabbed his shampoo, squeezing some into his palm as if Nate wasn't standing there, waiting for an answer to a question Y/N hadn't even asked yet.

Seconds stretched between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words.

Then—

Nate moved.

Before Y/N could react, he was being pinned against the cool tiles of the shower wall, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as Nate's wet hands gripped his waist, pressing their bodies flush against each other.

"Fuck you," Nate muttered, his voice dangerously low.

Y/N smirked, despite the way his breath hitched at the sudden closeness. "That's not an admission, QB."

Nate's fingers dug into his waist, his jaw clenched tight. "You really think I'm gonna stand by and let you act like none of this means anything?" His voice was rough, strained with something Y/N couldn't quite place.

Y/N narrowed his eyes. "You're the one who refuses to call it what it is."

Nate's breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling against Y/N's own. He stared at him for a long moment, like he was trying to will the words out, but they stayed stuck—trapped beneath layers of ego and fear and denial.

Finally, Y/N scoffed, shaking his head. "That's what I thought."

He moved to push past him, but Nate didn't let go.

"You are my business," Nate said again, voice quieter this time.

Y/N exhaled through his nose, looking at him now—really looking at him. Nate's usual cocky smirk was gone, replaced by something raw, something vulnerable.

For the first time, Y/N thought—maybe—Nate actually meant it.

But words weren't enough.

Not yet.

Y/N tilted his head, studying him. "Then prove it."

The challenge hung between them, steam curling around their bodies as water continued to cascade down their skin.

And for once—Nate didn't have a comeback.

Y/N had had enough.

The heat of the shower wasn't the only thing suffocating him—the tension between him and Nate was just as thick, just as overwhelming. The water still ran down his body, but all he could focus on was the weight of Nate's stare, the way his strong grip still lingered against his waist, like he wasn't ready to let go.

Too bad.

Because Y/N was done playing this game.

He pushed against Nate's chest, forcing space between them as he turned toward the curtain, reaching for it. "I'm done with this conversation, Nate."

"No," Nate said firmly, reaching out as if he was going to stop him again. "We're not—"

Y/N cut him off before he could even try.

"You know what's funny?" he said, looking over his shoulder. "Aaron asked me on a date tonight."

That shut Nate up real quick.

Y/N saw the way his body tensed instantly, the way his grip on the tile beside him tightened.

But Nate didn't speak. Didn't react.

So Y/N kept going.

"And you know what?" Y/N continued, turning around fully now, ignoring the way water still streamed down both of them. "I might just go."

Nate's jaw clenched.

Y/N smirked, but it wasn't a real one. It was sharp, laced with irritation, with frustration, with something undeniably real.

"Because unlike you," Y/N pressed, stepping closer, "Aaron actually knows what he wants. He's sure of it. He can actually admit it without all this back-and-forth bullshit."

Nate's eyes were burning into his.

Y/N could see the way his muscles tensed, could feel the way the energy in the room shifted.

But still—Nate said nothing.

And that? That pissed Y/N off more than anything.

So he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he turned back toward the curtain. "Exactly what I thought."

But just as he pulled it open—

"You haven't admitted anything either."

Nate's voice was low, rough, but the words hit.

Y/N froze.

He felt Nate step closer, could sense the heat of his body pressing against his back.

"You keep saying I'm the one avoiding it," Nate murmured, voice thick, "but you haven't admitted a damn thing either."

Y/N swallowed, his fingers tightening around the curtain.

Nate leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against the damp skin of Y/N's neck.

"You keep pushing me to say it," Nate continued, voice barely above a whisper. "But you haven't said what this is either."

Y/N's chest tightened.

Because... fuck.

Nate wasn't wrong.

He hadn't admitted it—not out loud, not in a way that made it real.

And suddenly, the air between them felt heavier than ever.

For the first time since this entire game started... Y/N wasn't sure what to say.

He stood frozen, his grip tightening around the shower curtain, water still dripping from his hair, his breath coming just a little too fast. The steam curled around them, making the space feel smaller, more charged.

Nate was still behind him, too close, his breath ghosting against the damp skin of Y/N's shoulder. He had thrown the challenge out there, forcing Y/N to face the one thing he'd been trying to avoid.

And Y/N hated him for it.

He exhaled sharply, turning around to face Nate, their bodies nearly touching in the confined space. His eyes met Nate's, and for once, there was no smirk, no teasing, no games. Just truth.

"You wanna hear it?" Y/N asked, his voice quieter than before, but firm. "Fine. I do like you."

Nate's lips parted slightly, like he hadn't actually expected Y/N to say it.

Y/N continued, stepping even closer, owning his words.

"I do have feelings for you, Nate," he said, eyes locked onto Nate's like a challenge. "And yeah, I love messing with you. I love the chase, I love pissing you off, I love the way you look at me when you think I don't notice." His voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable now. "And I won't lie—the sex is great. But..." He shook his head, his fingers curling slightly. "I'm not here for just that."

Nate swallowed, his blue eyes dark and unreadable, but Y/N saw something flicker behind them.

"I don't do half-assed feelings," Y/N went on, his voice steady but serious. "I'm not going to sit around while you figure out what you think you want, while you pretend this is just some game. Because I don't play unless I know there's a finish line."

Nate was silent.

Y/N let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "So unless you're done messing around—unless you're actually willing to be something—then don't stand here acting like you care who I go out with."

The words hung between them.

Nate's throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands flexing at his sides.

For the first time, he wasn't smirking. He wasn't throwing some sarcastic retort back.

He just stared at Y/N.

And Y/N waited.

Because this was the moment.

Either Nate was in... or he wasn't.

And Y/N wasn't going to wait forever to find out.

#x male reader #gay #nate jacobs x male reader #jacob elordi x male reader #jacob elordi #nate jacobs

304 notes · View notes

portraitofalinkonfyre · 5 months ago

Note

Hey, saw your new story and I love how you write. Do you do yandere requests? If so, how about doing a Legend story paired with an isekai reader that looks shockingly like Marin? She fell into Wild’s world and tried to help him get rid of Calamity Ganon and now she’s stuck in a love triangle between Wild and Legend. Woe is her! /lh

Thank you!

Aaa, my first request! I'm really glad you liked my writing and I hope you like this too!

EDIT (like five months later mind you): So I've been neglecting this request because the only yandere content I've written has been wildly non-con and generally pretty frightening, but I think I've finally found a way to get the best of both worlds <333

Stuck Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Pairing: Legend x isekai!reader x Wild

Warning(s): Yandere behavior/unhealthy perceptions of relationships, dub/non-con, and smut (fem reader b/c requested)

Notes: FINALLY my first request has been finished. Rejoice my brethren

Masterlist

You knew they were watching you.

Dusk had barely fallen, the golden rays of the setting sun bathing the clearing in a thick tangerine light. The fire crackled as you unrolled your bedroll, gently patting it down and trying to ignore the twin gazes burning into your back, belonging to none other than Legend and Wild. While the reason behind their incessant watching eluded you, it was clear that they weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

You took a seat on the bedding, gaze flitting around the clearing as the other members of the chain prepared for sleep. Dinner–hearty clam chowder, courtesy of you and Wild’s efforts–had concluded minutes earlier, leaving you full and satisfied after a long day of traveling.

Not that you weren’t used to life on the road, having lived in Wild’s world for a good three years after waking up, alone and scared, in a grassy field–where you met when he saved you from a guardian. With nowhere else to go, you had joined Wild in his quest to defeat Ganon, though he hardly let you do any defeating considering your limited combat knowledge. The rest was history, as was your inexperience with a sword, thanks to another member of your rag-tag group, Legend. Once ornery and sarcastic, he had warmed up to you significantly quickly after you fell (literally and figuratively) into his world through, you guessed it, another portal.

But, as of late, things had been… strange. It was no secret that you and Wild shared a close bond from the years spent together, and while nothing had ever become of such closeness, you always felt that there was something more behind his casual touches and glittering grins, not to mention the way he always seemed to pout when your attention was stolen by something or someone else. It got particularly bad when Legend would sidle up to you during the long treks, claiming you were their “weakest link” in a snarky tone while somehow managing to be good company through the ordeal, though sometimes you wondered if the stories he told of his adventures were a bit… exaggerated. You weren’t an overly distrustful person by any means, but doing five separate dungeons in one day seemed excessive even for (one of) the heroes of Hyrule.

You suppressed another shiver as Legend’s gaze seemed to burn a hole through you, slicing past skin, muscle, and bone to examine your very soul. If his burned, then Wild’s seared, like you were a piece of meat in a pan.

It was for protection, you reasoned; weakly, pleadingly. There were countless creatures loose in the woods, and you were close to the treeline.

The campfire crackled. You wished it would grow tall enough to obscure you from their gazes.

Setting down the fabric, you patted your knees and stood up. "I'm going on a walk."

"'S gettin' dark, darlin'," Twilight said from his place against a nearby tree, casting a suspicious glance at the approaching night, brows furrowed. Wild and Legend's gaze left you for a split second, and you felt sick at the way they glared at the Rancher; united and divided in equal, terrible measures.

Several heads nodded in agreement.

You bit your lip. Fuck, he was right. You couldn't even use the excuse of needing fresh air because that was all you had been getting–you were in the middle of nowhere, for Hylia's sake!

"I'll go with you," Wild's voice cut through the still air like a knife. His eyes were bluer than the holy steel of Sky's blade, glowing with an almost otherworldly light as he studied you over the licking tendrils of the fire.

Legend dusted the skirt of his tunic-dress, boots crunching over the dead grass as he stood on two feet. Feet that could chase you down in the blink of an eye, and had traversed every nook and cranny of countless nations. "Me too," he spoke softly, with only a fleeting trace of his usual biting sarcasm. There was something devastatingly similar about both of them, and you knew there was no way you could back out now.

The bid was up, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

Your legs felt as wobbly as a newborn foal when you began to walk, knowing they would be two steps behind you. Past Warriors (concerned, eyes never leaving the hunch of your shoulders), Wind (oblivious, but not blind), Four (kaleidoscope of caring, not stepping in), and Time (the only Hero who could, though it was a long-standing debate on if he would).

The camp faded as you pressed on, guided only by the frenzied, rattled beat of your heart, and the last fading rays of the blazing sun through the rustling canopy. Fallen leaves crackled beneath your boots, and you felt more high-strung than a puppet. Wild and Legend's stares tore holes in your back, flaying your soul for their perusal and sending dreaded shivers down the metaphorically-exposed bones of your spine.

A huff of breath.

You shoved a lock of rose-red hair behind your ear.

Wild coughed.

The trees seemed to laugh at your cowardice.

Legend's age-ridden, joint-pained sigh was palpable in the chilled air.

Your heels stung from how quickly you whirled to face them.

"What the hell, guys?"

Both men froze. They were nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. United. Divided. Legend brushed a lock of strawberry-lemonade bangs behind his pointed ear, gaze measured, while Wild was the picture of the soldier he would never be: stiff, mouth tight, irises alight with an emotion you didn't dare decipher.

The Veteran's huff was gruff, far too casual for someone who watched you like you would disappear into thin air if he turned away for a mere millisecond. "...What are you going on about now? You scared of the dark or something?"

Your fists clenched at your sides, buried in the folds of your borrowed tunic. Was it Wild's? Legend's? You couldn't remember anymore. "I am not," you bit out, a bit harsher than intended. Then: "Is there something on my face?"

"You're perfect," said Wild without missing a damn beat. He blinked and rubbed the back of his neck with an expression that further convinced you that he would never be sorry. He was inching ever closer, as was Legend, and you wondered if sprinting into the darkness would grant you the modicum of space you prayed for.

Perfect? No. Petrified? Hell yes.

Crack.

All eyes snapped to the right, trained on the hazy treeline where the noise had emanated from. You couldn't remember the last time their gaze had left you, but the thought was quickly banished when a rumbling growl rattled the air, drowned out only by the loud shiing as Legend and Wild simultaneously drew their swords.

"Shit," you hissed, just as a gaggle of lizalfos drew from the wandering shadows. They moved like the predators they were; fluidly, without pause, eyes glowing gold in the firebright sunset.

Your heartbeat thudded in your ears when the first lizalfos lunged, lips peeled back to reveal hooked teeth that glinted in the tangerine light. Legend wasted no time parrying the attack with his sword, and Wild wasn't far behind, a hissed war cry slinking from his lips, pulled back to reveal a smaller set of canines that were no less dangerous.

The battle, if it could even be called that, lasted hardly a minute, with you standing to the side in a position that only enhanced the terrifying awkwardness of the situation. Heart in your throat, watching as your companions tore through the hoard like they were flies. Small, buzzing, annoying flies. It was no secret that they were strong–they were heroes, for Hylia's sake!–but there was something to be said about the feral glint in Wild's eyes, or the way Legend would look at you, blood on his hands, throat, sword, and not bat an eyelash.

You shivered, and not from the cold. An urge was building in your gut, not dissimilar from the kind you felt when confronted by an unfathomable horror. But it wasn't the same, not by a long shot.

The lizalfos fell quickly. Several carcasses lay strewn across the blood-soaked ground, slashed at the throat, belly, and face. Their eyes, lifeless, bleak, stared sightlessly at the star-speckled sky as blood wet the fallen leaves.

Wild and Legend turned. Simultaneously. United, but not together. United, but dangerously. United, but in love.

You ran.

Clouds of breath puffed in the chilled air as you tore through the forest, guided by nothing but your own, raging heartbeat. The trees melded into blurs of brown and green, branches stretching skywards like the twisted limbs of an eldritch creature. The ground crunched between your boots, and you could hardly find it in yourself to be mad about the obvious tracks your footwear left behind. Anything to get away, if only for a fleeting, torturous second.

Anything to breathe without the threat of one of them crawling down your throat.

Through the haze of adrenaline, you could barely make out the sounds of footsteps behind you. Barely make out the crazed, frantic huffs. Barely make out the fingers reaching, reaching, reaching for the back of your tunic.

Your heart damn near leapt from your throat when something grazed your back, then locked tight around fluttering fabric, and you were dragged backward, forced to skid to one of the most jarring halts of your life. A scream ripped from your throat, silenced only by the hand–heavy with fat rings, glistening in the faded light–cupped your chin and pressed your jaw closed, while a evergreen-clothed arm wrapped around your stomach. Legend's chest molded against your spine, fully trapping you in his vice-like grip, and you could only jerk uselessly when moist breath fanned over your neck, sending goosebumps skittering down the chilled skin of your arms.

"Why'd you run?" Legend breathed, tone heavy with the thrill of the chase. More breath hissed over your neck; soft, like a ghost, and just as terrifying. "We're just protecting you."

Moments later, Wild slid into the clearing; cheeks pink, hair a tangled mess that you just knew would be a bitch to brush out. He looked every bit the savage everyone joked he was and you hated yourself for daring to find that attractive.

"Damn, you're quick," he huffed, a hint of a pout infecting his tone. Blood dotted his cheeks and neck, and you didn't even want to look at the mess on his tunic. Damn Champion, always finding a way to make a mess out of himself.

Legend's arm tightened around your midsection, and he pressed his face into the junction of your neck and shoulder, unbothered by the thin layer of sweat soaking your skin. Something warm and wet darted to slick over your flesh, and you damn near bucked him off, a startled yelp slipping past your lips, zinging against the heat of his hand and dizzyingly-opposing chill of the rings.

This couldn't be happening. You were in the middle of nowhere, for Hylia's sake! With nothing to your name but a small knife and the clothes on your back. "L-Let me go!" you tried to hiss, but it came out garbled, the sound blocked by the thick fingers slotted over your mouth.

Legend's chuckle vibrated against your back. "Not a chance," he spoke calmly, with a smile you could almost see, and Wild was suddenly in front of you. They pressed close, closer than you had been with anyone, much less two crazed men with weapons that could end you in less than a second.

"You'll be safe with us," murmured the Champion, gently brushing the hair away from your sweaty forehead. He couldn't have been more than a few inches away, leaving you free to study every inch of his grinning face for hints of the mask he so obviously wore. What else was beneath those eyes–bluer than the sky, bluer than blood?

At long last, Legend's hand left your face, moving to splay at the base of your neck, only to be replaced by Wild's thumb. The Champion's calloused skin brushed over the plump of your bottom lip, dragging it a millimeter down to reveal the barest peek of hidden canines. He pulled back, letting the flesh pop back to cover your only true weapon in this situation, and leaned impossibly close. "Pretty," whispered the Hero of the Wilds with that sick, delicious, terrifying gaze.

"Very," whispered Legend, and you were momentarily shocked that they were capable of agreeing at all.

Wild's head ducked, nose brushing your cheek as his body molded to yours, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, abdomen to hardness--

Your thoughts snapped to a screeching halt as you registered the distinct... appendage pressing against the flat of your gut.

Fuck no.

Without warning, your head shot in a downward arc, smashing against Wild's nose. The hero yelped in pain, jumping back as he clutched his nose, streaks of crimson already leaking to stain his skin and tunic. Legend's grip loosened, likely in surprise at the sudden action, and you wrenched free, stumbling away from the two men, panting harshly. Well, that's what you would have done had a hand not sealed around your wrist like a manacle, yanking you into Wild's tight embrace. His nose was bleeding profusely–he really ought to have that checked out–but the look in his eyes was nothing but... was that hunger? The fuck?!

"Nice try," rasped Wild, arms curling around your back like the limbs of a tree. Unyielding, binding in ways that made you want to set something alight. The Hero of the Wilds leaned close, close enough that the blood from his nose began to drip on your skin instead of his. "Didn't know you were into that, Princess."

Outrage replaced terror as you registered the bulge still pressed against you. "Are you getting off on this?!" you seethed, unable to believe what you were seeing– er, feeling, but it was all relative when his fucking dick was pressing against you through his trousers.

Wild licked his lips, and, coincidentally, some of the crimson blood leaking from his likely-broken. He offered you a smile, and you shivered at the reddish tint his teeth had taken on. "Can you blame me?"

You were appalled. "You're fucking insane."

"Takes one to know one," hummed Legend as he reacquainted himself with your back; hands on your shoulders, breath on the shell of your ear. His tongue darted to flick the soft point, and you hissed: "Get the fuck–"

"–on?" interrupted Wild with a shit-eating grin. It was the most normal expression you had seen him make since this nightmare began. "I agree."

Your cheeks burned, and you rushed to rectify the situation. "That's not what I meant and you know it–"

Legend's arms wiggled to your hips, gripping them through the fabric of your tunic and trousers. You could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against your backside through that Hylia-damned not-dress, and it was starting to piss you off. Just who did they think they were?!

A droplet of crimson dripped onto your collarbone. Then another, until it was like someone had cried blood on you.

"You're bleeding," you pointed out in a tone dryer than the Gerudo desert. Just like your pussy.

"No shit," grunted Wild, though the grin remained, like he was having the time of his life. You could relate.

"Gross," you rolled your eyes, trying to distract yourself from the way they were all but rutting against you... and how warm your core felt because of it. No! Bad thoughts!

A yelp left your mouth when Legend delivered a sharp nip to your ear, hard enough that you wouldn't be surprised if your own blood had been drawn.

"Liar," the Veteran hissed, and you were mortified by the spike of heat that slithered down your spine. "You're enjoying this as much as we are."

"Fuck no," you snarled, hoping that your expression conveyed the sheer amount of disgust and contempt you held towards them. Behind you, Legend's eyes darkened. Behind you, the Veteran gave the Champion a subtle nod.

Your thoughts froze when Wild dropped to his knees before you, staring up at you with those big blue eyes that managed to be as innocent as they were poisoned. He glanced at the Hero of Legend again, and, before you could blink, there were hands at the waistband of your pants.

"What the hell?!"

Your first instinct was to jump away, but Legend's grip was too strong, holding you fast as the Hero of the Wilds worked your trousers and undergarments down in succession until they bunched just above your knees. 'Bare' was too easy a word to describe what you felt when the pads of Wild's fingers traced up your thighs, settling on the points of your hips, rubbing soothing circles that only served to spur your heart like a spooked horse. Pupils blown, hands shaking against your flesh. Was he nervous? Fuck.

"Stop, please," the words fell from your lips like a prayer. A plea.

The first touch against your pelvis made your gut clench, a hot, broiling warmth brewing in your belly. A whimper forced itself from your mouth, and you would swear up and down that it was merely a sound of despair.

"I'd do anything for you," whispered Wild against the skin of your stomach. Anything, but let you go, it seemed.

Legend's lips slid to the side of your neck, no longer hesitant as he slicked his tongue up the side of your neck, from base to ear. Tasting you, memorizing the flavor of your sweat for his sick purposes. "Good girl," the Hero of Legend cooed against moist flesh, and Wild's eyes fluttered shut, like he was the one being praised. You squeezed your thighs in a last-ditch effort to halt the insanity that was taking place before your very eyes.

Legend tutted, and a hand detached from your waist, wiggling between your legs with about as much difficulty as killing a chuchu. You yelped when his fingers immediately found your clit, pinching the small bud with enough force to make your thighs quake, creating the perfect opportunity for the Champion to slot himself between them once more, eyes wide and innocent and so, so wrong.

You were screwed.

Literally.

"Just relax," Wild cooed through the fog. Legend's hand returned upwards to secure you even more firmly in place, and the Hero of the Wilds took it as a sign to lean it, now a hairs-breadth from your core, which was uncomfortably, traitorously wet. You could feel the strings of slick against the skin of your inner thighs, the Champion practically purring as your scent washed over him in pulsing waves.

"I hate you," you spat. It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.

Wild only hummed, his breath fanning over every inch of your lower half. You cursed every deity in existence at the realization that it felt good. "That's okay," he said, like your words meant nothing, or he had already called your bluff. He wiped a droplet of blood from his upper lip, then gripped the bottom of your thighs, forcing them to hoist up on his shoulders. "You don't have to like me to like this."

Without hesitation, he closed the distance, licking a broad stripe up the entirety of your cunt, from clenching hole to swollen clit. The hero's eyes snapped shut, and a deep, sinful groan rumbled against your folds. Your mouth fell open in shock, only snapping shut when Legend chuckled against your neck. The bastard knew, and he was enjoying it. They both were.

"Wild..."

It was hardly a whisper, barely a breath, yet Wild heard it. He always did, and always would. Your mind flicked to your journey together; before the others, before the madness, when it was the two of you against the world. What you wouldn't have given to have had him like this months ago, but now... now, things had gone sour, good intentions--if there were any to begin with--buried beneath a thick layer of sickly-sweet desire.

That's not my name, Wild's beautiful eyes said. You ignored it, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly that you feared you would never see again. Maybe then, things would be right. Maybe then, you could do this right.

But it simply wasn't meant to be. There were no heroes in sight when you opened your eyes, only two men. Two men with blonde hair and the most gorgeous lips you had seen. Two men who wanted something they could have had in a heartbeat.

A fat, wet tongue rolled along the puffy bud of your clit, slicking a (un)healthy concoction of your juices and his saliva onto the tender flesh. Your thighs trembled around Wild's head, and a small, sniveling part of you was glad he had maneuvered you like that, if only to avoid them seeing the way a few simple touches could have your knees buckling like a newborn foal.

You choked on a gasp when Legend rocked his erection against the curve of your ass, one hand roving up to cup your right breast through your tunic. Deft fingers teased your flesh through the fabric, eventually settling on the pebbled bump of your nipple, twisting and pulling it until you were squirming, chest heaving for a reason embarrassingly different from mere panting breaths.

"Fuck," you hissed, forgetting yourself for a brief moment. WIld's chuckle was light, and it was almost easy to sink into the protective embrace of dissociation. You could pretend his nose was broken for a different reason than self-defense. You could pretend his hair wasn't mussed from chasing someone down. You could pretend that he wasn't staring at you like you were only thing in his universe.

The Champion pulled back, his chin shiny with equal amounts of slick and blood. You didn't look down, not wanting to know how much of it had gotten on you, much less the way his tongue swept out to lick at the combined liquids. "That's the idea, princess," he told you, and you debated crushing his head between your thighs just to prove a point, though the bastard would probably like that. Weirdo.

Without another word, the hero dove back in, lips molding around your clit once more. He gave a strong suckle, and your hands clenched into fists, a moan threatening to bubble put from the depths of your body. You mourned the loss of movement, as Legend had seen fit to cage your arms to your sides with his own, rendering them useless. Wild's hands had moved to your hips, gently massaging the tense flesh as his lips and tongue worked tirelessly over your bud. He had always been dedicated, so it wasn't a surprise that that... personality trait would carry over to the bed– woods, because you were all animals now.

"You're so quiet," the Hero of Legend murmured against your neck, hands still worrying your breasts, pinching and plucking at random, horrifyingly-tantalizing intervals. There was a harsh twist; he hummed, while you cursed the whimper that slipped between your teeth. "I think we both know you can do better than that, Princess."

You don't know shit, you wanted to say, but Wild's tongue slipped inside you and the words died on your tongue, replaced by a sharp, keening hiss. Fuck.

Legend's grin could have cut through rock. "Thought so."

"Go to hell," you managed to spit, but he was unfazed. A hand gripped your chin, forcing you to face him. Blazing purple eyes regarded every inch of your flushed, panting face, and the Hero of Legend gave a chuckle that couldn't have belonged to anyone but a villain.

"Only if you're there with me."

His lips were warm when they met yours, much softer than the rest of him. Your eyes widened as he kissed you, gentler than you would have expected. A tongue slowly slid along the seam of your lips, and it was a shock that he seemed to be asking permission.

Fuck it, you decided.

Wild's tongue swirled in a tight circle, forcing a gasp to bubble from your throat. Legend swallowed your noises like a man starved, eyes fluttering shut as he bore your weight, kneading above your heart in a manner that you were only realizing the tenderness of.

Link, the Hero of Legend, kissed like a dying man.

Desperate, unyielding, passionate. What the fuck was this?

"I love you," he breathed against your lips, and the words were far too sweet to belong to someone so rough, so calloused. You weren't sure they belonged in anyone's mouth tonight.

In one swift motion, you wrenched an arm free, catching the exact moment his eyes widened, expecting a retaliation of some kind. What he didn't expect was the harsh thread of your fingers in pink-blonde hair, nor the harsher pull that brought his mouth back on yours.

The kiss was messy, full of tongue and teeth in a manner that was so unlike the first one. Because you were in control–

You caught his tongue between your teeth, nipping it hard enough that the faint taste of copper temporarily overrode all others, small pearls of red drooling from the corners of your lips, slicking the point of your chin, eliciting a soft groan from the hero. If he wanted to play rough, you were going to pay it back tenfold.

–And you were going to make sure they remembered that.

Your other arm was freed without hesitation, leaving Wild to shoulder most of your weight, while Legend ensued you stayed upright. Good, they could work for it. Within a milisecond, you had Wild by the hair, yanking him from your cunt without an ounce of gentleness. He whined, like a dog being denied a treat, and you let a small scoff fall from your lips, eyes focused squarely on the Champion.

"If you don't make me cum in two minutes, I'll find someone who will," the threat slipped out far easier than you expected. Maybe you were angry, or perhaps this was how things were always going to play out. Either way, considering it would have to wait, especially when he was looking at you like you held the world in your palm.

Wild leaned forward, tongue out, waiting for permission. All he was missing were some dog ears and a tail.

You gave a nod, keeping your expression dismissive, and he all but descended upon your cunt. Gone was the previous gentleness, replaced by hard suction and a relentless, firm tongue that lapped at your entrance with a speed that would have made anyone jealous. It was only when you felt something different prod at your hole did you give pause to wonder just what the hell you were doing, though not for long when Legend reclaimed your lips.

The first finger inside you was uncomfortable. The second, less so, but you still found yourself hissing into the Veteran's mouth at the intrusion. Wild stilled his motions, studying your face for any signs of true discomfort, and, once satisfied that there was none, he began anew with renewed ferocity, crooking his fingers against your gooey walls as his tongue slicked a steady circle around your clit.

You broke the kiss with Legend with a soft gasp, letting your head fall against the Veteran's shoulder as the Champion practically fingerblasted you into oblivion, a familiar pressure building in your abdomen. It never came this quickly, but you were far too out of it to care. It had been a tough week, after all.

Wild's finger began to pump inside of you, keeping a steady pace as they curled and scissored. He was putting himself to work, as was Legend, who you were certain had been groping your chest for at least five minutes now. "C'mon," the Hero of Legend murmured, delivering a nip to the shell of your ear while his hands busied at your breasts. "Cum for us."

Shut up, you wanted to hiss. If that didn't work, you could kiss him again, and make sure his tongue would never leave your mouth. Heroes didn't need to speak, right? Wild certainly managed fine with sign language on his harder days.

Your thoughts were cut short when the Champion's fingers curled within you, rubbing against that one spot with purpose. His expression mirrored an intensity you had only seen in battle, or creep-watching session, and the sight of such single-minded focus was, well... it was doing things to you. Terrible, wonderful things. Things that made your cunt clench harder, spasming around war-gnarled digits, and, when a third was added, your only instinct was to bury your face in Legend's neck, eyes squeezed shut as you fought to regain control.

"It's okay," murmured the Hero of Legend, like that would fix everything. Like he could just slap a bandage over your heart and head, and it would be fine again. "Just let go," he coaxed, eyes never leaving you for a second. You didn't register the wetness on your cheeks until it was licked away by the Veteran. Had you been crying?

There was a thrust from Wild's hand fingers, a sharp suck of his mouth, and the world melted away.

Every nerve in your body fired simultaneously as white-hot pleasure streaked through your being, igniting your flesh in what had to be the most intense climax your hazy mind could bother remembering. Maybe you were screaming, or the pressure in your mouth was Legend's neck instead of your tongue, but it was all relative when basic thought had become this taxing.

Boneless and spent, you collapsed against the Veteran. Thighs shaking, fingers twitching, chest heaving. The fingers retreated from your core with a soft pop, and a hazy whimper left you at the sensation, which mophed to a louder whine when the Champion's tongue pressed against sensitive flesh. He didn't let up, seeming hell-bent on cleaning the cum from your twitching folds with a fervor that really should have concerned you.

"S–"

Legend's hold was gentle as he eased you back to Earth, careful not to jostle the hero nestled between your thighs. If anything, Wild seemed to relish the change, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your tunic to grip your hips while you squirmed, exhausted, against the Veteran's chest. One large hand took both your wrists, trapping them in his vice-like grip while his erection settled firmly agianst your backside. Fuck, you had nearly forgotten about that.

The Champion's mouth reaquainted itself with your clit, and you hissed as the pain of overstimulation shot through your core. Too much, it was too much!

You yanked against the restraining hold, but the Hero of Legend merely tightened his grip, head dipping to murmur in your ear. "Almost there, princess," like his dick wasn't actively rutting against your ass. "Just one more."

One more? Refractory period who?!

"Unless you want something more," he paused to let the words hang in the air. A finger traced up the length of your throat; slowly, surely, and so devastatingy unlike the way his hips rocked against you. "filling?"

A low hiss rose from the depths of your chest, and you would swear up and down that it wasn't out of need, or the way Wild's touch was starting to feel good again. These fuckers hadn't even given you room to breathe before they were at it again, and the only thing holding you back was the fact that your arms were too exhausted to rip their balls off.

"Hate," was all you managed to grit out. The word felt wrong on your tongue.

"Love," corrected Legend with a sweet kiss to your temple.

"Bite me."

"Gladly."

You yelped when his head dipped and a set of teeth sunk into the tender flesh of your shoulder, hard enough to break skin. Hard enough that you felt warm blood trickle down your skin before it was lapped up by a soft, slick tongue that definitely didn't belong.

Wild, having apparently decided that you had gone too long without acknowledging him, pushed his fingers against the throbbing entrance of your cunt. Your toes curled, heels digging into his back, but the Champion only groaned. He was merciful enough to leave your swollen clit to the mercy of the cool night air, focusing instead on spreading you beyond repair. You half-heartedly wondered if the others had gone looking for you yet.

"So wet," mused the Hero of the Wilds, and you nearly growled at the self-satisfied tone his voice had taken on. Asshole.

No thanks to you, you wanted to hiss. But you didn't. Who knows what kind of ideas they would get from a statement as loaded as that one.

A huff. Breath fanned over your nub. "You never answered his question," Wild hummed. He began to pump his fingers like they were a cock. In and out; stroke, curl, repeat. The accompanying squelch was nothing short of humiliating, but the Champion's grin only grew, and Legend continued to suck at your neck like a leech, though you knew his ears were perked in expectation. "Do you want his cock or mine?"

"Neither," you snarled with such confidence that you almost believed yourself.

The Heroes of the Wilds and Legend shared a glance.

"That's fine," Wild shrugged, like he was discussing what to have for dinner instead of which one of them was going to have you first. His pupils seemed to wink at you, so large that you could hardly see the blue of his irises anymore. Before you could blink, he had his hands under your knees, hoisting your lower half into the air as Legend fumbled with something between you. Something that sprung free as soon as it was released, slapping against the flesh of your cunt and forcing a startled yelp from your lips.

"You still have it?" Wild asked, thumbs caressing the sides of your knees.

Legend's eyes rolled, and it was the most normal thing you had seen him do tonight. There was more fumbling. "Obviously."

You blinked when a small yellow vial was tossed to the Champion, who caught it with his teeth. What the fuck? At your bewildered gaze, Wild shot you a wink, set you back down against the Veteran's legs--which moved in such a way that they prevented yours from closing--and popped the cap with his mouth, spitting it to the side. Then, he tipped half the vial into his mouth, not bothering to wipe the corners before slotting his lips back over yours. Your eyes widened when his tongue wormed into your mouth, the liquid following close behind. It was thick and sweet, with an undertone not unlike honey, though you were intimately aware of the fact that it wasn't honey. This was something new, something dangerous.

Droplets of golden liquid dribbled from the corners of your lips when Wild pulled back, treating you to another one of his self-satisfied smirks. Instead of downing the vial, like he expected, he took it in hand once more and tipped the contents directly onto your cunt, a healthy bit splattering the side of Legend's quivering cock. The Champion reached forward, massaging the surprisingly viscous substance onto your flesh with two fingers, taking special care to coat your clit in a thick, slimy layer. You whined and wriggled, the chill of the air contrasting with the warmth of his fingers and the liquid. "What the fuck, Wild?" you managed to snarl, but it felt weak. It was starting to get hot. Why were you so hot?

"Don't be scared," the bastard himself cooed. "It's just a tonic we swiped from Hyrule's time. You'll love it, promise."

You highly doubted that, but the time for thinking had apparently expired, because the second Legend's cock slid against your soaked walls, a moan that could have shattered windows erupted from your throat.

"Shit," breathed the Veteran, finally releasing your wrists so he could wrap his arms around your middle. He bucked his hips once more, and the head of his dick made contact with your nub. You groaned again. Loudly. Wild couldn't have looked more proud of himself. "You always like this, princess?"

"Hylia, I hope so," the Champion sighed dreamily.

Legend's breath ghosted over your neck as he panted; the tonic must have been affecting him too. Heat crept through your body, burning through blood and bone in search of your heart, your core, and your mind. It was so hot. Why was it so hot? You felt like you were burning alive.

You needed him. Them.

The jig was up, and you had bet on the losing side. You hadn't even bet at all, really, but none of that mattered when the only coherent thought you could hold was on how good they would feel inside you. How they would stretch you, take you apart like you were some kind of doll, and bring you back together in an amalgamation that not even a mother could recognize.

"Fuck me," you whispered, almost to yourself. Almost to whatever deity dared listen in. Legend's breath hitched. His cock pressed firmly against your cunt, and there were hands on your hips once more, coaxing you to rise, to make room within yourself for the Hero of Legend.

"Gladly."

All the air left your lungs when he pushed home in one smooth, uninterrupted thrust. Your head fell back against the Veteran's shoulder, fingers digging into his forearms for support. It was like your cunt had been set on fire, and every thrust stoked a fresh inferno within your depths.

"Good girl," he praised, beginning a quick, mind-numbing rhythm that had you all but drawing blood, writhing and crying like you were being murdered.

A new weight pressed to your front, and you barely had time to register Wild's appearance before he was kissing you. Reaching between your bodies to rub enticing circles on your clit, groaning into your mouth like he was the one being fucked, not you.

"You're so tight," Legend sighed, thrusting into you like he would die without it. His teeth grazed the bite mark on your shoulder, eliciting a full-body shiver before he bit down, drawing a scream from your throat. Wild swallowed your noises greedily, fingers flying between your legs with a ferocity that should have been terrifying.

The kiss was broken, and your blood ran cold at what the Champion said next; cheeks flushed, eyes like coals. "Not too tight for two?"

Fuck? Fuck!

Legend's teeth dug deeper as he slowed, still pumping in and out of you at a steady pace. He released you, and growled: "I'd love to see you try."

You were mortified at the throb your cunt gave at the pseudo-challenge. It was one thing to take a cock, but two? There was no way, no fucking way.

"W–"

But Wild's mouth was already on yours, tongue slicking against yours like a lover would, or someone trying to shut you up. Maybe it was both. His thumb returned to your clit, but there was something purposeful about the way he rubbed you. This was happening, you realized as soon as something thick and hot plopped against the top of your slit, a bead of shiny pre-cum leaking from the engorged tip. The preparation continued with a finger sliding into your cunt, joining Legend's still-moving cock, then another, and another, until you couldn't tell which way was up.

The tonic had certainly worked, though you would take the fact that you actually did love it to the grave. "Please," the word rolled off your tongue, ricocheting through the air, and you were unsure of who or what you were begging to. Wild? Legend? Both of them??

Legend and Wild were one and the same; two men, hellbent on destroying the sensible remnants of the person you were. You felt their desire through the Veteran's tender mouthing at your neck, and the way Wild splayed his fingers to ensue you could take him. The light of the moon bathed them in a ghostly light, accenting the stark differences in dress between the three of you. Where you were bare, clothed in only a tunic, they were in everything they set off with; pants pushed down, tunic-dress pulled up.

"Ready?" the Champion panted, cock grinding against your stuffed entrance, capturing your lips once more. You didn't know whether to kiss him back or bite his tongue until it bled. His nose had already ceased bleeding, but the flesh was beginning to swell in certain places. Setting it would be a bitch.

"Go fuck yourself," you hissed, a final act of defiance. A final cry in the roaring tsunami of heat.

"I'll fuck you," Wild promised, and, in one swift motion, he pulled his fingers from your cunt, replacing them with his dick. The world seemed to fall away when he pushed inside, blissfully slow to allow you ample time to adjust to the stretch. Legend had stilled, waiting for the Champion to sheath himself, and the three of you groaned in tandem when he finally did.

It was overwhelming, and all your thoughts scattered when the Hero of the Wilds gave his first thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure skittering across your body like spiders. There was no time to catch your breath when Wild set a punishing pace; hard, fast, and unrelenting. Legend was more than happy to follow suit, fucking you like he had something to prove while you moaned and writhed, clawing desperately at Wild's shoulders for even a hint of stability.

"Please," was the only thing you could think to say, the syllables slurring together as they continued to thrust into you, alternating in a way that ensued you were never empty. A small bulge was visible through your stomach from the combined side of the cocks in you, and both men groaned at the sight, snapping their hips to chase the high that couldn't have come sooner. You felt like a star, glowing and primed to burst, scattering droves of stardust in your glorious, final ending.

Legend's grip tightened. Two finger descended upon your clit, pinching and pulling at the abused nub, and you were done.

Your vision flashed whiter than the sun as you came, clenching on the two cocks inside you like a vice, so bright and brilliant that, for a moment, you feared you had died and gone to heaven. Wild's hips stuttered first, and he slammed home, a rush of scalding wetness filling you. Legend wasn't far behind, practically growling in your ear as he followed the Champion's lead.

The clearing was silent as you came down from your high, collapsing against Legend's chest with an exhausted huff. Wild cupped the back of your neck, keeping your head upright. His nose was bleeding again, and it took several moments to register the slow trickle of blood against the skin of your neck.

"Are you okay?" the Champion panted as soon as he regained his breath, blue eyes roving your face for any flashes of pain or panic. When there was none, his back straightened from its pleasured curl, and you felt a pair of lips against your own; soft, comforting, everything you needed.

"Okay," you mumbled, not quite able to banish the oozing sensation of cum running down your leg from your mind. Your brain felt soft, stuffed with cotton, and it would be a long time coming before you fully came to terms with what the hell had just happened. More fluid leaked down your thighs, spurting out around the cocks still buried deep inside you. Eyelids heavy, you let out a sigh more suited to a middle-aged man having an existential crisis. Wild shared a glance with Legend, and the Champion scooted backwards, pulling out of you with a noisy squelch.

A glob of cum blurted from your pussy.

You closed your eyes.

You let unconsciousness take you.

So the smut was NOT supposed to happen originally, but I got really inspired by "Mistake" by Stellar and here we are. Please know that this writing does NOT reflect the views of the author (me). I think rape, or anything that circumvents someone's right to choose, is a terrible thing and should be punished to the fullest extent of the law, but this is a yandere fic, so...

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed, and I sincerely apologize for procrastinating on this piece for so long.

#linked universe x reader #yandere link x reader #linked universe #the chain x reader #lu x reader #flaming asks #lu legend x reader #lu wild x reader #yandere linked universe #yandere lu

189 notes · View notes

peggyao3 · 9 months ago

Text

Holy Seed

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: Feyd so badly wants to plant his seed deep inside his wife's belly.

WORD COUNT: 2,554

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her pronouns, AFAB FMC, porn without plot, smut, explicit sexual content, Dom/Sub undertones, vaginal sex, Switch!Feyd, Switch!FMC, breeding kink ❗, without actual breeding, Orgasm Denial, Power Play, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, cum eating ❗

A/N: This is pure breeding kink and filth, you might need a shower after this one 😩

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

There is no possible way to resist when his wife seduces him in the sanctity of their shared bed chamber. A wisp of translucent, gauzy gowns that flow around her curves while she lounges on the bed teases him, and then that modicum of fabric is gone too, pulled over her head by nimble hands. She rolls on her stomach, arching her back, elevating her ass. Her little toes with painted nails wiggle invitingly in the dim light of the glow orbs.

Not even a string of words whispered by a manipulative Bene Gesserit mouth would have been more effective than this. Feyd strips his sleeveless tunic and kicks off his lounge trousers, nearly tripping over the fabric around his ankles.

She makes a show of trying to crawl away from him, towards the pillow and headboard, spreading her thighs a smidge so Feyd sees the shimmer of wetness that clings to her lower lips. Swiftly, Feyd leaps on the bed, dragging his knees over the comforter to get to her quickly.

Pale hands capture her hips and she makes an adorable, little squeak when he yanks her backwards and her pussy bumps against his cock head whose texture is like taut velvet. Immediately, a palpable twitch goes through his manhood and his length cranes upwards, throbbing against her folds, once, twice.

She lets out a seductive chuckle, squishing her thighs together to trap his cock, but Feyd pulls back and brings the plump head to her hole with one fluid stroke, knowing her body like he knows his blades.

"Ouch!" She yelps and Feyd presses harder, taming her squirming hips with a harsh squeeze of battle-calloused hands that have been trained to know that a tight grip can be the difference between life and death. His teeth slide over her back and close around the softness between her nape and shoulder. Quickly, she succumbs to him.

She is unprepared save for the wetness she's mustered from watching him from across the room. "You can't tease me and expect me to play with your pussy before I come and fuck you."

"I c-can't really, can I?" She gasps and chuckles, instinctively trying to inch away from the abrasive pressure against her tight walls, but Feyd hooks one wiry arm around her hips, angling her ass up the way he needs. Willingly, her spine adjusts to his soft manhandling and her cunt flutters lightly. A primordial part of her thinks there is nothing greater than being taken like this, by a beast that comes and mounts her when she lures it.

Feyd's perception is narrowed down to what transpires between their bodies, the slow throbs of her cunt, the wetness that begins to slick up her walls, the tremors in her flesh while he splits her open, forcing her puffy lower lips to spread themselves around the thick base of his cock. His wife mewls and snarls like an angry kitten, purring and writhing against his taut chest.

She blatantly enjoys the physical strength of him - superior to her in any way, hard where she is soft, his flesh bulging with lithe muscles. His torso curls against her back, bending and moving as he ruts into her like a dog, bringing one arm to the front to support his weight on his hand right next to her own smaller one that clutches the sheets.

Feyd thinks there must be a reason why most animals choose this position to consummate their mating. Even though human anatomy allows for a myriad of different ways, there is nothing like bending over your woman and trapping her in a cage of arms and legs while she takes your cock like she was built to.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" She purrs, trying for a smug tone, but her breath is labored and strands of hair cling sweatily to her neck.

"I quite enjoy it when you know your place, my wife." Feyd's hand slides around her body, cupping her lower belly where he knows his cock is buried and will be pumping an offspring into her. "This'll be round and full soon," he grates out, moaning when he presses down harder on her abdomen.

"Ahhh, it's too deep!" She complains and he feels so sorry for bruising her poor little cervix.

"It must be deep, so it'll take."

She chokes out a moan and her arms buckle, chest and face falling against the mattress while her ass remains high, cunt spread open by his thick, milky cock. She is beautiful, back arched into submission, ass cheeks burning from the constant smacking of skin against skin.

"Your body likes that, wife," Feyd giggles. "There, you clenched again." He repositions his supporting hand, planting it in the nape of her neck instead. A hoarse whimper is muffled by the comforter and her toes curl. Her knees move in a pathetic attempt to crawl, but Feyd shifts his knees closer together, bracketing her body with warm, smooth thighs on either side while his cock pounds into her puffy hole over and over.

"You're trapped," Feyd purrs and bends over to nip at her back. "And you're going nowhere until I've planted my seed in you. And then I'll stay inside you as long as I feel like it. I won't let a single drop escape until it's nestled in your womb." He hits some higher notes in the end, growing immoderately excited over the idea of finally seeing her belly distended with his spawn.

His wife chuckles like she thinks that's a cute idea.

She brings a hand under her body and reaches back between her thighs. At first, Feyd thinks she's just going to play with her clit (things like that sometimes end up being neglected when one's mind is in a mating frenzy), but her nails scrape against his inner thigh. A soft moan escapes him as she traces the rippling muscles under perfectly smooth, hairless skin. His heavy balls wildly smack against her forearm.

"It's time you stop," she purrs, wriggling her ass against his pelvis. "I can feel you twitching."

"No, not this time, wife! I won't pull out, you can't make me- Agh!"

Her hand forms a claw around his sac and her nails dig into the smooth, flushed skin, squishing the globules full of seed that are nestled inside, aching to be spent.

Stubbornly, Feyd's hips keep snapping, filling her pussy with more cock than it should be physically able to take. His torso undulates and shivers against her back and a low groan reverberates in his throat, like a cornered animal threatening to bite, but she knows she's got him on a leash.

"Husband…" She threatens and Feyd is ready to strike, both hands snapping to the meat of her hips to pin her down and rut hard and bestially until his seed is spilled into her willing cunt while her unwilling mouth screams and curses him.

But his wife has learned to strike quicker than he does. She curls her fist around his balls, gripping them right by the base, and tugs until he wails and withdraws, pulling out of her pussy. Her terrible hand releases him and his cock is left throbbing, angry and hard like steel, the head flushed dark grey with inky Harkonnen blood. Her pussy taunts him, her lips still parted, puffy and wet with her juices.

"No…" Feyd weakly declares, shaking his head when she turns around and sits on her knees. Her skin shines damp with sweat in the low glow orb light and she points her index finger to the side of the bed. "No, don't make me spill it," Feyd whines and brings his hands in front of his cock, protectively cupping it. His flesh is hot and sticky and the lightest of touch makes him buck into his own palm. His balls look swollen and darkly flushed, peeking out behind his fingers.

"Don't be sulky. There. To the edge of the bed."

Feyd pants heavily, jaws twitching. Then he obeys, stunned that his wife dares to talk to him like that, as if she had a chance to stop him if he really wanted to pump her full or seed. He kneels on the bed, chest and hips pointing towards the open room.

"That's a good husband."

Feyd's mouth is still turned downwards and he stares at his pelvis until his wife's hands gently curl around his and pry them off his manhood. The sound she lets out at the flushed, twitching sight he is, can only be labeled as admiring. Feyd-Rautha surrenders to fate when her fingers curl around his length and he is ever shaken by the size of himself and how she struggles to encompass the entire girth of him, squishing the bulging veins so her fingertips can touch.

She is at his left side, intimately close, and begins stroking him with her left hand. He moans softly, watching with awe how her smaller hand slides confidently up and down, spreading her juices over his solid shaft and the swollen head. Feyd thanks her with whimpered voice, fists twitching at the sides of his body.

Her right hand slides over his flexed glutes and between his thighs from behind, cupping his tortured balls with a much gentler grasp. Still, Feyd twitches fearfully and a bead of pre-cum gathers at his slit.

Her head then pushes between his arm and his side, so her cheek is pressed against Feyd's ribs while she strokes him with one hand and fondles his sac with the other. The way she holds him is like only a wife would dare to hold him, never a pet, and Feyd's hand defeatedly settles on her head, cupping it against his heaving side.

"I'm so close," he whines, eyes fluttering shut. "It's not too late."

"Your cum goes right where it belongs, my husband." She nips at his soft, milky flesh over hard muscles.

"N-No, ahhh~"

She feels his climax in his balls first, how they churn and lift against his pelvis, how the flesh pulls taut, followed by lazy throbbing that translates into his impressive cock and culminates in the swollen head. A pathetic moan rumbles in Feyd's chest as glistening strings of inky semen spurt on the floor tiles, going to waste. His climax ends with a few last droplets that dribble sadly into the black, little puddle.

Proudly, his wife purrs against his side and kisses his torso while cruel hands still gently massage his manhood, even though he is spent and softening.

"You know they're all waiting for an announcement." Feyd's voice pitifully trembles and he sounds like a pouting boy, hips twitching with each soft tug on his cock and balls. The royal court probably thinks him impotent by now.

She slips away and leans back, lounging on her back like a cat. "Well that's too bad because I have so much fun playing with you. And I know you like it when your holy seed spills on the floor" His wife chuckles a little and Feyd bares his charcoal teeth, far too aware of how right she is. The shape of his balls feels heavy and hot and they throb against his smooth thighs with each pulse of his own blood.

"One day I won't let you do this to me," he threatens with grating voice.

"Come, snuggle me." She spreads her arms and Feyd obliges at once, nestling his face against her collar bone while she traces his shoulder blades. His flaccid cock is squished between his tummy and her side. They calm their breaths for a peaceful little while.

"Should I call in the servants to c-clean up?"

"No!" His wife snaps and Feyd endlessly enjoys her visceral reaction. "It's all mine and no one will touch it."

"It's all yours, my wife." Feyd's eyes are like black, shiny marbles when he peeks up at the possessive expression that adorns her face. Plump lips press against her neck.

"Would you fetch it for me, please?"

A tremor of excitement seizes him and he dutifully gets up and squats down next to the bed, briefly mourning what had become of his spend when he looks down at his empty cock and the inky puddle on the tiles. But at least he gets to do this to her. For a moment, she only sees the smooth shape of his head bobbing slightly back and forth, his rounded, muscular shoulders moving. He reminds her of a hairless beast, feasting on a corpse, but he only scoops up his cum as best as possible and smears it against his hollowed palm. It's by far not everything, but it'll do.

Feyd climbs back on the bed, approaching his wife whose expression is much more docile now and her hands are clutched over her chest as if she's impatient or nervous or both. Her thighs rub together, but he can still see her swollen lower lips peeking out. Grinning, Feyd settles down at her side, supporting his weight with the elbow of the arm that holds his precious cum.

"Open," he purrs and she obediently parts her lips, covering her bottom row of teeth with her pink tongue. "That's my darling," he praises and gathers cum on the tip of his middle finger which then finds the center of her tongue. Whining quietly, she suckles the offered digit into her mouth, curling tongue and lips around it, careful not to scrape him with her teeth, as if she hadn't nearly squashed his balls only minutes prior.

Feyd reverently watches, and when he slowly slips his finger out of her puckered, pouty mouth, it comes out clean and glistening. She opens her mouth and presents her tongue, proving that she's dutifully swallowed his holy seed.

"Pretty," he praises with a low rumble. "Do you want more?"

His wife nods with her tongue out, so Feyd feeds her semi-translucent, inky cum from his palm until there's nothing left to scoop up. She grabs his hand then, one hand curling around his wrist, the other snatching his calloused fingers, and brings it to her mouth. Greedily, her tongue flicks out and she licks every last remnant of sticky seed off his skin, big eyes peeking at him over the edge of his pale hand.

"You're so messy." He whispers it as a compliment. His wife's lashes flutter and she nods.

Her submissiveness makes Feyd's core clench agonizingly with the need to breed her, but his balls are empty. "If I still had anything in me, I'd fuck you right now until you're full of child. I wouldn't stop!"

"Mmm-hmm~" She slurs around the heel of his hand, suckling on it before letting go of it with a pop.

"I'd put it deep in your belly."

"Your seed is in my belly, my na-Baron," she giggles.

"Or I could simply scoop up some more from the floor and stuff it into your cunt with my fingers." Feyd's pupils widen and flicker as he cups his wife's cheek with his saliva-coated hand, caressing her wetly. She doesn't flinch.

"You wouldn't do that," she confidently purrs and cups his smooth cheek in return. "You want to breed me honorably."

"Will you let me someday?" Half-lidded eyes study her face.

"Perhaps," she coos. "If you behave."

A/N: Going through a reeeaally mentally draining period of my life right now, so all I can do is upload one of my "old" fics from ao3 🥺 But I'm working on Relic and I should have a new chapter for you this weekend!! <3 Whoever reads this - I hope you're doing well today!

FEYD TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted

333 notes · View notes