#au: fools rush in

[sailorbellewrites]

I'm back

And I'm writing again.

[zepskies]

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a future lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Keep Reading: Part 2

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[indigodiskmybeloved]

Huh

Toxic Consequences looks a lil different

Hmmmm

@tealmaskmybeloved

[triglycercule]

so the dust smokes headcanon is really popular!!! i have an addition to it :33 cigarette smoke CLINGS to your body for a loooong loooong time,,,,, i don't know if monster dust has a smell but if it does maybe the cigarette smoke from his cigarettes could be used to cover up that smell so he doesn't have to deal with the scent of death all the time and yk,,,, feel the guilt :33

[matamisin]

ZOMBIE AU BABYYYYYYY

[DO NOT REPOST]

[shebelongselsewhere]

we are nothing alike

[redrrem]

Till Kingdom Come

cw: fluff, angst, royalty au, war, blood, violence, character death, grief/loss, whipped gojo, love at first sight, he fell first and harder, bros obssessed, politics blegh /j, power imbalance?, all characters are 18+, SFW

a/n: dropped a lil fic while I’m on break. also ignore any minor changes, I’m indecisive lol.. see you all soon! art credits to @/loquatini on tiktok <3

So this is what your life has come to?

Perched upon the throne, in a kingdom that had long lost hope in its monarchy, you remain as its sole heir. The royal family lineage had long been dead, with no prospect of future heirs due to your husband’s poor, sickly condition, which—bless his soul—sent him to an early grave.

You were a widowed queen, in a land that did not belong to you, but was still your home.

So, like the dutiful wife and queen you were, you took your place on the dusty throne, not once batting an eye at the objections of the King’s council nor the high court.

You became a beacon of hope to your kingdom, which, although small in size, was great in strength. You became what the kingdom needed in a time of despair and crisis, in a time of famine and fear. You carved your place into the very stone walls of the kingdom, and the nation rejoiced, welcoming your rule with open arms.

Your people loved you, and under your rule, Veralia thrived.

The nation stood strong and prosperous beneath your iron will until one day, the gates of your kingdom were breached. An emperor from beyond the oceans and seas, who dared to weasel his way into your high walls.

Emperor Gojo Satoru.

A man feared across kingdoms and lands, a man who dared to threaten your rule.

Though you had taken your place on the throne, soon you would take your place on the battlefield, charging through the hordes of horses and knights with your blade held up high, aiming straight at Gojo Satoru.

And Satoru, nonetheless, felt the true meaning of love at first sight in that very moment.

All it took was one look at you—hair disheveled, clothes bloodied and in tatters, chest rising with every breath—as you stood before him, blade pressed to his throat, eyes sharper than a knife, piercing straight into his soul.

Just one look in your eyes, and he was done for. The only thought left in his mind was, "God, I have to marry her."

Amidst the chaos of war, surrounded by clashing fleets and the sound of an ongoing battle, Gojo Satoru knelt before you, smiling like a madman with that charming, boyish grin.

Your hand trembled in his as he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against your delicate skin as he dared to speak those four forbidden words.

“Will you marry me?”

Your blade fell to the ground, a sound so loud, so final, that the battle itself seemed to halt. Soldiers from both kingdoms remained frozen, awaiting the command of their ruler as they bore witness to this spectacle.

"You want to marry me?" You scoffed, sneering at the audacity of this man, and yet, your heart couldn't help but race. Whether it was from the rush of battle or the shiver that ran down your spine from a mere kiss, you’d rather not say. “Then leave your throne.”

Your eyes blazed like a warm fire, stirring his insides with butterflies as you stared at him, unyielding and challenging.

"You must leave your throne then," you said in a tone so final, "recall your troops and betray your kingdom for me. Forsake everything you know, and live the rest of your life beside me, in my kingdom, under my rule."

And Gojo, being the lovesick idiot he was, merely grinned.

"So," he said, rising to his full height, towering over you with fingers tangled in yours, "when do I start packing?"

Then, softer, almost inaudible, he spoke. Words meant only for you, whispered amid the quietness of the battlefield.

“I'd rather kneel before your throne—to your every whim, to bow down at your very feet, and kiss the ground you walk on, Your Majesty—than sit alone on mine."

After all, Gojo Satoru was a fool in love.

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃 © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐏𝐒 — do not copy, translate, repost or modify my works on any platform.

[witchywithwhiskey]

something brutal and beautiful

pairing: father's old friend!alpha!bucky barnes x omega!female reader

summary: when your car breaks down on the way to your parents' cabin, Bucky Barnes comes to your rescue. you end up staying in the unfamiliar alpha's cabin longer than you expected, with his far-too-enticing scent driving your omega wild. then, the atmosphere in the cabin shifts suddenly and the tension that's been building finally snaps.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU elements (heat/rut, knotting, presenting, purring, mating, scenting), unspecified age gap, dad's best friend trope, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m), biting/marking, tit/nipple play, finger sucking, come play, panty sniffing, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, pet names (alpha & omega, baby), begging, teasing, possessive behavior, happy ending

word count: 9k

a/n: here's my week 3 entry for @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer event! y'all voted for older alpha Bucky Barnes, and i'm oh so happy to deliver him 🤭 this fic ended up being so much longer than i originally intended, but i just loooved drawing out Bucky and reader's torture. (also can y'all believe this is only the second omegaverse fic i've written?? should i write more???) anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

prompt: “Not now!” | [Heat/Rut | Rushed Sex | Exhibitionism]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

It had been a long and brutal week. 

The only thing that could have made it longer and more brutal was if you’d gone into heat. But thankfully, your omega’s schedule had always been extremely punctual, and you weren’t due for another couple of weeks. Still, you’d been struggling.

You’d spent the week in a cabin tucked deep into the forest of the Adirondacks, staying in the home of your father’s friend, Bucky Barnes. The entire time, you’d been on edge and frustrated beyond belief. Not because the older alpha had done or said anything to make you uncomfortable. 

It was his scent.

Bucky smelled like fresh air and earthy moss, with an undertone of something warm, like leather. You’d never scented anything so delectable, and it had been driving you wild all week. 

That very first inhale had sent sparks of delight popping and fizzling through your bloodstream, settling pleasantly between your thighs in a thrumming heat. And it hadn’t stopped being an overwhelming distraction ever since.

To make matters worse, your father’s friend was devastatingly handsome. 

Even if he hadn’t smelled as good as he did, your body would’ve responded to his crystal blue eyes and the rugged dark scruff, with just a hint of gray, on his sharp jaw. His hair was a little long, meaning he had to push it back with his strong fingers, making the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex beneath his black t-shirt.

It had taken every ounce of your self-control not to make a fool of yourself in front of Bucky when he’d picked you up on the side of the road, where you were stranded about a hundred miles northwest of Albany. 

Your omega instincts had screamed at you to climb Bucky like a tree, but instead, you’d shyly waved hello and tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the older alpha who smelled far too delicious.

However, things only worsened when you got in his truck.

It was clear that Bucky’s scent had been embedded in every soft surface of his old pickup, and getting into the cab had felt like submerging yourself in fresh air, rich moss and warm leather. Your body was helpless to the alpha’s lingering smell, buzzing to life, an ache blooming between your thighs.

Even as you’d felt yourself getting turned on, you’d also felt inexplicably safe. The moment settled into the worn passenger seat, you felt the anxiety that had been plaguing you since Poughkeepsie drain from your shoulders, before disappearing entirely. 

The longer you breathed in Bucky’s scent, the more the warmth in your body morphed into an intense arousal, like nothing you’d ever experienced before. It was so strong, you’d had to press your thighs together and squirm in his passenger seat as inconspicuously as possible, trying to stave off the building ache in your core.

Once you’d buckled your seatbelt with trembling fingers, Bucky had asked if you were alright, waiting for your answer before he pulled back onto the road. You’d mumbled that you were fine even as heat filled your cheeks. 

You’d focused on staring down at your fingers tangled in your lap, reminding yourself why you couldn’t reach across the truck for him. He was your father’s friend, he was just helping you, he was practically a stranger—and you had no idea if he was reacting to your scent the way you were to his.

But as he drove you to his cabin, Bucky asked about the circumstances that led to you being stranded on the side of the road. You hadn’t wanted to be rude, but you’d kept your answers short. You didn’t trust yourself when you were surrounded so thickly by his scent, you might accidentally ask him to mount you in the backseat. 

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t seem bothered by your quick, murmured answers. His tone remained patient and low as he asked you question after question until he got the full, embarassing story out of you. 

You’d been on your way to your parents’ cabin, which was set on the same lake in upstate New York as Bucky’s, when your car had started making a terrible crunching sound. You’d already made it out of the city, though, and you hadn’t wanted to turn back, so you’d kept driving. 

That, of course, had been a mistake. 

Somewhere deep in the forest of the Adirondacks, your car had given up, puttering out immediately after you’d pulled onto the cracked asphalt of the narrow shoulder. With nothing around but the thick forest encroaching on the road, you hadn’t recognized where you were, and you’d been forced to call your parents and confess everything to them. 

It wasn’t just that you’d gotten yourself stranded somewhere between Albany and the lake, you also had to tell them your reasons for deciding, on a whim, to visit the cabin in the first place. 

You’d been laid off from your job in the city, you were fighting with your roommate over whether to stay in your apartment in Brooklyn, the city in the summer was too hot and suffocating. Everything was just too much, and you’d needed a break.

As they tried to comfort you about everything going wrong in your life, you couldn’t help but feel like your life had gone completely off course. You figured you might as well be stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere New York, since that was exactly how you felt in life—stuck, without having any idea where to go. 

You tuned back into the conversation when your parents relayed the bad news: they weren’t at their cabin like you’d thought they’d be. They weren’t even in New York. They were staying with some friends out west, and they hadn’t been to the cabin all summer, so they hadn’t opened it up like they normally did at the start of the season. 

That had been when you’d really started crying. You began bawling your eyes out with only the creatures of the forest and the whispering wind dancing through the leaves to hear you. It was almost cathartic, if you could ignore the dire straits you’d found yourself in.

The sun was beginning to set, and fear started to creep in that you might end up having to walk to a strange town in the dark. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d passed any sign of civilization. All you could think about was how there were too many horror movies that began with an omega in exactly your situation.

At that point, with both your parents trying desperately to get you to calm down, your father had gruffly suggested he call his old friend Bucky Barnes. You’d hardly listened while your parents conferred about that idea, then your mother continued trying to soothe you while your father called his friend. 

You’d wracked your brain for any memory of the older alpha, recognizing his name, but came up with nothing. You couldn’t even recall whether he’d ever attended one of the parties your parents had thrown at their cabin while you’d been growing up and in college. 

You’d asked your mother if you’d ever met him before and she’d said something vague about Bucky not being particularly sociable. He and your father were fishing buddies, she’d explained, but that was all she’d said before you heard your father’s voice in the background, telling you to wait right where you were. Bucky was on the way.

When you’d finished telling your story to Bucky, you were grateful he didn’t scold you for getting yourself stranded, or lecture you about the dangers of being an unmated omega lost somewhere in the Adirondacks. He’d only confirmed that the two of you had never met before, and offered you a reassuring smile.

Between Bucky’s low, rumbling voice, that gentle smile on his handsome face, and the scent of him surrounding you like a blanket, you’d felt calm and safe in a way you hadn’t in a long time. 

You were so comfortable, in fact, that you ended up falling asleep while he continued driving, your mind and body exhausted from the stress of the day and the last few weeks.

It wasn’t until you’d arrived at his cabin that you woke, the sun having slipped behind the trees as dusk fell. 

Bucky carried your bags inside while you stumbled after him, taking deep breaths of the fresh forest air before ducking inside the cabin, where his scent was ingrained in every inch of the wooden structure. It was everywhere, and you realized you’d missed it in the short time you’d been outside.

The delightful buzzing pleasure of that smell settled inside your head once again, sparks and tingles spreading through your body. With Bucky distracted by taking your bags into the guest room, you’d inhaled deeply, letting his smell relax you. And if you’d gotten more than a little turned on, too…Well, that you ignored as you took stock of the cabin. 

The house was set into the gentle slope that led down to the lake, with big windows to let in plenty of light. It allowed those inside to feel like they were immersed in the beautiful green foliage of the trees pushing up against the sides of the cabin. 

It was bigger inside than you’d expected for a lone alpha like Bucky. The cabin had a big, open living room and kitchen space that gave way to a hallway leading to a guest room, an office, a bathroom and a master bedroom. All of them were big and roomy, even as the cabin felt cozy and homey.

Once you were settled in the guest room, with a gorgeous view of the yard leading down to the dock and the lake, Bucky made you dinner and gave you even more bad news: your parents’ cabin wasn’t habitable yet. He’d explained it would only take a few days to get the power and water running, then you could go over and air it out. 

But the next morning, while Bucky was on the phone with the power company, he’d learned there was a downed line that only served your parents’ cabin. The company had put off repairing it because it hadn’t seemed like a priority, so it would take much longer than normal to restore power. He’d said you could stay with him until your parents’ cabin was ready.

You’d smiled tremulously and told Bucky it was fine. You’d thanked him for letting you stay with him, and asked if there was anything you could do around his cabin to help him out. You’d told him it was the least you could do while the two of you were trapped together.

But Bucky had shaken his head, a serious look on his face. He’d told you not to worry about helping out an old alpha like him. He’d said you should make yourself at home, choking on his words a little and needing to cough to clear his throat. Then he’d smiled, but you thought it looked a little strained.

After that, you and Bucky had done your best to keep your distance from each other. 

You’d avoided him because every time he was near, all you wanted to do was bury your face in his neck, breathe in his scent and rub yourself against him like a desperate omega in heat. You went to bed every night feeling frustrated and woke up every morning feeling achy and needy, so you stayed away from the older alpha. 

And Bucky had avoided you because… 

Well, you weren’t sure why Bucky was avoiding you. If you had to guess, it was probably because he could tell what a mess you were and didn’t want to get involved. He was a mature, responsible alpha who’d chosen a solitary life in the woods, and you were an unmated omega who’d accidentally gotten yourself stranded in those woods. 

You could understand why he wouldn’t want to be around you, even if it stung something in your heart and your omega hindbrain, both of which wanted to be close to him every moment of the day for some reason you couldn’t puzzle out.

After a week of staying in Bucky’s cabin, you’d found that the only way to avoid feeling like you were driving yourself up the walls was to stick to a schedule. You had breakfast while Bucky was getting ready for the day, then you waited for him to leave for work, and did everything you could to make sure you were never in the same room as him.

But then everything changed.

The Friday after you’d found yourself trapped in a cabin with the older alpha, you woke up as normal—feeling the near-constant desire flickering insistently between your thighs while you did your best to ignore it. It had been hard not to pleasure yourself in Bucky’s guest room, but you’d wanted to respect his home.

That morning, for some reason, it was harder than it had been to resist slipping your fingers between your thighs and rubbing yourself to release. You hadn’t gotten used to Bucky’s scent and it seemed to urge you on, but you kept your desire in check.

You chalked it up to the long, brutal week staying in Bucky’s cabin and forced yourself to get out of bed. It was early in the morning and you had Bucky’s routine memorized well enough that you knew you could slip out and make breakfast while he was getting ready to leave.

Normally, you would’ve been able to hear him in the shower and puttering around his room while he got dressed, but that morning, the cabin was curiously quiet. You didn’t think much of it as you made yourself some eggs and toast, and by the time you were done eating, you’d decided he must’ve left extra early that morning. 

You were enjoying having the kitchen to yourself, sipping your coffee and reading a romance novel about a forbidden love between an older alpha and a younger omega, when you felt the energy in the cabin shift. Your body tensed, as if your omega instincts knew something your mind still hadn’t figured out.

Then Bucky’s scent hit you anew; its effects were immediate—and staggering. 

A gasp tore from your lips, but you barely even heard it over the desire surging through your body. Bucky’s scent was suddenly somehow more potent, more delicious, making your mouth water with the urge to suck his cock.

Beneath the thin sleep shirt you wore, your nipples puckered almost painfully, your tits feeling heavy with the need to be groped, to be squeezed, to be sucked. And even that feeling paled in comparison to the thumping pulse between your thighs, your clit aching for attention as slick dripped from your slit, soaking your panties in seconds.

You whimpered pitifully, setting your coffee mug down with shaking hands, some of the brown liquid sloshing over the rim and spilling onto Bucky’s butcher block countertop. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess—not when you were overcome with a need that you instinctively knew only the older alpha could sate.

For a brief, panicked second, you worried you were going into heat. But your body felt different than it normally did when your heat was coming on. There weren’t any painful cramps in your lower belly as your body yearned for a knot, and, most tellingly, you didn’t feel like flames were licking beneath your skin.

You decided what you were feeling was something else, but you didn’t know what. 

Your fingers gripped the edge of the kitchen island where you’d sat to eat your breakfast, nails digging so deep into the wooden grain that it was verging on painful. Your mind felt sluggish as you tried to figure out what was happening to you, but you kept getting distracted thinking about Bucky’s broad shoulders, and his scruffy jaw and his beautiful blue eyes. 

Without you realizing it, your hips had begun to rock on the barstool you were perched on, your thighs spread wide so you could rub your pussy into the seat. With a desperate whine, you forced yourself to stop, your head hanging between your arms as breaths sawed in and out of your chest.

There was nothing else you could do—you had to find Bucky and hope he knew what was happening to you, and why his scent was so strong. 

Your omega cheered at the thought of getting closer to Bucky, and you let those instincts guide you as you stumbled through the cabin. 

Belatedly, you realized you were heading toward his bedroom, and it wasn’t until your hand was raising to knock on his door that you figured out you were wrong earlier—Bucky hadn’t already left, he’d still been in his room. Doing what, you had no idea.

Biting back a needy keening sound, you rapped your knuckles urgently on the door, trying to ignore the way your slick was leaking down your thighs. Your panties and sleep shorts were soaked with your juices, and the cotton was sticking to your warm skin so unpleasantly, you had the urge to yank them off, but you managed to fight against it.

“Not now!”

Bucky’s roared words sent a delicious shiver down your spine, making your nipples ache so badly for attention that your hand lifted and you began kneading one of your tits while your dazed mind struggled to process what the older alpha had said. 

When you did, your head fell forward, hitting the door with a light thunk. A helpless sound slipped from your lips and your thighs pressed together as you squirmed in the hallway outside Bucky’s bedroom, your body making it impossible for you to heed the warning in the alpha’s tone. 

“Please, alpha,” you sobbed, pressing yourself against the door and scratching at the wood helplessly with your nails. You hardly knew what you were begging for—whether you just wanted into Bucky’s room or if you were already pleading with him to fuck you. But you knew you needed something only he could give you.

There was a vicious grunt on the other side of the door, and your omega hindbrain read it as an invitation before you could even fully take in the sound. Acting on instinct, your hand fumbled for the doorknob and you pushed into Bucky’s room. 

The sight that met you made you gasp sharply, your feet stumbling to a stop in the threshold of his room.

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed facing the door, his naked body bathed in the morning sunlight streaming in from the windows overlooking the lake. There wasn’t a stitch of clothing on the big alpha, and your eyes raked over him hungrily, unabashedly taking in the way his muscles bulged, veins snaking down his taut forearms. 

There was a sheen of sweat on Bucky’s golden skin, and his big, broad shoulders were hunched. But even with his body curled the way it was, you could still see his thick, fat cock standing proud between his tree-trunk thighs. 

The scent of him hit you again, almost making your eyes roll back in your head, but you refused to tear your gaze from the sight of Bucky’s cock. It was so perfect, it made you light-headed. And then you noticed Bucky was moving.

The older alpha had one massive hand fisted around his hard length, his grip punishing as he stroked his cock. The tip was an angry, flushed red as it leaked an endless stream of precum, which Bucky used to stroke himself, the soft, slick sounds resonating in the room.

It was only when a growl tore from Bucky’s throat that you glanced up at his face. 

His handsome face was contorted in a mask of feral lust, his teeth bared and jaw ticking like he was grinding his teeth together. But his eyes—his blue eyes were wild and tortured, staring at you like you were his salvation and his ruination all at once.

“You shouldn’t be here, omega,” Bucky growled, his words so rough you could barely understand them. But once you did, your body trembled with rebellion.

Clinging to the edge of the doorframe, it took every ounce of your self-control not to drop to your knees and present yourself to the alpha. All you could think about was his cock filling your cunt, the base swelling with his knot as he fucked you until the two of you were nothing more than rutting animals.

Suddenly, you knew what was happening. 

“Are you—are you going into rut?” you asked, the breathiness of your voice making you sound more excited than incredulous. In all your years as an omega, you’d never actually seen an alpha go into rut. It was rare, something that usually only happened between true matches…

“Can’t be,” Bucky rumbled, his voice dragging you out of your thoughts. “I’m too old for that.” He was still stroking his cock, grunts of pleasure slipping from his mouth like he couldn’t help himself. His shoulders heaved as he took a deep breath, as if trying to gather his wits, but it seemed to have the opposite effect.

Bucky’s shoulders went rigid, and something about watching his big body tense made your own inner muscles clench. 

You cunt was throbbing between your thighs in time with your racing heart, and your thighs were so coated in slick, you distantly wondered if you’d start leaving a puddle in Bucky’s doorway. 

But then the older alpha’s eyes flew open, pinning you where you stood with the intensity of his gaze.

“Omega,” Bucky groaned, the sheer hunger in his voice washing over you like a wave of warm water. His fist started stroking faster, and he made a choked, frustrated sound in his throat, like it wasn’t enough. Like nothing would be enough—except you.

Your feet carried you forward as if they had a mind of their own, your body drifting beyond the threshold of the room and closer to the grunting, growling alpha. 

He looked magnificent, even hunched the way he was. The bright sunlight brought out the silver in his dark beard, and you wanted to bury your face right under his jaw, inhaling his scent while your rode his cock.

“You should go,” Bucky rumbled, trying to force some steel into his voice, but you could hear the desperation hidden behind the alpha’s bravado. 

If he’d really wanted you to leave, he could’ve barked the order. But he hadn’t, leaving you able to disobey. So you drifted even closer, enticed by the scent of him and the sight of his big alpha cock.

You came to a stop in front of Bucky, standing just out of his reach. There, you wavered. 

You didn’t want to take advantage of Bucky when he wasn’t in his right mind. Sure, there was a haze of lust that had settled thickly over your mind as well, and you hardly felt like you had full control of your body, but you were more lucid.

“Let me help you, Bucky,” you murmured pleadingly, ducking down a little and catching his eye. You kept your expression open and honest, showing the alpha your desire to help. “You’ve been so kind to me, I just want to help you in return.”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say because Bucky reared back like you’d slapped him. His hand came to a rest at the base of his cock, fisting himself tightly where he his knot would inflate. Your cunt gave an answering squeeze at the sight, but you forced yourself to ignore the aching, desperate need in your body.

“No,” he roared, his face twisting into a furious expression. “They trusted me to take care of you, ‘m not going to take advantage of you—I’m not some savage alpha who ruts unwilling omegas.” 

Bucky was spitting mad, the fury only managing to make him look even more gloriously handsome, and it took you a moment to understood what he’d said.

“What if I want you to rut me?” you asked, the words tumbling from your lips before you could think better of them. But when they had the desired effect of softening the edges of Bucky’s anger, even if it was only replaced with confusion, you pressed on. “I’m ready and willing, Bucky, I want to see you through your rut—please.”

Following your instincts, you lifted the hem of your oversized sleep shirt, showing Bucky how your slick had drenched your shorts and was coating your thighs. You trailed your fingers through the wetness on your soft skin, then held your hand out to the alpha, letting him see the way your slick glistened in the bright morning sunlight.

“We shouldn’t—I shouldn’t,” Bucky ground out through his clenched jaw, but there was a clearer tone of a desperation in his voice, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. 

His eyes were flicking between your slick-coated fingers and your eyes, his fist working his cock again. You let your hand drift closer to Bucky’s face, letting him scent the arousal in your juices, and his eyes rolled back in his head. 

With a furious grunt, he continued speaking.

“I shouldn’t rut your sweet pussy until my knot’s buried deep in your cunt and you’re soaking my balls with your scent—fuck,” he growled, roughly working his cock between his thick thighs. “Your scent, baby, it’s been driving me wild. I can’t—I shouldn’t…”

Taking a tentative step closer, you dragged your fingers through the slick between your thighs again and held them out to Bucky, waving them in front of his mouth, below his nose, making him smell you. 

“I want this, Bucky,” you promised. But even as you said the words, you worried it wouldn’t be enough, so you let the full truth spill from your lips. “I’ve wanted your knot since the second I got in your truck. Please, alpha, please rut me.”

Bucky lunged from the bed, moving so fast you barely had time to gasp before his big hands were catching you around the backs of your thighs and hauling you into his lap as he sat back down. One of his hands settled on your lower back, holding you in place, while the other circled your wrist and brought your fingers to his mouth.

The older alpha let out an obscene groan when he tasted your slick, the sound going straight to your clit and making a whine build in your throat. 

Bucky licked your skin clean, his hot tongue snaking between your fingers and making you think about where else you’d like to feel it—on your neck, on your nipples, on the slit between your thighs…

“Alpha,” you whimpered, squirming on Bucky’s lap as you sought friction but found none. His cock was trapped between your belly and the softly padded muscle of his stomach, so far away from where you needed him that you whined sharply.

With a pop, Bucky pulled your fingers from his mouth, and for a brief, fleeting moment the two of you simply stared into each other’s eyes. 

Bucky’s pupils were blown so wide they were blotting out nearly all of the blue in his eyes, and you could see the feral hunger of his alpha’s rut beginning to take over. Somehow, it only made him hotter, to see the older man so on the verge of losing control. 

It called to the omega deep in your hindbrain, the part of you that wanted to be taken—to be rutted and knotted on an alpha’s cock until you were nothing more than base animal instinct. You could feel a wildness brewing in your chest, your breaths coming in sharp pants as you and Bucky hovered on the edge of something brutal and beautiful.

You didn’t know who kissed who first, all you knew was that the tension between you and Bucky snapped, and then his lips were crashing down on yours, and you were moaning as the taste of him exploded on your tongue. 

The fresh air and earthy moss and warm leather made you feel like you were taking a deep breath of a forest breeze. You could taste your own slick, too, which only drove you more wild.

Bucky’s kiss was messy and filthy, all snapping teeth and untethered desire. There was no finesse to the way Bucky’s mouth claimed yours, it was pure alpha dominance. He was rough and uncompromising as his tongue plunged past your lips to devour your mouth, a harsh growl rumbling in his chest as his bearded jaw worked against yours.

All the while, you met Bucky’s ferocity with your own fierceness, sucking on his tongue and wringing a groan from the big alpha that had him kissing you even harder, bending you backwards until you hung suspended above his spread thighs. 

The only thing that stopped you from toppling off his lap entirely were his hands pressed firmly against your back, holding you crushed to the softly padded muscle of his chest. 

Your nails dug into Bucky’s broad shoulders, reveling in the way his skin was hot to the touch, matching the heat blooming and throbbing between your thighs. Your hips squirmed on Bucky’s lap until you felt the thick, hard length of his cock press into your core. 

Even through your sleep shorts and panties, Bucky felt exquisitely perfect. His cock was hard and throbbing, his own precum mixing with the juices coating your skin. 

Your scents were mingling and turning into something new—something that was so intoxicating it went straight to your head, making you achier and needier even as it gave you a sense of soul-deep satisfaction. You were too distracted, though, to think about what that meant.

A keening whine worked its way up your throat, and Bucky swallowed it down with an answering growl, like he felt it too—felt how perfect you were together. It made you cling to him harder, your hands sliding up his shoulders and burying your fingers in his soft brown hair.

The kiss broke just as suddenly as it started, with Bucky wrenching his mouth away from yours to tear at your sleep shirt. You helped him pull it over your head and then his mouth was on you again, his big hands roaming all over your bare skin. 

Every graze of his roughened palms over the curves of your body had you moaning mindlessly into his mouth until he could barely kiss you anymore. 

His mouth hovered close to yours and you both panted against each other’s lips, his groans blending with your breathy whimpers while he learned the feel of your body.

Bucky’s hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you deeper into his lap until your cunt was pressed flush to his cock through your clothes, leaving you to rock against his hardness while his hands wandered up your back, fingers tracing the vertebrae of your spine. 

He brushed his thumbs teasingly against the sides of your tits, and when you keened pitifully, he relented and groped your soft mounds. A feral grin stole across his handsome face when he plucked at your nipples, pinching them between his fingers so harshly, he made you let out another desperate whine. 

He kept playing with your tits until you were a writhing mess of need on his lap. Only when you were on the verge of tears did Bucky take pity on you.

“Get those shorts and panties off and present for your alpha,” Bucky growled, turning and tossing you down on top of the mussed blankets of his bed. 

He got to his feet, towering over you and watching you while he pumped his cock in one hand. He stared down at you with so much hunger, it made your pussy clench, aching for his knot.

But you didn’t let the magnificent sight of the older alpha standing naked in all his brutal glory distract you for long, not when he’d issued an order that you were all too eager to follow. 

With scrabbling fingers, you pushed your panties and shorts down over your hips, tearing them off your legs. Before you could toss them somewhere in the room, Bucky held out his free hand and you gave him the drenched mess of tangled fabric. 

The older alpha brought the bundle to his face, pressing the soaked cotton right against his mouth and nose then taking a deep breath. 

A rumbling growl echoed in his chest, the sound going straight between your thighs as you stared at the hottest thing you’d ever seen—Bucky inhaling the scent of your slick straight from your panties.

“I’ve been dreaming about your scent all week, baby,” he rumbled gruffly, his eyes at half mast as he continued stroking his cock, even more precum leaking from the tip. It was so hot, you were frozen where you were, unable to look away. 

Bucky’s gaze was hazy and unfocused as he stared down at you, looking like he was completely undone, and it was your smell that had him looking that way. The knowledge of how much power your scent had over the alpha made your omega preen, a smirk fluttering around the corners of your mouth.

“Been thinking about burying my face in your sweet cunt and drowning in your scent,” he went on, like he was confessing his sins. “Been thinking about having you soak my beard with your slick and then fucking you so good you come on my knot—want to be so wrapped in your scent that I never get it out of my head.”

Your body clenched hard at Bucky’s words, a moan spilling from your lips as you felt more slick leak from your hole. You didn’t know how Bucky was holding himself together while going into rut when you were on the verge of losing it and demanding he knot you. But it reminded you of his order.

In a rush, you scrambled onto your hands and knees to get into position. You lowered your shoulders to the bed, burying your face in the blankets and breathing in his scent just as deeply as he’d done with your panties. Moss and leather swirled in your head, making you moan into the sheets. 

Then you were arching your spine and pushing your ass high in the air. You presented your aching pussy to the older alpha, whining to get his attention. “Alpha, please!”

Bucky’s gaze sharpened and snapped to you, his eyes going molten hot when he saw how you were positioned on his bed, head down on the blankets, ass in the air, cunt on display for him. A lazy smile curled his lips and he dropped your panties and shorts to the floor, moving to you.

“Good omega,” Bucky purred, climbing onto the bed behind you, his big hands stroking over your ass and hips and thighs. “You look so pretty presenting for your alpha—you gonna be a good girl and help me through my rut, huh?”

A happy hum thrummed in your throat and you nodded, watching Bucky over your shoulder. He was transfixed by your body, his eyes following his hands as they roved over your curves. He grabbed big handfuls of your ass, kneading you so roughly, you could hear the quiet, wet sounds of your pussy lips pulling apart. 

As he groped your ass, Bucky pressed his cock firmly against your pussy, so you could feel the hot, hard length of him against your soft, dripping folds. He rocked hard into you, holding your ass in place so you had nowhere to go while he was grinding his cock against your cunt, coating his shaft in your slick.

His eyes were growing more hazy and unfocused by the second, but before Bucky could go into full-blown rut, he wrenched his gaze away from the sight of his cock pressed against your pussy, and caught your eye over your shoulder.

“You sure about this, omega?” Bucky asked, his voice strong and steady even as you heard that undercurrent of desperation in his tone. 

His eyes searched yours, and you could see the strain in his face. It was taking everything in him to stop himself from following his instincts so he could check on you. 

“I can manage on my own if you want to stop,” he promised.

You couldn’t explain your body’s reaction to Bucky’s words, but the fact that he was still, even on the verge of going into rut, putting your needs above his own had heat licking beneath your skin. It was a pleasant, glorious warmth that wrapped around your heart and soul, making you even more sure about your decision.

“Please, Bucky, I want this so bad, you don’t even know,” you murmured pleadingly, arching your back and presenting yourself even more. You pushed against his hold to press back against his cock, reminding him of your eagerness. “I want you to fuck me, alpha, please.”

“Alright, alright, baby,” Bucky rasped, ducking down and capturing your lips in a quick brutal kiss before he was sitting up again. One of his hands grabbed your hip while the other fisted his cock and rubbed the head through your dripping folds. “Hold on then, ‘mega. Once ‘m inside you, I’ll go into full-on rut.”

Bucky’s eyes were dark, even in the bright light of the sunshine streaming into his bedroom, and you could sense him hesitating. He seemed stuck on the edge of pushing into you and finally—finally—satisfying the need burning through both your bodies. 

You realized he needed another little push, something more than reassurance.

Reaching back, you wrapped your fingers around Bucky’s wrist, clinging onto the strong arm holding your hip. You gave him a squeeze and caught his eye when he looked at you in question. 

You let a smirk curve your lips, his only warning for what was about to come out of your mouth.

“C’mon, old man,” you said, your voice cheeky and playful as you grinned up at Bucky. “Rut your omega good and hard, alpha—I can take it.” You gave him an insolent wink, and he finally snapped.

Bucky’s eyes burned into yours and a feral grin slashed across his face. “My omega,” he growled, right before thrusting into your pussy, burying his cock deep in your tight heat with one, brutal stroke.

A scream burst from your lips as pleasure detonated within you. 

Bucky’s cock was so thick and hard inside you, filling you up so perfectly and making you stretch to accommodate his heavy length. The veins dragged exquisitely against your sensitive inner walls, the tip hitting a spot deep in your pussy.

It all set off sparks of delicious pleasure that went spiraling through your body. You gasped for air, barely knowing what was up or down, only your fingers around Bucky’s wrist and his cock buried in your cunt keeping you tethered to earth.

Above you, Bucky purred in satisfaction, pleased with the way your pussy wrapped around him tightly. And then you felt his rut take hold. 

The alpha barely gave you a moment to adjust before he was pounding into you, his hips pulling back until only the head of his cock remained inside. Then he plowed forward, filling you up all over again and again and again.

You were helpless to the alpha, your body going weak and pliant in his hold, giving in to the ferocious power in Bucky’s thrusts. 

All you could do was moan and mewl, your fingers still clinging to his wrist while he fucked you so hard and fast, your body and mind were lost in a dizzying, endless dance of pleasure.

“My omega—my beautiful, perfect omega,” Bucky growled, his words spilling from his mouth almost mindlessly. “So hot and wet for your alpha, baby, you’re squeezing my cock so tight. Ya want your alpha to rut you and knot your perfect cunt, don’t you, ‘mega?”

Bucky curled his body over yours, engulfing you in his heat and scent. His hand shifted from your hip, fingers tangling with yours and pressing it into the soft blankets next to your head. 

Twisting your body, you grabbed Bucky’s beard and pulled him down for a kiss that was all nipping teeth and soothing tongues. It was brutal and beautiful in equal measure, just like the joining of your bodies.

“You want to be mine, don’t you, baby?” Bucky rumbled against your mouth, a self-satisfied smirk curling the corners of his lips. 

“Yes, yes, god yes, alpha,” you cried, taking his pounding thrusts with your face half buried in his blankets. 

With every stroke of his cock inside you, you could feel the beginning of his knot catching at the edge of your hole, making you whine and squirm dumbly beneath him. You needed him so badly, you babbled unthinkingly.

“Want you so bad, alpha, want you to split me open on your fat, alpha knot and claim me as yours—please, daddy!”

That last word, the one you’d only thought about in your most secret fantasies, slipped out so easily in the face of the overwhelming pleasure Bucky was giving you. 

And even through the haze of your ecstasy, you felt his cock twitch inside you and hips stutter in their rhythm. Then he was moving faster and harder. 

“Oh fuck,” Bucky growled, his mouth right next to your ear, his coarse beard tickling your neck. “Say that again, baby—call your alpha that filthy name again.” 

“Daddy,” you cried, shoving your hips back to meet Bucky’s thrusts, stars bursting behind your eyes as the tip of him pounded into a spot deep inside you. 

The growl that rumbled in his chest was pleased, and it urged you on, emboldened you to continue calling him that dirty word.

“Knot me, daddy,” you begged, your voice thin and pitiful, which only made Bucky fuck you harder with his cock. “Rut your omega’s pussy and fill me with your come—please, alpha, please, I need it!”

“Fuck, baby, you’re such a perfect omega for your alpha,” he rumbled, pressing messy kisses to your cheek and jaw before trailing down to your neck. “You’re gonna get daddy’s knot, ‘m gonna fill you up so good, baby.” 

His filthy words were a promise that he sealed by scraping his teeth teasingly over your throat.

You tipped your head to the side, not even a little bit concerned that he could bite you, break skin, and cement a bond between the two of you even though you’d only met a week ago. 

You weren’t worried, you trusted Bucky. You trusted him not to bite you without your consent, even if your body was asking for it. 

He chuckled into the curve of your neck, sucking on your skin hard enough that even if he didn’t bite you, you knew he’d leave a mark behind. The idea of him claiming you in that way had you grinning happily, an omega purr rumbling in your chest. 

“You’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky murmured into your skin, his voice rough with pleasure and something else, an emotion that tugged on your heart and had your fingers squeezing his where they were still tangled together. “My omega, my sweet, beautiful, perfect omega.”

Your body clenched around Bucky’s cock and tears of swelling emotion sprang to your eyes. You dragged him to you for a deep kiss, your entangled fingers curling in his beard. 

His mouth was softer, even as his hips picked up their pace, the older alpha rutting into you faster and harder.

Bucky lost himself entirely to his instincts, babbling gruff, barely intelligible words about how perfect you were and how good you were to him. 

He mumbled a litany of filthy promises, telling you he was going to fill you with his knot and his seed and keep you impaled on his cock while he flooded your cunt until you were overflowing with his come.

Even through the haze of his rut, you could still feel your alpha in the tenderness of his touch and the care Bucky had for you. 

Though he was rough and wild, he never hurt you, pushing you to the brink of a pleasure that was so brutal and beautiful, you weren’t sure you’d survive it. But you trusted Bucky to guide you through it safely.

When he was close, Bucky’s fingers slipped beneath your body and pushed between your thighs until he found your clit. He rubbed your sensitive bud in tight, merciless circles, making you shudder and clench around his cock, pushing you closer to the edge of your own release.

“Come, omega, come on your alpha’s cock,” Bucky growled in your ear, his hips grinding his cock deep in your pussy as he rutted your cunt. “Be a good girl for daddy, and come, baby.” 

It was too much. Bucky felt too good, his thick cock filling you too perfectly and pressing against that spot deep inside you. 

You were helpless to his rubbing fingers and filthy words, flying over the edge of your release and screaming your pleasure into the blankets of your alpha’s bed. 

Bucky followed right after you, grunting and growling through his release. He bit down on the curve of your shoulder, careful not to break skin and cement a mating bond even as he came. 

The feeling of his blunt teeth sinking into your skin sent another wave of white-hot ecstasy through your body, and Bucky groaned when your pussy clenched around him even tighter.

Bucky’s cock twitched inside you, flooding you with his come as his knot began to swell. It inflated quickly, and you gasped at the feeling of his knot plugging your pussy, locking you together while you rode out your releases. 

Gradually, the waves of euphoria began to recede. But still, you felt heat licking beneath your skin, starting from where your body was connected to Bucky and flowing through the rest of your limbs.

At first, you thought it was the beginning of renewed pleasure, your omega instincts responding to Bucky’s rut by readying for another round. But then you felt a gush of slick between your thighs and your cunt clenched down greedily on Bucky’s cock, like your pussy was trying to suck him and his knot even deeper. 

The alpha’s body was still curled around yours and he grunted at the feeling of you squeezing his cock. Shifting and dragging his nose up the side of your throat, he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath, his body going still at whatever he noticed in your scent.

“Are you due for your heat, baby?” Bucky asked carefully, his voice clearer than it had been while he was in the throes of his rut. 

He sounded so calm, his voice so low and delicious it took you a moment to understand what he’d asked.

“I—I shouldn’t be,” you stammered, confusion fighting against the warmth filtering through your body. Already, you had the urge to arch your back and beg Bucky to fuck you again, just like you would if you were in heat. “I’m not due for a few weeks.”

Before you could even properly protest the idea that you were going into heat, Bucky’s knot deflated enough for him to slip from your pussy. A gush of fluid spilled from your hole, but the two of you were too shocked to pay any attention to that because your bodies had proved you wrong.

Alpha biology was so well attuned to an omega’s that if they were in heat, the alpha’s knot would deflate faster than normal, and their refractory period would speed up, making sure they were able to attend to their omega’s heightened sex drive. 

Bucky’s cock was already hard again, the shaft brushing against your pussy between your thighs. And your skin was burning up, so the warmth of Bucky’s body became almost cool to your touch. 

Everything was pointing to you going into heat, but you still couldn’t quite wrap your mind around it.

Gently, Bucky turned you over onto your back and settled between your thighs, his big hands encouraging your legs to hook around his hips. His thick cock nestled against your soft, swollen pussy while he dug his arms under your back, holding you cradled against his chest, his face hovering above yours.

“Hey, are you ok?” he asked in a soft, gentle tone. He ducked his head to catch your eye, but you were staring unseeingly through him, trying to make it all make sense.

“Does this mean we’re…” you began to ask, your voice trailing off as the words stuck in your throat. 

They were trapped by the hope bottling up in your chest. You wanted to sure about what was happening before you let your emotions loose, let the elation fly free and whisk you away to the life you’d never dared to dream about.

But where Bucky had been hesitant before, he was steady and sure in the face of your uncertainty. A smile flirted at the edges of his mouth and he captured your lips in a quick kiss before he finished your question for you.

“True matches?” 

At those words, your eyes suddenly focused and searched for him. Your body settled instinctively when your gaze met Bucky’s, and his smile turned affectionate as he stared down at you, stroking your cheek fondly with his thumb. 

“Yeah, baby, it means we’re each other’s true match,” he said, seemingly happy to help you understand what was happening. “Only an alpha’s true match can trigger a rut, and only an omega’s true match can spark their heat.”

Bucky gave you a moment to soak in his words, waiting patiently while his thumb traced your lips. His big hand was cupping your face so reverently, it nearly brought tears to your eyes, and you stared up into the alpha’s gaze. 

Seeing the open affection on his handsome face finally got through to you.

Bucky Barnes was yours. He was your true match, the one alpha in all the world who was meant to be yours. And you were his. 

It was why his scent smelled so good to you, why you’d felt so drawn to him, and why you’d been so frustrated by him avoiding you all week. It was why you’d rebelled when he’d pushed you away when you wanted to help him through his rut.

That realization made you snort a laugh, which had surprise dancing across his features, a question in the furrow of his brow. 

“And you thought you could fight this,” you said, your voice wavering with laughter before you dissolved in a fit of giggles. 

A rumbling chuckle came from Bucky as he waited for you to get ahold of yourself. You were still laughing helplessly when his mouth found yours in a slow, sweet kiss. 

The laughter finally died in your throat and your fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair, kissing him back for all you were worth. His beard scraped against your cheeks and you delighted in the feeling, your pussy throbbing between your thighs.

“Mm, you really are mine, aren’t you, baby?” Bucky murmured against your lips after slowing the kiss and pulling away slightly. His blue eyes shimmered with affection and hunger as he stared down at you. 

“Yeah, Bucky, I’m yours,” you answered in a voice so full of happiness it was practically a purr. “And you’re mine, alpha.”

“Damn fucking right,” Bucky growled. He dove back down for another, deeper kiss, plunging his tongue into your mouth and tangling with yours. 

It wasn’t long before the heat simmering beneath your skin became too insistent to ignore, and you whined into Bucky’s mouth. Your hips rocked beneath the older alpha’s bigger body, grinding your cunt against his hard, twitching cock and coating him with a new layer of your slick.

“Please, alpha, I need you to knot me,” you whimpered pitifully, fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back. “Fuck me, Bucky—rut your omega and fill me up, daddy, please!” 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Bucky said, shushing you gently as his hand slipped between your bodies. 

He guided his cock back into your pussy, sliding deep into your tight heat while you moaned into each other’s mouths. 

“Your alpha’s gonna take good care of you, ‘mega,” he promised. “Just be a good girl for daddy and take my cock.”

Then Bucky was fucking you, hard and deep, rutting into your cunt with all the ferocious power of an alpha. It was glorious, pleasure spiraling through your body as you met his every thrust. 

After that, you succumbed to your heat, your omega giving in to your alpha and letting him take care of you.

For the next few days, you and Bucky barely left his room while he attended to your every need, whether that was filling you up with his knot or getting you to eat and drink some water. It was a haze of warmth and pleasure, and by the time your heat broke, you were wrung out and exhausted.

Bucky tucked you into his chest, holding you tight against his body as he purred and soothed his hand up and down your spine, urging you to sleep. You fell asleep quickly, excited to wake up rested and begin your life with your alpha, your true match, your love.

The journey of finding your way to Bucky Barnes may have begun with a long and brutal week of frustration and unsatisfied need, but you were excited to build something beautiful with him—something that would last for the rest of your lives.

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

[itsaintmebabe]

don’t smile

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ pairing: lando norris x singer!reader

summary: one of f1’s favorite couples, lando norris and y/n, breaks up unexpectedly leaving not only fans confused but you as well

notes: this might be really stupid but idc! lando won the monaco gp which was crazy!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / social media au / fc: sabrina carpenter

liked by yourbff, alexandrasaintmleux and 1,964,729 others

yourusername ‘don’t smile’ is yours now <3

view all comments

user15 guys why hasn’t lando liked yet

user4 HES SO ALWAYS SO THISTY IN THE COMMENTS WHERE IS HE

user29 all the pics of lando are gone…

↳ user9 don’t say that my lany/n heart

user12 stop the lyrics

↳ user32 omg what???

↳ user12 “don't smile because it happened, baby, cry because it's over” and yall expect me to believe lando and her didn’t break up

yourbff girl if you don’t block him…

↳ yourusername don’t rush me katie i’m just not ready (pls get the reference)

↳ user63 BLOCK WHO

alexandrasaintmleux i feel like i missed a few chapters

↳ yourusername girl LET ME TELL YOU

↳ user56 NO SHARE WITH THE CLASS

↳ user90 literally begging on my knees for it not to be about lando

liked by user23, user64 and 724,029 others

y/nupdates y/n seen at airport heading to paris

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user12 so she’s not going to the miami gp

user34 she literally said last week she was gonna go with lando to miami what the hell happened

user9 i don’t think i’ve ever seen y/n cover her face that much

↳ user17 her eyes look kinda puffy too☹️

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 2,492,708 others

yourusername i’m a busy woman

view all comments

user34 i fear this is the end of lany/n

user11 does this mean more new music???

user23 miss girl really said i’m not wasting any tears on no man i’m in paris

↳ yourusername you’d be surprised lol (comment has been deleted)

↳ user48 NO QUEEN NEVER CRY

user37 missed seeing y/n in the paddock ngl

↳ user52 no cause can you imagine her fit for race day tomorrow i know she would’ve eaten it up

alexandrasaintmleux leo and i miss you in the paddock :(

↳ yourusername play date for bambi and leo soon!! miss u more bae

↳ user62 Y/N GOT BAMBI IN THE DIVORCE

liked by yourusername, mclaren and 2,389,528 others

lando good work this weekend imola next

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user16 papaya on top!!!

user23 how he didn’t blind anyone with that helmet is beyond me

user34 y/n still liking is hurting my heart

↳ user73 literally the best f1 couple need them back

↳ user96 don’t disrespect alex and lily like that

user31 bring y/n back

mclaren no one beats a landoscar double podium

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked by user12, user85 and 882,905 others

y/nupdates y/n in imola with dog bambi a few days ahead of the imola grand prix

view all comments

user19 “y/n and lando are still together!!” i scream as they drag me into a white padded room

user23 i’m so confused

↳ yourbff you and me both girl

↳ user49 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE

user37 no cause y/n still follows lando and likes his posts but lando doesn’t follow y/n or like her posts it’s so weird

user40 bambi has no clue his parents are divorced

user95 honestly praying y/n and lando being broken up is some big april fools joke

↳ user6 babe it’s may

yourusername just added to their close friends story!

liked by yourusername, yourbff and 2,951,087 others

lando never taking her for granted again

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user81 THANK THE LORD

user28 literally stood up and clapped during my chem lecture

user16 y/n let me know if he’s bothering you queen

user19 lando almost lost a baddie

↳ yourbff no HE DID lose a baddie

↳ lando but i persevered

↳ yourusername on thin ice tho

user47 lando better worshiping the ground she walks on now

yourusername bambi’s parents no longer divorced!!!

[amourcheol]

blurring the lines

❝Why learn the complexities of desire all by yourself, when your dearest friend can merely teach you?❞

bridgerton! au | friends with benefits! au | smut, fluff | 32.6k words

s u m m a r y : you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

c o n t e n t : best friend! joshua, best friend! soonyoung too, references of real erotic literature from the 1700s because this is not an amourcheol fic without historical accuracy, joshua acts like a man (yikes), soonyoung a true mvp, diamond's member shenanigans mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (regency protection is goofy mb), overstimulation, corruption kink (!!!), body worshipping, mc is horned up, surprising amount of fluff in this lawl

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : the first installment for the bridgerton series is finally here! you can read this as a standalone, so don't feel any pressure to start something huge!! thank you to alice and addy for hearing me yap about this all the time and thank you to anyone who reads this work <33

playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

AS PER USUAL, KWON SOONYOUNG WAS LATE FOR HIS MEETING WITH YOU. 

You glanced at the clock for possibly the twenty-seventh time that afternoon, twisting your lips in a scowl as you swirled your now lukewarm tea. Of course the man, who thought being on time was unfashionable, would refuse to leave you as an exception. You should not have expected any other possibility—you, you thought, were the fool for expecting a man to keep his word.

Another ten minutes, and you were already writing the enraged letter in your head when you heard the distant din of carriages stopping in a rush beyond the doors, and instantly you jumped from the chair you restlessly waited in. The servant that entered the room began to inform you of an arrival, but you did not listen to the end of his sentence, dashing out into the hallways of your home, the entrance door closing within reach. 

You made to open the door, expecting to see the resident eccentric plastering his best pleading expression on his devious face, enacting the role of an apologetic wrongdoer. 

What welcomed you instead had your entire universe standing still. 

This time, you would have forgiven Soonyoung for breaking his word. 

Because there, in the place you had settled and gossipped and lived in for years upon years, was another addition. There, in the centre of the doorway, was a man who, too, had shared in the meddling, had stayed over and regaled his own tales with you till you fell asleep alongside each other. 

Lord Joshua Hong smiled at the sight of you, and you barely contained your sob as you darted towards him.

He had only begun to open his arms before you jumped straight into them, and he staggered back, chuckling into your skin. He wrapped his hands around you, tightening his grip the more you let the choked gasp escape, emotions now unable to be restrained. 

You could not help yourself—Joshua was not supposed to come as early as he had, you thinking that his trip to the Continent would last another fortnight. You were certain of it, since you had read over his last letter enough times to memorise his neat cursive, assuring you of his imminent return. 

You said it yourself, lips close to his ear. “I thought you had another two weeks.” 

You felt him hum at your claim—mulling over his response. “I longed for home,” was his response, grasping you just the bit tighter. That only had you smiling, accepting the embrace twice over.

It was a while before Soonyoung cleared his completely-clear-already throat in a melodramatic fashion. “I did not receive this welcome when I returned from the Continent,” he greeted from behind the new arrival, side-stepping past you two. 

Joshua lifted his head to retort, “That is because _____ does not care for you.” 

When the younger saw you merely shrugging, he huffed. “Can you sod off back to Paris, please? She is so much worse when you are around.”

As you finally pushed your dear friend at arm’s length, you quirked an eyebrow at the accuser. “You did not receive this welcome because you, Soonyoung, were particularly insufferable on your return. I recall you refused to speak in nothing but French for the fortnight afterwards.”

“Because that language is so attractive!” he declared, walking further into the townhouse. “Even your dearest friend would agree with me.”

But the said-man shook his head, shooting him with what you thought was a comical glare. “Whatever their attraction in the language, I will commend them, at least, in their literature.” He then looked behind him, revealing the luggage barely hidden from the carriage windows.

You followed his line of sight. “Have you not unpacked?” 

“I arrived not an hour ago,” he said, jerking his head towards the younger, “and now Soonyoung insists on holding a soirée this evening to announce my return.”

“First of all, Lady Whistledown has already predicted it, so might as well prove her right!” he demanded, walking over to you and him. “And secondly, you have a few hours to prepare yourself.”

“A few hours to settle myself after months of journeying,” he grumbled. “Can I not simply announce my arrival by strolling around St. James’ park?” 

“Out of the question!” Soonyoung refused, rubbing his hands together in glee. “And I do not know why you feign apprehension to a little socialising! The evening will only gather around a hundred of my closest friends.” 

“By God, have you befriended all of London?” you sighed, shaking your head. “Still, you know I will attend, or else you will never stop complaining about it.” 

“See? _____ understands!” Soonyoung grabbed the eldest by the shoulder. “Come on, it will be fun! At least spare me a few hours.” 

Joshua only frowned in thought, ready to decline the spontaneous invitation. Maybe he would have done it outright, but then he turned to you, a finger and thumb upon his chin. “You will be there?” 

You nodded—that alone was all it took to cement his decision. “Then count me in,” he said to his friend. 

And as Soonyoung complained anyway, ranting on Joshua’s low opinion of him, the latter only winked at you, smiling with a mischief he miraculously maintained even after all these years. 

It had you returning his mirth. Welcome home, dear friend.

AS EXPECTED, LORD KWON SOONYOUNG’S SOIRÉE WAS LESS AN INTIMATE GATHERING AND MORE AN OUTRIGHT BALL. 

Regardless of the host’s constant refuting, Joshua was certainly not pleased, who had reserved his energies on spending time with those close to him, and not the entire ton’s eligible ladies and mamas. With the social season commencing soon, the eligible ladies and gentlemen were already sizing each other, finding allies or opponents within the battleground of the ballroom. 

The recently returned gentleman, he realised with no small amount of horror, had become something of a most eligible bachelor London’s society had witnessed this year. Granted, he was of a beautiful countenance, and had the wealth to accentuate his good looks, but he was under the impression that three months in the Continent would have dampened his thriving reputation in society. What he failed to grasp was that absence always makes the heart of the yearner—and their yearners’ mamas, apparently—grow fonder.

You watched him twirl a rather pretty girl as you took another bite of the finger sandwiches set out ornately on the long, white-clothed tables behind you. Soonyoung, who was right beside you, observed his friend, speaking up. “I swear he has been on the floor for an hour now.” 

“Three-quarters of one,” you corrected, savouring the cream cheese, meshed with tomatoes and cucumbers. “And every single time it has been a different lady pushed in front of him.” 

“He is the talk of the ton right now.” He took hold of a sandwich from the table, eating the entire thing in one go. “A few weeks in the European air has made him more attractive, no?”

You shook your head at his rather suspicious comment, but it was not wrong—Joshua glowed with a shine many lacked within society, as if his body wished to exonerate his freedom to journey wherever he wished. “If I was him, I would have excused myself three dances ago.” 

“Alas, our friend is a perfect gentleman,” Soonyoung drawled, crossing his arms. “And you would be the rotten bachelor destined to be alone.”

You rolled your eyes, looking at him. “Huge claims coming from someone who has danced once this entire evening.”

“At least I have danced once, my dear.” 

You frowned, glancing back at the ‘perfect gentleman’. It was not as if you were not offered—you simply had another partner in mind. “I am too hungry to dance,” you said instead, itching to reach for your fourth bite-size sandwich for the evening. 

“Whatever you say,” he chanted, reaching to grab the very food you pretended to hunger for and handing it to you.

As you took a bite, the quadrille was at an end, applause echoing throughout the ballroom. As the ‘perfect man’ bowed, offering whoever he danced with a dazzling smile, the girl could only admire him, stars in her eyes as he turned his back on her.

It was almost unnerving, how instantly his eyes found yours in the crowd. 

With a determined gaze he whisked his way around half the mothers that wished to present their daughters, a honey-sweet smile enough to keep his admirers at bay as he forged his path towards you. Once he finally escaped the crowd, he wasted no time, setting his flawless smiles upon you.

“My apologies, angel,” he began, slowing down before you, “the ton’s mamas refused to leave me alone.” 

“Do not pretend you despised your admirers,” you chastised, about to eat the rest of your snack when you saw your friend’s eyes lock onto it. 

The moment you offered it to him, he reached out and plucked out the half-eaten sandwich from your hands. “Thank you,” he said, finishing it promptly. “And no, attention is great at times, but not when I had other things in mind.” 

“All you have to do is say no,” the younger suggested, as if it was the easiest choice. 

“It is your fault,” Joshua accused, grabbing a drink from the table beside you. “Perhaps if you refrained from inviting half of London I’d have some peace of mind.” He then gently nudged you, grabbing your attention. “I was robbed of the chance to waltz with you.” 

“Your bestest friend was complaining about that not ten minutes ago,” Soonyoung confessed, which had you glaring at his amusement. 

The man locked you in an inquisitive stare, almost smirking. “Is that so?”

You made to lighten the confession by shrugging, a bare-lift of your shoulders. “What other reason did I have to attend tonight?”

When he smiled at you, an unfiltered grin that was closed off to the rest, it had you returning it earnestly. Soonyoung, however, lost any hilarity at hearing your declaration. “Another very important reason can be to support me, you vile creature.” 

But the two of you dutifully ignored him, Joshua parting his mouth as he settled himself next to you, his side barely brushing against yours. “It is good, though, that you came tonight. I have something for you.” 

“Is that so?” You got out, observing his hand sliding inside his coat pocket. He took only a moment before he fished out a small, rectangular package, wrapped neatly in brown paper and tied together with string. “Oh! So you just…kept that with you this entire time?”

“I meant to give it earlier, but you saw my diversions.” He handed over the present. “Open it.” 

Flipping it over, you gave it a once-over before unravelling the string. Holding onto it still, you unwrapped the carefully folded paper. Once the barriers had fallen, you could barely contain a gasp as your eyes set upon the most intricately decorated novel, barely larger than your hand. It was a special collection you could only procure in France, as travel-sized literature had not yet become popularised on English soil. You studied the cover, swirls of gold etched onto dark, polished leather, the bookmarked string nestled within the pages. 

“Joshua…” you got out, running your fingers over the hardback. “I…how did you even know I wanted La Religieuse? It has been banned everywhere!” 

“All the harder to find it for you,” he agreed, finishing his wine and setting the glass next to him. “Fortunately, Wonwoo knew of a special bookseller in Montmartre that specialised in more revolutionary literature. I found the special edition of Diderot’s work there, and bought it that instant.” He then scoffed. “He was mentioned in every one of your letters. I’d have been a fool not to understand the message.” 

You glanced at him, eyes dancing. “Good to know you can read between the lines.” 

“But of course!” he leaned a little closer. “I know you better than anyone in this room.” 

You fought hard, but eventually lost the restraint to smile wider. You could not help it, see—it was true. He knew you on a level quite unmatched with any individual. It was a fact you found yourself feeling an immense pride for.

“Thank you,” you said, holding onto the novel for dear life. “I will read it the second I return home.” 

“Do not thank me just yet,” he countered, trailing his gaze to the exit, where a sliver of the grand staircase was visible. “You have not seen the entire trunk.” 

“Entire trunk?” you repeated, not quite believing him. “You did not.” 

But he was beaming smug, as if achieving a great victory. “See for yourself, angel.” 

As you followed his line of sight, Soonyoung, too, observed your changing of plans, quirking a brow. “What happened to waltzing with Joshua?” 

“There will always be more evening soirées from yours truly, no?” your smile turned saccharine at the shake of your friend’s head. “Now where did you put his luggage?” 

He threw a pointed finger towards the half-hidden staircase. “The spare study, fourth door on your right. And do make haste, or else your mother will come after me!” 

“You can manage just fine!” you called after him, stepping out from the group as you looked to the eldest. “Wish to escape, too?”

“I wish, but duty calls for me.” He sighed, patting the host’s shoulder heartily. “Once Soonyoung has rinsed me fully, I will come up.” 

Nodding, you bid the gentlemen adieu before turning on your heel, making sure no one in particular witnessed your hurried exit from the ballroom. Following instructions, you journeyed up the grand stairs, each step conquered quickly as you anticipated the gifts brought from foreign lands. Once you came across the fourth door, you turned the knob, entering the familiar room. 

Your eyes darted over the vast study, barely lit up by the light of the full moon which managed to shine through half-drawn, velvet curtains. Lines of shelves, reaching from ceiling-to-floor, were filled to the brim with old books, varying from literature he himself had recommended to older accounts of the Hong family, written by his ancestors and now being accounted for by the heir you waited for. It would have been strange, since this was not the Hong seat, but Joshua visited Soonyoung enough to work officially in his estate, highlighting their friendship.

As you walked fully in, your low heels sinking in the soft Persian carpet, your gaze fell on his mahogany desk, harbouring a myriad of open books and papers scattered across its surface. You did not know why he did not simply clean the mess he created on such an expensive table. 

Tutting, you immediately walked over to the desk, reaching down at some of the fallen papers and neatly assembling them into similar heights. Aside from the accounts, there were also works of fictions—novels from abroad, private poetry collections of the rising writers in London, even collections from decades earlier. Curiosity piquing, you held one of the books, observing the title—Les Liaisons Dangereuse, L’edition 1782. An older French novel you had never heard of—Dangerous Liaisons it was translated to. 

You set the book down, creating a new category besides the accounts. Two other novels revealed themselves from under the one you held, the first one another French novella, and the other one from a London publisher. Holding up the first, you once again beheld the title. The School of Venus, or the Ladies’ Delight, Reduced into Rules of Practice. 

Venus. Limited classical education had taught you enough to know that Venus was the goddess of love. Ladies’ Delight on the other hand confused you. What delight were these ladies experiencing, and why was Joshua reading about it? The other book was in a language you understood perfectly, holding it in both hands as you scoured its heading on the second page. Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Vol. I & II, 1748. 

Releasing a short breath, you put it down, perhaps hoping to delve into the contents when, beneath both of these works, you found a book which had piqued your curiosity to the very ceiling. 

It was another book—no, a journal, as it was smaller in size, the pages wider, thicker. Leaning down to study the work, you came across the neat, italic curls of the writer’s words, as if the ink had dried recently. A definite journal, then. The page was set at random, continuing an adventure written beforehand. Your eyes, an inquisitive lens, scanned the writing, bracing yourself to enjoy whatever your friend was reading.

…as I touched her face, her cheek, like instinct, moulding within the planes of my palm, her warmth, an infectious condition, spread to my hand. I had mused beforehand of the beauty of the Parisians, but these Venetian women had gained a precedence. They found, with such perfect ease, the catalyst to the breakdown of my collected conduct, earning my sighs as I kissed them with a newfound interest, a yearning to satiate in the dark corners of the coffeehouse. 

You paused, brows furrowing. This was certainly unlike any other novel you had read. You skimmed the leather-covered front, golden curls of the title shining in the moonlight. Confessions of a Gentleman in the Continent. J. H. 

J. H. You could decipher those initials within any page. 

Holding the journal in your hands, you snuck a glance at the door—closed, with the din of the ball far away. 

Every essence of logic implored you to put the book down. 

You closed the book, instantly releasing a short breath. J. H. Joshua Hong. You did not know what it was, but something unsettling stirred within you at his name—you had procured something you were not meant to find, uncovered a grave secret, meant to be hidden forever. What you should have done was leave it as Joshua had left it, never provide him with an inkling that you had found such strange treasures in his private sphere. His strange, literary treasures.

What you foolishly decided to do was turn the page. 

Hovering over to the chair, you mindlessly settled on its cushioned seat as you began reading the journal, fingers idly turning the thick, crisp pages. The dread morphed into something so undecipherable you had to stop your reading. 

Passages upon passages of Joshua’s feelings record his sensations—sensations you had never felt, never even knew of before this night. The sentences imprinted in your mind as you began to hunch over, following each word like a mysterious code needed to solve the riddle of your feelings. 

The luscious talk in which we engaged, pressed up against the crackling walls, in which modesty was far from respected…Another sentence, another scenario of his observations…Produced naked, stiff and erect…of a valour she had never seen before, and which, for the interest of my own seat of pleasure began to take furiously in it…Your heart almost dropped. Her senses were rightfully much flurried, too much concentrated in that now burning spot of hers which kindled from yours truly…burning because of me, from my ministrations. 

Burning. Pleasure. The words were tossing and turning in your head, but you refused to stop, not when the woman committed an action which had you losing your rationale. 

This time, you rasped the narration out. “I observed the spry thing steal her shaking hand up her petticoats, and…with fingers on fire, seized and yet more inflamed that centre of all her senses…” You stopped, suddenly feeling the presence of your own petticoats, clinging to your legs—as they always do. “I breathed with an enticing pain. I felt my own senses on fire, watching her writhe and compress the lips of that—” A shudder of breath at the next words— “That virgin… virgin slit, and following…as far as I could find purchase, brought on at last the critical ecstasy, into which nature spent…with excess of pleasure, dissolved and died away within my hand.”

The sentence stopped, your vision almost glazing over at the content you had taken in. Never before had you read—come across, even—such literature. Of course, captivating writing had brought you to extreme emotions, when you were angered at a character’s betrayal, or cried at the deaths of a beloved love interest. This feeling, however, was foreign; something that was born not from the heart, like your usual reactions, but everywhere. Slowly tingling, sparkling like embers from a fireplace. The fingers on fire had you witnessing the languid movement of your own, lighter than you last remembered—as if they were truly burning to cinders. Even your thighs you twisted as the unnamed woman had done in your pages, a tightening barely there. 

And the virgin slit…something unmarried, an entity unsullied. A shuddered breath escaped you as you brought yourself out of the trance, blinking back at what you had engulfed. 

You knew, then and there, that you had to leave.

You made to depart the study, but you quickly glanced back at the novel. It was as if it had its own life force, its own pull, luring you closer once again. No, no! you reasoned with yourself, because these genres of literature will always be noticed if borrowed—stolen. You could not take the book, even if your life depended on it. 

That was why you thought it outside of your control, when, despite reason, despite good sense, your hands reached out, swiping Confessions from the table and hurrying to the door. 

You would have even been successful—would have been, if you had not opened the study door so covertly, and knocked against the very man you wished to avoid. 

“Argh!” a grunt escaped, followed by your own yelp as your contraband fell with a thud! to the floor, right at your feet—and Joshua’s, who, after stumbling back a little, finally focused on you, confusion altering his features. “_____? Oh God, I apologise for making you wait so long,” he dusted at his coat as his gaze, to your absolute horror, trailed down to what fell because of him. “Soonyoung refused to let me leave…”

He never finished, pausing when he worked out the book which fell from your hands.

If there was any way to escape this present situation, you would have sacrificed your firstborn to ensure it. Because the fates were cruel, you could only stay rooted as you watched him bend down on one knee, picking up the leather-back. He glanced at the title at the front, and every bone in his body stilled, losing any essence of warmth as he parted his mouth.

It felt like a lifetime later when he spoke. “Where…” He held the book upward. “Where did you find this?” Involuntarily your eyes flickered to the table, and he followed, turning his head to the study, which he noticed immediately was tidied—tampered with. “You went through my things?”

“I did not mean to!” you exclaimed, gaping at his sudden charge towards the desk, you hot at his heels. “I just thought it looked like a mess, so I tried cleaning it—”

“You are not a servant,” he cut off, darting over the new order of his account books, as well as the fiction which you had assembled. “You are not required to look after me like that.”

“I know, but—”

“And sneaking out with my possessions? Without my permission?” He smacked the book on the table, making you flinch. “I thought you better than that.”

You were better than that—well, at least until tonight. You ransacked your mind for an excuse, any form of escape, except your words were absolutely pathetic. “You have never minded me reading your novels before,” you attempted. “In fact, you encouraged me to scour your shelves.”

He looked at the book again—a moment too long—and went back to set a slight glare upon you. “Well, my journal is not a trivial novel. It was private…not meant for you.”

You knew that. What did not settle well, though, was that your dearest friend, who had shared his every worry, his every confession to you, had been doing things you had no inkling of, and set such…extraordinary feelings from you. 

You had to know what more lay in those pages—and why you had felt the way you felt in those pages which your eyes did scour. “I read it.”

His glare faltered. “How much?”

That question was answered with another. “What was it, Joshua?” You stepped forward, a timid gesture, so you could catch a look at the hardback again. “I…I read some pages, and…what was she doing?”

His hand on his journal pushed it back. “I do not know.”

“Liar,” you got out, and he pursed his lips. You knew him irritatingly well. “You are keeping things from me.” 

“It is not keeping things from you,” he countered, frustration rising in his voice. “It is…protecting you from those…things.” 

“Tell me what those things are, Joshua,” you demanded, quietly but not softly. “It has rattled you enough. That has never happened to you.”

But he was silent. Eerily quiet, merely the rustle of his clothes, the soft thunk of his novella settled back with the French novels which raised your suspicions. A boundary made—a rejection established. 

Perhaps you would have respected it in another lifetime—in a world where you had not indulged your curiosity, set your eyes upon entities which were not for you to explore. Perhaps you would have respected it even if Joshua had offered to enlighten you—maybe blushed and ran away, and vowed never to look through his possessions again. 

The writings had rattled you, though, more than he realised. Social etiquette—good common sense would have expected you to respect his opinion, opinions of society, and drop the subject. 

Joshua Hong, however, was your greatest friend. No societal expectation could change that. 

So you opted to push the limits. Refuse the silence to be the end of this matter.

“I read enough, you know. To feel…” A pause. “I cannot even describe to you how I felt, because I have never felt that way before.” You tried to find the right words, a single confession out of order and he would stop listening—or so you thought. “There was an extract you wrote, Joshua, which had certain…descriptions…” Burning. Pleasure. Naked. Fire. Ecstasy. “There was a girl who was doing something. I am unsure what she was doing specifically, but…what she felt watching them…”

A soft exhale released from you, and almost instinctively Joshua released his own breath. “I think I…um, I think I felt a remnant of it.” 

He blurted out, barely a whisper, “You what?”

You looked at him—barely managed a nod. “I do not…don’t even know what she was doing with her fingers—” Joshua’s sudden coughing interrupted you, holding a fist to his lips to stop himself—“But whatever it was…I want to know what it was.” 

You watched the man stay deathly still, yet the emotions racing behind his face were certain. Not only were you rattled, but had passed this strange sensation to him. Had he never felt it before? You wondered, surprised by the similarity of his reaction to yours. 

He then responded to you, and you realised your mistake. “You cannot.”

Another boundary. Another opportunity to cross it. “Why?” This time, you stepped closer to him. “Why can I not know?” He was silent once more, and this time, you would not accept it. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Because you are a lady!” he finally cut out, an agitated sigh coming straight after. “You are not to know such…such material.”

A lady…that you were aware of, but that still did not answer the question. Joshua watched, Joshua did whatever he had done to a lady. The answer was not good enough.

Judging by the increasing agitation in your friend’s countenance, he knew it too. It was at that point, though, when you truly noticed his harsh sighs, the tight fists—one at his mouth now trudging to the table, and the other secured at his hip—figure rigid. How affected he was by your questioning.

As if he mirrored the same sensations as you experienced.

“Is it…” You pursed your lips. “Is it because you were feeling them too?” 

A blink back—the only recognition of shock. You held onto this, continuing, “Tell me the truth, Joshua. You said yourself, no? That a lady cannot know, but you did not say a gentleman cannot either. You were feeling it too, were you not?”

His eyes were widening with your every word, and he stepped back, almost as if to run away. You did not need an answer from him now—it was abundantly clear that he had undergone such passions, as if it was not certain as you read it. There was only one question left in your arsenal now.

Joshua could have collapsed to the study floor. He heard the questions, and suddenly all he could do was gape at you. The determined curiosity in your eyes, the resolute stature of your body, closer than he last remembered. Oh, he would die before answering such a thing to you. He could not. He could not. 

“_____, it is late,” he began after a long time. The slight hope on your face leaving instinctively dampened his spirits. “It is already rash that you came here without a chaperone and I refuse to let you become the centre of ill conversation.”

And there it was. The supposed end. 

You did not realise how disappointed you were until you found your voice again, much graver than you expected. “So that is how it will be.”

Fine. If your best friend would not entrust you with such information, you would find the next person who would not be so apprehensive. A fortunate situation that you already had a man in mind.

As you turned on your heel, you heard him ask, “Where are you going?”

You did not stop your walk away, looking over your shoulder as you retorted, “To Soonyoung. At least he will be honest with me, if you choose not to be.”

He must have said something, but you did not deign to hear, only looking to the door, which was slightly ajar. You held your hand out, ready to open it further. 

Another force—another hand, larger than yours, slammed the door shut, jumping you out of your skin. Quickly you swivelled to see Joshua, breathing slightly uneven as his hand stayed right beside your head, resting against the wood. “Good God,” you got out, “What was that for?”

“You cannot go to Soonyoung,” he said instead, gaze frantic. 

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” 

He frowned. He could tell from your irritation that you assumed it was jealousy, a worse morphing of cowardice. 

It was not jealousy—nothing like that. Soonyoung was like a brother to him, and he knew that if there was anyone else you could have gone to without eliciting scandal, then it was that eccentric. He would explain everything to his friend, and be done with it without furthering his own curiosity. 

With that in mind, he would also tell you everything. Joshua was aware that there were skeletons in the closet of such matters, and your door was already slightly ajar. Should you go to Soonyoung to seek counsel, he would break down the doors, and suffocate you with the bones of such sensitive information.

What you asked was no normal feat. What you asked was sensitive. Precious. Soonyoung was trustworthy, but he was not careful. 

Joshua, on the other hand, was careful. Very careful, if he thought so himself. 

“He would not…explain it properly,” he offered instead. 

“At least he will explain it,” you countered, twisting your mouth. “I’d rather something than nothing at all.” 

His brows knitted together, desperation rising. “You have to understand me, _____.”

“Not after this.” You tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes—for the very first time—were incredibly hard to ignore. “Let me out the door.”

His reply, although perturbed, was clear. “I cannot.”

“Then tell me, Joshua,” you demanded. “Tell me what she was doing.” 

He should have stayed silent forever. What he should have done—as a gentleman, as you yourself had deemed him—was keep his mouth shut. 

A semblance of his sanity slipped once he uttered the fated words.

“She was touching herself.”

A stillness washed over you. Touching herself. 

“I know the passage you speak of,” he said, and his voice was something foreign, not from his body. “When I… and…yes, she touches herself.”

It was as if your skin caught fire. “Why did she do it?” 

He looked at you as if you were a madman—he himself seemed as such. It was the madness which made him continue. “Because it gave her pleasure…” Pleasure. “She wanted to feel good…give the narrator…well, me…a show.” He could not help, instinctively hanging his head down to your dress, the creases where your legs had scrunched a little together from weighing against the door. “And it was between her legs where she felt it the most.”

Every word that left Joshua’s lips brought a tinkling of delight beneath your skin—this time, with their mere mention, your thighs bunched together, eliciting the same sensation that you had felt when reading that fated account.

Because he was so close to you, he, too, felt your slight shift. As if he, too, realised the change you endured. “Can you feel it?” he whispered to you. 

You could not answer him—a nod sufficed. He shook his head slowly. “This is why I did not want to say anything…look at you.” He regarded you, in your slowly squirming glory, looking up at him in such sensational confusion his patience wore thin. Patience for what, though, he dared not say aloud.

“What is this?” you asked him, almost pleading. “What am I feeling?”

“Pleasure,” he finally answered, plain as the night that now fell over the Kwon townhouse. “And it can develop, swell into a greater feeling…” He watched you gulp at his explanation, and something wicked in him forced a quirk of his lips. “It starts down there…grows from there, travels around your body until it engulfs you…”

You could not breathe. His words were like those of a siren, intoxicating your very senses. It was so unfair—the girl in the journal was actually doing something to herself. You were being undone by mere explanation.

Your friend caught onto this realisation too, for he watched you, drank in your breaths, turning heavier with each comment. “And there is a height you will reach when you keep touching yourself, and…” Without realising, he wetted his bottom lip, and you gaped at the action, brows rising, eyes glazing over. “You run after it like a prize, should not stop…”

“Why?” you got out—or did you really? Your consciousness was a blur. 

“Because, angel, when you are at the end, there is a sensation you will feel, unlike…ah, unlike anything you have ever experienced.” His free hand joined the other side of your head, and you were caged in his presence. Strange, how you had never noticed how overwhelming his stature became when you could barely recognise your own body. 

Very carefully he lowered his head to you, mouth against your ear. “Like the critical ecstasy, into which nature spent…with excess of pleasure, dissolved and died away.”

Your breath hitched at the recitation. The man was quoting his own words. 

This had to stop. You had to stop.

The curiosity remained, as tangible as the very feeling—the critical ecstasy.

Whatever Joshua had described to you, you wanted it. Needed it. Perhaps he was teasing you, as he always did, but the weight of the words hung upon you both like chandeliers, the candle lights like prickles of these ever-encompassing emotions that threatened to take over. 

“Joshua,” you said in a low voice. 

He pulled away from you to ask you what you wished for. Then, he truly observed you, took in the connotations of your calling. Your pleading. He had a fear he did not need to ask anymore—he knew you too well. 

It was cruel of him. He felt it in his bones, but he knew that he had crossed too many boundaries. One more transgression, and everything would be done for.

If only you would stop looking at him like that.

“I want to feel it,” you uttered, barely voiced out. “Whatever she was feeling…show me.”

There it was—your life in his hands. 

There was a power to this. A man’s life consisted of many different forms of power—his birth, his titles, his estates, even the people that worked upon them. Joshua recognised his power, knew he was privileged enough to wield such influence within the ton to be written about it.

This, however, was unchartered territory. 

Not that he had not delved within women before. No, he was familiar with the workings of ladies in this circle, even from those beyond the borders of this country. How many nights he had spent, being destroyed and renewed in a decrepit lodging with forgotten souls from a different time. Joshua’s skin prickled at the memories, but nothing could have brought more stinging sensations than the words that escaped your mouth.

Tonight, in this grand study of his, courtesy of his so-called power, he was utterly void of it. He was powerless. He could not. He should not. 

This was to be the final answer. That was when you added the fatal addition.

Did not even stray from his helpless gaze as you muttered, as quiet as the air around you, “Please.” 

Please. Joshua took a mere moment to part his lips, the damned please washing over his entire body before he leaned in, weight of the world in his hanging head. 

He thought of nothing else before brushing his lips against yours. 

The flutter of a touch upon your lips was a consequence—in seconds, you were not your own, not in control of your body, when your mouth reacted without you even realising. He was moving slowly, feeling you out. Soft were his lips, but you should have known that detail already. Had you not observed them in the chandelier light, almost burned at how they shone like diamonds? 

How fortunate you were then, to have these diamonds enveloped around your mouth, accepting them, moving against his own. He was warm upon you, almost burning up, undoubtedly from the inward crisis you observed moments prior, when he nearly let you down. You sensed his approval this time, his one hand leaving the door and gently cradling your chin, angling it to deepen the kiss. Such a small action enhanced your delight, almost smiling against him. Your heartbeat was straying from your chest, thumping so loud in your ears it was all you could hear—the beating of your heart, and the cushioned sounds of his lips. 

He was everywhere. In your arms, in your mind, haunting your spirits as he slowly, ever so slowly, opened your mouth. A soft grunt finally escaped him, a sound he had buried deep within. The man himself had no realisation that he was holding such a sound in, perhaps terrified that he was enjoying himself, relishing how your lips were velvet, and his mouth sailed in the direction of your pleasure. 

The idea that you had brought such a sound out of him had your hands attempting to reach his shoulders, slithering up his arms and reaching their destination, hanging tightly on. Your lungs demanded refreshment, chest aching, but you refused to pull away, not when Joshua kissed you in such a manner. Where had you been hiding? How could you have lived in such ignorance, when Joshua offered ecstasy, provided pleasure, sipped you the holy grail of human instinct?

You wondered half-deliriously why the ladies in his journal had not been kissed often, when this was a feeling more overwhelming than any of the pages you had skimmed over. Perhaps your dear friend had consumed some addictive substance, left the remnants on his mouth before showing you what he feared. You could not get enough of him, chasing his lips, following after his lead like an obedient animal, so careful not to break the dance of rapture and have him regret it.

If only you could sneak a glance inside his mind.

Every thought in his head screamed at him to slow down. Your lips were a delicate flower, in need of a sprinkle of water for sustenance, not the entire monsoon to drown it dead. Joshua knew this, was ardently aware of it, but he could not stop himself, cease this dance with you and give you peace. Peace was not an option, not when you were languid under his hold, obliging him so well. His hands were now upon your face, cradling it as he pushed you further against the door, creaking under the pressure. 

You broke from his lips at the pressure, sucking in a breath, but he was not satisfied, pouncing upon you once more. He captured your mouth and swept away any form of speech, stealing your words and engulfing them for himself. His tongue was sliding against the seam of your lip, an invitation for more, and you wanted it. You were opening your mouth further, and he slid inside so effortlessly it had you unable to stop the groan, escaping you without realising. It was child’s play for him, finding your own and swirling it along yours like a waltz on the dance floor, a quadrille he had practised in midnight corners, and mastered without your knowledge. 

Here he was, though, carrying out the final mastery with you. Closing his lips over yours slightly, sucking on your tongue, and your lungs were expanding, heart swelling, every single organ functioning inside threatening to break down. Whining like a famished soul, your hands now clung to his face, fingers grazing his neck, and he furrowed his brows into the open-mouthed kisses, adding a pressure to his sucking which sent your very senses into overdrive. 

You thought you could do it—you genuinely believed you could have done more, perhaps begged through hungry eyes and sharp sighs to continue this dance, show you all the tricks you managed to miss. 

But then he pulled away from you, detaching his mouth from yours, hands clutching you against the door as he groaned, closing his eyes. You were panting yourself, fingers curling as they fell to his shoulders, gaping at his slack figure, rising up and down with his heavy breaths. 

He met your gaze, the heavy-lidded desire churning in your irises. You were still aflame, burning beneath every touch he ghosted on your skin—the absolute want reverating off the door he backed you against. It was insanity, truly, what his antics had done to you.

His best friend—a blubbering, panting mess before him. He did this. 

It was then, after you engulfed the world’s oxygen and finally gained some semblance of sense, that you noticed the frantic nature of his stare.

You could barely speak, an effort as you got out, “Joshua?” 

His name on your mouth. He could not help the step away, pulling away his hands, although they ached. He was backing away some more, widening his eyes, and you did not understand till he brought his fingers to his lips, spit-slick with consequences. Consequences that he brought onto you.

You reflected his actions, feeling the wet slick of your bottom lip. You wanted to feel guilty—your stomach was only set aflame once more.

“I…we…” he stopped, a hand sifting through his locks, eyes darting everywhere. “We shouldn’t have, we…”

“Joshua,” you began, because you finally found your voice—or at least some form of it. “Wait, we can—” 

“You must go,” he said instead. “No, I must go, I must…must leave…” The back of his legs bumped into the table, the very desk which the damned novels were scattered across. 

You watched his slow ruination. “You cannot leave. Soonyoung did this soirée for you.”

“Huh? Right, yes.” His head dipped down, raking through his hair as if he would find a solution within. “Shit. Shit.” 

Almost frightened, you walked over slowly to him, attempting to reach out. “Joshua, why are you—?”

“_____, listen to me.” His finger pointed to you—the door you were sagging against, moments prior. “You must go this instance. If someone found us like this, it could…” a ragged sigh. “No, I cannot go into it now, I…I know this sounds suspicious, sudden, I understand but…” 

You could have taken his word, but he was frantic, and your best friend was never frantic. “Did I do something?” 

The question had his spirits dampening even further. “No, no, of course not. I did.” 

And then he was walking towards you—stepping past you when you thought he was going to something, something you were not certain of, but scared could have happened. “I shall call you a carriage,” he declared, more to himself than the person he was supposed to carry this out for. “You slip out after I am downstairs.” 

He was about to leave the study, but he was stopped—he glanced at your hand, wrapping around his forearm. His gaze climbed upwards to settle on your face, still exposing uncertainty at his change. “Joshua.”

Joshua. His name on your lips once more. He could only ask you one question. “Do you trust me, _____?” 

You looked back at him, your grip tightening. What the two of you had done was beyond your understanding. No novel could have articulated your feelings just then, expressed the turmoil that reigned inside you. You had experienced your first kiss, a little more with a man you thought was beyond your fingertips, and now he wished to run away from it all.

What you should have done was hold on—but you trusted him. He was, after everything, your dearest friend.

A nod sufficed, enough for him. When you loosened your grip, he stayed for a beat longer, drinking in the trust you promised you held, washing it over his own frenzy before he offered you a smile.

He slipped away from the study, and everything that occurred within it. 

You could not close the door fast enough, swivelling around and sagging against the wood. Feeling your legs buckle, you let yourself slump to your feet, your gown bunching around you, cushioning your fall. He left, but your heart still thundered. Battering against your ribcage, begging to be set free and end the madness that stirred, because you still had no idea, no conception of what had just happened, and what could have happened. 

Whatever questions bombarded your soul, only one remained the most prevalent. 

What in God’s name just happened?

JOSHUA HAD BEEN AVOIDING YOU SINCE THAT FATED INCIDENT.

Countless times you had called upon him, only to be met with no reply. You had first assumed he was occupied with settling business, considering he had arrived recently into town, but after a week of continued silence, your concern had overshadowed logic. You were determined to search him out. 

He had never given you silence—even when he was journeying across the Continent, he updated you through his detailed letters, pinpointing every city he had stayed a night in, every important figure he had dined with, Hell, even confided his moments of embarrassment. It was not like him to keep himself from you. It was not in his nature to run away from you. 

What he had done was an act of cowardice—and Joshua Hong was not a coward. 

No, he was not one of the faint-hearted, especially in the beginning of what happened in that study. He was not in a coward when he indulged your curiosity, not when he was gifted you a kiss—kisses like that. If Joshua Hong was a coward, then the entirety of the ton deserved humiliation for its timidity. 

You decided to damn a little societal etiquette, informing your maid that she was to accompany you, not bothering to pass this information onto your parents. Not that it mattered much, since your mother was entertaining a few of her friends, and your father was not in the city anyway. 

Down the familiar roads you hurried, your poor chaperone urging you to slow down as you narrowly avoided the rush of the carriages, spooked horses neighing as you crossed the road. You lifted your skirts up to keep the hem clean of the wet gunge of concrete, mud and puddles of rain mingling on the cobblestone streets. The terraced houses of Mayfair were recognisable anywhere, and because you were fortunate enough to live close to your dear friend, the trip lasted a little more than five minutes. As you tread the steps up to the Hong bachelor lodgings, though, you caught the notion that perhaps Joshua may have resided in the Diamond Club lodgings. Then your nervousness returned, rising when the grand doors opened, and the butler answered. 

“Is his Lordship present?” you asked, and nearly sighed with relief when the man nodded, leading you inside. “Don’t mind me, I know my way.” You turned to your maid, raising a hand before her. “You stay here. I will be back soon.”

You did not wait for her objections as you sped into the halls of the house, ignoring the European finery on the walls, turning your right where your ears caught familiar voices, conversing in whispers in the drawing room. Hearing a particular hushed tone had your nervousness replaced with a newfound agitation. 

Now the convention was to announce the guest to the people already present in the house. Because there was no servant you allowed to follow you, you sauntered into the room, stopping before the doorway.

There he was. Joshua, as akin to a perfect gentleman as he always presented himself, clad in white and cream-coloured clothing. His one leg folded over the other as he looked to Soonyoung, who was contrasting his palette, adorning browns and blacks as he sipped on his beverage. The two men turned their heads at the interruption, and both widened their eyes. 

One was most excited, grinning at your appearance. The other—the one you sought out—shot up from his seat, as if struck by lightning. 

“Gentlemen,” you greeted, icy enough that Soonyoung scrunched his nose at it, instantly setting his teacup upon the side table. 

“Did someone tie your corset too tight this morning?” was his response. He then glanced at his friend. “Why are you standing up all of a sudden?”

His question was not answered. Joshua was too occupied with staring at you, not quite believing your presence—at his bachelor lodgings, of all places. 

You could only stare back. You meant to be more cold in your gaze, but the moment your eyes locked, it was as if the memories had come back. If your thoughts felt bold in your environment, then they ran wild in unfamiliar territory. Memories of that night came rushing like a burst dam, each little flash of the pages, the heated words, Joshua’s lips, burning into your mind. 

A rushed exhale escaped your lips. Your friend’s eyes darted to see that ragged breath escape you. That gaze on your mouth had threatened to stop your breathing entirely. 

You wished he would stop looking at you. 

Soonyoung interrupted the heavy silence with a click of his tongue. “What is wrong with the both of you?”

It was almost comical how you and Joshua flinched simultaneously at his question. “Nothing,” he answered, still staring at you. “To what do I owe this…” He licked his lips, as if remembering the significance of the word. “This pleasure?”

Pleasure. Your heart skipped a beat. “You, um…” A momentary glance at Soonyoung, who watched you both like a hawk. “I was just, um…just down the street, actually. Around the corner.”

“Oh.” Joshua nodded most diligently, as if you had shared invaluable information to him. “How…fascinating.”

“Indeed.”

The third party gaped at you two in horror. “Are you both hearing yourself?” he asked, aghast at the interaction. “It is as if observing a couple courting each other for the first time.”

That very idea had your cheeks burning. “Stop saying such stupid things,” you snapped at the poor man. “Joshua and I would not possibly be courting!”

The over-exaggeration of such a claim had Soonyoung raising a brow. “And why is that so impossible for you to imagine?”

“Because!” you exclaimed, and you made the mistake of glancing at the man accused. “Because…”

Joshua had the nerve to tilt his head, waiting. “Because?”

Scoffing out, you tried to answer him with anything. Anything to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. “Because you are my friend. Friends do not court and become…more than…”

“Friends?” he offered, watching you intently. He had schooled his face into neutrality before, but you were certain of his interest now, the way he quirked his brow, his hand resting on the top of the chair. 

Because you were lost for words, you merely nodded. His stare a little too much, you looked away, catching Soonyoung’s confusion enhanced. He finished his tea, rising from his ornate seating as he set his judgement upon you two. “I do not know why you both are acting so ridiculously,” he declared, dusting his hands together, “But you need to sort it out amongst yourselves. Your silences have a…” He made a peculiar face. “An unnerving energy.”

Nodding his head to Joshua, he made his way over to you, clutching your hand in adieu. “Do not think I won’t interrogate you on this,” he whispered to you, and left the room before you could react. 

Not that any of his threats would have mattered, when he was not there anymore. The only barrier, completely disappeared. It was only you and Joshua—alone. 

The very notion had your gaze flickering towards him. He was already looking, a certain helplessness in his usually easy manner that had you forgetting why you stormed in here in the first place—almost. 

“_____.”

Damn him. His name on your lips made you remember how he pleaded it that very night. “Joshua,” you responded, in the very same manner so he could not forget that night either.

It seemed as if he did not. “I meant to call on you,” he began, but your scoff cut him off.

“You have ignored me instead,” you remarked, because you refused to let him slip away. “I wrote to you countless times.”

“I know,” he said, nodding to acknowledge his mistake. “I meant to respond, truly, but…I admit, I have been preoccupied.” 

“Preoccupied?” You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed. “What urgent matters stopped you from responding to a few letters? My letters?” 

He was in a stupor, as if secluding into his own mind. You thought he was not going to answer, but then the words slipped out. “Thinking, actually. I was doing a lot of thinking.” When he saw that was not good enough for you, he sighed, a large, heavy exhale that held a few reservations—regrets. “You will laugh at me for it, _____, but this thinking was for you. I was thinking for you.” A pause. “I was thinking of you.”

You did not move. Joshua was thinking of you; this would not have been so extraordinary a week prior, but now it meant something entirely different. 

His words in the study crept into the crevices of your mind, and you fought to keep your face straight. “And what did you find in your thoughts for me?”

He locked his hands behind his back. “Those things we did, back in my study…” He cleared his throat, as if the next words were an effort to bring to the surface. “They should not have been done. I should not have done them to you.” 

A blink. “What?” you got out, confusion joining your disarray of emotions. 

“It was dishonourable, what I did,” he continued. “You were unaware, and I should have left it like that. I mean, even the letters you sent, you were frantic. It was my doing, was it not?” You could not believe what he uttered from that very mouth you kissed not so long ago, more so when he said the next words. “For that, I must apologise.”

An apology. Your dearest friend showed you sacred knowledge, satisfaction to an unknown temptation, treasure of the highest order, and he was sorry for it. 

It was enough to enrage you. 

“Why in God’s name are you apologising?” you demanded, thundering towards him. “Why are you taking all the blame like a foolish martyr?” The man made to reason with you, but you refused to let him speak, carrying on in your agitation. “Was it not I who asked you? Was it not I who asked you what those feelings were, begged you to show me what it felt like?” 

You made sure he was looking at you as you faced him, grave and earnest. “It was my fault. I was the one curious. I should apologise.”

He clenched his jaw then. What had you done to be giving him apologies? It tore at the seams of his heart, like he was aware of a crime he had committed, but watched another suffer the punishment. 

No, to hell with that—what crime had the two of you committed?

The reminder of such crimes came rushing through his mind, encircling his brain like an infectious disease, threatening to engulf him whole. The reminders, made from your lips, which moulded so perfectly with his that he exhaled a little at the notion, your heightened whispers in the darkness of his study. He had not stepped foot in that damned room since that night—a ridiculous approach, he was quite aware—but every time he attempted it, fingers at the handle, he would hear its creaks from your weight, pressed up against the wood by his hands. If objects could speak, then they would shame the men and women that used them for their passions.

But you were his friend, and nothing you had done with him was worth shaming over. In truth, it was just a kiss. 

“Joshua?” 

Receiving only a blink back had you narrowing your eyes at him. “You have nothing to say after that?”

He clamped his lips together, thinking for a moment. “_____, I need you to never apologise to me again.”

You ticked your head, puzzled. “But—”

“No, I am serious. You were merely curious. And I…” He sighed. “Well, I suppose I satiated it.” 

Or rather, he hoped he did. Judging by your changing expression, those hopes seemed to falter. “Or did I not…?”

“N-no!” you rebuked, but then you closed your mouth, setting it in a thin line. “I mean, I still have questions.”

The man paused. “Oh.” 

Of course. Of bloody course you had questions, because of course it cannot be one encounter in a darkened room, and then a forgotten memory. God, why was it you, of all the people he knew, in that study?

His thoughts were exposed upon his face, causing you to raise your hands. “No, no, if it is troublesome, then I will not bother you. I would have inquired with Soonyoung, but…”

Their mutual friend being brought up had Joshua’s collar feeling too tight. “Why would you go to him when you asked me?”

You sighed then, a little helpless. “Because you have a problem with telling me.”

He would have argued otherwise, but you were right, and it was eating him from the inside. He wanted to be nonchalant about it, completely incurious. You were his most cherished companion, though, and so nonchalance was non-existent. It was impossible, in this situation, to be normal. 

You crossed your arms, looking to the ornate side-table where Soonyoung left his half-empty tea. “I suppose I can…find out on my own?”

A furrow of his groomed brows. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You clearly do not want me sharing this…dilemma with anyone, and since you are as useful as Soonyoung when drunk, I have no other choice.” 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slightly, not quite believing the words that came from his mouth. “I mean…how will you find out?”

“Well, I am unsure, but have I not always figured it out?” You gripped onto your arms tighter. “This time, though, it seems I will not have you to help me.”

He would have let the comment slide had you not uttered your next admission. 

“It is as if…you shy away from it as if you did not enjoy what happened that night.”

Oh. My God. 

Joshua’s change of character was shocking—exhilarating, you realised with a start, as his eyes darkened. “What did you say to me?”

Your mouth was parted, answer always ready. “Is it not true? You ignored me, hid away from me, and refused to help me further. All the tell-tale signs that you hated what happened?”

Hated. The man could have combusted at such an accusation. 

Hatred was only the emotion he felt towards himself, a punishment for the emotions you incited out of him that night. To hate what happened between you and him, though…That would be like animals hating the nature that fed them. To hate what he did to you, what he showed you, would be akin to a scholar hating knowledge. 

Joshua was no scholar, though, and he had no great knowledge. But the knowledge you sought, from him, of all humble learners…he reckoned he was being rewarded for a good deed, long forgotten.

By God, he will savour whatever reward he was offered. 

“Listen to me, _____. I have thought about our kiss for every waking moment since it happened.”

He took a step forward. “I did not want to, because we are friends…but alas, it is the truth. I was not going to tell you…if it makes me immature, or selfish, I do not know, but to hear you think that I—” 

A scoff escaped him, and you felt the rush of air on your lips. “I cannot have that. I cannot let you think I despised something I—I enjoyed.”

Your question was quick—unintentional. “Enjoyed?”

He did not even need to answer you—you could see it in his gaze. “If I told you the extent of my enjoyment, you would think me a monster.”

What that statement should have done was unnerve you. There was only a strange thrill, humming beneath your skin. “Then do not tell me. Show me.”

Joshua’s brows quirked upward, as if disbelieving this newfound curiosity in you. He glanced at the entrance—no servants in sight. “Do you believe you could withstand it?”

“A few heated kisses?” you tilted your head, gaze falling to his mouth. “I shall be fine this time.”

But he was shaking his head, twisting his lips in a smile you had never noticed before. “No…no, dearest, what I will show you today will be something different.”

He held his hand out—the proposition offered. “If you are still seeking my help, of course.”

You stared at his hand, the soft palm, the fingers which had enclasped yours countless times in the years between you both. This was a hand you had held onto more than any other. This time, though, there would be a change. You could feel it in the air, the space—or lack, thereof—around you two. Clasping the hand now would cement this change.

Would you want that? Shift the dimensions of your friendship forever?

Perhaps you should have pondered over it more; truly endeavoured through the implications, but you could hear his heated whispers once more, urging you to accept. His voice. Your best friend was silent, but his voice was everywhere. 

This was already changed—there was no going back. 

You brought your hand out, grasping onto his own and shaking it. You did not let go, though, because you felt his purpose thrumming in his fingers as, with a tug, he set off, taking you with him. 

Through the halls you strolled, Joshua letting a few servants know that he was not to be disturbed. With anyone else, the people would have raised a few eyebrows, because what does their master wish to do with a lady unchaperoned? It was a topic which could incite a great scandal, but, once again, your friendship saved you and him. You wondered, heart beating a little faster, how many times you would escape such treachery on the grounds of your bond with the man that led you up his grand staircase, further into the cushioned halls, into unchartered territory. 

He brought you inside his private study, closing the door behind you. This room was different—granted, that specific study was in Soonyoung’s domain, a space reserved for his friend, but not many people had ventured here. Not that you knew of. 

Joshua took a deep breath. “Before we do anything,” he began, “I must set a few rules.”

“Rules?” you repeated, furrowing your brow. “Whatever for?”

He set himself on a little pace, walking to the end of the room. As he turned, returning to the place he first entered, he said, “You see, there are certain…ministrations…we are about to do which may not be welcomed.” He paused again, as if mulling over the words. “There was a reason I asked you not to confide in Soonyoung. You see, it is not just him. We cannot tell anyone of this.”

In fairness, you had already assumed you could not speak of your heated kiss with a single soul. Although in your heart, it was the truest action you had carried out, you wondered whether the ton would agree with you—how Lady Whistledown would chastise your name for it. 

“I understand,” you said. 

He looked at you, a little relieved. “Good.” He dipped his head, locks hanging. “Very…very good.” The pacing was back. “As you are aware, we did less than what you read. You asked me what…what the girl was doing.”

There it was again—the stillness of your heart, your soul. “Yes…and you said she was touching herself.” 

His movements hit a lapse—only for a moment. “Right.” He resumed once more. “Do you have any questions regarding that?

You could not understand how he was even able to move, when you were rendered frozen. “I do not want explanations, Joshua.”

Finally, finally he stopped, full focus on you, hands locked behind his back. Still, all this restraint. “Then what do you want?”

What do you want? Even you could not comprehend the extent of it. You wanted to feel as the girl did in the novel—you wanted to experience the critical ecstasy, the full extent of the pleasure described. You wanted to do the things she had committed, hidden away or for everyone to witness. You did not care how it happened, but you wanted it done to you. 

It was as if your dearest friend could see it on your face—painted explicitly on your features, curiosity staining the ignorance. 

“Go on. I want you to say it.”

You tugged your bottom lip with your teeth, suddenly flustered. “You cannot expect me to say it all!” 

One step forward. “Whyever not?”

Your cheeks burned. “It feels…” You rubbed your hands on your dress, needing to do something because this was becoming awkward, tensioned. It was already unbearable, his magnetic presence, suddenly too large for you in this study. Damned studies. “It feels so…dirty.”

“Dirty?” He tilted his head. “How come it feels that way?”

A purse of your lips. “You know my reasoning.” 

Of course he knew. He read your every verse of nervousness, etched into your eyes like agonised poetry. He had hoped—would have prayed, even, that your hesitance would have faded behind closed doors. Would have faded with only him in the room.

He said so. “You do not have to be so…you know…modest around me.” He took a careful step—always so careful around you, this man. “I am aware that this is new, but you know you can place your confidence in me.”

And now you knew, because out of every ambiguity in this dreadful city, the man before you was the sole certain aspect within. Of course you could trust him. You, however, could not trust your mouth to work. So, you were silent—twiddling your thumbs like a fool, a deer caught by the hunter, and frozen still to accept its fate. 

Except Joshua would never allow you to accept that, so he took hold of the reins. “Look, I will not push you to do anything…that you can be certain of.” He walked over to you, finally in front of you, and you looked up at him, taking in the earnestness of his expression. “But I will request something from you, a question I always ask.” 

His hand reached out to clasp your wrist, raising it to his waist-coated chest. Even with the layers, you could almost feel his distant beating of his heart—evenly thudding beneath his luxurious clothing. How fortunate, that he was capable of such serenity, when you were made of heightened nerves at that moment.

“Do you trust me, angel?”

Oh, you were envious of his ease. You fought with yourself to uphold his stare. “Of course.” 

He tightened his hold on your hand. “Good,” he said, and when his mouth closed, skimming his gaze over your face, you could have looked away. Where was your ferocity, so ardent then now disappearing completely under his scrutiny? 

Joshua could see it—the pinnacle of virtue, a beacon of ignorance. It was enough for him to expose a mere phantom smile at the thought as, you bracing yourself, he leaned in, brushing his lips with yours. 

It was like that fateful night all over again. You could not have accepted him fast enough, your enthusiasm clear as your other hand slid upwards, fingers anchoring themselves to his face, his skin soft, his skin warm, warmer the longer you held on. Your figure moulded against his own as he snaked his hand around your waist, pulling you in closer to him, every crevice of your body lined perfectly alongside himself. Perfect—that was what this all was to you, the excitement of his mouth moving upon yours, the sensation of his hand skirting along your back, the feeling of his heartbeat rising with every lingering moment. You could have smiled at that. 

Wanted to, but he was opening your mouth, and his tongue was already sliding along your lips, a request to venture inside, welcome itself back into familiar territory. You were accepting his touches like a woman starved, his tongue replenishing the famished domain of your mouth. Your desperation seeped through the seams—you had not forgotten the sensations he evoked the week before, but the experience had amplified your stained curiosity. 

Now that you were offered a taste, a mere sliver was not enough. You wanted more. 

Joshua could sense everything. He was not a mind reader of any sorts, but it was his fortune that he understood you in every aspect. The soft noises that slipped from your mouth at every turn of his tongue against yours, his hand freeing your wrist and gripping your face…the urgency shocked and delighted you at the same time. 

He thought he was fine, a picture of tranquility—he had done this enough times to envisage it in his mind. By God, he would be questioned for these sins, every night of immorality pocketed in each corner of the continent. 

You, however…when it was you, it was different. With you, it was another semblance of pride, more than a mere achievement to mark in his memories. He broke away from your mouth for a second, an inch away from you as he collected his breath—an inch too far. “Tell me…tell me how you feel,” he whispered, ringing in your ears like a fevered revelation.

You wished to answer him. Truly you attempted, but he made it so hard, turning his attention to the corners of your lips, peppering heated little kisses, bursts of feverish pleasure setting your skin aflame. How many fires did he intend to light? How many flames did he wish to spread along the goosebumps on your skin, until you were ashes in his hands, swept away by his mouth? He would never answer such questions, though, when he occupied himself with sprinkling your neck with the remnants of his lips.

Even uttering his name was a challenge. “J-Joshua, I…” your heavy exhales took over, your very body led solely by his charge. The supposed leader, the benevolent leader, allowed you a break of speech by robbing you of it completely, pressing his lips over yours and chasing after you once more. 

What was it that the woman felt in his journal? You scrambled at your lust-filled mind to remember the feeling as you read the pages, all those nights ago. Yes, you wanted to feel the indescribable high, the pleasure reverating off your skin like humidity off cobblestone streets in the summer. 

“I-I want to feel like her…” you strived for specificity, anything which made sense in this bubble of bliss. “To feel good, the ecstasy…” 

“Hmm…” he could only say, latching onto a particular spot on your neck which had you seeing stars upon the study ceiling. They rotated, following after your movements with every tug backward by his hands. You did not know where he was taking you, but when your shins felt the bump of the couch, situated at the back of the room, you sucked in a breath at the impact. 

You did not realise what was about to happen until you felt his gentle hands push you into the plush setting, and your breath whooshed out of you as your head fell on the pillows, cushioning your slight fall. Instinctively your hands flew to grasp at the lapels of his waistcoat, the grip making him pause. 

“W-wait, Joshua, a moment,” you got out. Watching him blink back at your voice, utterly lost in his lovebitten creations, had you regretting you stopped him. “Why are we…” 

He watched you sputter for words, the gleam in his eyes only darkening as he began to position himself above you. His hand roamed down your dress, fingers catching its hem and slowly lifted it further from your legs. “Did you not want this?” he merely asked, feigning the same innocence you had genuinely exposed minutes prior. “I only follow your request.” 

You wished to respond to him, but then you felt his fingers skim against your thighs, your dress bunched to the waist, and gasped at the exposed skin, just above where your stockings ended. “Oh…” 

“You must tell me, angel,” he said, his other hand resting behind your head, his body tilting on his side, resting next to you. His fingers roamed dangerous territory. “I cannot know what you want if you are silent.” 

Nodding absentmindedly, you parted your mouth, sighs turning heavier the closer he crept to the centre. “Yes…yes, this is what I want…” Your skin tingled with every ghost of a touch, the butterfly brush of his fingers. 

“Good…excellent.” His fingers stretched out, tugging your legs open to provide a little space, exposing your cunt before him. He made to speak, but catching the sight of something so private—so intimate—had his brain shutting down, sinking into the depths of his own sensations. 

His reaction to seeing you so exposed had you biting your lip. “Joshua?” you got out, a meagre attempt to catch his attention. 

Another beat and he blinked back, staring at you. “Forgive me,” he mumbled, taking one of your hands which clung to his waistcoat. “I am…ah, it is very hard to be…” he stopped himself, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “You said you wanted me to show you, yes?”

When you hurriedly nodded, he brought your hand, which he clutched still; slowly, he guided it to the apex of your thighs, stopping just before the final destination. He heard the bated breaths sputtering out of your mouth, and he snuck a glance at you, the heavy-lidded lust and nervousness, mixing rather unfortunately together.

“_____,” he said, catching your attention. “It’ll be wonderful. I promise.” 

It was simple, but enough to believe him. When you offered a small smile, he took it as reassurance, and spread his hand over the back of yours, folding your ring and pinkie over his own. 

Then, with a final moment of pause, he moved past the final boundary. 

It was your fingers, first, that slipped past your thighs.Your breathing hitched as they teased against your entrance, skimming slowly along your slit. He collected the arousal which pooled at the apex, mouth agape from your reaction. 

By God, you were soaked for him.

The very image, and the prolonging idea of what was to continue, had the man exhaling sharply. Even now, he could see in your gaze. You were so unaware of your own responses, your body’s hurried joy as it begged for your fingers—his fingers—to delve in further. 

He could sense your hastiness. The urgency to thrust your fingers inside, fully delve into the origins of pleasure you read of, but your impulse had to be soothed. Recklessness only brought disaster—which you would have learned had Joshua allowed you to read the full extent of his travels. 

But that would never happen, and so he had to show you himself. “Careful,” he whispered in a low hush, his own hand restricting your hold. “You’ll hurt yourself.” 

You looked up at him, wide-eyed and waiting for guidance. “Show me then.” 

The request—and the sight of your slight helplessness—had his breeches tightening. “As you wish,” he rasped out, gaining control of your fingers once more. He raised them slightly higher, away from your arousal, which pooled further the longer he made you wait. 

Your tight-roped patience was heavily rewarded as, when the pads of your fingers were led to your clit, a gasp flew out of you, completely unexpected. 

There it was. The reaction Joshua waited for—did not realise he was anticipating. 

The shuddered breathing, the frantic gaze, darting first to him, and then down to the intertwined fingers. He saw in your expression, the recognition of the feeling you experienced as you read his writing…there was a familiar understanding, and a strange thrill swept over his skin, goosebumps clear evidence of his anticipation. He swayed the tips of your digits over your clit, rubbing in a languid, lazy motion, and the sheer pleasure that radiated off an action so simple had you restraining a whine, clamping your lips together to resemble some form of sanity. 

He observed your attempts to contain yourself—always the one to uphold a certain decorum, attain any modicum of decency. “You’re being shy…even now?” another circle of your fingers around your clit, and your mouth parted, gaping at him. “No one’s watching us…” his eyes darted to where his hand laboured at your core. “Just you and me.” 

You knew that—you knew that fact, but it was as if he revealed some shocking information, the manner in which you reacted. Just you and me. You and him—and the madness that built between your legs. 

This frenzy was only furthered by his guidance, the slow form of his hand quickening just a little, elation striking down your thighs. The soft moans, lodged within your throat before, bubbled to the surface of your mouth, and the leash of your restraint was thinning, cracking enough to let the sound escape. It was a pure, unadulterated incentive for him, your moans like the beginnings of an orchestra, a symphony no one had the privilege to listen to. “Yes, angel, just like that,” he murmured, a smirk as light as a feather ghosting his lips. “Don’t want you hiding anything.” 

Your brows scrunched together, the focus drifting the more you two continued, progressing in a certain pace which had the strangest, most mysterious sensation creeping over you. You could not comprehend its origins, but the feeling blossomed within your core, encircling out around your cunt, slowly taking over your sanity.

He watched the whole scene, completely dumbfounded by the show he was offered. It was not as if he had never witnessed such a state before—you yourself had read the passages of his heated observations, the women in cities showing him scenes of lust in their domains. 

You, however, were not trained in the art of chasing the thrill. You were not exposed to the sheer skill of igniting pleasure in another, had not seen the darker corners of what this city—what every city offered, but was never shown to ladies like you. Despite all that, there you were, circling the bundle of nerves, heightening the already tensioned spot all on your own, stuttering breaths fighting amongst broken groans.

It was what had his hold loosening on your own, your hand having no troubles figuring out the process. He gaped at your every move, your every attempt to follow what he had done, trying so ardently to match what he had begun. He needed pause, time to freeze upon this very moment. Had no one advanced within inventions enough to create something, anything to capture this image of panting beauty before him?

Because you were—you were a culmination of everything good, everything pure before him. 

Now the man did not originally anticipate adding another prospect within this situation; seeing the raw delight staining your features—delight he had kindled upon your face—had him unable to keep full restraint. 

You wanted to be shown what that feeling was. That evening, Joshua would show it to you. 

So, as he watched you work your clit, he let his own fingers spiral downward, along the edges of your slit. “J-Joshua,” you got out, because his name was the sole term left on your tongue—the only comprehensible word which managed to stay in your mind. 

“I know, angel,” was all he said, the pads of his digits swiping up your arousal, pooled further by your ministrations, his guidance. You seethed at the touches, his brushes against parts of you so sensitive already. “Feels good, does it not?”

You wished to answer him—truly, you did, but his finger slipped past your folds, sliding oh, so slowly inside you, and the heightened whine which he arose out of you had his mouth almost watering. 

He knew why, of course—your reaction was a feast for his eyes. A banquet for his famished gaze, especially as he had not comprehended quite how hungry he became. He watched you squirm around him, more so when he bottomed out to the knuckle, he matching every furrow of your brow, every gasped part of your mouth with a satisfied scoff. 

“You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, and before you could nod, he began to slide out. Your broken groan had him chuckling softly, igniting a bonfire within you. “Thought so…oh, I know you so—” his finger was at your entrance again, a second being teased as it stroked at your slit— “I know you so well.”

And in slithered the second finger along with the first, your eyes flying to catch the satisfaction glimmering upon his face. Oh, he was filling you to the brim, your walls pulsating around him, eliciting sounds you had never thought capable of making. He commenced a rhythm as he did with his first, pulling out to the tip, only to snake back in, always a little faster than the previous time.

It was an intoxication, unthinkable to a humble mind as yourself. You were at his complete disposal—as if he was a magical entity, and you were a mere follower, attending to his every order. You could not stray your crumbling stares from him, heightened whimpers brokering from your lips, and he could only watch.

And watch Joshua did—could not do anything else, staring at you as if you were an Olympus-sent goddess bestowed upon him for finishing a heavenly task. He had read such poetry before, frivolous verses of immature gods pursuing poor nymphs or celestial creatures. You, however, were of another dimension, a completely different world—if he was an immature god, he, too, would not be able to help himself, just as he could not at that moment. 

So he carried on, mastering the progression he knew so well. The intensity down under was at an all-time high, your fingers, his fingers joining in some cruel alliance to bring about your undoing. “Look at you,” he rasped out, taking such delight from your trembling. “You are  enjoying this, no?” 

How could he have expected you to answer—you were a mess of whimpers before him. In the lust-haze of your mind, perhaps you thought he relished the show. You confirmed it when his lips were alight with a smirk. “I won’t lie to you, but—” he cut himself off, curling his fingers inside you, reaching a certain spot that sent you in a complete frenzy. “Fuck, I shouldn’t enjoy this so much.” 

“Joshua,” you finally got out, chanting his name like a final prayer. “This feeling, th-this…God, I feel so—”

“I know, I know,” he murmured, never stopping his work, “it’ll only get better.” 

And better it did, when, with the final slipping in and out of your cunt, the overwhelming feeling that plagued you since you collided your mouth with his took over, courtesy of his fingers. 

It was uncontrollable, completely unsalvageable. That delirious, disordered cacophony buzzing within your core was finally freed as, with a harsh gush of breath, you finally let go. The leash of your patience snapped, and the release that overcame you was nothing you could have ever fathomed. 

Joshua had told you that night in Soonyoung’s study, that this pinnacle moment would be unlike anything you had ever experienced. He was right.

Your friend could only admire your heightened, frenzied reaction as he slowed his fingers inside you, working through your release. When he saw your slow, laboured blinking, the shuddering breaths softening, he finally slipped out of you, observing the slick of his two fingers.

A small part of him wanted to suck the remnants of you off his skin—have a taste of the pleasure he kindled.

By God—he did this to you. 

There was a long pause, the study silent save for your ragged exhales, before you fought to say something amongst your disarray of emotions. “I…What was that, Joshua?” 

The said-man looked at you, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “That was what you wanted me to show you, angel.” 

You could not believe it. “But I…what was that feeling…at the end?” 

Oh. “That…” he first thought to be more implicit—beat around the bush of the topic. Then he realised his hand was stained from your arousal, and decided to be more honest. “That, _____, was an orgasm. You experience it when you pleasure yourself. The critical ecstasy…as I promised.” 

The reference to his journal had you short-circuiting. “Do you experience them too?” 

His mouth dropped open—realising he looked a fool, he cleared his throat, fighting to uphold your gaze. “Yes, well…if a lady can, then a gentleman cannot be robbed of it.” 

Without thinking your eyes dropped to his trousers. “Are you robbing yourself of it now, though?”

It took every muscle in his body not to gawk at you outright. He could not tell you this truth for obvious reasons. At that moment, it was not about him, or his satisfaction. This entire evening was about you. 

So he only smiled at you, bringing your shift down, dress bunching less as he spread it over your legs. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said. “Set your concerns on what you want to ask me next.” 

“I will think on it,” you responded, mind still in a daze as you pushed yourself off the cushions. “Tell me one thing, though. That was not…you know…everything, right?” 

He held back a chuckle at your question—such ignorance, even now. 

Clicking his tongue, he pinned you with a stare which held opportunity—a promise for more. “We have barely touched the surface.” 

YOU WONDERED HOW HUMAN BEINGS WERE CAPABLE OF SUCH EUPHORIC FEELING. 

It may have felt celestial, in a sense, but it was all your senses experienced in the next fortnight. Your every secret rendezvous with Joshua had you floating among the skies, the very stars within reach with his every touch on your skin. Since the incident in his study, it was all you could ponder; your tutoring was a menial task, always forgotten, trips to the modiste now an inconvenient excursion. Your body anticipated every moment you could spend searching for your dear friend, seeking him out either in your every waking moment, or in the sanctuary of your dreams.

Your face flushed hot with the actions that occurred as you slept, fingers involuntarily brushing your lips. God, his lips, moving against yours, like two perfect hands enveloping in a fervent greeting. His mouth was a ship, and your skin was the undiscovered sea, his fingers like tidal waves, caressing the shores of your desire. He was a sailor with ambition, and you could not stop yourself, being slowly taken over by his motives. 

You thought you knew him—his beliefs, each of his dreams and every one of his thoughts. You were so sure of him, so certain, but this one piece of knowledge had shattered any image of perfection you had created of him.

It took every morsel of your strength not to dunk your head completely within the water, hands gripping tighter to the copper tub in the middle of your bathroom. The water was colder now, scalding hot when you first dipped in, but the hours had ticked by, and you were still inside, ruminating over your visitor. Even your servant reminded you of the time you had spent in complete silence, writhing quietly in the same position, but you merely nodded, unable to think of anything else. 

You needed more time to brace yourself, see. This morning you received the news that Viscount Hastings was to visit. Ordinary news, of course, since he had committed to seeing you at least once a week your entire life. Your dear friend admitted shame that you constantly reached out first, and sought to reverse this. Before, you would have been ecstatic by this slight change—this time, it only incited chaos.

The flannel on the side of the tub dried by the time you grabbed hold of it, intending to clean the grime of your pondering. It was irrational, you were aware, but the reflections—the visions of his lips on yours were so vivid you were sullied by the mere thought. You brought the cloth to your shoulders, your legs, and each rough swipe was replaced by the rugged brushes of his hands on your body. 

But he was not there. It was only you and your lifelike anarchy, shaped in the form of Joshua. Joshua Hong, the clean-cut, spotlessly reputed gentleman, that tarnished your very manner of thinking.

Despite everything, he was still faultless in your eyes. He was, more so after you sought out his secret, most when he offered you a shilling of his wealth. He would always be, even as you heaved yourself out of your bath, let your maid change you into your evening garments, hoping that it was your friend’s fingers tying the ribbons along your back. Even as you finally greeted him, he ushering himself into your private chamber, the new reading he had promised to conquer alongside you in hand. 

Even now, with him not a mere foot from you, leaning back as he read an anthology of contemporary plays, he was perfection itself. As always, he was permitted to visit you in your private rooms, settling himself comfortably in the ornate couches just opposite your four-poster bed. He hoped to show you more special-edition novels he had collected in different corners of Europe.

You had only nodded absent-mindedly at him, taking the book he offered. Before, you had never paid mind to how he sauntered into your bedroom, even allowed to explore your private sphere, reside in it without your parents’ rage. Your mother did find it strange one time, but your adamance in your friendship with him tarnished any of her concerns. How comical, you thought, that he sat there now, you knowing he had stolen the breaths from your lips—God, he had his fingers sliding in places that speaking of them shamed a woman forever. 

You wondered whether he was aware of how ardently he had changed your life.

“Blake not diverting enough for you?” 

Perking up at his voice, you observed his comfortable stance, turning the page of his book. “I told you Wordsworth is much better. Blake is dismal for your countenance…I cannot read him without weeping for London.” 

But you did not care for the city you resided in at that moment. “What are you reading, then?”

He held the anthology out—Odes to a Love Lost, by Lord Jeon, Earl of Lonsdale. “Wonwoo’s work. His publisher’s released a collector’s edition of his poetry and plays.”

“Lord Jeon? I do not see him around much,” you admitted, closing your novel, your pointer finger marking your current page. “I did not realise he released something new.”

“On the contrary,” he said, skimming over the contents. “This is simply another edition of his older works. Even I rarely have the chance to meet him, and he is supposed to be my closest companion.” 

“At the Diamond’s, right? I remember Soonyoung complaining that he does not attend much.” 

Joshua clicked his tongue. “He prefers to surround himself with trees and melancholy over his friends.” 

“Perhaps his certain friends are a bore,” you teased, setting Blake’s collection to the side, “and his estate animals offer better company.” 

“Yet you happen to be in that certain friend’s tedious company,” he sneered, sliding his cool gaze to you. “Why have you not run from me?”

Now there was a question you could not answer. You decided, instead, to test him another way. “The real fault has to lie within the establishment itself. Perhaps if I were to see inside, find the problem—”

“It is astonishing how unwilling you are to give this up,” Joshua cut you off, marking his own reading with a finger. “You realise I refuse to let you sneak inside?” 

“I still do not understand, though!” you exclaimed. “All I ask is one day of distracting your friends, and let me roam around.”

“What I do not understand is your obsession with the club,” he countered, turning to fully face you. “What do you want to see so desperately that you ask me every time it is mentioned?” 

“It is the not knowing which makes me curious, Joshua!” You decided to reflect his action, even folding your legs beneath you as you sat on them, straightening before him. “I mean, a gentlemen’s club, exclusive to any women? Surely there is something interesting beneath the surface!” 

“I wish I could regale you of a scandal behind the Diamond’s doors,” he sighed out. “I promise you, though, my dear, there is nothing fascinating happening.” He then pondered for a bit, as if truly wanting to amuse you. “Perhaps the most outrageous event was Soonyoung attempting to sneak in an actress a couple of years back.” 

“What?!” you gasped. “He would dare incite the members’ anger?” 

“Well, you know what he is like.” A scoff. “Fool was caught, of course, and by Chan, too. He threatened to reveal the whole event to Seungcheol, and only kept his mouth shut once I intervened.”

“My goodness,” you got out. “Seungcheol is a tyrant, then?”

“Not a tyrant,” he clarified, “but a stickler for the rules. Seungcheol believes in maintaining society just as it is. He cannot have anything extraordinary occurring in the foundations of the ton.”

That left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How odd.” 

“Very traditional, if I do say so myself. I imagine the Diamond’s is a haven for him, as it is for anyone who resides in it.”

“Is it a haven for you?” 

The man’s gaze wandered to the surroundings before him. “I guess? I mean, the gentlemen there are quite different than they are in the city. Everyone is more unguarded.”

You looked at him. “Does that mean you are guarded with me?” 

His eyes were upon you at once. “What do you think, angel?” 

The intensity of his stare had you faltering. “I mean…you were, no? At the ball…” 

“Have I not repented enough for that sin?” He let his lips quirk upward, savouring your heated reaction. “Do you wish to witness more of my forgiveness?”

The very ruminations of his repentance had you burning up. “You have done more than enough.” You made to glance at him again. “If you are not so guarded, then I suppose you will allow me a question.” 

He tilted his head, inspecting you. “You say it as if I should be guarded.” 

“No, no, this is, um…” You played with the ends of your silk ribbons, trailing from your bow at the back of the dress. “This is a question that…you know, you do not have to answer, if it bothers you.”

His gaze was scrutinising. “We have done worse than whatever you have said to me in the past.”

You resisted the shiver which threatened to overcome you. “Very true.” You paused again, mulling over the question, wondering if it was appropriate—strange, when you had never recognised a sense of shame with him before. One heated night and you could barely speak to him about anything. 

Furrowing your brows, you determined to change that. Before whatever you two were entrapped in at this moment, you were friends. “Well, this might sound like a disturbing question but…you know…the things that we have done…” You felt his own brow raise at your implication, and you could not help closing your eyes, almost regretting ever opening your mouth. “When was the first time you did them?”

Instantly you crumpled your face, the slight embarrassment growing and threatening to spill from your very pores. You did not gauge his reaction at the start, but you could not help yourself, allowing one eye to peek at his face. Whatever surprise he would have exposed, it was not present anymore, instead settled in a pondering expression. 

“Why do you ask?” was his first question. 

You were incredibly sheepish. “I guess it is curiosity? I mean, all these firsts…I am experiencing them with you, yet you have already done so with another.” 

He was careful with his next inquiry. “Does that bother you?”

You shook your head. “No, but it does make me think about when it might have happened for you.” You then raised your hands in a hurried fashion. “You do not have to tell me, though! I understand that it can be private…God knows I have trifled with your privacy enough.”

Joshua mulled over your question—and how it should be answered. The sensible path would have been to agree that you had meddled enough, and that he wished to salvage the last threads of his privacy. It was already troublesome to have his journal compromised, and the consequences that came out of it…it had cost him dearly. 

But as he caught sight of the open curiosity, the interest to know about him beyond their friendship…he had to admit it. It had the hairs on the back of his neck erecting at the notion, gooseflesh prickling along his arms. It had him wanting to put a voice to his haunting thoughts, reflections he had kept only to himself and the dusted pages of his journal. 

“My first kiss was with a girl I cannot remember,” he began, a little hesitant, “and, I confess, was not my finest work at all. I guess that is to be expected, though, with any firsts.” 

“My first kiss was lovely, though,” you blurted out without thinking, and the complacency, stained upon his features as he smirked, had your heart beating much too fast. You looked away quickly. “I mean…is it expected? For every first to be underwhelming?” 

“For most? Unfortunately,” he admitted. “You were lucky, though, for you had an excellent partner to kiss.”

That only made your face hotter. “Enough about that…tell me about the women in the journal…was that the first time that you did those…things?” 

Again, he chose to be honest. “No. Everything I experienced first hand was in my Oxford years, just after I turned eighteen.” He propped an elbow on the head of the couch, resting his head in his hand. “You see, my university years offered newfound freedoms. It was not all academic drawl. The boys there, well…they all partake in the debauchery. In fact, they almost laugh at you for wanting to abstain from women.” 

“So you did these things to avoid humiliation?” 

He shook his head. “I delved into it because I was curious.” He raised his brows. “As you are very much so before me.” 

You were, but you could not hide your own embarrassment. Thankfully, you did not have to say anymore, as Joshua began to unravel his experiences one by one, from his first sneaking women from the town into his accommodation, to his first time experiencing pleasure so strikingly similar to your own. He explained to you the differences within his first times, certain awkward incidents which meant he could never meet those women again. You laughed at him for his self-sabotages, yet you internally thanked him for not directing his insults to you, who had not experienced any of his misadventures. 

It was fascinating, to have this side of your dear friend revealed to you in such intimate fashion, when a few weeks ago you would not have comprehended the very notion of pleasing someone, and in turn being satisfied. To think that you would have spent your entire life in ignorance, if the man sitting in front of you had not confided in you. Your heartbeat thundered unevenly, unpredictable in its occupation to work. 

More so when, as he finished his tales, you asked him one more question. “With all your exposure so far…and I understand that this is foolish, but…do you feel the same with me?” You then clarified, watching the change of his expression. “By that I mean is…whatever you feel…would it be different depending on the person?”

He observed you struggle to get the question out, undoubtedly a little embarrassed to be compared. He did not know why, but he found it endearing—to be shy with him, even after what you and him had done together—something inside him sang at the sight. 

He gave into his little wish, reaching out his hand and enveloping his fingers around your wrist. “Everyone experiences it in their own way,” he responded, slowly pulling you to him. “The women I had lain with…they were vastly different to you. Do you wish to know how?” 

You did not even have to say it—your eyes begged the question for your voice. He chuckled, drinking in your anticipation. “Because we, my dearest, share a friendship I have never gained with any other.”

He leaned in, a sight for your aching eyes. “What we have…no other has ever come close.” 

You let out a shuddered breath, brushing against his lips. Friendship. A relation deeper than any he had created. It made your lungs constrict, your throat closing as you fought to uphold is stare. Damn him, for he made it so difficult. 

Joshua made it impossible, when, with a final glance at your mouth, he followed through with his own, closing the distance with a kiss. 

Instantly accepting him, you rid yourself from his hold, instead wrapping your arms around his neck as you pulled him even closer. Yes, the man before you made it impossible to escape him, make this experience a mere experiment, when he was plying your lips open, swiping his tongue along the seams, inciting a desire which lay deep within. 

Even with the sense of urgency, he was gentle, languid as always as he explored the inner workings of your mouth, tasting your desperation with his tongue, aching to have him all over you without restraint. There it was again, that feeling that plagued you for weeks, refusing to give you respite. With the way softly nipped at your bottom lip with each movement, smiling slightly against you, you knew he felt it too. 

It made you more frantic, almost insane as you ran your fingers through his locks, the velvet of his curls accentuating his heated touches. As he broke away from the kiss, instead peppering his lips on the corner of your own, your jaw, you sighed out his name, an indication of your glee, already hazy from his truly. “Joshua—” you whispered, feeling him go down as his mouth latched onto your neck, his legs slowly buckling as he descended to his knees. 

His kisses trailed down your clothed abdomen, feeling every shift of his lips through the soft fabric of your dress. He pulled away only for a moment, hands hurryingly raising the ends of your skirts, his determined bunching of the cloth fuelling the movement of your own fingers, pulling at the sheen-like material till it bundled at your hips, you holding on. The memory of the same bunched dress flashed within your mind, the same man who did the bunching offering the same hungered stare, the unchanged desire pooling in his irises. 

Seeing your cunt on full display—just as it had been the few nights he had caught glimpses, then let his fingers take their fill—had him near losing his mind. 

“This…” his voice was husky, as if he had run laps around all of Mayfair. “I will never tire at the sight of you like this.” He flicked his gaze upward. “For me, at that.”

Your face burned at the words—the final comment. “You exaggerate,” you merely said, unable to look him in the eye. 

He made sure you did not falter in his stare. “No, angel…I do not.” 

The intense nature of his intent had you nodding weakly, doing nothing for your nerves. Because he could tell, it did wonders for his pride, the smirk teasing before now showing itself shamelessly. 

Yes, looking at you all exposed—for him and him only—had the very nerves in his brain self-imploding, ceasing to work entirely. Had he not been in this position enough times to be used to the feeling? Perhaps if it were anyone else, he might have. Perhaps if he was pleasing any other stranger in some shoddy European tavern, his boredom might have conquered any prospect for excitement. 

But it was you—naked from the waist down, save for those dainty silk stockings. Even the damned stockings incited a dangerous reaction from him down under, his very cock restraining in his pants. It was a dire situation, indeed, but it was not as if he could help himself. The night in the study had altered the machinations of his mind. 

His hands, almost working beyond those corrupted machinations, wrapped around the back of your knees. “Your…your legs, angel,” he began, slinging them over each of his shoulders, raising you ever so slightly off the desk, resting on your shoulders. “There we go.” with this angle, he was incredibly close to your core—enough to feel his very presence not two inches from the bundle of nerves that ached to be relieved. Relief that only he could provide—just as he promised. 

He knew it too. The bastard was well aware of this newfound power, when he blew softly at your core, making you hiss. “Joshua!” you breathed out, already twitching at the phantom touch. “Stop it, stop the teasing!” 

“Forgive me,” he breathed out, chuckling. Even the faint huffs of laughter brushed against you, and you could have whined. “You’ll have your enjoyment.” 

A fickleness inside you internally rebuked his claim, thinking he was relishing within his own enjoyment a little too much.

But then you felt his tongue sliding along your folds, and you were proven wrong in every essence of the word. 

You thought nothing could surpass Joshua’s fingers inside you. You were made a fool by his tongue, exploring the edges of your cunt, a languid admirer who had all the time in the world. He was slow with his movements—slow, without any tension, as if you were an untouched artefact, and he was on the first journey of discovering you outright. 

Joshua always called himself careful—a cautioned creature he was, and meticulous he will be. To rush the process would be a dishonour to you. He would rather absolve himself of any morsel of pleasure if he ruined this for you. 

But there was no cause for complaint from you—the unhurried swipes of his tongue against your folds was the beginning of your satisfaction. His lapping up of your arousal, his hums of approval reverating against your core was magic, pure, ethereal power which bewitched your senses. You thought you were quick in undoing yourself with his fingers, but you feared how instantaneous your ruination would be this time, with his exploring, his teasing. 

Your breaths sputtered out of you, head lolling back at the tendrils of pleasure that curled up your spine. You felt him open his mouth further, grip on your legs tightening, and he delved in further, relishing your reactions.

You foolishly thought you were handling yourself with some semblance of dignity. Then he dragged his tongue upwards, to your clit, and an obscene sound flew out of you, your eyes widening in shame as your head whipped up. 

The sight of Joshua clinging onto you down under, brows furrowed as he licked your clit had your very back arching, blinking back the overwhelming desire that threatened to blanket over your mind. His focus was staggering, the grip on your legs unwavering, and you could not observe for too much longer, the feeling engulfing you from the inside. Your hands carded through his hair, needing to hold onto him, any part of him, because you were straying from your very body, and he was the only solid anchor.

His eyes then flicked up to you—by God, his damned eyes were dancing, and you felt him smile against your cunt. 

You could have collapsed before him. He was enjoying this as much as you were.

Joshua could have burst with pride at your reaction, swirling his tongue along the bud. He had reckoned this would be borne from a sense of duty, a favour to you as his dearest friend. Granted, he revelled in the sparks of your desire bursting into hungry flames, but never did he think he would take this much enjoyment in your undoing.

He thought the night in his study was an anomaly. He did not realise his enjoyment would become a pattern. 

At first it frightened him, the sparks of doubt creeping into his mind at the notion of his delight. Educating you was one thing, but revelling in your moans strayed from the very objective that brought about this situation. It had him thinking back on his passions peppered in every corner of Europe, leaving behind women yearning still for his return one day. Of course, his pride exceeded his successes in his journeys, but his thoughts were not plagued by these women.

Only you remained. 

You, you, you, who had always been tucked into the corners of his mind, but never fully took over to this extent. Indeed, as he began to lose himself into you, he could only envision how a simple question could bring such chaos into his life—and yours. 

He used to feel a little shame in bringing you in this position—he had not forgotten your wide eyes begging for salvation, and that was enough to destroy him. Now, holding tight onto your legs and licking away at your core, he felt he had crossed another boundary, another threat to his soul. 

No—there were threats, and then there was pure annihilation. He was still standing—kneeling, rather, but still alive. He would be fine. Completely, utterly fine.

His ears caught the tune of your incorrigible whimpers forming words, and he would have been fine, as he so convincingly uttered. 

“J-Joshua,” you moaned softly, the said-man feeling the shake in your voice—your legs. “Joshua, please, I…please.” 

Please. Please. Please. 

Oh, he was not fucking fine.

His one hand left your leg, two fingers instantly slipping past your thighs and plunging themselves past your folds, his tongue not pausing the entire time. A heightened gasp escaped you at the feeling, cunt pulsing along his touches, and you grasped onto his hair with a futile effort to hold onto him, salvage any sense of sanity. 

But there would be no sanity for you, not when your friend was swirling his tongue with expert precision, his fingers sliding in and out faster than your mind could comprehend. He was relentless now, as if you had somehow turned a switch within his brain, and was born anew. That burdened feeling, the sensation within your gut turned heavier, and you faintly recalled how it had felt—the complete bliss of it all.

It had you pleading with him once more. “S-so close, Joshua, please—! The feeling is here again!”

He knew, of course he knew, and he made it clear, fastening his pace in every part of you he touched and tasted. Good, dearest Joshua, so damned good to you as he slithered his digits within you, curling them at the same time as he kissed your clit. As always, keeping his promise. 

You could not take it anymore.

Your eyes snapped open as your release crashed through, legs shaking uncontrollably upon him as his mouth slowed his labour. Your surroundings were a blur, the only sharp feeling being the orgasm that shook through your bones, making you twitch and tremble upon him. It should have been frightening, not possessing control of your own body, but knowing that Joshua was under you, and not any other man, was enough to lose a semblance of yourself. 

It should be frightening—why were you not terrified?

You felt the absence from your core, catching sight of the man as he leaned back on his knees. He was a sight for your lust-dazed eyes, hair in disarray as his hand found purchase upon your leg again, still slung onto his strong shoulders. The slow blinking back, the parted mouth…your insides could have come alive all over again.

He was so beautiful—like a fallen angel, devoted till the end of his tenure. Strange, how you made that comparison, when you were the one who was deemed as the celestial being. 

It had your heart constricting painfully. “Tell me something, Joshua.” 

His stare held you prisoner. “Anything, angel.” 

Again, with that term. It was that very heart of yours, aching still, that spoke out. “Is it like this with everyone else?” 

You felt him still beneath your skin. “I mean,” you continued, almost unable to escape from his eyes, “I just feel so…I have never felt like this before, and I think…well, I think you are the sole reason for it.” 

His eyes widened a little, but that did not stop your confession, a broken dam of curiosity-laced words. “I imagine you would have this feeling in abundance, considering your…” this time, you had to look away. “Experience.” 

He did not quite know what to say.

It was not as if you were wrong—he had expertise, experience he revelled in sharing with you. He did not need to remind himself of his endeavours, when he carried with them throughout his life, but at the end of the day, those were one-moment events. Singular nights of passion which ended the day they began.

But this was you. You, his closest friend, his confidante in ways his companions at the Diamond’s could not come close. You had known him longer than any other—your friendship spanned years which no one had caught up to yet. His earliest memories were of his time with you, whether that be running after each other at St. James Park in the town centre, or learning your letters together, reprimanded by the same tutor for your similar misdemeanours. The two of you had watched each other grow, become different individuals, but the friendship remained tethered from the suspicions of the ton.

Until you had stumbled upon his journal—until you had questioned the unspoken boundaries, and Joshua had let you. He could not help it, though. You were, after all, very dear to him. 

He blinked back, staring at you. You were—dearer to him than he could have ever comprehended. 

So he decided to be honest, uncertain of the consequences it would bring. “I have not felt like this with anyone else.” 

Your heart fluttered—without restraint the feeling drifted over your skin, thumping in your chest, engulfing you whole. You did not know why. “That is…” you paused, breaths shuddering out of you. “That is very good to hear, Joshua.” 

Perhaps it was the simple-enough confession—or even his name on your tongue. It had him parting his mouth, heartbeat thundering in his ears. “Truly?”

A soft nod. He felt his jaw slacken, losing semblance of his body, although he had not allowed himself to experience the release he sought out from you. Shocking, since he would have wished it from anyone else. He could not mistake the selfishness within himself—was it not the very reason he began this whole escapade with you in the first place?

But as he raised himself a little higher, eyes refusing to stray from your own, he found his hands climbing up to your face, fingers brushing against burning skin. Again, the beating of his heart raced at that. “I…” he began, faltering his words. God, when had he forgotten how to speak with you?

“Joshua?” you murmured. 

He watched you a little longer. It was beyond his control when he leaned in closer, shocking you out of your body as he enveloped his lips with yours. You welcomed him without realising, moving your mouth with his own, humming at the butterfly’s touch of a kiss that you did not expect. 

The man did not either. It was as if his heart took the reins of his hands, his lips. He kissed you with a burning which incited fear, strange sensations, as if he was attempting the very act of kissing for the first time. He was slow, finding more solace on your lips the longer he explored you, humming in pure, subconscious delight. 

There was an addition to his offerings. There was something there that was not present in previous gatherings, when it was little more than lust, a curiosity being satiated. This was new, unexplored territory—a feeling beyond your stomach, venturing upward to the centre of your being. Your chest felt heavy, holding the weight of the city upon you, and you could not breathe at the sensation, threatening to bury you alive.

Yet you savoured the feeling. Moaned it as you opened your mouth further, confiding it within the corners of his mouth. You may have had an inkling on what this newfound progression was, but that was not the time to speak it into the silent void, not when you could not physically voice it. 

He thought it was you that needed respite. How wrong he had assumed that you needed some form of recess, a moment to take all these changes in. It was him all along who stuttered in every action, hesitating needlessly when you dared to be brave, satiate your heated curiosity. It was him that stalled, his patience reigning thin. 

When he finally broke away, heaving slightly from the kiss, his eyes darted over you, restless in their journey, unable to fully immerse himself in all of you. You overwhelmed him, your every move, your every flicker that gazed upon him with such gratification. It was as if you could not hide how happy he made you, even from the most insignificant things. 

It made him shiver at the notion—more so when he felt himself feeling the exact same.

Slowly, he pulled away, hands which had gripped your face before now falling to your shoulders. “I…I must leave you,” he declared softly, taking a step back. “Forgive me, I did not realise where we were…your chamber, of all places…”

“It is alright, Joshua,” you assured him, cancelling out his step with your own. “What matters is I enjoyed it.” You watched him. “Did you…not?” 

He became absent-minded, removed from your question. “I did…very much…” He willed his hands at his sides, the absence of your silk, your skin, itching on his fingers. “That is why I must go.” 

And as he began to leave, turning on his heel, you watched, a sudden flurry of emotions that refused to be silenced any longer. Without realising you reached your hand out, grabbing onto his wrist, and he stopped, eyes instantly resting on the hold.

You looked at him. What you wanted to say was that you had something to tell him, something important—something which had grown inside of you, a feeling which he himself had nurtured. You wanted to tell him then and there, after his confession.

You then caught onto his expression—a certain dread inhabited his beautiful features, and its exposure was so pungent you could only whisper, “Are you alright, Joshua?” 

He released a sharp breath at the question, caught off guard. Only after a moment did he bring his other hand upon your interlocked fingers—the touch made him almost flinch. “I am…trust me, _____.”

And then he released your hold upon him, finally turning his back on you as he hurried out of your chambers. 

You watched his disappeared figure, the absence as you flexed and unflexed your hand, the sensation fluttering all around you.

And as your own dread was born, slowly beginning to creep over, you had a gnawing realisation that you could not answer his plea of trust.

YOU DID NOT KNOW WHETHER YOU WERE IGNORING JOSHUA, OR HE WAS IGNORING YOU. 

An agonising couple of weeks had passed since the evening in your chambers, and the frustrations of your newfound feelings were tugging at you more than you had imagined. Before, when the very thought of Joshua’s absence had you biting your nails to mere stumps, you almost thanked him for disappearing. The very last person you wished to see was him.

Or so you kept declaring to yourself. What was the universal truth was that you had something of great importance to convey to your best friend, but you could not take him away from you. It was a fact which you denied every waking moment it confronted you, and the more you kept it hidden, the more it begged to be set free. 

Reading Whistledown was enough to confirm your suspicions—Joshua Hong was avoiding all of society, and because you were already anxious, the news only heightened the tension. When will you create the opportunity to speak to him? Would you both be punished with distance and infinite discomfort for the rest of your lives?

You pondered over it further as you stewed in your anxiety in your drawing room, waving away the concerns of your maids, even narrowly avoiding your mother’s skepticism. Perhaps you would have spent another seven days wallowing within yourself when a servant informed you of an unexpected visitor. You jumped up from your seat, anticipating the very man who had been haunting your thoughts. Soonyoung’s face appeared from the door and your hopeful smile dropped, dimmed down. 

“I saw that!” he remarked, nodding his head to the servant, an implicit order to not disturb the two. As the latter closed the door behind him, he turned to you, an image of grandeur in his black and gold attire, raven-coloured coat folded in one arm. “At least make an honest attempt at pretending.”

“Forgive me,” you mumbled, frowning. “I was expecting someone else.” 

“I might have a name for that someone else.” He wished to pass further judgement, but then he caught the look on your face. “Oh God, jest gone too far?” 

When you did not respond to him, he hurried over to you, a man with a purpose. “Dearest, why the long face? Has Joshua done something?”

His name had you perking up. “Why did you mention him?” you asked, instantly straightening yourself, eyes a little frantic. “Why do you think he has done something?”

Soonyoung noticed the sudden change, quirking a brow. “If I did not think it before, I certainly do now.” He saw you further slumping your shoulders. “_____, tell me.” 

“It is nothing,” you said, waving him off as you settled upon the ornate couch. “I just…I have heard nothing from him for a while.” 

“Is that so?” his hands fisted on his hips. “I have seen enough of him at the Diamond’s.” 

You did not know why that statement shocked you.Your friend noticed instantly. “Oh no…it all makes sense now.” 

“What do you mean?” You watched him sit himself down next to you, frowning as he thought over the situation. “Has he said something?”

“Not what he has said, but what he has abstained from saying.” He looked at the luxurious paintings plastered on your drawing room walls. “I did find it rather strange that he has almost set up camp in the member lodgings. I commented on his staying there so long, even asked him if anything troubled him, but he did not confide in me.” He then glanced at you. “When I asked, though, whether he had quarrelled with you, it was as if I told him I gambled away his estates.” 

“What?” you shuffled closer to the man, hanging onto his account. “At my mention?” 

He nodded, huffing. “Can you believe he then ignored me for the rest of the day? You would think I insulted his mother.” 

No—but he certainly insulted you. A sudden hurtful streak crossed through your heart, and you had to stop yourself from thinking about it too much. You wanted to say something, but even the thought of uttering a word had your eyes stinging. 

One harsh sigh from you, and Soonyoung turned to you, irritation for his friend morphing into concern. “My dear, you are hiding something from me,” he said, reaching out to hold your shoulders, turning to face him. “Is everything okay?” 

Catching the genuine worry on your friend’s face had your face crumpling, just a bit. “Oh no, _____,” he said, frowning, leaning in closer, “now you have to confess your worries. You know you can tell me anything, right?” 

Well, you could not—that was what you and Joshua had established. With your friend asking you this close, inquiring after yourself, the cause for your sadness, however, you could not hide it anymore. What you were going to say was that you had done something wrong. What you were meant to admit was that you and Joshua had committed actions which would have shocked polite society, perhaps changing his opinion of you two forevermore. 

What came out of your mouth instead shocked even yourself. “I think I have feelings for Joshua.” 

There was silence—then there was the silence Soonyoung partook in, which could have put normal silence to shame. 

You dared not look him in the eye. Because of Soonyoung’s quiet discomfort, you found yourself speaking out, saying more than you wished to. You began from the moment in the study, when you first found Joshua’s writings, to the moments of passion the two of you had carried out together. You did not try to omit any detail of what you had done with him—perhaps a childish mistake, but you were not thinking, really. If your friend’s vault of silence was firm, your own had broken down, confession upon confession slipping out of you of your dearest companion’s teachings, how you indulged in them…the feelings of something more slipping between the haze of lust. 

Bless the man sitting beside you, because he hung onto every word, reacting to every morsel of information you fed him. It was as if he was reading a scandalous journal of your findings, hand flying to his mouth at one point when you told him of Joshua’s slight confession. That was when he broke the dam of his silence. “Joshua Hong said this to you?” 

“The very same,” you said, locking and unlocking your hands. “He said he did not feel it with anyone else.” 

A harsh sigh escaped him. “I see,” he muttered, facing forward. “Firstly, I must thank you for confiding in me. I understand why you two kept these encounters a secret, so you have my gratitude for sharing it.” He then twisted his lips, eyes fogging, as if lost in thought. You observed the slight change of expression, anticipating his next question. “I must inquire after one more detail, though, my dear, and I fear it is rather unseemly.” 

“Nothing is scandalous to me after what I have confessed,” you assured him, shuffling closer to him, holding onto his arm. “Ask away.”

He looked down at your hand, gripping onto his decorated sleeve. “Did you and Joshua go all the way?”

You halted for a moment. “Why do you ask?” 

“It is important because I know what he is like,” he reasoned. “Joshua, he…when we travelled around the continent, we all indulged in…well, you know what we did, if you have read the full extent of his journals. Out of us members, he is a man who favours experience and participation to truly enjoy the moments he resides in…do you understand?” 

When you shook your head, he bit his lip, trying for another explanation. “You see, there are certain out of us who become attached to the experiences we encounter, thus garnering emotional importance…Joshua will murder me for this, but when we were travelling together, he did not become emotionally attached to anyone he met. It was what allowed him to engage in such…licentious behaviour, record it as if he were conducting an experiment, and not having an incredibly intimate moment.” 

He looked at you, tilting his head as he pondered over the entire situation. “What I am trying to say is that I expected him to show you the full extent of what occurred between two people. Why has he stopped after the last encounter? What changed then?” 

What changed? You knew what changed for you, but you were not sure if your best friend experienced the same shift. God, you wanted him to, but his absence, and consequent silence, did not prove your willful theory. “I do not know,” you could only offer, frowning. “I just…I wish I could simply ask him.”

Soonyoung hummed in agreement. He then perked his head up, furrowing his brows. “Well, you could ask him.” 

You looked at him as if he went mad. “You told me yourself that he is at the Diamond’s.” 

“Yes, he is,” he confirmed, slowly rising from his seat, “So why not ask him yourself?” 

“Because as I said about three seconds ago, he is at the Diamond’s.” You scowled, crossing your arms. “And you know well of the rules on ladies being seen there.” 

As he straightened fully to his feet, fixing his waistcoat, he looked at you, a small smirk rising to the surface of his mouth. “Since when have I cared about rules, _____?”

You stared at his hand, outstretching before you.Truer words had not been spoken—Kwon Soonyoung did not believe in restraint and order. Chaos was his favourite aspect of life, and spent all his hours chasing it, welcoming it. “What if he does not want to see me?” you asked, barely a body to that question. 

He only smiled. “We will never know if we do not find out, right?” 

And although it was a mere amount, it was still hope. 

With that, your fingers slipped into his own, and he brought you to your feet. He squeezed your hand, never letting go. “Let us confront this coward.” 

THE DIAMOND CLUB OF MAYFAIR MADE NO SHOW OF HIDING ITS SPLENDOUR TO ONLOOKERS. 

You observed the row of white, terraced houses, columns inspired from the classical period towering above you. Old, Georgian-style bow windows curved out from the white stone, the sheer glass reflecting the slowly dying sunlight of the evening. Black iron fences rimmed around the estate, one small opening revealing a large black door, lampposts of the same colour bordering its frames. 

Soonyoung caught up after closing the carriage door behind you, following after your line of sight. “You gawk at it as if you have never seen the building before,” he remarked, amused by your admiration.

“I know, but the idea of actually entering the club this time…” you fought to repress a shiver. “Are you certain of bringing me here? What will your friends say?”

“You need not worry so much, my dear.” He made to walk, tugging you along with him. “If it helps your nerves, the majority left their lodgings to watch a play at the Globe tonight. Joshua and I were the sole members who declined.”

“A play at the Globe?” Your tone turned sheepish. “Oh, forgive me, Soonyoung, I know how much you love your theatre.”

“Save your apologies,” he reassured you, strolling up to the door as he nodded at the footman, slipping a few shillings. “I had more important business tonight than seeing Romeo and Juliet kill themselves over a five-day fancy.”

“Goodness! Perhaps the rival families should have turned to you,” you crowed, nodding in acknowledgement to the servant, hanging tight to your friend, “with the way you butchered their children’s romance.” 

“Be satisfied that I am not intent on butchering your chance for romance,” he tutted, bringing you inside, ushering for the front door to be shut. 

He was merely teasing, but you were not amused. You had not thought of the possibilities of a romance. You wanted it, though. You wanted it to the point that your soul ached at the prospect of it, especially when you allowed yourself a sliver of its image with the man you wanted it with. 

But you were not certain of his feelings, so that image, too, vanished, along with any of the hilarity Soonyoung brought. 

“He should be in his quarters,” he commented, turning to the right, and then another through the long-winded hallways, decorated lavishly with paintings of classical depictions, as well as portraits of past members. It was still a fairly new club, but the fathers of the current membership were held in great esteem in oiled artwork, observing with curt gazes at the passersby. You wondered whether they noticed a very visible outsider trespassing their borders. 

Unsurprisingly, Soonyoung cared little for the judgments of those long gone, so he only steered you further into the secondary living quarters of his companions. Finally, he stopped before a mahogany door, silence curtaining the halls once your low-heeled footsteps came to a stop. 

A determined fist knocked at the door. The answer was swift, cutthroat. 

“Leave me be, Soonyoung.”

Your heart began to sink, but your friend refused to accept defeat. “You need to come out. I have a guest with me.” 

There was a pause at the door, the silence eating you alive. Then, a muted shuffle pulled through, and suddenly his footsteps were right behind the door, and you only had a second to brace yourself when the door swung open.

You were welcomed by none other than the man who had haunted your livelihood for weeks. 

Joshua meant to glare at the younger man for disturbing his peace temporarily. He then realised you were in front of him, then corrected himself immediately. 

You alone had disturbed his peace—perhaps forever. 

You could see it in his countenance—the ruffled hair, as if restless hands had raked through the locks. The one untucked collar of his loose undershirt, fingers stained with ink. Even his eyes were wild, as if he had gazed upon a wildfire. Well, you were akin to a natural disaster to him—a tamper on his very senses. 

Time passed between you two, the silence loud enough to deafen any onlookers. It was little wonder when Soonyoung, as he observed you two, mouth agape, had no regret in breaking it. “You really were not lying, were you?”

Your best friend darted his agitated gaze towards him. “What are you talking about?”

You decided to carry out your path of honesty. “I told him everything.” 

It was chilling, watching the very colour from his face vanish into the thick air of this atmosphere. “You did…what?”

Soonyoung attempted an excuse. “Now you know I would not tell a soul, Joshua—”

“Leave us.” 

The order cut through any hurried explanations, killing them clean. It seemed as if Soonyoung wanted to speak out, say something more, but you reached for his arm, nodding. He looked at you, concerned for a moment, but then he took a step back, watching the tense scene before him with caution. “You both take your time. The others will not be returning for a while.” He then locked his gaze at the man who you sought out. “Do not think about running away this time.” 

Joshua could not provide a cutting response, only watching him exit the dimmed hallways. Only when he was certain that he had disappeared that he finally focused on you. You gaped at him as he parted his mouth, bracing yourself for the chiding, the scolding for daring to venture in a place he had so vehemently prohibited. 

But nothing came out. He knitted his brows together, trying to find the words, but then he sighed, closing his eyes. His hand rested on the doorframe, leaning his weight against the creaking wood. 

You tried to speak for him. “Joshua…”

Perhaps his name on your lips was the trigger—maybe your very voice awaking him. One second his hand was on the doorframe, the next it was upon your wrist, one glance at the empty hallway before he pulled you inside his chamber, shutting the door behind him. 

His lodgings at the club were grand, but a certain chaos had stained the certain order you were sure he would have maintained in his private sphere. His desk was littered with books and papers, longcoats and other layers dumped upon chairs and side tables. His walls were the softest of whites, but his internal havoc had spilled onto the surfaces of his four walls, sullying the very light of this room. It was clear to anyone that Joshua had hid himself away, seething alone. 

He whirled around as he stopped you both at the centre. His eyes were interrogating your every fidget, every movement out of place. You reckoned he would chide you for daring to venture in the Diamond’s, but something else came out entirely. 

“You told him about what we did?” 

You immediately resorted to defending yourself. “You shunned me, Joshua. What else did you expect me to do?” A look over your shoulder, as if Soonyoung would be there, watching the entire scene. “You said so yourself, did you not, that he would be trusted with this secret?”

“I did say that, but we still agreed to keep this between us,” he countered, not backing down. “I warned you of his insolence, and look what has come of you ignoring it. He brought you here, of all damned places!” 

“He may be brazen, but he is not stupid!” You wrenched your wrist from his tightening grip. “He knew that you were avoiding me, so he did the one thing that would catch your attention.” 

“Well, he should not have done it anyway,” he rebuked, “and you should not have told him. We had an agreement.” 

“A little difficult to uphold an agreement with an individual when he ignores me outright!” you exclaimed. “Besides, he told me some very insightful information on your current state.” 

“Is that so?” He was sneering now, attempting to incite your anger. “And what did you learn from his infinite wisdom?”

Oh, he was succeeding without effort. “He said you never restrained yourself on the Continent. Said you flaunted your rakish behaviour, and that it was strange to see it be different with me.” You gritted out the last sentence, an awful taste in your mouth as you released it. “Am I so distasteful to you, Joshua?”

Perhaps it soured his own tongue too to hear it. “You know that is not what I thought of you,” he refuted. He then sighed, rubbing a tired hand over his parted mouth. “_____, you have read of my…behaviour in the Continent. The ladies I carried out such actions with were different. Different from you.” 

“Different,” you parroted, mocking him. “You keep using this word…as if you wish to separate me from you. I hate it when you do that.” 

“You are different,” he guttered, and his voice cracked straight through your skin. “You are my dearest friend, and I was treating you like every woman I had ever laid with! I had to deny myself certain liberties!” 

“Stop punishing yourself, Joshua!” you screamed. “Stop blaming yourself for inciting my feelings! Stop being so selfless!” 

“Enough!” he thundered out, and you blinked back at his sudden hysteria. “I cannot take this image of benevolence you have created of me anymore. It is not true, and I cannot stand this pretense anymore. I cannot…will not accept the notion that only I have done something to you.”

You furrowed your brows, fisting your hands at your sides. “What have I done to you?” 

“You…!” He was breathing hard—uneven. “You have tampered with my senses, when I was content with myself! You think I have sparked a few embers inside you, but you…damn you, you have set my very soul on fire! I cannot think, cannot see straight! Look at the state of my surroundings!” His hands were frantic as they waved at the disorder of his chamber. “This is what has become of me after all we have done.” 

You gaped at him, the words that spilled from his mouth with no intention to stop. “You asked for forgiveness once, had you not? When we first kissed, you chastised me for apologising for our actions…I fear I have to ask for forgiveness again, because you may not think I am doing anything wrong, but I am.” 

A scoff escaped him. “Selfless…you called me selfless? You are wrong. Ask me why you are foolish for believing better of me.”

Your solitary question was barely a whisper. “Why?” 

His stare had locked you into a trance. “Because what I do for you is not for you. Well, it was at the start, in that I speak the truth, but…that day when I touched you, tasted you…I felt any pretense of kindness vanishing the moment I saw you glowing from my efforts.” His breaths were bated, as if savouring each gulp the universe offered—as if his time was finite. 

“My desire for you, angel, my longing for you…it has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship.”

That had you sucking in a breath. “You cannot mean that.” 

His aching scowl stained the beauty of his features. “I wish I did not. I…I tried to fight it, truly I did. Why do you think I avoided meeting you? I was ashamed to face you. Knowing your wishes to maintain a bond deeper than anyone else, yet I am hell-bent on sullying it with my desire.” 

A pause again, and you felt your heartbeat thunder in your ears, like a church bell ringing over a grave announcement. “I admit our first affair was selfless…an act to satiate your curiosity. I do not, however, see these as acts of mere kindness anymore. Even if you see it as such, I do not act out of kindness. It is an impure, selfish want.” 

He finally sighed, and you thought he would have collapsed on the carpeted floor had he not been looking at you all this time. You felt the ground swaying beneath your feet too, taking in the confession, everything he had dared to tell you. 

Desire. Longing. An impure, selfish want. Something curled in your insides, and you recognised the feeling immediately—a sensation only your dearest friend ignited from you.

My longing for you has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship. Ah yes. A desire which had overtaken possibly your most earnest relationship with anyone around you. You expected some form of devastation over his words, but you felt the strangest relief wash over you.

You were not insane. You, who had been feeling the same, shaming yourself for your lust, crept over like a predator on the hunt, only to find he had shared in the feeling all this time. 

Seeing the realisations churning on your face had him taking a step back, fingers aching to reach out. “Forgive me,” he said, and there was genuine guilt residing upon his features. “I did not mean to burden you with my words. I just…Soonyoung was right. I may have been selfish, but I could not go all the way.”

He was a picture of devastation. “You should do it with someone you cherish deeply. We can do it if you so wish, but I could not…not when you do not feel the way I feel.” He gulped, Adam’s apple bobbing. “So I pray you forgive me, _____.” 

Apologies once again…just like the first time. Except there were no boundaries this time around—no, he had finally crossed them, torn them down, with you solely remaining. He had confided to you of his desire. You had witnessed the pure, unadulterated yearning swimming helplessly in his gaze, begging to be saved. 

Perhaps it was your turn, now, to be honest. No more secrets. “You cannot say that, Joshua, because it is not true.” 

He stopped—you saw his very soul slip away from his eyes. You did not let him question you, continuing, “You thought you were the only one experiencing a change? You are wrong for that, Joshua. How could you have expected me to maintain a pretense of normality when you had shown me things I thought were…God.” You cursed, a soft whisper, and he caught it on your lips, darting between your mouth and your gaze. “You say you burdened me with your feelings but you are wrong.” 

You took a step towards him. “You have relieved me of my own burden.” 

He was a ghost, haunted by your implications. “What…what do you mean?”

But he knew, of course he knew what you were about to say—another step forward. “You said I should go all the way with someone I cherish, did you not?” One more step, and he was before you, looking at you as if you were destruction and salvation, wrapped into one, dangerous promise. “Then I will confess there is someone I hold very dear.” 

The man was hanging onto your every word. “Is that so?” he whispered, husky from the anticipation.

“Yes.” You scoured his face, drinking in his curiosity, his impatience to hear your confession. “There is someone I wish to cross the final boundary with, but I was unsure at first whether he felt the same way.” It made you so giddy—you were once the image of anticipation, and now the ornate, pretending tables had turned. “You see, I had always stated so clearly what I felt, yet he did not say so himself, hiding his feelings from me.” 

His explanation flew out of his lips without revision. “He did not mean to…he was afraid that you would never reciprocate what he…” his sigh was slight, yet it washed over you like a tidal wave. “What he felt so strongly.” 

“Well,” you said, raising your hand. Your fingers brushed along his cheek, sliding to hold his face. His skin was warm, to your delight. “He should not hide it anymore. Not to me, at least.” 

Joshua, in response, leaned into your palm, eyes heavy-lidded—raptured towards you. “You have always been dear to me, _____. Now, I stand before you, asking you to be dearer still.” 

Your face crumpled at the words—the sight of your best friend and his request. There could only be one answer. 

But you did not respond with words. No, your answer came in colliding your lips against his, finally catching him off guard. 

His pained moan, ecstatic with relief, reverated off your lips, his hands clutching you, demanding  respite from the weeks spent without touching you. Demanded, because Joshua had never ventured this close to you with such misery, never angled his head in such a way with you, bearing his soul to you in a state of anguish. You felt it all, and welcomed it so ardently you wondered how you had survived without him upon you this entire time. 

Every single heated kiss he left in his trail, every ounce of longing unweighted at each stretch of unattended skin. He missed nothing, pouncing and pressing his lips where your skin sang at him to hearken near, and he was forever the pinnacle of obedience, fulfilling your wishes—his wishes. You understood nothing else, solely the warpath of his mouth, which set you ablaze as it pushed you back, spiralling you towards his desk. 

“God—!” he could barely rasp out between his passion, descending upon your neck—“To think, I—” He was unable to finish, useless, time-consuming words devouring his chances to pounce upon you. Your skirts bunched at the back as they hit the rim of the desk, and your hands grabbed onto the sides for purchase, any sense of stability, but your hands were knocking off glasses, books without realising. 

“Damned books,” he cursed, low and desperate, pulling away only to throw away whatever object dared to settle on the table, clattering to the floor in a mess, and you would have made a point of it had he not then grabbed onto your waist, hoisting you upon its polished wooden surface. “Still haunting me even now?” 

“Books brought us to this—ah, situation—!” you could barely reason, his mouth back upon your throat, teething kisses upon your collarbone till he descended before you, holding loosely onto your sides. Quickly catching on, you barely contained your excitement as your own hands hitched your skirts up, gathering as much fabric as you could in your shaking hold. 

It took mere seconds for you to uncover yourself before him, and the reminisces of each time he had been in this very position flashed before his hungering vision. You saw it, too, and the deep, dark curling inside your gut threatened to show itself. 

He stared at your core, the slight sheen along your slit a recognition of his work. He glanced at you, fingers trailing down to your thighs. “You say the word, angel,” he whispered, “and we will stop. I follow only your will.” 

That alone had you shaking your head. “My will, is it?” you asked, spreading your legs wider. “What if my will demands you never stop?” 

The slight curl of his lips could have set you ablaze—truly. “I follow,” he began, leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss to your inner thigh, “only your will.” 

He was a devout follower indeed—his first touches along your slit was enough for you to believe in him.  

Your body reminded, you sighed at the familiar sensation, his tongue immediately licking up the arousal, present only for him to enjoy. He had worked wonders beyond your imagination the last time, but beforehand, there was all the time in the world for his endeavours. There was a task at hand, an expectation he had to uphold for you. There was a need to impress, a pressure which would not have been eased if you were unsatisfied. 

This time was different. Joshua knew then, face buried within you, swirling his tongue, teasing, inciting you out of yourself, that he did not fall to his knees to merely impress you. This time, in the chaos of his lodgings, he fell to his knees to worship you. And his worship came in the form of his tongue swirling around your clit, languid as he commenced, eliciting sounds that had never touched the back of your throat, the tip of your tongue. 

He was following your every internal command, every silent plea to keep going, never stop even if the Diamond’s men were to catch you—hell, Lady Whistledown herself would discover you both, and still you would never want this to end. He was so good, so relentless in his desire to please you. He sucked on the bud, tongue slipping through for added pleasure, and you thought you would die.

Your thoughts turned into certainty when he slid two fingers inside of you, and your stuttered moans was approval enough. “Joshua!” you gasped out, because his name was the only word that mattered, the only term able to grapple your desperation. Your core was filled with his digits, working in and out in a steady rhythm, feeling you out before increasing his pace. It was a miracle how he took not a single break in between, but you were the one gasping for breath. 

Soon enough, you felt it—the all-too familiar sensation, curling at the small of your back, spreading slowly through your body the faster Joshua worked upon you. He had always deemed you goodness, purity incarnate, but he was the angel, venerating you in a way no religious believer could attain to. “J-Joshua, wait—” you began, your thighs constricting, the feeling creeping closer, dangerously close— “Wait, the feeling, it’s coming back—!” 

But then his free hand, gripping your leg to keep you steady, squeezed in response—as if he knew. His rhythm increased again, mercilessly perfect to you, and you were certain the desk would shatter from the sheer might of Joshua’s efforts. Perhaps you would have cared in some faraway place, away from the chaos that reigned within this room. Here, with him under you, kneeling, pleasing you, you lost any will to care about consequences. 

So, as the perfect gentleman sucked on your clit one last time, pumping his fingers inside you, you damned about caring and let yourself go.

With a whoosh of sharp breaths you orgasmed, thighs shaking without control, and you held onto his hair, uncaring if his locks ripped away in your hand. He slowed his ministrations, helping you through your release, relishing you undoing yourself on his fingers. If you were among the clouds, then he was dancing among the stars, watching you climax because of him. 

Never did he think he would ever get used to you like this. His twisted admiration brought about his next action—he slithered out of you, and, as you looked down, lust-struck anyway, watched as he brought his slick fingers to his mouth, sucking away at the remnants. 

Your stomach fluttered at the sigh. “God…” you got out, the victorious glint of his gaze turning your insides on themselves. 

He clicked his tongue, slowly shaking his head as he ascended, eyes locked to yours. “Share a little admiration for me too, angel,” he whispered.

Whatever you felt for him, though, was no mere admiration. 

You made sure he realised when you decided to share what he asked for, pressing your lips against his, your desire—shockingly—creeping back into your skin, seeping deeper until it infected your blood. How could it be so? Was not one wave of release enough to satiate you? Was there room for more?

You asked him yourself as you broke away, blinking back heavily as he stared at you, mouth parted, hands roaming. “There is more…is there not? We…this is not the end, right?” 

His smile was enough—still, he made sure to tell you, as, swivelling you around, his fingers found the bows, untying your lace upon your everyday gown. His voice entered your mind, his mouth encircling just under your ear. “Oh, we are just getting started,” he whispered, making you shiver. 

The tugging and pulling paid off for him, your dress loosening around your shoulders, your waist. As the outer layers fell to the floor, he then worked on the corset, patient as ever as he untied the tight laces at the back, all the while your impatience causing you to peel away at your petticoats. It did not help either that his lips were brushing against your neck, planting baby kisses upon your warming skin. 

It was Joshua’s slow, steady nature that won when the corset fell apart too, and he turned you around, drinking you in—an unforgettable image of you in a mere chemise. Nothing was left to his imaginations, his dreams. An easy, uncontrollable fuck escaped his mouth, and it was at that point he then worked on himself. His undershirt was already in disarray, but when you sensed the slight shake in his fingers, unbuttoning with slight ineptitude as he focused on you still, your hands undid the rest of the buttons for him. 

The moment his shirt was off, discarded on the floor, it was your turn—perhaps you would have spent an eternity simply staring at the lean figure that greeted you, but your fingers were powered more by curiosity than your eyes. You reached out, feeling his abdomen tighten at your touch, then relaxing instantly as you wandered across his skin. He let you explore, pulling you closer with his own hands, the distance bothering him. He did not want distance—not tonight. 

Nor did you—you found his lips again, snuffing out any space, and so Joshua resorted to ridding himself of any more boundaries. Your chemise was an easy barrier to overcome, sliding it from your shoulders with ease, and it was a flurry of unadorning any piece of clothing left on you, him leading you to the four-poster bed at the end of his chamber. 

As the back of your knees hit the edge, he swept you in his arms, a soft breath whooshing out of you as he set you gently upon his sheets. He swept his gaze over you, bare under him, and he realised why greed was a carnal sin. “God,” he got out, fingers absentmindedly working on his trousers, peeling away his only barrier from his legs, discarding it amongst the rest of your underthings. 

When your eyes fell on Joshua’s cock, your mouth parted at its sight. 

Sheer bewilderment threatened to engulf you whole. The curiosity that had been prevalent thus far was flaring up, at its highest peak since he had ignited it. Never before had you seen something like it, and you had a sneaking instinct to reach out and touch the head, already slightly darkened by the tension which refused to be released. 

He could tell instantly. “You can touch it, angel,” he offered, though when you caught the slight tinge of blush upon his cheeks, your surprised giggling had him frowning. “I said touch, not laugh.” 

“Forgive me,” you said, shuffling closer to him, “I did not expect you to be shy, that is all.” 

He did not either—but the way you admired his cock before him was a sight too overwhelming, even for a man of his experience. He was going to say as much, but then your hand reached out, a finger stroking the head, and he hissed in a breath, brows furrowing instantly. 

You furrowed your brows at it. “Does it hurt?” you asked, genuinely curious—concerned. 

It had him chuckling, grabbing hold of his cock in one hand. “Quite the opposite,” he said, spreading your legs apart with a knee, placing himself between you as you wrapped your arms around him. “And it’ll only get better.” 

Levelling his tip against your folds, you shifted your hips a little, blinking up at him. “Will it hurt for me?” you asked. 

He looked down, his midnight curls falling over you, nearly caressing your forehead. “A little,” he confessed softly, “but I promise to be gentle.” When there was still a little hesitation, he brushed his nose against yours. “You trust me, right?” 

You nodded—in that you were certain. He reflected it mildly, almost as if acknowledging the approval within himself. His gaze fell downwards, and he exhaled unevenly.

The moment he slid inside, you felt the world shift underneath you. 

The bed became a raft of feathers and silk sheets, lost in a sea of your desire, straying with every inch the man descended within you. Your walls clenched at the new addition, at first unadjusted—Joshua was gradual, agonisingly slow, heightened in his focus to ease any discomfort. The further he slid the harder your breathing shuddered, a slight foolish fear that you would crumble under him. Your face was a distortion of clenched brows, clamped lips, which one point parted with a whine, and all he could do was watch the whirlwind of emotions. 

Only once he bottomed out he exhaled sharply, observing you as his hand on your hip was fully secured. “You’re doing good for me, angel,” he whispered, and that was enough for the hairs at the back of your neck to stand on edge. He circled smooth strokes upon your hip with his thumb, waiting until you nodded—the last confirmation he needed. 

With that, he began to pull out. 

He wanted to watch his cock slowly slide out of you, but he heard your whimper and instantly set his eyes upon you. He could have cursed himself for nearly missing the sight of you, and he nearly made a mess of his languid movements out of sheer excitement. 

You thought that his fingers would be enough. Foolishly, like a novice, you figured his tongue would gratify the carnal vessel inside you, but now he was inside you, and the fullness of his cock was so pleasurable you were scared nothing would ever surpass this feeling. He slithered out to the point of his tip barely inside your folds once more, and you were almost disappointed that it was finished, and that no more can be done. You were wishing for the feeling to ignite your insides once more, anything for your dearest friend to push himself within you again.

And he could see it—all of your wishes, your desires, etched onto your beautiful features like a mosaic of your confessions. He would listen—he would please. 

He descended again, and with delightful surprise you found he had increased the pace ever so slightly, the languid nature of his movements melting the longer he gazed at you with fire in his eyes. The motion had you gasping, holding onto him tighter than his grip upon you. This time, as he pulled out, you ached to follow after his movements, chase after him, keep his length inside you.

The two of you established a steady rhythm, bodies syncing along to the heated movements between you and him. It was like a romantic hymn, the manner in which your bodies moulded together, in such physical perfection you wondered why you had not begged him to get you into bed with him sooner. It would have pained you, that so much time had been wasted in demure whispers and faux pretenses of courtship, when you could have spent such precious hours carding through his raven locks as you did now, matting with the sweat of his increasing labour. 

“Joshua, I—!” you wished to tell him that you felt out of this world, paralysed in ecstasy over his actions, but he swooped down to teeth lovebites upon your neck, your collarbone, anywhere his hazed-vision would allow him. He trailed down till he found your breasts, and the feeling of his tongue licking away at your nipple was so extraordinary your moans were your only response. He was not close enough to you, even with his cock inside you, and he needed to be closer—skin to skin until the very oxygen that left him in shuddered exhales had no escape. 

“Tell me,” he began, sweet as honey, as desperate as a sinner. “Tell me how you feel.” 

But how could you tell him, when his every kiss, peppering along your chin now, dangerously close to your own lips, robbed you of any sense of response? “I feel…I—oh!” you gasped, when Joshua hit a certain spot inside you which stripped you of your speech. You blinked hurriedly at the sensation, and the moan that ripped from your mouth had him smirking like a madman. “Joshua!” 

“Go on,” he rasped, slipping out, only to thrust back in, never quite pausing. “I’m waiting.” 

Bastard. The worst of his kind, when he knew you could not say a thing. Still, you tried—attempted to convey yourself. “Good, so—ah, so good, Joshua—”

“Look at you,” he sighed out, another powerful thrust inside which had your groaning unutterable. “To look this…this exquisite when taking me—” 

His words, his actions, all wrapped in one—it was becoming too much. You felt it, that sensation, the dark curling within your core that undid and remade you in seconds. “J-Joshua, wait, I think I’m close,” you panted, gripping onto his arms, anything to not stray from him, this bed which you feared you would lose yourself in.

Perhaps you would have said more, but then he brought his fingers to your clit, beginning to circle erratically at the bud, and the noise that came out of you was so shameful your first instinct was to gape at him in horror. His delight, however, had any embarrassment immediately disappearing. 

He, too, felt closer to bliss than ever before. Ironic in a sense, that what they committed was celestially sinful, yet there was nothing more religious to him than you undoing yourself under him, with him inside you. The sounds of your pleasure, each sigh and whimper that greeted his ears like the music of the gods approving his efforts. He never considered himself a particularly faithful believer—but in this Diamond’s chamber, seeing you driven to such ecstasy had him believing that religion is not given, but sought after. 

So that is what he did—sought after what he believed in within you. 

“You’re too good to me angel,” he breathed into your ear, fingers on your clit circling faster and faster. “Taking my…fuck, my cock so well—!” 

His focus would have faded in any other time, losing himself in you, your moans and broken prayers for him—God, he wanted to be selfish, just as he had warned you in this very room. How could he, though, when you—begging for him, and not for an exterior force—were so unbelievably ethereal he wondered why sinners ever repented. 

Even though your pleas were enough to make him eternally satisfied, his selfishness, this carnal sin that he still could not constrain, overtook him, nipping at your ear before watching you squirm. “Properly, darling—fuck, need you to tell me properly.” 

You could have cursed him—should have, when he was making you attempt the impossible. Because he made you feel as if you could conquer the earth, you humoured him. Begged him, even, to give you your final wish. 

“Joshua, please!” you got out, digging your nails into his skin, hard enough you thought it might bruise. “Please, just do—whatever it is you do!” 

He thought he was used to your pleases by now. Hearing them spill from your lips like sweet wine was another form of ecstasy he had not realised he had consumed, and found himself addicted to. 

Joshua Hong was made of many things, but he was—first and foremost—a man made to please you. 

It was a fated continuation—destiny, if he wished to be so bold. He hoped, as he pounded into you, fastened his fingers upon your clit to the point of no return, you began to believe in some divine intervention too. 

And you did. As you felt the final threads of your patience snap, you believed it in something greater for the two of you. You refused to contain yourself, whimpering out as your release crashed over you, uncontrollable and blinding, body shaking around him. It was the last straw for him, just about yanking his cock out of you before he, too, lost all semblance of control. His orgasm stained the lavish sheets of his bed, groaning at the result—at what you had made of him. Completely spent, he collapsed beside you, his heavy, laboured breathing accompanying yours. 

You, however, found yourself shuddering your breaths much harder than him. There was no turning back now. What you and Joshua did…this was the final boundary, crossed with heated confessions. Were you both foolish? You would have been unsure in the past.

His words refused to leave you in peace. Damn you, you have set my very soul on fire! And then another confession flashed. My desire for you, my longing for you…it has awakened something in me, a feeling which is stronger than our friendship—

You have always been dear to me, _____. Now, I stand before you, asking you to be dearer still.

“Did you mean it?”

The question was out of your mouth before you realised. You brought a hand to your mouth as Joshua turned his head, locks curling in the humidity. “Mean what?” 

You could not meet his gaze. “You know…everything you said about your longing…stronger than our friendship…and then asking me to be dearer.” 

Because you shied from his stare, you did not catch the growing smile that blossomed on his face. “You ask for a confirmation after what we have just done?” 

Your face burned at his words, refusing to answer him. Even more amused, he shifted closer to you, propping his head upon his palm, elbow digging deeper within the pillows. “Look at me, _____.” 

You did not have to be told twice—you observed him in his sweated, naked glory, half-covered by the sheets. “The things that I said to you before all of this…not a single word was a lie. Of course, I value our friendship very much, even with what has happened between us. Nothing can ever change what we share…have shared for years.”

It was beyond your control, the smile that began to form upon your lips. “I admit that I was scared. I did not know how you would react, especially since last week.”

“I must apologise for my reactions, then,” he said, a little sheepish. “I did not wish to ruin something so important to me…and after today, I do not ever want to tamper with what we have.”

You thought imprisoning you with his stare was enough, but then his words caged you to him forever. “You see, I do not think I can live without you. That is why I ask whether you wish to be dearer to me…more so than ever before.”

As you looked at him—your once dear, now dearest friend, who had shown you wonders in and out of this relationship—you brought a hand to his face, sketching a little dream on his cheek. 

“I think you have my answer, Joshua,” you whispered, soft and barely there. 

But the man, hanging onto your every word, heard you perfectly. Breaking into a grin, you allowed yourself a small reward, all for yourself to enjoy as you swooped in, adding to his mirth with a kiss. 

And as he delved deeper, indulging you, he showed you exactly how he felt about your answer, unspoken but felt throughout your body, in that very room. 

ONCE AGAIN—AND ONE HAD TO ADMIT, WAS BECOMING A LITTLE TEDIOUS—SOONYOUNG’S BALL HOUSED HALF OF THE CITY INSIDE HIS HALLS.

If one thought his soirées were crowded, then the ball was another matter entirely—the cacophony of music, laughter and heated complaints from each and every individual strolling around was prevalent, all engulfing your ears. It should be prohibited to know so many people—how can one ever keep up?

Lord Joshua Hong, however, had no interest in the general public his friend had invited. Rather, he only required the attention of a few men who had managed to attend at the same time. 

“For the last time, what is this news that has you gathering us all like sheep?” The eldest of them demanded once again, falling on deaf ears. 

Once Joshua dropped his announcement to the intended audience before him, every single man had a different reaction. 

Soonyoung had already expected it, all smiles and clapping his hands together in glee, while Chan, standing right beside him, shared in his enthusiasm. Wonwoo, settled on the opposite end, raised his brows in surprise, whilst the man in the middle—the one Joshua made the announcement for in the first place—tilted his head as he inspected the news. 

“_____?” Seungcheol inquired, exposing certain interest. “But I thought you two were merely friends.” 

“We were…we still are,” he agreed, locking his hands behind his back. “But I have seen her in a new light.” 

“What changed, then?” Chan asked, curious. “I still remember you defending your friendship with her when all of us doubted your intentions.” 

“Perhaps we were right to doubt them in the first place,” Wonwoo murmured, which had Joshua narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Do not mind the pity party amongst us,” Soonyoung assured, waving off the playwright’s words, “what matters is if you truly care for her.” 

At that, a certain glow flushed over the man’s face, and the members watched the slight, positive shift. “Always. I do not think that ever stopped…ever will stop.” 

Chan and Soonyoung exchanged knowing glances, thoroughly amused by the sentiment. Seungcheol, on the other hand, crossed his arms, still a little unsatisfied. “You have not answered Chan’s question. What was the turning point? I cannot imagine a friendship of years changing before the season has even started.” 

“Is he not allowed his privacy?” Wonwoo interjected as he took off his spectacles, cleaning the glass with his sleeve. “God knows you have interrogated enough of us to never court again.”

“You never have any lady to court anyway,” the youngest of them murmured, which only had the accused sighing, setting his glasses back upon the bridge of his nose. “At least Joshua has someone.” 

“I do…” He looked down at his boots, his swept-up brown hair curling around his forehead. “And to answer your question, I cannot fully say because that is between me and her.” 

“Oh, you are no fun!” Soonyoung bellowed, as if he was not aware of the entire façade. “Can you not tell your dearest friends?” 

But Joshua only smiled knowingly, a twinkle in his eye at the mention of such a term. “That is where you are wrong,” he said, bringing his one hand to his chest, where his heart beat with striking pace—more so as he mentioned you. “Because I already have a dearest friend, and I intend to marry her.” 

Finally, the reaction was unanimous—shock spread through the members, and the announcer had to fight back a chuckle at the widened eyes and open mouths. “Marriage?” Soonyoung repeated, almost floating in the clouds. “I never thought I’d hear the word from you!” 

“Diabolical coming from Soonyoung,” Chan drawled, earning a shove from the eccentric. “This is wonderful news, though, Joshua! I offer you my most sincere congratulations.” 

“So you are to settle down, then,” Seungcheol declared. He walked over to him, eyes raking over his face—attempting to catch him out, see if there is any sense of ridicule, contempt even. When he saw the purest form of hope residing in his friend’s eyes, he let himself smile. “Well, you could not have chosen better for yourself.”

“Wow, Cheol’s approval, of all the congratulations to receive?” Chan then followed suit, hand on his hair in surprise. “Is it my turn to find a wife, too?” 

“The child is not marrying before the rest of us,” Soonyoung taunted, “or else I am sabotaging his wedding.” 

“You truly are a darling friend, are you not, bastard?” 

“Call me a bastard again, and I am revoking any chance for you to act in my productions!” 

The apparent child rolled his eyes. “I see less producing, more philandering in that theatre!” 

As the two began to bicker amongst themselves, Seungcheol patting Joshua once more for his suitable choice of bride, the latter turned his eyes towards the sole member, who stayed silent. Excusing himself to the eldest, he strolled over to the man, who pretended to clean his spectacles once more. “Wonwoo,” he called to him, instantly putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“Joshua,” he responded, looking only at his glasses. 

The said-man did not tear his gaze from his friend. “You do not seem so thrilled.” 

That immediately had the playwright glancing up, face crumpling in slight guilt. “No, no, I am! Forgive me, I…I am thrilled…truly.” 

The accuser furrowed his brows, not quite rid of his suspicions. He would have made a comment on it, but then Soonyoung made an excited noise, catching the sight of his most important guest. Wonwoo looked beyond his inquirer. “Ah, look,” he said, jerking his head towards the new arrival. “She has arrived…just in time.” 

Sure enough, there you were, a vision for his eyes as you greeted guests, your own focus wavering as you scanned the crowd for your intended. “Go to her,” Joshua heard his friend say, and as he looked at him, the spectacled man patted his arm. “I hope you are happy together.”

As the playwright turned on his heel, Joshua turned to you, gravitating his steps towards where you stood. He could sense your slight discomfort at the amount of people attending the ball. Perhaps if the last few weeks had not happened, you would have opted to escape. 

Except thankfully, they had occurred, changing your life forever. The life-changer was there before you, an almost-skip in his stroll as he approached you, delving away from his usual group. “Joshua!” you called to him, instantly walking up to him.

Usually, if circumstances were more private, you would have jumped upon him, savoured the warmth of his broad arms underneath many layers. Unfortunately, since the entire city was packed inside of the halls, one touch out of the borders of propriety would have scandalised you both without a chance of redemption. The man said so himself, chuckling as he instead took hold of your hand. “Careful,” he began, raising it to chin-level, “or the rest of the ton would revolt against us.” 

As he kissed the back of your hand, the sensation lingered to your delight. You thought he would let go, but his fingers remained intertwined. “The next waltz is to begin soon,” he said, already leading you in the middle.

“Oh? You were not so eager to be on the dance floor before,” you teased, smiling as your eyes first glanced at your intertwined hands, and then climbing up to his face. “I wonder what the sudden change is.” 

“I may have believed in your innocence before, angel,” he drawled, snaking an arm around your waist, “but you are not fooling me this time.” 

“Worth a try,” you chuckled out, propping your free hand upon his shoulder. The musicians, situated at the ends of the ballroom, hoped to begin their lively tune, and instantly couples began to form, aligning themselves with their partners to commence. 

With the beginning of the music, you and Joshua began to move. He led you with an ease quite different from his previous dances. You felt it yourself—whenever you had watched him, danced with him, he was always controlled, careful. Now, there was a semblance of it that faded—as if the comfort had washed over his need for excellence. As if you were enough for him. 

The feeling itself had not faded for you both—that you and him were quite perfect for each other, and how you and he had managed to miss it for years. Not that you had yearned for anything with him romantically in all the time you had known him, but to have him now, after so long…you wondered how you had functioned so normally. 

A comforting voice lulled you out of your mind. “A penny for your thoughts,” he said. 

“I was thinking about us,” you confided, your every step with your partner in perfect harmony with his. “And how we came together this season, and not any year prior.” 

“Ah, yes,” he reminisced, slowly spinning you along to the music. “You pried into my journal, and thus entrapped me with your charms!” 

You squeezed his hand, smirking at his claims. “You are no boy, Joshua. You could have easily renounced my wishes.” 

“That is where you are wrong,” he said, drumming his fingers upon your back. “I could never refuse you.” 

You would have said something, but his actions had spoken for him. The sole action you had left was to fight back a smile, trying to avert your gaze from him but to no avail. “You cannot escape me anymore, angel,” he declared, a feline curve of his lips rising, and you fought the butterflies that erupted even now, after all this time. 

As the music progressed, heightening to a point, the two of you enjoyed the ambience, each other’s company being your only distraction amongst the sea of gossip. Lady Whistledown had announced your courtship to the ton, and consequently everyone and their curious mamas wished to inquire about its origins, and whether it would succeed. 

Lord Joshua Hong would make it that he was successful. As he had said to you—you could not be so easily rid of him, when you had changed the inner workings of his system. What he was, what he called himself…these aspects ceased to exist now that you had delved into him. To have a friend was one thing, but to possess a relationship with his greatest, dearest friend he had ever known was a privilege he had never thought capable of earning. 

He would be damned if he were to let go of such a rarity—if he would not progress it into something more.

“I must ask for the penny back,” you said, bringing him out of his mind. “You looked as if you were thinking up a masterpiece.” 

His growing smirk had your familiar butterflies threatening to fly out of your skin. “I was thinking of something…something I hope you would rather like.” 

“Judging by that awful expression, I am more fearful than excited,” you drawled, which only had him shaking his head at you. “Go on then, enlighten me with this supposed idea.” 

“You know how you always expressed your wish to see the Diamond’s?” He saw you part your mouth, and instantly tutted, refusing to be interrupted. “Yes, yes, you have seen it now, but I mean…in terms of seeing a side of me that I had not shown previously.” 

“Do you mean to tell me you are still hiding yourself from me?” you demanded, twisting your lips in a frown. “After everything we have done together.” 

“I forgot how impatient you are,” he mumbled, squeezing your hand. “No, my dear, I hide nothing. If anything, I wish to show you more of myself…if you let me.”

You kept staring, an inquisitive brow rising. “In what manner?” 

“Well, I said it to you before, but I really enjoyed travelling beyond London’s borders…journeying through Paris, witnessing remnants of the Italian renaissance, sailing around the Greek islands…you see, I truly was a different man when I was off this island.” As he twirled you around, always in tune to the rhythm, he caught your waist in perfect harmony. “I was hoping to show you that part of me, too.” 

“And how will you achieve that?” you asked, filled with doubt. 

He looked at you. “Why, you will come with me, of course!” he declared, as if it was the most sensible answer. 

You rolled your eyes at him. “I am not even allowed to step outside of Mayfair, let alone this country.” You then sighed through your nose, looking down at your heeled-shoes, ensuring a steady rhythm. “Despite our friendship, even our courtship, there is no way we could ever travel together.” 

You heard his voice—the soft utterances which made an effort to sooth you. “In that you are right. We can never journey far away together…as long as we are friends.” 

And as the violins tuned into another grand act, rising to the shrill climax of the dance, Joshua Hong allowed himself to risk pulling you closer to him—enough to garner your attention. 

“But we can…as husband and wife.” 

Your feet stopped dancing. A novice mistake, when the couples all around you never stopped, still continuing, but with a partner like yours, you avoided any accidents, his strong hands never allowing you to fall. Even so, your expression slipped—threatening to crash. “Wh-what did you say?”

The music was surrounding you, filling the entire ballroom, but only one presence threatened to engulf you.“I once said to you that my feelings were stronger than our friendship. I meant it. I could not survive without you before, but to even think of living my life, spending my future without you residing in it…it is impossible.” 

The smile on his face had you almost forgetting to dance altogether. “Say you will marry me, angel. I have you as my friend, but I hope…dream to be your husband.”  

It was then you felt your bodies slow, the melody, so sharp and harmonious, settling over the hall. Applause erupted from everyone, attempting to snap you out of your bubble, but the man’s words—his proposal, of all things—had caged you in its anticipation for an answer. 

To marry Joshua Hong—Viscount Hastings, member of the esteemed Diamond’s club of Mayfair—was many women’s dream. To attain his title, become Viscountess alongside him, bear his heirs, relish in his good fortune; it was the symbol of success for any woman in hopes to lead a luxurious life. 

For you, this was a change. A complete turnaround, a monumental shift in the relationship you had built with him for over two decades. Marrying him meant that he was another person to you entirely. Men always promise consistency, but matrimony had a habit of insisting change when one resisted it. 

As the applause died down, the couples beginning to disperse, you stayed frozen still, your hand rooted upon his own, and his shoulder. It was at this moment Joshua’s anticipation began to take a toll from the shock painted upon your face. “_____?”

“Come…come with me,” was your mere answer, not waiting to hear his response as you left his hold, hurrying towards the exit. Because you knew him well, you foresaw his immediate reaction, following after you out of the hall. 

Yes, marriage has always been a boon for most women. Lady Whistledown had complained about it to the point of souring any reader’s disposition about the subject—if the men were not enough already. 

You sauntered through the all-too familiar halls, flashbacks of that particular evening haunting you as you took the stairs, your friend’s boots thumping behind you upon each step. You heard him call your name, but you did not respond, simply taunting him with a quicker stride. 

Indeed, marriage would bring about an irreversible change between you and Joshua. But you had already shifted the dynamics of your friendship, the moment you witnessed what could not be seen, kissed what could not be even touched. You had already crossed every boundary without shame, and although there was a struggle, you had come so far—with him at every step of the way. 

Only when you finally slipped through the study door the pursuer caught hold of you, catching hold of the door as he let himself in. “If you wish to refuse me, at least spare me the suffering of anticipation.” 

He then saw you slowly grinning, and his confusion grew twice over. “_____?”

You leaned closer, enough to close the door behind him. “Do you trust me?” 

His first reaction was to gape at you. Then, his eyes finally darted at the surroundings, the familiarity of the room, the circumstances. He found himself scoffing, his eyes dancing. “Without question.” 

And that was enough for you to accept him. You collided your lips against his, wrapping your arms around him, and his relieved moan slipped through as he pulled you closer, smiling against your mouth. He found you divine upon him, more so with your acceptance, relishing the adoration that poured from you, the delight that he savoured shamelessly.

He would have delved further, swirled his tongue along with yours had you not broken away, inhaling sharply as you looked up at him. “See how quickly this could have happened the last time?”

His breathless scoff fanned your face. “Oh, you are cruel.” His fingers wandered at your sides. “You brought me here to do this, didn’t you?” 

“Smart man.” Your hands played with the collar of his shirt. “Perhaps you will be a good husband after all.”

“Merely good?” he rested his forehead against yours. “I will be as perfect a husband as I was a friend.” 

You mocked a seething sigh. “Is it too late to retract my acceptance, I wonder?” 

“Do not even jest!” he groaned, “I was half-scared you were going to reject me on the dance floor!” 

You offered a mischievous smile. “I wanted to show you how happy I was with your proposal. Now, if I had kissed you with everyone to see, how would that have fared?” 

He wanted to, but could not argue against your logic. “How about you keep showing me how happy you are, then?” 

Giggling, you brought your fingers upwards, cupping his face. “You dreamed of being my husband?” 

He held onto your wrist, leaning into your hold. “I told you, did I not? Even if we are married, you will still be my dearest friend. I cannot…cannot live without you.”

There was nothing but adoration, staining the features of your expression. You gave into your wants, your very needs as you kissed him again, this time laced with such longing that Joshua let out a satisfied noise, tilting his head to incite your pleasure. 

And as you both mirrored the familiar position of that very night, when everything changed for the better, you thanked the fates that you came upon his journal, let your curiosity guide you. You thanked your quest for knowledge, your need to know everything about the man before you.

Most importantly, you thanked the fates for Joshua—the rake of the ton, esteemed member of the infamous gentlemen’s club for looking past his reputation, the rules of society. For satiating your curiosity, for igniting a desire you never thought capable of yourself.

Because that was what Joshua Hong was. He may have been many things, but to you, he would always be your oldest, dearest friend—and now, your companion till the very end. 

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @smiileflower @ourkivee @alyssa19123456 @xylatox @lexyraeworld @fancypeacepersona @tjjth @zezedoesshit @ochidize @sankriin @okiedokrie-main @reiofsuns2001 @gyuguys @livixxn @livelaughloveseventeen @peepeepoopooharrie @shinaely @uhdrienne @maple249 @tomodachiii @miniskirtmods

[beloveds-embrace]

The potential for Yandere Dukedom au has me rattling the bars of my enclosure! Begging on my hands and knees for it!!?

I gotchu anon 🫡 dukedom au masterlist (hasn’t been fully updated yet)

You had always been told that marriage was a duty, not a dream. Love is for poets and fools, your mother had said. You’d grown up knowing that your life was a delicate dance on high society’s tightrope, and failure would mean a fall that could ruin your family’s name forever. And if the failure itself was not your end, you family's response would be.

So, when the proposal came from Duke John Price- an older, respectable man with no scandal to his name- you accepted it with quiet resignation. A Duchess, at least, would hold some measure of authority, and John Price was no cruel man. It certainly quietened your parents' frantic mumbling of why no one was asking for your hand, stopped them from accusing you of doing anything inappropriate under their noses.

You expected a lonely life, but hopefully a painless one.

What you didn’t expect was the warmth.

The household welcomed you as if you were a long-lost treasure. The head butler, Kyle, was a marvel, guiding you through your new responsibilities with patience and quiet charm. The estate’s chef, Johnny, fed you meals so exquisite you sometimes wondered if you’d been starved your whole life. And the Duke’s closest friend, Simon, treated you with a quiet protectiveness that was as comforting as it was unnerving.

John himself was kind, though reserved. He assured you on your wedding night that there was no rush for an heir, blue eyes soft yet unreadable. You’d been grateful for his restraint, retreating to the safety of your role as Duchess while leaving love to the poets and fools just as your mother had said.

But the warmth never waned.

Kyle’s attentiveness went beyond what was required of a butler, beyond even that of a friend though you'd never admit that to yourself. He always seemed to know when you needed a shawl before you felt the chill, when you needed a quiet walk in the garden instead of a crowded ballroom, his arm looped with yours pressing you almost fully against the warmth of his body. Dark eyes followed you with something almost reverent, though you dismissed it as your mind straying from you.

Johnny’s meals grew more tailored to your tastes with each passing day. He’d tease you as he presented your plate, a boyish grin on his face as he watched you savor every bite. “You're too good for this kitchen, lass.” He’d joke, though his tone carried an edge of sincerity that made your cheeks warm. "Though I would nae want you anywhere else."

Simon was the hardest to read. He rarely spoke to you, but his presence was a constant shadow. He would escort you to galas when John could not join, his broad frame a silent barrier between you and prying eyes, and he'd be your sole dance partner throughout the night. His gaze lingered a little too long when you danced with your husband, too, though you never noticed how it darkened when anyone else dared to approach you.

And then there was John.

The Duke had a way of watching you that made your skin tingle. At first, you thought it was scrutiny, a husband assessing his new wife. But as the months passed, his gaze softened. He began joining you for tea in the afternoons, his deep voice rumbling as he asked about your day. His hand would brush against yours as he handed you a cup, lingering just a moment too long, and only pulling away when he'd notice you flustering.

Eventually, you grew accustomed to the quiet intensity of your household, never once suspecting the storm that brewed beneath the surface like a raging beast.

It wasn’t until a year into your marriage that the cracks began to fully show.

It started with a simple comment at another gala. Lady Fitzgerald, a sharp-tongued widow with too much time on her hands, had leaned in close, whispered, and tsked. “Still no heir, my dear? One wonders if the Duke regrets his choice.”

You had smiled politely, excusing yourself before the tears could spill- because she was not the first, nor will be the last, and she despised your mother and you knew she would hear of this, as well. But the moment you returned to John’s side, he knew. His hand tightened around yours, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on Lady Fitzgerald tittering with some other ladies. He hadn't said much, but he kept you close to his side after that and you had no protests.

The next morning, you learned that Lady Fitzgerald had decided to leave town for an indefinite period- her son was found dead early in the morning, and by the time he was found by his wife, the rainy weather had washed away all traces that could be used to identify the murderer.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Kyle had remarked, though his tone suggested it was anything but. You hadn't noticed at that time, and then forgot about when Johnny and Kyle worked so hard to remove that furrow in your brows until you were smiling once more. And you did not ask Simon where he was taking the newspaper when he asked for it, nor did you wonder why John held the air of a particularly satisfied cat.

From then on, the protectiveness of your household grew more palpable. Kyle began shadowing you more closely, always within arm’s reach. Johnny’s playful teasing took on an edge, his jokes about locking you in the kitchen too pointed to be entirely humorous. Simon’s presence became impossibly more imposing, his silent stares daring anyone to look at you the wrong way.

And John… John grew possessive, and you noticed all of it.

He began escorting you to every event, his arm a constant weight around your waist. He dismissed servants who so much as looked at you the wrong way, their replacements carefully vetted. His touch grew bolder, his kisses lingering on your forehead, your hand, your neck.

You didn’t notice how often he murmured, “My Duchess.” as if to remind you- and everyone else- of who you belonged to.

One evening, as you sat by the fire with John, the warmth of the room making you drowsy, he spoke.

“Do you love me, wife?”

The question startled you, your eyes snapping open to meet his. His expression was unreadable, blue eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race within your chest like a hummingbird.

“I… Of course, John. You’re my husband.”

He hummed, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “That’s not what I asked.”

You hesitated, unsure of what he wanted to hear. “I… I care for you deeply.”

His grip tightened, just enough to make you notice. “That’s not enough, my Duchess."

Before you could respond, the door opened, and Kyle entered with a tray of tea. He set it down with practiced ease, eyes flicking to you before settling on John.

“Will there be anything else?”

John’s gaze didn’t leave yours. “Yes. Stay.”

Kyle’s brow lifted slightly, but he obeyed, taking a seat across from you. The tension in the room was suffocating, though neither man seemed bothered, and you couldn't yet bring yourself to speak or pull your hand away.

It was Johnny who entered next, his usual grin replaced by something far more subdued. He took his place by the fire, his eyes darting between you and John, and something satisfied flickered in his gaze.

Finally, Simon appeared, towering frame filling the doorway. He said nothing as he entered, yet his presence was a silent command. You've been here long enough to know that there is something between all of them, but you hadn't dared bring it up in fear of breaking what could be a very fragile... thing.

You looked at each of them in turn, your confusion mounting. “What’s going on?”

John leaned closer, his lips brushing against the back of your hand. “We’ve been patient, my Duchess. But I think it’s time you understood.”

“Understood what?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Johnny’s grin returned, sharp and wolfish. “That you are ours, lass. Always have been.”

Kyle nodded, softening. “We’ve loved you long before you even knew our names.”

Simon’s hand rested on your shoulder- when did he get so close?- and his touch was gentle. “And we’ll make sure you never forget it.”

John’s other hand cupped your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re not just my wife, darling. You’re ours. And we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you that way.”

The fire crackled in the silence that followed, its warmth nothing compared to the way they peered at you, and the firelight cast flickering shadows across the room, wrapping the four men in a golden glow that only heightened the weight of their presence. You swallowed thickly, your gaze darting between them, searching for some explanation, some reassurance, that this was all a misunderstanding. But deep down, the way their words wrapped around you like ropes and chains, the fierce devotion in their eyes that you'd seen only in the most devoted of the churches, sparked something you weren’t ready to name.

“I-I don’t understand,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “What do you mean, you’ve always loved me? We… we only met after the marriage proposal…”

Johnny let out a low chuckle, his accent thick and his grin sharp enough to cut. “Oh, lass, you really think that? That our John just happened upon you like some fairytale?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. A little closer, and he would be able to kneel in front of you. “We’ve been watchin’ you for years.”

“For years?” The room spun for a moment, and you grasped the armrest of your chair. “What do you mean? Why would you- ”

Kyle leaned forward, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made you shiver. “Because you’ve always been ours, my lady. From the first moment we saw you. We knew it then, and John sealed it the day he put that ring on your finger.”

Simon’s gloved hand slid from your shoulder to the curve of your neck, his fingers resting lightly against your pulse. “We’ve waited. Played the roles. Watched you be the perfect Duchess for us.”

“Perfect,” Johnny echoed, his grin softening into something dangerously tender. “You were made for us, darling. Couldn't let anyone else have you, our treasure."

John’s grip on your hand was firm, grounding, as if daring you to pull away. “You think I proposed out of convenience, don’t you? Because society demanded it?”

You nodded slowly, words failing you under the weight of their gazes.

His chuckle was low, humorless. “Convenience had nothing to do with it. You were chosen. Handpicked to stand by my side- and by theirs. Did you truly think so little of yourself, that you never wondered why no one was asking for your hand, dearest?"

“I… I never…” Your words faltered as the pieces began to fit together. The strange familiarity in Kyle’s guidance when you first arrived, so easily fitting into the way you worked. Johnny’s uncanny ability to prepare your favorite dishes, even those you hadn’t mentioned. Simon’s quiet, watchful presence that always seemed to know where you were. John’s unyielding devotion to your well-being, even when it bordered on overbearing.

“You’ve all been… orchestrating this?” you asked, your voice trembling. “Why?”

Kyle’s hand rested on your knee, the warmth of his touch seeping through your gown. “Because you’re ours to protect. To love. To cherish. No one else can give you what we can.”

Johnny’s grin widened, though his eyes were soft. “And no one else will, lass. We’ll see to that.”

“Forever.” Simon rumbled, his voice like a promise carved into stone.

John leaned closer, his forehead brushing against yours as his fingers slid under your chin to tilt your face up to his. “You’re not going anywhere, love. You belong to us. And we belong to you.”

The fire crackled again, the sound startling in the heavy silence that followed. Your heart pounded, a mix of fear, confusion, and… something else.

You should have been alarmed- should have pushed them away, demanded they explain themselves further. But you couldn’t deny the truth buried beneath their words. They had woven themselves into your life, wrapped you in their devotion, and with every gesture, every sacrifice, they had proven they would do anything for you. For the first time in your life, you felt truly seen, cared for, and adored. It was overwhelming, suffocating… but not unwelcome.

A shaky breath escaped your lips as you met John’s gaze, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. “You’ve all done so much for me,” you whispered. “You’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved.”

Kyle’s hand tightened on your knee, his expression softening with something like relief. “Because you deserve the world, my lady.”

Johnny leaned closer, his grin tempered with warmth. “And we’ll give it to you, every last piece of it.”

Simon’s hand on your neck steadied you, his touch grounding in its quiet strength. “You don’t need to fight us. We’ll always take care of you.”

John’s lips brushed against your forehead, his voice low and certain. “We’ll never let you feel unloved again. You’re ours, darling. And you always will be. Don't fight against this, please."

The room seemed to exhale with you, the tension melting into something else entirely. They weren’t letting go- and, if you were honest with yourself...

You didn’t want them to.

(And even if you wanted them to, they would have not. Never, ever.)

[spatialwave]

stress relief.

➸ ask: “Heyy <33 | have a req for a jayvik fic, the reader has noticed they've been quite stressed lately and recommends a form of Relaxing they do (Basically just getting high) and convinces both Jayce and Viktor to take part in it.. Can be fluff or smut??” ➸ pairing: jayvik x fem!reader ➸ tags: mdni! drug use, nsfw, smut, pwp, poly sex, double penetration, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, jayvik established relationship, modern au, viktor wears a prosthetic leg, no use of y/n. ➸ word count: 6.3k ➸ a/n: i only realized when writing this, that i don’t have a ton of jayvik x reader fics like i thought i did! so, here’s to more!! hehe <3

Your fingers moved skillfully over a typewriter, a vintage one, which you often pointed out to anyone who admired it. Did it often cause you more hassle than writing on your computer? Of course, it did, but the nostalgic sounds of clicking and the aesthetic had become a part of your routine, even if it meant struggling with it or groaning when you had to pull out the paper to correct your mistakes with whiteout and place it right where you left off. A tedious task for a small mistake, but one that you struggled with no less.

The sounds of your constant typing reminded Jayce and Viktor of your pursuit of passion, sharing your poetry and fiction works with the world. This was a creative field of work, as opposed to theirs, which left them strained and sore after a day’s work.

It’s not that they ever compared the two in terms of struggles, but you were able to indulge in a stress-free environment more often than they could. A luxury in their eyes, but all you had done was master the art of stress relief.

In the form of smoking so much weed that you were able to melt into the couch after a day of writing that left your brain foggy, or sometimes even smoking before work to resurge enough creative energy to finish a chapter. You were nearly done with your first fiction novel since graduation, and your roommates, Jayce and Viktor, were lagging behind in their own professional efforts.

You met them both in college; you were in your second year, and they were in their fourth year of mechanical engineering and far from being done with their post-secondary education. It was the luck of the draw, or so Jayce called it when you stumbled into them while hurrying between classes and accidentally knocking their first prosthetic arm prototype to the ground where the pieces scattered.

Never in your life had you ever felt so bad, quickly dropping to your knees and helping them gather the pieces of their hard work, apologizing every second while the two men told you it would be okay. Or, at least, Jayce was telling you it would be okay.

You still think fondly back on Viktor's look. His eyes narrowed as he stared at you, watching you and Jayce scramble to grab everything before the rush of students stampeded over them into non-existence.

It took one apology and a smile to win over Jayce’s heart and a few days of getting to know Viktor—and a few drinks—to win his. Though, you had been oblivious to the deeper feelings that blossomed in their heart.

Why would you think otherwise? They were the two in the relationship.

It was by your fourth year and their sixth that the three of you ended up in the same apartment together, the rent cheap enough split three ways that you’d all be fools to let the opportunity go to waste. You learned quickly that living with two men, let alone engineers and inventors, was going to be a lot. It took a few long months to get used to, but by the time you resigned your first year’s lease and you were freshly graduated, you could be blindfolded and walk over their disassembled creations without as much disturbing their work.

You were thankful that they were able to find a laboratory on campus, but it left your apartment quiet most days and well into the night. The sounds of their bickering had become the soundtrack to your life; instead, the sounds of your fingers against the typewriter echoed through the otherwise empty apartment.

The only other sounds were the distant television you hadn’t bothered to turn off and your senior cat's purring, which lay atop your bed. 

You hummed a quiet melody, a song that you couldn’t name that Jayce had been playing on his phone earlier that morning when he was cooking breakfast. Waking up just in time so you could sneak it and ask him to triple the servings for you and Viktor.

The rattling of the apartment door startled you from your daze, not having realized that you’d been staring at the same sentence over and over for the past five minutes. Your eyes flickered to your phone, a finger tapping the screen to check the time and only then realizing you’d been writing for the past four hours without a break. The moon was high in the sky, and the birds would be chirping in only a few more hours.

Slowly, you got up from your desk, arms stretched above your head and groaning as your stationary position caught up to you, leaving you sore and desperate for a smoke before the night got ahead of you.

“Jesus,” you said as you stepped out of your room, pulling down the sleeves of your sweater over your hands absently as you watched Jayce and Viktor kick off their shoes at the front door. They were so exhausted that they looked like they might fall asleep standing if they didn’t hurry. “This is the fourth night in a row; you guys are digging early graves at how little sleep you’re getting.”

“Maybe that’s why we’re doing it,” Viktor mumbled, struggling with removing the shoe from his prosthetic leg, which Jayce quickly dropped to his knees to help him with.”

“Don’t blame you, all that work and still no grant. Yikes.” You returned with a playful flicker in your eyes, smiling as Viktor rolled his eyes at you. Jayce frowned as he rose back to his feet. “Kidding, guys. It’s called a joke; don’t give me those looks.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the taller man mumbled, scratching at his stubbled jaw as he walked into the apartment, passing you and groaning as he b-lined for the living room so he could collapse onto the couch. Viktor was close behind, leaning on his cane as he walked, but you weren’t far behind.

“Bad day?” You asked sheepishly, regret forming a knot in your stomach when you noticed how stressed they were, both sitting on the couch.

“Bad week,” Viktor corrected as he leaned forward, rolling his pant leg up to reveal the well-worn prosthetic that needed an upgrade. They’d been so focused on their work that he hadn’t bothered to worry about his own needs, knowing that once this project ended, he’d be able to call the final prototype his own. A leg that would finally implant into his limb so he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of the ill-fitting prosthetics any longer.

You watched as he struggled for a minute, and before Jayce could offer, you were on the floor in front of him, hands already reaching for his leg. Carefully pulling the prosthetic down his thigh until it came clean off, he sighed in relief. This was a common routine that you helped with when Jayce was otherwise busy. Or falling asleep on the couch.

“Thanks,” he murmured, shifting as you put aside the leg carefully.

You returned to the armchair next to the couch, eyes looking between both men who had seen better days. The bags were so heavy beneath their eyes that you feared it would take days for them to finally catch up on their sleep—then an idea sparked.

“You two need a better nightly routine, something to help you decompress from the day instead of passing out in exhaustion the minute you get home,” you said, offering the opportunity for a suggestion.

Jayce glanced at you, raising a curious eyebrow. Viktor was the first to speak, “That doesn’t sound like a healthy habit to you? What a shame. I thought we were the epitome of self-care.”

“Let her speak,” Jayce nudged him with an elbow, eventually leaning against his boyfriend until his face was nearly buried against his neck. “You have anything in mind? I’ll be honest. Sleep sounds like the only good idea.”

“Smoke with me.”

Jayce perked up, peering out from the comfort of Viktor’s warmth as he stared at you with uncertainty, “Like… weed? I don’t know. I haven’t done that since I was a freshman, and let me tell you, it wasn’t a good experience.”

“No one told you to smoke that much, Jayce,” Viktor chided, having been there to witness it firsthand. His amber eyes flickered to you, shining in interest, “I suppose it doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.”

“Because it’s a great idea.” You beamed, sitting up and leaning forward to pet your cat that had made her way into the living room, taking her rounds to each person to receive her nightly pets before nestling away on her cat tree.

Viktor glanced at Jayce, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, love.”

You watched as the two of them spoke softly to each other, a small smile on your lips at the affection they carried for each other. Even on their worst days, they loved each other with all they had. You hoped for a love like theirs someday.

“Fine,” Jayce huffed, pulling away from Viktor and running a quick hand over his face, “At this point, I’ll do anything to get my mind off of work. I think I’m going crazy,” he snorted a weak laugh, eyes flickering over to as you bounced up from your chair and hurried off to your room to roll.

You returned just as Viktor pulled a sweater over his thin frame, hanging over the sleep shorts he now wore. Jayce had just slipped into some sweats after his quick trip to their bedroom to rid themselves of their day clothes. Two sets of eyes watched as you sat back down, a joint held between your fingers that you showed off like a prized possession.

“Ta-da!” You exclaimed, “As simple as a few puffs, all your worries will melt away. It’s old reliable for me, especially after a long day. Makes for the best sleep of your life.”

Viktor was watching you carefully as you spoke, unsure if it was the exhaustion or lingering feelings that left him admiring you. His hand on Jayce’s thigh dug into the cotton fabric of his sweats, going unnoticed because Jayce was staring at you with the same look. Admiration, awe—affection.

Glancing around, your eyes landed on the balcony where you often spent your evenings with a joint and your cellphone, doom scrolling through social media until you were ready to sleep. You crinkled your nose, looking at the boys, “We need to go outside, or else the apartment will smell like—”

“I don’t care,” Viktor said, gaze flickering to Jayce, “do you care?”

Jayce didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes focused on the joint in your hand, and he was more than ready to say fuck it and let things go how they needed to go.

“No complaining tomorrow when we have to air out the apartment,” you smiled. You’d never been able to smoke in the comfort of your own home before, so this was a treat. Even better than you had been able to wrangle your favourite boys into the mix, too.

Once lit, the joint was passed around the circle three times. Viktor handled it well, having been an off-and-on cigarette smoker throughout the years, usually when his stress levels peaked. Now, it was only when he had enough alcohol in his system. Jayce coughed up a lung each time, and it was the most endearing thing you’d ever witnessed. 

Even if it was rather unpleasant for him at first.

You finished the rest, an experienced smoker, so it was almost like nothing to you. The lingering effects of the high made you sink into the armchair, but not before you grabbed everyone some emergency water and snacks, if you could even stay awake.

Fifteen minutes passed, and everyone’s attention was focused on the TV as the shared high began to climb. Viktor was feeling great. His mind was emptied, and the usual pain in his leg after a day of wearing the prosthetic was gone, leaving his body relaxed and eager to sleep long enough to hit double digits.

You glanced at Jayce, seeing the way he sunk into the couch, legs spread wide apart and a lopsided smile on his lips as he watched the trashy reality show play out. You were almost certain you’d never seen them look so damned relaxed, at least since you lived with them.

Jayce caught your stare, head tilting slowly until his gaze met yours, and you felt your heart skip a beat for a brief moment. It had been a long time since you shared a high with anyone, let alone your best friends, so the emotions and feelings coursing through you were new. You couldn’t ignore his half-lidded eyes, staring even as he made room between him and Viktor.

“You look lonely,” Jayce said, a chuckle erupting from his throat, “Come on. When’s the last time you cuddled with us?”

Viktor sighed heavily through his nose, everything around him feeling slow as he watched you slink over hesitantly. He looked at Jayce, smiling, “You say that so confidently; you know she never has before.”

You plopped down on the couch between them, and immediately, your senses were filled in the best way possible. Jayce’s body to your left warmed your body, and you could smell the faint cologne that Viktor used every morning. The scent lingered on his skin.

“That’s not true,” you hummed, looking to the television as you crossed your legs and relaxed back, “Last year when we went to that gala for the university, I got hammered, and somehow I woke up sandwiched between you two in my bed.”

Jayce laughed, a loud laugh that hadn’t warranted that reaction from your words, but everything was funny to him. He could get used to the feeling.

“Ah, right,” Viktor looked at you, smirking, “That was Jayce’s doing, just so you know. He was worried you would get sick, so he wanted to stay with you and begged me to stay.”

“I didn’t beg,” he said through his laughter, “You gave in very easily and enjoyed it. Don’t lie.”

“I did not,” Viktor argued, pale cheeks turning a soft pink. You looked between the two of them as they bickered, a big smile on your face. However, the implications of their words settled into your stomach, and you forced yourself to look back to the TV before you could let your mind wander where it didn’t need to.

There was no need to let yourself build up a desire, knowing very well that it wouldn’t come true.

“Yeah, you did,” Jayce turned to face you both better, easily throwing his right leg over both of your laps, and you were quick to rest a hand over the clothed limb. The touch sent a shiver up his spine and a heat in the pit of his stomach that he hadn’t expected, and he hoped you hadn’t noticed because Viktor certainly had.

“Hardly,” Viktor hummed, unable to feel an ounce of annoyance when his heart began pounding in his chest when he saw how Jayce reacted to your touch. How those hazel eyes were glued to your face, and all of the discussions they’ve shared in the past about you came to the surface.

“Stop arguing,” you whined, pointing to the television, “You are missing the best part of the show. They’re about to answer the ultimatums, and let me tell you that whatever you had in mind is never what happens.”

You were received by silence, and you quickly looked between the two men again, blinking a few times in quick succession as you saw the way they both stared at you. You felt a chill crawl up your spine and absently dug your fingers into the fabric covering Jayce’s leg. Sinking back into the couch, you attempted to force yourself to relax and not overthink it, but it was hard when you could see them sharing looks.

“You know, when you get high, you usually just laugh at crappy television and snack on whatever you have until you fall asleep,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning.

“Mmh,” Viktor hummed, “Where are our manners?” He teased, and his voice sent goosebumps along your skin. He nestled himself against you as he spoke, his cheek resting on your shoulder as he focused on the television. Meanwhile, Jayce leaned back against the nook between the arm and the back of the sofa, his arm extending behind you as his fingers ‘absently’ played with the ends of your hair.

You were on high alert, which was surprising for how much you smoked, but you could sense something was happening. You were just trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t what you were imagining in your head, but the way Jayce brushed his fingers through your hair and how Viktor’s left hand rested over your bare thigh left you wondering if you were dreaming again.

Viktor’s fingers brushed between your thighs, a daring touch that reminded you that this was no dream, and in this reality, the two men were certainly coming onto you.

A laugh bubbled up from you, one that you weren’t able to hold down. Your hands flew to your face, which had begun to burn a bright red, and you avoided their curious looks.

“You guys are being horribly obvious. I hope you know that.” You mumbled behind your hands, refusing to move them.

Viktor chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, “Or maybe it takes you being high to finally notice.”

You turned your head to look at Viktor between parted fingers, “What do you mean by that?”

Jayce spoke up from the other side of you, smiling rather shyly as you looked over at him, “You’re… pretty clueless, you know that? It’s cute.”

You swore you could hear your heart slamming against your ribs, the feeling overwhelming as you stared up at Jayce and felt your stomach twist in uncomfortable knots. Your eyes flickered back to Viktor, noting the confident smile on his lips as he reached out and tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

“How does it make you feel?” Viktor asked quietly, his reddened eyes scanning your face, “Knowing how we feel about you.”

“Well,” you murmured, licking your lips as you inhaled a shaky breath, “I suppose I don’t exactly know how you feel about me… it’s difficult to answer without knowing.”

Jayce shifted beside you, his leg moving from your laps so he could instead guide you until you were rested back against his chest, his body still turned completely towards you and Viktor. You nestled back into him, sighing at how his body felt so nice and warm like it was enveloping you.

Meanwhile, Viktor shifted and leaned towards you, smiling as he nuzzled himself into you and pulled his leg onto the couch that perfectly fit you three. He buried his face against your clothed chest, peering up just enough to meet your gaze.

“Would you like us to show you?” he asked his eager hand dipping beneath your sweater, thin fingers brushing against the skin of your stomach. You didn’t care if the weed was allowing them to better act on their instincts. All you knew was that the four hands beginning to grasp at your body was enough to make you say—

“God, yes,” you breathed, the sound catching in your throat.

Jayce was quick to act on your consent. From behind his lips attached to the side of your neck, he left gentle kisses that earned you a shiver. Meanwhile, Viktor leaned himself between your spread legs. His eyes were half-lidded and glossy as he stared at you with a knowing smile.

You didn’t have time to question him for staring because he swallowed the words on the tip of your tongue as he pressed your lips together in a bruising kiss. Your lips parted with a gasp, and he took advantage of the opening, his tongue delving into your mouth and tasting the red licorice flavour from the sweets you had indulged. He moaned into your mouth, hands on your hips underneath your sweater and grasping over your flesh, rougher touches compared to the fluttering kisses from the man behind you.

The stubble on Jayce’s jaw tickled your skin as he nibbled on the shell of your ear, his heavy breaths cascading your neck with warmth.

“How excited are you?” He whispered into your ear, a squeak muffling into Viktor’s eager mouth as a hand slipped between your bodies and pushed into your shorts. Thick fingers pushed past the fabric of your panties, easily spreading through your wet folds. “Fuck,” Jayce huffed, swallowing thickly as he circled your needy clit with short circles.

“I told you she’d like it,” Viktor mumbled against you, pulling back as a string of saliva connected your lips. He grinned, lifting a hand and brushing his thumb against your swollen bottom lip, “You like it, don’t you?”

Your body was on fire, Jayce’s fingers toying with your cunt, earning a few whimpers that you tried to muffle, but to no avail. Half-lidded eyes stared at Viktor as you nodded, watching as he leaned back and looked down between your legs underneath the fabric. He could see his boyfriend’s fingers working through your folds, the slick sound loud enough to reach his ears.

Nimble fingers grabbed at your shorts and underwear, yanking them down your thighs until they slipped past your ankles and were discarded to the floor.

Viktor’s eyes sparkled as he watched, licking his lips as Jayce used two fingers to spread you open.

“She’s dripping,” Jayce murmured, the sound of his voice easing your nerves as you relaxed against him, fingers grabbing at his thighs. You closed your eyes, unable to look at Viktor in your flustered state.

“I can see that,” Viktor purred, his fingers toying at your entrance that Jayce had opened for him. You whined as he pushed in a finger, a second one joining much too easily, “So good. Taking my fingers so easily. I bet you’ve dreamt of this, haven’t you?”

Your back arched at his touch, Jayce’s index finger returning to your clit, a ministration that made your hips shake in tandem with Viktor’s fingers thrusting in and out of you. Your mind was hazy, and you couldn’t think straight, eyes fluttering as you fucked yourself along his two fingers that pumped so deep you were beginning to babble out their names incoherently. 

Viktor curved his fingers, pushing on the fleshy pad of muscle inside your pussy that coaxed out a strangled cry from your lips. He didn’t relent, the two men wanting to hear more from you as they worked together. They couldn’t concentrate on anything, fixated on the way your cunt tightened around Viktor’s fingers and how your nails dug into Jayce’s thighs as your climax neared.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, a gasp escaping between parted lips. You attempted to push your thighs together, but Jayce was quick and held your thighs apart.

“Be a good girl,” he breathed into your ear.

Viktor’s free hand moved so he could rub quick circles over your swollen clit, fingers still pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace. Your eyes cracked open, hips twitching violently as heat spread down your thighs and up your abdomen. You locked a gaze with Viktor, and your heart lept into your throat at the way he stared at you—animalistic. Hungry.

“Come for me,” he whispered, fingers curling as he did his best to bring you to your release.

It worked well, especially with Jayce’s lips pressing heady open-mouthed kisses to your neck, hands grabbing at your thighs and keeping you nicely spread.

“Oh my god,” you cried, thighs tensing and toes curling as your orgasm hit you hard. You clenched impossibly tight around Viktor’s fingers, hips stuttering as heavy breaths and moans fell from your lips. Viktor kept fucking you with his fingers, a slower pace to meet with your release until you were spent.

Your hands moved to your face, covering your cheeks that were red from embarrassment. You were still twitching, sensitive from their synchronized touches, and you didn’t dare look at either of them.

Jayce smiled, pressing a chaste kiss at your temple, “That was so hot.”

Viktor chuckled, fingers leaving your cunt, and you whined at the emptiness. He noted the reaction, his gut hot and cock twitching under his shorts.

“Show us your pretty face,” he chided you, voice soft as he grabbed at your wrists. He tugged your hands away from your face, smiling at the way you pouted at him, “Since when are you shy?”

“Since my roommates in a relationship decided they’d rather fuck me instead of sleeping,” you mumbled, shifting and feeling a familiar hardness on your lower back. Jayce grunted, his tanned cheeks red as he twitched, the slight friction on his erection making him eager to make your statement come true.

“We haven’t fucked you yet, though,” Viktor hummed, smirking as he lifted his fingers to his mouth, wet with your juices. He licked them clean and sighed, “Do you want us to?”

You answered quickly, a prominent yes. Within minutes, the three of you had made it to their bedroom, rather clumsy in your efforts. Your back fell against the bedsheets that had been tucked into the mattress so neatly, and your clothes were ripped from your body almost instantaneously.

Viktor was leaning back against the pillows, centred almost perfectly in the middle of the bed, and you were on your knees in front of him. Eyes heavy as you tugged down his shorts and briefs while he tossed his sweaters aside. Jayce settled behind you, also on his knees, and he towered over your smaller frame.

Golden eyes watched you both in awe as you felt Jayce’s bare muscled chest pressed against your back and his cock pushing between your thighs—grazing against your still-wet cunt. You could feel how big he was, and as you stared down at Viktor, you noted his, too.

You didn’t want to think about it, wondering how you would take them. You weren’t much of a go-getter in terms of sex, usually relying on your toys late at night when you needed some relief.

“You’re nervous,” Jayce murmured, calloused hands running up and down your sides. They settled over your breasts, feeling the heaviness of them in his hands as he pinched at your nipples until you gasped. 

“A little,” you answered quietly, swallowing down the nervous lump in your throat. You leaned to the side enough that you could tilt your head and meet Jayce’s eyes from behind you. His eyes carried a gentle look, different than the fiery gaze from Viktor.

Jayce smiled, ducking his head closer until his lips brushed against yours, “Don’t be. There’s no reason.”

Your eyes fell closed as you eagerly accepted his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as he tasted you carefully. His tongue pushed past your lips, and you opened yours, tongues dancing together effortlessly. He moaned into you, arms wrapping over your waist as you shared a passionate kiss with a bit too much tongue, but gods, you didn’t care.

Especially when you knew Viktor was staring, leaning back and smirking. Cock twitching and pre-cum beading along the tip as he began to stroke himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” Jayce whispered, pulling from your lips and staring into your eyes as your stomach twisted. You hadn’t heard that in a while. “I want to fuck that pretty face of yours.”

And they both did.

Both of them leaned back against the headboard, eyes fluttering as you sucked them both off. Working your mouth along their cocks one at a time, your hand stroking the one your throat neglected.

“Ah,” Viktor whimpered, a hand tight in your hair as he guided you along his cock, amber eyes heavy as you looked up at him, “Fuck, you’re good at this.”

The praises kept you going; it was like a rush of confidence. You took them both deeper than you thought was possible, their cocks fucking your throat until you had to pull back, gasping for air. You could feel how close they both were, and when Jayce roughly tugged your hair back with a growl deep from his chest, you knew you were good enough to be fucked by them. 

Finally.

What you hadn’t expected was how.

The three of you were on the bed, with you sandwiched between them and your back pressed against Jayce’s chest. You looked up at Viktor, your leg hooked around his hips and breathing heavily, unsure where this was going but knowing that you’d do anything. You’d take anything; you needed them.

As Jayce kissed over your bare shoulders, Viktor moved closer, hand at the base of his cock so he could direct it to your entrance. You whined when the tip pushed inside, teasing. 

“Viktor,” you breathed, your hands reaching out to grab at his waist so you could tug him closer, “fuck me. I need you, please.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest, “Mmh, you’ve been so good. How could I say no to that pretty face of yours?” He murmured, closing the distance between your lips so he could pull you into a searing kiss. 

He pushed inside you with one quick thrust, reaching the hilt as you choked on your breath, the sound captured by his lips. “Ah, fuck,” you croaked, your cunt stretching from his length. You whimpered into his mouth, licking inside until your tongues slid together, and he gave you time to adjust to his size.

Jayce reached around you, the familiar feeling of his finger on your clit easing you. The pain of being stretched, a remnant of the past, as you pulled from Viktor’s lips, “Keep going.”

He obeyed quickly, panting as he shifted so he could fuck you, pulling out half-way and pushing back in. Careful movements until he knew you could take it, quickening to a hard pace that had you moaning out his name.

You reached back behind you, looking over your shoulder at Jayce as your hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him. You thumbed at the tip, the pre-cum coating his cock as you pumped him in repetition with Viktor’s thrusts. He huffed at the feeling, his forehead pressed against your shoulder blade as the heat in his abdomen tightened.

“Your pussy feels so good,” Viktor’s voice pulled you down from the clouds, a quiet mewl bubbling up from your throat at the praise, “You’re being so good. Taking me so good… can you take us both?”

Both you and Jayce stilled, tensing at the prospect. Jayce’s cock twitched in your hand, and you stared at Viktor wide-eyed, heart slamming against your chest. 

“Both?” You whispered, thankful when Viktor slowed his movements, “I… I don’t know. Maybe.”

“You don’t have to,” Jayce murmured into your ear, his breath heavy from your hand that had nearly stroked him to completion, “It’s okay if it’s a no.”

Viktor hummed in agreement, leaning forward and ducking to press his lips against your jaw, gentle kisses. You closed your eyes, lips parting as quiet sounds of pleasure came from you. The idea of it made your cunt clench around Viktor’s cock, both of them inside you at once.

Stretched impossibly thin. 

“Yes,” you whispered, eyes fluttering open to look into Viktor’s gold orbs, “I want you both. Fuck, I think I need it.”

Jayce grinned against your ear, your hand eagerly guiding his cock to your already-filled entrance. “Easy now, love.” He said, the pet name making your heart flutter, “One step at a time. I don’t want to hurt you.

Viktor began to slowly push himself in and out of you, slow movements so pleasure filled your senses before you’d be stretched beyond your comfort levels. You squirmed when you felt Jayce’s cock prod at your entrance.

“Let me fuck her,” Jayce mumbled, talking to Viktor, who reluctantly pulled himself out. Your cunt was empty for all of a second before another cock pushed inside you. Stretching you more than Viktor had, but not as long. Gods, you had no idea how you’d make this work.

You leaned forward against Viktor, whimpering as Jayce’s hand grabbed at your hip, digging into your flesh as he fucked you enough to wet his cock.

“You ready? Viktor asked you, his hand caressing your cheek so you were forced to look into his eyes. You nodded, your stomach twisting.

Your eyes closed, and you did your best to relax your body. Your body leaned back against Jayce now as Viktor had to shift his body and position himself until his cock was pushing at your entrance, unsure if this would work.

Then you cried out loudly, choking on a strangled gasp when the head of his cock pushed inside, and your cunt stretched wide to fit him. Jayce was quick to act on your pain, a finger on your clit and lips at your ear, kissing and whispering soft praises in your ear. Anything to calm you, and it worked.

“Shit,” Viktor hissed under his breath, his gaze focused down between your legs, watching as his cock penetrated you and joined Jayce’s inside your tight cunt. You were so wet that it was easy to slide right in, but he was careful and slow, eyes glancing at your face every so often to gauge your reactions.

You clawed at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and only realized you had been holding your breath until you felt him fit inside you fully. Your eyes fluttered open, looking at Viktor with eyes full of unshed tears.

“Fuck me,” you whimpered, nearly begging. The fullness between your legs was more than you could imagine, but the pleasure was beginning to outweigh the discomfort. 

Viktor dove forward, his lips crashing to yours as Jayce moved first. He pulled his hips back, his cock moving out of you slowly and rubbing against Viktor’s, a whine from your lips swallowed down by Viktor’s tongue. As Jayce pushed back in, Viktor pulled out—an electric rhythm that made your head spin.

Both men groaned, breathing heavily as they fucked you slowly. Jayce’s forehead, sticky with sweat, was pressed against the nape of your neck as he focused on his movements. His cock twitched inside you with each forward press of his hips, the sensation of your tight cunt swallowing him while rubbing along Viktor’s had his release close to the edge already. 

None of you could speak, the sounds of their slick cocks fucking you in languid movements loud in your ears. Heavy breaths, deep grumbles in their chests, and names rolling from your tongue through pleasured mewls. 

Your hips met their rhythms, and not once was your pussy empty. Stretched so deliciously far that you felt your juices dripping down your thighs and wetting the bedsheets beneath your hips.

“I don’t think I’m going to last much longer,” Jayce broke through the silence you shared, his voice shaky as his teeth dragged along your shoulder and focused hard on keeping his release at bay. His finger over your clit had only helped in pushing you further toward your orgasm, fleshy walls clenching tight around the two cocks that took their turns filling you.

“Me neither,” Viktor pulled from your lips, a moan catching in his throat as he stuttered his hips forward, “God—fuck.”

He was the first to fall over the edge, gasping as he buried his face forward against your neck, kissing you as he spilled inside. Jayce was right behind, unable to keep himself from pushing into you, so both cocks stretched you, hot cum sputtering inside you and leaking out as you milked both men dry.

Only a few more tight circles on your clit sent you over, hips twitching and causing both men to groan at the overwhelming feeling of you fucking yourself on their cocks as you rode out your climax. Electricity shooting through your body, loud cries of pleasure falling from your tongue until you were limp and whimpering, shifting so they could both pull out from you.

Once it emptied, you could finally breathe, your body able to relax from the limits you had pushed yourself to. 

“You did so well,” Viktor breathed against your neck, hardly able to speak. His mind was swirling, the weed and exhaustion only dizzying him further as he groaned, “Fuck, I’ve never felt better.”

Jayce hummed in acknowledgement, letting out a heavy sigh as he rolled onto his back and ran a hand through his hair. He wore a lopsided grin as he tugged you towards him so you were tucked forward against his side and Viktor followed, clinging to you from behind and burying his face in your hair.

“Maybe we’ll do that again sometime,” he eventually spoke, slurring slightly from the tiredness that had begun to consume him. 

“Might have to give me a few business days to recover,” you murmured, your face nuzzled against his chest as the three of you lay atop the sheets. Much too tired to even bother pulling the sheets above your bodies.

Viktor chuckled, inhaling your scent deeply as his fingers traced patterns along your stomach absently, “Maybe I will buy you a strap. You can join me in fucking Jayce one of these days.”

“I don’t know about that,” Jayce argued, half-asleep.

“You get used to it.” You giggled, eyes closed as sleep began to win you over.

You sighed quietly, the sounds of both men snoring softly as they fell into deep slumbers after a week of overworking themselves. Your heart was so full of love as they held you close—it was addicting. Jayce and Viktor were addicting. Whatever this was blossoming into was a dangerous game, but you knew you could trust them with your heart.

Your favourite boys.

[sourkiki]

BEHIND THE SEAMS.

SYNOPSIS: After managing to get hired for your dream job, you and your friends decided to hit the club to celebrate the occassion. You ended up sleeping with an attractive stranger. What you didn't know however, was that the stranger turns out to be your new boss.

CONTENT: non-idol au, office romance, one-night stand, strangers to lovers, CEO! 西村力 x fem! reader, explicit mature content, porn with plot, face-sitting, unprotected sex (wrap it up), usage of petnames, mild angst, hurt with comfort, lmk if i miss anything. wc: 13.7k.

NOTE: before you read, i just wanna say that this fic feels really rushed to me but i didn't want to drag this any longer than it already has. if i'm being honest, i'm not quite satisfied with this but at the same time, i don't have the heart to delete this. so i'm publishing this, even when it's kinda bad (imo)

“Cheers to (Name) for getting a new job!” Minju cheered, raising her mocktail up and everyone in the group did the same, matching grins stretching from one ear to another on their faces. 

You playfully rolled your eyes from where you stood. “I don’t think getting employed is a good thing.” 

Ryujin laughed, nudging your elbow with hers as she took a sip from her drink. “Don’t say that. You’ll literally be working in your dream company. I’m really proud of you.” 

Truly, you still can’t wrap your head around the fact that tomorrow, you’ll be working at the leading fashion company that was run by none other than Nishimura Ni-Ki. Everyone has heard of him but they have never seen him. He rarely makes his appearance to the public and no one knows why, which is the perfect excuse for wild and baseless rumors to spread. There was a rumor about how the owner must be insecure of his appearance, which was why he chose to hide. 

There was also a rumor about how the owner is a man in his late forties and the list goes on. You personally, have never seen him during your interview when you went to their office a month ago. You were told that he was away on a business trip and you were disappointed, as you wanted to be the first to see what he looks like.

“Hello? Earth to (Name)? Don’t tell me you’re already drunk,” Minju waved her hand in front of you, body already swaying side to side. 

“Huh? Oh, I’m not drunk. I was thinking about something. Wait, where’s Ryujin?” You blinked, looking around the club as you tried to find her but she was nowhere to be seen. 

Minju shrugged her shoulders with a giggle. “I don’t know, I think she went off somewhere with a girl. Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go dance.” And just like that, you were left all alone while your friends were busy fooling around. 

Sighing, you moved to the nearest empty seat that was located by a bar with a bartender busy going back and forth as he was serving drinks to customers. You placed your half-empty glass of drink on the table, lips pressed in a thin line as you absentmindedly traced the outline of your drink. 

“Hey, is this seat taken?” 

You looked over your shoulder, only for your breath to hitch when you laid your eyes on the most jaw-dropping and attractive man you’ve seen in your entire life. His hair was dyed in a blinding shade of blonde, making him stand out from the dim, colorful lights of the club. He was dressed in a simple, plain outfit of a white, long sleeves with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing fairly toned arms that made you unconsciously squeeze your legs together. 

The top was completed with a pair of black pants with a belt wrapped around his waist. A pair of hoop blonde earrings hung from his earlobes that swayed when the handsome stranger cocked his head to the side. His features were something that Gods and Goddess had taken their time choosing for him. You gulped, licking your lips and heat pooled in your stomach when his eyes followed the movement, darkening slightly. 

“Not anymore, you can sit,” you flashed in what you hoped was a warm smile, allowing him to sit beside you.

He nodded, occupying the seat on your right and his clothed knee brushed against your bare knee, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. You watched as he waved down the bartender, raising his hands to show the number sign: ‘two’ and before you could stop him, a shot glass appeared before you. 

“Oh, you don’t have to—” you said, attempting to push it towards him but he stopped you by grabbing your hand. You were able to feel him tracing your knuckles with his fingers, making you wonder how it’ll feel against your bare skin. 

“I want to. It’s not every time I get to sit beside someone this gorgeous,” he sends you a boyish and cheeky smirk. 

Your cheeks flushed red and you could only pray that he won’t be able to see it under the lights of the club. You played it off by rolling your eyes, grabbing the shot glass and downed it in one go without hesitation. Seeing this, the stranger raised an eyebrow, impressed. 

“Damn, you drink often?” He asks. 

“Not really, today’s just a special occasion. I managed to land a job in my dream company,” you answered, pushing the empty glass away from you. 

The stranger hums, nodding and raising his shot glass towards you. “Cheers to getting your dream job, sweetheart.” 

What the fuck. 

You choked on air at the sudden usage of the pet name, which didn’t help at the sudden spike of arousal coursing through your veins. With borderline trembling hands, you raised your own glass and gently clanked it against his. You took a slow sip, not wanting to get drunk while he, on the other hand, downed the shot with full confidence. You had to forcefully tear your eyes away from how his Adam Apple bobbed up and down with every gulp he took. 

After that, the two of you continued chatting with one another, the distance between you growing smaller and smaller until your knees are now brushing against one another. The stranger was even bold enough to rest his hand on your knee, thumb rubbing along your skin.

He caught the way you involuntarily shivered when he reached out, tucking a few stray strands of your hair behind your left ear. His hand lingered longer as you maintained eye contact, the loud booming music of your club gradually turning numb. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said.

He smirked. “Like what?” 

“...Like you want to kiss me,” you replied, not sure where you got the sudden courage from but you had picked the right response, considering how he leans in until your lips grazes against one another, until he is in your personal space and until you’re breathing in one another’s air. 

“And if I want to? Would you let me kiss you?” He murmured, voice dropping an octave lower. 

“Are you sure you only want a kiss? Would you be satisfied with that?” You chuckled. 

“Would you hit me if I say no? I wanna bend you over this counter and fuck you in front of everyone. Eat you out until you’re begging me to stop. Maybe make you sit on my face too,” he continued, words slipping from his mouth, smooth like butter. 

You weren’t expecting him to be this blunt but you weren’t against it. With how close he is, he was able to get a front view of your reaction: how you were speechless for a moment, how you bit on your bottom lip and most importantly, how you were subtly rubbing your thighs together—desperate for friction.

Seeing this made the smirk grow wider, knowing he has you wrapped around his finger. He leaned in and angled his head in a way so he could whisper into your ear, right hand now resting on the counter behind your back, effectively cornering you against the counter. 

“You’d like that, don’t you? I bet you’re soaking wet down there. You’re already rubbing your thighs together, like a needy slut,” he hums, his free hand moved to rest against the hem of your dress and when you didn’t push him away, he slid his hand underneath, hand tracing everywhere except from where you want him the most.

“Fuck, please tell me we’re getting out of here,” you whimpered, hips instinctively jerking forward when he lightly pressed down on your throbbing pussy through the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. 

The stranger chuckled, slipping his hand out, much to your disappointment. “Of course. We’re going to my place.”

~

The drive to his home was quick and one could practically slice the tension apart with a butter knife. You followed him after he parked his car, walking past the lobby and to the lift waiting area. His hand lingered on your back, guiding you forward. None of you said a word the entire time, not even when you stopped before his apartment. At this rate, your heart was pounding against your chest as you waited with bated anticipation. 

The moment the door unlocked and you entered was when all hell broke loose. You were instantly pinned against the door, closing it in the process as he crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your surprised gasp. You visibly jumped when he bit on your bottom lip, followed by him tugging at it with his teeth, eliciting a sigh from you as you parted your lips, granting him entrance. The way he kissed you was intense. It felt like you’re a prey and he’s the predator who had finally gotten his hands on you. 

The way he held you was possessive, enough to make you believe that the two of you are lovers and not complete strangers. He tapped twice on your thighs and you jumped without breaking the kiss. The other easily catches you, carrying you like you weighed nothing as he brings you to his bedroom. 

“Ow,” you muttered against his lips when he accidentally banged your elbow against a wall. 

“Sorry, it’s kinda hard walking like this,” he chuckled, breaking the kiss to trail kisses down your neck. It was only right for you to tilt your head back, eyelids fluttering shut to grant him access to the rest of your neck. 

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t—fuck, be kissing me the—ngh, entire time,” you breathed out, feeling him lowering you down on the bed with him towering over you. 

His hands hovered near the hem of your dress with an expectant look. He only moved when you nodded, pushing the fabric up and up until it was completely off of you, leaving you in your matching lacy bra and panties. He stopped for a moment, staring at you in awe and amazement. Flustered, you tried to cover yourself but he was faster. He moved your hands aside, holding them down with one hand pinning them above your head. 

“Don’t hide from me, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, with genuine sincerity in his voice. 

You squirmed about on the sheets, cheeks turning red. “Are you going to do anything or you’re just gonna stare at me the whole day?” 

He smirked, something akin to desire flickered across his face. It was enough to make you gulp and your panties got wetter, already sticking to your skin. “Oh sweetheart, I’m gonna ruin you and when I’m done, you’ll be begging me for more.” 

~

The next morning, you woke up to find yourself in an unfamiliar room. You shot up from the bed, hair messy and looked down, to see you were wearing an expensive black silk pyjamas set. You looked around, taking in your surroundings.

A row of ceiling-to-floor windows was located on your right and the curtains were already pulled back, revealing a breathtaking view of the scenery spread out before you. The dress you wore last night was already neatly folded and placed in the corner of the bed. You decided to get up, only for you to grab onto the bedside table to stabilize yourself. 

“Oh, you’re up. I was about to check on you,” a voice spoke up. 

Turning towards the door, you saw the stranger—the very same stranger you slept with, standing by the doorway with his arms crossed. He was already dressed for work, at least that’s what you assumed, with him wearing a tailored-made suit that shows off his figure rather well. Heck, it even highlights how tall he is, with his legs occupying more than half of his body. 

“Done staring?” He asks, smirking when you realize you were caught red-handed. 

“I wasn’t staring,” you defended and he arched an eyebrow, pushing himself off the wall to walk away. 

“Sure you weren’t. There’s a spare toothbrush in the toilet on your left. You can come down when you’re done. I made breakfast for you. I’m about to head out so you can see yourself out,” he said and a part of you deflated. 

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, trying not to let your disappointment show but you weren’t doing a good job, considering how he turned to you, a cocky smirk on his face. 

“If you want to fuck again, just say it. Won’t say no to you,” he teased, laughing at how your face turned as red as a tomato. 

“Just go already! Or you’ll be late for work and your boss’s gonna get mad at you,” you shooed him out, despite how you’re a guest and he didn’t say anything, merely waving farewell to you and leaving.

You spent the next hour or so eating the breakfast he made for you—the standard rice with miso soup and two generous slices of fried salmon. It was filling and something perfect to fulfil your taste buds. When you were done, you washed the used utensils and went to take a much-needed shower, scoffing at the sight of the ‘Three-In-One’ shampoos displayed on the shelf in the bathroom. 

As you didn’t have any spare clothes, you had no choice but to resort to wearing the dress again. Once ensuring your appearance was decent, you left his apartment and hailed a cab back to your home. Thankfully, your first day of work starts tomorrow and you don't have to rush to the office today, giving you one final day of freedom before it’s back to office. It was only when you reached home that you realized something. 

Fuck, I didn’t get his name. 

~ 

Meanwhile in the bustling city of Seoul, a man walked through the lobby of a tall glass building, like he owns the place. And he does. The receptionists seated by the desk rose to greet him, bowing as he nodded to them in greeting, doing the same to the other people who walked past him. He stopped before a man dressed in a smart-casual outfit, who was impatiently tapping his right foot against the marbled, polished floor with a frown on his cute, round face. 

“Yah, you’re late, again. What happened this time? Did you get lost on the path of life? Did your car break down? How many times do I have to tell you to stop coming to work late, Nishimura Ni-ki?” Jungwon snapped, scolding him and jabbed the taller right in the chest, not caring that the other could get him fired for talking to him in such a tone. 

But, Riki won’t do that. Jungwon has been his most trusted friend for many years. Their friendship was formed through the bond of trust and sharing the same goal—the goal of wanting to dominate the fashion industry. They knew each other when they were in college and the rest was history. 

“Calm down, Jungwonnie. The more you frown, the more likely you’ll get wrinkles,” Riki teased, unfazed even when his assistant sent him a deathglare. To Riki, Jungwon could never come off as intimidating as he is the walking definition of a cat. However, that doesn’t mean Jungwon isn’t intimidating. He can be, only when the time calls for it. 

“Fuck you,” he hissed, spinning on his heels to spam the up button while they wait for one of the lifts to reach the lobby as Riki stood beside him, hands shoved into his pockets. They didn’t say a word until they entered with the doors closing on them. 

“So, mind telling me what really happened?” Jungwon deadpanned. 

Riki ran a hand through his blonde hair, leaning against the wall on his left. “...I had a one-night stand with someone.” 

“Ok? You do it here and there sometimes so I’m not shocked. Did you get her name?” Jungwon continues, blinking his cat-like eyes. 

Riki scoffed, straightening himself when the lift came to a stop. “Nah, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll see her again.” 

Ding! 

The doors opened and the pair stepped out, with Riki taking the lead while Jungwon walked a few steps behind him—not too far and not too close. The employees seated at their respective desks rose to their feet at the sight of their boss, bowing at straight ninety degrees as Riki walked past them without blinking an eye. He was about to enter his office when he heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from behind.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! This won’t happen again.” 

Riki froze when a painstakingly familiar voice pierced the silence. He went as still as a statue—hand hovering over the handle of the door leading to his office with his back facing the source of the voice. Jungwon, on the other hand, didn’t notice his sudden change of behavior as the footsteps got closer and closer. 

“You must be (Name), welcome,” his assistant greeted in his signature warm, friendly voice. 

“Ah, thank you. I’m really sorry I was late. The train broke down and I had to hail a cab to get here,” the voice replied, flustered. 

Jungwon chuckled and Riki could already imagine him shaking his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

What he said next made Riki contemplate jumping out of the window. 

“Oh, let me introduce you to the boss: Nishimura Ni-Ki.” 

This leaves him no choice but to fully turn around, revealing himself and he had to resist the urge to smirk at how your eyes widened, mouth dropping open. He saw the way both horror and recognition hit you in the form of you nearly dropping your bag. Riki maintained his composure, reaching out his hand for a handshake. At this point, everyone’s eyes were on you and he had no choice but to play along, like this was his first time meeting you.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, (Name). I’m looking forward to seeing how you’ll perform here,” he said, forcing himself to smile and he could only pray that it looks natural. 

Thankfully, you went with the flow, accepting his handshake and flashed him a smile. “Thank you, Mr. Nishimura. I hope I can meet your expectations.” 

He nodded, dropping his hand and entering his office, turning a blind eye to how he could feel your warmth lingering on his palm. Riki sank into his chair with a long sigh, stretching his long limbs out underneath the table. He didn’t bother turning on his computer, choosing to idly sway his chair side to side while looking out the windows. And then, the door opened and closed in the next minute. He didn’t have to turn to know who had entered without knocking. 

“What was that earlier?” Jungwon questioned, standing before his desk with his arms crossed, lips curling downwards. 

“What was what? I greeted her, like how a boss will towards his new staff.” 

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. “Don’t try to play dumb with me, Riki. I saw the way you froze when you heard her voice. Is she the one you slept with last night?” 

Riki was tempted to lie but Jungwon is able to read him like a book. In the end, he sighed as he leaned back in his seat. “Fine, yes. In my defence, I didn’t know she would be working here today.”

“Riki, I literally sent you her resume and you said to go ahead and interview her,” his assistant retorted. 

Riki raised his head, looking at the older and blinked. “...I did?”

Jungwon closed his eyes, rubbing his temple. “Oh for fuck’s sake, yes, you did. And then you even went on about how you think she’s the best out of every candidate.” 

“Will you kill me if I say I don’t remember saying that?” 

Silence. 

“I’ll throw you out of this window, don’t test me.” 

After being threatened, Jungwon left the office and Riki was finally alone. He sighed, deciding to finally turn on his computer and look through the countless emails he received. However, he couldn’t concentrate as his mind kept wandering to a certain employee, wondering how she was doing… 

~

Meanwhile you, on the other hand, was having a mental breakdown as you hid in the ladies. After Riki—your boss, introduced himself to you and disappeared into his office, you immediately ran to the ladies without hesitation. You sat on the covered toilet seat, resting your head in your hands as you began to rethink your life decisions. With shaking hands, you pulled out your phone, opening the groupchat with you, Ryujin and Minju. 

You:  Guys, SOS. Yall remember the guy I slept with??? 

Ryujin:  Yeah?  The one who you said scores a 10/10 in your list. 

Minju:  Don’t have to remind me about that but yea, why? What happened?

You: …Turns out he’s my boss in the company I’m working at. 

The moment you sent that, your friends were panicking, sending multiple messages at lightning speed, too fast for you to read. You wished you could stay there but you didn’t want to give a negative first impression, especially when it was your first day of work. You got out, washed your hands and stepped out of the ladies. You turned around the corner, only to end up bumping into something hard. 

“Ow,” you hissed, taking a step back, an apology formed on the tip of your tongue. “I’m sorry—”

The words died in your throat when you realized you had bumped into none other than Nishimura Riki himself. You visibly gulped at how your nose managed to get a whiff of his cologne. The very same cologne you had inhaled when you were at his luxurious apartment, tangled between the sheets with you chanting his name like a prayer—

“...llo? Earth to (Name)?” Riki waved his hand in front of you, snapping you out of your trance. 

“Huh?” You blink and he smirks, crossing his arms. 

“What’s in that pretty little mind of yours? Still thinking about how I’ve fucked you?” He teases.

Your eyes widened, head frantically snapping left and right to see if anyone was nearby. Thankfully, there wasn’t but you still glared at him. “Sure, tell everyone that we slept together, why don’t you? Maybe you could tell the press too while you’re at it.” 

Riki raised an eyebrow. “I mean, if you insist.” 

To your horror and disbelief, he pulled out his phone and was about to punch in a series of numbers, only for you to snatch it away. “I was joking!”

“Sounds like you were very serious to me,” he retorted, easily taking his phone back with his annoyingly long limbs. Riki pocketed his phone away and you resort to scowling at him with your fingers crossed. 

“Whatever, what do you want? Did you follow me here?” You questioned him and he shot you an incredulous look, letting out a laugh in disbelief. 

“What? Are you that delusional to think I’ll follow you to the ladies? Just because we slept together doesn’t mean I’ll follow you everywhere. And I hope you know I can sue you for framing me,” he finished with a smug grin on his face. 

Your left eyebrow twitched, tempted to wipe the infuriating grin off his face. “I fucking hate you,” you hissed, spinning on your heels and walked away. 

“That’s not what you said that night!” He called out, laughing when you flipped him off and you vanished from his sight. 

You returned to your newly-assigned desk which was situated near the window, giving you a birds’ eye view to the magnificent view spread out before you. Your manager had already assigned you a task, which wasn’t anything major as she wanted to have a rough gauge of your abilities before she could assign you to work on a project. You didn’t want to let her down, which was why you wasted no time in researching the theme of the mock project you were given. 

The theme was vague, with only one word given to you: “Winter”. At first glance, anyone will think of fits related to the season itself. They will think about winter jackets, a scarf and a long, thick coat to protect themselves from the cold. But you didn’t want to use that idea. No, you wanted something special. Something unique. Something that screams… you.

Something that the moment people look at it, they will think of you. The next few hours passed in a blink of an eye and soon, it was lunchtime. You were so engrossed in your research that you weren’t aware your fellow coworkers had left for lunch. 

“Wow, some hard working staff you are, skipping lunch to do your work.”

You raised your head to see Riki leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed. That was when you realised you were the only one left in office, as shown by the unoccupied seats. You were about to protest, lying about how you weren’t hungry or something but your stomach had another idea. 

Grrr. Grrr. 

“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” Riki teased, able to see how you tried to make yourself smaller. He pushed himself off the doorway and gestured for you to follow him. “Come on, I’ll take you out.” 

“Like a date?” You questioned, furrowing your eyebrows but you still remained seated. 

Riki blinked. “No, I’m taking you out for lunch. I won’t want my other employees to see their boss letting a newbie starve on her first day,” he paused and sent you a mischievous, boyish smirk, “but if you want it to be a date, then I guess I can indulge you.” 

“Don’t get too cocky of yourself,” you retorted, putting your computer to sleep, grabbed your personal belongings and left the office with him. 

You gather curious eyes and poorly hidden whispers when you reach the lobby. You knew they weren’t really looking at you. Goodness, no. They were looking at the man beside you. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the sight of a group of women giggling amongst themselves as they point at Riki. One of them waved at him, in which he merely sent a smirk and that was enough to make them squeal. You snorted, amused. 

“I see you’re quite the charmer,” you commented, following him to the specific lifts that take you to the basement, where the car park is located. 

“Why? You jealous?” He sent you a glance, letting you enter the lift first before he did. The doors closed with soft jazz music playing in the background. 

This time, you did roll your eyes. “Yea right. Why would I be jealous?” 

Riki shrugged his shoulders, running a hand through his blonde hair as the lift came to a stop, the doors opening. “Think you know the answer to that.” 

You rolled your eyes, going the other way so you could get into the passenger seat. “I hate you.” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” he waves off your response, obviously not listening to a single word you said as he got in, with you doing the same. Soon, the vehicle’s engine purred to life and he drove off, now driving down the streets. 

You didn’t ask where he’s taking you, choosing to remain silent for the sake of your already thinned out patience as you looked out the window, watching everything pass you in a blur. In the end, you arrived at your destination. Your jaw dropped when you saw the name of the restaurant as you got out after Riki had parked his car. 

“Are you insane!?” You turned to him, eyes widening to the point they might pop out from its sockets. 

Your boss looks at you like you’ve asked a ridiculous question. Which to be fair, it was a ridiculous question. “What? Don’t tell me you’re allergic to sushi.” 

You made wild gestures with your arms, making you resemble a frantic chicken as you pointed at the restaurant. “This is a five-star sushi restaurant. I can’t afford to pay.” 

Riki snorted as he headed to the entrance. “Who said anything about you paying? I’m the one paying for lunch. Don’t bother trying to pay me back because I won’t accept it,” he paused when he saw how you were still standing there, “well? Are you coming or what?” 

You have no choice but to follow him, standing behind him as the staff greeted him with utmost respect. You were led to a private room where you’ll be able to dine in peace. You sat opposite of Riki, flipping through the menu. Your jaw dropped, eyes widening at the sight of the ridiculous prices. While you were busy staring at the menu, Riki had already placed his order along with yours. The waiter bowed as he stepped out, sliding the door closed behind him to give you some privacy.

“So,” Riki starts without missing a beat, leaning back into his seat as he poured a glass of water for himself, “how do you feel about your first day of work?”

You squint your eyes. “Are you asking this as a boss or a friend?” 

Riki rested a hand on his chest. “So, you see me as a friend? That’s touching.”

“Piss off,” you hissed. Your reaction merely made him chuckle, unfazed as he leaned back into his seat. Sighing, you slung your right leg over your left leg, “I guess it’s fine. I’m given a mock project and the deadline’s at the end of the month.” 

Nodding, he pursed his lips, teeth digging into the skin of his plush lips. The very same pair of lips that had kissed every inch of your body. The thought of it made you clenched your thighs, rubbing them together underneath the table. 

“And how’s that going for you?” He questioned. 

Shrugging your shoulders, you ran a hand through your hair. “Not too bad. I’m doing my research so when I’m done, I’ll get started on the first version of drafts for the outfits—”

“Too slow.” 

You paused. “What?”

Riki cocked his head to the side. His entire personality had switched—from his previous mischievous and boyish to a serious, leader-like demeanour instead. You gulped, feeling yourself getting smaller the longer he looked at you. Squirming about in your seat, you avoided his eye contact, unable to tolerate the pressure just by having his eyes on you. Now, you understood why your fellow co-workers had told you that Riki takes his job seriously and he isn’t one to fool around. 

“I said, too slow. You’re wasting too much time by coming up with the drafts. You should just get straight to it,” he pointed out. 

Your jaw dropped open, eyes widening. You were about to reply but the waiter then entered with your food. You waited until he was gone before answering him, nearly raising your voice at him. “Are you crazy!? That’s suicidal! I’m not making outfits without a solid plan. What if there’s changes that need to be made? I’ll have to redo the whole thing from scratch.” 

Riki rolled his eyes, waving off your concerns with a dismissal flick of his hand. “So what? If you’re good enough, you won’t need to start from scratch. You’ll know how to adapt.”

You stared at him, baffled with what he’s saying. “You make it sound like I’m designing with magic. That’s not how it works, Riki.”

“It is how it works when you’re at my company,” he answered steadily. “Fast decisions. Clean execution. Confidence. If you don’t have any of that, you’re not gonna last long here.”

The private dining room felt colder despite the summer heat outside. You clenched your chopsticks, lips pressed into a thin line. It was like a slap in the face—this wasn’t just criticism. It was a test. One he expected you to fail. Still, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction. 

“Well,” you said slowly, keeping your voice even, “maybe if I wasn’t thrown into a project without proper briefing or even knowing who I’m designing for, I would have more confidence.”

Something flickered in his eyes—interest? Amusement? You couldn’t tell.

“You’re not here to be comfortable,” he said after a beat. “You’re here because I saw potential. But potential doesn’t pay the bills. Results do.”

You blinked, taken aback by the bluntness. Your appetite was gone.

“So what, you want me to risk everything just to impress you?”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his intense gaze never leaving yours. “No. I want you to prove that you deserve to be here.”

You exhaled through your nose, trying to calm the fire bubbling in your chest. Your fingers twitched, tempted to grab the nearest thing and fling it at his face with all of your strength. But you resist. You don’t want to let him win. To prove that he’s right. The silence between you grew heavier by the second.

“Fine,” you muttered, finally picking up your chopsticks again. “Then don’t complain when it backfires.”

Riki smirked. “I never complain. I just fire people.”

You stopped mid-bite. He was joking. He has to be joking.

…Right?

~ 

For the next few weeks, you stuck to your method—doing your research and putting it together in the form of a moodboard, saving images as inspirations you found on the Internet. You threw yourself into your project, tuning out your surroundings. Time slipped past your fingers just like sand and by the time you got started on working on the sketches for your first draft, it was already the second last week of the month. Which means you only have one week to put everything together and present it to your manager. 

“(Name)? Could you come over for a second?” Your manager called out your name from where she sat. Raising your head, you quickly approached her table, stopping beside her with a questioning look on your face. 

“Yes, is something wrong?” You asked, and she shook her head. 

“No, don’t worry. But regarding the mock project you’re given, Mr. Nishimura mentioned he wants you to do a presentation on it next week.” 

Your blood ran cold, heart dropping to the depths of your stomach. “...I’m sorry, what?” 

She flashed you a sympathetic look. “He personally requested for you to present it to him, along with a few other managers. They will decide if you get to stay or leave.” 

At this point, your shoulders were trembling as you stood there, silently seething with rage. You didn’t want to lose your cool right there and then. Instead, you nodded, thanking her under your breath and returned to your seat. You had to do some breathing exercises to calm yourself, pulling yourself together. 

“Fine, if he wants to see me suffer, then I’ll show him he’s messing with the wrong person,” you mumbled to yourself, filled with nothing but determination to prove him wrong. 

In a blink of an eye, the day of the presentation arrives. You had pulled an all-nighter the previous night and you’re purely running on an insane amount of coffee along with your will to get through the day. The sooner you’re done with this, the faster you can go home and crash into your bed. To say you’re nervous would be an understatement. Your hands were borderline trembling, much to your embarrassment. You weren’t someone to get nervous. Or maybe it was because of a certain someone’s presence that made you feel this way. 

Right now, you had arrived at the designated meeting room and had finished setting up, ensuring that everything was working well. There were only five minutes left before the meeting began and everyone except Riki had arrived, taking their respective seats. The seat opposite of where you stood—the seat in the middle which obviously belongs to the CEO himself, was still vacant. You shuffled your feet, glancing at your manager. 

“Should I begin first or?” You asked, gesturing to the empty seat. 

She parted her lips, about to answer but the glass door was pushed open. Everyone turned, rising to their feet the moment they saw it was none other than Riki himself. He was dressed rather casually for the boss of a fashion company.

He wore a matching, dark blue denim set—a thick, long sleeves denim jacket with the buttons buttoned up with a pair of dark blue denim jeans. His blonde hair was neatly styled, with some strands of hair hovering over his forehead. Not a single winkle on him, not a single ounce of rush in his steps. He walks like he owns the place and he does. His eyes briefly scanned the room until it landed on you, unreadable. 

“Sorry I’m late,” he said curtly, but the tone he used stated otherwise. He took his seat at the head of the table, crossing one leg over the other with fluid ease. “Proceed.”

Swallowing, you begin your presentation. You started by giving a brief introduction of the theme before moving to the next slide that showcases the different images you had got from the Internet. You were able to explain in a steady tone with some moodboards that you had made yourself. Some of the managers were impressed, nodding along and even going the extra mile by jotting down some notes on their notebooks. That would have made you proud, if you didn’t glance at Riki’s face. 

He leaned back in his seat, elbow resting against the armrest, his fingers loosely curled near his mouth in a faux-thoughtful pose. But his gaze wasn’t sharp. It was flat. Detached. His expression told you everything you didn’t want to hear. Boredom. To make it worse, Riki made no effort to hide it. 

His eyes weren’t scanning your sketches with interest—they were skimming. His jaw was slightly slack, his brows unraised, and his lips pressed into a line that wasn't quite a frown but held no amusement, no curiosity, nothing at all. His fingers tapped once against the table, slow and rhythm-less, like he was just waiting for you to get to the point—or better yet, finish entirely.

And in that moment, the room suddenly felt warmer, heavier. Your throat tightened. You looked away quickly before his gaze could meet yours, but the damage was done. He wasn’t just unimpressed.

He was disappointed.

And somehow, that stung worse than any word he could have said. Or maybe, he was so disappointed that he didn’t bother saying anything. The meeting came to an end and Riki was the first to leave, not sparing you a look. It was like you were invisible to him with him completely ignoring your presence. You didn’t bother acknowledging the rest as they stepped out of the room, not even aware that your manager had sent you a concerned look. And then, you were left alone, drowning in your thoughts. 

~

“That was harsh.” 

Riki raised his head from the pile of documents that required his signature, spinning his pen with his left fingers. His assistant stood before him, arms crossed as he was scrolling through his phone, opening a delivery app to order lunch for the both of them.

Normally, they will be heading out to eat together but the both of them have a hectic schedule today, which means they can only have a quick lunch before having a meeting with one of their business partners, who will be coming to their office today. That was also the reason why Riki was dressed differently. 

“What?”

Jungwon sends him a pointed look through the frames of his glasses. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Riki blinked, leaning back in his seat. “No, I’m afraid not, hyung.”

Jungwon made a show of rolling his eyes. “Your behavior during the meeting. You didn’t say anything. Not a single word.” 

“And? I wasn’t impressed. You should know me by now. I don’t—”

“Yes, you don’t bother speaking up when things aren’t up to your expectations or you’re not impressed. But, aren’t you being too harsh on her?” Jungwon cuts him off, furrowing his eyebrows. 

Riki scoffed. “Why does it sound like you’re siding with her? Do you think I’m being unfair to her, hyung?” 

“Don’t put words into my mouth. That’s not what I meant. You aren’t like this to the newbies. Why are you acting like this towards her? Is it because she’s your one-night stand?” Jungwon dryly retorted. 

The CEO scowled, acting like a cat bristling its fur. “No, of course not. So what if I slept with her? It’s not related to her work. And it’s not up to my standards.”

Jungwon sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes. “This conversation is going nowhere. Forget it, but I hope you rethink your actions. Not everyone’s able to tolerate you.” 

Riki smirked. “If they can’t tolerate me, they’re free to go. I’m the one paying them.” 

“..I’m saying this as a friend, but you fucking suck.” 

“Thanks.” 

After that, the two settled on ordering from a Chinese restaurant located near their office. Jungwon heads down to the lobby to wait for the driver while Riki remains in his office, diverting his attention back to the pile of papers that he needs to sign off. He was only granted exactly ten minutes of peace before someone knocked on his door, causing him to sigh, annoyed. 

“Come in.” 

He didn’t bother looking up, hand moving in practiced movements as he assumed it was one of the managers, wanting to talk to him about something boring. 

“I need to talk to you about the presentation.” 

His body froze when he heard your voice. This time, he looked up to see you glaring down at him as you stood before him, with his desk being the only obstacle in the way. Your eyes were red and puffy. The thought of you crying because of him made his heart tightened but he pushed it aside. Instead, he arched an eyebrow, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers. 

“What is it? I thought I made myself clear.” 

You squawked. “What? You didn’t even say anything! You sit there in silence and then walk out the moment it’s over. How are you making yourself clear!?”

Riki chuckled. “Have you ever heard of the saying, silence is golden?” 

You narrowed your eyes, nails digging into the skin of your palms. “You’re starting to piss me off. Seriously, tell me where I went wrong. I can fix it.”

“Oh, can you now? How about I tell you everything you did was wrong. What would you do to correct it then?” He taunts, crossing his arms while stretching his legs out. 

“E-Everything?” You stuttered, face turning as white as a ghost.

Your boss smirked at your reaction, nodding. “Yeah, everything was wrong. You refused to listen to my advice, deciding to do it your way by playing safe. It lacks bite. It’s too polished and too safe.This looks like something anyone could’ve pitched. There’s nothing in there that screams us. Or you.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks, turning them into a shade of light red. But Riki wasn’t done. 

“If I wanted a textbook I would’ve gone to a lecture. That—” he gestured at you with a flick of his fingers, “—that was not what I expected from someone who stayed at the office past 1 a.m.”

Slap! 

Your hand moved before your mind could process it. One moment you were standing opposite of him. The next moment, you were directly in front of him. The palm of your left hand burned, the stinging pain gradually fading away. Your shoulders rose up and down as you breathed out, your body trembling with barely restrained fury. Riki raised his hand, touching his right cheek, hissing at how it had turned red from the brief impact. He turned to you, disbelief and something else. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. 

“You dare to raise your hand against your boss?” He asks, voice unusually steady for someone who just got slapped. 

“Yes, I dare. Especially when you’re not being helpful,” you retorted. 

“Helpful? I already told you what I felt about your work.” 

“No, you didn’t. All you did was humiliate me in front of everyone! You did nothing but belittle me, made fun of everything I stood and fought for. You mocked my work, my effort and time spent on it, like it’s nothing,” you spat, forgoing your respect towards him. 

Riki faltered at the sight of tears brimming in your eyes. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something but you cut him off. “I’ve read articles about you. I respected you. I admired you. You were a role model to me. And to think this is who you really are: someone who mocks his employee’s work, making them feel worthless and small just to feel powerful.”

Your voice cracked at the end but you pushed through it. You refused to let him have the upperhand. You refused to bow down to him. 

Riki rose from his seat, his full height towering over you. His jaw was clenched, eyes narrowed with flames of fury glowing in them. For a long beat, he said nothing. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and controlled. “You think I humiliated you just because I wanted to feel powerful?”

You scoffed, wiping at the corner of your eyes. “Didn’t you?”

“No,” he said sharply. “I did it because your work wasn’t good enough.”

That stung.

“But instead of taking that as a challenge, you’re in here crying about how unfair I am. That’s not how you survive in this industry.”

“I don’t fucking want to survive in an industry that rewards cruelty!” you shot back. “And if you think tearing people down is the only way to push them, then maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t be leading.”

That did it. His eyes flared—hurt? Anger? You couldn’t tell. But you didn’t want to know either. Right now, you’re driven by pure anger and frustration. 

“You think I got here by being nice?” he snapped. “You think I built this from nothing by patting people on the back and telling them they tried their best?”

You took a step toward him. “No. But there’s a difference between being honest and being cruel. And you crossed it.”

Riki’s hands curled into fists at his sides, but his voice dropped to a quiet, bitter edge. “You want honesty? Fine. You have talent. But you don’t have the mindset. You take things too personally. You get too attached. And in this world, that’ll eat you alive.”

You stared at him, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“And you?” you asked. “What did it cost you to become this?”

The question hit harder than you expected. Riki looked at you for a long, heavy moment. And for the first time, the mask cracked. His eyes—usually sharp and cold lowered, dimming ever so slightly. His voice was quieter now, like he wasn’t just talking to you anymore.

“Everything.”

Silence. 

You stared at him, not expecting him to have such a reaction. “Whatever, we’re done.” You hissed, turning on your heels to storm your way out of his office. 

If you wanted to, you would’ve slammed the glass, transparent door during your exit. But the last thing you want is having to pay for it. 

Riki sighed when he was finally left alone, only for his temporary peace to get interrupted in the form of Jungwon returning, holding a plastic bag that contained their order. His assistant stopped at the sight of Riki’s face, eyeing him knowingly. “Did something happen?” 

“Nothing.” 

Jungwon shoots him a pointed look, obviously not buying his lie. Riki sighed, surrendering immediately as he watched Jungwon take out the styrofoam containers, sliding one to him while he sat opposite of him. Riki opened his container and was greeted with the fragrance of seafood fried rice. To Riki’s relief, Jungwon didn’t prod him further, giving him the chance to have his lunch in silence. 

~ 

You, on the other hand, had headed to the rooftop of the building to get some fresh air and to clear your mind. Squinting your eyes against the strong gust of wind, you shielded your eyes from the harsh sunlight shining down on you. You couldn’t get rid of the way Riki looked when you asked him the question. The question that might have unlocked some negative memories in him, without you knowing. You should feel guilty but you didn’t. How could you when he had made you question your entire life? 

Get yourself together, for fuck’s sake. 

Shaking your head to clear your remaining thoughts, you turned and headed back down as lunchtime was over. You returned to your desk, ignoring your stomach growling out loud and got back to work. You poured your blood, sweat and tears into the tasks your manager had assigned you, knowing she was doing this to help get your mind off the presentation—something you’re grateful for. 

The next few hours passed in a blink of an eye and soon, it was time to go home. You had chosen to stay behind, wanting to finish drafting an email you were required to send, only to sense a familiar presence entering the room. You didn’t bother turning around, pointedly ignoring the approaching footsteps, until he stood behind you. The next thing you knew, Riki reached over and turned off your monitor, much to your utter horror and disbelief. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You gasped, turning to curse at him. 

Your boss was unfazed with you openly cursing at him, pointing at the clock behind him. “It’s already close to seven. I don’t like it when I see my staff working overtime. Come on, I’ll drive you home.” 

You scowled, stubbornly remaining seated with your arms crossed. “No need, I can take the train myself.” 

Riki eyes you, an unreadable expression on his face and sighed. He grabbed your upper shoulder, tugging you up to your feet and dragged you out. You were quick to snatch your bag as you struggled to free yourself but his strength easily overwhelmed yours, leaving you no choice but to follow him. You didn’t want anyone to see you being dragged around like a ragdoll as you had gone through enough embarrassment. 

You got into the passenger seat, looking everywhere but Riki as he drove out of the car park. None of you said a word and just like before, your stomach chose to make its entrance by grumbling out loud. 

Riki glanced at you from the corner of his eyes as he made a turn to his right. “You didn’t eat?” He asks. 

“..No, I didn’t have time to buy something,” you mumbled, sulking like a child. 

You heard a sigh from him. “I’m getting a sense of deja vu here. We’ll eat dinner before driving you home.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered, knowing it was pointless trying to change his mind. What you didn’t know was how Riki smiled when you agreed as he drove to the city area. He ended up bringing you to a steak, five-stars restaurant. This time however, you didn’ bother complaining about the price as you knew you won’t be paying. Besides, you aren’t foolish to reject free food. Especially when it’s at a place you’re unable to afford.

Riki had enough of your prolonged silence, speaking up after placing his and your order. “Alright, spit it out. What’s gotten into you?” 

“What do you mean? I’m perfectly alright,” you answered without hesitation, fiddling with your fingers. 

“You suck at lying, has anyone told you that?” Riki snorts, his words making you throw him a glare across the table. 

“Fine, since you won’t know when to shut up, why did you look scared and lost when I asked you the question?” 

“What question? You asked many questions,” he pointed out. Your left eyebrow subtly twitched, unsure if he’s playing dumb or not. 

“The question about what it costs you to become who you are today.” 

Riki didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flickered to the windows, watching the view as people of different ages walked past him, engrossed in their own respective lives. You waited. Not because you are patient, but because there was something in the way he looked, like a man standing at the edge of something he never wanted to revisit, making you hesitate. 

Then softly, without looking at you, he said, “I lost my youth.”

Your breath caught at how quiet his voice was, like he wasn’t speaking to you, but to himself.

“While other kids were sneaking out or falling in love, I was figuring out how to pay off someone else’s debts. I was learning how to smile in front of people who wanted me to fail. Learning how to make deals without letting my hands shake.”

He leaned back against his seat, arms crossed, but the tension in his jaw gave him away. This wasn’t a story he told often. Maybe never.

“My father ran the company before me. A charming man, he knew how to fill a room and empty a bank account. He built an empire on image—on other people’s money—and when it all came crashing down, he left without a word. Took whatever that was left and disappeared.”

You blinked, stunned. “He abandoned you?”

Riki nodded slowly. “Left my mother with nothing. Just a mountain of debt and a ruined name. She got sick not long after, from the stress, from pretending we were fine. And me... I was fifteen. Old enough to know no one was coming to save us. Young enough to know that I need to grow up, before it’s too late.”

His voice was steady, but there was a weight in it that pressed down on your chest. “I took over the scraps of what was left. Found ways to rebuild what he destroyed. Changed the name, rebranded the company, paid off every creditor who showed up at our door. I went to school during the day and brokered deals at night. And when my mother died—”

He stopped, jaw tightening.

“She died before she could see any of it. Before I made it.”

You felt your chest tighten. “Riki...”

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he cut in sharply, though there was no bite behind the words. “I just—” He exhaled harshly and turned away from you, eyes trained on nothing. “You asked what it cost me to become who I am.”

He looked back, gaze pinning you in place.

“It cost me everything I should have had. A childhood. A family. Peace. And every time someone calls me successful, I wonder if it was worth it.”

You were speechless, unsure of what you could even say to something as heavy as that. To be fair, you were just told about Riki’s background. Something that even the press has no access or knowledge to. You shuffled your feet, going silent when the waiter arrived with your food as he placed it down on the table before walking away, giving you the chance to speak. 

“I think it’s worth it,” you spoke up, looking at him. Riki blinked, the faintest flicker of surprise passing through his eyes. His shoulders, tense just a moment ago, subtly shifted, like he hadn’t expected you to say that—like a part of him had already prepared for your silence, or worse, your judgment.

“I mean it,” you said, softer now but firmer with every word. “Yes, maybe it wasn’t fair and maybe you didn’t get to choose the path that brought you here. But you walked it. You didn’t just survive. You rebuilt something from nothing. You made sure your mother’s suffering didn’t end in vain. You took the chaos your father left behind and turned it into something people respect.”

He furrowed his eyebrows but he didn’t speak. He was listening to every word you said, soaking them in like he was a child listening to his teacher during class. 

“That’s brave, Riki,” you continued. “You were just a kid, and you didn’t break. You stepped up when no one else would. People think strength comes from power, but what you did… what you endured… that’s real strength.”

A breath hitched in his throat. Just barely. But you caught it.

“You’ve carried all of this alone for so long, convincing yourself you had to be heartless to survive,” you said, voice barely above a whisper now. “But you're not heartless. You’re human. And you’re brave, whether you believe it or not.”

His eyes searched yours then, almost as if waiting for the moment you’d pull away or take it back. But you didn’t. Something akin to relief flickered in his eyes. He adjusted his position, picking up his utensils with borderline trembling hands. But he made no move to eat. Not yet. 

“No one’s ever said that to me before,” he murmured. 

You smile faintly, copying him as you begin cutting your steak into smaller pieces. “Then it’s about time someone did. If you want, I can be that someone.”

“Hm, I’d think about that. Does it come with additional fees?” Riki teases, an attempt to lighten the mood and you went with the flow. 

“Yes, I would like a raise please.” 

~

After that day, something shifted in the air between you and Riki. It’s the way he treats you with respect, kindness and the bare minimum. Like how a boss treats his employee. Anyone would have closed their eyes but they noticed the small, little things that separates you from the others. They saw the way his eyes lingered on your figure whenever you’re in the same room. They saw the way he visibly softened whenever you talked to him. They saw the way his hands twitched—tempted to touch you. Most importantly, they saw the way he looked at you with love. 

“It’s like you’re not bothering to hide it anymore.”

Riki blinked, tearing his eyes away from your figure. You’re engaged in a conversation with a coworker—Sim Jaeyun and Riki doubts that whatever that was telling you, could not be that funny until you bent over while clutching your stomach. Something ugly gnawed at his heart as he looked your way again, observing the way you rested your hand on Jaeyun’s shoulder. The contact was enough to make his stomach flip. 

“Ow!” 

Riki yelped, shielding his face when Jungwon had rolled up some papers, using it to repeatedly whack his head. “H-Hey, this is abuse! Stop abusing your boss!” 

“This isn’t abuse. I’m helping you out, you ungrateful piece of shit.” 

Riki shoots him a disbelieving look and rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I just don’t know what she sees in him.” He scrunched his nose at the last word, sending death glare to Jake’s direction, who was oblivious to his boss’s current dilemma. 

“Careful, Riki. Your jealousy is showing,” Jungwon snorted, unrolling the papers as he sat back down, returning to his previous task. 

“Jealousy? I’m not jealous,” he defended himself. 

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat. Now, can you please hurry the fuck up and sign these payslips so your staff can get paid?” 

“Alright jeez, looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” 

“Nishimura Ni-Ki.”

“..Sorry, hyung.”

~

While your coworkers had realized something’s happening between you and Riki, you were painfully oblivious. To be more specific, you were being realistic. You knew that Riki had started treating you differently and seeing you in a different light. It didn’t help that whenever you looked at him, your mind always returned to that one night where his hands caressed your body, like you belonged to him and how he made you feel like you were floating. 

Currently, you’re meeting your friends for dinner after work. It has been a while since you met them. The last time you saw them, face-to-face was when the three of you went to a club to celebrate. You ended up meeting at a Korean BBQ restaurant that’s located in your neighbourhood, the same restaurant that you frequented back when all of you were in college. 

“So? What’s the big deal?” Minju deadpanned after you spent the past one hour ranting to her and Ryujin about your problem. 

You openly gaped at her, dumbfounded. “Did you not hear a single word I said?” 

This time, it was Ryujin’s turn to speak up. “Yeah, we get it. You’ve fucked your boss once and now that he’s treating you nicely with you ready to take his surname, you don’t know if you’re allowed to have this or not.” 

“T-Take his surname? No one said anything about getting married!” You exclaimed, face turning red at the thought of marrying him. Your friends generously turned a blind eye to your reaction. Ryujin reached out, resting her hand above yours that was placed on the table. 

“(Name), you don’t have to think so low of yourself. It’s time to let other people in and let them give you the love you truly need,” she murmured in a soft, gentle tone. The tone she uses whenever you’re feeling down. 

Minju nodded in agreement, shifting so she’s beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, flashing you a warm smile. “She’s right, you know. Just because you went through a horrible relationship doesn’t mean the same thing will happen again.”

“Yeah and besides, unlike your shitty excuse of an ex, Riki’s actually hella rich, so that’s always a plus point,” Ryujin chimed in, earning giggles from the three of you at your table. 

“Thanks, you two. You always know what to say to make me feel better,” you gratefully thanked them, giving their hands a squeeze. 

“Of course. What are friends for?” Minju laughed, playfully ruffling your hair, eliciting a squeal from you. 

You spend the next two hours chatting with them until it was close to eight in the evening. The initial plan was for you to head home, as you were exhausted but the next thing you knew, the three of you were at a club, drinking to your heart's content and having fun. All of you were at the dance floor, jamming to the loud, booming music that was playing from the speakers. You accidentally knocked your elbow against someone, who spilt his drink on your clothes, earning a surprised gasp from you. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—” You apologized but the words died in your throat when it was none other than Riki, standing in front of you. 

He was dressed in what seems like a suit but on the more casual side. The white inner shirt was tucked haphazardly into his black pants. The black thin jacket clung onto his shoulders, proudly showing off his build. Your breath hitched at the sight of a pair of thin-rimmed glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. Nothing about his outfit screams the CEO of a fashion company. Instead, he could passed off as a fashion college student. 

“Fancy seeing you here. Shouldn’t you be resting at home after working your ass off?” Riki teased, looking down at his sticky clothes, tugging them away from his skin.

“Shut up,” you paused, biting your lips when you saw the effects of your mistake, “...I’m really sorry for knocking into you. Do you need any help?” 

“And how exactly will you help?” He asks, eyes never leaving your face. The implication behind his question made your face turn red. 

“Y-You pervert!” You spluttered. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault your mind went down the gutter,” he raised his free hand in mock surrender, lowering them and gave you a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, you don’t have to keep apologizing.” 

Riki turned, ready to leave and you weren’t sure what took over you. Maybe it was due to the drink you had. Maybe it was because you decided to confront your feelings. Maybe it was something else you couldn’t understand. You grabbed onto his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he gave you a questioning look. 

“Wait, I insist. We can head back to my place if you want?” You asked, watching the way his eyes darkened, understanding the unspoken meaning behind your words. 

“Sure, lead the way.”

~

Riki drove the two of you to your home after you gave him your address. You managed to drop a quick text to your friends, telling them you were heading home. You reached home, switched on the lights and dumped your things on the couch. Riki, on the other hand, lingered about awkwardly in the living room. Normally, you would’ve made fun of him but the way his eyes followed your movements, like a hawk watching its prey, sends pleasant shivers down your spine. 

“Wait here, I’ll get you some spare clothes,” you told him, gesturing for him to sit on the couch while you disappeared into your room without waiting for his response. 

You promptly returned five minutes later, with a pile of neatly-folded clothes and handed it to Riki. “Here, bathroom’s down the hall and on your left. I can dump your clothes in the washing machine so you can wear them tomorrow.” 

Riki gratefully accepts them, flashing you a teasing grin as he rises from his seat, his height towering over yours. You swore your fingers brushed against one another. Your breath hitched, heart stopped beating when you saw the way his eyes flickered down to your parted lips, lingering longer than usual.

For a moment, you thought he’ll be the one to close the distance, to kiss you but to your surprise, he stepped back, leaving distance between the two of you. You weren’t sure why but that stung. 

Riki silently walked around you and headed to the bathroom. You heard the door gently closing and you plopped down on the couch, running a hand through your hair. You were crazy to be doing this in the first place. Letting your boss come over to your place, lending him your spare clothes while pretending to live a domestic life, as if you’re a couple when you’re not. 

Fuck, what am I doing? 

“Uh, you good?” 

Looking up, you saw Riki standing before you, now wearing a set of clean, fresh clothes while holding his dirtied clothes in his left hand. You hated how they fit him well. How the simple, plain black shirt hugged his figure just nice, showing off his shoulders and muscles. How the pair of gray sweatpants made his legs look longer as well. You hated how he looked like he’s yours, like he belongs to you when he’s not even yours to begin with. 

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. C’mon, give them to me,” you muttered, getting up and snatching the clothes from his grip, fleeing to the kitchen to dump them into the washing machine. You’re well aware of how Riki’s following you as you added some washing powder into the washing machine.

Beep beep beep. 

You tapped on a few buttons, the beeping sound echoing throughout the room. When you’re done, you turn around, only for you to freeze when Riki was directly in front of you. He’s so close that you could feel the heat from his body. It’s by instinct that you leaned back, only for your back to be pressed against the washing machine. Seeing this, Riki blocked off any possible exits with his arms resting on both sides of you, leaving you nowhere to escape. 

“(Name).” 

Oh fuck. 

The way he said your name in that low voice made your pussy throbbed. No matter how much your heart’s screaming for you to accept him, a small part of you wants you to stand your ground. But it was clear you were losing, with how you let out a shaky exhale when Riki shoved his knee in between your legs. He audibly groaned when he’s able to feel how soaked you are, through the thin fabric of your panties, with your dress gradually getting pushed up. 

“Shit, you’re already soaked. It’s for me, isn’t it?” He murmured, voice slightly raspy and rough around the edge. 

“Keep dreaming,” you retorted, voice borderline trembling and that didn’t go unnoticed by him. 

He merely hummed, wrapping one arm around your waist to pull you towards him until you’re snugly pressed against his chest. You gasped when you’re able to feel his cock through the sweatpants. Somehow, he’s able to get the right angle, granting you the chance of rocking your pussy against him. Riki clicked his tongue, effectively halting you. 

“Ah ah, not so fast. Only good girls get their reward,” he arched an eyebrow at you, amused with how you pathetically pawed at his shirt. 

“R-Riki, please,” you begged. 

“Look at you, already so wrecked when I haven’t even done anything,” he coos, admiring the fact he has you wrapped around his finger. 

You scowled, glaring at him through your teary eyes. “Fuck you, I’ll find someone else instead.” 

Silence, followed by a low laugh but there wasn’t any humor in it. It made your stomach tightened, invisible alarm bells going off in your mind. The next thing you knew, you were being tossed over Riki’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You gasped, struggling to free yourself but it was futile. His strength overwhelms yours. 

“Stop moving about or I’ll drop you,” he snapped and you weren’t sure why but you knew you had to obey his words. 

Riki ended up bringing you to your bedroom, acting like he owns the place. The thought flew out of your mind when you’re thrown to your bed. The soft sheets welcoming you and the bed dipped when Riki hovered over you. You parted your lips, ready to tell him off but he took the chance to kiss you instead. He swallowed your surprised gasp, his hands moving to pin your wrists above your head. 

The way he kissed you was similar to your first night with him. You couldn’t breathe, whimpering against his greedy, insistent lips as his tongue skillfully explored your mouth. You couldn’t hold back the mewl, letting it slip when he nipped at your bottom lip. It’s not hard enough to draw blood but it was hard enough to hurt. 

“No touching, got it?” He murmured, his hot breath grazing against your lips and all you could do was weakly nod your head. 

Riki slowly moved his hands away, watching you. When it’s clear you won’t move, he trailed kisses down your neck while making quick work of your dress. You arched your back off the bed, giving him an easier time in removing your dress that was tossed to the floor. You felt small when he paused to take in your current state. How your matching set of lacey, light purple bra and panties perfectly hugged your body. 

“Fuck, you’re unreal,” he murmured, in awe, hand appreciating the view as he runs it along your figure, leaving goosebumps behind. 

You thought he’ll continue kissing you but the next thing you knew, he flipped you over with one smooth motion, gaining a startled yelp from you. You ended up straddling his lap, hands awkwardly on his shoulders. Riki leaned against the bed frame, eyes doing an appreciative scan of your figure, taking his time.

If he could, he would take a picture and keep it in his gallery, hidden from everyone’s eyes. You averted your eyes, feeling shy with how intense his gaze was but he cupped your face, forcing you to look at him. 

“C’mon princess, want you to sit on my face,” he said and the sudden demand took your breath away, stomach and pussy tightening. 

“What?” You breathed out. 

Riki arched an eyebrow, hand resting on your thigh while he hooked his index finger through the hem of your panties. “Did I stutter? Sit on my face.” 

His eyes darkened, causing goosebumps to form. You nodded, obeying and Riki smirked, satisfied with your obedience. He shuffled lower down the bed until his head’s resting on the pillow while you moved upwards, thighs now bracketing his head. The only obstacle in the way is your panties. To your surprise, he didn’t pull it down. Instead, he forced you to sit squarely on his face and he licked a long, flat stripe along the fabric, right where your pussy is, further soaking it. 

“Fuck!” You cried out, bending forward as you grabbed onto the bed frame for dear life, nails digging into it. 

Riki’s eyes flickered up to your face and then, he used two fingers to shove your panties aside, revealing your throbbing, glistening cunt that stares right back at him. He pulled you closer until you’re sure he’s going to suffocate. But the thought flew out of your mind when you felt the slimy muscle fucking you. Breathless whimpers, moans and mewls spilled from your lips like a waterfall. 

“Ngh, w-wait, too m-much,” you weakly protested, blindly grabbing onto a fistful of his hair to give it a light tug but he was persistent. 

He ignores your words, burying his face deeper into your pussy, his nose bumping your clit thanks to the right angle. Riki skillfully swirled his tongue, catching onto the already swelling nub. The longer he spends being buried between your thighs, the wetter his face gets with your wetness smeared over him. You weren’t even aware you’re making those high-pitched sounds that those pornstars are capable of making. 

Distantly, you wondered if you’ll even be able to survive this, with how Riki has no intention of letting go, no matter how much you tug at his hair. 

“P-Please, s-slow down, hngh,” you pathetically whimpered, tears formed in your eyes, blurring your vision. 

“Ride my face like you mean it, baby,” he rasped out, words muffled but you were able to understand him. 

Riki knew you couldn’t move on your own anymore, with how your thighs are trembling like fallen leaves. Which is why he’s nice enough to lend you a helping hand—guiding your hips back and forth as he moves you along with the stroke of his tongue. The delirious friction of his tongue against your clit was enough to tip you over the edge. You cum all over his face, soaking him wet with your slick but he didn’t care. 

After what felt like an eternity, Riki finally detached himself from your pussy. You looked down, only to be greeted with a lewd sight. His lips glowed underneath the ceiling light, making him look divine. Riki licked his lips, swiping the remains of your slick into his mouth. 

“You’re insane,” he confessed, turning you around so it’s your turn to lay on the sheets and he crashed his lips against yours, giving you a taste of yourself. 

You moaned into his mouth, hands fumbling with his sweatpants and he chuckled against your lips. “Someone’s impatient.” 

“Shut up and fuck me,” you retorted, biting down on his lip, eliciting a low groan from him. 

Your words spurred him on and within seconds, Riki was naked, just like you. He paused, eyes on your face as he aligned himself against your entrance, his tip brushing against your pussy. 

“Condom?” 

You shook your head. “It’s fine, I.. I didn’t sleep with anyone after you.” 

“Oh? I feel honored,” he teased, pushing in in one go, punching the air out of your lungs as you’re split apart on his cock. 

You could feel him reaching deep inside you, making you wonder if it’s possible for him to hit your cervix as well. Riki didn’t give you time to adjust, as he starts to thrust into you at a steady pace, wanting to savor the heavenly feeling of your walls being stretched around the girth of his cock. His hands are braced near your head, eyes never leaving your face as he takes in your scrunched expression, how your lips parted to form an ‘O’ shape and how your breasts bounced with every thrust. 

“Shit, so tight even after I’ve prepped you,” he mumbled, looking down to see where you’re connected with one another. He could see thick, translucent, white stripes being stretched like a spiderweb everytime he pulled out. 

“Riki, pleasepleaseplease,” you begged, raising your legs to wrap it around his waist as you lifted yourself off the bed, meeting him in the middle. 

“Yeah? Wanna cum?” He coos, ducking his head to bury it in the crook of your neck, tongue darting out to give a low, teasing lick along your sweaty skin. 

“Mhm, please,” you sobbed, throwing your arms around his shoulders to bring him closer, not wanting to leave any space between the two of you. 

Groaning, he increased his thrusts, now going faster and harder with his balls slapping against your ass. You were still sensitive from your climax which is why it didn’t take you long to cum for the second time. You chanted his name like a prayer, like he’s a God you’re ready to worship and he was quick to follow suit, spilling his seed inside you. Your legs fell from his waist, landing on the dirtied sheets with a soft ‘thud’, too exhausted to move a limb. 

But, it seems like Riki had another idea in mind. He flipped you around, returning to your previous position when he had you sit on his face. You yelped, only to moan at how his cock hits deeper due to the change of position. 

“You thought we’re done? Oh princess, we still have a long night ahead of us,” he said and you gulped, mentally praying for your legs and more importantly, your stamina. 

~ 

Ring, ring! Ring, ring! 

Ugh, what the..? 

Your eyelids fluttered open, annoyed at the interruption from your much-needed beauty sleep. You attempted to push yourself up but you stopped when you felt a body behind you. Looking over your shoulder, your features softened when you saw Riki sleeping peacefully, like he didn’t have you in multiple positions last night.

Still, you reached over to the bedside table, swiping his phone and turned back to him. You repeatedly poked him on the cheek, giggling at how he groaned and tried to move away from your finger. 

“Riki, wake up. Someone’s calling you,” you murmured but he didn’t hear you. You assumed that he was still sleeping and you were about to place his phone on the table when he sprung into action. 

“Riki!” 

You squealed as your back hit his firm chest, his hands attacking your sides. The bedroom was filled with the loud sounds of your laughter as you tried to push him away, but it was useless. He eventually showed mercy, grabbing his phone from your hand to check the missed call. Only for him to click his tongue when he recognized the familiar eight numbers glaring back at him. 

“Who was it?” You asked, tilting your head. 

“It’s Jungwonnie. He’s probably asking why I’m not at work yet,” he grumbled, tossing his phone aside and wrapped his arms around you, like a koala bear. 

Your heart dropped. “Wait, what time is it now?” 

“Like ten—”

“What!?”

You screeched, flinging the sheets off your body. But before you could set one foot on the ground, Riki had dragged you back to bed. “Riki, let go! I’m gonna be late!” 

“You’re already late. It doesn’t matter if you come in later. I’ll drive you, no biggie,” he dismissively waved off your protests, eyes firmly closed. 

“Wha—? Do you want rumors to spread?” You gawked at him. 

“Rumors? What the hell are you talking about?” He opened one eye at you, squinting. 

“Rumors about how you slept with one of your staff.” 

Sighing, Riki pushed himself up to hover over you, firmly pressing you against the sheets. “Let’s get a few things straight. One: you’re not just my staff. Two: there’s no need for them to spread rumors. Three: I’m driving you to work later. Don’t bother arguing.” 

“...If I’m not just your staff, what am I to you? What is all…this?” You asked, gesturing at the both of you. 

His eyes softened. “I’ve fallen in love with you, (Name). I don’t know how or when but it just happened. Maybe it was when I told you about my background. I expected you to laugh at me but you didn’t.”

He paused, hands now cupping your face with his thumbs lovingly caressing the skin underneath your eyes. The action was so intimate along with the pure love in his eyes that it made your heart flutter. Still, you let him speak as he wasn’t done. 

“And I still remember the way I treated you during the meeting. I saw the way you were disappointed and wrecked after my behavior towards you. You probably won’t believe me but I hated myself for making you look like that,” he lets out a bitter chuckle, angry with himself. 

“Which is why I decided to treat you nicer and the more time we spend together, the more I fall for you,” he finished, words full of conviction that it made you feel breathless, like you couldn’t believe someone like him had fallen for someone like you. 

You opened and closed your mouth, dumbfounded with his confession. “I—uh, yea. I love you too?” You managed to squeak out. 

“Why does that sound like a question,” he chuckled, leaning down to plant kisses all over your face, smiling at how you squealed. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” You asked, having to stop him by pushing his face away with your hand. 

Riki hummed, kissing your palm. “Yea, if that’s what you want.” 

“Who wouldn't want to date the Nishumura Ni-ki?” You retorted, flinching when he jabbed your side for your remark. 

“Since you have lots of energy early in the morning, how about we go for another round?” He asks, lust evident in his voice as he pushed the oversized shirt you wore up your body. 

“But what about work?” You asked, eyelids fluttering shut as he kissed just below your ear, enough to make you squirm underneath him. 

“What are they gonna do? Fire me? I’d like to see them try,” he chuckled, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. 

It was safe to say, the both of you didn’t end up going to work on that day, causing a certain personal assistant to nearly lose his mind as he had to single-handedly handle everything by himself. 

regular taglist: @chuhees, @emisluvr, @jun2ki.

behind the seams taglist: @swiftcityy, @yenienha, @katseye4mimi, @invsomnixa1, @cutehoons02, @rikisoup, @vixialuvs, @rikidaze, @fancypeacepersona, @k1ttyjwon, @androgynouscrownorbit, @rosepetals09, @coconutx-o, @teenagecheesecakereview, @blooqz, @kirakun.

[comatosebunny09]

and they were roommates | sylus

sum: sylus responds to an online ad for a roommate. you suddenly have this tall, well-spoken, handsome man living in the attic, playing classical music, tinkering with things he built, and humming off-key while he makes you pancakes in the morning before disappearing for weeks at a time. cw: modern au, roommate au, slice of life, mild language, mutual pining, reader is shorter than sylus, flirting, gendered terms (good girl), mild jealousy, 2.2k of self-indulgent dribble tracklist: sweet time - raveena fig. 1 | fig. 3 | fig. 4 | fig. 5 | fig. 6

Coffee. 

Cuban, aromatic, sweet, bold. Nostalgic.

It’s the first thing to bring you to consciousness, followed by birds chirping outside, and the unbroken purr of a lawn mower.

You’re in your bed, swiping along the sheets in wide arcs as if chasing the remnants of sleep. Dreams of cerulean beach waves, sand caught in the interstices of your toes, the sun warming your cheeks.

Morning announces itself in the form of a golden strip cast over your eyes. 

You peek them open, throat dry, mouth sticky. A little sad to see you’re not at the beach, not tucked safe in your childhood home.

You push up with an unflattering yawn and crackling limbs. A glance at your phone reveals it’s a little past eight. It’s your day off. Still got some time to get ahead of the morning rush for grocery shopping.

The scent of coffee curls around you like a wispy shawl, and you’re warm inside. Smiling, lugging yourself off the bed to the window where you know he’ll be.

A glance outside and across the street reveals that familiar thatch of white, contrasting with the vibrant grass as Sylus pushes the lawn mower back and forth.

You’d almost forgotten he was back, kind of used to getting along without him. And of course, he’s up bright and early, helping your elderly neighbor tend to his yard. Made time to make you coffee on that expensive espresso machine he refuses to let you touch.

Funny. 

For someone who claims to abhor the sun, he’s best friends with it—the way it threads through his hair like he’s Atlas himself, bearing the sky on burly shoulders. How it highlights the rippling muscles in his back beneath a sweat-slicked tank, the tendons flexing in his legs as he works. 

You cross your arms and lean near the window, watching him push to a standstill when your neighbor approaches with water and a towel. Like clockwork, the old man draws him into conversation, nonsensical things in no particular order. And Sylus is always patient, letting your neighbor ramble like he’s got all the time in the world.

As if remembering yourself, you blink away your reverie. Shake it off. You sound like a lovesick fool. A secret admirer. Aren’t you? You’ve got better things to do than pine after your roomie.

So you strip down and crowd into the shower, the crisp spray a welcome reprieve for your stiff muscles. You slip into something that fits the heat—the kind that refracts light waves off the pavement, scorching enough to fry eggs outside and bring the mosquitoes out.

You sweep your hair into something passable, trotting down the stairs to the kitchen. The coffee’s still hot, warm in the mug between your palms and down your gullet. 

Not only is he a tolerable housemate, but he listens. Made it a point to stock your pantry with coffee that chased away your homesickness—imported—probably sick of you bitching about how much you missed it. Tired of asking why you’ll never go back.

A plate covered in a cheesecloth awaits you on the stove with a sad excuse for a cat scrawled onto a sticky note on top. You snort. Fish out a piece of bacon, pop a few blueberries strewn across your pancakes into your mouth. 

From the kitchen window, Sylus and your neighbor have moved to the old man’s porch. They’re seated on his rocking chairs, mouths moving, expressions easygoing beneath the flag fluttering in the balmy breeze. It’s infectious, that rare quirk to Sylus’ lips. Everything about him seems infectious these days. 

Swiping your keys from the counter and toeing on your sneakers, you push through the front door, and the humidity slaps you with zero remorse. 

Both men across the street perk up when you hit the remote start, your neighbor waving at you with a wrinkly, knowing smile.

You return his greeting, prickly when scarlet eyes track your every step as you round the car to the pooped-up trunk. 

You’re shuffling things around to make room for groceries when you feel him behind you—a tingly pressure between your shoulder blades, his shadow pressing into you and blotting out the sun.

“Going somewhere?” he asks, amused.

You jolt, a hand over your heart. You knew your roommate was back there, yet that voice is something lethal. Always manages to make you forget the world is a thing, breathing and thriving around you.

You turn, propping against the trunk’s edge, trying to play it cool over crossed arms. “God, warn me next time, will you? For your info, I’m going grocery shopping so my roomie doesn’t think I’m irresponsible and broke.”

There goes that lethal combo—that smirk, that chuckle. It’s not fair that he makes something as simple as roosting his hand on the edge of the trunk look cool, so close, you make out the veins and sinew jumping in his arm. Smell the sweat salting his skin, the grass staining his shorts.

“Irresponsible, yes.” Sylus pokes your forehead, and you sputter at how rough he pushes. “Broke, never. Not with me around.”

You huff, looking off to the side, pretending to be annoyed. Pretending like it wouldn’t take much to grab the front of his shirt and tug him down and—

Enough of that.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m assuming you’re done being a good Samaritan since you have time to talk.”

He straightens, that humor never leaving, that gaze sliding over you, stopping center mass, before finding your eyes again. He tugs on the towel around his neck, and you’re swallowing when his Adam’s apple bobs, chasing the sweat pouring down his throat. 

“Mostly. Want company?”

You jut your chin out defiantly, haughty, like you’re not giddy at the prospect of him tagging along. “Thought you didn’t like crowds.”

Something shifts in those lava fields. A glimmer of something burrowing deep before he’s back to his usual, smug self. Angles himself closer, making your heart skip a beat.

He’s all teeth when he says, “They’re bearable when I’m with you. Give me ten, and I’ll come with.”

You’re nodding like a lovelorn idiot, mouth halfway open, still processing what he said as he wanders into the house.

It’s hard to keep your walls up when he says shit like that. Chips away at those aged bricks you put up around your heart after you assumed he was seeing someone—the feminine name he’d say in hushed urgency, stepping out of earshot to take her call.

Whatever. 

It’s just a trip to the store. And he’s always been a tease. 

You brush it off, slamming the trunk shut, and slipping into the driver's seat to wait for this enigma of a man to clean up. 

—

Mornings have never been your forte. 

But you take advantage of them when it means getting a leg up on the housewives and boisterous teens who like to crowd the supermarket later on.

It’s eventless inside, a few customers scuttling about, music echoing from the speakers. The overhead lights compete with that of the sun bleeding through the windows, and your cart squeals and sticks.

One hand is tight around the buggy’s handle, the other pressing your phone to your chest. You’re tense, tight-lipped, pulse jackhammering in your throat. 

The source of your anxiety walks a comfortable distance behind and to the side, perusing the aisles with as much interest as someone out of their element. He’s not as close as he was before when he’d manipulated you into bringing him with you, but you’re still all prickly like he wrote sin into your bare skin with his fingers.

You always get like this when he’s gone for a while and comes back. Like meeting up with a stranger, sifting through the filing cabinet of your mind on what to say and how not to sound stupid saying it. 

You’re nestled between towering aisles of cereal when you glance over your shoulder, mouth moving, but nothing coming out. Sylus watches you, brow lifted, expectant. And your tongue’s suddenly too heavy for your mouth as you laugh it off, facing forward again.

You’ve never been this shy before. Never been this hesitant to fill the space between you with shit-talking and an interrogation on where he ran off to this time. Real estate conferences typically don’t last for most of the month. But you know your prodding won’t get you anywhere because he’s so good at diverting your questions and changing the subject.

“So,” you finally begin, attempting to break up the dense air between you. “We need milk, eggs, and bread. Maybe that bourgeois yogurt you like. Butter, oatmeal, and—ah, fuck. Forgot the plums.”

You stiffen, prepared to turn around, abandoning the cart in the middle of the aisle, but Sylus cuts you off. You almost run into him, that solid wall of strength, the heat of his skin overwhelming, the crisp notes of his cologne like chloroform. 

You look up to that knowing cant on his lips, and with a hand in his pocket, he tells you, “I’ll take care of it. You handle the rest.”

Nodding, you watch him walk off before venturing further down the aisle by yourself, grateful for the save.

At the end of the aisle, of course the oatmeal you want is on the top fucking shelf. And you’re straining on tippy-toe, fingers just barely grazing it. You purse your lips, contemplating stepping on the shelves for an assist, but it seems some higher being pities you today.

“I got you,” chimes a friendly voice from behind. 

His hand reaches over you before you put a face to a voice, plucking the tub of oats down for you. Almost close enough to crowd you against the shelves. You turn, following the stretch of his arm as he steps back, a nervous chuckle in your throat when he deposits the container into your hands.

“Hey, thanks,” you say, smile courteous, the container pressed to your bosom. “I owe you one.”

It’s awkward. Blinking. Staring. Averting your eyes. 

Your savior makes no move to leave, instead making himself comfortable, all teeth and confidence as he leans against a shelf. 

“Hard to believe a pretty thing like you shops all by herself. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in town. You live around here?”

You have this nasty habit of letting your face convey your emotions in place of your words. It’s instinctual. But this guy was nice enough to help, so you tamp down your discomfort, chuckling anxiously. Maybe if you entertain him a little, he’ll take the hint and leave you alone. 

“Um, yeah. Just out running errands. Trying to get my life together. You know.” 

Mr. Smug Smiles still doesn't budge, doesn’t pick up on your unease, instead taking you in like a starving wolf ogling skewered meat. 

“Maybe I could help you out. Grab anything else you can’t reach.” He steps closer, voice descending. “And maybe you could give me your number.”

Before you can work your mouth into a retort, you feel it—quiet, intimidating pressure behind you. Swallowing you whole, though the ire pouring off his skin isn’t directed at you. 

You nearly leap some fifty feet out of your body when a sizable hand falls to your back. The touch is light, but it’s hard not to sense the possessive flex of his fingers as he scorches you down to the bone.

You peer up as Sylus steps in, glare unrelenting on the man before you, and he drops a bag of plums into the cart like they’ve personally offended him. Your breath corks in your throat as his jaw pulls, the tendons in his throat twitching. If looks could kill, you’re sure he would’ve murdered this guy a thousand times over. It’s kind of…hot. And it convinces you just for a second that maybe your roomie’s into you, too.

Sylus’ demeanor shifts from murderous to sweet, giving you whiplash when he looks down at you. Asks, “Do you have everything you need, sweetheart?”

The way the name rolls off his tongue drips hot into your belly, and you’re nodding like a mindless little thing, lost in the soft stir of his irises. He reaches around you to grip the cart’s handle, trapping you between cool metal and sweltering strength. He turns you away from the sputtering man who had no idea you kept such company, walking you down the aisle into another.

Moments pass, and Sylus doesn’t let go. Doesn’t release you from the cage of his body, doesn’t loosen the clench of his jaw until you’re in the frozen section.

You start when he angles low, his hair tickling your neck, your cheek, lips a tease by your ear. It’s pleasant, satisfying, the way his voice drags like chalk against a smooth sidewalk, igniting a flurry of goosebumps across your skin.

“The next time you need assistance, don’t ask a stranger. Wait for me. Understood?”

You have this nagging feeling there’s more to his words than what’s at surface level. And you have half a mind to tell him you didn’t ask for anything. Yet you stutter out a quiet, “Ye-yeah,” absently nudging closer to his mouth.

You feel it curve against your ear—his sly smile. Watch his fingers tighten around the buggy’s handle, forearms just barely brushing your sides.

“Good girl.”

And you don’t realize you’re still clutching the damn oatmeal for dear life until you drop it on your foot.

tags: @pemhpredo, @bluesidez, @thirstblogforaparchedgirl, @freeprincesslove, @raginginferno267, @dyeinsomniadontwake

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[kiraavi]

banana cream pie

Summary: Joel is heading home after another long haul when he pulls into the travel center for the night. He's been struggling with his attraction to the waitress that works at the diner there, and is tempted to avoid you completely. The promise of coffee and an opportunity to stretch his legs, however, lures him in on a night you just so happen to be working the graveyard shift. CW: smut, pwp, unprotected piv, creampie + related innuendos that may or may not be cringe but I had to commit to the bit, oral f!receiving, a metric fuck ton of dirty talk, implied but unspecified age gap, (Joel is in his 50s, reader's age can really be anywhere from 20s-30s), rough and tough fuckin' with trucker Joel (he's lowkey a bit of a perv), exhibition, dumbification, hairpulling, overstimulation, wee bit of pussy pronoun usage. [No outbreak AU] Note: the demons took over... and I'm gonna be honest, this is 100% pure smut, no additives. It's got the cheesy porno plot and everything. I've been picking away at it for a week, and it's the longest smut I've written thus far!! As always, this was written with my beloved, game Joel (Goel), in mind. Also, reader is written to be plus size/chubby cause I felt like it! Comments, reblogs, and likes are all so incredibly appreciated! I'm always overjoyed to receive feedback. It means a lot to know that people have taken the time to stop by and read my fics. Lot's of love to y'all and happy reading! Word Count: 5.1k Ao3 Link: read here!

For a moment, Joel thinks about retreating into his bunk and winding down for the night, but his eyes dart back to the diner. The welcoming light that pours from the large windows, and the flickering neon open sign. Goddamn does a warm cup of coffee, and the opportunity to stretch his legs after a long drive sound good right about now.

His eyes dart back to the beat up blue hatchback parked around the side. He recognizes it, or rather, he recognizes who it belongs to. He feels like a teenager—you make him feel entirely out of his depth, and he’s not sure why. There’s nothing between you.

You’ve never been anything but friendly and accommodating toward him. You know exactly how he likes his coffee and make for good conversation. The problem lies in what you don’t know—in the moments between a sip of coffee in the diner, and before he passes out in his bunk. The secret between his fist and his cock when all he can think about is you—you in that fucking dress, you with that gorgeous smile, you who treats him with genuine interest. He’s pathetic. As mindless as a moth to a flame. As dumb as a fool to his execution.

When he finally finishes stewing in his guilt, staring blankly at the blinking amber lights of his dashboard, he musters up the courage to leave the comfort of the cab of his truck. He makes the walk across the parking lot a quick one—beneath the light drizzle of rain drops prickling his skin. He forgot his jacket in his truck, but he knows if he returns to his rig now he won’t be able to convince himself to venture back out.

Joel shoulders open the door with a huff as cool air rushes inside with him. The door falls shut and warmth envelops him in its place. He dares a glimpse at his reflection in the smudged glass and cards a hand through his unkempt hair. Turning, he surveys his surroundings for the first time, tamping his boots on the door mat. 

Booths are nestled along one wall, their red pleather upholstery spiderwebbed with fissures that reveal the foam cushioning beneath. Chips and scratches litter the table tops, the varnish worn around the edges where elbows have often come to rest. The checkerboard floor is weathered all the way down the aisle, certain tiles marking the well trodden path. The walls are covered in all sorts of dusty relics; old license plates from various states, road maps, and flags. Posters peel away from the wall at their corners and photographs have yellowed with the years.

He’s certain that this place hasn’t been renovated since its opening. It’s dingy, and unremarkable, and most things here have been wasting away for decades. The diner itself isn’t why he keeps coming back, though. He could just as well head over to the convenience store next door for a quick meal and a drink.

His eyes land on you. You’re standing behind the counter that runs the length of the room, chrome stools with red tops line the other side. You wipe down the surface with a damp rag. The radio crackles, crooning some tune that you’re too busy humming to notice his entrance.

It’s late and the place is empty—as desolated and deserted as the parking lot outside—a far cry from the bustling morning rush on those days when he’s barely able to get a word in while you rush around, topping up coffees or balancing trays of food. But now, you’re lost in your own world, and Joel finds himself hanging onto every second that you’re unaware of his presence because the view is a bit like art; a painting that he wouldn’t mind having hung in his home, or permanently etched into his mind’s eye.

You’re entirely unlike everything else in this tacky, run down diner. You are bright. You radiate warmth. You are something to be admired, cherished, and held dearly, or placed upon some pedestal. And he thinks that he might’ve spent an eternity memorizing every facet of you—every line that makes up your face, every contour that shapes your body—if you didn’t look up just then.

The smile that lights up your face is nothing short of a privilege to witness. He has half a mind to throw a glance behind him because it certainly can’t be for him—he can’t be the reason for something so beautiful. He doesn’t warrant that kind of look, but he’s the only one here and he doesn’t want to make himself look stupid, so he gives a curt nod.

Clearing his throat, he takes a stilted step towards one of the tables before settling into the booth. He watches as you disappear into the kitchen, and return with a coffee pot and mug in your hands. Dutifully, you set the mug in front of him and pour him a cup. The steam curls up into the air and one of his hands wraps around the ceramic mug, feeling its warmth. He glances back at you. You’re still standing there and you look a little antsy. He gets the feeling that he might be your only customer for the night.

“Workin’ the graveyard shift, huh?” He asks, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a sip. He pulls a bit of a face and sets it back down. The coffee is just okay, always has been, but the coffee isn’t why he keeps coming back. Again, his eyes flit to you.

“Yeah, I needed the extra shift,” you say as you set the coffee pot onto the table before sitting down across from him. He feels your knee brush his beneath the table and his jaw clenches. “And you? Heading home or heading out?”

You lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands, as if preparing yourself to cling to each word he has to say. The angle provides him the perfect vantage point. His eyes naturally snag on the pillowy tops of your breasts and the hidden valley between them. His fist knocks the table as he leans back against the seat, shifting uncomfortably. They look about ready to spill out of that dress with the first two buttons undone. Fuck, had it been unbuttoned when he’d first walked in? Surely.

“Home. Gotta week ‘fore I’m on the road again,” he grumbles, lifting his gaze away from where they definitely shouldn’t be. It means a week before he has a chance at seeing you again. For some reason that thought stirs an ugly feeling within him, twisting and unfolding in the pit of his stomach. The silence stretches between you, and neither of you reach to fill the void. He notices your nails are painted a baby blue to match your dress. Cute. 

The quiet becomes too much and he decides to put an end to it. “What’s the pie of the day this time?” It’s a question that he’s made the habit of asking, but he’s never made the habit of ordering a slice. A little routine between the two of you, and one that instantly has a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You hum as you think it over, making an effort to recall it, and the moment you do, your eyes light up. “It’s banana cream pie.” “Ah? S’it any good?”

“Oh, um, I’ve never tried it before,” you say and your leg jolts against his, your bare skin grazing the denim of his jeans. “Does my opinion matter? Unless you’re actually planning on ordering it this time?”

There’s something about you then—that glint in your eyes, the subtle curve of your smile, the teasing lilt of your voice. You’re adorable. He wants you all to himself. But he can’t have what’s out of reach. He’s struggling to keep up this act around you. The facade that he’s normal about you because he’s anything but normal about you. There’s nothing normal about his feelings for you at all. He is a beast that wants to swallow you whole and you are too naive to see it. Right? He blinks, eyes catching on the low dip of your top again, and then he feels your leg rub up against his once more. The touch feels almost purposeful, but he tries to convince himself otherwise. His imagination, his desire must be conjuring things—gleaning want where there is none. His throat goes dry and he swallows hard. 

“Nah,” his eyes lower to his coffee, still full, but he stands anyway, and you’re standing up with him, looking confused. “I should get goin’, it’s been a long day.”

“Really? Stay and finish your coffee at least, Joel,” you say, stepping closer. He locks up, muscles going rigid. It’s both a curse and a blessing to have shared his name with you last time. The way it floats from your lips, something wispy and reluctant, and in that dulcet tone. It’s euphonic. It does things to him—terrible, awful, thrilling things. 

He swivels around and you’re mere inches from him, peering up at him all doe eyed. He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with this right now, but you look up at him like that—like a lost puppy trailing after him, and he knows deep down that he never really stood a chance. Not when it comes to you. It’s just been a matter of time—of how long he can manage to convince himself of his own lies and turn the other cheek.

”Did… Did I do something that bothered you?” Your voice wavers. It makes him feel like an ass for ever making you question yourself because there’s not a single thing you’ve done to upset him. The only upsetting thing is the way he feels about you, the way want and desire roil in his gut the moment he so much as sees you, or remembers the fact that you exist. It’s purely impulsive and frustrating, and the most blissful feeling. He never wants to feel this way again and he never wants to stop feeling it simultaneously. Two opposing outlooks at an impasse within him.

“No- No ‘course not,” he says, waving his hand dismissively but you still look so unsure, and his hand lands on your shoulder in what’s supposed to be a comforting gesture. His thumb rubs a gentle circle there because he can’t stop himself. “Like I told you, just been a long day.”

You blink, your lip wobbling as you search for your next words. “Oh… it’s just that I was really enjoying your company.”

The last thread of his restraint pulls taut, the flame of tension between you whittling it away, and singeing one tiny, miniscule fibre at a time. You look upon him like he’s something worth a dime—someone of value who merits praise and admiration, but he isn’t. He’s sure that he isn’t anything more than a dumb, pathetic bastard too far ahead of himself to turn back now.

He knows that he’d be a fool to mistake your kindness for interest but, hell, if the way you bat your lashes at him, and worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and sway your hips with every approach isn’t interest, he’s not too sure what is. 

So the thread snaps, giving way to that searing fire and he surges forward, all but stumbling into you. His lips are on yours, clashing with yours—hot and heavy as he licks into your mouth. His breath is hot and laboured, fanning over your face.

You shake in his hold, your hands hovering and unsure of what to do. He pulls away and takes in the sight of you. Flushed and warm with those glossy, wide eyes staring at him in surprise. But you shouldn’t be shocked. You’ve seen this coming, haven’t you?

“You’re just a little fuckin’ tease, ain’t you?” He asks, and you have the audacity to look bewildered, lips parted in a soft exhale. You are good at this innocent act, he’ll give you that. “Knew what you were doin’ the whole damn time, I bet.”

“Yeah, bet you like havin’ that kinda control over a man like me, huh?” He questions, taking a step forward and into you, crowding you against the table. You’re stunned and locked into place, hands falling to grasp the lip of the table. You make no move to push him away. And that’s the confirmation he needs. He’s right. He knows he’s right and it only emboldens him. “Well, are you gonna say somethin’ or just stand there lookin’ pretty?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. He’s sapped the air right out of your lungs.

“Bullshit, you’ve had me dreamin’ ‘bout this cunt for weeks now,” he scoffs, spinning you around and pressing a hand firm to your back, bending you over the table's edge. He’s got you pinned there.

“Joel…!” You squeak, gasping out.

“Fuck… been achin’ to taste it,” he says as he sinks to his knees behind you, and flips the back of your skirt up. His hands skim up your legs, lingering on the plush of your thighs in gentle up and down motions before grabbing a hold of them and prying them apart. His fingers graze your cotton panties—they’re that same baby blue, he notes. He clicks his tongue when his fingers come away damp. “Yeah, you’ve been drippin’ since I walked through that damn door, haven’t you?”

Your reply comes out as a weak, wavering sound—somewhere between a whimper and a mewl. Not very talkative, huh? There’s none of that denial anymore. No, he’s worked you into submission in a few measly seconds. But this is what you’d wanted. It’s what you’ve been getting at—been wanting some grizzled, old man like him to fuck you until there isn’t a single thought left floating around in that pretty little head of yours. Blissful oblivion.

“You’ll let me have a taste, won’t you, sweet girl?” He asks, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and dragging the flimsy fabric down your legs. He smacks the side of your thigh when you don’t reply.

“Mhm!” You hum, not so subtly pushing your hips back toward him. Eager little thing. But he’s not one to make things quick. He won’t give you what you want just ‘cause. He’ll relish in it—in the things he can do to you not only with his touch, but the things he can do to you with the absence of it.

“Gotta use your words f’me…” he coos, his thumb pressing into the tender skin where your thigh meets your most intimate place, parting your lips gently. He exhales sharply at the sight—pink and glistening just for him. Precious. “C’mon, be a good girl.”

“Please-! I need you,”  you keen above him, and he can hear the unadulterated desperation dripping from your words. It feeds into him and into his ego—into the beast you’ve created of him.

“Need what? Oughta be specific. ‘M no mind reader,” he murmurs, moving his hand to slide two fingers along your slit as he asks his next question. “D’you need my fingers?”

“My mouth?” Next, Joel leans in close to press a kiss to your inner thigh, just shy of your pulsing heat. He feels your legs quiver at the daring proximity—so achingly close to where you need him and, yet somehow, incredibly far. “Or does this greedy cunt need somethin’ more…?”

He is rock hard in his jeans, uncomfortably so. His erection pushes against his zipper but he ignores it, keeping his sole focus on you—the object of his desire, already weak and warbling from a few infinitesimal touches.

“Uh huh- please, anything…!” You beg so pretty, and how can he deny that? He has you in the palm of his hand, your muddled mind incapable of making a simple decision. You’ve relinquished control and deferred all choice to him. He relishes in it and he takes the responsibility in stride. 

“Poor thing can’t even make a decision for herself,” he says as he draws nearer to lay a kiss over your dripping folds. He flicks his tongue out and his thumbs part you at your seam. You squirm and a moan falls from you. He can’t see your face right now, but Christ, does he wish he could. He’ll just have to settle for his imagination which is something he’s not entirely unfamiliar with.

“That’s okay. You don’t gotta think too hard when I’m here, just have to sit there and take what I give you, right?” He pulls back to whisper, the bridge of his nose ghosting over the sensitive skin. “Just gotta stand there bein’ good and dumb for me…”

Joel doesn’t bother waiting for a response before returning his mouth between your legs. He marks a trail of kisses all the way back to your cunt. And when he tastes you again, he lets out a languid groan, tongue flattening over your clit. He laps and suckles at it, siphoning shuddering moans from your lips. Your hips jolt and he moves higher, prodding at your entrance, flicking his tongue there.

He doesn’t belong here. Nothing he’s ever done renders him deserving of this blessing, but he’ll earn it. You whimper above him—tiny, bitten-off whines tumbling from you over and over as he licks into you, laving over your clit again and again. The sounds are downright obscene, filling the empty room as he feasts on you like it’s his final meal and he’s to die tonight—his last will and testament. His fingers dimple the flesh of your thighs, wrenching you open wider and nudging your entrance again.

You’re close. He can tell in the way your legs begin to tremble and your knees threaten to buckle. His hands lower to brace you, a silent gesture, as if to say ‘I’ve got you.’ And he does. He’s not letting you go until you’ve reached that peak and then some. He returns all his attention to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling—working you up, up, up and coaxing you over that crest.

“Oh…! Nghh, Joel-!” You wail. Your orgasm is a wavering, jittering thing. He can feel your muscles convulsing against his tongue. He grunts and works you through it, drinking up every last drop. 

It’s too easy to push you down and wind you up. Your body is pliant, willing, and accepting of everything he gives you. Even as it spasms and jerks, a weak sound of protest falling from your lips as he refuses to let up.

This moment, right here in this empty diner, is limbo—a space between two destinations in which time ceases to exist. He can’t get enough of you. He never will. He’s addicted, so he continues to take and take from you. The pleasure he imparts unto you is his own, his cock twitching in his pants.

Joel mouths at your pussy. He does not stop to breathe. He smothers himself in your wet, messy folds, teasing and licking—pushing and pulling. Raising you up and bringing you back down each time he diverts his attention to another sensitive place.

You are a mess. A heap of shaking limbs, sinful sounds, and babbled words—garbled and disjointed pleas. He doesn’t think you realize your own contradictions. A quiet ‘I can’t-’, a stuttered ‘no more’, followed by a ‘please don’t stop!’

He won’t. He will not stop until he’s torn another orgasm from you. He knows that you’re capable—you’ll give him what he wants and comply with his whims because you’re his good girl. You will give him another whether or not it’s dredged from you weeping and tremoring.

And you do. Your body coils like a spring, his hands move to your hips, tugging you closer against his face. One more pass of his tongue and your body unravels, unwinding and releasing all that tension.

“Oh God! Ah- Joel… fuck!” you cry out. When he pulls away, his face is slick with your arousal, droplets clinging to the scruff of his beard. He stands up behind you, his hands coasting up your sides as he does. You’ve gone limp, still folded over the table.

Shucking off his belt, Joel pushes his pants down alongside his boxers, freeing his painfully erect cock. It’s flushed and leaking, aching to be inside you already. He shuffles behind you, guiding his cock between your legs and dragging it over your seam, and slipping it between your pussy lips.

“You let any man have his way with you?” he questions, tapping the bulbous tip against your clit before sliding it back and notching it against your entrance. “D’you spend weeks practically beggin’ for it? Temptin’ any bastard that happens to pass through?”

“No! No, just you, only you.” you say, breath hitching and eyes watering.

“No? Just me? That’s damn right.” He grins and begins to sink inside, drawing a ragged moan from the both of you. Your pussy hugs his cock as it cleaves you open. “This cunt belongs to me.”

He starts off slow, bringing his hands to rest on your waist as he eases in and out of you, feeling your warm, tight walls clutch and flutter around his shaft, seeming to cling and suck him back in each time he pulls out.

“Fuck yes, baby…” he croons, eyes fluttering shut as he begins to set a faster pace. The mug and coffee pot rattle with each thrust that jolts your body against the table. The mug inches closer and closer to the edge. His hips meet your ass, bottoming out with each drive forward. Opening his eyes, his gaze lands on the window in front of you. The two of you look out onto the empty parking lot.

“Would you look at that, darlin’…” he remarks, giving your hip a squeeze to grab your attention and direct it forward. “Anyone could walk on past and see you gettin’ railed… you like that don’t you, though?”

There’s truth to his words. The looming threat doesn’t take away from it. No, your cunt contracts around his shaft, dragging him deeper at the acknowledgement of such an indecent thing. You enjoy the risk—you both delight in it.

To be caught now would be so easy. You’ve been put on display, vulnerable and exposed, beneath the glaring lights reflecting off the glass. Rivulets of rain water slip down the wide, open pane. All it would take is one lone traveler pulling into the parking lot, or the convenience store cashiers switching shifts, and a singular glance in the diner’s direction. 

Just like that, and they would know that you’ve let this man defile you at your place of work. They’d know what a dirty girl you are. But it’s not off-putting in that way that it should be. It’s exhilarating.

“Mhm, you get off on it, filthy girl,” he teases, rolling his hips into you. You’re a wordless, mindless jumble of nothingness beneath him. Completely and utterly drunk on his cock, and unable to string together a single thought, let alone form a coherent sentence. You speak only in helpless mewls and keening moans. His focus is trained on your dazed, dumb expression in the reflection. You look fucking divine.

“Well, go on, look.” He reaches for your hair, tugging it and forcing you to face your mirror image. “Watch me fuck you.”

Joel knows he shouldn’t be so rough with you. You’re fragile and teetering, but he wants you to witness the sight—to face the image of what you’ve been taunting him with for weeks. You’re a work of art. He wants you to know that and remember the reflection in the glass in case this is the last time he bears the privilege of having you in such a manner. 

“Joel, please!” you whine over the wet plap, plap, plap of his thrusts, your hands grappling with the flat table top. He’s not sure what you’re pleading for and he thinks that you might not even know yourself.

He hums, rubbing his hand up along your spine and then back down to the knot of your apron. He tugs it loose, and pulls you upright and against him, tossing the apron aside. Sliding his hands around you he undoes the rest of the buttons of your dress in quick succession until your breasts spill out. 

“My beautiful, fuckin’ perfect girl,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to the side of your neck and then another one as his hands cup your tits, kneading them and feeling the way you shudder against him. 

Joel tips your head back, running his fingers along your jaw in a tender caress. They curl there as he thumbs your bottom lip, prodding and encouraging you to open up before tucking two thick digits inside. Obediently, your mouth closes around them as though it’s a habitual act. He smooths them over your tongue, unable to stifle the strained noise that escapes him.

The silky heat engulfs them and you practically purr, dissolving further into his arms. Drool pools at the corner of your mouth, and he pulls his fingers from your mouth with a schlick. His hand then slithers down your body and slips between your legs.

He feels the way you’re stretched wide around his girth, wedged open in a way he’s certain you haven’t been before. He continues to rock up into you as he seeks out your swollen clit, fingertips circling the bud in small, vigorous circles. His head drops to your shoulder, feeling that tight, delicious clamp of your pussy. Quiet utterances and muttered curses stashed under his breath flitter over your ear.

“So good… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby…” He drawls, fighting to keep his eyes from clenching shut because he wants to savour this moment and you. Blissed out and empty-headed, taking each inch of him. He adores you—everything about you. Every curve, and dip, and extra bit of plushness.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he moans, his thrusts turning sloppy. If he had the time to dedicate to worshiping every aspect of you he would. He’d spend hours working you through orgasm after orgasm, but you haven’t got the time, and he can feel himself inching closer and closer to his own.

“Shit, I’m close-!” he mumbles, folding you over the table again and following suit. His chest is pressed to your back, and his cock sinks deeper somehow, hips bumping yours against the lip of the table. You slap a hand over your mouth in an effort to suppress your moans.

His arm winds around you, curling beneath your stomach. His hand, large and roughened, fans over the plumpness there—so often hidden by the flared skirt of your dress. He squeezes gently. Groaning, he saws his cock in and out, feeling the unhurried, slick glide as the crown passes over that delicate and sensitive spot inside you. He feels you tense beneath him, another one of your sweet sounds is muffled against your knuckles. His free hand grabs yours and shoves it flat to the table.

“None’a that, darlin’. Lemme hear every damn sound,” he grunts, pressing his palm firmer against your stomach. “Ya feel that? Feel me right fuckin’ here?”

“Yes! Yes, feel you so deep, mmph…!”

“Where do you want it?” he asks, feeling that pressure brim and ache. “Tell me or are you too dumb and drunk on my cock to make up your mind?”

You babble beneath him—a jumbled mess of pleas and yesses, but no definitive answer to the question he has posed. He’s right. You’ve been reduced to a brainless, insatiable, needy thing. Hopelessly keening for more and more even when your body can’t take it.

“It’s alright, baby… I’ll just have to give you a taste of that cream pie you said you’d never tried,” he murmurs, continuing the staggering rhythm of his thrusts.

“Inside’s where ya need it, filling up this greedy cunt, hm?” His voice is hushed, dropping low and husky. The words are like a secret for your ears only. He feels you tense beneath him, a strangled cry is pulled from the depths of you as your walls convulse around his cock. He moans at that sensation. It’s addictive. It’s incredible. You’re writhing and unfurling for him—fracturing into pieces atop quaking legs. “Uh huh, can feel her sucking me in. She’s begging for it, ain’t she?”

“Please, give it to me…” And that’s all the permission he ever needs—that breathless, resigned request.

It’s uncontrollable. The pressure erupts as he bottoms out one last time, nestling deep. His cock swells and twitches, balls drawing tight as relief finally sweeps over him. His hips involuntarily jerk as the first jet spurts inside of you. He sucks in air through his teeth, suddenly feeling deprived of oxygen as his head spins and his mind goes blank. His pelvis spasms, grinding into you. His eyes fall shut and a groan tumbles past his lips. He stays there, shooting warm rope after rope, until he has nothing left to give and then a few moments longer.

When Joel peels himself from you, he slides himself free. Instantly, his eyes catch on your cunt and the way your entrance contracts around nothing. His spend oozes out in what can only be described as an obscene display. 

You lay there panting until you find the will power to stand up and face him. Your legs wobble and you lurch, but he’s there to catch you, propping you up against him. “Easy now,” he mutters, bringing a hand up to brush back a stray hair. 

“Right, sorry,” you say with a giggle, hands braced on his shoulders as you look up at him. You’re damn near delirious. He’s the one who’s brought you to such a state. His stomach churns. His eyes dart between yours and your lips then out the window to his rig in the parking lot. It doesn’t feel right to up and leave, so he makes the decision that he won’t. Not yet.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for,” he murmurs, cupping your face and tilting your chin. You smile up at him. It’s set in stone. He’s set in stone. There’s no pulling him from this moment anytime soon.

“I could go for another cup of coffee,” he says, glancing at the abandoned mug settled right near the edge of the table, its contents now sitting cold, “and I think I’d like to try a slice of that banana cream pie too.”

[jimxnslight]

Fool's Gold || Part I

Summary: Sweet Y/N, with her fluffy pastel dresses, soft makeup, and ditzy mannerisms. She’s seen as a fool in a world where there is no place for such things, but little do they know, the only fools are them.

Pairing: mafia leader!Jungkook x mafia leader's daughter!reader

Genre: mafia au, arranged marriage au

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: most warnings associated with mafia fics (e.g. violence, blood, etc), additional warnings might be added as the story progresses

<< masterlist || next part >>

“I heard that she’s a complete airhead.”

Jungkook’s expensive shoes smacked against the pristine white and gold marble floors as he continued to walk through the lavish hallway, hands disappearing behind his pockets while his steps were slow and confident. Most would think he was choosing to ignore the comment, but his closest friend knew better than to rush a man as calculating as Jungkook. 

Instead, Taehyung strolled alongside him, taking in the glittering chandeliers looming over their heads and the intricate designs carved into the white walls that were much too traditional for his taste. Jungkook and Taehyung were nowhere near out of place in the sea of extravagance with their custom suits and shiny black dress shoes. Taehyung, the more simple of the two, had his brown hair parted and pushed back to reveal a blemish free forehead while his grey and black suit complimented the grey specks in his brown irises. 

On the other hand, Jungkook’s black on black outfit adorned two expensive cufflinks and a gold brooch attached to his lapel. Taehyung’s gaze dropped to his black hair, which he noticed had grown in the past month. 

When Taehyung realised that Jungkook wasn’t going to speak, he decided to fill the silence. 

“Like apparently she’s huge on wearing pink and frilly stuff -which I guess is just a girl thing- but still, this is a mafia not a tea party.”

He paused, waiting for his comrade to offer his thoughts, but was met with silence once again. 

“I’ve also heard she’s dumber than a pile of rocks. Barely passed high school and then dropped out of university not even a month in. Her major wasn’t even that hard. Commerce, was it?”

Taehyung’s eyebrows furrowed as Jungkook continued to lengthen the silence. 

“And as you already must know, she was also married about a year ago but then was widowed after her husband was killed by a rival gang on the same day. Even though their marriage didn’t even last a full 24 hours, she had been so traumatised by the whole thing that apparently she didn’t even speak for an entire month after the ordeal. Can you imagine how much of a princess she must be for a simple death to shake her that much? She must be a real- come on man, how long are you going to make me go on?”

Jungkook turned his head to offer him a sly grin, “I was wondering when you would reach your limit.”

Taehyung gave him a halfhearted punch to the arm, “you’re such a jerk. Answer my question man. I’m dying to know what she’s actually like.”

He followed Jungkook as he turned into another hallway, curious as to what he thought of her, but his answer had him staring at Jungkook incredulously. 

“I don’t know.”

Taehyung faltered in his step, gaping at the back of the man who continued through the hallway nonchalantly. When the weight of his answer finally processed completely in Taehyung’s mind, he ran forward so that he could walk alongside his friend once again. 

“I think you misunderstood my question,” Taehyung tried again slowly, “I want to know about Lee Y/N, you know, your soon to be wife? The one you’re about to marry right now?”

“What is there to know?” Jungkook commented, mind occupied with a topic of much more importance, “a marriage with her will allow for the unification of two powerful mafia families and will also allow for an heir to be born. Is that not the whole point of marriages for individuals like us?”

“Well yeah, but there’s no harm in getting to know her at least a little bit. Did you even hear about the ‘dumb as rocks’ part when I was rambling?”

“That will only make her easier to control,” he deadpanned.

“Fine, whatever. Is she at least pretty?”

Taehyung’s eyes widened even more when Jungkook didn’t respond, “please tell me you’ve met her at least once. Oh my god, have you even looked at a picture of her?” 

Jungkook's silence was all Taehyung needed to know that the answer was, in fact, no,” I knew I shouldn’t have gone out of the country! My parents kept telling me everything would be fine and they’d take care of the whole thing but you haven’t even met her once? I should’ve made my return flight earlier, then I could’ve-”

Taehyung’s voice faltered as he noticed Jungkook’s distant expression, causing his brows to furrow. He wasn’t listening to a word he was saying, which wasn’t something entirely out of the ordinary, but it usually wasn’t this bad. He sighed as he shifted his gaze to the expensive hall before him. 

“Is this about the Parks?” He asked, noticing his friend’s focus return.

“It’s the Parks and the Mins,” Jungkook admitted, “ever since their alliance, they’ve been getting bold. They made a move on our West docks last week and would have been successful in seizing them if it weren’t for the blackmail I managed to procure at the last minute. But that won’t hold them off for long.”

Taehyung’s head tilted to the side, “you’ve always enjoyed a challenge. Why’s this bothering you so much?”

Jungkook turned into another hallway to finally come face to face with a large pair of grandiose double doors that towered over them. The two men came to a stop, aware that their conversation was now on a timer. 

“I just… have an uneasy feeling,” he said, unable to reveal anymore to Taehyung. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his best friend what he had really witnessed when he visited the docks yesterday.

Taehyung, clueless to Jungkook’s inner turmoil, slapped him on the back, lightening the mood with a grin, “come on man, this is your wedding. You’ll figure everything out later, for now just relax. You deserve it.”

Before he could protest, Taehyung shoved the double doors open to reveal an enormous and crowded wedding hall. The white and gold marble floor stretched across the entire room, while multiple diamonds came together to form a giant chandelier that hung over the hundreds of tables that had been decorated with shiny silverware and pristine white roses. The people were just as decorated as the furniture, with their elegant gowns and glamorous jewellery. 

At the sound of the doors opening, the once chattering crowd silenced, opting to sneak glances at Jungkook and his friend instead. Hushed whispers echoed around the hall as Jungkook straightened his back and held his head high before making his way to the centre of the room. Behind him, Taehyung took his place, his outgoing and extroverted personality tucked away to look just as regal and intimidating as the groom. The crowd began gathering on either side of the aisle, clearly excited for the bride who had been scheduled to appear any second now. 

Most men’s hearts would be racing during a time like this, Jungkook thought distantly, eyes focused on the aisle as well. Marriage to others was supposed to symbolise unwavering love and devotion. But not for him. For him marriage was simply a contract, a means to an end that he hoped would lessen the burden of a number of challenges. In a world like this, there was no such thing as love. 

Only power. 

The sound of the double doors opening pulled him from his thoughts, with two professionally dressed workers fixing them on either side so that they remained open this time. Jungkook watched a pair of women in what seemed like light pink bridesmaid dresses trail behind two girls who couldn’t have been more than five throwing white and light pink flower petals in the air. Behind the entourage was a figure drenched in white. 

You walked slowly into the room, your glimmering white dress trailing behind you as a thick white veil draped over your face and the front of your dress. Jungkook could only make out your hands clutching a small bouquet of white roses while your arm looped around your father’s, who was slowly guiding you down the aisle. Despite the aid, he couldn’t help but notice an uneasiness to your steps and a slight shake in your hands. 

The crowd’s gaze stayed fixed on your figure, drinking in the Jeon Jungkook’s soon to be wife. There were some gasps of astonishment at the beauty of your dress and figure, while there were some gasps of jealousy towards the woman who was taking Jungkook off the market. You didn’t seem to pay them any attention as your head stayed fixed in front of you, focusing on not falling as you continued through the aisle. 

To Jungkook, it felt like years had passed before you finally reached the small steps leading to the stage he was standing on, your bridesmaids taking their places on the opposite side of where Taehyung was standing. Your father unlooped his arm from yours and stepped back to sit on one of the seats that had been reserved for him, leaving you to hesitantly step onto the stage yourself. Your heel wobbled as you brought your foot forward and Jungkook knew exactly what would happen before it did. 

He watched your heel slip sideways, causing you to careen to your right under the heaviness of your dress. But before you could crash into the large pots of white roses, Jungkook shot forward so that his hand could grab your waist, hoisting you up to prevent you from falling. The crowd swooned at the gesture, murmuring about its romantic nature, though all Jungkook could wonder was how you’ve been surviving in a mafia family for so long. Taehyung had only said you were dumb, not a complete klutz too. 

He could feel the warmth of your delicate hand on his shoulder as he guided you up the steps, only letting go of you once the two of you were facing the patiently waiting priest. Once he had motioned for everyone to sit, he began his sermon in an obnoxiously boring voice. Jungkook had no particular interest in paying attention to a speech he had listened to multiple times growing up. Instead, he took the chance to survey you briefly. With your veil still hiding your face, he could only take in your perfect figure and pristine skin. 

Eventually, the priest asked you to remove your veil, to which you complied slowly. Taehyung came forward, offering to take the bouquet in your hands while your bridesmaids helped you hesitantly lift the soft white cloth over your head. 

A wave of hushed whispers spread throughout the crowd at the sight of your face, one that caught Jungkook off guard. Your eyes had been lined with a light liner, while your lips and cheeks had been made to look dainty. Your hair fell from the top of your head to your shoulders, styled in a way that framed your features and neck. Jungkook noticed a small silver necklace in the shape of a heart resting against your exposed collarbone. 

Your makeup made you look so innocent and… young. Jungkook almost wanted to pull Taehyung’s parents aside and confirm that you really were twenty three and not some nineteen year old. It was a bit of a turn off, he realised, slightly bothered by the fact. As a twenty six year old, he obviously wasn’t into teenagers, so he didn’t know what having a wife that looked like one was going to do for him. 

Then again, he wasn’t marrying you for some kind of gratification. He was marrying you because he needed to form a strong alliance between your father’s gang and his so that he could be, or at the very least appear, stronger than the Mins and Parks. You were nothing more than a path to more power and, aside from upholding his responsibilities as a husband, he would treat you as such.

As the priest continued to drone on, Jungkook continued to analyse your form. He watched your eyes stay focused on the priest before they strayed, hesitantly landing on Jungkook for a split second. When you noticed his gaze already on you, a small squeak sounded from your lips before you quickly shifted your focus forward. With the bouquet of flowers now hanging from Taehyung’s hand, your own fingers were clasped awkwardly in front of you. 

You were apparently everything Taehyung had painted you as earlier, Jungkook thought. Your makeup and mannerisms had an air of exaggerated innocence, while your body language was shy and sheepish. He had no problem imagining you as a weak girl that was so traumatised by the death of your first husband that you couldn’t utter a single word the following month. 

The priest turned to the seated crowd, beckoning anyone that had an issue with the marriage to step forward and speak their mind. Just as Jungkook expected, no one dared make a stand, preferring to cherish the connection between their head and neck instead. Following the silence, you and Jungkook were made to stand facing each other.

Your gaze was fixed on his collar, seemingly too shy to meet Jungkook’s eyes. It only confirmed his suspicions regarding your confidence, or lack thereof. 

Yet, despite your evidently timid nature and lack of intelligence, Jungkook couldn’t help but experience an uncanny feeling lingering at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was his untrusting nature, or maybe he had just been forced to over analyse you during the long and boring sermon. But he could have sworn that there was something about you. Just… something about the way you had trouble meeting his gaze yet seemed to have no problem in scanning Taehyung up and down. For a fraction of a moment, the look in your eyes was almost calculated, as if you had been assessing him. But just as fast as Jungkook thought he saw it, the look disappeared, replaced by a timid and shy gaze once again. It left him questioning whether he had even seen it in the first place, or whether he was letting paranoia see things that weren’t there. 

Finally, the priest turned to the two of you and made you both say your vows outloud. They were the standard vows, Jungkook and you putting no effort in creating a confession that you both knew was ingenuine. Instead, the two of you repeated after him, answering “I do” when the time was right. Jungkook was glad that, despite your seemingly ditzy nature, you hadn’t requested any giant romantic gestures. According to your father, you had even had no problem with Jungkook requesting that there be no kiss at the altar. It made his life a lot easier and truthfully made this entire situation a lot less awkward.

To Jungkook’s relief, the priest finally addressed the crowd once more, ending the sermon on a final note filled with hope and prosperity. He spoke about how the marriage would strengthen the two mafias, mitigating worries relating to attacks from enemies that may wish to harm them. Jungkook had already expected this part of the speech, as he had been the one to tell the priest to say those exact words. 

At the end of the sermon, Jungkook and you were made to walk down the aisle back to where he knew his expensive car was waiting. He turned to you, looping his arm around yours so that you wouldn’t fall again, and guided you down the steps slowly. He noticed that your every step was still wobbly and he could feel your hand shaking as you placed it on his bicep to steady yourself further. But this time, with the veil now draped behind you, he could see the distress in your face as well. Your eyes were wide as you took in the crowd surrounding you, looking as naive as Taehyung had made you out to be. 

Jungkook tried to remind himself of Taehyung’s words. About how you had barely been able to pass high school and then completely dropped out of university a month in. About how your style consisted of pink and frilly clothes that didn’t have much place in the mafia. About how, at this moment, you seemed almost scared of the crowd and attention. 

A girl like that was shy and naive and ditzy. Aside from being slightly irritating, that meant you couldn’t be much of a threat to him or anyone else. If anything your incompetence would be a threat to your own self. Jungkook had nothing to worry about when it came to you. 

So he tried not to be unsettled. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the fact that, despite your apparently innocent and weak nature, your fingers were gripping into his bicep so hard he would no doubt wake up with a bruise tomorrow morning. 

He tried not to be unsettled by the way your shy gaze, which stayed fixed on the floor, would sometimes stray upwards to almost study the crowd around you before quickly darting back to the ground. 

He tried not to be unsettled when you looked up at him to give him a bashful smile, one that the logical part of him agreed looked sweet and innocent enough.

Yet, why did another part of him wonder whether there had been something else lurking behind those seemingly innocent eyes?

-

-

-

The only thing that Jungkook had learned about you from the car ride was that your voice was as light and soft as your appearance. 

The ride in his black car decorated with gleaming small white roses and ribbons had been mostly silent, the two of you making no effort to start a conversation. Jungkook had never been one for small talk, more than content to let Taehyung talk for hours instead. The reason for your lack of conversation, though, was unknown to him. 

It was only when he was speeding through the highway that you had spoken to request that he slow down a bit. Your voice had been soft and timid, as if you were scared that Jungkook would lash out at you for the simple request. Or maybe that was just the way you spoke. Considering your personality, Jungkook wouldn’t find that too hard to believe.

Now the two of you walked through the entrance of his home, your eyes taking in the grandeur of it all. Despite its vastness, Jungkook felt that this was where he felt the most comfortable: between the white and fawn walls, the elaborately designed bannisters, and the creme marble floors. His home had remained the only constant in his life and, because of that, he cherished it immensely. 

There were only a few people that Jungkook had allowed inside, all of whom were people that he trusted with his life. This was the first time, he realised, that someone outside of those few was stepping foot onto the marble floor and laying their eyes on the spiralling staircase. It was an odd feeling, allowing you to enter into what he felt was the only place that truly allowed his mind and body to relax. 

He observed your reaction curiously, taking in your wide eyes. They bounced from one thing to the next, each structure seeming to fascinate you more and more. He still couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were assessing the space, but the logical part of him kept trying to reassure himself that you couldn’t possibly be considered any kind of threat. 

The sound of the door opening behind him pulled him from his thoughts. He turned around to find Taehyung walking through the doorway, a particular look on his face. Jungkook recognised it right away, causing him to turn to you for a moment while calling over one of the maids. 

“Get her to the bedroom,” Jungkook commanded the maid as Taehyung stepped beside him, “and help her take off her makeup and dress into something comfortable.”

The maid nodded before she began to guide you up the flight of stairs, pointing out a few directions here and there to get you comfortable with the new environment. Jungkook watched you look back at him and Taehyung for a split second, an unreadable look in your eyes, before you faced forward once again and allowed yourself to be dragged away wordlessly. 

Once you had disappeared up the stairs, Jungkook turned to Taehyung with a raised eyebrow.

“Well?” He prodded. 

Taehyung glanced at the top of the stairs to make sure you really were gone, “I should be asking you that. What do you think of her?”

Jungkook mulled over his question for a moment, “she seems to be everything you said she is. Although, are you sure-”

“She is one hundred percent twenty three years old. I triple checked that one,” Taehyung said immediately, hands up in a gesture of surrender. 

Jungkook let his hands nestle into his pockets, wondering if he should bring up his other concerns as well. Uptil now, you haven’t actually done or said anything worth garnering suspicion. Jungkook just seemed to be picking up on small things here and there, but he wasn’t sure if those things were just him being paranoid or genuinely things that he should be cautious over. This whole marriage thing was proving to be a lot more confusing than he had initially thought. 

“What is it?” Taehyung asked, noticing his friend’s silence. Jungkook hesitated for a moment, but, after earning a questioning look from Taehyung, he relented slightly. 

“How well of a background check did your parents do on her?” Jungkook asked cautiously. He didn’t want Taehyung to know too much of how he was feeling at the moment, in case this was just his mind being overactive, but something in Taehyung’s expression seemed to indicate that he knew a lot more than what Jungkook was letting on. 

“They did a very thorough one, of course,” Taehyung said, eyeing Jungkook knowingly, “you know my parents. If there’s one thing that they’re the best at, it’s uncovering people’s secrets.”

Then he added with a smile, “couldn’t get away with much while growing up because of it.”

Jungkook let his gaze wander around the room, “I just…”

“You’re just suspicious of her,” Taehyung finished, causing Jungkook to look his way, “of course you’re suspicious Jungkook, you’re letting a girl that you’ve never even met before into your house for the first time. It’s a natural reaction, especially considering how untrusting we’ve been conditioned to be since we were young.”

Taehyung clapped Jungkook on the back reassuringly, “I was the exact same way when I married Chaewon. Hell, in our first year of being married I even accused her of being a traitor when she was planning a surprise party for my birthday. When she finally told me… man, it took me a whole year to make it up to her. On another note, from a married man to a newly married man, don’t accuse your wife of anything unless you’re a hundred and ten percent sure of it. Otherwise you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, causing Taehyung to laugh.

“Besides, have you seen Y/N? She’s so shy and naive, her own reflection in the mirror must frighten her. I doubt you have anything to worry about, especially after my parents’ background check. Just enjoy yourself, man, it’s your wedding night,” Taehyung said with a knowing smirk. 

Obviously ignoring the suggestive comment, Jungkook nodded, finding logic in Taehyung’s other words. Jungkook had never been married, all of this was new to him. But if Taehyung, who had been married for almost a decade, said feelings like this were normal, then maybe he really was just being overly paranoid about the situation. You’d had a thorough background check done, which revealed nothing, and your personality was quite clear to Jungkook after he’d observed you at the wedding. 

It was time Jungkook started trying to enjoy this marriage as much as he could. He was going to be stuck with you indefinitely, and constantly being suspicious of you was only going to wear him out, especially since you now had access to the only place he allowed himself to be free of the constantly vigilant and calculating mind that came with being the leader of the Jeons. 

Jungkook turned to Taehyung, about to thank him for the insight, but the sound of the door opening once again caused the two to shift their gaze to behind them. The sight of the man walking through the doorway immediately had Jungkook wrinkling his nose in distaste while Taehyung’s expression had become a distant neutral. The man didn’t seem to mind the reactions if he noticed them, casually strolling deeper into the house until he was standing before the two. 

“Jungkook, Taehyung,” Daehyun nodded, the respectful gesture somehow seeming more disrespectful if anything. He had clearly just come back from the wedding, still wearing his black suit and light brown hair styled back, “you just got married, yet I see only Taehyung and no bride. Shall I assume the two of you are running away together?”

The tasteless joke was followed by a deep laugh, one that belonged to neither Jungkook nor Taehyung. Instead they just stared at him with an unamused scowl.

“Relax, it’s only a joke,” he shook his head, gaze wandering the place casually, “I doubt your wife and kid would like the thought of that anyway.”

Taehyung’s jaw ticked at Daehyun’s words. Even if he hadn’t directly threatened or disrespected them in any way, just the mention of his family from his mouth was enough for Taehyung’s gaze to turn icy.

“Careful Daehyun, you’re standing before two mafia leaders,” Taehyung said, voice low and intimidating, “I would be less casual in our presence if I were you.”

To Taehyung and Jungkook’s dismay, Daehyun simply chuckled, “ah yes, but Jungkook and I are cousins. He’ll cut me some slack, won’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, even after Daehyun gave his arm a lighthearted punch. Daehyun was the cousin that Jungkook could never be rid of, no matter how badly he wanted to. He was slimy and tactless and everything Jungkook hated rolled into one unbearable being. Having to give him access to his home, his only place of peace, had been one of the hardest things to do. But at the time, Jungkook had had to make sacrifices and this had been one of them. 

Daehyun, undeterred by his cousin’s lack of response, leaned his arm on Jungkook’s shoulder casually, “congratulations by the way. When I saw your wife’s face- god did she look young! You’re so lucky man, I hope my future wife turns out like that.”

Jungkook grimaced as he suddenly felt the desire to wipe off any remnants of Daehyun’s touch from his suit. Daehyun had attended the same university as Taehyung and Jungkook, yet he had evidently obtained none of the class that they had. Everyday he wondered how the two of them could possibly be related. For the sake of Jungkook’s mental wellbeing, sometimes he liked to imagine Daehyun had actually been adopted and his parents had simply decided not to share that piece of information. 

“I should get going,” Jungkook said stiffly, brushing his cousin’s arm off his shoulder. He fixed his suit as Daehyung smirked at him, likely thinking of Jungkook’s comment as more suggestive than he had actually meant. 

Jungkook faced Taehyung to give him a curt nod before he turned and began walking up the stairs, not bothering to use the fawn iron bannisters on either side of him. He could hear Taehyung taking his leave through the front door, dragging a complaining Daehyun behind him to Jungkook’s satisfaction. The sound of the front door shutting had never sounded so delightful. 

A silence ensued as Jungkook walked through the hallway upstairs, continuing until he paused in front of his bedroom’s door. He couldn’t hear any noises coming from inside the room, so, with a light knock against the white and fawn wood, his hand wrapped around the handle to turn it and finally push the door open. 

The windows displayed an almost set sun, coating the atmosphere in a blanket of dimness. Everything about his bedroom had been changed. His once dark brown and white bed had been switched out for a cream and fawn coloured one, with a bouquet of vibrant red roses sitting atop the fancy and plush duvet, while his black leather couches had been replaced by light cloth ones. The ceiling and walls had been painted white, complimenting the new white and fawn patterned marble floor. His old dresser had also disappeared, a cream coloured dresser twice its size sitting in its place instead. 

Aside from the drastic changes that had been made to his bedroom, no doubt to signify the change that came with marriage, the first thing Jungkook noticed was the maid who was drawing the curtains closed. The room would have fallen into complete darkness if it weren’t for the lamps sitting atop the bedside tables which were emanating a warm light around the space. 

The second thing he noticed was you, who was sitting timidly on the edge of the bed and facing him. Your fingers were playing awkwardly in front of you while your gaze had been fixed on the floor, but at the sound of the door opening, your head raised to look at Jungkook. The sight of your face once again caught him off guard, the lack of makeup revealing a different side of you. 

You no longer looked young. Without the innocent look that had been created with the blushes and the eyeliners and the lip glosses, Jungkook could see the mature shape of your eyes and the defined look of your features. You looked your age now, a lot more maturity prominent in your appearance. 

You were pretty. Jungkook could admit that much now that you didn’t resemble a teenager. He wondered why you had done your makeup like that in the first place. He’d been to many weddings before and none of the brides had been made to look so young. Then again, Taehyung had already told him that, on top of looking innocent and naive, you seemed to dress the part as well. 

“Is something wrong?” Your soft voice asked, eyes blinking innocently up at him. 

Jungkook shook his head, motioning for the maid to leave the room. She gave you both a low bow before scurrying out the doorway, making sure to close the door behind her. 

“No,” he finally answered. For the first time in a long time he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He wasn’t sure if you were expecting anything to happen tonight, or if you even wanted anything to happen for now. 

His gaze lowered as he mulled over his next actions. You had changed out of your wedding dress into a light pink, mesh lace nightgown that came all the way down to your knees with a silk bow stitched into the centre of your chest, as if your clothes were meant to compensate for the lack of makeup dolling up your features. He almost wanted to raise an eyebrow at you, but you seemed much too fragile to be ridiculed. 

Alternatively, he decided to take an experimental step in your direction, surveying your reaction closely. He watched your fingers close tighter around the duvet on which you sat, your gaze hesitantly darting everywhere but him. That was answer enough for him to know how far you were ready to take it tonight. So instead, he passed the bed, opting instead to drop onto the couch on the far end of the room. While he was facing you, you had to turn your head to keep him in your sights. 

“What would you like to do now?” He asked you, resting an arm over the back of the couch while he crossed an ankle over his knee. 

Your gaze dropped to your lap, watching your fingers fidget against each other nervously. It was almost as if having to answer a question like that had you stressed, which again made Jungkook wonder how you had survived growing up in a mafia family. How could you have been this weak?

“I-I don’t know,” you squeaked, not able to meet his gaze. 

Jungkook sighed, turning his head to the side to survey the room. Technically, the two of you could just call it a night and go to sleep. You were clearly too shy to even speak a word to him, and Jungkook had never been one to beg others for things. Only time would tell how well the two of you would get to know each other. 

But then Jungkook’s gaze dropped to the coffee table in front of him, noticing some sort of gift basket placed in its centre. It was obviously a wedding gift, filled with chocolates, scented candles, roses… and some wine and champagne. Jungkook has always been more of a whiskey guy, but right now he’d take just about anything. 

“Why don’t we have a drink?” He suggested, uncrossing his leg so that he could lean forward and grab the top of the expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He prayed you weren’t one of those people that didn’t drink, your innocent personality couldn’t possibly extend all the way to drinking as well. 

You paused for a moment, taking in the bottle in Jungkook’s hand, before slowly nodding your head, to Jungkook’s relief. 

He beckoned you over with his free hand, “come here.”

You hesitated before slowly pushing yourself off the bed and took small steps towards him. Jungkook waited patiently until you were standing right in front of the couch, hands clasped shyly in front of you while your gaze stayed glued to the floor. He held up the bottle of wine and champagne in front of you, hoping you weren’t so dumb that you wouldn’t understand the question in his actions. Thankfully you studied the two bottles before a shaky hand raised and tapped against the bottle of champagne. 

He pushed the bottle in your direction, forcing you to take it in your own hands, before standing up from the couch. The unexpected action seemed to scare you, causing you to immediately take a timid step backwards while you hugged the bottle to your chest. Jungkook had to suppress a tired, and maybe even slightly annoyed sigh, as he manoeuvred past you. He was trying to be patient, but this was becoming ridiculous. 

“You get that open while I wash up,” he said to you, pointing at the bottle still pressed to your chest, “okay?”

You nodded slowly, allowing him to turn away from you and walk into the joint bathroom. Once the door was closed behind him he let out the sigh he had suppressed earlier. You really were… something. He couldn’t believe he had been suspicious of you earlier when you could barely even function properly, much less be any sort of threat. It was irritating, Jungkook felt, to have someone so incompetent for a wife. He wondered if he would have to break you out of that shell. You were the wife of a mafia leader now after all, you had to keep up at least some air of confidence in the presence of others so that you didn’t make him look weak. 

Jungkook walked over to the sink and turned it on, splashing some cold water on his face before he began brushing his teeth. You were far from his ideal type, and he doubted this marriage would ever stem into whatever Taehyung and Chaewon had going on. Hell, he was wondering how the two of you could ever even produce an heir. You’d probably spontaneously combust if he even tried to touch you. And besides, he didn’t really want to touch you if he was being honest. You reminded him too much of a weak and helpless child, which was obviously a huge turn off. He may have been a mafia leader, but he wasn’t a complete monster. 

Jungkook placed his toothbrush into the holder after spitting into the sink, drying himself off with one of the towels hanging near him. He was about to start changing into more comfortable clothes, only getting as far as unbuttoning the first few buttons of his black collar shirt, before a crashing sound rang from the bedroom. In less than a second he had pushed out of the bathroom, immediately scanning the bedroom before him as his hand automatically sought out the gun at his side. 

It took him a moment to realise the lack of intruders in the room, and then another to take in your completely unharmed form. You were standing with your hands covering your mouth, looking down at the ground. Jungkook followed your gaze to find the champagne bottle rolling along the marble floor, still entirely intact. You had clearly dropped the thing accidentally, causing Jungkook to place his gun back in his waistband.

“I’m s-so sorry,” you squeaked, bending down quickly to pick up the bottle. Suppressing a huff, Jungkook walked over to you to take it from your hands. 

“Here, let me do it,” he said, taking two of the crystal champagne flutes from the gift basket and placing them on the glass coffee table as he sat himself down on the couch, distantly annoyed at the fact that you couldn’t even pour a glass of champagne by yourself. Was this seriously what he was going to have to deal with from now on?

He tipped the bottle, filling both glasses to the brim with the bubbling liquid as you hesitantly sat yourself down on the couch to his left. His gaze fell on you as he was about to offer you one of the flutes, but paused when he noticed the look on your face. For the first time since he met you, you looked almost… excited. Usually your eyes would be downturned and focused on the floor, but this time they were fixed on the crystal glasses before you as if you were eager to taste the expensive liquid. Jungkook made a note of it, tucking it into the back of his mind for later. 

“Take one,” he said as he motioned towards one of the glasses, but to his surprise you hesitantly shook your head. Your expression had turned timid once again, any hint of excitement from earlier entirely gone. He narrowed his eyes at you as he wondered if he had just imagined it. It had barely been there anyway. 

“I don’t drink,” you said in your signature soft tone, not able to meet his gaze. Of course you don’t, Jungkook thought irritatedly, god forbid the princess touch a glass of champagne. He knew the thought was immature, but there was no way he was the most immature person in the room at the moment. 

He pushed himself off the couch, very much aware that his patience was starting to wear thin, “well then I guess we should call it a night.”

But before he could step towards the bed, your hand shot out, clutching the edge of his sleeve with your fingers. He immediately looked down at your still seated form, a question in his eyes. You had to look away for a moment, seemingly collecting your nerves, before you met his gaze once again. 

“Just because I don’t drink doesn’t mean you can’t,” you said, “I don’t want you not to enjoy yourself because of me. Please stay.”

Jungkook noticed the evident guilt in your eyes as your fingers continued to stay enclosed around the edge of his sleeve. When he didn’t move, you hesitantly leaned forward to gently pick up one of the glasses and then slowly presented it to him. His gaze shifted to the glass in your hand, pausing for only a moment, before he took it from you. He let himself sink back onto the couch as he studied you. 

You continued to sit in your spot on the sofa, posture still timid. Your gaze bounced from one part of the floor to the next, while your expression remained shy. But there was something else lurking behind the expression. If Jungkook focused well enough, he could have sworn the edges of your lips were turned slightly upwards. It was so faint that it might have not even been there, but the more he focused, the more prominent it became to him. 

A naive part of him might have thought it was from being successful in getting him to stay and have the drink, but the more logical part of him had already latched onto an idea, one that refused to be swept to the side any longer. 

His gaze lowered to your collarbone, a glint from the heart-shaped necklace resting over your soft skin catching his attention. Unlike earlier, he noticed that the metal heart was actually a locket, and that its two sides were slightly open. It couldn’t have been ajar by more than a millimetre, but Jungkook still noted it down in his mind.

His gaze then ascended to your face, still a perfect picture of innocence. Your eyes were widened to resemble a curious doe, while your lips were pulled into a timid line. The hands resting in your lap fumbled with each other shyly, really completing the look. 

Finally, his gaze dropped to the drink in his hand. He brought it closer to his face, as if he were about to take a sip, before eyeing the expensive liquid. His gaze fixed on the miniscule bubbles that continued travelled from the bottom of the flute to its surface, causing it to sizzle.

Jungkook slowly leaned forward, keeping his eye on his drink as he brought it away from his lips and instead calmly set it down on the coffee table before him. He then easily pushed himself off of the couch, which caused your brows to jump. There was an apparent question in your expression, one you decided to voice out loud. 

“Is something wrong with the drink?” You asked, voice still soft as your doe eyes looked up at him through your lashes. 

Ignoring the question, Jungkook placed a hand on the edge of the coffee table and slowly pushed it forward so that it was farther away from your seated form. The action caused you to blink. 

“Is everything okay?” You tried again slowly.

But Jungkook then faced you, assessing you for a moment, before he took a few steps in your direction. You had to crane your neck upwards to continue meeting his gaze, his tall form towering over your seated one. This time your brows pulled together, eyes still doe-like, as you continued to question his actions. 

“Jungko-”

Jungkook didn’t let you finish. The second you opened your mouth his large hand suddenly shot out and grabbed your neck, slamming your head into the seat of the couch. You squeaked at the sudden violence, immediately clawing at the fingers now enclosed around your throat. But your efforts were nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s iron hold. 

“J-Jungkook, you’re h-hurting me!” You let out a choked cry, continuing to put up a weak fight against Jungkook. Tears had already started to coat your eyes and run down your cheeks, but Jungkook ignored them completely. He watched you struggle, fascinated by the way you thrashed around like an animal yet every jab at him was weak and ineffective. There was no sign of the strength he had noticed when you had grabbed onto his bicep earlier, so hard that he was sure it would leave a bruise. It was enough to make him grin.

Jungkook lowered his face so that his lips neared your ear, his body still hovering over your smaller form. 

“If you wanted to kill me princess, you’ll have to do a better job than that,” he said, voice low. Your eyes widened even further as you continued to struggle against him, making pitiful noises that didn’t move him in the slightest. 

“K-Kill?! What are y-you talking about?!” You continued to choke out as tears streamed down your cheeks. Your hands had moved to his chest, desperately trying to push him away, yet failing miserably in the process. Jungkook tilted his head at your weak plea, eager to hear what other ways you’d beg him to let you go.

 “P-please-” You began, but then cut yourself off abruptly when your tear-filled gaze met his. You must have seen something in his eyes, because he felt your body slacken, no longer desperate to fight him despite his hold on your neck cutting off your lung’s supply of air. 

Instead you studied him, really studied him. He could see the same calculated look you had used on Taehyung earlier during the wedding. It was as if you were assessing Jungkook, picking out his strengths and weaknesses to figure out how you could use them to your advantage. He watched you weigh options in your head patiently before you finally tilted your head to the side calmly and shot him a look. In response, Jungkook decided to loosen his grip on your throat. He watched you catch your breath for a moment before you spoke. 

“Well, you’re already smarter than the first one,” you commented, but your voice was entirely different. It was no longer soft and timid, rather it was a lot more deep and confident. He watched your expression change in the same manner. Your once wide and innocent looking eyes narrowed into a more matured look, while your lips straightened into more of a dangerously amused grin than a naive pout. 

Then he processed your words. The ‘first one’ had to be your first husband, who Taehyung had explained had been killed on his wedding day. Taehyung had mentioned that a rival gang had been the one to murder him, but the actual one responsible for his death was clear to Jungkook now. 

“Do you make it a hobby to poison your husbands’ drinks on their wedding nights?” He asked, hand still wrapped around your throat. He had situated himself between your legs, his own leg pushing one of yours against the back of the couch while his free hand pushed the other down against the seat of the couch. The position ensured you wouldn’t be able to kick him, while his body hovering over your own seemed to take care of the rest of you. You were smart enough not to try anything anyway, knowing Jungkook’s strength was incomparable to yours.

You shrugged, panting at the limited oxygen entering your lungs, “golf just wasn’t cutting it for me anymore.”

“Golf? How can a weak and helpless girl like you play such a sport?” Jungkook couldn’t help but quip, bordering on mocking you. It only made you grin, clearly no hint of offence in your expression. 

He studied your nonchalant demeanour curiously. You had tried to kill him, and he should send your head back to your father’s doorstep for it. And yet, you couldn’t have looked any less composed with his hand around your neck. Either you were a complete idiot, which seemed much less likely now that he was starting to see your real character, or you believed you had the upper hand in this situation. 

“You’re quite calm for someone I should have killed,” he noted, meaning for it to be a threat. But once again you didn’t seem deterred. In fact, the comment seemed to amuse you even more. 

“Just because you should have me killed doesn’t mean you’ll actually have me killed.”

Jungkook’s brow raised, finding an opportunity to prod you further, “and why won’t I have you killed? Your father sent you here to kill me under the pretence of an alliance. I should start a war for this.”

You nodded, “but you see, my father did send me here to form an alliance. The whole killing you idea was all mine.”

Jungkook scoffed at the lame attempt at a lie, “you expect me to believe that?”

But you scoffed as well, meeting his gaze just as vehemently. It was an odd sight considering you had spent the entire day trying to make yourself small and avoiding his gaze. Yet here you were now, eyes ablaze like a thrashing fire. Not a spontaneously violent fire either, no Jungkook could very easily handle that. You were more like an electrical fire. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he had to be cautious around you, and that trusting any word that came out of your mouth was dangerous. 

“Prove it then,” he challenged, tightening his hold on your neck for a moment to remind you of your vulnerability. 

“I don’t need to prove anything,” you said, a hand coming up to wrap around his wrist, “just go ahead and mention to my father that I’m not a complete airhead that’s afraid of her own shadow. He’ll laugh in your face and call you a moron.”

The revelation that your father was just as clueless about your true self as everyone else only confirmed his initial thoughts. It also proved he couldn’t have trusted you to carry out an assassination attempt, meaning your father really did genuinely want an alliance with the Jeons. That was perfect, because Jungkook had certain plans that relied on this partnership. It was a relief that they hadn’t gone to waste.

“If it wasn’t your father’s idea, then why did you poison my drink?” He asked with a raised brow. 

Silence filled the room following his question, one that allowed you both to hear the sounds of the wall clock. He got the feeling that you were contemplating something once again, planning out your next move.

Then you squirmed underneath him, seemingly getting comfortable, but Jungkook knew better than to believe whatever you appeared as. The second your hand went for the gun wedged in his waistband, he grabbed your wrist, pining it against the couch, while the hand that had been around your throat pulled out the matte black weapon. He slowly brought it to your temple with an amused grin.

“If you wanted it so badly, you could have just asked,” he taunted, bringing the gun down so that its barrel lifted your chin, “now, I asked a question princess.”

You huffed, your amusement finally falling to give him a half-hearted glare.

“I want a divorce.”

Jungkook couldn’t help the laugh that sounded from his lips at your straightforwardness. You just tried to kill him, it didn’t take a genius to work out that you weren’t a fan of this marriage and wanted out of it. 

It was an arranged marriage after all, and even though all arranged marriages didn’t equal a forced marriage, technically he couldn’t be certain that this marriage was of your own choice or not. For all he knew, you had some secret lover waiting for you back home, your marriage with Jungkook coming between the star crossed romance. The thought made his jaw tick. He was far from in love with you, but Jungkook tended to be territorial about what was his. And you were his wife at the moment. 

You, on the other hand, seemed surprised by his reaction, as if it was the last thing you expected him to do.

“I mean you obviously want one now too, right?” You asked with your brows furrowed.

Jungkook didn’t respond, and that only seemed to make you more agitated.

“I’m not the wife that you want. You clearly can’t stand me when I have my ditzy front pulled up and you can’t trust me when I don’t.”

Although the points that you were making were true, there was one important factor you were missing, and that was the alliance between the Jeons and the Lees. Jungkook needed this alliance to, at the very least make himself seem like, he was more powerful than the Parks and the Mins. And with their recent moves -with what he saw at the docks just last night- he needed this alliance now more than ever. So while he normally would have had you executed and then sent your head to your father’s doorstep for your little assassination attempt, this time he was going to have to sweep his pride to the side.

Jungkook placed his free hand next to your head as he pushed himself up, choosing instead to stay standing in front of the sofa. His intense gaze dropped to your still form while his gun hung from his fingers firmly. 

“No,” he finally said, causing your brows to jump. 

You quickly pushed yourself off the couch to stand just as he was, but Jungkook didn’t move. With the sofa right behind you, barring you from taking a few steps back, that left you and him standing dangerously close to each other. The bow from your nightgown pressed against his partly unbuttoned black collar shirt, while its edge grazed his dress pants. Jungkook could feel the heat of your breath raise goosebumps from his exposed collarbone. 

“Why not? I’m not the wife that you want.”

He smiled at the bite in your words, finding your frustration amusing, “you’ve got it all wrong. I simply wanted a wife to make the Lees allies, nothing more.”

Like a fire set alight, your eyes flashed in anger, “I won’t change. I’ll still be your idiot wife that will make you look weak.”

It was true that most wives of mafia leaders were strong and confident beings, symbols of their husbands’ power, and that having a wife like you may be a slightly risky choice. But Jungkook was sure his carefully established reputation could take the hit. Besides, although you might make him look weak, your marriage with him would make him far from actually weak. 

“You think divorcing you won’t make me look weak?” Jungkook decided to say, unsure of if he was saying it to play with you more or to make sure you don’t believe your threats are inconveniencing him, “you’ve fooled everyone with your ditzy facade. A divorce will make them think I wasn’t able to tame a naive girl. You think people will accept me as a leader then?”

You didn’t react to the point, giving him the feeling that you might have already known that might pose an issue for him. Perhaps you thought his reputation could take the hit? When Jungkook really thought about it, it probably could have. He’d worked hard to be both feared and respected for years, a divorce like this, while questionable in the eyes of the people under him, could have been pushed under the rug given time. But the alliance was too important to him. 

And that was something he needed to make sure you knew. 

“That means you will continue to be my wife,” he settled, lowering his gaze so that it met yours with unwavering finality, “so you’ll continue to act like it.”

Jungkook felt his voice naturally lower, a hint of a threat evident in his tone, “listen to me well, Y/N. I don’t care if you act like the dumbest woman on Earth or the most sultry. Regardless, what you will act like is my wife. When we’re outside of this bedroom, we will laugh together, we will hug each other, and we will do whatever other damn thing married couples do so that no one doubts this relationship.”

“And if I don’t?” You bit, the speed of your reply making his jaw tick. 

“If you don’t, you can stay locked in this bedroom until you learn how to behave. Understood?”

Your rage couldn’t have been more prominent, with a fierce glare burning right through him and a pair of fisted hands at your sides. Yet Jungkook ignored it all, instead meeting your gaze coolly as he waited for your confirmation. 

It took a long moment to come, so long that Jungkook thought it wasn’t going to come at all. But eventually he noticed you nod your head. It was barely a movement, your head tipping down slightly before resuming its earlier place, but it was enough for him despite your unwavering glare. 

He finally took a few steps back, thrusting the barrel of his gun once again into the waistband of his pants. Your angry form, on the other hand, didn’t move, opting instead to stand perfectly still despite your calves pressing into the sofa behind you. Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, brushing the strands that had fallen onto his forehead away from his face.

“Good, then we’re done here.”

He finally turned away from you, eyeing the door on his left intently. But before he could move towards it, your words made him pause.

“I just tried to kill you,” you commented before he turned to question its randomness. He found you sitting on the sofa once again, an eerily thoughtful look lurking behind your rage-filled eyes, “how will you know I won’t do it again?”

Jungkook tilted his head in response. 

“You can try all you want, princess,” he said, liking the feeling of that nickname on his tongue more and more. It was almost addicting, “but you won’t succeed.”

Then his lips curled into a sly smirk, “after all, what kind of husband would I be if I barred my wife from her hobbies?”

He was able to just barely catch the roll of your eyes before he turned and pushed through the door he had been eyeing earlier, his hands automatically locking it behind him as he casually surveyed his office. The room had been spared from the new gleaming white and fawn furniture which had taken over his bedroom. Instead, it was filled with familiar dark brown.

Refined dark oak wood shelves and cabinets lined the walls except for the wall behind his large desk, which was made up entirely of a bookshelf filled to the brim with various hardcovers. For the sake of matching with the rest of the house, the marble floor had been done a light fawn colour, while another wall was made up of bulletproof glass, its centre having the ability to slide open to reveal a decent sized balcony. 

Jungkook shrugged off his blazer as he made his way to his desk, laying the piece of cloth over the back of his black leather chair, before he opened the glass cabinet behind it. He didn’t need to think much as his fingers expertly curled around an expensive bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass. Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside on his balcony overlooking his estate, one hand holding the crystal glass filled halfway with light brown liquid while the other clutched the iron railing. 

His gaze bounced around his estate for a peaceful moment as he took a sip from his glass, taking in the expanse of the luscious green field bordering the neatly done driveway despite the darkness of the night. In its centre was an intricately designed white fountain spewing water in four different directions, but all of which emptied systematically into the white basin at its base. The estate itself stretched for metres, the gates enclosing the space barely visible from where he was standing. Jungkook’s thoughts bounced around his head just as quickly as his gaze. 

What a day it had been. At first, you’d been a complete idiot, one that had irritated him to no extent with your doe eyes and evident shyness. 

But then you had turned out to be an entirely different species, far from the innocent and ditzy girl he’d labelled you as. You were cunning and feisty and seemingly very much ready for a divorce. 

Jungkook felt the corners of his lips pull upwards into a grin as he took another sip of his whisky.

You were quite the enigma.

But he was going to enjoy the challenge.  

A/N: comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated!