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atozfic · 1 year

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splish splash.

pairing. san x seonghwa x wooyoung x yunho x fem!reader synopsis. they’re out to prove who’s the best at the breast-stroke- gets dragged off stage as the people boo over such a terrible pun. warnings. no use of y/n, swim team au, lifeguard!reader, pro-swimmers!sanhwawooho, they’re all wearing speedos :), smut ( porn with unnecesary plot, degradation, m+f oral sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, triple penetration bc u got 3 holes for a reason sweetcheeks, mxm interactions, dom/sub dynamics, spanking, hair pulling, way more warnings that there’s honestly no point listing, just know this is pure filth that covers most bases of stereotypical fanfiction smut, mother in christ what have i written? ) no verbal consent is given throughout this but all parties are willing participants !! word count. 20k+ ( of literal porn. i need to leave this physical terrain bc i am not worthy of existing after writing this i fear. ) hyde’s input. hey girlie pops, long time no see.

it’s crazy, what some people will do for money.

take, for example, your roommate. she’s a smart girl. a beautiful one, too. with a promising future in criminal law, once she gets herself that pesky little degree. and, yet, she’s funding her tuition with money she earns distributing high-end drugs on campus. rather counter-productive, most would agree. or, in a far less extreme version, there’s that overly-hyper frat boy, who can always be found doing the dumbest dares at a party, all for a few bucks and a keg of beer.

and then there is you.

you would have arrived home twenty minutes ago at this point, had things gone to plan, a backlog of neglected assignments and a baby bonsai tree in need of watering desperately awaiting your return. yet here you are, stuck in your ugly flip-flops and uncomfortably stale shorts, whistle around your neck and a look of exhaustion on your face.

the swimming pool had closed, technically, an hour and a half ago. the sports centre seems to believe, however, that certain members of the college swim team reserve the right to use the pool for however long they require and desire, even if it is at your expense. if you were being paid overtime, perhaps you’d have a more positive outlook on things and less of a frown creasing on your forehead.

if the swimmers weren’t so irritating, maybe you’d enjoy the view.

“all that height, and for what?” the sophomore boy’s voice- jung wooyoung? you aren’t overly familiar with him, seeing him only in sporadic flashes when you pass each other on campus or at some uncivilised frat party- echos through the large room, his hair a wet mess. if you were gaining anything from being here, you’d perhaps muster up the energy to remind the boy of how a swim cap is necessary at all times in the water. “can’t even out-swim me with those long legs!”

“wanna know what my long legs are for?” jeong yunho, a junior with the face of an angel and the body proportions of a sinner, pipes up from across the olympic length pool. unlike the other boy, a crimson cap keeps his own locks out of sight. “climbing up the stairs to go fuck your mom!”

it’s impossible to stifle your laughter, no matter how hard you try to just play it off as a tickle at the back of your throat, a cough forcing its way out. when your eyes meet those of the glaring senior, however, you’re wishing you hadn’t made a sound.

“even the lifeguard can’t take you seriously, yunho,” park seonghwa speaks, eyes not leaving yours as his muscled arms work to pull himself out of the water, before letting his well-rounded behind sit down on the edge. a breath hitches in your throat as his gloriously muscled thighs come into view, drops of water cascading down them in a pattern set to hypnotise you, keep you staring a little longer than is good for your health. “bet she’s heard all about you and the boner incident of 2019.”

truthfully, you have no clue what the dark haired male is on about. that doesn’t stop you from laughing again though, this time a little out of malice and a lot because it’s quite endearing to see a loudmouth like jeong yunho be silenced so easily, head bowed and ears a little rosier with embarrassment.

this small moment of peace is soon shattered by the reality that these boys can’t spend more than ten minutes in a room- particularly one that includes a pool- without arguing. while one boasts about his speed, the other begins to jab at his lack of endurance, and the remaining of the three reminds them all of the fact he holds the most medals amongst them.

“are they always like this?” you jump, surprised by the cold drop of water that lands on your exposed thigh, all courtesy of the boy who’s invited himself to sit down next to you on the bench.

“not always,” you bite at the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to not look at san in all his wet glory. you’re afraid that, once you start looking at him, you won’t be able to stop. it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fallen victim to the crime that is his enchanting smile. “guess they’re feeling a little feistier than usual, with the district championship just around the corner. rumour has it one of you guys is risking his scholarship if he’s not in the top three.”

are you and san close?

that’s a good question. see, by social standards, you’re not strangers. you share several classes, you attend the same parties, you’ve even texted a few times- mostly on the days one of you miss class (read as: san misses class thanks to his swim-meets) and you need a copy of any notes taken that lesson.

but, you aren’t exactly friends either. you don’t go out of your ways to spend time together, you don’t know more than the surface level about one another, you don’t check-in with each other.

so, is acquaintances the best word to describe you two?

that depends on how common it is for an acquaintance to suck another acquaintance’s cock. granted, there had been a lot of alcohol in the mix, on both ends, with you drinking to forget a botched assignment and san drinking to forget how badly his voice had apparently cracked in front of his crush.

a few weeks have passed since the incident and things haven’t exactly been the same. you’ve missed class twice and ended up contacting heather- a sweet girl who sits down by the front and seems to live with her hand raised in the air- for any notes. likewise, san has found himself declining party invitations, the knowledge that you would be there all too prevalent in the front of his mind.

the irony is that neither of you quite know the reason why you’re avoiding each other, you just are.

or, were, until san had walked in with his swim team buddies- if they could even be considered that- and spotted you in your lifeguard attire. he hadn’t been as slick as he thought he was, sneaking glances at you between laps and even gaining an undeniable smile each time he watched you blow that stupid whistle at some misbehaving kids.

he was slicker with the fact he didn’t need to be here, at this hour. but, he figured staying gave him the chance to stare at you a little longer and, maybe, think up an excuse to talk to you.

“i should-”

“i missed-”

you both speak at the same time, minutes after watching the three musketeers disappear into the locker rooms, with the smallest of them continuing to dig at them for not being able to out-swim him despite their ample amount of height. san’s quick to signal you to go first, a dimple making itself known on his face and reminding you of the deadliest part of him: the false innocence that drips off him like warm candy.

sweet, sticky, making a mess all over the place.

“i should probably start cleaning up.” it turns out san also isn’t discreet when it comes to hiding the disappointment in his face, because no sooner than those words leave your mouth, the dimple is gone and he’s sat a little straighter, a little more ridged, like when the professor points him out in the middle of the class and the golden boy can’t stomach all the attention being on him. “but, what were you gonna say?”

“oh,” and it’s like he’s just remembered that yes, there is something he wants to say. “i missed you in class yesterday.”

it catches you off guard, leaving you to almost drop the whistle you’ve been fiddling between your fingers for the past few minutes. something about sitting so close to him while both of you are dressed so scantily has you feeling unnerved, like you need to run away as fast as possible, yet also wanting to plant yourself right in his lap.

“i didn’t think,” you’re cut off by your own throat, dry and desperate for a drink under his intense gaze. san is a walking contradiction, you think, with his sharp cheekbones and soft heart, his intense eyes and his easy-going smile. his presence gives you never-ending whiplash, never sure if he’s more angel than devil. “i didn’t think you noticed.”

“how could i not? there was no one to laugh with me at professor nam and his weird toe-shoes!” his laugh is infectious, willing your own to make an appearance.

the sound of distant muffled yelling fills the air of the swimming pool and it isn’t hard to recognise wooyoung’s high-pitched laughter amongst it. clearly, their childish arguing has carried on into the changing rooms. it surprises you in no way, already more than used to their antics.

their rivalry is one for the ages, all of them constantly bumping heads for the spot of the top swimmer on campus, their sports scholarships becoming their pride and joy.

you suppose it doesn’t help that all four boys run in different circles, only really crossing paths when faced with swim-meets and days of practice. the senior, park seonghwa, runs with the richer kids of the college, all sharing their trust-funds and god complexes as a common interest. you’re not overly familiar with them, though you’re certain he and a particular blue-haired boy are rarely seen apart. jeong yunho, the tallest, is in with the jocks, which is mostly just because his taller friend is the captain of the basketball team. and jung wooyoung tends to surround himself with the stoners from the school, something you’d learned from kang yeosang, a dealer you shared a couple classes with back in your first semester.

san, ever the golden boy, drifts between a couple different groups but he can usually be found alone and enjoying his own company, if not being followed by a flock of his own little fan-club, men and women alike begging for just an ounce of his time.

your name echos around the room. your head snaps to the side and you find that san is now closer, staring at you in a way that’s making your insides knot up. you’ve seen that look only once before, and it done nothing but leave your knees and your ego bruised. “were you listening to me?”

“what? uh, yeah, i was,” you’re quick to lie, knowing it’s about to backfire when he breaks out in a challenging grin.

“really? what did i say?” he only allows you to stumble over words for a minute before cutting off your incomprehensible speaking when he grabs at your chin and tilts your head up, staring straight into your eyes. “that’s what i thought. you were too busy getting lost in that pretty little head of yours to pay attention to me.”

you stutter over a noise and settle for that as your response, though entirely incomprehensible and nonsensical. the way he continues to stare at you feels cruel, demons dancing around in those pretty eyes of his. demons that are telling him to tease, torture, torment the fragile eyes staring back at him, the same ones he’d delighted in watching fill up with tears a few weeks back, the pressure of his crown slamming against the back of your tight throat entirely overwhelming you to the point of crying, tears dripping down your cheeks and mixing with your own drool pooling over the swell of his balls.

“need me to repeat myself?” you’re slow to catch up to the fact he’s speaking again, and even slower to notice the hand resting on your knee. at first, you think you’re imagining things, the feather light tracing of nails over your soft skin a mere figment of your imagination. but, no, your eyes flash down to glimpse and his hand is there, fingers dancing over your naked skin like it’s their own personal stage and he’s intending to put on the show of a lifetime. he speaks your name. “questions are meant to be answered.”

“i-” san picks the perfect time to apply pressure on you, hand gripping the flesh on the lower end of your thigh. goosebumps spring to life at the feeling of his cold ring on your damp skin. it takes a shaky breath to try compose yourself but you do eventually manage to get a reply out. “sorry... please say it again.”

“huh,” he pauses to contemplate, slowly leaning his face closer to your own, giving you all the time to pull back if you want to. you stay still and his minty breath infects your senses while the hand on your leg replaces your thigh with your face, the grip he has on it forcing blunt nails to nip at your skin. normally, you’d worry about the marks it’s going to leave behind. right now, you want him to grip tighter, dig deeper into your flesh till he’s drawing blood and licking it off your cheeks. “how the fuck do you still sound so cute begging?”

“is that,” his other hand curls around the back of you, finding a resting place on your hip. the window of opportunity you once had to pull back or run away is slammed shut the moment he tugs you a little closer, the side of your body crashing into his naked chest. “what you said earlier?”

“oh, no.” san almost sounds like he’s cooing, a mocking tone in his voice that has your thighs clenching in a way you’re sure he notices. his eye flickering down to glance at them confirms your suspicions, the smirk taking over his features the metaphorical cherry on top. “i was just talking about how i’ve still not returned the favour.”

mind blanking out on you, you stare back at him in what you can only imagine to be a dumb-founded look, mouth slightly agape and teasing your answer.

what follows, however, is a resounding silence on your end.

“c’mon, princess, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what happened the last time i got you alone.”

forget? it’s all you’ve been able to think of every time you’ve seen him since, whether he was a figure in the corner of your eye during class or making his way down the campus car-park in search of his beaten up mustang.

each time, like an old record player, your mind plays on loop the way he looked staring down at you, long legs spread enough to fit you between them, closing in on you to trap you in place each time you swallowed him a little deeper; replaying the symphony of whiny moans and airy breaths you’d pulled from him, lips swollen and red from trying too hard to hold back his cries of pleasure; reviving the memory of his vice grip on your hair, tugging at the roots to tilt you back into the perfect angle for his hips to piston into your warm mouth, meeting his own crescendo in one final pathetic whimper of your name.

a whimper that’s pushed you over the edge several times since, fingers soaked in your own sins and mouth biting down on your pillow to keep your poor sleeping roommate oblivious to your actions.

“no,” an answer escapes you alongside a shaky breath, something about the way he’s slowly trailing his fingers down your neck and the intensity he’s staring at you with hypnotising you into forgetting all about the boisterous boys and their changing-rooms chanting. “haven’t forgot.”

it’s his turn to stay quiet and you begin to wonder if he’s recalling it too, if he’s reminding himself of how easily your bodies melted together, like candle-wax meeting a flame. the question of if he’s thought about the exact scene, hands stuffed down his pants while a dull ache builds in his wrist, burns the tip of your tongue.

but his eyes burn you more.

they’re usually wide, bright, full of that bubbly nature san is known all over for. but, if what people say is true and the eyes are the mirror to one’s soul, then san’s soul must be a dark pit made up of lustful glares and hooded eyelids, resting so low his eyes almost appear shut.

“then, don’t you agree that it’s my turn to have a taste?”

it’s the question to end all questions, no time to even think of forming an answer when his fingertips are dancing over your skin so rhythmically, like a practiced choreography when they curl and wrap themselves around your neck. they rest there for a heartbeat, and then another, before you feel it begin.

the pressure is dull, at first, and you think you’re imagining it. but it grows, like a seed under the sun, blossoms into thorns squeezing around your airways, a deformed rose made from the red marks his fingers will be sure to leave behind.

you try to breath in, only for it to get caught somewhere between your lips and his tightening hold.

“you’re too fucking pretty, you know?” the hand on your hip has found a new home on your cheek, palm warm and thumb rough as he swipes it over your bottom lip. “all i can ever think about around you, even when you were drooling all over my balls.”

you want to answer, you really do. but between the hand around your throat and the heat shooting straight for your core, burning up in a puddle of arousal, you can’t. all you can do is watch the man before you, raven hair a beautiful mess just begging for some fingers to be ran through it and stare promising to ruin you in the best way possible.

the silence pleases him.

“y’know, it’s so hard to get you alone. always got someone wanting to talk to you, stealing your attention. do you even know how many stupid parties i had to attend to finally get the chance to talk to you?” san pauses, like he’s waiting for you to relay an answer, guess a number. he loosens up the grip on your neck, teasing your skin with a few soothing strokes of his slender fingers, lulling you into a state bordering insanity. “no answer, angel? or are you lost in that pretty little head again?”

“i’m,” your voice is but a whisper, raspy with your new found thirst. “trying to figure out what you want from me.”

if it’s the wrong or right thing to say, you’re soon to find out, the sharp faced boy releasing a dangerously low chuckle as he takes a hold of your chin. like a pretty doll, you move any time and any way his fingers command you to, finding yourself staring right up into his eyes, a swirl of melting caramel that reminds you of how sweet yet sultry every inch of him is. lips near touching, he refuses to break eye contact as he speaks up once more, sealing both your fates when his breath hits your face.

“then let me show you what i want.”

his mouth comes down on yours like it’s the answers to all your prayers and, yet, all your nightmares.

it excites you how easily he works his lips over your own, captivating every inch of you when he tilts his head to the right and deepens the kiss. the rhythm to his kiss is a mismatch of beats, where one moment your lips are moving in a sensual waltz, grazing tongues and dipping heads to get rid of that inch of a space remaining between your bodies, and the next moment your tongues are tangled in a tango, the kind where his teeth send blood rushing to your lips with every bite he drags over them and his hand drags shivers down your spine as it makes its way down your body.

yet it terrifies you how willingly you succumb to san’s touch, intoxicated by whatever witchcraft he currently holds over you. there’s a deadliness to the way his lips part from your own only to begin a seamless descent down your jaw and the expanse of your neck, a poisonous element to the way his hand once again finds itself clutching the meat of your thigh.

the moment his fingertips meet the bottom of your shorts, you’re wishing you’d never slipped them on in the first place, every fibre of your being growing angsty under the weight of his suddenly halted hand. it stays still for an immeasurable amount of time, grazing over the bottom of your shorts occasionally while he continues to mouth at your neck.

like mosses and the great sea, san parts your legs with little to no effort, creating a pathway for his fingers to travel further up your thigh. blunt fingernails drag up your skin, a trail of goosebumps being left behind, a visible marking of where he’s touching you.

his movements halt too soon for your liking, too much distance between his lithe fingers and your body’s very core.

“have you figured out what i want yet, pretty?” his voice is a stark difference to the usual light-hearted, almost squeak-like tone you’ve grown used to hearing from the smiley boy. right now, there’s no trace of humour in the thick rasp and there’s no time for smiling while he’s glaring down at you through hooded eyes.

something compels you to nod your head, even though you’re a little too lost in the thoughts concerning what you want, rather than what the devil incarnate by your side wants.

“you have?” the words come out in a layer of amazement, and you have to wonder if it’s because of the lie you’ve just told or the way your legs have closed in around his hand, trapping it between them. “i want to know what you want, though.”

you want his thumb to stop stroking over the flesh of your inner thigh.

you want his eyes to stop gazing down at you like you’re the perfect prey.

you want him to stop teetering your impending pleasure on a string.

you want-

“you.” is all you manage to breath out.

it seems to do the trick, however, your point getting very much across to him. a softness flickers over his features, brows unfurling and smirk curling up into a full smile for what feels like an eternity, but is actually no more than a couple of seconds before his devilish aura is back.

lips meet lips again, the desperation and force behind each stroke of his tongue against yours the same as before. san, much to your delight, seems to grow just as impatient as you’ve been since the moment he welcomed himself into the empty space next to you on the bench.

one hand still resting between your thighs, his other seizes the opportunity to drag your body closer, so close that you have no choice but to swing one leg over him and slot yourself in his lap.

there was one time, in the middle of what you’ve deemed to be the most boring lecture ever, that you had thought about what it would feel like to sit in choi san’s lap. unintentionally, of course, for how could anyone look over at him in those grey sweatpants, legs manspreading like it was nobody’s business and pen tapping away at the table in front of him, and not daydream about being perched in his lap, head resting somewhere between his shoulder and his soft hair?

you’d imagined him to be the embodiment of soft and comfortable, warm and reassuring the way he’d lazily lay an arm over your hip to make sure there’s no risk of you slipping out of your new seat. you never, for the life of you, imagined you’d feel the outline of his dick resting against your ass the first time you finally claimed your throne.

choosing to not dwell on the heavy feeling of him pressed against you, you choose instead to focus on the way his lips trail away from yours and make their descent towards the top of your chest.

his hand abandons post between your thighs and rises to the surface, where long fingers begin to pull at the straps of your red swimsuit, successfully manoeuvring the nylon material till it’s bunched around your midriff and your breasts are exposed to the damp air of the swimming hall.

with no want left to play around, he dives right in to dragging his lips down the upper swell of your left breast. you imagine he can feel the beating of your racing heart beneath the goosebump littered skin. it doesn’t take long for his tongue to enter the scene, skilfully flicking over your hardened nipple a couple times before enveloping his mouth around the bud.

one, two, three sucks and he’s moving on to your right breast. there’s no lead up, this time, simply his mouth finding delight in toying with your body while he busies his hand with your left side, thumb and pointer finger rolling and tugging and spreading the remnants of his saliva over your heated skin.

the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and has you arching your own, is the faintest pressure of his teeth biting down on you. it dances on a thin line between pleasurable and painful, exhilarating enough to make you throw your head back as a moan slips past your lips. it echoes in the empty room, replaying your own sound for both of you to hear again and again before the chain is broken by a giggle.

his giggle.

“why are,” he picks the right time to trail his fingers down your body, dragging your swimsuit with them till it sits uncomfortably tight around the top of your hipbones, skintight fabric digging into the damp skin. “you laughing?”

“has anyone ever told you how pretty your tits are?” it’s crude and heartwarming all at once, quite like the man who says it and the little smile he shoots up in your direction as he rolls his tongue over your nipple once again.

“no, i can’t say they have.” the hands that have been resting on his shoulder, grasping them in a vice grip in fear of slipping off of him and and directly onto the concrete floor, gain enough confidence for you let one slide around to the back of his neck and thread your fingertips in the back of his locks, hair as soft as you’ve always imagined it to be. “you’re the first.”

“i’ll wear that title with honour,” he seems to delight in the way you’re carding through his hair, eyes closing while he tilts his head back further into your touch. a delighted sigh follows. “has anyone ever asked you to sit on their face?”

“again, no.”

“another honourable title for me, i guess.” san’s giving you whiplash, with all this switching between being his usual goofy self and the man that minutes before was speaking profanities on how you’d looked choking on his dick. he peaks his eyes open again, slowly, adjusting to the bright lights he stares up at each time he’s doing the backstroke. when he has the nerves to smile at you, all dreamy eyed and relaxed sitting beneath your body on the bench. “now, can you please stand up and get naked so you can fuck yourself on my tongue?”

this time, it’s your laugh that echoes in the air.

“stop, i’m being serious!” he seems to whine his way through his words, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly in a way you’re certain is going to drive you insane. “i can’t go another second like this, you literally sitting on my dick, without blowing my load. and i really don’t feel like having to explain to coach kwon why my team speedos are stained in cum.”

“you’re so-” you give up on trying to find a single word to describe him, knowing there’s no word that can quite capture choi san’s essence. “okay, okay, fine, but you kind of need to let go of me for me to, y’know, stand up.”

“oh, sorry bout that.” san’s sheepish smile shouldn’t be this cute, not when it’s followed by him removing his hands from your half-naked body.

reluctant, your feet meet the ground and you stand up from his lap. he seems to move quicker than you, no hesitation to be seen as he twists his body around and lays along the bench on his back, eyes all the while watching you expectantly.

your fingers are far from as nimble as his, and there’s a shake to them, meaning you’re a lot less slick with how you pull the swimsuit off yourself. you opt for killing two birds with one stone, dragging your shorts down alongside the red suit, till both are pooled around your feet and you’re begging with every cell in your body that you look more graceful than you feel, stepping out of the leg holes.

in all honesty, you’re more embarrassed with the fact he’d watched you remove your clothes than with how you’re now stood naked, legs a little shaky and the wetness gathering between your folds you’re suddenly so much more aware of, the cool air fighting against your pulsating heat.

“well?” san speaks with expectation, legs bent at the knee while the balls of his feet rest on the edge of the bench. “are you gonna just stand there or you gonna sit on my face?”

“are you... sure you want me to?” even you feel the idiocy behind asking such a thing, when he’s laying right there with eyes full of glee and a raging boner pressed against his hip, nothing but the familiar colours of your college to stop you from seeing him all his naked glory. still, you can’t help elaborating. “i mean, the bench isn’t exactly sturdy and, i mean, what if i slip off of you?”

“y/n, are you joking? you have to be joking!” his offence is playful enough to ease a little of the hesitation inside of you. “do you see these puppies, baby? these are my mad gains from flailing my silly little arms around in a pool six days a week!”

you think this can’t be real as you watch the golden boy of the school put on a show, flexing his arms in an effort to display his muscles and voicing the most ridiculous words that not even he seems to be taking seriously, a bubble of laughter popping in every sentence.

“i’m not gonna let you slip, now hurry up!” again with the whining.

“god, you’re so desperate!”

“for you? always.”

the following minute is made up of wobbled steps and a poor attempt at amping yourself up, repeating mantra after mantra in your head that you are the sex goddess and no man is going to make you feel nervous. not even if that man has a jaw one could slice diamonds with.

he’s got a firm grasp of your thighs before you’ve even got the chance to get comfortable, legs a little shaky as you hover over his naked chest and will your knees to find grip on the bench beneath them.

“come closer, my tongue’s not that long!” san’s pulling you up, closer, all the way to where his wanton mouth awaits you. as if to give you a preview of what awaits you, the kisses from before reduced to nothing, his tongue pops out to run over the smooth of his bottom lip. you repeat the process of trying to find balance, a position in which you don’t need to worry about toppling overboard. though, with the way his finger squeeze into your thigh, you doubt you’ll have to worry about that truly happening. “comfortable?”

“as i’ll ever be.”

“all the people that would die to be in your position, and you say that?” he tsks, tongue hitting off the roof of his mouth before a blow of air hits against your folds and, though it’s faint from the distance still between his mouth and where he wants it to be, it sends a jolt of excitement up your spine. “i’ll just have to make sure i over-perform, make you more eager for next time.”

neither of you choose to dwell on the words next time.

him, too occupied with getting his first taste, tongue licking a strip up your core and coming to a stop as the tip of it bumps against your clit.

you, too busy having the air knocked out of your lungs, hand unconsciously finding safety in gripping his hair as you lurch forward momentarily, mouth falling open in a quiet gasp that echoes around and around.

“hmm, make sure you hold on tight.” you know he’s teasing you, with his words, and with his eyes, and with his mouth that seems to find enjoyment in trailing itself over your clitoral hood and up your pubic bone. “you smell mouthwatering, you know? enough to make a man go feral.”

the chance to reply never comes, not when san makes his way back down to your clit and greets it with the stroke of his flattened tongue. every tiny nerve sparks to life under his touch and you feel yourself grow wetter, a wave of warm arousal leaking out of your hole. his tongue dives down to welcome it, not allowing more than a single drop- landing on his chin- to go to waste.

you don’t even notice the lack of his grip around your left leg until you feel it: the first few seconds of his fingertips probing around your soaked cunt, coating themselves in your liquid pleasure until it’s dripping down the back of his hand.

the first finger to enter your hole is gentle, tentative to the way your body receives him, his pointer and ring finger keeping your folds spread and allowing him the full view of the middle one slowly disappearing from sight, burying itself in the warmth of your pussy. distracted, his mouth pulls back and his head meets the bench again while his eyes soak in the sight above him, flickering up to catch your reaction when another finger enters you, this time with a lot less care as it forces you open around it.

“so pretty,” he mutters the words, more to himself than to you, delighting as he witnesses you struggling to bite back a pathetic moan when his digits curl within you. he repeats the action a couple times, flicking his wrist back and forth, fingers brushing over your tight walls each time and culminating in a curl that has him pressing against the spongy-like flesh inside. “so, so pretty.”

your hips begin to rut against his hand, meeting every one of his thrusts with perfect timing that has him reaching deeper, further, better places inside of you. all the while he’s just watching and admiring the furrow in your brow and the way the swells of your breast bounce in sync with you.

your pussy clenches tighter and his fingers fight to reach deeper before spreading themselves wider in an attempt to scissor you open. he’s giving it his all, a third finger slipping in despite the dull ache setting in his wrist while he coaxes you closer and closer to the tipping point.

san takes just as easy as he gives, and it’s that fact alone that drives him to pull his hand back, fingers withdrawing from you and the pleasure you’re pursuing.

“why’d you-” you heave through heavy breaths, brain fuzzy from the unvoiced orgasm you were so close to having, every nerve ready to tingle, every muscle ready to tremble, every toe ready to curl. “stop?”

“because,” the wet smack of his fingers hitting against your clit is louder than the whimper that drops from your mouth. san hears both, however, and grins, quickly landing another smack against your engorged clit. “the goal is to make you cum on my face, not my fingers. consider them the appetiser, something to awaken your senses.”

his tongue licks in an upward motion, starting from the tip of your taint and ending at your clit, and you get deja-vu to just minutes before, when you’d first felt his tongue on your melting skin, the saliva it leaves in a trail behind it serving to cool you down. a shiver runs up your spine as he blows air onto your cunt, the pressure of it doing wonders to stimulate your clit.

“would you stop?”

“look who’s whining now.” san, despite what he says, does as you ask and puts an end what feels like unending teasing- really, it’s hardly been a minute but the pulsing of your heat and the loss of a climax leave you no room to think about something as abstract as time.

his lips make a victorious return, wrapping themselves around your clit and sucking against the pulsing nub. every so often, he delivers a couple kitten licks- ups and downs, sides to sides, figure eights- before swiftly returning to kissing your most intimate parts.

in an attempt to make your toes curl, he dips lower and teases the tips of his tongue over your entrance, wet muscle moving over wet skin and tastebuds covering themselves in your essence, till the moans echoing off the walls are indistinguishable between san’s and your own.

“you can move,” he grunts into you after a few minutes of repeated alternating between kissing your clit and tonguing at your hole. it’s muffled with the way he’s holding you down against his face and you feel his lips brush against your lower ones as he speaks. “need you to move. wanna see you use me, pretty.”

and, who are you to deny the man?

you’re hesitant at first, just like you were all those weeks ago as you sank to your knees for him. you test the waters and give a single roll of your hips. it feels good, great, especially when paired with his own efforts at dragging his tongue over you.

it takes a few more attempts, and san’s patience wearing thin to the point he resorts to grabbing a firm hold of your arse cheeks and planting you flat on his mouth, tongue flat and eyes staring up at you in a demand to move, goddamn it.

move you most certainly do, grinding down on his tongue like you’ve done many a time with different men’s cocks. it’s messy, sloppy in the way that his spit mingles with your wetness, a cocktail of fluids sliding down his throat, and painting his lips, and dribbling down his chin as he eats you like a man starved that’s alas getting a taste of the sweetest fruit.

the rhythm of your hips is thrown off when the man beneath you switches from having you grinding down onto his flattened tongue to slipping the muscle inside of your hole, thrusting it as far as up as the length of it allows him to. with every time your body comes crashing down on his mouth, the tip of his nose bumps against your clit, forcing you to angle yourself upwards to gain more of the friction.

hands find hair, lips part in unabashed moans, thighs shake with the oncoming of an orgasmic state of mind.

the moment builds too quickly, too unexpectedly, like the ghost of your stolen climax is back with a vengeance and set on ensuring there will be no denying it this time.

“s-shit,” your eyes squeeze shut, too scared to look down at his ecstasy filled eyes in fear of it being what finally tips you over the edge. “i’m gonna- ah- gonna cum.”

san pays no mind to your warning. if anything, he takes it as a challenge, an invisible timer beginning in his head and forcing him to see how quickly he can get you to unravel all over his face. he’s getting everything he asked for, your naked body a mess above him as you fuck yourself on his tongue and your hands, with minds of their own, sliding up to grab and squeeze at your tits.

he watches how the pastel blue nail polish clashes with the darkened colour of your abused nipples, fingers working to pinch, and twist, and pull at them as you lose yourself in the moment.

when you cum, it’s with rolled-back eyes and shaky thighs, his hands gripping at you tighter to steady you as you sway above him, his tongue working at coaxing you through your high.

he licks up every drop of cum he can manage, until you’re cringing in overstimulation and reaching down to push him away. he let’s you move him, mouth moving to trail a couple kisses over your inner thigh, something akin to lipstick stains- yet so much dirtier in nature- being left behind on your soft flesh.

“told you i wouldn’t let you fall,” he’s the first to speak, partly because he correctly thinks you’re incapable of forming anything coherent in the afterglow of your orgasm, but mostly because he wants- no, needs to hear you praise him.

needs to hear you praise him like he’d done for you that night, eyes still hooded and chest visibly heaving as he finished processing watching you swallow every spurt of hot cum he’d shot down your throat. the praise never comes.

well, at least not from you.

at first he thinks he’s imagining the sound of clapping. it’s slow, and booming, and tinted with the slightest hint of sarcasm. it grows louder though, far too loud for it to just be in his imagination. the stilling of your body, going rigid as you fall back onto his chest, the sticky remnants of your orgasm cold against his heated skin, confirms that you hear the clapping too.

“bravo, choi. always thought your reputation with the ladies was a little overhyped, but i stand corrected.”

never has he hated the sight of park seonghwa so much, not even in the times they’ve been head-to-head in the final lap and the older male’s offensively bright swim-cap is all san can see every time he twists his head to catch a breath of air.

the three swimmers stand on the opposite end of the swimming pool, all in various stages of undress.

there’s wooyoung, who looks like he’s not so much as dried himself with a towel, still dressed in his team swimwear. and yunho, who’s got a towel wrapped around his waist messily, hair damp against his forehead and likely smelling of the cheap shampoo provided in the locker-room showers. lastly, seonghwa, who’s seemingly fully dressed spar for one of those irritating long coats san always sees him trailing around campus in.

one look into your panicked eyes is enough for san to spring into action, fumbling to sit himself up and pull your body flush against his, facing your naked back in the direction of his rivals.

he bites back a groan as you shift in his lap, unknowingly- or maybe you do know- pressing your soaked centre against his erection, which already strains inside the confines of the nylon material, leaving very little to the imagination.

“do you mind?” he’s glad the words come out clearly, booming across the pool at them and their unwavering staring.

“not at all.”

san holds you tighter against him, eyeing at your discarded swimsuit on the floor as he listens to a shuffle of footsteps. assuming the three men have made their way back into the locker-room, he’s speechless when he looks up to find them approaching the bench, seonghwa leading the trio with a secure grip on the back of wooyoung’s neck, whose eyes can’t seem to leave the floor, while yunho trails a little behind them, one hand grasping onto the towel around him.

“get your hands off her!” he leans back, pulling you with him, in an attempt to stray out of seonghwa’s reach as he extends his hand out. he fails, however, and the tips of seonghwa’s elongated fingers brush over your shoulder.

a shiver runs down you, one that san feels, the unexpected touch tickling your nerves.

“she’s a grown up,” the eldest of the men muses as he builds a rhythm out of how his fingers soother over your sweat slicked skin. “who i’m sure can speak for herself if she wants my hands off her.”

out of all the men, seonghwa has always been the one san despised most. between the constant boasting of wealth- money he acquired through labor, though not the working kind- and the disrespect he’s never had a problem showing towards others, he never fails to strike a nerve, awakening a dark part of san’s brain that activates his fight or flight response. by far, however, his arrogance is the worst, that sense of entitlement that drives him to think everything and everyone is a piece of clay for him to mold and manipulate till they fit his ideal shape.

the rich boy’s hand smoothes over your naked shoulder and san can’t resist glaring up at him.

“c’mon san, now’s hardly the time to be modest,” behind the oldest swimmer, yunho and wooyoung seem to be battling an inner conflict, yunho fighting to keep his towel in place and wooyoung fighting to keep the shame off his face while his dick visibly strains against the confines of his chlorine-covered swimwear. “not after the show you two just put on.”

“we didn’t,” it’s the first time you manage to speak since covering san’s tongue in your cum, breathing at last steady and face hidden from everyone’s view, much to san’s despair. “know you were watching.”

“and, if you had known, would you have stopped?” yunho is the one asking the question and, suddenly, san’s so much more aware of what exactly he’s hiding underneath his towel.

you give no answer.

“of course she wouldn’t,” seonghwa answers for you, hand moving to grasp the back of your neck. with no warning, he grips a little too tight for comfort and and yanks you backwards, till you’re staring right into san’s eyes and the only thing keeping you perched in his lap is seonghwa’s body pressed flat against yours. “there’s nothing a whore loves more than an audience, right?”

if put on trial in a court of law and sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, over whether or not you’d just clenched around nothing at park seonghwa’s degrading name, you’d plead that you never did such a thing.

you’d be found guilty.

“poor woo nearly came untouched just watching you two. isn’t that right?” the eldest turns to stare back at where you imagine wooyoung to be. “pretty boy nearly whined just at the thought of being in san’s position, a mouth full of cunt and someone using him like the fuck-toy he is.”

the air grows thick, between you, and san, and every other living being in the room. it feels like the walls are closing in on themselves with every second that passes, the sweat dripping down your back and coming to a rest between your arse cheeks evidence that the space is heating up. or maybe it’s just your body, hardly processing the high it’s just come down from and there’s already another source for a new-found arousal, a source in the shape of three muscular men stood behind you and one beneath you, eyes wary as he gazes into your own, like he wants to ask if you’re okay but all the blood is too busy circulating in his crotch for his brain to be productive.

“now, i hardly think it’s very nice of you to get our wooyoung all riled up and not even offer to help him out.” you decide you’re being lulled into a false sense of safety the second you feel the pressure of seonghwa’s hand leave your skin. behind you, there’s a shuffling of footsteps that call you to crane your neck and catch a glimpse of what exactly is going on but san’s eyes beg you to keep staring into his, to count the galaxies that dance within them while he grips at your waist. “so the chance to offer is off the table and you’re simply going to do as told. doesn’t that sound easier, hmm? no having to make pesky decisions, just spread those legs and follow orders.”

at last, you get your first glimpse at jung wooyoung.

he sits down on the bench, no more than a breath of space between where you and san are perched. he’s a vision in himself, shoulders hunched and embarrassed face the same shade of red as the tip of his cock, an angry looking bulbous head poking out the top of far-too-tight speedos.

san’s grip tightens the longer you stare at the other boy, gaze dancing over the shape of his body and mouth-watering as, for the first time, you see the appeal of jung wooyoung. never before have you understood why eyes follow him in the hallways, like he’s more than just another pretty boy on campus- something that’s in abundance. but you see it now, understand the appeal of his stand-out nose; and the veins that run down his arms; and floppy style to his hair, that seems to be calling out to have your fingers running through it.

with no prior warning, the grip on your hips tightens even more, till san is digging crescents into the soft skin and he’s lifting you, off of his lap and right into wooyoung’s.

the usually boisterous boy’s eyes meet yours, no longer filled with that spark of defiance and, instead, glazed over in tears, a quiet pleading being exchanged between you.

only, you’re unsure what he’s begging of you.

“are you going to just sit there,” seonghwa speaks up, boredom in his tone that has you picturing him rolling his eyes and picking at his manicured nails. “or are you going to help the poor pup cum?”

“what?!” that certainly helps you find your voice, and the guts to turn around and look at the man.

you find him stood closer than you imagined, with tailored trousers hugging his thighs and a perfectly ironed shirt tucked into them, the last few messy buttons the only indication he’d rushed to dress himself. eyes looking past him, you find more of a friendly aura in yunho, who, despite fighting a battle against the towel wrapped around his figure, manages to shoot a smile at you.

and then there’s san, who stands with muscled arms crossed over his chest and a painfully obvious boner resting in the confines of his swimwear, though he’s done a better job at keeping himself concealed than the boy beneath you. his face appears indifferent, yet the twitch in his eye speaks of a tamed anger, a frustration he’s yet to unleash on the men who’d interrupted him amidst his feast.

“are you now deaf along with being dumb or something?” the eldest pulls your attention back to him with little effort, a smirk meeting the glare you shoot his way. “you made that brat hard, now do your job and fix the mess you’ve made.”

words of protest get lost in a surprised gasp as the boy in question takes your hand in his, veiny hand guiding you down to a veiny shaft. wooyoung wraps both of your fingers over his leaking cock, his holding yours in place around him while he ruts his hips up once, twice into your hold, the action sending his swimwear even further down the his length and exposing nearly the full sight of it to the swimming hall.

you don’t mean to compare, yet you’re incapable of ignoring the fact that while wooyoung may be on the slightly shorter side compared to san, he’s certainly leading in the thickness department, with a mushroomed head and the prettiest trail of trimmed hairs leading down his pelvis.

he guides you over his shaft a number of times, a little less shy now as he outwardly whines when your thumb runs over his tip, wiping away the fat bead of precum resting upon it. at some point, he moves his hand away, needing both of his free to lean back on the bench, yet yours keeps moving at it’s own volition, stroking him in a pattern of threes, interrupting every trio with a swipe over his tip or a fondle of his still-concealed balls.

“please,” the whine in his voice is so unlike the jung wooyoung you’ve watched week after week, hurling abuse and echoing boasts of his own talents while keeping himself afloat in the swimming pool.

“he asked nicely.” you’d just about forgotten about everyone else in the room, until seonghwa’s irritatingly unbothered voice serves to remind you of his presence. “rule number one: good behaviour is rewarded.”

“what do i,” you interrupt your own question to glance over wooyoung once more. “do?” you pinch your thigh, skin stinging as nails bite it, and confirm with yourself that this is not a dream but, in fact, very much real.

jung wooyoung is hard and begging you to do something.

“i don’t care how you do it, just put one of your holes to good use for once and make him cum.”

there’s still an echo of seonghwa’s voice by the time you successfully manage to rid wooyoung of his swimwear, the damp fabric clinging to the warm skin and the taut muscles of his thighs. the boy isn’t much help either, seemingly reduced to nothing but a writhing, panting mess instead of someone competent enough to raise himself off the bench just enough for you to undress him.

the sight is mesmerising, one you’re certain will remain ingrained in your memory till the day you die: wooyoung, disheveled and untouched, with his achingly hard cock pressed flat against his lower stomach, his swimmer-thighs spread with a set of balls between them that you find yourself near salivating over as a trickle of his own precum runs down them.

“your cock’s...” you begin to speak, yet trail off as your digits wrap themselves around his shaft, just to delight in the way his breath jumps when you drag your hand upwards and give a soft squeeze as you reach the head. “so pretty, woo.”

“youngie.” seonghwa cuts in from behind you. “he prefers to be called youngie when he’s getting his cock teased.”

“yeah, youngie?” you try it out.

instantly, he nods and something akin to a whimper flies out of him.

fascinated by his shaky breaths and his pretty chest, where warm, tanned skin appears to be near glowing under the swimming halls bright lights as his cheeks flush a palette full of reds and pinks, your eyes are completely fixed on him. there’s something vulnerable and breakable about the way he’s looking at your with the widest of eyes, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip receiving countless abuse from his teeth.

never have you been so desperate to push someone past their own limits.

officially running on nothing but pure instincts, you close your mind off to thoughts, like how the boy you’d spent weeks avoiding and missing is stood only metres away, witnessing the way the tip of your finger teases over the slit of his sport rival’s cock. or like how park seonghwa, perhaps the campus’ most infamous trust-fund baby, seems to have complete control of the situation at hand, yourself and jung wooyoung nothing but idolised dolls he’s moving into whatever obscene position he wants you in.

instead, you focus on how wooyoung’s eyes roll back and he lets out a gasp when you gather up fluids from within your salivating mouth and part your own lips, watching how your own spit drips onto his lower stomach, and your hand, and his painfully hard cock.

the saliva serves not only as a visual pleasure, something that’s awakening inside of you at the sight of it leaving you with whole new kind of excitement bubbling along your body, but as a physical pleasure for wooyoung, who seems to have no protest to how much easier it is to slide your hand up his length with the added lubrication of your own spit.

“fuck...” he curses under his breath and his hands find purchase on your body, one gripping your hip while the other grabs at your forehand, like he’s scared you’ll release the grip you have on him and strip away the sweet release of friction. “don’t just focus on the tip- shit, ah- play with my balls too.”

“wooyoung!” ready to oblige, ready to give the pretty faced boy anything he demanded of you, you’ve no time to think of a reply before the ringmaster of this circus reminds you of his overlooking presence behind your back. “stop speaking like an ungrateful brat and take what you’re given. or else... well, i’m sure you don’t need reminding of what happens to pups that misbehave.”

the way jung wooyoung’s whole body grows rigid beneath you, paired with the countless times park seonghwa has butted in to speak on the boy’s sexual preferences, leaves you with the sense that the two are not only acquainted with how each other’s bodies move underwater..

“s-sorry,” this is not the voice of boastful jung wooyoung, who near bounces down the college halls and airdrops nudes in class because he’s bored. this is a voice that’s soft and meek. like a beady-eyed puppy, so quick to submit to it’s owner. “just feels too good. i’m sorry”

“yeah, you will be sorry.” seonghwa’s hand is cold against your back and it lulls a shiver out of you as fingers trickle down your spine like water off a duck’s wings. part of you hates him for stealing wooyoung’s attention off of you just as you were beginning to revel in it, a larger part of you wants to know why the sternness in his voice is enough to have your clit aching to be touched. “spitfire, be a good cocksleave and sit on his dick.”

“ok, stop!” a sense of shame comes over you when it takes hearing san’s outburst to remember the fact he’s watching the scene unfold. “don’t you think you’re taking this too far now, park seonghwa? i know you and wooyoung have your... agreement on how you treat each other, but don’t drag someone else into it. not when she never even asked for this.”

“you had your tongue tasting the eighth wonder of the world on that bench twenty minutes ago, both of you knowing there was a chance you’d be caught, and you want to tell me no one was asking for this?”

“that was private! you guys are the ones who-”

“there’s no such thing as privacy in a public area. besides, it’s hardly like she’s not enjoying this. if anything, i think spitfire doesn’t like the way you’re getting in the way of her teaching youngie a lesson in obedience.” you’re naive to think no one would notice the way you’ve began to grind down on wooyoung’s cock, stealing whimpers out of him as the soaked lips of your pussy rubbed up against him and holding back your own moans each time his tip meets the bundle of nerves that make up your clit. “choi, if you’re that much of a pissy pants that can’t enjoy himself even just this once in life, then feel free to leave. i’m sure the four of us will be too occupied to notice your absence.”

you’re not paying close enough attention to figure out if san’s newfound silence is due to his departure, or if he’s simply too stunned to speak, your eyes focused on nothing and no one but the boy at your mercy.

the initial burn of wooyoung breaching your entry reminds you of how long it’s been since you’d been stretched open by something other than someone’s cold fingers or wagging tongue. it’s been more or less three long months of juggling test after test, assignments piling up on your desktop and a relationship with your now ex-boyfriend being tossed completely into the gutter.

not once had you thought your return to the world of sexual bliss would be in front of an audience, much less at the very place you work.

doubting that it’s been as long for him as it has for you, wooyoung still spares nothing when it comes to reacting to your touch. with eyes squeezing shut, head rolling back, abdomen muscles flexing along side every shaken intake of breath, the boy puts on a show so pornographic it puts the professionals to shame. a whine exits his lips, lips that carry marks of his own teeth and look like they’re in need of a healthy dose of chapstick, and look so disgustingly kissable that your own tingle at the thought.

all those rumours of jung wooyoung being a camboy rush to the forefront of your mind, feeling truer than ever when your eyes take in the bob of his adam’s apple, and the perfectly timed run of his tongue over his lower lip, and the pretty way in which the prominent veins in his hands looks as he clamps his grip down on your hips.

he’s a sight worth paying for.

“are you okay?” not the first thing you’d imagined saying after sinking all the way down on his cock, the need to check up on him taking over before you’d even noticed it’s existence.

“yeah...” he sighs his way through the word, eyes still closed and grip still very much tight on your skin, blunt fingertips likely leaving crescent moons you’ll find yourself staring at for days to come, memories of this moment replaying in a rose-tinted haze. “just need a second, you- you feel good, fuck me.”

“i’m kinda already doing that, youngie.” you giggle, like a lovesick adolescent speaking to their crush of the week, but the boy’s instant smile upon hearing it puts out the fire of shame building in the pit of your stomach.

“hmm,” he hums back, acknowledging your words without giving you the satisfaction of hearing him tell you how you’re correct. “are you okay?”

wooyoung flips the question on you and it parallels with the way he pulls the rains in physically, lithe hips thrusting upwards in search of feeling more, reaching deeper inside of you. in the back of your mind you already picture a look of displeasure on park seonghwa’s face, scowling lips loading up to berate you and demand you take repossession of jung wooyoung’s sanity.

“yeah, i’m-” with the eldest man in mind, you stop and compose yourself, as well as you can while wooyoung’s mouthing at your neck, your collarbones, the tops of your breasts. “i’m wondering who told you you were allowed to touch me?”

control is easily regained, all it takes is your hand squeezing around jung wooyoung’s throat and your soaked walls clenching around his aching cock and he’s melting like ice cream on a warm summer’s day, leaving behind a sticky mess.

satisfaction and pleasure come crashing in tandem, wave after wave moving in motion with each lethargic roll of your body against the swimmer’s, who seems to be a quicker learner than you’d believed him to be, hands flying off your body like it was made up of hot stones and, instead, now holding a firm and grounding grip of the bench beneath you both.

“harder.” you feel a hint of emotion within park seonghwa’s voice this time he speaks. it’s fleeting, and hard to make out quite what feeling it is he’s experiencing, but it’s there and it’s certainly a step up from the usual shameless, egotistical, megalomaniac tone he takes on. “squeeze his throat tighter.”

under the possession of his commanding tone, you find yourself caving into his command, fingers pressing a little harder into wooyoung’s warm skin. the boy gulps down whatever pride he has and delivers a pleasured whine. you grind down harder and an evil, twisted part of you you’ve never met before longs to laugh at the way he so desperately is struggling to keep his composure, fighting back the urge to meet your hips with his own upward thrusts.

so, you do.

“hear that, youngie?” seonghwa’s voice becomes less grating each time you hear it, once an unwelcome and intrusive thought but now a second voice and a valued player in a game of wreck the wooyoung. “you’re being laughed at. isn’t that just pathetic?”

“y-yes, fuck-” he falls victim to your walls clenching around him, gripping his cock in a vice grip. the image of confidence withers away so easily to reveal a teary-eyed, pretty-faced, cum-desperate man. “i’m pathetic.”

“yeah, you are.” seonghwa circles his way around the rocking bench, no longer out of view hidden behind your back but, instead, staring you down with piercing eyes that cut through you like a knife to hot butter. “he’s getting close. never lasts long, really, even seen him cum untouched just from giving me head. but that’s okay, isn’t it youngie? you’re a slut for having your sack drained, huh?”

the swimmer beneath you has never looked redder than he does right now, secrets of his sexual nature getting exposed to the people he likely considers his biggest athletic competition. though you probably should, you don’t push him away when his face finds safety in the crook of your neck, parted lips covering your burning skin in sticky drool.

“don’t let him fool you guys, he’s into the degrading nature of it all. trust me.” you wonder if it should concern you the way seonghwa speaks about jung wooyoung as though he’s nothing but a pet, a possession of which he just so happens to have complete control over. you’re more concerned with the fact it excites you. “call him a good boy, i dare you.”

the words haven’t even formed in your throat and the boy between your thighs is gripping onto your waist a little tighter, lips near pouting and eyes screwed shut in uncontrollable pleasure, burning down his spine and threatening to push him over the edge of sexual bliss.

you consider having mercy, the inexperienced side of you thinking the boy looks like he’s full of shame and embarrassment. the throbbing of his rock hard cock repeatedly stuffing your aching cunt reminds you he’s getting off on the humiliation.

“is he a good boy, though?” you stare up at park seonghwa, not even sparing a whimpering wooyoung any attention as he begins a rambled protest to defend his good behaviour. “i mean, i don’t remember telling him he could touch me. do you, hwa?”

the hands that grip you tightly let go quick, like your skin were an unexpectedly warm stove, scorching his skin right off him.

“i don’t remember either,” the eldest’s agreement has you reeling in a way you never expected, filling you with a new found sense of control.

a control that is ripped away far too quickly, like park seonghwa sensed you growing falsely confident over the situation at hand.

like a shark circling it’s prey, the tall man makes his way back around the bench, each fall of his shoe-covered feet echoing in the quiet swim hall. click, click, click, and he’s right at your back, not a word uttered as the soft of his palm lands on the nape of your neck. achingly slow does it travel down the expanse of your back, not a single noise filling the space other than the rise and fall of your body on top of wooyoung’s and the same boy’s poorly contained moans and mewls of pleasure.

the silence is interrupted by your own shocked gasp, mouth falling agape in shock as your movements come to a complete halt. his hands, no longer soft and delicate, grip you in an iron-tight hold, fingers greedy as they dig into your meaty flesh with no mercy or regard for the pain it may inflict on you.

“no, get up,” like a switch was flipped in as little as a minute, park seonghwa’s voice has lost all sense of the excitement it had whilst he spoke on jung wooyoung’s dirty endeavours and has returned back to the cold, callous, commanding tone it had originally.

he sounds angry, feels angry in the way the fingers of his free hand tangle themselves in the hair at the back of your head and give a harsh tug, forcing your head back till you’re met with his scowling face and perfectly groomed hair, even in it’s dampened state it seems to frame his face perfectly.

“what?” you babble out, dumbstruck, much like the desperate boy beneath you who’s began to mutter apology after apology between pleadings of please no don’t do this and i promise i’ll behave, i’ll keep my hands to myself.

none of it works.

“you heard me. get. up.” the fingers on your waist tug, pull, drag you away from the quivering mess that has become of jung wooyoung, who near sobs as the cool air hits his now painfully hard cock, tip redder than the bottom of your favourite heels and a vein more prominent under his sensitive skin than the ones on his muscular arms. you’re not given much of a chance to process what’s happening before seonghwa speaks again. “wooyoung, up, now. you’re not getting to cum, so get off the bench and make room for someone else.”

the boy makes no further attempt to protest, cheeks painted pink in shame and chest shining with sweat as he shakily rises to his feet, head hung low when you watch him walk out of your line of sight.

then, your knees meet the floor.

park seonghwa chuckles as you go down, hands finding grip in your hair and forcing you to sit up right. heart beating faster, your mind begins to race with questions of what comes next, who comes next.

what dirty desires are about to be unveiled within you, forced into the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the swimming hall?

“jeong, you’re up,” seonghwa’s knee digs into your back and his fingers tug until your scalp begins to sting a little. you don’t want to like it but, in life, you don’t always get what you want.

there’s a series of shuffles behind you, followed by heavy footsteps. there’s no rush, yet no hesitation, just calm and collected footsteps of someone making their way over to do god knows what with you.

when jeong yunho, with his towel that’s looking a lot tighter around his crotch still around his waist, steps into frame, an inexplicable sense of comfort washes over you.

maybe it’s the way he smiles down at you, or the fact his hands brush seonghwa’s off of you, or the way his fingers take a hold of your chin once he’s seated in front of you.

maybe it’s just the fact he’s jeong yunho, campus himbo with a reputation for walking girls home at night just to make sure they’re safe and for singing britney spears with no shame each time the karaoke mic gets passed around.

whatever it is, it’s turning you on.

your knees are burning with fresh pain as park seonghwa shoves you closer to the mammoth of a man and you can’t help but swallow down the ball of anxiety growing in your throat.

everything about jeong yunho’s demeanour has always seemed large, with powerful arms that drag his body through the weight of water and large hands that effortlessly carry countless textbooks through the university halls; a tall frame that helps him stand out in any crowd and a personality loud enough to set off alarms; his thighs a muscular stairway leading up to a well rounded, remarkably defined posterior. it’s safe to say he’s carried a reputation for some time, one that consists of whispers between girls on campus who recount just how well endowed he really is. 7 inches, 9 inches, 12 inches, you’ve heard it all, each girl claiming it to be bigger than the last.

unfortunately, there’s no ruler at your disposal to uncover the truth of the rumours, but you confirm he’s certainly large as you watch him undo the towel. larger than you’ve ever seen before, with a thickness to match, and two heavy looking balls decorating the base.

he wraps a hand around it and you watch how he gives a light squeeze at the head, slowly sliding down the length of it till he reaches the tuft of groomed hairs on his pelvic bone. one of his hands alone holds half of his cock, leaving you almost certain you’d need to use both hands on him.

“d’you want it, sweetheart?” his words are teasing but his voice is soft, a complete one-eighty to the verbal berating you’ve been receiving- and enjoying- from park seonghwa.

you’re sure he notices the way you clench your thighs as he slaps his cock once, then twice against his stomach, the precum leaking out on to his tanned skinned.

there’s an itch inside your throat, one you imagine only he can scratch.

“you wanna taste it?” he’s still speaking to you through the arousal that fogs over your brain, commanding your tongue to swipe over your bottom lip as you burn your gaze at the glistening liquid on his warm skin, tastebuds aching to have him paint them in white.

you nod your head.

his own throws itself back, a chuckle rupturing out of his chest as he continues to tease himself with his hand.

“fuck, yeah, bet you can’t wait to taste my cock, feel it stab the back of your tight throat.” a smile should never look so sweet while it’s part of the same mouth spewing out such filth. somehow, jeong yunho makes it work. “gonna get it nice and wet for me, yeah? make it sloppy, i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock.”

the knee that’s suddenly digging it’s way into your back has no mercy. you wince, pull in a sharp breath and inch just that little bit closer to the bench. like a glove fits a hand, you slip right in between the muscled tree trunks that make up jeong yunho’s thighs.

you wonder, if only momentarily, what sweet a death it would be to be crushed between them, taut muscles constricting the flow of air to your lungs like a boa with its prey.

but there’s a far more preferable way to be choked by the man before you, body carved out in such definition you fear michael angelo himself stands in admiration of it.

his hand snakes its way around your body, warm and heavy and imposing with the grip it settles for at the base of your neck. in spite of the sharp stab coming from behind- where you have no doubt one park seonghwa stands with disgruntled impatience written all over his irritatingly perfect face- there is no doubt in your mind that the man in front of you holds the reigns. with eyes of honey and lips of velvet, he peers down at you with a tendered expression, saying nothing yet everything with the gentle, repeated sooth of his thumb over your skin.

you need no verbal instructions this time around.

a hand grips the base of him as the other squeezes the flesh of your own thigh, piercing your skin with just enough pressure to assure you this is the reality you find yourself in, rather than some twisted, substance influenced dream.

the first taste is the sweetest, tongue a missionary sent into the foreign land of his body to discover the way he reacts as you drag it over the tip. he gives nothing but a squeeze to the back of your neck; and that crumbles you under his control.

with a few more kitten licks- for good luck, if anything,- the show begins with the parting of your lips, the widening of your mouth, the burning of your skin as you struggle with your ability to swallow him whole. you make it no further than a third of his length before he’s tugging gently on your roots and bringing you back to the surface of existence.

“breathe, okay,” his voice is gentle, calming your nerves yet sending your heart into a fit of patternless beats. “inhale, exhale, got it? through the nose, that’s gonna help you relax.”

doing as he says, you swallow three whole breaths. shaky, ragged, each feeling hollow in your chest in comparison to the weight of his cock on your tongue.

“pretty girl,” he practically coos, hand cupping your chin as his thumb smoothes over the swell of your bottom lip. it’s tender, sweet, and almost enough to make you forget the sight of his engorged cock that sits angrily between his tree-trunk shaped thighs, crying out for the return of your mouth’s affection. “someone’s gotta teach you to not be greedy, hmm? small little mouth of yours is no fit for me, don’t go choking on it.”

heat flashes between your thighs, your heartbeat dropping right down to your clit and leaving you with a burning ache, the kind only a gentleman like this could soothe. your fingers may have to do, however, if the stubborn arsehole behind you would be so kind as to let you enjoy yourself.

the way park seonghwa curls his hand round the front of your neck and flexes his nimble fingers- that goddamn family heirloom ring a punishing cold to your warm skin, near brandishing you as touched by some nepotism child- when you do so little as clench your thighs together to relieve the pressure, or lack-there-of, between your thighs tells you he’ll grant you no such fun.

“you’d need to have something big enough for her to choke on,” san, precious san. still here, still somewhere beneath this god-forsaken tin-can roof swimming pool, watching you bruise your knees and your ego for another man, another one of his team-mates. what must he think of you? has he lost whatever respect he may have had? does he think he’d been just another body to exchange fluids with, that night at the party? if you could just see his face, you’d not need to wonder all these things. his eyes, they always give him away, too earnest and pure for his own good.

“shut it, choi,” yunho’s bark isn’t half as loud as seonghwa’s booming commands have been, and are nowhere near as malignant. if anything, the gentle giant is humoured by his team-mate’s words, as if he knows they’re a preposterous thing to say about him. then again, you can’t imagine any man remaining humble about themselves if they were so well-endowed. “or do you wanna crack out the measuring tape again and remind yourself of just how much of me there is to choke on?”

silence.

it takes a few moments for the spotlight to return to you, a gradual shift from playful to lust driven energy encapsulating the broad frame of the man before. he cups your cheek, feather-light touch smoothing over your skin while his eyes burrow daggers into your soul.

why must his shoulders be so wide? it almost angers you as much as it sends a wave of heat between your legs.

almost, but not quite.

“‘s cute,” he half mumbles, distracted by the sight you paint below him on your knees, bruises already forming and thighs clenching for some relief of pressure. “your little pussy’s all wet just from having my cock in your mouth.”

“i think you’re forgetting she was bouncing on woo’s dick a few minutes ago, yunho,” the devil on your shoulder won’t let you rest, hand snaking through the threads of your hair and tugging on your roots. not enough to hurt, just enough to sting. “have some modesty.”

“sure, let’s act like i’m not the one who had her cumming all over my face a while ago.” san mumbles a string of words you wish you could unhear, face heating up as the shame burns through your bloodstream.

how had you gotten here?

you’re allowed no such freedom to ponder over previous actions as jeong yunho’s all encompassing frame works to remind you of where you find yourself: on your knees dressed in nothing but your own shame- shame which seems to slip off of you, piece by piece, baring you shamelessly to this pack of wolf-eyed boys’ for their eyes to feast upon.

strong, veiny hands reach out and drag you forwards, just an inch yet it’s all you need to feel the weight of park seonghwa’s domineering figure float off of you, rendering you under the control of this much larger, far smilier looking man. “eyes on me, okay? don’t wanna miss the way i’m about to make them roll back.”

there begins a game of push and pull, where jeong yunho pushes you closer and closer to his evident arousal, all the while teasing you as he pulls his hips back, keeping your waiting mouth open and empty, and oh-so frustrated at the feeling of being so close yet so far away from his dripping tip.

the first real taste you get of him does, in fact, nearly have your eyes rolling back. a kitten lick, barely there yet fully felt, running over the underside of his cock, a taste of salted skin, and musky sweat, and stale chlorine mixing in with the warmth of him flooding your senses. his reaction is no more composed than yours, blatantly parting his lips in a gasp and bucking his hips up, forwards, any direction they need follow to chase after your mouth.

happy to comply, you take pride in tasting him a second time, this time right over the growing drop of pre-cum pebbling on his tip. white flashes behind your closing eyes as his grip in your hair tightens, a pulse of heat firing straight down your spine as your mind floods with images of what it must be like to watch this man, this gentleman, this figure that so wholly encompasses what it means to be a himbo in this day and age lose his cool and revolt into his most carnal, basal instincts to take whatever pleasure he needs from you with a reckless abandon, burrow his throbbing cock down your throat till the beat of his heart takes over your own.

instead, you settle for wrapping your lips around him, at last, and letting him guide you just that little bit down his length. the weight of him feels nice, a strange sense of comfort birthing in your bones as you grow used to feel of him taking up your palate. his breaths seem to run in tandem with the inches he sinks deep between your parted lips.

a deep breath, he lowers you further, till your left cheek begins to bulge out.

tongue pinned to the floor of your mouth, you make use of it as best you can, rolling it over the bottom of his shaft and earning yourself a plethora of gratifying sounds, each deep and desperate and crooning straight out of jeong yunho’s broad chest.

another deep breath, another inch.

for all the false dominance you wield over the situation, with the heat of your mouth and spill of your own saliva slickening his cock, his real and visceral dominance doubles it by tenfold, with a hand on the back of your neck, guiding your every move, and a knowing, gentle look cast downwards at you from where he sits propped on the bench, thighs a heavy mass to case your body between. a silly little voice in your head whispers a seductive tale of how easily this man could get you in a headlock and suffocate your fragile windpipes. a wave of heat, this one going right down to your core and forcing you to pay attention to it, shifting awkwardly and clenching the muscles in your own legs in hopes of getting some pitiful amount of pressure.

all breathing stops as he hits the back of your throat.

hands pulling tight, a biting pain ripping through your hair and a tired gag creeping out of your constricting throat, yunho holds you still and strong, as unmoving as the mountains that fill the horizon from your bedroom window.

he’s not even fully in, an arguably obscene amount of him still awaiting some form of attention beyond the spill of the spit filling up your mouth. but there’s nowhere for it to go, not within your mouth at least, and so you manoeuvre your hand up and grip the neglected inches, the tip of your pinkie teasingly brushing over the swell of his balls.

he lurches forward, gasping in a breath of air at last. “fucking christ- shit,” he grits his teeth. “her mouth’s warm.”

“well, obviously. this your first time getting a blowjob or something, jeong?” god, the reminder of seonghwa being here, somewhere behind you, fox eyes judging your every move and keeping his cool, no matter how hard you’d seen his cock straining in those ridiculous pant-suit trousers he sports. it’s sickening.

“yeah, yunho, watch out before you have a repeat of 2019.”

if the taller jeong wants to snap at the other, you never find out, instead dedicating yourself to the glory of worshipping him between your parted lips and tight throat, jaw ready to lock itself in place so long as it keeps him inside.

you treat him differently than you’d treated san that night. you’d been tipsy then, buzzing off the colourful shots of who-knows-what you’d been conned into downing a half hours before, mind hazy as you kneeled between him and teased your tongue over every crevice of him it could reach, dripping him in drool and working an ache into your overused tongue by the time you got watched him spill over the edge of ecstasy. that wasn’t even about san’s pleasure, no real care put into getting him off, your own selfish need to indulge in the pleasure of feeling, tasting, worshipping him taking precedence.

but, right now, you’re overwhelmingly sober, mind hazed only by a cloud of inexplicable lust that rolled in the moment san shot you his stupid smile, and you care about making jeong yunho cum. in fact, it’s the only thing on your mind as you bob your head up and down, letting his own hand guide your pace.

“shh, shh,” he’s hushing your own struggles for breath and carding his fingers through the tresses of your hair, his legs clamping down on either side of you, pinning you in your rightful place. “taking it so good, baby. so fucking good.”

good’s not good enough.

you want to leave him mind-blown, exhausted, unhinged. you want him clenching his jaw, and baring his teeth, and stuttering over any praise he tries to give you. in fact, you need it, need that thrill-driven lust of collapsing the sanity of a man as broad and strong and capable as him.

so you pick up the pace, fight against the steady up-and-down of his grip and try to take just that little bit more of him in your mouth and down your throat, till you’ve no doubt there’s a visible bulge of where he sits down your windpipe. you think back on what he said- i love it when a pretty thing like you gets all messy over my cock- and work towards doing just that, mouth a fountain of over-flowing spit that paints lines down your chin and over his heavy balls. the hand at his base lightly drags the tips of its nails over his burning skin and you physically feel the way his cock jumps in your mouth, head twitching as his hips involuntarily jolt forwards.

eyes as wide as a deer in headlights, you glance up to stare into his own, only to find they’re rolling back in his head, too caught up in the headiness of having your mouth on him to visually focus. it’s erotic, tracing your eyes over the protruding vein in his neck and the unrhythmic heaving of his chest- like every breath he pulls is a rare gift and a miracle- and the straining of his muscled thighs that hold back his urge to buck freely into your mouth, use you as nothing but a hole to get himself off with.

your free hand stakes claim over your own sexual frustration, nimble fingers rubbing tight, slow circles over your clit in an attempt to just ease that heat burning you from the inside out.

“she’s touching herself, jeong,” not even the irritating, grating voice of park seonghwa’s unwanted commentary can take away the kick you’re getting out of working this man into a frenzy. “are you just going to let her, without your permiss-”

“shut up, park,” yunho is wrecked, voice divulging so far from that loud, boyish charm into a dark, broken sort of gruffed out thing, echoing straight out of his chest. but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t listen to the other man, doesn’t force his eyes open to glance down in a hazed daze to witness your pathetic attempts to work your fingers over yourself.

only, he doesn’t tell you to stop.

he just... watches. and then smiles, squeezes out what can only be described as a broken whine, and tilts his head back once more, relinquishing all control of his body over to you. the scene divulging into a chorus of mumbled words, fuck and please and yes becoming the only word yunho knows, the only three you hear.

only as he cums does jeong yunho regain that bit of self-control he’s lost, ripping your mouth off him- a stuttered mumble of i wanna paint that pretty face- and erupting in a mess of grunted moans, cock twitching in his palm as rope after rope of white, hot fluid shoots out of it. it’s messy, and disgusting, and sticky, marking the skin on your cheeks, nestling in your hair, dripping over your shut eyelashes.

the last drops land in your parted mouth as his grasp shakes and you regain the right to wrap your lips around his mushroomed tip.

lips stained in pearly white, cheeks and neck matching too. the throb of your neglected cunt, clenching itself around nothing but the mere thought of having jeong yunho stuff you full, break you in two and leave you spent.

the man in question is in a no better state, head thrown back and chest a heaving mess glistening with the shine of his own sweat. his mouth hangs open, near heaving in breaths of air and his hands, adopting a mind of their own, grip harder in your hair and hold you firmly in place, tongue laving over his sensitive tip, pushing him closer and closer to the ledge of overstimulation.

“fuck- uh, fucking look at you,” sweet voice, foul words. two fingers drag over your cheek, coating themselves in the sticky substance he’s painted you in. “drooling all over me.”

he’s right, you are drooling. down your chin, an uncomfortable damp coat covers your overheating skin as you continue to stretch your lips around his length, ready to rip another thigh-shuddering orgasm out of the man.

yunho grants you no such pleasure.

instead, a grip tugs back on your hair and, before you can feebly attempt to catch your fleeing breath, he’s pulling you up into his lap, straddling you across the well-defined muscles of his thigh. those big, capable hands he pushes himself through pools, and rivers, and all other bodies of water manipulate your limbs however he likes, a rag-doll free for him to toy with for as long as he sees fit.

“yun-” you don’t even manage to say his name properly, not when he grinds you down into his lap, smothering his tanned skin in your juices. the friction runs straight for your pulsing clit and you’re rendered to sinking into his welcoming arms, head collapsing into the crook of his neck, parted lips panting up a storm against his sweated skin.

“that nice for you, angel?” the soft words, the rough hands, the perfect roll of your hips. you feel like you could sob, break apart completely. yunho tracing a hand up the curve of your spine and soothing his long fingers over a knot in you back doesn’t help your case. “bet it is. little bit of release to all that tension you’ve been feeling, yeah?”

you think you nod.

it’s hard to tell.

sparks fly within your loins, heating you from the inside out. yunho, at some point, has wound his fist into the tresses of your hair, nails scrapping along your scalp. it’s pleasurable, all over, soothing you into a state of utter relaxation, a being with no purpose other than to take whatever this mass of warmth and muscles and width offers you.

his hand makes a fist and gently tugs, forcing a whine out of you as you’re faced with the bright lights once more. traces of his own cum stain the very place your face had lay. it’s erotic to see, drying up your tongue with a need to lick it clean.

“no, no, focus, right here,” a single finger taps at your cheek, followed by the tilting of your chin that forces you to stare back at the hungry eyes of jeong yunho. “eyes on me. want a front row seat to watching your eyes roll back.”

god, he’s filthy, and delicate, and that just makes him all that more filthy.

swiping his digits through the remnants of his sticky cum, he makes sure you’re staring right back at him as those same fingers snake their way down between your grinding bodies and burrow themselves deep in your soaked heat. shallow pumps of his hand fuck his cum-coated fingers deeper, long and lithe enough he barely needs to move to have you feeling him all over, everywhere.

by the time he curls them, pressing against that spongy wall, you’re just about ready to cry.

“think she’s gonna cum,” oh god, no, why must he remind you of your audience? why does it no longer frighten you to have eyes watching you be defiled but, rather, have you clenching around him tighter, chasing that fever-like ecstasy the man means to deliver? “she’s gripping my fingers so tight- shit, almost makes me wanna bust my load just thinking how warm her pussy would feel round my cock.”

“don’t let her cum,” you vow, some day, to wring the neck of park seonghwa. “just cause she’s gone all cockdrunk doesn’t mean she’s earnt-”

“shut up, hwa,” the boy’s thumb pokes up and you can’t help the way you grind down into it, smothering your clit in whatever pressure you can get. “pretty baby’s more than earned it. stop being bitter that i’m the one who’s gonna give her it.”

give you it, he does.

three fingers deep, the cocktail of your wetness mixing with his cum-cated digits aiding the ebb and flow of his rhythm, jeong yunho has your toes curling, eyes rolling, thighs shaking. you blackout, for only a moment, lost in the wilderness of pleasure.

the aftershocks are barely kicking in when you’re suddenly ripped away from yunho’s hold. the sounds of your beating heart and heaving chest muffle the disgruntled exchange of words between the swim-team, inhibiting your ability to stay clued-in on the events that surround you. all you know is that when your body meets the bench once more, on all wobbly fours, jeong yunho no longer sits tall and proud.

a sharp sting hits your rear- a smack, that echoes in the empty space of the swimming hall. the only appropriate response is the shriek you let out, twisted in your own conflicting emotions of pain, and pleasure, and painful pleasure. a second smack meets the other cheek. this time, there’s no doubt a wanton whine escapes you.

“since the rest of them can’t take orders,” you’d already known it was seonghwa whose hands were suddenly all over you, pinning you in a position of submission. the sound of his grandiose voice sends a shiver of anticipation down your spine, top to tail. “i’ll have to do it myself.”

with no word of warning, he smooths his hands down the globes of your ass, teases the crease of skin where your inner thigh meets your dripping heat, and fucks two whole fingers into your sensitive core. knuckles deep, they sit still upon initial intrusion, basking in the warmth of you and coating themselves in the essence from an orgasm you’ve yet to even fully recover from and the cum yunho’d scooped off your own face.

then, at last, when your nails dig marks into the wood below, he curls them a come-hither motion.

with shame painted on your skin, you toss your head back and release an inhumane cry, eyes hazily gazing up at the horrendous white lights above. “oh god!”

“not quite. i do appreciate the flattery though,” there’s no need to glance over your shoulder to know that pompous, trust-fund baby is wearing the most earth-shattering smirk, some stupid strand of his perfectly groomed hair dangling over one of his eyes, like some 90s heartthrob boy-band member. you do it anyway.

park seonghwa is an unfairly attractive man, sporting a beauty so ethereal it almost makes you angry.

that anger seems to dampen the wetter he gets you.

his touch is slow, but by no means is it gentle. calculated and malevolent, he plays with your insides like they’re nothing but the strings to your puppet. a curl of his fingers and one of your hands shoots forward. the torturously slow pace that he pumps his digits in and out, and your jaw falls slack. his thumb bumps and grinds against your throbbing clit, and your elbows give out, sending you crashing face-first down onto the bench.

his free hand presses down on your lower back, bending you deeper, hiking your ass up higher in the air. and, at first, you think you’re imagining it, that trickle of warmth against your other entrance, believing it nothing but a trick of your melting brain.

you’re who-knows how many hours deep in a whirlwind of pleasure and penetrative stares, people have been driven to the brink of insanity over far less in the past.

but then seonghwa’s fingers leave your cunt, warm and wet trails following their journey over your skin. there’s no imaginative mind great enough in this universe to conjure up that initial shock to feeling how he prods and pokes at your puckered hole, lubricating it with the dirty mixture of both you and yunho’s cum and his very own spit.

the tip of his pointer finger ventures onward first, breaking through the surface of your tight muscles in a shallow intrusion.

the feeling has you frozen, frightened, intrigued. eyes widening, moans dying, pussy pulsating in an empty need.

“don’t go getting shy on us now, spitfire,” the collective language he uses brings back the weight of all the boys’ eyes on you. hesitantly, you angle your face off the bench, and regret it the instant you meet the brown comfort of his eyes. “fun’s just starting. ain’t that right, san?”

a tense energy takes over the large room, with san’s shoulders tensing, and yunho’s feet fidgeting, and wooyoung’s cheeks blushing. seonghwa seems impervious to the shift, whether voluntarily or not, and instead invites himself to further exploring the limits of your body.

he’s kind enough to spare a bit of care into the way his finger sinks deeper into your unexplored hole. another dribble of his hot saliva lands messily onto you, aiding the slip and slide of his hand. two, or three, or four strokes of his finger and you’re submitting to the intrusion, hips rutting higher and presenting yourself more to the man.

“come here,” the command calls over your body and, at first, you think its aimed at you. so you try scooting further back, only to be halted by seonghwa speaking once again. “yeah you, choi. come get under her.”

for the first time since this all began, you’re on the precipice of saying no.

they’d listen, all of them. wouldn’t push you, pressure you or force you to keep going, not if you truly voiced your negation. even park seonghwa, as big an arsehole as he may be, would have no qualms ending his fun and agreeing to never speak of this again.

and it’s not that you don’t want choi san under you. far from it, as you’ve already made pretty clear earlier, thighs his personal ear-warmers while his tongue delved deep for your honey-suckle glory. you’re hardly uncomfortable at the thought of him under you, chest rising repeatedly in frantic breaths and legs bent at the knee to give him just the right leverage to fuck up into your messy cunt-

it’s not till he’s three feet away from you, hands fidgeting by his side, eyes looking anywhere but you and your compromising position, and the world’s most obnoxiously boner-strained tent in his swimming gear that realisation washes over you. you’re hesitating because of him, because of his possible discomfort.

what if he wants to say no? what if he doesn’t want to get under you? what if his eyes will never look into your own again, too shocked and disgusted by all the things you’ve let be done to you? by his own team-mates/rivals, too?

hell, you’ve shocked yourself even, never in a million years had you pictured a day you’d be at the mercy of some rich prick, overdressed for every occasion and looking like a vogue-cover-model reject. but when he’s edging another finger into the already-tight squeeze of your ass, and pushing your buttons just enough to nudge you towards an edge that never seems to arrive, how could you ever dream of being anywhere else?

a hand touches your cheek.

soft. tender. it takes the extra time to soothe the pads of its fingers against your burning cheek.

“you feeling okay?” san’s quiet tone, meant only for you, is enough to move you to near-tears. you crave his hug. the position you find yourself in only allows you to reach out and grasp at where his knee bends as he crouches down to your level. it’s all the same, san knows. san understands. his own hand lands on top of yours, messily threading digits.

“she’s literally stuffed with another man’s cum and you’re worried about her? well aren’t you just the sweetest.” a cheap remark from seonghwa.

san purposefully ignores it, and everything about the man, instead choosing to keep his focus on what matters.

you.

“think you could make some room for me down there?” your nose wrinkles at his choice of words.

his giggle echoes.

“no, no, not... like that,” he guides you as he talks, grip moving to your shoulders and coaxing you up into a seating position. somewhere along the way, seonghwa’s hands leave you. he doesn’t stray too far, however, and your back soon collides against his chest. “here, pretty. want you to make space for me down here.”

within seconds, choi san’s back in his rightful place: splayed out beneath you, body fit snug between your parted legs and hair an unruly, sweated mess against his forehead.

no clothing sits between you both, blessing you with the mouthwatering drag of his cock through your folds. hard, and red, and leaking at the tip, a slight curve to the right, dribbling precum against his well-toned stomach. you’re biting your lip before you fully register your own thoughts, body a mind of its own as you grind down onto him.

control is limited and fleeting, that of which seonghwa reminds you without uttering so much as a word. instead, he clamps a harsh grip down on either side of your hips, rucks you up to where he needs you and guides you down onto san’s cock.

it’s thick, imposing and something that seonghwa blesses you no time to ease into things. instead, you’re slammed down, san buried to the hilt inside of you.

“hey there,” delicate fingers skim up the tense muscles in your thigh and find pleasure in delivering a teasing tickle to your sides. “come here often?”

the cheeky grin, the double entendre, the way san looks so goddamn proud of himself for saying it. you can’t help it, you wind up giggling uncontrollably.

wrong choice. bad idea. danger zone.

san contorts in pain, and lust, and something else you’ve never seen behind his eyes before, hissing through his teeth like some feral cat. his eyes match that of a feline too. “you trying to squeeze my dick off or something?”

you compose yourself upon the reminder of that san can feel you tensing around him, pull in a deep breath and find your voice again, at last. “or... something.”

maybe you’re a little out of breath. maybe you’re a little hoarse. it doesn’t seem to matter to the boy below, his only response being to cant his hips up and lick at the fire burning in your insides.

“you two are disgusting,” once again, park seonghwa wins gold in the nobody-asked-for-you-bum-ass-opinion olympics. let’s see if he’ll continue his winning streak and go for gold in the hypocrite-athon too!

the hands on your sides begin you guide you, with seonghwa squeezing his perfectly manicured nails into your plush skin and bouncing you down onto san. up, down, up and down, repeated strokes like the ones their hands deliver each time they breach the surface.

it’s easy, this pleasure. it’s a gift, hand-delivered by two god-like men that sandwich you between them- one a mass that fills you, the other a weight that controls you. liberating in every sense, you can’t help the way your head rolls back to find purchase on one of seonghwa’s shoulders, completely melting into the ways he winds you over san.

“shit, yes, you feel,” san’s no better than you, mouth agape and hands unsteady as they trace every inch of skin they can reach: the dimples of your back, the swell of your breasts, the hood of your clit. his hips are the only steady thing about him, not a falter in the way they grind up to kiss your dripping pussy with his cock. “so good. so warm, tight. love it.”

a hand curls round your front, travels up between your breast and over your sternum. it settled for a grip a round your throat, no pressure applied, it simply exists against your windpipe, a silent threat.

“look what you do to him, hmm,” a squeeze around your neck. seonghwa’s warm breath fans against your ear, taunting you. “look what you’re doing to them.”

through your glossed-over gaze, you trail your way past the sight of san and all his captivating beauty, settling instead on the equally erotic, not-at-all surprising image that stands just past where his head rests at the edge of the wooden bench.

a sweaty wooyoung, bent at the waist and whining up a storm, while a far more composed yunho pounds his hips into the boy’s arse.

your walls clench and san whimpers, a string of curses and pleads leaving him.

“think you’re finally ready for me?” the devil on your shoulder- at your back, more truly,- smirks into your skin, careless enough to not even feign it being anything but a rhetoric question. ready or not, park seonghwa is going to finally get his own fill of the thrill, his own satisfaction, beyond mere observation and controlling.

the spill of your own wetness slips down your thighs as san continues to fuck himself deep. it doesn’t travel far as seonghwa coats himself in you, wetting his fingers before they slip back inside your ass. a few generous, tempting pumps into your ring of muscles, fingers spreading a little further apart each time, till he decides that’s enough, he’s ready, you’re ready.

the unbuckling of a belt.

an unzipping of trousers.

trousers bunched down muscled thighs.

the first cut may be the deepest, but you highly doubt it’s as deep as seonghwa feels feeding his cock into your arse, stretching you apart to make way for him. a part of you feels like it can’t breathe, impaled on both these men who sit so deep inside you, you fear you’ll feel the ghost of their touch for weeks to come.

but what does it matter, really, when seonghwa pulls you back against him and whispers filth against your ear?

this is all you’re good for. cock-drunk whore. gonna let us cum inside?

and san’s coaxing you down to trail his mouth over your chest, the tongue flicking over your nipple a terrible juxtapose to his crooning words?

taking it so well, baby. so tight, and perfect, and god. ‘s that what baby needs, huh, for me to touch her little clit?

the two men find a rhythm, a synchronised routine to how they pull and push you around. their thrusts ebb and flow, no moment existing where you sit empty. they treat your body like they treat the pool, swimming through your waves of pleasure and effortlessly advancing to the finishing line, the winning stroke. then, san’s hand meets your cheek and your thoughts are dragged underwater, muffling the sounds of everyone else- the shlickt sound that echoes with each inch of cock fucked into you, the high-pitched whimpers of a fucked out wooyoung, the slapping of skin against skin- as he pulls you in for a kiss.

it’s a hungry one, all teeth and tongue and swollen lips. you pull away more breathless than before and fighting back a big dopey grin, toes curling as the swell of one of their cocks hits a nice spot inside you, body too on fire to know just exactly where the new wave of heat is coming from.

“h-how d’you do it, hm?” it’s almost a whisper, something meant only for your ears, yet you hear him loud and clear, voice stuttering off in a mess of whines and moans. “still got that pretty-girl smile, even while getting fucked silly.”

it almost makes you shy, till you remember what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with. you settle for a quick, short answer. mostly because you fear you’re losing the ability to think in full-sentences, much less speak one out loud. “can multitask.”

like your own words are the key to pandora’s box, your eyes widen, and your mouth dries, and your heart reels as a new desire burrows itself somewhere between the parts of you owned by san and the parts owned by seonghwa. the desire makes room for more, for someone more, and, without much chance for second-thoughts or hesitation, you find what little stability you can manage with one hand pressing down onto san’s toned chest and reach forward with your free hand.

fingers, light as a feather, curl around wooyoung’s solid shaft. the man’s hips stutter at the unexpected contact, eyes flying open to glance down in time to watch you reach out your tongue, licking up the droplets of precum that threaten to spill from his mushroomed tip.

“please, god, please!” he’s beyond the point of sense, poor baby, struggling to keep up with yunho’s hips’ repeated slamming into his tight ass. so, you can’t really blame him or shame him for the way he hastily rips his hand through your hair, tugging your mouth as far down his cock as the angle allows.

a few hairs rip from your skull in his grip. you reward him with a pleasant hum, moans muffled with the mouth-full he’s providing you.

“shit- look at that,” seonghwa pipes up from behind you, the motion of his hips never faulting or failing as he continues to take part in the filthiest three-way tango known to man, hands bouncing you down to meet each raise of san’s hips, plundering the other man’s cock deep, deep, deep, till he’s kissing your cervix and you’re seeing stars before your eyes. “should cup youngie’s- fucking christ- his balls, san, cup ‘em.”

you’re vaguely aware of his compliance, hand lifting off whatever part of you it was touching- your nipple, your hip, your jaw, it’s hard to tell when you feel like san’s everywhere, all over you, part of you- to graze the set of well-groomed spheres that threaten to slap your chin each time wooyoung thrusts forward.

barely two seconds, hardly any pressure against them, and the youngest of the four is nearly in tears, wailing and begging over broken whines that it’s too much, can’t take it, don’t stop.

there’s a ringing in your ear. because everything is becoming too much: wooyoung in your mouth, san rutting up into you and seonghwa’s hands clawing and pulling your body back into each of his overpowered thrusts. the boy in front of you is the first to fall apart, twitching in your mouth and, without a warning, choking you on the cum he shoots down your throat. a hand pulls you back, just enough to paint your face in the final drops released from wooyoung.

one of the other men is next, a string of curses and grunts filling the air. there’s a new stickiness between your legs, gooey white staining your skin. it’s all building up, and up, and up, until you topple over and are sent reeling into wave after wave of blinding pressure, toes cramping up and muscles spasming as you shoot off into another astral field, creaming around san and chocking seonghwa’s cock.

you don’t register the release of your hips nor the crash-down of your body. one moment, you’re pressed back against seonghwa, mouth dropped open in a silent scream for merciless pleasure, and the next you’re cradled in san’s warm embrace, a crooning tone to the way he hushes and calms you, unheard i got yous, and did so good for us, babys, and just let me hold yous falling on deaf ears.

for a moment in your own history, time ceases to exist.

there’s no ticking of the large clock on the wall, reminding you of how long ago your shift had ended. there’s no thoughts of your plant friend drying out in the staleness of your room, desperately awaiting you to revive it with some h2o. there’s no consequences awaiting your actions, no shame to be feared and leaving you unable to look any of the four swimmers in the eye ever again.

instead of being crashed against choi san’s body, a mixture of his, yours, and several other people’s bodily fluids serving as the adhesive that keeps you stuck together in your mess, you’re floating in space, not quite alive but not quite dead, just there.

nerves tingling, body aching, mind switched off.

four, or five, or ten, maybe even fifteen minutes pass by the time you regain focus on your surroundings.

your name, whispered. it’s his voice that pulls you back, sweet and soft and oh so like the san you’re used to, the one that sends teasing winks your way when your eyes happen to meet his in class, and the one who has the prettiest notes you’ve ever seen, a colour-scheme for his every highlight and the cutest of doodles to go along with the topic on the paper.

the one who’s hand is currently brushing through your hair, fingers careful as they catch on the tangles near the split ends.

“hmm,” you swear you want to say his name, say more than that, but there’s an ache in your jaw that hinders you from even attempting, your voice-box likely having taken a beaten in the throws of your pleasured moans.

“you okay there?” he giggles over the end of the sentence, and you feel your slowing heartbeat stutter at the sound.

he feels you nod into the crook of his neck and lets his free hand find perch against your hip, moments before giving it a light squeeze.

he’s warm, and pleasant, and soft.

and moving you both into an up-right position, hands splaying flat against your back and keeping you secure against him, your legs wrapping around his slender waist. you drift off again, between time and space, and come to at the first drop of water that lands on your back.

one drop, two drops, and then a downpour of heat crashing onto both of you.

you can tell from the colour of the pinkish tiles along the communal shower floor that you’re in the women’s changing room, and mentally note to thank him, even if he’s not aware, for bringing you somewhere you won’t have to shamefully stumble out of in the nude, your change of clothes safely tucked away within one of the lockers.

“i’m gonna put you down now, okay?” he speaks so gently that it overwhelms you, answering him only with an affirmative nod of your head.

neither of you speak while he lathers shampoo into your hair, nor when he’s dragging his soap covered hands over the cum that stains your skin, wiping it away and leaving nothing but suds where the liquid once was. he doesn’t speak while covering your eyes with his hands, blocking the sting of the shampoo. you don’t speak when you inch closer, head falling forward to rest against his chest.

when he does eventually speak again, both of your fingertips are wrinkled and bodies are clean, the water of the shower serving as nothing but a way to keep warm.

“you’re, uh, not” the echo of his voice in the empty lockers feels so much more intimate than how his cries sounded by the pool. “doing anything on wednesday, right?”

too lazy to move, you angle your face to stare up at him from his chest and take a moment to just stare, look at the way his hair is sticking to his forehead, at the way his eyes are back to being wide, at the way the marks you’d littered along his neck are becoming more prominent.

“how’d you know?” your question confirms his own, and a tenseness you’d not noticed melts off of his shoulders.

“wednesday is race day. you never work race days.”

it’s such an odd detail to have noticed, and it’s making you question everything you thought you knew about your relationship with san. do acquaintances remember each other’s schedules? do acquaintances bring each other soothing teas when they notice the other developing flu symptoms? do acquaintances waste time pulling faces at each other in lectures they should probably be paying attention to.

“i’m not taking part in the race this time, by choice. my grades are good enough, don’t need to worry about winning some championship to keep my education.” san is speaking unpromptly at this point, rambling in a way you’ve only seen him do when he’s nervous, or excited, or both. “it’s okay if you don’t want to, or you have better things to do or places to be! but, i was just thinking, maybe you’d wanna spend some time with me? there’s this medieval market down on main-street, it’s meant to be really cool, and i just think it would be even cooler to go with you? but, again, you don’t have to. forget it, actually, i’m being stupid and assuming you’re not doing something with your friends or your-”

the kiss you interrupt him with is far more innocent than the one you shared earlier, no hands rushing to touch and tongues desperate to taste, just two sets of lips moving as one.

you pull back and he chases after you, lips landing another peck before you’re grasping his cheek in your hold and forcing him back.

“i think you could have asked me to come help clean your apartment for you and i’d still say yes, just to spend my day with you,” you say, and he smiles as if on instinct, unable to stop it even if he tried.

“really?”

“really.”

“good, cause i already bought us two tickets and i really didn’t wanna have to go alone.” there’s drops of water dancing on his eyelashes, and laziness in his every movement, and you’re both still very much naked, but none of that seems to matter when he gives you another peck, like he’s awakened an addiction and your lips are now his favourite vice. “but, now that you mention it, my apartment could do with some cleaning. and i bet you’d look amazing in a maid outfit.”

a slap echoes in the showers.

“hey! don’t worry, i’ll be wearing a matching one!”

#ateez smut #park seonghwa smut #jeong yunho smut #choi san smut #jung wooyoung smut #ateez oneshot

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ponderingmoonlight · 29 days

Note

Hi hi hi! I've been missing Levi content for a while now so I hope you won't mind if I request one. Like reader is a high ranking officer (higher than him obv) and they kinda hated each other bc of his attitude and stuff but then she kinda saves him and they started realizing their feelings and stuff

Btw I hope you enjoy your vacation!

You're so right honey, that's why we're doing this right now

Levi slowly but surely falling in love with his commander aka you

Pairing: Levi x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k

Synopsis: Levi never understood you, always hated the way you drag your soldiers around while carrying yourself with ease. Until you're out on another mission together, until he is the one who needs to safe you...

Warnings: None really, enemies to lovers in a kind of hurried way since this is a one shot, don't expect full on making out because again, this is only a one shot. Fluff fluff fluff with little errors here and there since I didn't find the time to re-read

I hear y'all, dearest aot fans! If you'd like to read more about attack on titan, feel free to push this fanfic and let me know 🤍

The tension is thick enough to slice through it with your gear as the Survey Corps make their final preparations before heading into Titan territory. The mission is risky, with the odds stacked against all of you as usual, but that has always been the life of a Survey Corps member.

Especially yours. Being the Lieutenant Commander meant taking a lot of responsibility for everything that happened regarding titans and your soldiers, always having to decide between the sake of a mission and those innocent lives that trust you with all their heart. The voices around you roam through the way too crowded room hectically, turn into a hot mess of different opinions and strategies.

In the midst of the chaos, Levi Ackerman stands with his arms crossed, his icy gaze fixed on the woman issuing orders just a few feet away.

You are everything Levi dislikes in an officer: confident to the point of arrogance, with a sharp tongue to match. Your strategies are always sound, often brilliant, but you have a way of getting under his skin like no one else. As a higher-ranking officer, you are technically his superior, which makes his hatred grow even worse.

“Are you sure this is the best course of action?”

Levi’s voice cuts through the chatter, his tone edged with scepticism like usual when he talks to you.

You don’t even look up from the map spread across the table. It would have surprised you if Levi kept his voice low when it’s always him who contradicts you the loudest.

“Unless you have a better idea, Captain, I suggest you stick to what you do best: killing titans”, you reply dryly.

Levi’s jaw clenches in the most uncomfortable way, a wave of anger rushing through his veins just by hearing your confident tone.

“And what you do best is risking lives for the sake of glory.”

You finally meet his gaze, your eyes flashing with irritation. But even though you know him oh so well by now, he never fails to get on your nerves.

“I’m risking lives to save lives. You, of all people, should understand that.”

“I understand that, Lieutenant Commander,” Levi retorts, the title spat out like venom,

“but this mission is reckless. We don’t need to take unnecessary risks.”

“The greatest risk is doing nothing.”

Your voice is cold, authoritative. Without gifting him another glance, you turn your attention back to the map, effectively dismissing him.

He storms out of the room in order to calm down his pounding heart, the images of the past missions with countless dead soldiers running through his mind all at once. Levi simply hates the way you talk, how someone so intelligent can be so infuriatingly stubborn and goddamn beautiful.

Beautiful?

“I’m losing my fucking mind”, he mutters to himself.

-the day of the mission-

Everything went smoothly. Getting out of the city, not meeting anything but a few 7 meter class titans who get wiped out by your well-thought line-up. As usual you lead the charge, your orders sharp and precise as you direct the troops with your eyes scanning the area like a hawk. Levi is forced to stay close, not out of any sense of duty to you, but because he knows he needs to be there when your plan inevitably goes south.

And it does.

The titans come out of nowhere, an abnormal horde larger and more coordinated than you anticipated. The battlefield erupts into chaos with your soldiers scattered all over the place before you’re even able to think about an order. Within a few seconds, some struggle to follow your orders while others acting on instinct to survive.

Levi’s instincts scream at him to keep moving, to cut through the titans as he always did. But his eyes keep drifting back to you, holding your ground in the middle of the chaos with your ODM gear flashing as you maneuver between trees and slice through titan napes with deadly precision.

For a moment, he almost respects you. Almost.

But then, a rogue titan barrels toward you, faster than you could react. An abnormal you didn’t have the chance to see coming, aiming directly for your delicate neck. You turn around, eyes widening, realizing too late that you are out of time. You won’t make it.

Levi doesn’t hesitate. In a split second, he is there, blades slicing through the Titan’s nape with effortless precision. The massive body collapses, narrowly missing your frame as it crashes to the ground lifelessly.

For a second, you forget how to breathe. Blood rushes through your ears violently, your whole body starts shaking. This was the closest you’ve ever been to dying. Right here, on a mission that was supposed to be easy. If it wasn’t for him, you’d be gone by now.

Him.

You look at him, breathless, a mix of shock and something else, something unspoken, flickering in your eyes.

“You’re welcome,” Levi says flatly, retracting his blades.

Fuck, he hates the way his heart almost beats out of his chest. Seeing you almost getting dragged into the disgusting mouth of that demon, that glossy layer of fear glistening in your orbs. Truth is, he can’t imagine what life would look like without you. To be honest, just maybe, he somehow needs you in his life.

You don’t respond immediately, still catching your shaky breath. But when you do, your voice is softer, almost reluctant.

“Thank you.”

He gives a curt nod, about to move on, when another wave of Titans emerges from the trees, cutting off their escape. Fuck, you are trapped with no time to regroup or plan. For a split second, both of you exchangd a glance, a silent understanding passing between you.

In the matter of seconds, that minor spark of weakness disappears out of your orbs, gives way to the hardness of your determination. He can’t help but stare at you, that gorgeous face, how fucking strong you look.

There’s no time to stare at you like an idiot, though. You fight back-to-back, moving in a deadly dance of steel and blood. Levi’s movements are precise and brutal, while yours are fluid and strategic, exploiting every weakness you can find. It doesn’t matter if they are abnormal. At the end of the day, all of them are nothing but titans.

And the man fighting by your side? You allow yourself a single glance at him, how effortlessly he slices through each and every neck. He is the humanity’s strongest soldier, an inspiration even though you’d never say that out loud.

Together, you are unstoppable, a force that tears through the wave of titans with an almost terrifying efficiency.

But despite your efforts, the numbers are overwhelming. Your plan was brilliant, but it hasn’t accounted for this level of resistance. And now you are paying the price.

As you fight, your movements begin to slow, exhaustion creeping into your limbs. Levi notices immediately, his keen eyes catching the subtle tremors in your hands, the slight delay in your attacks. You are reaching her limit.

“Fall back,” Levi orders with sharp voice.

“We can’t retreat now,” you argue, even as your breath comes in ragged gasps.

“We need to—”

“You need to survive,” Levi cuts her off, his tone leaving no room for debate.

“You might be the Lieutenant Commander, but that’s an order. I can’t watch you die here. ”

For a moment, she hesitate, your pride warring with the reality of the situation. But the second you catch that look full of worry on his face, notice the pleading tone in his usual so cool voice, you nod. Together both of you retreat, your ODM gear carrying you away from the swarm of dreadful titans.

You land in a small clearing, both of you breathing heavily. For a long moment, you just stand there, surrounded by the unnerving quiet of the forest, the distant sounds of battle fading into the background.

“You saved my life back there”, you finally mumble into the silence.

Levi doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the ground. When he finally does, his voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“You would have done the same.”

You nod, a small, tired smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“I suppose I would have.”

You just stand there in silence for a while, the adrenaline of battle slowly fading, leaving behind an unexpected calm.

It’s strange, Levi ponders, how the heat of battle has somehow cooled the bitterness between them. Somehow, he doesn’t look at you with hatred filling him up to the brim anymore. Somehow, your beautiful appearance doesn’t provoke him like it did before. In its place, something else holds onto his heart, something he isn’t quite ready to name. Is that…blush creeping up his cheeks?

“I’ve misjudged you. You’re not just a killing machine”, you mutter, your eyes meeting his with an intensity that hits him straight to the core.

Levi raises an eyebrow, too busy to stop himself from blushing to prevent that hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“And you’re not just a reckless strategist.”

You chuckle, a sound that is surprisingly soft, almost gentle. He never heard you laugh, especially not this sincere. What a wonderful sound.

“Maybe we’re both wrong.”

“Maybe.”

Both of you lapse into silence again, but this time more comfortable, less charged with those countless emotions. How is it that a single battle chased away that thick tension of hatred you felt for him just yesterday? Somehow, all you feel now is respect and…

You swallow hard, hungry eyes staring at the ground. Somehow, you feel attraction. Out of instinct, you shake your head in determination, force some sense back into your mind. You’re the Lieutenant Commander, after all.

“We should get back to the others. They’ll need our help”, you finally speak out while getting up.

Levi nods, but before you move too far away from him, he reaches out, his hand briefly brushing against your arm. Your eyes dart up immediately, heart almost pounding out of your chest.

“Don’t be so quick to throw yourself into the fire next time. You’re no good to anyone dead” he comments with low but firm voice.

When you send a beaming smile his way, Levi almost forgets how to exist. If he had known how gorgeous your lips look, how well smiling suits you.

He’s lost.

“I’ll keep that in mind”, you reply with a sarcastic but warm tone.

-Bonus-

“They give me the ick”, Jean mutters under his breath.

“What? You mean Lieutenant Commander (y/n) and Captain Levi?”, Connie questions.

“Yeah. Didn’t they hate each other? I always thought I might be able to pull her…”

“Something between them changed, I guess”, Mikasa adds, the whole friend group staring at the both of you in sheer disbelief.

“Why are these kids staring at us so stupid”, Levi mutters under his breath, already on his way to confront those brats.

“Don’t.”

Gently, you grab his hand and pull him back towards you.

“Stay with me. That’s an order.”

“An order? You really think you can order me around?”

“Despite being your girlfriend, I’m still your Commander”, you tease him, now placing your hands against his chest.

“Maybe I’ll have to think about that again...”

Tags:

@lees-chaotic-brain @sanicsmut @levislegislation @istglevi-gotmesimping

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patrophthia · 1 year

Text

take you to the basics | theodore nott

pairing: theodore nott × hufflepuff!reader

genre: fluff, (kinda) established relationships, theo is whipped, even more fluff, everyone are friends, everyone is an idiot, self indulgent, 7th year (after war), theres ginny here too, not beta read, awkward theo bc it’s cute, theo is basically just tall, and not buff ver of jeon wonwoo from svt

word count: 3.9k

is a sequel to love is sour grapes but can be read as a one shot as well!

With as much care as he could muster in his tone, he asks. "Will you give me the honour in courting you?" And then, as if he was realising he's supposed to take things slow -even though his intention was, and will always be, courting me- he corrects himself. "Will you give me the honour of being my girlfriend?"

What a way with words he has. I'd like to think it has something to do with the romance books he'd been reading just so he could have something to talk to me about all these months.

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" I counter after a beat.

Theodore stayed quiet for the briefest second before: "yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You're my boyfriend."

"Oh." There's a second of silence where neither of us spoke before my face breaks out into a smile, one that he doesn't bother to hold himself back from reciprocating it. "Okay."

Why was life so complicated? Okay, maybe not so much life —why was dating Theodore so complicated? That is if the two of us were even a thing. It was okay at first, now it's just plain out exhausting.

I like him and he knows it. And he likes me, and I know it. So why was things so complicated? We've kissed before, multiple times actually. We've gone on dates where we spent a majority of the time talking about the books we read —although it's more like me talking and him listening with that stone cold face of his, but that was just who he was and I would never change it about him.

What I do want to change though is whatever is going on between us. I've already embarrassed myself in front of him once and I would rather die than do it again. So what should I do in this situation? Talk to my friends apparently.

"I don't get it," says Hermione with a frustrated tone. "You both like each other and he acts like your boyfriend." I nod slowly and she continues. "But he isn't actually your boyfriend."

I nod again. "Yup."

"He didn't ask?" Ginny asks, now having joined our little friend group. Ron and Harry listen reluctantly, not enjoying the girl talk all too much.

"You have to ask?" Ron asks suddenly, obviously clueless. And when Hermione, and Ginny shoot him a look. He turns to his plate, mumbling. "I thought you'd be boyfriends and girlfriends after the third date."

"That's normally how it goes," I said. "After the third date the two of you are technically a thing but it isn't official until one or the other asks to make it official."

"Why don't you ask him?" Harry says suddenly, immediately regretting it when all our attention was fixed on him. "I mean maybe, he —like Ron and I— don't know about these things so he just assumes—"

"That's not excusable," Hermione cuts him off. "He's friends with a girl, Parkinson, so I'm sure she's filled him on this stuff."

"But what if she didn't?" I ask. Okay maybe I had a soft spot for Theo and is trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. And in my defence, I liked him, like a lot, and when you fancy someone, like really fancy them, the red flags tend to look like a dark shade of pink and I'd like to think that pink was a pretty colour.

Plus —and this isn't just an excuse, if I really thought about it, I don't think I've ever seen Theodore go out with anyone before he went out with me. So if he was a rookie at this dating thing, maybe I should be the one leading this relationship.

"Okay then go ask him," Hermione says pettily, she wants me to be happy, she really does, but she can't find it in herself to support me dating someone who can't make it clear what his intentions with me were. "Ask him 'what are we?' Or 'why did you tell me to not smile at other people?' I can't let you be with someone who doesn't know their place with you."

"And what makes you think he doesn't," Ron chimes in between a bite of his snack, when did he get one, I didn't seem to notice.

"You see her?" Hermione asks, she then says my name in the same questioning tone. "She wouldn't be talking to us about this if he did."

"Wait, aren't you supposed to be on a date with him right now?" Ginny says suddenly. "Why are you here?"

"He had last minute plans with Malfoy," I say, and I know, even without looking at her, that Hermione was disappointed with me. "And it wasn't a date."

"Yeah, just two people who fancy each other hanging out," Ron snickered, now being on Mione's side of disapproving of Theo.

"Did he tell you what he was doing with Malfoy?" Harry asks, curious as to what the Slytherins might be up to.

"I don't know," I told him. "I'm already stressing about this whole situation with him that I just accepted and went to find you four. I think I'm just going to take off my makeup, spend the day with you, then try to sleep good tonight."

I then added. "Unless you had plans that didn't include me in it?"

The four shook their heads. "We were just going to go watch Harry and Ginny practice." Hermione says.

"Great," I mumbled, standing up. "I'll come with."

"Wait," Ginny calls out, and I pause in my step, turning to where her voice came from. "I'll be quick."

She points at her shoe and it's then that I notice that it's been untied. Ron, Hermione, and Harry, who seemed to have not heard her, continued their way towards the quidditch pitch. I waited by her side, offering her a hand when she had to get back up.

"You know," she says lowly, "I heard that you're the only person Nott didn't reject, apparently he's pretty popular with the girls."

I shook my head. "That's not true," I say with a slight frown. "When I first asked him out, he just stared at me."

"Which technically isn't a rejection," Ginny smiles sweetly. "More like you rendering him speechless."

That was exactly what Theo told me after my first date with him. "I guess."

"Bloody hell, will you two please speed it up?" Ron shouts at the front of the quidditch pitch, only now realising that we're far behind them.

I felt half the urge to walk even slower, and from the small grin Ginny wore from the corner of my eyes, I'm pretty sure she was thinking the same thing. But Harry and Hermione were also waiting with him, and it was only a matter of time before they started bickering about it as well. So we sped up with our steps.

But just before we reach the pitch, Ginny stops me, yelling for them to go ahead without us. "You want to know a secret?" she asks, I nod. "Since I was Harry's first real girlfriend I had to be the one to ask him to be my boyfriend."

"Are you saying I should be the one to ask?" I murmur. I don't think I would mind doing so, but there was something more romantic about having your date ask you to be your boyfriend.

"No," she says kindly. "Just saying you should nudge him in the right direction."

"So guide him?"

"Yep."

Okay. That is surely something I can do. Now, for me to draw up a plan on how to do it. If I've managed to help take down a dark wizard then surely I can get Theo to ask me to be his girlfriend.

Both Ginny and I step into the quidditch pitch. Slightly taken aback to see more than six players in the field (with Ginny being the missing member), it didn't take us long to register why though.

Neither did it take me long to notice Theo, standing right behind Malfoy as he bickered with Harry. What was happening? And did Theo really ditch our (not) date just to watch his friend's quidditch practice?

"Badger," Blaise says suddenly, drawing everyone's attention to Ginny and I by the entrance. "I see you look pretty as always."

Theodore doesn't even bother to subtly smack his friend in the back of his head. It doesn't affect Blaise though, only finding it amusing to witness.

"What's going on?" Ginny asks.

"We booked this pitch," Malfoy says before Harry could get a word in. "And now you're trying to take it from us."

"No, we booked the pitch." Harry says sternly. "You're the one trying to take it away from us."

Despite Gryffindor and Slytherin (somewhat) friendship after the war ended —and the fact that our friend groups were now mixed because of whatever Theodore and I have going on. They were still competitive people. And they want more than anything to win this year's cup.

"I have an idea," I say, quite honestly done with their stupid rivalry. "How about you practise together?" I say off-handedly, knowing full well that they'd agree to come for my throat. "Just an idea."

"And have they found out about our strategies?" Malfoy scoffs. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Considering that I did better in classes then him, and that Ron agreed with his words. I technically am smarter than him. "Well if you're so sure about your strategies working then it wouldn't hurt if you gave up the pitch for just one practice right?"

Draco was on the brink of agreeing when it hit him, blinking at me. "Oh you're good," he murmurs. "Fine, have the pitch for all I care."

I was more than sure that he was only giving it for my benefits. Sure that if it had been someone else who had said it, he'd only double down and insist that he'd reserved the pitch (he didn't, not a single Slytherin booked the pitch for today). But it seemed as though he had a soft spot for me.

The theory of Slytherins having soft spots for Hufflepuffs gets proven right once more. And I'm more than glad to know that I was the beneficiary of this theory.

Blaise was the first to leave, waving at me as he went as the other Slytherins followed after him, the players grumbling under their breath with their brooms in hand. Theo was the last to leave, lingering just so he could pull me to the side.

A hand on my left arm leads me to a quieter corner of the pitch, just below the benches as the players start to get ready for practice. I don't look him in the eye when I ask him, "what?"

The hostility in my tone wasn't missed by Theo and if I didn't know him the way I did, I would've missed the flash of hurt in his eyes. "What do you want, Nott?"

And Theodore feels as if I was stomping on his heart. He hasn't been called Nott since the two of us started going out. "Are you mad at me?"

My brows furrow. "What do you think?"

"Did I do something wrong?" He follows up, his tone doesn't show it —neither does his face, but he was worried, scared, and quite honestly pissed with himself. "Is it because I cancelled on you? Doll, you said you were okay with it."

"No," I shook my head. Confrontation wasn't something I was fond of, nor was I good at it. So I'll settle with just being upset for now. "I'm not mad at you."

Theodore blinks, seemingly getting whiplash from my words. First I ask him what he thinks, in a —if he wasn't wrong— passive aggressive tone, and now I'm telling him that I'm not mad at him? What.

But he decides to take my words as is, trusting that I'd tell him how I feel despite him not telling me that he honestly feels like he'd fucked him over; ruining his only chance at love —oh, and that he doesn't even know what he did. "I'll see you at dinner?"

"No," I say with a slight shake of my head. "I think I'll have dinner with my friends tonight." Theodore fails to mention that Blaise, Draco, and Pansy were also my friends by now. "Next time?"

Theo nods, agreeing. "Next time."

It has been three weeks and 'next time' has yet to come. He's starting to realise it now: realising that I was actually mad at him when I said I wasn't and it'd be a lie if he said it didn't hurt him. He has somehow made me mad and he wishes more than anything that he was dead —because, quite honestly, he can't stand living if I was mad at him.

He needs to recruit help, he decided. And who better to help him with relationship problems than his friends (who he thinks has more experience with relationships than he does) and my friend (whom he knows has more experience in relationships then he does —take Granger and Weasley for example, the two have been together since fourth year).

"So you think she's mad at you and you don't know why?" Weasley comes to the conclusion after Blaise, who he'd already told the whole story to, summed it up for them. "You seriously don't?"

Theodore nods slowly, there was a slight shift in his stone cold expression, barely catchable by the eye but it was there. And it was that slight shift that reassured Hermione that Theo did actually have good intentions when it came to her friend; he was just clueless on what to do.

"She's upset with you because you said you were busy and left her to watch your friends practice," Ginny offers, it was clear that she was also mad on my behalf.

"That's it?" Malfoy mumbles questioningly. "Something as mundane as that is what we're meeting here for?"

"It might be mundane to you but it's not mundane to her," Harry jumps to my defence. "She's not you, Malfoy."

"Okay, so she's mad at Theo because he ditched her for us?" Blaise asks, trying to get them back on track.

"Don't say it like that," Ginny scoffs. "Phrasing it that way makes her seem selfish, which she's not. She just wants to know where she is with Theo and for him to at least try to prioritise her."

"I do prioritise her," Theo says dumbfounded-ly. He really did, he's spent the last however many months of his life reading cheesy books just to annotate them in hopes that I'd love them, he'd even picked up on cooking just so when (or really, if) we ended live together I'd always have a nice home cooked meal waiting for me. "She said she was okay with it."

"She said she was okay with it thinking that it was something important," Pansy explains, understanding exactly how I feel. She's been placed in the same position before, by no one other than Draco himself. "Thinking that Blaise had a heart attack or something, not a stupid quidditch practice."

"Careful," Draco warns. "You were also at the practice."

Pansy rolls her eyes. "Bite me."

"What do I do then?" Theo asks after a while, picking the topic back up.

And the Gryffindor's try their best to remain normal, never —in the last seven years they'd spent studying in the same castle as him— had they heard him spoken for such a long period of time.

"Well let's take you to the basics," Hermione says. "Where are the two of you right now? In terms of relationship that is."

"We're dating?" He answers slowly.

"No you're not," Ron says loudly. "You haven't asked to be her boyfriend yet."

Draco, clearly befuddled, says. "You have to ask?"

Pansy nods. "Of course," she says. "I thought you knew?" And then, after a beat, she adds. "Maybe that's why we didn't work out."

Draco rolls his eyes, mumbling something along the line of his fathers as he does so. "So what should he do then?"

"Apologise for what he did then make it clear what the two of you are." Harry explains, he's done this before, he did it when he first went out with Ginny —so really, he's speaking from experience. "From then on you take things slow so you can work out the kinks of your relationships.

Okay, he thinks he gets it. He has to apologise, make things clear, then take things slow. Surely he can do it.

Now for him to actually do it.

STEP ONE: apologise

Which is, more often than not, easier said than done. Theodore has half the heart to buy something nice in order of winning me over but he knew me better. And he knew that I wasn't with him for his money. So he ought to do better. And he thinks he knows how to do it.

To apologise he should do something heartfelt, which was why he'd found himself learning to plant my favourite flower. He'd rather die than apologise to the one person he cherished more than anything empty handed.

He sees the few cuts on his hand from his attempt at gardening and he hopes that I don't notice it. He doesn't want me to notice his imperfections when I was (to him) perfect in every sense. He likes me every time he sees me, I was exactly his type and he hopes I know it.

He doesn't want to mess this up. He doesn't want to mess us up. And he's really trying his best not to.

With our shoes almost touching, Theo stood tall from my seat on Hogwarts many benches with a planted pot in hand. "I'm sorry," he says first and I mask my surprise at his words. "I won't do it again."

He doesn't bother beating around the bush, with a gift in hand, safe to say I'm impressed. If not a little bit amused by how frustrated he looks.

"Why?" I ask, a hand reaching for the plant and Theodore hesitatingly hands it over, his own fingers brushing against my own. "Why are you sorry?"

"Because I ditched you for—"

"Sweetheart, I told you that it was fine."

Theodore's pretty sure his brain is short circuiting. He's heard every variation of his name by now. All of which he can recall from the top of his head. Theodore, Theo, Nott, even Teddy from that ex-girlfriend he had back in kindergarten. But sweetheart is different.

And he thinks he likes it. He thinks he likes it when he's called sweetheart. He thinks he likes it because he likes me. And I was the one calling him sweetheart.

"But your friends—" he pauses, correcting himself "—our friends said that you were upset."

Relationships are built on communication, and I know that it was hard for Theodore to do so. So I won't make it harder for him and lay it all out. "I was upset, yes. But I also said that it was okay for you to spend time with your friends."

And after a second, I added. "And it's not like I'm your girlfriend or anything."

Theodore frowns, taking a seat on the bench besides me.

STEP TWO: make things clear

His chest feels heavy at my words. He doesn't like knowing that I think I wasn't his girlfriend. Because, if I really wasn't, was it normal for him to like me as much as he did?

He has to say something.

"But you are, aren't you?" He asks, brows furrowed.

His heart is leaning, waiting and waiting for an answer. His eyes flutters shut, and he doesn't know it. Wishing and wishing that I would say something.

"Theo." My voice comes out softer than I intended for it to be. "Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

His heart is speeding up. And he thinks that there should be a guide book on how to be in a relationship with pretty girls. But he guesses that he's being guided by one right now.

THE BASICS ON HOW TO DATE PRETTY GIRLS (FOR ROOKIES) by Theodore's and I friends.

His words get caught in his throat. Isn't it so incredibly obvious? He wants to say. Isn't it so incredibly obvious that I've bewitched him? He doesn't say it, but he does nod. And he hopes his nod conveys just how much he wants to be mine.

"Okay," I said first. "I'll be your girlfriend." But of course, things can't always be that easy. "If you ask me properly."

STEP THREE: take things slow

He blinks at me slowly. As if he's only just learning how to properly function; a shift in his eyes caught my attention though, knowing that he's finally processing my words.

He doesn't know why he's scared, he knows that I like him just as much as he likes me but he's nervous about it all. Forgive him for being new to this dating thing.

With as much care as he could muster in his tone, he asks. "Will you give me the honour in courting you?" And then, as if he was realising he's supposed to take things slow —even though his intention was, and will always be, courting me— he corrects himself. "Will you give me the honour of being my girlfriend?"

What a way with words he has. I'd like to think it has something to do with the romance books he'd been reading just so he could have something to talk to me about all these months.

"Do you want to be my boyfriend?" I counter after a beat.

Theodore stayed quiet for the briefest second before: "yes."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"You're my boyfriend."

"Oh." There's a second of silence where neither of us spoke before my face breaks out into a smile, one that he doesn't bother to hold himself back from reciprocating it. "Okay."

"Okay." I nod. "So what should we do first boyfriend?"

Theodore mulls everything over before he turns to me, his hair falling into his eyes. "What do you want to do girlfriend?"

I can't tell whether his hand reaches for mine, or mine his, but I knew that our hands found one another. "Go on a Date."

Theodore lifts our intertwined hand up, placing a careful kiss on my hand as he nods. "Let's go on a date."

STEP FOUR (UNOFFICIAL): kiss, go on dates, be happy!

note: if this guide works, please take the authors (Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron and Ginny weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, and Draco Malfoy) out to dinner, all expenses paid by guide user (Theodore Nott).

— from bee: i lost the initial draft for this which was a lot longer and had to restart all over 😵‍💫😵‍💫 this wasn’t what i had planned for it to be like but it’s cute and im happy with it anyways!!

some other songs i used for inspo for this fic:

say something - twice

rookie - red velvet

+ bonus scene: The table goes silent as Theodore picks up the check, waiting with bated breath on how much it came out to be.

And despite knowing that all the Slytherins + Harry would be able to handle the bill without making a dent in their vault, they're still all anxious to know the price.

Theodore pulls out his card, sleek, black, and hands it over to the waiter. Once the waiter left, he turns to us. "I'll buy you dessert if you can guess it."

The group starts blurting out numbers, startling the other customers but they couldn't seem to care less. Beneath the table, with his finger tracing the skin of my thigh. Theodore writes the price, and inching a bit lower, he adds; "make me proud, sweetheart."

Safe to say the group wasn't all too happy to know that I was the only one who not only guessed right, but was right number by number. Draco would later on whine about this, something along the lines of: "Girlfriend privileges."

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fanfic #theodore nott imagines #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x hufflepuff!reader #theodore nott humor #theodore nott x reader #theo nott x y/n #theo nott fanfiction #theo nott fanfic #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #🧳: my writing

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fanfictilltheend · 5 months

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❤️‍🔥Violent Heart Part 2: ♪Remember when I moved in you, and the holy dove was moving too ♫ (or the VERY DARK Stepdad!Mechanic!Covict!Joel x Afab!you one)❤️‍🔥

Hi I apologize that a lot of these reference pics are just of white girls. I tried to find "aesthetic" images that go with the story but so many of them are just of white people and I want to call myself out for this because in the fic's only descriptors are that she has hair and is AFAB -- nothing about race. I also realize that all of the girls in this are skinny too and Y/N's body type is never specified. Sorry fam!! These images are just to get the creative juices flowing and don't truly depict anything from the fic!!

A/n: It’s here!!!!!! 18+ Only. This took me 7 freaking months so you mofos better like, reblog, and comment. This is both my most and least personal fic I’ve ever written and it is dark and relies heavily on plot (smut this time tho!!) READ ALL OF THE TAGS DO NOT COME FOR ME UNLESS YOU DID THIS FR FR. This ones for my dark joel fangirlies(guys and NBies) and the daddy issues fam ily ❤️‍🔥 (also not me naming my fic in part after hallelujah by leonard cohen but there is a reason!!!!!!!!!!)

Summary: Part 2 picks up with Y/N at age 20 and how her relationship with Joel has changed and gets steamier. SMUT and feelings <3 Also check out this playlist of music that’s in the fic!!!!

Tags (PLEASE READ): Afab!you, pov change, Infidelity, threats, age gap, dressing Joel up (swear I wrote this before he wore that outfit to the SAG awards — the mr.Darcy-core one), racist comment (from Y/N’s douchey boyfriend), douchey boyfriend, confidence issues, feelings, voyeurism, masturbation (m and f), kissing, penis in vagina sex — unprotected (wear a condom), lightest hint of ass play, scar worship?? kinda??, daddy issues, daddy kink, using music lyrics to move the plot, multiple orgasms (m and f), religion and god discussions, stepcest (kinda bc technically he is divorced from her mother), tagging psuedo-incest just to be safe!!, use of y/n

Word Count: ~13k

PART 1

AO3 Link

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

If you’re being honest, you’ve always had a little crush on Joel Miller. How could you not have? The first day you’d met him had been like some kind of fucked up yet extremely satisfying whirlwind of a daydream. He’d come in, broad and tall and strong, and saved you from your evil (though you do love him somewhere deep, deep down) older brother’s onslaught. Protected you like a knight in shining armor from his punching, beating fists. Treated and touched you so tenderly, so many miles different from how your own father did that you’d been hit with whatever the pleasant opposite of whiplash is. And the way he finally punished Aiden after years of his reign of terror, the violence of it, the justice of it. You didn’t have words for it then, but the way you looked into Joel’s eyes when he was doling out that righteous punishment became some kind of strange secret understanding between the two of you. Maybe it was the first sign of love? You aren’t sure.

As a kid, he’d given you what you like to think of as quiet butterflies. They were always there when he spoke to you, looked at you, touched you, beat the shit out of your father and brother for you, but they were faint enough that you could ignore them. It was a comforting, fluttering kind of love, a gradual understanding of your loyalty to one another. But then puberty hit and the insects became incessantly loud when you thought of, wrote to, or talked to him. They ate at your heart day after day while Joel was in prison – the longing, the missing. Aiden told you that you were obsessed with him. Your mother told you to forget him, that he would forget you. But somehow, he didn’t. You wonder if those bugs live in him too. You wonder if they are quiet or loud and if they gnaw .

You think that they are probably loud. You think this for a few reasons. The first is that you know for a fact, you can feel it in the lining of your soul, and from the evidence of his constant correspondence and care for you, that he is just as obsessed with you as you are with him. The second reason is the fact that you think but aren’t one hundred percent sure is that the last time you’d hugged him he’d gotten a little hard (you don’t want to think too much into that because he is only a man who had been deprived of touch for a long time – but still you wonder…). And the third is the way he looks at you like you are the universe like you are the last drop of nectar and he is the last butterfly left on Earth in a famine.

That’s how he’s looking at you now in the passenger seat of his old, clunky pickup. You know that he wanted to drive, but you wanted to show him how well you could because he had never seen. Never had the chance to see how well you had fixed, maintained, and took care of his baby and of course he gave into you like he always does. He's smiling at you quietly, but his eyes contain multitudes. Right now mostly pride at your driving.

Joel is a bit different than how you remember sitting near him in the truck the last time you were together, him as a free man, you as a little girl. Somehow, even though you are obviously bigger now, he still seems massive and broad and stronger than ever. His biceps are huge – probably from all the time he had to work out in prison – and peeking out under his blue t-shirt that you brought for him, you think you see the outlines of some tattoos. You look a little closer. On his right arm is text in curvy black ink. You think it reads, “Sarah.” You smile softly at that. On his other arm is a strange orange shape that you have to squint at to understand. The edges of the object are jagged but they form a shape like a badge – and then you know what it is! It is the guitar pick you made for Joel as a child. The one that had pricked his finger and drawn blood and he stuck it in his wallet. You can’t articulate how honored you feel that Joel loved you enough to tattoo something you made for him on his body, permanently, forever.

“ Well , the light only turned green damn near eons ago,” he complains about your driving, but you know he is just teasing.

There is hardly anything wrong you can ever do in Joel’s eyes. He grins at you a bit lopsidedly and you smile back. You also can’t help but notice the greying of his brown hair. It’s a bit longer than it used to be too and the length gives it a little bit less of a shaggy look. You think it suits him, makes him look a bit older and more distinguished than when he first came into your life twelve years ago.

Objectively, you know it’s weird to think that your ex-stepdad who is a convicted felon is hot, but it’s just something you’ve always known and thought like that the sky is blue or that orange is your favorite color. You know it’s weird to think of someone who was? – is? – supposed to be a father figure to you that way, but it’s already second nature at this point. You’ve had a few boyfriends (luckily all of them had treated you right), but none of the feelings you’ve ever had for them have compared to the cosmic-sized love and affection you have for Joel and you’ve never known anything different. The years you spent longing, missing, loving, obsessing over, and aching for him in every way under the sun, can’t be healthy, you know this, but they have eclipsed practically every other relationship in your life. No one has ever made you feel as safe and protected and loved as Joel has. No one else has ever looked at you the way he does. No one else’s entire existence has revolved around you the way his has. The sheer devotion in his gaze is enough to make the butterflies inside you scream and beat their wings against your insides like hungry bats.

And you especially know you shouldn’t have these feelings about another human being violent enough to be capable of taking a life – inebriated or not. You’re grown now and know the man he killed was a scum-of-the-Earth child predator, and secretly you’ve always wondered if there was more to the story than Joel told the police in the official court transcripts you’d read as an adult, maybe even something to do with you since you had been there that day in the repair shop when they met , but you haven’t pressed because you’re sure the whole thing is quite traumatic for Joel and if he ever wants to tell you, you know he will. And more importantly, you don’t really care. Drunken, violent idiot or not, you were already deeply invested and never intended on wavering in that. You’re not sure there’s anything Joel could do to get you to stop loving him and that both terrifies and excites you.

“Okay, whatcha wanna eat?” you ask, reaching out to rub Joel’s shoulder gently. “Now that you’re free you can have whatever you want! On my mom’s credit card of course. Swear I won’t tell her.”

Joel grins.

“Deal,” he tells you. “I was thinking of a nice steak dinner.”

***

You pull into the fanciest restaurant you can find in the tri-state area and sit down to order a regal, all-American, full three-course steak dinner (though you’re both woefully underdressed – not that you care – though the host gives you a dirty look). All the while, you tell Joel about your major (psychology) and how you want to become a counselor for abused children.

“That’s sort of beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you with a genuine smile that used to be so hard to coax from him, but now seems to float over to you so easily and gently like a kiss from something as soft as the wings of a butterfly. “Wanting to help defenseless children. You’re kinda like a guardian angel for them, ya know? Damn proud of ya! Also, these mashed potatoes are goddamn delectable!” he exclaims after taking an experimental bite. “Have I mentioned that prison food is shit?”

You smile bashfully and want to tell him that he is your guardian angel (you wonder if he thinks the same of you) and inspiration in a backward sort of way for wanting to help kids in the first place since he was so good at protecting you for the most part (though you obviously don’t believe violence is the correct answer in your line of future work). But kids need protectors. Somehow you know that deep down you forgive him for all of the violence he caused because you would forgive him for anything. And him being proud of you? You don’t think there’s a better feeling in the world than that! You burst with pride. Your real father never said that to you, but Joel doesn’t feel like your father now. He is something different entirely. Something that entirely belongs to you.

“And you’ll meet my boyfriend, Max, tomorrow,” you nod as Joel moves onto the steak and lets out a soft moan at how good it tastes. “He’s heard a lot about you.”

Joel’s face flattens.

“And who is this kid exactly?” he sneers a little, attacking the steak with his knife.

You smile internally at the obvious jealousy he’s trying to hide from his voice.

“Hey, Max is a decent guy!” you insist in his defense. “He’s pre-law. Real smart. He’s gonna be an important person someday, I know it. You’ll get on.”

That last part is a bit of a lie since you’re not sure the two will actually like each other.

Joel examines your face, looks deep into your eyes.

“All I know is, just because someone is important, don’t mean they’re good to you or for you for that matter.”

You can’t help but think of your father, the most “important” man you know and how much of a degenerate he is compared to someone ostensibly average like Joel who didn’t even have a status symbol like a college degree and how perfect of a man you think he is, despite his obvious flaws. You blush a little, scrunching up your nose.

“Just lookin’ out for you, sweetheart,” he continues, smiling at the way you do. “He ever fuck with you – he ever break your heart, you know just where to send him, alright?”

“Yeah, Joel,” you grin. “Don’t need you getting any more jail time though, alright?” “You may have made a valid point,” he concedes with a smirk.

***

When you two enter your shitty, one-bedroom apartment it’s already dark outside. Joel actually grins when he notices his and your guitars have both been mounted on the wall.

“We can play ‘em tomorrow,” you tell him excitedly. “If you want to, I mean…”

“Hell yeah, I do,” Joel smiles. “Wanna hear ya singing for me, honey. I missed that.”

You smile to yourself.

“You can have my bed, and I’ll take the couch,” you decide, getting back to business.

“No way, babygirl. I ain’t taking your bed.”

“Joel, you’ve literally been on a prison mattress for eight fucking years! Can’t imagine that’s been very comfortable.”

“That’s exactly why I won’t mind the couch. That’ll feel like heaven to me. Don’t want you messin’ up your back, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth, but Joel beats you.

“And that’s that,” he insists.

“Alright, alright,” you concede, knowing by the look on his face he’s not budging. If one thing, Joel has always been stubborn, but you like that about him. “D’you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Actually, baby, if ya don’t mind, I’d like a quick shower. Been dreaming about taking a real, private one for ages.”

“Yeah, of course!” you nod, motioning toward your bathroom door. “Towels are under the sink.”

Joel makes his way inside and soon steam is billowing out the bottom of the door.

You busy yourself with some homework, but just as you walk past the door to grab a glass of water, you think you hear Joel singing.

You listen more closely over the fall of the running water and make out him singing the chorus of an old ABBA song with a deeper, sadder tone to it,

♪ “ Slipping through my fingers all the time / I try to capture every minute / The feeling in it / Slipping through my fingers all the time / Do I really see what's in her mind? / Each time I think I'm close to knowing / She keeps on growing / Slipping through my fingers all the time…” ♫

You feel like such a sap, but you feel a tear forming in your eye at the way Joel must be thinking about his and your relationship and everything he missed in your life. You aren’t mad at him, but his absence hurt in a way you didn’t know you could feel. And you’ve never blamed him, really, but the lack of him for eight years of milestones really did kill a piece of you. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly at the bottom of your stomach with its wings pulled off. That’s how you felt all that time without Joel – like a butterfly without wings. A writhing worm of a human being, senseless and lost in a giant world full of forces you couldn’t control.

You listen to Joel’s beautiful, deep voice until you hear him turn off the tap and you scurry away and act innocent.

Joel emerges from the bathroom then with nothing but a white towel around his waist, steam from the shower floating lazily into the room behind him like precession. And oh, wow, is he ever a sight to behold. His hair is wet, dark brown flecked with grey, and starting to get curly from the moisture. You also can’t help but notice his broad chest, the expanse of it, the dark curls of hair, his bulking, muscular tattooed arms, his soft, hairy tummy, the V-shape of muscle that descends beneath the towel, his happy trail. You are overwhelmed by the soaking beauty of him. You’d seen Joel shirtless before, sure, but it had never felt like this .

“Gon’ grab some of those clothes you bought for me and then maybe we could watch something?” Joel asks as you try so fucking hard not to stare at him.

“Sure!” you squeak, staring down at your notebook at the kitchen counter.

You think you see a smirk from Joel, but you're not sure because your gaze is averted as he grabs some clothes to change into and disappears back into the bathroom.

When he reemerges, dressed in a wifebeater and shorts that accentuate his form, you two sit next to each other on your cushy sofa and surf the TV for something to watch. You feel Joel’s hairy knees against your jean-clad one and your heart flutters.

“Can’t believe I’m really here,” Joel says softly as you pass re-runs of Full House, a dog show. “Like I gotta fuckin’ pinch myself to know it’s not a dream.”

Suddenly you feel a large, weathered hand on your cheek.

“Missed you so much, babygirl,” he murmurs, looking into your eyes, massaging the line of your jaw ever so lightly, trying to hold your skittish gaze. “More than I even have words for.”

First, you avoid looking at him a bit bashfully, but then you stare up cautiously into those big brown eyes that feel like a familiar kind of home and you’re such a goner. You lean into his warmth, the warmth of his hand.

“Missed you too, Joel. So much,” you admit, never wanting this moment to end or him to let go of you. “More than anything.”

He leans forward a little and for a second you think…but then he’s leaning in and planting a heavy kiss on your forehead. A kiss that has weight to it – not those soft, weak ones that Max gives you haphazardly when he’s drunk or high – the only time he’s brave enough to be vulnerable with you. This kiss says something, means it so sincerely too.

“Love you, honey,” he tells you. Then his face falls. “Sorry I…wasn’t quite there to say that to you enough in person.”

“It’s okay, Joel. I forgive you,” you insist. “I love you so much, dummy. More than you even know!”

But you truly do appreciate the sentiment.

***

You settle on an old, black and white classic, Paper Moon, that’s playing on the TV Land channel.

Joel wraps a big arm around you and you snuggle close. You’re pretty sure there isn’t a better feeling in the world than being this close to him. Even after all these years he still smells like Joel; like home (and, if you’re being honest, a bit like your vanilla shampoo) .

You lean against him, your cheek pressing into one of his firm pecs. You begin to feel sleepy, drunk on the steady sound of his heartbeat, alive and beating against you and really here .

You nod off.

***

At first, you don’t believe it, but you feel someone with strong, firm arms lifting you into the air, cradling your back and the insides of your knees in a bridal-style carry. The movement wakes you, but you don’t open your eyes because the safety and security you feel is too good to give up. Joel carries you to your bedroom and lays you down gently in your bed. You’re still in day clothes and shoes so Joel takes off your worn sneakers with a feather-light touch and places them at the foot of the bed – you can tell from the soft thumps it makes. He maneuvers you so tenderly under the covers and tucks you in with love and care. You wonder the last time someone did that for you and pull up a blank. If anyone ever did that for you it was probably Joel. Maybe your mom did when you were really young. Certainly your father nor Aiden ever did – your father hadn’t liked to touch you except out of anger – kind of like you had some kind of weird, contagious disease. Aiden’s hands had almost always hurt too, but not Joel’s – never his.

He breaks you from your thoughts by pressing another kiss to your forehead. Your eyes are still closed so you aren’t sure, but you think he watches you for a second and lets out a long sigh.

Then you hear your bedroom door close softly so as not to disturb you. You smile, you can’t help it, and drift back off into a peaceful sleep.

***

You wake up to a mumbling, grunting sort of sound. You look over at your clock and read 3:42 a.m. You sit up. You can kind of hear some muffled noises coming from outside your room. At first, you feel a little concerned – like maybe Joel is in pain or something as he is the only one who could be making the noises. The walls in your apartment are paper-thin. Like you could hear him sneeze clear as day if he were to because sound travels through the shitty walls so easily. You should have told him that. But what the fuck is he doing up at 3 a.m.?

You creep (and you mean creep) silently to the door of your bedroom and open it the tiniest crack. The way your apartment is laid out, the back of the sofa is the first thing you see and the back of Joel’s head about six feet away. He doesn’t sound in pain the way he’s groaning and then you understand exactly what he’s doing. Of course the man is jerking off! After being in prison, stuck around people for so long of course he wanted a good, private wank. He isn’t looking at anything from what you can tell, no magazines or anything. Must be using his imagination. You wonder what he’s thinking about, if he’s gotten good at that over the years.

You should turn around, slink back into bed, and cover your ears with a pillow so the man can have some privacy. But, fuck, the way he’s grunting. His voice is so fucking deep and sexy and then he lets out a soft, vulnerable moan and you feel heat envelope your whole body. You think you hear a soft fuck roll off his tongue and your heart almost beats right out of your chest. You can hear the lewd slapping of his fist on skin getting louder and more intense. Then you hear a soft take it, fuck. And Jesus, you are so fucking wet between your thighs. You ought to be ashamed. Instead, you reach down your hand feverishly beneath the band of your jeans and soaking underwear instinctively to stroke yourself ever so slightly. You sigh in relief, but you are fucking gushing, your fingers covered in your slick. You can’t see anything besides the back of Joel’s head, technically, so this couldn’t be that wrong, could it? He lets out a soft groan, you can tell he’s holding back so as not to be heard, but the desperation in the pathetic little noises this hulking man is making is turning on every switch inside you. Oh how you want to go over there and take him in your mouth, to taste him. God you are so fucked up! You’re still touching yourself gently, not really fully going at it yet, considering the possibilities that could follow if you went over there. But before you can decide to do anything, Joel positively whines, moans, and grunts fuck, unh, and you think but aren’t sure, babygirl, and finishes.

You stop dead still in what you’re doing. Did he really say “babygirl” or was that just your horny-ass imagination playing tricks on you? You’ve never heard Joel call anyone babygirl except you. Was he really thinking of you? On the one hand, if true, mega fucked up. On the other, wow, incredibly hot. You think about going over there and asking him to finish you off or something as crazy as in all those dumb romance novels you used to read in middle school, but just as quickly as the idea comes to you, you hear another noise: loud snoring. Joel is asleep.

Typical.

You snort to yourself. That was so quintessentially Joel. You don’t want to disturb him now. The moment has passed. And only then is when you remember you have a fucking boyfriend.

That doesn’t stop you from closing your door softly, crawling back into bed, and reaching your hand down beneath your panties to touch yourself. You stroke your clit, imagining it is Joel’s rough hand rubbing against you. Holy fuck. You haven’t been this wet since you used to touch yourself thinking about him in the past. It’s like he can reach every part of you, every layer in a way that no one else can. You know the whole thing is so fundamentally fucked up, but you can resist sinking into your favorite fantasy. The smell, the touch, the feel of him. You imagine the noises he was making so beautifully on the couch, feel heat coil through your entire body, and immediately cum hard without even sticking a finger inside yourself.

The pleasure you feel is so unparalleled and real you have to cover your hand with your mouth not to scream out your powerful orgasm.

Sweat drenches your whole body as you come down.

God, you are so fucked.

***

The next morning you wake up to the wafting smell of someone cooking eggs. You emerge from your room a little sheepishly from last night’s events to find Joel behind the kitchen counter making eggs and toast.

“Mornin’, babygirl,” he grins, his eyes shining like he’s excited about something.

And then you realize: that something is you.

You grin back.

“Good morning, Joel,” you beam at him.

You were so afraid things would feel awkward after what you heard last night, but nothing ever feels awkward with Joel. In some ways, he’s still just your average dorky, friendly old ex-stepdad, convicted felon. In other ways, everything about him sets your heart on fire, but it would be stupid to ruin what you have with him because you think it’s remotely possible he might be interested back. You know this is dramatic, but if he flat-out rejected you, you think you might die. Truly. Like those butterflies inside you would beat their wings so hard they’d burst your heart.

“‘Membered you liked ‘em poached,” he nods, breaking you from your thoughts.

He scoops two poached eggs onto one of your plates and grabs a piece of toast from the toaster which he smears with butter like how you used to eat toast as a kid. You can’t believe he remembered.

“Thanks so much,” you tell him.

He grabs a few eggs and toast for himself and sits beside you at the counter.

“Nice to be able to cook me ‘n you some real food,” he remarks. “If I eat one more cup o’ noodles in my lifetime I swear to God Almighty…” he trais off.

He’s looking at you like you put the goddamned sun in the sky. Your heart melts as you stare at his features, the faint curls in his hair. Oh, how you want to reach out and touch him. But that just isn’t how you operate. You won’t ruin what you already have.

The butterflies in your chest howl.

***

` You lay out the day’s schedule to Joel. You have plenty of time to hang about (you see him eyeing the guitars), and then you need to go shopping for some actual clothes for Joel since the things you brought for him don’t constitute a proper wardrobe. Then you will go out to dinner and meet Max.

Joel grunts a nod at that last part. He doesn’t seem too thrilled.

“Wanna show me what you’ve been playing?” he asks hopefully as he gets up to put both of your plates in the sink,

“‘Course!” you nod enthusiastically. “Max says I need to work on my fingerpicking so I can’t promise it’ll be all that good.”

Joel rolls his eyes.

“Show me what you’ve got.”

***

You sit down on the couch right next to Joel, each of you holding your respective guitars in hand, across your laps.

Joel looks ecstatic to have his guitar back in his hands. He fiddles with the tuning and finger-picks a faint melody.

“Haven’t played one since the prison band. But then some dumb motherfucker clobbered another sorry son of a bitch to death with a saxophone so that ended our music privileges,” Joel explains.

“Jeez,” you reply.

Joel is sitting so close you can feel his body heat. You just want to hear him sing, but he insists on hearing you.

“Joel,” you try as innocently as possible. “D’you remember how to do an A-flat? I forget and I need it for my song.”

“Sure, baby. Lemme help ya. Now put one finger on this bit of the 4th fret here,” he begins, snaking a big arm around your shoulders so he can maneuver your fingers to the correct position.

His touch is electric. He feels so good and warm. You feel the intense urge to climb into his lap and embrace and stay there forever. His big caloused hand full of scars places your fingers correctly for the chord. The same hand that must have jerked himself to completion last night…You can’t help but wonder how much cum there was…The truth is, you know how to make an A-flat. You just wanted to feel him.

He backs away and you whine internally at the loss.

“There we go,” he says soothingly, reaching out to rub your shoulder. “That one can be tricky. Now where is my performance?”

Your nerves are squirming around inside you but you begin to play and sing to the best of your ability.

You look into Joel’s eyes.

♪“ You've got a heart on fire / It's bursting with desire / You've got a heart filled with passion / Will you let it burn for hate or compassion?” ♫ you sing.

Joel watches you intently, sitting up straighter.

♪ “What's the point with a love / That makes you hate and kill for? ♪

You sing as best and as seriously as you can. You look up and think you maybe see a tear in Joel’s eye.

When you finish, it’s clear Joel is finding it hard to select the right words to convey what he’s feeling.

“I–” he tries. “That was…well, let me just show you how I can answer that if anyone ever could to a performance as beautiful as that.”

You blush.

He begins to finger-pick a familiar tune, Instantly, you are transported back to eight years old in the back of Joel’s old pickup truck, listening to one of his many cassette tapes. It’s “I’ll Never Find Another You” by The Seekers. The original version of the song is pretty happy and upbeat, but the way Joel sings it slowly in his deep and weathered voice makes you feel sad and achy inside. The emotion behind his voice is palpable.

♪ “But if I should lose your love, dear / I don't know what I'd do / For I know I'll never find another you / Another you / Another you…” ♫ he trails off.

It’s your turn to tear up a little. It’s crazy to know he means every word he’s singing too. He sings like every word is his last breath. When he finishes you are crying a little.

“You oughta record an album,” you sniffle, leaning into his shoulder, throwing him a side hug.

“Wanted to be a singer,” he replies with a small grin, leaning his head against yours. “Back when I was young.”

You sit back up straight.

“You did? I never knew that.”

“Don’t tell nobody really,” Joel replies, looking a bit sad you left his immediate proximity. “Just a stupid dream ‘n all that crap.”

“‘S not stupid,” you tell him. “You really have a beautiful voice, Joel. It’s like if I could take it, hold on to it, and keep it forever in my chest pocket next to my heart, I would.”

“That’s where I keep you, baby,” he tells you honestly.

He reaches up a big hand to yours and guides your own to place it right on his heart over his plaid shirt. You can feel it beating steadily below your palm to the rhythm of something as delicate and ferocious as the beating of butterfly wings.

“Right here.”

***

You take Joel shopping. At his insistence it is nothing fancy, just the local department store. That doesn’t stop you from dressing Joel up in ridiculous outfits of your choosing. You make him try on a Hawaiian shirt, some golf polos like your dad liked to wear, a pinstripe suit and he lets you because saying no to you has never been in his vocabulary. He acts grumpy on the outside, but you can tell he is amused. You know in the end, you’ll just end up buying every flannel shirt and jeans combo they have in the store, but it’s just fun anyway. You watch the fabric hug his torso, his tummy, the slight bulge at his waist. At one point he comes out shirtless and you try very hard not to swoon as you stare at the hair lining his chest and his adorable little tummy that you for some reason have the urge to bite. The band of his Hanes boxers sticks up past his jeans and he looks so good. He even lets out a genuine smile. The middle-aged sales attendant who is helping you even takes a good look at him which makes the butterflies inside you swarm possessively.

Finally, you make him try on a proper white-collared button-down shirt and black dress pants with matching black shoes and he looks so good you’re actually at a loss for words when he asks you what you think. They hug the curves and lines and planes of his body so nicely. All you can do is ask him to put on a black tie to match and he does at your behest following some customary griping that he would never wear such a monkey suit in the first place. The effect that a fully dressed-up Joel has on you is not one to be reckoned with. He might as well be wearing the men’s version of lingerie for how it makes you throb and ache between your legs. He looks like a force of nature, commanding and tall. It makes you weak. All you say is,

“Looking good, old-timer.”

He snorts.

When you finally ditch all the fun clothes and grab the essentials, Joel offers to go pick up the car while you pay. He tries to give you his eight-year-old credit card, but you insist on treating him on the condition he buys the “monkey suit.” After a bit of prodding, he gives in and you go to the sales attendant to pay at the counter.

“Your dad is really cute,” the sales attendant giggles to you as she rings up the pile of clothes.

Your cheeks go a bit red. You don’t really care enough to correct her.

“He’s my guy,” is all you say absentmindedly as you fish out your wallet from your purse.

The sales attendant hands you the receipt and on it, you see a scrawled phone number.

“For If he’s single,” she explains. “I’m Barb from sales.”

You look her over. She’s close to Joel’s age and conventionally pretty with long brown hair. The exact kind of woman Joel should be dating should he choose to get back in the game. Your stomach twists and the butterflies howl inside you.

You take the receipt, thank her, and join Joel back in the car (who is more than happy to be driving this time).

“What took so long?” he asks casually. “You two writing a novel in there?”

You think seriously about what you should do. You consider letting the bugs have their way and tearing the receipt with Barb’s number on it to shreds. But you want good things for Joel. The chance of you two ever being together the way you wish is so far-fetched that you know you shouldn’t even be thinking it. A literal pipe dream. He was your stepdad for christsakes. He literally fucked your mother! (Gross!). Barb is exactly the kind of woman Joel should be going after if he’s up to dating right now. You hand him the receipt begrudgingly.

“Sales Lady likes you,” you sat flatly. “Name is Barb.”

“Oh,” he says softly like he’s a bit flattered.

He looks back at her through the glass door of the store and she waves at him. He waves back politely. You feel your stomach twisting into knots.

“You think…you think you’re gonna call her?” you finally ask as casually as humanly possible, dreading the answer.

Joel looks over at you, his gaze sweeping over you. Then looks back at Barb through the window. He looks her up and down.

“Nah,” he says with a smirk, looking back at you. “She ain’t my type. Only need one girl in my life right now anyways,” he winks.

Was that Joel flirting? With you?

Regardless, you smile back and then sigh in relief and grin to yourself as you two drive away.

Much to your satisfaction, Joel crumples up the receipt and throws it out the window for good measure.

***

You get ready for dinner, to go to a nice Mexican-Japanese fusion restaurant that Max picked out. You wear a red dress that accentuates your figure and matching heels and to your shock, Joel reemerges from the bathroom in the white button-down shirt and black dress pants you picked out for him (you had been sure flannel would be part of his ensemble). God, he looks good. A part of you wants to ditch Max and just stay here with Joel forever. He looks you over, his dark eyes sweeping over your frame. You think there is a tinge of possessiveness in his voice when he says,

“ Christ, you look beautiful, babygirl.”

***

You arrive before Max and sit down at the fancy white table-cloth-covered table next to Joel, a booth facing you. Max finally makes an appearance a half hour late and sits down across from you, sweeping his hair out of his face, sliding into the booth. Joel is frowning and the butterflies beat their wings inside you nervously.

“Sorry I’m late,” Max announces, puffing out his chest a little and smoothing out his collared shirt as he looks down at his watch and then over at Joel. “Hey, baby,” he says to you. Then, “And, uh, nice to meet you. Joe, was it? Heard a lot about you.”

“Joel,” Joel replies flatly, eyeing Max.

Max is a good-looking guy, everyone says so, but he looks more like a little boy than you’ve ever thought as he squirms uneasily in his seat under Joel’s unrelenting gaze and launches into a tirade about his frat’s inter-mural lacrosse team practice and how his team should have totally won the scrimmage and that’s why he’s late. And of course, he was the one to score the most goals.

“And the taxi cab driver was a nightmare. Only spoke Spanish. It’s like, if you come to this country speak fucking English, am I right?”

You notice Joel’s jaw tighten and his fingers clench.

“Max, that’s so rude!” you tell him, frowning. “We’re at a fucking Mexican restaurant!”

“Anyway,” Max continues, rolling his eyes at the interruption like he barely even heard you, smirking. “Where’d you go to school? What do you do for work, Joel? Besides making license plates, I mean. Kidding!” he insists as you stare daggers at him.

Joel leans forward ever so slightly but you slip your leg over his to hold him back and he calms down a fraction. It’s like when you touch him, everything tense in him melts away.

Joel sits up straighter in his chair and looks at you, stretching his arm across the back of your seat protectively like it’s a casual thing and not an unconscious sign of possessiveness.

“I’m a mechanic,” he grunts unceremoniously to Max. “I mean, I was anyways…Didn’t go to school.”

Max frowns ever so slightly.

“You didn’t go to college? You must’ve gone to trade school at least?”

“Nope. Picked up what I know over the years. Not everyone gets a free ride from their parents,” Joel smirks.

“Free ride?” Max snaps. “I’ll have you know I spend every summer interning at a law firm!”

“Yeah, your dad’s,” you can’t help but snicker.

Max’s cheeks turn a bit pink.

“At least I’m not a psych major,” he shoots back. “I mean, no offense, babe!”

“What’s wrong with psychology?” Joel snarls, his eyes darkening. “You ought to be proud to have such a thoughtful and intelligent girl like Y/N studying such a topic.”

It’s your turn for your cheeks to go pink.

“Joel–”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Max sneers.

That makes you feel a bit better.

“I’m just saying, she could have inherited the second-best law firm in the tri-state area from her pops if she was pre-law like me,” he smirks.

Your smile fades, used to hearing this kind of shit from him. He knows you and your father don’t get along at all, but not the full extent of it. He also knows you don’t have an interest in pre-law. But you swallow down how you really feel.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you tell him, placing a hand down on his thigh.

It’s not that you enjoy the way Max has been talking to you, but you are so used to it from the men in your life that it feels like the common denominator must be you. And sometimes it feels like maybe they have some kind of point. And fighting back only makes things worse. You’ve learned that over the years the hard way.

“It’s not fine!” he snaps like he’s trying to get you to see sense, looking deeply insulted on your behalf. Your heart thunders in your chest. “This boy has never worked an honest day in his life and he’s telling you what you ought to be doing? Bet his hands are soft as a baby’s ass. He doesn’t know shit about you, babygirl.”

You may not know the hardship of labor that Joel has taken on in his life, but your hands are not smooth. They are full of scars. And Joel is right. Max’s are soft like silk. You look down at the most prominent, ugly scar on your middle finger. You don’t even know which man in your life gave it to you. But you do know it means something. Shows you survived something. Survived your stupid father too, not that Max seems to care.

But Max never loses.

“Whatever,” he smirks dismissively. “Sorry I’m not some, like, common blue-collar worker. But I guess I should be taking advice from someone who became a fucking convicted felon ‘cause they drank too much one night,” he shrugs with a terrible sneer.

You know it’s over then.

But Joel surprises you. Doesn’t immediately strangle Max like you thought he might. Simply stands up tall and silent over Max’s frame which has suddenly begun to shake ever so slightly in obvious fear, his blue eyes widening. Joel’s fists are clenched tightly at his sides.

“Wouldn’t mind them sendin’ me right back in, ” Joel growls low. “Drunk or not.”

You shiver and Max positively cowers.

“Got something to say? Don’t wanna take it outside?” Joel leers, smirking ever so slightly at the trembling boy before him. “I’d even let a little boy like you take the first swing.”

“Your stepdad’s a freak, Y/N,” Max stammers, not taking his eyes off of Joel.

“Joel, it’s fine, okay?” you growl, not wanting him to actually hurt your boyfriend. Let alone in public! “Shouldn’t talk about Joel like that though, Max! Jesus!”

“Babe, I’m sorry, okay?” Max tries, eyeing back and forth between you and Joel. “I’m just trying to look out for you. I don’t get what you see in him with a real Dad like yours! Your dad has so much to give you!”

Look out for you? So much to give you? What could he possibly give besides a stupid law firm and two black eyes?

Max looks a bit desperate. Him apologizing for anything is actually a new concept for you. Your heart twitches ever so slightly. He must actually like you a lot. But Joel would never do anything to hurt you if it was in his power. At least not intentionally, unlike your real father.

“That’s it. I’m leaving,” Joel snarls moodily, turning around. “Don’t want to do things I might regret to Mr.Future-Corporate-Lawyer over here. Have fun with him .”

Joel looks deeply hurt. Like you are choosing Max over him or something. That’s never what this has been about, has it? Doesn’t Joel know you’d do anything for him? That the hurt on his face hurts you more than anything you’ve ever felt. Ever.

“Joel, wait!” you decide and disappear after him, leaving Max behind at the table.

“Babe, what the fuck!?” Max yells, but you don’t care. “Come back here!”

***

You ride back in silence, Joel’s hands turning white against his grip on the steering wheel.

When you break through to the front door of your apartment, Joel finally snaps, the anger on his face directed at something that feels like you for the first time in your life.

“You really love that little son of a bitch, don’t you?” he sneers, uncharacteristically harshly towards you.

“So what if I did?” you shoot back, a little shocked. “It’s none of your business, Joel. What the fuck?”

“It is so my business,” he snaps back. “That kid is no good for you, Y/N. He doesn’t understand you. You deserve someone much better than that who will actually go to the ends of the earth for you. He wouldn’t do anything for you.”

There is a desperation and vulnerability in Joel’s words and tone that you’re not sure you’ve heard before. He sounds like he had been waiting the whole car ride to say this, maybe even his whole life. You aren’t sure.

“Max does give a shit about me,” you try to convince yourself, getting angrier. “I mean at least he was there for me while you were gone.”

Joel flinches.

“How do you know what’s so good for me and what’s not when you dipped out of my life for eight years?” you continue harshly. “Because why? It wasn’t because you were drunk, was it? It was because you couldn’t control your anger. You never could.”

He stares at you.

“I controlled it for you,” Joel says so quietly you almost miss it. “ You are the only reason I did any of it.”

“What?” you stammer, not sure you want to hear more. “W-what do you mean, Joel? Any of what?”

A million thoughts begin to run through your mind, but you push them aside. Theories about the case and your ideas of Joel’s true nature all threaten to drown you but you push them away.

“Do you want to know why I really killed that sick son of a bitch?” Joel asks dangerously after a long moment of silence. You stare at him, your body frozen. He looks down at his hands, flexing them like he can still feel them punching or around that disgusting man’s throat. “Why I killed him all those years ago? It was no accident, I’ll give you that. Manslaughter, my ass. I killed that scum of the Earth because he threatened you . To do terrible things to you with those disgusting hands of his. So I broke each one, but it wasn’t enough. I killed him because I didn’t want you to get hurt and because I didn’t want you to live in fear of him. I was tired, Y/N. Tired of being afraid for you in a world that doesn’t let you do shit except fight back. I loved you so much, Y/N, it hurt me. It scared me, but I couldn’t let him hurt you. I’d die before I let anyone hurt you again, not him, not your father, not Max, not anyone. You have to understand. I love –”

And then it’s all over. You’re not sure who moves first, but you think it might be you. The butterflies are rustling and thundering and screeching inside you and you kiss him. And Joel kisses back, devouring your mouth in his. You grab the back of his graying brown hair and pull him as close to you as you think is humanly possible. He cradles the back of your head so gently you almost lose your breath. And you are kissing and kissing and kissing and kissing. There is nothing else in the universe except this kiss. You have never felt anything like this in your life. It is like every butterfly inside you has gone silent. It is like the world has stopped just for you and something new is forming inside you.

Joel killed that vile man for you. To keep you safe. Like he always said or showed that he would. He gave his life away for you. He did the unspeakable for you.

He bites down on your bottom lip and all your brain can manage to coherently think is: more, harder .

But then Joel is breaking away from you slowly.

NO! your heart cries out, the delicious pleasure and pain draining away from you. The butterflies swarm dangerously inside your chest, worse with every inch he travels from your lips.

“Joel,” you whine. “What? You…you don’t want–”

“Don’t even say that, Y/N,” he growls dangerously. “Of course I want you. How could I not? I have spent my entire life wanting you in some capacity, baby, but I ain’t no good for you either, alright? I…” he says slowly like it takes every inch of his body to agree to say this. “I am not a good man, Y/N. I never have been. I’ve done wrong in every chapter of my life. You deserve someone much better. I don’t want to hurt you. Physically or mentally. Our history… The damage I’ve done…” he trails off.

“You don’t understand,” you swallow, tears forming in your eyes. “You have already loved and hurt me more than any human being on planet Earth. And yet somehow there is nothing you could do that would keep me away from you, don’t you get that? The Joel Miller I love is not a good man and I don’t care. I want all of you. All of the pretty and crooked pieces you try to hide away from me. You killed a man with your bare hands, arguably one of the worst things a human can do, and I don’t care. I still want you, Joel. Maybe even more because of it. No one has ever loved me the way you do and that is the love I want and it terrifies me.”

A single tear falls down Joel’s right cheek. You reach up to wipe it away, but Joel grabs your hand on the way reflexively, so you help him wipe his own tears away.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“I would move the Earth for you,” Joel whispers back.

“I know,” you nod. “I’ve always known. I–”

But he is kissing you again before you can say another word, like a man starved. You hold onto his cheeks, your fingers caressing his stubbly beard.

“ Joel,” you whine when you break for air.

“I wanted this so badly,” he says softly, grinning a lopsided grin. “Can’t believe this is real.”

“Me too,” you giggle.

You have to lean up a bit, but you press your forehead to his gently.

“Oh, baby,” Joel smirks. “You’ve made me the happiest man alive, ya know that? You like

it when I go a little rough, honey?” he smirks down at you in satisfaction, reading your mind.

You have to stop yourself from getting lost in the warm pools of his brown eyes, your panties soaked.

He reaches an affectionate hand down to rub your side softly.

“This okay, babygirl?” he coos, massaging his hand down your torso.

“I’d let you do anything to me, don’t you know?” you snicker. “Pain or pleasure, it’s all the same to me. I like all of that. I just want you so bad.”

“Think a safe word is in order,” Joel grins, leaning down to kiss your neck. “How about ‘butterflies?’” you suggest.

“Sounds good to me, baby,” he grins, looking genuinely happy for the first time in hours.

He leans down and places a calloused hand around your throat, not squeezing (yet – you hope) and plants soft kisses and bites down your expanse of skin.

“All mine,” he mutters into your skin. “My beautiful babygirl.”

You feel his erection pressing against you through his black dress pants which makes you moan softly.

His hand trails over your crotch and he starts rubbing over the tight fabric of your red dress.

“That okay?”

“Yes,” you whine. “Want more, Daddy.”

Oh shit. You don’t mean to say it like that! You know it is about ten levels of fucked up to call Joel that, but how is it your fault that in every fantasy that’s how you think of him? You figure you’re probably past the point of weird and every other standard of decency, but you’re still afraid.

“Sorry…” you mumble. “I–”

“No, no, baby,” Joel says quickly. “It’s alright, you can call me whatever you want. I don’t mind, sweetheart.”

“You think it’s weird,” you mumble again, further stupid tears forming in your eyes.

He snickers.

“Baby, I think we’re beyond weird at this point. Let me show you how turned on it makes me.”

Joel takes your hand and places it on his crotch. He takes your left hand, the one with the scar and you cringe a little, but he is rock-hard.

That’s good because you’re positively drenched.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. Daddy likes that more than you know, alright?”

You take your hand back, smiling, but you cover your scarred finger, shocked he will allow this fantasy for you.

“Whatcha hidin’ from me, baby?” he asks, noticing the positioning of your hands.

“I hate that scar on my finger. ‘S so ugly,” you admit.

Joel looks flabbergasted.

“That’s the last damn thing I think of when I look at you. Ugly? Who in the fuck told you that?”

“How it got there is ugly. It’s marred skin, looks gross,” you mumble.

Joel moves to take out his cock, and when you nod he unzips and unbuttons his dress pants, pulling out his length. You have fantasized about his cock for god knows how long so you are more than excited to see it. He reaches to place your left hand with the scarred fingers around the length of his dick, which is thick, but longer than you expected. The leaking head is almost purple and your mouth begins to water as you stroke him gently.

“It’s part of you,” Joel tells you, his eyes connecting with yours. “I love it. It shows you survived. Gonna jerk off to it, Daddy loves it so much. And when I’m done you’re gonna love it too. Swear I’ve got so many over the years I can barely even count ‘em. Even got a few on my middle finger. Maybe even one from a certain guitar pick you made me. Nothing like that could ever make me stop wanting you, ya know that, right?”

You smile and take your time stroking him, wanting to show him how much you love and care for him, scars and all.

He grunts softly, closing his eyes, but then shoos your hand away with a feverish kind of want.

“Yeah, touch yourself now, baby. Daddy wants to see how wet you are for him. With that scarred finger. C’mon, now. ‘S gonna make you feel so good.”

You do as you’re told and reach down underneath your dress and begin to touch yourself, especially with your middle finger. You stroke your clit and then your dripping wet slit. You moan softly as Joel’s eyes rake over you, taking in every sigh and groan you emit. The butterflies are forming something big inside you, which presses against the inside of your tummy and ribcage.

“Daddy,” you whine.

“Enough, little one,” Joel whispers.

He takes out your hand and begins to suck the slick off of each of your fingers, groaning deeply, making intense eye contact the whole time.

“Fuck, angel,” he moans, having a tough time keeping himself together, you can tell. “Taste and smell better than like how I pictured. Like you were fuckin’ made for me, I swear.”

He reaches a hand of his own down to stroke himself and his moans become more desperate. Finally, he sucks on your middle finger covered in your slick and groans so deeply you feel like you might cum untouched. He stares into your eyes.

“ Mine, ” he growls possessively. “Oh, shit! Gonna–”

Then he takes your left hand and leads it to meet his throbbing cock. You stroke him, harder this time, fisting his thick length, moaning softly and that does it for him.

Joel cums all over your hand, oozing white globs of cum over your fingers, once, twice, three times.

“Fuuuuuck, babygirl,” he groans. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! Couldn’t help it. Yeah, suck it off, baby. That’s it,” he commands, and you do, licking up all of his cum, even the part that got on your middle finger.

When Joel comes down he still looks half-crazed with desire.

“Sorry about the, uh, early release. It’s been a while since anyone touched me,” he babbles in embarrassment, his cheeks flushed pink. “But I don’t wanna hear shit about your gorgeous hands ever again, you hear me, babygirl?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you nod, snickering.

He looks like that one word has set his entire universe back in order again. You honestly don’t care at how fast Joel came. You love how much it shows he wants you. And his heady taste is making you weak. You could taste him for days and days and never get tired, you’re sure.

“Can still get you off though, don’t worry. Shoulda let you cum first, but I couldn’t help it with the things you do to me. Goddamn. Can Daddy eat your pussy, baby?”

You grin, but then your face falls.

“Didn’t shave,” you admit, feeling dirty.

Max hates your hair down there.

Joel looks at you in confusion.

He laughs, his face scrunching up.

“Oh, sweetheart. You think I care about that? Only little boys give a shit about things like that. Not men.”

You shiver.

“Really?”

“Of course I don’t care. Didn’t ya hear what I just said? C’mon now. You can lie down on the couch.”

You follow instructions, pulling your dress over your head to reveal white lace panties and no bra.

You move to take the panties off, but Joel stops you, staring at the lines and curves of your body.

“Jesus, fuck,” he growls, taking you in.

You think you see his cock twitch ever so slightly. He palms his softening length instinctively.

“Beautiful,” he snarls, pushing you back on the sofa.

You happily fall backward.

He lies on top of you, his white button-down shirt pressing against your naked body tantalizingly.

He bites your lips roughly and you groan against him.

“Daddy’s mouth,” he commands against you.

“Yeah, duh, Daddy,” you snicker.

As if he even needs to say it!

He kisses down your neck expertly and you begin to shiver and whine, your pussy aching with need and neglect.

He stops at your breasts, sucking and biting each one.

“Daddy’s tits,” he declares, snaking a finger over the lace panties that protect your clit. “Of course,” you respond, moaning softly, grinding needily against him.

He continues lower, licking down your breasts and over your tummy which he plants with kisses that tickle and then one hard bite on your hip that leaves behind teeth marks.

“Daddy’s body,” he impresses upon you.

“Yes, Daddy. Only yours.”

“No more of that little shithead, Max,” he snarls, an inch above your clit.

“No more Max,” you repeat as he presses kisses down your pussy, still covered by soaked white lace panties.

“Only Daddy.”

“Only you.”

“Good girl,” he growls.

He finally removes your panties and begins to eat and suck your clit and pussy so hard and enthusiastically, swirling his tongue around your bundles of nerves that you grow exponentially closer by the second.

“Joel,” you whine. “Oh my God.”

It doesn’t take long. The second his calloused hand is pressing a finger and then two inside of you it’s over. You were so needy for him that you could have even cum from just his mouth alone, but his hands are what send you over the edge. And something different happens as orgasm crashes down upon you. The butterflies all join together and transform into something bigger and softer, caressing your insides, cooing. It feels like a breathing white dove is spreading its wings inside you, the tips of its feathers brushing against your rib cage. And you cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Pleasure engulfs you in currents, facilitated by the gentle flapping from deep

inside your body.

“ Joel,” you moan. “Oh my God. Daddy, pleaseee–”

“Please what, baby? Make my princess cum again? I would eat that pretty little clit and

pussy every day for the rest of my life if I could, fuck. God, so perfect and you’re so fuckin’ tight. Look how fucking hard you make me, angel.”

He takes one of your hands and places it on his half-hardening cock. Not going to lie, you are partially shocked at his recovery, but another part of you seems to know that if there was anyone in the universe that could do that to him it had to be you.

“Never got hard again from anyone I’ve ever fucked before…” he trails off dreamily like he can read your thoughts. “You’re so gorgeous, babygirl.”

“Not so bad yourself, handsome,” you tell him lazily, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth as you pull him closer to you.

The heat from his body keeps you so warm and tender and for a moment you lie on the couch, Joel’s still-clothed body pressed to yours.

“Can you fuck me, Joel?” you ask, squirming against him needily.

“You can’t say that shit to me, baby,” Joel groans, his cock getting harder. “Not quite ready yet.”

“Lemme help you out,” you offer, pouting.

You reach down and stroke his half-hard length and then bend over and press a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock.

Joel swears, staring down at you with so much adoration it pours off his face. No man has ever looked at you like that before. You’re certain. Perhaps no man ever will again? Not like that.

“Shit, baby,” Joel babbles stupidly, his eyes threatening to swallow you up in that beautiful shade of umber. “Never gonna forget this moment,” he grunts as you begin to suck his cock properly, feeling it slowly get hard enough to throb between your lips with each thrust of your head and gluck of your throat.

You stare up at him, your eyes wide and wanting and Joel lets out a soft, vulnerable moan as you begin to really suck him and take him down the walls of your throat.

“ Unh , babygirl, fuck,” he whines and you have never quite heard Joel so desperate before. “Gotta pull out or I’m gonna cum. Holy fuck.”

It sounds just like it did the night you accidentally spied on him jerking off.

“You’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh, Daddy?” you ask, releasing Joel from your mouth like he wanted, though his hips buck forward ever so slightly with desire, the tip of his cock just barely scraping against your mouth. He grunts.

“Maybe so,” he replies, looking a little guilty. “Don’t know how not to these days.”

“Heard you on the couch last night,” you whine yourself. “Had to touch myself ‘cuz of it, Daddy. I’m sorry.”

Joel reaches out a hand to cup your crotch and rub against your slick pussy.

“That’s so fuckin’ naughty, baby,” he groans. “Look how wet that made you. All for me.”

You steal a glance at his cock and find that the tip is weeping too. And he is so fucking big compared to the size of your hand. Fuck!

“You were thinking about me, weren’t you?” you whisper.

“All about you, baby,” Joel nods in agreement, his hips twitching ever so slightly. “‘Bout touching you just like this.”

He slinks two big fingers inside you and you moan deliciously, the feathery wings of the newly-formed dove fluttering against your insides.

“Gotta stretch you a bit more,” he grunts into your throat, pushing in a third finger. “Daddy’s so big and you’re so tight, angel. Don’t wanna hurt ya. Not too bad at least. Not yet…That’s it, pretty girl, fuck,” he grins when you slide back on his thumb in pleasure which had traveled to the rim of your asshole “Good girl, so good for Daddy. So naughty too. Don’t think Daddy won’t punish you.”

“Want you to hurt me, Daddy,” you moan. “When you fuck me. Please fuck me hard. I want all of you – pain and pleasure. One hundred percent Joel. Joel, please, I need–”

And Joel does stop for a moment.

“Never hurt you in a way you didn’t beg for,” he tells you seriously. “You know that right, baby?”

You stop your rutting against him and look into his eyes.

“Are you kidding? You would protect me with your dying breath. I know that, Joel. Never been afraid of you since I’ve really known you. Not once. I mean: fuck; you gave up your whole life for me. To keep me safe, for fuckssake. In every word you say and don’t say to me I can feel how much you love me.”

“I do love you so much, babygirl,” he whispers, nuzzling your forehead. “If I had to, I’d do all of it all over again if it meant I’d get you. I’ve made mistakes, big ones, but protecting you, loving you was never one of them.”

Warm tears trail down your cheeks, but Joel licks and kisses them away.

“Wanna feel me inside you?” he asks. “Don’t wanna go too fast, but I need you, baby. Needed you for so long…Sweet little pussy’s just cryin’ for Daddy, huh? Gonna fit me just like a glove, I just know it — if you wanna…”

“Yes, please, fuck me, Daddy! Please, Joel Wanna feel you—ah!” you moan as Joel shoves his entire length into your pussy in one hard thrust eagerly. “Oh my God, please fuck me harder!” you moan, reeling from the deep blend of pain and pleasure of him sinking inside you, clenching down around the thickness of him. “Joel, please!”

He pauses, sweat glistening on his brow, sneering.

“You really want harder?”

You shiver. The way he says that makes your heart beat wildly in your ears.

“Because babygirl, I would treat you like porcelain if you want it so. I will never hurt you, my angel, my gift from god, my goddamn sweetest heart please know I will break my fucking hands before they would hurt you, before I would ever hurt you in a way that you didn’t want, no matter how much it hurt me. Do you understand me?”

“Of course, Joel. But you want it too,” you smirk. “You aren’t innocent in this, are you?”

“Fuck, of course i’m not innocent. I want you, babygirl. In every way there is to want another. Want every inch of you, inside and out. Wanna mark you up so the world knows you’re mine, honey. Want everyone to smell me on you and know I marked you, moved in you, darlin’, please, see, I’m no fucking Hemingway, I didn’t go to college, I’m not like you with words, but I need you to understand that I mean this with my whole chest and heart. Really, I’m not a big talker, never was, babygirl, but I need you to understand I—”

“I do, you dumbass fucking fool!” you shout, giggling at his desperation. “I’d understand you even if you were speaking another language. You’ve made your intentions loud and clear. I don’t want a Hemingway, I want Joel Miller!”

You pull him in for a kiss and he thrusts in you again a second time and you end up moaning clumsily in his mouth, but you can feel him smiling , smiling like some dumb idiot against you and maybe you called him the correct insult because he is a dumbass fucking fool for you. And it turns out you must be one as well because you are smiling like an idiot for him too.

“ Joel,” you moan as he begins to move inside you, hitting deep places that Max or any of your previous exes never went. Pleasure is tracing itself along the line of your stomach. “Oh my god, I love you so much,” you babble and you’ve never meant that more than you do now.

You can feel Joel coming apart above you, plowing into you, sighing deeply. His grunts and moans and thrusts spur on the intense pleasure.

“More!” you moan. “Oh my god. Harder, please, I need–”

Joel plants rough bites on your neck and kisses too like he’s trying to consume every inch of you.

He places a large hand around your throat questioningly and you nod.

“Beg for it,” he commands in his deep, sexy voice — the voice that’s been in every wet dream you’ve ever had. You think you might just pass out from the sound alone.

“Choke me, Daddy,” you whine as pathetically as you possibly can, batting your eyes. “Oh, please, I could cum from just this, but I want more. More of you. All of you.”

“As you fuckin’ wish, baby,” he snickers in amusement. “Bet no little boy ever fucked you like this, huh?” he growls, continuing his rough pace, slamming against your walls, his eyes growing wild.

“They don’t compare to you, Joel. It’s always been you. In every orgasm. Fuck, never felt like this! Shit! Shit!”

Joel reaches out his large scarred hand and applies gentle delicious pressure to your throat. You know even something like this can be dangerous, but you crave that feral look of violence in his eyes and the power that comes with it. You want him to own you completely – every inch of you. You want him to mark you just like he said he wanted to because he is yours and you are his and has it ever really been any other way? You can’t remember properly from the pleasure rushing through you, the white dove inside you spreading and fluttering its wings, cooing softly. You think it’s only ever been what you feel now.

“Joel, Joel, fuck!” you scream, orgasm building in you.

“I know, babygirl. I know,” he coos himself into your mouth.

He pulls you closer, presses his nose to yours, his lips to yours, biting and kissing like a starving man possessed. He looks into your eyes and it’s there! That look of pure predator closing in on its prey, that look of ownership but also the most intense love you think you’ve ever witnessed. You would recognize that look anywhere. Your starved brain cries out for oxygen beneath his iron grip.

“Gonna cum again, angel,” Joel growls. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’re never gonna forget who you belong to. Whose pretty pussy this is.”

He is pounding so hard against your cervix and his dick is so big inside you and the pressure of his hand squeezing around you is so overwhelming and the scent of him could make you faint straight then and there, but you let go and feel yourself cumming in enormous waves as you squeeze down around Joel’s prick, the pleasure more intense than any single bodily experience you’ve had.

“ Daddy ,” you whine breathlessly, tears trickling out of your eyes. “Oh my god!”

“You’re mine, babygirl, always have been–FUCK!” he shouts into your throat, collapsing on top of you.

And then you feel him starting to empty himself inside you, painting your sensitive insides with trustful after trustful of hot cum. You’ve never felt so helplessly full and sticky in your life, the brilliant pleasure billowing through every inch of you. You want to feel like this every day, stuffed full of Joel’s cock, so close to him you can feel his heartbeat against yours, the one true place you belong.

“So beautiful, babygirl,” he whispers in an exhausted type of awe.

When your words come back you reply,

“Shut up, you’re the hot one,” through a snicker.

You look down at your body, covered in purple bite marks and bruises forming like galaxies across your body.

Joel snorts. Then he sits up on the couch and you lean your cheek against him. You lean up to kiss his cheek and he blushes ever so slightly.

“I said a lot of stuff, Y/N, but I want you to know that I meant all of it,”

“Yeah, you probably said more in the last hour than you’ve ever uttered in your entire life,” you tease, sitting up.

“I’m serious,” he snickers.

“I am and was too,” you nod. “I’m so glad that you’re here with me — that we did this. I know that our…origin story is weird and unconventional and some might argue straight up wrong, but I need you, Joel. I don’t care about that or think I could go back to pretending to be what we were.”

“You think I’d want you to act like that?” he asks incredulously. “You think I want this to just be a one-time thing?”

“Of course not,” you smirk. “But as close as we are I can’t actually read your mind. I mean…how are we going to be together realistically?”

“I’m not sure,” Joel admits, frowning a little. “For now it has to be a secret unless you want your mother or brother in jail for murdering me this time around. But someday, I dunno. It’s dumb…”

“What?”

“I just have these thoughts sometimes about you ‘n me. I…” Joel’s cheeks turn a bit pink. “Had a lot of time to think in prison, you know? And I’d Imagine us living on a ranch somewhere quiet out in the country with a flock of sheep. I could work at the tractor and auto-body repair shop that’d be out there, you know, in this dream of mine, and you could be a counselor at a local school if that’s what ya wanted. I don’t know, l know it sounds silly, but nobody would know or bother us there. But I want you to finish school and have the best life possible, babygirl. I’d wait a thousand years for you, but if you didn’t want me anymore the way we are now, I’d respect that. And if you’d allow it, I’d still be there for you just in a platonic sense — or just there for you however you want because I can’t imagine my life with you in it. I’d do whatever it takes, brokenhearted or not. I just can’t be separated from you like that again. A day longer in prison and I could’ve keeled over and died. And it’s crazy how much I mean that.”

“I don’t ever want to be separated from you again, Joel,” you agree. “I know the original plan was for you to find work and get an apartment of your own and I would love for that to still happen, but with you being intimate with me in every way – even if it has to be a secret. I don’t pretend to know what the future holds, but I need you in mine. I’ve never needed something more than I need that. Understand?”

Joel pulls you into a hug and leans his chin on the top of your head. He kisses it then your forehead. You lean up and plant a kiss on his throat and then his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t mean to get too ahead of ourselves now. We can take things a day at a time,” he mumbles into your skin.

You yawn contentedly, the tiredness clawing at your eyes, so unbelievably spent.

“I like hearing about your dreams and I’d go anywhere with you, Joel. But I am kinda dead from how good you just fucked me. Take me to bed?” You ask exhaustedly into his chest.

“Of course, babygirl,” he smirks down at you.

***

You don’t let go of Joel all night long, burrowed up against his chest, his heartbeat against your ear. And he doesn’t let go of you either. After the most intimate night of cuddles and snuggling you’ve ever experienced as well as the deepest and most restful sleep you’ve had in ages, you wake up to Joel gone from the bed. You frown, having wanted more than anything to wake up in his strong arms. Fear grips your insides as you wonder if he finally realized last night was a mistake and that you were never meant to be together in the first place (what you fear more than anything). A stupid vulnerable tear comes to your eye, but then you cock your head and hear music playing. Guitar music.

You think of your apartment as shitty, but truthfully you care deeply about your little private space and one of the things you do actually love the most about it is the tiny balcony that overlooks a measly courtyard and part of the city. That’s where you find Joel in the deck chair holding his guitar, strumming it lazily.

“Mornin’, beautiful,” he says, fingerpicking a melody that scratches at the back of your mind with familiarity.

“Morning, handsome,” you tell him softly, plopping your smaller hand down on his shoulder.

The city hasn’t woken up yet, the soft glow of morning shining beams of light onto you and Joel, filling you with warmth. You sit down in the deck chair next to him, bathing in the sunlight.

“Whatcha playing?” you ask curiously, crouching to sit up on your knees.

“You know the song ‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen?” Joel asks in that beautifully deep voice of his.

He isn’t even singing yet but you could listen to him forever.

“‘Course,” you nod. “It’s a classic. You used to play it for me once in a blue moon.”

“Know what the word ‘Hallelujah’ actually means?” he asks.

You think about it for a second.

“It’s about praising god and all that, right? Why d’you ask?”

He pauses, both his words and fingerpicking.

“Babygirl,” he begins and you can tell he’s about to say something serious. “You know I’m not too good with words, but I need you to know this: I’ve never had much to thank god for in my life, except for Sarah, you know? But then He took her away…”

You place your hand on Joel’s and he looks at you sadly, but appreciatively. He flips it over and holds it in his giant paw of his own marked-up hand.

“And I was so fucking angry. Nothing left in me. The only good part of me gone. I was a broken man. And I hated Him. But then He, despite the shit I’ve done…He gave me you . And I know our road hasn’t been easy or fair, and the pain you’ve felt and I have felt but…I guess what I’m trying to say is you are the reason I believe that any type of…goodness— of holiness— can exist in this universe. And I’m not a religious man, I don’t believe in most of that dogmatic type of shit, and I don’t think you do either, but I do think someone or something is up there and I wanna thank them for you. Does that make sense? Do you wanna hear what I mean? I just feel so damn grateful.”

A tear you hadn’t noticed was there rolls down your cheek.

“Of course it does and of course I do,” you tell him.

You think perhaps this is the closest thing he can do to bearing his soul to you.

And then he leans over and kisses the tear away and begins to fingerpick the familiar melody.

♪ “I heard there was a secret chord…”♫

You listen to his deep weathered voice as the sun grows higher in the morning sky, casting both light and shadow over Joel’s wrinkled, handsome face. The light trails over you too. You feel the dove inside you cooing contentedly, dusting its wings gently against the edges of your insides.

♪There's a blaze of light in every word / It doesn't matter which you heard / The holy or the broken Hallelujah…”♫

When he finishes he places his large, scarred, calloused hand in yours and you hold it between your own scarred fingers.

“Thank you, Joel,” you tell him, meaning every word. “I think there’s hope for us, you know? I don’t believe in hippie-dippie type stuff, but something in this universe did bring us together. And I’ll be forever grateful for that too, ya know?”

Joel squeezes your smaller hand, his big fingers engulfing yours as the dove coos louder inside you.

“Babygirl, you know that I ain’t a good man, or a rich and educated one like maybe you thought you’d end up with, but I am less of a broken one because of you and I’m never letting you go. If we’re together, I think we have a chance.”

A/n:PLEASE COMMENT LIKE REBLOG IM BEGGING IM PLEADING IM CRYING DID THE SMUT LIVE UP TO YOUR DREAMS????

PART 1

PART 3 (coming soon)

Violent Heart Masterlist

Full Masterlist of all my work

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tropicalszns · 2 months

Note

hii i just saw your recent post asking for requests.

i was thinking about one where nanami’s your therapist and you’ve been going through a difficult time recently, maybe with like work or family stuff, and you feel he’s the only one you feel calm by and end up catching feelings and he definitely likes you too, and then at some point when she has a breakdown in a session and it all blurts out and then sfw or nsfw from there lmao. maybe he feels guilty about reciprocating or smth bc it’s not professional. ‘we shouldn’t be doing this’ type shi.

love your work btw and your page is so pretty xx

THERAPY SESSIONS !

⋆˚⟡˖° 𐙚 nanami kento x black!fem!reader

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you end up falling in love with your therapist, nanami, but he loves u too

content contains

NSFW ! ꒱ angsty-fluff, finger-fucking, crying, mention of death (brief), consent checks, cowgirl position, backshotsss, nanami just being such a sweetheart i love him

word count

4,427

a/n

THANK YOU SM!! it rlly brings a smile to my face when people love my work bc it motivates me to keep making more content!! this one is saur interesting, i hope this is good type shi

Your leg bounced against the wooden floor. Your heart thumping with anxiety, your skin freezing with goosebumps. The air around you felt cold and dry, the water filter two seats away from you could be heard buzzing softly. The coffee table in the middle was filled with magazines, talking about subjects about celebrities and how to stay consistent with your routines or something of that nature. But alas, none of them was in your interest.

You pressed your back against the plastic black chair, placing your arms on the cold, metal armrest. Your breath hitched, looking around the dull room. This was hour first time going through with therapy. Of course, it wasn’t your first time— but it technically was. You were either too scared or never enjoyed the therapist you were talking to. They would be too inconsiderate, too busy, or you just didn’t like them.

You were snapped out of your thoughts, only to be heard by your first and last name. Your ears perked up, “Yes?” You felt a pairs of eyes watching you as you rose up from your seat, it felt triggering. You saw a lady with a slicked back bun, thin-rimmed glasses and a mole by her bottom lip. She smiled at you so sweetly, her shirt having the logo of the company on her right chest, and her pants having a slick leather texture. Her arms having dainty, small gold bracelets and bangles.

“Mr. Nanami is ready for you,” she announced. “follow me.” You nodded, following her down the hallways. Each step felt nerve-wracking, the hallways felt like they were creeping in, and the air continued to feel colder and drier. It was like your mind was spinning, you couldn’t control your unsteady breathing.

“Here we are.” She interrupted your thoughts with the open door of your therapist’s counseling office. It was a white painted room, plants specifically placed around, a large dark-ish blue couch with white and ivory pillows. A thin gold table, two books placed on top of each other. A small fake plant in a wooden circular vase. Across from it sat a man with slicked back and neatly parted blonde hair, a chiseled jawline, with some fitting thin eyebrows and small eyes. He wore a necktie with a dotted pattern, blue dress shirt underneath his tan blazer with matching slacks and light brown shoes.

You blinked at him, slowly stepping into the room. It was a contrasting temperature from what the waiting room was. The door closed behind you which made you jolt. You glanced around the room, fiddling with your fingers. “Good afternoon,” the man spoke, his voice deep and thrilling. “you can have a seat on the couch.” His hand stretched out the dark blue couch.

You nodded, making your way to the couch and sitting down. “Hello,” he smiled. You looked around the room, moving back against the couch. “Hi.” You waved, returning the smile sheepishly. “how are you feeling, today?” He asked, adjusting clipboard on his lap. He took a pen from his chest pocket and clicked it. The clicking of the pen made you uneasy, letting out a sigh.

“I’m feeling fine, I guess.” You shrugged. Nanami could tell that you were feeling uncomfortable and uneasy, he wrote down your initial reaction upon entrance and hummed. “So, I see that you’re feeling a bit nervous? Is this your first time going to therapy?” He assumed, watching you subconsciously bite on your bottom lip and fiddle around with your fingers. “No.” You shook your head.

“I’ve went to therapy before, it’s just they never worked out for me. I didn’t like my therapist, so I just stopped for a few months because I.. I was just scared to try it again.” You explained. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes, they were so mesmerizing, so.. relaxing? “So you came here because you wanted a rebuttal at it?” He interrupted. You nodded, watching him write down the words you’ve just said. “Well, I am glad you’re giving therapy a shot. My name is Dr. Kento Nanami, but feel free to address me however you’d prefer.” He chuckled dryly, trying to lighten up the mood. “Let’s start off with some questions, shall we? I want to get to know you.” He said warmly.

“To begin, what do you expect from our therapy sessions? For example, you expect to experience this, or you expect to feel this after a session.” Nanami spoke in a soft and polite manner, making you feel at ease. “Uhm, I expect to feel better, I guess?” Your breathing came out roughly, your hands rubbing on your knees. “Better? How so?” He questioned

“Better as in, I expect to feel more aware of my feelings and learn how to control them. I have a rough time with doing that because I tend to let my emotions get the best of me.” You spilled out your thoughts for a moment, not intending to. “Hm, interesting.” He marked down in the clipboard. “Well, what do you mean by letting your emotions get the best of you? Can I get an example.” He tilted his head ever so slightly. He was so interested in you, as he is with his other clients but you were different, he didn’t know how. The warm and comforting smile never leaving his face as he watches you speak. You were slowly getting more comfortable in the environment, which is a great sight to see from Nanami.

“Well, I was having an argument with my mom this one time and it got pretty heated. I wasn’t that mad at her but in the moment things got so intense so I just yelled at her and accidentally smashed her vase.” Your eyes filled with guilt, looking down at your hands on your knees. “It was a vase that my grandmother, her mom, gave her to her. Unfortunately she isn’t here anymore.. and it won’t be the same if I buy a new one.” Your vision began to cloud up, you swiftly wiped your tears before they fell. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Nanami’s smile dropped, his heart aching for you.

Nanami passed you the tissue box, you shook your head. “I’m fine.” You reassured, but both of you knew that you weren’t. “She got mad at me for about a couple months, we don’t really talk like that anymore. I just feel really bad about it. When I let my emotions get the best of me, I tend to do things out of my character, then that’s when I mess up.” You frowned, your heart thumping with anxiety as you continue to confess.

“I’ve lost friends, I’ve lost relationships with people I love all because I couldn’t control my emotions. I sit in my room and think if I’m just a bad person and I’m trying to change but I feel so alone and weak.” You finally let the tears run down your cheeks, wiping them with the wrist of your hand. “Sorry.” You apologized, you sniffed away some snot that probably wasn’t gonna run down your nose. “It’s okay, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I actually applaud you for telling me this, you’re taking baby steps which is a great step in the right direction.” He comforted. Nanami watched you nod at yourself but you still didn’t look proud. “I don’t think you’re a bad person, I don’t like that type of wording. You seem like a wonderful woman to be around.” Nanami’s smiled appeared once more.

“Thanks.” You felt your lips quiver into a smile for a second. You’ve been told this by many people before, but it honestly never felt genuine. Somehow and someway hearing it from him, from Kento, made you feel more confident on the inside. He seemed genuine. “I like that smile, y’know.” He saw a sparkle in your eyes he wanted to see more often. You shyly looked away. “Um, can I lay down?” You asked. Nanami nodded, “Of course. Do whatever makes you comfortable. This is a safe space.” He reminded. You lied down on the couch, pressing your back against the pillows and moving the others to rest your legs on the armrest carefully.

“Let’s move on, shall we?”

It’s been a good half a year after that first session. Each week you came back to see Nanami, and each session made you feel more and more comfortable in talking to him about your issues with work, school and just life. You couldn’t help but feel stomach churns when you’re near him. Recently you’d just gotten his number so you can talk to him after-hours about things.. professional of course.

You’d wake up early, already to see a text awaiting for you. “Good morning, hope your day turns out great! Can’t wait to see you for our session, much love, Nanami.” Much love. Much love. You felt like you were going crazy about this man. It was cutting into your work life. Every second, you would check your phone to see if he would text you knowing well he was at work, with other clients. The thought of seeing him talking to people besides you made you itch in your skin.

Your boss had told you multiple times to get off your phone when you’re on the clock, but you couldn’t help it. You know his break time, the time he starts work and the time it ends. It was getting to be an unhealthy obsession. You came home after a long day at work, plopping onto your bed. Your hands crossed over your chest, staring into the ceiling fan that was circulating around. “Do I like him?” You wondered. No, you shouldn’t. He was strictly your therapist, what a weird power dynamic. But he would always reach out to you after sessions, he even told you that you’re the only client he gave his number to! For fucks sake, he called you a client! Your hands reached your face, you began groaning loudly at your dilemma. You definitely like him.

But there was no way you could tell him that, everything would get awkward and you hated it. You didn’t want to switch to another therapist because you just so happened to like your current one. But you can’t leave Nanami alone. You want to be with him, you want him to call you a beautiful girl, a wonderful girl, you wanted his praise. It was like the only thing that mattered to you. You loved how genuine he was, he told you no lies and you loved that most about him. Nanami was perfect, so well kept, so professional, he had a PhD in psychology! He was so smart! There you are working an office job, never getting time to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with your life.

You knew this feeling was probably gonna wash away after a week or two. You were wrong, after each session the attraction and desire for him got stronger. The way he smiled at you was so captivating. His hair so neat, his golden watch glistening, his skin so soft and perfect. It could make a grown man cry from how beautiful he was. You knew deep in your heart, you had a deep desire and love for Kento Nanami, you couldn’t hide it anymore.

During one of your sessions, you began talking to him how overwhelming the workload and frustration. You were lied down on the couch, tears streaming down your cheeks. “My boss just expects so much more from me now, and I know I have been slacking but he’s giving me extra work to seem like if I don’t do it he has a reason to fire me.” You vented, squeezing a stress ball that he gave you. “Breathe..” Nanami reminded.

You took a deep breath, turning your head away. “Why have you been slacking, you’ve been telling me that work has been going well, suddenly you’ve been getting distracted? Can we talk about that?” He carefully asked, you were in such an emotional state he wanted to pick his words wisely. Nanami watched you chew your bottom lip, your fat tears streaming down your face onto your neck. He took a moment of silence for you.

“You’re gonna be weirded out, I can’t.” You shook your head. Nanami only smiled, “What? Impossible. I could never be weirded out by you.” Usually his words would reassure you, but this time it didn’t. No amount of comforting or soothing he can do could make you feel less guilty. You wanted this feeling to go away but you can’t, you wanted— no, you needed him. “Talk to me, I promise nothing you say or do will make me feel weirded out like you’re saying.” He continued to speak, his concern started to peak.

“Nanami,” you turned your head to him, you began to subconsciously squeeze the stress ball harder. “I.. you know how we’ve been texting a lot after sessions, and I’ve been trying to see what times you text me back, what you’re trying to text me..” Nanami chuckled, “You think I’m gonna be weirded out because you like to text back at my—” “Nanami, I think I’m inlove you.” The room went silent, no words could be spoken in that moment. Nanami’s breath hitched, it was like an eye-opener. There was no deny that he definitely had feelings for you as well, but he couldn’t say that, not in here.

“Are you..” he hummed, looking down at his clipboard. “Okay, well. Let’s..-” “I don’t wanna talk about it right now, can we just switch topics, please?” You interrupted, Nanami nodded. “As you wish..” he said lowly, guilt filling your eyes even more. It pained him to see you in that state, but it pained you even more to think you’ve went days thinking about him and practically losing your mind.

Later that night, you were curled in your bed, blankets over you as you closed your curtains and blocked any type of light. Your phone suddenly buzzed, turning over and picking your phone from the night stand. Your eyes squinted, it was a text from Nanami. “Hello, I know you were pretty upset about our session today, I’m sorry for unsatisfactory communication between us. I’d like to know if I can come over and talk things with you. I’d hate to see you upset. With everything going on, you don’t have to reply. Sweet dreams, Nanami.” You quickly replied back, telling him that he can come over and briskly gave him your address.

You got out of bed and rubbed your eyes, you took off your bonnet and tossed it somewhere, opening your curtains and trying your best to make everything look in tip-top shape. You got a text from him saying that he was outside, you sprinted and opened the door. You wiped your eyes, taking deep breathes before opening the door slowly. A small smile appeared on your face. “Nanami…” you said lowly. He smiled back, waving. “Hey listen, I’m sorry I acted so weird during our session today, I just so overwhelmed and.. I’m just really sorry, so much.. going on.” You allowed him in, and he only shook his head.

“It’s alright, I can understand. I’m sorry for such a short notice, I just wanted to talk to you.” He calmly spoke. You observed that he was still in his uniform but he had no blazer. His body so well-built and damn, he was tall. “Yeah, totally.. uhm,” you nodded, trying to maintain your cool as you glanced around. “Uh, would you like any water? Tea?” You offered, but he only kindly shook his head. “No, thank you. I don’t plan to stay long.” You felt your mouth get dry, gulping down your saliva. “Alright, well.. we can sit on the couch, my room is a bit messy.” You chuckled sheepishly.

You both made it to the couch and you sat down next to him. You watched Nanami sit down, a soft groan escaped his lips, he pushed his hair back to return it back to its slick and neat appearance. “Nanami.. before you talk I just wanted to apologize for telling you I’m in love with you. I shouldn’t have said that, at all. I put you in such an uncomfortable position and I didn’t even consider thinking if you were married or taken by someone.” You took a saddening moment to breathe. “It’s alright. ‘Cause I’m in love with you too.” You felt your body freeze, you raised a brow.

You began to laugh awkwardly, “Joking, right?” Nanami wasn’t smiling, he didn’t look like he had a joke planned for you. “Are you serious? I- I don’t know what to say.” Your heart began to pump faster than you can think. “You don’t have to say anything,” he reassured, he got closer to you, placing a hand on your thigh. “Can I.. kiss you?” He asked. Without any hesitation you nodded your head, “Yes!— I- I mean, yeah, of course.” Nanami lightly chuckled, he put his hand on your cheek, a thumb grazing your bottom lip. He admired your soft lips, he moved his thumb and pressed his lips on yours. You’ve been waiting for this moment, for months.

“Nanami..” you tried to speak, “Hush, please.” He silenced you. “I want you to enjoy this, I want you to relax.” He hummed. He pulled you on his lap, continuing to kiss you. You put your hands on his shoulders, the kiss becoming intense. “So beautiful,” he whispered, sliding his hand up your shirt, caressing your back. His lips kissing into your neck, hearing your sweet moans. He swore he could feel his slacks get tighter from him getting so hard from this.

Nanami slid your shirt off, revealing your glowy and supple skin. He couldn’t help but stare. You still in your pants with only a bra on now, you were such a sight for sore eyes. “Tell me when things get too fast. Alright, dear?” The cute pet name made you shudder, “Mhm.” You hummed. “I love you.” He looked at you, watching tears swell up. He knew this wasn’t professional, hell he shouldn’t even have been at your place. But, he couldn’t help himself. He’s gotten so close to you it’s like he couldn’t imagine a world without you in it. He loves you and he doesn’t think his job will even get in the way.

He knew this was wrong, his mind fogged with questions on how he got to this point with a mere client. He didn’t know why he was saying “I love you” to a client. He didn’t know why he wanted you. He didn’t know why he wanted to hold you, kiss you, be by your side. He didn’t understand himself, but all he knew was that he wanted more. “I love you too, Ken.” You spoke back. He pressed his face against your shoulder.

Sucking and kissing on your neck. Leaving a light purple mark that definitely will be able to show. He was so obsessed with your body. It was so soft, so sweet and rich. He had used his free hand and tried adjusting himself in his slacks. “Shit.” He cursed underneath his breath. “I need you..” he muttered. “Can I fuck you, please?” You were so taken aback by his politeness even though you were already half naked. “Nanami, you’re already stripping me.” You prompted. “I know, my love, it’s just.. I need to make sure you’re okay with this.” Nanami felt nervous and he usually wasn’t anxious about anything. The thought of him pumping his dick so roughly in your pussy made his dick twitch from his pants. He wanted this, so why was he scared?

“I am, I’m fine.” You assured. Nanami took a breath before sliding off your pants off, now you were in just your bra and underwear. He felt his heart racing as he slid your underwear down, he could see how damp the fabric was. He bit his bottom lip, moving his thick middle finger inside of your tight, wet pussy. You immediately clenched, gasping and slapping a hand over your mouth. “No— fuck.. are you okay?” He asked, his finger being trapped inside you. “Yes.. it’s just, your finger is just.. Give me a minute.” He nodded, letting you to adjust to his big finger. While he waited for the green light, he took your hand off your mouth. “I wanna hear you, your noises.. they are nice to listen.” Nanami expressed which made you flustered.

He instead held your hand, using his finger to pump you in and out. “Does that feel good?” He whispered, your back arching as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Ah- fuck..” you moaned. You gripped his hand tighter, trying to keep your composure. “F-feels so good..” you managed to spill out, your hips subconsciously bucking up as his finger slid deep inside you. The sounds of your juices gushing along his finger. He was knuckle-deep inside you, watching you break down over just one finger.

He thought that you were ready then slid his middle finger out. Before you could speak, he put in both his middle and ring finger. You clenched tightly around his fingers, your clit throbbing with sensation. “Oh- fuck! Kento..” you whined out. “Is it too much for you, sweetheart?” He asked. You simply shook your head, “No, I can take it..” you tried to say smoothly but your back arched, letting out a deep moan. “I’d hope so.” He muttered. You felt Nanami thrust his fingers into you deeper, you were on the brink of losing it all.

His thumb grazing over your clit and gently rubbing it. You dug your nails into the knuckles of his hands. Your other hand gripping his shoulders with your face curling up in pleasure. “Are you about to cum for me?” Nanami spoke. His deep voice sending thrilling chills through your body, “Mhm..” with your hum he pulled his fingers out of you.

“W-what? Why’d you do that?” You whined, the fullness that lingered left you. “Not yet, I want to put it inside..” he unbuckled his belt and zipped down his slacks, sliding his boxers along with it. You glanced down at his dick, gasping in shock. He raised a brow, “Is there something wrong?” He asked. You shook your head, “No- it’s- I’m sorry, I was just shocked I guess.” Nanami felt a twinge of embarrassment.

“I’m gonna put it in, alright?” He placed both hands on your hips. You cringed from the wet fingers attached onto you. One hand gliding his pink, fat tip that was wet with pre-cum along your wet pussy. He let out a throaty groan as he shoved his dick inside, his face scrunching up with desire. He heard your sweet moans leave your mouth, giving him no time to adjust before clenching around him. “Please, y- you’re gonna make me cum, don’t clench like that.” He grunted, “M’sorry, I can’t help it..” You apologized, “It’s okay, sweetheart. Jus’ take it,” he looked up at you, his hands easing to your waist. Nanami was too focused on wanting you to cum all over him, he didn’t ask if he could move. He began to thrust in and out of your sloppy pussy.

“N- Nanami, fuck, s’good.” Your words began to slur, your lips connecting to his to distract you from the increasingly rough and deep strokes. He kissed you back, moving his tongue in your mouth and swirling your tongues around. “Feels good, sweetheart?” He whispered against your lips. Your ass slapped against his thighs, your wetness smothering over his shaft and balls. You hummed, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Mhm, yeah.. s’deep.” Your moans couldn’t be stopped, your jaw dropping leaving your mouth wide open.

Your fingers rose up to his undercut, biting your lip as Nanami squeezes your ass. His thrust began to falter, the way your moans were clear in his ears made his dick twitch. Nanami grunted, it was getting hard and harder for him to concentrate. He meant to pull out but he was so drunk off your pussy it slipped his mind.

He slipped out of you and panted. He laid you on the couch on all fours, even though you could barely stand up on your own. Without any thought, he shoved his dick back inside you, groaning with pleasure as his hand grip your ass, fucking you roughly on your couch. “K- Kento, slow… slower please.” But Nanami didn’t listen, he unclasped your bra, pushing the straps off your shoulders. “Sweetheart, your pussy,” he moaned, his lips your ear as he played with your nipples. His chest against your back as he went faster and harder. “I love it so much, f- fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so quick.”

You subconsciously clenched around him, your nails digging into the armrest. You felt your eyes roll back into your head, your ass slapping against his waist, your boobs jiggling each thrust. “Ken.. M’gunna cum..” you warned, but he didn’t care. “Cum, sweetheart. Please, I need it so much.” Nanami swore he going crazy, his dick twitching as he kissed on your shoulder- the exact same spot he left the hickey. You took a hand and rubbed your throbbing and aching clit, putting your head down as you moaned. Nanami hid his face in the crook of your neck, pumping himself roughly into you, trying to make you cum. The euphoric feeling washed over you, soaking Nanami’s dick with your sweet juices. “Kennnn..” you whine. Nanami felt you shake underneath him, he was restricting himself so much he couldn’t help it anymore. He pushed your head down, firmly gripping your hair.

“Shh, please, take it, I’m almost there..” your muffled moans filled the couch, your legs tensing up as you soon felt a warm sensation in your stomach. The sounds of Nanami’s cum gushing into your womb made you whine. It filled you up so much, curling your toes in pleasure. Even after a minute he was still going, so much cum filling you, you were bound to get pregnant.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t..” he panted, taking his hand off your hair and wrapping his hands around your waist. He still was deep inside you, not daring to move a singular muscles. He planted soft kisses on your neck.

“I love you, even if it’s wrong..”

made by, tropicalszns, please do not copy, steal or repost my work without permission

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lis-likes-fics · 5 months

Text

Shijetra Nyke, Mandia

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Velaryon!Reader Word Count: 5.9k words Warnings: NSFW, smut, technically dubcon bc coercion, fingering, implied age gap (she's laena's little sister), multiple orgasms, p in v sex, breeding kink, sort of cheating, mentions of death and war, swearing, technically reader is black but she can be read as any race, High Valyrian, Daemon is not a good person... A/N: Hey, everyone! Was trying to hold off on this one but I decided to just post it anyway. Super excited for HOTD S2 to come out in June. I promise there are ideas for Aemond but writing sucks so much ass so it's just taking a while to get to it. Thank you so much and happy reading!

The seas are steady tonight. As the moon glints off its gentle waves, the water seems to mourn as you do. It was hard to find sleep. You came all the way out here to watch the crashing waves, in hopes of finding some solace in the sea, but even it does not seem to have the strength to roar tonight.

Your nightgown blows in the soft winds of the night as you watch the ocean.

The rustling of sand pulls a sigh from you, and you grit your teeth as you turn away from the man coming to stand next to you. You don't have to look at him to know who it is. You could tell him anywhere.

“I wish to be alone,” you whisper.

Daemon clasps his hands in front of himself as he looks out at the sea. “That is understandable, my lady.”

“And, yet, you are still here.” You look up at him, your features hard as you glare.

His voice is soft. You're not quite sure it fits him. The non-confrontation in his voice feels strange.

“I thought you might need company,” he says, examining your face as he does. For a moment, you think he can see the ghosts of the dried tears you've shed. “It has been a tiring day, after all.”

You huff, turning away again. Looking at him for too long makes your skin crawl. “I have not want of company.”

He hums. “I said ‘need’, not want.”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, I have no need for your company.”

He seems unphased by your hostility. “Even so…” he looks down at you, the look in his eyes sending a shiver down your spine, “you shall have it.” You stare at him, wanting to step back but not wanting to give him that satisfaction. He turns his body to face yours, craning his head down to watch you better.

He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in, as if there were thousands of people here and the secret he is to bestow upon you is too dangerous to say aloud. “It is in times like these, I hear, times where we are most vulnerable, that a bit of presence does one good.”

Despite your urge to stay planted in your sandy spot, you take a small step back without breaking your feigned confidence. “Very well, then,” you say. “You may go and fetch someone else to give me presence. I do not need yours.”

He almost seems amused, though he dies it well. He leans his head back a slight. “You despise me so, yet I have done nothing.”

You let out a breathy scoff, turning away from him and toward your humorless response. “Well, that's the whole of it, isn't it?” You shake your head, your frustration piquing once more. “You've done nothing.”

He hums. “I don't think I understand.”

You look at him, and he can see the anger simmering in your gaze. “Don't you?” You step closer to him, invading his space as he does yours, daring to play his game. “Where were you when my sister left her birthing bed? Where were you when she left the walls of the castle to give herself to her dragon's breath?” Your voice broke as the pain threatened to tear apart your anger. “Where were you when she ordered Vaghar to take her life?”

He almost rolls his eyes at your accusations. “I tried to stop her.”

“But you didn't try hard enough,” you seethe. “Or she would be standing next to me.”

He steps closer, taking the control back. His voice is still quiet, though his level tone is twinged with annoyance. “Laena had her own spirit,” he insists. “She did as she liked well enough. I see not why I should have blame for her own decisions.” His near lack of regard fuels you. “And besides, she would have died anyway. The maesters told me so.”

You shove him back, and your rage is flared by the knowledge that he only moves because he allows you to move him.

“She was everything to me!” Your uneven breaths have your chest heaving as your voice echoes across the water. “Not only my sister, my blood—she was my protector.” You sigh shakily, angrily wiping away the tears welling in your eyes. Your voice softens, though not because you want it to. “Now she is gone.”

He remains silent for a moment, letting it sit until it's no longer comfortable. He tilts his head, still standing so close. “And yet, I am not to blame.”

You roll your eyes, unable to look him in the eyes anymore as you look past his head. “Do you even care?”

“Of course I care,” he insists. “She was my lady wife, after all.”

You raise a brow. “Yet you do not mourn.”

He shrugs a shoulder, entirely unconvincing. “Everyone mourns differently.”

You nod. “And you mourn by shedding no tears and strutting through the castle halls?”

Daemon hums. “You must forgive me if I have offended you, my lady.”

You stare up at him, unblinking as your rage and grief continues to give you the strength to look in his eyes and speak your truth. “You have, and I don't.”

A huge part of that strength crumbles when he steps so close to you that you're forced to step back. You falter, a momentarily fear in your eyes at the predatory gaze in his own. His eyes seem to examine you, taking in each and every little curve of your body every crease in your dress. You try not to shrink under his scrutinization.

His voice is so soft, and your flesh crawls with the sound of it. “What do you need from me?”

You have no choice but to break eye contact. It's too much, too close. You swallow thickly, your voice quieting to a low request, rather than the command you had wanted. “I need nothing from you but for you to remove yourself from my presence. Hastily.”

He stands completely still for a while, his eyes just as fixed on your face. When he moves, it almost startles you. His hand reaches up to touch your face, his fingertips brushing your cheek. You're quick to swat him away with a harsh swipe of your hand, taking a step back. “Do not touch me.”

He says nothing, and the silence is unbearable. He just…watches you. His gaze is intense, focused, terrifying. He stands there, still as a statue for the longest time, before making another attempt for your face. You're just as quick as the first, if not quicker with your flickering frustrations.

“I said don't–”

He grabs your face, not caring this time for gentleness as his dull nails dig into the flesh of your jaw and hold you, pulling you close and keeping there, no matter how much you fight him. Your heart pounds against your ribs, beating so heavily that you think it'll stop any moment now. The fear that washes over you is both a searing chill and a molten burn. “Get off of me!”

Leaning in close, he shakes his head. “Shh, “ he bids. “Hush, little river.”

You hate that. Your family calls you that on occasion because you're the youngest of the Velaryon siblings, Laena especially. It's meant to be kind, for rivers are the waters that feed the sea, but when Daemon says it, you feel so small. You feel so insignificant. He taunts you with it.

“Don't call me that,” you hiss. “Get off of me!” You try to push him away, but as you suspect, he doesn't budge. But his next words make you freeze in your spot.

“You are just as beautiful as her,” he says, tilting his head as he stares. “Your sweet sister.”

You're stunned into silence, into stillness. You stare wide-eyed at him, holding your breath as the sound of the waves slowly beginning to build and the sound of your own heart beating away in your chest fill your ears.

You blink, confusion and shock coloring your face. “What?”

He tilts his head. “I wanted you, you know,” he whispers, his words lingering in the tiny space between you. You can hardly breathe, but you can't look away with his iron grip on your face. “When I married your big sister, I wanted it to be you I would bed that night… I only settled for her.”

Your shaking breath became loud as you tried to remove his hand from you, grasping his wrist with all your strength in an effort to pull him away, to no avail. “Daemon. Don't do this–”

“Now that she has taken her leave of us, bless her…” the slightest smirk slips onto his lips, “I am free to pursue my true desires.”

You shake your head, “Daemon–”

You turn your head just in time to avoid his kiss as his lips press against your cheek. Your squirm, squeezing your eyes shut as frightened tears spring to your eyes. Daemon chuckles darkly, taking a slip of your flesh between his teeth in a nip.

You have no control when he turns your head for you. His lips press hungrily into yours, forcing his lust down your throat whether you want it or not. Your protest comes out as a whimper, and it fuels his fire as his arm snakes around your waist and pulls you flush against his body.

You push against him, struggling to get any traction to shove him away. You reach around to grab his hand at your waist, pulling at his pinkie until you've bent it too far for him to continue holding you. He pulls away, pride shining in his face as he smirks. You push him, but this time he doesn't move.

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call for Arlaryx!” Your command is sharp, but he doesn't seem all that phased by it. You honestly hadn't expected him to be.

He inclines his head back, sneering. “And bring her against my war-grown beast?” He stalks forward, invading your space again, no matter how far you stumble back. “You know your dear thing would not stand a chance.”

The thought of your precious creature in the jaws of Daemon's monstrous demon makes your blood run cold. He's right. She would not be enough against Caraxes.

You shake your head. Your voice is weak. “Please.”

He sighs contently, his smile curling into something especially evil. “I like you begging,” he purrs. “So small and sweet you are, when you do not spit venom.”

A deep snarl just barely resounds over the waves picking up about the sea. As you look over your shoulder, you both take in the sight of Arlaryx, her scales almost as blue as sapphires, a color that blends with the deep seas.

Her towering figure stalks out onto the beach, smoke billowing from her nose as she watches the both of you. Another snarl rumbles in her chest.

The faint sound of another snarl, one much different from her own, is heard seemingly in the back of your mind. But you know you did not imagine it. By the smirk on Daemon's face, you know you have not imagined it.

He bends down, his lips by your ear as he whispers. “Do you want to do this, little river?”

You stare at her, your eyes watering at the haunting images of her torn apart on the sand. Your heart thuds in your chest, and you know she feels it because she begins to snarl again. Her claws dig into the sand, her long tail swishes the water when she takes another step forward.

You steady your breath, opening your mouth and hesitating for a moment. You clear your throat, speaking as level as you can manage.

“Dohaeris, Alarlyx,” you command, swallowing roughly. “Dohaeris. Nyke sȳz.”

The beast makes no move to leave, and you sigh heavily. Curse her and her loyalties. They will get her killed.

You steel your voice, trying to sound stronger than you feel. She will not listen to you if you sound weak. “Lyrkiri,” you insist. The smoke diminishes, becoming thinner and thinner until it has stopped. “Sōvēs, Arlaryx, sōvēs.”

She lifts a heavy claw, easing slightly like she'll actually listen.

Then Daemon wraps an arm around your midsection, pulling your body against his as he presses a kiss to your forehead. You wince, squirming in his grasp.

Arlaryx’s mind seems to be made up. She crouches again, advancing slowly once more as her snarls become louder. Smoke arises once again from her nostrils as she opens her mouth, the burning heart of her rage billowing inside of her.

You both know it's just a threat. She would not put you in such danger, but Daemon's crimes against you have officially enraged her.

But Caraxes’ distant croaks and growls fill your head, and you can't stand it. You nearly shout, sounding almost as desperate as you feel as you drop your voice and command her.

“Dohaeris, Arlaryx,” you bellow. “Dohaeris se sōvēs.”

Her warning snarls are replaced with a sort of whining sound as she takes a hesitant step back. She grunts, and you watch the smoke dissipate. Unfurling her great wings, she takes flight as she disappears into the night. Caraxes’ sounds have ceased. You sigh, almost relieved until Daemon's teeth nip at your ear. Anxiety fills you once more.

“That one is just as stubborn as you.” He kisses your cheek, his tongue darting out to taste the skin. He inhales your scent, and a shiver runs down your spine.

Shutting your eyes, you let out a shaky breath. “Just get this over with.”

Anticipation swirls in your belly, the prospect of his hands on you, his mouth, his…

But he just laughs at you, pulling away from your body and leaving you cold. You turn, surprise on your face as you try to figure out why he'd suddenly pulled away from you. Is he so fickle in his interests that he should let you go before having his way?

You have half a mind to run.

“Ȳdra daor gaomagon bona.” Don't do that. He remains close, his predatory gaze follows you. “Nyke gīmigon jaelā nyke, riña. Tepagon isse, byka qelbar.” I know you want me, girl. Give in, little river.

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists as you step closer. “Nyke ȳdra daor jaelagon ao,” you spit. I don't want you.

He chuckles, leaning in until your faces are inches apart. “Pirtra.” Lies.

He takes a step forward, continuing this back and forth dance—you step, he steps, forward and back, left and right. Then he begins to circle you as you stand there, feeling as small as he probably views you.

“You think I don't notice when your eyes follow me down the hall?” he asks, and the question makes your blood run cold. “You think I don't see you peeking over your cup at dinner?” He stops behind you, pressing his chest to your back and whispering in your ear, his lips caressing the shell. “You crave my touch so deeply, it makes you look pathetic.”

His arms snake around your waist as he pulls you close. Your breath catches in your throat when you feel his hand teasing you, reaching down, down, down.

“I hear you.” Your breath hitches. “At night when you touch yourself to my name.” The smallest breath slips from your lips when his hand cups your heat, his finger teasing your clit over your gown.

“Does it feel good?” His voice is a purr in your ear. “Imagining my fingers plunging inside of you? Wishing it was my teeth sunk into your flesh and not your own nails digging into your skin?”

Your legs tremble, his words resonating in your bones. You shake your head, taking a breath for courage as you object.

“You are not mine,” you whisper, your voice weak. You break out of his hold, turning to watch him as you try to recollect your wavering dignity. “Dead or alive, you are my sister's. I will not sully her memory this way.”

“Oh, come off it.” He comes closer. “Either way, your sister is dead. Why deny yourself pleasure for the memory of a dead sister?”

You slap him. His head whips to the side as your hand inspires a large red blush over his cheek. His fingers brush his skin, a large crooked grin taking his face as he slowly turns to look at you.

You take a small step back, anxiety creeping into you at the way he watches you, like prey being stalked by a cruel beast. He says nothing as he stands there. He begins to walk forward.

And you run.

Sand kicks into the air as you bolt away, your breath loud in your ears and your heart heavy in your chest. Tears spring to your ears as the exertion, the cold thrill of his hunt encourages your escape.

You don't get far. He's faster than you, and his strength is far superior to yours as he wraps his arms around you and lifts you from the ground. You kick your feet, trying to break free from his hold. But it's of no use. You shout over the crashing waves of the tides, waves that have picked up since Daemon arrived. Like they mourn with you, they fight for you, too.

He wrestles you to the ground, flipping you onto your back as he pins your arms down by your head. He looms over you, positioning himself between your legs and ignoring your fight like you're nothing against him. And perhaps you are.

“Go ahead,” he grins, spurred on by your struggle. “Pretend you despise me. Perhaps, now, you do.” He leans in close, whispering in your ear. “But we are all the way out here, with no one to hear your screams but the sea.”

Your fight diminishes, the reality of his words sinking in. You look at him, your eyes wide and struck with adrenaline-coated tears. His gaze is dark, his smile even darker. He shifts one of your arms to the other, grasping both your wrists in one of his big hands as the other strokes your side, dipping beneath your thin gown to touch your bare skin beneath. You shudder at the feeling, anxiety pooling in your belly at the knowledge that you can do nothing to fight him.

“Will you lose breath screaming or cumming?”

Your voice is weak and broken. It's barely a whisper when you speak. “Please.”

He shushes you, his lips so close to yours. You can almost feel it, the heat of his kiss as he would devour you.

And then he does. He presses his lips roughly against yours, his tongue slipping past them to taste you. He grips your side, his dull nail digging into your flesh. You can't help the whine you let out into his mouth, regretting the way you seek him out, especially after he pulls away. And he smiles triumphantly, knowing he has you right where he wants you.

“Don't worry, little river.” A quiet gasp erupts from your chest when his hand cups your bare cunt, his fingers rubbing against your folds before he parts them to plunge his finger inside of you. Your mouth falls open, sharp breaths teetering in and out at the way he touches you, at the way you clench around his finger like you'll die if he pulls away now.

“I'll give you what you've been craving all these years.”

He moves like fire. His hand is insistent as his finger plunges in and out of your wet heat, pulling more and more arousal from your already damp folds. You clench your jaw, stifling your moans as he forces the pleasure down your throat.

When he thrusts another finger inside of you, you moan at the stretch, your eyes rolling back at the way he curls them inside of you. You grab his arm, gripping it tight, though you're not sure if you're trying to stop him or not.

He moves quickly. You don't have time to catch up with the harsh thrusts of his fingers, so you lay back and take it as the pleasure explodes all over your body.

It feels so good. His fingers reach deeper, faster, too. The feeling of someone else's fingers inside of you instead of your own is so foreign. Your frantic breath makes you light-headed, and you can hardly keep your thoughts straight.

“I know it's exhausting,” he mumbles as his palm slaps against your clit, “fighting me.”

But you must fight. For your sister, who meant so much to you. You must fight against this man who let her die. Who would you be if you allowed yourself to succumb to your late sister's husband? She practically raised you, and this is how you repay her?

But here you are. She died hardly two days ago, and you were laying on the sand with Daemon's fingers in your cunt.

Being in this position is surreal. Because he was right, you had been craving this moment for years, wanting so deeply to feel Daemon's passion on your skin. His lips brush your cheek, and he murmurs into your ear. “You'll feel better when you let go.”

Your breath hitches. “Daemon.”

“That's it,” he smirks, feeling you leaning into him. “Close your eyes and give in to me, little river.”

Your eyes flutter shut. The pace of his hand, the feeling of his fingers thrusting so deeply, the pleasure scours your body until you feel yourself reaching your limit.

“Ȳdra daor keligon, Daemon,” you sigh, your voice high with bliss as you pull your hands away from his grasp. “Nyke jorrāelagon ziry.” Don't stop. I need it.

“Qilōni?” Who?

“Ao!” You! You moan, rolling your hips into his hand as he continues to coax your release from you. Your head is spinning, and you've long since left reason behind. “Nyke jorrāelagon ao,” you beg. I need you.

You turn your head to lay your eyes upon the sea, the pleasure within you swelling like the waves crashing against the shore. “Shijetra nyke, mandia.”

Forgive me, sister.

Your lips part and your back arches off the sand as you come undone. Your moans echo off the waters, becoming all the worse when Daemon's teeth nip the flesh of your neck.

It feels amazing, freeing almost. His hand continues to work out through your pleasure, even when it all fades into oversensitivity. He lets go of you, pulling away from your body and staring down at you. You watch through hooded eyes as he examines his hand, watching the way your arousal glistens off his fingers in the moonlight. He looks at you as he licks his fingers clean.

The scene is so erotic, the way he groans at the taste of you on his tongue. “Such a magnificent treat you are,” he hums. He bends down and takes your lips against his own, his tongue licking into your mouth as you taste yourself on him.

You watch as his hand reaches for his belt, and you can't help the way your legs close at the thought of him revealing himself to you. He reaches a hand out, gripping your knee and pushing your legs apart again. “Do not move.”

You do as you're told, waiting with bated breath as he unlatches his belt and sets himself free. You gasp silently at the sight of him, long and solid and flushed pink at the tip. When your eyes lock with his, he looks quite proud of himself.

Daemon turns you on your belly, positioning you as he wants you, with your face shoved into the sand and your hips in the air. His harsh hands grope your body, your ass, your waist, your thighs. You groan, your hips jerking when his thumbs spread your folds apart.

“You're fucking dripping,” he says, a dark smirk in his words as he runs a finger between them.

“Kostilus,” you whisper, taking handfuls of sand to try to control yourself. You were in too deep. Your desire for him has turned to a desperate need embedding itself in the pit of your stomach. Please.

He chuckles, “Say it again.”

You have no mind to refuse him. You've long since lost your dignity, and you've betrayed your sister like you never thought you would. It's too late for you. Why deny yourself pleasure over broken promises?

“Kostilus, Daemon,” you whine, shuddering at the way his hand strokes down your spine. “Nyke jaelagon ao.” I want you.

He puts you out of your misery with a harsh thrust into your needy cunt. You moan, your heavy breaths blowing sand into the air. “Ondoso se gods…” By the gods…

A long groan rumbles in his chest as he closes his eyes, relishing in the feel of your tight pussy. “Fuck,” he curses as he bottoms out. “You are a virgin.” He grips your hips, burying himself so deep that you feel like you can't breathe. “With all your supposed virtue, I thought you were pretending you weren't a dirty whore.”

As he grips you tight, Daemon doesn't take you, he fucks you. He holds you, digs his nails in your flesh. He thrusts his cock in and out of your tight hole, fast and rough and with the recklessness of a starving man devouring his food. The ocean rages. You're not sure if it's a reflection of your betrayal or your need. The sea is strange in that way, it's versatility.

You wish you could disappear into the dark waters, break away from this beast of a man and let the sea consume you. At least then you'd be at peace with yours, part of the waters of your bloodline.

But here are you, consumed by fire as you ignore the burn of the sand scratching your skin. It's a molten kind of pleasure, the kind that oozes out of you in lingering bliss and deep desires. You're slick with arousal, which makes it easier for him to glide in and out of you. His relentless pace smacks against you, the sound of it echoes through the air with the heavy heat of his passion.

Your position is so compromising. Anyone could happen across you. Anyone could walk the shoreline and find you being fucked into the sand by your sister's husband.

Your rationale falls short because the fear of it is nowhere near as strong as it should be. If the lords of Pentos saw you, they would surely gossip. Word would spread through the city, and that word would spread all the way across the sea. Everyone would know, your nieces, your brother, your mother and father. They would reject, disown you. They would strip you of Velaryon, you would be just another Waters bastard of Driftmark.

You could say he made you. You could tell them he threw you to the sand and took you as he pleased, ravaged you as though you were nothing but meat. But Corlys would go to war over you. To have your honor destroyed in such a way, it would be a war of sea against fire, a war full of bloodshed and hatred.

The idea has you running cold, but the chill doesn't last long with the way Daemon's hips thrust into you, full of his own fire.

“What I wouldn't give to spend every moment snug in this virgin cunt,” he grunts, reaching forward as he flattens his hand against the back of your skull. He twists your hair around his fingers and pulls, keeping you secure in his grip. You go limp at the feeling, the weakness seeping into your bones.

“Perhaps I should breed you,” he sighs with a laugh. “I'll fill you full of my seed, maybe even keep you as my broodmare. I'll keep you round with my children, always ready for me to fuck as I please. Is that what you want, little river?”

So truly blinded by your pleasure, you have no choice but to agree. You lean into the way he makes you feel, letting your troubles melt away, your concerns and your hesitations a thing of the past. They will do you no good now.

“Yes,” you gasp, allowing yourself to be ravaged. “Yes, Daemon, I want that.”

The triumphant look in his eyes shines at the way you give in so completely. Empowered by your submission, his thrusts become more merciless. He grunts and groans behind you, tugging on your hair and holding you still as you return the passion.

All of the sudden, he pulls out of you, leaving you cold and shaking. A stray whine seeps off your tongue, but you have no time to let it linger before he’s flipping you onto your back. He throws your legs onto his shoulder and shoves himself back inside of you in just a couple fluid motions. His ruthless thrusts have you nearly crying for him. The blunt head of his cock reaches so deeply like this, punching against that spongy part inside of you as stars swirl in your vision.

“It feels so good,” you moan, though you’re sure your words are nearly incoherent. It feeds Daemon’s ego either way, encouraging a rougher fuck as he gives you what you want, gives himself what he’s been craving all along. He was right. You do feel as good as he thought, better even. You’re so tight, so inexperienced and untouched that all of his cruel pleasure wrecks your body in your sensitivity.

“You can get louder, can’t you?” he asks, bending down to fold you in half for a different angle.

Your head falls back against the sand. You must look a mess, covered in tiny grainy crystals, hair all over the place. But it doesn’t matter. That’s probably what he wants. Your hands reach up to touch his face, pulling him close as he continues to fuck into you. His thrusts are shorter, harder now. You’re running out of breath quickly, struggling to keep up.

“Fuck, don’t stop!” The breathy wail feels almost like it was forced from your lungs. As he reaches his hand down to touch your clit, you’re done for and you know it. “Oh, Daemon, please.”

He’s intent on making you cum, and with the skill he’s acquired throughout his years, you know he’ll be successful. He’s already got you crying his name.

“Are you going to cum on my cock, girl?” he questions, his breath heavy and his hair messy upon his head. “I know you want to, you’re squeezing me so tight.” You cant your hips up into his own, seeking out your sweet release as he hangs it over your head. “Tell me who you want.”

Your eyes, blurry with tears, watch him hazily. “You.”

He tuts. “You can do better than that. If you want to cum, you will tell me who you want to breed this tight little hole of yours.”

You have no mind to refuse him—you have no mind to do anything but follow where the pleasure takes you. With shallow breaths, you blink pleasure tears from your eyes. “I want you, Daemon. Please, I want you to cum in me and make me your whore.”

He doesn’t know if you could have said it any better. Making harsh circles over your clit, he fucks you with all the strength he’s got. You feel like he’ll bruise you with how brutal he’s being. You feel a tightening coil in your belly, one that just clenches and clenches and clenches with every circle on the sensitive pearl he attacks.

“Cum for me, little river,” he commands, leaving you and your body no room to refuse him as he pulls it out of you. “Cum all over my cock and scream my name like the perfect whore that you are.”

And you obey. It’s like a lever being pulled. One moment you’re teetering on the edge, the next you're arching your back and feeling pleasure consuming your body in a fire that makes you shiver. He doesn’t stop fucking you. If anything, the way you tighten around him only makes his thrusts shorter and his grinding rougher. You’re dizzy and your moans are high and pathetic.

He doesn’t stop attacking your clit. You’re so sensitive, once the pleasure wanes and the movements sting, you squirm away from him, but he doesn’t care. He holds you in place and commands you as though you were one of the dragon beasts he meant to train. He wraps his free hand around your throat, leaning down to bite and suck at your neck. “Dohaeris,” he hisses, his tone sharp and quiet but full of so much of a threat that you bear through the discomfort until it twists in your gut into the dizzying sensation of overstimulated pleasure again.

His name falls from your lips like a chant. The sound of it continues to spur him on, his thumb becoming faster as he searches for that same release for himself. “Please, Daemon,” you whimper, “please cum inside of me. I need you to cum inside of me, please.”

You tip him over the edge. With a growl, he shoves his cock as far as he can go, far enough that it hurts when he buries himself so deep. Grinding into you, his hot release fills you to the brim. Encouraged by the adrenaline, his ruthless thumb carries on until you’re cumming with him.

Your sounds mix in the air, his grunts, your moans, the squelching sound of his cock thrusting into your clenching cunt. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he praises, his voice rough with the effects of his release.

With two more thrusts, as rough as he can make them—just for the fun of it—he pulls out of you. You whine, laying limply on the sand. He watches you, smiling at the way you seem to struggle to stay conscious.

He considers just leaving you there to recuperate on your own.

Daemon adjusts himself, stuffing his cock back into his trousers and fixing his belt. He stares at your cunt all the while, using his fingers to shove his cum back inside of you every time it begins to leak out.

He sits you up, fixing your gown and pulling your face to sit inches from his own. “Iksā ñuhon,” he mutters into your ear, his words clear. “Daorys kostagon renigon ao sir.” You shudder at his claim, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispers to you. You are mine. No one can touch you now.

”Do you understand me?” he asks, and you know you cannot refuse.

Not that you ever want to.

You nod slowly, looking up at him as you accept your fate. “Kessa, Daemon.”

He hums. “Good.” Staring at your lips, he leans in and kisses you. He kisses you with force and power, using a kind of domination that was quite unnecessary—given the fact that he’d already taken your virginity and, quite possibly, bred you with his children. There’s a hint of something in the background, however, a hunger, a desperation that seeps into your skin and makes you feel warm.

Under the cruelty is a gentleness that is entirely foreign to you. You chalk it up to imagination as he pulls away, pinching your cheek. “Come with me,” he orders. “I am not done with you yet, my little river.”

Shijetra nyke, mandia.

Ice and Fire taglist: @divinearchangel @alexxavicry @katsukis1wife @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @urmomsgirlfriend1 @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo @lover-of-books-and-tea @avalyaaa Tag yourself here...

#daemon targaryen #daemon targeryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader smut #daemon targaryen fanfiction #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #a song of ice and fire #fanfic #fanfiction #female reader #reader insert

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beenbaanbuun · 5 months

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okay okay so question, has san been informed of the relationship dynamics in the house? i’m assuming he knows about matz and darling but was he pre warned about darling and yeo? bc i just thought about it and image they just kinda forgot to mention that they have a bestie with benefits situation, so second nature for them, and then randomly one day san walks in on darling and yeo going at it. the poor guy is 1) startled bc no matter what scenario that’s awkward but 2) he potentially thinks that darling and yeo are doing something wrong. so now he’s left to figure out if he should say something to matz or if that’s just way above his pay grade. idk why this whole scenario is so funny to me but it is. poor sannie��

san was 100% not prewarned…

of course he knows abouts hwa and joong and the weird pink thing that follows them around like a little puppy, but yeosang and darling?? he’s clueless!

so i’ve mentioned before in this post that sex between the two of them is technically banned unless mommy and daddy are there to make sure it doesn’t get out of hand. it just so happens that darling is a little brat and yeosang will do anything to make her happy (even if he won’t admit it) and no one ever said a little head here and there wasn’t allowed… if darling wants to suck yeosang off, it’s not technically against the rules, right?

and that’s absolutely what san walks in on one day…

the dining room door swings open, startling you as you push yeosang’s cock to the back of your throat. you gag around it, immediately pulling off of it to cough your lungs out. you’re half expecting to hear hongjoong scoff at the two of you before commanding yeosang get on the floor too, or perhaps seonghwa to give you a disappointed sigh before getting you to crawl to him. instead all you hear is a tray clatter to the floor.

“what the—”

“san!” yeosang cries, hands flying to his dick to cover his achingly hard member. he nudges you with his knee, trying to get your attention, but you just hit his thigh; can’t he see you’re choking on his dick? “we weren’t doing anything!”

you nod through your coughs, agreeing that you definitely weren’t breaking any rules. what san doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“you weren’t— yeosang, she was sucking you off!” the butler practically screeches. yeosang hushes him harshly in return; the other members of the house definitely do not need to know what transpired between the two of you. “are you— do they—” san takes a deep breath to calm himself, “is this allowed?”

silence fills the room, neither you or yeosang wanting to answer that question. as much as the two of you like to pretend that anything other than actual penetration is allowed, you both know that it really isn’t. if either of your lovers caught you like this, you’d both be punished more severely than you ever have been before.

san swallows thickly, the worst case scenario filling up his mind. but you seem so in love with them? how could you even consider cheating on them with yeosang? he’s just supposed to be a cuddle buddy, isn’t he?

he should tell someone, he decides. after all, his bosses would be fuming if they found out that he knew about this. the last thing he wants is to get fired from the best paying job he’s ever had. he takes a step back to the door, preparing himself to sprint upstairs to hongjoong’s office.

“where are you going?” yeosang warbles, eyes going wide, “are you going to tell hongjoong? please don’t tell hongjoong…”

“well i—”

“san, no,” you say, voice gravelly from the effects of having a dick shoved down it. from your position on the floor, it feels like you’re begging him. perhaps you are; he supposes it won’t be pleasant for you if your lovers find out you’re cheating on them. “please, they’ll be so mad.”

“i need to—”

“it’s not like it’s actual sex,” yeosang tries to reason, “just small things; it barely even counts!”

“it’s still wro—”

“it’s not wrong, per se,” you whine, “they were just too busy to watch and we were both horny…”

“i don’t ca— wait, what?” san pauses, the cogs in his brain turning as he mulls over your words, “you mean to say you two are allowed to do this?”

you shrug.

“they’re supposed to watch but sometimes they’re busy and it’s not like we ever take it further than this!”

and suddenly, san doesn’t care anymore. he shakes his head, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. it’s his fault for digging, he supposes, but he wasn’t quite expecting for it to be a whole voyeurism thing rather than a cheating scandal. it serves him right for sticking his nose in places it doesn’t belong.

“no,” he mumbles, “this is above my pay grade… weird fucking family.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #matz x reader #yeosang x reader #opposites attract universe #ateez smut #poly ateez x reader #poly ateez smut

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fairytale-poll · 8 months

Text

SEMIFINAL ROUND, MATCH 2 OUT OF 2!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Miss Piggy:

In the movie, she pretends to be Lady Holiday and when her identity is revealed is leaves on of her shoes there cinderella style.

Cinders:

She spent decades searching every moon and planet trying to find her wife (Rose), who was kidnapped on their wedding day. Eventually, she found Rose, and they embraced, only for Rose to die in Cinder’s arms. And so Cinder killed the king who had kidnapped Rose by punching through his chest and into his heart.

And then Cinder got a somewhat happy ending, in which she met Rose’s clone who had Rose’s memories.

What if Cinderella was a Sci-Fi lesbian? Well here she is. She has a whole love song about searching the stars for her girlfriend after their wedding was interrupted and she was taken away. She spends years searching only to when she finally finds and embraces her watch her be shot. Cinders is so devastated by this that she plunges her wedding ring into the heart of the man who shot her love killing him.

Lesbian space princess who elopes with the terrifying soldier who was previously conquering her planet and spends decades searching for her when they’re separated. Listen to her song https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=6w9V-gMgBF4

I think the way she punches the evil king through the heart as revenge for her wife is pretty neat.

She’s a revolutionary married to a woman, what’s not to love? From Cinders’ Song: “ When I was a little girl, my mother always told me / “Someday your prince will come, my love” / But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me”.

her girlfriend got cloned and most of said clones were brutally slaughtered in war and she searched for her girlfriend all throughout the galaxy and when they were finally reunited on the battlefield her girlfriend died. and a clone of her girlfriend who due to technical errors retained her memories, so does that count as the same girlfriend? theseus’s girlfriend? anyway vote for cinders she’s been through hell

Lesbian!! Has to search for her lost love Rose with her glass wedding ring that changes color when its near its partner!! Gets to embrace Rose once again for one final moment before the villain kills Rose right in front of her!! So Cinders kills him in return!! And she’s left as (almost) the only surviving main character from her own album but!! She is eventually reunited with a clone of Rose, and while they cannot have a truly ‘happy ever after’ together they are the ones graced with the closest thing to it

SPACE LESBIANS (she’s in love with Rose Red, who gets kidnapped on their wedding day and Cinders searches the galaxy to find her, waiting for her white ring to turn crimson, indicating that its twin was near) She took her name from the ashes of her burning planet <3 She also killed Old King Cole >:)

shes a tragic lesbian and killed a violent dictator shes literally the best

shes gay shes traumatized she dates both rose red and sleeping beauty. badass space wanderer looking for her wife

Her wife Rose gets kidnapped on their wedding day and Cinders spend the next thirty years looking for her. She finds her (:D) and then Rose dies (D:) and then Cinders kills the guy who killed Rose (girlboss).

shes a lesbian. she lost her wife, Rose (yes, as in sleeping beauty) the day they got married bc she was kidnapped. she spent 20 YEARS looking for her. as soon as she found her wife, Rose DIED IN HER ARMS. Cinders has gone through Too Much to lose this poll

(Her info from the wiki) the Princess of a planet burnt by King Cole’s army, after it is ceded by her stepmother. She is imprisoned, meets Rose and plans to marry her. She is released by her godmother for the wedding, then flees when the attack happens, spending thirty years looking for Rose. Her half of the wedding ring will light up when she finds Rose.

“When I was a little girl, my mother always told me 'Someday your prince will come, my love’ But as I grew, I knew it was a princess who would hold me I looked to the stars for you, my love” She’s lesbian Cinderella IN SPACE. She fell in love with her wife in prison and they ran away to have a secret marriage but the empire kidnapped Rose on their wedding night and Cinders had to leave her behind. She searches for Rose for decades with the glass ring that guides her to its twin on her wife’s finger. She finally reunites with her love after Rose rips three supersoldiers to pieces with her bare hands (hot) but then then the evil king kills Rose so Cinders fucking punches through his heart. And then a clone of Rose (who is also lesbian Sleeping Beauty IN SPACE) finds her cradling her wife’s body and they have a happy reunion(?) and maybe they didn’t have a happy ending BUT WHAT IF THEY HAD EACH OTHER? HUH? AAAAAH

she’s everything. she’s a princess from a long since conquered planet. she was imprisoned to make a statement of the brutal reign of old king cole. she met her wife while she was in prison, a beautiful brutal soldier covered in scars from battles. cinders and rose fell in love, so cinders’ godmother in white broke her out of jail so rose and cinders could be together. they were going to be married, except that OLD KING COLE intervened and kidnapped rose to make her the genetic base of his unholy army. so cinders spends THIRTY YEARS searching the galaxies for her love (and sings a really cool song about it called “Cinders’ Song”) until finally she arrives during the final battle just in time to see old king cole SHOOT ROSE DEAD. so cinders punches the king so hard (with her wedding ring) that he just Crumples Into Dust. the end! (no we do not talk about the fiction.)

lesbian, for one, and for two i don’t really care i just think it’d be cool if she got in/if she made it past the first round

no one seems to have linked cinder’s song yet, so here [Link]

better yet, listen to the whole album too, for context and also what comes after. it slaps and also tragedy it’s such a good album suhc a good band too

Someone already sent the song as propaganda, so I will provide SPOILER propaganda. [Click link to see spoilers.]

[Link]

#cinderpoll #round 6 #semifinals #miss piggy #lady holiday #the muppets #muppets #the great muppet caper #cinders #once upon a time in space #the mechanisms #cinderella #fairytale #poll tournament #poll bracket #character polls #polls

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thelilylav · 5 months

Text

Y'know what? Fuck it (gives u guys a list of poc artists to listen to cause the white ppl on the music side of tumblr have been embarassing me)

List is under the cut, and warning bc I made it very long

Rock:

Los Abuelos De La Nada

Gesu No Kiwami Otobe

Chuck Berry

Ben E. King

Los Prisoneros

Ahmed Fakroun (ok this one's french art rock but in my book it still counts)

Burnout Syndromes (been fucking w them since I got into Haikyuu lmao)

Infinity Song (their hater song genuinely gets me every time LMAO)

People in the Box

N.E.R.D (my god if u don't know them.. idk dude my brother has been obsessed w them for forever so i just was not getting away regardless lol)

Punk/Punk Rock (& other punk subgenres):

Nova Twins (u must listen to them it's just the way it's gotta be guys)

Rina Sawayama (her hatred of Matty Healy is so attractive. i cannot believe i found her two years ago cause i still remember i would not shut up when i first heard her music it was so good)

BABYMETAL (the way their band name just straight up screams at people gets me every time lmaooo)

Indie:

The Younger Lovers

Mashrou Leila

Stella Jang

Shak SYrn (Jenni is on repeat in my room at any given moment)

Steve Lacy (if u listen to more than just Bad Habit u will find an actuall amazing discography)

Jenny Nuo (i have been OBSESSED w her music since like 2021 ish and it is a crime she hasn't blown up more imo)

Nujabes

Hemlocke Springs (oooo i hate that she does not get more love!!! synth pop and alt indie is such a fun niche like!!!)

Lyn Lapid (in my head she's huge but i have recently learned that artists i think r super popular may be unknown to an entire genre of ppl soo)

Megagonefree (found them on ig and omg!! PLS go check them out genuinely)

boa (i am once again shaming u if u don't know them)

Wallice

JAZZ (in all caps bc I fucking LOVE jazz no it's not dead go listen to jazz rn motherfuckers):

Idris Muhammad

Esperanza Spalding

Joanna Wang (ok she does pop and folk music too but idk she felt most appropriate here)

SAMARA JOY (put. some. respect. on. her. name. i would actually go to war for her i am not kidding. also this is in all caps bc MY MOM GOT TO SEE HER LIVE??? AND SHE DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHO SHE WAS PLS I WAS SO MAD OMGGG but i've been promised tickets next time so we're good)

Sade (my og one and only)

Funk:

Fadoul

George Clinton (i mean he's just a classic yknow)

Parliament (Give Up the Funk can make me dance like no other i swear)

Stevie Wonder (i mean.. like if we're on the topic of classics anyway then...)

Michael Jackson/The Jackson 5 (moreso his earlier stuff if my memory isn't lying to me.. look it's been a second since i listened to mj IM SORRY i am a busy person ok TT)

R&B:

Valerie June

Maxine Nightingale (if u don't listen to her... how do u have fun? actual question i put her on every time i need to feel happy atp)

Boney. M (technically they're reggae but they also count as R&B so idk.. i'm just putting them here if anyone wants me to move them later i will)

Amahla (Ca Suffit was so good and got me to check out the rest of her music, YOU SHOULD TOO!!)

Mary J Blige (not to judge but like... if u don't know THE queen then idk how to help you tbh)

SZA (wouldn't be a list without her in it tbh. i'm in love w her not even joking abt that)

Kali Uchis (to this day i cannot believe i saw her live i'm truly never getting a better moment than that omggg i have such a big crush on her anyway)

Aupinard (if ever u need to just vibe, this is the man u go to.)

Wejdene (TU PARLES AVEC UNE ANISSA MA MOI J'APPELLE WEJDENE- she's been my day 1 since i was like thirteen i can't even lie)

Annisse (just found out she only has like ~500 listeners on spotify??? apparently i'm one of them tho lmao so yeah go get that number up guys i love her too much for this disrespect)

Sister Sledge

Cheryl Lynn

Reggae:

Daddy Yankee (he's an honourable mention cause i couldn't not lmao)

Skindred (they're a reggae/metal fusion band and i will shut up abt them when i'm dead bc Nobody rewired my brain chemistry!!)

Manu Chao

Toquinho (i was so convinced this man was bossa nova but apparently he is reggae and i need to do some music theory review)

Folk:

Sushi Soucy (oh the things I Deserve to Bleed had me going thru in 2020/2021)

Miriam Makeba (Pata Pata should be enough to get anyone listening to her, just saying)

Lead Belly (do urself a favour and do some research on this man, i'm not kidding even if u don't like folk music u should know abt him- ESPECIALLY if u like Nirvana that'll make sense later trust)

Pop:

Corinne Bailey Rae (she has so much good music that gets ignored bc of Put Your Records On so.. yeah go listen to Black Rainbows she's only gotten better as time goes on lol)

Dru (he is for any person who likes ke$ha. i'm so serious he is early 2000s in a bottle and i love his music ur rlly missing out if u ignore him)

Monique Hasbun (found her recently! she's a Palestinian, Mexican and Salvadorian artist who plays around with Latin pop and does a lot of fusion music. she's dope go listen to her fr)

Mohammad Assaf (he made the Palestine song that's been going around ig a lot, but his other stuff is great as well. he's another Palestinian artist, so once again, go check him out!!)

Pinkpanthress (i LOVE her she's so much fun to just vibe to and idk how anyone couldn't have heard of her atp but then again this is the sight that didn't know who drake was so... sigh. go listen to her if u don't already!!)

Aliyah's Interlude (BROOO if u haven't heard of her actually go listen rn i'm so serious she is so good i can'ttttt ok bye)

Veondre (had a collab w Aliyah on It Girl and is gonna be releasing her own music very soon! she's trans too so go give her some love)

Shalco (wasn't sure whether to put him here or in hip hop, but his stuff is very very good either way)

Ado (she's j-pop but it's a form of pop so into the pop category she goes)

Moon (she's got two songs out rn, Moonlight and Seoul City Drift, and both r going on loop in my head at all times)

Jay Chou (call me a basic bitch idc he's good ok)

Atarashii Gakko! (i wouldn't say they're j-pop, but google did, so i'm just going w it lol)

flowerovlove (just trust me on this one)

El Tio Gamboin (Los Gatitos is such a cute song)

Grace Chang (see note for Jay Chou)

King Gnu (for all my j-pop lovers... come get ur man)

Salsa:

Lalo Rodriguez (included this genre specifically so i could mention him)

Adalberto Santiago

Roberto Roena (he's a classic i can't lie)

Hector Lavoe (i think he might be the most popular one in this genre lol)

City Pop (this is its own genre bc i literally did a presentation in high school abt it and i'll be damned if i don't flex my knowledge now):

Mariya Takeuchi

Miki Matsubara (my QUEEN my everything my-)

Anri

Taeko Onuki (one of my most listened to artists last yr for a Reason)

Kaoru Akimoto

Kingo Hamada

Jun Togawa

Bossa Nova:

Joao Gilberto (ooo he gets me every time i fucking love this man)

Elizeth Cardoso

Johnny Alf (forgot this man the first time around my bad BUT he's called the father of bossa nova for a reason so)

Hip Hop:

Flyana Boss (they're sooooo good i actually can't gush enough i have never felt so girlypop listening to music before go listen to them!! found the duo through ig so yeah if u want go follow them on there too to show support)

Lil Uzi Vert (for any emo lovers, go check out his song Werewolf with Bring Me the Horizon it is SO GOOD)

Samyra (she's slowly curing my body dysmorphia lol)

Yame (there's an accent on the e but idk how to do that on tumblr. anyway my ass loves french rap and before him i was stuck with klub des loosers so he saved my faith in the genre i can't even lie)

Lay Bankz (u cannot be chronically online and not have heard Ick yet, but i'm repping her regardless bc SHE'S SO GOOD)

A Boogie Wit Da Hoodie (HEAR ME OUT-)

Kaliii (Area Codes was one of my most listened to songs last year... as it should be tbh)

Miguel (he does R&B too i just first listened to him bc of his collab w J.Cole sooo)

Tyler the Creator (putting him on here just to brag abt getting to see him in concert lmao)

XXXTentacion (he has been mourned and talked abt an insane amount, but he deserves it i'm not even gonna joke on this one. his artistry is insane and he deserves some love if u haven't listened to him yet)

Kendrick Lamar (i mean i've been reblogging stuff abt him enough. Mr. Morale was actually the album that made me start Listening listening to him and i'm honestly glad it was bc that album is still my favourite to this day if i'm being totally honest)

Renaissauce (criminally and i do mean CRIMINALLY underrated)

#ok i'm stopping here bc i'm a little scared that tumblr is gonna crash on me soon #but u guys get the point #if anyone wants an extension of this list w more genres i would be happy to provide btw #this felt so chaotic to make but it was rlly fun to go through my spotify and actually check the artists i listen to #idk sometimes u just have to remind yourself that you do in fact have good music sometimes lol #music #kendrick lamar #tyler the creator #kali uchis #samara joy #music recs #was contractually obligated to make this after seeing how white some ppl's playlists r apparently #and like guys... you've got no excuse if my white ass can find time to appreciate music #plus these artists r all amazing on their own anyway so check them out regardless #also i'm so sorry to my moots for not shutting up abt music lately #apparently i had a lot of feelings abt it that i have not been getting of my chest so #i'll be back to posting the norm soon (although what even is the norm for me lol)

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adonis-koo · 2 years

Text

wicked • 15

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 13k

Previous | Next | Masterlist

tags: jungkook really loves grabbing mc’s throat, dirty talk, breath play, dom!kook, possessiveness, clit play, multiple orgasms, overstimulation (m & f), vaginal fingering, squirting, wet humping...? is that a thing? slight size kink

Note:I’m so excited to announce chapter 15! I hope you all love it as much as I do, inbox is open for asks and I would love to hear everyones opinions bc im sure yall are gonna be feeling some type of way by the end.

“How dare you accuse my maid of such a thing!” You hissed out from your seat, glaring into Di Jin with a venomous glare, “She is no such thing as an assassin and you should be utterly ashamed of yourself for even thinking of such!”

Di Jin slammed his hands on the stable snarling at you, “Then tell me why she’s been missing from several of her shifts the last month? The only person who would be able to get into your room late into the night with guards posted would be her? There was a second attempt, was there not?”

You shook your head, trying to not let your jaw slackened at the blatant disrespect, “Because I authorized it! Her mother has been deathly ill over the last month and I’ve given her time to be away from the castle to tend to her!”

Di Jin’s nostrils flared as he leaned back in his seat, as he stared at you for a long moment as if a predator sizing its prey, “What a convenient cover, tell me Princess, have you ever seen this sickly mother?”

“I-”

“Have you taken the time to track your servant’s whereabouts when she had stayed out even later than you authorized?” Di Jin growled.

“I will not have my wife being interrogated,” The doors opened once more, Jungkook who had barely been held back on the other side had managed to break in once more, his father still arguing with him, “Not if I have anything to say about this.”

Dae Seong had yanked him back by the shoulder, “You’re going to listen to me boy! Let him do what he needs to if you value her safety at all.”

Jungkook had retaliated by grabbing him by the collar, yanking him closer as he snarled quietly, “If you value anything we still have then you’ll let me be by her side.” Jungkook shoved him away before swiftly walking up to the table.

Di Jin didn’t even attempt to watch their squabble as he stood up from his seat, hands on the table as he leaned in, “Or have you knowingly let her do this?”

“Oh yes,” You sneered standing up as well, challengingly glaring back, “It makes much sense that I’d be the orchestrator behind my own attempted assassination. I may be an outsider and I may not know all the in’s and outs of Penumbra but I will not sit here and let you dictate to me who I am or who my servant is!”

Jungkook puffed a breath in satisfaction at the tongue lashing you were giving the old codger as he went to wrap and arm around you, “We’re going, if you’re finished.”

Di Jin’s nostrils flared at the interruption as you took Jungkook’s hand which had been extended in an offer to help you out of your seat.

“This isn’t over Princess.”

Your eyes burned into his, “You’re right,” You placed your hands on the table as you leaned in closer to him, your voice deathly quiet, “This is just the beginning Di Jin, tread carefully where you walk in these halls.”

Jungkook’s arm found its way around you once more as you allowed him to guide you out of the room, anger visibly trembling off your body as you tried with every breath to calm yourself down.

“We need to speak to the others.” You forced your voice to quiet as you both stepped out of the frigid room.

“I’ve already asked Taehyun to retrieve them all, we’re meeting in Namjoon’s quarters.” Jungkook answered steadily, “We’ll get her back Y/n.”

“I can only hope.”

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Namjoon shook his head as he looked through the records that covered the small table of his office where everyone sat, “It does look incriminating,” He frowned at your pitiful state as you rubbed your forehead, “And it doesn’t help that you’ve given her unsupervised access outside the gate’s Princess.”

You sucked in a harsh breath as you shook your head, “Had I known Di Jin was going to do this I would’ve had someone go with her…Is Taehyung’s word nothing? He helped her mother after all.”

“Seer’s are not allowed into politics and worldly affairs.” Jungkook shook his head, his hands resting on the arm’s of his chair but seemed to twitch at the way you restlessly shifted in your seat, sitting a hair too far away for his liking, “Even though Taehyung can consort with us in private, his words would be seen as invalid to the court.”

This made your lips quiver into a frown, the one person who could possibly save her was considered…invalid?

“Not only that but Taehyung could potentially jeopardize his position on the Guiding Hand if he tried to speak to court.” Hoseok chimed, leaning back in his chair in thought.

“And if Di Jin snoops about and Taehyung chooses to speak out regardless, he could accuse Taehyung of being another accomplice of hers, putting him in a cell right next to her.” Jimin seemed painfully sullen, his hand resting on his cheek as he frowned.

“What about her mother? Surely we could speak to her?” Hoseok asked.

“They’ve taken her into custody as well,” Jimin replied once more looking as though the whole situation disturbed him, “By possible accomplice of her, and since her mother has been cured of blood rot Di Jin suspects it was never there to begin with.”

Just his words made your hands curl in anger, “This is ridiculous!” Everyone looked at you as you hissed the words out, “What is the meaning behind this? Truly? There has to be an ulterior motive from Di Jin to accuse her of such a thing.”

It was silent for a long time before Namjoon sighed, “Many things are hidden to us right now, perhaps for a reason. All we can do is focus on freeing Wheein.”

“Still,” Yoongi grabbed his chin, “It would be worthwhile to see Wheein’s mother, and someone should speak with Taehyung about this, I’ve yet to see him since the whole incident.”

“I’ll speak with him,” You volunteered yourself, “I’m sure he’s taken the news hard, and I’d like to see too it personally to assure him that we’ll find a way to keep her safe.”

“I’ll go with you then.” Jungkook also spoke up, “Taehyung has likely not taken the news well, and knowing him he’ll want to speak with me directly.

You frowned at this, your heart dully aching at the thought, “The least I can do is apologize to him for letting this happen.” You looked away from Jungkook as you heaved a deep sigh, “This is my fault after all.”

You just wanted to be kind…especially when it was something you could help with, how could it end this way? Wheein had been nothing but kind to you the moment she introduced herself, and this is what she got in return.

Had you been looking at Jungkook you would’ve seen the way his fist curled, aching to reach out to you, to do something, anything to try and ease the severe stress and guilt you were under right now.

It was silent for a long moment before Jungkook spoke, thinking over his words carefully before he redirected himself to the men at the table, “Namjoon, I want you to look back in past schedules of who was on rotation during the nights Wheein went out and I’d like you to speak with them if you feel they’re allegiance is with the Jeons.”

“Hoseok I want you to keep track of Di Jin from now on, try to be covert about it and Jimin…” Jungkook looked across the table at Jimin who seemed to be staring at the wall, as if purposely ignoring the prince, “I know…your relationship with him is distant at best…” Jungkook frowned, “But if there’s any way you could talk to him, make him believe you're on his side…we need to figure out why he’s doing this.”

“Jungkook…” Jimin sighed softly, looking at war with himself and for a brief moment you were confused until you remembered the words Wheein ushered to you many months ago.

‘Jimin was the bastard son of the Head of the Guard’

The pieces were all slowly fitting together, Di Jin having been the old head of guard, which meant he was Jimin’s father…You sunk in your seat, oh dear what a mess things were quickly becoming…

Jimin relented, “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook’s words were sincere, “There’s nothing else to discuss at this time, don’t let me hold you all from your duties.” He waved to them all as everyone stood up, yourself included as you made your way to the exit.

Yoongi opened the door for you as you quietly thanked him before stepping out, an odd absence filling your chest at the realization that Wheein was no longer escorting you to where you went, nor would she stay with you when you asked her too.

The rest of your day felt like a void, you still had your duties to attend to the project in the Market, you had to talk and be social with various businesses, walking them through their future new stores and making arrangements with various vendors about what to get for each shop.

The day had passed before you knew it and yet all you could think about was Wheein, her tear stained eyes and whimpers when you saw her.

It snapped your heart like a twig to even think about, out of everyone, why did Di Jin have to choose her as his target? It just didn’t make sense. And you firmly believed you were not being fooled here, Wheein had been easily the kindest person you had ever met in Penumbra.

Arriving at your and Jungkook’s room it was quiet and chilled in the room making you tremble as you shut the door, only a few candles lit making it difficult to see as you glanced around, realizing you had nobody to help you change.

Your eyes glossed over as you inhaled sharply, you could call for another maid, you should call for another maid. But your stubbornness wouldn’t let you as you stretched your arms towards your back, trying to haphazardly undo the back making your muscles begin to ache and twitch as you huffed.

This went on for several minutes before you finally stopped and frustratedly dropped your arms letting out a quiet sob as you pressed your hands on your eyes, the one person who you trusted with your entire being was being falsely accused of your own attempted murder.

Stress filtered your body once more as you hurriedly tried to push back your tears at the sound of the door opening.

Jungkook had a handful of papers he was reading through when he walked in at the unsightly mess of you halfway dressed and the unmistakable look you always had when you were crying.

He lowered his papers as he looked at you for a long moment.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Your eyes filled with tears once more before you finally gave up trying to hold them in, closing your eyes as you defeatedly let the warm tears trickle down your cheeks.

Jungkook sighed, setting the papers down at the desk before he walked over, “You look pitiful.” Standing in front of you he gently cupped your cheek, pushing the tears from your cheeks, “You should’ve called for a maid.”

“I have a maid!” You hissed out, “And she’s in a dungeon right now for something she didn’t do!” This made you weep once more as you shook your head, “Why would they do this Jungkook? Why? I don’t understand! There isn’t a soul sweeter than Wheein, why would they claim the assassin was her?”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook frowned, “But if I had to take a guess, it’s because they want to place distrust among us from the inside,” Jungkook replied steadily, “If we can’t trust even our most loyal servants, how can we trust each other? The seed of doubt eventually blossoms in its own time. I’m not sure how, but the Rosewood’s are most likely the cause of this.”

He gently turned you around before he began to undo the back of your dress, albeit a bit clumsy, but with patience the material slipped off.

“Not only this but if we let this distract us they might be stirring to do another attempt soon.” Jungkook frowned as you turned to face him, “If you die in Penumbra it’s going to trigger a shattering throughout the entire continent. War will be all we know until we’re the last kingdom standing.”

“If that's what it takes for Wheein to live I will gladly die.” You inhaled sharply.

“You will not.” Jungkook grabbed your chin harshly, his eyes glaring into you at your words, “I know you miss her, but crying about it and being unnecessarily self sacrificial isn’t going to get her back.”

His words stung, and the prick of hurt they caused made you shove his hand away, “You may be right but you don’t have to be so cold about it.”

Jungkook tucked his tongue into his cheek as he scoffed, “Well princess, somebody needs to tell you, otherwise god only knows what you’ll do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” You snapped back, not appreciating his bluntness right now, you had come to terms with the fact that Jungkook was nothing like that last love you had known, Seokjin was always dripping in honeyed words and sweet nothings.

He loved to coddle you and dote on your feelings. Jungkook did no such thing, you had for the most part become accustomed to this, but in these moments of vulnerability it stung having your feelings coldly told to stop.

“It means the last time you let your feelings overcome your logic this happened.” Jungkook snapped, grabbing your hand and lifting it as he shook it, the marks on your hands still freshly healed and scars evident, “You were unconscious for two days Y/n. Two days! If you hadn’t been so emotional you wouldn’t be wearing gloves every time we step out of this room.”

It was silent for a long moment as you snatched your hand from his grip as if he had been the one to burn you, eyes watering now but they were glaring at him in hurt and anger and he let out a long sigh, as if realizing he perhaps, went too far.

“As a Eunoian, we are kind and expect no kindness in return. You might look at me as nothing more than an emotional woman, but I would never turn anyone away who needs my help, that is not who I was raised to be, that’s not who I am. Yes it scarred me and no I may not remember all of those events, but I know I helped, I know I made a difference even if it was only for a few people and I will not let you stand here and chastise me over it.” You stared at him for a long moment indignant.

How could he stand here and insult you like this?

Jungkook looked away from you with a briefly strained expression, and you were familiar with it because he always made that face when he was holding his tongue, it made you scoff, “Well you might as well say what you want too, go ahead, get it off your chest since I’m being so emotional.”

“You know what you sound like right now Y/n?” Jungkook chucked bitterly, “You sound like a martyr,” He pointed a finger low at you, “Nobody is asking you to do that here, not a single person. Whether you like it or not you’re the Crowned Princess, your life does matter more then a peasants because the whole fucking world decided to weaponize the little Eunoian Princess nobody would dare hurt as a political tool to make us heel like a bitch.”

Your lip twitched at his words, “Oh I’ve been well aware for the last three damn years what I am to the world! Don’t stand here and try to educate me on that, I knew from the moment I was told I had to marry you that my life didn’t matter more than just being a good bitch to the crown!”

Your eyes watered once more, “That’s what you said on our wedding night and you were right. But it doesn’t change what I believe or how I feel and if that makes me a martyr then so fucking be it! I watched as my own people sent me away with smiles on their faces all pretending as if they hadn’t exiled me from my own country as if I hadn’t given up my studies as a young girl to aide as a healer during the five year war as if I wasn’t allowed to eat if the people were hungry and when we were supposed to celebrate our holidays, we stopped to mourn the burning piles. I knew since I was a child that my life didn’t matter to anyone aside from what I could do or what I could give.”

“It fucking matters to me!” Jungkook’s patience had finally worn, you were suddenly pressed against the wall, his hand wrapped your throat with the most delicate grip as his forehead pressed against yours, “Don’t you get it you stubborn, hard headed woman? Your life matters to me, I don’t care about any tradition or belief you have if it has anything to do with dying. I just got you, I’m not letting you go.”

It was silent for a long moment as you felt his thumb tenderly trace against your windpipe as you sniffled.

“You could’ve just said that without picking a fight. And you didn’t have to be so mean,” Your eyes stung with tears, “Your words do hurt, I know crying won’t get Wheein back, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m terrified of what they might do to her.”

Jungkook’s expression softened ever so slightly as you closed your eyes, a few stray tears trickling down your cheeks, “I would never cry with anyone else like this, so let me do it with you, let me share the deepest parts of my heart with you, my deepest fears and concerns, my doubts and insecurities. You say you want me, that you don’t want to lose me, then show me you want me, all of me, even the parts you don’t like, even the parts you hate.”

“I could never hate you.” Jungkook ushered out quietly, his hand moving from your throat to your cheek, “I’m sorry.”

He kissed your tear stained cheek somewhat hesitantly, “I’m not used to navigating feelings, or emotions, or women…” This made a small smile tug on your lips, one he mirrored briefly as his hand moved to your chin with a little squeeze, “But you talking about willingly letting yourself die makes me upset, anxious and angry, the rest of the world might look at you as nothing more then I tool but I don’t. So value your life, because I know I’m not the only one who feels this way, Wheein would be the first to agree with me.”

It made your lips quiver painfully as you glanced down, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a martyr, but I would do anything to get her back Jungkook,” Your throat strained painfully “Anything.”

Jungkook kept having these impulses every time he looked at you when you were sad, and he hadn’t noticed it until today, but finally, he caved into the feeling of just wanting to hold you.

His arms wrapped around you, letting your head bury into the crook of his neck, your body relaxing into him as he pressed a kiss against your head making your arms squeeze around him tighter, “I know.”

You were already scared and upset with the whole situation, you didn’t want things to be worse if you and Jungkook couldn’t settle your own arguments in the process.

You had hoped maybe a good night of rest would make you feel better, but opening your eyes had only made you feel worse and Jungkook had taken a bit more of a gentle approach today at trying to get you out of bed.

“We’ll need to speak with Taehyung before the morning is over.” Jungkook laid beside you as you tugged the blanket back over your head, rolling your back to him, “He’ll be busy tending to whatever the Seers do during the day. Y/n,” He sighed in exasperation, “I don’t mean to sound like a cunt when I say this but sulking is not going to help. And refusing to talk isn’t helping me.”

Your hands curled around the blanket as you relented with a sigh, “I just…feel overwhelmed by everything, life has to continue on even if Wheein is in the dungeon and even if Di Jin keeps harassing the castle.”

You turned back to face him, “It’s not that I don’t want to do something about it, it’s that I have so many other things I don’t want to do that I have to do, that so many people are counting on me making sure I get it done. It’s hard to be enthusiastic about starting the day knowing I can’t dedicate all of my time to finding a way to help Wheein.”

“There’s only so much you can do about that situation regardless princess,” Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest as he buried into the crook of your neck, “I’ll make sure everything goes accordingly with Wheein.”

You still let out a sigh, curling a little at his hand dragging from your waist down to your thigh as he whispered in your ear, “You wanna know what will make you feel better princess?”

“What?” You mumbled, your curiosity peaked at his tone.

“An orgasm.”

“Jungkook!” You immediately sat up right as you twisted around at the cheeky grin on his face, “This is what you want to focus on when we’re in a situation like this!?”

Jungkook shrugged, “Well I don’t see anything wrong with it, as you said before, life has to continue on and I’m being honest,” He sat up with you, “The first step to getting anything done is letting yourself relax, this is stressful enough as it is, you shouldn’t make yourself anymore taxed then necessary.”

His lips attached to your exposed shoulder, your thin slip that you seemed to wear more often to bed these days didn’t do you much service as the thin strap fell off your shoulder. He moaned softly into your skin as his hands slid to your waist, “Let me make you feel good. Consider it another apology for last night if you must.”

You felt obligated to say no, feeling guilty for even feeling desire at the moment when you were in such a perilous situation, but your head betrayed you, slowly tilted upward to expose your neck as his kiss traveled up, leaving a small trail of love bites along the way.

“Is it…really okay to do this?” You whispered.

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Jungkook pressed a small kiss on the lobe of your ear, “We don’t have too, but I do think it would make you feel better.” You glared at him playfully as he winked.

You shifted a little before you sighed, “Well, what would you have us do?” You shifted a little nervously, there would never be a perfect time to get further intimate with Jungkook, and you would admit, something to take your mind off of things would do you some good, even if for a few minutes.

Jungkook sat up before letting his back rest against the headboard as he gestured you closer, confused you scooted a little closer to him only for his hands to attach to your hips making you squeak in surprise at the way you were suddenly jostled.

You were roughly manhandled into his lap with your back pressed into his chest once more as he pressed another tender kiss to your neck, “Tell me Y/n, have you ever touched yourself before?”

The question caught you off guard making you sputter, “I- what?” You could hardly focus at the sight of his hands resting on top of your thighs, how could you be married to him for nearly nine months and only just now realize how big his hands were.

His fingers were long and thick and his palms were rough and calloused against your soft skin, his fingers curled around your inner thighs, “Have you played with yourself before,” Jungkook let a wicked smirk curl on his lips, “You can’t tell me you haven’t ever been curious about your body.”

Had it always been this warm in the room? Because it felt like you were burning up at the moment, “I mean yes but- I wouldn’t…Call it playing.” You tried to not squirm in his hold as he suddenly parted your legs, your night slip hardly covering your panties.

You had been curious about your body in the past sure but you had never really understood the idea of sexual interest, and therefore you never took part in it, not understanding what the big deal was about.

Jungkook let out a hum as he let his hand stroke from your inner thigh that had you twitching, to your night slip hooking a finger against the fabric as he lifted it, it didn’t take but a small movement to reveal your panties, a shameful damp spot revealing how much your body was receiving him.

“You like this?” He teased lightly, a hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing lightly making a breathy noise escaping you and your legs instinctively parted further for him, “You like putting your cunt on display for me?”

“Jungkook…” You had to shut your eyes at the lewd sight, your shoulders scrunching in embarrassment, why did he have to be so crass?

“Take your panties off.” Jungkook’s voice a few tones deeper and a little raspier than normal as his grip on your throat tightened making a more strained moan escape you shook your head, “No?” He snorted at your defiance, his free hand stroking your thigh down to your cunt making you jump before he cupped it, his palm digging into your clit making you whine out sharply.

Your hips lifted immediately, trying to grind into his hand unsuccessfully.

“If you want me to play with this pretty clit you have to take the panties off sweetheart,” Jungkook said, amused at the sight.

“Jungkook, this is embarrassing!” You whined quietly to him, “What if somebody were to walk in right now?”

“Let them.” He scoffed, “See if I give a damn who watches. In fact I hope somebody does,” Jungkook’s grip suddenly tightened on your throat making you wheeze a heady moan as he growled in your ear, “So they can see who you belong to. I wasn’t lying when I said this was my cunt, so take off the fuckin’ panties and show me who it belongs too.”

The sudden guttural demand in his voice had you scrambling to obey as you shaky fingers curled around your panties, peeling them off before you awkwardly kept your legs closed. This however changed quickly at Jungkook’s hands, once more finding their way to your thighs as he pried them out making you whimper out at the cold air seeping against your cunt.

“Fuuck.” Jungkook moaned against your skin and you could feel his heavy, thick cock harden against your lower back, “Your soaked baby. Look.” He didn’t give you a choice as he grabbed you by a thick chunk of hair making you whine as he forced you to look down.

Your face felt like it was on fire at the sight of your body contorted in such a lewd position, your cunt was indeed on display and for a brief moment you couldn’t think of something more unsightly than this.

This was what men were attracted to? Your lips were puffy and parted covered in stickiness, pubic hair sticking out unfrayed and your clit was engorged, throbbing at just the fact you were actually able to look at it.

Jungkook’s lips pressed in your neck with another moan, “Fuck princess, you have such a pretty cunt, and nobody has ever played with it at all?”

“No,” You whined out, “I already told you Jungkook, I’ve never been with someone intimately, at least for myself. Do you have to..stare?” You felt self conscious on display like this.

“When it looks good enough to eat how can I not?” Jungkook scoffed, his free hand unable to resist the urge to drag along your sticky slit, your cunt puffy and wet as his fingers reached your clit.

A moan suddenly strangled through your parted lips, whining softly at watching his digits circle your clit as your hips buckled into him with another whimper as he moaned, “Fuck baby, you’ve never touched your clit?” He said it as if he was genuinely in confusion at how you possibly couldn’t have touched yourself before.

“I have,” You whimpered out, “It just didn’t feel good.” It didn’t feel like this, that was for damn sure, just watching his fingers skillfully glide over your clit at your back trying to arch, before they quickly started rubbing back and forth, playing with your clit like it was a little toy.

Jungkook switched from that to suddenly squeezing it between his pointer finger and middle finger, making another raspy, desperate noise escape your hips started to lift up to chase after the friction, “Jungkook please! Please don’t tease me.” You whimpered out desperately.

Jungkook chuckled at this, releasing your clit from his fingers just to pinch it once more with his thumb and pointer finger, “You’re so needy, every time I try something new you moan even louder.”

He pinched it even harder making you yelp at the painful pleasure that washed over you before he roughly circled it again, “Keep moaning sweetheart, it lets me know what you like and what you don’t.”

That's when you realized he meant what he was saying, his eyes were low but inquisitive, as if trying to figure out what made you tick, what made your body squirm the hardest, what made you moan the loudest, your body was a map he was determined to not only study but memorize.

Your hand frantically found his as you whimpered, “Right there! Kook, right there! Please.” The pleasure had your muscles clenching as the pad of his finger kept rubbing that sweet spot on the side of your clit that had your back arching and whines becoming increasingly loud.

Jungkook chuckled in your ear, “Look at you, using my hand to make yourself cum, that’s a little greedy for a Eunoian. Are you gonna cum princess?”

He watched, mesmerized by the way your body contorted and bounced as you grinded against his fingers, which were completely soaked in your arousal as he feathered his pad over your sweet spot.

The straps to your slip had finally fallen to your shoulders, causing your top to finally slip down, making your tits fall out as you fell apart on his fingers, your eyes squeezing shut and your body convulsing at the pleasure that was blossoming so quickly in your cunt.

“Cum baby, I know you want to.” Jungkook teased, “I know that little clit feels good, let yourself cum princess.”

Jungkook let out a grunt at the sight of your lips falling slack, moans suddenly ripping from your throat as you whines became high pitched, hands suddenly clawing at his neck, yanking at his hair as you came.

“Mmm what a good girl.” Jungkook moaned into your neck, his cock throbbing so hard he felt like he could pass out, it was one thing to imagine these types of moments with you, but to actually be able to experience them was a different kind of pleasure he didn’t even know could exist.

Your mind was so hazy from your orgasm you hardly noticed his fingers stroking your cunt before a single digit circled your entrance, playing with it a little as Jungkook carefully coated his finger in your arousal before he pushed in it.

“Ow!” You suddenly yelped in a very unsexy way, jolting up right and out of your hazy post orgasm feeling as you whimpered out at the sight, “Jungkook! Ah…! It hurts!” You whined in complaint, his finger felt foreign inside of you and just like you knew, it was thick and bigger then your own and the stretch made your cunt dully ache.

“Wow, so Seokjin really never touched you?” Junkook said it as if he was examining to see if you were actually telling the truth.

You lip curled as you snapped, “Did we not establish that I was a virgin on our wedding night? Why are you so hyperfixated on this?”

“Because,” Jungkook rested his chin on your shoulder, pulling his finger from your cunt making you sigh in relief as he dragged it back up to your clit, tapping it, “The idea of anyone- let alone him getting to see this makes me want to travel all the way to Kimhae and fucking kill him.”

He pushed his finger back in but much to your surprise it didn’t hurt, you seemed almost taken aback by this, watching in morbid fascination as his thick finger sunk deeper into your cunt, your legs parting a little further for him.

You moaned quietly at his finger testingly pushing up before he thrusted it a little inside you making you whine as your hips lifted and lowered a little to chase the feeling.

“Just the idea of him getting to see this pretty little fucked out face makes me livid,” Jungkook whispered, unable to even be angry at the moment before of the expression your wore, your pupils were blown out and your lips parted at the sight of his finger now rhythmically pumping into you before he pushed a second one in.

It made you wince at the uncomfortable fit, before Jungkook pulled both fingers out and pushed them back in making your lips tremble at watching them sink deeper and deeper into your cunt, your walls clenching around him as he buried them both until his knuckle were flush against your skin.

“Fuck…” You whimpered out, closing your eyes at the overwhelm of being able to feel his fingers so deep inside your cunt, Jungkook, “‘s not fair, wanna make you feel good too…”

“Sweetheart, shit, you are so fucked out on my fingers, imagine what it’s gonna be like when you’re taking my cock.” Jungkook moaned in your ear, feeling your walls wrap tight around his fingers at his words as he pumped them in a little rougher, making a point to rub his fingertips against the top of your walls.

It felt as if he was searching for something and you didn’t realize what it was until you felt it, his fingers pushing particularly deep this time, hooking as pleasure suddenly shot through your body making you lurch and a loud moan rip from your lips.

“Fuck there it is, that’s it sweetheat.” Jungkook’s fingers viciously began to attack this spot, rapidly lifting into the spot as his thrusts began short and rough.

The pleasure had you contorting in painful positions as you whined slurred words out, “Wanna make you feel good too, Kook! Please, please!”

“Dammit sweetheart, this is supposed to be about you.” Jungkook growled in frustration at how hard his cock was because you kept moaning about this.

“Wan’ it.” You whined out moaning loudly, his fingers unforgivingly hooking into that spot roughly, you could feel his other arm against your back maneuvering in awkward ways and though you were very pleasured it was difficult to not notice.

You didn’t understand what he was doing until you saw it, or more like it saw you. His cock suddenly appeared just inches below your cunt, it bobbed a little, smacking against you making you jolt in shock, even with pleasure still blossoming in your body your mouth dried.

It was so…big

You had felt it before but you had never seen it, and it was so thick and fat, just like his hand, his cock had the prettiest thick vein and it curved just slightly, his head was fat and bulbous, a painful shade of red showing just how hard he had been this whole time and precum kept dribbling from his slit.

“You wanted it that fuckin’ bad.” Jungkook grabbed your hand before, guiding it past your cunt to wrap around his cock, “Wanna’ feel that wet little cunt.” He guided your hand to give it a few tugs, before he lowered your body a little, your cunt pressing against the top base of his cock, making you let out a breathy moan.

His fingers started properly thrusting into you once again as you body twitched, eyes nearly rolling back into your head at the stimulation of the feeling of his fat cock being covered in your arousal, your hand giving sloppy, frantic tugs against his cock making him moan into your shoulder.

Your hips quickly start trying to rut into his as you grabbed his hand, forcing his fingers out of your cunt as you rubbed it against his shaft, letting your clit press against it with a loud whine, reaching down to squeeze his fat balls.

“Fuck, fuck fuck baby, ‘m gonna cum.” Jungkook moaned into your neck as his hips started to rut into you, his eyes hazily watching his cock slide between your glossy lips, arousal messily covering his cock as his tip roughly dragged over your clit making slurred moans escape you.

“Wan’ you to cum.” You mewled out watching in desperation at the idea of this being inside of you, how would you even be able to take it without being torn in half? His fat tip reached your belly button.

Your hand wrapped around his cock, holding it against your cunt as Jungkook’s hips became more frantic, “Gonna fuckin’ cum all over you if you keep saying that sweetheart.”

“Cum! Cum, cum please! Wan’ you to cum all over my cunt.” You whined and begged at the sight of precum dripping from his tip.

Jungkook swore out with a growl, his hands digging into your hips, “Bet you wish this was your cunt right now I was fucking, this little cunt is so tiny I don’t even think you could take half of my cock sweetheart.”

“Kook!” You whimpered out at his forceful, frantic thrusts, one hand lifting your leg up further as his fat tip rubbed past your clit once more.

“Oh don’t worry baby, I’ll fuck you in this exact position.” Jungkook smirked wickedly against your neck, “I’ll make you watch every fuckin’ second of it too. Fuck princess,” He moaned his hips began to slow, eager to drag out the last moments before he’d finally cave, his cock sliding through your lips once more, he could feel your engorged little bud as he bulbous tip rubbed against it making you whine before let out a deep moan.

Cum spewed from his tip as your mouth dried at the sight, his thrusts stopped in nirvana but your hand kept tugging his cock in awe, wanting every last drop he had to offer as he moaned wetly against your skin.

His thighs clenched as he moaned, “Fuck princess, that’s it, yeah fuck, just like that.” He moaned encouragingly in your ear as you stroked his shaft, causing another gob of cum to spill from his tip, this time dribbling down onto your stomach as you reached down further to play with his fat soft balls while using your other hand to tug at his base.

“Fuuck baby.” He moaned into your skin his cock trying to soften but he showed now signs of stopping you despite the increased sensitivity before a spurt of cum shot out before he started swearing out, biting his lip as the pain and pleasure heightened.

Jungkook let out a breathy moan at the pain of your hand wrapping around his cock, roughly thrusting as he jolted and jumped but at no point did he stop you, in fact he seemed to enjoy the pain and just like magic, you watched his cock start to harden again.

Growing just as monstrous as it was before.

You moaned raggedly before you shifted a little, setting yourself upright before dragging your cunt along his shaft, your hips dragging against it with a loud moan as Jungkook growled out, “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum again baby, relax.”

You let out a breathy giggle, collapsing your back against his chest as you spread your legs once more, resuming your original position as you pressed his cock back against your cunt, pumping it rapidly, his muscles twitched rapidly before his hips caved.

Roughly thrusting up into you again as his cock slid between your cunt once more before cum suddenly spurted once more, covering your already messy stomach in even more cum as you moaned, gently tugging his cock to coax more cum, it dribbled and leaked, not nearly as big of a load this time as Jungkook moaned his hips swiveling to prolong his orgasm.

His cock began to soften and his hand suddenly grabbed your wrist to stop from trying to get it up again, “This was supposed to be about you,” Despite his post orgasm haze he still growled in displeasure, “Fucking brat.”

One moment his hand was wrapped around your wrist, the next it had released it and shoved two fingers inside you, suddenly fucking you hard and fast making you whine out loud, his thumb somehow managing to rub into your clit causing your back to arch and a loud moan to escape.

“Yeah? Doesn’t fuckin’ feel good after the first one.” Jungkook taunted you as he roughly thrusted his fingers inside you, his thumb teasingly circling your sensitive clit as your thighs twitched, your eyes glued to the way he was buried knuckles deep into your cunt.

“Fuck, fuck, kook, ah…! Ah.” Your whines were getting louder and louder much to his delight, your walls getting tighter and tighter each time his fingertips jammed into your g-spot and his thumb found that sweet little spot on your clit with each pass.

“Doesn’t feel nice cumming so fast does it?” He growled out, “Go, cum like you made me. Get it everywhere. Can feel this little cunt squeezing around me, you gonna squirt all over the bed? Bet you don’t even fuckin’ know what that is babydoll.”

The pleasure was becoming so strong it started to become uncomfortable in your cunt, your walls suddenly began to rapidly relax and squeeze at each of his fingers thrusts, his fingertips rubbing into your g-spot and his thumb dragging over your clit.

“Feels weird! Kook’ ah..! You whimpered out, body frantically contorting and your cunt blossoming in a weird pleasure.

“I got you sweetheart,” Jungkook moaned in your ear, “‘s gonna feel so good princess, c’mon ‘s gonna feel so fuckin’ good.”

You rapidly shook your head, your walls rapidly clenching and your muscles spasming as Jungkook’s thrusts became short and rough, his thumb rubbing rough circles into your abused clit, “Cum.”

The single word made a scream rip from your throat, tears tricking down your face as you came, liquid suddenly spewed from your tiny hole as Jungkook moaned, “Good girl, fuck, get it everywhere baby, fuck yeah, that’s it.”

The pleasure was so intense you were in tears, sobbing out moans as his fingers pulling out of you, to rub your clit making you throw your head back against him before his fingers shoved back inside you rapidly thrusting making more liquid spew from your hole as your body convulsed, “F-fuck!” You cried out loud.

You were positive you blacked out for one blissful moment before Jungkook released his fingers from you with a long moan, his hands comfortingly rubbing down your waist.

“Fuck princess,” He kissed your neck with feathery kisses, “My good girl did so good. Good girl.” Your eyes felt heavy at the feeling of his kiss.

Just his words drew a whine from you, his hands coaxingly rubbing your thighs as he pressed a wet kiss against your neck, “Mm, we need to get dressed.”

“You can’t just do this to me and then leave me.” You whimpered out, grabbing hands to wrap them back around you once more.

Jungkook snorted at this, another kiss traveling further up your neck, “We’ll be leaving together in case you forgot.”

“I don’t think I can walk.”

“You are, without a doubt, the most stubborn women I’ve ever met.” Jungkook mused, “And possibly more than I ever bargained for.”

You could indeed walk, though a bit awkward at first while Jungkook helped you dress, it didn’t surpass your eyes, the tug on his lips in amusement with every wobble or need to grab his shoulder to stabilize yourself.

If this was the aftermath of him only using his fingers, you can’t possibly imagine when he…Just the thought made you suck in a deep breath. Jungkook eyes flickered to your form, your arm hooked around his as you both made your way through the castle.

“Have you noticed?” He asked, eyes lingering on you only for a moment longer before looking ahead once more.

You could only assume he was insinuating at everyone’s stares and whispers.

“It’s rather difficult to not.” You muttered.

After exiting the courtyard and passing through the meadow to the entrance of the forest, only after you passed through the tall oak tree’s, did you feel you could breath. The sound of birds trilling and the sun lazily peaking through the naked branches gave you a sense of peace you had nearly forgotten about it.

Leaves crunched beneath your feet as your eyes wandered over the vastness of the forest that seemed to stretch on and on, now that the tree’s were naked it seemed the forest was so much more barren than before.

“Does it look like this? In Eunoia?” Jungkook asked, noting your gaze that seemed to wander.

“Somewhat,” You admitted, “Winters are mild at best in Eunoia- at least in comparison to Penumbra. The most we get is a bit of a frost on the coldest days, just enough for leaves to fall- not all though. Many still stand their ground.”

“Frost on the coldest days?” Jungkook’s head snapped to look at you as if you said something bizarre.

This caused a reluctant smile to tug on your lips as you curled your arm around his further, “Yes, some have called Eunoia the capital of the Sun. Our days are always sunny and warm, we’ve never known a true winter.”

“I can tell,” Jungkook replied, his eyes drifted from yours to your attire, “Is that why you’re dressed like it’s already snowed?”

You looked down at the thick warm sleeves of your dress,they were dramatically long, going far past your hands though a slit made it easy to use your hands if needed, the color a deep maroon that could be mistaken for black if one didn’t pay attention.

“There was frost on the ground this morning.” You replied, a huff escaping your lips, “I suppose the odd looks the servants gave me when I requested my winter wardrobe make sense now.”

You were too embarrassed to admit you were still cold, even in a winter gown, your dress even collared around your neck, making you feel admittedly strangled but any warmth was welcomed.

“How will you survive winter here if you can’t make it past the first brisk frost without one of the thickest gowns in your wardrobe?” Jungkook mused, making you glare at him, a pout sporting on your lips.

“Thickest gowns? This?” You gestured to yourself making him chuckle as he shook his head, “Well that simply won’t do at all, I’ll go to the seamstress myself if I must, I may be married into Jeon royalty but I don’t carry your northern blood.” The pout was still prominent on your lips, “Your brisk day is one of Eunoia’s coldest days, need I reiterate?”

Jungkook shook his head but the smallest of smiles tugged on his lips, “As if you didn’t have enough gowns as it was, I’ll be sure to let the seamstress make your request known.”

“Well you’re the one that handles my wardrobe,” Your pupils narrowed, “Now that I think about it, why shouldn’t I be the one in control of it? After all, I am the one wearing them.”

“Because i’d like to think in someways-” You gasped at suddenly being pushed against the thick, tall oak that stood proud, “You enjoy giving me control.” Jungkook’s hand snaked around your head, grabbing a fist full of hair as he gave it a small yank, “If your display this morning was anything to go by.”

“Jungkook.”

It was not your voice who said his name however, within a second Jungkook had let you go, the air around you both sobering by the second as Jungkook looked over his shoulder, “Taehyung.” He nodded, a frown setting on his lips as you somewhat flusteredly brushed off your dress.

Just seeing the look on Taehyung’s face made a tidal wave of guilt wash over you. How could you stand here and act like a girl with a crush when someone’s life was at stake?

You peered from behind Jungkook and one look was all it took for the sickening feeling to rush back into your stomach once more, Taehyung looked vehement, his eyes tired and anger evident if his icy glare was anything to go by.

“Have you both come to celebrate? Now that you’ve finally captured the assassin.” Taehyung’s lip twitched as his eyes burned into you.

“Celebrate?” You echoed in hurt, immediately stepping past Jungkook, “Taehyung I would never celebrate this! We are doing everything in our power to get her back I-”

“Well you were the one who let her go to begin with,” He hissed out lowly, his glowering from his hooded figure, “How am I to know that maybe this wasn’t just a calculated tactic?”

You felt your throat dry at his words, it was one thing to handle Jungkook when he was being unfair to you, but how would you deal with another? Let alone one of the first of Penumbra’s kin to show you kindness.

“Calculated tactic?” The hurt in your voice was evident, making Taehyung’s nostrils flair.

“Yes, after all rumors of you-”

“Enough.” Jungkook’s voice cut through the air like ice, an arm wrapped around you pulling you closer to his side, “We’ve come in grief and sobriety to apologize this is happening and that we are going to get Wheein back. I understand you’re upset, within reason to be,”

Jungkook’s pupils narrowed as his voice grew as cold as the chilled wind that blew by, “But heed your words to my wife and your future Queen.”

You were too stunned to even speak, hurt still expressed on your face at the insinuation that you had purposely done this to her, you would never!

Taehyung’s lip twitched, “Is that a threat, Your Highness?”

“My words are plain,” Jungkook replied, his eyes cutting low, “Take them as they are, we’ll leave you to be.”

“That would be for the best.” Taehyung’s hood lowered if only a little, those gray eyes glaring into you and even when you walked away from him you could feel his gaze burning into your back.

To say you were horrified, was an understatement.

While Jungkook did not wish to depart with you he had reluctantly done so, but not before trying to ease your distraught at Taehyung’s words, what was he going to say if Jungkook had let him finish?

It made you anxiously pick at your nails, hardly able to even focus on your book as you heard a voice clear making you glance up. Namjoon gave a small bow and a sad smile, “How have your studies been coming along Princess?”

“Terribly,” You admitted with a sigh, “How do you not let something consume you Namjoon?”

It was a rhetorical question you had been asking yourself all day as you stared up at the ceiling, murals of battles painted in glorious displays, ones you had seen while walking in but had never paid attention to until now.

“I think,” Namjoon paused as if to gather his thoughts, “Love is a worthy contender to be consumed by.”

This made your gaze shoot back down at him as you cocked your head to the side as he smiled wryly, “Apologies, I enjoy a good tragedy every now and then. Love can consume, but it can also save, you should honor your emotions where they’re at. These are unprecedented times.”

“That is a particular choice of words.” You mumbled staring down at your book but no matter how hard you tried, words were simply words, not a sentence nor a passage that gave your mind any relief to its occupied thoughts.

“They are, but it’s the truth,” Namjoon frowned as he looked away, “Princess…” He paused as if debating his words, “Many things are afoot right now, the expansion on the East has officially been put on hold, the west is stirring with restlessness, and now Di Jin has been enlisted to reopen a fresh wound of Mabon.”

“What is it you are trying to say Namjoon.” You sighed as you looked up at him, you wished everyone would stop speaking to you in riddles, why was it you could not hear Taehyung’s full words? Even if they were hurtful, you had the right to know.

“I am saying…that though we may not fully understand why these things are happening, to be prepared Princess.” Namjoon gave you one last smile before he stood up and gave you a small bow before departing.

You sank further into your seat as you let out a small sigh, “Fucking hell.”

“That kind of language is not befitting of a Princess.”

You jumped upright in your seat once more at the voice that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, your eyes darted to your right where the beautiful- yet ugly sight of the Rosewood Knight Claudin appeared from.

“Are you here to just mock me?” Your voice grew cold as your eyes glared at him, time may have moved forward but his attempted assault on you and siding with Seohyun was not easily forgotten.

This made a thin, snake like smile tug on Claudin’s lips, “Anything but, Your Highness.��

Your hands slowly curled into fists as your patience wore thin, you had been known by your family to have a temper your whole life- this was without a doubt true, but to consider violence? This was a first, and right now Claudin’s face was looking more and more like a punching bag each time he spoke.

“You’re tired of everyone speaking to you in riddles? Isn’t that right?” Claudin strolled closer to you making you frown but did not speak further. He paused for a moment only to smile once more, your curiosity was piqued.

“Then let me speak plainly to you Princess,” He kneeled down in front of you, “Penumbra’s trust in you is failing, immensely with each passing day. They no longer trust you. Dare I say some never did.”

It was an ugly truth that made you want to vehemently deny it, “What have I done to warrant this!? I have done nothing but try my best to become a Penumbrian.”

“I know Princess,” Claudin’s voice is oddly soft, as if laments for you, “But it is not what you’ve done, it is what Eunoia has done.”

“...What of my homeland?” You frowned, your gaze weary and catious, could you truly trust anything that came from this man’s mouth?

Jungkook hadn’t mentioned anything about Eunoia to you.

Claudin frowned at this, “I thought you would’ve heard Princess…” He paused for a moment as if gauging your reaction, “Eunoia has enlisted their kingdoms people into fortifying an army with Kimhae.”

“Eunoia would never-”

“I am merely telling you what’s been running rampant on the streets,” Claudin replied calmly, still kneeled at your feet, “Telling you what nobody else dare does, you want plain words, here they are. It’s come across to Penumbra, that Eunoia is conspiring with Kimhae. Why else would they need an army?”

“What source did you get this from?” Your lip twitched in anger.

“Source?” Claudin smiled in humor, “This is common knowledge Princess. Or has the Prince just really kept you this in the dark? And from your own kin at that...”

You don’t even know what possessed you in the moment but your temper had finally gotten the best of you, slapping him right across the face, “Enough! I won’t listen to any more of these lies of your weaving,” You stood up, towering over him as you glowered, “I don’t know what game you’re playing Rosewood, but it’s going to get you killed.”

“But these are not lies Princess,” Claudin gritted his teeth, his hand grabbing your wrist making you try to yank away, “If you do not believe me, then perhaps you should go out into the streets yourself. Learn the truth nobody else in this castle will tell you.”

You only managed to escape his grip from wringing your hand from the silk black glove you wore. The material still in his hand as you briskly walked out of the room.

What did he know anyways? Eunoia, conscripting an army? Only the coldest day in hell would see that through.

Even long into the night you still laid awake, mind restless as you shuffled in bed, laying down as you glanced at the dark hair of your husband who had been exhausted from the day, soundlessly sleeping beside you.

His hair was darker then you remembered upon first meeting him and it was a fair bit longer too, now brushing over his lids as he slept, moving a little as if discontented, his hands extended out in reach of something.

Your eyes stared at his hand, only an inch away from where it had been resting on your waist previously before you had shifted for a little space to move about without disturbing him.

Just because you couldn't sleep didn’t mean he didn’t deserve too.

Had he really been withholding information about Eunoia from you? You had been aware from the beginning that being in the castle kept you isolated to a certain degree, and that you would slowly become out of the loop of politics of the outside world due to being an outsider and Jungkook’s wife.

But you…something swelled in your chest, there was no denying you and Jungkook had grown close over these last few months, if you both sharing a bed willingly every night was any assumption to go on.

So surely he would’ve told you this information had he known it, and he would have to know this, because he was the Crowned Prince, heir to the throne, which meant, Claudin was surely lying.

Yes, Claudin was simply lying to get under your skin and weasel his way to further his agenda, whatever that was.

You closed your eyes contented, intending to shuffle a little closer to Jungkook once more, who’s brows were pinched, still in a sign of discontentment.

‘Meet me in the Fool’s Barrel at past 2 if you seek the truth’

Your eyes snapped back open at the memory of the single sentence left on a piece of parchment at your nightstand earlier before you finally got up, quietly standing before you glanced back at Jungkook, the night was long after all, and surely he wouldn’t miss you in the time you’d be gone.

With that you shuffled through your wardrobe for something suitable for the occasion before going over to Jungkook’s side of the bed, grabbing the sheathed knife from his stand before pressing a gentle kiss atop of his head.

The parchment was rolled tightly in your grip and your dull brown hood was pulled low as you managed to sneak out during the guards rotation and Yoongi was talking with a fellow guard at the corner of the corridor.

The halls were dark and dim and just as this morning you felt stifled here, at the gates of the courtyard did you finally consider that this was reckless, if not entirely stupid.

Did it truly matter whether you knew or not?

Your hand nearly crumpled the paper in anger, it did matter to you, it was your right to know what people thought of you, good or bad, and nobody had the right to keep that from you.

Your hand ghosted over the dagger strapped to your waist before you fixed your hood once more stepping outside the gate.

The tavern was lively and bustling, unshocking for this hour, nobody paid you any mind with your hood as low as it was, unsuspecting that they were amidst their princess, searching through the tavern, the very same one you had made a total fool of yourself in earlier in the year, you found the person you were looking for.

Claudin was leaned against one of the wooden beams, a hood on himself and a cat like smirk coiling on his lips as he held up your missing glove, “Here to take my offer Princess?”

You snatched it from his hand, “If you so much as even put a hand on me, I will slit your throat.” You whispered to him.

This made him chuckle as if amused, “So the Eunoian bitch really does have a temper to match the title. Follow me Princess.”

The Eunoian Bitch.

You weren’t that familiar with the title until you had come to Penumbra and your husband had made you well acquainted with it, and though you never inquired further about it to Wheein it wasn’t difficult to tell how the title had come about.

You wouldn’t deny your temper, Jungkook had gotten to see it in full force when you first married, the title once upon a time insulted you but you had grown past it at this point, you wouldn’t be insulted, it seemed men loved to call you a bitch because you were not a pushover.

Men were allowed to throw tantrums all the time without the blink of an eye, Dae Seong was living proof of it and yet nobody gave him a title for it.

You had followed behind Claudin closely as he exited through the backside of the tavern and led you down the increasingly narrow halls of the city that you didn’t even think existed, it was as if he was leading you to something of secret.

And after Claudin had weaved and webbed his way through these increasingly dark and unsettling alleyways did you realize, this was exactly what he was doing, you heard the commotion before you saw it.

Exiting the alleyway to reveal a well lit area of what looked like a crowded market place, though the stalls could hardly be seen as such.

Claudin looked up from his hood towards ahead and then at you, “Welcome to the Underside. If you want information, this is where you shall find it.”

Your eyes had gone wide at all the spectacles as you followed beside Claudin, fixing your hood a little lower as you watched a man breath fire from his mouth and the loud cackling of women before the shouts of a thief that shoved between you both.

It was clear, you were in the belly of Penumbra’s criminal activity, just the thought made your hand ghost over the wickedly curved dagger strapped to your hip. You had never shed blood other than your own before, you had taken an oath to never kill when you had first become a healer during the five year war, not only this but as a part of the royal family of Eunoia you had to vow that not only would you never kill but you would never devour as your earlier predecessors once did.

You could hardly stomach the sight of watching someone be killed, let alone killing someone yourself, but Penumbra had a certain way of hardening you these days. After all, you did just threaten to slice Claudin’s neck open if he tried anything on you.

This was unsafe, and surely reckless, but you wanted answers and you wouldn’t back out now to get them. Claudin seemed delighted by the sternness in your expression, refusing to back away from the danger of this perilous situation as he guided you through the rowdy streets.

Rounding the corner there was a crowd ahead making you tilt your head as you glanced at Claudin who only nodded ahead, both of you coming closer to the spectacle that you immediately deduced was a mockery of…you.

Your lip twitched in simmering anger at the mockery dress and hair of a man who’s voice pitched high, annoyingly so as he flounced about with the narrator, vacillating between ditsy and vexing.

“This is how they view you,” Claudin leaned in at your side as the crowd cackled at the man, “A predator dressed as prey, a Eunoian spy, here to cause our downfall.”

“Now whatever shall our Bitch do!? Attempted murder afoot but wait! What is this between her breasts!”

Your expression was deadpan as you watched the man grab a scroll from between his fake set of breasts, one even falling out revealing a bundle of cloth making everyone gag, “Ahem!” He coughed out high pitch, unrolling it as he read, “Oh dear husband! It appears my kingdom is on our borders! How could you not have seen? This was my plan all along!”

They placed a crown on his head which warranted boo’s from the crown, “Down with The Eunoian Bitch!” Someone cried from the crowd.

You shook your head unable to watch any longer as you brushed past Claudin, eyes darting between the various sights on the streets, a group of four men continuously kicking a young boy, the prostitute against the wall with a man, and on the far side a crowd of people cheering as they threw darts and knives at wall, a poor imagine of your face as the target.

“You’re upset.” Claudin followed after you with a remark.

“Of course I’m upset!” You hissed out, whirling around, “I’m being accused of something I didn’t do! My entire country is being accused of something we didn’t do- haven’t even done! Take me back to the castle.”

Claudin shifted his foot with exasperation but was cut short with the cold metal pressing into his neck, “I said take me back to the fucking castle, now.”

Claudin held up his hands in a mock of surrender, “You and your husband share an odd similarity of barbarously threatening me.”

Your lip twitched and your grip on the blade didn’t relent, “Maybe if you weren’t such a cunt that wouldn’t happen to you. Castle. Now.”

“If you so wish, my Princess.” Claudin resisted no more as you sheath your weapon following stiffly behind him the whole way home.

A spy…they thought you were a spy sent by Eunoia? You had learned to ignore the slanders thrown your way, but to have your whole kingdom’s credibility question? As if Eunoia didn’t house the fallen kingdom of Seoul? As if Eunoia wasn’t held responsible and damn near torn apart by the continent when Penumbra raised?

It was beyond just an insult, it was treasonness to even think about it.

The castle was…much busier than when you had left, Claudin departed with you at the gates as you dismissed him, arriving by yourself only to swear at the sight of your knight walking towards you with hell's fury.

“Where the hell have you been Princess!” Yoongi hissed out, grabbing your arm vehemently, “Do you want the Prince to kill me?”

“Shit,” You ushered out, “What’s happened?”

Yoongi gritted his teeth, “You mean to ask what’s going on after you snuck out past hours without telling me or anyone else, let alone your husband, what’s going on?”

You deserved to be reprimanded, you knew that much but that didn’t mean you wanted to deal with it, you groaned, “Did he call for a search?”

“Of course he did, Jungkook nearly had my head on a pike when I told him I thought you were with him,” Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, “Where were you?”

“...” You said nothing for a long moment, your expression troubled as you sighed, Jungkook was not supposed to wake up to find you missing, how were you supposed to tell him you went into the depths of a crime ridden area only to discover many ugly truths tonight, ones he had most likely kept hidden from you.

“Where did you go Princess?” Yoongi ushered, now concerned.

“I went to the Underside.”

“Fucking hell!” Yoongi ran a hand through his head again, “Do you know how incredibly stupid that was! Without anyone to protect you!? Penumbra may not be as pious as other kingdoms but rumors still run rampant.”

“Yes,” Your gaze grew cold, “I’ve become aware as much.”

Yoongi frowned at this, and you could tell by the look on his face he knew, they all knew, didn’t they? “Come along Princess, let’s get you into the parlor, the others are trying to keep Jungkook from ripping the city apart to find you.”

You felt a stab of guilt at his words as you followed alongside him into the castle where residents all gawked at you as you kept your hood up, covering your face from their judgmental looks.

Yoongi weaved his way through the corridors before the doors of the parlor were opened, the first person to whip around being the distraught figure of your husband.

“Y/n.”

Your hood was pulled down before he immediately embraced you, his muscles which had been previously tensed had relaxed as he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, “You worried me sick,” He chastised you, “Where did you go? You should’ve told Yoongi- better yet taken him with you!”

Jungkook cupped your cheeks as he pulled you away a little to inspect your face, making sure you were uninjured, “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, lips quivering only a little in both hurt and confusion at everything you were digesting.

“Where did you go, Y/n?” Jungkook asked you once more, this time his voice was a little more calm, releasing you upon hearing you try to clear your dry throat.

Walking over to the table where a pitcher of water was, you poured yourself a glass, glancing between your husband to the two other figures in the room, both his aunt and uncle, Areum and Jeong Dae as the least wanted person at this time walked into the room.

“Ah what coincidental timing.” Di Jin had walked in behind you, everybody's eyes staring at him for a long moment, “Because I just received word that the Princess was spotted coming out of the Underside.”

The room erupted into worse chaos then you could have expected. “My wife would never step foot in that pit you caused.” Jungkook snarled out.

“It’s true.” You muttered, unable to see the two men baring teeth at one another and despite your low tone it caused silence throughout the whole room.

“Out. The lot of you, these are matters for the family only.” Areum’s voice followed after you as her eyes narrowed on both your friends and servants alike and with that everyone departed.

“Feeling honest, are we Princess?” Di Jin looked haughty at you.

“Y/n,” Jungkook’s voice was wrought with anger, though it was obvious he was trying to keep himself calm, “Why?”

It was like the dam you held your anger in snapped out, rushing out and into every vein in your body as you slammed your cup down, “Why don’t we talk about how everyone’s been keeping me in the fucking dark!”

Everyone looked taken aback by your heated glare, “Talks of Eunoia raising an army and sending me as a spy while consorting with Kimhae!?” You spat out glaring at all of your in laws.

And the oddest thing happened, it could’ve been a trick of your eyes, but you could’ve sworn you had seen Jungkook visibly flinch at the words.

His eyes were like steel as you glared at him.

“And you knew it! Didn’t you?” You pointed an accusing finger at him as he looked away from you.

Di Jin let out a loud laugh bringing your attention to him, “Well let’s be honest here dear, everyone in this room has suspicions of you being a spy.”

“Stay out of this.” You snapped, “My affairs with my husband are no concern of yours.”

“Oh but it seems they are.” Di Jin had a sneering smile on his face as he held up the paper he held in his hand.

“Di Jin.” Jungkook’s voice was low in warning.

You snatched the paper from his hand before Jungkook could even stop you walking away from him and closer to the fire, the only noise being the snaps and crackles as everyone looked at you tensed.

The more you read the tighter your grip became as Di Jin spoke, “Interesting, how even your husband assumed you were a spy? Was it not?” He hummed innocently, “I’ll be watching you very closely from now on girl, lest a case of treason be opened against you.”

Your eyes only glared down at the paper, Jungkook’s royal emblem no mistake and the date an even harsher blow to your heart as tears of wrath began to blur in your vision, “Leave. Now.”

Di Jin frowned at this, perhaps hoping for a more expressive reaction from you, as if he was trying to get you to dig yourself a hole, but you would not submit yourself to that, you would not allow him to weave his little web of instigation any further.

“You heard her Wolf.” Areum frowned deeply, walking to stand in front of him as her eyes burned like coals, “Your duties are done for the evening..”

“You're welcome.” Di Jin sneered one last smile before exiting.

The door shut quietly behind him as your lips quivered and your nails nearly torn through the paper, trying to calm your breaths down but truthfully, you were rendered speechless. Everything you had become accustomed to, the delicate, tender blossom that was slowly growing between you and Jungkook felt as if it had been abruptly yanked from the ground and stamped under a boot.

Jungkook had grown anxious at your expression, you were abhorrently livid, if your body language was anything to go by, “Y/n,” He finally sighed out, “What did you expect me to do? It’s no secret that the court has doubted you from the very moment-”

“This isn’t about the fucking court!” You hissed out, every ounce of self restraint thrown out the window as you marched over to him, “This isn’t about Di Jin, this isn’t about anyone but you! What the fuck is this!?” You cried out shoving the parchment into his chest, pain wrought in your expression, eyes glaring with rage and betrayal, “After everything we’ve been through together!?”

You ran your hands though your hair trying to calm down your rapidly beating heart, tears vehemently stinging your eyes as you shook your head, “I’ve have bared my soul to you, again and again, I- I have tried my best to understand Penumbra, your culture, you. For months! And I…”

You closed your eyes, letting the defeated tears trickled down your face, “I genuinely believed that you…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the words that squeezed too tightly in your throat, a sob finally bubbling from your lips, “Why!?” You whimpered out, finally staring at him, “Why did you not tell me about Eunoia? Or the rumors, or…or any of it!”

It would be one thing if he had this investigated when you had first arrived in Penumbra, but he didn’t, this was recent, too recent. All of your fresh memories with him spiraling in your head, the intimacy you had nervously shared with him.

“Because, what if it was true?” Jungkook’s jaw clenched, “I don’t take any pleasure saying that Y/n! But I needed to be sure that you weren’t playing a game with me.”

Your lips trembled in disbelief as warm tears dripped down your face, “No I said those words to you!” You pointed an accusing finger at him, “I asked you those same words and you looked me in the eyes and lied to me!”

“I wasn’t lying to you!” Jungkook immediately hissed back, “I’m not in a forgiving position! I needed to know you were on my side for certain and those words I said were not a lie! I don’t expect you to understand, nor do I expect your forgiveness, but I did what I had to do!”

You stared at him for a long moment in disbelief, tears dripping down your chin as Jungkook sighed, cupping your cheeks as he brushed the tears away, “I’ve meant every word I’ve said to you, and the feelings I have, it’s all real.” He pressed his forehead against yours, “But you can’t expect me to have zero doubts in your credibility, you were going to marry the Prince of the kingdom that took great pleasure in slaughtering my people.”

“That isn’t fair Jungkook!” You tried to bite back your sob, your heart as if it was being torn to shreds, “Everything you’re saying isn’t fair! You know it isn’t!”

“Life isn’t fair and it isn’t kind Y/n,” Jungkook frowned at the new tears that dripped down your face, “I’m only sorry that I’m the one having to tell you this.”

“Fuck you!” You spat at him, shoving him away, “Paint it how you want, but it doesn’t change what you did, you choose to not trust me. You choose to have me investigated and you choose to look me in the eyes and tell me this was not a game to you.”

“Y/n-”

“No.” You snapped sharply, looking up at him as your voice trembled softly, “Me and you, we’re done. You’re right, you don’t deserve my forgiveness nor my understanding. The only thing we have left is the fact that we’re both bitches serving the same crown. You are nothing more than a liar Jungkook.”

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook shook his head, his jaw clenching.

“I mean every fucking word.” You seethed.

You turned around, shoving the doors open to the room as you shoved the tears from your eyes, everyone had looked at you in baited breath but you only walked over to Yoongi, “Take me to my room. My room, please.”

Yoongi had parted his lips but said no more, doing as you asked as you shoved the tears from your eyes, trying to pick up the broken pieces of your heart that laid cracked and shattered from Jungkook’s heartless words.

He really was as wicked as they said he was.

#bts #bts fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader smut #jungkook scenario #bts imagine #bts x reader #bts au fic

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nowoyas · 4 months

Text

I don't think we can put this in the sports column (NSFW) - karasuno/reader

m.list - read on ao3

A/N: wrote this months ago. didn't edit it for ages bc I thought it would suck to edit. it didn't suck to edit it fucking rocked and I'm never questioning myself again hell yeah

Summary: You infiltrate Karasuno's volleyball club for the university paper and take to bed a few of the rumors you've heard.

Warnings: smut, orgy/gangbang, oral sex, fingering, handjobs, double penetration, spitroasting, creampies, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, uhhhhh marking, exhibitionism, accidental voyeurism, overstimulation, light dom/sub stuff (submissive reader), uhhhhhh there's. there's a lot going on here guys. I wasn't fucking around when I said karasuno gangbang.

Word count: ~7000

It’s the night before your first game since you started this little investigation, and you are pressed flat against the wall outside the gym, a hand firm against your mouth in a desperate attempt to not make a noise.

There’d been rumors, sure. And yeah, you were here to investigate those rumors.

Karasuno is such a good team. They’ve gotta be doing some crazy shit to be that close and play that well, though.

That had been the… family-friendly version of the rumors. The more salacious of them had gone into detail you’d blushed too hard to repeat—images of working out issues with clothes off and loud gasps and—

Okay, chill. You’re a journalist. This is nothing.

(Okay, you’re a journalism major, technically speaking. But you need to get used to these things. It’s not like you’ve never had sex before.)

You had enmeshed yourself in the Karasuno University volleyball team after picking up the scent of those rumors about a month ago. Most of the rumors, you thought, were too stupid to entertain. It’s not like they were actually partaking in witchcraft to win games. That would be completely stupid. You assumed, honestly, that they had just clicked. Yeah, it didn’t really seem like everyone got along—the freshmen were constantly at each other’s throats, the captain had his hands full reigning in half the team comprised of spitfires, and there was at least one guy who seemed to believe his job on the team was to piss off as many of his teammates as possible. The only ones safe seemed to be the seniors and the girls, of which there were three if you counted yourself.

So far, it had seemed to be that there was no version of the rumor that was true—no, there were no blood sacrifices, yes, they did sometimes sleep, no, there were no crazy orgies in place to encourage team bonding, and no, they did not seem to be some sort of micro-cult. Disappointing for your article though it was, they had welcomed you in with almost no resistance, and you had found nothing out of the ordinary. They were just… normal athletes. Maybe a bit more passionate than most, but… normal.

Except. Except.

Here you are, the night before they have a match, listening to wet squelches and distinct slaps and what is undoubtedly moaning, unable to figure out exactly who the moans are coming from except that there’s definitely more than two people involved in whatever’s happening inside that gym, and fighting back the urge to peek through the cracked door and figure out exactly what the fuck is going on. (Or, uh, who the fuck is getting it on.)

Fuck. Are they seriously… seriously fucking in the gym right now?

There’s the burning shame of having caught them. The absolute mortification of knowing that you’re sitting there listening to them have sex with reckless abandon. You should be uncomfortable, but instead, you catch yourself squeezing your thighs together.

A particularly loud moan catches you off guard, and you jerk your finger from your mouth—when had you started biting it to keep quiet?—and flee while you still have the chance.

(As far as anyone else is concerned, when you’re safe within the confines of your single-person dorm room, there’s no proof to say that you snaked a hand down your pants, still thinking of that brightly-lit gym, of the idea of having been caught listening to them, of being pulled inside and—

There’s no proof.)

The day-to-day doesn’t change. You don’t let it. The guys played their match, and they won, and it was great. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t smiling as they won, and your report for the sports column of the university paper was more than glowing. They’re a really fun team to watch, more so now that you know them—even if you’re now taking every effort in your head to not act like a total freak around them.

Honestly, you even think you're doing a pretty good job of it. You pretended not to notice the smell in the gym the morning after The Event—faint though it was, there was undeniably the hint of sex still in the air—you forced down any errant thoughts around them, and you didn't breathe so much as a word to anyone about it. What does it matter if they're having orgies or whatever the night before a game? What does it matter at all?

Luckily, you spend more time talking to the girls than anything—Shimizu and Yachi are becoming fast friends with you, you think out of an eagerness to have another girl around in a large group of guys. They're easier to talk to, too, since you don't recall hearing any particularly feminine moans during The Event. It's possible they have no idea. Possible that they, too, think things are normal. (Or else, they're the source of the orgy rumors, but neither seems much like the type.) They tell you innocuous little things about the team, like that time Hinata and Kageyama were so focused on their little rivalry that they ran clear to the next town before realizing they'd lost the rest of the team, and you get caught up in much-needed girl talk when you go out to eat together. Little debates on birth control, on dating, on whether or not that one psych professor can get it.

By the time the next game rolls around, you've nearly re-assimilated into the concept of a normal life. It’s really not a big deal, anyways—people have sex. It’s normal.

“Well, [name],” Daichi says towards the end of practice one day, about a week before. “You were only going to be here for a few weeks, right? How have you liked it?”

You nod, polite smile decorating your lips. “It’s been really enjoyable! It’s a bit sad that I won’t be around after the next game, honestly. You guys are really fun to be around.”

“Hmm?” Tsukishima says, an eyebrow raised your way. At some point, you seem to have captured the attention of everyone in the room, though you’re not quite sure what you did. You can sense their eyes on you though—a few of the more open guys stare, a few of the more polite ones glance out of the corners of their eyes. You’re stuck in the spotlight as Tsukishima takes a step towards you.

Why does one step suddenly feel so dangerous?

“You know, I’m sure no one here would stop you if you decided to stay.”

Yeah, your blood’s running cold. You get a firm grip on your brain in hopes of not horribly misinterpreting everything that’s going on, but—

“You confirmed the information you were looking for, right? Two weeks ago, hanging around outside the gym before the game.”

Ah.

Your face isn’t sure whether it wants to go pale or erupt in a furious blush. You, for your part, scramble for an answer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t? Are you that dense, or are you lying to us?”

A tiny squeak passes from your throat. “W-what’re you—“

“I was expecting something to show up in the school paper by now, but instead we just got a glowing column about how well we played the next day. Not a word of it. Why is that?”

“Oi, Tsukishima, aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” one of the others says.

“It’s fine,” he replies, looking down at you as you look down at the floor. “Well, [name]? I’m waiting, Miss Reporter.”

The words burn a path down to your crotch, and you are absolutely not losing here, not now. You’ve just decided that. You meet his eye with a determined look. “I run the sports column, not the gossip column, Tsukishima. It hardly matters to me what you guys are getting up to—“

“You’re blushing, though. And you had to have heard before getting wrapped up in this, right? I’m comfortable speaking for everyone here when I say you can really find out the truth, if you want.”

“H-huh?”

He’s boxed you in, your back hitting the wall. Nowhere to run.

“What do you say? Wanna become an honorary member of the volleyball club?”

A sound sort of reminiscent of a boiling kettle leaves you, and you shove him away before you register it. “P-please give me time to think about it!”

A heavy silence.

“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s try not to scare the poor girl, yeah?” Suga says. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If she wants to, she wants to, and if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. [name], if you wanna go for the day, you can.”

“I, um…”

He nods and guides you towards the door. Before you can properly escape, he leans in close: “if you do decide you want to, come see us after practice Friday night and we’ll initiate you. If not, we’ll respect that, okay?”

Initiate.

Friday night.

You swallow, throat feeling suddenly dry.

Just what have you gotten yourself into?

You spend the week caught between a rational panic and another emotion you are not willing to put a name to. Yachi had texted you not long after your escape that night, an apology and a really genuine “no one will be mad if you don’t show Friday”. That was relaxing, just slightly, except the little pang as you realized you actually did want to show. You’ve had a text back drafted to her the past three days, glaring back at you as you agonized over your phone screen:

No problem at all! I just had one question about what this “initiation” would entail. You know, to prepare myself!

You’re pretty sure you’ve deleted and re-drafted the exact same text about fifty times. Normally, you’d text a friend, ask them to help you review what you’re saying to make sure it sounds chill, but who the fuck are you going to tell about this? The implication was clear. Freaked out as you are, you’re not exactly interested in spreading the information, either.

Friday morning is when you actually do get the guts to send it, having spend the week pointedly avoiding everyone, volleyball-related or otherwise. The final draft:

Sorry for being a little AWOL! Had some thinking to do, lol. I just wanted to ask what I can expect if I did show up tonight? You know, so I’m prepared?

She’d responded immediately—not with a text, but with an email and a call, the call coming through less than a minute after you’d gotten a notification of an email from her.

Somehow, your morbid curiosity on what you should know before showing up, if you chose to, turns into an hour-long phone conversation turns into sitting down with an open notebook turns into you reviewing the document she’d emailed you, freshly showered while Yachi goes through your closet.

“You wanna wear something sexy, but kinda cheap. Sometimes they get a bit too excited. After the first time, you don’t really have to participate in this stuff, if you’re busy or just not up for it, but especially for this first time, don’t give them the opportunity to wreck any clothes you care about.”

You nod, make a note on your open notebook, thighs squeezing together impatiently. She emerges from your closet, a bright look on her face as she holds up a miniskirt you’d long since relegated to the very back. “This is a cute skirt! It’s a really strong candidate.”

“Do you think so?” you cringe. “Honestly, I’m worried it might be a bit… y’know, short.”

“[full name].” She gives you a flat look. “You do understand what’s happening tonight, right?”

“…right. I’ll wear the skirt.”

She brightens up in an instant. “Good! Now let me find a matching top…”

When she’s satisfied, your outfit laid out and you almost mentally prepared to actually get dressed for this sort of thing, you expect her to leave the room, but she simply waits.

“Uh, Yachi, I need to…”

“I just thought of something,” she says, face blank. “[name], have you ever been with a girl before?”

Ah.

Your cheeks feel hot. You’ve not exactly tried to hide that you’re bisexual—if nothing else, the bi pride flag on your wall would be indicator enough—but as far as actual experience with girls…

“I’ve… thought really hard about it…? I haven’t really had the opportunity.”

She nods to herself. “Right. Before you get ready, it’ll be easier if I do this now.”

Her lips are on yours before you can fully process it, soft and tasting faintly of pineapple chapstick. She kisses you long and slow, lets you relax into it. When she pulls away, she smiles shyly, like she didn’t just kiss you for the purposes of prepping you for an orgy she’ll be involved in later today. “There. Get that first out of the way before we have to make out in front of the volleyball team.”

She waves on her way out of your bedroom. “Get dressed! I wanna make sure that outfit works for today.”

Right. Get dressed.

Well, if nothing else, you’re definitely sure about being bisexual now.

If not for Yachi, you would have backed out a hundred times already. As it is, she keeps a gentle, reassuring hand on your back as the two of you enter the gym, a good few minutes after the usual practice officially ends. They’ve already finished cleaning up everything from the day, the air already seemingly charged even before the part where they notice you’ve actually shown up.

Yachi closes the door behind you with a sweet smile. “We got her!” she cheers by way of greeting.

The eyes that suddenly land on you—all fourteen pairs, including Yachi—seem heavier than usual. Hungry. You can’t help the nerves that threaten to make you tremble at the promise of what’s to come.

But there’s Yachi again, ever-sweet and cute as she wraps an arm around your side.

“Oh, I see that!” Daichi is the first to say. “Glad to see you’ve decided to join us, [name]. Here I thought we’d scared you off for good!”

You giggle nervously. “Well, I just… you know me! Always gotta over-think things.” That’s good. That’s casual. You’re managing an almost-even tone while you talk. Almost like you’re a normal, real human person.

“I know the feeling,” Asahi sighs.

Suga sets down a chair near the center of the gym, eyes watching you in silent interest.

“I’m guessing since you came with her that you’ve been coaching her, Yachi?”

She nods. “She’s had the whole rundown. Knows what to expect and everything.” She unwinds herself from you in preparation for whatever’s to come next. You try not to jump at the sound of the lock on the door clicking shut.

“Good. Good.” Daichi nods. “Come sit, [name]. No sense in putting it off, right?”

You nod slowly, timidly stepping forward. Yachi follows close behind.

“Limits?” Daichi asks firmly. “Loud enough so we all hear you.”

Another laugh from you, shaky with nerves as you perch on the chair Suga set out for you. You rattle them off, having memorized the list in order for this exact moment. Knowing you, you’d forget something otherwise, and you nearly do.

“Got it. And Yachi told you about the stoplight system?”

“She didn’t really need to,” you admit, a bit quieter. “I’ve got it.”

“Good. Shimizu, Yachi, if you’d get her ready? Ladies first, and all.”

Wordlessly, they descend on you. You were expecting… you don’t know. Not the sudden press of lips, familiar from an hour or two prior, against your own, or Shimizu’s arms so quick to drape over your shoulders from behind. You press your lips back against Yachi’s insistently, perhaps a bit excited, perhaps just trying to get yourself into the right headspace before you think too hard about the twelve guys currently watching you be sandwiched between the girls or Shimizu’s delicate fingers unbuttoning your top.

Your head spins with it already—Shimizu’s perfume, Yachi’s chapstick. Shimizu’s hand pushing your hair out of the way, her lips attaching to your neck gently. “You didn’t mention anything about marks in your limits,” she mumbles against your skin as a little whine escapes you. “Can we take that to mean it’s okay to mark you, or should I be careful?”

Yachi pulls away a bit, and you chase her lips. She pushes you back with a giggle. “She asked you a question.”

“Oh. Right.” You blink owlishly as you play back the question in your head. “Uh, yeah. I mean—it’s—it’s fine.”

“Are you sure? A few of the guys are not going to let up if they know that.”

Despite the exhibitionist dream going on right now, you don’t quite have the strength to admit that you quite enjoy the marks, actually, so instead: “I’m sure.”

“Alright.” Then, both pairs of lips are back—suckling your neck, kissing you until you’re out of breath. There’s no hurry, none at all, and you barely notice when your top is discarded completely, barely even notice the chatter of the guys bickering—when you strain, you just barely figure out that they’re deciding something about who gets a turn with you when.

You try not to shudder too hard at the thought.

Yachi slides a hand up to your bra and underneath it, rolls a nipple between her fingers. Shimizu follows up, finds your wrist and guides your hand beneath Yachi’s waistband to palm at her heat. “Have you ever…?”

You part from Yachi again, shake your head, eyes half-lidded and head swimming as you look up into the gym lights. “Hadn’t gotten the chance before—before today,” you admit.

She huffs a gentle laugh in your ear. “I’ll teach you, then.”

Her hand slides up your thigh, up your skirt. Yachi crawls into your lap, arms around your neck for stability as Shimizu’s fingers find your cunt, already wet. “It’s not that different from taking care of yourself,” she murmurs as two delicate fingers, too pretty to be where they are right now, stroke your slit. “Follow my lead, okay?”

You nod, whining when her fingers find your clit.

She teaches you in gentle, fluttery strokes. You lose track of it all quickly—your fingers buried in Yachi, thumb dancing over her clit as she leans over your shoulder to kiss Shimizu. You find it’s not that hard to adjust, and with every breathy gasp you draw from Yachi, you’re well rewarded by the slender fingers pumping into your cunt.

Needy and slipping into the mythical subspace you’ve only had the pleasure of reading about, you lean forward to plant your lips on Yachi’s neck. “No marks,” she sighs to you. You whine and move on, not letting yourself linger long enough to mark her skin. Seeming pleased with your listening, Shimizu slides a third finger inside you, stretches you out carefully.

“You’ll thank me later.”

She works you up so easily. Is it because you’re pressed between two pretty girls? Is it the ravenous eyes raking over this scene? Or—

Her hand retreats too soon, just as your hips had begun to really move with the friction, and you whine.

“I promise you’ll get there. Just hold on for now, okay?”

You nod, pouting at having been edged, and focus on the way Yachi writhes on your lap.

She’s close, too, you realize.

“So pretty,” you whisper in awe at the look on her face: eyes closed, head tilted back, lips parted just slightly. “You’re so pretty.”

Ah. Clearly she likes the praise, because she flutters around you. You work her more urgently, the wet squelches from your fingers buried in her joining the hushed moans and sighs of the team watching. When she cums, it’s a soft, quiet moan that you could honestly get used to hearing. Her walls flutter ceaselessly around your fingers as she leans down and kisses you again, and you’re sure not to stop until she slumps a little, though, truth be told, your wrist is already sore.

When she climbs off your lap, legs a bit shaky and a sweet, dopey smile on her face, she backs away, exiting the fray entirely. You nod in understanding. The goal, as she’d made very clear, is to make everyone cum at least once, and she’s gotten her fill. Shimizu takes your chin in her hand, tilts your face so she can kiss you, too. After a moment, you pull back. “Um—can I… my wrist… I don’t think I can…”

God, you’re already stupid. By the time you’ve gotten to everyone, you’re gonna be completely brainless, aren’t you?

She nods, helps you out of the chair only to sit you on your knees in front of her, having taken her place. She’s sweet and perfect on your tongue when you eat her out, paying careful, deliberate attention to her clit, and she instructs you in a low tone as she pets your head. It’s a blessing to be between her thighs, a blessing for her to be the first girl you’ve ever eaten out, a blessing to be allowed to draw a quiet moan from her when at last she cums on your tongue.

“Good,” she murmurs to you with a smile when you pull away, cheeks and chin wet with her slick. “I think you’re ready for us to pass you off. Will you be good for them, too?”

You nod, smiling dreamily. She looks over your shoulder and nods before standing and straightening herself out.

Three of your loyal watchers step forward. Seems like the seniors get you next.

You sit nervously, wait for… orders? Guidance? Anything?

You feel like you’re being circled by sharks, honestly. One of said sharks laughs, angelic, and you yelp when Suga’s hands come to rest on your waist. When had he joined you on the floor?

“You’re already tense again. Come on, relax a bit, [name].” His thumbs rub soothing circles into your hips. “See, Asahi’s gonna get nervous, too, if you act like that.”

Daichi pushes Asahi forward, a stern look on his face. Suga pushes you forward, too, until you’re nose to Asahi’s crotch and the prominent bulge in his shorts. “Go on. You took such good care of the girls, and it’s our turn now. Go ahead and open for him.”

You let your mouth hang open. You can be obedient. You can be good.

The bulge in Asahi’s shorts jumps a little as he looks down at you. You’re already deep in this, might as well go all-in—you paw at the waistband of his shorts, waiting for his nod of approval. When you receive it, you grab the shorts and his boxers and pull them down in one swift motion, swallowing thickly when you see the size of the thing.

If all the guys on the volleyball team are this hung, you’re going to be very, very sore in the morning.

You close your eyes, lean in. If you just keep your eyes closed, you don’t have to think about the guys watching you with varying levels of interest, don’t have to think about performing. You stroke him at the base, take as much of his cock into your mouth as you can handle. He lets out a soft groan as you begin to bob your head, and again you feel those hands on your hips. You let Suga do whatever it is he’s planning on, which is how you find your legs being spread a bit, your hips lifted just slightly only for someone—Suga, presumably—to slide his head between your thighs.

There’s a huff of a laugh against your pussy, and you try your best to keep up with sucking off Asahi as you’re yanked downwards to rest on his face. Asahi’s hot on your tongue, and Suga’s tongue is hot on you when he finally lathes his tongue over your sex. Your moan comes out muffled, cutting off into a squeak, almost a gag, when Asahi’s hips buck in response.

A murmured apology, a ruffle of your hair. The gentle affection has your heart and your walls fluttering against your will—Suga pulls away to laugh at you. “She liked whatever you just did, Asahi. Just so you know.”

You whine, roll your hips down in hopes of keeping him from saying anything else incriminating. He punishes you with a harsh suck of your clit, and the three of you fall into a nice rhythm—you taking Asahi’s cock as far into your mouth as you can handle, Suga fucking you on his tongue.

“S-so pretty,” Asahi murmurs when you dare a glance up at his face. He’s been watching you work him intently, sighs and groans filling your ears to let you know you’re doing well. You clench around Suga’s tongue at the praise, go back to work as you dip your head deep. When Asahi cums, he’s low and loud, and you greedily drink up the cum that hits the back of your throat. You’re not far behind, thanks to Suga, writhing on top of him as he forces you to stay seated on his face.

Asahi backs away. Suga slides out from underneath you, moves around to your front to kiss you softly. You shudder at the taste of yourself on his lips, shiver when his tongue slips into your mouth. Against your lips, he mumbles: “you could probably use a little rest already. You’re being really good, you know?”

Daichi chuckles darkly. “Oh, come on. She’ll never be done if we keep letting her rest.”

That’s the only warning you get before your skirt is tugged off. You’re left in nothing but a bra as Daichi begins to slide his fingers between your lips. “You’re doing great. Yachi said you were on birth control—I can assure you everyone here is clean, and she also said you’re okay with no condoms, but I want everyone to hear you say it, if that’s true.”

You whimper. You’re too sensitive for this right now, still shaking from your first orgasm of the night, but his fingers won’t stop moving.

“Well? Yes or no? Don’t make me ask you a third time.”

You gasp—his middle finger dips into your hole, just enough to make your hips buck. “P-please, I—I can—no condoms, please,” you nearly sob, hoping in vain that your bowing to his request will get you some respite.

“You’re so mean, Daichi,” Suga tuts.

You let out a sigh of relief when his fingers leave you, but then you’re being bent over and something hot and thick is sliding through your heat.

“S-sensitive,” you whine out.

“I know,” he replies, and then he’s pressing his way inside you, stretching you out, and you’re letting out a loud keen into the gym. He sits inside you a moment, gives you just long enough to adjust to the stretch before he’s moving. “You really worried us, you know. Do you think it’s polite to disappear without a word all week, [name]?”

“N-no, I’m sorry—“

A single harsh thrust. You cry out. Suga, ever-helpful, kneels down in front of you to give you his lap to rest on. Ever-obedient, you reach out and begin to palm the bulge in his shorts. He takes the chance to unclasp your bra as Daichi sets a slow, almost conversational pace.

You pull Suga out of his shorts, rest your head on his thigh. Focus on jerking him off as Daichi’s pace picks up from slow to harsh. “It’s nice of you to apologize. Don’t do it again.”

“I-I won’t—ah—“

The slow, lazy kisses you’ve taken to pressing against Suga’s cock—pretty and long—don’t mesh well with the bruising grip on your hips, the sharp snap of the captain’s cock in your pussy as he fucks you out. You cling desperately to Suga, jerk him off with no real rhythm as you struggle to take the abuse to your still-sensitive cunt.

By the time Suga’s cum shoots in ropes across your cheek, you’re close again, and Daichi isn’t letting up. “You want it inside, pretty girl?”

“Please,” you whine.

“Good girl,” he croons, and that sends you over the edge a second time, too fast—the fluttering of your walls drags him over with you. Suga takes the chance to stroke your hair almost lovingly as you’re filled up with hot cum, and you whimper as Daichi pulls out of you.

Five down. Nine to go.

You think they might kill you before the night’s over.

They really don’t let you rest—before you even process the retreat of the seniors, three more have stepped forward, and from the corner of your eye you notice the seniors holding back two guys in particular.

(“Dude, it’s our turn—“

“She can’t handle five at once. We already decided before this that you two get to go after them.”)

Ennoshita’s cock hangs heavy in front of you, and with a whimper, you drag yourself to sit up and take it in your mouth. He laughs softly. “You got used to this quickly. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

You’re not really willing to reply to that. You’re so far past embarrassment—if he’s trying to embarrass you, all you’re getting is a surge of heat low in your stomach all over again, as though your body could possibly handle any more right now.

There’s a nudge at your side, someone’s hand sliding up your arm and bringing you to take another cock in one of your free hands. A glance—Kinoshita is on one side of you, Narita on the other, and you are more than happy to take care of them, lack of coordination be damned.

“Take your time,” Narita says in a low voice. “I get this weird feeling the other two are not going to be very gentle with you when they get a turn.”

You shudder, moan around Ennoshita’s cock at the thought. His hips roll into your mouth, and you shoot him a pleading look. You weren’t particularly trying to send him any hints, but he takes some sort of hint anyway—his hand tangles in your hair, really expertly, actually, and he takes just a little bit of the load off you as he begins to fuck your throat, slow and easy, so you don’t have to keep track of getting off three at once. You relax your jaw, let him work, almost enjoy yourself as you twist your wrists around Kinoshita and Narita’s cocks.

Ennoshita is careful with you. Forceful, sure, but careful. You could gag on him—easily, if that was what he wanted—but he never makes you take him too deeply, simply enjoys the feeling of your mouth, your tongue, the way you’re completely lost in your little initiation. As his pace begins to stutter, you try to bob your head with him, unpermitted by his grip in your hair. You’re fully under now, head caught in a delicious space you’ve never quite experienced. Floating, really.

He pulls you off him firmly. “Color?”

You let out a little half-whine, looking up at him with lidded eyes and a quizzical head tilt as you try to remember what the fuck he’s asking you through the fuzz.

“Mm?”

“Damn, she’s totally lost.”

“Think she’ll be okay? Should we—“

A little panic surges in you, and you jolt forward as you finally process what he’s looking for. “G-green! Green. I’m green.”

He nods. “You’re sure?”

“Mm. Floaty. But green.”

“Good. That’s a good girl. You’re gonna keep being good?”

You reply with a whine, a tug forward in hopes of giving him the message to put his cock back in your mouth right now.

He gets the message.

The two in your hands tumble over the edge first, and you moan as you feel them paint you with their cum. You might like being taken advantage of like this. Ennoshita isn’t too far behind. He spills into your mouth with a groan, untangling fingers from your hair and smoothing it down gently. Before he backs away to let the next guys have their way with you, he leans down, keeps an affectionate hand on top of your head. “Good luck.”

“Mm?”

He backs away without explanation, and before you fully process it, you’re being pushed into a new position on your hands and knees. “Finally,” Noya groans from behind you, hands groping your ass almost reverently. “You’re being so good, it was so hard not to come take you while the others were busy with you.”

A whine. You’re more or less losing your ability to speak, between the soreness building in your jaw and the cotton in your head. Something bumps against your pussy, and you flinch with a whimper.

Tanaka is in front of you, watching your face carefully as Noya’s hands roam your body from behind. “Still good, [name]?”

You nod.

“Good,” he says, and then there’s yet another cock in your mouth. You’re starting to lose count. But, hey, Tanaka’s dick is an effective gag to keep you from getting too loud when Noya slides into you with an obscene squelch.

“There you are,” he groans, grip bruising-tight on your hips. “Fuck, you’re tight.”

Tight and sensitive. Noya isn’t particularly thick, but at this angle he’s already pressing against a spot soft and delicious in your cunt. Fuck, he hasn’t even moved yet and you already feel dangerously close.

You rock your hips back against him, desperate even as you take Tanaka’s cock as deep into your mouth as you can manage. You get barely any movement before Noya takes the hint, and then one hand is holding you steady as he snaps his hips, sharp and hard, into you. The other sneaks around, finds your clit with ease and begins to frantically torture it. You cum hard and fast around him, and he lets his head drop backward with a groan, not stopping even as you struggle to hold yourself up and take it.

It’s all so much. So much. So much—

You barely manage to bring a hand up to finish Tanaka in your mouth, desperate to have just one less thing drowning you, and lucky for you, it works—he grits out praises as he spills into your mouth, strokes your hair as you swallow as much of his cum as you can handle.

With your mouth free, Nishinoya pauses just long enough to pull out and flip you onto your back. “Your knees are starting to hurt, right?” he coos, cock throbbing against your entrance again. “But you’re doing so well.”

You whimper. It’s all you still know how to do. He takes in your body, chest heaving and tits shaking from exertion, and slides a hand up your side, pausing to tweak a nipple. Your back arches. “God, you’re perfect. Are your tits always this sensitive, or do you just like being watched?”

“Al-ways,” you moan out, voice broken. His eyes are ravenous as he takes you in, like he doesn’t know where to look.

“Oi, Noya, you’re not the last one that gets her today. Go ahead and fuck her already.”

He doesn’t need telling twice. His arms are shaking as he pins you down by the wrists, shaking as he plunges into you all over again.

Noya is brutal. Dimly, you have the thought that you understand why they held him back as long as possible, though you think it might have made things worse. He leans down, lips against your neck, and groans when you immediately clench around him. “Your neck, too?” he hisses out.

You nod, barely able to catch your breath or un-fuzz your head long enough to talk.

“Fuck,” he breathes, taking the time to suck a few marks into your throat.

“Please,” you whine in reply. That’s all it takes for him to sink his teeth into a soft spot on your neck, and then you’re cumming again with an actual sob as he cums inside you, the second time someone’s cum inside tonight.

Nine… ten? Down. You can’t count anymore. He pulls out of you, lathes his tongue over where he’d bitten you, leaves you laying there to catch your breath.

“Need a break?”

You shake your head, not even bothering to check who’s asking you.

A laugh. “You sure? You look a little dead.”

One eye opened lazily. Yamaguchi. “Can take it,” you slur out. You’re utterly boneless. Exhausted, really. But you’ve got… a number more to get through, and fuck it, you’re in way too deep to give up now, and Yamaguchi’s looking kind of delicious, and—

Next thing you know, you’re slumped between him and Tsukki, one in your ass, the other in your cunt, you openly sobbing as Tsukki hisses condescension in your ear, fingers in your mouth to keep it open while they split you in half—

(“How is she even alive right now? I don’t think any of us made it through the whole thing without a real break.”

“We’re keeping her. We have got to keep her.”)

Next thing you know, you’re jerking Kageyama off onto your face, tongue lolling out to catch every drop of cum you can—

(“Genuinely impressive. Are we sure she’s never done this before?”

“Dude, I’m serious, what do we have to do to get her to come every time?”)

Next thing you know, Hinata is thrusting into you at blinding speeds, and you’re cumming again, moans more like broken sobs—

(“I mean, she keeps saying she’s good, and she’s almost through…”

“She’s just having a good time. Probably been dreaming about something like this since before she showed up for her ‘article’.”)

There’s a few expectant looks as you lay there at last, thoroughly fucked out, unable to even think about moving as the TV static in your brain begins to finally fade out.

Holy fuck.

Are you done? That was the last of them, right? You’re done, aren’t you?

“Now, now, [name],” Tsukishima says, and his tone has you whining. That was everyone. You’re done.

“The rule was that you have to make everyone cum before you’re done,” he explains, like you’re five or something.

“D-didn’t… didn’t I…?”

A few slow shakes of the head from a few guys.

“You’re here, too.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Noo,” you whine. “Can’t.”

“You can’t?” Tsukki crouches down beside you. “You’ve made fourteen people cum tonight, and you’re giving up now? What happened to the slut we’ve been watching all night?”

“Can’ttt,” you repeat, new tears already forming. How many times have you cum already?

He sighs. “You’re really not serious about this, are you?”

“No, I am, I-I—“

“Then you can make yourself cum one last time for us to see.”

You whimper, limply bring a hand to rest between your legs. Should’ve brought a damn vibrator.

You work yourself up as fast as you can handle, cup one breast in your off hand to roll your nipple between your fingers. Slide two fingers in and shudder when you find the mix of cum there.

(“It’s just mean making her do it herself after all that.”

“If she can actually cum again after all that, I don’t even know what to say.”)

Technically, you could probably get away with faking it. …probably. But, well…

The little competitive bitch in you wants to prove them wrong, and, hell, you’ve already put on a show for everyone here, right? So you get into it, best you can. Roll your hips weakly against your hand, sigh and whimper at just how much this all is. Rub your clit as fast as your wrist can still handle, actually fucking thrash as you fall over the edge one last time.

You blacked out.

That, at least, you can figure out. You’re being held against one of any number of potential muscular bodies, cradled, really. Like you’ll break or something.

“How long do you think she has to be out before we call someone?”

“Don’t,” you groan. “’M alive. Barely.”

Fucking hell, your throat is dry. You open one eye to peek at Suga, who’s already got a water bottle ready for you. It’s Asahi holding you, and he shifts to let you tilt your head back as Suga tips the water bottle into your mouth.

Someone is wiping the worst of the cum off you with a damp rag. You squirm, whine as they clean you up. Drink like you’ve spent the past six months in the desert.

“How’re you feeling?” Yachi asks sweetly. Ah. She’s the one cleaning you up.

“Gooood,” you slur out. “Tired. Sore. Don’t wanna be a good girl for the next twennyfour hours at least.”

She laughs. “You know you could have taken a break, right? You didn’t have to get everyone off in one go.”

You simply groan. In the background, a few of the previously unaccounted-for guys are cleaning up the mess where you’d been laid out on the floor. Someone taps something against your lips. You accept it, mostly out of laziness. Sweet. Crunchy. Chocolate-covered pretzel. You wonder if you can get them to move your jaw for you.

“Do you still want to come back after this, [name]?” Shimizu asks.

You nod. Accept another pretzel. Snuggle into Asahi’s arms. You think they picked him for cuddle duty because he’s got good arms. “’Sgood. ‘Mgood.”

She laughs slightly. Drapes something over your naked body.

A black jacket, reading Karasuno Volleyball Team.

“Welcome to the team, then,” she says, tilting her head with an ethereal smile. You blink blearily. Smile back.

You cannot fucking wait for their next match.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory

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leiawritesstories · 17 days

Text

Stunning

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 7: All Dressed Up @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: flirting, swearing, rich people talk, badly concealed horniness, NSFW content, a few fun little hidden jokes teehee

A/N: hi hello this is technically for tomorrow BUT it's getting posted now because i'm taking the LSAT tomorrow and i'm going to be way too mentally exhausted to function, yayyyyy 😃 also, i might disappear for a little while after the exam, bc i also just started my senior year of college and it's a bit busier than i thought lol. anyway.....enjoy!!! at your own discretion please :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If the club was fancy, its VIP lounge was a study in luxury. A pair of black-suited bouncers flanked the door, their dark-shaded eyes constantly scanning the club, scrutinizing each and every person who approached the lounge doors. Rowan handed over the thick square of embossed ivory paper from his tux jacket pocket and nodded amiably at the bouncers as they checked his invitation and waved him in. Conspicuous as he’d felt before, when he was walking through the club in a custom three-piece designer tux, he felt positively unremarkable among the sea of haute couture that thronged the VIP lounge, all of them centered around a tall, elegant woman in a fitted sheath dress of molten gold with a slit that crept dangerously high up her right leg. Her head tipped an inch sideways with the echo of her laughter, and she rested one graceful hand on the forearm of the handsome man she was talking to, crimson-tipped fingernails contrasting sharply with his black jacket.

Aelin Galathynius.

The only daughter of perhaps the most influential voices in Terrasen’s political scene, Aelin filled the spotlight like she was born to it. Which she was. She’d been appearing in front of press cameras and journalists practically since her birth because Evalin Ashryver, the first female secretary of state, had wanted to show the world that a woman could have both a successful high-profile career and a family. Furthermore, her father was Rhoe Galathynius, the deputy prime minister, and he had personally taught his only daughter how to handle the press.

At twenty-nine, Aelin was one of the most recognizable faces in Terrasen, though that was mostly due to her success as a former professional volleyball player and current coach, as well as an incredibly generous philanthropist, rather than her parents’ collective renown. Rowan had known Aelin since high school, had harbored a crush for her practically as long, and since he was also a retired athlete and the head of a foundation that supported talented young athletes whose families couldn’t afford their sports, he often crossed paths with Aelin at events like this one.

She was chatting with Dorian Havilliard, the oldest son of Prime Minister Havilliard and a childhood friend of hers, when Rowan strolled over and nodded cordially at the dark-haired man. “Good to see you again, Havilliard. Do you mind?”

“Not at all!” Dorian air-kissed Aelin’s cheeks. “Whitethorn, good to see you as well. I’ll have my assistant reach out to yours to schedule a proper meeting, yes?” He had recently indicated his interest in sponsoring one of Rowan’s foundation events.

“Sounds perfect.” Rowan shook Dorian’s hand and pretended not to notice as the other man stage-whispered “he’s so hot” to Aelin before he left the two of them alone.

“Rowan.” Aelin’s crimson lips curled into a smile. “What brings you here? I thought you usually avoided these little parties like the plague.”

“I try,” he said dryly. “Unfortunately, there are several key donors here, and my VP practically threatened to strangle me if I didn’t show up and have a drink with them.”

She chuckled and took a delicate sip of the champagne in her hand. “I wasn’t aware I was one of your key donors, Rowan.”

“Maybe I’m using you as a human shield,” he teased.

“I’m afraid I’m more of a spear than a shield,” she said with a wink. “That means I’ll charge at your big scary donors with you if you can work up the balls to ask.”

“Can you blame me for hesitating?” He swiped a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and locked his gaze onto Aelin as he took a deep sip. “You look stunning in that dress, Aelin, and I’m afraid that’s all anyone will see.”

“Ah, stop it.” She swatted his arm. “I’ll get their attention, and you’ll capture it like you always do with your cute little big-old-shy-guy smile and blush.” His cheeks heated, and she grinned. “There, you see? One of your usual protests that you ‘don’t do as much as you want to do’ and you’ll have those donors eating from the palm of your hand.”

“I’d like to eat you from the palm of my hand,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “You’re sure?”

“Of course.” She set down her champagne and looped her arm through his. She lowered her voice to a throaty whisper. “And if you want to eat, Whitethorn, all you have to do is ask.”

His pants tightened. He swallowed thickly, forced himself to think about the donors in order to control his traitorous body, and covertly poked Aelin in the ribs. “Quite a naughty thing to say, Aelin.”

She winked lazily at him. “We’re at a club, Rowan. Certain things happen at clubs.”

“Such a brazen woman.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear, and his lips just barely brushed her neck. “What kind of things are you thinking about, hmm?”

“Schmoozing with donors, for one.” She laughed softly at his disgruntled expression and brushed a megawatt smile across her face as they approached one of the couples who were frequent donors to his foundation. “Connall, Sorscha, delighted to see you here!”

Connall had been one of Rowan’s teammates, and he’d retired a year before Rowan so he could spend more time with his wife, Sorscha, and their family. “Surprised you made it, old man,” he joked as he clasped hands with Rowan and affectionately thumped him on the back.

“Trust me, we both are,” Rowan deadpanned. “Sorscha, you look lovely as always. How are the little ones?”

“Growing up too damn fast,” Connall sighed.

Sorscha nodded in agreement. “Lyla started walking the other day; I turned around for five seconds and she made it into the other room. I almost had a heart attack.” She laughed. “And Gray has been obsessed with taking care of the garden, except that he doesn’t know the difference between the weeds and the herbs.”

“Little guy brought his mama a fistful of ‘bad weeds’ that were actually dill,” Connall added, snickering. “Oh, and James is doing fantastic at the football camp.”

Rowan smiled. “That’s amazing! How is it having him stay with you?” One of the projects he was trying to start involved pro athletes having orphans and foster kids stay with them when they participated in training camps for their sports.

“We love it.” Con grinned down at his wife. “He’s still a little shy with the kids and he basically lives out of his duffle bag, but he’s a lot more talkative now.”

“He seems more at ease,” Sorscha said. “It could be that he’s made friends at the camp, or that my son pretty much idolizes him because he’s a big boy who plays sports, but I think he’s also just more… comfortable.”

“That’s almost exactly what we were hoping would happen.” Rowan squeezed Aelin’s hand, and she beamed up at him. “Good. Well, I hope this helps convince the board.”

Con thumped Rowan’s shoulder. “We’re in your corner, man. I’d be happy to tell the board about our success if you need.”

“I just might take you up on that.” Rowan shook Con’s hand and accepted Sorscha’s hug. “Thank you so much.”

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” Aelin teased as they walked away, heading for another donor that Rowan had spotted. “You’re a natural—just get them talking about how much they want to help these kids or how much they love what they’re already doing, and they’ll give you their support.”

His hand slid to her lower back, guiding her through the throngs of people. “Wish I had half as much confidence as you have, Ae.”

“Stop that,” she chided. “Rowan, your foundation is hugely successful because of you. That much is evident, and I’ll keep trying to convince you of that until you accept it.”

“I know a few ways you could convince me,” he murmured, half to himself.

Her smile melted into lazy dangerousness, and sparks kindled behind her stunning turquoise eyes. “Do you, now?”

His hand curled possessively around her hip. “I do.” Heat raced through her blood at the weight of his touch. “Dance with me.”

“Of course.”

They stepped into the swirl of couples dancing in the middle of the lounge, and Aelin gasped quietly when Rowan pulled her so close that she was almost flush against him, wrapping one arm around her waist with his hand on her hip and lacing his free hand with hers. So close she could feel the thrum of his heartbeat, she draped her free arm around his neck, fingers toying with the collar of his pressed black shirt. The song changed, shifting to a deep, pounding bass and sultry vocals, and her body moved in near-perfect tandem with his as he led her through the dance.

“All that hockey training certainly gave you good moves, Ro,” she teased, flicking her gaze up to his through her lashes.

He smirked languidly and rotated his hips in a borderline lustful circle. “And all your volleyball training probably gave you strong legs.” He tipped his head down and purred his next words into her ear. “But how long until they start shaking?”

“Dream on, hockey boy,” she whispered, even as desire uncoiled between her legs at the sinful rasp of his voice.

“Every night.” Her breath caught at the admission in those words, and when he brushed a thumb across her lips, she leaned into the touch. Her nod was confirmation enough, and he replaced his thumb with his lips, kissing her softly at first and then deeper, slower, the stroke of his tongue almost too slow for the heat pounding in her blood.

In a hazy blur, they were in the club’s bathroom, Aelin sucking in a sharp breath as Rowan yanked her dress up around her waist and planted her bare ass on the marble countertop. He chuckled, a low dark gravelly rasp that curled up her spine like smoke, as his eyes traced down her body and discovered her lack of underwear. “Dangerous move, darling,” he murmured, attaching his lips to her neck and pressing his calloused thumb directly onto her clit. “No panties? Anyone could see you, Aelin.”

“Anyone—ahh, Rowan!—isn’t going to see,” she panted, her words broken up with gasps and hitched breaths. “Just…fuck, just you.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Free hand reaching down the front of her dress to tease her hardened nipples, he thrust three fingers into her, reveling in her broken moan and the way her eyes scrunched shut in pain-edged bliss. “Hold still for me, pretty girl.” Wordlessly, she nodded, bracing her hands on the countertop to stabilize herself. He smirked and kissed her hard, swallowing her moans, and pumped his fingers roughly, bringing her to her first orgasm of the night within a few minutes. He worked her through the high, teasing her sensitive clit just enough to make her whimper when he withdrew his glistening fingers and licked them clean, gaze locked on her the whole time.

“Please, Ro.” She whispered his name, her plea a raspy breath. “Need you to fill me up.”

“Good girl.” He pushed his trousers and boxers down just enough for his cock to spring free, and her eyes went wide and dark as she stared at his size.

“Th-that…” Her mouth went dry. “That’s not going to fit.”

He brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “It will, pretty girl. Trust me, it will.” He pushed one of her dress straps off her shoulder and palmed her breast. “Your pretty pussy took my fingers so well, Ae, getting all ready for my dick.”

Her breath escaped in a shuddering groan. “How is it so hot when you say filthy things like that?”

“Because you’re my dirty little good girl.” He smirked and tilted her chin up to brush a bare feather of a kiss over her smudged lipstick. “Can you stay quiet for me?” She nodded, and he kissed her as he dipped his fingers into her cunt again, working her in long slow strokes. When she wrapped her hand around his wrist and whispered that she was ready, he lined his cock up and pushed into her slowly, savoring the tight grip of her pussy around his dick and the muffled whimpers she made as she struggled to stay quiet while accommodating the size of his velvet steel schlong.

“Rowan,” she choked out, near desperate. “Please!”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, and he rocked into the cradle of her hips, thrusting with increasing force. Gripping her waist, he pinned her to the counter and fucked her hard, and she buried her face in his shoulder to muffle the uncontrollable moans that tore from her throat. The soap dish clattered to the floor, and he just kicked it underneath the sink and thrust harder, hurtling them both towards climax. Aelin tipped her head back and rasped out his name as she came, ecstasy written all over her features, and he groaned her name as he came inside of her. As their bodies stilled, he gently pulled out, smirking at the sight of his rowillymilk dripping down her legs.

She trailed a finger between her thighs and lifted it to her lips, licking their cum off and humming softly in pleasure. “Delicious.”

He growled and pulled his pants back up and lifted her off the counter, stopping to fix her dress before he laced his fingers with hers and led her out of the bathroom and back through the flashing strobe lights of the lounge and out a side door. “Your place or mine?”

“Mine.” She flicked a heated glance at him from under her darkened lashes. “Got a few toys I like to use in my bedroom.”

“Get in the car.” Rowan pulled the passenger door of a sleek black SUV open with more force than strictly necessary, the muscled lines of his body tense, the gleam of his eyes predatory. Aelin touched the smudged lipstick at the corner of her mouth, wiping it away as she slid gracefully into the car. He closed the door and went around to the driver’s side, and she sucked in a half-surprised, half-aroused gasp when he accelerated down the dark, empty city streets with a hand splayed on her thigh. Heat pulsed between her legs, radiating outward from the warm, firm weight of his palm atop her leg.

She at least had enough of her wits to direct him towards her townhouse. “Turn left here,” she directed, guiding him down the familiar path to her home. “First right, then second right.” He navigated the turns with expert precision, and it was only minutes before he’d pulled into the single parking space marked out in front of her property.

A sudden, thick silence blanketed the vehicle, and Aelin had the urge to caress Rowan’s face when she caught sight of the faint uncertainty nearly buried in his fiery gaze. So she did, gently tracing her fingertips across his cheekbones. “Welcome to my home, Ro.” She winked lazily. “Want me to show you my bedroom?”

His lingering hesitation melted into molten, commanding desire. “That’s my good girl.” The praise flowed over her like sunlight. “Can you get out of the car, Ae, or do you need to be carried?”

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.” She clicked her tongue and smoothly climbed out of the car. He prowled around from the driver’s side, banded one thickly muscled arm around her waist, and pressed her back against the door.

“Still so naughty,” he murmured. “What should we do about that, hmm?”

“Why don’t you come inside and show me?” she whispered right back.

He kissed her, and it would have been sweet if not for the cum sticking to her thighs. “Good girl.” Hand in her hand, he followed her into her townhouse, locked the front door behind them, and waited all of twenty seconds for her to drop her small purse before he hauled her over his shoulder and stormed up the stairs. She managed to point him towards her bedroom door, and he set her onto her bed with uncharacteristic gentleness.

And tore her dress down the middle.

She was halfway through an outraged gasp when he yanked her hips to the edge of the mattress, dropped to his knees, and licked her dripping pussy. Her outrage kindled into lust, and she plunged her fingers into his hair, shoving him closer as his tongue drew harsh patterns on her needy clit. Through the incoherent, garbled whimpers and moans streaming from her throat, she managed to reach sideways and grab her wand vibrator from her bedside table and switch the toy on before tracing the buzzing tip around her stiff, aching nipples.

“What,” Rowan growled, “do you think you’re doing, hmm?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just took the vibrator from her and replaced his tongue with the toy, teasing her cunt with too-light touches and biting kisses, ignoring her breasts altogether. “Did I say you could touch yourself, Ae?”

“N–no, sir,” she whispered. Calling him sir had been impulsive, but it felt so right.

He swore filthily and shoved his pants off, letting his massive meat pole spring free. “That’s correct. Now be a good girl and put your hands above your head.” The vibrator skimmed her throbbing pussy and dipped farther back, circling the rim of her ass, and her fists curled into the pillows above her head as words failed her. He seemed pleased with her obedience, because he kept the toy there as he returned his mouth to her cunt and devoured her, tongue spearing into her and teeth scraping her most sensitive parts. It couldn’t have been more than two minutes before stars exploded across her vision as she came so hard she shook with the force of it.

He turned off the vibrator, threw it across the floor, stripped out of the rest of his clothes, and hauled her up the bed, kissing and nipping up her body as he went. “Don’t hold back,” she breathed, the words shaky from the last waves of her orgasm but no less confident.

“Scream for me, pretty girl,” was all he said in response, and he flipped them over and pulled her down onto his cock. She was so wet that her cunt slid down effortlessly, and he didn’t give her any time to adjust before he lifted her hips up and down, helping her ride his dick at a frenetic pace. “Fuck, Aelin!”

“Fuck, Rowan!” she screamed in tandem, head falling back in bliss. He sat up, deepening the angle, and fucked her relentlessly, until she was a mess of broken cries of his name.

“Come with me,” he ordered, and he pinched her clit sharply. She screamed his name to the gods as she shattered, and he came with her, burying himself deep. He rocked his hips gently as she shook, working her through every last second of the drawn-out orgasm, milking his own pleasure. As she calmed and rolled off of him, sprawled onto her stomach, he ran his fingers through her hair, smoothing the mussed strands. “So fuckin’ good, Fireheart.”

She turned onto her side and grinned, linking her fingers with his. “Happy anniversary, my love. Should we do that again next year?”

~~~

TAGS:

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#my writing #rowaelin month #rowaelinmonth #rowaelinmonth2024 #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fun times teeheehee #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au

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sevensymbols · 2 years

Text

THE ANTICS

summary: your first year at college is boring and uneventful. that is until you meet a boy named Jaemin and his model friend Jeno. warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT with some angst and fluff sprinkled in, sorta inexperienced reader, dom!jeno, manhandling, jeno is a soft dom at first but turns into a mean dom, spitting, spanking, unprotected sex, the plot is kinda rushed bc let’s be honest that’s not what we’re here for word count: 4,8k read on ao3 instead

“Seriously Jaemin, how am I even going to fit in there?”

College wasn’t as fun as you thought it would be. You were excited to start your “new me,” excitedly waving your parents goodbye as you left with your suitcases to study in a big city. But as it turns out, college is not fun and neither are your roommates.

You met Jaemin, a self-proclaimed “math-wizard” (it was a lie), during your social studies lectures. You became friends mainly because he just wouldn’t shut up when he sat next to you. You quickly found out he’s an engineering student, although it was quite questionable as to how he got in the university and he lived in a private flat with his two roommates, who you have not met yet.

You quickly learned that getting rid of Jaemin would be very tough, especially since it seemed like you two were destined to bump into each other everywhere. And at the end of the day, he was much more fun than your roommates. He would disrupt the lectures quite often with his snarky comments and he would make you skip lectures just to do something he deemed to be fun.

His newest idea was for you to skip your evening lecture and go with him to his roommate’s fashion show. That is when you learned his roommate was a model, trying to make a name for himself.

And that is how you found yourself in the lobby of the venue where the fashion show was held, pushing down the hem of your new dress you bought on the way there with Jaemin, who bought a tuxedo. You paid for the dress already wearing it and you’ve never felt so embarrassed.

“You look great,” Jaemin states, looking you up and down. “You’ll fit right in.”

“I don’t know...” you trail off, pulling down the hem of your dress again. You should’ve bought something longer.

“It’s fine,” Jaemin says, patting you on the back like a bro, ”let’s go.”

Unsurprisingly, you were not allowed in the main venue, because you were not invited. Instead, you opted for the smaller venue next to the main one where you could technically witness the whole thing as well, just not very close.

Suddenly everyone got quiet and soft music started playing from the speakers. You held your breath as you watched the first model walk down the runway.

He was tall, with dark hair and sharp eyes. The main point of his outfit was clearly the open back, which was muscular, and he was also wearing black leather heels. You’ve never seen someone so masculine yet so feminine, with a commanding yet friendly aura about them.

Jaemin leans closer to you and whispers. “So... that’s our Jeno.”

You clutch your purse and swallow thickly. Holy fucking shit.

You found out soon enough that the reason why Jaemin has brought you here was not because of the show itself, but mainly because of the after party. There was so much alcohol, so many interesting people around... it all felt like a fever dream.

“Jaemin, how the hell did we end up here,” you ask, looking around. “aren’t we too poor for this place?”

“Shh, no stress!” Jaemin waves you off. “Look, there he is!”

In front of you stood the tall man that opened the show, Jeno. He wasn’t wearing the beautiful backless piece anymore though, he was now in a blazer, his chest out for the world to see, muscles glistening in the purple light. When he saw you and Jaemin he smiled warmly and approached you.

“Hi there,” Jeno says, holding out a hand for you to shake. “You must be ___.”

“That she is,” Jaemin answers for you. “You have no idea how long it took me to convince her to come.”

You hit his arm playfully. “Hey!”

Jeno chuckles, a low, deep chuckle. “Well I’m glad you did, it is nice to finally meet you. Jaemin talks about you quite a bit.”

Now it was Jeno’s turn to get hit by Jaemin. “Not true!”

“Honestly, I can kind of imagine that,” you admit, chuckling as well. “This boy never shuts up.”

Jeno smiles, poking Jaemin with his index finger. “So she does know you pretty well.”

“Guys, stop ganging up on me,” Jaemin whines, throwing his head back. You and Jeno laugh and you can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach.

This is going to be a long night.

After a few drinks and an embarrassing performance on the dance floor, you, Jaemin and Jeno head to their shared apartment. Their other roommate is apparently not home yet for you to meet, but you also feel like you’ve met enough people tonight already. Jaemin offers you to sleep over and you accept, changing from your dress into one of Jaemin’s t-shirts, which he hands you after fist bumping you so things aren’t as awkward.

It is 3:32 when you stop trying to fall asleep on the couch. Your whole body hurts. You open your eyes to see a dim light coming from the kitchen. You get up and shuffle towards the kitchen, where you see Jeno sitting on the counter, drinking. He is still in the same clothes he wore to the afterparty, his chest still glistening in the dim light. He looks unreal, sculpted by the Gods, and your heart skips a beat.

There is no way you can come near him alone.

You turn around to leave back to the couch.

“Can’t sleep?”

You turn back around and Jeno’s eyes meet yours, that sharp gaze you saw at the fashion show now replaced with puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah,” you admit, twirling your thumbs. There is an awkward silence which Jeno breaks by asking you if you want a drink as well. “Yeah, why not.”

Jeno gets off the counter and pours you a whiskey too. “Come sit next to me.”

You do so, hopping on the counter, and you are met with his sweet cologne. If this was your cue to faint, it was pretty on point. You take a sip of the whiskey, the alcohol burning at the back of your throat as you search for a conversation starter. “So how long have you been a model for?”

Really? Is that the best you could come up with?

“Ever since i was sixteen,” Jeno explains, taking a sip of his drink too. “My mom saw the potential, I guess. She used to take me to different agencies all over the country. Then I signed with my current company and I have been travelling as a model ever since. Though I mostly work here in the city and not abroad, keyword yet.”

“I see.”

“Now let’s just get this out of the way,” Jeno suddenly says, finishing his drink, now facing you. “Are you and Jaemin-”

“NO!” you shout, quickly covering your mouth. As much as you’re aware of the effect Jaemin has on others around you, the jealous looks you get when you two are hanging out, you could never see yourself being with someone like him. “We’re just friends. I mean I know what it looks like kinda but at the same time he’s like a bro-”

Jeno shushes you by pressing his index finger to your lips. “In that case, can I just say you looked so fucking sexy in that little dress of yours last night.”

Oh my God.

You choke on air, eyes growing wide. “I- I... I mean-”

He leans in so he is inches away from your face. “I want to kiss you so bad. Will you let me, pretty girl?”

You nod, and he crashes his lips onto yours. The kiss is needy, urgent and passionate. You can taste whiskey on his tongue and you are pretty sure he can taste it on yours as well. He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling it gently, before detaching his lips from yours and kissing down your jaw, to the shell of your ear, and then down your neck. You feel his wet muscle licking at your neck, his lips latching onto the skin. You whimper and that sound makes him groan and he momentarily returns to your lips to swallow your whimpers.

Your hands find his chest and you make Jeno shiver by running your fingers up and down, always stopping below his collarbone when going up and stopping above his pants when going down.

Jeno’s free hand squeezes one of your breasts through the fabric of your bra and Jaemin’s shirt. He gets off the counter and body rolls his crotch into yours, to which he has to cover your mouth because you let out a sinful moan.

“You are so hot,” he whispers into your ear and you really want to scream “YOU TOO” but his hands are everywhere and-

Suddenly the light in the hallway turns on and Jeno flies off of you. You’re still on the counter trying to catch your breath when in walks a guy with lavender hair. His eyes are half-closed and he is yawning with every step he takes. He takes one look at you and then at Jeno and points his finger at him.

“Is this your-” he trails off, squinting his eyes at the taller man.

“N-no!” Jeno explains, rather panicked. “She’s Jaemin’s friend.”

And that’s how you met Donghyuck, Jaemin’s second roommate.

The next morning, you are all eating breakfast in the kitchen. You’re seated next to Jeno - as per his request - aka raising his eyebrow at you and looking at the empty chair next to him - and you are listening to Jaemin and Hyuck bicker about something.

Suddenly you feel a hand creeping up your leg. You are still only wearing your underwear and Jaemin’s t-shirt, so the access to your leg is pretty easy. You look up at Jeno, who has his hand hidden under the table, caressing your skin.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispers and smiles at you, but his smile is sinister, and you soon understand why as his hand slowly, cautiously rides up, up, even higher, until it reaches the waistband of your panties. You hold your breath as his fingers cross that barrier and start playing with your clit.

You squeeze your legs together and Jeno is not happy about that, slapping your inner thigh and pushing your legs open again. His fingers trace your slit before entering you and you have to pretend to cough to surpass a moan that is creeping up your throat. You can tell Jeno has a lot of experience by the way his skillful fingers plunge in and out of you and you can feel your inner thighs becoming wet with your arousal.

You look at Hyuck and Jaemin, who are still in their own little world, and you suppose you’re in yours as well. Suddenly the pressure is getting on you and you feel like seeing stars and it’s all too much-

“Excuse me,” you suddenly say, pulling Jeno’s hand off of you and fixing your t-shirt before getting up. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Sure!” Jaemin smiles at you and returns back to his conversation.

As you are leaving, you can see Jeno licking his fingers and smirking in your direction.

In the bathroom you grab onto the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. Your cheeks are flushed red and you have to splash some cold water on your face to try and get rid of the hot feeling. Then you look around, grab a towel and start cleaning the arousal off of your thighs.

“That’s my towel, you know.”

You freeze. Not daring to turn around, you instead look at the reflection in the mirror to see Jeno leaning against the door frame. He walks in and closes the door behind him, grabbing you by the hips and pulling you towards him.

“Why did you run away like that?”

“I-” You cannot find the right words. “I’m sorry, I- I couldn’t come right in front of them-”

“Shh, don’t apologize,” Jeno coos, grabbing your face and pulling you into a deep kiss. Your face is hot again and your hands become sweaty and you don’t dare touch him. “You did so well for me back there, baby.”

Baby. Your knees were getting weaker by the second.

Jeno finally breaks the kiss and looks you deep in your eyes, grabbing onto the hem of the t-shirt you’re wearing. “I only wish you were wearing my t-shirt and not Jaemin’s. Next time, I’m gonna make you come so hard you will never think about anyone else’s dick but mine.”

“Next time?” you ask, squeezing the towel in your hands.

“Next time,” Jeno confirms, smiling at you. “Now let me give you my phone number and let’s get out of here.

Over the next few weeks you and Jeno text often. Just about your day - for you it’s usually a café photo or a picture of Jaemin sleeping during your social studies lecture, for Jeno it’s mostly a behind the scenes look at his work. You’re getting giddy every time his name pops up on your phone, even if its just a few times a day.

That is, until one day, you receive the following text message:

Jeno: Sorry, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to keep talking to each other. Please don’t text this number again.

And just like that, you lose the one exciting thing about your college life. Sure, you still have Jaemin, and being with Jaemin is always fun, but you can’t help but think about what could’ve been with the tall, handsome model. You of course first think it’s a joke, but Jeno never ever replies to you again. You do not dare to tell Jaemin, he still doesn’t know about anything and you like to keep it that way.

Oh well. Life goes on.

A few more weeks go by since the faithful text and now Jaemin invites you to his flat again, this time he wants you to look after his new kitten as him and both of his roommates are going to be away for the weekend. You agree - there is nothing you want more than to get away from your own roommates.

As it turns out, looking after a kitten is much easier than you thought - mainly because kittens sleep just as much as adult cats do. You’re currently making yourself a sandwich and you can hear the TV from the living room playing the melody of your favorite reality show. You hum to yourself as you cut the tomatoes.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

You turn around, knife still in hand, only to see a pissed off Jeno. He’s wearing a long coat and his black hair is sleek, though it looks like he hasn’t slept in a while.

“I- I-”

“Who the fuck asked you to be here?” Jeno is mad, you’ve never seen him this way. The most problematic part of that is how much it turns you on.

“Jaemin!” you squeak. “He told me to look after Lyra.”

Jeno huffs. “Okay, well I am here now. So just leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I said leave.”

You frown and decide to stand your ground. “No. I am not leaving.”

Jeno pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at the ground. Then, a word slips past his lips, and it almost goes unnoticed by you. Almost.

“I’m sorry, what did you just call me?” you ask, gripping the handle of the knife.

Jeno looks up, his eyes shooting arrows at you. “I called you a whore.”

“Why the hell are you calling me that?”

“Because that’s all you are, isn’t it? A stupid whore.”

“You asshole,” you spit out, waving the knife around. “I am the whore yet you’re the one pouncing on me the second you meet me? I’m so done with you, Jeno.”

“Stop fucking pointing the knife at me, Jesus, woman!”

You drop the knife on the counter and focus on Jeno again. “I am right, aren’t I?”

“I never would’ve touched you if I knew what a worthless bitch you are!”

That one hurt. It may not have been the best comeback, but something shifts in you.

“Why are you like this?” you ask but your voice betrays you, cracking in the middle of the sentence.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Jeno asks like a villain in a movie, folding his arms. “I don’t want you in my, or any of the boys’ life anymore.”

“Jeno, please,” you’re begging at this point, falling to your knees and crawling towards the tall man. “I don’t know what I did to you to deserve this.” Tears prick your eyes and your throat swells up. You grab onto his pant leg, sobbing, looking up at him. “I’m sorry...”

Jeno scoffs. “You’re so pathetic, you know that?”

You’re still sobbing, a weak “please” escaping your lips as you feel the tears pouring down your cheeks. Jeno bends down so he is eye level with you and suddenly opens his mouth, his tongue sliding out and licking the hot tears off of your face.

Then, a kiss.

This kiss is reminiscent of your first one, it’s needy and urgent. Jeno completely dominates the kiss, holding your face so you don’t move. He licks into your mouth and detaches his lips from yours, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Get up,” Jeno commands. You oblige immediately, as if under a spell, and he throws you over his shoulder before walking into his room. There, he lays you down on the ground, not the bed, and you look at him as he takes off his coat.

He is a beautiful man. He is devastatingly handsome, his sharp features perfectly aligning with his sharp gaze. He deserves to be worshiped, for his face to be plastered on every single magazine cover until the end of time.

Finally, he faces you again.

“Now let me make myself very clear,” he pauses, chuckling at your wide-eyed expression. “If you want to leave now, just say so. We won’t ever talk about this. But if you decide to stay, I will not hold back, you will take what I give you. No other man will ever satisfy you the way I will, tonight.”

He stands there and waits, hands in fists and knuckles white. He waits for you to say something, to get up and run away, yet all you do is let out a moan of the model’s name. You can’t believe how much of an effect this man has on you. Maybe you really are as pathetic as Jeno claims you to be.

“Fuck it,” Jeno sighs upon hearing it, rushing to you and kissing you again. He stops himself however, quickly jumping on his feet and clearing his throat. “Strip. I want you naked in 30 seconds.”

You gulp, quickly taking off your pants, your t-shirt and your bra and then your panties. Suddenly you’re very aware of the fact that he is still very much dressed and the cold air in the room creates goosebumps on your skin. Jeno walks up to you and whatever emotion is on his face, you just can’t read it.

“Open your mouth,” he orders and you do just that. He leans down a little, spitting into your mouth. “Swallow.”

You swallow, eyes still wide, looking up at the man in front of you. He doesn’t react and instead unbuckles his belt. He takes off his belt completely, ordering you to put your hands behind your back. He skillfully ties your hands with the belt and tests if you can move your hands or not.

“Jeno, I-”

“Did I tell you to speak?” Jeno shoots back, threading his hand in your hair and pulling on it. You don’t dare answer, instead you watch as he returns in front of you and pulls down the zipper of his pants. Pulling down his boxers, you gulp again at his size as his dick springs free. He is only semi-hard, but that is about to change as he guides it into your welcoming mouth. You suck on it, thinking of all the porn movies you watched and using your best techniques. “That’s right, suck that big cock,” Jeno groans, his fingers threading in your hair again.

You suddenly release his dick from your mouth with a loud “pop” and Jeno is about to protest, when you lick his balls, the base of his cock up to his tip. He lets out a moan, the first time you’ve ever heard him moan actually, and you couldn’t be more proud. Jeno suddenly grabs you by your hair and pulls you up, scooping you up in his arms and almost throwing you on the bed.

“Don’t think for a second that you’re the one in control here,” Jeno growls, grabbing you by your chin so you’re face to face. “It’s me who gets to dominate you.” He then flips you around so you’re on your stomach and spanks you hard.

“That’s for being a slut.”

Spank.

“That’s for thinking you’re the one who calls the shots here.”

Spank.

“That’s for fucking with me and making a fool out of me.”

Every spank was harsh against your soft skin, yet you enjoyed every second of it, your inner thighs getting coated with your arousal. However the last reason confused you quite a bit. “What do you mean-”

Spank.

“That’s for speaking when not spoken to.”

Jeno gives you one more spank, although he doesn’t specify for what. Instead he lowers himself on the bed so he is facing you again. “You know, good sluts say thank you.”

“Thank you... sir.” You add the honorific just in case that is what he wants, and it proves to be a good choice, because soon enough his fingers find your aching cunt, all swollen and dripping just for him, and he starts playing with your clit just like he did that one faithful morning. His fingers then enter you, scissoring inside of you to stretch you out for his cock.

“Do we need a condom?”

“No- I’m, I’m on the pill,” you whimper. “Please, I need to feel you.”

You thought the time will never come but finally you feel his tip at your entrance and you gasp into the sheets as he slowly pushes in. “Fuck,” Jeno groans, “you’re still so tight”. He then starts moving, slowly at first but soon enough picks up the pace and you can’t help but moan out loud.

He doesn’t punish you for it but grabs you by the throat, arching your back and pulling you towards his chest. “Take it. Fucking take it. Be a good whore and take it.”

Jeno then starts moving much faster, your groans muffled by his big hand on your throat. His free hand starts playing with your nipple and he growls into your shoulder.

“Jeno, Jeno, Jeno,” you’re chanting his name like a prayer and it seems like he doesn’t care anymore that you’re speaking without being asked to.

“This is how I like you. Just a bitch desperate to cum,” Jeno says. He flips you over on your back and continues his merciless thrusts, hand not leaving your throat. “Say you’re a whore. Say it.”

“I’m- I’m-” you whimper, so close to release. “Jeno, I’m going to cum-”

“No the fuck you’re not,” Jeno booms, and, if it is even possible, speeds up his thrusts. “Not before you say what a fucking slut you are.”

“I’m a slut! Fuck, Jeno,” you moan, wrists aching from being tied for so long, “I’m your slut! You fuck me so good!”

“That’s right, it’s me who fucks you this good. You’re drunk on this big fucking cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, oh yes!” you yell, arching your back again. “Jeno, I have to cum, I can’t do it...”

“Cum for me,” he says and you do just that, releasing on his cock, your cunt spasming. He comes right after you, burying himself deep inside of you, before slowly pulling out and watching his cum seep out of you.

Your heart has never been beating this fast.

You’re not sure if it is because of the mind-blowing orgasm you’ve just experienced or if it’s because of Jeno. The tall man is trying to calm himself down, but you can see his chest rapidly moving up and down.

You lay next to each other for a few minutes, neither of you saying anything. It’s a weird feeling really, you’re used to cuddles after sex, or long talks about the universe, but not this. Suddenly, Jeno turns to you, his hair messy, eyes dark and focused.

“I think you should leave now.”

You wonder what to do next, whether you should plead with him or just simply walk away. The truth is, it’s a bit too late to be walking around alone. But you figure you can just call an Uber and explain to Jaemin what happened later.

Well, maybe not everything.

You get up from the bed slowly, not saying a word to Jeno, before putting your clothes back on. You’re almost at the door when you hear Jeno murmur “say hi to Jae for me.”

Your ears perk up. “Say hi to who?”

“Jaehyun? The dude you fucked at the frat party like two months ago, you know, when we were still talking?”

You couldn’t be more confused. “Who the fuck is Jaehyun?”

Jeno looks at you, a visible puzzled expression on his face. “Then why would he tell me you guys fucked? He said you were there and he let you suck his dick in the bathroom and then you let him fuck you in the guest bedroom!”

“Jeno, I don’t know what has gotten into you, but I don’t know anyone named Jaehyun. And any parties I’ve ever been to I have always been by Jaemin’s side. You can literally ask him, he’s your friend too, you know?”

Jeno gets up from the bed as well. “But then- but he-”

A lightbulb pops up above your head. “Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that you stopped talking to me because some random dude told you I had sex with him?? Do you realize how absolutely insane that is?”

“Wait, no, ___, I-”

“Seriously, Jeno? You couldn’t have asked, I don’t know, me, if was even true?”

Jeno is quiet, and for what feels like the first time, you have the upper hand.

“You know what? I’m done, go fuck yourself Jeno.”

You storm out of the room, Jeno quickly running after you. He catches up with you very quickly, grabbing you by the arm. “___, wait, let me explain myself.”

“No, I don’t think I will actually,” you say, trying to sound as calm as possible. You are thinking of how crazy it is that Jeno is now the naked one while you are fully clothed.

“___, please. I’ve fallen in love with you!”

You stop dead in your tracks now, your heart skipping a beat. “Huh?”

“It’s true, it’s fucking true!” Jeno screams, looking at you but not making eye contact. “I wanted to ask you out on a proper date but then I met Jaehyun and he told me you guys...” he trails off. “I got so mad. Finally I like someone so sweet and hot and- I couldn’t control my anger. I’m so fucking sorry, I wish I could go back and undo what I had done but I can’t.”

“Kiss me.”

Jeno is as confused as ever. “What?”

“You heard me,” you nod. “If you want us to make up, just kiss me.”

Feverishly, he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you close to him and kissing you. Out of all the kisses you two shared, this one is maybe the most desperate, with Jeno kissing you like you were the last person on Earth, you clutching onto his elbows as you lean into the kiss. “I’m never,” he stops and kisses you again, “making the same mistake,” kiss, “ever again,” kiss.

You break the kiss and look into his wide eyes. “Then does that mean you’re not throwing me out of the apartment?”

Jeno intertwines his fingers with yours, pulling you back towards his room. “Not only are you not leaving, but we’re not leaving my bed until the morning.”

He pauses, seeing you in his room fully clothed and clearly realizes he’s been naked this whole time. “I, um...”

You smile. It’s probably the first time you’ve done so ever since your first encounter earlier. “I guess you shouldn’t be the only one naked here.”

Jeno smiles too, pulling you towards the bed and you both fall on it. “I guess I shouldn’t.”

“Round two?”

“You don’t even have to ask, baby.”

#jeno smut #jeno x reader #jeno #nct jeno #NCT #nct smut #lee jeno

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