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yuujispinkhair · 8 months

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You are watching Sukuna. And Sukuna is watching his brother's girlfriend... Until he is watching you.

-> This is Part 2 of this drabble

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female) Fluff + angst with a happy end. Word count: 4k. Angst, lots of pining, unrequited love at first, mentions of alcohol. There is no cheating. Sukuna and Reader get their happy end. Minors don't interact.

This small series was inspired by this beautiful art by @nayasch.

Also, for the best experience, I recommend listening to "Is there somewhere" by Halsey while reading this. I had it on repeat while writing. Divider @/hitobaby

It's a spilled drink that brings you closer to Sukuna.

Just a moment ago, you were holding your breath as you walked past the tattooed, pink-haired boy who makes your heart race, too shy to even look his way when you were so close to him. But then someone knocked into you, and now you are standing there like a deer in the headlights, your hands wet, your shirt ruined, staring wide-eyed at the big red stain soaking the front of your crush's white t-shirt.

You faintly hear some guy behind you apologizing. You have no idea if he is apologizing to you or to Sukuna. All you know is that Sukuna is glaring daggers at him,

"Get out of my sight before I punch your stupid face!"

And then those beautiful maroon eyes snap to you, and you forget how to breathe. You wished for Sukuna's gaze to find you, dreamed about it all the time. Hoped he would notice you, hoped that fate would hand you a chance to get closer to him. But now that it happens so unexpectedly, you don't know what to do. A muttered "S... sorry." leaves your lips.

Sukuna's gaze travels from your face down to your shirt, which is just as soaked as his. And that attractive lopsided smirk appears on his face, the one that gives you butterflies, especially now when he is standing right in front of you, close enough to touch. He shrugs,

"Wasn't your fault. I'm gonna change into a fresh shirt. What about you? Want one, too?"

You barely manage a nod before Sukuna starts walking away, and you quickly follow him to his room with your heart beating up to your throat.

He doesn't bother turning away but just pulls his soaked shirt off right in front of you, making your stomach flutter and your face heat when you see his firm abs and chest adorned with those sexy tattoos.

He laughs softly, probably seeing how flustered you are by his bare chest. But he doesn't comment on it and hands you one of his clean shirts, a white one like the one he was wearing before you spilled your drink over it.

He leaves the room after slipping into a fresh shirt, leaving you alone in his room so you can change in peace.

You sit on his bed afterward, pulse fluttering as you feel the soft fabric of Sukuna's shirt on your skin. You bring it to your nose to inhale its scent. It's fresh out of the laundry, so it mostly smells just of fabric softener, but it was in his dresser with his other things, and you can very faintly smell his cologne on it, making you close your eyes and sigh softly, overcome by a longing so bad it almost makes you choke up.

It's ironic. As if fate is taunting you. Here you are, sitting on Sukuna's bed and wearing his shirt like a girlfriend would. But he is already gone again, back to the party, where he will gaze at his brother's girl with the same longing in his eyes that fills yours, too, when you look his way.

Your hand reaches out to touch Sukuna's pillow, fingers sprawling over it, while you stare longingly at the dent where his head rests every night. What you wouldn't give to sleep in this bed with him. Feeling his strong arms around you, your body snuggled against his. Holding him, loving him, showing him that he can have all those things he longs for.

If only things were different.

It's hard to pull yourself away and leave Sukuna's room again. You feel a strange mix of emotions as you walk back to the party. Exhilaration upon getting Sukuna's shirt and being in his room, mixed with that familiar heavy feeling in your chest because you know he isn't yours, and he probably never will be.

You enter the living room and see him leaning casually against the wall in his fresh shirt, tattooed arms crossed over his chest, biceps flexed enticingly, head tilted back, a bottle of vodka pressed to his lips as his eyes are once again on his brother and his girlfriend, who are dancing in the middle of the room.

You leave the party shortly after to go home and crawl into your bed, still wearing Sukuna's shirt, hugging your pillow to your chest, wishing it was him.

Is he alone in his bed, too? Does he yearn, too? Does he, too, think about the one he craves but cannot have?

The thought makes your heart throb painfully.

Another party, another evening of watching the boy you secretly love from your safe space across the room. His gaze is unsurprisingly on the girl standing next to his brother. Yuuji says something to her, and she laughs happily and hugs him tightly, nuzzling her face against his shoulder. And you see Sukuna's jaw tighten, see his Adam's apple bob as he gulps hard, see the burning jealousy and pain in his eyes.

You blink against the tears threatening to well up in your eyes. His pain is almost palpable to you, but no one else seems to see it. No one seems to care enough to really look at Sukuna. They all just see Sukuna's mocking smirk and the arrogance and roughness he wears like armor. They don't see the pain in those beautiful maroon eyes. They don't see that his heart is aching.

Maybe you only recognize the signs because you feel the same way.

Maybe it is this all too familiar pain you see on his face that makes you brave tonight. And after all, you have a good excuse to walk up to him and stop in front of him, tilting your head to look up at his beautiful face, and say softly,

"Hey, Sukuna... thank you for the shirt you gave me last week. I wanted to give it back to you."

You don't really want to give it back. You have slept every night in it since last week, snuggling into it, inhaling the faint traces of Sukuna's scent, dreaming about having him in your bed, hugging him, feeling the warmth of his body seep through the thin fabric of the t-shirt.

But you reluctantly put it in the washing machine yesterday, folded it neatly, and put it in your bag to return it to him tonight.

You hand him the shirt, and Sukuna takes it, his large hand with the tattoos and various rings brushing over yours, sending the butterflies fluttering in your stomach like crazy. You know how nervous you must look when you smile a shaky smile at him,

"Thank you again. That was really nice of you."

There is surprise in his eyes as if no one ever tells him he is nice. Maybe he isn't. Or maybe people just don't see the small, nice things he does sometimes. Maybe he doesn't want them to see.

"No problem, princess."

You lie awake that night, in your own shirt this time, but with Sukuna's low, velvety voice playing over and over in your mind, calling you princess. You know it means nothing, but it still makes your heart race and a giddy smile lift your lips.

You clutch your drink tightly as you watch the boy you secretly love from across the room, just like you do every weekend. If only you weren't so shy. If only you were brave enough to walk over to him without needing a reason like giving back his shirt.

You sigh longingly as your eyes trail over Sukuna's face. Longing is what you can see on his face, too, as his gaze is on the happy couple at the other end of the room. Your chest feels so tight that it hurts.

I want to take the pain away from you, Sukuna. I wish I could be the one to make you happy.

But you are standing here, and he is standing over there with his eyes on someone else.

A sad love song starts playing and the air in the room feels suffocating all of a sudden.

Maybe you should leave.

What are you even doing at this party, where you are surrounded by so many people but feel more alone than at home, where it is only you and your bed?

What are you doing, coming here week after week just to stare at a boy you can't have? Hurting yourself when you see him looking at someone else. Drowning in desperation when you realize week after week that he is just as alone in his pain as you are and that you will probably never be able to break through his walls.

He is in pain, and you are in pain, and nothing will change about that.

Might as well leave and never come back. Stay away from those stupid parties. Find other places to go to. Maybe after some time, you will be able to forget about pink hair and black tattoos and maroon eyes.

Right when you push yourself off the wall, Sukuna turns his head. That beautiful maroon gaze lands on you, and all you can do is stare back at him.

Time seems to slow down as you and Sukuna look at each other across the room. You are sure he can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the pain in your eyes, can recognize it for what it is because he carries the same pain in his eyes.

Maybe that shared pain is what makes him slowly walk over to you. He stops in front of you, his typical teasing smirk on his lips, but the same sadness still unveiled in his eyes.

For a moment, you think he will ask you to go to his room with him to fuck. And it fills you with dread because you know you would just be a rebound. You would just be someone he uses for sex to take his mind off the girl he really wants. It would mean nothing to him. And yet, you know that you would say yes. You would go with him, would lay down in his bed, would let him take everything he needs from you until you have nothing left. And in turn, you would take anything he is willing to give you, too, even if it was just meaningless sex. Because even if he just used you to distract himself, it would still be better than nothing. Even if it were just impersonal sex, without any feelings involved from his side, you would still go with him just to feel his skin on yours.

But to your relief, the question never comes. Instead, he says in that calm, low voice,

"You look like you aren't enjoying this stupid party either. Even the pizza tastes disgusting. I'll make something myself. Wanna join me?"

You follow him as if you are in a daze. Everything around you is blurred as you walk behind Sukuna's tall figure, following him to the kitchen, your head spinning, making you feel light-headed even though you barely drank any alcohol.

You sit on the kitchen counter while he cooks. Studying his beautiful face while he is focusing on the pan in front of him. The pain in his eyes is not as burning anymore while he stirs the vegetables and adds various spices. Maybe this is why he wanted to come here. Maybe cooking distracts him enough to ease the pain at least a little.

Those maroon eyes you love so much meet yours while Sukuna tells you how tired he is of those parties all the time and those people he cannot stand in his apartment. He doesn't say what he really means, but you know. How tired his heart is of the longing, of the pain, of having to pretend like he is ok.

You tell him he is a good cook when he hands you a spoon to try, and a smile flickers over his face. A genuine smile, not the typical smirk. And it makes you fall. Makes you tumble down an abyss that you know you will never be able to get out of again. As if you needed to fall even more for him. As if you weren't already too in love with him.

You know you are lost. Lost in everything that makes Sukuna Sukuna. You thought you knew him and already fell in love with what you knew about him on a surface level. But now you have caught glimpses of the boy beneath the surface, and it makes you fall even deeper in love with him. Makes your chest hurt even more. Makes your every fiber scream with longing.

He hoists himself up on the kitchen counter next to you, handing you a plate and grabbing one for himself, too. You sit in silence, eating side by side, while the sounds of the party dimly drift to your ears through the closed door.

You praise his cooking skills some more because you are too nervous to think of anything else to say and because you like the way his lips curl in a smile again and how the pain in his eyes is almost completely gone when he turns to look at you.

He tells you where he got the recipe, how he adjusted it over several weeks, and that he enjoys cooking a lot. The way he says it doesn't sound like he is simply doing small talk, but rather as if he is letting you in on a secret. As if this is a side of Sukuna that people aren't supposed to know.

And you smile softly at him, hoping it conveys that you are grateful that he lets you share this moment with him.

His thumb brushes over the corner of your lips to scoop up some stray sauce, making your heart beat so fast you think you will black out.

When you leave an hour later, you tell him that you really enjoyed yourself,

"Thank you for letting me try your food. It tasted delicious... and I..."

You want to tell him how happy it made you to spend time with him, just the two of you in the kitchen. That you will always keep those moments in your heart like a treasure. But you are too shy to say those words out loud, and so you trail off sheepishly, smiling nervously at him and nodding awkwardly.

"Bye, Sukuna. Have a nice rest of the night."

He watches you closely with those beautiful maroon eyes, a thoughtful expression on his face, saying nothing. But he holds the door open for you like a gentleman in those old movies.

You can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin when you lie in bed with a smile on your face and a warm feeling in your chest for the first time after coming home after one of those parties.

You are standing in a corner, taking a sip from your drink as your gaze wanders to the tall figure leaning against the wall across the room. Tattooed face and arms, pink hair, and maroon eyes.

You are prepared to see his gaze glued to his brother's girl. You are prepared to see the familiar longing and pain on his face. But you frown when you realize Sukuna's gaze isn't staring at a fixed place but instead wandering slowly through the room, scanning it as if he is searching for something or someone, even though the object of his pining is right in front of him. And yet that gaze slips over her and continues to wander.

Until it lands on you.

It catches you so off guard that you spill your drink again. This time, only over your own shirt, but you cannot bring yourself to look at the mess. Your eyes are on Sukuna, watching wide-eyed as he walks toward you, brushing past the girl you thought he would look at without so much as sparing a glance at her.

He looks amused when he takes in the mess on your shirt. A raised eyebrow, a boyish grin lifting the corners of his lips, a long tattooed finger pointing at your chest,

"Need one of my shirts again?"

You are back in his room a few minutes later, changing into one of his clean shirts while he has his back turned to you, making your heart beat so fast that you fear he can hear it thundering in your chest.

He leans against his desk while you sit on his bed, finding it hard to breathe with how nervous you are. With how lovesick you are for him. The longing to hold him so bad that you feel dizzy from it.

And he talks to you, tells you about a new recipe he tried, about a cooking show he watched, about this and that. Like he wants to keep you here in his room. Like he wants a reason to stay here and not go out to the party again. Like you are his escape.

His shirt feels soft on your skin, his bed so tempting under you. You grab a small pillow to hug to your chest, and the butterflies flutter like crazy when you smell Sukuna's cologne wafting off it.

He jokingly asks you,

"Did you spill your drink intentionally so you could get one of my shirts again? Liked it so much, huh?"

And you chuckle and tell him,

"Well, the end justifies the means. That shirt you gave me last time was really comfy. I slept in it a whole week."

You feel your face heat up when you realize what you just admitted. But Sukuna just laughs, and those beautiful maroon eyes sparkle like two precious jewels.

He tells you to keep his shirt this time.

"So you have something to sleep in."

And your voice wavers nervously, but you still tell him:

"You are really nice, Sukuna. Do you know that?"

He scrunches his nose at that,

"That's something I've never heard anyone tell me before. Are you sure you got the right Sukuna?"

"Yeah. In my eyes, you are nice. At least when you want to. You give me your shirts, and you let me try your self-cooked meals, and you hold open doors and talk to me and... make me feel less alone on these parties."

The last part comes out in a whisper, your emotions threatening to choke you up as you are overcome by your feelings for him. Being so close to him, spending time with him, seeing him smile and joke around with you. Sharing those moments with him that seem like something special.

Sukuna's eyes widen, an emotion flickering over his face that you cannot place. Surprise, maybe, but also something else. Something much softer. He looks away for a moment, staring at his wall that is adorned with pictures of pretty landscapes and bright red shrines and an old man standing in the middle of two pink-haired boys.

When he looks at you again, there is a vulnerability in his eyes you have never seen before. His voice is soft when he tells you,

"You make me feel less alone, too."

Sukuna kisses you for the first time at a party two weeks later. And it is not a kiss in the middle of the party. It is not a kiss in front of his brother and his girlfriend. It is not a kiss meant for someone else. It is not a kiss to make someone jealous. It is not a kiss only for the show.

No, it is a kiss that is real. In his room, where he sits next to you on his bed. It is soft and slow. Sukuna's hand is cupping your cheek gently, his lips brushing over yours slowly as if he is scared to hurt you or hurt himself. As if he is scared that he is fucking things up. Or maybe as if he fears he doesn't deserve this.

It's a kiss that makes you fall apart and makes you whole at the same time.

You kiss him back as tenderly as he kisses you. Slow and gentle, your eyes closed, your hand landing on his neck and caressing the short stubble of his undercut. You kiss him like you are writing poetry for him with your lips against his, putting all the words you are too shy to say into this kiss, all your longing for him, all the tenderness you feel for him, all your love. And he kisses you like he is a drowning man who finally reached the saving shore.

You walk out of his room side by side. Sukuna holds your hand, tugging you along to the kitchen to cook another homemade meal he wants to share with you.

Your heart feels like bursting with happiness. No traces of pain are left in Sukuna's eyes when he hands you a plate of stir-fried rice. And that smile is lighting up his face again. He is so beautiful, and you tell him so without worrying that he will make fun of you.

He kisses you again when he walks you to the door, right there in the hallway where anyone can see, his lips lingering against yours before he pulls away as if he doesn't want to let you leave.

You smile at him and nod when he tells you to text him once you are safely home.

"I like you."

Sukuna tells you in a soft voice while you are straddling his lap, currently cleaning some food experiment gone wrong off his tattooed face with a wet kitchen towel.

Wide, terrified maroon eyes look at you as if their owner thinks he just handed you a knife for you to ram into his chest and twist in his heart. It makes your own heart throb painfully even as you feel elated to hear that your feelings are reciprocated. Seeing this rough boy so scared. Scared of his feelings, scared of admitting them. Scared what you will do with that confession. Because all he knows about love is that it is painful and that it hurts and never gets returned.

You want to cry for him. For the boy who, until now, only knew meaningless sex and hopeless longing for what he thought he couldn't have. For the boy who believed that love wasn't meant for someone like him.

The first tear slips out of the corner of your left eye as Sukuna's large hands sprawl over your waist possessively, and he repeats his words despite the fear so evident in his low voice, the words nothing more than a hoarse whisper,

"I like you so fucking much."

Your hand with the towel is hovering in midair, your lips twitch, and finally, you cannot hold back anymore, and the tears spill over, running down your cheeks in hot rivulets. A broken sob falls from your lips, followed by a choked-up sounding:

"I like you too."

Sukuna closes his eyes for a moment, long black lashes fanning over his skin, a beautiful image that makes you drop the kitchen towel and cup his cheek with your hand. Your thumb brushes tenderly over the tattooed lines on his skin when those beautiful eyes open again and look deeply into yours.

He is braver than you are. Adding more to his confession. Making sure you can destroy him fully, if you like,

"Do you know what I mean? I.. I think I am in love with you."

"Sukuna..."

Your voice is thick with tears, but you continue despite the fresh tears welling up in your eyes, despite how much you are trembling in his arms,

"I... I am in love with you, too. Have been for months. Or maybe I was in love with an idea of you back then. But now I know the real you, and I fell even deeper in love with you."

You can see in his eyes that he half expected to get turned down, and it breaks your heart for him, even while happy laughter bubbles out of your trembling lips.

You cling to him when he kisses you, never wanting to let go again. Filled with the need to show him that this love won't hurt. That it won't slip through his fingers. That love can be good and safe and give him peace. That he deserves love, too, and that you are here to love him with everything you have.

It's another Saturday, and you are at Sukuna and Yuuji's apartment two hours before the party starts, helping them with the preparations. Yuuji's girlfriend is there too. You feel a bit awkward, a bit uneasy when you see her. But she smiles a genuine smile at you and greets you with a hug.

You work next to her for an hour and realize that she probably never was aware of Sukuna's feelings. She might look at Sukuna, but she doesn't truly see him. She only sees Yuuji. Her gaze is filled with love when she looks at him with an expression on her face that lets you know she has found her person.

You turn around to glance at Sukuna, a mix of fear and hope in your heart. What you see makes your chest fill with warmth. Sukuna isn't looking at Yuuji's girl. He is looking at you. Looking at you with the same expression as Yuuji's girlfriend when she looks at Yuuji. And you know that Sukuna has found his person, too.

You wake up in Sukuna's bed with his tall, firm body behind you, just like you do almost every morning now. You feel his lips against your skin, trailing gentle kisses up and down your neck. His voice is still hoarse from sleeping when he murmurs,

"Mine."

His arms tighten around you and pull you even closer to him. And you answer with a smile audible in your voice,

"All yours."

Your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so broadly when you feel Sukuna's matching smile against your neck and hear his whispered:

"Just like I am all yours."

I cried so much while writing this and listening to the song and looking at the beautiful fanart and the sadness in Sukuna's eyes. This version of Sukuna is my Achilles heel. I love this broken mess of a boy so much. I want to love him so bad and make him happy :(( This story hit me so hard, and the kissing scene is one of my favorite scenes I ever wrote. I am so emotional right now, but also so happy to share it with you.

Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first part of this story, wishing for a happy end. I needed a happy end too, and I am so glad I wrote this!! This story is very personal. I could relate to Reader 100%, and I got the impression that a lot of people could see themselves in her, too. So I hope you could enjoy your happy end with Sukuna, just like I did 🖤

#sukuna x reader #sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #sukuna fluff #jjk fluff

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pedrospatch · 10 months

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someone to be thankful for

DBF! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: It’s Thanksgiving—when dinner with your nightmare of a family goes south, you find comfort in the person you least expect it from: your father’s best friend, Joel Miller.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (AU, NO OUTBREAK) non canon, DBF! Joel, AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s, i do not specify her age, but she’s a recent college grad so do with that what you will, not everyone graduates at the same specific age ya know? Joel is in his mid-ish 50’s). Reader’s a teacher, she is visiting her suburban childhood home from a big city. Reader’s parents are religious and practice traditional-ish gender norms (i.e father is head of the household kinda thing) reader’s family celebrates Thanksgiving (sorry) several mentions of food and alcohol, reader’s parents suck, she has two brothers who come with names, a lot of her relatives come with names, watch out for Aunt Ines she’s a bitch. (TW) body/weight shaming (twice) PLEASE BE MINDFUL if this could be triggering. mentions of and implications of childhood abuse (not graphic) reader’s dad gets in her face, implied infidelity (reader’s dad), implied toxic marriage (reader’s parents). soft, caring, protective Joel. Joel’s recently divorced, mention of Sarah, mentions of the ex-wife. SMUT. oral sex (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) reader states she’s on baby blockers (birth control), creampie, DADDY KINK (bc reader clearly has a few daddy issues), LOTS of pet names (darlin’, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart, honey), size kink (ish?), cockwarming. think i got it all?

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, that is fine but just keep on scrolling.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 11.5k

a/n: yeah…idk. this was very delayed because it turned into a whole thing. if anyone actually reads all 11k of this, i will bake you muffins.

You take a deep breath and look in the mirror.

Skirt pressed, not a wrinkle in sight.

Hair brushed, not a single strand out of place.

Makeup done, not a blemish to be seen.

And somehow, someone will still find something.

Something to point out.

Something to comment on.

Something to criticize.

If not your appearance, it’ll be something else.

Because someone always had something to say.

“Should you be eating all of that?”

“Another year gone and still no boyfriend?”

“Don’t you want to get married?”

“When I was in my twenties, I had two children.”

Boundaries didn’t exist on Thanksgiving.

Actually, for your family, boundaries didn’t exist at all—somehow, they are still scratching their heads and wondering why you’d decided to up and leave the minute your high school principal handed over that diploma, your ticket to freedom.

“Sweetie!” Your mother’s shrill voice calls from the kitchen downstairs. “I need a hand! Our guests are going to start arriving soon and there is still plenty left for us to do before they get here!”

You groan outwardly.

There’s still plenty left to do?

How’s that even fucking possible?

You’ve been cooking and baking since sunrise.

“Don’t you think it’s too early?” you’d grumbled at five o’ clock in the morning when your mother had pulled you out of bed, declaring it was time for the big dinner preparations to begin—even though it’d be several hours before your family came over and gathered around the table to break bread. She had pulled the turkey out of the freezer a few days ago, a massive, thirty-pound whole bird that looked big enough to feed a small village. In addition, she had picked up a ham and a brisket. “Mom, why’s there so much food?” Rubbing the sleep from your eyes with the sleeve of your robe, you’d started making your way over to the Nespresso only to realize that the coffee machine was hidden behind paper bags full of groceries. “Are we cooking for all of Texas or something?”

“Very funny,” she had glared at you. “Of course we aren’t.” She started unwrapping the turkey. “We’re simply making sure we have enough food and that we have different options for everyone to enjoy, so knock it off with the wisecracks and get to peeling those carrots for me for the stuffing. There is not a single minute to waste today, you hear me, missy? We’re hosting a dozen people, so everything must be absolutely perfect. I won’t accept anything less than perfection today, do you understand me?”

Thirteen hours later, she’s still driving you insane.

You’re only home visiting until the end of the week and then it’s back to the Midwest. You can survive her for three more days, right?

You hear her calling your name and exhale a small, frustrated sigh. “I’m coming, mom!” you call back. It’s difficult to mask the annoyance in your tone of voice, but somehow you manage it. “One minute!”

Smoothing down your pleated plaid skirt, you take one last look in the mirror to make sure everything is in order—there is a loose thread on the sleeve of your brown, knitted sweater and you carefully snip it off with a pair of scissors before sliding your feet into the comfiest pair of ankle boots you’d packed and head downstairs, nose leading the way as you follow the warm, delicious scent of the made from scratch biscuits and rolls baking in the oven.

You find your mother standing at the center island counter garnishing a charcuterie board with sweet gherkins and sprigs of fresh herbs. She’s donning a festive apron embroidered with fall leaves over her designer dress, and her hair’s still up in rollers. “Finally, there you are,” she huffs out loudly the second she hears you walk into the kitchen. Down the hallway, your father and two younger brothers are shouting at some football game on the flat screen television in the living room—men don’t lift a single finger on this day, at least not in this household. “I need you to start setting the table for me. I have place cards in that bag over there. Make sure your dad’s at the head of the table. Oh and don’t forget to bring out the children’s table for all your little cousins—” She glances up, letting out a small gasp when she sees you. “What in the world are you wearing?”

Frowning, you look down at yourself. “Clothes?”

Her ruby red lips purse together in a tight thin line.

“Honey, that skirt is too short. It’s inappropriate.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at her. “It’s like an inch above the knee, how is that inappropriate? It’s not like it’s a miniskirt, mom.” As she eyes your skirt with disapproval, you decide you’re not in the mood to argue and say, “Okay, fine. I’ll go upstairs and change into something else then—”

“No, no, forget it,” she shakes her head. “We don’t have the time for that.” Your mother whirls around, picking up the bag of place holders—she’d special ordered little turkeys carved out of wood. She also takes a marker and a notepad, shoving everything into your hands. “Here. I wrote down all the names of everyone who’s coming for dinner. The children get place holders too but make sure the little ones are sitting beside someone older to help them. Oh! Did I already mention putting your dad at the head of the—”

Tuning her out, your eyes scan down the guest list and if there’s one thing to be thankful for today it’s the fact that your mother’s given you the power to seat everybody wherever you want. Halfway down the list, you see the names of several relatives that you don’t want anywhere near you at the table. An Aunt Miriam who smells like the inside of a casino; a cousin Jennifer who refuses to acknowledge her forty-eight month old is actually four years old; an uncle Richard who always has one too many beers and winds up spewing antigovernment conspiracy theories, ranting until he’s passed out somewhere, such as on the floor of the guest bathroom.

You get to the bottom of the list and can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Joel Miller?”

She nods, returning to her board.

“You remember Mr. Miller, don’t you, sweetie? He and your father went to college together—he’s one of his oldest and dearest friends. Don’t tell me you forgot about him? You’ve met him plenty of ti—”

“Yeah, I remember who Joel is, mom,” you mutter, cutting her off. “Didn’t he and the family move out to Arizona like, four years ago? To Phoenix, right?” You’d been away for college then. Taking a second glance at the list, you notice she had forgotten the names of Joel’s wife and daughter. Surely, it’d just been a mistake on her part, though. “I had no idea they were in town visiting. Dad didn’t mention it to me at all.”

“They’re not.” She lowers her voice, as if someone else is standing in the room listening. “Joel moved back to Austin, he’s been back for a few days now. He and Connie, they um—” Pausing for a moment, she reaches up and clasps the cross hanging from her neck before whispering, “They got divorced.”

Taken aback, your mouth parts slightly. “What?”

“I know. Joel and Connie were the last people that I ever thought would get divorced. Such a shame,” your mother remarks, shaking her head. “I ran into Mrs. Adler at the super market and she was telling me all about it. Thinks they could have saved their marriage if only those two—”

“Would get right with Jesus,” you finish, biting the tiny smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “She says that about everything, mom.”

“Well, she isn’t wrong! The sacrament of marriage is a lifelong bond that shouldn’t be broken. It’s not right.” Dropping her hand away from her necklace, she crosses her arms over chest. “Anyway, Connie stayed in Phoenix. Sarah’s spending Thanksgiving with her. Your father didn’t want Joel spending the holiday alone and invited him over for dinner. That means I need you to be on your very best behavior tonight. I don’t want you embarrassing your father in front of his closest friend. Is that understood?”

You can’t help but scoff a little. “I’m not a child.”

She narrows her eyes at you and scoffs right back, planting her hands on her hips.

“No, you’re a smart aleck. Need I remind you what happened last Thanksgiving with Aunt Ines?”

Of course she didn’t have to remind you about last year’s fiasco with her insufferable bitch of a sister.

“That’s an awfully big piece of pumpkin pie,” she’d remarked loudly, eliciting snickers from everybody sitting at the table. “Don’t forget, dear—a moment on the lips, forever on the hips. And you have quite a few forevers on your hips already, darling.”

You had smiled sweetly at her, your fingers itching to fling your mother’s fine china at her. “I wouldn’t really worry about my pie, Aunt Ines,” you had said as soon as you realized that nobody, not even your parents, would be coming to your defense. “Much less when your husband’s stepping out and eating someone else’s pie when he’s away on all those so called business trips. Worry about that instead.”

That comment hadn’t gone over all too well. Three months later, Aunt Ines and Uncle Louis started to see a marriage counselor. Whoops.

“Well?”

“She deserved that,” you say, shrugging lightly.

“She’s family.”

“She’s a jerk.”

“You crossed a line.”

“She crossed it first.”

Before your mother can respond, the sound of the doorbell ringing echoes throughout the house.

“Jesus, we don’t have time for this!” Your mother’s eyes widen when she tries running a hand through her hair and realizes she still has her rollers in. “Oh no, people are arriving and I’m still not ready!” She makes a beeline for the hallway. “Get the door and greet our guests, I’ll be down in five minutes!”

She disappears upstairs into her bedroom and you hear the doorbell ring again. Your father shouts for someone to go answer it, someone other than him or your brothers because it is the end of the fourth quarter and they just can’t possibly miss that.

You make your way through the foyer and open up the front door expecting it to be one of your family members, but it’s not.

Your throat instantly goes dry at the sight of him.

He’s broader than you remeber, so much broader.

The fabric of his sage green dress shirt is nice and snug on his frame—stretched taut over the planes of his chest and his wide shoulders. He’s holding a box of store bought something or other but you’re much too preoccupied with the way the sleeves of his shirt are hugging his biceps to notice what it is although you assume it’s some kind of dessert. He looks far more delicious than whatever sweet treat could be in that white box he’s got in his hands.

After a minute, you realize you’ve been gawking at him and the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Hello Mr. Miller,” you greet him politely. “It’s very nice to see you again. Please, come on in.”

He smiles, his brown eyes warm and sweet behind his square, black-rimmed glasses. “You remember me,” he states and the syrupy richness of his voice sends a pleasant tingle up your spine. Stepping off to the side, you allow him inside—as he steps past you over the threshold, the tantalizing scent of his cologne almost brings you to your knees. Notes of a citrus accord like tart grapefruit, fresh bergamot mixed with the woodiness of vetiver and musk; it’s intoxicating, something you could easily get drunk off of if you’re not careful. “I’m surprised. S’been a real long time since you last saw me.”

“It hasn’t been all that long,” you reply, closing the door behind you. You speak to him in the steadiest voice you can muster, with nonchalance—as if you aren’t one missed heartbeat away from feeling like a silly little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Has it?”

He thinks about it. “‘Bout four and a half years.”

“That’s really not that long.”

“S’not,” Joel admits with a chuckle. “But with how much I’ve aged in that short amount of time, I just wasn’t sure if you’d recognize me, y’know? I look a lot different than I used to.” He pauses and laughs, shaking his head. “I must look like an old geezer to you now, don’t I?”

Grays lightly pepper his thick dark brown curls, his beard and his mustache. He’s got crows feet when he smiles, he has worry lines and creases between his eyebrows—he does look a lot older, but he’s so goddamn handsome, wrinkles, fine lines, and all.

You toss him a playful eye roll, prompting a grin. “I don’t think you look like an old geezer, Mr. Miller.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell makin’ me feel like an old geezer by callin’ me that, darlin’ girl.” He gives you a little wink and you’re not quite sure if it’s that, or if it was the way he’d used a pet name that knocks all the wind out of your lungs. “Please, just call me Joel.”

You nod and shyly agree to it. “Okay, then. Joel.”

“S’much better.” His grin widens and a prominent, deep dimple appears on the left side of his cheek.

There’s a silence that follows, but it’s not awkward or weird. It’s comfortable—being in his presence is comfortable. His sweet disposition makes you feel so calm, so at ease.

Joel’s always been a nice man of course, although your interactions with him had been limited—kind, quick hello’s in passing on Sundays whenever he’d come over to watch football with your dad, maybe a polite how are you here and there if you bumped into him at gatherings like a backyard barbecue or birthday party. But you’re older now, no longer the child who greeted her father’s best friend because it was bad manners if she didn’t. You don’t want to throw him that kind, quick hello or that polite how are you and then scurry off the way you used to as a little kid. You actually want to talk to Joel Miller.

But you suddenly remember he’s not here for you.

He’s here for your father.

Joel!” Your mother screeches, five-inch high heels clacking loudly as she descends the staircase. She had ditched the apron and hair rollers—and put on one too many layers of her heaviest perfume. With a delighted squeal, she rushes up to Joel and pulls him into a bone crushing hug, almost causing him to drop the box he’s still holding. “Oh, it is so good to see you! It’s been far too long!”

You force back a small, amused snort.

As if she hadn’t been judging the man for a failed marriage just minutes ago in the kitchen.

It’s performative, too over the top to be sincere.

“S’good to see you too.” He steps back and laughs as he adjusts his glasses with one of his hands. He holds out the box to her with the other. “Picked up a pecan pie on the way over here. I would’a tried to make it myself, but the kitchen’s still all packed up in boxes.” He pauses, laughing again. “Then again, I ain’t really much of a baker. Store bought was for the best I reckon,” he admits, sheepishly. When he shrugs his shoulders, his shirt strains a bit over his frame and even your mother can’t help but stare a little.

Lightly clearing her throat, she takes the box from him and reminds him, “Didn’t I tell you that all you had to bring tonight was a nice, healthy appetite?”

Joel lightly pats his stomach. “Brought that too. In fact, I didn’t eat a thing all day long. I’m absolutely starvin’ right now. Could eat a whole horse.”

“Good! Dinner’s going to be served soon. William’s in the living room with the boys, watching football game after football game. Come with me, I’m sure you’re eager to see him.” Your mother spins on her heel and hands you the dessert. “Sweetie, will you be a gem and go put this in the kitchen for me?” It isn’t a request, it’s an order masked as a request—it’s the kindest she’s been to you all day. She takes Joel’s arm and leads him down the hallway, calling out over her shoulder, “And please set the table!”

You do set the table, and when you do, you decide to sit yourself right next to Joel Miller.

Your mother lightly clinks her knife against the rim of her wine glass and clears her throat. “Everyone! It’s time to join hands and say grace before we dig into our meal,” she announces, her voice breaking through the loud, buzzing chatter at the table. She waits until there’s complete silence and then takes her seat, the chair adjacent to your father’s. You’re on his opposite side and Joel’s right beside you. “I think you should do the honor, William. You are the man of the house, after all.”

Nodding, your father begins the prayer.

“Heavenly Father, bless this food we are about—”

You’re not listening. You’re distracted by the jolt of electricity that zips through your entire body when you put your hand in Joel’s. His hand dwarfs yours and it’s rough and calloused, but somehow it’s the most gentle, soothing touch. Heat prickles at your face and neck when you feel him sweep his thumb across the back of your hand—you open your eyes and glance over at him, wondering if that had just been an accident. You’re convinced it was, until he does it again, running his finger over each knuckle one at a time. Slowly, like he’s savoring the touch.

Biting your lip, you give his hand a gentle squeeze.

His head is bowed and his eyes are still closed, but a faint smile tugs lightly at the corner of his mouth and he firmly squeezes your hand back. There’s an unmistakable desire that’s already burning deep in your lower belly, a flame you can’t extinguish even when the angel on your shoulder reminds you that not only is Joel Miller twice your fucking age, he is also your father’s best friend. His best friend.

“…through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

“Amen,” your relatives chime together in unison.

You force out the declaration. “Amen.”

“Amen,” Joel murmurs, opening his eyes. He turns to you and his gaze flits to your hand in his and for a moment, it almost seems like he doesn’t want to let it go. It feels like Joel doesn’t want to let it go—and he doesn’t. He doesn’t let it go until the sound of your father’s loud, booming voice announcing it is time for him to carve the bird startles the two of you apart. Clearing his throat lightly, Joel turns his attention forward and reaches for his cabernet. He gulps down half his glass in one easy swallow.

Dinner’s fairly uneventful.

You eat in complete silence, as does Joel.

Part of you wonders if it’s because you’re sitting in between him and your father, the only person that he’s most comfortable conversing with. Assuming this is the case, you’re just about to ask him if he’d like to trade places when he turns to you and says, “Your dad told me you went to school in Chicago.”

He’s just being friendly, you remind yourself when your heart starts to flutter wildly at the notion that he wants to talk to you. He’s friendly. That’s all. It doesn’t mean anything.

“Yeah. I did.” You pick up your glass of wine, taking a sip hoping it’ll ease the nerves. “I graduated over the summer and took a teaching job out there.”

“You became a teacher?”

“Yeah. I teach kindergarten.” You smile proudly.

“Can you believe that, Joel?” Your father lets out a scoff and shakes his head. “I spent thousands and thousands of dollars to send her to school. All that money and for what? For her to learn how to teach little ankle biters how to color inside the lines?” He rolls his eyes and gestures to your two brothers on the opposite side of the table. “Now my boys, they are smart. Chose good careers to pursue. Brandon starts applying to medical school in the spring. Oh and Matthew? He got early acceptance to Yale. He plans on studying law.” He shifts his attention over to you once more and shrugs. “Not too sure where I went wrong with this one.”

You stare at him in complete and utter disbelief.

“Dad.”

Chortling, he waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, come on, honey. I’m just kidding around. You know that I don’t mean it.” He then reaches out, pinching your cheek roughly. “Don’t be so sensitive,” he tells you before turning his attention back to his plate.

But he does mean it.

His comments hurt, and you hate that they hurt.

Joel nudges your arm with his. “Y’know somethin’, it takes someone real special to become a teacher, ‘specially to kids that age,” he states in a matter of fact tone. “Someone who’s real sweet and patient, someone real smart too. Someone just like you.”

Warmth radiates through your entire body. It’s not just his words, but it’s the sincerity behind them.

You shoot him a small, grateful smile.

The two of you wind up talking to one another.

Joel’s moving his contracting business, bringing it back to Austin from Phoenix to run it with Tommy, his younger brother who you vaguely remembered meeting a time or two in the past. He mentions his daughter here and there, but doesn’t bring Connie up once—perhaps it’s too painful for him? It’s hard to tell. He seems to be in good spirits and truth be told, it doesn’t appear he’s mourning his marriage; but it’s difficult to believe he’s not missing her, the woman he’d spent three decades of his life with. It shouldn’t even matter to you whether he’s missing his ex-wife or not, if there are residual feelings still lingering around. But it does matter and you don’t know why. Or maybe you do know why, but you’re too ashamed to admit it.

“Do you like Chicago?” Joel questions, curiously.

Shrugging, you respond, “Yeah. It’s a cool city.”

“You plan on stayin’ out there permanently?”

“I’m not too sure,” you admit. “It’s too expensive. I don’t want to live with a roommate forever. Unless teachers start getting paid more, I don’t think that I’ll ever be able to afford to live alone in Chicago.”

Joel seems hesitant about his next query. “Do you ever think ‘bout comin’ back to Austin at all?”

Suddenly, you’re not too sure about that either.

You’ve been itching to go back and get as far from Austin, Texas as possible, but now, it means being far from Joel Miller. There’s a deep, sinking feeling inside of your chest at the thought.

Realizing he’s still waiting for a response, you have no choice but to tell him the truth. “I don’t think I’ll ever come back here, to be honest. Not to stay.”

“Oh. I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Are you—do you plan on visitin’ home again for Christmas?”

“I do. I’ll be here for Christmas and New Year’s.”

He’s being friendly. He’s being friendly. He’s—

“It’d be real nice to see you again then.” Flushing a deep shade of red, subtle regret flashes across his features, as if he’d said it without thinking. Picking up his glass, he drains the rest of his wine and you can swear he’s nervous. About what he’d just said, and about whether or not your parents, who are in such close proximity, had overheard him. Because what business did he have in telling their daughter it would be nice to see her again?

They’re both much too preoccupied. Your father is attempting to be slick checking his text messages underneath the table and you can tell by the smirk on his face that it’s one of his secretaries. He’s got a penchant for perky blondes in tight pencil skirts. Your mother is well aware of this. She is also aware he’s on his phone, but she turns a blind eye just as she always does and distracts herself by being the perfect hostess.

Feeling foolishly courageous, you turn back to him and nod, heart pounding against your sternum. “It would. It’d be very nice, actually.”

Relieved, he nods and murmurs quietly, “We’ll talk ‘bout it later, then. That okay, darlin’?”

Not wanting to seem too eager, you nod again and turn away from him, teeth sinking into your lip in a futile attempt to hide the giddiness in your smile—but the soft chuckle Joel elicits under his breath is a clear indication that it’s useless.

He knows how he’s making you feel. He likes it.

Your mother returns from the kitchen carrying two baskets of fresh crescent rolls, one for each end of the table. She sets one of them down right in front of you and you reach out to take one when a voice, one that sounds as awful as nails scraping down a chalkboard, remarks loudly, “Should you be eating so much bread, dear?” Ines, who’s sitting a couple chairs down, next to your grandmother, looks over at you and raises an eyebrow. There’s a smug little smile on her face, almost as if she were daring you to run your mouth like you’d done last year.

For as much as it pains you, you make your choice and decide not to take the bait. You pull your hand out of the basket of rolls and pick up your glass of wine instead, chugging it down like it’s water.

Frowning, Joel picks up the basket and takes a roll that you assume is for himself, but it’s not. Putting it on your plate, he shoots her a frigid glare. “Don’t you listen to her.” He says it loud enough for her to hear him. “You just enjoy yourself, alright?”

Your aunt bats her eyes, innocently. “Well, I’m just saying. If my skirt was that tight on me, I would be thinking twice about what goes into my mouth.”

Hushed laughter sweeps across the entire table.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” You slam your empty glass down so hard onto the table that the entire dining room goes completely silent. The little ones at the children’s table stare with big and wide eyes, mouths full of food hung open because a grown up had just used a naughty word.

Your mother says your name warningly. “Don’t you start,” she hisses, shaking her head. “Be quiet.”

Angrily, you round on her. “Seriously? You’re going to let her say that to me? You don’t care that she’s making comments about my weight?” You almost laugh. Of course doesn’t care, she has never cared and she never will. “I’m your daughter! Would it kill you to defend me for once in your fucking life?”

“Shut your mouth!” Your father stands up, shoving a threatening finger into your face, so close the tip of it almost touches the tip of your nose. He hasn’t put his hands on you since you were nine, but he’s as drunk as he is angry, and you find yourself back in the shoes of the little girl who would curl up into a ball in the corner of her room as she begged and pleaded for him not to hurt her. “You hear me?”

Joel stands and walks around your chair. Placing a hand on your father’s chest, he mutters, “Hey now let’s take a step back from her, alright?” He guides him back down into his chair. “Ain’t gotta be in her face like that, Will.”

“I’m sick and tired of her ruining everything—can’t get through one dinner without her screwing it up! Always has to run that fucking mouth of hers! She still acts like a goddamn fucking child—”

You can’t bear to sit there and hear another insult.

Fighting back the hot tears that are threatening to spill over, you quickly stand up and rush out of the dining room. You make a beeline for the front door and step outside onto the porch. It’s about sixty or so degrees in Austin and the cold nips at your bare legs, but that’s the least of your worries. Without a place to go, you descend the porch steps and find yourself walking towards the swing that’s hanging from the old bur oak tree in the front yard. You had asked your father for a swing when you were three years old—it wasn’t until your brothers asked for a swing a couple years later that he’d hung one up.

You sit down, hands curling around the rope that’s so old and weathered it’s beginning to fray slightly but not so much so that you’re concerned about it snapping. You’re so busy trying to keep it together that you don’t notice the sound of crisp, autumnal leaves crunching under a pair of boots behind you. A hand gingerly touches your shoulder. You let out a startled gasp and glance over to see it’s Joel.

“Hey there, darlin’,” he says, gently.

You stare at him in surprise.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Needed to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” you grit the lie through your teeth.

Joel’s expression softens. “You ain’t gotta pretend with me, sweetheart.”

His concern is genuine. It’s real.

You don’t quite know how to handle it. Accept it.

“It got real ugly in there, ‘specially with your dad.”

Tears prickle at your eyes all over again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Joel. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” Baffled, Joel walks around the swing and a minor labored grunt escapes him as he squats in front of you. “There’s a few people who need to be apologizin’ for what happened, but darlin’ you sure as fuckin’ hell ain’t one of them.”

It’s odd. Feels foreign, even.

You’re not used to someone being on your side—it prompts more tears to spring forward and despite your best efforts to fight them off, it’s useless. You manage to whisper his name. It’s a feeble warning, one that’s telling him to go back inside before he’s caught in the torrential downpour of emotions you are mere seconds away from unleashing on him.

But he doesn’t budge. He waits. Joel knows you’re about to break and he’s ready to catch the pieces.

Finally, a tear slips and rolls down your cheek, only to be followed by another and then another. You’re holding onto the swing for dear life now, emotions that you’ve been holding in for your whole life now coming to the surface. The rope digs painfully into the palms of your hands. He reaches out and curls his fingers lightly around your wrists.

“S’okay to let go,” Joel encourages you and you’re certain he’s not just referring to the swing. “Listen to me, darlin’ girl. I ain’t gonna let you fall, alright? I’m right here to catch you. You can let go. I’ve got you, okay?”

You allow Joel to take your hands off the rope and he guides them around his shoulders as you begin to crumble. Leaning forward slightly off the swing, you wrap you arms around him and bury your face into his neck. “Joel,” you choke out his name as he wraps his own arms around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

He feels like stability.

He feels like security.

He feels like safety.

Your entire body shudders as you cry, cry, cry.

“S’alright, sweet girl. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He repeats his reassurance over and over again.

He wants you to believe it.

And you do believe it.

Joel’s as patient as can be. It’s growing colder and his knees are begging for a change of positon, but couldn’t care less about the discomfort. He rubs a soothing circle into your back and waits until there is nothing left except little hiccups and sniffles.

“Shit,” you mumble when you pull back and notice you’d left behind a wet spot on his shirt along with light traces of mascara. You wipe at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweater. “I ruined your shirt.”

“S’okay. Nothin’ the dry cleaners can’t take care of for me.” Joel chuckles and lets go of you. “You feel a little better now, darlin’?”

“I do.” You glance over your shoulder at the house, then exhale a sigh and turn back to him, admitting quietly, “I don’t want to go back in there, though.”

He rises to his feet and pulls out a set of keys from the pocket of his black jeans. “Well, y’dont have to go back in there,” he states. “Is there somewhere I can take you? Friend’s house, maybe?”

“My best friend Megan went to Puerto Vallarta for Thanksgiving. Most of my other friends left Austin like I did,” you explain, sighing again. “Anyone who didn’t leave is spending their time with their family tonight and I don’t want to bother them.”

Joel hums, mulling it over in his mind. “Well, don’t know how comfortable you’ll be with the idea, but my place ain’t all too far from here. Ten minutes or so. Less if there’s no one out on the roads.”

“Joel, that’s so nice of you to offer, but I’ve already ruined your dinner tonight. The last thing I want to do is put you out even more,” you say, sheepishly.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin a fuckin’ thing for me tonight. And you wouldn’t be puttin’ me out at all,” he promises. “S’gettin’ late and truth be told, I just wanna get you somewhere warm.” Holding out his free hand, he adds, “And comfortable.”

“But Joel—”

“I can be real stubborn too, y’know,” he teases you with a playful grin. “We’ll be out here all night long freezin’ our fuckin’ asses off.”

He isn’t going to take no for an answer.

“Okay,” you relent, accepting the offer.

You place your hand in his and he helps you off the swing. He doesn’t let it go as he leads the way to a sleek, black Dodge Ram that’s parked behind your grandfather’s silver Mercedes. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze before dropping it. “Sorry, sweet girl. It’s a bit of a trip up into the seat,” he remarks, chuckling as he opens the passenger side door for you. He gives you a boost into the truck; the scent of new leather is mixed with that of his cologne. It is all man and couldn’t be sexier. “Good up there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

Joel closes the door and hurriedly walks around to the driver’s side of the pickup, climbing up into his seat with ease. “Seatbelt,” he tells you as he sticks the key into the ignition. The first thing he does as soon as the engine roars to life is turn on your seat warmer. He switches on the heater as well, waiting a minute before asking, “You warm enough?”

“I am. Thank you, Joel.”

“‘Course.” He nods and pulls away from the curb.

As Joel’s driving you further and further from your parents’ house, all you feel is sweet relief.

“M’sorry the place is such a mess.”

Joel leads you into his living room and touches his hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Amused, you raise an eyebrow at him and say, “I’d hardly call cardboard boxes stacked neatly over on one side of the room a mess, Joel.” You take a look around his townhouse—most of his furniture’s still wrapped up in plastic, except for the black leather couch and the rustic, acacia wood coffee table. He has a flat screen mounted over the brick fireplace; he’s been sleeping on the couch, or at least, that’s what the pillow and Texas Longhorns fleece throw tells you. You turn to him. “If you want to see a real mess, you should see my apartment in Chicago.”

You watch him as he takes off his glasses and puts them down on the coffee table.

“S’it pretty bad?”

“My roommate’s a kindergarten teacher too. You’d be surprised at how many popsicle sticks two girls in their twenties can end up bringing home. Not to mention all the glitter.”

“If you’re tryin’ to make me feel better, it’s workin’ like a charm.” Joel picks up his blanket and drapes it over the armchair adjacent to the couch. “Go on and make yourself comfortable, darlin’. You thirsty at all? I’ve got water or I can make coffee. Also got a pack of beer in the fridge,” he adds, jokingly.

“What kind of beer?” you ask curiously as you sink down onto the couch.

He seems pleasantly surprised by your interest.

“Lone Star.”

“I’ll have one. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“‘Course it’s not too much trouble. Not at all.”

It’s hard not to stare as he walks away towards the kitchen. Your thighs clench together—his back, his shoulders, those unkempt salt and pepper curls of his that tuft at the nape of his neck right above his collar—this man is the epitome of utter perfection. Your mind wanders and you can’t help imagine the way your legs would look thrown over those broad shoulders. How his large hands would feel on your plush skin as they wrap around your thighs to hold them in place against his chest while he fucks y—

“Here you go, darlin’.”

Joel’s deep voice shatters your train of thought.

He’s standing beside you, holding out the bottle of beer, which he’d uncapped along with his own.

Blood rushes to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you say as you accept the beer from him, trying not to lose the sliver of composure that you’re holding onto—it wavers when your fingers accidentally brush his.

“S’it too cold in here for you?” he asks. “I normally keep the thermostat pretty low.”

“It’s a little cold,” you admit. “But it’s not a prob—”

It’s too late. Joel walks over to the fireplace and he manages to strike a match and light it with just his free hand. After tossing in a couple logs, he makes his way back over to the couch and he takes a seat beside you. “That a bit better, sweetheart?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “You said it was cold.”

He takes a long, generous swig of the golden lager before setting the bottle down on one of the green ceramic coasters on the coffee table. He sits back; an arm stretches out over the back of the couch in a casual manner and his legs spread open causing your thighs to clench together once more.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“Huh?” You then realize he is referring to what had happened at dinner. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I’m alright.”

Joel peers at you, his concern evident, clear in the depths of his dark brown eyes. “You sure?”

“No. Not really,” you confess, tracing the mouth of your bottle with your index finger. “But I’ll get over it. I don’t have a choice but to get over it.” Another lump starts forming in the back of your throat and you swallow it, quickly chasing it down with a gulp of beer.

“M’guessin’ your family’s got somethin’ to do with why you decided to leave Austin?”

“Bingo,” you deadpan. “I was so sick and tired of it all. How I was talked to, how I was treated. Like I’m such a fucking disappointment.”

He frowns. “You’re not a disappointment, though.”

“My parents think I’m a disappointment. My dad’s never told me he’s proud of me, Joel. Nothing I do, nothing I have ever done is good enough for either of them, but especially not for him.” There is a dull ache that settles in your heart and all you can do is silently will yourself not to breakdown again, not in front of him, at least. You sigh. “Do you know what it’s like, not feeling good enough for someone that is supposed to love you no matter what? Someone who’s supposed to love you unconditionally?”

Joel knows it’s a rhetorical question, he knows it’s not something you’re expecting him to answer.

But he does answer, because he does know.

“I do, actually. I know all too well what it feels like.”

He looks down at his left hand, which is resting on his thigh and you do too. Your eyes flicker over the fading tanline on his finger—where he once wore a wedding band. You don’t even think twice about it and reach over, sweeping your own finger over the patch of pale skin. Without missing a beat, you tell him, “You’re good enough, Joel.”

He can’t help but laugh a little. “She’d disagree.”

“She’s wrong.”

“You don’t know what happened.”

“I don’t have to know what happened.”

“That ain’t how it works, sweetheart.”

Stubbornly, you lift your chin. “I don’t care.”

Joel laughs. “Y’think you know me, darlin’? Y’think you know what kinda man I am? Hm?”

“I do know.” You place your hand on top of his and his jaw clenches. “You’re a good man, Joel Miller. I know that you’re a good man.”

“You couldn’t be more wrong ‘bout that.” There’s a brief pause and he hesitates before confessing, “A good man wouldn’t be sittin’ here just fuckin’ dyin’ to kiss his best friend’s daughter.”

You freeze and grip your bottle so tight, you would not be the slightest bit surprised if it shatters right in your hand. “You—you want to kiss me?”

“Since the moment you opened up that front door and said hello to me.” Joel shakes his head. “S’not right.” He’s riddled with guilt, with shame. He pulls his hand out from under yours. “I ain’t a good man at all. You’re half my fuckin’ age and I shouldn’t—”

You cut him off, softly uttering his name. “Joel?”

“Yeah?” His voice sounds hoarse. Strained.

“Can you—will you kiss me? Please?”

You need more than just his kiss, so much more.

You need him to unravel you in every way possible, but beggars can’t be choosers and if one kiss was all you’ll get tonight, then you’ll fucking take it.

Joel swallows dryly. “That really what you want?”

His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to meet your sweet, innocent gaze.

“Yes,” you breathe in reply. “Please. Kiss me.”

He leans in, and there’s brief hesitation on his part and he stops mere centimeters from your face, his nose lightly brushing against yours. “We shouldn’t be doin’ this.” His warm breath fans over your lips; they’re parted, eager to meet his own. “I shouldn’t let this happen. I—I should take you back home to your family before I do somethin’ real stupid.”

Your heart sinks. “That really what you want?” you parrot his own question back to him and hold your breath, knowing there’s a chance his answer could be the answer that you don’t want to hear, the one that could end up crushing you.

Joel lifts his hand, cupping the side of your face in his palm. “‘Course it’s not what I want.” His thumb strokes your cheek, his dark eyes taking in each of your features. He’s studying, memorizing them, as if he’ll never get another chance to be this close to you again. With the line he’s about to cross, you’re both about to cross, that just might be the case.

The tension seeps through your skin and into your bones.

You exhale shakily. “Then just kiss me already.”

He moves his hand and gently curls it around your chin, holding you steady as he leans further in and closes the gap of space in between you. He moves slowly and he’s gentle—too gentle. You want to tell him you’re not made of porcelain, but you’re much too preoccupied with how Joel’s mouth feels, how perfectly it molds against yours. He delicately nips your bottom lip with his teeth. It’s a silent request.

He wants more, more, more. Your lips part for him, granting him the access he’s seeking. Joel doesn’t waste a single moment and he explores every inch of your mouth with his tongue, eliciting a whimper from you. Without breaking contact, he takes your beer and somehow he manages to lean over to set it down on the coffee table without dropping it. He then pushes you back into the couch and the next thing you know, you’re lying on your back and he’s settled in between your legs, using one of his arms to keep himself propped up, while the other wraps itself in your hair. Your own hands clutch at fistfuls of his shirt, fingers gripping the fabric so tight, the skin over your knuckles stretches painfully thin.

You whimper out again, the noise prompting a low growl to rumble through his chest—suddenly, he’s not being so gentle. He isn’t being rough. But he is hungry, he’s possessive, and he’s letting it show in the way he’s swelling your lips with his kisses, how his fingers are gripping the hair at the base of your neck as he firmly tilts your head backwards to give himself better access to your mouth.

Your mind is racing, and yet, you can’t think at all.

It’s not until his hips buck into you and you feel his bulge through his jeans against you that you break away from him. “Joel,” you gasp his out name. You grip his shirt even harder, chest heaving as you try to catch a much needed breath of air. You can feel the arousal pooling between your legs. The flames burning in the fireplace are nothing in comparison to the ones that are burning deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” he curses, pulling back. “M’sorry—”

The last thing you want is for him to be sorry.

“No! Please don’t be sorry,” you rasp, gazing up at him. Your eyes are glazed over with a lust you have never felt for another man before. “I want this, you know I want this—don’t you?”

Joel sighs, brushing a soft kiss to your temple. You wish he could take a peek into your mind, see how badly you want to be wrapped up in his arms—you want to get lost in his embrace, feel him all around you, inside you. You want him to write his name on your bare skin with his tongue, whisper his secrets into the spot where you’re aching for him most.

He sighs again and lightly shakes his head.

“Baby, y’need to think real hard ‘bout this—”

“I want this,” you repeat yourself. “I want you.”

Relaxing the death grip you have on his shirt, your hands release the fabric and move to the buttons. Your fingers tremble slightly as you undo each one of them; after an embarrassing fumble or two, you manage to get them all and push Joel’s shirt off of his shoulders. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath as your greedy hands begin roaming, exploring every inch of smooth, tan skin on his upper body.

Your touch erases all the uncertainty he’s feeling.

“Wanna feel you too, baby.” Joel takes the hem of your sweater and gestures for you to sit up slightly so he can pull it over your head. Carelessly tossing it somewhere behind him, he glances down, blood rushing to his cock as he takes in the sight of your supple curves clad in sweet, delicate white lace. “Christ, you look so fuckin’ soft.”

He doesn’t even realize he’s saying it out loud, not until he catches the flirtatious little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. You sit up slightly once again and reach behind you to unhook the lingerie and take it off, adding it to the ever growing pile of clothes on the hardwood floor. Licking his lips, he meets your gaze for just a moment before dipping his head down, wrapping them around one of your hardened nipples. “Joel,” you mewl his name as he flicks the pebbled flesh with his tongue.

Joel releases it with a lewd, wet pop and he tosses you a smirk before he moves to the other to give it the same attention. He’s a biter, you find out as he takes it between his teeth, nipping over and over.

Your throbbing center clenches around nothing.

“Joel, please. I need you—I fucking need you.”

He tears away from your nipple. “Where, baby?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but your own gasp cuts you off as he starts trailing his lips down the length of your body until he comes to a stop at the waistband of your skirt. One of his hands finds the zipper on the side and he looks up at you, as if asking for permission. Desperate, you nod. Pulling the zipper down, he slides the skirt, along with the pair of lace white panties you’re wearing off of you and discards them, leaving you completely naked.

Your insecurities begin to trickle in, but Joel’s able to halt them right in their tracks.

“You’re too fuckin’ beautiful, sweetheart,” he says, his reassurance calming your nerves instantly. “So beautiful. So beautiful and so fuckin’ perfect.”

You watch as he makes himself comfortable—well as comfortable as he can—in between your legs. He shoots you a sheepish look.

“Knew I should’a put the damn bed together. But I been puttin’ it off and puttin’ it off all week long.”

You giggle breathlessly. “Who needs a bed?”

Chuckling, Joel feathers a kiss on your inner thigh.

Your smile is all but slapped right off of your face.

“Joel.”

Any traces of humor vanish. You’re both reminded of the next wall that’s about to be broken, the next line that’s about to be crossed.

He looks down and groans. “Such a pretty, perfect little pussy,” he remarks, his voice low, husky. “Bet she’s nice and wet for me, ain’t she baby?” He lifts his hand and drags the tip of his finger up your slit slowly, your slick coating his digit. He smirks up at you. “Oh, she’s fuckin’ soakin’, sweet girl. S’this all for me?”

Foreplay wasn’t in the vocabulary of guys your age and while part of you wishes Joel would hurry, you also find yourself enjoying the fact that he’s taking his time, teasing you—making you really want it to the point where you’re willing to fucking plead him for it. Joel Miller’s the only man you’d ever beg for.

He skims your other thigh with his nose and kisses it just like he’d done with the other. “Tell me darlin’ s’this where you need me? Right here?”

Frantically, you nod your head.

“Words, honey. Gotta use your words for me.”

“Yes!” you choke out. “That’s where I need you. So bad. Need you so fucking bad. Please Daddy—”

You freeze and momentarily, he does too. Truth be told, you wouldn’t really blame him if he just stood up, gathered your clothes and tossed them at you, demanding you put them back on and leave.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Daddy, huh?”

Your face is on fire. “I—it slipped,” you stammer. “I didn’t mean to call you—I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m not even sure where that came from. I’ve never—”

You’re on the verge of panicking, then notice there is a certain glimmer in his eyes and realize he liked it when you’d called him that. You’re taken aback.

He fucking likes being called Daddy.

“Sweetheart, there ain’t nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout. I promise. You can call me that. But on a condition.”

You stare at him, no idea what the condition could possibly be.

“Ain’t allowed to call anyone else that. Ever.” There is a possessiveness in his tone and it nearly makes you come on the spot. “That understood?”

You nod obediently. “Yes.”

“Yes what?” he prompts.

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good. That’s a real good girl, honey.”

For a split second, you can’t breathe.

This man will surely be the death of you.

Joel plants one final kiss, this one on your mound.

“Please,” you whimper, the heat in your lower belly growing and fizzling out to the rest of your body at the feeling of his breath over your aching core.

“Please what?” he murmurs into the sensitive skin as his arms curl around your legs. “Tell Daddy—tell Daddy what you need baby, so he can take care of you.”

“Your mouth,” you beg him, desperation mounting with each passing second. Your hips buck upward; his biceps flex as he tightens his arms around your thighs, pinning you down in place. “Your mouth—I need your mouth. Please.”

Joel moves his head to the junction of your thighs, his mouth hovering right over where you needed it the most. He looks up at you with hunger, like he’s a ravenous, starved man who hasn’t had a thing to eat in days. “What a good girl,” he praises, dipping his head even lower. His mouth waters at the sight of your glistening folds. “Bet you taste as delicious as you fuckin’ look, don’t you, pretty girl?”

He flattens his tongue and glides it up your slit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he gets his first taste. You gasp out when it grazes your swollen, aroused clit and your head falls back onto the couch. “Oh fuck,” you whine, reaching for his hair. You weave your hands through his graying locks and pull his face closer. Another swipe of his tongue causes your back to arch up off the leather and the edges of your vision to blur.

He pulls an arm from around your legs and drags a finger down your drenched entrance, lips securing themselves around your clit. His gaze stays locked on you as he pushes his long, thick digit into you—you feel him smirk as he curls it upwards, pressing the pad of his finger firmly against the soft spongy spot inside you, making you see stars. Joel slips in a second finger and curls it along with the other to double the pleasure. He begins thrusting his digits in and out of your warm cunt, eliciting what had to be the sweetest sounds that he’d ever heard in his entire life from you. He combines it with with slow, firm, and precise stokes of his tongue on your clit.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” you encourage him, your loud, breathy moans bouncing off the bare, freshly painted walls of his house. “Yes Daddy, fuck—feels so fucking good, please don’t fucking stop—”

It’s not like you have to tell him what to do.

Joel knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows it too. He listens to every single one of your moans and feels every single buck of your hips. He is sure to pay extra attention to when your hands pull and tug at his curls; he remembers what combinations of licking, sucking, and fucking make you squeeze your plush thighs tighter around his head; reminds himself of which technique brings your body off of the couch, what makes your toes curl. Joel’s quick to learn your body’s cues, each and every last one. He already knows when to give you more, when to give you less—when he needs speed up, when it is time to slow it all down.

You sing his name over and over again, pressure of an orgasm already building between your hips. His tongue swirls around your sensitive little bundle of nerves as his fingers pump in and out of your cunt and you glance down. You almost choke when you catch a tiny glimpse of the muscles in his forearm, the way they flex underneath his skin with each of his movements as he’s fucking you. Your gaze flits to his face. His own eyes are fixed intently on you.

You’re milliseconds away from release.

“Joel, I’m so fucking close. I’m gonna come—”

His arm squeezes your thigh in encouragement.

One last, broad stroke of Joel’s tongue on your clit sends an overwhelming wave of pleasure crashing over you. Strangled cries tear themselves from the back of your throat as your velvet walls flutter and convulse, squeezing his fingers. Joel, who’s face is still half buried in your pussy, takes it upon himself to help you ride through the high. He peppers soft, delicate kisses onto your swollen clit as his fingers continue to slide in and out of you slowly. He waits patiently until your loud cries dissolve into nothing but breathless little whimpers before he crawls up, positioning himself on top of you, a hand on either side of your head. His beard and mustache glisten with a mixture of saliva and slick—and somehow it it ignites another fire and you’re ready for more, so much more.

“Sweet girl,” Joel murmurs. Leaning down, his lips meet yours and you taste yourself on his tongue

You place a hand on his chest, right over his heart, which beats strong and steady against your palm.

You start dragging your hand down his chest, your fingernails raking over his skin. It travels lower and lower, gliding over the softness of his stomach. He tenses when you brush the waistband of his jeans.

Tearing away from you, he grits out, “Baby. No.”

You immediately snatch your hand away from him.

“You changed your mind?” you question, stomach sinking at the thought of it being over already.

You’re just so fucking greedy for this man.

He offers reassurance—and an explanation.

“No, that ain’t it at all. S’just—” Joel pauses briefly and flushes a shade of red. “S’just that, well, I ain’t got condoms on me, darlin’.”

Relieved, you assure him, “It’s okay. I’m clean.”

“Me too. But that ain’t what I’m worried about,” he admits, his face going from red to maroon.

You smile, finding his embarrassment endearing.

“I’m on birth control.”

Joel clenches his hands into fists. His cock strains against his zipper at the thought of it—taking your cunt bare. “Y’sure you want this?” He rasps out. “I need you to be a hundred percent sure ‘bout it.”

“I’m a thousand percent sure, Joel. I fucking need it. More than anything I’ve ever needed in my life.”

That’s all he needed to hear.

Joel stands up, his gaze never leaving your own as he kicks off his black leather boots. You sit up, and it takes every ounce of strength you have in you to remain composed as he unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and pushes them down his legs. You bite down on your bottom lip and try not to stare at his bulge like it’s your first time ever seeing a dick, but if he’s as big as he looks in his boxer briefs, maybe this would end up being a lot more than what your body could handle.

He hooks his thumbs underneath the elastic of his boxer briefs and slides them off, allowing his thick, hard cock to spring free from its confinement.

You swallow harshly. He’s fucking massive.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” Joel chuckles at the expression on your face as he kicks aside all of his clothes. His length rests on his lower abdomen and precome smears the skin there. Wrapping one of his hands around it, he gives it a couple strokes, just a hint of relief until you come into play. “Hm?”

Licking your lips, you nod and stand up. You take a couple of wobbling step towards him—Joel’s cock hasn’t been anywhere near you and you’re already fucking walking side to side. “Come here,” you say to him, taking both his hands in your own. You pull him back to the couch and gently guide him down into a sitting position. Swinging your leg over both of his, you straddle his lap. You gingerly place your hands on his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh softly when you feel him brush against your pussy; the contact makes you both moan in unsion. “This okay?” you ask him, breathily. You can’t be sure as to why you’re suddenly feeling a bit shy, like you’re not planning to ride his fucking soul out of him.

“More than okay.” Joel brushes your hair over your shoulder and then drags his hand down the length of your body, committing to his memory every one of your curves. “Gonna be a real good girl and ride my cock, baby?”

You gift him with a cheeky grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

The shyness begins to dissipate and you dive your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock, causing his breath to catch in his throat. You lift yourself slightly off his lap, teasingly gliding the head of his cock down your drenched slit, then up, letting it graze over your clit, which is still senstive to the touch thanks to his lips and tongue.

Joel’s hands find their way around you, running up the curve of your spine. “Wasn’t aware that my girl was such a little fuckin’ tease,” he remarks in a low tone. He slides his hands back down and his large, warm palms cup your ass, fingers kneading flesh.

“Your girl?” you repeat, your heart skipping a beat, stomach fluttering at the idea of being his. “Is that what I am to you, Joel? Your girl?”

“S’that what you want, honey?” Joel whispers, his eyes finding your own, two hopeful gazes meeting in the deepest, most intimate moment that you’ve shared all evening. “Y’wanna be my girl?”

Leaning forward, your reply is preceded by kiss, so soft and so sweet his heart swells inside his chest.

“I do,” you mumble against his lips. “I really do.”

Still gripping your ass, Joel eases you up and lines himself up at your entrance. He bucks his hips and slides the head of his cock past your folds and into your heat. “Breathe, baby,” he whispers, his hands moving to your hips, thumbs grazing your skin. He slowly guides you further down his shaft, grunting as you sink down, taking him inch by inch. “Christ, you’re so goddamn fuckin’ tight—”

The initial stretch is almost too much for you. Your nails sink deeper into his shoulders as he pulls you down further down onto him. “Joel,” you whimper, biting back a loud cry. You’re fully seated, his cock completely sheathed inside you, his head pressing against your cervix. You’re so full of him.

One of his hands abandons your hip and slips over your lower belly.

“This where you’re feelin’ me, pretty girl?” he coos gently. “This where you feel Daddy’s cock? In your belly?”

“Yes,” you sigh out contentedly. “Feels so good.”

You lift yourself off of him, then slide back down in a slow, languid motion.

Joel’s head falls back onto the couch. “Christ.” He mutters the word, his chest heaving. Staring up at the ceiling, he takes a moment to catch his breath and silently wills himself not to explode. Once he’s managed to somewhat compose himself, he looks at you again, pupils blown so wide you can’t find a single trace of brown. “Go on, then,” he rasps. “Go on, sweetheart.”

The living room fills with the sounds of low moans and panting breaths as you move, alternating your maneuvers between rocking and bouncing on him in a frenzied, fast paced rhythm. The friction of his pelvis each time you grind into it winds up the coil between your hips and suddenly you’re desperate, so pathetically desperate for another release.

“Yeah, that’s it baby,” Joel encourages, feeling the beginning of his own climax building quick—much too quick for his liking. “Jus’ like that, honey. What a good girl you are for me, so fuckin’ good for me. Just like I fuckin’ knew you would be.”

“Fuck,” you whine. “You feel so good, Daddy. Feel so fucking good inside me—”

Leaning back, you firmly plant both your hands on his thighs and arch your body, head falling back as you pick up the pace. The burning fire casts a soft, orange glow around you and his jaw falls slack. His eyes drink in every single fucking thing about you, watch you with an adoration that, for the first time in your whole life, makes you feel wanted. Actually wanted.

“Joel,” you whisper his name over and over. You’re both beginning to lose track of where you end and he begins. You can hardly hear the praises that are spilling from his plush lips over the squelching wet sounds of your cunt sliding up and down his cock. There’s no chance to warn him—your mouth parts in a silent scream as you come undone on him.

“M’so fuckin’ close,” Joel grunts. He feels his cock twitch as your pussy grips him like a vice. “Where? Where do you want it, pretty girl?”

“Inside me. Please, I need you to come inside me,” you plead him, the innocent tone of your voice the last thing to push him over the edge he’s teetering on. “Fill me up, Daddy—please, want every drop of you inside me—”

Joel reaches for your arms and yanks you forward, into him. Throwing them around his neck, his own arms wrap around you and roughly slam you down onto him, holding you firmly in place. He bucks his hips upwards, balls tightening, his cock pulsing as he comes. Strings of hissed curse words and deep gutteral groans muffle when he drops his face into your collarbone. Still holding you in place, he spills his load into you, his seed filling you to the brim.

He sags back against the couch and pulls you with him. Wrapping his arms tighter around you, he lets himself stay buried inside of you, the primal in him relishing the heavenly feeling of his come dripping messily out of your pussy and all over his thighs.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks after a minute.

“M’perfect,” you mumble against his chest. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re coming down from a high or if it’s because he’s tracing patterns on your shoulder blade with his finger, but you shiver in his arms.

“Let me get the blanket—”

Joel starts to move to get up, but you stop him.

“No, please don’t,” you say, pushing him back. You put all of your weight onto him, as if he can’t move you off to the side if he really wanted to. “I—I want you inside me for a little while longer. Please.”

“But baby, you’re cold—”

You don’t bother explaining to him that you’re not.

“Just hold me. Please.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

Snuggling into him, you close your eyes and Joel’s hand strokes at your hair. Between that, the thrum of his heartbeat against your cheek and the sound of the fireplace crackling behind you, you’re nearly soothed into sleep.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’?”

“I hate Thanksgiving,” you admit, smiling tiredly to yourself when you feel a laugh rumble in his chest.

“Do you, now?”

You nod. “I do. But I’m really thankful for you.”

Giving you a gentle squeeze, Joel kisses the top of your head and murmurs, “Well, m’thankful for you too, sweet girl.” He pauses momentarily. “I ain’t all too sure how I’m s’pposed to just let you go home. I know I have to but—”

Lifting your head off of his chest, you take the side of his face and cradle it in your palm. You meet his gaze, heart sinking when you see the sadness that has replaced the lust from earlier.

He doesn’t mean home to your parents’ house. He means Chicago.

You graze his beard with your thumb. “I’m coming back in a few weeks,” you remind him, gently. “I’ve only planned to spend a week out here just for the holidays, but I can visit sooner. As soon as the kids go on winter break, I can come back to Austin.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would, Joel. I’m not sure how it would work what with my parents and all, though. I don’t want them catching onto us.”

“C’mere.” Joel brushes your lips with his before he makes his promise. “I’ll figure it out, baby. Leave it all to me and I’ll figure it out.”

divider credit to @saradika-graphics 🤎

#asdfghjkl BYE #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller au #dbf joel miller #dbf joel x reader #fic: someone to be thankful for

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lxnarphase · 4 months

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PRETTY BITCHES LOVE ME ᯓ★

━━ ❝ SHE A BADDIE, SHE SHOWIN' HER PANTY! ❞ wc. 3.7k

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : suguru is just as big of a show off as gojo, he's just more subtle about it. and he wants everyone in this damn club to know that you're his.

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...cw : blk!fem!reader x g. suguru, suggestive content, alcohol mention, exhibitionism, voyeurism (?), fingerfucking, public fingering, little bit of breeding kink and talks of knocking you up, lots of kissing, suguru really loves his girl, suguru can’t keep his hands to himself

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's note : suguru is just a slut for you i don't know what else to tell you. he's just as much as a mischievous little shit as gojo ! if you want to be tagged for the future posts, comment on the main post here ! enjoy baddies ❤︎ (also yes nonblack readers can read and reblog too, idk why some anons try to gatekeep)

suguru's so touchy with you, it's sweet.

he can't keep his hands off of you whenever you go out. the poor man feels like he might just die if he's not having some sort of physical contact with you the majority of the day.

it could be the grocery store on a late night snack run in matching pajama bottoms or like now, a long night at the club for some celebration.

neither one of you remembers what or who the part is for, the alcohol in your systems causing you to focus on one another. the rest of your group is busy on the dance floor or bar, leaving you and suguru to cuddle up to each other in the VIP area like the lovesick idiots the two of you are.

your sitting across his lap, one hand in his hair and the other holding his shoulder, rubbing random shapes and patterns into the fabric of his shirt. it's so unfair, he just smells so fucking good and looks so damn handsome. you genuinely can't look at anything but him.

and he loves it so damn much.

"s'guruuu," you coo at him, nose smooshed against his cheek. if you could, you'd get even closer to him, but this would have to suffice for now. "you're so handsome tonight..."

the corners of his mouth tilt up into a smug smirk as he chuckles, his hand sliding from your knee to your upper thigh, stroking the exposed skin. you're so soft, could you really blame him for wanting to touch you all the time? compared to you, suguru is way more sober and is just eating up all the attention you're giving him.

not just because he loves you, but that was a plus.

no, it's because people are watching.

his sharp purple eyes flicker up, meeting with the group of girls outside of the VIP area that keep looking his direction.

their eyes are filled with interest and want when they look at him, and he can't help but chuckle to himself.

suguru knows he's attractive. hell, he's reminded of it every morning by the way you shower him in kisses and praises as part of your morning routine, making sure he knows just how much you love him and his 'stupidly pretty face,' as you so elegantly put it.

but what makes him laugh is how they look at you with disdain and confusion, as if they can't understand why you're in his lap instead of them.

it's disgusting, really, for them to even have the slightest thought that they could replace you. they must be lying to themselves, he thinks as your lips start to press kisses against his cheek, the soft curls and coils of your hair tickling his cheek.

you're just so cute, so adorable, so gorgeous, so beautiful. you're his pretty little angel, and seeing women jealous of you just fills him with so much pride, knowing you have other women jealous of you.

if only they knew how badly you have him wrapped around your little finger. if you so much as asked, suguru wouldn't hesitate to beat the shit out of someone for you, wouldn't hesitate to kill for you...but thankfully, it never got to that point.

yet.

"hmm, you think i'm handsome?" he leans in, his breath warm against your neck as he nips your ear. "nah, you look so damn gorgeous, angel. you're stealing the spotlight from me t'night."

his fingers trace circles into your thigh, enjoying your little giggles and complaints of it tickling. it only makes him do it more, your laughs and giggles making his heart squeeze a little bit.

fuck, suguru really loves how your skin feels under his fingertips, soft and smooth. it's all he thinks about. he wants to touch you forever, wants to feel you every second of the day. you are just so warm and soft, nothing would ever compare to the feel of your skin.

pulling away from your ear, he sees that those girls are still there, looking at you and him. the smirk on his face falters a bit, and his gaze hardens.

man, he really doesn't like how they're looking at you.

it's so easy for him to tell they have no cursed energy, just mere humans that could never even hope to be on the same level as you. it would be so fucking easy to just...snap his fingers and have them gone in an instant.

you steal his attention away from them and the dark thoughts swirling in his head by tilting his head your way, and instantly, his gaze softens.

jesus, the things you do to this man.

"sugu? what's wrong, honey," you mumble, worry etched into your features. you cup his face, thumbs stroking his cheeks to get him to calm down. "you don't look happy..."

the feel of your hands on his face, paired with the sweet concern in your voice, it washes away all irritation in him instantly. suguru hums, his eyes sliding shut. and the soft look in your eyes...he's so whipped for you, it's sickening.

you're so warm...

"no, baby, nothing's wrong," he reassures you, his smooth voice a low rumble. if he could, he'd be purring incredibly loudly right now, nuzzling into your palms. just your touch is enough to make him melt.

"'m just thinkin' how lucky I am, havin' you all to myself like this. the prettiest girl in the world, and she's sitting in my lap...who knew i'd make it this far in life, hm?"

the low, purple lights of the club cast a soft glow on your face as your fluffy hair frames your face, and suguru sighs, looking at you like you were his everything. you are his everything.

a quick glance to the side and suguru takes note that those girls are still fucking there, looking at you both. instead of getting irritated again, suguru gets an idea.

with a smirk, his hand slides up further your thigh, his fingertips slipping under the hem of that pretty purple dress he bought you that contrasts against the dark color of your skin...so pretty.

"mm, babygirl, just looking at you is making me dizzy," suguru purrs, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. "you know i love you right? an' that all i wanna do is show you off s' everyone knows how pretty you are, right?"

you know better.

you know better than to trust him when he starts making comments like this, when he starts cooing and praising you out of nowhere.

because you know that it means suguru is up to no damn good.

you still haven't forgiven him for making you squirt on his fingers while he was on the phone with nanami...even though it was kind of cute how nanami couldn't look you in the eye without blushing for about two weeks.

"mhm...i know, sugu, you're a little show off that likes to get us in trouble," you playfully scold, tugging his hair a little as you giggle, looking at him with a soft gaze.

suguru's head tilts back, and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, a soft grunt leaving him. he's always been a sucker for you pulling on his hair like that, likes when you tug him around to make a point...shit, he's getting hard just from thinking of all the times you'd use his hair to get his attention or make him focus on something.

and it doesn't take long for you to discover his thoughts are going south.

with an exasperated gasp, you feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your ass, letting out a little scold of his name. his grip on you tightens when you shift to confirm your suspicions. his head leans to rest in the crook of your neck, a silent plea for more of your affection.

"but you like it when I show off," suguru teases back, pressing a kiss against your neck as your curls tickle his face again. even your hair was soft, it's like he's got his own little pillow pet in his lap. the thought makes him chuckle, knowing you'd probably swat at him playfully for comparing you to a plushy

"you get all worked up, it's so cute, angel...plus, i think y'like it when i cause trouble." his hand swaps thighs and creeps up higher under your dress, his fingers brushing the edge of your panties. he's playing a risky game. at any moment, someone could catch him and get you both kicked and banned from the club.

but where's the fun in life without taking risks?

"c'mooon, admit it, baby, you like it."

one glance up back into the crowd and suguru hums, his eyes glinting dangerously. still there, it seems.

they aren't staring as hard now, but looks of disbelief cross their face when his hand shamelessly goes right to the apex of your thighs, fingers running over the lace of your panties. suguru doesn't care anymore, if they wanna look so bad, he'll give them something to stare at.

"s-suguru...you're, mnh, gettin' close there..."

he doesn't give you a response, his hand sliding from your back up to your hair to keep your head in the crook of his neck. he may be fine with showing out a little bit to these bitches who tired to glare daggers into you, but no one except him gets to see your face.

the way your lashes flutter, the way your teeth dig into the plushness of your bottom lip...it's driving him crazy.

the faint scent of your perfume hits his nose, and he's gone. his cock is pressing against your ass in full hardness, and he has to stop himself from grinding up into you.

nah, right now, this is about you.

he's going to take care of you, going to make you feel good, going to make sure you know that you are his in every way that counts.

without wasting another moment, suguru's fingers slip under your panties, pausing when they touch the faint wetness gathering at your slit.

"fuck...baby, don't tell me you've been like this the whole night," he rasps, his breathing slowly starting to pick up. your soft cunt is hot to the touch, sticky and wet as he drags his fingers through your slick.

"i can't help it, you just...look, really good t'night, baby," you huff into his ear, gasping a moan when he doesn't hesitate to slip a finger into your slick hole.

he really does look good tonight, dressed in those black dress pants, sleek dress shoes, and that stupidly hot black button-up shirt. and he has the sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone so that you can get a nice view of that necklace with your name on it resting on his collarbone.

how can you not get soaking wet?

"shit." he's groaning, the sensation of you nuzzling your face into his neck to press little open-mouthed kisses into all the sensitive spots of his neck sending a shiver down his spine. it's so sweet and precious how you try your hardest not to make too much noise and not move too much as he stirs up your cunt with just one of his fingers.

he wishes you both were back at home, wishes that he had you spread open on the bed so that he can see how wet he's got you just from his attire, so that he can hear your pussy squelch around his fingers. not even the strongest in the world would be able to pull him from your pussy whenever you get this wet.

the thought of gojo trying to pull him away from you makes him cringe a bit...because he knows damn well that idiot would be shoving his face deeper into your cunt, grinning as he practically makes suguru drown in you.

on second thought, that's not a bad way to go....

another tug to his hair as him unintentionally groaning, eyes snapping shut at the sharp pang of pleasured pain that shoots up his spine. his attention is back on you, his face close to yours as he breathes against your ear.

if you want his attention, then he'll give you all of it with no hesitation.

"suguruu, more...please," you finally whine, the slow movement not enough for you. it's almost torture; the slow in and out motions of his finger making you feel good but not good enough. no, you need more, craved it.

"yeah? you gonna be a good girl f' your suguru and let him take care of this needy lil' pussy? hm?" one finger turns into two, and that familiar heat pools in your lower abdomen. now it's feeling so fucking good that you already know his fingers are gonna be coated in your juices.

this should be embarrassing, it really should. you both are in a club for fucksake! but you can't find it in you to care about it, his thick digits working your cunt so good that your brain is just melting.

one of your hands grips his button-up, fisting in the fabric to ground yourself from the pleasure. "m-mhm! I'll be good, I'll be s' good for you, sugu, promise!" suguru is becoming relentless, determined to make you crack and stop hiding those pretty sounds from him when he takes note of how you go right back to biting your lip after giving him that sweet, needy response.

however, he loves seeing your lips all swollen, knowing they were like that because he made you feel so good you had to force yourself to be quiet.

"sweetheart, don' hide it, lemme hear you, 's just you and me," he whispers to you, his other hand burying itself in your curls and giving a little tug. he knows it's not just the both of you, but right now, in this moment, it's all that exists for him.

the harsh pull of your hair has your lips brushing against his ear and choking on a moan, unable to keep it in. "thaaaat's it, let me hear how good it feels t' have these fingers buried deep inside this tight cunt."

you hate this, hate when he talks because it only makes you wetter. and that means he's gonna talk even more, and you're always right because he's cooing at how much slick is pouring out of you now, asking if it's because of his voice or his fingers.

suguru's so fucking annoying, such an asshole, but you can't help but let him get away with it when it means he makes your eyes flutter closed in pleasure.

you let him get away with way too much, don't you?

the song playing now is so loud, the bass making the ground vibrate. but suguru doesn't care, he's just thankful it's loud enough to cover that fucking beautiful moan you give him when he curls his fingers juuuust right.

"oooh, there? did i find it? fuck, baby, y'got so tight jus' from that."

your desperate nod of confirmation is all he needs before he speeds up his fingers, groaning when he can finally hear the wet schlicks of his hand coaxing more slick out of you.

one more glance up and suguru can't help but grin. the girls are gone, now mixed up in the crowd likely red and hot in the face.

seems like his impromptu little show finally got the message across: he is yours and yours only.

knowing he no longer had to show off, he's focusing on you, on you and that tight, needy little slit between your legs that's dripping down his wrist. it should be a crime for someone to be this wet, in public no less.

"c'mon, angel, don' hold back on me anymore, lemme know how it feels. wanna know 'm treating this gorgeous pussy good."

you let out the prettiest moan, breath hot against his ear. suguru coos, his hand not between your legs holding your neck to keep your head in the crook of his neck. “mhg, suguru, love it s' much, g-god, your fingers feel s'good, 's not fair.”

you can't stop yourself from trying to spread your legs more, giving him a bit better access. you know you can't open them too much ot someone might see.

but...would that be so bad? for people to see how suguru could make you fall apart so seamlessly?

if only you knew that's exactly what was running through his head right now. he's positive at least one person has caught on to what's happening, the repeating motions of his hand between your legs such a dead giveaway.

it thrills him, his cock throbbing in his pants at the thought. shit, he's learning things about himself he didn't know before...he might have to do this to you more often.

he leans in closer, his mouth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine as he whispers, "y'gonna cum for me right here in this club, aren't you, babygirl? gonna show me how much you love my fingers playing with this slutty lil' pussy, right?"

he gets a sweet little 'yes, sugu' and he purrs your name, the mixture of your moans, the music, and the just barely audible sounds of your slickness being stirred by his thick fingers, making him feel drunk.

you're shaking in his lap, holding on for dear life as he makes it a point to curl his fingers with each thrust, not giving you a break anymore. you're spiraling, feeling the tremors of your impending orgasm building, your hot, gummy walls fluttering around his stupidly thick digits. you're praying silently between each pant and gasp, desperately hoping he doesn't make you squirt, not now, not when so many people are around—!

"c'mon, baby, c'mon," suguru encourages, his fingers picking up their pace. you're so close, he knows it, he knows because he can feel it coming. the way you fist his shirt, the way your hips are trying to hard to not rise up to meet his hand, knowing it would make it so obvious what's happening.

but suguru, oh, he stopped caring so fucking long ago. he just wants to feel you soak his fingers, wants to hear your muted little moan of his name when you finally cum. he just wants to make sure you know you're his.

"b-baby, suguru, shit, i'm gonna cum—!"

"yeah? that's it, baby, let got f'me, you can do it," he urges and coos, his voice bordering on needy and desperate, just like you. he's panting into your ear, whispering little praises as he listens to you pitifully try to keep your gasps and moans down. you're such a mess, it's so cute, you're so adorable, god, he loves you so bad.

your thick thighs are quivering and trembling as you teeter on the brink of release. you know it's going to be a mess, but you try, you try so hard to keep it in.

suguru notices—how could he not—and he's not having it, slipping a third finger inside your messy little cunt, curling deep inside right against that sweet spot, and that knot wound so tight inside you finally snaps.

"s-suguuuu, 'm cummin'—!"

he's reveling in how your hot, gummy walls squeeze and spasm all over his fingers, milking them for all they're worth as you cry and sob his name into his ear, tears caught on your eyelashes from how good it feels. he wishes he could look at you, wanting to drink up your expressions, but no, he'd be risking someone else seeing how pretty you are when you cum.

"yessss, good girl, good fuckin' girl, gimme everything, babygirl."

your cries of release are so damn sweet to his ears, and he continues to work you through it, ensuring your orgasm is as prolonged and intense as possible. if you were home, he wouldn't care about stopping or overstimulating, but he has to remind himself to stay calm and not go too hard.

if he did, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from fucking you on this couch in the middle of the VIP section in front of all these people.

once suguru feels you go slack in his arms and your hand weakly slap against his chest, he slows his hand, his own breaths heavy with the arousal and need you stirred in him...did you have any idea how sexy you were? if he wasn't as controlled as he was, he's positive he would've cum in his pants.

pulling his fingers out slowly, suguru's quick to pop them into his mouth, sucking off your juices like it would be the last time he'd ever get a last. fuck, you soaked his hand...he doesn't care how obvious he makes it when he licks at his palm and wrist to not miss a drop.

"hhmph, s-suguru, you—"

"i need you, right now. can i take you home?"

of course, he has to ask. he knows how long it took you to get ready, to look so fucking perfect. but right now, he doesn't want anyone to look at you. hell, he doesn't want anyone else but him to be near you, he'd fucking wipe out this entire club right now if you asked.

the soft touch of your hands on his face brings him back, making him melt as his eyes slide shut. you're so soft, he loves you so much, he needs to stick his cock into you while groaning those words into your ear, needs to feel his tip kiss that soft, spongy spot inside you that makes your back arch off the bed, to fold you in half as he stuffs you so full, praying that his cum gets stuck deep inside you, praying that it takes and that he gets you knocked up, and that—

"take me home, sugu, please, i-i need you s' bad."

your words have him acting in an instant he presses a quick kiss to your lips, licking whatever is left of your lipgloss before helping you stand up with him, guiding you out of the club. if he stays in here for any longer, he's not sure he'll be able to control himself.

"i got you, baby, don't worry, 'm gonna give you what you need. let's go, princess."

ᯓ ❤︎₊‧⁺...lunar's tags : @satoruwiki @llllllllllllloser @screampied @abcdbleh @vicfuentesfangirl @sakurapeach @ohsuguru @crywolfix @naughtygobbo @aura88967 @jeanine-gt @tananaxx @tojancy @happymangosstuff @charming-chikara @actuallynarii @ninikrumbs @inette04 @paint-eater2 @haesify @shaguro

#geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #geto suguru x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jjk x black y/n #black reader #geto x black reader #geto x black y/n #🔮 ── suguru.#𖤐 ── lxnarworks.

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ja3yun · 4 months

Text

The Doll House | Alt. Ending

warnings: smut (mdni), unprotected sex, cream pie, oral (f.rec), fingering, pussy slapping, overstimulation, !dark content! murder, possession, blood, manipulation, lots of mentions to hell, soul selling, please read the a/n wc: 14.3k heeseung (true ending) | masterlist synopsis: once heeseung sells you an offer you can't refuse, it's up to you to reap what you sow. sooyeol's return and revelations put your world in wonder as you contemplate the implications of your greed and who you truly are a/n: hi! this is a highly requested alternate ending to tdh! this takes place just after heeseung offers y/n to sell her soul in his chapter (pls read that first before this!), i hope this is what you guys wanted! i had so much fun writing it so i hope you enjoy reading it <3 there's a twist in this one that might be confusing but i think i have explained it thoroughly enough but as always, feel free to ask for clarification. likes, reblogs, comments, and feedback are all welcome <3

"If you want this life," he starts, his stare fixed on you, "Let me give it to you." He promises you the future your spirit so desperately desires with a voice that is both powerful and supple, promising support and unfaltering devotion.

A part of you yearns to leap up and accept, drawn to the allure of the life he promises. Yet, you can hear a distant warning of whispers in the recesses of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of such a choice. You can't ignore the lessons learned from Soonyeol's fate, knowing that trading one form of captivity for another may not be the answer. She is happy right now but for how long could she possibly stay that way?

"Y/N?" Jaeyun's voice breaks through the haze, its urgency slicing through the intimate moment with Heeseung. It reverberates down the halls, each bounce signalling his approach, yet the vastness of the mansion keeps him at a distance, prolonging the inevitable interruption.

You tear yourself away from Heeseung’s grip, sitting up as you dare not to look at him, “I can’t have this life, Heeseung. This belongs to Soonyeol.”

As you move to get up and dress, Heeseung grips your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into yours, studying you with an intensity that leaves your soul feeling exposed, laid bare before him.

"Say the word and she's gone, Baby," he murmurs, his voice low and determined. The fondness and devotion he once held for his minder seem to fade into the background as he tries to persuade you to stay.

Your eyes widen in disbelief at his implication; how could he suggest getting rid of Soonyeol so easily, especially someone who gave their soul to him? While he may believe it's what you want to hear, his words only serve to deepen your doubts about his loyalty and commitment. If he can toss her aside, how quickly will it take him to move on from you?

Pulling his hand from your face, you hold it against your chest, “You told me you don’t break your promises, Heeseung,” you gently confront him. Yet, as you look into his eyes, you see sincerity within them, making you question whether he means his words to you.

“Y/N? Where are you?” Jaeyun shouts once again, panic in his vocals.

“Let me give you your desires,” Heeseung’s lips upturn as he watches your brain fight itself between yielding and defying your urges.

“Y/N? Can you answer me?”

“Come on, Y/N, say it. Tell me you want this.”

“Please answer me!”

Your body instinctively leans into Heeseung's touch, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze as he strokes your cheek with a gentle caress. It's as if you're caught in a trance, captivated by the magnetic pull of his presence.

Heeseung has this way of making you surrender, like without even owning your soul, he still has it in his possession. You’re tied to him in a way that no one can grasp. You should flee, run to the sound of Jaeyun’s voice and yet, you stay put, leaning closer to Heeseung with a heavy need for the life he is offering.

There’s no way you can say no. So you don’t.

“I want this, Heeseung.”

A sinister smirk etches on his face and a dark chuckle heaves from his chest as he witnesses your resolve crumble away and the girl he needs you to be, start to appear. He has you hook, line, and sinker, and he could not be fucking happier.

His eyes begin to cloud with that crimson hue that used to scare you but now you look at them with a sense of satisfaction; they help you look at yourself in the reflection and see a girl ready to take what is hers, to be selfish for once. After living a life of chasing fulfilment and desires, Heeseung is helping you finally achieve it.

There is still guilt in the pit of your stomach for Soonyeol because once she comes back from her trip, you don’t know what Heeseung will do to her. That is a thought you can’t bear to wonder about too extensively but you need to make sure that she lives and finds a peaceful life elsewhere; only then can your guilty conscience be eased and you can forever embrace this life.

“I’ll make you so fucking happy, baby. I will give you everything you could want and more,” Heeseung mumbles into your bare shoulder, still sticky from the passionate exchange you’ve just had. His lips are so gentle, a juxtaposition from the raw fucking he just blessed you with moments ago.

Leaning back, you gaze into his eyes once more, they tell a tale of lust and admiration even within the red clouds. But yours are focused on the safety of Soonyeol. “What will you do to Soonyeol? Please don’t kill her…”

Smiling, he strokes your cheek fondly, “You’re still a good girl after all, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll fuck that out of you soon enough.” Heeseung’s manner is playful yet this is serious for you, you need his word that Soonyeol will not succumb to a deadly fate.

“Please, Heeseung. There is no deal if you kill her,” you reiterate, voice holding a stern undertone while it wavers slightly. “I won’t be yours.”

Heeseung does not like that, his eyes narrow dangerously and his fingers, which were once delicately ghosting your cheek, now grip your jaw harshly, bruising the delicate skin. “You don’t get to make demands around here, baby.”

Fear surges through you, but you summon your courage, meeting his fierce gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “If you want me to stay, then you’ll promise me she’s safe,” you insist, your voice steadier than you feel.

You and Heeseung are locked in a stare-off, both of you unyielding in your demands. He knows despite feeding into your desires, you still have that damn moral compass, and if he wants you to fully be his - mind, body, and soul - he needs to work with you, at least for now.

Knowingly, Heeseung relents, his grip loosening on your jaw as he nods. “I won’t kill her, I’ll make sure her soul is alive and well. Trust me, baby.”

And in some strange turn of events, you do trust him. You don’t know if it’s the proximity of his body to yours or the intimate aftermath of your recent encounter, but you find yourself believing in his promise despite the darkness that surrounds him.

“We need to seal the deal, so to speak,” he grins, his thumb wiping roughly over your bottom lip, pushing it down seductively as he inches closer. This is it, you think to yourself, once you kiss him, you’ve given yourself over to him.

Being owned by a Prince of Hell should terrify you, like most of the happenings in this house should have, yet just like every time, it feels right. You do belong to him in some twisted fate, and you feel it more in this moment than ever. Perhaps he is coaxing your mind to surrender to him, or maybe it’s just pure want, for both Soonyeol’s life and the Prince she once called hers.

Swallowing any apprehension you have, you whisper a silent ‘okay’, giving yourself over with consent, much to Heeseung’s delight. And without a second thought, his lips collide with yours once again, his hand cradling the back of your head as he lays you back down on the bed, kissing you with as much fervour as he can manage.

In that heated moment, as your lips meld with his, you feel a surge of conflicting emotions. There's desire, undeniable and fierce, coursing through your veins, mingling with a sense of trepidation at the path you're willingly treading.

Heeseung's kiss is both intoxicating and consuming, his passion igniting a fire within you that threatens to engulf your senses. His hands roam your body with possessive urgency, as if claiming you as his own in every possible way.

As the kiss intensifies, the world around you melts away, leaving only you and Heeseung locked in an eternal embrace. It's as if nothing else matters in this moment but the raw, unholy connection that you share with him. You feel your veins pulsing and your heart racing, like you’re shedding your old self to make way for someone new.

In this moment, you choose to embrace the darkness and submit to the irresistible pull of hunger and temptation. For better or worse, you've made your decision, and there is no turning back now.

“Heeseung, have you seen Y/N?” Jaeyun’s voice rings through the door as he chaps it softly. His voice is laced with concern, the tremble of his chin evident in how his words shake. “I can’t find her, she was with me a minute ago?”

Heeseung’s mouth turns into an evil grin as he continues to ravish you, knowing that you’re officially his now. Snaking his hand up your legs, he dips his hand between your thighs and caresses your swollen clit softly, using his touch to cloud your mind of thoughts with nothing but him and your desire to be his everything.

You gasp at the intrusion, your nub still sensitive from the beating it took not even 30 minutes ago. He has this way of teasing you, yet giving you exactly what you want that makes your heart beat for him. He might not be a God of holy faith, but he is a God nonetheless, and you are ready to worship the ground he walks on.

“Seriously, Heeseung? Did she come by here?” Jaeyun asks once again.

Grunting, he plunges two fingers into your heat and covers your mouth before you can let out a long drone. “Should we let him see you like this?” Heeseung whispers next to your ear, eliciting a panicked shake of the head from you. You loved Jaeyun, more than the stars shine, so seeing him hurt pains you to think about, and seeing you wrapped around his older brother might just kill him.

Snorting, Heeseung mocks you, shaking his head along with you, a fake pout on his lips as he curls his fingers inside of you. “No? Are you sure?”

“Please, Heeseung,” you mumble against his hand, pleading with him, and the double entendre is not lost on his ears. You're begging him to keep going while also pleading to keep your relationship with Jaeyun intact.

Jaeyun twists the door handle, but the lock prevents him from entering, much to your relief. Heeseung picks up the pace of his fingers and adds his thumb, circling your clit rapidly. Your body arches as he continues to pleasure you, Jaeyun’s persistent attempts to enter now a distant memory.

Not to Heeseung though, who finds the boy grating on his last nerve.

“She’s not here, so fuck off,” he bellows out, rolling his eyes before adoringly focusing on you again. His harsh words towards Jaeyun hurt your heart, but the clench of your walls around his fingers tells Heeseung a different story. “Oh? You like it when I’m mean?”

Yes, you do. Of course, you do. It's how he got you to worship his cock like it was the offering of the last supper. You don’t really like it when Jaeyun is on the other side of it but the way Heeseung is fucking his fingers into you clouds that soft side.

Your body starts to spasm, telling him everything he needs to know. He thrusts his fingers deep inside of you, your spongy walls trapping them in place as you reach your climax.

Thanking hell below for his palm, you hold it close to your mouth as you cum around his fingers, the guttural groan vibrating through Heeseung's doll shell. As you ride the waves of ecstasy, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of your release, Heeseung watches you with smug satisfaction. He revels in the power he holds over you, relishing in the way your body responds to his touch, every whimper and moan affirming his control.

Once the tremors of your orgasm subside, Heeseung withdraws his fingers slowly, his gaze never leaving yours. He leans in close, his soft lips against your ear as he murmurs, "You're mine, Y/N. All mine."

_____

Staring at one of the dolls on the hallway shelves, you can't help but feel an instant connection to her. The way her apple cheeks are delicately blushed with a light pink pigment exudes innocence, and her eyes, though glassy and vacant, seem to hold a haunting depth that speaks volumes. It's as if she's a frozen embodiment of lost innocence, a silent witness to the darker forces at play within these walls.

Memories of your own past flood back, a time when you too felt like a mere puppet in the hands of fate, devoid of purpose or direction. You remember the fear and uncertainty that once consumed you, the longing for something more than the emptiness that surrounded you.

But then everything changed when you entered this house, when you met Heeseung and the others. They offered you a glimpse of a world beyond your wildest dreams, a world filled with passion, desire, and danger.

A pair of arms wrap around your waist, pulling you from your reverie, and a chin gently rests on your shoulder. Speak of the devil. Heeseung's presence is both comforting and unsettling, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as his lips press firmly against the base of your neck. It's a possessive gesture, a silent reminder of the hold he has over you, yet there's a tenderness in the way he pulls you close, as if seeking solace in your presence.

Soonyeol’s arrival is imminent and your two months of work finally coming to an end. The thought of breaking the news to her, of telling her that she's being ousted from her own sanctuary, fills you with a sense of dread. You haven’t even broached the subject with the other dolls, clinging to the hope that you can somehow persuade Soonyeol to go quietly and come up with a feeble excuse about how she craved more than the confinements of this house.

But it’s a pipedream, and deep down, you know it. You're at a loss for what to do, desperately hoping that Heeseung has a better idea, though the thought of the suggestions his mind could conjure fills you with unease.

“Do you like her?” Heeseung's soft voice breaks through your thoughts, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your stomach, easing away the nerves without him even realizing.

One thing about Heeseung these past few weeks; he’s been your saving grace. The pull you felt towards him from the moment you arrived has only grown stronger with each passing day, his presence a source of comfort and stability amid uncertainty. He is rude and harsh with you when you show even a slither of humanity for Soonyeol or the dolls, but he makes up for it by being gentle with you in subtle moments.

He's a study in contradictions - pushing and pulling, hot and cold - and yet, you find yourself drawn to him all the same. It's in those fleeting moments of tenderness, when he brushes a strand of hair from your face or pulls you into a comforting embrace, that you catch glimpses of the man behind the Prince.

Nodding in response to his question, you sink into him, the warmth of his body enveloping you like a protective shield against the uncertainty that lies ahead. “She's pretty,” you admit softly, your gaze drifting towards the doll on the shelf, her delicate features frozen in porcelain perfection.

“Not as pretty as you though,” he smirks, his lips tickling your neck as he leans in closer, brushing against your skin in a teasing caress. “Although, you would look pretty as a doll, too.” His tone is dark but it’s washed away with the wave of banter that flows through it.

Turning your head, you raise a sceptical brow. “Is that the clause in our deal? I get to live here, but you keep me as a Polly Pocket?” you jest, laughter bubbling up to chase away the remaining nerves.

Heeseung laughs heartily, his grip on your hips tightening briefly before he steps back, giving you some space. “You are far too powerful, too perfect, to be trapped in a tattered piece of porcelain.” His words carry a sincerity that melts away any lingering doubts, leaving you feeling cherished and reassured in his presence.

You've tried to keep your guard up around him, knowing all too well that beneath his caring facade lies the darkness of Beelzebub. Yet, in moments like this, it's far too easy to forget the true nature of the man before you. Heeseung's charm and the tenderness he has been showing lately makes it all too easy to overlook the sinister power he wields.

But deep down, you know the truth. With one click of his fingers, he could turn your world upside down, shattering everything you hold dear just as easily as he's granted your heart's desires. It's a precarious balance, walking the tightrope between desire and danger, love and fear.

And yet, despite the looming threat that hangs over your head, you find yourself unable to resist the pull of Heeseung's magnetism, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, unable to escape the allure of his darkness; like there is something deeper.

The sound of a car pulling up over the gravel driveway snaps you back to reality, instantly tensing your muscles as a surge of apprehension washes over you. Heeseung notices your rigid frame and pulls you back, his touch both comforting and unsettling.

“I’m going to ask her for a private conversation so there are…no hard feelings,” he begins, his tone cryptic and difficult to decipher. “Bring her and wait in the drawing room,” he adds, pointing to the doll behind you with his chin.

You watch him with a mixture of confusion and apprehension as he walks away, his actions leaving you with more questions than answers. His demeanour is inscrutable, giving nothing away as he disappears from view, leaving you to ponder the plan he's clearly concocted in his head.

With a furrowed brow, you turn your attention to the doll he indicated, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach. There's a foreboding weight to the situation, a feeling that something ominous is about to unfold.

But for now, all you can do is follow Heeseung's instructions and prepare yourself for the private conversation that awaits. With a deep breath, you grab the pretty doll and head to the drawing room with the hope that this will go smoothly.

_____

As you wait for Soonyeol and Heeseung's arrival, you take a moment to marvel at the grandeur of the drawing room. The fancy furnishings and decor speak of a bygone era, a time when elegance and extravagance reigned supreme.

Sunlight filters through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the room and illuminating the intricate patterns of the Persian rugs that adorn the wooden floors. The walls are covered with priceless works of art, each painting telling a story of its own.

Over the two months you've been working here, you've noticed Soonyeol's love for the 16th-century Renaissance period. Her love for the art and culture of that time is evident in the decor of the entire house. It's as if she's created her own little slice of Renaissance paradise within these walls, a sanctuary where she can escape the troubles of the modern world.

You’re beginning to feel guilty once again, kicking her out of this home just for your own selfish pleasures. Heeseung has convinced you time and time again that this is what you deserve, that he wouldn’t offer this opportunity to someone who wasn’t in dire need of it.

And you need it. You can’t go back. Not now.

The door creaks open slowly, and Heeseung gestures for Soonyeol to enter before him, a fond eye smile gracing his features as he watches her timid walk. She looks visibly shocked to see you standing there, her expression betraying her surprise as she takes in your presence. It's as if Heeseung hadn't prepared her for your involvement in this delicate conversation. You can see the confusion and uncertainty flicker in her eyes, a reflection of the turmoil brewing within her as she tries to make sense of the situation.

“Hee? Darling, why are we here? Why is Y/N here?” Soonyeol's voice carries a note of confusion as she looks between Heeseung and you, her gaze lingering on you with a hint of curiosity.

The way she calls him "darling" strikes a chord with you, a guard instantly going up until you realise that, at this moment, she still thinks he is hers when in reality, you're the one he's been wrapped around for the past two weeks.

In fact, you've been wrapped around all of her dolls for the past two months.

You offer a gentle wave, an attempt to break the awkward silence that hangs heavy in the air. It's clear that Soonyeol is struggling to make sense of the situation, and you can't blame her. For all she knows the dolls should have stayed exactly that - dolls. They should never have moved or let you in on the secret about their beings. But you know them all, each depth of their entity and soul, you understand them, more than her it seems if the conversations you’ve had with Jaeyun and Sunghoon are anything to go by.

“This is just somewhere quiet we can talk, this is a sensitive discussion,” he rubs her arms affectionately, reassuring her just as he has done you over the weeks. Yet, his face graces itself with an ill-omened smirk, looking at you with joy in his eyes.

Soonyeol tilts her head and pouts slightly. “So you know about the boys?” she asks softly, her tone laced with caution as she tries to gauge your reaction. Her love and devotion to the dolls means that she is careful about who can know about them and who doesn’t, and she has yet to find someone she trusts with her secret.

You quickly swallow the saliva in your mouth and nod in agreement, “Yeah, they weren’t very discreet, but they have all been so kind to me. I cherish them so much,” you say earnestly. You mean every word of it, maybe more so the fact you cherish them than all of them being kind, but you need to butter this woman up so you can get her to leave as soon as possible.

Soonyeol's expression softens at your response, a flicker of relief crossing her features as she exhales slowly. It's clear that she's been holding her breath, unsure of how you would react to the revelation. “Was it Jaeyun? It was Jaeyun wasn’t it?”

She begins to laugh, a soft and melodic sound that fills the room, as she shakes her head gently. You can see the wheels turning in her mind as she comes to her own conclusions. Jaeyun's reputation as a chatterbox is well-known throughout the house, so it's no surprise that she would automatically suspect him first. “You know, he’s usually good at keeping promises.”

Heeseung's grip on her shoulders is gentle yet firm, a silent reassurance that he's there for her. He leans in, his voice a low murmur as he interjects. “Speaking of promises,” he whispers to himself, his tone cold yet his touch offering her affection. “Hey, Soon?”

Soonyeol's attention shifts to him, her eyes wide with curiosity as she looks up at him expectantly. “Yeah?” she prompts, her voice tinged with wonder and a hint of apprehension.

“There’s been a change of plans to our deal,” he says, his words cutting through the air with icy precision, even as his hands continue to offer her comfort.

Soonyeol's gaze flickers to you, as if seeking confirmation or understanding from you. You meet her eyes with a blank stare, unsure of what to say or how to react to this unexpected turn of events. “What do you-”

It all happens so quickly.

Heeseung's hands, usually a source of comfort and reassurance to Soonyeol, suddenly transform into instruments of terror as they wrap around her head. One hand clamps down firmly on top, while the other grips her chin from underneath, his fingers digging into her flesh with a chilling intensity.

In one swift, violent motion, he twists her head with a forceful jerk, Soonyeol's neck snaps at a sharp 90-degree angle, the movement so abrupt and forceful that it sends shockwaves rippling through the room. The sound that follows is bone-chilling, a sickening crack that reverberates with such intensity that it feels as though it could be heard from heaven itself. The sound echoes off the walls with a sinister resonance that seems to linger in the air long after the deed is done.

As you watch in horror, a wave of nausea washes over you, threatening to overwhelm your senses. It's a sight that sears itself into your memory, haunting you long after the moment has passed. In that brief, fleeting instant, you catch a glimpse of the true extent of Heeseung's power, a power that is as terrifying as it is awe-inspiring.

Releasing his grip on Soonyeol's lifeless form, Heeseung steps back with a cold detachment that sends a shiver down your spine. The once warm air now feels cold and thick with tension, the weight of what has just transpired hanging heavily in the room like a suffocating blanket.

He looks down at his past lover's body and squats down beside her, stroking her face. Heeseung's touch on Soonyeol's lifeless form is strangely tender considering the brutality of his actions just moments ago. His expression is unreadable, a mask of indifference masking any trace of emotion. "No hard feelings, baby," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "You just aren't her."

You don’t have the time nor the brain capacity to register his remark when he stands up, his movements purposeful as he grasps Soonyeol’s wrist firmly, before dragging her to the table on the left side of the room, heaving her up onto it with no struggle at all, as though he is lifting a butterfly who had injured it’s wing.

Transfixed on the spot, your eyes follow Heeseung's movements as he meticulously arranges Soonyeol's body on the table. He places her hands gently on her stomach and closes her eyes, as if giving her a semblance of peace in death. The room is eerily silent, the only sound being the faint rustle of his movements.

Heeseung then walks around the table with an unsettling calm, his presence both comforting and terrifying. He plants a chaste kiss on your lips, a contrast to the violent act he just committed. "I'll be right back, baby," he murmurs softly, his voice almost soothing.

As he heads towards the door, leaving you alone with Soonyeol's lifeless body, panic and guilt surge through you. You're left with the grim reality of the situation - a situation you played a part in creating. The weight of your actions presses heavily on your conscience, threatening to crush you under its burden.

You can't bear to look at her. The sight of Soonyeol, so still and silent, is too much to handle. Turning away, you feel a deep sense of shame and regret wash over you, mingling with the fear that now grips your heart. The room feels colder, the air you breathe thicker with the weight of your guilt.

In the oppressive silence, you struggle with the knowledge of what you've done, unable to escape the haunting reality of your involvement in this tragedy. You wanted this life, but not like this, not with blood on your hands; Heeseung had promised you that much.

Heeseung returns with the ornate bowl from the altar, slamming the door shut behind him with a resounding thud that makes you jump. He locks it with a deliberate twist of the mechanic, sealing the room and adding to the claustrophobic tension. With a casual grace, he spins the priceless bowl in his hands as though it were a mere football, his nonchalance juxtaposing sharply with the gravity of the situation.

Making his way to the table, he places the bowl just above Soonyeol's head. His movements are quick and precise, a sense of urgency evident in his actions. "Come on, baby, it’s your time to shine," he urges, his voice carrying an impatient edge.

"W-what?" you stammer, barely able to form the words as the reality of what’s happening starts to sink in.

Heeseung doesn’t look at you, instead snapping his fingers and pointing towards you, "Did you bring that pretty doll I asked you to?"

The doll. The beautiful doll that you picked up earlier now takes on a sinister significance. Your mind races, slowly piecing together the grim puzzle. But as you stand frozen, struggling to process, Heeseung elaborates, confirming your worst suspicions. "We’re going to take Soonyeol’s soul from in here," he slaps her still, dead stomach with a forceful smack that makes you flinch, "and we are going to put it in there."

The innocent doll sits idly by, its painted eyes staring blankly ahead, unaware of the dark fate it has been chosen to bear. You feel sick as you realise the full extent of what Heeseung plans to do; you can’t believe this is what you caused.

Your eyes, which once couldn't look at Soonyeol, are now transfixed on her, unable to focus on anything else. You struggle to breathe, each inhale feeling like a weight pressing down on your chest.

Heeseung, growing increasingly irritated by your lack of response, strides over to you. “Fucking hell, Y/N,” he huffs, exasperation evident in his voice. As he gets close, he grabs a chunk of your hair, dragging you over to the lifeless girl and forcing you to lean over the table, your face just inches from Soonyeol’s paling features. “You asked for this,” he snarls, his voice dripping with anger and frustration.

But this isn’t what you wanted. Not at all, and he knows that. “No… this is… you said you wouldn’t kill her,” you whisper, your voice barely audible through the hushed sobs that threaten to break free. You aren’t exactly crying, unable to even process the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your head: fear, anguish, dread, curiosity, admiration.

“If you do your fucking job, then she won’t be dead, will she?” Heeseung releases his grip on your hair, smoothing it out with an almost tender touch before scanning the room for the doll. Once he spots it, he swiftly retrieves the porcelain and places it next to the bowl.

Heeseung's eyes flicker with a cold intensity as he sets everything in place, his movements precise as you watch him in awe. “Here’s what you’re going to do,” he instructs, his voice commanding and brooking no argument. “You’re going to transfer her soul into this doll. If you succeed, she’ll live. Fail, and she’s gone forever, she goes down there with all my legions, Got it?”

He sees you considering the consequences, your eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. With a sigh, he rubs his face in frustration. Deep down, he knows this is a lot for you to process and he should be somewhat more lenient to your shock, but now is not the time.

“Listen, baby, if I know the girl inside of you, then you can do this easily, okay?” His voice is gentler now, as if he is trying to reach a deeper part of you, seeking someone else within your soul.

His words strike a chord within you, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You nod, determination slowly replacing the paralyzing fear. “I can do this,” you whisper to yourself, though the words are meant for him as well.

“That’s my girl,” he smiles wickedly, seeing that tint of cloud form around your body, “Now repeat after me:

nrober eb tirips eht tel eerced swodahs yb

nrot eb liev eht tel ecarbme sthgiliwt ni

derrulb elballys yreve stneicna fo eugnot eht ni

draeh ron nekops rehtien sdrow eht rettu

htrae eht ssik smaebnoom erehw

htaerb sthgiliwt eht ni shpylg sti ecart

trap llahs luos eht llehs latrom eht morf rof

traeh nmelos a htiw stcafetra eseht rehtag

niht si liev eht dna ecnad swodahs nehw ruoh eht ni”

He says the lines slowly, ensuring that you copy every syllable for perfect diction. You don’t know what language this is but it is identical to the one Jongseong spoke when he called hell. The words feel heavy on your tongue, ancient and powerful, as if they carry the weight of centuries.

As you repeat the incantation, a strange sensation washes over you like you’re suddenly powerful and the words come so easily to your lips you might as well be fluent. The air in the room grows thicker, charged with an otherworldly energy that sends shivers down your spine. You focus on Heeseung’s voice, steady and commanding, guiding you through the spell until you’re saying it along with him, chanting it like these are your vows, to have and to hold.

Heeseung takes Soonyeol's hand and cuts into her palm, dripping her blood into the stone bowl carefully while you repeat the ritual over and over again just as instructed. The bowl begins to glow with a pulsating red light, its intensity increasing with each word. He carefully takes his finger and paints an upside-down cross on the doll's forehead, but it looks more like an X with the smudge of her carmine sweetness.

The shadows in the room seem to come alive, swirling around you in a dance that mirrors the rhythm of the incantation. The temperature drops and your breath comes out in visible puffs of mist. Heeseung’s eyes never leave you, his expression a mix of pride and anticipation. “Fuck, there you are,” he heaves out, his tongue menacingly sticking out of his mouth past his evil smile, as if he’s getting turned on by just seeing you utter the words of his mother tongue.

But so are you, or at least, your body is charged with high energy. It's as if a dormant power within you has been awakened, stirring to life with an insatiable hunger for the raw, untamed energy that tornados around you.

In this moment, you feel more alive than you have ever felt before, every sense heightened to an almost unbearable degree. The air crackles with anticipation, charged with the potent magic that hangs thick in the atmosphere. You can feel the pulse of the earth beneath your feet, the rhythmic beat of its heart synchronising with your own.

As you reach the final verse, the light from the bowl blazes brightly, casting eerie shadows across Soonyeol’s lifeless form. With the last syllable, the energy within the bowl surges outward, a tangible wave of force that knocks the breath out of your lungs. It dances its way into Soonyeol’s being, collecting pieces of her soul that are hidden in the depth of her body before drawing it out, the pure white mist following the red light energy before it guides her to the doll.

You watch in awe and terror as she flows into the doll, its porcelain face glowing with an unearthly light. Soonyeol’s body twitches, a final spasm and gasp of life before it goes completely still. The doll’s eyes now hold a flicker of life within them that was not there before. She is alive.

Once the ritual concludes and Soonyeol's soul is sealed within the doll, the room descends into an eerie darkness, the once vibrant glow of the ritual bowl fading into obscurity. The only illumination comes from the soft hues of the setting sun filtering through the window, casting long shadows that dance across the room.

Heeseung observes you closely, his eyes penetrating the darkness with an intensity that belies the gloom. He senses the subtle shift within you, a transformation he has long anticipated; that greed for your own satisfaction, to take what you want from this world, for you to come home to him.

In his eyes, you are bathed in a vermillion aura, an ethereal glow that marks you as a being of otherworldly power. It's a sight that would be invisible to the naked human eye, but to Heeseung, it's a sign of your rightful place among the divine. In the underworld, such a sight would be revered and worshipped as a symbol of authority and dominion. And by God does he want to get on his knees to bow before you and pledge his unwavering loyalty.

You might not be able to see the glow around you, but you can feel it. It’s exhilarating, the passion and vitality coursing through your bloodstream, electrifying every nerve ending and racing to your heart and your core. There is no logical explanation for the arousal that pulses through you because what you should be feeling is confusion; why did you enjoy that? And why did you know the ritual as if it were engraved in your very being?

Noticing the subtle movement of your thighs as they press together, Heeseung's signature wicked grin returns to his face. "Oh, baby, did that make you needy?" he taunts, his voice dripping with amusement as he leans on the table, his gaze fixed on your squirming form. “Do you want me to fuck you as a reward?”

You can't deny the rising heat within you, the inexplicable lust that courses through your veins. It feels wrong, given the circumstances, yet, here you are, trapped in a moment of perverse desire, all while grappling with the implications of your actions.

Biting down on your lip, you nod, completely entranced by the sight before you. Heeseung exudes a magnetic allure, his rugged appearance heightened by the faint spatters of blood on his hands, the intensity of his gaze drawing you in like a moth to a flame. Your eyes trace the contours of his form, from the slight tilt of his neck to the tantalising glimpse of his collarbone peeking out from beneath his low-cut black t-shirt.

Interpreting your nod as consent, Heeseung seizes Soonyeol by the neck and flings her to the ground with a forceful thud, sending a shiver down your spine that's equal parts fear and exhilaration as you hear a bone crack. Heeseung doesn’t need to care about a lifeless meat suit, not when the real Soonyeol is safe and sound in the doll you hand-picked for her.

Just as the room falls into a heavy silence, punctuated only by the echo of your racing heartbeat, a frantic knocking at the door shatters the calm. Jongseong's desperate pleas slice through the air, his voice laced with worry and fear. "Soonyeol?! Baby, are you in there? I can’t hear you anymore, angel…"

The sound of his desperate voice sends a pang of guilt coursing through you. Your heart clenches at the thought of Jongseong's anguish, his unwavering love for Soonyeol evident in every word he utters, every fibre of his soul. He must have felt something wrong once Heeseung - no, you - stuffed her into the tiny doll.

You broke apart soulmates all for your selfish gain, so you could live happily. But what about him? Jongseong risked everything to be with Soonyeol and you took it from him with the snap of a neck. You cannot imagine having a soulmate being ripped from you that suddenly.

“Y/N? Are you in there? Jongseong, is she in there, is she hurt?” Jaeyun’s voice shadows Jongseong’s sobs as he asks questions that his elder doesn’t know the answer to; his focus is not on you but on his lover who he knows has suffered a terrible fate.

Your gaze shifts to Heeseung, searching for answers in the depths of his dark eyes. "Why can’t he feel her? I thought their souls were connected, not their bodies?" you ask, confusion clouding your thoughts.

Heeseung nods, his movements sleek and calculated as he approaches you. "She was his as long as she was alive, but she sold her soul to me, remember? As soon as she flatlines, she’s mine to own, not anyone else," he explains coldly, his tone devoid of remorse or sympathy.

Noticing your lust for the darker side wavering due to guilt, Heeseung tries to pull you back to him, his hands cradling your face as he forces you to look into his deep eyes. “Don’t listen to them, baby. You have spent your whole life searching for this moment. Don’t let them take it away from you.”

“But-”

"Shhh," Heeseung interjects, pressing a gentle, lover-like kiss to your lips. "Your desires are all that matters now. Think about it - if he truly loved her, he wouldn’t have sinned for you, fucked you like that behind her back." His words are calculated, an attempt to envelop you in the darkness, to paint your world in sinister shades of red and black. He watches your dark aura flicker as you take in his words and silently agree, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

Jongseong’s desperate cries from outside the door tear at your conscience, his pleas a stark contrast to Heeseung’s poisonous whispers. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. You’re a good girl, remember?” he begs, his voice filled with sorrow and desperation. You hadn’t known they could hear you from here, then again, the walls are thin, hence why each time Jongseong asked to see you, it would be in a faraway room from Jaeyun or Sunghoon. Heeseung was right about one thing, he sinned with you, for you.

Jongseong’s anguish is palpable, his regret weighing heavily on him. He knows he’s betrayed Soonyeol, seeking forbidden pleasure with you. Yet, something within you drew him to sin, almost compelled him to become the man he swore he would never be.

Heeseung’s mocking grin widens, feeding off his brother’s inner turmoil. "You see, baby, everyone has a dark side. Even angels fall," he murmurs, his voice laced with satisfaction. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “And why can he have everything he wants but you can’t?”

He makes a valid point, the feeling in your chest wavering as you think about it. Everyone around you has gotten their desires met, whether in relationships, financial stability, or their dream job. Jongseong gave in and got Soonyeol, Jaeyun wanted to be loved and got a family who cherishes him, and Sunghoon wanted to break free from the cell that kept him captive and a master who was out for blood, and he got solace in these walls.

Why can’t you be selfish like them? Why should you feel guilty for accepting an offer that all of them did so easily?

Watching you fight back, Heeseung's eyes pulse with a vivid red, knowing he needs only one final push to bring you back into his embrace, to unveil the true you. “Do you think I would have brought you here if you weren’t special?” he asks, stepping closer with predatory grace.

Confused, you knit your brows together and shake your head, searching his eyes for answers.

“My sweet, baby. I had to get you home,” he starts, softly running his fingers through your hair. “I’ve spent centuries on this earth, bound to one whore after another, searching high and low for my other half. It was so difficult, sweetheart, but I finally found you.”

You lean into his touch as he gently scratches behind your ear, your mind whirling with his words. What does he mean? You hadn’t met him before that day with Mia. When did you ever ask for his help?

Sensing your confusion, he continues. “You were so lonely, moving to the big city all on your own with no one to keep you safe. I heard you call out for guidance, for salvation once life bruised you. I felt compelled to help you, to bring you a lifetime of happiness.”

Breathing heavily, you shake your head. “I never called out to you, not like the others did.”

“Exactly. I could hear you even when God was meant to pick up your silent prayers, yet they filtered to me. Do you know why?” he asks, stroking your cheek softly as you shake your head. “You’re my girl, my beautiful Alaida. I searched heaven and earth for you the day Lucifer took you from me.”

Beelzebub and Alaida, two lovers torn apart due to Lucifer’s wrath. Alaida had made the mistake of asking for a legion of her own, to be respected on par with the others because she possessed powers that surpassed the Princes. She was beautiful, cunning, a Princess in her own right. But Lucifer, fearing she would surpass him, conspired with Mammon and Leviathan to kill her. It took three men to subdue one woman who hadn't even harnessed all her powers. It was a pathetic attempt to keep their dicks swinging low and the power in their hands.

Despite her death, Beelzebub never stopped searching. He knew the fire of her power could never be extinguished by pretenders to godhood, and that somewhere, she must have found a place to hide. She had often spoken of Earth, envying humans' simple existence, so he knew she would have sought refuge in a human vessel.

For years, Beelzebub answered any calls that might be her in disguise, hoping she would find someone worthy to keep her safe. Soonyeol was one such woman he thought might harbour his lover, and so he answered her call with hope.

But then, you cried out to him, turning his suspicions around. It was impossible to summon him in the Earthrealm without chanting his name, yet you did. Your soul, Alaida’s being, reached out to find him.

You breathe heavily, the weight of his words pressing on you. “I’m not Alaida… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper, though your thoughts scream otherwise. You've always felt a pull to Heeseung, but being his lost lover is something you cannot grasp.

“Oh, but baby, you are,” he says slowly, a slight laughter escaping his lips. “Once I heard you and had my suspicions, I convinced Soonyeol to place the ad for a house sitter and sent her to the other side of the world to collect an owed soul. Your friend Mia was an obstacle, but it didn’t take long to make that spineless bitch cower away.” Heeseung continues, planting soft, affectionate kisses on your face. “You are my love. I just had to tie myself to your soul to see it. Looking at you now, Y/N, with that power sparking from your soul, I know my Alaida is deep inside you. We are connected, you and I.”

“Y/N, don’t listen to him! He’s lying!” Jongseong’s raspy voice cuts through, causing your eyes to flicker to the door.

Heeseung won’t stand for the interruption, drawing your attention back with a gentle slap to your face, his cold rings adding to the shock of his actions. His eyes convey what his mouth does not, and suddenly, you do not wish to be guided by Jongseong; you need to be taken by Heeseung.

There’s a storm raging in your chest, an electrifying tempest that tells you Heeseung is right, that Alaida is indeed inside you. This fierce courage you’ve summoned to confront literal demons and defy the infernal powers - it had to be her. The transformation from the person who once quivered at the thought of answering a phone call from an unknown number to standing resolute before Heeseung speaks volumes. His presence ignites a power within you, a fire that feels both foreign and intimately familiar, like a lover’s caress stirring memories of a past life.

“You feel her, don’t you?” Heeseung’s voice is husky, dripping with dark allure, as if he’s reading your innermost thoughts. “I don’t know why she chose you, but you have to let her shine. She saw something in you that she hasn’t seen in over 600 years. You’re special, Y/N.”

Fear and awe mix in your trembling voice as you ask, “…will I lose myself if I do?”

Heeseung’s gaze softens, his eyes burning with a mix of fervour and tenderness. He moves closer, his presence overwhelming and comforting at the same time.

“Y/N, please, I don’t know what’s going on but I need you to listen to Jongseong, okay?” Jaeyun’s voice penetrates the heavy atmosphere, his confused desperation evident as he shouts through the door, desperately trying to break through the barrier both physical and metaphysical.

The air thickens with tension, every heartbeat echoing like a drum in your ears. Heeseung's grip tightens slightly, grounding you in the present. His touch is both an anchor and a reminder of the raw power that lies within you. The pull towards Heeseung, towards your true self as Alaida, feels like a gravitational force, irresistible and consuming.

Outside, Jongseong’s pleas grow more frantic, each word a dagger aimed at your conscience. “Y/N, don’t give in to him. Remember who you are!” His voice cracks with emotion, a stark contrast to Heeseung’s unwavering composure.

Heeseung’s eyes bore into yours, unyielding and confident. “You won’t lose yourself, my love. You’ll become who you were always meant to be.”

As Heeseung’s words weave their spell around you, the power within you stirs, a dormant volcano on the brink of eruption. The weight of the decision presses down, yet there’s a clarity amidst the chaos. The pull of Alaida’s power, the connection shared with Heeseung, feels undeniably right. Heeseung watches in awe as the red light around you blossoms like a tulip in spring, unfurling into its true, ethereal form.

You stand on the precipice of your decision and the room around you seems to hold its breath, waiting. The doll with Soonyeol’s soul watches with unblinking eyes, a silent witness to the battle waging within you. The echoes of Jongseong and Jaeyun’s cries linger, a haunting reminder of the consequences of your actions.

Closing your eyes, you listen to your heart, letting its desire guide you.

And your heart wants Heeseung.

Opening your eyes, you gaze into Heeseung’s, your need to be consumed by this ancient love reflected in your expression. With a deep breath, you nod, surrendering to the inevitable. His eyes light up with a mixture of triumph and adoration as he steps closer, his presence overwhelming and comforting.

“My love, I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out, his voice trembling with emotion.

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in a fervent kiss, enveloping you in his longing. The sensation of Heeseung’s black heart being yours to cherish sparks an overwhelming joy within you. His tongue entwines with yours, his kiss filled with a desperate passion that speaks of centuries of yearning. His hands tangle in your hair, gripping tightly as he pulls you closer, guiding you to the edge of the table where Soonyeol once lay.

The table’s cold surface presses against your back as Heeseung’s body moulds to yours, his touch igniting a fire that burns brighter with each passing second. His lips trail from your mouth to your jawline, then down your neck, leaving a scorching path in their wake. Every kiss, every touch, feels like a reclamation of a love that was cruelly stolen.

“Y/N, you’re so fucking perfect I just want to rip you apart,” he murmurs into your nape, his hands gripping your waist possessively.

You pull his head back, your eyes locking deeply into his, a storm of emotions swirling within them. “Don’t go easy on me,” you smile, almost innocently but with a daring challenge. He crumbles beneath you, his resolve melting as he hears his lover's whispered words leave your mouth.

“Fuck, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he laughs wickedly before claiming your mouth with his once again. His kiss is fierce and demanding, pulling you to sit at the edge of the table. His hands, strong and unyielding, move with purpose, tearing away your clothes piece by piece. Each shred of fabric falling to the floor is a testament to his strength and desperation to feel your skin against his.

The room fills with the sound of tearing cloth and your heavy breaths, the air charged with anticipation and raw need. Heeseung’s eyes devour you, his gaze dark and intense, as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of your exposed skin. His hands follow his eyes, caressing and gripping, leaving no part of you untouched.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice low and possessive, a promise and a declaration all at once. His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them apart as he sinks to his knees before you. “All mine.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, anticipation and desire coursing through you. His hands grip your thighs firmly, his fingers digging into your flesh as he gazes up at you with a hunger that makes your heart race. The sight of him kneeling between your legs, his dark eyes filled with unbridled lust and possessiveness, is enough to make your breath hitch.

Heeseung's mouth hovers just above your skin, his nose ghosting over your most sensitive areas. He takes his time, savouring the moment, his eyes never leaving yours. The tension builds, a delicious agony as you wait for him to touch you.

When his lips finally make contact, it's like an electric jolt, pleasure radiating from the point of contact throughout your entire body. His tongue traces a path along your inner thigh, the sensation both torturous and exhilarating. Heeseung's touch is rough yet tender, a perfect blend of dominance and affection that leaves you breathless.

Biting at your skin, he leaves a trail of teeth marks as a sign of possession. The sensation makes your body squirm, needing him even more than you have over the past two months. With Alaida swirling inside of you, you feel even more desperate for his touch, her soul craving to be claimed by Beelzebub once more.

Finally, his mouth attaches itself where you need it the most, his tongue working on your clit with eagerness. Each flick of his muscle sends waves of pleasure coursing through you, building the heat in your core to a fever pitch. He knows exactly how to drive you wild, his movements deliberate and skilled as he worships you with his mouth.

You arch your back, pressing yourself closer to him, urging him to take you higher. He responds with a growl of approval, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he delves deeper into your pleasure. The intensity of his touch is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with each passing moment.

His teeth sink down on your clit with force which makes you howl out, mixing with the sobs of the angels who occupy the other side of the door. “Fuck, Heeseung, do it again,” you huff out, grasping at his roots to urge him on.

“You always were a glutton for punishment,” he sneers, biting down on your sensitive flesh. The sting is sharp, sending a jolt through your body that leaves you craving more. It all starts to make sense now, the love you had for the punishment Jongseong gave you on the altar; it wasn’t a newfound kink, it was Alaida - she loves it rough.

And now, so do you.

Heeseung’s mouth is relentless, his tongue and lips working with expert precision as he rises from his knees. He doesn’t break contact for a second, lifting your hips effortlessly to meet his mouth. Your back lies flat on the table, your body arching instinctively towards him, each touch of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you. His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding you in place, their strength both reassuring and dominant.

The room is filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and his eager, hungry ministrations. Heeseung’s eyes lock onto yours, their dark intensity burning with desire.

Your hands clutch at the edge of the table, knuckles white from the force of your grip as you lose yourself in the sensation. Every nerve ending is alive with electricity, every inch of your skin hypersensitive to his touch, the warmth of his lips against your most intimate places.

Heeseung’s mouth is everywhere at once, his tongue circling your clit before plunging deep inside you, exploring and tasting with an insatiable hunger. The pressure builds within you, a coil winding tighter and tighter, each flick of his tongue pushing you closer to the edge. His fingers dig into your flesh, marking you as his, a physical reminder of his claim over you.

Moving your hips in a rocking motion, he guides you to ride his face while he works in tandem with his tongue to bring you to the edge. His lips, soft yet demanding, latch onto your swollen clit with a hunger that mirrors your own. He sucks and nibbles with relentless vigour, coaxing waves of pleasure to cascade over you in an unending tide. The combination of his tongue and lips creates a symphony of sensation that brings you to the edge.

“I'm cumming, Heeseung," you gasp, your voice heavy with yearning as your body convulses with the force of your climax. Every fibre of your being ignites with pleasure, sending sparks of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

Heeseung's name tumbles from your lips like a fervent prayer, a plea for release and surrender. With each pulse of pleasure, you feel yourself lost in a whirlwind of sensation.

And then it happens. A bolt of white-hot ecstasy shoots through you, shattering your senses as you spiral into the abyss of euphoria. Your entire body convulses with the force of your release, every muscle tensing and relaxing in perfect harmony with the waves of pleasure crashing over you.

Heeseung doesn't let up, his mouth continuing to work its magic as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. He drinks in every moan and whimper, every twitch and tremble, savouring the taste of your pleasure as if it were the finest delicacy known to man.

Finally, as the last echoes of your cries fade into the ether, you collapse against the table, your body spent and sated. Heeseung's lips linger against your skin, pressing soft kisses against your thighs before letting go of your hips as you bask in the afterglow of your passion.

With a firm hand, he delivers a sharp slap to your clit, the sting sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body. Your back arches in response, your breath catching in your throat as the sensation radiates from your core to your shoulders. He revels in the power he holds over you, his smirk widening as he watches your body react to him.

His touch is both punishment and reward as he continues, “You’re going to cum again,” he growls, not as a prediction but an order; one you are happy to obey.

As the intensity increases with every slap, you find yourself squirming, aching to get away but longing to stay and take it. Heeseung is skilled at taking you to the edge, and he takes pride in your every sound of agony and gasp.

“T-too much, Heeseung.” Your plea escapes your lips in a desperate whimper, the overwhelming sensation of your overstimulated nub pushing you to the brink of your boundaries. It's a dizzying mix of pleasure and suffering, with each touch sending shockwaves of sensations rushing through your body.

“You can take it,” he says authoritatively, landing another harsh slap to your reddened pussy. “Once you cum, I’ll stop.”

So you relax your body as much as you can given the circumstances, focusing on the rapture of it. Heeseung watches you give in and licks his lips, using the opportunity to unleash his sadistic need to power over you. With rapid hits, he doesn’t give your clit time to breathe as he smacks it over and over again.

Somehow, the faster he’s going, the more enjoyable it is, “Holy shit, Hee!” you scream out. Your hands claw at your thighs as you force them to stay open, enjoying the beating your heat is receiving. Your body bucks against his relentless assault, the sting of each impact resonates deep within you, igniting a primal fire that courses through your veins.

“Such a perfect little princess,” he chides, alternating his hands to quicken the pace.

As his fingers graze down your pussy with each hit, you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion. The rhythm of his assault becomes hypnotic, driving you closer and closer to the brink with every stroke. Your skin tingles with anticipation, every nerve ending alive with the electric charge of desire.

And then, just when you think you can't take anymore, it happens. Your body convulses with the force of your release, pleasure exploding through every fibre of your being as you cry out his name. The intensity of it all is overwhelming, a whirlwind of ecstasy that consumes you whole.

Heeseung's movements falter for a moment, his touch gentling as he guides you through the aftershocks of your orgasm. His fingers trace soothing patterns against your skin, each caress a balm to the raw, pulsating heat between your legs.

Your essence drips down your pussy onto the table, creating a sheen that Heeseung can see his reflection in. His eyes are blown out red, succumbing to the demon within him as he brings you gratification.

As you descend from the soaring heights of bliss, you quiver from exhaustion. Heeseung's lips brush over your flesh, planting sweet kisses on your thighs while murmuring words of appreciation and devotion.

“You did well, baby. So fucking good for me,” he utters into your skin. Heeseung's lips trail a path of reverence up your body. Each kiss feels like a benediction, a testament to the intensity of your connection. As he reaches your tummy, his tongue darts out to taste the salty-sweet sheen of sweat, his movements slow and deliberate.

The tenderness of his touch contrasts sharply with the raw passion that still lingers in the air “You’re mine, all mine,” he whispers against your skin like a mantra, affirming your worth and igniting a spark of warmth.

With each kiss and lick, he worships your body as though you are a sacred temple, his devotion evident in every caress. And as he finally reaches your breasts, his lips envelop one nipple in a gentle suck, giving it attention as it stands proudly for him.

His fingers glide up the curves of your body, tracing delicate trails that elicit a gasp from your lips. A smirk dances across his face as he captures the sound, his nails leaving faint imprints along the way. With a playful tug, he ensnares your bud between his teeth, pulling at it before releasing with a teasing flourish.

Taking hold of your throat, he draws you closer, his gaze ravenous as he savours every contour of your face. “I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, you’ll be crying out for God to save you.” His words make you mewl out, chasing his lips with yours as you seek his unholy kisses, yet he denies you, shaking his head playfully. “Bad girls get kisses, so show me how bad you can be.”

Without breaking his gaze, you nod and shimmy yourself once again to the edge of the table, spreading your legs as wide as they can go, showing your eagerness to please him. The sight before him makes Heeseung’s eyes pulse and his doll shell shiver. You’re a vision no higher power could ever create.

You’re a gift from hell.

Positioning himself at your entrance, he plunges in with unbridled urgency, sending waves of shock and lust through your body. The suddenness of his movement catches you off guard, but the sensation is electrifying, sparking a starving hunger deep within you.

He sets a steady rhythm, thrusting into you with determination to ensure that this is the best fuck of your life, to make sure you know that he is the only one that can give you what you need.

Your walls clench around him in response to his fastening pace, your body instinctively welcoming him as he delves deeper, the tip of his cock hitting your deep spot. Each movement is calculated and deliberate, each thrust a testament to his demonic desire as he sets a punishing flow that leaves you trembling with pleasure.

With a raw intensity, he takes you roughly, his cock sliding effortlessly in and out of your wet heat. A moan escapes your lips as you feel him stuff you to the brink, the sensation overwhelming in its intensity. He's holding nothing back, fucking into you the way he knows you like, the way his Alaida likes it.

“You’re so good at taking my cock,” he grunts out through gritted teeth. “Tell them how good it feels to be fucked like this.” By them you know he means the two weeping angels who are still outside of the door, their pleas for you to stop swallowed by your loud moans.

“I love your cock. You fuck me so good, Heeseung. I want you to fuck me forever,” you exclaim, gripping his neck as stability, staring intensely into his beautiful crimson eyes. You steal a kiss, closing your eyes at his soft lips melting into yours. He doesn’t reprimand you for it, instead, he ravishes you with mirrored passion, his hips never faltering.

"You don't need to sell your soul for me to grant that wish, baby," Heeseung growls between heated kisses, his voice rough with desire.

You respond with a desperate moan, arching your back to meet his every thrust. "Don't stop," you plead, your nails digging into his skin as you cling to him, lost in the overwhelming sensations.

Heeseung's growl reverberates through the room as he bucks his hips with increasing urgency, driving deeper into you with each thrust. His voice, rough with desire, commands your attention. "Tell them you belong to me, and I'll give you whatever you need. I'll go as long as you want."

Without hesitation, you nod fervently, your voice hoarse as you cry out his name along with the words he craves to hear. "I belong to you, Heeseung. Only you," you gasp, the declaration punctuated by a sharp intake of breath as pleasure courses through your veins.

His hand tightens around your throat, a rough but controlled grip that sends shivers down your spine. In one swift motion, he pushes you back onto the table roughly, the sudden crash of your skull on the wooden surface causing your head to crack and spin with dizzying intensity. Yet, far from unsettling you, the sensation only serves to heighten the exhilarating rush of desire pumping in your body.

Pushing your head to the side with a firm grip, Heeseung forces you to face the sight of Soonyeol's lifeless form. The vibrant energy that once animated her is now replaced by a haunting stillness, her body lying pale and broken before you.

"Tell her," Heeseung's voice is low, his tone commanding as he demands your acknowledgement of the grim reality before you.

You should be repulsed, the sight of Soonyeol's lifeless body enough to shatter the euphoria of the moment. But instead, there's an unsettling allure, a twisted fascination in knowing that what once belonged to her is now yours and she has no way to steal it back from you. Her dolls, her house, Heeseung - it all belongs to you now, a chilling testament to the power you hold over her legacy.

"I'm Heeseung's, only his," you declare, your voice wavering slightly as conflicting emotions swirl within you. Alaida gleams at the sight, happy that her lover is now only hers, but you still feel sorrow for the girl.

Conflicting emotions swirl within you like a tumultuous storm, battling for dominance as you and Heeseung's ancient love wrestle for control of your consciousness. But deep down, you understand that you are her now, and she is you - merged together in a dance of shared existence. There is no longer a distinction between you versus her; she chose you to carry her soul, binding you together in a singular entity.

In the wake of Alaida's inhumane recklessness, it falls upon you to navigate the delicate balance between humanity and evil. Despite the darkness that threatens to consume you, you cling to the flicker of compassion that still burns within your heart, a beacon of light amidst the shadows. You had to fight against her demons with your light.

Heeseung's grip tightens on your head as he pounds into you with unrelenting force, his touch igniting a fiery ache that resonates through your exhausted body. With each harsh thrust, he draws you closer to the edge, his touch a symphony of sensation that pushes you towards the brink of ecstasy.

Your walls tighten around him, the feeling of your impending release building with each thrust. As you sense yourself slipping over the edge, elation consuming you in its fiery embrace, you try to banish thoughts of his old minder from your thoughts. The sight of her is far from erotic, and you struggle to maintain focus amidst the conflicting desires of Alaida that tug at your consciousness.

"Heeseung, please," you plead, your voice a desperate cry for respite from the haunting images that threaten to intrude upon your pleasure.

Relenting to your plea, Heeseung releases his hold on your head, his hips slowing their frenzied pace as he responds to your need for a change in position. With a deft movement, he tosses your legs over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he locks you in place, your focus now on him as he leans over to kiss you.

The messy buck of Heeseung's hips betrays his impending climax, his jaw slack and eyes screwed shut as he fights to maintain control. The sight of you, glistening and writhing before him, threatens to throw him over the edge, but he grinds his teeth, determined to hang on just long enough for you both to reach the peak together.

With a newfound sense of intensity, he resumes his actions, expertly rubbing your clit. The rawness infuses your body, sparking a fire that becomes hotter with each passing moment.

"Cum for me, baby. Do it," Heeseung orders through the veil of pleasure, his voice husky with want as he drives you to release. In this moment of shared intimacy, there is no place for doubt as you give in to the euphoria, your shouts combining with his as you both succumb to overpowering pleasure.

You clench around him as you cum for the third time tonight. Every muscle in your body tenses as you reach the heights of your pleasure. Heeseung's release joins yours, his seed shooting into you and coating your walls. The sensation of his warmth flooding your depths only serves to intensify your own climax, amplifying the euphoria that courses through your veins.

He kisses you as your heartbeat steadies, his tongue whirling in your mouth as he pumps slowly into you before pausing his hips to let the final flow of his cum sit deep inside you. There’s that shine of red light as you take all of him, all that he offers.

"Y/N..." Jaeyun's voice breaks the intimate moment, a soft plea tinged with desperation as his fist drags down the door. You can almost hear the tears in his eyes and the sorrow in his voice as he realises he has lost you; the doll, defeated, reflects the anguish of being replaced, claimed by another.

Heeseung strokes your face gently, his touch a soothing balm to your conflicted soul. He sees the war in your eyes, the shift between lust and guilt. "He doesn't understand you like I do, baby," he murmurs, his voice a blend of affection and firmness. His words wrap around you, reassuring you of the unique connection you share.

You battle within yourself as you feel Alaida settle inside of you. If she has chosen you, then that means she must have always been here with you, through everything, a silent passenger in your life. But now, thanks to Heeseung, she has made herself known, you’ve let her in to become one with you.

She feels both euphoric and dangerous, her presence a heady mix of power and peril. Your heart aches to leap out of your chest, to be with Jaeyun, to comfort him in his pain, to tell him you're sorry and that it will never happen again. Yet, her yearning to stay with Heeseung, who cradles you with possessive tenderness, is overwhelmingly strong.

You realise you will need to find a balance between you and Alaida if this is how you are to live. You can sense the darkness within her, the same ominous aura that surrounds Heeseung, but you cling to your humanity, determined not to lose yourself completely. If she is to stay, she must let you take the lead.

And right now, you’re in desperate need to fix this.

Heeseung sees your demeanour change and slowly slides out of you with a wet slick, his cock glistening with your juices. Running his fingers through your hair which for some reason opens the floodgates of your eyes, the tears that you couldn’t weep earlier when facing Soonyeol suddenly come crashing down.

“Y/N, why are you crying?” he asks puzzled, shushing you softly, “You wanted this life and now you have it. You should be happy.”

His tone is understanding but you can sense the annoyance underlining his words. He knows you’re still a human but he didn’t think you would be crying for the sake of a girl who you hardly knew. But it wasn’t just her you are crying for, it’s her dolls, your dolls. How are you meant to live happily in this house when all of them but Heeseung will probably detest you?

Even the thought sends a new rush of disdain to your heart, eliciting another sob from your lips. “I didn’t want it like this, the others will hate me and I can’t live like that,” you cry, sucking in sharp breaths to self-soothe yourself and prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Although you’re going through emotional turmoil, it’s nice to know that you’re still you after all.

“If they hate you, I’ll kill them,” Heeseung says, shrugging his shoulders and wiping your tears away, “If any of them even look at you the wrong way I will make sure they suffer.”

You don’t want that, you want nothing but their happiness inside this mansion and with what you’ve done, that might be hard for them to achieve. If Heeseung kills them or tortures them in any way, then it would only hurt you more. The tears flow freely as you think about the dolls and their fate, clinging to Heeseung’s wrists as you squeeze. “Heeseung, please,” you beg with the Prince, glancing up at him in hopes the waterworks are enough to persuade him to leave them unharmed.

He can’t blame them for hating you when you banished their lover to the hollow cell of the porcelain doll.

Rolling his eyes, he huffs out a frustrated growl. “Okay, I hear you, baby. Stop fucking crying.” His voice is curt and authoritative, but as you cower slightly, he softens. He places a tender kiss on your nose, his demeanour shifting from unimpressed to slightly more compassionate. Now that you harbour his first love in your heart, he’s become a bit more lenient with you.

“Just close your eyes and cover your eyes,” he murmurs, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Don’t move until I tell you to, okay?”

Obeying, you nod and close your eyes, your hands pressed against the canals of your ears. You cannot hear or see anything but just to make sure, Heeseung places his hands over yours and presses tight. The pressure on your head is sore but you grit and bear it.

He keeps you like this for a while, the very faint sound of his voice vibrating in your skull as the decibels run from his mouth down his doll form. You wonder if this is it? If he has found his Alaida, surely he could just whisk you out of this body and into a doll just as he had done Soonyeol. Your soul is merged with his lovers but that doesn’t mean you’re safe. Maybe he is already sick of you, maybe-

“Open your eyes, Princess,” he utters lowly, releasing his grasp from your head and kissing your forehead.

He can’t get rid of you, because he loves you. Not as Alaida but as Y/N. His actions speak what he refuses to. There’s a new version of Heeseung standing in front of you, the version you witnessed as he fucked you a few weeks ago, the demon in him relenting to make way for his humanity to shine through. Heeseung said you were his and only his and he meant every word of it.

That does beg to question: what he has just done, if nothing to you?

You blink your eyes open and strain to focus your hearing. Silence greets you—no more cries from Jaeyun, no banging on the door from Jongseong, nothing at all. The first emotion you feel is fear, a petrifying dread that he might have taken them away from you. You cannot bear to lose them because then what was all of this for?

"Heeseung," you whisper, your voice trembling. "Where are they? What have you done?"

Heeseung's eyes soften momentarily as he strokes your cheek, but there's a sinister glint in his eyes. "They're fine," he reassures you, his voice low and deceptively soothing. "I haven’t hurt them... yet. I’ve rewound their soul clock to an hour ago. Anything that happened within the past hour is lost on them."

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, a stark reminder of the power he wields and the casual way he manipulates the lives around him. "What if they remember?" you ask, trying to keep the fear out of your voice.

Heeseung's smile is cold, his grip on your cheek tightening slightly. "They won’t, but if they do... well, I have ways of ensuring their silence." His tone is almost playful, but the underlying menace is unmistakable. “But if we want to keep this between us right now, we have some cleaning up to do.”

Swiftly, he moves to grab Soonyeol’s body, carrying her with disconcerting ease to the freestanding wardrobe and stuffing her in there. You sit in stunned silence, watching as he disposes of the lifeless form with a casual efficiency that makes your blood run cold. The contrast between his tenderness towards you and his ruthless treatment of others leaves you reeling.

You can't believe how easily everything has turned in your favour, or how effortlessly Heeseung wields his power. His dominance is both intoxicating and terrifying, and you realise just how deeply you're entangled in his web.

Heeseung closes the wardrobe door with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine. He turns back to you, his expression a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness. "See, Princess? There's nothing we can't handle together," he says, his voice low and smooth. “We will keep her in there for now until I move her car. Can you distract them, baby?”

Picking up your clothes, he hands them to you before getting himself dressed. Time is not on his side before Jongseong starts asking questions.

You look around the space and breathe a sigh of relief. Of course, it’s wrong to want your cake and eat it too, but nothing feels as good as this moment. This house, the dolls you love so deeply—they are all yours to own. And you have one Lord of the Flies to thank.

“Heeseung?” you begin, hopping off the table and walking to hug him tight. “Thank you.”

Shaking his head, he wraps his arms around you and kisses the crown of your head. “I will give you anything you want in this life. Anything for my girl.” Drawing back, you stare up at him, any emotion but gratification and love now vanished—it's amazing how quickly a guilty conscience can be smothered by love.

“Thank you for bringing her to me,” he whispers. You think he is talking to you directly, gratitude flowing in his words as you brought his Princess here. But he is talking to Alaida. The ancient demon knew you would be the perfect person to love Heeseung just as she had, and that is why you were chosen.

As you finish dressing, Heeseung's eyes follow your movements with a predatory intensity. “Distract them well, baby,” he says, his voice softening into a dangerous whisper. “Make sure they don’t suspect a thing. And put this doll back where you found it.”

Heeseung reaches around to grab the doll and kisses it softly, finalising his relationship with the soul within. He hands her to you with care, much more tender than the body she possessed. You like to think that the fondness he had for Soonyeol wasn’t just in the hopes that she was his long-lost lover but because they formed a bond. Perhaps that has more to do with your hope that Beelzebub withholds some humanity inside him in the form of Heeseung.

“Lock the door when you leave,” he asks, planting one final kiss on your forehead before retreating to the entrance to rid the house of Soonyeol’s car before the other dolls see.

You hold Soonyeol carefully, feeling the weight of the soul it contains. The doll's eyes seem to stare back at you, empty yet full of a lingering presence. You exit the room and lock it as instructed, cradling her in your arms as you walk up the hallway. The walk there is tiresome, in all honesty, you would just shove her on the first available spot but that’s just Alaida talking, you want to give her the respect she deserves. It’s the least you could do considering you did this to her.

Placing it gently in its original spot, you take a moment to steady yourself. You straighten her purple-tinted dress and fix her hair fondly, hoping that Soonyeol could at least find some peace inside the beautiful girl. The blood from Soonyeol’s body is still marked on the doll, so you quickly lick your thumb and wipe it away, the red staining your fingers.

Staring down at the blood, you feel compelled to suck the crimson up like a vampire in need of a feast. The metallic scent fills your nostrils, intoxicating and primal. You bring your thumb back to your lips and sip the blood, savouring her taste on your buds; she is sweet, just like her soul. The warmth of the blood sends a shiver of delight through you, a macabre indulgence that leaves you yearning for more.

Just in time, Jongseong appears beside you. Your stomach churns with dread, wondering if he would remember anything at all from the previous hour. Panic flares momentarily in your chest, but you force it down, steeling yourself.

To your relief, Jongseong doesn’t seem upset. Instead, he kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips lingering with a brotherly warmth. He gently wipes away the tears that had crusted on your face from earlier. “You’re going to miss this place, huh?” he asks, oblivious to the truth surrounding him.

Now is the time to put those drama classes you took when you were 14 to good use and fake it until you make it. Nodding pitifully, you pout up at him, your eyes shimmering with feigned sorrow. “I’m going to miss all of you more than the cleaning, I’ll say that,” you giggle, reaching for his hand, interlocking your fingers together.

The action makes Jongseong mirror your pout, his expression softening as he buys every word you say. “Fuck, I think we’ll all miss you, Jaeyun mostly though.” He goes to say more but he stops himself, making you tilt your head in wonder. A flicker of something crosses his face, a hint of a secret he’s holding back.

Brushing it off, he shakes his head and smiles, trying to dispel whatever thoughts had crossed his mind. “Soonyeol isn’t home yet. Do you want a cup of coffee while we wait?”

This is your chance to keep them distracted, to lure them away from this side of the mansion while Heeseung cleans up your mess. With a beaming grin, you shake your head in agreement, “I would love one. Let’s grab the others.”

Pulling him in the direction of the kitchen, he wraps an arm around you and walks alongside you, unknowing of what is to come. You glance back at Soonyeol and suddenly, you see a tear fall from her ceramic eyes. She’s crying because she is watching you steal her life, her love, and she cannot do one thing about it.

A smirk plasters on your face and the red in your eye gleams at her sorrow, happiness filling your chest as you finally come to terms with the fact that your dreams have finally come true.

You’re home.

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @emi-en @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

#enhypen smut #enha smut #heeseung smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #heeseung x reader #tdh #aj writes

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steviesbicrisis · 1 year

Text

Thinking about YouTuber Steve who’s gaining a lot of popularity with his weekly vlogs. The routine is very similar: he goes to work, hangs out with friends, acts silly for the camera, cooks for his roommate, watches movies with his roommate, goes out with his roommate.

His roommate is there a lot.

His new growing fanbase doesn’t take long to divide into factions regarding Steve’s dating life and sexuality; There are ships, OTPs, people who want him single so they can date him, and a surprisingly small portion which questions his heterosexuality, which gets always shut up by the following compelling arguments:

“stop assuming he’s gay.”

“Steve doesn’t look gay. He’s just a guy, a former jock, who loves to cook and hangs out with friends. A friend more than the others, but it’s his roommate so it makes sense, right?”

“And yes, they do cuddle while watching movies, but who doesn’t love a cuddle? You don’t have to be gay for that.”

“Sure, they hold hands when they go out but the city is crowded and they might lose each other.”

“Since when two male friends can’t be close without assuming that they’re gay?”

“Have you ever seen them kiss in ten minutes of weekly vlog? No, so drop your gay agenda already.”

And Steve Harrington, who started the whole vlog thing in the first place because he wanted to update his friends who live miles away and still doesn’t know how he got this much heteronormative bullcrap in his comments, has had enough.

One day, Steve Just-A-Guy Harrington, wakes up and chooses violence.

He replies to a tiktok comment that says “stop assuming he’s gay” with another video.

It begins with Steve glaring at the camera “oh yes please, stop assuming I’m gay.”

Then there’s a quick motion and Steve is pulling a curly haired guy into frame: Eddie, his roommate/platonic friend/totally not his boyfriend of 5+ years.

Eddie yawns, looking sleepily at the camera “are you vlogging?”

“I’m proving a point” Steve replies, then kisses him. They almost get lost into it, but Steve is a man on a mission, so he pulls back and turns to the camera.

“This is Eddie, my boyfriend. Not a friend who’s a boy, you delusional homophobes, we are together, a couple, in a relationship. We haven’t been just friends for over 5 years. We live together, he isn’t just a roommate.

And even if he was just my roommate, do you think I would live with this” he squeezes Eddie’s cheeks between his fingers and zooms in to show his face up close. Eddie blinks a couple of times, but let’s Steve do whatever he wants.

“Do you seriously think that I would live with this 24/7 and stay straight? Like, are you insane?” He gives Eddie a quick smack on the lips, leaving him blushing and more confused than ever.

Usually, it’s Eddie the one getting almost feral over Steve, not the other way around.

He doesn’t complain.

“So yeah, stop assuming I’m gay. Because I’m bi, you homophobic little shits.”

The video ends with Eddie pulling Steve for more than a quick peck on the lips, and Steve throwing the phone on their couch, face down.

Somehow, under Steve’s video, there’s still someone that comments “I mean, this doesn’t mean anything. It’s just bros helping bros, right?”

Steve is too busy making out with his “bro” to read it.

#idk what is this #but Steve will not stand heteronormative bullshit #sometimes the queerness is painfully obvious and ppl still refuse to see it #and if they have to they would just assume ‘gay’ and nothing else #because all the other letters in LGBTQIA+ are silent apparently #idk what got me in this mood lmak #I’ll go work on my other queer shit now #peace #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and eddie #stranger things #steve x eddie #bi steve harrington #sbc writes

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the-tarot-witch22 · 2 months

Text

Your future spouse late night thoughts about you 18+ - Pick a pile

Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3

Liked my blog or readings? Tip me! | My Paid Readings | My insta

Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!

Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!

How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!

Note : This reading is based on my intuition and channeled messages from tarot cards.

I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!

Pile 1:

(The cards I got for you guys - The magician, 6 of cups, wheel of fortune and 4 of swords)

Their thoughts about you is quite solemn or like emotional, they are quite a softie when it comes to you honestly, i wanted to give something 18+ for you guys but the energy here is so pure honestly or atleast that's how they wanna start with, i feel they don't want to scare you away just yet, like not much r rated haha, but i will channel everything i can, okay so i feel they are quite in awe or in love, like they want to meet you a hopeless romantic energy, looking at moon asking universe or upper power if they will meet you soon, they want to hurry honestly, I heard "you're mine baby" "no matter whatever you are doing right now, whoever is with you", "i am the one for you hope you know that", they want to kiss you a lot, like every part of you, want you to feel loved and you belong with them, like your body, soul has a name of their engraved on it, that's how much they want you to feel at home, at first they were being quite secretive not opening everything or feelings they have for you but I feel they are trying now, I also feel or heard that they want to push you on bed, tie you up, watch you while they fuck every part of you, they are sweet as hell and as well as horny for you, they want you to watch while you suck them, they want to fuck you deeper so you forget everything but them, They definitely want to put you on pedestal in every way they can, they wanna give you after care, touch every part of you they crave your soul and body, they feel they have knownn you for lifetimes, a literal past life connection here, yet they don't have you, they miss you, your time with them , i heard it's honestly funny "how someone can never meet and yet crave for each other", they wanna lay in your arms relax with you, watch silly rom coms, horror anything you desire, but they want you very badly, "when we meet i will tie you up till you get bored of me" in a very teasing tone, he is quite balanced individual in both his sexual desires and emotional desires.

WoW pile they are quite a romantic, huh? you guys deserve it! they are waiting for you too I feel you will meet them very soon.

Pile 2:

(The cards I got for you guys - 5 of swords, 8 of wands, 4 of wands and 6 of swords)

Okay so first thing i feel is very passionate, like they just want to fuck the soul out of you, holy shit, starting with big words and love for you, they are definitely not feel like themselves when they are with you, like they are different person "i cant control my feelings, my desires i have for you" how my body reacts when it sees you, it needs you as much as i do, I also heard i am quite jealous that you are not with me right now, is it because it's a payback for me to meet you late?, i hear them sighing a lot, they want to compete with everyone who has ever been with you even your fictional crushes like they can't make you feel like i do, they are definitely very competitive, their thoughts about you at night is quite filled with lust and desire, i see a scene where they are letting off their steam jerking off with the desire and spark they feel within themselves how they just want you, and only you I also feel they want to be very rough with you like just show you who you belong to, for some of you, you both are into hardcore sex, and they wanna make you cum with their mouth, they want you to sit on them, show that little pretty thing which is wet just for them, they want to tease you a lot too, like not letting you come at first, i feel they want to hear you say "please let me come", i see them smirk a lot, satisfied how much you react to them, "keep running away from me, but you can't go far because our souls are intertwined, my darling" gosh pile 2 they are quite very hungry for you, they want to fuck you all day or night touch you in a way no one ever has, they want you to fuck in the mirror they might want to record these moments for you both so you have special memory of it, more than their pleasure , they want YOU to feel pleasure in a way that no one ever had, they want to use dildo on you such foreign objects, i also feel they want you to wear vibrator while you go out with them, and when they feel jealous they will turn it on, i heard "my dirty little slut".

Wow pile 2 they are quite fiery aren't they, they just had so much to say to you their thought about you is so deep and filled with love and lust. Love it for you guys!

Pile 3:

(The cards I got for you guys - 10 of pentacles, 7 of wands, 6 of wands, 5 of cups, ace of swords and 8 of wands)

Okay so first thing I feel is they are missing you like a lot, when i started doing your reading and cards my heart felt sad for some reason they could be yearning you and they definitely want me to tell you "how much your absence in their life is impacting them", they are quite turned on by thought of you, your body is their temple, they want to worship you, they want to feel comfortable with them sexually or non sexually, they just want you to feel at home with them, they are feeling quite lonely without you, i heard "i love her laugh", their thoughts about you is quite desperate, but okay let me channel something 18+ for you, they are quite needy for your body, they want you to touch yourself or you to touch them or their intimate parts, they want to gently fuck you, I feel they are quite sensible or have gentleman thoughts for you. They are quite respectful, i also feel they wanna put efforts while they fuck you, politely touch you like you will break in their arms, they are quite caring, and soft for you and with you. i also feel they would want to or love to suck on you breasts to make you feel very good. They want to hear you scream their name, They think of you as their biggest achievement their prize, that they got for good or past deeds, they also want to be sneaky with you like I see a place where you are both only and emotions are so overflowing that you end up having sex their, a beach at night, or some abandoned or deserted place, their energy is quite calming they even calmed me down, they want everyone to see you belong to them, As I said they could be very sad for you like they miss you, "needing you by their side energy", they want you to know that sex isn't only two people having orgasm its more than that, its filled with love spark, connection, when they think of you all they want is to rest by your side, just be their while you do your own thing, they want you to know they have much more to show you when you guys actually meet! You guys can check out pile 1 too!

Good luck pile 3 xD! Their thoughts weren't much 18+ but more sweet. And I feel it's because they take sex much more seriously or not much openly, so that could be why this pile ended up being sweet lol.

Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3

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nanamiluvs · 7 months

Note

can you do nsfw alphabet for gallagher? :3

just yes omg gallagher is so ngh... like someone commented on my last gallagher post, i want him and wriothesley to tag team me idc

gallagher nsfw alphabet !

pairing : gallagher x reader

rating : explicit

wc : 2.4k

warnings : smut content, reader is afab but no pronouns used, not beta read, reader is called "miss" and "baby" and "good girl", reader is smaller than gallagher in size, size kink, cum play, slight pet play, come eating, gallagher likes to torture himself, manhandling, praise kink, choking, spanking, gallagher eats pussy like a champ, face-fucking, very slight hair pulling, begging, mentions of creampies, overstimulation, teasing, so much teasing

a : aftercare

gallagher is not the biggest practitioner of aftercare, he'd much rather you two just lay down in a mess and leave the cleaning to later. but he's an acts of service type of man. if you want to be cleaned, he will clean you. if you want to be held, he's cuddling you already. gallagher can do whatever you want to do the point it comes off as weird, but really, he's fine with whatever you like. he wants whatever you want. this man can eat his own cum out of you with pleasure for fuck sake.

b : body part

gallagher loves how big he is. he knows his frame is large, wide shoulders and a build adorned with hard muscles. he acts like he's not aware of it, but he loves how you fit in his bulky arms. for you, gallagher loves anywhere he can grab or run his hands through: your waist, your tummy, your thighs, hips, throat- anywhere, really. to be honest, it doesn't matter but on a surface level, gallagher seems to be the type to prefer a heavier body.

c : cum

gallagher is messy and i mean it. he likes to see a mess on you or himself, he doesn't care, just make a mess. he loves to see his cum dirty your body, sprayed across your tits and stomach or seeping out of your cunt. his cum has an off-white color, thicker in density and he cums a lot. you don't know how it's possible, but the man just doesn't stop cumming. he loves to smear his cum too, even more when you scold him for it, laughing like a little boy.

d : dirty secret

gallagher is not shy, but the idea of wanting you to put a collar on him and treat him like a dog, is a little embarrassing. if you ask him to, he'd say something like 'eh, whatever you want, miss' and oblige. it's definitely not as if he's so fucking hard he's turned on by it, he just wants to go along with your requests.

e : experience

gallagher is probably quite experienced. his job is quite stressful, so why not let off some steam with some hook ups here and there? he's not one to judge you whether you're experienced or not, he simply thinks of his experience as an advantage to pleasure you. he knows what he's doing and he knows it so well.

f : favorite position

gallagher has no set favorite position since this man finds joy in throwing you around. sex with gallagher never finishes in the same position as it started, he will find a way to manhandle you to his whims. probably likes g-whiz, table top and upstanding citizen a lot. get used to him moving your body and handling you into another position he wants because he loves doing it.

g : goofy

gallagher is, most of the time, very laid-back during sex. there are times he's more serious, but usually it's him cracking a few jokes here and there. he doesn't see sex as a necessarily romantic thing- gallagher is someone who prefers to fuck rather than to make love. he's extremely cocky too, so much that you'd want to punch his grinning face in with your fist, but well, that's gallagher for you.

h : hair

gallagher definitely has a happy trail and i don't care what anyone else says. he's probably hairy down there, he doesn't let it get too wild since that bothers him but don't expect to see a completely bald surface. he likes it if you're more on the hairy side as well. for gallagher, the messier, the better when it comes to sex.

i : intimacy

gallagher, like i said, doesn't view sex as strictly romantic. he's often teasing you, dirty words spilling through his lips as he fucks you into utter bliss. this man fucks like he has no respect for you. the other times he's on the intimate side, gallagher can't help but smile fondly as his hips roll into yours, arms wrapped around your body with his low voice whispering in your ear. it's so unfair, how he can pull off both with ease.

j : jack off

gallagher probably jacks off once or maybe twice a week at max. i imagine him doing it after work, before he gets to sleep. he mainly does it to destress. i also imagine him wanting to see you masturbate, rough and calloused hands palming his clothed groin as he watches you pleasure yourself. he will not touch you unless you're done, cunt all wet and messy for his thick cock to fill up. and fill up, he will.

k : kink

gallagher is honestly the kinky type.

‎ ‎ ‎ begging : gallagher wants to see you beg. beg to cum, beg for him to finish inside you, beg for him to fuck you, beg and beg and beg. he finds it so arousing, the way you can go so vulnerable for a man like him. he's a meanie, too, making you beg for anything.

‎ ‎ ‎ choking : gallagher would hate to hurt you, but sometimes he can't help but wrap his hand around your throat as he fucks you. he's never too harsh, he knows how strong he is, his touch is more like a reminder of his presence. his thumb plays with your lip before he leans in and kisses you. he also absolutely loves getting choked by you, your smaller hands wrapped around his neck as you ride him, a teasing grin on his face as he struggles to breathe. he says you don't need to worry about going overboard as he can simply stop it if you do so. trust me, he doesn't want to.

‎ ‎ ‎ overstimulation : gallagher hits me as the type to be able to do it for hours on end, obsessed with making you cum over and over again before burying himself inside. he loves fucking you silly, your whining and moaning sound like music in his ears. loves overstimulating himself too.

‎ ‎ ‎ praise kink : gallagher has a praise kink. it's frustrating at this point, the way he can get you to do anything with that stupid smirk on his face and whispers of his, praising you for everything you do. so much that you want to choke him, yet he's just so sickeningly sweet with his words. anything you do well, he will praise you for it. he turns it into a game of whether you'll get his approval or not, going as far as making you beg and crawl for it, and then praise you for how well you've been. 'y'can do it for me, can't ya? good girl.' he can get you to do almost everything he wants with the providance of praises. likes to be on the receiving side on the times he's on the submissive side, often begging for praises during it. 'ah, i've been a good boy, right, baby? right? come and sit on it, please.'

‎ ‎ ‎ size kink : gallagher wants to tower over you. he wants to hold both of your wrists with one hand. he wants to see how small your hands look compared to his larger ones, he wants to see those big fingers of his slowly disappear inside your pussy, filling you like a dick would. yet it's not even close enough to the feeling of his cock, so big and heavy and just too much. he smiles and pushes further inside, relishing in how much you struggle to take him. how many times has it been? are you still not used to his length? he teases as his frame wraps around yours with your back pressed against his chest, enveloping you with all the warmth radiating from the man. he loves how he's just so big compared to you.

l : location

gallagher cares little about things such as locations. if there's a surface, he can fuck you. he has no shame, he can and will do it everywhere you want him to. obviously won't force you if that's not your thing, happy to oblige in the privacy of your own home. the location really doesn't matter to him, because at the end of the day, it's your walls wrapping around his cock so deliciously.

m : motivation

gallagher has a high sex drive, so i think he doesn't need much additional motivation. but your reactions would be the biggest motivating point for him to continue, in love with the way you whine when he rubs your clit or the way you squirm under his hands as he caresses your body. he will go to heaven and back just to hear you moan in ecstasy. would get hard again at the sight of his cum seeping out your folds.

n : no

gallagher most likely wouldn't have a strictly negative opinion on anything. he's a firm believer that everything can be tested but he's not a fan of the idea of physically hurting you with knives or other sharp weapons.

o : oral

gallagher eats pussy like a craved man. it's either him holding you down by your thighs as you sit on him or your plush thighs threatening to crush his skull when he goes down on you. you may think he does it to pleasure you, in reality, you couldn't be more wrong. he eats you out because that's what pleasures him, the taste of your juices along with the melodies your moans sound like in his ears. he grows so hard it's unbearable, yet no, he won't stop to fuck you for real. his hips grind against the bed, dick aching with need in his pants, low moans spilling from his mouth as his tongue laps your slick. his stubble grazes your lips as his jaw moves, your hips desperately chasing the friction. he also loves pushing your head down on his length, watching you gag and choke around his thick cock as you struggle to take him in. he enjoys eating you out but also face-fucking you, although not as much as the former. his grip on your hair tightens as he gets closer to coming, your saliva and his precum mixing before he buries his cock in your mouth, cum spilling down your throat. he will definitely pull out if you don't like the stretch.

p : pace

gallagher has such a rough pace that it's intoxicating. his hips slam into yours so heavily, you can feel his whole body with the way he thrusts inside of you. he's not slow too, you wonder how he does it. each thrust fills your insides with vigor, groans coming from his mouth. his hips fasten as he comes close to finishing, and that takes quite the long time, the sensation overwhelming.

q : quickie

gallagher absolutely enjoys quickies and no one can convince me otherwise. he thinks they're just so useful for getting one out of his system with the load of his work. though most of the time, he prefers having his time with you.

r : risk

gallagher is probably open with taking risks when it comes to sex. anything you wanna try, he's alright with it- truly a gentleman.

s : stamina

gallagher can go on for multiple rounds on end. you don't know how he does it, he just cums and cums and cums until there's nothing left in his balls, yet it repeats all over the next day! his stamina is probably one of the highest of the star rail men.

t : toys

gallagher can use anything that makes the act more pleasurable for the both of you. it's usually him asking you to try out some new toy he got from who knows where.

u : unfair

gallagher is such a bully. he does nothing but to tease you and rile you up, he just can't shut up for one second! he makes fun of how you're so easily crumbled, how you must have no shame with the way you beg for his cock, how you turn into mush the moment you take his tip. he says all of those with a stupid smirk on his face that only widens when you scold him for it. he enjoys seeing you get teased and all shy so quickly. you want to bite him, punch his face as he keeps not shutting the hell up, his large palm coming down to slap your rear from behind as he laughs at you. 'what's that? oh? you think i'm too mean, miss? how cute, you know you love it.'

v : volume

gallagher is not the most vocal during sex but definitely not quiet. he's more of the groaner and grunter type instead of moaning. you can still make him moan, though, just ride him with your hands tight around his throat and listen to him singing.

w : wild card

gallagher likes how painful it is to have a boner. he leaves his pants on for the sole purpose of feeling his dick stretch against the fabric, begging for release. it hurts so much yet he loves the feeling, cockhead too sensitive and weeping by the time he frees it. he likes it when you sit on it, not putting it inside you but just sitting on it, forcing it to cower as you rub yourself along his length. likes it when you squeeze the shaft so tight that he can't help but curse. gallagher loves the pain if it's because of you.

x : x-ray

gallagher has the biggest or second biggest cock in all of star rail. he's just sooo large, longer and has so much more girth than average. it's a tan color fading into a furious red in the tip. it's so easy to get precum oozing out of it. definitely has thick veins sticking out here and there that you can feel inside of you. he knows how big he is yet he acts like he doesn't.

y : yearning

gallagher doesn't need to have sex that much but definitely wants to. it's okay if you don't want to, he can just rub one out if it's so urgent and nothing if it's not. likes to do it with you almost every day to every other night.

z : zzz

gallagher probably has problems sleeping, i mean, have you seen this man? so when it's night and you're in your home, it's when he falls sleep the most easily. he doesn't want to let you go, his big arms wrapped around your body as he pulls you into his chest, spooning you as if he was a little kid and you were his favorite toy to sleep with.

reqs are open !

i mainly write for jjk, hsr and genshin ✩

#gallagher x you #hsr gallagher x reader #gallagher x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail gallagher #honkai star rail #hsr gallagher #hsr x reader #hsr #gallagher smut #honkai star rail smut #gallagher hsr #gallagher hsr x reader

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itsonlydana · 8 months

Text

"Flower On My Skin" | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x human fem!reader 👑

Thranduil gets his hair braided and thinks too much.

warnings/tags: bittersweet, more fluff tho, swf, King Thranduil needs a break

words: 1,9k

an: this is a gift for the lovely @tigereyesf who always comments on my posts on ao3 🤍 the lyrics are from Noah Kahans song "Your needs, my needs'

+ masterlist +

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

Thranduil understands that permitting you to be near him might not be wise. It could very well rank among the least advisable decisions he's made in ages.

But he did, he invited you again and again, sending horses and carriages to transport you ever since he found out you traveled all the way from Dale by yourself whenever he sent a letter.

Until he didn't need to anymore.

Not because you wouldn't come, but because you didn't leave.

Never in a million years would anyone have guessed that the stoic Elvenking would invite a human to his palace on more occasions than his own kind and surely no one would have ever thought that he would start courting them.

Yet here he was, sitting in one of his many blooming gardens, swatting away the hand that was currently trying to gather his hair.

"Stop this," Thranduil's stern voice would've had any other shiver in fear of losing their head, though it only makes you giggle.

"Please, let me braid it again," you stable yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lean over, chest pressed against his strong back.

"No, you little nuisance. I shall not! You know of the meeting I will attend later, we do not have the time."

Even though he can't see your face, he knows you roll your eyes at him, he can feel it in the huff you let out before letting go of him. The warmth of your body disappears as you stand up from the bench and throw one challenging look over your shoulder.

Thranduil watches how you lift the skirts of the gown you're wearing, the finest of silks that you've adorned with little handmade bows from the village, and flop down into the grass. There is not one care on your face that the hems will surely stain and that there are perfectly suitable marmor benches all over the garden and only one of those occupied by Thranduil himself.

You seem to ignore them every time you two spend time out here, he noticed you are much more content with your naked feet buried in the high grass and your hair intertwined with the flowers that grow here.

At first, he couldn't understand the fascination you harbored with nature.

Of course, he had a deep appreciation for the forest surrounding his kingdom, the strong resistance of the trees had been an inspiration for the winding halls, the water flowing through the roots and gifting life and the ever so steady wind reminded someone who lived a thousand years that some things, though they change, never completely disappear.

You, on the other hand, could not be separated from nature in any way whatsoever. There had been the flowers, first only on your side of the bed when he'd invited you to sleep next to him, and one day he woke up to find a vase filled with Astilbe flowers on his nightstand and on his vanity as well.

You also spend most of your day either wandering through the woods (which left him restless and worried until you accepted the sword he had his blacksmith forge for you) or meeting him here in the gardens. He would never tell you but before you, he hadn't walked or maker-forbid, sat there for decades.

Now, he found himself soaking sunshine more days than not, reading Elvish poetry to you while you rested curled into his side with one of his hands brushing your hair, or, chasing you on his Elk through the forest, following the sound of your horse and your laughter.

Your infatuation with nature and the stubbornness of pulling him along made him fall for you, deeply and most ardently and he knew that one day he would need to survive the sight of forests and gardens and flowers without the urge to burn them to the ground for outliving you.

As he watches you examine the colorful flowers and gather them in your lap, he isn't sure if he will be able to contain that anger against the gods if the time comes.

You are oblivious to the dark clouds hanging onto his thoughts, he makes sure that you'll never see the heartbreak he lives through while loving you because he knows, he knows that you would do everything in your power to make him happy.

This is who you are, a human that lives and loves and pours all that you are into those around you, he sees it in the gentleness of your hands cupping the flowers before plucking them, in the way your tongue learned a new language for you wouldn't accept not studying it for an answer if you lived here.

You live to love and love to live.

Thranduil shifts, forgetting that there are guards stationed around the gardens who could see their King doing the unthinkable but he doesn't care.

Not with you sitting a few feet away from him, your dress spilled around you, a full smile on your face as you collect the flowers growing there for you, their little heads turning to you as if you are the sun for them as well, and not just for Thranduil.

If you notice him standing up, you give no sign, you don't even stop humming, and the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth at this stubbornness is far too strong to stop it.

"Melethril nîn," he says quietly and his shadow falls over your body. The symbolism and fear of him taking away the sun from you has him clench his jaw. His pain is impatient as if it doesn't know he's going to live longer than he wants to and that it has all the time to break him down.

He quickly shuts those thoughts away behind the sight of you tipping your head back to smirk at him.

This is not the time to dwell on the future, not if he can exist in the moments he shares with you instead of fearing the time when he'll have to think back on them.

"Don't tell me you missed me," you tease.

He scoffs and –surprising you enough to let out a squeak– lowers himself onto his knees next to you.

Eye to eye, he feels much more comfortable, despite the stains that he knows now graze his robes.

"You know," he starts and lets his gaze wander over the flowers in your lap, however, you managed to collect this many of them in such a short time awes him, "the meeting can wait."

You catch onto the meaning instantly, your eyes lightening up even more. The golden rays of the setting sun reflect in them and he reaches forward to cup your face in the palm of his hand and gently leans towards you, capturing your lips in a long kiss that has you gasping.

"Now," Thranduil swipes his thumb over your lower lip, as you separate, tugging playfully at it and giving into another kiss before he continues, "Have your way with my hair, my love. I know you did not collect those flowers for any other reason."

You gasp ingeniously. "You are by far the wisest Elf I've ever met," you say and scoot –maker, he makes a note to get another dress just like this made because surely this will be ruined by the time you leave the gardens– behind his back.

While you gather his hair in your hands, this time without him trying to stop you but relaxing into the soft tugging, you mumble: "So wise, they should make you King."

He chuckles at that. "Ah, but I would need a Queen by my side. Do you know where one could find on–ahhh," his teasing words get swallowed by a sigh as your fingers collect some fine hairs on the side of his head and surely completely on accident run over the shell of his ear to the delicate tip.

"Ooops," you sing and just as his body calms, you repeat the action, even have the gall to scratch the skin with your nails and he melts into a puddle.

His ears burn, not just the one your breath hits but the other one as well and he can feel the blood shoot into his face as well, crumbling the stoic and straight-laced composure of the King who is already on his knees.

"You witch," he presses out between his clenched teeth and hears you giggle. "I should have never told you about that," he murmurs more to himself, trying to regulate his heart beating inside his chest like a wild rabbit on the loose.

You laugh once, a "Pah!" while you tug on his hair, "You didn't tell me," you say and he feels something get pushed inside the braid you are working on, "I found out all by myself."

Thinking back to the night that started this completely outrageous behavior trait of you fiddling with his ears whenever he doesn't pay you enough attention or he says something that teases you a bit too much, he can't tell if you are right or him.

A few years ago he would have shut you down completely because the King would never be wrong but now he grumbles under his breath, agreeing that you must be correct.

Then again, there are many new things that you brought into his life.

He laughs more freely, and not just out of spite of viciously.

He cares more, for you, for his son, for nature and sometimes even for the dwarfs he trades with.

He is formed by you, shaped by your untamable ways of never letting a rainy day ruin your mood.

He is nothing but wax in your hands.

Here, sitting in the gardens and letting you weave flowers in his precious hair, he is no King, he is just a soul yearning for your touch, a flower reaching to bloom in your golden light.

Thranduil's eyes flutter shut as you braid and weave and run your hands over his scalp and through his hair.

He may have fallen asleep, lulled into a trance by the warm sun caressing his face and your voice humming a melody as sweet as any words that you speak, because when you let go of the delicate braids and let them fall into the rest of his hair, he opens his eyes to a pink and purple sunset.

The birds sing their last song and the trees rustle, shaking their branches and leaves as if they would ready themselves for the animals coming to rest in them.

There is a pleasantly chilled breeze that comes with nightfall, one that brings the smell of flowers and grass.

"There," you press a gentle kiss to the skin right behind his left ear, "all done."

For a moment Thranduil is disappointed that you are finished but then he turns to find your smile and all is right.

"Thank you, meldanya," he says, already closing in to express his gratitude with a soft kiss.

You nudge your nose against his, eyes shut in contentment. "Thank you, for letting me. Le ni meleth," you say quietly.

"Always," Thranduil's gaze wanders over you, bathed in rosé and golden hues, the cheeks flushed from the air, your hair wild and untamed, and flowers all over your lap. He grabs a few of them, inspecting the stems and probing them with his sharp nails.

"Let me repay the favor," he effortlessly lifts you, smiling wide at the laugh bursting out of you as he sets you between his legs and onto his robes.

"I want my Queen to wear a fitting crown."

#thranduil fanfiction #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit x you #lotr fanfiction #lotr x reader #lotr x you

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rafesaddiction · 8 months

Text

It's still not cheating when he's your best friend – Rafe Cameron x Reader (Part 2)

See here for part 1

Summary: You're excited to see your favorite band live. But a fight with your boyfriend threatens to cancel the trip, until someone you don’t expect to see, saves the day: your best friend Rafe Cameron.

Concept: best friend, only nice to her

Warnings: mdni! – smut, fingering, public, (kinda) dubcon, cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), hints at a toxic relationship, name calling (reader is called slut), protective!rafe

Word count: 3.1k

a/n The past weeks have been really hard for me due to health issues. But I've finally been able to write again. I had fun writing this and I hope you won’t be disappointed reading it. Please let me know your thoughts.

Taglist @dream-pink @dope-trope-105 @rafeinterlude @baby19sthings @yootvi @aaronhotchswife @lilo7sworld

He almost ruined it. For months, you had been looking forward to seeing one of your favorite bands at the beach festival. The day before the concert, your boyfriend told you he didn't want to go and he didn't want you to go either. You had a fight that started over something stupid and ended with him accusing you that you just wanted to go to the festival so you could run around naked and fool around with guys, like the slut you were. You cried when he stormed out and shut your dorm room’s door with a bang. You cried all night.

Your boyfriend was supposed to be the driver. And now on top of all the personal pain you were feeling, you had to explain to your friends that you no longer had a ride to the festival. Neither you nor one of your friends owned a car. You tried to get your parents' car, but they needed it themselves. In the group chat you discussed all kinds of possibilities, until one of your friends wrote that he had organized a car. Everyone cheered at that, and even you, despite of all those tears that kept running down your face, were relieved that you and your friends could make the trip. You not only wanted to see the band play, more important to you was to get out with your friend and forget about the argument you and your boyfriend had.

Your friend also mentioned that the car's owner would join us to the festival, to which everyone naturally agreed and was excited. You even promised to bake cookies for the mysterious hero.

But you didn’t expect it to be him. You could have guessed because that friend also went to high school with you and they had been friends then. Still, it was kind of a shock and you froze when you saw a familiar car on the parking lot next to the dorms. The Cameron family SUV.

You hadn't talked to him since that one night. That one night that should have never happened. That one night that had been the best night of your life. That one night when you had had the best sex of your life with your best friend, Rafe Cameron.

Rafe wasn't much of a texter, but he had texted you. You had written six different replies and never sent one. You had wanted to write him or call him several times. Like last night when your boyfriend had made you cry again. Suddenly you were very aware of how you must look. Your eyes all puffy from the crying.

Rafe was at the back of the car, loading bags into the trunk with the friend who had invited him to this trip.

He hadn't seen you yet, his back was turned towards you, and you were glad about it, because you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to feel. So you were more than relieved when one of your friends arrived shortly after you, pulled you in a hug and decided that you two could already get into the car which was much cooler than standing around in the burning sun, while you could leave it to the guys to load your stuff into the car.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, your friend to your right. She started chatting right away and you felt somewhat relieved that she didn't comment on your boyfriend's absence nor your puffy eyes. Shortly after, the rest of your group arrived, you were six altogether, and luckily the SUV was really comfortable – more comfortable than your boyfriend's old minivan.

Rafe got into the driver's seat, and for a moment, he looked at you through the rearview mirror, before you turned your attention to your friend, as you felt your heart skipping a beat at that moment. You were unsure whether you saw a smile flash over his face, and you didn't dare to look again to check, afraid your face might reveal too much of your inner turmoil.

Though the drive took several hours, time flew by quickly. You had been right. It was good being with your friends and having fun. Everyone was in a good mood, the music was good, there was lively chatting and laughter, there was drinking and snacking, and even stupid car games were played. You might have been a little quieter than usual, but no one seemed to notice – no one except Rafe, who again and again looked at you through the mirror, but never directly spoke to you.

The parking lot of the festival site was already quite full, but Rafe managed to find a good spot for the car. When you got out of the car, you stretched your arms and felt the sun on your skin. It was a very hot day and the car had been nicely air-conditioned. Since it was so hot and the festival was on the beach anyway, your friends and you decided to just wear your bathing suits. You got out of your jeans shorts and shirt, as you were wearing your bikini underneath. You saw Rafe take off his shirt, and one of your guy friends commented that he should put it back on as it would make them all look like total wimps compared to him. There was laughter and Rafe smirked as he casually flexed his chest muscles. It was true. Rafe did look fitter than most guys. It wasn't too much muscles, but he was big and looked strong. Sometimes you thought he looked too good to be real, like a statue of some Greek god… Rafe had caught you staring at him and you quickly averted your gaze, feeling heat crawling to your face.

Since everyone was hungry, your friends and you decided to get some pizza and drinks, and after that more drinks. Everyone was relaxed and had a good time. You smiled a lot – except when you looked at your phone and saw the notifications. Your boyfriend had sent you several texts and voice mails. You didn't open them, you had already seen in the preview window what those texts were about. Obviously he hadn't calmed down. If anything he was even more angry, even more hurtful in his messages.

When looking at the phone, you also saw the time. The band you wanted to see was about to play soon. You asked your friends to go with you closer to the stage, but no one really wanted to move. They said you could hear the music perfectly well from their current spot, besides the booze was here. To that everyone cheered and raised their cups. Everyone but Rafe.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don't have to. You can stay here, enjoy yourself. I'll just go on my own.”

“Quit that bullshit,” he said and came closer, he had put his cup away. “I'm going with you. So you won't get lost in the crowd. Besides, I know how much you want to see your third favorite band live.”

“You remember,” you gazed up at him, who stood now directly in front of you. You had to shield your eyes since the sun was shining so brightly, but you could definitely see a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I remember,” he said in a low voice, almost whispering and you couldn't help it, you gasped for air.

The smile on his lips turned into a smirk as he continued, “How could I ever forget you dancing to that one song for like all of junior year, hm? You're gonna do that dance again? Wouldn't wanna miss that.”

And he started moving his hips and his arms in a weird clumsy rhythm, imitating what was supposed to be you dancing. It looked ridiculous and you had to laugh.

You punched his shoulder. “Stop that. That's not how I dance.”

He kept on moving in that awkward way and you tried hard to stop laughing – suddenly feeling lighter and more relaxed than you had in weeks – since that night.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and pushed out your lips, pouting, but couldn't fight the giggles, as Rafe tried some elaborate pirouette which caused him to stumble, but he stopped, directly in front of you. All of a sudden he was calm and there was something so soft in his features which you knew he rarely ever showed anyone.

“Let's go,” it was almost a whisper, then he added in a louder voice. “We don't want to miss that song and that dance.”

You punched his chest, your hand almost hurting as it hit the hard muscle – and felt his hot skin. But you let him take your hand and lead you from the group of your friends who were engrossed in some conversation of their own. His strong hand holding yours felt good, it felt right. Rafe was your best friend. He was the one you trusted most, he was the one who made you laugh, no matter what.

Rafe walked towards the stage and tugged you along with him. When there were more and more people around, he pulled you close to his body. Still holding one of your hands, his palm touched your back as he walked behind you, keeping you very close. He made sure you didn't get lost in the crowd. His body shielded you from anyone bumping into you or spilling their drinks on you.

The place got more and more crowded and he had to slow down. You turned your head to look at him.

“This is okay,” you said.

Rafe frowned as he looked at you. “No, it's not. We're going to the front row.”

“No, Rafe, this is totally okay. I can see enough from here.”

His frown deepened. “No, you can't. You're too tiny.”

At that comment you frowned. “I’m not tiny. You're just a giant,” you said and wanted to punch him with your free hand, but you didn't have enough space to move your arm, so you just ended up placing your palm on his chest. Feeling his hard muscle, feeling his hot skin, and his heart beating. He placed his hand on yours and your breathing hitched.

Rafe held you even tighter to his body as he proceeded to walk to the stage. His strong arms held you, protected you. And despite all these people around you, you only felt him, his presence, his closeness, all around you. Your skin tingled where it touched his, and that tingling grew stronger and became something else. Something that went so much deeper. And you felt a too familiar pulsing in your core.

Some people complained and pushed and shoved, but one look at Rafe’s face and stature and they made room for you and him. He really managed to secure a spot in the front row for you, right in the middle and you got the perfect view of the stage, standing directly behind the first barrier. Only a few feet of empty space separated you from the stage. Rafe was standing directly behind you, his hands to both sides of you, resting on the rail, his arms caging you in – shielding you.

You wanted to turn and thank him, but in that moment the band entered the stage and started playing their first song. You were captivated by their performance and the great atmosphere their music created. There was cheering, singing, dancing all around you. People were pushing and shoving, but you only felt a fraction of that as Rafe's body pressed closer to yours. He was shielding you from all the crowd's wilder movements, while you could enjoy being part of this experience safely.

You even danced a bit, your back rubbing against Rafe's front. When you craned your neck to look back at him, you saw him grin. And you felt a grin on your own face.

The set list was great too. They played all your favorite songs and the lead singer managed to put some kind of spell on the audience when they played a couple of slower songs. Or that spell was just on you, and not caused by the singer, but by something or someone else.

You leaned back a little, your head resting against Rafe's broad chest, feeling his heart beat. You closed your eyes and your hips swayed to the slow rhythm of the song. Your skin touched his skin. And you didn't mind the thin film of sweat covering his body from the heat of the bright sun and the crowded place. You smelled his scent so intensely, it made you almost forget where you were. It just made you feel.

Your eyes opened, your upper body leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier. You watched the singer putting all his emotions into each and every note. Goosebumps crawled over your skin. But it wasn't from the singer's raspy voice. Rafe's hand touched your hip. Your back arched a little as your butt was pushed back. You gasped. Rafe's hand rubbed over your butt cheek, you felt the rough palm, the long fingers, the cool metal of his ring on your skin. The touch was light, too light, too gentle, too soft. Your mouth opened, but all sounds were drowned by the music and the noise of the people.

His fingertips, just his fingertips, tenderly touched the back of your thigh, moved to the inside of your leg. They moved up and one finger rubbed over the fabric of your bikini bottoms. It was like scratching and you flinched, but that didn't make him withdraw his hand. Instead, the finger pushed harder, pushed to part your folds, pushed to tease you, while the layer of clothes still was between you and his digit.

You felt heat rushing through your body, neither caused by the sun nor by the heat of the people moving around you. You did not perceive any of them. You just felt him, while your eyes were directed at the band on stage performing their emotional song.

Rafe’s finger moved along your slit with pressure. Through your bikini panties his fingertip was able to find your most sensitive spot at once and he began teasing it mercilessly. No one heard it, but you were sure, Rafe felt that you were moaning. You felt a growing need that threatened to take over all your senses. As if he knew that, felt that, perceived that, Rafe pushed the fabric aside – tantalizingly slow. And his fingers found you wet and yearning for his touch. A mewling sound escaped your lips as a finger pushed inside you. You felt your walls clench around the digit. And you felt Rafe tense behind you and you were sure you heard a groan.

The song had changed, you only now realized, its rhythm was faster, wilder. And so was Rafe's touch. His finger thrust into you, stretching your tightness, pushing deep, making you squirm. Your hands gripping the metal of the barrier for support. Your legs started shaking as Rafe added a second finger and began fucking you with his digits. He curled them inside you and your head went back to your neck as you moaned shamelessly. He pulled his fingers out completely, just to push them into you even deeper. Again and again.

The song grew louder, harder, fiercer – and so did his finger-fucking you. Your body trembled, your voice was hoarse and you were whining now. He pushed you further and further, closer and closer to the edge.

Then, all of a sudden, he leaned over you – maybe he was pushed by the crowd jumping about, maybe he needed to feel you closer too – and you could feel his hardness press against your back. You pressed your eyes shut as your climax hit you, hit you hard. The wave swept you away and carried you to another place, where all you did was feel, feel this, feel him.

His fingers fucked you through your orgasm. He had wrapped his arm around you, was holding you close to his body, and thus was also keeping you from falling, since your legs were shaking and you feared you no longer could trust them to support you.

Slowly he pulled his fingers out. And even though you still felt echoes of your high, this also left a feeling of emptiness inside you. A longing that was always there if he wasn't inside you.

You felt his breath close to your ear and heard him say something, but the music drowned his words. You turned your head, looking at him with hooded eyes and saw him lick his fingers.

The rest of the concert felt like in a haze. Rafe kept his arm around you, holding you close, while you watched the band play but could only listen to his heart beat, as your body was still shivering.

When the show ended, people started moving and Rafe took a step back to give you room to turn around to him.

“Thirsty?” he asked you, and you just nodded, not trusting your voice.

His hand on your back, Rafe guided you through the crowd back to your friends, and you had to admit to yourself that you wouldn't have found them on your own.

Rafe ordered something to drink for you at the nearby bar while you stood with your friends. One of them commented that you were glowing and that you looked totally blissed out. You touched your cheek and felt the heat, and felt that smile on your face. She asked if the show had been that good and you replied that it had been amazing. Your voice was hoarse and she suspected it was from you singing along with the band so loudly all the time. You didn't comment on that, just felt another wave of heat going through your body. As you turned, your eyes met Rafe's. A little smirk on his lips as he put a cup into your hand and took a swig out of his own.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outer banks #obx #dark rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #smut fic #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfic

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yunniverse · 13 days

Text

My Home

౨ৎ PAIRING— jeong yunho x reader

౨ৎ GENRE— angst, fluff, established relationship, fem!reader

౨ৎ WARNINGS— little bit of angst, mostly fluff, yunho is a soft boy

౨ৎ WORD COUNT— 3.6k

౨ৎ SUMMARY— it isn’t no way home. it’s one way home, and that way is yunho.

౨ৎ A/N— i just love yunho so much :( feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading, loves!!

You walk into your apartment, kicking off your shoes and placing your purse in one of the chairs at your kitchen counter. When you finally take a seat on your couch, sighing in relief at the feeling of finally getting to sit down after a lot of standing today at work. Suddenly, your phone buzzes, and you frown, grabbing it from beside you to look at it. —Excited for tonight!! It’s my turn to pick a movie ;) “Oh shoot!” you exclaim, jumping up as soon as you read the text, throwing the phone down and hurrying to get ready for a shower. Yunho can’t come over seeing you like this, even though he’s your boyfriend and he’s told you before not to worry about your appearance around him. You still like to feel good about yourself, though, as much as you can. After grabbing a change of clothes, you head into the bathroom to hop into the shower, hoping you’ll have enough time to finish before Yunho arrives, not to mention you still have to make dinner. Although, you might be able to convince him takeout is a good option to tonight. You find yourself lost in thought about the best way to convince him, when you hear your front door open. Your eyes widen as you turn the water off, rushing to dry off and change clothes. It obviously isn’t the first time Yunho has let himself in, in fact he does it quite often, but you’re usually a little more prepared. Leaving the bathroom once you feel presentable, you walk out of your bedroom and into the living room, looking around for your boyfriend. Suddenly, you feel someone place their hands over your eyes, laughing. “Guess who?”

You smile once you’re over the initial jumpscare, “Oh, I don’t know… Maybe my boyfriend who’s trying to give his girlfriend a heart attack?” “You barely flinched,” Yunho laughs, shaking his head as he spins you around, engulfing you in a hug, slightly lifting you off the ground. “Yunho!” you scold playfully, laughing once he puts you back on the ground. When you regain your balance, you look up at him, taking in his appearance today. His soft, chocolate brown hair frames his face, and he’d chosen a white, short-sleeved sweater, a choker necklace with the tiniest pearls all around it, finished off with black jeans. “You look like you’re going to an office or something,” you comment, quirking an eyebrow. “Not a comfy movie night.” “Sorry,” he pouts, his brown eyes softening, looking very puppy-like. “I just came from a meeting straight here.” “Don’t apologize,” you smile up at him. “You look really good, just not comfortable.” “It’s the jeans, right?” Yunho comments as you move around him to enter the kitchen, on a secret mission for your takeout menus. “I really need to ask if I can start wearing sweatpants to the meetings.” “Hm,” you hum, digging through your menu drawer. “Isn’t that the drawer of menus?” Yunho asks, taking a seat in one of your swivel chairs at the counter, watching you. “Yeah,” you look up at him sheepishly. “But babyyy,” Yunho’s shoulders slump as he whines. “You said you’d teach me to cook something today.” “I know, I know,” you step around the counter to him, wrapping your arms around his middle from behind, your chin resting against his shoulderblade as he leans against the counter on his elbows. “But we can do that next time, can’t we?” He turns around to face you, the small pout still visible on his lips, “You said that last time.” “I’m just really tired today,” you sigh, lowering you head for a moment before meeting Yunho’s gaze again. “We can order your favorite.” He pauses, thinking, “Alright, I guess. But next time?” “Thank you, thank you!” you beam up at him, throwing your arms around his shoulders in a tight, quick hug. “And yes, of course.” “I’ll hold you to it for real this time,” Yunho warns, making you nod quickly, overjoyed that he agreed so quickly.

When you try to remove yourself from his grip, he stops you, giving you another small pout. “No kisses?” “Huh?” you question, slightly taken aback by his boldness. “I’ve waited all day for kisses and cuddles, and I haven’t gotten any yet,” Yunho responds, giving you his puppy eyes that always make you fold. “Hm,” you pretend to think, but ultimately smile, leaning in closer to give him a soft, quick kiss, which tastes a little different this time, but a good different. “Are you wearing the peach chapstick I gave you?” “Yeah,” he breathes, looking a little shy. “I like it.” “So do I,” you grin cheekily, making him roll his eyes playfully before tickling your sides a little, making you squeal, giggling. “What do you wanna order?” Yunho asks once you’ve calmed down. “I said we’d order your favorite,” you raise an eyebrow at him. “So we’re ordering your favorite.” “We don’t actually have to, love,” he responds. “You’ve had a long day, and I’d like to make you happy.” “You’re too sweet sometimes, Yuyu,” you feel a swell of happiness in your chest at his care for you. “But I honestly just want to eat whatever you want.” “Honest?” Yunho asks, making sure. “Honest,” you nod, sticking your pinky out, something you both do to prove to each other that you’re telling the complete truth. He grins, linking his pinky with yours before lifting your joined pinkies to his lips, pressing a kiss to your finger with a wink that makes you swoon. “I’ll order, then,” he grabs his phone, getting ready to call. As he orders the food, you walk over to the living room, pulling out the plush, light blue blanket you usually use for movie nights. Yunho walks over to you once he finishes the call, laughing as he engulfs you in a hug from behind. “Yuyu!” you complain as he rests some of his weight against you. “Why are you being so cuddly today?” “You say that like I don’t do this every time we’re together,” Yunho scoffs, squeezing you once more before he releases you, plopping down onto the couch. “I just felt like mentioning it today,” you shrug, smirking as you plop down onto his lap with no warning. “Oof!” he grunts at the impact, shooting you a playful glare as he digs his fingers into your sides, tickling you until you give in, moving away from him to lay on the couch. “Yunhooo,” you whine after a few moments of him paying attention to the game show on the TV. He glances over at you to see your pout as you make grabby hands toward him. “What’s wrong, baby?” he asks, tilting his head to the side in question, resembling a puppy yet again.

“I want cuddles,” you respond with pleading eyes. “The food will be here soon,” Yunho counters, and you know he has a point, but he looks so fluffy with his fluffy brown hair and soft gaze. You can’t help wanting to have him to yourself for cuddles. “After we eat we can cuddle,” Yunho tells you, reaching for his phone to check his notifications. With a disappointed sigh, you look up at the ceiling, letting your arms drop onto your stomach. After a few minutes of silence, you look back over at him, perching yourself up on your elbows. “Your hair looks so soft.” He looks up from his phone to meet your gaze with a shy smile, “Thank you.” “I love your natural color hair,” you continue. “I’m glad it isn’t dyed right now.” “Yeah, I’m happy it isn’t dyed, too,” Yunho nods, agreeing. “I wanna touch it,” you immediately resort to puppy eyes, even though you already know he told you no to cuddles right now. “I know,” he responds cheekily, sticking his tongue out at you. “Rude,” you gasp. “Especially coming from someone who’s gonna pick Spiderman again tonight.” “Spiderman movies are good,” Yunho protests. “You look like Peter Parker with your natural hair,” you point out, making him scoff. “I’m not that good looking,” he responds, shaking his head. You toss a throw pillow at him, “Liar!” He laughs, tossing it back at you just as someone knocks on the door. Yunho jumps up to go get the food as you sit up, stretching. “It’s here!” he exclaims once he pays the delivery person. “Ready to eat?” After about an hour, you and Yunho finally make your way back to the couch, where you get settled to watch the movie. You’re about fifteen minutes into the action when Yunho shifts, his arm moving to rest around your shoulders, coaxing you to rest yours against his chest. His other hand finds yours under the blanket, interlacing your fingers with his. You pull his hand into your lap, glancing up at him with a small, sleepy grin, “I love you.” “I love you too, sunshine,” Yunho responds, pressing a sweet kiss to the side of your head. “I needed this,” you admit after a few moments, biting your lip as you absentmindedly play with Yunho’s fingers under the blanket. “You did?” he asks, looking down at you with curiosity. “Yeah,” you breathe. “I had a long day at work.”

“What happened?” Yunho asks, noticing your sudden shift in mood. “I just…” you trail off, your chin quivering slightly. “Everyone kept telling me I was doing everything wrong, and I tried to make them happy, but it’s never enough. Everyone always has better ideas than me and I feel useless.” “Baby,” Yunho frowns, sitting up more to turn you to look at him. “You’re anything but useless. And you can’t please everyone. You should know that.” “I know… I’m sorry,” you suck in a wobbly breath. “I didn’t mean to start crying and ruin our night.” “You aren’t ruining anything,” Yunho responds softly. “I want you to tell me when things are going wrong. It’s my job to be here for you, and I always will be. Alright?” You simply nod, shifting to wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. He coos at you, one hand rubbing your back soothingly while the other cradles your head against him. “You’re amazing, y/n,” Yunho tells you softly. “Don’t let anyone get you down. Promise?” You nod against him, too overwhelmed to say anything at the moment. When you’ve calmed down enough, you let a small smile take over your features, “You smell nice.” “Yeah?” he whispers, laughing slightly. “I think my new favorite scent on you is peach,” you pull away from his neck to look at him. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he smiles, his hands moving to cup your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks soothingly. “Feeling better?” “Yeah,” you nuzzle into his hands, your eyelids fluttering closed at his soft touch. When you open your eyes again, Yunho is gazing at you lovingly, a soft smile on his face. “What is it?” you whisper, feeling a little shy under his intense gaze. “I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Yunho responds, making your face heat up. “I love you too, Yuyu,” you tell him when you control the butterflies in your stomach somewhat. Yunho smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to yours in a soft kiss, which you melt right into. He has that effect on you. “I missed you this past week,” you tell him once you’re both settled back in, eyes on the TV screen again. “So did I,” Yunho responds softly, his thumb brushing against your knee under the blanket, making you shiver slightly before you snuggle further into his cozy sweater, letting your gaze fix back on the TV. It’s about fifteen minutes later when you start to grow a little bored of watching the movie, taking a quick glance up at Yunho, who still seems fully invested, his eyebrows furrowed slightly in concentration. Sneakily, you carefully slip your cold fingers beneath his sweater, giggling when he jumps, his eyes darting to you in shock. “Y/nnnn,” he whines, wriggling a little at the chill your hands have caused. “I was warm!” “Exactly,” you grin cheekily. “And my hands are cold.”

Yunho shakes his head at you, trying to relax again and ignore your cold fingers. You watch him look back at the TV, and you sigh happily, sliding your hands up a little further against his toned stomach. Yunho tenses for a moment and you hold back a giggle, knowing he’s struggling to stay put and not shove you off. Feeling even more mischievous, you wiggle your fingers slightly, laughing when he immediately jolts with a small yelp. “Sorry,” you mumble, though the smirk on your face that Yunho can’t see proves you’re not really sorry. “You know I’m ticklish,” Yunho huffs, his muscles still tensed underneath your hands. “I know, I know,” you respond, flattening your hands again, showing him you won’t tickle him again. “It won’t happen again, baby.” “It better not,” Yunho warns, but slowly starts to relax again. With a content sigh, you let your eyelids flutter closed, resting your cheek against Yunho’s chest, where you can hear his steady heartbeat. Soon, you find yourself growing sleepy, and you only feel more sleepy when Yunho’s fingers move to your head, softly massaging your scalp. You find yourself being pulled deeper into the soft lull of sleep as Yunho’s heartbeat thumps rhythmically beneath you. “Sweetheart,” you hear Yunho’s gentle, deep voice coaxing you awake. “Hm,” you hum, snuggling further into him with a small sigh. “It’s getting late,” he responds, much to your dismay. “I don’t want you to leave,” you shift, your chin resting against his chest now, looking up at him with sad doe eyes. “I don’t want to leave either,” Yunho replies, his fingers in your hair slipping down to cup the side of your head in his palm. You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand. “But I have to, unfortunately.” You huff, knowing you’re being difficult, but you’re sad you haven’t gotten to hang out with him much lately, and then you fell asleep for who knows how long. “But I was asleep, and you didn’t wake me!” you protest, pouting up at him. “You were so cute, though,” Yunho responds, sticking his lower lip out at you in a small pout. “I couldn’t wake you up.” “You could’ve,” you mumble, slipping your hands out from under Yunho’s sweater, to which he sighs in content at the loss of contact with your freezing cold hands, although they had gotten a little warmer. “How long was I asleep anyway?” you ask, yawning, as you move your hands to play with the little pearls on Yunho’s necklace. “About an hour and a half,” he replies, bracing for your exclamation of shock. “Yuyu!” you whine, tugging on his necklace a little. “We could have spent more time together if you’d woken me up!” “You seemed like you needed the rest,” he responds softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. You sigh, knowing you can’t be mad at him when he’s being this sweet. “And I know how hard you’ve been working, so I figured I’d let you sleep for at least a little bit,” he continues quietly, the softness in his gaze almost too much to handle. “Yunho,” you sigh, shaking your head slightly. “What?” he asks, worry suddenly flooding his features.

“You’re too sweet sometimes, you know that?” you finish, a cheeky smile growing on your face. “You can’t do that!” Yunho pouts. “You scared me!” “Aw, I’m sorry,” you giggle slightly. “It was the perfect opportunity.” “To make me think you were breaking up with me?” Yunho asks, his gaze sad, with a small frown. “What?” you exclaim, incredulous. “I’d never break up with you, Yunho. You know that.” “Okayy,” he responds, the sad look still in his eyes. With a playful eye roll, you lean forward, your lips meeting his in what was supposed to be a chaste kiss. Yunho has other plans, however, and moves his hand to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss as you melt into him for the thousandth time this evening. “I should go,” he mumbles against your lips as you sigh, disappointed. “I know,” you pout, laying your head down once again, trying to delay the inevitable. “I can’t get up unless you let me,” Yunho chuckles down at you, watching you with a fond gaze. “So, if I don’t, you’ll stay forever?” you ask, looking up at him suddenly. “Do you want me to?” he asks softly, and you blink up at him, your gaze flickering between his eyes, searching for his meaning. “Of course,” you respond quietly. “You know I’d love nothing more.” “So, if I asked you to spend forever with me, you’d say yes?” Yunho asks, his voice soft and full of love. “Are you?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows a little. “Am I what?” he responds, a small laugh escaping him. “Are you asking me to spend forever with you?” you repeat, though you’re pretty certain he already knew what you were asking. “If I was?” Yunho responds, voice almost a whisper. “I’d say yes in a heartbeat,” you reply with no hesitation.

“Well,” Yunho laughs a little, shifting to sit up, forcing you to as well. “That’s good news.” You’re beyond confused now as he moves to stand, and your heart drops when you realize he must be getting ready to leave for the night. “Yeah, it’s great news. What was the poin-“ you start, but cut yourself off when you see Yunho pulling something out of his pocket. “Yunho?” you question, heartbeat speeding up as he moves to one knee, holding a velvet box in his hands. “Y/n,” Yunho starts, looking up at you, his brown eyes sparkling in the dim lighting. “I’ve never been happier with anyone then I am with you. It’s torture having to be away from you for any amount of time, especially when I’m on tour for weeks on end. I mean it with my whole heart when I say you’re the only one I’ll ever want. So, even though I know this isn’t the ideal place to ask this, and this isn’t exactly how I wanted to ask you… I can’t wait any longer. Will you spend forever with me and be my wife?” He opens the velvet box in his hand, revealing a beautiful diamond ring. “Yunho,” you breathe, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall. “Yes, yes, yes!” you laugh, smiling as you throw your arms around his neck, squeezing him tightly. He stands slowly, still holding you, as you loosen your grip, letting him slip the ring on your finger. It fits perfectly. Holding it up in the light, you admire the way it sparkles, matching the glint in Yunho’s eyes as he watches you. “I love you,” he whispers as he reaches over to gently brush the stubborn tears off your cheeks. “I love you too, Yunho,” you reply, grinning, as you wrap your arms around his neck again. “So much.” He returns your smile before placing a tender kiss against your lips, one you immediately return. “How long have you had this?” you ask, gesturing toward the ring as you pull back. “A few weeks,” he responds, laughing slightly. “I was waiting for the perfect time, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.” “I’m glad you didn’t,” you reply, still smiling, realizing you haven’t been able to stop smiling since Yunho proposed. “Again, I’m sorry it’s in your living room with the credits to Spiderman playing in the background,” Yunho pouts, glancing at the TV. You giggle, “Somehow, I think it’s perfect.” “Are you sure?” he asks, suddenly looking worried. “Yunho,” you cup his face in your hands. “The only thing I care about is getting to marry you. The time or place you asked me isn’t important at all.” “Really?” he asks, sighing in relief. “Obviously,” you respond. “Sometimes you’re such a dork, you know that?” “Hey, you just called your fiancé a dork,” Yunho quirks an eyebrow, and you throw your head back, laughing. “I’m sorry, fiancé,” you reply with a wink, watching as he playfully rolls his eyes at you. “Seonghwa is gonna kill me when he realizes I asked you in such an unromantic setting,” Yunho sighs, shaking his head. “We both know Hwa is a little too much of a romantic sometimes,” you laugh. “Besides, what could be more romantic than Spiderman?” “Exactly!” Yunho lights up and you giggle at his silliness. “You know, everyday I realize more and more why your Aniteez is a puppy,” you speak up, mostly to yourself, as you watch Yunho excitedly text the Ateez group chat.

When he sends the text, he throws his phone down, moving to scoop you up in his arms, grinning when you let out a small yelp from the unexpected action. “Wanna watch one more movie before I leave?” he asks, and this time it’s your turn to light up even more than you already were. “When would I ever say no to that?” you ask, letting him pull you over to the couch with him. “The next Spiderman movie?” Yunho suggests, looking up at you from his position already seated on the couch as you stand in front of him. “Why not?” you respond, laughing, as Yunho tugs you down with him, cheering at your willingness. “We should have a Spiderman themed wedding,” Yunho wonders aloud as the movie starts playing. “Absolutely not,” you respond, pinching his sides a little in warning. He laughs, grabbing your hands to stop you, “Alright, alright.” A few minutes pass in silence, but you should have known it wouldn’t last long with the excited man beside you. “At least the cake?” “Yunho!”

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