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wonusite · 1 year

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I Hate U, I Love U

❝ After finally managing to escape the lifelong rivalry you once had with Yoon Jeonghan, you’re unexpectedly thrown back into the undesirable feud after receiving a scholarship to the most prestigious private school in the city. Despite your attempts to leave the past in the past, you discover too late that you’re the only one interested in letting the vendetta go. Years later, there’s a switch in dynamic when you’re the one unwilling to let it go. ❞

PAIRING: yoon jeonghan x female reader

WORD COUNT: 20.8k

GENRE: enemies to lovers au, rich kid au, college au, model au, fake dating au, angst, (tiniest bit of) fluff, smut

WARNINGS: they’re in high school at the beginning of this, rich boy!jeonghan, frat boy!jeonghan, former rich girl!reader, model!reader, classism, asshole parents, drinking, scheming, mild violence (1 slap), reader and jeonghan are pretty terrible to each other, repressed feelings, revenge is a recurring theme in this, lots of arguing, star-crossed lovers vibes, heavy on the regret, jealousy, fake relationship (but real feelings oops), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, pussy drunk!hannie, cockdrunk!reader, multiple creampies, squirting, overstimulation

a/n: still can’t believe i sat down and wrote this much. hope you guys like it! based on this request (sorry it took so long rip). minors dni!!

You can still remember the exact way you felt when your family lost everything and was left in poverty. Back then, your reality had become a twilight zone that left you feeling misplaced. Fate was cruel to make that exact feeling resurface now as you’re standing at the gates of your new school.

An emotion that could’ve been written off as typical anxiety from being the new kid is actual nerves caused by the unhealthy obsession your parents have with reclaiming the status your family once had. Inexplicably, they both believed the main way to do this is to be better than the Yoon family.

Embarrassing as it is, this fixation of theirs dates back to before you were born. In particular, it’s your mom’s unrelenting need to be better than the Yoons that got you into this unfavorable situation in the first place. She can’t be fully blamed, though. Everything dates back the feud her first husband (your father) has been part of since he was a kid.

As a child, you didn’t fully understand how deep the hatred ran. You also didn’t realize that being the heir to your family’s fortune meant that their vendetta had become your burden to bear (and somehow still was). Naively, you believed everything was over the moment your family was left with nothing. It wasn’t until you were leaving your house that your mom made it clear she still expected you go head-to-head with the heir of the Yoon family.

Believing that Yoon Jeonghan would still be willing to partake in a petty rivalry with you isn’t realistic, but your mom is beyond seeing reason at this point. Restoring the prestige of your family name came before anything now (even reality). In your mom’s eyes, beating the only son of the Yoon family seems to be the only way to do it.

This new-but-not-new obligation is the reason you can’t stifle the sick feeling that overcomes you as you walk through the front gates of the most prestigious private school in the city.

The campus is larger and more extravagant in person. Every single thing—from the wide pathways to the elegant topography—screams money. Students are scattered in front of the building, clad in the expensive uniform that’s currently draped over your own frame. The sight of designer bags, stylish shoes, and glamorous jewelry is a reminder of what once was and will never be again.

As if that daunting fact isn’t enough to make the dread in your gut paralyze you with anxiety, the cold looks you get are. Maybe you’re paranoid, or maybe people are actually sneering at you because they recognize you. Either way, this feeling of wanting to disappear doesn’t go away.

You stop walking to dig in the pocket of your jacket to pull out your phone. It’s a pathetic attempt to look like you’re not a total outsider who would rather be anywhere else. Unfortunately, your actions don’t provide you with the comfort you’re looking for. You wonder if hiding somewhere inside would stifle the nerves you feel. As fate (and your rotten luck) would have it, you don’t get a chance to make that decision.

In a sudden instant, you feel a body collide with your own. You recoil with a surprised gasp when a hot liquid spills all over your chest and torso. The distinct smell makes you panic. Coffee stains are the worst kind, and you just know your mom is going kill you if the uniform she worked so hard to pay for is ruined. Panic seeps into your chest as you start to wipe at your wet clothes without looking up. It’s futile, but just thinking about the consequences that you’re going to face if the overpriced uniform got ruined makes you want to throw up.

“What the fuck!?” The loud yell draws the attention of all the people within the spacious vicinity. “Watch where you’re going, you fucking idiot!”

You furrow your eyebrows angrily, and before you can lift your head to see who’s yelling, you feel an empty cup hit your feet. The remnants of the coffee splatter on your shoes and the lower part of your shins. Somehow, you feel cold despite the coffee being scorching hot.

The surprised guffaws and gasps seem muffled because of how loud your heartbeat is. A yell of your own is building in your throat, but when you look up, you’re suddenly at a complete loss for words. It all feels like some horrible nightmare because you find yourself looking at a face that you never wanted to see again.

Like a scene out of a cheesy movie, your (former) sworn enemy is standing right in front of you.

For some inexplicable reason, you can’t find your voice. You can only stare at Jeonghan with a dumb expression on your face. The embarrassment and anger you feel clash together and whirl inside you like a tornado, but even the intensity of your emotions isn’t enough to get you to express them in the way you want.

Jeonghan feels very pleased with himself until the unknown girl lifts her head. He blinks once, twice, and a third time. This doesn’t have the effect he desires because the image of you isn’t going away. Many years have passed since he last saw you, but he could never forget your face. Jeonghan might’ve thought he was dropped in the middle of some bizarre dream if it wasn’t for the harsh hammering of his heart. It really is you standing in front of him, looking like you’re two seconds away from murdering him.

“What the hell is your problem?” You seeth, no longer able to push down all the anger you’re feeling. “You’re the one who ran into me, asshole!”

Never in your life had you seen someone turn so red in the span of two seconds. You briefly wonder why Jeonghan feels so embarrassed when it’s you who’s dripping in coffee with what feels like the entire world laughing at your expense.

“Y/N?” His voice is incredulous. “What are you doing here?”

It’s a stupid question to ask considering the fact that you’re literally wearing the school issued uniform and have a school bag slung over your shoulders, but you know what Jeonghan actually means: How is it possible that someone like you is attending this school?

You aren’t about to dignify him with an answer since it seems like the watching crowd is itching for a show. Giving him a reaction is only going to make you look crazy, and you won’t give him or anyone else that satisfaction. It seems like you’re the only one that feels this way, though.

“You can’t hand wash the uniform. It has to be dry cleaned.”

Once again, the snickers and mocking whispers sound deafening. Instead of punching him in the mouth like you want, you somehow convince yourself to keep a level head. “Whatever. Move.” You snap before shoving past the stunned boy.

Once you get away from that embarrassing scene and find a bathroom, you shrug off your jacket to assess the damage. A scowl brings down the edges of your lips when you see the dark stains the coffee left behind. With an aggravated sigh, you glance down at your uniform. The front part is somewhat damp and a bit dirty, but luckily for you (and your mom’s bank account) the stains aren’t too prominent.

You take a deep breath before lifting your head and squaring your shoulders. It doesn’t matter that this already feels like the worst day ever, you can’t lose sight of the goal your mom has in mind. And you definitely can’t let Jeonghan of all people derail those plans. Playing into his petty games isn’t something you can afford to do anymore. Not that you want to, anyway.

When you finally calm down and decide to face the day, you find Jeonghan standing outside the bathroom, waiting for you. His shocked gaze from before is long gone and replaced with a hostile one you're more familiar with.

“I guess the standards of the scholarship program have hit an all time low.” He says as he falls into step beside you. “Do you really think coming here is going to change anything? Someone like you doesn’t belong here.”

You try your hardest to ignore him, but he keeps following you. Briefly, you wonder why it seems like he’s eager to pick up where you two left off. Were his parents thinking the same thing as yours, or was this something he was doing on his own?

“I’m talking to you.”

Finally, you stop and turn to him with a mean glare on your face. “I can see the years have done nothing for that pea-sized brain of yours. No matter how much you want me gone, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If you think you’ll somehow claw your way back up the social ladder, you can get rid of that pathetic idea right now.” Jeonghan all but growls, feeling a type of anxiousness he hasn’t in years. “You don’t belong in this world anymore, and you never will.”

Maybe he was right, but that doesn’t matter. You’re not thinking of running away, especially from him. “Scared I’m gonna take your spot at the table?”

“Yeah, right.” He laughs, but it doesn’t sound as confident as he wants. “Someone like you will never take anything from me.”

You look at him and let out a contemptuous laugh. It had been years, but Jeonghan had remained painfully unchanging. The crazed look in his eyes and tone of voice makes you smirk. “You are scared.”

Jeonghan practically has steam coming out of his ears. He can’t say anything, and he’s not entirely sure why. You’re not at the same level as him anymore, but that doesn’t seem to shake any of that annoying self-confidence you’ve always had. Ironically, it feels like he’s the one on unsteady ground. An anxious feeling seeps into his stature because it’s like he can already hear his dad’s disappointed voice for letting you of all people shake him up.

“Well, you should be.” You say, wanting to get under his skin. “Because I don’t need money to get the things I want.”

Maybe those words triggered a reaction out of Jeonghan that was deeper than you realized, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as you got accepted into the private school, your fate was sealed.

The day doesn’t get much better for you as it goes on. Studying amongst the blue bloods wouldn’t be so bad if you happened to be a regular poor person, but since you and your entire family fell from grace all those years ago, you don’t have the luxury of going unnoticed. Their sly comments and sneers don’t hurt, but they are unbearably annoying.

Expectedly, you’ve made no new friends. Nearly every person looks at you like you’re an unwanted parasite, and you have a strong inkling that it has everything to do with what happened with Jeonghan in the morning. It’s not surprising, but it makes you feel more alone than you expect.

When the school day is finally over and you think you can finally get away from all the turmoil you’re feeling, you walk out the building to see the one person who can make this day even worse. Your dad isn’t alone. He’s accompanied by his wife and her son, Seokmin. You barely have time to digest seeing him after so long before he’s turning his head in your direction and makes eye contact.

In a split second, his smile falters until it’s completely wiped off his face. The oh shit look he has on his face makes an unmistakable revulsion force its way up your throat. Many would feel comforted by the sight of their father approaching them, but all you can feel is the dislike and lack of affection you have for him. Briefly, you wonder why he thinks it’s a good idea to come up to you when it’s clear he didn’t know that it was also your first day of school.

“Y/N.” The way he speaks your name is awkward and unsure. “What are you doing here?”

If one more person asked you that, you swear you were going to rip your hair out. Instead of snarking at him to use his fucking eyes and take a look at what you’re wearing, you respond as calmly as you can. “I applied for a scholarship last year.” You tell him, feeling like you might cry. “Mom said she left you a message.”

The grimace on his face makes you feel stupid and embarrassed, but you can’t walk away like you want. It feels like your feet are rooted to the ground, and there’s also the (not so) tiny fact that your mom would never forgive you if you walked away.

“I... I was going to call, but I wasn’t sure if you wanted to hear from me.”

You’re tempted to tell him that you know he hasn’t given you a single thought in the last four years. It’s blatantly obvious that his stepson is vastly more important to him than you are. You know that, and it no longer hurts as much as it used to.

“Mom said she called you last week.” You repeat, trying not to let your voice give away all the emotions brewing inside you. “She wants us to have dinner together tonight.”

His remorseful expression changes, and you know that he’s about to make things difficult for you all over again. “Y/N, today isn’t—”

“Never mind.” You cut him off, not in the mood to hear his excuses. “Your family is waiting for you, and mom’s waiting for me at home.”

Your dad’s wounded expression doesn’t make you feel anything. Especially not when you notice Jeonghan and his idiot friends gawking at you from afar. You don’t give your dad a chance to respond before you turn on your heel and walk away, hoping the angry tears poking the back of your eyes don’t fall before you get out of their line of sight.

The trip home is longer than usual now that you have to take two buses instead of one. It gives you time to think, although, you wish you didn’t have so much time to ponder your rampant thoughts. All you want to do is get home and sleep off the exhausting day you had.

Unfortunately for you, the universe had other plans that went directly against your wishes.

Directly in front of your apartment building, you can see your mom waiting for you. She has a pensive look on her face that can easily been mistaken with vexation, but you can’t be sure when it comes to the same woman who never reacts the way you expect her to. It’s rare to see a bright expression on your mother’s face these days, but she beams as soon as she sees you approaching.

“Y/N!” She hurries over to you with expectant eyes. “Did you see your father?”

You wish she didn’t look so excited as you nod silently, but her eyes seem to shine as she continues with her questioning. “How did it go? Did he agree to come tonight?”

Of course she only cares about that. Not how your day at a new school was or if you were adjusting well. She didn’t care if you liked the school nor was she interested to know if you made any friends. It’s not disappointing anymore, just irritating.

“He didn’t know that I got a scholarship.” Like she told you a month ago. “He didn’t even show up to see me.”

The excited smile slips off your mom’s face instantly. Her gaze turnes dark as a deep frown settles on her features. “What? How could you be so stupid?” Her voice rises into a hysteric yell. “I ask you to do one thing, and you can’t even do that right!”

You clench your jaw as if that will somehow relieve the anger that’s washing over you. Her degrading words are nothing new, but today it’s getting to you more than usual. “It’s not my fault he wants nothing to do with us. I told you—”

“Shut up.” She growls. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I knew I couldn’t count on you.”

A humorless laugh rips from your throat before you can stop it. “Then you should’ve talked to him yourself instead of making me do it since you’re the one who wants to beg him for money.”

Knowing exactly how to get a reaction out of your mom is always satisfactory, until it isn’t. “I’m only doing this for you! Do you think I want to beg him for money after he abandoned me? All I’ve done since he left is try to give you a better life, and I’m sick of you punishing me for it!”

You could’ve laughed at the absurdity of her words. How could she think that when all these years it felt like you were the one being punished? Instead of telling her some overdue truths, you let out a quiet scoff. “Whatever. He wasn’t going to agree to come no matter what I said to him, and you know it.”

Her silence feels like a victory, but it’s a temporary one. “What I know is that you’re only capable of disappointing me.”

You don’t get a chance to respond before your mom brushes past you with an infuriated scowl. You look back angrily, watching her storm into the building. There’s a familiar anger burning fiercely in your chest as the argument lingers in your mind. She’s not worth your anger, but you can’t stop the overflow of every ugly emotion you’ve been bottling up since the morning.

Things don’t get better after that first day.

Unfortunately for you, going to the city’s most expensive private school doesn’t get any easier with time. The year passes by slowly, and you can’t truly enjoy it because you’re either studying or working. It’s hard to do both, but you aren’t left with much of a choice since your new school brought about unexpected expenses that your mom can’t afford to pay for alone.

As the months pass by, you wonder if all your hard work is really worth it. This dangerous thought lingers in your mind when you get to school on a rainy day after missing your first bus. You’re wet, cold, and tired. After pulling an all-nighter because you had to study for your history test, you’re not in the best mood. And because you apparently had the worst luck ever, Lee Seokmin just has to approach you to remind you that your dad’s birthday is just around the corner.

“Is there a reason you’re telling me this?” You wonder as you half-heartedly shove books into your locker.

“I just...” Seokmin’s voice is meek and nervous. “Are you going to come to his party this time?”

It’s funny that he assumed you were invited this time or any of the other times. “No. I have work that day.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Despite not knowing what day the celebration would be, you knew that you’d either be busy studying or working. Not that this seems to click with the trust fund brat that was abnormally attached to your father.

“You can’t ask for the day off? It would mean a lot to dad if you came.”

His sentence makes your chest and stomach tighten with incredulity and annoyance because it’s so out of touch with reality. You can’t even laugh or feel angry. It’s tempting to tell him that you know your dad couldn’t care less if you went to his birthday party since he hadn’t even bothered to tell you when or where it was happening. Somehow, you manage to stifle your growing ire to respond civilly.

“It’s not like he’s going to be devastated if I don’t go.” You say calmly despite wanting to express the emotions that keep gnawing at your chest.

Seokmin frowns at your impassive attitude. “Of course he’ll care. He’s still your dad—”

“Listen.” You cut him off, slamming your locker shut and finally turning your angry stare at him. “You don’t know shit. Just because he’s played the part of the perfect daddy with you for years, doesn’t mean that’s who he is. So just leave me alone before you piss me off.”

Seokmin shifts uncomfortably, wishing that he hadn’t said anything in the first place. He never meant to antagonize you despite what you’re clearly thinking. He just wants to find some common ground with you. Childishly, he believes it’ll get rid of the guilty feeling he gets every time he sees you.

“Sorry.” Seokmin whispers. “I’ll leave you alone.”

Taking out the resentment you have for your dad on Seokmin doesn’t make you feel better. Somehow you manage to feel even worse after he walks away from you. This dejecting feeling doesn’t go away even as the day goes on. It actually gets worse when you sit down at the library to study during your free period.

It feels like your mind is coming to a crashing halt after being on overdrive for months. You try to pull through even though you’re fucking exhausted. All the effort you’re putting into your studies is so you can win the Merit Scholarship that would pay for your college, and burning out at this point in time wasn’t an option. The prospect of finally piecing your life back together to the way it was before makes it a little easier to ignore the fatigue and stress that lingers in your bones.

But for some reason this day (and the universe) seemed to be working against you.

“You’re fucking lying.” The voice is familiar, but you can’t place it.

“I’m not.” Now there’s a voice you recognize. It belongs to Joshua Hong—a.k.a the evil church boy who identifies as Jeonghan’s bestie. “I was there when he did it.”

“There’s no way Yoon Jeonghan applied for the Merit Scholarship.”

Those words make you freeze. Everything around you becomes a blur as disbelief clouds your senses. Instead of your mind racing with an excess amount of thoughts, there’s only one that keeps bouncing around in your mind: Yoon Jeonghan did this on purpose.

“He turned in the application months ago.” You swear you can hear a smirk in that deviant’s voice.

“Did his family go broke or something?”

“Yeah, right.” A different voice scoffs. “His dad just donated more money to have the arts building expanded. He definitely doesn’t need that scholarship.”

There isn’t many things you can see eye-to-eye on with the snobs at your school, but that last statement is definitely one thing you can agree on. Yoon Jeonghan doesn’t need the scholarship. If you were anyone else, you would think him applying for the scholarship was some mystery with no reasonable explanation, but you know better. This was all because of your refusal to concede to him. Your actions had obviously struck a nerve with his pride, and now he was going to hit you where it hurt.

You can’t even be fully angry. Not when it’s such a well thought out scheme. Still, you feel sick and unable to keep siting still to study. So you quickly gather your stuff and leave the library without noticing the pair of eyes that are watching your every move.

Josh snorts and pulls out his phone, quickly typing a message before sending it out with a satisfied smirk on his face.

It’s done. You should’ve seen her face LMAO.

If you think you can leave school peacefully to try and feel better, you’re proven wrong when you run into Jeonghan as you’re going home.

“You’re leaving already?” He says in a sickly sweet voice as he starts walking beside you. “Maybe you should stick around and study. You won’t win the Merit Scholarship by slacking off.”

“I don’t need to try that hard to beat you.”

There’s a subtle change in Jeonghan’s eyes as he glares at you. “I wouldn’t be so sure. Don’t forget that no matter how smart you are, you’re still a nobody to the people that matter.”

Maybe you should’ve been less naive of the situation. Jeonghan was an asshole, but was also right. You just didn’t know it yet.

Jeonghan begins to bother you more often after he lets you know he wants the scholarship. The remainder of the year he constantly torments and mocks you with the help of his snobby friends. Ignoring them isn’t easy, but the thought that you won’t have to put up with them for much longer helps you power through.

Before you know it, the day the winner of the scholarship will be announced arrives.

The school has an entire ceremony dedicated to academic excellence, and you happen to be one of the students being honored. Friends and family were all encouraged to come since they were giving out multiple awards. Since Seokmin wasn’t getting an academic award, your dad didn’t bother to show up, but he did encourage you to beat Jeonghan via text. You didn’t care so much because you had your mother there, and for the first time in a long time, she seemed genuinely happy. You could see her beaming at you proudly from where she sat.

In spite of all the arguments and resentment, you were thrilled that all your hard work had paid off. Finally, you were going to get your life back. All you had to do was win the scholarship and everything else would naturally fall into place. You’re seated in the second row as the head of the foundation that provided the scholarship steps up to the podium to announce the winner.

Unfortunately, the name of the recipient for the Merit Scholarship is not yours. Maybe the blow wouldn’t have been so devastating if the name that was announced didn’t belong to Jeonghan.

That asshole is sitting in the row in front of you, and like the final killing blow he always delivers when messing with you, he turns around to give you a triumphant smirk. Anger and disappointment clash inside you as if fighting for dominance to see which one is the more prominent feeling. You can feel your hands trembling and your throat tightening. The situation is unjust and cruel, but that doesn’t seem to matter to anyone except you.

This intense feeling worsens the more the situation sinks in. You don’t even want to look at your mom because you know she’s the only person who’s more angry and humiliated than you are. Everyone is cheering and clapping, but you physically can’t join in. Pretending to be happy for someone who had quite literally just ruined your life was something even you couldn’t do.

When the ceremony is over, your mom doesn’t say anything. Her expression is grim and veiled with muted anger. It makes the nerves in your stomach coil into an uncomfortable knot as you follow her out of the auditorium. You can’t say anything as a thick silence engulfs you because you know anything you say won’t be enough to appease her anger.

“This is just fantastic.” Her words come out in the form of an insincere laugh. “I worked my ass off to send you to this damn school, and this is how you repay me?”

It’s tempting to tell her that you’re the one who worked hard to get into the school despite never wanting to step back into this world, but instead you bite your tongue. After all, there’s no point in arguing with her. No amount of rage or disappointment will change the fact that you won’t be able to afford your dream college. With your current financial situation, pursuing higher education was out of the question, and because of your loss, so was the relationship with your mother.

“After all I’ve sacrificed!?” Her angry voice seems to echo throughout the large hallway, and you can feel the lingering people start to stare. “I’ve given up my entire life for you, and you couldn’t win that damn scholarship! You lost it to Yoon Jeonghan of all people!”

“Mom.” Your voice is flat and tired. “That’s enough. People are staring.”

Pointing that out would usually be enough to get her in check, but the deranged look in her eyes tells you that her anger goes beyond any embarrassment that her behavior might cause. “You’re not even sorry, are you?” She scoffs in angry disbelief.

“Neither are you.” The words come out before you can stop them. “You never had a problem with using me as your meal ticket until I didn’t win, right?”

You hear a chorus of shocked gasps when a cold hand collides with your cheek. A stinging sensation is left behind that has a different type of anger coursing through your veins. Your hand trembles as you bring it up to hold your throbbing cheek. Angry tears pool in your eyes as you look into your mother’s remorseless eyes.

“How dare you speak to me that way?” Her voice borders on a yell. “Every single thing I’ve done has been for you and your future. If I knew you were this useless, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Your mom brushes past you as if you’re a perfect stranger to her. As if you mean nothing to her anymore. Holding the stinging tears in your eyes is painful, but that doesn’t compare to the hurt your mom’s words left behind.

Anger and misery collide together to form a weighing pressure on your chest that makes it difficult to breathe. It feels like your throat is closing in on itself, and you wonder if it’s because of the sob you’re holding in. The heavy tears fall from the top of your lids before you can try to blink them away. It’s humiliating, but you can no longer suppress your emotions like you’d been doing the whole time.

The burning sensation in your cheek has turned into a dull ache at this point, but all you can focus on is the feelings that are eating you from the inside. You see your peers and their families gawking at you. The whispers, snickers, and pitiful glances feel like daggers cutting into you, yet all you can do is stand stolidly and cry silently.

Just when you think you can’t feel any worse, you catch sight of Jeonghan and his family walking out of the auditorium with the head of the foundation. His father is shaking hands with the man, patting him on the back like someone would do to a longtime friend. Which is exactly what the head of the foundation is to him.

Now Jeonghan’s words from before made perfect sense. You’re a fool to realize it this late. Not that it matters anymore. Everything is over now, and all you can do is walk away.

“Your dad really outdid himself.”

Jeonghan offers the girl on his arm a disinterested hum. Honestly, he’d rather to be anywhere else but the gala his dad throws every year. Magnificent as it always is, it’s so boring and draining that it feels more like work than anything. His eyes keep scanning the room for any sign of his friends—or anyone that will save him from his boredom.

“Oh my god!” Mina releases his arm from the death grip she has on it to push past him. “Is that Y/F/N!?”

Jeonghan has to pause for several reasons:

1) Hearing that name after so long makes his chest and stomach flip in the most unpleasant way. 2) It’s unlikely that this airhead heiress is talking about you, but if she is, how is it possible that she knows who you are? 3) There’s no way you would be at his dad’s gala. 4) After disappearing for three years, it doesn’t make sense that you would suddenly appear here of all places.

But when he follows Mina’s line of sight, he sees that it is you, looking more elegant and gorgeous than ever. You’re wearing a designer gown that looks like it was custom made, and you have a tall, six foot nothing piece of arm candy by your side. Even Jeonghan can’t deny that you look like a picture of perfection, and he can’t even begin to figure out why or how you’re at his dad’s gala looking like that.

“And she's with Kim Mingyu!? Oh my god, I have to get a picture—!”

Jeonghan thinks Mina is joking until he sees that she’s already halfway across the room, which is the fastest he’s seen her move all night. Maybe the champagne has gotten to his head because there’s no fucking way any of this is real right now. To his horror, his date actually makes one of his father’s business associates take the picture.

“Close your mouth.” A familiar voice orders. “It’s unbecoming.”

His mom is coldly stringent with the delivery of her words. She doesn’t look surprised, and it makes him feel sick. What the hell is going on?

“Your father invited her.” Her tone leaves no room for questions. “So act like the gentleman I raised you to be, and go say hello.”

He can’t argue because not only is he completely speechless, but also due to the fact that his mom is quick to leave him standing alone. Jeonghan knows his eyes are open wide in that angry way that makes him look like he’s crazy, but he doesn’t care. Why was everyone suddenly acting like they were in some alternate universe?

“Son.”

Jeonghan’s body goes stiff. Immediately, he straightens his expression out as he turns to face his father. He’s met with a familiarly cold expression. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand. There’s a thick silence that envelopes them for a brief moment before his dad begins to speak. “Get that stupid look off your face and join me to go greet our guests.”

Again, he’s left with no room to argue because his dad walks away from him. Jeonghan is quick to follow behind him, aware of the consequences that would befall him should he disobey. Much to his chagrin, he sees his date has wandered off after successfully getting a picture with you and your date. This bizarre situation paired with his father’s attitude makes Jeonghan feel like a clueless little boy all over again.

The feeling gets worse when he comes face to face with you for the first time in years.

Your pretty eyes settle on him for a brief moment that can’t even be considered a full second before they look at his father. The man on your arm—Kim Mingyu—doesn’t acknowledge him at all. Jeonghan’s jaw ticks irritably, but he keeps his composure. Something else is clearly going on, and he would never hear the end of it if he ruined his dad’s covert plans.

“Y/N! Mingyu! I’m so glad you two made time to come!” Jeonghan’s father seems like a different person as he goes to shake hands with faux elation in his voice.

“We can’t stay long.” You say with an infuriatingly perfect smile. “But you’ll have to invite us next year because the event is fabulous.”

It irritates Jeonghan that his dad seems genuinely happy at receiving your stamp of approval. He wants to shake him and ask him if he’s lost his damn mind, but he can only plaster on a fake smile of his own.

“Of course.” There’s that fake politeness again. “Surely you two have time for a drink, though?”

Hearing his dad speak the way his employees do to him is sickening, and Jeonghan has to stop himself from gagging.

“Just one.” Mingyu says with a grin so charming that Jeonghan swears he hears some of the surrounding people swoon. “S.Coups is expecting us at his album release party. I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.” He says in an understanding tone that he would’ve never used on Jeonghan. He doesn’t get time to contemplate his dad’s out of character behavior because the older man turns to you with a smile.

“Y/N, I’m sure you remember my son, Jeonghan.” His father puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes enough for it to hurt without making him visibly uncomfortable. “I think you two were still in high school the last time you saw each other.”

Finally, you two look each other in the face again. Your face is blank—a picture of impassive. Then, another beautiful smile graces your face. “That’s right. It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

“I’ve been busy with school.” He hopes his smile doesn’t look as fake as it feels. “So have you, I presume?”

Jeonghan feels proud of his subtle dig until he feels his father stiffen beside him. Your smile doesn’t falter, but it does turn into an amused one as you share a look with Mingyu who doesn't bother to stifle the laugh that tumbles past his lips.

“Jeonghan.” The glare his father is giving him means he was definitely going to hear about his apparent slip up later. “You should go find Mina.”

Translation: Get lost before you embarrass me further.

“Oh. Sure.” Jeonghan tries not to feel like a scolded little boy who’s being shooed away. “It was nice to meet you, Mingyu. Nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

He’s not sure if you saying goodbye without a hint of amusement makes him feel better or worse.

The rest of the night proceeds smoothly, but Jeonghan has to leave early so he can avoid an awkward car ride back to the house with his parents. Not that it makes any difference because he can tell his dad is still very much angry at him when he gets home.

“I told you to go over the information my secretary gave you.”

His dad has a way of speaking that makes Jeonghan feel like he’s getting yelled at even though he isn’t. It makes him wish he hadn’t gotten drunk with Soonyoung instead of going over that damn binder full of names and faces. Obviously thinking he’d be able to skate by like all the other times was a severe miscalculation.

“You spend so much time on that damn phone that I thought you’d know Y/F/N and Kim Mingyu are at the top of the modeling industry right now. I’ve been trying to convince them to advertise our new cosmetic line for weeks!”

Jeonghan feels like his ears are ringing because there’s no way. He fights the urge to pull out his phone and search for confirmation. Maybe he should’ve done that when he got home instead of opening up the whiskey in his dad’s liquor cabinet.

“You said they didn’t seem offended that Jeonghan didn’t know who they were—” His mom is cut off by his dad’s angry yell.

“That doesn’t change the fact that your brilliant son still refuses to do what I ask of him!”

There’s a tense silence in the room as Jeonghan has to withstand the most scornful glare he’s gotten in his life. His father has a crazy look in his eye that makes Jeonghan feel two feet tall. “Any time they advertise a product, it sells out within days. If they refuse to endorse our products because of you—!”

“Honey,” his mother goes to her husband to placate him. “Jeonghan will apologize to them. Isn’t that right, son?”

She might not be yelling, but her voice is cold as ice, and Jeonghan is left with no room to disagree.

There’s not much that can intimidate Jeonghan, but even he has to admit that being in such foreign territory feels unnervingly daunting. After his dad’s secretary did some digging, he found out you were doing a photo shoot near his college. It’s a closed set, but luckily having the last name Yoon is like having an all access pass to pretty much any place he can think of.

This works until he tries to approach you as you’re getting your makeup touched up. Two burly men stop him from getting close, and a man who he would’ve assumed to be a model if it wasn’t for the way he was dressed stands behind them with a raised eyebrow.

“I made it clear to Lee Chan that there would be no interview.” His voice is rough and mean—something Jeonghan isn’t used to getting from anyone aside from his parents.

Jeonghan doesn’t know if he should be more offended that this guy assumed him to be of the working class or that he was being treated like someone that was beneath you. “No, that’s not—I’m a friend.”

The guy looks mildly surprised before he looks back at you. “You know this guy, Y/N?”

You look up from your phone with the same blank expression from the gala. Because you’ve acted cordial so far, Jeonghan doesn’t expect the next words to come out of your mouth. “No. I don’t.”

Jeonghan thinks about causing a scene, but then he knows that won’t help his predicament. So he lets himself be escorted off the sight, feeling more humiliated than ever. It’s unlike him to give up (not to mention that it’s not an option), which is why he waits by a car that undoubtedly belongs to you. To think that he would be reduced to go this far just to apologize to you is infuriating.

“There’s that creep from before.” Your manager frowns as you and your team are walking to the car.

You smirk, knowing what’s going to come next is going to be the highlight of your day. “It’s alright, Jihoon. He’s probably just a fan.”

Jeonghan is surprised when you gesture for him to come towards you while your team starts to get ready to leave. He clenches his jaw when he sees an arrogant smirk on your face. “Is there a reason you’re acting like a stalker and crashing my shoot?”

Insulting you is something Jeonghan wishes he had the option of doing, but he’s not willing to disappoint his father over some temporary satisfaction. After all, he only needs to give you an insincere apology and everything would be fine. So he takes a deep breath and hopes his words don’t come out sarcastic or mocking.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.” Okay. That sounded somewhat sincere. “I didn’t know—”

“That your daddy’s been begging me to advertise his product?” You laugh. “I guess you just assumed that I married some rich guy to crawl my way up the social ladder, right?”

Shit. He has to do some damage control, and fast. “No—No. That’s not it at all...”

You wait for him to finish, but it really seems like he has nothing else to say. It’s not surprising, but it is amusing. Jeonghan still expected things to work in his favor just because of who he was, but he was in for a rude awakening. You step toward him with a vengeful smile on your face. “That apology is pathetic as you are.”

“What?” Jeonghan growls, unable to keep up this fake politeness he’s been showing you until now.

“You know, when your dad came to my agency to beg me to advertise those shitty products he came out with, I couldn’t help but think that you really are his son.” Your sneer is meaner than he remembers. “It was fun seeing him kiss my ass and offer me so much money, but you know what? I think trashing your daddy’s new product line is going to be so much more fun.”

You bump his shoulder as you walk past him, leaving him feeling like a bucket of ice cold water was dumped over his head. There was a malicious calmness in your tone that didn’t sit well with him at all.

Jeonghan quickly tries to do some damage control because even if you didn’t agree to advertise the new cosmetic line, Kim Mingyu could surely be swayed. The only problem is that he underestimated how much influence you actually have. Not only does the male model reject the apology, but he also officially declines the offer his father’s company made him.

If that wasn’t enough to piss his father off, you also decline the offer and follow it with a slanderous live that wasn’t technically slanderous under the court of law. Many comments came in about you potentially modeling for the line when you flat out said you didn’t particularly care for their products since they weren’t animal friendly and were overpriced. That caused enough backlash for the campaign ads that were underway to be halted immediately.

Despite trying to tell his parents that you never had any intention of advertising their products, he still found himself kicked out of the grand mansion he grew up in and forced to go stay at the frat house with eight other guys.

“Hold on. You know the Y/F/N!?” His friend yells after Jeonghan is done explaining why he got cut off. “You fucking traitor! How could you hide this from me when you know how much I love her?”

Jeonghan glares at Soonyoung, wanting to throttle him for only focusing on that part of the story. Also, he isn’t to blame for failing to realize the queen of the modeling industry his friend was always referring to was you.

“I still can’t believe you didn't know how famous she is.” Seungkwan says with a scoff. “She’s literally in a bunch of ads and magazines. Plus, she always walks in important fashion shows.”

Wonwoo smirks when Jeonghan pouts like a petulant child. The curiosity is eating away at him, and he feels the need to ask about something that’s not fully making sense to him. “So, you’re saying that Y/F/N did this because you’ve hated each other since you were kids?”

“She’s still not over me winning the scholarship she wanted.” Jeonghan says with a scowl. “Because of her, I have to do well on this interview so I can have some money to hold me over until I get full access to my trust next month.”

“You’re seriously going to apply for an internship at Vogue?” Soonyoung wonders with a raised eyebrow. “Won’t you be paid slave wages?”

Wonwoo and Seungkwan snicker, ignoring the glare Jeonghan throws their way. So the pay wouldn’t be great, but it was Vogue. To have an internship like that on his resume would do wonders for his career. Maybe money wasn’t the main attraction to the internship, but what he would get out of it would be worth so much more.

At least, that’s what he thinks until he’s sent to go help with a fitting for Xu Minghao’s upcoming spring collection. There’s plenty of models around who are needing minor alterations to the clothes they’re wearing, and Jeonghan has the great misfortune of handling the alterations needed for your dress.

Aside from you laughing at the fact that he’s literally on his knees, adjusting the hemline of the dress you have on, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Until he accidentally pokes you with the needle, that is. The ow you let out isn’t overly loud, but it is enough to grab the attention of Xu Minghao and Jeonghan’s direct supervisor.

“Y/N, darling, what’s wrong?” Minghao asks you, grabbing your hands as he eyes you up and down.

“Nothing. I—I just thought you’d have interns who are capable of not poking the models when they do the alterations.” You say with a slight grimace, knowing exactly what pulls at the designer’s heart strings.

Jeonghan receives two withering glares, and before the day is over he no longer has a job.

Exacting your revenge was one of the greatest feelings you’d ever felt. The outcome of your actions was more than justified, but your manager didn’t seem to think so. Your behavior confused him because he never knew you to be so spiteful to someone who simply made a mistake.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on between you and that intern you got fired?”

You look up from the newly posted pictures from the Armani show that you closed last week. Jihoon’s eyes are still fixed on the road, but he’s always had this annoying skill for seeing right through you without even looking at you. There’s no use in lying to him—not that you were planning to. You just thought you’d have a little more time to enjoy your revenge before telling the only person who knew about your past with that trust fund brat.

“That intern is Yoon Jeonghan.”

Jihoon’s eyes widen when he hears the name of the person you despise the most in the world. He looks at the rear view mirror to see that you’re back to staring at your phone. He quickly focuses back on the road, grip tightening on the steering wheel.

“Oh.” He murmurs, unsure of what to say. “The same guy who—?”

He cuts himself off, but you know what he was about to say. The same guy who ruined your life? You don’t bother to finish the sentence for him.

“The very one.”

It’s silent for a moment before Jihoon speaks again. “Don’t you think you went a little too far?”

You don’t look up, but he notices the tightening of your jaw. The pause you take isn’t long, but it feels that way. “He has a trust fund to fall back on unlike me who had nothing when my mom kicked me out for not winning the scholarship he stole from me.”

Jihoon doesn’t say anything. You’re speaking about the worst moment of your life so casually that anyone would think it doesn’t bother you anymore, but he knows the truth.

“Did you hear back from the agency?” You ask, not wanting to keep talking about the past.

“Yeah. They don’t mind you going to classes for this semester as long as you still do the Marc Jacobs show in Milan and the Versace show in Paris.”

“I also promised Jun I’d do his New York show.” You mention with a victorious smile.

Jihoon hums in acknowledgment. He’s not against the idea of you taking your college classes in person for a semester, but he wonders if it will be okay.

As usual, your manager was right to worry.

Weeks of your college experience go by without any problems. During that time you didn’t notice that Jeonghan had been watching you. He didn’t follow you around or anything like that, but he had observed you long enough to notice that you were oddly attached to your laptop that looked like it was in need of a serious upgrade. And he knows. That’s the ticket to his revenge. So he patiently waits for his chance to grab that ticket.

It takes some convincing (a large sum of money) for Jeonghan to get his English professor to pair you with him for the upcoming project. All he needs to do is get that laptop from you to get the revenge he craves.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more angry. Never mind the fact that there was this perpetual animosity between you and your partner. Jeonghan was also one of the most idiotic people you had ever met. Carrying him on this project was the last thing you wanted to do.

“Don’t expect me to do all the work. I don’t care if have photo shoots or whatever. Make sure you know the material.”

You almost let out an incredulous scoff at his audacity, but instead you just give him an arrogant smile. “I think you forget that you’re the one who always lost to me when it came to academics.”

Jeonghan gives you smug smirk of his own. “And yet I’m the one who won the Merit Scholarship.”

For the first time since he’s seen you again, your arrogant expression falters. He’s not allowed to enjoy the dumb look on your face because you’re quick to smooth it out as if you weren’t slighted by his comment. It’s almost amazing how quickly you manage to cover up your expression.

“Please.” You scoff, trying not to yell at him in the middle of the library. “Your daddy bought that for you just like everything else you have. Too bad intelligence is something that even he can’t afford to get you.”

Jeonghan looks like he did all those years ago on your first day of senior year. His expression is so funny that you can’t help but laugh at him. Your mellifluous laughter catches the attention of some of the people sitting not too far from you who happened to be apparent fans of yours. The pair doesn’t hesitate to walk over to your table and ask for a picture.

You stand up and pose with each of them with that friendly smile you give to everyone except Jeonghan. While your back is turned, he sees your laptop slightly sticking out of your bag. It’s almost too easy to the grab the device and stick it in his own bag. He does it with a precision and smoothness that takes even him by surprise.

As soon as you’re done, you turn back to see Jeonghan gathering the books on the table, bag already slung over his shoulder like he’s ready to leave.

“What the hell? You’re leaving?” You say, annoyed that he was already not pulling his weight this early on.

“I have things to do.” Jeonghan says with a shrug. “I’ll text you later to let you know when I’m free to meet up.”

He leaves you frowning and unaware that he took the single most important item you own.

It’s not until you get back home that you realize your laptop is missing. You panic, practically tearing the house apart trying to find it. Every moment of the day flashes through your mind because you did have a tendency to forget things. It was the reason why Jihoon was responsible for handling most of your personal items when you did shoots.

Jihoon. You think as you search your room for the third time. He’s going to be so disappointed and angry.

The contents in the laptop isn’t what you’re worried about, but the laptop itself. Jihoon bought it for you after he convinced your agency that taking online classes would not affect your work. It meant so much to you because he was the only person who knew how much you had wanted to go to college despite not being able to after you graduated high school.

You’re nearly in tears after realizing that you really had lost it. Even if you went back to the campus early in the morning, it would take you forever to look for it in all the places you’d been to. Just as you’re about to call Jihoon to tell him what happened, you get a text from the last person you want to hear from.

Jeonghan sent a picture of himself holding your most prized possession with an infuriating message attached to it: You’ll get your laptop back if come to my party tonight and take a picture with my friend.

It’s a trap. You know it is. And yet, you still find yourself at the address you were given by the devil incarnate. The frat house is loud and full of people who don’t seem to care or notice who you are. Not that you mind. You only hope Jeonghan doesn’t make things difficult and gives you your laptop right away.

“Y/N!” The deviant yells your name when you finally find him.

Jeonghan is clearly drunk, holding your precious laptop close to him as he drinks some cheap beer. You keep a level head, knowing he just wants a reaction out of you. “Where’s your friend?”

Straight to the point, as always. Jeonghan smirks and whispers something to the boy next to him. His friend disappears into the crowd and returns with someone else minutes later. It’s a cute guy with shining eyes and an adorable smile.

“I love you.” He blurts once he sees you, a blush suffusing his entire face. “You’re so pretty and amazing—!”

He’s drunk, you can tell, but he also seems sincere. It makes you think maybe that rat Jeonghan has actually done this as some twisted way to make his friend’s wish come true. Even if that’s not the case, you could never be mean to someone who supports you—even if that person is friends with someone like Jeonghan.

“Let’s take a picture.” You say with a smile that’s surprisingly easy to conjure.

Naively, you think that Jeonghan will give you the thing you cherish the most after you comply to his wishes. After his friend leaves, he makes no move to give you your laptop. You should’ve expected it, but it still infuriates you.

“I can’t believe you actually came and did what I asked. It makes me wonder what you're hiding in here.” Jeonghan slurs with a smirk that makes you want to throttle him. “I bet you regret acting the way you have.”

You know he’s talking about the things you’ve done to him as soon as you saw him again, and you resist the urge to scream at him that this is nothing compared to what he did to you. Both of you are too focused on each other to see the camera aimed at the rapidly unfolding fight.

“Just give it back, idiot.” You seethe, trying to keep your composure because things are on the verge of getting messy.

“I’m surprised that top model Y/F/N still has this shitty model. Maybe you should think about upgrading.”

Jeonghan laughs again and tauntingly holds out your laptop. As you step forward to grab it, the sleek device slips out of his hand. Everything seems to go in slow motion as you watch the laptop hit the floor and break open. The screen completely detached from the keyboard, and despite being turned off, you can see the cracks that covered half the screen.

You can hear laughter and immature ohs filling up the space. All rational thoughts are ejected from your mind as you grab a cup from a random party-goer and throw it in Jeonghan’s face. The crowd seems to go wild, but that’s not what you’re focused on. Jeonghan doesn’t look shocked or angry. In fact, he looks a lot like the cat who ate the canary.

You realize too late that the guy from before is pointing his phone at you. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach, but you easily mask your panic and go to pick up the pieces of your broken laptop. The night ends with you running out of the house and a video of you throwing beer in Jeonghan’s face being uploaded for the world to see.

This leaves Jeonghan feeling very pleased with himself.

When he first found out you were going to attend the college he worked so hard to make sure you didn’t get into, it felt like he was living in his worst nightmare. But now with you getting backlash for throwing beer in his face, he’s never felt better. His parents had even reached out to him to get dinner and discuss him moving back in.

“I’m literally never talking to you again.” Soonyoung glares at him with deep resentment. “How could you use me to set up Y/F/N? She probably hates me now.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes as Seungkwan sympathetically pats his friend on the back. “Don’t worry. I’m sure she hates Jeonghan way more.”

Wonwoo snorts while Soonyoung’s pout gets more sulky by the second. While anyone could agree that Jeonghan’s actions were petty and borderline sociopathic, most of the frat was just glad to have him go back to normal. His temperament had been exponentially worse since you decided to finish the semester in person.

The victory, however, is short-lived.

Two days after the video Jeonghan’s frat brother initially posted, you post a video of your own. The caption was nothing short of absolving: Guess he’s mad I didn’t want to endorse the products his daddy tests on animals.

It’s a factor Jeonghan didn’t consider. Someone else had filmed the entire thing from the part where he’s taunting you about your laptop to the part where he so clearly drops it on purpose and you react by throwing beer in his face. It’s almost comedic how fast public opinion changes. The stocks to his father’s company plummet not even a full hour after you post the video, and Jeonghan is getting way more backlash than you did.

When he sees his dad blowing up his phone, he knows this is the final nail in the coffin that will sever the ties with his family.

Meanwhile, you’re not holding up much better. In spite of managing to spin the situation in your favor, your agency is still displeased that you were involved in a scandal at all. Not to mention that Jihoon is clearly disappointed in you. It’s to be expected since he’s the one who helped you convince everyone that taking classes in person wouldn’t be a problem.

“You told me you didn’t want anything to do with Yoon Jeonghan.” Jihoon reminds you two stand in your living room. “Why did you go there in the first place when you’re the one always saying he's some sort of evil mastermind?”

You frown at him, feeling tears of frustration begin to gather in your eyes. “He took the laptop you gave me! How could I let him keep it when you bought it on the salary you had back then?”

Jihoon’s features soften instantly. He lets out a deep sigh and pulls you into his arms. So that’s why. Even he had failed to remember how much that old laptop meant to you. It makes him smile as you quietly sniffle into his shoulder. Jihoon thinks back to when he bought you the laptop and how grateful you had been. He can still remember clearly how you told him that he was the only person to ever believe in your dreams.

“I’m sorry.” He says as he gently pats your back. “I forgot how much that laptop means to you, but I’ll buy you a new one, okay? I should’ve gotten you a new one a long time ago, anyway. Thanks to you and Mingyu, my salary has increased.”

Even after he gets a tearful laugh, Jihoon wonders if going to college is really what’s best for you. He’s the last person who would want to stop you from chasing your real dream, but he can’t shake the feeling that your war with Yoon Jeonghan is far from over.

Jeonghan is an easy going guy who can laugh at his own misfortune, but he really doesn’t see the humor in you single-handedly ruining his life. His friends disagree. Especially Josh, who came down to visit him after years of being abroad.

“I don’t know why you’re acting all surprised. If I was Y/N, I’d try to ruin your life too.” Josh says before he takes a bite of his food. “Actually, I’m surprised that she didn’t try sooner. Especially after what happened at the awards ceremony.”

Soonyoung and Seungkwan’s curiosity is piqued upon hearing that last statement. They lean forward, abandoning all interest in the exquisite food in front of them. In the rendition of Jeonghan’s backstory of the supermodel that hates him, there was no mention of an awards ceremony.

“What happened at the awards ceremony?” Wonwoo asks immediately, not understanding why Jeonghan genuinely looks like he doesn’t know what Josh is talking about.

The atmosphere has quickly changed, and Jeonghan can’t figure out why Josh is making that day seem like it was something more than it was. But there was this feeling in the pit of his stomach that kept growing bigger and bigger. Had something else happened that he didn’t know about?

Josh notices the tense silence that’s suddenly surrounding the table and clears his throat. “I mean, technically, Jeonghan is the one who plotted to ruin Y/N’s life first. He’s the reason her mom went all psycho on her at our end of the year awards ceremony.”

The silence from before gets thicker and more uncomfortable the longer it lasts. Jeonghan looks like he’s just heard some life altering revelation while Josh is looking as clueless as the rest of the boys.

“Wait—” Josh puts down his fork, eyes wide with disbelief. “Why are you acting like you don’t know?”

“I...” Jeonghan swallows thickly. All he remembers from that day is that vacant expression you had on your face when he won the scholarship. The one that still makes him feel like someone is reaching inside his chest and squeezing his heart.

“So what exactly happened?” Seungkwan asks since his friend can’t seem to even think straight.

“We were all mean to her.” Josh admits with a sigh. “I mean, she’s the daughter of a failed businessman, plus she had beef with Hannie since birth. It was too easy to give her shit and fuck with her.”

His friends are uncharacteristically quiet, and it’s so uncomfortable that Jeonghan just wants to die. But not before he hears about what Josh meant about the awards ceremony.

“When Jeonghan found out she applied for the Merit Scholarship, he applied for it too. His dad is friends with the guy who was head of the scholarship foundation, so of course he was going to get it. We all thought it’d be pretty funny to see how her parents would react when she lost.”

Jeonghan’s friends give him very judgmental stares that he honestly deserves.

“But I didn't get to.” Jeonghan recalls quietly. “Y/N and her mom left the auditorium right after, and I had to stay behind to take a bunch of pictures for the school’s newsletter.”

There’s another tense silence where Joshua looks like he has some sort of dilema. He wonders if telling Jeonghan after so long is only going to make things worse.

“You said Y/N’s mom went all psycho on her.” Wonwoo says. “How is that Jeonghan’s fault?”

“Aside Y/N would’ve gotten that scholarship if it wasn’t for Jeonghan, her mom was mad because she lost to him in particular. As soon as they got outside she started yelling at her about how useless she was. She even slapped her in front of everyone and basically disowned her."

“Damn.” Is all Soonyoung is able to say before turning to Jeonghan. “I would hate you too.”

Jeonghan can’t say anything because he’s thinking the exact same thing.

After a very eye-opening lunch, Jeonghan realizes now that you won’t stop your revenge until you’ve completely destroyed him. This sends him into a panic and makes him come up with a plan that will hopefully knock you down a few pegs.

Jeonghan enlists the help of your stepbrother, Seokmin. Unbeknownst to maybe the kindest guy he’s ever met, he helps Jeonghan lure not only you, but also your dad to the silent auction your university is hosting. Getting you two to arrive at the same times is a bit tricky, but Jeonghan manages to pull it off after telling Seokmin to give your father a certain time.

All Jeonghan has to do is linger by the entrance and wait for you to arrive. Which you do, and in a beautiful dress, no less. It’s almost a pity that your night is going to be ruined in approximately five seconds. He’s far enough for you to not notice him yet and close enough to hear your father call out to you from behind.

“Y/N.”

You freeze at the sound of your name being spoken. It had been years, but you would never forget that voice. You turn around slowly, feeling an onslaught of emotions hit you like a truck when you see your father standing in front of you.

There’s a tension between you and your father that Jeonghan recognizes immediately. For some reason, it makes him feel uncomfortable rather than satisfied. He's not sure why that is, but he can't stop watching. It’s unexpected because despite knowing that you were estranged from him, he didn’t expect it to be like this.

“How have you been?” Your father is hesitant in his movements as he steps closer to you.

You hate feeling the way you currently do; like a little girl who’s powerless in front of her father. The feeling is worse because he’s staring at you like he never abandoned you to start another life that didn’t involve you.

“You’ve seen the articles.” You reply coldly. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”

The tense atmosphere affects even Jeonghan, and he can’t help but start to feel a little regret because this is not what he had in mind at all. It’s not funny nor does it satiate the vengeful side you always brought out in him. Right now, the situation feels like some sort of erroneous event that should’ve never happened in the first place.

“I was pleased to see what you’ve done to the Yoon family.” He genuinely sounds proud, but you’re not twelve years old anymore so it doesn’t mean anything to you. All it does is make you feel sick. “Honestly, I never thought you’d be able to do it. You surprised me.”

Jeonghan can’t laugh. It should be funny, but it's not. Your father is giving you a back-handed compliment despite being one of the top models in the industry and someone who has the potential to be a global star. Instead of that sweet feeling he’s always gotten from messing with you, all he feels is disgust.

“I’m sure your mom is pleased as well.” He says awkwardly after you don’t say anything. “How is she, by the way?”

The last thing you want to talk about is her, but his ignorance to the feelings you harbor for your mom actually makes you scoff in bewilderment. Emotions you thought you’d gotten rid of long ago start to push at the surface and gather at the center of your chest. You hate that you can’t shove them away and pretend they’re not affecting you the way they are.

Jeonghan flinches when your next words come out in the phonic form of ice. “You know I haven’t talked to her since she kicked me out of her house.”

There’s this long pause where the entire vicinity seems to have gone as cold as your voice. The candor of your words make Jeonghan’s jaw drop. An intense discomfort seeps into his veins and strikes him right in the chest. The story Joshua told him is undoubtedly true, and now he’s starting to realize he was the one who put that domino effect into place.

“I would’ve helped you if you let me—”

Your dad stops talking when you start laughing. It’s not a joyful or amused laugh. It’s cold and resentful. You almost can’t believe the audacity that your father has. His selective memory has always pissed you off, but now he was crossing the line.

“Why are you here?” You demand, unwilling to prolong this unexpected encounter. “This is an alumni event.”

“Seokmin invited me.” His answer shouldn’t have disappointed you, but for some infuriating reason it still did. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

There’s so many things that you want to say. All these years you thought about how it would all play out if you saw him again, but now that it’s actually happening, you can’t say anything that you wanted to.

“The actions you’ve taken against the Yoon family have impressed me so far.” He says like you’ll be happy about his praise. “I thought it would be appropriate to say this to you. That’s all.”

When you see that familiar contempt and unimpressed expression on your father’s face, you can’t help but think that you should’ve never left your house to come out. The figure in your peripheral vision hasn’t moved, and you can only assume he’s waiting for you to react the way he wants.

The silence that looms is tense and uncomfortable. Even Jeonghan can feel it from where he’s watching. It’s strange. The scene in front of him should be satisfying, but it’s not. Not even close.

“What is it that you want to say, then?”

“I know for a fact that Yoon Jeonghan is planning to use a large part of his trust to buy your rival agency. I’ll loan you a substantial amount of money to counter that offer and steal it from him.”

Now, there’s not much that can catch Jeonghan off guard, but what the fuck. His intentions and deals were strictly confidential. How was it possible that your father knew?

“I’m sure you know the reason this chance is so important.”

That anticlimactic moment makes Jeonghan pause. He vaguely recognizes the sick feeling in his stomach as one of realization. The scene in front of him was nothing more then a distorted reflection of his own relationship with his father.

In the time he hadn’t seen you, you’d gotten good at schooling your reactions, but now anyone can see how helpless you feel. That expression reminds him of how he felt when his own father told him to buy the agency and find a model that was capable of taking the crown you’ve had for the last two years. It was never about Jeonghan’s happiness, it was all about his dad’s vanity and ego. He could see now that was still the case for you as well.

“You want me to humiliate him and his family one more time.”

Your father smirks. “Now you’re getting it. You need to prove to everyone—especially that boy and his family—that you’ve always been better.”

All the things you’ve done to Jeonghan come to the forefront of your mind and you suddenly feel more sick and disgusted than ever. This entire time you inadvertently pushed your obsessive father’s agenda because you were still angry about something that happened years ago. There’s this tight knot in your throat that suddenly makes it hard to speak, but you manage anyway.

“When are you going to stop using me for your petty rivalry?” You demand angrily. “I’m not going to be the kind of person who steps on other people for no reason.”

Your father scoffs, furious eyes filled with disappointment. “No reason?”

His laughter that follows is cold and manic. “You think this is just about my dislike for that family? No. This is about who you’re going to turn out to be. Are you going to be weak? Swayed by every sob story that crosses your path? How do you expect to take over my company if you’re so spineless?”

Jeonghan doesn’t feel any satisfaction like he expects. Instead he feels this ugly, jagged feeling deep in his chest. He feels like he's watching some sort of reenactment of him and his own father.

“Don’t forget. I have no use for such a pathetic daughter.”

The silence feels like it’s going to last forever, and in the stillness, Jeonghan feels sorry for you. This entire time he had been so stuck on his own turmoil that he forgot you were also the verge of being crushed by the weight of your family’s expectations. Just like his own father, your dad clearly had no regard for anyone’s feelings—even his own child’s. The test of time hadn’t changed him at all. Unfortunately, the same could be said for his father. It was disheartening to know that you were both nothing more than pawns in their childish game of revenge.

“That’s funny because right now the pathetic one is you.” Jeonghan feels oddly proud at how cutthroat you sound right now. “Don’t act like that company is something you can give away, you know, since it belongs to your wife and not you.”

Your truthful words finally manage to silence him, but you can’t stop there. “Plus, I know you’d rather give everything you have to Seokmin anyway, right? I mean, he is the son you’ve always wanted.”

“Don’t blame him for my mistakes, Y/N.”

“God—When are you going to open your fucking eyes and realize I don’t blame anyone else but you!?” You suddenly yell, unable to keep stifling your feelings.

It’s quiet for a moment before your father speaks again, his voice cold and calculating. “What about the Yoon family? Don’t you blame them? Aren’t they the ones who crushed your dreams?”

Jeonghan holds his breath despite knowing your answer. Of course you did. There was no way you didn’t. If the roles were reversed, he would, too.

You did blame that fucking family for a lot, but never for what your parents did to you. They had nothing to do with the fact that your mom and dad aren’t worthy of being parents. Also, if you truly thought back on it (which you had—countless times), your parents were the one who destroyed your dreams before anyone else could.

“Why would I blame anyone else for what you and your ex wife did to me? You two are the ones who decided I was useless because I couldn’t get you back to where you wanted to be.” You say, voice void of any perceptible emotion.

The silence is thick and heavy with tension. You swallow thickly and belatedly remember that you’re being watched. By this time, you imagine Jeonghan has enough material to humiliate you accordingly, but you’re too fucking exhausted to care. The petty actions you’ve taken so far were justified in your eyes, but even so, you wish you had just let it go. Talking to the man who abandoned you and only came looking for you when he deemed you as useful let you see that.

“Just leave.” Dad. You almost say it like he’s worthy of being that. “Do what you want with this sick obsession you have with the Yoon family, but leave me out of it because I’m done being used for your petty revenge.”

Your father scoffs. “I knew you didn’t have what it takes. I’ll go, but I’ll leave you with this: Yoon Jeonghan’s father knows his son will stop at nothing to destroy you. He was bragging about how his son was going to ruin you with this agency he’s going to buy. Think about that next time you want to be the better person.”

With that, he walks away from you, possibly for the last time.

Despite feeling numb, there’s still angry tears poking the back of your eyes. You let out a shaky sigh, knowing now isn’t the time to cry like you want. “Are you going keep hiding in the shadows like you didn’t set this up?”

Jeonghan’s blood runs cold, and for a moment he contemplates on running. He’s not exactly sure how you found out or even knew that he was watching, but there was no point in pretending. As usual, you knew everything.

You turn around, face still a mess of emotions. Two hours before, you might’ve cared about losing face in front of Jeonghan, but that was no longer the case. No matter what actions he took against you after this, you were done feeding into this game. As soon as the semester was over, you were going back to your normal life and leave behind all these shitty memories.

The expression on your face is eerily similar to the one from when he took your scholarship—a look of defeated resignation. Jeonghan figures that he gets a similar expression on his face when he fights with his dad. That suffocated look is one he knows all too well.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

Jeonghan is reminded of that first day of senior year when he saw you again. In that split second as you're gazing at him with crystal-like tears shining in your pretty eyes, he makes a decision.

“Be my girlfriend.”

His words hang in the air, and you can only look at Jeonghan like he’s lost his mind. You two stare at each other, until you finally manage to form some words through your bewilderment. “What? What are you—?”

“Be my girlfriend.” He says with more conviction. “And help me get revenge on our parents.”

You blink, feeling more confused than ever. Briefly, you wonder if the intensity of your emotions has driven you into some sort of delirium. Either that, or Jeonghan really has lost his mind.

“Don’t look at me like that.” He actually pouts at you. “You said you were done being used by your dad. I feel the same way. I’m tired of only being useful for their sick obsession.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion you feel from all the emotions you’ve ran dry or maybe it’s because the little snake actually sounds convincing, but either way you agree.

“Fine, but I have conditions.”

Realistically, Jeonghan knew that (fake) dating you wouldn’t be easy, but he never expected to be put on blast like he has been—least of all by you. He’s waiting outside your last class, trying to pretend like he’s not furious.

“Angel face.” Jeonghan’s smile is deceptively calm and pretty. “We need to talk.”

You grimace at him as he loops his arm through yours and begins walking you out of the building towards his sleek car. “Yeah, we do because what the hell is that pet name? It makes you sound like some middle-aged creep.”

Jeonghan laughs stiffly, not wanting to attract the wrong kind of attention. People were already skeptical about your relationship, and he couldn’t let his brilliant plan fail before it got to the good part. He manages to keep his cool and even opens the passenger door for you, gently stroking your head as you get in. It’s almost annoying how good he is at acting affectionate.

“You’re breaking your own rules.” Jeonghan scowls as he starts the car.

You already know he’s talking about your interview that went public an hour ago. His deep frown makes you smirk. “Don’t be mad at me, angel face.”

Jeonghan’s annoyance is oddly soothed by your cute laughter, and he briefly wonders if he’s starting to go insane. His friends would likely tell him that he is. Meanwhile, you’re also wondering if you’re going insane because the surly pout Jeonghan has on his face isn’t as off-putting as it usually is.

“I did what was necessary for the plan.” You explain, trying not to sound like you’re mocking him. “Now everyone likes us together. See?”

Jeonghan finally looks at your phone when he gets to a stoplight. Even just skimming the comments under the article, he can see the tides beginning to shift in his favor. He looks back at the road with a pout. Sure, everything was in the name of revenge, but he wasn’t sure if the humiliation was worth it.

“I guess, but... I don’t think you had to say that I cried while begging for your forgiveness.”

You give him an annoyed look. “Honestly, that’s the least you could do to repent for everything that you’ve done to me. Just consider yourself lucky that I let everything slide due to our mutual need to get revenge.”

Jeonghan scoffs, but says nothing else the entire time he drives to the restaurant he’s been dying to eat at for weeks. The reservation he made two weeks ago was at the beginning of next month, but you had managed to get one within minutes. It was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and he had heard nothing but good things.

Your hands slips into his easily as you two walk into the two MICHELIN star restaurant. Jeonghan tries not to think about how holding your soft hand doesn’t feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Instead he focuses on the extravagant interior of the restaurant. He’s seen the pictures online, but they didn’t capture the essence of the place at all.

He notices the looks you’re getting from the staff when you say your last name to the hostess. Unlike the attention you get at school, the other guests and staff are subtle with the looks they’re giving you as you two are guided into the restaurant. It’s a different type of uncomfortable, but Jeonghan notices that you don’t seem to be fazed by it at all.

“Hannie.” You call so affectionately that Jeonghan has to stop himself from gaping at you. “I booked one of the tables on the balcony, I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” He says, feeling like he’s in a trance as you look at him with those pretty eyes of yours.

As you two near the balcony, he sees the group of people sitting at one of the tables. Your hand tightens around his, but your face remains clean of any emotions. Jeonghan isn’t sure why he softly caresses your thumb in a comforting way. Maybe it’s because he knows that despite wanting revenge, executing it didn’t mean all the unpleasant feelings that came with seeing your father would magically go away.

“How’d you know he’d be here?” Jeonghan wonders after you two are seated.

You hum softly, thinking of a way to say something so deprecating without sounding completely pitiful. Eventually, you decide you don’t need to be so cautious because Jeonghan has already seen all the ugly parts of your life you never wanted anyone to see.

“It’s his birthday, today.” Your gaze flickers past his shoulder for a split second. “He always has this intimate dinner with his family before throwing his actual party. Seokmin mentioned that he wanted to have the dinner here this year.”

Jeonghan doesn’t have time to process how detached you seem because you give him a wicked smirk. “I know you can’t see, but he looks fucking livid right now.”

He’s not sure why he feels relieved when you start laughing like you weren’t feeling suffocated a few seconds ago. It makes him wonder if you’re aware that he can still tell what you’re feeling. Jeonghan had an innate talent for it since childhood, and now it seemed to be more fine-tuned than ever.

“Then, should we take it a step further?”

You give him a questioning gaze. The confusion you feel slowly turns into an emotion that feels somewhat familiar yet foreign all at the same time. It’s something you can’t pinpoint or name, but it’s definitely there as Jeonghan puts a velvet box on the table. Something inside your chest jerks when you realize that he went out and bought you a gift to help you get the reaction you were looking for.

Jeonghan slides the box over to you, a cocky smirk on his face. “Open it, darling. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

You don’t comment on the pet name (especially since you like it way better than the other one) as you do what he says. The box contains a beautiful necklace that looks like it could be from a man in love (or one set on getting revenge).

“It’s beautiful.” You say with a smile as the feeling in your chest jerks again. “Want to put it on me?”

Jeonghan immediately stands from his seat and walks around the table. He’s good at keeping his eyes trained on you, but out of the corner of his eye he can see the three heads clearly staring in the direction of your table. Jeonghan takes the necklace from the box and bends down to clip it into place. Your scent invades his senses, and it makes it way too easy to admire the way the diamonds shine against your skin.

You feel soft lips press against your cheek before gentle words are whispered into your ear. “It suits you just like I knew it would.”

There’s a loud thumping in the air that only you two can seem to hear.

Jeonghan’s hands are holding on to your shoulders as you look up at him. The thumping seems to get louder. “Thank you for my gift, love.”

On impulse more than anything, your (fake) boyfriend swoops down to press a lingering kiss on your lips. He pulls back, feeling an awkward warmth crawling up his neck. You don’t look surprised or disgusted, instead you give him a fond smile that seems more genuine the longer he looks at it. Jeonghan takes his seat again, the infuriated man tables behind you long forgotten by either of you.

There’s a shift in your relationship that night. It’s subtle, but it’s there. Neither you nor Jeonghan really take notice. All you two are aware of is that playing pretend isn’t as awful as you both thought it would be. Expectedly, you scheming deviants have the time of your life playing with this new dynamic there is between you.

Jeonghan has become overly familiarized with your apartment by now. He’s waiting on your nice couch, watching as your team finishes working on your hair and makeup. It’s interesting to see just how much effort goes into looking absolutely flawless for all the cameras. Before this, he didn’t realize certain types of makeup and hair styles photographed better.

“Flawless as always!” Your makeup artist squeals as he takes videos and pictures to document his handiwork.

You don’t look exhausted physically, but Jeonghan still worries that you might already be drained. He knows he would be, especially because your manager keeps reminding you of all the people you need to get a photo with and at what time you need to be home by because you have two different shoots in the morning.

Jeonghan watches silently as your stylist follows you to your room to help you put on the custom dress Wen Junhui has made especially for you to wear to the new Givenchy pop-up shop opening. From what you’ve said, it’s supposed to match the suit he has on—which was also custom made for him by the famous designer.

When you step back into the living room wearing the fitted dress, Jeonghan feels like he’s staring at a living goddess. He can’t take his eyes off you as Jihoon snaps some photos of you. Being starstruck is something he didn’t think was actually possible, but now he understands why Soonyoung still can’t act normal when he brings you around.

“You look amazing.” Jeonghan says breathlessly, still completely entranced by your appearance.

“So do you. I’ll have to give Jun my thanks for making us the hottest couple at this event.”

After a few pictures together for your socials, you two set off to the pop-up shop. The event is expectedly large and grand. So many important people had gathered, but he only cared about the one person who he knew would be there. Jeonghan is quick to spot his father. Ironically, he’s talking with the man who designed the suit he's wearing.

You’re only a little taken aback when Jeonghan wraps his arms around you while you’re talking to a newcomer model you met last year during fashion week. It’s all you can do to keep talking normally as he rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands gently caress the material of your dress. He’s pressing himself closer to you like he wants to mold your bodies together.

When you’re finally left alone, you turn your head to give him a questioning look. You only get a pleased expression in return. The adorably goofy look makes your heart flutter with unwarranted affection.

“I’m clingy.” Jeonghan says bluntly. “And as my girlfriend, you’re obligated to indulge me.”

Your laugh is airy and filled with endearment because honestly, you don’t hate the faux affection. His embrace isn’t uncomfortable. Oddly, it makes the usual anxiousness you get at these events melt away. It’s only an added bonus to what you actually came by to get.

His father looks a lot like yours did. It’s almost funny because it takes less than a second after he sees you two together for him to come over and demand to speak to his son alone. You almost decline for Jeonghan, but you stop yourself when you remember the clause that states neither of you will interfere with family matters other than indirectly making them angry with your relationship.

Your (fake) boyfriend isn’t gone for long, but he’s clearly upset. Instead of letting it visibly show, he indulges in more champagne and mingling. It’s only when he starts slurring his words that you decide it’s time to go.

You're not sure why you don’t take him back to his frat house. It would’ve been easier and less of a hassle, but you found yourself unwilling to part with Jeonghan when he was clearly so distraught and incoherent. You force feed him water before laying him down in your guest bedroom.

“My dad’s such an asshole.” Jeonghan sighs, arm thrown over his eyes as you take off his shoes for him.

You hum in agreement, finally looking back at his face. His cheeks and neck are suffused with color, and you wonder what exactly his father said to make him this upset. It makes you wonder if he was starting to regret doing this entire thing with you.

“Don’t think about him anymore.” You whisper, not sure why that last thought is so upsetting. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You go to get up, but are stopped by a gentle hand wrapping around your wrist. Jeonghan has moved his arm and is now looking directly at you. His eyes are shining with so many emotions that you recognize, but somehow can’t seem to decipher enough to tell what exactly he’s feeling. The intensity of his stare makes somehow makes you feel exposed.

“Stay with me.” His voice is more vulnerable than you expect. “Please.”

It’s like your legs move on their own as they sit you back at his side. He doesn’t make a move to let go of your wrist and you don’t think to shake off his touch. The silence is full of unspoken words, and you only wait for him to say what’s clearly bothering him.

“I don’t hate you.”

His words are surprising, mostly because they’re something you never thought you’d hear. Jeonghan doesn’t give you a chance to say anything because he keeps talking. “I don’t know why, but I can’t hate you the way I’m supposed to.” His gaze goes to the ceiling as if he’s trying to sort out all the thoughts you can see running through his mind. “I never could.”

“I don’t hate you either.” You tell him honestly.

“But I ruined your life.” Jeonghan frowns as if he’s recalling every horrible thing he ever did to you.

“I ruined yours.” You counter lightheartedly.

Jeonghan laughs a bit and closes his eyes. “Hope you can forgive me for real someday.”

He starts snoring before you can tell him that you already have.

“They look so cute together.”

This phrase was one Jeonghan got used to hearing since you two started dating, and he hates it. Not because it’s unpleasant to hear (it’s not), but because half the time that phrase was being used to describe you and Kim Mingyu. The two girls in his financial analysis class are squealing about your most recent photo shoot which included some shots with your model friend.

“Jealousy is not a good look on you.” Seungkwan laughs when he sees the look on his friend's face.

Jeonghan only rolls his eyes and pretends that Seungkwan’s words don’t affect him the way they do. Because there’s no way he’s jealous. How could he be jealous of someone that was nothing more than a coworker? And there's no reason for him to be jealous even if that wasn’t the case because he doesn’t have any feelings for you.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when you tell him you’re going to have to reschedule your weekly dinner because of that stupidly tall model everyone ships you with. Instead of letting it go like he should’ve done, Jeonghan reminds you that having dinner out in public once a week is part of your deal.

It’s almost cute the way he does it. Jeonghan says it like a whiny child that’s begging for attention. So you promise him to meet him the next day, but he’s not having it. Jeonghan insists that you come to his frat’s party after you’re done. Which you do, and you don’t know what to think on what you stumble on. Jeonghan is absolutely hammered, but he’s also really happy to see you.

“Darling!” He yells, abandoning the game of beer pong he’s currently winning.

You’re surprised when he races toward you and crushes you with a hug. The wolf whistles and cat calls fade into the background as Jeonghan pulls you along with him to sit on the couch, not caring for his partner’s loud protest for him to finish the game. His grip is strong as he tugs you on his lap. The grin he gives you when you easily comply is so pretty it hurts.

“You look so pretty.” Jeonghan is talking to you in pout, and you think you might melt at how cute he looks. “Can’t believe you went out with another guy looking so good.”

You let out a shocked laugh. He sounds like a jealous boyfriend, and for some reason it doesn’t repulse or annoy you. It does confuse you, though.

“I can’t believe you were out here getting drunk with sorority girls while I had a business dinner with Mingyu and Jihoon.”

His laugh is so cute, and the way he hugs you tighter and burrows his face into your neck is even cuter. You notice the lingering eyes, and it reminds you that the affection you’re receiving isn’t real. It also makes you think about how there’s really no need for him to be acting like this. There’s no reporters around or anyone that would run back to your families to let them know how “in love” you two are.

And yet, you don’t feel like pushing him off.

“Let’s get you to bed.” You say, trying to act like your heart isn’t pounding as if it’s on the verge of imploding.

“To your house?” He looks up, hooded eyes looking at you with an emotion that seems familiar, but foreign-looking in his eyes.

“No.” You force yourself to say despite wanting to give into his pleading stare. “Your bed is upstairs, silly.”

Jeonghan leans more into you, letting out disappointed hum that tickles your skin. “Want to stay with you.”

You’re pretty sure you’re going to regret what you do next, but you for some reason you can’t explain to yourself, you’re unwilling to leave him alone when he clearly wants to stay with you. So you decide it’s easier to take him upstairs as he drunkenly points out where his room is. You plop down on his bed, surprised that Jeonghan hasn’t let go of you once the entire time.

“I’ll stay until you fall asleep.” You say as he shoves his face in your neck.

“Stay forever.”

It’s stupid the way your heart interprets the words even though your brain knows he only meant stay for tonight. You’re more worried that you wish he meant it in the way he said it.

In the morning, you wake up to see that you’re alone. The discomfort you feel is eased when the door opens minutes later to reveal Jeonghan with several shopping bags in hand. You spot the familiar Valentino and Christian Louboutin bags almost instantly.

“You’re awake.” The smile he gives you is sleepy and tired, but so damn attractive.

“You went shopping.” You say, trying to understand how he got up before you. “Don’t you have a hangover?”

“I do.” He admits, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “But you need fresh clothes after you shower, so I went out to buy you some. I also got you some other stuff from the drug store.”

You don’t know how to process the fact that your fake boyfriend went out to buy you all the things you need. Especially since it was clear he made more than one stop. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to notice just how shocked you are as he places the bags on his bed and insists you look through them. You do as he says, feeling an intruding warmth fill your chest.

“Why’d you get me shoes?” You wonder when you open the Louboutin box.

“The shoes you came with don’t go with the dress I got you.”

His words make your heart thump with adoration that can’t be stifled. Heat spreads across your face as you hastily thank him before hurrying into the bathroom with the toiletries he bought for you so he can’t see just how much his actions affected you. It’s hard to ignore all the emotions gathering in your chest. Jeonghan is an exceptionally good actor, but you keep wondering why he's going this far. What’s worse is that you can’t say you hate it. Actually, you probably like it a little too much.

When you’re done showering, you dry your hair and try on the dress Jeonghan bought you. It’s snug against your frame, and you have to marvel at the fact that he actually did a great job choosing your size. You tentatively step out of the bathroom to see Jeonghan sitting on the bed occupied with his phone. It feels like the air is knocked out of him when he looks up to see you dressed in something he picked out and bought for you.

“Want to get breakfast?”

You try to ignore the fact that you’re playing a dangerous game by blurring the lines you’ve drawn when you say yes.

“Should we breakup before I go to Milan or after I come back from Paris?”

Your question is so casual that Jeonghan almost thinks he didn’t hear you right. He looks up from his phone to see you pulling out a suitcase from your closet. It’s almost painful that you don’t seem to realize how much your words have affected him.

“Breakup?” He repeats, throat going dry and heart sinking.

The way you nod normally like he doesn’t feel sick to his stomach has him reeling. “Yeah. Our parents are mad enough now, and the semester is almost over so I’ll start taking online classes again.”

Your reasoning makes sense (maybe a little too much), but Jeonghan really can’t accept what you’re saying. All that registers is the fact that you’re leaving and planning on having nothing to do with him anymore.

“You’re not coming back?”

You wonder if he actually sounds disappointed or if it’s just you wishing that he does. Either way, you can’t let him know that you feel like your heart is being ripped out because you’re asking to plan your breakup. “My agency only agreed to let me take classes in person for a semester. After the scandal I had with you, they don’t want me coming back again.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

You try to pretend like his words don’t evoke an emotion out of you that you should definitely not feel for him.

“And I don’t want to breakup.”

The silence is heavy. It isn’t easy to not interpret his words as a plea to stay because he has feelings for you. Especially since you’re sure that’s not what he means. “If it’s about your dad we can—”

“This has nothing to do with my dad.” Jeonghan says, frustrated that you’re not understanding how he's feeling. “This is about you and me—about us.”

It’s strange to think that there is an us when it comes to you and Jeonghan now, but he can’t let you fly across the world without letting you know how he feels.

“You have to know that this isn’t fake to me.” He says, more nervous and determined than ever.

You can’t say anything. Not because you think it’s some joke or that he’s not being sincere, but because you can’t believe these feelings that had been flourishing since you two decided to let go of the past are being reciprocated.

“I know you probably still hate me, and I don’t blame you if you do. Back then, I ruined your life because I was insecure and wanted to make my dad proud. And now because of me, you won’t be able to come back to school even though going to this university has been your dream since we were kids.” Jeonghan soldiers on even though every single emotion is trying to peak through. “I’m an idiot to realize it so late, and I’m a bigger one to be apologizing to you only now.”

Jeonghan walks toward you until he’s directly in front of you. Just as you hope he seals his apology with a kiss, he falls to his knees, bunny-like eyes looking at you imploringly.

“I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m going to ask for your forgiveness anyway. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done to you since you came back into my life.” He’s close to tears as he grabs your hands. “I’ll do anything for your forgiveness. Just tell me what I need to do, and I’ll do it.”

Your heart is thumping so erratically that it feels like it’s on the verge of exploding. Yoon Jeonghan is on his knees in front of you, eyes wet and pleading for you to forgive him. The onslaught of emotions you feel are scrambling your brain to the point where you can hardly think. “Hannie...”

The nickname makes him hopeful that maybe he can earn your forgiveness. He grips your hands a little tighter and gently uses his thumbs to caress the back of your hands.

“I don’t hate you, and I already forgave a long time ago.” You confess with a smile, heart still pounding.

Jeonghan stands and crushes you with a hug, body sagging in relief to know that you don’t hate him. He closes his eyes as he buries his face into your neck. The anxiety he was feeling fades away as he basks in your embrace.

“I’m sorry too.” Your apology is slightly muffled. “I was wrong to make your life a living hell, and I hope you can also forgive me.”

Jeonghan hugs you tighter. “I already have. It’s not like I didn't deserve it.”

You two laugh a bit until you pull back to look at your (fake?) boyfriend. “You really don’t want to be away from me?”

Jeonghan pouts and nods. He briefly thinks he might have to hang a sign around his neck for you to realize he never wants you to leave his side.

“Why?”

You need to hear him say it. This way, you’ll know for sure that you’re not just lucid dreaming.

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Jeonghan never thought he could miss someone as much as he missed you. He’s surprised that it can feel like you’ve been away from him for years when in reality it’s only been a week. Not that it matters because he finally has you in his arms again. And he plans on showering you with love before you have to leave for Paris.

“I missed you so much.”

You feel breathless when Jeonghan’s lips mold against yours, not giving you a chance to say that you missed him too. He’s nestled between your legs as his lips devour yours, not caring that he’s been in the same position for the last fifteen minutes. Jeonghan can’t get enough of you, and he’s only gotten a small taste.

The whine you let out when Jeonghan’s tongue starts to play with yours is so hot that he can feel his cock twitch in his pants. One of his hands trails down your body to grab a handful of your ass before smoothing over your thigh to hook your leg over his hip. You moan into his mouth as your core grinds into his hardening dick.

Finally, you pull away from him, pupils blown wide with lust. “Missed you so much, Hannie.”

Your boyfriend gently grinds down in order to hear another one of your sensual moans. His dark eyes are staring at you with so much desire that your cunt starts to pulse at the thought of having him carnally.

“Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Jeonghan is patient as he undresses you. It’s a contrast to the way he quickly strips his own clothes. You know it’s because your dress is a custom gift from Wen Junhui, and it makes your heart warm and cunt drip with more slick at the thought that he actually remembered.

When he settles his head between your legs and spreads you open, you feel a bashful heat course through your body. Jeonghan is staring straight at your core with the most heated gaze you’ve ever received from a man. “Fuck. I knew you were pretty everywhere.”

Jeonghan’s gives your pussy a harsh slap, earning a surprised moan from you. He soothes the sting by gently rubbing his fingers against your clit, loving how wet your pussy keeps getting. Any coherent response you’re thinking of is quick to disappear when Jeonghan dives into your awaiting cunt. His tongue laps and slobbers all over your drooling lips, messily making out with the heaven between your legs.

The way Jeonghan is groaning into your pussy in absolute pleasure makes you grind you cunt into his mouth, moaning and crying out in just as much pleasure. His fingers flex into the flesh of your soft thighs as they lock around his head. Jeonghan greedily licks every inch of your sopping cunt, chin and cheeks increasingly becoming covered in your sweet juices as they drip down to the sheets below him.

“Fuck, Hannie!” You cry out with a jolt, hips rolling incessantly into his mouth. “Keep doing that! Feels so good.”

“Yeah? Like it how I fuck you with my tongue, darling?” He rasps burying his face deeper into your hot cunt.

You’re slowly slipping into a euphoric state that won’t allow you to think straight, and you’re only able to stay coherent because he pulls away momentarily to slide his fingers between your folds. He lewdly spreads you open before diving back in, slurping up every last bit of your juices. The taste of you had his cock twitching and throbbing between his thighs.

Jeonghan groans when your fingers slide into his hair as your pussy keeps getting tighter around his tongue. The room in the air feels hot as he continues to lap at your cunt, and you can only pant and moan as you feel a familiar feeling pooling in your stomach.

The entire lower half of his face feels sticky, but Jeonghan needs more. Wants it to be messier. His hands slip under to grab your ass and push you deeper on his tongue. Lewd squelches mix in with your cries of pleasure as he fucks you with his tongue. You feel your eyes roll back and your back arch when he gently starts to circle your puffy clit. Jeonghan then wraps his lips around it before sucking it into his mouth.

“Fuck.” You moan out. “Jeonghan! Gonna come!”

His tongue rolls the sensitive bud as you jerk in his hold. Jeonghan’s groans are only turning you on even more because you can tell he’s enjoying this as much as you are. The arousal he feels has his cock aching for any sort of friction, but he’s just so lost in you that he can’t really care that his erection is starting to hurt. Honestly, he feels like he could eat you out forever.

“So fucking good.” You babble as your clit knocks against his nose with every buck of your hips.

You jolt when you feel Jeonghan suck your clit between his teeth, nibbling on the sensitive bud until your orgasm finally washes over you. Instead of pulling away, he pulls you closer and laps up your cream, slurping up everything you have to offer him. Precum gathers at the tip of his aching cock that he can feel it staining his underwear, but he’s too focused on you creaming on his tongue to care.

Your body goes slack after you ride out your orgasm. Jeonghan pulls a way from your cunt with a satisfied smirk. He wastes no time in getting rid of his underwear, leaking cock springing up with a wet slap against his lower abdomen after he takes it off. You lick your you lips and pull him closer to you as you’re eager to feel his skin on yours again.

“Like what you see, darling?” Jeonghan coos with a cocky smirk.

He’s stroking his thick cock slowly as he watches your eyes fix on the girth between his legs, raking them over him slowly with unmistakeable hunger. His cock is as pretty as he is; long and thick with the bulbous head oozing plenty of precum. The veins running alongside it have your cunt aching in need to feel them drag along your walls. Jeonghan undoubtedly has one of the biggest cocks you’ve ever seen, and you whine out in need as you cling to his neck. Your hips buck up on their own, desperate to feel even the slightest bit of friction.

“Don’t tease me.” You pout, eyes blinking up at him pleadingly.

That face you’re making is dangerous, Jeonghan thinks. It’s capable of getting you whatever you want. He has to close his eyes and exhale deeply when you snake a hand between your bodies and grip his cock, squeezing gently to goad him into fucking you. It’s hot and heavy in your hand and wet with his precum. Your hand drags over him in slow strokes.

“I want you so bad.” You whine into his ear. “Please.”

“You—“ He breathes with a stutter, hips slowly rolling into your hand. “Y-You have to answer me first, baby.”

You roll your thumb over his weeping tip, collecting the wet bead of his precum before smearing it along his cock. His whimpers and moans are so pretty, and you just revel in the sounds that you’re emmiting from him.

“Tell me. Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“Want your cock, Hannie. It’s so pretty—need it inside me.” You mewl as you squeeze the base of his dick.

Jeonghan lets out a chuckle that’s breathy against your ear. It sounds smug despite the blush spreading on his face. “Think it’s pretty, huh? The prettiest cock you’ve ever seen?”

“Mhm.” You moan as he slides his tip up and down your entrance, collecting your juices along his cock before he slaps your cunt with his dick.

Finally, he relents and slowly pushes past your wet folds. You both let out loud moans at the feeling of each other. Jeonghan feels like he’s in heaven with how your hot, tight cunt is gripping his cock while you feel a burning pleasure licking up your entire body as his big cock splits you open.

“Fuh-Fuck, darling. Tight little pussy’s gonna drive me crazy.” He groans before leaning forward to press a sloppy kiss to your lips, tongue exploring your mouth as he drinks in your moans.

You whimper and whine into his mouth, eyelids fluttering in pleasure as he slowly starts to fuck his cock into you. Jeonghan pulls away with a deep groan. His eyes roll to the back of his head as your tight cunt squeezes his dick. Your arms a wrap around his neck as your legs do the same around his waist. Jeonghan’s cock throbs, nearly coming at the sight of your mouth hanging open in pleasure.

“Such a pretty little cunt. And it’s all for me.”

“Only for you, babe.” You say through a moan, bucking your hips up to meet his slow thrusts.

Your actions make his cock hit deep inside you, the leaking tip brushing against your sweet spot. A wanton moan escapes you at the feeling. You arch your back in absolute pleasure, not believing that he’s able to reach that deep inside you. Jeonghan smirks at your reaction, loving how you’re already so lost on his cock. His hips keep rolling against yours, forcing his thick cock in and out of your tight pussy.

Jeonghan is splitting you open as he fucks his cock into you. Your head is swimming from the pleasure as he picks up his pace. His moans only add to your pleasure. You can feel his pelvis brushing your pulsing clit with every harsh snap of his hips. The carnal sound of his cock slipping in and out of your cunt paired with the slapping of skin is making your velvety walls clamp down on him tighter.

“Fuck, Hannie. Harder! Fuck me harder!” You beg, bucking your hips to match his thrusts.

You’re both panting harshly as you feel the delicious pleasure build steadily. It spreads from your legs and along your spine until it consumes you completely. Jeonghan is quickly becoming obsessed with the sight of you under him, pretty tits bouncing every time he sharply snaps his hips. He spreads your legs to see the erotic sight of your juices frothing at the base of his dick and sliding down his heavy sack.

“Cockhungry angel wants more?” Jeonghan coos, driving his hips deeper so his cock is slamming against your sweet spot, sending your vision white. “You can have more, love. Because this is your cock. All yours.”

His words make you become impossibly tight. Your velvety walls make him choke out a loud moan. It’s almost hard for him to move with how tight your pussy keeps getting. The sight of your cream coating his cock as it disappears into your hot cunt only makes his snap his hips harder, eager to feel you come undone on his dick.

“Mine.” Your babble sounds so possessive yet fucked out that Jeonghan can’t help but moan along with you.

“Yours.” He confirms through his deep groans. “Cock fits inside your little pussy like it was made for you.”

“Hannie!” You cry out, feeling drunk on how his veiny cock drags against your walls. “If you k-keep saying things like that—!”

He smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek—an action too tender for how he’s ravishing you. “What, baby? You’re gonna gush all over me? Cover this cock with your sweet cream?”

His thumb trails down to your aching clit and starts to rub fast circles along the sensitive bud. Jeonghan does this until you break. Your thighs tremble as your gummy walls flutter around his cock. If only you could see the literal heart eyes your boyfriend is staring at you with as your pretty face contorts in pleasure as you fall apart on his cock. He’s never seen a more perfect sight, and he’s sure to commit it to memory as your orgasm spurts all over his cock, marking him with your essence in the most obscene way.

The slam of his cock as he fucks you through your orgasm bordering on too much as you whimper in his arms. Those cute little mewls turn into cries when he keeps going, so drunk in you that he can’t stop. The sound of your moans and the way you suck him in as you cream around his cock makes Jeonghan’s head fall into your neck. His thrusts are turning sloppy as he whimpers gently against your skin.

“I love you.” He pants into your skin, choking on moans as he pumps his cum into your cunt. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Hannie.” You mewl, loving the feeling of his cum filling you up.

You feel the mixture of his release and your slick trailing down the sides of your thighs. It’s so messy that you can’t help but crave more. Jeonghan’s breathing is heavy as he places gentle kisses on your neck. Neither of you can ignore the pulsing of his fat cock still inside you. He fucks his cum into you a bit more before slowly pulling out, enjoying the sight of his thick cum leaking down to your asshole. Your pretty pussy is pulsing as more thick cum squeezes out.

Jeonghan’s massaging a palm on the inside of your sticky thigh to keep your legs spread for his eyes when you say the words that make his cock twitch and ache all over again.

“Keep stuffing me full of cum, baby.”

It’s so easy to slide his cock back into your creamy pussy. You clench tightly as he draws back, then forward again. His thick dick stretches you open so deliciously that you can’t hold back your cries of pleasure. He’s balls deep inside your hot cunt, his pelvis brushing against your aching nub. Your vision goes blurry as he hits so deep. Jeonghan hooks one of your knees over his shoulder so he can slide in deeper.

“I’m going to fill you up. Gonna come in this pretty pussy and fuck you until you can’t take anymore.” Jeonghan groans as you mewl and whimper underneath him.

He takes one of your nipples in his mouth, tugging the nub with his teeth, groping your other tit. You’re already so damn sensitive and arch into his touch. “Ah, Hannie!”

“Mmh.” He groans, releasing the hardened bud with a lewd pop as you clench around him.

Jeonghan starts fucking you slowly, letting you feel every vein along your pulsating walls. From tip to base, he feeds your tight hole like it’s starving. You whimper at the feeling, moans slipping out of you when he picks up speed. The tip of his dick rams into your cervix and makes you see stars. You’re so hot and messy already, your slick and his cum creating a ring around the fat base of his cock.

Dark eyes flicker between your sloppy hole and your fucked out face. Jeonghan can’t decide which is more obscene, but he loves both sights so much. His big cock spreads you wide, a euphoric burn blooming in your little pussy as your juices spill out. The cry you let out makes him kiss you. It’s soft in contrast to his length spearing you open. His tongue slips into your mouth, massaging yours as he swallows your moans.

Jeonghan traces tracing over your stretched hole to your fluttering clit, rubbing in hard circles as you keep crying out for him. He keeps pounding into you, your body moving up the bed with the sheer force.

“So fucking good!” Your mouth falls open in a moan as he rams into your sweet spot, that familiar electricity streaming through your body.

You can feel his pelvic bone pressing against your clit as his dick spears deeper. You’re squirming against your boyfriend, full and cockdrunk as he keeps rubbing his fingers on your clit. The toe-curling orgasm strikes so abruptly that you don’t expect it. Your juices squirt out all over Jeonghan’s length and his pelvis.

His thickness continues to invade your convulsing walls, almost brutally but you take it, gasping as your mind goes foggy.

“Fuck, darling. Keep soaking my cock like that.”

Your tits bounce as he fucks you harder, ramming into your sweet spot. You can’t process anything over the squelching noises and the sounds of your moans. Jeonghan groans, cursing lowly as you squeeze around him, begging for his cum. He grinds sinfully into your spasming cunt until he releases his hot cum into your pussy, filling you to the brim.

In utter pleasure, Jeonghan rocks into you with abandon, spurred on by your cries and your nails digging into his shoulders as his pelvis rubs your humming clit. His warmth spreads within you, leaking out from around his throbbing girth as his hips slow to a stop. You soften to quiet whimpers when he lets go of your leg, nuzzling into his neck in a daze.

Neither of you move, too lost in the feeling of each other’s arms to care about anything else.

taglist: @duolingofanaccount @felix-3002 @junhui-recs @asjkdk @dani41 @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @ohwonwoo

#svthub #jeonghan smut #svt smut #yoon jeonghan smut #jeonghan x reader #svt x reader #jeonghan x you #svt x you #jeonghan imagines #svt imagines #yoon jeonghan x reader

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eregyrn-falls-art · 1 year

Text

youtube

And here it is at last! The Gravity Falls Multi-Artist Lyric Comic tribute to the Stan Twins, "Trouble"!

Stay tuned, as @stariousfalls is working on making all of this into a video version. That will be coming along in the next few weeks!

EDIT: here is the video!

And of course, Happy Birthday to Dipper and Mabel! (Even if this project was Grunkles-centric, Stan and Ford's stories wouldn't have come to such a heart-warming resolution if it wasn't for their niblings. Credit where it's due!)

Some credits and acknowledgements below the read-more:

(I'll have remarks and thanks in another post; but for now, thank you SO MUCH TO EVERYONE who worked on this and made it spectacular!)

CREDITS:

Polaroid Collage One: elishevart, zephrunsimperium, pinkplatiploo, mother-ofthe-universedraws, fordtato, shadeartstuff, creativepup, skysdrawings

I've been a beggar: lemonfodrizzleart

And I've been a king: kingsofjersey

I've been a loner: muria-art

And I've worn the ring: everlight_283 (instagram)

Losing myself: batman-gif

Just to find me again: tazmiilly & gin-juice-tonic

I'm a million miles smarter: eregyrn-falls-art & stephreynaart

But I ain't learned a thing: annakitsun3

I've been a teacher: gobblewanker

And a student of hurt: skysdrawings

I kept my word: orangephoenix6

For whatever that's worth: mother-ofthe-universedraws

Never been last: jackyjackdraws

But I've never been first: jasmine-sketchbook

Oh I may not be the best: stephreynaart

But I'm far from the worst: spectralreplica

Oh I may not be the best: elishevart

But I'm far from the worst: zkyeline

Oh, I've seen trouble: fexiled / fexalted

More than any man should bear: mischieflily

But I've seen enough joy: ginandshattereddreams

I've had more than my share: gin-juice-tonic

And I'm still not done: morcian-draws

I'm only halfway there: jamesfenimoreharper

I'm a million miles ahead of where I'm from: fordtato

But there's still another million miles to come: deerpines, orangephoenix6 & fordtato

Polaroid Collage Two: creativepup, cbmagus49, inkdrawndreamer, bluefrostyy, mother-ofthe-universedraws, fordtato, bewildred-grimsley, shadeartstuff, alphazed

Oh I keep on searching for the City of Gold: vililae

So I'm gonna follow this yellow brick road: cbmagus49

Thinking that maybe it might lead me on: cutebatart

I'm a million miles farther: hellmandraws

And a long way from home: eregyrn-falls-art

I know that there's a plan that goes way beyond mine: possumbreath

Got to step back just to see the design: pottersfieldcustodian

The mind fears the heart: rechoclo

But the heart doesn't mind: novantinuum

Oh I may not be perfect: tazmiilly

But I'm loving this life: hubbabubbagumpop

Oh I may not be perfect: athgalla-arts

But I'm loving this life: thisiswhereidraw

Oh I've seen trouble: purblzart

More than any man should bear: shadowofaghost5

But I've seen enough joy: alextwdgf01 & fordtato

I've had more than my share: dragonsheepstudios

And I'm still not done: acetyzias & stephreynaart

I'm only halfway there: cryptidjeepers

I'm a million miles ahead of where I'm from: chiiroptereh

But there's still another million miles to come: stephreynaart

Polaroids Collage Three: cbmagus49; fordsy; fordtato; puppylove24680; sciencevillain; lemonfodrizzleart; mother-ofthe-universedraws; possumbreath

Polaroids Collage Four: jamesfenimoreharper; gin-juice-tonic; rusted-blue; shadowofaghost5; cutebatart; possumbreath; fordtato; nour386

Polaroids Collage Five: fordtato; pinestwinssimp; tazmiillly; melodramaticwolf; eregyrn-falls-art

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senseofnewness · 1 month

Text

double fault

idea by @diyasgarden

pairing : patrick zweig x f!reader (mistress!patrick zweig x trophywife!reader)

rating : explicit

word count : 31.4k

contains : smut 18+, infidelity, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex (m and f receiving), period sex, pregnant sex, mention of noncon, emotionally absent mother, body dysmorphia

summary : Running into Patrick Zweig, your childhood crush, was a much-needed distraction from your otherwise unhappy life as a housewife. Though others might envy your life of ease, with no obligations and a generous husband showering you with gifts, you felt something was lacking. You missed the excitement, the fire. Someting Patrick reignited in you, drawing you into an affair that forces you to reevaluate your life and what you truly desire as woman.

It was undeniable, you loved your husband more than anything. From the moment you met, he swept you off your feet with his charms. He was successful, ambitious, intelligent and a lot older than you. Raised in a wealthy traditional family, marrying up and dedicating yourself to your household was an expectation you couldn't escape. While you found this somewhat outdated, you reluctantly complied, feeling unprepared to pursue anything else in life. Your parents had always controlled the course of your life, never allowing you the freedom to explore and experience life on your own terms. Every decision, every step, had been meticulously planned and dictated by them. But now you found yourself without a degree, a clear passion, or a career beyond a few modeling gigs in your youth, so the path seemed set. Yet, when you met your husband, the weight of obligation lifted. You found comfort in his embrace, a sense of security that enveloped you. His reliability reassured you, brushing off any concerns you had about conforming to your parents' plans. And from the shelter of your father, you passed into the care of your husband.

In the early years of your relationship and marriage, he treated you like a precious jewel, a dazzling trophy wife to parade and whose happiness was at the forefront of his priorities. Together, you surrounded yourselves with luxury, enjoying a life of comfort and abundance. Three-star restaurants, exotic getaways, lavish hotels, designer wardrobes and expensive handbags, all gifted to you in gratitude for being such a devoted obedient wife. In return, all you had to do was maintain a firm body, keep your pussy tight and preserve your young-looking face. The only obligations you had were at the gym, visits to your plastic surgeon, or social events. You loved how easy your life was, how everything was thought of for you.

As time passed, cracks really began to show. While the material comfort remained, you found yourself starved for attention. His demanding career increasingly pulled him away from home, leaving you on your own in your cold mansion with no one to care for. No husband. No pet. No baby. A child was what you desired the most, a need that consumed your thoughts more and more as years passed. You had discussed it countless times, but he remained firmly convinced that he was happy with just the two of you. He was content with your only presence and so were you, but most of the time, he wasn’t even there.

He still made efforts to show he cared despite the distance but his gestures seemed mechanical, lacking the spark that once setted you on fire. Nights once filled with whispered promises, hushed moans and stolen kisses now echoed with silence. Sometimes, in the quiet hours of the night, you caught yourself remembering a time when sheets were warmed by your shared intimacy, and the steady rhythm of his breathing lulled you into sleep. Now, those moments felt like distant memories, fading with each passing day.

The loneliness was particularly bitter today, on your birthday, a day you had eagerly awaited. You had spent the hours ticking by, hopeful for a phone call or a surprise gift that never arrived. By 9pm, it was clear : he had either forgotten. Or worse, was too busy with someone else. Thoughts of another woman, younger and more captivating, raced through your mind. Had he become so consumed with impressing her that he had forgotten his own wife? There was no concrete reason to doubt him, yet you couldn't help but imagine the worst-case scenario.

You had spent the day in tears. Now, as evening settled in, all you craved was a small comfort, something sweet to numb the ache. For six years, you had diligently avoided indulging in anything sugary so that your husband would always find a thin and toned wife waiting for him in bed. But tonight, those sacrifices felt meaningless. You needed cake.

●

When the Uber dropped you off at the bakery, disappointment washed over you as you discovered they didn't sell individual slices of cake. You opted for a whole 6-inch cake instead, decorated with a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ message on it. You were sitting outside at a table with a spoon in hand, about to dig in, when you spotted a familiar face crossing the street. A face you had not seen in ages. A face that one couldn’t forget. It was Patrick Zweig.

You had grown up alongside the Zweig family, close friends of your parents. While you and Patrick couldn't call yourselves great friends, you shared many fond memories together. Beach trips, parties, amusement parks, you had experienced it all with him. Your parents always paired you up during events, likely because you were the same age. But you knew age wasn’t the only reason. Both your parents had ulterior motives. Your mother often remarked on how sweet and caring Patrick was, though you knew better. Her words had little effect on your opinion of the boy so she eventually suggested he would be a ‘great marriage candidate’ for you. You thought she was crazy : you were only fourteen and there was nothing remotely husband-material about Patrick.

As children, you got along well enough, despite Patrick's habit of using you to get whatever he wanted from his parents, who adored you, by making you ask for anything on his behalf, but as teenagers, you fought frequently. Patrick was wild and messy, while you were the opposite, always obedient. He saw you as a pain in the ass for always sticking to the rules, and you hated how unserious he was. But, eventually, at fifteen, he had grown on you. You developed a bit of a crush on him, having been the victim of his constant teasing. However, witnessing the way Patrick treated other girls had convinced you not to pursue it or even mention it.

●

"Patrick!" You called out, raising your voice to catch his attention. He looked up, scanning the area until his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he recognized you, closing the distance between you with quick steps. "No way!" He exclaimed as you stood and enveloped him in a warm hug.

After exchanging pleasantries, you gestured towards your dessert. "Want some cake?" Patrick hesitated for a moment, you could tell he had better things to do but his curiosity piqued as he read the inscription on the cake. "Sure." He replied, taking a seat opposite you and grabbing a spoon from your plastic bag. "Is it your birthday?" He asked, already digging into the chocolate cake. You nodded. "Happy birthday then." He said with a smile, clinking his spoon against yours before indulging in the sweet treat.

You talked for a while about your lives. Patrick was still involved in professional tennis, just as you remembered your mother mentioning, but the prodigy of your youth now confided he struggled to make a living from it, only occasionally qualifying for tournaments. You shared your life as a housewife with him, mentioning your involvement in philanthropic events when he asked you how you occupied your days, half lying as you felt there wasn't much else noteworthy to say.

He began reminiscing about your shared childhood, managing to bring laughter to such a somber day. The way his smile made his lips curl stirred butterflies in your stomach and brought a blush to your cheeks. You thought he looked even better than you remembered, his face now adorned with a beard and subtle lines of age that only enhanced his charm. You regretted wearing yoga pants and a cozy sweatshirt that evening. You were now also extra aware that your hair was likely disheveled and your face swollen from crying. Not that you sought his approval of your appearance, but you couldn't help but hope he didn't see you as a complete mess. Well, perhaps a part of you secretly wished he found you attractive too.

The shop had closed, and you found yourself standing on the sidewalk with Patrick, engrossed in conversation as he smoked a cigarette. He had offered one to you, but you declined, mentioning that your husband would never allow it. "Do you always do what your husband tells you to do?" He asked, curiosity in his eyes. You paused, genuinely considering the question. Doing what your husband wanted was easier than thinking for yourself. "Pretty much." You answered with a shrug. "And where is that amazing husband today?" He continued, a smirk playing on his lips as the cigarette dangled precariously. You bit your lower lip, unable to respond, knowing that voicing the truth would bring you to tears again. Instead, you faked a smile, but your downturned eyebrows betrayed your true emotions. Patrick studied you intensely and sighed. "I can’t believe you became such a boring little housewife." He spat out, clearly not trying to comfort you. You shot him a death glare. "Where is the brat I grew up with? You used to give me shit all the time. That was hot." He mumbled the last part. He thought you were hot back then? If only you had known, your life might have turned out differently. Not that you wouldn't still be married to the same guy, but you'd probably be hating Patrick's guts right now. After a bit of fooling around, he would have found a way to let you down and become your enemy. Perhaps it would be better than feeling giddy inside because your childhood crush had finally called you hot, more than ten years later. "You know, fifteen years old me would have died hearing you call me hot." You revealed, letting out an amused snort. "Really? Damn, another missed opportunity for Zweig." He said, clicking his tongue and shaking his head, feigning disappointment. "But you still are, you know, hot." You grinned at him, genuinely pleased by his compliment. Your heartbeat was going crazy. This was even worse than you had thought, you liked the attention. "Even if you have the personality of wet bread now." You whined loudly and slapped his arm as he burst into laughter. Typical Patrick, always disappointing you somehow.

You continued to talk for a while. When your legs grew tired, you sat on the edge of the sidewalk, and Patrick followed, sitting next to you, his muscular thigh resting against yours. You asked about his friend Art, the boy who always followed him around when you were kids. His expression grew somber for a moment, and you sensed it was a complicated story. "We don’t really talk anymore." He said quietly. Whatever had happened between them, it had clearly affected him deeply. He pinched his lips together, and you gently patted his back. Under the streetlight, you noticed a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. Without thinking, you licked your thumb and wiped it away. "So messy." You remarked, feeling oddly maternal with him when he was acting all vulnerable in front of you. "Gross." He snorted, but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

After exchanging contacts and promising to ‘do this again’, a comfortable silence finally settled between you. "Let me walk you back to your car." Patrick offered, his gaze fixed on you. "I took an Uber." You admitted. He rolled his eyes. Of course, you did. If he wasn’t already convinced you were living the high life, he certainly was now. "Want me to drive you back?" He asked. You nodded. It was cold outside and you didn’t want to wait for someone to pick you up. "Okay, follow me. I parked over there to avoid the fees." He stood up and extended his hand to you, helping you stand up. He didn’t let go as he led you to the other side of the street. "So cheap." You chuckled. The contrast between the spoiled child you once knew and the thrifty man he had become was startling. "I was just around here to buy some smokes. Imagine the fees, it’s almost midnight now!" He said, defending his frugality. The skin of his hand felt rough against yours, but the firm grip was pleasant. It had been so long since your husband had held your hand that way, so tightly, as if he didn’t want to lose you.

●

You walked hand in hand in silence, the only sound being your heavy breathing as you struggled to keep up with his pace. The low temperature added a slight chill to your heated cheeks. Once you reached his car, Patrick opened the passenger door for you. It took you a moment to register his gesture, so out of character for the Patrick you remembered. "So gentlemanly. Have you gotten soft?" You teased, a smirk playing on your lips. "Me soft? I’ll show you soft!" He snorted, pinching your waist in the same teasing way he did when you were teenagers. You covered your stomach with your arms, trying to protect yourself from his touch. "As always, all talk." You joked. But Patrick’s expression shifted, he wasn’t joking anymore. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if trying to read your mind. Were you flirting back for the sake of it, or did you really want him? Maybe a bit of both. Your heart raced, and you had difficulty swallowing as you stared back at him. Without warning, he grabbed your jaw and pulled you into a passionate kiss, his lips crashing against yours with an urgency that took your breath away. His tongue tasted your lips, and before you knew it, he had you pinned against the car, deepening the kiss with an intensity that made your head spin. "I'm married…" You mumbled against his lips, the words muffled but not breaking away from the kiss. Patrick pulled back slightly, sharing his breath with yours, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "That's not my problem, though, is it?" He whispered, his voice husky and teasing. There was the Patrick you knew. You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of excitement and guilt swirling inside you. You decided to brush aside that feeling, wrapping your arms around his neck and eagerly savoring the taste of his lips once more.

In an instant, you found yourself sprawled across the back seat of Patrick's messy car, his body pressed against yours. His mouth trailed hot kisses down your neck as his hands roamed under your top, sending shivers through your body. The rational part of your mind knew this was wrong, but the pleasure coursing through you felt undeniably right. It had been so long since you had experienced such intimacy that the touch of his calloused hands fondling your breasts and his warm tongue teasing your jaw was almost enough to send you over the edge. Patrick's intense focus on your body made it difficult to think clearly. You gasped when his thumbs flicked your nipples, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Kiss me." You breathed, your voice barely more than a moan. He obliged, capturing your mouth with his in a searing kiss. Your hands wandered over his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt, a vivid contrast to your husband's softer figure. The car's cramped space seemed to heighten the intensity of your connection, every touch and kiss amplified in the enclosed, chaotic setting. You could swear you were lying on top of dirty gym clothes reeking of sweat, but you didn’t care. Patrick's kisses grew more demanding, and you responded with equal enthusiasm, losing yourself in the passion of the moment. This was wrong but you needed him.

You hooked one of your legs around his hips, pulling him closer to your core as your hands slid under the hem of his pants, grasping his firm butt. Your fingernails dug into his skin, coaxing a deep grunt from his throat. A triumphant smile spread across your lips. You were the reason Patrick Zweig was moaning. He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours, as if silently questioning how far you were willing to go. You knew he wanted to be sure you wanted this, but in that moment, wisdom was far from your reach. Biting your lower lip, you rolled your hips under him, feeling the undeniable heat between you. "You’re a tease." He whispered, his voice serious. You shook your head in response, your eyes conveying your desire. "No." You murmured, your lips barely an inch from his. "I just know what I want." With those words, Patrick's hesitation vanished. He removed your sweatshirt with practiced ease as he trailed kisses down your neck to your cleavage, each press of his lips leaving a burning imprint on your skin, his tongue circling your nipple until it hardened under the attention. You arched into him, your body begging for more.

"Fuck, you have such nice tits." His words turned you on almost as much as his skilled tongue on your body. Your husband used to speak to you this way, lavishing you with compliments and adoration as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He had once worshiped your body with such devotion. Now, the only comments he made were about changes in your figure, like when the cold weather made you skip your runs and your thighs lost some of their muscles. You hadn’t given it much thought until this moment, when Patrick began showering you with attention. It was then only that you realized how much you missed hearing those praises.

Patrick was drooling all over your chest, his teeth grazing against the skin of your perky breasts as he explored every inch of your skin with his tongue. You ran your fingers through the dark curls of his hair, tugging gently whenever his sucking made your legs tremble. His kisses traced a path down your stomach, and all you could think about was how much you wanted his mouth to continue lower. It seemed he had the same plan in mind when he slid your pants off. You glanced down and felt a wave of embarrassment. How could you have left the house in those unflattering worn-out grandma panties? The waistband elastic barely clung to the fabric, but thankfully, Patrick didn’t seem to notice or mind. Before you knew it, your panties were lost somewhere in the mess of his car, between old socks and empty Gatorade bottles. He spread your legs, positioning himself between them, his hands holding your knees apart and his eyes burning with desire as he took in the sight of you. At least you were relieved that the laser removal had done its job, leaving you smooth and bare. "I’m going to make you feel good, babe." He murmured as he spread your folds, revealing your glistening clit, inner lips and opening. You had been wet ever since you had felt his mouth on yours. He slid the tip of his tongue against your entrance, sending a tickling sensation through your insides. He spent a few teasing seconds with slow, short licks before pushing his tongue deep inside. "More…" You moaned, your eyes closing in pleasure. "Look at me." He commanded, his voice steady. You obeyed, locking eyes with him. The sight of him between your legs made you even wetter. Your husband did this from time to time, on special occasions, like your birthday. Your birthday. The memory of that neglected day suddenly filled you with sadness, but there was no time to dwell on it as Patrick’s eager mouth worked its magic. His enthusiastic attention left you breathless, pushing away any lingering thoughts of the man who shared your life. He shoved his whole face into your cunt, devouring you with voracious hunger as his nose bumped against your reddened clit. The sensation was more than you could handle. You raised your arms above your head, grasping the door handle for support, and pushed your hips against his face, desperate for more. All you wanted was to wrap your legs around his head and ride his mouth, but his strong hands held your thighs apart, preventing you from moving.

Patrick was messy, spreading your juices across his face as he sloppily made out with your pussy. The chaos of his approach only heightened the whole experience. You weren’t entirely sure if it was intentional, but you could have sworn you felt his tongue brush against your asshole at one point. "Pat…" You tried to warn him, sensing that his tongue was, once again, dangerously close to your ass. "Shh." He hushed you, his voice low as he continued to do whatever he wished of your body. You tightened your grip on the door handle, feeling the muscles in your legs twitching as your orgasm neared. "I’m c-c..lose…" You babbled, your cheeks flushed with heat. You didn’t recognize the sounds escaping your lips. You were usually more reserved in bed. You had always believed that such sounds were exaggerated in porn, but here you were, proving yourself wrong with every moan and gasp. "Patrick!" You cried out as you came against his tongue, your toes curling and your eyes squeezing shut with pleasure. The intensity of the climax made it impossible to maintain eye contact with him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then his lips were back on yours, kissing you passionately. You could taste yourself, all tingy, on his tongue. Still panting from the orgasm he had just given you, the kiss made you crave for more. You craved the sensation of his body against yours. Until now, you had let Patrick take the lead, knowing you could later blame him for your straying. But now, you wanted to cross that line yourself, to break the rules. Consequences were the furthest thing from your mind, you were too consumed by desire. All you needed was him between your legs. You reached for the waistband of his shorts, but he gently pushed your hand away. "It's your birthday. Tonight, it's all about you." He murmured, sucking on your lower lip. Despite his desire, you sensed his genuine intention to make sure you felt special tonight. "Believe me, I couldn’t be more selfish than I am being right now." You assured him as you sneaked your hand back under the hem of his pants, pulling his length out. He was fully hard, it would make things easier. Yet, the impressive size of his cock presented a challenge you weren't entirely prepared for. There was only so much that your body could take. "Fuck, you’re big." You blurted out, unable to contain your surprise. He chuckled in response, a mixture of amusement and pride.

You attempted to roll him under, but the cramped space of the car made it difficult for either of you to change positions. Thankfully, Patrick understood your intention. With a swift, effortless movement, he flipped you on top of him, handling you as if you were weightless. He settled comfortably beneath you as you straddled him, your legs on either side of his body.

He placed his hands on your exposed breasts, squeezing them firmly with his strong grip. Though his touch was a bit rough, you felt safe in his hands. You trusted him. You reached behind you and grasped his length, locking eyes with him as you gently stroked it. "Bab-..." He began, his voice breaking. Growing up, you had endured endless hours of Patrick’s chatter, but never had you heard him struggle to form words. You bit your lower lip, turned on by the sight of him being so reactive to your touch. You drew back his foreskin, then lifted your hips to guide his engorged tip against your slick folds, slightly rubbing it against your wet opening and overstimulated clit. As you felt his cock pressing eagerly against your entrance, it became clear that your body wasn’t ready to take him all at once, it would need time to accommodate him fully. With deliberate care, you eased the head of his erection into your already-sensitive entrance, the sensation making you both gasp. You took your time, gradually taking more of him in, until his head was finally enveloped in your warmth. Growing impatient, Patrick's hands abandoned your tits and gripped your hips, guiding you down onto his length with a firm push until you were sitting on it. You whimpered in pain, your hands resting on his chest as you urged him to stop. You weren’t used to such intrusion, the only man you had ever been with was your husband, who was nowhere near as large as Patrick.

"It hurts..." You whispered, your voice trembling. The burn of him stretching you in ways you had never experienced was too much for you. You needed a second to breath. "Shit, sorry..." He muttered, holding you still as you tried to adjust. "Fuck, you’re tight." You fell forward, pressing your lips to his, partly to seek comfort in the kiss and partly to make him shut up while you tried to focus. Kissing had always been your favorite part of lovemaking, it was when you felt most intimately connected to your husband, his mouth against yours while he was inside you. Now, you needed to feel Patrick sucking on your tongue to calm down and make you forget the temporary sting. "I’m okay…" You reassured him, starting to roll your hips on top of him. Feeling finally ready for more, you leaned back and placed your hands on his knees, beginning to ride him with a steady rhythm. He rested his hands on your hip bones, guiding your movements as his thumbs spread your folds apart. His gaze was locked on the connection between your bodies, completely absorbed in the sight of your tiny pussy sucking in his thick cock, while you kept your eyes on him. His breath grew uneven, his mouth slightly open as he focused on the pace of your body. "Look at you taking my dick so well." He groaned, his voice rough with desire. You responded with a moan, arching your back and pushing your chest forward, savoring every sensation.

You were fucking like never before, each thrust sending waves of pleasure that promised to leave your thighs sore for days to come. But you didn’t want to think about the aftermath. All that mattered in this moment was feeling his meaty length buried deep inside you, his tip bumping against your cervix as you forced yourself to take every inch he had to offer. You craved the sensation of his heavy sack squeezed under you as you sat back on his cock. "Fuck!" He gasped, his tongue hanging out in pure pleasure. "If I had known what a…" Bounce. "S-slut you were…" Bounce. "I would have fucked you years ago." You could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the intense pleasure. He planted his feet firmly into the backseat and started thrusting upward, perfectly syncing with your bouncing. "Patrick…" You breathed out, overwhelmed by the sensation of his pubic bone grinding against yours. Your clit was on fire, and you could feel yourself nearing the edge. You weren’t sure you were going to last much longer. "I know, baby." He murmured back, his eyes locked on yours for the first time in minutes. You both continued to move in perfect harmony, your motions becoming more urgent. The long, languid strokes were replaced by rapid, short thrusts. From the outside, you probably resembled animals in heat more than two people having sex. After minutes of fucking each other, it was clear that he was as desperate for release as you were.

"Babe… I’m close… Tell me you’re close…" His voice was urgent, and you met his gaze, nodding as you felt the tension build up tightly in your lower stomach. "I’m coming…" He warned, but you continued to ride him, unable to come just yet. "Off…" He begged, grabbing your ass, ready to help you dismount him. But you clenched around him, coaxing him with your tight grip, and felt his cum painting your walls. The sensation pushed you over the edge, and you moaned his name, but your orgasm was abruptly interrupted as Patrick hurriedly lifted you off him. He pulled out, glazing the remainder of his cum on your ass and lower back. "Fuck, I’m so sorry." What was he apologizing for? For interrupting you mid-high? For coming inside you? You were nothing but grateful. Besides, you were the one who had held onto him as he was about to climax. If anything, you should have been the one apologizing. But, in truth, you felt no remorse whatsoever. He grabbed a towel from his gym bag and began to wipe his semen from your skin. You leaned in closer, wrapping your arms snugly around his neck. "Don’t worry about it…" You whispered in his ear, playfully nibbling on his earlobe.

●

The drive back to your house was quiet, both of your minds still reeling from what had just occurred. When Patrick finally parked in front of your house, the reality of the moment sank in, it was time to leave. The warmth and comfort of his embrace had felt so right that the thought of parting was almost unbearable. You glanced around, scanning the darkened windows of your neighborhood to ensure no prying eyes would witness your misbehavior. Then, heart pounding, you leaned closer to Patrick, your breath hitching in anticipation. You planted your lips on his, the kiss starting soft and hesitant, but quickly growing more passionate. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. Your lips moved against his with a hunger you hadn't felt in years, a desperate need to hold onto the connection you had found tonight. Patrick responded eagerly, his other hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. The intensity of the kiss was overwhelming. His tongue teased the seam of your lips, and you opened for him, allowing the kiss to deepen even further. Patrick's way of kissing was delightfully messy, a trait you found endearing. The exchange of saliva between you two was all-consuming. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, pulling him closer, unwilling to let go. The taste of him, the feel of him, was intoxicating.

For a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss, to forget about the world outside the car. Your hand wandered down his pants, feeling his length, still slick with your juices. But the reality of your situation clawed its way back into your mind when Patrick placed his hand on top of yours, gently urging it to stop. You broke away, breathless and conflicted, looking into Patrick's eyes one last time. "You should go back inside before I fuck you in front of all your neighbors." He whispered, his voice thick with desire and amusement. You giggled softly, the sound echoing in the car, and withdrew your hand from his crotch. The moment left you both in a lingering silence, your heart pounding against your ribs as you tried to gather your thoughts.

With a reluctant sigh, you stepped out of the car, the cool night air a sharp reminder of the warmth in Patrick’s embrace. As you walked towards your front door, you glanced back one last time. Patrick was still watching you, his gaze unwavering. You waved him goodbye and watched him leave, a huge smile spreading across your face. As you approached your door, you noticed a package waiting for you. Bending down, you saw it was from your husband, with a note attached wishing you a happy birthday. A stab of guilt twisted in your stomach, and the smile faded from your lips. Now, you felt sorry.

●

That night, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep, haunted by the events of the evening. You had washed your clothes, but ultimately threw your panties into the trash, unable to bear the guilt they embodied. No amount of scrubbing in the shower could rid you of the feeling of dirt clinging to your skin. Even the Birkin bag your husband had gifted you seemed to judge you silently from its place in the closet.

Countless scenarios played out in your mind, each one a punishment for your infidelity. You worried about the possibility of being pregnant with another man's child, despite your IUD. What if someone had seen you with Patrick and informed your husband? Or worse, what if you had contracted a life-altering illness from Patrick? He was kind of the manwhore when you were teenagers, what if that was still the case and your body was slowly killing you?

Fear was eating you from the inside, compelling you to schedule an appointment with your gynecologist first thing in the morning. However, the thought of facing your regular doctor and his inevitable judgment was unbearable. Instead, you booked an appointment with a clinic out of town, taking great care to show up with sunglasses to avoid recognition.

When the doctor informed you that most STDs could not be detected so soon after exposure, your heart sank. The test results might not be accurate, even if you were infected. "Contacting your partner to ask if they've been tested recently might be more reassuring." He suggested. But that was not an option. You knew yourself and you knew you wanted nothing to do with Patrick, it would only complicate matters further. He mentioned taking PEP as a precaution, and you readily agreed.

You swallowed the pill with a gulp of water, nerves taut as you awaited the test results. Just then, your phone rang, displaying your husband's name. Panic surged through you. Did he already know? Taking a deep breath, you answered as calmly as possible. "Yes, lovey?" He was calling to ask about the package and to apologize for not being able to call the previous night. "Yes, I did. Thank you so much. I love it." You truly adored the bag, your husband knew you so well. You couldn’t believe what you had done to him. How could you betray such a good man? "You shouldn’t work so much." You replied when he explained that work had kept him late. A nurse approached, handing you an envelope. The results. "Oh, I’m sorry, someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later. Love you." You hung up and tore open the envelope, your hands trembling. The results were there in black and white : you were clean. You were overcome with contentment, but doubt lingered. What if you weren’t? What if it was too soon to be sure? You needed certainty.

Grabbing your phone, you began to text Patrick, the cause of all your problems. You had blocked his number the night before, determined to erase him from your life and never speak to him again. But now, faced with an emergency, you had no choice but to unblock his number and confront your past mistake. Your fingers hesitated over the keys, but you knew you needed answers, if not for yourself, for your marriage that was at risk.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] Look, I’m freaking out… Have you been tested for STDs?

You watched the screen, seeing the three little dots appear, indicating he was typing. Relief washed over you, thank god he was awake.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:15am] wtf… ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:16am] I don’t feel so well… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Well that’s not because of me, I’m clean. But next time, maybe ask that before you let a random guy fuck you raw.

Next time? Oh, there wasn’t going to be a next time. And it was all his fault that you had lost your mind and become so desperate last night. He had awakened a beast within you, one incapable of rational thoughts. Thoughts like condoms.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:17am] Patrick… → [From : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] I’m serious, I’m clean. ← [To : Patrick Zweig - 10:18am] Thank you.

You exhaled in reassurance. It was easy for men to lie but deep down, you knew you could trust him. He had nothing to gain from lying to you. Plus he wasn’t just a stranger, he was the boy who grew up with you. He had cared about you in the past, he wouldn’t put you at risk, right?

On your way back, you made a point to stop at the nearest pharmacy, securing Plan B as an extra precaution.

●

Later in the afternoon, another text arrived from him.

→ [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:33pm] I took a test, just for you, so stop being so… psycho, okay? [picture attached]

The image displayed the results of his blood test. You couldn't help but be grateful that he had taken such steps to reassure you.

← [To : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] I trusted you but thank you. That means a lot. → [From : Patrick Zweig - 3:34pm] A lot? Like enough to let me hit it again now that you know I’m clean?

You scoffed at his text, but a smile tugged at your lips nonetheless. He wanted you again. You hesitated to answer. There was something about the chase that thrilled you more than giving in, a line you swore never to cross again. Biting nervously on your acrylic nails, you dialed his number. "You're such a homewrecker." You blurted when he finally answered. "Excuse me?" His laughter filled the line. "We can't do this, I'm married!" You reminded him, though his chuckle only widened your grin. "And?" His response made you whine in frustration. How did you end up entangled with someone with such loose morals? "Don't you care that I belong to someone else?" You pressed, wondering if he was even capable of feeling jealousy. "You belonged to me last night." He whispered. So he only lived purely in the moment? "You sucked me in so well, sitting on my dick like you were meant to be there." He added, his words making you nibble on your lower lip. Your body heated at the memory. "Can you still feel me?" His question hung in the air. "Patrick!" You whimpered, torn between wanting him to stop and wanting him to continue so you could sneak your hand between your legs and play with yourself.

●

It didn’t take long for you to fall back into his arms. A few phone calls, some initiated by him, others by you. You felt powerless against him, and he knew it well, his words stirring up desire and leaving you perpetually hungry for more. So when he asked you out for coffee, of course, you went.

Initially, your encounters were under the cover of night, hidden away in his car, far from curious eyes. He would pick you up discreetly, down the street, driving aimlessly until finding a secluded spot. But now, caution faded as your craving intensified. He took you in broad daylight, parking just blocks from your home. You had done it all. On every seat, every position and he had explored every inch of your body, bullied your tight little pussy and throat. His fat cock had stretched you out in any possible way and you just couldn’t put an end to it. In just six days, Patrick had unraveled you, making you come more than you ever did. You knew there was no returning to the old you, to the days of vanilla sex and mundane desires. You had transformed into a new woman. Cravings you never knew existed now consumed you, discovering your body in ways previously unimagined and experiencing climaxes that sent waves through your entire being. Patrick had opened your eyes to the fact that, despite what you believed, you had never truly experienced an orgasm before, certainly not like this. It was now clear that you had always been naturally submissive, longing for domination, but you had never encountered a man who could fulfill that role.

You had also discovered that you didn't hate giving head as much as you once thought. With your husband, it had been a chore, something you did out of obligation rather than desire. But with Patrick, it was different. You found yourself loving it, even though he was far from gentle with it. The first time you had done it, he had let you take the lead initially, but he quickly took control when he realized how truly inexperienced you were. You knew the basics, but you hadn't ventured beyond them. All those years, it had done the job to make your husband come so you had never questioned it. Now, most of the time, Patrick held your hair in a tight fist, tugging it forcefully as he fucked your throat. You had come to enjoy the roughness and the humiliation that accompanied it, savoring the moments when he would slap your face lightly with the head of his dick before releasing his sticky load on your bare face. He praised you every time he came, calling you his obedient little slut, and you were eager to impress him with how naughty you could be, pushing the limits each time. You loved it so much that when your mouth wasn't on his cock, you found yourself nuzzling his fuzzy sack, drawn to the addictive, musky scent of his sweat.

Patrick insisted that he couldn't commit to anything beyond tennis. Serious relationships, marriage, children. None of it interested him. You didn’t mind, though, you already had a husband for those things. Still, you found it amusing how the supposedly untamable Patrick always ended up texting you, seeking more, making time for your meetings in his routine.

The whole STD scare had, however, left you cautious about letting him come inside you. You suspected he had other partners. So Patrick pulled out, like a good boy. Instead, he made sure to cover you with his cum. Breasts, stomach, ass, neck, face, and hair coated with the pearly liquid. Showers had become even more of a necessity after every encounter. He knew how embarrassed you felt rushing home in stained clothes, and oddly enough, he seemed to take great pleasure in it. You even had a sneaking suspicion he might had been driving behind you to witness every single step of your walks of shame. If he kept this up, your cover wouldn’t last a day when your husband would be back. He would surely notice the gigantic pile of dirty crusty laundry. Or the cum dripping from your chin every time you came back from your promenades. So you found yourself begging him to fill you up again. Patrick's smile in response was so bright, you knew he had once again manipulated you into getting exactly what he wanted. Just like when you were kids.

●

A few days had passed, and your husband returned home, showering you with gifts he had bought on his trip. You felt relieved that your relationship dynamic remained unchanged. You cherished his presence, he loved you deeply and expressed it in many ways. Yet, in return, you found yourself reverting to the role of devoted housewife : doing his laundry, preparing his meals, and jerking him off until he fell asleep. But you weren’t as available for Patrick, and he made sure to make you pay for it. He flooded your phone with pictures of his cock and videos of him touching himself. To avoid constant interruptions, you kept your phone on 'do not disturb'. You had also cleverly changed Patrick's contact name to 'Patricia'. To your husband, she was your new friend you had met at the gym. And Patricia was a very demanding friend.

← [To : Patricia - 11:44am] Stop it! → [From : Patricia - 11:44am] Send me a picture of your tits and I will stop.

You hurried to the bathroom and obliged, sending him pictures of you squeezing your full boobs together. Yet, that didn’t stop him from asking you more. And each time, you provided him with pictures of your ass or your cunt spread out enticingly just for him. You didn’t have enough time in your day to take care of your husband and satisfy Patrick’s never ending requests. Why on earth did you have to engage with a jobless man?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:49am] You’re so hot, I want more. Are you free for a ride right now?

With your husband beside you, loneliness could no longer be blamed for drawing you closer to Patrick. You found yourself forced to respond to every message. You craved to be the center of his world, yearning to occupy his thoughts every hour of the day. You longed for his love. It wasn't the thrill of the chase that excited you anymore, it was the idea of being possessed by Patrick completely.

●

The freezing cold outside finally drove you both to Patrick's place. It just wasn’t possible anymore to fuck in the car. Until then, your encounters had been confined to the cramped vehicle, so entering his apartment felt refreshing, and a bit scary. As Patrick swung open the door, the lingering scent of unwashed dishes hit you. Sports bags cluttered every corner, empty soda bottles covered the table, and a layer of dust settled over the few ornaments he owned. His place was a mess. "That's really where you live?" You couldn't help but ask, taken aback to find the Zweigs’ golden child living in such chaotic conditions. Patrick chuckled in response, clearly unfazed. "Are you being judgmental? Not all of us are blowing billionaires." He joked, gesturing for you to come inside. Up close, it was even worse.

With nothing edible in his fridge, you both decided on take-out. Unable to ignore the mess, you took it upon yourself to tackle the dirty dishes. "You really don't have to do that." Patrick insisted repeatedly. "But I do." You retorted firmly, scrubbing away. "Can't you smell this?" You teased, glancing back at him. He shrugged, unbothered. "Maybe I should get myself a wife too." His comment caught you off guard. You snorted and turned toward him, staring at him in disbelief. He had told you many times that the idea of marriage made him gag. Plus, you knew his aversion to commitment and serious relationships. "So she can be your cleaning slave?" You challenged, raising an eyebrow. He really wasn’t any different than any other man. "No, so she can force me to do it." He admitted with a grin. He surprised you with his response. You couldn't help but smile back. "Clean the table, you pig." You playfully commanded, swatting his ass with the dish towel. He laughed and began gathering the discarded bottles for disposal. "See, that’s motivating."

Fucking Patrick in his bed felt strangely intimate. Despite his sheets looking and smelling like a dozen people had been there before you, laying there, idly, with him made you feel special. It was as if he were inviting you into the most private part of his life, the place where he was most vulnerable. His bed was just slightly larger than his car's backseat but smaller than your own bed. Even when you lay on opposite sides, it felt as though you were still all over each other. And you were, unable to keep your hands off each other, like horny teenagers.

Patrick was driving into you from behind, his other hand pressing your face into the pillow while the other firmly gripped your waist. The pillow, soaked with the heavy scent of sweat, was the object of your frantic nuzzling, much like a cat in heat . "I can’t believe…" He started, his voice strained as he thrust into you harder than he was before. "...he’s letting a slut like you be u..u-unfucked." His moan was raw, punctuated by a sharp smack as his hand spanked your exposed behind. You couldn’t believe it either. You were ready to explore nearly any boundary, nothing could be off limits with enough convincing. You knew you could have been your husband’s ultimate fantasy if only he was interested. The spank sent jolts through your body, causing your legs to tremble beneath him. Now, the pillow was completely soaked with your drool.

As he continued to fuck you, you felt his thumb grazing teasingly against your asshole. Well, maybe there were, in fact, some boundaries you weren’t just ready to cross. "Pat… What are you doing?" You gasped, feeling a thick gob of his spit trickling down your crack. "No…" You whimpered, feeling him smear his saliva over you. "Just a finger." He assured you, pushing his thumb into the tight ring of flesh without any warning. You closed your eyes, clenching around the unexpected intrusion, but remained silent. You knew you couldn’t deny him anything.

In the end, it turned out to be more than just one finger. And now, you were nestling against him, spent, face buried in the curve of his neck while he lazily smoked a cigarette. "Do you think your husband is seeing other women?" He asked, his free hand aimlessly tracing circles on your hip. Just the thought of it made you mad. "He must be." You admitted quietly, lifting your head to meet Patrick's gaze, sadness in your eyes. "He never fucks me." You revealed. "Never?" Patrick's disbelief was evident, his voice rising in shock. You knew it wasn't entirely true, there were some moments, perhaps once a month, when he would crawl on top of you. "Can that old fuck even get it up?" He scoffed, taking a deep drag on his cigarette. You knew he could, just not with you. Your suspicions about another woman lingered, the subtle scent of women's perfume on his clothes when he returned home, the constant need to check his phone, or his newfound obsession with meticulously trimming his pubes, details you chose to ignore. "He's an idiot." Patrick spat out, his voice thick with disdain. You hated whenever he brought up your husband, knowing Patrick had nothing but contempt for him. "He's got the hottest wife, a Rolls-Royce of a pussy, and he's messing around." His blunt words gave you butterflies. Did he genuinely think of you as the 'hottest wife' with the 'Rolls-Royce of pussies' or was he simply buttering you up for another round? It didn't matter in that moment, your mouth was already wrapped around his cock, tasting yourself on him.

It was dark outside, and you knew it was time to head home. You were relying on Patrick to drive you back but he was so deeply asleep you couldn’t wake him up. So you ordered an Uber, and it would be arriving soon. You carefully crawled out of bed, gathering your clothes from the floor. As you were dressing, you noticed Patrick stirring. "Mmh, you’re leaving?" He mumbled, still half-asleep. "You know I can't stay the night…" You replied softly, leaning over to place a gentle kiss on his cheek. He smiled, though his eyes remained closed. "Next time, clean your place, or I’m not fucking you." You whispered into his ear. "By just being in those sheets, I probably tripled my body count." You playfully bit his ear, eliciting a soft whimper from him. "Goodnight, Patrick." You said once you were fully dressed. "Night, honey." He responded in a playful tone. Despite the unseriousness of it, his affectionate nickname brought a smile to your face.

On your way out, you noticed pictures adorning the walls. They depicted various eras of Patrick’s life, and you paused to observe them. There were photos of Patrick with his cousins, whom you had met a few times, pictures of him winning tournaments and proudly lifting his trophies, and candid moments with Art, both of them acting like fools. He looked the same yet so different, the joy in his eyes from those earlier days seemed absent now. You wanted to understand what had changed. Despite Patrick slowly revealing parts of himself to you, there were still many things he kept hidden. Your phone beeped, the Uber had arrived, and with a final glance at the pictures, you left his apartment.

The next time you visited Patrick's apartment, you were pleasantly surprised by the transformation. Gone were the dirty dishes, the floor had been vacuumed, and fresh sheets adorned the bed. It seemed he had taken your words to heart. A smile tugged at your lips as you thought, perhaps Patrick did need a wife to keep him in order.

●

Patrick’s apartment had become your cocoon, the place you retreated to whenever the monotony of your housewife life became too suffocating. It was here that you felt truly alive, where Patrick would wake up the woman in you. You now only met during the day, finding it far easier to sneak away while your husband was at work than to lie about your whereabouts in the evenings. As soon as Patrick was done with practice, you would meet him at his place. Most of the time, you were so eager to see him that you would be waiting for minutes in front of his front door. You knew he was just as eager to see you, as he would still be covered in sweat from his workout. He never took the time to shower first, and you secretly loved it. The feel of his tense, sweat-dampened body against yours, his intoxicating scent, a mix of musk and cheap drugstore deodorant, made your desire for him even stronger.

However, this new routine left you with no time to visit the gym yourself. But that was alright. Patrick had become your new workout, his intense touch keeping your heart rate up in ways no treadmill ever could. The rush of adrenaline, the rapid beat of your heart, the fire in your veins, all of it was more exhilarating than any exercise. Plus, Patrick’s adoration of your body made you love it more than ever, making trips to the gym unnecessary anyway. No exercise had ever made you appreciate the way your breasts sat so nicely on your chest, a bit heavy from their natural weight. You had once considered getting them done as gravity began to take its toll, but now you thought they were perfect. And Patrick thought so too, as they fitted so nicely in his mouth. Your hips, which you once found too bulky, never looked better than when he had his hands on them as he plunged deeply into you. Your butt that you thought was too flat never looked fuller than when you were sitting on his cock. It wasn't just Patrick's actions that made you feel like the sexiest woman alive, it was his words. He would whisper all kinds of things in your ear when he was inside you, words that made you so wet, it was almost embarrassing. He talked about how tight you were, how sexy your body was, and how gorgeous your face looked when you were coming. Whether they were lies or the truth, you couldn't tell, but he boosted your confidence like no one ever had. You felt like a goddess in his arms.

Whenever you would show up, he would greet you with a knowing smile, pulling you into a deep kiss that made your knees weak. Patrick's hands roamed over your body, making you forget everything else. His whispers in your ear, his touch, his very presence, they all made you feel desired, wanted, alive. Every rendez-vous left you craving more, and each time you left his apartment, you knew you'd be back in no time, unable to leave him for more than half a day. But as days turned into weeks, you knew you were playing with fire, and the thrill of the affair was as intoxicating as it was dangerous. One afternoon, as you lay tangled in Patrick’s sheets, you found yourself wondering how long you could keep up with this. You knew you couldn’t choose between the two anymore. In the past, you would have chosen your husband without a single thought, because he had taken such good care of you for so long and you loved him. But now, everything had changed. Patrick had entered your life and turned your world upside down. The passion, the excitement, the way he made you feel, things you had never experienced with your husband, had left you utterly confused. The lines between love and lust blurred, and you found yourself falling for Patrick in a way you never anticipated. Of course, you still loved your husband more than you loved Patrick, but you loved who you were when you were with Patrick.

●

As he searched for a lighter, cigarette dangling from his lips, he opened the drawer of the bedside table. Unable to resist your curiosity about Patrick's nighttime essentials, you peered into the drawer, intrigued by what he considered indispensable for his bedtime routine. Your gaze fell upon something unexpected. Well, not totally unexpected since it was Patrick, but something curious. Crawling over him, you reached into the drawer and pulled out the object, examining it closely. It was a fleshlight and it looked well-used. "What’s this?" You asked, holding the item up in front of his face. He simply stared back at you, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, don’t play dumb." He replied nonchalantly as he lit his cigarette. To be honest, you only had a vague idea of what it was, you had heard about those but had never seen one in person, with your own two eyes.

"Show me how you use it?" You asked, extending the toy toward him. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised, but you nodded firmly in response. You had always enjoyed watching Patrick jerk off, though typically you watched from beneath him as he fucked his fist close to your face, coating it with his slimy release. This was an opportunity to watch him from a different angle. "So I guess tennis is not the reason your arm is so big?" He shot a death glare at you and you stole the cigarette from his lips, taking a long drag of it. He grabbed the lube from the drawer and coated his length with it. "Will you be able to keep your hands away from me?" He joked and you rolled your eyes, blowing the smoke in his face, placing the cigarette back between his lips.

He slid the silicone sleeve over his length, the fake pussy spreading wide against the base of his shaft. You gasped at the sight, aroused by the image of another pussy, even if artificial, spread open for him. It was undeniably hot, but deep down, you doubted you could ever enjoy watching a real pussy receive Patrick in the same way. Patrick's eyes were locked on the fleshlight, his wrist moving frantically, and his mouth hung open in a silent expression. Seeing the cigarette balanced between his lips, you quickly snatched it away and extinguished it in the ashtray, preventing it from falling onto his chest and burning him. You watched closely as Patrick's length thrust rhythmically into the toy, the slick movements captivating your gaze. "Touch yourself." He commanded, his voice heavy with lust. You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes reflecting both hesitation and excitement. Slowly, you reached for the aching spot between your legs, your fingers beginning to stroke your folds with agonizing slowness, a deliberate tease meant to drive him wild. "Fuck, that’s hot." He murmured, his eyes glued to your hand as it disappeared between your crossed legs. "Spread your legs. I want to see." He demanded, his voice low and urgent. You spread your legs, allowing him a clear view of your wet cunt and the fingers dancing over it. As you slid your middle finger inside yourself, your eyes locked onto his cock.

"Baby…" He groaned, his free hand reaching down to squeeze his balls. You added a second digit, riding your hand the way you did when no one else was watching. Despite your efforts, you couldn’t be as vocal as you were when Patrick fucked you. Touching yourself had always been a secret act, performed silently under the blanket to avoid waking your husband up. Still, you panted heavily, the pleasure building with every stroke. After a few minutes of you both pleasuring yourselves on either side of the bed, Patrick lifted his hips, his thighs twitching. He came with a low grunt into the plastic toy, his body shuddering with release. You continued to rub your clit, your fingers moving in desperate, needy circles. It only took a few more strokes of your swollen bud before you reached your climax, your eyes locked with his as you moaned his name, the scent of both your orgasms filling the room.

You glanced at him through half-lidded eyes, your chest rising and falling with each breath. He was grinning from ear to ear, a look of triumph in his eyes. Reaching for your hand, which was resting between your legs, he lifted it to his face and examined it. "Why did you remove it?" He asked, his voice a low murmur, as he sucked on your fingers, licking them clean. It? Oh, your ring. "Felt weird wearing it when my hand's always on your dick." You explained, watching him lavish attention on your slick fingers, covered with your juices. You couldn’t help but bite your lower lip at the sight of him. "That was the fun part of it." He replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. You frowned, studying his face. The fun part of it? Was the thought of fucking a married woman more exciting than fucking you? "Wait, is this turning you on?" You asked, your voice rising with shock.

Now that you thought about it, there was something deeply perverse about the way he always ensured you went home with his cum dripping from your cunt and pooling in your panties. Or how he'd make you swallow his load and then ask you to ‘give your husband a kiss’ for him. He was actually enjoying this situation.

"Duh. Obviously." He said with a smirk. "You're a freak." You muttered, pushing his face with your hand, interrupting his intense sucking. "And you're a cheating whore. We all have our crosses to bear." He retorted, his tone carrying a hint of cynicism. You opened your mouth in shock. "Little shit." You said, slapping his shoulder. Patrick just chuckled, the sound resonating through the walls. You stared at him, a mixture of annoyance and amusement swirling within you. It was moments like this that confused you. Sometimes, in Patrick’s embrace, you felt so alive that you questioned your life choices. You wondered if sacrificing your womanhood for a comfortable life was worth it. Yet, leaving your husband for Patrick would be a foolish decision. While your heart fluttered in his presence, you understood that you were just something exciting for him to play with, just a new toy he had stolen from someone else.

●

But whenever you began to question your feelings, he had a way of reminding you just how much better he was for you than your husband, with his hands on your throat and his tongue all over your chest.

"Such a needy whore." He groaned, feeling you clench around his cock with desperation. "Please…" You pleaded, your voice trembling as you begged him to move inside you, but he remained still, toying with you. You wrapped your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer to your core, yearning for more. "Always begging for my dick, huh?" He said, his grip on your neck tightening just enough to make you feel lightheaded. Finally, he gave in and began to pound into you, the sharp sound of his full balls smacking against your ass filling the room. You tried to moan in pure bliss, your mouth open in a silent scream as your hands roamed down his back. "Does he…" He asked, his voice husky as you gazed at him in awe. "f-f… fuck you like that?" While missionary was your husband’s favorite position, and yours as well, since it allowed you to kiss him, he had never gripped your neck so harshly or treated you as if you were just a hole to be filled. "N-no…" You gasped, struggling to produce any sound. "Only you…" You breathed out, your face flushed a bright red as you fought to catch your breath. Each thrust brought you closer to the edge, and before you realized it, you climaxed in a wave of silent pleasure, your eyes closed and mouth agape. Your juices spilled over his lower stomach and sack. You were barely aware of when Patrick followed, lost in near-unconsciousness beneath him. When you finally regained your senses, you could feel his thick warmth filling you deep inside.

You appreciated the aftercare with Patrick, especially when he felt he had gone a bit too far. Although he was turned on by pushing your limits, he felt guilty about making you nearly pass out. Now, both of you stood in his cramped shower, lathering each other with soap and enjoying the warm, calming water together. His tongue playfully brushed your earlobe as he whispered praises, his hands caressing your asscheeks. He told you how hot you were and how special it felt that you had abandoned yourself to him, allowing him to indulge in all sorts of twisted things. Yet, it wasn’t enough, he always wanted more. "I want to fuck your ass." He murmured, trying to gently ease the words into your brain and convince you. "I kinda noticed." You chuckled, feeling his warm breath tickle your skin. "I’ve never done it before." You confessed, though the knowing look in his eyes had already revealed your inexperience. He smirked, a hint of satisfaction in his gaze. "Ah, a virgin." He said, as he spread your cheeks apart, letting the warm water from the shower cascade down your crack. "What if it hurts?" You asked, your eyes searching his for reassurance. It’s not like he was exactly small. "I can prepare you so it won’t." He promised, his tone soothing. "But what’s the point if it doesn’t feel good?" You questioned, your voice trembling slightly. It wasn’t that the idea of anal sex was unpleasant, it just went against everything you had been taught about intimacy between a man and a woman. You weren't totally against the idea, to be fair, you were just scared of the discomfort. Also, it felt almost wrong to let another man be the first to explore that part of you, despite your husband’s lack of interest in it. "I can make you feel really good." He said, his breath warm against your neck as he trailed soft kisses from your ear to your collarbone. You shivered at the sensation, a mix of desire and hesitation in your voice. "You already make me feel really good." You refused yourself to him. Tonight wouldn’t be the night.

After drying off and dressing, you shared a lingering kiss. There was an unspoken understanding between you. This couldn’t last forever, but for now, it was enough. You slipped your ring back on, feeling the weight of it, both physically and mentally.

As you prepared to leave, Patrick walked you to the door. "Take care, and don’t forget to leave his ass." He said softly, wrapping your scarf around your neck with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "Sure." You replied, forcing a smile before stepping out into the cold night.

Patrick no longer bothered to mask the depth of his hatred for your husband. His remarks were frequent and biting, urging you to divorce. Yet, you knew his words were hollow, born from a contempt rather than a genuine desire to build a future with you. He would often stress how your happiness was the most important thing and that your husband no longer provided it, thus there was no point in staying. But he never said the words you desperately wanted to hear. You longed for him to tell you to divorce because he wanted you to be his. Only his.

●

While you wanted him to be fully yours as well, there were still many things you ignored about Patrick. As close as you wanted to be to him, he always maintained a distance, dismissing your questions or reminding you of your husband. You craved to know everything about him : What happened with his family? What happened with Art? How was his career doing? What were his dreams and hopes? Was he dating anyone? All these questions lingered in your mind, but you didn’t feel legitimate enough to ask those as his fuck buddy. Yet, you needed these answers to sneak your way into his heart and maybe become more than just a warm hole to him.

You knew the best way to pull information out of him was to ask at his most vulnerable moment : right after he came. "Are you seeing other girls?" You asked softly, brushing his hair back. His head was resting on your chest, your breasts glazed with his saliva and sweat. "Are you really asking me that when you have a whole ass husband waiting for you at home?" He stared at you, amused. "You're fucking me without condoms, I have every right to know!" You retorted, but the truth was you wanted to know if there was any competition for Patrick’s affection. You wanted to be the only one for him. "Don't worry, I'm being extra careful with other people." So there were other girls. Your stomach turned. You had no right to be jealous, but you were. Your mind raced in all directions. What did they look like? What was his type? Did they look anything like you? Were they also married women? Did he do to them the things he did to you? "But to be fair, you’re taking a lot of my time, so I don’t really meet new people lately." If keeping him busy was keeping him from other girls, you surely could find time to pay him more visits, at any time of the day. You were sure you could manage to make him stay home with you, no matter if he had practice or not, plans with friends or dates or whatever. You had a skilled tongue he couldn’t resist. "But no one is as good as you." He mumbled against your breast before circling one of your nipples with his tongue. His words hit you like a wave, flooding you with happiness and leaving you breathless. No one is as good as you. You wanted to scream with joy, your heart nearly bursting. In that instant, whether his dick was speaking for himself or not, he made you feel like you were the only one in the world that mattered.

●

Seeing Patrick was no longer just about the sex, even if he thought otherwise. While he was fucking you like a whore, you were quietly sneaking into his life. It had become your personal mission to form an emotional bond with him, to make yourself indispensable. It started with the meals you shared. You had bragged about your cooking, promising to let him taste your creations, and soon his kitchen had become your workshop. You were filling his stomach with your love, and in exchange, he filled your cunt with his own.

You also spent evenings watching movies and cuddling for hours on his worn-out couch on nights when your husband wasn’t home. You would always pretend to fall asleep, hoping this time Patrick would allow you to stay over. But he would always wake you at the end of the movie and drive you home.

But you would be back by morning, letting yourself in with the key under the doormat that had become unofficially your key and cooking him breakfast. Maybe you were intrusive, but he didn’t seem to mind when you would wake him up with your tongue on his balls.

And every time he welcomed you a bit more into his life, you would push it farther. You wanted to know more, to dig deeper. "Patrick?" You asked one evening, nervous about whether your questions would be dismissed like all the other ones you had asked before. "Yes, babe?" He answered, his eyes closed, face buried into the pillow. "What really happened with your family?" Silence. He opened his eyes and turned to face you, a shadow of wariness crossing his features. "Why do you want to know?" He responded quickly. "It’s just, I knew your parents, and I’m surprised they would allow their precious boy to… struggle." You hesitated on that last word. While Patrick’s lifestyle seemed like chaos to you, he appeared content enough with it. Patrick sighed, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. "They didn’t allow it. I chose it." He finally said, his voice low and guarded. You shifted closer, resting your head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. "Why?" You pressed gently. He hesitated, his fingers idly playing with your hair. "Because I didn’t want to be their perfect little son. I wanted to live my own life, make my own mistakes. I don’t care about their fucking board, I’m a tennis player."

"Yes, you are." You murmured, fingers playfully tangling in his chest hair. It had been so long since you'd seen him play a real match, but you knew he was a gifted kid. "I remember how everyone raved about your talent when we were kids. Your parents always said you were going to be the biggest tennis star." He glanced away, nervously nibbling his lower lip. "Well, they don’t really think so anymore." His voice was tinged with hurt, a vulnerability he rarely showed. "And it wasn’t the only thing." He added, his tone darker. "It wasn’t?" You asked, curiosity piqued. What else could have happened? Did he get a girl pregnant or something? "They didn’t really accept me coming out." He revealed quietly. "Coming out? Wait, you’re into boys?" You sat up, shocked by his revelation. He nodded, his nervousness palpable, as if he feared your reaction. "Don’t you want to be our third?" You joked, trying to lighten the mood with a giggle. "I’m not fucking the disgusting geriatric asshole you’re married to." He whined, pinching your waist. You grabbed his hand, stopping him from pinching you further. "He’s a handsome man!" You tried to defend your husband, though Patrick’s grossed out face made it clear he wasn’t convinced by your words. "He’s like a hundred years old!" Patrick exclaimed, typical in his exaggeration. "He’s 49!" You responded. "And you’re 27. He’s a fucking creep." Patrick said, his face twisted in disgust.

You frowned at his words. You had never thought of it that way. Sure, he was older, and you had met him when you were young, but it wasn’t as if he had preyed on you. Your father had introduced you to one of his business partners, and you had simply fallen in love. Right?

"If you’re into boys…" You began, tracing delicate patterns on his chest. "Can I fuck you then?" You asked with a teasing smirk. You were usually the submissive type, you loved it, but a part of you had always been curious about what it would feel like to top someone. You imagined yourself putting on a strap and taking control of someone’s body, and not just anyone, but Patrick’s. You fantasized about how he would look, all hot and flustered, under you, his face flushed and his body trembling with anticipation. The thought of seeing him all vulnerable and overwhelmed by your plastic cock deep inside him made your heart beat faster. "Do you think I’m just going to let anyone have my ass? Do you think I’m a whore or something?" He shot back, abruptly shutting down any fantasies you had. His refusal stung. Anyone? You weren’t just anyone.

●

As days passed, Patrick’s words replayed in your mind like a broken record. The more you thought about it, the more it felt off. The age gap that seemed romantic and reassuring once now felt predatory. You were 21 when you married your husband, but he was well into his 40s. He had courted you when you had barely graduated, still fresh from the confines of your parents’ home. You didn’t have much experience with love or even boys so you felt flattered. He became your first boyfriend. Apart from your first kiss, which had been stolen by some random guy at the country club, he had been your first everything. He, on the other hand, had been married before and had dated numerous women. What was in it for him to date you? Your innocence? Now, the fact that he had waited for you to turn the specific age of 21 before marrying you, despite the fact that you had been living together for a while, seemed calculated and unsettling.

It was as if you were looking at your husband through a different lens, a perspective vastly different from the adoration you once held for him. You didn’t think so highly of him anymore. All the red flags you had so mindlessly ignored before were now glaringly obvious.

Was the fact that you were growing older the reason he was now so distant lately? You had noticed the subtle changes over the years, from the way he looked at your body to the way he touched you. At first, he just couldn’t keep his hands away from you and now he simply petted you, like a dog. You had always thought that it was how couples evolved with time : passion at first and then comfort. But the gossips at the country club painted a different picture. The women there often complained about feigning migraines to escape their marital obligations. Your situation was the opposite, the man who had been so eager to introduce you to sex now seemed to avoid it altogether. This didn't feel like a natural progression. And you were sure of it when you thought about Patrick and how you could hardly imagine growing tired of making him come.

So why wasn’t he attracted to you anymore? Your body had not changed that drastically. Was he receiving attention from other women? Younger women? You needed to know for sure.

As soon as he left to take a shower, you seized his phone and began scrolling through his messages. You didn’t recognize yourself, the normal you would never had invaded his privacy. You had been raised to believe that a wife should stay in her place and respect her husband’s boundaries, but at that point, you didn’t give a fuck. It didn’t take much searching to discover an interesting conversation with another woman. They were exchanging flirtatious texts and pictures. As you read through the messages, you realized it wasn't just flirting, there were feelings involved. Your husband was feeding her sweet words, just as he had once done with you in the past. The proof was there : he was cheating on you. And even worse, he was in a relationship with her.

Who had been the first one to stray? Did it even matter? Yes, for your own guilt. You needed to erase the doubt that you had betrayed him first. You scrolled back to your birthday, that fateful day that had changed everything. There, you found him telling her he would be home soon. So your husband had indeed been with another woman while you were alone and crying. The guilt that had been eating you was gone. He had only gotten what he deserved. But now, you were consumed by anger and disgust.

You stared at the picture of the woman who had now taken your place. She looked young, way too young. Her skin was smooth, her cheeks full and her eyes bright with the innocence of youth. She could be your little sister. She could be his daughter. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. A wave of hatred for her took over you, but beneath it was an unexpected urge to protect her. How could you see how wrong it was so clearly when it involved someone else, yet remain blind when it came to yourself?

The woman in the photo seemed fragile, her smile unaware of the storm she was caught in. You could imagine her excitement, the thrill of attention from an older, experienced man. It was a cruel irony that the very things that had once drawn you to him were now being used to entrap someone else. You thought of your younger self, so eager to please, so willing to overlook the small red flags. You wondered if she knew about you. She had to. She had to wonder why your husband was leaving her every night. What did he tell her about you? Was he telling her you were the problem?

Patrick had been right all along, your husband was a creep.

●

Your chest felt tight, as if an invisible weight was pressing down, making it hard to breathe. Your heart pounded erratically, its rapid thumping loud in your ears, drowning out all other sounds. Your vision blurred with unshed tears, and your hands started to tremble uncontrollably. The room spun, making it hard to focus on anything. You clutched your chest, trying to steady the dizzy feeling inside. A cold sweat broke out across your skin, chilling you despite the warmth of the room. With shaky hands, you grabbed your phone and dialed Patrick's number. You needed to get out of the house, whether your husband noticed your absence or not. "Baby, can you pick me up, please?"

After fifteen minutes, he texted that he was at the corner of the street. You walked to his car, the short distance feeling like an eternity. You tried to dry your tears before meeting him, not wanting to spoil the mood with your problems, but your red, puffy eyes betrayed you. Spotting the car, you quickly opened the door and stepped in, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "So, what did he do?" He asked against your lips. He knew you way too well. His question caused your lips to tremble, and tears to well up in your eyes. As he drove off to his place, you told him the whole story between sobs. He rolled his eyes as if it were expected news, sighing at each new detail. "What does it change? You were almost sure of it already." He glanced at you. Unable to answer, you also wondered why it hurt so much. Maybe the fact that he had a second home. Fucking another girl was one thing, creating a home with her was another. "Let me tell you, if you weren't such a fucking coward, you'd leave his ass." You stared at him, your eyes widening with disbelief. He had never talked to you that way. His words were as harsh and sharp as a knife. You opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off. "But I know you. You're so greedy, you would never give up your designer bags, your nice clothes, and your big fucking house." Speechless, you wondered if he truly thought so lowly of you. Did he believe you had married your husband solely for the money? Yes, living comfortably was pleasant, but you had fallen in love with that man. He was your family. "Are you always going to call me when you're fucking miserable and expect me to just watch you ruin your life and fuck you?" His words hit you like a slap. You gasped, too stunned to immediately respond. "You're a piece of shit, Patrick." You mumbled between clenched teeth, barely able to contain your anger. He stopped at a red light and turned to you, his face inches from yours. "I may be shit, but you like to roll in it, you cunt." He spat out. Before he could say more, you slapped him across the face, desperate to silence him. Words like that had only ever been thrilling when said in passionate moments, when they didn’t cut to the bone but made you wet and beg for more. Now, they shattered your heart into a million pieces. Without a word, you opened the door and stepped out of the vehicle. You couldn’t bear to stay near him. You believed that Patrick would always be there to comfort you, but now you saw the truth. He was just as hurtful, if not more, than your husband. In that moment, you realized how truly alone you were in your misery.

"Get in the damn car!" He shouted through the open window, his voice slicing through the night as he drove slowly alongside you on the sidewalk. "No!" You shot back, your teeth sinking into your lower lip until you tasted blood. The urge to cry was almost overwhelming, but you couldn't allow yourself to break down. Not in front of Patrick fucking Zweig. Not in front of that fucking loser. Maybe you were a gold digger, but at least you weren't a broke motherfucker with shattered dreams and no future. You wanted to throw that in his face, to lash out with the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You couldn't hurt him. Even though he hurt you. Deep down you knew from the start that it was meant to happen, that he would inevitably disappoint you. He always did. He let everyone down, yet you clung to the hope that things might have been different with you. You didn't want to believe otherwise but here you were. "It's dangerous." Oh, so he cared about you now? Sure, it was nighttime, but the streets were empty. You felt safer outside than in that car or even in your own house. "Go fuck yourself." You finally yelled back. He sighed, pulling over and parking the car right in front of you, forcing you to stop. You crossed your arms without a word, determined to wait him out. Let him get bored of the silence and leave you alone. He opened the passenger door, waiting for you to climb in. You had no intention of doing so. After a few minutes, Patrick stepped out of the car and stood in front of you. "Babe, I'm sorry..."

He pulled you into an embrace, and you remained still, unwilling to give in until you felt his lips brush against your neck. "I shouldn't have said that." He mumbled against your jaw. Despite yourself, you smiled at the warmth of his lips on your skin. Something must be wrong with you. He had insulted you moments ago, wounding you in ways he never had before, yet here you were, back in his arms, ready to follow him like a lovesick puppy and forget every hurtful word. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting your head to give him room to explore your neck. His hands found their way to your butt, gently squeezing. You were in public, being intimate with another man besides your husband. Anyone driving by could see you cheating, but it didn’t matter. You pressed your body as close to his as possible, merging with him. You felt his hard length pressing against your lower abdomen. "Wait, are you hard?" You asked, your voice rising in surprise. "You were so hot being all mad and stuff." He revealed, his lips inching closer to yours. "I slap you and you get hard? You’re really deranged." You whispered against his lips, amused. You felt his tongue trying to breach the barrier of your lips. Did he really think it would be that easy? True, you were already melting under his touch, but he couldn’t just keep getting away with everything. He couldn’t treat you like shit and expect you to let him take you right here on the sidewalk. "I just can't go on watching you waste your life with him. You deserve better." He murmured between soft pecks on your lips. His words made your heart skip a beat, it was the closest he would get to saying how much he cared about you. And was the 'better' you deserved, him? After all, he wasn't running away from you to protect you, he was trying to get into your pants, which surely meant he thought himself worthy of you. With Patrick, it was always what he didn't say that left you hoping. As your tongue found its way to his lips, you were now the one devouring his mouth. Okay, he was forgiven. You would totally let him fuck you right there on the sidewalk.

You let your hands roam down his back, finding their way to his ass, groping it in a similar way he was grabbing yours. You pulled away from the kiss and looked into his eyes, noticing his smirk. Did he think he had won? "If you're really sorry, let me fuck you." You blurted out, your fingers sneaking between his cheeks, the fabric of his shorts the only obstacle. "What?" He asked, eyes squinting in confusion. "Let me fuck you." You repeated, pinching your lips together to hide your grin. "No way." He chuckled, probably thinking you were joking. But you were as serious as a heart attack. "I want to own you like you own me." You wanted Patrick to commit to your relationship as much as you had. You had let him take control of your body, marking his territory on every part of you. Well, almost every part. "You won’t let me fuck your ass and you think I’ll let you fuck mine?" He questioned, and you sighed in response. In reality, if Patrick had really wanted to, he could have had his way with you a long time ago. But so far, he had always stopped at the slightest hint of resistance from you, which in theory was a good thing. Still, you wanted him to beg for it. Which he didn’t. But now that you had made your objective clear, perhaps you would let him have his way with you, just to get your way with him later on.

Your phone kept buzzing in your pocket. Reluctantly, you pulled away from his embrace and fished it out of your pants. Your husband’s name flashed on the screen. You sighed, seeing that he had already tried to call you seven times. Patrick's eyes fixed on the screen, his face twisted in a grimace. "Drive me back home then." You commanded, disentangling yourself from him. You stepped into the car, settling into the passenger seat. Patrick quickly joined you, taking his place behind the wheel. "Are you still mad at me?" He asked, nervously chewing the inside of his cheek as he drove back to your place. "Maybe." You replied. The anger was actually long gone, you had forgiven him the moment his lips touched your skin. But you weren't against letting him stew in a bit of guilt, even if it meant sacrificing your own pleasure for the night.

After a few minutes of Patrick's attempts to win your complete forgiveness by being extra affectionate, stroking your thigh and smiling sweetly, you found yourself back on your street. You had tried your hardest not to show any sign of giving in, but his puppy eyes made it difficult not to jump his bones. "I'm home alone this weekend." You announced, placing your hand on top of his. "Wanna come over?" You proposed, a smile spreading across your face. You didn't care anymore about respecting your husband’s space. If he didn’t respect you, there was no way you were going to respect him either. "Really? Your house?" He asked, surprised that you were now inviting him into the one place that had always been off-limits to him. You nodded eagerly, your eyes burning with a desire for revenge.

●

After an intense make-out session interrupted by a couple of whispered apologies, Patrick finally let you go despite the raging boner in his pants. As you walked back into your house, you found your husband waiting at the door, his hands resting on his hips. He looked worried sick. What was with the men in your life acting out of character tonight? When he saw you, his expression shifted from relief to anger. "Where the hell have you been?" He demanded, his voice thundering through the hallway. The tone made you jump. Your husband could be scary sometimes, and tonight was one of those times. You calmly explained that you had to help one of your girlfriends with an emergency. He took a step closer, his gaze piercing. "And you couldn't call?" You shrugged, feeling the weight of his glare. "I-..I didn't have the time." He opened his mouth to ask more questions, but you cut him off with a half-hearted apology. "I'm sorry, lovey, okay? I'm exhausted. I just need to go to bed." You rushed up the stairs, your heart pounding, eager to escape the questions you couldn’t answer.

"Seriously, where the hell have you been?" His voice erupted from behind you as you stood at the vanity, removing the last traces of makeup from your face. You caught his reflection in the mirror, and the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. His expression was taut with frustration, and it was clear he was nowhere near ready to let this go. He had displayed jealousy in the early years of your marriage, but it had been so long that you had almost forgotten the depths of his paranoia. "With a friend." You repeated, sticking to your fabricated story. "Call her. I want to speak with her." He demanded, his voice icy and insistent. His insistence took you by surprise, and for a moment, you wondered if he doubted your faithfulness. Did he also find out about your little affair? "You’re being ridiculous." You said with a chuckle, trying to diffuse the tension. "Call her." He said again, his teeth clenched with frustration. "I don’t want my friends to see my husband acting irrationally. What will they think?" You replied, hoping to use his reputation as leverage. You knew that using his concern for how others perceived him was likely your best chance. It always seemed to come down to how others viewed him. "They will think you have a caring husband. Call her." He insisted, stepping closer until his presence loomed over you. You clutched your phone tightly, keeping it away from his reach. Turning to face him, you felt so small in front of him. "Okay, but what if we call your friend first?" You suggested, trying to sound as confident as possible. However, your voice faltered as you stressed the word ‘friend’. You locked eyes with him, the silence settling between you. The moment his gaze shifted away from yours, you knew he understood. He sighed heavily and turned his back on you, his frustration palpable. "Whatever. Who’s the irrational one now?" He muttered, his tone dripping with resentment as he walked away.

Later that night, you felt his untoned body pressed against your back. The sensation sent shivers across your skin, not from excitement as it did with Patrick, but from dread. He had remained silent until then, and now he was whispering in your ear how much he craved you, his fingers toying with the waistband of your pajama shorts. He had waited for the lights to go out before slipping into bed, placing his nasty eager hands all over you. "Not tonight..." You whispered, placing your hand over his in an attempt to stop him. Ignoring your plea, he slid your shorts down your ankles. You felt the tip of his length against your entrance, and he penetrated you, pulling your hips back with a sudden, unwelcome force. He took you without any warning, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, repeatedly reminding you how much he loved you and how you were the only one for him. Tears welled in your eyes as you forced yourself to fulfill your duty as a wife. You pushed your ass back against him, desperate to make him finish quickly and bring an end to this. When it was over, the urge to throw up overwhelmed you.

●

Patrick had followed your instructions not to ring the doorbell and trigger the recording of the camera, so he texted you upon his arrival. You opened the door and quickly pulled him inside, gripping his shirt. "Where did you park your car?" You asked, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him hungrily. "Down the street." He replied between breaths. After a few minutes of showing him how glad you were that he was here, you offered to give him a tour. "Damn, he’s making big money." Patrick exclaimed as you led him through yet another room. The Zweigs’ home seemed modest in comparison to yours, and yet, when you were growing up, they owned the largest house you had ever seen. Patrick paused in the corridor, his gaze fixed on the large wedding portrait hanging on the wall. In the photo, your husband stood behind you as you sat in front of him, your voluminous, puffy dress filling the frame. "How cute." Patrick said with a smirk. "You took a father-daughter picture on your wedding day." You playfully slapped his arm. You knew he only wanted to tease you but there was some truth to his words. The age difference, so obvious in that image, had only become clear to you now, thanks to Patrick’s perspective. You locked eyes with your younger self in the photograph, remembering how innocent and full of life she once was. She was so happy and in love. You missed her.

"You know your parents were actually there that day." You said, recalling how your parents had insisted on inviting the Zweigs out of old friendship, despite the distance that had grown between you and them over the years. You were genuinely glad to see them, and they had been remarkably generous with their wedding gift. You were fairly certain Patrick had been invited as well, but he never showed up. "They would probably be very disappointed in you for letting yourself be corrupted by their failure of a son." He murmured, his gaze still fixed intently on the picture. "Or very pleased." You countered. Patrick glanced at you, puzzled. "You can’t imagine how hard our moms tried to set us up." Patrick snorted at the comment, disbelief evident in his eyes. "No way!" You nodded insistently. "Don’t you remember how they always forced us to hang out?" A smile played on your lips. Did he really think you were willingly following him around everywhere back then? "I was a kid, and my mom tried to convince me you’d make a good husband!" The memory of your mother’s persistent hints came flooding back. "Really? You didn’t notice anything?" You asked, astonished. He shrugged, genuinely confused. "Damn, you really never consider me as a woman!" You blurted out, chuckling. It stung a bit that Patrick had never even glanced your way despite your mothers’ scheming, but it was all in the past. You knew the effect you had on him now. "I was too focused on tennis!" He tried to explain. "Liar!" You teased. "You always had a new girlfriend. Like that girl…" You began, your voice trailing off as you tried to recall the name of the first one who had lingered long enough to be introduced to his parents. You recalled meeting her too, and thinking she was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen. Back then, you couldn’t understand why she’d settled for someone like Patrick. But that was before you knew how much of a good fuck he was. Now it made sense. "Ah, yes, Tashi Duncan!" At the mention of her name, his smile faded, and the mood in the room changed. There was history there. Sensing the need to divert the conversation, you quickly continued. "But it’s alright. I can deal with the fact that I didn’t make you hard when you were a teenager." You shrugged nonchalantly. "I can make you hard quite alright now." With a playful tug on the waistband of his pants, you drew him closer and pressed your lips firmly against his.

Patrick had one mission that day : to claim every room in your house as his own by fucking you there. It began in the living room with a quickie on the couch. "Did he fuck you there?" He asked then, gesturing toward the kitchen counter. You nodded, though the truth was that your husband had never touched you in that space. The house was new, and your sex life had long since declined. Yet, Patrick seemed intent on marking his territory in your husband's home. He took you on the kitchen counter, and later, on the desk in your husband's office. By the time you reached the bedroom, you were already sore and overstimulated. "Now you’ll think about me every time you’re fucking him in this bed." Patrick babbled as he bounced you on top of him. You clawed at his chest, whimpering in pain as your pussy burned from the relentless penetration. Despite the discomfort, you couldn’t stop. If you could erase every memory of your husband in that bed and only keep thoughts of Patrick, you would take it gladly.

"I’m sure this is the first time you’ve come in that bed." He mumbled as you got off him and laid beside him, panting heavily from your orgasm. You chuckled, finding his bitterness amusing. "Don’t be ridiculous." You teased, calling him out. "I’ve masturbated there before." You burst into laughter, and his chuckle soon joined yours.

Though it was still early, you felt utterly drained. All you wished for was to close your eyes and wake up a week later. It was the first time you were sharing a bed with Patrick solely for the purpose of sleeping, rather than for sex. Even though he had fucked you in your marital bed, you had moved to the guest room for the night. You nestled close to him, your face pressed against his neck, fully immersed in his comforting scent. With your eyes closed, you drifted into sleep almost immediately and so did he.

Waking up next to Patrick felt even better than falling asleep beside him. As he pulled you closer, his eyes still closed, your heart pounded out of your chest. Was this what it felt like to be Patrick’s girlfriend? You enjoyed the domesticity of the moment, the simplicity and comfort of sharing a bed. The fact that, even half asleep, he sought your presence warmed your heart deeply. Feeling his morning wood pressing against the back of your thigh only added to your delight. It was these small, tender moments that made you crave more than just a fling, that made you yearn for a life that was intertwined with his in every way.

After a few moments of cuddling in bed, you slipped out quietly to give Patrick time to wake up properly. Embracing the role of his wife for the day, you busied yourself in the kitchen, preparing a healthy breakfast with the best ingredients from your fridge. You arranged a plate with fruits, eggs, and bacon, ensuring it offered everything his body needed. When he finally emerged from the bedroom, you served him the meal and then headed to the shower. Of course, it wasn't long before Patrick joined you. "Already done?" You asked, surprised that he had finished his plate so quickly. He nodded and wrapped his arms around you, his embrace growing warm under the stream of hot water. "Can I have my breakfast now?" You asked with a playful smirk, lowering yourself to your knees. Holding his length close to your lips, you glanced up to ensure he was watching as you took him fully into your mouth.

You were barely dressed when he began demanding more. He pinned you against the living room window, the curtains barely hiding the view of you with a man who wasn’t your husband. He yanked your panties down to your ankles and lifted your skirt as he penetrated you. "Now anyone who walks by can see that you’re a whore." He murmured, his voice low, filled with possessiveness. Your face was pressed against the glass, giving you a full view of your neighbor’s front yard. Anyone passing by could, indeed, see you if they looked up, but you didn’t care. In fact, part of you wanted them to see who you truly belonged to.

●

As the months went by, Patrick became your priority. You weren’t buying so many designer bags anymore, instead, you found yourself financing Patrick's career. He had no remorse about taking your husband's money, and you were more than willing to provide. You wanted him to have the best tennis equipment, the nicest furniture, and the softest bed sheets. You hoped that every time he used his racket or laid in bed, he would think of you, knowing that every element of his life had your touch.

There was something in you that made you want to take care of Patrick like he was an innocent baby lamb. You just wanted to make this boy’s life easier, ease all the pain he had to go through in his life. Once, you even suggested selling some pieces from your collection to help him secure a decent place to stay. That was where he drew the line, refusing to let your loss be his gain.

"Thanks for the bag!" He exclaimed, the strap of the brand new tennis backpack hanging off his shoulder. He stood in front of the mirror in his underwear, admiring the bag from every angle. You gazed lovingly at him while lying on his bed on your stomach, chin resting on your hands. Patrick had always been good-looking, but lately, he seemed even more handsome. Perhaps it was the feelings you had developed, making you see him in a new light. Just the sight of his biceps made you a little weak. You had always thought you weren't the type to swoon over athletes and their muscles, but you had been wrong. Patrick’s body was a masterpiece. You could never get tired of looking at him. Your eyes traced the lines of his chiseled jawline, lingering on the reddish hairs covering his chin. From there, your gaze moved to his broad shoulders, strong and imposing, a testament to the years he had spent perfecting his serve. You drifted over his strong, veiny arms that always held you so effortlessly, and settled his small, pink nipples stood out against the firmness of his chest. Your stare lingered on his sculpted stomach, captivated by the defined muscles, before following the strip of dark hair that trailed down his lower abdomen. "You're welcome, baby." You mumbled, eyes fixed on the curve of his ass. You had to bite your lip to stifle a moan as you drifted to the hem of his boxers and his fuzzy thighs. It was impossible to look away when Patrick was in a room. For a second, you wondered if his fans were as captivated as you when they watched him on a tennis court.

"I want to see you play someday." You said with a sigh of frustration, watching him model the new bag. It was a line you had always been careful not to cross. You already occupied most of his free time, intruding on his professional life felt like overstepping. You weren’t his devoted girlfriend or his tennis wife, just the woman he fucked from time to time. He turned to face you, setting the bag down on the floor. "Then come watch the tournament next Friday?" He suggested, a proud smile spreading across his face. The tournament? You recalled him mentioning he was training for a state-level challenger, one that could be a pivotal moment in his career. It might be the very thing that lifted him out of the slump he’d been in. "Wait, you qualified?" You asked, your voice rising with excitement. He nodded enthusiastically. "Why didn’t you tell me?" You exclaimed, leaping into his arms and wrapping your limbs around him. He lifted you effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as you showered his face with kisses.

●

Friday couldn’t come fast enough. You were thrilled to finally watch Patrick play after all these years. Back in your teenage days, you usually avoided his matches, uninterested in tennis and reluctant to spend hours watching boys hit a ball. But now, you were so eager that you arrived an hour early. Sitting in the bleachers, you hid behind a hat and sunglasses, hoping to avoid running into anyone you knew. Tennis was quite popular in your community, so you wouldn't be surprised if someone from the country club showed up and saw you getting all cozy with a tennis player.

A few minutes after you sent Patrick one final good luck text, he stepped onto the court. He scanned the audience with a focused gaze, as if searching for something, or someone. Was he looking for you? Did he anticipate your presence as much as you had longed to be there? You hesitated for a moment before raising your hand and giving a small wave, not wanting to embarrass yourself if he happened to acknowledge someone else. When his eyes finally found you, his face lit up with a grin that left you breathless, and he nodded in your direction.

The match began with each player standing on their side of the net. Patrick wasn’t the server for this set. When his opponent served the first ball, it flew across the court and met Patrick’s racket. A succession of strokes followed, the sound of sneakers grating on the cement echoing with every quick move as the ball zipped back and forth. Patrick scored the first point by powerfully slamming the ball over the net, where it hit the ground. His opponent was skilled, but Patrick played with a level of determination you had never witnessed before. If he had been bringing as little as half the same energy in bed when fucking you, you were certain you’d be dead by now. When his opponent scored the first point, Patrick’s confident expression slipped, replaced by a grimace. Despite this, he didn’t allow the other player to score again, ultimately winning the first set by five points.

As the match went on, you found yourself on the edge of your seat, your heart racing with the set’s rhythm. For a moment, your attention drifted from the ball to Patrick’s muscular arms, glistening with a thin layer of sweat. From the way his arm flexed with every motion, veins on his forearms bulging, to the way his fingers gripped the racket tightly, reminding you of how he fisted his cock to milk himself all over your face. You couldn’t help but be turned on by the sight of him, everything reminded you of him fucking you. Realizing another point was added to the score during your daydream, you tried to shake off the inappropriate thoughts and focus on the match. After a few minutes, your eyes wandered to his ridiculously short shorts, barely concealing how big he was underneath. His bulge bounced with each leap and sprint, and you craved to have it, hot and salty, in your mouth. Damn. Fuck the game, you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. There was something about the way his shirt clung to his torso, drenched with sweat, accentuating the contours of his sculpted stomach that made you almost bark like a dog. And you didn’t even want to mention the way his thick, fuzzy thighs jiggled with every step, making you salivate, or how his firm ass filled out those shorts so perfectly.

You felt a stir of guilt, feeling like a perv, as you watched him play. What had begun as a desire to connect with him, to know more about his passion, had turned into a fixation that overshadowed the game itself. You sighed deeply, crossing your legs to prevent the dampness in your underwear from showing. You shifted your gaze to his opponent, realizing that watching that ugly loser was probably the best way to regain your focus and follow the match.

As the final ball of the second set landed on the opposite side of the court, you clapped with excitement a broad smile spreading across your face. That’s when you noticed two girls in the audience, cheering louder than anyone else, screaming his name at the top of their lungs. You couldn’t help but glare at them. They were young and cute, with tiny skirts showing just enough thighs, their hairs flowing in the wind, their firm asses and perky tits. It was obvious that Patrick was an attractive man, but it had never truly hit you that he could have anyone he wanted. Maybe he even already had them. And just like that, with one wild thought, another competition started on the court. You needed to outscream them. You were going to yell his name louder than anyone had before. You no longer cared if someone recognized you, you just wanted to make those little bitches shut the fuck up.

When the last point of the third set was won, the crowd erupted in applause. Patrick stood victorious, his face glistening with sweat, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Pride radiated from his expression. He looked up at you once more, and this time, you didn't shy away. You stood and cheered as loud as possible, your heart swelling with adoration. You had seen a new side of him, and you didn't think it was possible to fall even harder for him.

In just two hours, you felt transformed, a whole new woman, as if you had undergone a grueling religious experience. Watching Patrick being so passionate on the court almost made you resent his racket and ball. You yearned for him to feel that way about you, to be his priority, the one thing that consumed his thoughts. You wanted him to love you.

After the match, you were determined not to give his two fans the chance to monopolize his attention, so you waited for him, despite knowing your husband was probably waiting for you at home. Truth be told, you didn't even want to let them congratulate him. You watched as every single member of the audience left the court, your eyes narrowing on the two girls who skipped down the bleachers to join Patrick as he put his racket away in his bag. "Fucking cunts." You muttered under your breath, fuming as they interacted with your man. Patrick was all smiles, engaged in an animated conversation with them. Was he trying to piss you off on purpose? You sighed and leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, glaring at them with such hate that it felt like you were burning holes into the backs of their heads.

When the court was finally empty, you made your way to his car and waited for him there. When he arrived, his new tennis bag slung over his shoulder, you were leaning against his car. "You’re alone? You didn’t bring one of your fangirls?" You asked, unable to hide the jealousy in your voice. "I knew I already had one waiting for me." He replied smoothly, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips as he opened the trunk and began placing his tennis equipment inside.

Once his arms were free, he pulled you into a tight hug, nuzzling into the crook of your neck. You wore the perfume he loved on purpose, knowing it drove him wild. His hair, still damp from the shower, left a wet spot on your shirt, but you didn't care. He gently slid your sunglasses off, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment before he leaned in for a deep, passionate kiss. You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him as close as you could, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The kiss was intense, his tongue eagerly exploring your mouth. After a few moments, you tried to break away to congratulate him, but he was having none of it. Eventually, you managed to pull back, your lips tingling. "Congrats!" You said, breathless, placing a soft peck on his lips. "You were so hot." Your hands slid down to his butt, squeezing it firmly. Patrick let out a deep throaty sound, and began peppering your face with kisses, his arousal evident from the hardness against your stomach.

"So hot that I want to fuck you..." Standing on your tiptoes, you whispered into his ear, your fingers sliding provocatively between his asscheeks. You pressed your index finger against the fabric covering his asshole. "Nuh uh." He shook his head firmly. "You don’t know what you’re doing." It was true, you didn’t know anything about pleasuring a man this way, but you were willing to learn. You could watch instructional videos, order the best lube, and even get the perfect strap. You just wanted to claim him completely. "Then show me how to do it." You said, your voice filled with determination. "Really, should I show you how?" He raised his eyebrows, a smirk dancing on his lips. You nodded eagerly, ready to absorb everything he had to teach. He quickly slid your sunglasses into his pocket and placed his hands on your ass, mirroring your earlier action. He rubbed your crack through your pants with the side of his hand. "You know that’s not what I meant." You kissed his lips as he slid his hands back over your cheeks with a sigh. This had become a game for you, seeing how long you could tease and deny him until he finally took charge. But that idiot didn’t seem to catch on. He just gave up as soon as you said no.

"I really thought you were going home with those two girls." You confessed, a pout forming on your lips as you looked up at him. "What two girls?" He asked, genuinely puzzled. "The cute ones, the girl in white with her hair braided and the other one in pink-" You began to explain before he cut you off. "My cousins?" He exclaimed, his eyes widening in realization. His cousins? Now that you thought about it, they did look familiar but the last time you had seen them they were kids. So, you had been unfairly resenting two innocent girls for hours? "Gross!" He added with a look of disgust. "Get in the car before you start accusing me of banging my dad." You burst out laughing as he opened the passenger door for you. "Wouldn’t blame you, your dad’s kinda cute." You admitted with a playful grin as you jumped into the car. Patrick resembled Mr. Zweig quite a bit, same hair, same freckles, same nose. He was undeniably a handsome man, but you much preferred the son. Patrick slid into the driver’s seat, his brow furrowing at your comment. "Of course, you love fossils." He retorted. You playfully slapped his arm as he started the car and drove away. You glanced at the clock. It was late, too late to head back to his place. Surely, you would find a spot to park for a few minutes on the way back, just enough time for you to blow Patrick before you had to return home to far less enjoyable obligations.

●

You hadn't shared the news with Patrick yet, but after weighing up the pros and cons, you were now certain you wanted to leave your husband. The decision had come after another sleepless night, lying beside a man you no longer felt connected to, your mind wandering to thoughts of Patrick's face, his touch, the way he made you feel alive. You were now certain that whatever you had with your husband, it wasn’t love. Perhaps it had never been. Patrick was the one who occupied your every thought now. Months had passed before you came to understand that there was no point in staying married when every trait you once admired in your husband now repelled you. The comfort he offered no longer outweighed the ache you felt inside. You weren’t afraid of disappointing your family with the decision to end things anymore, nor were you scared by the prospect of being single. You had Patrick, and though you were certain he would never claim you as his girlfriend, you believed you could remain in his life after the divorce, as long as you allowed him his freedom. He would continue to be with others, and you would maintain the pretense that it didn’t fucking kill you. The only change would be the absence of guilt, the relief from constant deception and self-loathing. You envisioned a life where Patrick's presence, however brief and elusive, would be enough to make you the happiest of women. The thought of living without the shadows of betrayal hanging over you felt liberating.

Now, all that remained was to find a place of your own and save up enough money. You had begun parting with some of your treasured bags, a significant step for you. With no personal bank account, you had to open one just to deposit the funds. Though the account was gradually filling, it still fell short of what you needed to live independently. Mentally, you were at your breaking point, the idea of staying in your marriage any longer was unbearable. You needed the divorce to happen now. Though you were certain Patrick would offer you a place to stay for a few days, you couldn’t bear the thought of overstaying your welcome. The only option left was to hope that your husband would allow you to remain in the house until you found a place of your own.

The only thing left was to break the news. You wanted to wait for a moment that felt right to announce a divorce, if such a moment did exist. You were clueless, having never imagined yourself as one of those divorcees. When you first married, you were convinced it would be forever, yet here you were, anxiously flipping bacon in a pan, rehearsing the impending conversation in your head. You decided that telling him in the morning, before he left for work, would give him a few hours to process the news and offer you some space away from any potential outburst. Though your husband was not a violent man, you knew he would react with anger and accusations, blaming you for ruining his life, like his previous wife did. Telling him in the morning would not only give him time to come to terms with the situation but also allow you to use the day to pack your bags.

You placed a plate of eggs and bacon before him, its presentation less neat than usual, and settled into the chair across from him as he began to eat. "I’m not happy…" You said, your eyes focused on your hands, nervously picking at your cuticles to avoid meeting his gaze. He paused, setting his fork and knife down with a resigned sigh. "I can tell." He replied, his voice carrying a hint of resignation. Gathering your courage, you took a deep breath, ready to deliver the news in one swift motion. "I want-..." You were startled by the sudden sound of his deep voice. "I know what you want…" Did he? Was he about to make things easier for you? Had he noticed the growing distance between you two? Your mind raced as he continued, "I’ve thought about it, and I think I’m ready for us to have a baby." The words hit you like a punch to the gut. A baby? Was he serious? After all those years of rejecting the idea, he chose this moment, as you were on the brink of leaving, to bring it up?

You stared at him in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking in. The only sounds that penetrated the stillness were the hum of the refrigerator and the rapid beating of your heart. He knew that this was the one thing you had always yearned for, a dream you had long since abandoned, believing it would never come true. You had grieved motherhood when you married a man who had no interest in having children, and you had buried the hope even deeper when you planned to leave him for another man who was equally unwilling to grant you that wish. But now, here was an opportunity, one you could not bring yourself to refuse. The meticulously crafted plans for escape now seemed like a distant, fading dream. Finally, you managed to talk. "Let’s do it." The words slipped out before you could fully comprehend their meaning. The prospect of a baby had momentarily overshadowed all other thoughts. His eyes brightened with a blend of relief and joy. The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of forced smiles and muted conversation. As you cleared the table, the reality of what you had just agreed to began to settle in. A baby meant Patrick had to go.

You needed to talk this through with Patrick. Despite not being his wife, you felt he deserved as much input into this decision as you did. A pregnancy would inevitably affect your relationship. You waited until your husband had left the house before calling an Uber to Patrick’s place. When Patrick opened the door, his eyes widened with concern at the sight of your distressed expression. "What’s wrong?" He asked, guiding you inside. You sank onto the couch with a sigh. "He wants a baby." You admitted. The room fell into a heavy silence. Patrick settled beside you, his gaze unwavering as you struggled to meet his eyes. "Do you want one?" He asked softly. You nodded, your desire unmistakable. It had been your dream for so long, and you couldn’t lie to him, even if it meant that dream might drive you apart. "Then I think you’d make a great mom." He said, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. Was it all? Did he not grasp what it meant? Did he not care that it meant you had to break things off with him?

●

Weeks passed, and you hadn't brought up the subject again with Patrick. You thought your husband might change his mind about having a baby, so there seemed no reason to discuss it further. However, he was more than serious. He had booked an appointment with the gynecologist and accompanied you to the clinic. He was even present when the doctor removed your IUD, explaining that fertility could return immediately after its removal. That very night, your husband insisted that you start trying. The whole ordeal had lasted a bit longer than ten minutes, most of which had been spent with you jerking him off. Before Patrick, you had always wondered if something was wrong with you because your husband had always preferred your hand over your cunt. But now you knew you weren’t bad at sex, so what was the issue? Was it the same for him as it was for you? Was he so in love with his mistress that it felt wrong fucking his own wife? When he had felt the orgasm nearing, he had spread your legs and penetrated you. After a few lazy thrusts, he had came, filling you up with his load. If baby making was anything like this, it was cold, unloving and unenjoyable.

Not as pleasant as what was happening at the moment. Patrick was fondling your breasts as you cooked him dinner. His warm breath tickled your neck as he placed dozens of sweet kisses against your nape. You could feel his hard cock against your ass and feel yourself getting lost in the feeling of his fingers against your nipples. But you couldn’t just let him have his way, there were consequences to your actions now. "Pat, stop. I just got my IUD removed..." You explained as you flipped the omelet in the pan. He sighed and pulled his hands away from under your shirt, his face showing clear disappointment. "So, no more fucking?" He asked, a pout on his face. "Pull out?" You suggested. "Oh because that worked so well the first time." He said with a hint of sarcasm. You remembered the whole STD scare that had happened on the very first day together. After a pause, he offered. "I could fuck you in the ass." You shook your head without even glancing in his direction. Sure, you could do that once or twice, but more than that? Hell no. You needed to feel him stretch your pussy. "Condoms." You suggested, offering what seemed like the only initiative. "Or anal." He insisted, his tone unwavering. You turned to face him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest, your eyes narrowing in frustration. "So you plan on fucking me in the ass for the rest of my life?" You asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You had given alternatives, yet he was still adamant about ignoring your poor needy little cunt. His attitude shifted dramatically. The usual playful Patrick had vanished, replaced by someone way more resentful. "I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t been a coward and left him when I told you to." He snapped. So it was all out of spite. You had never seen such anger in his eyes, and you couldn’t tell whether it came from you denying him the right to unload in your cunt or from the fact that your desire for a baby was getting more concrete. "So should I just leave him?" You asked, turning off the gas burner with a click. His response came sharply. "Duh, he’s a piece of shit." Patrick’s words offered no comfort. He was unaware of your earlier plans to divorce and how you had abandoned them at the mere mention of a child. He had no idea how deeply you longed to be a mother, or how lonely you had been until he came into your life. This had never been a topic of discussion between you. Despite what he seemed to believe, you hadn’t taken the easy way out. You remained married to a neglectful husband who neither loved you nor you loved, but you had chosen a life that provided what Patrick couldn’t : belongingness. He was unaware that even the slightest hint of a promise of being his girlfriend, or any other status, would have made you leave your husband right away. Sure, you longed for marriage and babies, but you were ready to give up on those dreams if Patrick promised to be by your side for the rest of his life.

"Do you think I have a choice, Patrick? What else can I do except be a wife?" His mouth opened as if to respond, but you cut him off, not giving him the chance to speak. "If I leave him, where do I go? I belong nowhere." The realization had only struck you during your plans to divorce him : your husband had made you so dependent on him while giving you the illusion of independence. You believed you were free to spend your days as you wished and buy whatever you wanted without justification. But in reality, you lived to please your husband, organizing your schedule around his own and the money you spent was his money : nothing was truly yours. Not even your free time. The only thing that was truly yours was your relationship with Patrick. "What should I do for a living? Sell my ass?" Your voice rose with the last question, an attempt to mask the cry threatening to escape. "Don’t be ridiculous." He responded, his tone soft trying to soothe you. "You’re going to take care of me then?" You asked, looking at him straight in the eyes. He remained silent. "And you know what? It’s not even about him anymore." The words spilled out. You were ready to leave your husband, but you weren’t ready to give up on the dream of a child now that it seemed almost within your grasp. "If I leave him, are you going to be the one giving me a baby? Or should I just fuck some random guy, hoping he gives me what I want?" All you wanted was to hear him say that you could leave your husband, he would provide for you, help you find a career and make you a mother, but he couldn’t promise you that, he didn’t want that. "I’m sorry." He whispered as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. While his arms offered comfort, they couldn’t soothe the pain within you caused from his lack of words.

●

Despite the argument, you had let Patrick get what he wanted. You were unable to say no to him. He now took you from behind on a regular basis. Despite your fear of pain, your first experience with anal sex had been unexpectedly very pleasurable. Patrick had been meticulous in his preparation, first using his tongue, then his fingers, and plenty of lube to ensure you were thoroughly ready. You appreciated the burn of stretching as he eased into your tightness. Still, you missed the deep, relentless pounding that had once bruised your cervix and left you dazed. Yet, you had come to realize that having anal sex with Patrick Zweig was better than not having sex at all. Although on some lucky nights, he would begin fucking your pussy like he always did and finish in your ass. Those were your favorite kinds of nights. Tonight was one of them.

You were bent over the couch, your hips raised in the air, while he stood behind you, thrusting into you with force. "I-I.. should just put a… baby in you." He groaned, his voice heavy with desire as the sound of his fat sack smacking against you filled the room. His words sent a shiver through you, leaving you breathless and trembling. Your legs began to shake, nearly giving out under the surge of pleasure. "Please, do it!" You pleaded, your eyes shutting tightly with ecstasy. His words sent a jolt of electricity straight to your clit. Patrick being your baby daddy? That was all you wanted now. "That’s all that asshole deserves... raising my bastard child..." He mumbled, fucking you like a maniac. His words weren’t the only things filled with resentment, you could feel how much he despised your husband in the way he pounded into you. For a fleeting second, you thought maybe you should piss him off more often. "Please, Patrick." You moaned, pushing your hips back against him, craving every thrust. "He doesn’t deserve to soil your body." Patrick growled through clenched teeth, his voice thick with anger. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to tilt your head back as his teeth sank into your neck. He was usually careful not to leave marks, but this time, you felt his teeth dig a bit too hard into your skin. "I want your baby, Pat…" You begged, clenching hard around his length, your desperation palpable. "Don’t be stupid." He snapped, his tone harsh. "You would hate me for it." Hate him for it? If only he knew how many times you had imagined yourself carrying his child. Without warning, he switched holes, slamming himself into your ass. You let out a pained whine, your body tensing at the sudden intrusion. This time, he hadn't prepared you in the slightest, only using your juices as lube, and the sharp discomfort interrupted the orgasm that had been building up. You quickly reached between your legs, fingers finding your already throbbing clit as he forced himself into your ass. The mere thought of him breeding you reignited the tension, building the pressure toward another climax. "So tight... I can't even pull away." He whispered against your neck, his hand joining yours between your legs, guiding the rhythm of your touches. After minutes of relentless rutting, you both climaxed together, Patrick's release buried deeply within your guts.

The thought of all this cum going to waste filled you with a surge of frustration. Once he pulled out, you could only think if only you could push back hard enough to let it drip onto your cunt, maybe, with a bit of luck, you could become Patrick Zweig’s baby mama. Before you could even attempt it, however, Patrick’s tongue was already working its way to your asshole, eagerly lapping up every last drop of his semen.

"So, are you two really trying for a baby?" He asked, his voice tinged with curiosity as you both lay sprawled naked in bed. You nodded, a hint of determination in your eyes. "He’s actually fucking you?" He pressed, his tone incredulous. You nodded once more, feeling the weight of his questions. He grimaced, a look of disgust crossing his face. "Don’t you know how babies are made?" You joked lightly, reaching over to pinch his nipple playfully. "Does he make you come?" He asked suddenly, his gaze intense. You had never seen him so serious, gone was the casual tone of before. You shook your head. Of course, he did not. In comparison to the rush you felt with Patrick, having sex with your husband truly felt like a chore. It wasn’t unpleasant most of the time but nothing truly enjoyable. "I’m the only one who knows how your body really works." He said. You nodded eagerly in agreement. You couldn’t even make yourself come as hard as you did with him.

He started by letting his mouth wander down your neck, his lips brushing softly against the curves of your chest. "My tits." He murmured, adding a playful bite to his kisses as he grazed your skin, each nip sending shivers down to your stomach. His lips traced a heated path across your body, leaving a lingering warmth. As his attention drifted lower, he took hold of your ass with a possessive yet gentle grip. "My ass." He declared, his hands exploring your curves with a blend of desire and affection. Then, he devoted his full attention to the most intimate part of you. "My tight little cunt." He whispered, his voice low as he began to feast upon your core. You grasped his hair tightly, pulling on the soft curls as he used his tongue with fervor.

"Mine, mine, mine." He repeated like a mantra. You wanted to believe him. Yet, despite his claims of possession, you knew deep down that he didn’t truly desire to own you. If he did, he wouldn’t let you return to your husband at the end of each night.

●

Your period had started, and you felt like dying. The cramps were bearable, but the emotional pain was killing you. You had spent the morning with a dull ache in your lower stomach, a sign that something was definitely wrong. Although you recognized the pain, you clung to a small hope that it might be a good sign. You didn’t know much about pregnancy, after all. Perhaps there was still a chance. But it was the sight of the bloodstain on your panties that made you break down in sobs. It was concrete proof you weren’t pregnant. All those times you forced yourself to smile while your husband snuck his hands under your clothes had been for nothing? Unprepared and caught off guard, you had nothing to take care of it. You had to stuff your underwear with toilet paper and order pads through a delivery service. After they arrived, you took a long hot shower to wash away the blood from your inner thighs. Then, instinctively, you made your way to Patrick’s place despite knowing he couldn’t fuck you. You weren’t sure why you were there. Maybe you were seeking some comfort.

When he opened the door, you wrapped your arms tightly around him without saying a word. Patrick just let you in and kissed you gently. You were surprised he didn’t immediately jump your bones like he usually did the second you passed through the door. You wanted to believe he could sense you weren’t feeling right, that he knew you better than anyone. But the truth was, he was most likely oblivious to your issue. Instead, he held you close, his embrace warm and comforting, as you laid on his couch, watching TV with him. You lay beneath him, gently stroking his hair as his head rested on your chest. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt a surprising sense of peace despite the chaos within you. After more than an hour of cuddling, he shifted, lifting your shirt and slipping his head underneath it. His lips left a trail of burning kisses across your stomach, each one sending a shiver through you. "I need to fuck you." Patrick whispered against your bare skin. You sighed inwardly. Of course, you couldn’t just hang out with Patrick without sex being involved. Not that you usually complained, but right now, you couldn’t and didn’t need to add frustration to the swirling mix of emotions you felt. "I'm on my period." You interrupted him. He quickly removed his head from under your shirt and looked at you with a wide smile on his face. "Really?" He asked, looking quite happy for a man you were rejecting. Was he glad you were bleeding? Was it some kind of kink of his? Or was he just glad you weren’t pregnant? "Do you think I care about a little bit of blood?" He questioned, and you frowned in disgust. He truly had no limits. "At least, I will be able to fill your cunt this time." Oh, so that was the reason? That was enough to make you consider it.

You resisted at first, holding back until the intensity of his grinding against your core left you begging for it. You felt uneasy about letting him inside you while you were bleeding heavily, but he insisted it didn't bother him in the slightest. He pulled down your sweats and underwear, revealing the blood-soaked pad. You braced yourself for his reaction, expecting it to turn him off, but instead, he remained unfazed. "Do you have cramps?" He asked, his voice steady as he tapped his thighs, signaling you to straddle him. On his couch? He didn’t seem to know how messy things could get . You positioned yourself on his lap, facing him, and wrapped your arms around his neck. "A bit." You admitted. "Apparently, it helps." He pulled his length free from his shorts as you lifted your hips. You reached for him, guiding his shaft to your core before you sat down onto it. As he began thrusting upward, you were already moving wildly against him, driven by an insatiable craving for his touch. Your period made you extra horny and sensitive, amplifying every touch and sensation. He gripped your buttcheeks firmly, pulling you down onto his length with deliberate, slow strokes. Your eyes rolled back in your head. “Ah...” You moaned, glancing down to ensure you weren’t fucking in a pool of blood. All you could see was a pinkish blend of cream and blood covering the base of his cock. Reassured that you weren’t bleeding to death in your lover’s arms, you started bouncing on him with renewed fervor. A grunt escaped his lips when you planted a passionate kiss on them.

“Patrick…” You sighed in bliss. “I’m coming…” He dug his fingernails into your ass cheeks as you clenched around his length, feeling the climax build. A few extra well-angled thrusts pushed you over the edge. “Fuck!” You cried out. You hid your face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed, a smile spreading across your face as you came, feeling both overwhelmed and dizzy. You pressed your lips against his neck, feeling the pulse of his heartbeat against your mouth.

When he finally followed you into climax and you felt his warmth spreading deep inside you, a sensation you had been missing for weeks, you couldn’t help but admit that maybe he was right. Period sex, despite your initial reservations, was actually quite alright.

You both ended up in the shower, trying to clean up the mess you had made. "Are you disappointed you're on your period?" He asked, his voice echoing softly against the tiled walls while he rubbed soap over his body. Disappointed was an understatement. "A bit… I knew it could take some time to get pregnant, but I kinda hoped it would be quick." You admitted, feeling already exhausted of the baby-making process. "You should be prepared that it might take a while. The sperm is like centuries old. Fucking expired." Patrick replied, mocking your husband once more. "Patrick." You glared at him. The truth was, you didn’t care that he was making fun of the man you shared your life with. It didn’t matter. What irked you was the unsettling possibility that he might be right and that getting pregnant wouldn’t be as easy as you hoped.

●

Taking pregnancy tests each day had become an obsessive routine. Each morning, you felt the urge to pee on the stick as soon as you woke up. Your desire to become a mother was only matched by your eagerness to escape the never-ending cycle of trying. Your attraction to your husband had faded, so you had to mentally prepare yourself each time, struggling to even become slightly wet. It was painful most of the time, and his lack of attention to your pleasure made the whole experience a struggle. You were convinced that if he were more attentive with foreplay, things might have been better. For now, lube was your best friend, and you blamed your dryness on nervousness. After all, making a baby was a pretty big deal. During the act, you had to do some of your best acting, pretending to be overwhelmed with pleasure the second he was inside you just to boost his ego and make him jizz quicker. And once he came, you felt disgusting, but you had to keep it together and raise your legs above your head.

But today, the test looked different. Two lines appeared, with the second line so faint it was almost invisible. You took another test, and then another, each one revealed the same faint line. As you gazed at the positive pregnancy tests lined up next to the sink, a wave of mixed emotions washed over you. Part of you was filled with happiness, knowing your dream was finally about to become a reality. Yet, another part of you was torn, for this also meant the end of things with Patrick. For a brief, tempting moment, you wondered if you could keep it a secret from him a bit longer, until you started showing, just to keep seeing him a few more months. But deep down, you knew you couldn't lie to him. You couldn’t betray him, not like you did with your husband.

Patrick was the first person you wanted to tell, even before your husband. When you arrived at his place, you realized you had no idea on how to break the news. You kissed him lightly on the lips as he opened the door and let you in, but you remained silent. You wished you had rehearsed what to say before rushing over. "What’s wrong?" He asked, sensing your discomfort as you barely responded to his caresses and kisses against your neck. "I think I’m pregnant..." You blurted out. You felt his hands instinctively pull away from your ass, and the smile vanished from his face. "Oh." His gaze dropped to your stomach. "Wow." He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Congrats?" Patrick had never been good at lying, and his half-hearted congratulations made that evident. He looked at you, chewing on the inside of his cheek, struggling to mask his emotions. You knew how delicate the situation was, but you had hoped he would show a bit more happiness for you. Yet, deep down, you were also relieved that he didn’t. It meant he wasn’t ready to let go of you.

You had never broached the subject of what would happen between the two of you once you became pregnant. Truthfully, you had avoided thinking about it completely. It had always seemed clear to you that it would mark the end of your affair and you hated it. But apparently, that wasn’t as obvious for Patrick. "Do you want to stop seeing each other?" He suddenly asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty. Was it even a real question? You shook your head in denial. Giving the opposite answer would have been the right thing to do for your family but you had no desire to end things. "Thank god." He murmured with palpable relief, drawing you into a passionate kiss. You were stunned by his reaction. What kind of guy would continue a casual relationship with someone who was pregnant with someone else’s child? It seemed so morally wrong. Yet, nothing felt more intensely right than the sensation of Patrick’s fingers wandering beneath your panties.

●

The first two months of your pregnancy felt like the beginning of your relationship all over again. Patrick was back to fucking you at least four times a week, taking full advantage of the freedom to fill you with his cum without any worries. And you never brought the subject up again, not even once. You knew life was growing inside you, but you pretended to ignore it and be your old self. You were as present for Patrick as you could be. Despite your husband being a bit more attentive since you gave him the news, you made time, making sure to be at Patrick’s place as soon as your husband left for work. As much as you wanted things to remain that way, you noticed Patrick had become a bit more cautious around you. No more throwing you against every piece of furniture, no more strangling your neck with his strong hands or sitting on your chest, pinning you down while he made you gag on his cock. He still treated you like a cock-hungry whore, calling you all sorts of names and covering you with his cum, but he was more gentle about it. You hated it. You hated how he pretended everything was unchanged, while you found yourself begging for even the slightest hint of roughness. He had even stopped smoking in your presence, and you nearly had to put a cigarette between his lips for him to feel relaxed enough to light it up. You had spent months yearning for him to show some consideration, and now, when he did, you craved the uncaring treatment you once had. What was wrong with you?

And then, just when you thought nothing could burst your bubble, he had to leave for a tour. You were thrilled for him, celebrating his success and impressive rankings, but you also felt resentment. He always seemed to choose tennis over you. You found it unsettling when you realized that you actually preferred it when he was miserable and struggling with his career because it meant he needed you more. How twisted was that?

While he was away, he made a point to check in on you, sending you a daily picture of his cock. You were grateful for it, especially since the hormones had you unbearably horny, making you hump your pillow several times a day. You were also thankful for FaceTime, allowing you to watch his face as he came, your name on his lips and his hand gripping his cock.

When he finally returned, defeated and unvictorious, you rushed to his apartment like an addict craving her fix. You had missed him so much, it almost felt like dying. Now that he was back, you were determined not to let him go. As he opened the door and you saw him standing there, you could swear he looked even more handsome than you remembered. He greeted you with a grin, though his eyes quickly flickered to your stomach. You had spent countless hours on your knees, desperately praying that you wouldn't start showing, wishing to remain physically the same woman you had always been. But despite your efforts, your body had grown larger and fuller, and loose clothing could no longer cover it. "Come in, fatty." He teased as he let you inside. It was probably the last thing you wanted to hear as an emotional, pregnant woman who yearned to stay slim and hot for her athletic lover. Yet, the playful smack on your ass as you walked in reassured you and made you smile. Maybe you were a bit of a "fatty", but you were a "fatty" he wanted to fuck. Once inside, you grasped him by the collar and drew him close, savoring the warmth of his body against yours. You had missed his touch, his scent, his smile. The moment you were reunited, you pressed your lips to his with an urgent, desperate kiss. "I’m so horny…" You murmured breathlessly against his tongue. "When aren’t you?" He replied with a playful smirk, effortlessly lifting you off the ground and gripping your thighs with a firm, possessive hold. "I swear the hormones are driving me crazy." You whispered into his ear, your breath hot and heavy as you nibbled on his earlobe. "Show me then." He urged, biting his lower lip at the sensation of your tongue against his sensitive ear. You spent the rest of the day in bed, riding him into oblivion. Being on top allowed you to grind against him, the friction offering sweet relief to your aching, swollen clit. Even when his body could no longer keep up, you continued, desperately humping his thigh like a starved animal.

After a couple of months, your growing belly made it difficult to have sex in most positions. So now, he mostly fucked you from behind, either spooning you or in doggy style. To be fair, if you really wanted to, you would still ride him, but you suspected that the sight of your pregnant body turned him off. It was either that or Patrick Zweig, the most sexual being you knew, had somehow turned into a saint.

He no longer initiated sex, it was always you who made the first move. While he obliged and fucked you, it was clear he wasn't doing it for his own pleasure. Sure, he would come but he wasn’t using you like he used to. He barely spoke during the act, no more crude talk, he was only asking if you liked it from time to time. Of course, it was still enjoyable, Patrick Zweig would always be a good fuck, whether he put in the effort or not, but the passion was gone. You missed the wild intensity of the past. There were no more forceful poundings. He was delicate now, his strokes long and gentle, his hands tenderly cradling your hips. Throat fucking had become a thing of the past too, he wouldn’t even finish in your mouth anymore. Anal sex, once one of his biggest turn-ons, was suddenly off the table. He had even stopped going down on you. He had tried once, but after a few minutes of his view being blocked by your growing belly, he gave up, leaving you unsatisfied and longing for more.

You didn’t want to admit that your relationship with Patrick had lost part of its thrill. Yet, it became painfully clear when, during a particularly intimate moment, you accidentally called him by your husband’s pet name. "L-lovey…" The forbidden term slipped out while he was spooning you, his cock deeply buried inside. The slow, languid thrusts were so reminiscent of your husband’s lazy fucking and the position so familiar that the mix-up was almost inevitable.

You wanted to ask Patrick what was wrong, whether your changing body was troubling him. Why wasn’t he fucking you like the whore you were anymore? But bringing it up would mean confronting the reality of your pregnancy, something you weren’t ready to face. You still needed him in your life, whether he fucked you or not. You were convinced that keeping him at a distance from your baby was for the best. You had intentionally shielded him from that part of your world. So you never mentioned the countless doctor visits or the preparatory classes you attended. You kept your aches and symptoms to yourself, and he remained oblivious to the fact that you already knew the baby’s gender, and how happy you were about it. It was a girl, just as you had hoped.

●

"Your friend Patricia says she really needs to see you." Your husband said, handing you your phone as it buzzed with a new message. Patricia? Why on earth would Patrick contact you on the weekend? He knew your husband was home. "Ah yes, she’s going through a hard time." Knowing Patrick, probably a really, really, really hard time. "I should probably go, she needs me." You said, making your way to the door. Your husband let out a sigh that made you freeze. It was a sigh that hinted at trouble. "Does Patricia know you’re pregnant?" He asked, his voice carrying an edge. You squinted at him, trying to understand the motive behind his question. Was he still questioning your faithfulness? You knew he had doubts, but you had no way of knowing what he knew or didn’t know. With the lack of honest communication between you, you only knew deception and secrecy, making it unlikely he would confront you directly. He was as much of a coward as you were. For a brief moment, you wondered if his question came from concerns that you might be pregnant with another man’s child. "Yes, it’s not like I can hide it." You answered, trying to sound casual and unconcerned. "She must be happy for you." He said, clearly pressing for more information. "Sure. Like any friend would be." You replied, trying to clear up his doubts. You wanted to reassure him that despite the mess in your relationship, you still respected him enough to be honest about such an important matter. You gave him a quick peck on the cheek, grabbed your jacket, and headed for the door before he could say anything more. As you left the house, you texted Patrick back.

← [To : Patricia - 2:22pm] Don’t text me when he’s home! My husband saw your message! → [From : Patricia - 2:22am] Oh really? Did he see this too? [video attached]

Attached was a video of his cock sliding out of you as he fucked you from behind, one hand pressed against the small of your back while the other held his phone. You had no idea he had even recorded such a video. You’d never seen him use his phone to film before. Judging by your size in the video, it was clearly recent. You found yourself wondering why he had felt the need to capture that moment.

← [To : Patricia - 2:24pm] Is that blackmail material? → [From : Patricia - 2:25pm] More like jerk off material. → [From : Patricia - 2:26pm] You know I would never blackmail you. I want you to be safe and living a comfortable life.

You kept re-reading his words. A comfortable life? What about happiness?

← [To : Patricia - 2:31pm] I’m on my way.

●

Before you knew it, you were back to your monotonous housewife routine. Your husband had returned to his business trips, and the attention he had showered on you after the pregnancy announcement had died down. Once again, you were reduced to just being a part of the house he lived in.

You were now free to invite Patrick over as often as you wished during the week, eager for his company. While sex was mostly why you met him, what you truly craved was his presence. So, he came over to watch movies, play video games, or simply chat. The guest bedroom had essentially become his, and by extension, yours as well. Patrick grew increasingly comfortable in your home, moving through the hallways with the ease of someone who belonged there. You were confident that if you asked him for anything, he would locate it in no time.

You were in the bathtub, savoring a rare moment of intimacy as the warm water enveloped both of you. Patrick's cramped shower barely allowed for such comfortable closeness, but tonight, your spacious bathtub had made it possible. One of his hands rested on your breast while the other lay absentmindedly on your stomach. It was the first time Patrick had ever touched you there. He usually made a conscious effort to avoid this part of your body. Was it because he didn’t want to hurt your baby? Out of respect for your husband? Or was he simply grossed out? The last theory seemed the most probable. For weeks, you had prayed that your child wouldn’t show any sign of life in Patrick’s presence, but it had happened more than once. You always made sure to dismiss it, no matter how hard it kicked, masking any sign of discomfort or awareness. Even though your life was on the brink of a monumental change, you were determined to remain the same old you for Patrick.

You placed your hand on top of his, intertwining your fingers, allowing yourself to imagine, just for a second, that you were living this life with Patrick. That he was your cherished husband with a successful career, and you were carrying his child, a child you both eagerly awaited. When he realized where his hand was, he quickly pulled it away, resting it on your thigh. "Don't you want one of your own someday?" You asked, breaking the silence. "Hell no." He replied, his voice tinged with disgust. "You keep calling me deranged. Do you think it’s a wise decision to pass down those genes?" Sure, he was deranged, but he was also caring, attentive, and sweet. "I think you’d make the best daddy." You said, a warmth in your voice. Silence followed your words, and you could tell they had some kind of impact on him. You doubted anyone had ever thought so highly of him or simply believed he was capable of any kind of responsibility. "Aren’t I already?" He teased, sneaking his hand between your legs, his fingers finding your clit with slow, intense rubs. You bit your lip, knowing he was trying to divert your attention from the seriousness of your words. "I’m serious, Patrick!" You insisted, your voice trembling. "One day, you’re going to make a woman the happiest, and I’m so pissed that it’s not me." There. You said it. You couldn’t pretend anymore that this was a normal, casual relationship. You would have traded the world to be the one Patrick would settle for.

Patrick sighed deeply. And here you were, crying again, your emotions a chaotic mix fueled by hormones. His fingers were still on your cunt, and you were sobbing. "I don’t want to be the reason you’re crying." He murmured, his voice full of regret and tenderness. He placed a soft kiss on your head and wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around your torso. But he was the reason for your tears. If he wanted you to stop crying, he only had to say one word and make you the happiest woman on earth. But he would never. Patrick Zweig would remain a selfish and immature man, unable to commit. Not unable. Unwilling. The future you longed for with Patrick was a fantasy, one that couldn’t coexist with the life you already had, and it had to stop. The bathwater grew colder as your tears continued to fall down your cheeks.

●

You were madly in love with Patrick, it was a fact you could no longer deny, no matter how hard you tried for the sake of your marriage. It was becoming impossible for you to conceal the depth of your distress. It was when you started resenting your baby for straining your relationship that you knew it was time to stop seeing Patrick. You had been so eager to be a mom, but Patrick had made it difficult to look forward to it, and you didn’t want him to ruin your relationship with your unborn child. Ending this relationship would, without a doubt, be the hardest thing you would ever do, but it was necessary. The weight of guilt had become unbearable. It wasn’t your husband you felt sorry for, it was your child. Your rendez-vous with Patrick had lost all its enjoyment. You were fairly certain he could sense how much you loved him and it was starting to scare him. You couldn’t help but constantly message him and tell him how much you missed him. You had to know where he was and with who, acting like his jealous wife. You knew he was fucking other people, you could smell on him and you had no right to say a thing about it. Each time you met, you ended up in tears on his couch, overwhelmed by the betrayal that wasn't even a betrayal. You knew he was grossed out by your swollen body and your unpredictable mood swings. He wasn’t even fucking your brains out anymore, he mostly just held you, cuddled you, and offered reassurances, as a friend might. And those meetings were happening less and less often as he always had a great excuse to cancel on you. His career was doing better than ever and he had to be away from home. You suspected that for him, the end of the relationship had come long before it had for you, and that realization was breaking your heart. Without him, you faced a future alone, and the thought of it frightened you. Breaking up with him felt like a huge mistake, but you couldn’t back down. Your daughter deserved to have parents who respected each other and loved her unconditionally.

"I think we should stop seeing each other." You were lying in bed, spooning when you finally said it, your voice trembling with apprehension. The words you had dreaded to utter hung heavily in the air. "I really need to focus on my child and husband." You attempted to explain, though it felt out of place, considering the months you had spent neglecting both. "I get it." He replied softly, as if he had been expecting this for some time. Wasn’t he going to fight for you? You longed for him to beg, to declare he couldn’t live without you. But instead, he remained silent, simply holding you, his arms wrapped around your chest. Tears began to fall down your cheeks, but you tried to stay quiet, unwilling to show weakness. If he didn’t care about you leaving, why should you care? Fuck it. You were not strong enough to maintain the facade. You wanted him to understand how much he meant to you, how grateful you were for the way he had helped you discover yourself. Because of him, you had learned what love was truly meant to be, and now you had to say goodbye to it. "I will miss you so much." You whispered, a lump forming painfully in your throat. You recognized that you were being unfair by forcing your feelings upon him. Although not answering would make him seem like an asshole, you needed to hear his response. "I know." He replied, but his words offered little comfort. Of course, he wouldn’t answer. "Me too." He finally added, his voice barely a whisper. The words sent you into a fit of loud, uncontrollable crying. Patrick did his best to soothe you, pressing gentle kisses along your neck. For a brief moment, it felt like his face was as wet as yours, though you suspected that was just wishful thinking.

You both stood in front of the door to his apartment, tightly wrapped in an embrace, his chin resting gently on the top of your head as he stroked your back. It had been months since he had held you so closely. It seemed that your enormous belly that used to be an issue for him wasn’t anymore. The hug didn’t help the tears streaming down your face. "I better see you on TV as the best fucking tennis player on earth." You sniffled against his chest. You only wished for the best for him, knowing he had the potential to achieve it. "Don’t worry, I’ll make myself impossible to avoid." He teased, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "And you’d better be the happiest woman on earth. You and the little one." You nodded, though you had doubts about ever finding happiness without him. At the very least, you hoped your child would.

You had decided it was best for the two of you to call a driver to pick you up, avoiding the extended goodbye that would come if Patrick drove you home. Patrick’s car was also weirdly sentimental for you. It was where everything had started, where you had become a new woman, where he had fucked you so good that you had forgotten your miserable life. You didn’t want it to be where it ended. You knew the moment you saw him behind that wheel, your knees would get weak, and you would beg him to take you back. So here you were, sobbing in the backseat of a stranger’s car. You didn’t miss the driver’s quick glances in the rear-view mirror but you didn’t give a fuck. You needed to release the sadness before you reached your house. Once near your home, you asked the driver to stop at the exact spot where Patrick always parked when he picked you up. There, you cried until you couldn’t anymore. After a few minutes of loud cries, your eyes had simply stopped shedding tears and had become bloodshot and very dry. All there was left was a lump in your throat and a headache. When you finally exited the car to return to the emptiness of your house, you made sure to tip the driver extra money for the inconvenience. You were also very grateful he didn’t ask any question.

When your husband walked through the door that evening, he was unprepared for the request you were about to make. "I need you to focus entirely on me and our daughter from now on." You said, your voice a low but firm whisper. Your gaze met his with an intensity that left no room for misunderstanding. Your eyes were still swollen and red from the tears. "No one else." You added as he looked at you curiously at the unspoken implication of the other woman. He could feign ignorance all he wanted, but you were about to make it very clear to him. "I don’t want this family to fall apart." You said, your hand resting gently on your stomach. You had sacrificed your own happiness for your child, and you wanted him to share in that sacrifice, to be as miserable as you were. He let out a deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as he nodded in agreement. "Only you two." He replied, trying to reassure you. You wanted to believe him, but deep down you knew you would need to check his phone for proof in the coming days. You knew better than anyone how challenging it could be to end things.

●

A week later, your daughter was born. The postpartum depression hit you hard, a dark cloud that you couldn’t shake off. You found yourself unable to form a bond with your child, hating her for being the reason Patrick was no longer in your life. Each day felt like a struggle, and the baby in your arms was a constant reminder of what you had lost. And Patrick didn't make it any easier for you.

→ [From : Patricia - 9:29pm] I heard about the baby. Congratulations. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.

You almost dropped your phone at the sight of the message. You had no friends in common, so how could he possibly know? You hadn't posted anything about your kid. There was no way he should be aware of it, unless he had been stalking your husband’s account. Your husband, who proudly posted hundreds of pictures of his daughter. A daughter who looked so much like him, you resented both him and her for it. You knew the chances were slim, but you had hoped that somehow, someway, it would be Patrick’s twin that came out of you, that you would see his ears and his nose in her face. So meeting your daughter and her annoyingly tiny ears had been nothing but a disappointment.

← [To : Patricia - 9:30pm] I miss you so much…

You felt weak, already yearning to be back in his arms after only a few days. But to your disappointment, he left the message on read. Deep down, you knew he had done this for your own good.

●

As your daughter grew, you had hoped that having a child would ease your loneliness. In some ways, it did, but the misery lingered. You were still lonely, just too busy to dwell on it. Your husband remained a devoted father, yet he no longer fulfilled the role of a husband. He had replaced you, his affection solely devoted to your daughter. The little attention he used to give you now went entirely to the baby, and you couldn't voice your resentment without looking like a heartless mother.

For years, you had dreamed of being a mother, but now you regretted it. You had hoped the bond would come with time, but you found yourself unable to grow attached to your own child. And she demanded your constant attention, clinging to your breast like a leech. She was draining the life out of you. Day after day, you felt your own beauty slip away as she grew prettier. Your face appeared dull and blotchy, your body still swollen from the pregnancy, and your skin loose from the drastic changes. Breastfeeding had left you with empty, sagging boobs. You couldn't even bring yourself to think about what childbirth had done to your once perfect, tight little pussy. You knew that pelvic floor exercises would eventually help but you feared nothing could restore it to its former glory. And the stretch marks… They were a constant reminder of how ugly you felt. But that didn’t matter, it wasn't as if anyone was interested in fucking you anymore.

Your affair with Patrick had remained a secret, and now he was just a shadow in your life. He was the one you imagined to make yourself come, the one who lingered in your thoughts whenever you smelled a cigarette or heard about tennis. He was the one you had in mind every time you told your husband you loved him. Though Patrick wasn't entirely gone from your life. For your birthday, a chocolate cake arrived, unsigned but unmistakably from the bakery where it had all begun. It was a thoughtful gesture from him, ensuring that your special day was not forgotten. Knowing you crossed his mind even once was the only thing keeping you alive at the moment.

●

At two and a half years old, your daughter had begun to be a bit more independant, making things somewhat easier for you to manage. She no longer depended on you for her survival, allowing you to leave her with the nanny while you retreated to the garage to cry. The guilt had returned and was slowly killing you, as you watched her from afar, feeling sorry that you, unlike her father, or other mothers did with their kids, struggled to give her the unconditional love she deserved. You had some sort of fondness for her, but it fell short of the love you wished you could offer. Deep down, you feared that your emotional unavailability was already creating traumas she could never overcome as an adult. And despite your efforts to force yourself into a more loving role, each embrace and kiss felt like an exhausting obligation.

Your therapist was your only confidant on that matter. You didn't have many friends to begin with, and you were too ashamed of yourself to open up to anyone else. You knew you would face judgment for being a cheater and a terrible mother. So she knew everything about you, even about the affair. She had discussed your upbringing as a factor in your overall unhappiness, noting the family's pressure to marry and become a wife without allowing you to experience passions and interests or love and relationships. She believed this was why you couldn't move on once you had found thrill in Patrick's arms.

Despite the many issues you had, Patrick was the center every session. It always circled back to him. She no longer mentioned him by name because you would burst into tears every time you talked about him. For her, you had fooled yourself into believing he was your true partner, and being happy with your husband and your daughter meant you were cheating on him. You just couldn’t do that. And your daughter was a constant reminder of who you truly belonged to, and until you accepted the reality of your situation, forming a bond with her would remain impossible. So you tried to remind yourself that Patrick wasn��t the one. All you had to do was to dull the feelings and the pills she prescribed helped with that.

While you were grappling with your struggles with your daughter, your husband was constantly talking about having a second child. The thought of bringing another kid into the world, only to potentially ruin their life as well by being their mother, was unbearable. At first, you told your husband you were too tired to take care of another child, but he persisted. He had even hired a nanny to help with your daughter, easing some of the pressure on you. You then tried to convince him that your body couldn’t handle another pregnancy, that it would be ruined, but he promised to pay for liposuction and any other procedure you needed. You mentioned that your daughter might be jealous of a sibling, but he was confident she would end up loving it. No matter what argument you brought up, he always found a solution, unwavering in his determination. But when you discovered he had returned to his mistress, his phone constantly beeping with her name flashing on the screen, you wanted to make him pay. So you made the drastic decision to get your tubes tied without his knowledge, ending any chance of continuing your lineage. Now, all you had to endure was his gross body on top of yours, moaning into your ear, filling you up, while you pretended to struggle with fertility issues.

●

That day, you were out grocery shopping, your little girl perched in the shopping cart. As you navigated the aisles, you sighed when you saw her stretching out, trying to grab something from the shelf. "Don’t touch anything." You said, your tone dry. The endless choice of snacks blurred before your eyes, and you could never quite remember which brand was her favorite. You were studying the list of ingredients closely when you felt a sharp pinch on your waist, making you jump. The last thing you had energy for was dealing with some inappropriate stranger. Ready to unleash your anger, you turned around and froze. It was Patrick. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. "Hey you." He said, his lips curling into a familiar smile. He stood there, his hair a mess of dark curls, face unshaven, wearing ridiculously tiny gym shorts. Earphones dangled from his ears, and a cigarette perched precariously atop one. He clutched a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He looked like a mess, a beautiful, breathtaking mess nonetheless. You couldn’t help but smile back, your grin so wide it felt like your jaw might dislocate. Despite the heartache from the end of your relationship, seeing him filled you with unparalleled joy. It had been so long since you felt anything, and with just a word, he had awakened something in you. It took all your strength not to jump into his arms and run away with him, leaving your child and everything else behind. "H-hi." You stammered, your voice betraying the flood of emotions surging within you.

You both remained silent for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. Patrick's gaze briefly shifted to your daughter, who remained oblivious to the stranger standing beside her. She had not even noticed him. If the bond between a mother and child was supposed to be so strong, how could she not recognize the man who had been there almost every single day while she grew in your womb? You didn't know what you really expected from her. Perhaps to recognize his voice and accidentally call him ‘daddy’? That was stupid. All you knew was that you felt irritated that Patrick's presence didn't affect her in the slightest while it was turning your world upside down.

He licked his lower lip, a small gesture that used to send you over the edge, before locking eyes with you once more. You tried to start a conversation, asking him how he was doing, how tennis was going, or if he missed you as much as you missed him. But all that came out were a few random, babbled syllables. A chuckle escaped his lips, a sound that felt like a slap in the face. Without another word, he turned and staggered away, clearly intoxicated. Wait. That was it? You stood there, paralyzed by the abruptness of his departure, your mind racing. You wanted to run after him, to grab his arm and beg him to take you back. But before you could find the courage to move, his figure had already disappeared into the distance. What was that about? Did the sight of you disgust him so much that he couldn't even bring himself to say goodbye properly? His indifference cut deeper than a knife, leaving you standing there, hurt and abandoned.

Finishing grocery shopping felt like the hardest task on earth. Your mind was consumed by thoughts of Patrick, and each step you took felt like it might be your last. Your legs trembled under the weight of the encounter, threatening to give out at any moment. Once back home, you handed your daughter over to your husband, muttering an excuse about needing the bathroom. The moment the door closed behind you, you collapsed in tears.

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. The face looking back at you was a stranger : aging lines carved deep and dark circles shadowing your eyes. Your hair, with its roots showing and a few rebellious white strands, only added to the sense of unfamiliarity. You used to visit the plastic surgeon’s office and the hairdresser more often than you visited your own family. If it were truly you staring back at yourself in the mirror, you would never have allowed yourself to become like this. You were thin, but not in a way that spoke of health or tone. Instead, you looked sickly, your skin stretched over a frame that had once been strong and full of life. Your breasts had lost their firmness, now small, empty, and sagging.

No wonder Patrick had laughed. How could he gaze upon you and perceive anything other than the mere shadow of the person you once were? His laughter was a painful reminder of how far you had fallen from the days when you were the woman he desired the most. The urge to end it all welled up inside you, dark and overpowering. The thought of continuing to exist in a world where Patrick Zweig thought you were laughable seemed unbearable. No one would miss you anyway. Your daughter had your husband and your husband had his younger mistress. But how would you do it? You didn’t want to burden your family. You didn’t want them to discover your body and endure the pain of funerals, you just wanted to vanish without a trace.

Sinking to the floor, you sobbed uncontrollably for what felt like an eternity. As you contemplated every possible way to exit this life, you eventually rose to your feet, still trembling. Splashing cold water on your face, you washed away the tears and evidence of your breakdown

●

Later that night, after hours of your daughter's never-ending screaming, she finally drifted off to sleep. You had left your husband to tend to her, feeling unable to function ever since locking eyes with Patrick again. You believed her father was the safer choice anyway. You sensed yourself slipping from reality and feared that you might end up hurting her as well as yourself.

You laid beside your husband in bed, observing him engrossed in his book. You envied how peaceful he looked. He seemed so unaware of the despair that was slowly gnawing at your insides. You wondered if he could even think for a second that you wanted everything to end at this instant, to fade away knowing your final memory would be of another man.

The buzzing of your phone pulled you out of your dark thoughts. An incoming message. Seeing the name of the sender, you stole a quick glance at your husband to ensure he remained absorbed in his reading before cautiously unlocking your phone, your fingers trembling with fear.

→ [From : Patricia - 11:18pm] Damn, mama! I forgot how hot you looked. Had to leave before I did something stupid, didn’t want you to see me that way…

And you were paralyzed. Your limbs felt numb, as if disconnected from your head, yet your eyes welled up with tears. A tightening sensation gripped your throat, making each breath a struggle, while your heart pounded furiously in your chest. Was this it? All this planning to end it all just to die of a heart attack?

→ [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] Fuck… I lied, I didn’t forget. → [From : Patricia - 11:19pm] I really miss my tight little cunt.

He didn’t miss your tight little cunt, he missed his tight little cunt.

And just like that, you fell back into the whirlwind : the constant texting, the secret rendez-vous, the passionate fucking in the back of his car and once again, you found yourself falling madly in love with a man who wasn’t your husband. Except this time, it was different, he loved you too and you possessed him in ways you never had before.

♠♣♥♦

a/n : This was an anon request to begin with and I'm so thankful because the idea was so good. It was going to be a headcanon but I quickly turned this into a fic because I had not been so inspired in SO LONG. I'm so sorry it took forever (a month a half!!!!) to write it but life got in the way and I changed stuff so many times. Also sorry for the smut fans, I tried to be elusive a lot of time, did a lot of fade to black because they do fuck a lot and i didn't feel like writing 10k of sucking dick and cock (time and place, and you did it at my birthday dinner).

#patrick zweig #patrick zweig smut #patrick zweig x reader #challengers #challengers fanfic #challengers fic #challengers fanfiction #challengers fiction #challengers 🎾#challengers smut #challengers 2024

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bamfkeeper · 19 days

Text

Missions Suck.

RQ: 'Since you’re open to requests, I have some ideas that you’ll hopefully enjoy writing, this being the first. The idea is that Kurt is gone on a mission, of which is taking longer than expected, and as such the bamfs and yourself miss him a lot and are anxious without him. So, you and the bamfs organize a little surprise for Kurt when he returns, and of course, a lot of mischievous bamf antics too, along with a tidal wave of them crashing down in Kurt when he returns lol. Just fluffy bamf stuff, along with some romantic kisses and such to Kurt since the reader missed him. Also, take your time with writing anything; burnout is awful so take all the time you need with whatever you write 💙' - @hulkingharbor

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: None <3 .. WC: 3.1k

A/N: I tried to write more detail than my usual works, so I hope that shows ;; I love any scenario with the bamfs, I was really happy to write this one <3

It had been several days since Kurt and the team embarked on a significant mission, leaving you behind at the mansion with the mischievous bamfs. The waiting seemed interminable, each hour stretching into eternity as you anxiously anticipated their return. Initially, you had anticipated a lengthy mission, given that their destination was clear across the country. However, you had reasoned that the team's advanced jet would facilitate a relatively swift journey. Despite this logical assumption, their absence extended far beyond your expectations, each passing day amplifying your concern and restlessness.

As time wore on, you couldn't help but notice a parallel between your own growing unease and the increasingly erratic behavior of the bamfs. These impish creatures, usually a source of playful chaos, seemed to be mirroring your mounting anxiety. With each day that ticked by without word from Kurt and the team, the bamfs' antics escalated in both frequency and audacity. Their usual pranks and mischief-making took on a new intensity, as if they too were feeling the strain of the prolonged separation from their teleporting brethren.

You found yourself constantly torn between amusement at the bamfs' increasingly elaborate hijinks and genuine worry about the state of disarray they were leaving the mansion in. It was clear that their escalating troublemaking was a direct result of their own anxiety and boredom in Kurt's absence. As you attempted to maintain order and keep the bamfs in check, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something must have gone awry with the mission to cause such an extended delay.

Those mischievous little blue creatures hadn't intended to create additional work for you, but their overwhelming anxieties were proving difficult to manage. Their deep attachment to Kurt had left them feeling lost and restless, causing their typically playful behavior to escalate into something more chaotic. Even for someone as patient and understanding as you, their antics were beginning to push the boundaries of what you could handle.

Bamfs, by their very nature, were creatures of boundless energy and enthusiasm. Their penchant for play and their constant scampering about were endearing traits, but they also came with considerable drawbacks. Wherever the blue imps went, a trail of disarray and mess inevitably followed in their wake. You had gone to great lengths to alleviate their stress and channel their energies in more constructive ways.

Your efforts were nurturing, as that was all you could think to do - you'd introduced a wide array of activities designed to engage their curious minds and active bodies. From art projects that allowed them to express their creativity through painting, to an assortment of toys meant to captivate their attention, and even challenging puzzles to stimulate their intellect. However, the bamfs' short attention spans and seemingly insatiable need for novelty meant that these diversions were often short-lived.

They would either master the tasks too quickly, their natural aptitude for mischief allowing them to breeze through what you had hoped would occupy them for hours, or they would simply lose interest, their restless spirits already seeking the next source of excitement.

Kurt's continued absence was palpable, and its effects were evident in the demeanor of the bamfs. These small creatures were not only still visibly anxious but also profoundly sad. Their usually vibrant yellow eyes had taken on a somber appearance, wide and glossy with unshed tears. The depth of their distress was such that some of them appeared too melancholy even to find solace in sleep. As you gently guided them towards their resting places, their movements were slow and labored, a stark contrast to their usual energetic behavior. Their tails, typically held high and swaying with life, now dragged listlessly behind them, creating a poignant visual representation of their emotional state. Observing their profound sadness, you felt a deep ache in your heart. The sight of these usually cheerful creatures so utterly dejected hurt your heart terribly.

"It's going to be okay... I know you miss him terribly. He'll be back soon, I promise you that. Kurt wouldn't leave you little rascals behind for long," you hummed softly, your voice gentle and soothing as you tried to comfort them. You spoke in a calm, reassuring tone, hoping your words would help ease their distress. Deep down, you knew that mere words couldn't fully alleviate their sadness, and you could see the lingering sorrow etched on their faces. It was clear that your attempts at consolation weren't having the desired effect.

A wave of empathy washed over you as you witnessed their dejected state. Your heart ached seeing them so forlorn and melancholy. Unable to stand their sadness any longer, you reached out and gently petted one of them, your touch conveying the comfort that words couldn't. "It's alright, little ones... I know, I know. It's sad when Kurt goes away, isn't it? I understand how much you want to be with him right now. But you have to remember, they said the mission was far too dangerous for you to join. Kurt cares about your safety above all else."

As anticipated, the bamfs reacted unfavorably to the news. These diminutive creatures had a well-known tendency to respond negatively when faced with any form of denial or refusal. Their sensitivity to disappointment was particularly evident in this instance. Consequently, you experienced a pang of guilt when you observed some of them beginning to weep, clearly longing for Kurt's presence. The sound of their tiny, mournful cries intensified your feelings of remorse, prompting you to take immediate action to console them. "There, there... it's alright... everything will be okay," you murmured in a soothing tone, your voice barely above a whisper. You delicately stroked their small heads with a tender touch, your fingers moving in slow, comforting circles. While comforting them, you carefully tucked them into the soft, warm blankets, ensuring they were snugly enveloped in the cozy fabric.

Finally, the bamfs had already settled in, their small forms nestled comfortably on the bed. With a heavy sigh, you lowered yourself onto the mattress beside them, feeling the soft give of the bedding beneath you. As you lay there, your eyes gradually drifted closed, and you felt yourself slowly slipping into slumber, surrounded by the comforting presence of the bamfs.

The absence of Kurt was hard on all of you, a void that seemed to hang in the air around you all. You couldn't help but dwell on the fact that this particular mission he was on carried more risk than usual, a thought that gnawed at the edges of your mind and left you feeling uneasy. So many thoughts ran across your mind, so many things that could go wrong. You tried to ignore them. Despite your own worries, you made a conscious effort to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs. You didn't want to burden them with the full extent of your concerns, so you carefully downplayed the situation, offering reassuring words and gentle smiles whenever they looked to you for comfort.

As you drifted off to sleep, your subconscious mind continued to process the day's events and your lingering anxieties. Your slumber was punctuated by brief moments of restlessness, your dreams tinged with vague unease. Despite these occasional disturbances, you managed to make it through the night.

The subsequent days were filled with the same worry. Despite your best efforts to maintain a calm demeanor for the sake of the bamfs, they possessed an innate ability to perceive your growing anxiety regarding Kurt's return. Those little things had keen intuition, which allowed them to sense your inner turmoil, even as you attempted to mask it. In Kurt's absence, the bamfs looked to you for guidance, support, and reassurance. Their bright yellow eyes, brimming with innocence and need, gazed upon you with an intensity that both touched and burdened your heart.

As the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon your shoulders, you found yourself giving a deep, weary sigh. Slowly, you sat up from the comfort of the couch, your movements betraying the emotional exhaustion you felt. Turning to face the expectant bamfs, you addressed them with a voice tinged with regret and frustration. "I'm sorry, little ones... I still haven't received any word from him," you muttered, your tone conveying the disappointment and concern that had become all too familiar in recent days.

Even as you spoke those words, a part of you knew, with a mixture of resignation and hope, that you likely wouldn't hear from Kurt until the moment he stepped through the door, returning home once again.

You were leisurely preparing a meal for yourself in the kitchen, your movements slow and deliberate as you chopped vegetables and stirred pots on the stove. Your mind had drifted into a zoned out, almost meditative state, focused solely on the rhythmic motions of cooking to distract from the anxieties you had felt the past few days. Suddenly, the sharp vibration of your phone on the counter jolted you back to full awareness, breaking through your culinary reverie. With a slight start, you reached out and grasped the device, your fingers wrapping around its familiar shape. As you lifted it to eye level, the screen illuminated, revealing a notification that made your heart beat faster. Your eyes quickly scanned the message preview, and a small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you saw that it was from Kurt.

'On the way back, liebe...should be back by tonight. xo <3'

You couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of relief and joy wash over you. The news you had been impatiently waiting for had finally arrived – he was okay, and he would be returning home soon! Your heart swelled with excitement and anticipation. Unable to contain your enthusiasm, you found yourself instinctively beginning to tidy up the house, eager to create a welcoming atmosphere for his arrival.

As you bustled about, your gaze fell upon the bamfs, those adorable little creatures currently engrossed in whatever was playing on the television. A warm smile spread across your face as you decided to share the wonderful news with them. "Kurt's coming home tonight," you announced, your voice brimming with happiness and barely contained excitement. You paused for a moment, an idea forming in your mind. "So... why don't we work together to make this place a bit neater to welcome him? I'm sure he'd appreciate coming back to a tidy home, don't you think?"

The bamfs, upon hearing the news of Kurt's imminent return, all simultaneously broke into the biggest, most infectious grins you had ever seen. Their eyes lit up with excitement, and without a moment's hesitation, they leapt to their feet, their previous TV-induced stupor completely forgotten. It was clear that they were not only ready but eager to help, their enthusiasm matching your own. The prospect of preparing a warm welcome for Kurt had energized them.

They were all pitching in, diligently sweeping floors, wiping surfaces, and tidying up various corners of the house. To an outsider, the home might have appeared to be in a state of disarray, but you understood that there was a method to the apparent madness. The organized chaos was actually a well-oiled system in motion, each participant playing their part in the grand scheme of cleaning.

As a thoughtful gesture, you decided to bake a special German treat for Kurt to enjoy upon his return, one of his favorites. The bamfs were eager to assist in any way they could, though their help often bordered on playful interference. They showed particular interest in the baking process, their eyes widening with excitement at the sight of the mixing bowl filled with tempting batter.

As you mixed the bowl, the bamfs began squabbling over who would get the coveted privilege of licking the mixer attachments. Their enthusiasm quickly escalated, and before long, two of them were engaged in a spirited tussle on the kitchen counter. Gentle nips and acrobatic tumbles came from the pair of brawling bamfs, it was an amusing spectacle that you couldn't help but find endearing, despite the potential mess.

"Hey, hey! That's quite enough of that..." you intervened, carefully separating the two squabbling bamfs. With a patient smile, you addressed them, "You can both have some. There's plenty to go around. Now, let's sit down and behave ourselves, shall we? We just cleaned up after all." You handed them each a spoon laden with leftover batter, hoping it would satisfy their sweet tooth and curb their exuberance.

As you watched them eagerly lick their spoons, you couldn't help but let out a small sigh. The love you felt for these energetic imps was undeniable, but you had to admit that their hyperactive nature was starting to wear on you. The thought of Kurt returning home and lending a hand in managing the lively bunch brought a sense of relief.

That evening seemed to stretch on endlessly, the minutes ticking by at an agonizingly slow pace. You found yourself gathered on the couch with the blue babies, anxiously awaiting any sign of his return. The tv played something you only half paid attention to, your mind more focused on Kurt coming home than anything else. The air was thick with anticipation, and every small noise made you perk up in hope. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a familiar BAMF - a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. In an instant, a cloud of dark, sulfurous smoke materialized in the room, dissipating to reveal that cheeky German standing before you.

Kurt Wagner, in all his blue-furred glory, had returned at last.

He looked utterly exhausted, his posture slightly slumped and his golden eyes a bit dimmer than usual, but otherwise, he appeared to be okay, no injuries that you could see. A wave of relief washed over you, and your heart swelled with joy at the sight of him. Without a moment's hesitation, you sat up quickly, your voice filled with excitement and relief as you exclaimed, "Kurt!"

The reaction from the bamfs was instantaneous and overwhelming. Like a tidal wave of blue fur and enthusiasm, they surged forward en masse, their tiny forms blurring together in their haste. With surprising speed and coordination, they converged on Kurt, tackling him with such force that he stumbled backward, barely managing to keep his footing. In seconds, he was completely engulfed by the swarm of miniature teleporters, each one vying for the best position to snuggle as close as possible.

They climbed over each other, chirping and cooing in delight, their little hands grasping at his costume and fur. It was a heartwarming yet slightly comical sight - the tall, lean figure of Nightcrawler almost completely obscured by a writhing mass of adoring bamfs, all competing fiercely for his attention and affection. You could see his tail wagging up from the pile, which made you laugh lightly, that was all you could see of your darling boyfriend.

"Okay, okay, my turn! I missed him too!" You exclaimed with a mixture of excitement and impatience, slowly but determinedly wiggling your way into the welcoming pile of bodies until you finally found him. As your eyes met his, a warm smile spread across his face, his sharp fangs peeking out endearingly from beneath his upper lip.

"Liebe...oh, how I've missed you..." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. In one swift motion, he enveloped you in his strong arms, pulling you close against his chest in a tight, all-encompassing embrace. You felt him bury his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to memorize your scent all over again. The weariness in his movements was extremely noticeable; you could sense how utterly exhausted he was, yet there was an unmistakable joy radiating from him at finally being home.

You pulled back just enough to kiss him, your lips meeting his gently, lovingly, tenderly. The softness of his lips against yours sent a shiver down your spine, and you both savored the precious moment of reconnection. Time seemed to stand still as you basked in the warmth of each other's embrace, your hearts beating in perfect synchronization. As the seconds ticked by, the initial gentleness of your kiss gradually transformed into something more intense and passionate. You felt a growing urgency in his touch, a desperate need to be closer to you after your time apart. His hands gripping your hips with increased fervor, pulling you closer against him. The kiss deepened, his tongue seeking entrance, which you gladly granted.

As your tongues danced and explored, the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in this bubble of passion and desire. Just as you were losing yourself completely in the moment, a small, unexpected chirp pierced through the haze of your passion. One of the bamfs had inadvertently interrupted your intimate moment. The sudden sound startled you both, effectively breaking the spell that had enveloped you. Reluctantly, he pulled back, his eyes still clouded with desire but now tinged with a hint of embarrassment at getting a bit too carried away.

"Ach...apologies, liebling...I...I just missed you so much..." he murmured, his accent thicker than usual, betraying the depth of his emotions. His golden eyes searched yours, filled with a mixture of love, longing, and a touch of sheepishness at his loss of control. Despite the interruption, the air between you still crackled with unresolved tension, a testament to the strength of your connection and the depth of your feelings for each other.

"It's alright, my love," you whispered soothingly, gently squeezing his hand. "You've had such a long and tiring journey. How about we get you to bed for a little while? All the bamfs and I are absolutely thrilled to have the chance to cuddle up with you again..." Your voice was filled with warmth and affection as you spoke. You leaned in and gave him a tender, lingering kiss on the cheek, then carefully helped him to his feet. Kurt didn't hesitate to agree, gratitude evident in his weary smile. The dark circles under his eyes were a clear testament to his exhaustion, hinting at the many sleepless nights he must have endured during his time away.

"Ja, okay..." he replied with a soft smile, his golden eyes twinkling with affection. Kurt eagerly followed you to bed, his tail swaying gently behind him as he walked. He was looking forward to getting some well-deserved rest after a long mission, he’d give you all the details later. The thought of being surrounded by the love of his life - you - and his beloved bamfs filled him with a warm, comforting feeling. As he settled into bed, he could already feel the stress of the day melting away, you curled beside him and the bamfs all around. He couldn’t be any more comfortable as sleep quickly took him.

"Sleep well..." you gave him a sweet, soft kiss on the forehead, letting him nuzzle into your chest and sleep.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

Cover Image: Nightcrawler (2014) #2

#kurt wagner #nightcrawler #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler x reader #xmen #x men #x men 97 #🎠my works

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peaktora · 8 months

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𝐁𝐄𝐃𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄: 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍 𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍˚◞♡ ⃗ dad!satoru gojo

𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 ┊ instead of sleeping, satoru and your daughter argue over what to name her stuffed dragon.

𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 ┊1.9k words. established relationship (#married). the toddler dialogue is purposefully not structured correctly since it’s words from a toddler. fem!reader. intended lowercase. warning: you will wish you had a kid with gojo after reading this.

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚.┊this was gonna be a basic thought post, but i got more and more interested in the concept and was like “y’know what? fuck it, ima just make this into a full fic.” so here we are with a more full look at dad!gojo <3.

satoru mumbles, "but i think he likes being called spike,” and it's obvious that he's sulking. you don't even have to look up from your book to confirm it.

“well, you don't know him like i do!” your daughter replies, tucking herself into your side.

you flip through the picture book's pages fast, just getting brief glances of its colorful illustrations. unicorns, dragons, knights, and princesses decorated the pages. after turning the last page, you sigh and put the book down on the nightstand. despite the fact that the book was designed for toddlers, it actually looked interesting. you just know you would love to read it to your toddler. you can imagine yourself reading it to her, seeing the excitement on her face as she explores the world of fantasy—her absolute favorite genre.

but unfortunately, that image in your head will have to wait for another day, because her attention? is completely taken by the debate between her and her father.

how the argument started is beyond you. just ten minutes ago, you and satoru were snuggled up on your daughter’s bed, trying to read her to sleep. and now? satoru and her are in a heated debate over what to name her stuffed dragon. it's tough not to be amazed at how something so easy can become so complicated with him.

"i bought him, drove him around in my car, and wrapped him up in a cute little box for you. i think we know each other pretty well.” satoru smiles and reaches across the bed for the dragon.

“nuh-uh! he not even like you!” your toddler, with her tiny hands and puffed cheeks, clutches her stuffed dragon tightly against her chest. the plushie, its vibrant green scales and friendly eyes, seemed to come alive in her hold.

he retreats back to his seat on the edge of your daughter's bed, his lips curled into a frown as he asks, "how come?"

her mouth opens, then closes again. you look away for a moment to give satoru a look of disapproval, and by the time you return your attention to her, her brows are already starting to furrow. she mumbles under her breath, "because," running her small fingers around the plush dragon’s ear. she looks to be at a loss for words, as if she hasn't come up with an answer to satoru's question.

but that's okay, since you—happily, do.

"because you’re taking his time away from storytime. and satoru, in case you didn't know? when it's time to go to bed, we have storytime.”

your daughter looks up, her face beaming as she screams, "yup! and mommy picks the super-duper bestest stories ever!"

satoru gasps, his eyes never leaving yours as he rises from his bed and holds his chest. "baby, who's side are you on?"

you roll your eyes, "i'm just sa—"

"oh, sweetheart," he mumbles as he rushes around the corner of the bed, his movements quick to reach your side. without wasting a second, he rests a palm on your forehead, checking your temperature with a clear look of false concern. concerned people don’t have to hold back the urge to smile. actually, they don't have a smile at all—but for some reason, satoru does, and he's terrible at hiding it. "are you sick? having some hallucinations? is that why you've decided to side with enemy?”

your daughter giggles, and it only feeds satoru's act.

he turns his head towards the source of the giggles. a playful pout forms on his lips as he teasingly asks, "or did this little munchkin of ours use her princess magic to change your mind? she has a way of doing that to me sometimes, y’know."

his free hand reaches towards your toddler, fingers wiggling in anticipation. as his fingers make contact with your little one's soft, ticklish skin, even more giggles slip past her lips.

she tries to squirm away from his touch, but that's when he adds another hand to the tickle fest, and all chance of escape is gone. at that point, she visibly gives up, curling into herself to try to halt her dad’s tickling.

“i-i don’t have powers, daddy!” you daughter manages to stifle out through her laughs. you smile at the sound—it’s one you'll never get tired of hearing.

"you can't be a princess without powers! every princess has powers!"

“i-i'm n-not a princess though!“

satoru's fingers pause in their spot, his eyes widening in disbelief. "not a princess? how on earth can that even be?"

you’re sure if she needed him to, he could easily write an entire book about how she’s a princess.

he scoops her up from her place next to you, careful not to let her dangling legs hit you in the process. she lands on his hip, her eyes fixated on him as he lovingly whispers, "you're daddy's little princess!" he pauses, then adds, "and mommy is the queen, so that makes me—"

“the king?”

“you’re just so smart, huh? see, a perfect quality of a princess.”

“but princesses have dragons! big ones with so many pretty colors and names! they go—“ she cuts herself off and raises her tiny arms high. with a wide smile on her face, she takes a deep breath and lets out a loud roar.

satoru nods and smiles warmly at her, "oh, i see...well, y’know what? not all princesses have dragons.”

she tilts her head, and you awe at the sight. “they don’t?”

"nope," he says, taking her tiny hand in his, wrapping it securely around his finger. he lightly massages the back of her hand, and it’s soothing—scratch that, reassuring. you can tell from the way your daughter leans her head on his shoulder, tucking herself in the crook of his neck. "you don't need a dragon to be a princess. you're my princess ‘cause you're kind, smart, and full of love. i'd say that's all you need to be one."

"really?" she asks, waiting for his nod before continuing. "okay…but i still want a dragon."

"i get it, munchkin," he hums as he takes the dragon plushie from the bed. "we still haven't figured out a name for this guy, hm?"

“nuh-uh!”

“he looks like his power is being super cuddly. he's so cuddly that he puts you right to sleep…how ‘bout…fluffy?"

“ew.”

“fluffy sounds cute, no?”

"but dragons aren't cute. daddy, they breathe fire."

"wel—" satoru begins, but your daughter interrupts.

“his name should be fireball!”

“satoru, she does have a point,” you assert.

she really did. it was a dragon, not something adorable, but something that’s usually thought of as a villain—or a protector. athough deep down, a part of you just wanted this little debate to finally wrap up so you could finally catch some much-needed sleep.

“i thought i took away all of her princess magic?” satoru frowns, "stop siding with the enemy!"

you can't help but snort at his comment. mostly because, for whatever reason, he’s taking this dispute very seriously. so seriously that he doesn't seem to notice you're trying to do anything to finally get to bedtime. "baby i was just sa—"

"who says this dragon had to breathe fire anyways?" he interrupts.

when your toddler goes to respond, it hits you. "what about fluffy fireball?" you mention. it's a perfect combination of the two. well, okay, maybe not a “perfect” combination, but it's good enough to finish this debate.

if you weren't so tired, you’d stop and ogle the way they ask "huh?" in sync.

you shrug, "well, why not? he is pretty fluffy and spits out fire. there can’t be a better name than that."

your daughter holds out the dragon, looks at it for a while, then brings it up to her ear.

she gives the impression that he’s nodding his head before hushedly saying, "got it." she then turns back to face you and yells confidently, "fluffy fireball agrees!”

"well, i don't agree," satoru huffs. "the name is way too long an—"

“satoru.”

“but—“

"satoru," you say more firmly, and his shoulders sink as he mumbles "okay" beneath his breath.

your daughter lets out a yawn, and your eyes are immediately drawn to her. you signal for satoru to come over to the bed, and he does, bending down to your level.

“is my girl sleepy?”

"um," she pauses and looks at her dragon. "just a little bit."

"i can tell," you say, gently rubbing her back. you sneak a quick glance at your husband, and he looks the other way because he knows it's way past her bedtime. you sit up next to her ear and murmur, "i think fluffy fireball is ready to go to sleepy-time."

she gives the dinosaur a look before asking him, "y’wanna sleep with me?” then, she shakes the dinosaur's head up and down before exclaiming, "okay!"

you watch as she leaps out of satoru’s arms, and plops down on the bed. the room fills with giggles and the creaking of the bed as she scampers towards the middle. once she's next to you, she settles in and gets comfortable.

you can't help but smile as you see her tiny hands reaching out, playfully fluffing the pillows around her. then finally, with a satisfied sigh, she snuggles under the covers, cocooning herself in warmth.

she sets her dragon on her left side, making sure her loyal companion is there to do his job and look after her (the princess). it’s cute really. however, if that dragon becomes even a little bit too comfortable with the job, you know satoru will undoubtedly compete for the position. he'd say, "it can't just show up one day and take my job," or something along those lines. knowing him, he might even contemplate throwing it away—who knows.

you’re jolted out of your trance when your daughter asserts to her dinosaur, "you can sleep on daddies side, he snores."

satoru gasps, “i do not—“

“yes you do!”

“when have i eve—“

"guys," you sigh, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your voice. you cast a glance at both of them, making sure you have their undivided attention before pressing on. "c'mon, let's all take a breather and save the debate about your dad's snoring for tomorrow, okay?"

"but mommy, tell him he snores!" she whines. "he goes—" she cuts herself off to mimic satoru's snoring, and his face is priceless.

"now that’s just rude. how can you speak to me so coldly?” satoru scurries underneath the covers on the side of the dragon. and just like that, your daughter and her dragon are nestled between the two of you.

“this’ll be settled in a family meeting tomorrow. you two have already had one debate today. so right now? lets all go to bed.” you declare, then nestle deeper beneath the covers, closing your eyes.

as the voices of saddened "okays" and "alrights" blend together, a collective sigh fills the room. the sound of a click follows, and even with your eyes closed, the absence of light is unmistakable. it makes you feel even more exhausted than before.

you feel satoru’s arm slide around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. meanwhile, your daughter stirs slightly, searching for a more comfortable position in the cozy space between the two of you. you can feel her movements, her small body nestled snugly against yours.

you snuggle impossibly closer to your pillow, and take a deep breath.

silence, that’s what follows—and it’s nothing but peaceful. that is, until satoru bursts out laughing. "i don't snore," he blurts out into the darkness, his voice filled with mischief. "i just provide a little background music for the night."

it's at this point that you decide to be extremely biased at the family meeting tomorrow. he’s not winning a damn thing.

#(っˆ ³(ˊ ᵕ ˋก ) ⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐀 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 ࿐ྂ #i think this is the cutest scenario i’ve came up with #and the best part is that it’s 100% cannon (bc i said so)#gojo x reader #gojo x reader fluff #gojo angst #gojo x you #gojo headcanons #gojo scenarios #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk gojo #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jujustu kaisen #jujustu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen headcanons

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satowooo · 8 months

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Marriage of Convenience with Geto Suguru

pt 1.

arranged husband!geto x fem!reader

contents: fluff, jealous!reader, slow burn trope, suguru is a little whipped, soft!suguru, words of affirmations

cw: nsfw, a bit dirty talks, breeding kink, oral sex (f. receiving), missionary

link for pt. 2

***

arranged husband!geto suguru being the stoic and cold man in the relationship, despite how he already found you so beautiful the first time his family introduced you to him.

arranged husband!geto suguru who simply asked you about your hobbies and interests while you two walked through the garden of his clan's home just to get to know you, maintaining a serious and professional tone of his voice.

arranged husband!geto suguru who was shocked hearing your soft voice as you two talked about how your arrangement will work. when you said you don't expect love from him and promised to do your duties as his wife, his heart ached a bit.

arranged husband!geto suguru who showed you your new home, watching as your mouth gaped open at the big mansion. he chuckled when he saw how your eyes widened even more when he told you he designed the house.

arranged husband!geto suguru who felt sorry he had to leave the first morning of living together as a married couple due to handling the clan's business, saying he'll come home as quickly as he could. when you gave him a nod and a small smile, he knew you were only being understanding as his wife, and as having the first day together.

arranged husband!geto suguru who came home tired and asked how you are at the dining table. "fine, i'm still trying to get used to this arrangement," you said truthfully. suguru appreciated the fact that you were always straightforward since the first time you met, and he was making sure to make adjustments for you so you'd be comfortable.

"how about your bed? is it to your comfort?" he asked like a professional businessman. you nodded your head as a response. "if you get uncomfortable, or if there's anything not in your liking, please do tell me so i can get something better for you."

arranged husband!geto suguru who took you to adventure the big mansion. exploring every corner of the house, and even outside the gardens.

"why did you construct such a big house for two people?" you asked. "i know there are a few servants too, but still... it's a little big."

"it's just enough for a family." his own attempt of a joke didn't come out as one because of the seriousness in his voice. and he almost chuckled at the way you blushed.

he coughed, and then proceeded to lead you to another part of the garden.

arranged husband!geto suguru who's been nothing but an attentive partner as the days gone by. he'd ask you about how your day is after spending time at work, taking you at business events, making sure to spend every dinner with you so you won't feel alone, and walking you to your bedroom since you two slept separately. it was a mutual understanding arrangement, and you made sure you do your part of the deal as well.

arranged husband!geto suguru who said no when you asked him if he's going to work. "it's my day off," he said. you gave a small nod of understanding as you two ate breakfast together, with you feeling a bit awkward at the atmosphere. you were a bit used to him not being at home most days, especially in the morning during your breakfasts.

arranged husband!geto suguru who asked if you'd like to have a picnic with him. and suguru was shocked when you agreed, saying it was your first time having one.

arranged husband!geto suguru who took you somewhere far beyond the woods along your mansion. it was in front of a beautiful pond that you didn't know existed, and you two settled at the blanket he laid out for the two of you. both of you sat in silence, with the picnic basket being in the middle of you two.

arranged husband!geto suguru who asked, "don't you miss being at home?" and you shake your head in response. "why? if it's okay for me to ask..."

"all i did there was read, and taught how to be prim and proper." you shake your head at the memory. "teaching me how to be an obedient lady, so when i get married, I won't disappoint my partner. it was boring."

the silence almost felt suffocating, and you jerked your head at him as you blushed. "im sorry... i think i said too much."

suguru quickly shakes his head. "no, no... i'm thankful that you're honest. and i'm sorry you have to live through that."

"it's fine. i mean, i'm doing good at the job, am i?"

arranged husband!geto suguru who blinked once, or twice, when he heard you say that. and it was slowly processing on his mind, and he didn't want to make you feel like you're just a doll made for a husband. "don't think such thoughts."

you were shocked when he said that, with his cold, baritone voice. "w-what?"

arranged husband!geto suguru who reached his hand to touch your cheeks, slowly surrendering to his feelings. "you're not just a mere wife that i need for appearances in business. although it is a clan's decision for us to be married, i want you... to act like yourself. do whatever you want, and not cage your life in this marriage... you're not just a wife, you're a person too..."

arranged husband!geto suguru who searched your eyes as he said those words. you were speechless, and almost trembling. it was the first time someone said such a thing to you, and you felt your heart almost explode in your chest as suguru leaned in and sealed your lips in a kiss.

arranged husband!geto suguru who invaded your mouth in a passionate kiss, like how he used to dream of. his tongue licking your bottom lip to seek for entrance. but his eyes shot open when you pulled away with a heavy gasped.

arranged husband!geto suguru who became worried he might have crossed the line, but his breath hitched when you spoke, "I'm sorry... it's my first time, I don't know how to kiss..."

he smiled, chuckling as he brought you to his lap, "there's a lot of time for practice." he said before kissing your lips once again.

arranged husband!geto suguru who finally had his tongue in your mouth, dancing with yours in a harmony. his hands roamed around your curves, stopping on your ass and giving it a light squeeze. he almost groaned when you moaned against his mouth at the action.

arranged husband!geto suguru kisses your neck, and then your collarbone, sucking and nibbling gently. "fuck... you taste so good..."

when he pulled away, he looked at your flushed face, feeling a sense of pride in him that he made you feel like this. despite his desires, he didn't want to go too far just yet. he smiled, and gave you a soft peck, "let's head home."

and together, you walked hand in hand as you walked back to your house.

arranged husband!geto suguru who became a little affectionate after that encounter. stealing a kiss from your lips, and even pecking your cheeks when he was about to leave. he'd snuggle his face on your shoulder when you two stand a little too close, and he'd grin when you moan after kissing a sensitive spot on your neck.

"my baby is so responsive..." he'd chuckle, and you'll blush at the endearment.

arranged husband!geto suguru who eyes you worriedly when you become silent after coming home together in a business event. you two walked at the front door, and you never uttered a word as you walked to the stairs.

"baby, what's wrong?" he pulled you by your wrist when you almost reached your bedroom. he cupped your cheeks, forcing you to make eye contact.

"nothing, just tired."

"liar." he frowned. he leaned in, kissing your lips once. and then twice. and thrice. and here comes a fourth one, and another one after another one, until you're struggling to push him away as he kisses you repeatedly. "not stopping until you tell me."

and you surrendered easily. "fine..."

arranged husband!geto suguru felt his heart combust when you told him you've been jealous the whole night as plenty of women were looking at him hungrily. he bit his lips, trying to contain his smile when you said you were taking note of the girls who tried to flirt with him during the business event.

he couldn't even stop himself from smiling even more when you turned furiously at him, "are you making fun of me?"

"no, baby." he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist. "you're just so fucking cute when you're like this." he said as he pushes you through the door of your bedroom, slamming it shut while his lips were locked into yours.

"you're mine." he said against your lips, his hands slowly undressing you until you're fully naked on the bed.

arranged husband!geto suguru admired your body. his hands explored every inch of your skin as if he was trying to memorize it, his eyes were lustful yet filled with affection. you pulled him by his necktie, whining as you say, "kiss me more, please?"

he obliged to your orders as he helped you unbutton his shirt until he was only left with his boxers. his kisses became rough, as if in a hurry to taste you in his mouth once again, as if it was the first time he was kissing you.

arranged husband!geto suguru groaned when he pushed his middle and ring finger on your wet folds, sliding in easily. "you're so wet... all for me..." he breathed against your earlobe, biting and sucking at the skin of your neck.

you moaned softly as he began stretching you out, fingering you slowly at first before gradually increasing his pace. your toes curled at the sensation, and your thigh almost tried to close if only he wasn't holding you still. your breath hitched when you suddenly felt his breath fanning your pussy, you didn't even realized his face was already between your thighs.

arranged husband!geto suguru who ravishes your wet pussy like a starved man. alternating between licking and sucking as his free hand plays with your clit, making sure you feel everything at once.

his fingers thrusts her insides greedily, eager to make her cum on his face as his tongue continued to suck. when she let out a strangled cry, he smirked to himself as he felt her reaching her orgasm, making sure to drink every essence of her.

arranged husband!geto suguru removed his underwear, revealing his long, throbbing cock. it was veiny, and pinkish at the tip as it was spilling pre cum, angrily standing up. he stroke his cock while maintaining eye contact with her, "see this, baby? you did that to me."

"suguru..." you stutter. "that won't fit..."

he chuckled at your blushing face. "i already prepped you enough, baby. it'll fit perfectly."

arranged husband!geto suguru slowly pushes his tip inside your pussy, sliding in slowly as he watches your face contort in both discomfort and pleasure. "you okay, darling?"

you nodded your head, pulling him by the torso so he'd push it in more.

"it'll hurt, but i'll be gentle." he whispered against your ear.

arranged husband!geto suguru hushes you as he slips in his full length. leaving soft kisses on your cheek. "shh, you can take it, baby... i know you can, come on... yeah? see, i'm all in..."

you moaned in discomfort, your virginity tearing away. "sugu..."

"shhh, it's okay... tell me when to move." he said, caressing your tummy.

arranged husband!geto suguru moved slowly when you gave him the green light. his thrusts were gentle, as he promised. making sure you were enjoying this as much as he did.

"fuck! you're so tight. you're sucking me in..." his groans turned you on even more as he thrust into you. "take it all... fuck it..."

"Ohhh... Suguru... faster..."

that's all it took for Suguru to lose all his control as his hips slammed into yours in a merciless pace. he rammed his dick into you harshly, his hands came to grasp your breasts, squeezing and pinching your nipple.

Their moans filled the room, together with the slapping of their wet skin. you were almost reaching your high, and you were crying out at the intense pleasure that suguru was giving you.

his cock filled you to the brim as he thrusts his hot seed inside, together with your orgasm. pants heavily as his pace started to slow down, keeping his cock inside you as his head snuggled on your neck.

"suguru..." you moaned softly after your release.

"hmm?" he hummed. "you did so well for me, baby."

arranged husband!geto suguru woke up the next day with you snuggled in his chest. he groaned as he felt your bare legs wrapped around his torso, his cock perfectly placed right between your thighs. he mentally took note not to sleep with you naked, so he wouldn't have a morning wood so early in the morning.

as he shuffles in bed, you woke up yawning, "sugu?"

he stopped moving, gently caressing your hair. "im sorry... did i wake you up?"

you shake your head, wrapping your arms around him to pull him close, your pussy practically pressed on him. you didn't even mind it since you were too sleepy to think.

"fuck, babe... i can't focus if you're like this..." he groaned.

"h-huh?" you whispered, eyes half-closed.

and that's simply how your morning sex started. with him sliding his cock inside you as you moaned, fully awake at the pleasure. when he finally got it out of his system, he carried you to the bathroom to clean you up, but still not wasting the chance to slide himself inside you from the back under the shower.

once you were both cleaned, he helped you dry your hair and put your clothes on, carrying you to the vanity table since you told him your legs hurt. he massage your shoulders as his hand combed your hair. "feel better?"

"a little sore down there."

Suguru smiled to himself.

***

pt. 2, pt. 3

so... uhmm... this is my first fic and im not sure if i did fine. im sorry for the grammatical errors and spellings 😭

#come back for part two #geto suguru #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #suguru geto smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #husband suguru geto #suguru geto #jujutsu sorcerer #suguru brainrot #i love suguru sm #—taste of sky ☁️

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written-in-flowers · 5 months

Text

His Kitten: Demon!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Incubus!Seonghwa x Fem!Reader | side pairings: demon!yeosang x reader, demon!jongho x reader

Word Count: 9k

Genre: smut, angst, slight fluffiness MINORS DNI

Tags: Enslavement, master/slave dynamic, enemies to fuck buddies, hate sex (w/ yeosang), degradation (w/yeosang), sloppy oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), rough oral sex, squirting, fingering, handjobs, masturbating, couch sex, voyeurism, exhibitionism (w/Jongho), use of petnames (kitten, love, slut), praise kink, swallowing cum, dirty talk, slight edging, mild overstimulation, sloppy seconds in a way,

Summary: YN reaches the second part of her first day: Master Seonghwa, the sophisticated man who loves music, poetry and science. But, even surrounded by decadence and refinement, Seonghwa can be anything but proper.

Previously on Pretty Pet | > Next

***

Baths used to be your favorite things about the living world. You’d buy expensive bath bubbles, drink champagne and listen to the radio after a long work week. Sitting in the porcelain tub, you rested against the back and let yourself soak in the warm water. The bathtub built into a window frame, you had a perfect view of the sprawling gardens beyond the palace. An expanse of greenery and vibrancy you’d never see anywhere else in Hell. You found it odd, as you sat there and stared out the window. Movies usually depicted Hell as being this dark place with fiery lava lakes and rocky floors and ceilings. Yet, the highest level had all the beauty and magnificence you wouldn’t find in the inner circles. You supposed the smoggy skies, hot weather, and fire are for the tortured to suffer through, not the torturers.

“Ah, here you are. I figured you’d be cleaning up in here.”

Yeosang’s voice came from somewhere behind you, but you didn’t respond. The brothers must truly be wealthy if they have such a grand estate. A bronze fountain of a young woman surrounded by birds and flowers sat in the middle of the garden, the water spouting like crystals from the birds’ mouths. You imagined it looked more beautiful in person.

“The Masters have already left for work,” Yeosang continued, “But Master Seonghwa would like to have lunch with you when he returns.”

You’d never seen such a luxurious place before. Luxury for you was fast cars, designer clothes and fine jewelry. But this place carried every comfort you could possibly think of. It did not feel like much of a punishment to you.

“Which means I have to take you to his apartment to acquaint you with the place,” he continued, not noticing your glazed over expression.

If being a demon’s slave meant you got to enjoy fine luxuries like this, was it really so bad?

“He also drummed up a schedule for you as well,” you heard him moving around behind you, likely pulling together a ‘Seonghwa approved’ outfit for you. “It isn’t much like Master San’s schedule with the housewife duties, but it is rather demanding. I believe you’ll learn a lot if you listen and pay attention…”

You supposed you should still feel scared and anxious, but you couldn’t be bothered anymore. Years of being in the slums of the inner city, Inferno, destroyed any sort of fear you might’ve once had. Fear and misery turned into close friends of yours, and you learned to tolerate their company. You’d spent most of your living life surviving, and your afterlife was no different. The House of Kisses was a cesse pool of low-life demons, Imps, eager to enjoy "exotic tastes" while humans suffered in a new kind of way. The average succubi cost a dime a dozen, but humans went for much higher prices. Brothel owners loved showcasing their human slaves as special items. This meant you received a lot more patrons than the next average succubi. In the living world, that might’ve been a good thing, but in Inferno, in Hell, it’s not. You’d grown to enjoy the beasts who ravaged you because the alternative was wallowing in self-pity. You don’t like pity parties.

“...Master Seonghwa loves music…”

In this grand keep, you had all the things you couldn’t get in the brothel. Clean water, fresh air, sunlight and an actual bed became dreams to you in the House of Kisses. Okay, sure, you have to juggle three horny incubi on the regular, and possibly their servants at times, but it was fine. The Masters haven’t treated you in any particularly terrible way; you preferred them over the hulking, wretched brutes in the brothels. You pictured the muscular beasts then, recalling various shades of green, red, and orange with eyes of black or yellow. They looked like demons. Your Masters, and other high-born demons, did not.

“-You should also be aware that Master Seonghwa expects proper ettitquete and-”

“-How come they resemble humans?”

“Pardon?”

“High borns,” you turned in the bath to face him. “Why don’t they look like other demons? The only similarities they share are horns, claws and teeth. Why is that?”

“Higher forms of demons must imitate humans in order to corrupt and seduce them,” he explained. You noticed he held a pale blue dress made of satin and tulle. “We’re born this way.”

“Yeah, but they’re in their home? Why keep the disguise?”

“It’s not a disguise,” he drawled, hanging up the dress and grabbing a towel. “It’s how we’re made. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. It’s beyond your realm of intelligence.”

You glared at him, standing when he approached you. “It would be easier if you just said they’re some kind of higher form of demon or whatever.”

“That’s what I said,” he wrapped the towel around you and began drying you off. “You weren’t listening.”

“I was listening,” you argued, “And you said you’re born that way. How? Is it through evolution? Did a demon fuck a human and all of a sudden their offspring came out resembling humans?”

“It happened out of necessity,” he said. “We couldn’t very well lure people from the path of God if we looked like those down below, could we?”

“In the stories they did.”

“Yes, well those are stories.”

You felt him dry up your thighs and stop at your hips. “Stories have truths to them,” you said, not noticing where he came at level, “And knowing myself, I can imagine there was some lady somewhere who wanted to fuck a demon. Like, not all the people in the whatever-hundred century were prudes. I’m sure my ancestors carried on the way I did before I died.” When you didn’t hear a response, you looked down to see Yeosang staring right at your crotch. “Um, hello? Is there something weird about it?”

“No,” he said, clearing his throat and quickly returning to dry you up. “It’s fine. I’m just surprised by the lack of sores on you. I was sure you’d have one or two from all that fucking you do in the brothels.”

“If I had sores, you would’ve found them when you washed me, duh.”

“They’re hidden sometimes,” he said, drying your back. “You brothel whores like to hide them with makeup or creams to keep yourselves in business. It’s a shame humans can still get sick here in Hell,” he said, though didn’t sound very sad about it. “You end up infecting the rest of us because you can’t keep yourselves clean.”

“It’s demons who give it to us first most of the time.”

“Yes, the disgusting ones you’re used to rolling around with, I’m sure.”

“Not all of them are like that,” you remarked, needing to at least get one back.

“Most of them.”

Yeosang put you in the satin and tulle dress, seeing the shades of light blue each time you swished it around. You fixed your hair into a more comfortable style, and Yeosang insisted you add a ribbon to it somewhere. Cute. Innocent. Delicate. That was Seonghwa’s type. You hated the idea of having to be the sickeningly sweet, shy kitten, but you knew you must.

“Here,” Yeosang handed you another laminated paper, “Seonghwa’s schedule.”

Seonghwa’s schedule for you differed from San’s. “Where is Seonghwa anyways?”

“The Masters are all at work,” he said. “Master Seonghwa always comes home for his lunch break, preferring to eat comfortably at home than deal with his coworkers. It also gives him time to work on home projects instead of work ones.”

“Home projects? Like crafting?” you snorted envisioning the proper, stern brother making paper mache crafts or knitting.

“Master Seonghwa is an intelligent man with lots of various interests: the exploration of science and chemistry being one of them. He likes to experiment with different things,” he said. “But now that he has you, I’m sure you’ll be his main focus.”

You didn’t want to think what sort of ‘experiments’ a demon could have.

You read the laminated paper he’d given you as he walked you from San’s bedroom to Seonghwa’s room down the hall. At the top, it read that you’d be seeing him on his own on Mondays and Thursdays, while having you with his brothers on Sundays. San’s read something similar, except you had him Wednesdays and Saturdays. Hongjoong, you guess, would be Tuesday and Friday. You felt like you were in school again: going from class to class on separate days, getting the times and periods confused. Seonghwa’s idea of a proper schedule included language, writing, reading, and musical subjects, rather than chores.

“6am: wake up for morning routine. 7am: wake up Master. 8am: breakfast with Master. 9am: Cello lesson,” you read out loud. “10am: Piano lesson. 11:10am to 12:15pm: Singing lessons- I don’t need singing lessons,” you let out a soft laugh.

“Master Seonghwa enjoys music,” he said, “And he said he wants his pet to know how to play instruments and sing beautifully. He is our master, so we must give him whatever he wants. If he wants his caged bird to sing, you’re going to sing.”

“I sing when I want to.”

“Not anymore. You lost that freedom when you decided a life of excess at the expense of others was more important than being a good person.”

“Good is subjective to me.”

“Psh, it would be.”

“Well, alright Mr. Snotty Pants, who is my teacher then?”

“Me,” he said.

“Why you?”

“Because I’m more qualified for it than anyone else, and I am your handler,” he said. “Yunho is too busy, and Jongho is too soft. I’ll be stricter, which Master Seonghwa wanted.”

“Then why doesn’t he just teach me himself if he thinks I need a strict teacher?”

“Because he’s a busy man, and he doesn’t have all the time in the world like some of us around here.”

You knew a dig at you when you saw it. You went back to your schedule as he opened the door with a key. “1pm to 2:30pm, lunch with Master. 3pm to 4pm: World Literature. 4:24pm to 5pm: History and Geography of Inferno. 5pm: Master returns home. 6pm: dinner with Master, 7pm: bath and bed routine. 8pm: bedtime. When would I have time to go to the next Master’s room? San wants me to wake up at 6am. I’d be leaving Seonghwa before he’s even woken up.”

“Your time with Seonghwa would be finished, honestly. As I said, he’s a busy man,” he rolled his eyes, “I’d be the one waking you up. The Masters like to keep a strict schedule, and giving you a proper routine keeps your mind occupied. We need to preserve the few brain cells left to you. Here we are. Seonghwa’s apartments.”

While San stuck to a retro style, Seonghwa took a more refined approach. White walls with intricate gold borders that led up into murals on the ceiling, everything looked very ornamental and expensive. The high ceilings gave space for the large chandelier that gave warmth to the room at night, and brightness to the angelic scenery painted into the different panels. It reminded you of Versailles in France with its finery and excess of wealth. You spotted a white piano in the corner by the window, where Seonghwa expected you to play for him while he lounged back on the seats nearby. You played piano as a child, but you’d fallen out of it in your teen years.

Yeosang took you through the main sitting room, and into a private parlor where you’d sit with Seonghwa after he came home from work. Like San, he’d left a list of drinks he liked and how to make them. That was one problem you wouldn’t have. You knew alcoholic drinks like you knew your colors and fabrics.

“Here is the library,” Yeosang said, bringing you into a large room lined with bookshelves, “You’ll be having most of your lessons in here. Music lessons will be in the music room-”

“-It is the music room, so one would assume that already-”

“Just making sure. Some of your humans can’t even write a proper sentence, let alone put two and two together,” he continued walking ahead of you. "Master Seonghwa likes to spend his leisure time in these rooms, so do your best to actually pay attention in your lessons. Your position in this household would be pointless if you can’t please your masters in and out of the bedroom.”

“I’ve become pretty aware of that, yeah.” You scanned one of the shelves, reading titles of books you’d heard of but never read before. “He’s the bookish brother, then?”

“Yes, he is. Master Seonghwa is a man of culture and refinement. He likes things to be neat and clean. He likes his sluts to have some sort of brain he can pick at or divulge in an intelligent conversation with. It’s why he picked you, a brainless slum slut, to be his slave. He can rebuild your brain into what he wants. Kind of like a mechanic getting a basic car and designing it to their liking.”

“I’m not ‘brainless’.”

“Ha, cute,” he snorted. “I’d hate to see what happened if you failed to be even partly more interesting than you are right now.”

Or he’d secretly enjoy it. Yeosang finished giving you the tour and brought you back into the main room. “Obviously, you aren’t going to have your lessons today since it’s already too late for some of them, so you’re free to roam around until Master Seonghwa arrives. Try not to break anything. Everything here costs more than you do.”

With that, Yeosang left you standing in the sitting room. You thought you’d met snotty people before, but Yeosang took the cake. Putting his snide remarks aside, you walked over to the piano. You hated to tell Seonghwa that he was wasting his time with the music lessons. You sat at the bench, putting your fingers over the ivory keys, and began playing a tune that came to you so easily.

“I come home in the morning light, my mother says when you gonna live your life right? Oh Mama dear, we’re not the fortunate ones, and girls, they wanna have fun…oh girls just wanna have fun…”

You remembered listening to the song when it first came out. It became your personal anthem. You played it during road trips with your friends. You danced to it in your bedroom and whenever it came on at clubs. Eventually, you learned how to play it on the piano. Music was one of the few freedoms you’re allowed to still have. Brothel owners loved inviting musicians to entertain the customers, and you could sit and listen to them in between clients. You might not sing well, but you didn’t sound terrible, people said.

You’d finished the song, feeling upbeat and free, when a voice cut it off like a knife.

“You said you couldn’t sing.”

Snapping your head up, fear bounced up into your throat to squash all your joy. Seonghwa stood a few feet from you, leaning against the back of a chair near the window. The bright sunlight illuminated one side of his face, casting the other half in shadow. He didn’t seem too upset, more surprised than anything else.

“I can’t,” you said, your palms sweating, “I don’t sing well, which is what I assumed you all wanted to know.”

“And you never mentioned being about to play the piano either.”

“You didn’t ask,” you replied. If he wanted to know, he should’ve looked for that when he poked around in your head.

He huffed a laugh, then came over to the piano bench. “What other songs do you know?”

“Not the ones you’d want me to play.”

“Such as?”

“Those boring compositions the nerdy kids played at recitals and talent shows,” you rolled your eyes. “You know, Chopin, Beethoven, and Mozart. The classic dudes.”

“I do like the classics,” he admitted, “But I found the music humans listen to equally enjoyable. Hongjoong likes it more than me, so he’ll love this, but I like it too.”

“They don’t play our music here.”

“I know. I mean when I went above ground.”

“You went to the living world?”

“My brothers and I go up there and cause mischief sometimes,” he said with a sneer. “Just when I think humans can not get any worse, they manage to prove me wrong. I was probably there when you overdosed, if anything.”

“Trust me,” you shook your head, “If I’d seen you there, I wouldn’t have bothered with the coke at all.”

“So, you’re saying you would’ve taken me home with you?” he said, facing you and sliding a hand on your lap.

“You’re beautiful. Of course.”

“Makes being my slave a lot more appealing, doesn’t it?”

“It does. If you hadn’t taken me in, I’d be back in the circle whirling around in that big cyclone.” The thought of it sweeped its way back to you.

“What is it like there? I've never been there myself.”

“Tormenting. I felt so many sensations and feelings all at once forever without a break. It’s that feeling of thinking it’ll stop eventually, but then it never does. It keeps going and going,” you traced one of the black keys, not even registering Seonghwa’s hand as you envisioned your original punishment. “When they pulled me out of that storm, I thought I’d been saved and would be waking up any moment. But, that didn’t happen. I was thrown from one prison into another.”

“You deserved it.”

“I did,” you nodded. “I know that now. My company-my scam-It hurt so many people. I sold people penny stocks at high prices, and raked in the money when those stocks turned out to bring them only dimes. That man you mentioned? His name was Randal Singer. He was an assistant manager at a Rite Aid. I tricked him into thinking investing would help his finances.” You gulped, tapping a key to distract yourself. You played the first notes of TOTO’s ‘Africa’ idly, not really following the flow exactly. “His wife was pregnant; they’d just gotten married and wanted to save up for a home. I told him investing in stocks would get him there faster.”

“Not to mention all the men you fucked to get yourself in that position,” he said, “Though, I will commend you on one thing: you blasted that glass ceiling. Before you, women could only be secretaries in that office. You started there, and worked up to leaving and owning your own investment company.”

“I fucked my way to the top,” you said, recalling Hongjoong’s words from earlier that morning. “I didn’t care if my lovers had spouses or partners. I saw what they could get me, and I took it. I don’t know how I ended up in lust, when I should’ve gone to greed.”

“They go hand-in-hand in my opinion,” he shrugged. “People who live like that have a bit of both. Look at Yunho: he is a demon of greed, but he indulges in lustful acts greedily. He has an orgasm, and then wants even more. He watched you fuck one of us, but then wants to watch you do it again.”

“I suppose,” you shrugged. “I still don’t know how some things work here.”

“If you don’t know,” he said, “The answer is usually ‘magic’.”

“Master?” Yunho appeared in the dining room doorway, purposefully avoiding eye contact with you, “Lunch is ready.”

“Perfect. I’m famished.”

You walked with Seonghwa into the decadent, intimate dining room. On plates of fine china with gold utensils, servants in white and gold uniforms served the first course: a green salad with a raspberry vinaigrette. You sensed a three course meal coming on, and didn’t eat the entire salad.

“How was your morning with San?” he asked, washing some salad down with white wine.

“It was…fine.”

“Just fine? From what he said, you left a few stains in his newly pressed pants.”

“It was incredible,” you said, “What else do you want me to say?”

“That you hated it and you thought about me the whole time,” he smirked before chewing on more salad.

You actually laughed, “Fine, Master. I hated every single second and wished it was you.”

“As you should.” He then asked, “Yeosang told you about your schedule, yes?”

“Yes.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Reminds me of college.”

“Did you even go to college?”

“For a bit.”

The servants took your salads away, and brought the main course: a rice bowl topped with black beans, cherry tomatoes, cilantro and peppers. The servant who placed down yours added a dollop of sour cream to the top. It reminded you of the fancy dinners you went out to on weekends. Drinking expensive wine and eating food you couldn’t pronounce sounded so nice at the time.

“What did you study?” He asked curiously.

“Business. I hated it, so I dropped out my first year.”

“Why did you hate it?”

You thought about it a moment, picking at your bowl and eating it quietly. “It made me feel stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I grew up thinking I was smart, because I did pretty okay in school. I got into college, and I'm around people who really are smart and I realized how dumb I actually am.”

“You're not dumb.”

“I am,” you huffed out a laugh. “I really am.”

“Kitten, you owned an investment firm where you cleverly scammed innocent people for their money. Someone with no brains wouldn't be able to pull that off, and besides,” he scooped up more of his rice, “Brains aren't everything. You're beautiful, Kitten, and that pretty privilege got you in a lot of doors. You also have brawn.”

“Brawn?”

“Not in the physical way, but the emotional way,” he said. “You're gutsy. You take risks. You saw something you wanted, something that could get you somewhere and you went for it. Do you know how crazy and desperate you have to be to willingly give yourself over to slavers? You didn’t know what you'd be getting into and it completely backfired. But still, you saw that you might get a better deal somewhere else, and took it. I find that quite admirable, and my brothers feel the same.”

Not many people applauded your “talents” before. They spent too much time on how terrible you'd been in your previous life. You smiled to yourself and began eating your lunch. Dessert was a regular chocolate parfait with chocolate chips and creamy mousse. It tasted better than anything you'd ever eaten in the inner circles.

“I have some time left in my lunch break,” he said, pushing out his chair when lunch ended. “Sit with me for a while.”

You both went back to the sitting room with the piano, taking seats on the couch.

“Even in Hell there are office jobs, huh?” you asked with amusement. You curled up to him as he’d want you to, and put your arms around his as if clinging to him. Men like Seonghwa like the extra attention. You knew many businessmen who enjoyed the special attention of a beautiful woman.

“In a way,” he said, arm draped over your shoulder. “I’m a Burrower.”

“A ‘Burrower’? What is that?”

“What you saw me do at breakfast,” he said, “It’s sort of like being a judgment of souls. I see into a person’s mind, and dig out all the terrible things they’ve done. That way, I can put in a suggestion of where they go. It’s not up to me in the end, but what I report back is taken into consideration.”

“A big job then?”

“Very big and very important.”

“I didn’t know I belonged to such a high-ranking person,” you said, giving him a small smile.

“You do,” he nuzzled your nose softly. “It makes you sort of special. I’m sure it’s nothing you won’t be used to in the long run. You liked the special treatment when you were alive; I think you’ll like it more when you’re here too.”

“I’m never opposed to special treatment,” you replied with a mischievous smile. “What about your brothers?”

“San works in the fighting arena as a Champion,” he answered. “If someone wishes to escape Inferno and go to Purgatory to begin their repentance, they have to go through San first.”

“I’m assuming through a fight?”

“Yes, through a fight to the death. The first one to get cut three times loses.”

“Does anyone ever win?”

“Hardly ever,” he said. “San says they have to really want to repent for their sins. They have to want to be saved, not just to escape their punishments. The ones who really want it have a higher chance than someone wanting to get out.”

“Hongjoong works there too?”

“Hongjoong?” he scoffed, “Never. He’s too bloodthirsty for the arena. No, Hongjoong works in the lowest circle as a Scourge.”

“A Scourge?”

“He tortures the worst of the worst. Think of dictators, mass murderers, child killers, and all those types. Hongjoong’s job, if they’re sent to the lowest circles, is to torture them until they mentally break,” he explained.

“What is the point in breaking them? They’re already in Hell.”

“Makes their time here more miserable. They inflicted misery onto others in their lifetimes, now it will be done back to them,” he shrugged. “It only makes sense.”

“I suppose.”

Lounging back on the sitting room couch, it felt like you weren't in Hell at all. You might be on vacation in the French countryside with a lover or friends. The brothers clearly modeled their home after the palaces and decadence of 18th century France. You wondered why that was.

“It's my favorite time period and place.”

You wished he'd keep out of your head for at least a few minutes.

“But, you're not-”

“-French? I know, but I grew up there. When I inherited this place, it was old and dreary. Demon architecture is heavy on the gothic styles of the 12th to 16th centuries with the high towers, extended buttresses and asymmetry. It's so dark, and depressing to me. I like sunlight and splendor, which the baroque and rococo styles have,” he stared up at the murals on the ceiling, “It's so refined and sophisticated. It reminds me of home.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

“You'll learn about it soon enough,” he said. “Yeosang and I will make sure you can actually hold an intelligent conversation.” He took a strand of your hair to play with, “You can have that with me, you know.”

“Get out of my head.”

“I’m your master, woman,” he said a bit sternly. “I can be in your head in as many ways as I like.” When you grew quiet, he continued, “As I said, you can have all of that with me. I am a man-”

“-A demon-” you corrected.

“-A demon who likes the finer things in life. Hell has so few luxuries for those condemned to suffer here, but it has plenty for those who live here,” he moved closer to you, sliding himself across the couch until your thighs touched. “Being my kitten gets you a lot of nice things, if you’re good.”

“And bad ones if I’m naughty?”

“That’s typically how these things work.” His hand found your knee, and slowly went upwards. “You get good things if you're good, and bad things if you're bad.”

“What would you consider “bad”, Master?” You decided to match his energy and reach over to cup his groin. Seonghwa did not object but instead inhaled a sharp breath. “Me coming onto you? Me wanting to taste you like I did last night? I only want to be your good kitten, Master.” Your fingers traced the seam of his crotch, feeling his cock underneath the smooth fabric. “What would get me punished?”

“You being inappropriate in public,” he lifted your dress, his arousal growing against your hand, “Swearing. Cursing. Not going to your lessons. Not listening to your instructors. Lying to me. Let other people aside from my brothers touch you without permission.” His floral pheromone seeped out of his pores and onto you instead. You found yourself drawing closer and closer to him; you moved your thighs apart to let him touch further. “Why? Do you plan on breaking each one?”

“What would my punishment be if I did? A hard spanking? A whipping?”

“If I tell you, then you'll be prepared,” he softly circled your clit area while you gradually pumped his cock from outside his pants. “I don't want you to know.” He cleared his throat in a cough when your thumb rolled over his clothed tip. “On your knees, Kitten. I think you deserve a special treat today.”

You slipped down onto the floor below him, and ran your hands up Seonghwa’s thighs. He let out a deep breath as you massaged his inner thighs and kissed along his bulge. You could almost smell him through the layers of cloth. Excitement bubbled in your stomach, trickling down into your panties once again. You’re sure part of your need came from his enchanting scents, but you’d loved it too. Hearing his low grunts and praises as you sucked him off turned you on more than anything. The anticipation alone might kill you if you don't have him soon. Hands traveling up his inner thighs to where his balls sat, you rolled your thumbs over them as you kissed up to his belt buckle. Seonghwa scooped up your hair, and simply followed your motions until he unbuckled himself for you. You licked your lips, saliva building up at the mere outline of him inches from your mouth. When he withdrew himself, you immediately went for it but he pulled you back by the hair.

“Wait,” he ordered gently, “Good girls wait.”

Seonghwa started stroking himself in front of you. You took in the long fingers slowly rubbing up and down; his thumb running over the veins coursing blood to make him harder, and pressing his forefingers on the other side of the head. You thought about that thick tip deep in your throat, cutting off your air and making you drool around him. The salty taste of his cum hadn’t been off-putting at all. It made you want more. You could nearly taste it on your tongue already as his erection grew in his hand.

“Spit on it for me, Kitten,” he said in his gentle voice. His mouth fell open when he saw you drool over his tip, centimeters away from licking the hole you'd spat on. “Good girl,” he praised, using your spit to lube himself up.

“Master, can I have it now, please?” You pouted, knowing exactly what kind of woman he wanted.

He tightened his grip on your hair and said, “Patience, sweetheart. Have patience.”

“But, it looks so good,” you said.

“I know it does,” he gave a particularly long stroke, covering even his tip before sliding back down. “But, you want it extra hard when you suck on it, don't you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you wait, baby.”

“Can I at least play with these?” You rubbed over his balls again, which made him jolt lightly. “Please?”

“May I or Can I?”

“May I, Master?” You corrected yourself.

“You may, Kitten.”

He groaned as you continued. Seonghwa let out streams of breathy moans as you rubbed up and around them. Hard stones that moved wherever your palm pushed them, you imagined each touch added fire to the kindling inside him. You never wanted to suck someone so badly before. Looking up at him from the floor, you could see his lean body underneath the neat, white shirt. His abs tensed whenever you gently tugged on his sack, and his arm flexed from the tension he brought on himself. His low, deep groans had you throbbing for his attention. You considered humping him as you'd done to San, but he caught this at once.

“Don't,” Seonghwa ordered, yanking your head back to look at him, “You stay put. I won't have you humping me like some pathetic dog.” He spread streams of precum over himself, wiping it on his fingers to stick in your mouth. “You're my kitten, not my puppy.”

“But, Master-” you spoke with his fingers settling on your tongue. Your pussy throbbed from the digits spreading him around.

“-’But’ nothing, Kitten. You'll get your attention when you get it,” he said, intently watching your lips around his fore and index fingers. “Stick out your tongue.”

Seonghwa dragged his wet tip along your outstretched tongue. Taste buds absorbing the salty strings melted right away. It had your thighs shaking. Your hips started rocking back and forth, wanting him to touch and finger you the way you desperately needed. You swatted your tongue against the underside, and he smacked his shaft to your cheek.

“I said stick it out, not to lick.”

“I'm sorry, Master. It just tastes so good,” you said, batting your lashes innocently. “I love sucking it.”

“I know, Kitten,” he said, going back to rubbing himself on your tongue and lips. “I remember how eagerly you swallowed my loads last night. If you're good, I'll give you as much as you want.”

“Really?” You asked, voice distorted by your outstretched tongue.

“Yes, really,” he chuckled, pushing himself further up your tongue and into your mouth. “I love spoiling my kittens.” He shuddered once he swirled the head around your tongue. “Give it a lick now, sweetheart. Just licking.”

You continued groping his balls while you began licking up and down his dick. Seonghwa leaned back in his seat, watching your tongue draw swirls along the sensitive vein running through it. Reaching the top, you felt tempted to suck up the clear drops leaking out, but instead you lapped at them. Seonghwa hissed through his teeth when your eyes met. He chuckled and shook his head when you spat it out onto his cock again. The laughter died out when you proceeded to continue interchanging spitting and licking him. Permitting you to use your hands, Seonghwa knew it was over once both your hands wrapped around his cock. Kitten licking his tip, you used your hands to massage the rest.

“Put it in your mouth,” he moaned, head rolling back as you did as told. “Take it all the way to the back. I'm going to cum down your pretty throat.”

Sinking him fully to the back of your throat brought on a satisfaction that had you whimpering around him. His head forcing you to keep him there, Seonghwa's stream of low curses and desperate whines made you wetter. Tears burned your eyes, and you struggled to breathe through your nose as he blocked your airway. You clung to his thighs, fingers clutching his pants as you struggled to breathe. A few pumps in and out of your mouth caused gurgling and gagging sounds that Seonghwa loved enough to keep doing it. More drool trailed down from your mouth to your chin, dirtying your dress and his nice pants. Seonghwa collected this when he pulled out, and made you suck it off him. Your burning sex tightened for something to grab onto, but you were given nothing. Instead, you had your throat penetrated again.

“Make me…make me cum,” Seonghwa said after a while, guiding your head up and down him freely now. “Your master wants to cum now.”

He gave you free reign at last. You moved your mouth and hands in tandem as you milked his orgasm out of him. It started in shuddering breaths and tensing thighs, before rolling to a tight abdomen and fingers gripping the seat. Hot streaks of cum splattered in your mouth and you swallowed the thick goodness right away. His orgasm fully taking over, Seonghwa released his moans into the air and continued bucking his hips into your face. In the last few waves, he forced your nose right up to his pelvis and spilled directly into your throat. Seonghwa gave you a minute to swallow what he left behind, and get a few deep breaths in before he spoke.

“Show me,” he said.

You parted your lips to show your empty mouth.

“Very good,” he grinned.

Then he kissed you, sloppy mouth and all. Seonghwa cupped your jaw and lifted it enough for him to deepen your kiss. Your pussy still ached for his touch; panties so soaked from your wetness that it stuck to your folds and thinned the cotton material.

“It's my turn now,” he said between kisses, “Let me see how wet you've gotten.”

You laid down longways with your back to the armrest and legs spread. Seonghwa groaned softly when he lifted your dress to see your wet panties. He bent down, hands on your thighs as he lapped on the darkening spot. The constant brushes made you tense up and grip the couch cushions under you. He pushed both sides of your underwear into the middle, separating your lips from your hard clit, and you thought you might cum right there. Singling out your clit through your panties, Seonghwa’s direct licks sent tremors throughout your thighs and legs. He held onto them, keeping them locked in his arms as he continued the torture.

“I almost don’t even need to take these off,” he jested, giving long flat licks to the outer folds. “It’s like you’re not even wearing panties.”

“Because you make me so wet, Master,” you breathed a whimper. Looking down, you saw dark hair curtaining his face between your thighs. He made sure you could see his long tongue slowly tasting you. “So much wetter than either of my other masters do.”

This earned you a few rapid, swirling touches that arched your back. “Is that right?” he said, suspicious of the obvious lie. “I find that hard to believe,” he slipped his thumb past the panty line to your clenching entrance, “My brothers are quite good at making dirty sluts wet.”

“But you do it the best.”

This ego-stroking had him pulling your underwear aside and snaking two fingers inside. Sucking up the mess he’d made, Seonghwa’s fingers pushed in and out with ease. Your eyes fell shut as you savored the tightness building deep in your core. Each time his fingers curled and wiggled inwards, you pictured them against your g-spot right then. Full lips wrapped around your clit, he swirled his tongue up and over it in time with his fingers.

“Master, Master,” you panted, “I’m going to cum. I’m going to-”

“-Hold it for me, Kitten,” he ordered between kisses to your sex, “I haven’t fucked you yet.” He moved his fingers faster, “I’m enjoying fingering and licking you too much to stop now.”

He placed kisses up your inner thighs as his thumb and fingers worked you easily. From years of training, you learned how to withhold your orgasm for a prolonged time. Taking deep breaths, you tried holding your climax as Seonghwa continued fingering you. But, even this became difficult after a while. He withdrew his fingers and spread your juices around your clit while he replaced them with his tongue. Lifting your legs up to your chest, Seonghwa hovered over your lower half to stick his tongue deep inside. You swore he’d somehow made it longer just to tickle your sensitive center. His low moans caused a vibrating sensation that reached your clit and had you tearing up from the desperation.

“Master, please…”

“To cum,” you cried out when he easily slipped his tongue back into your heat. “Please. Please, please…”

“Hm?” he pulled out his tongue, “What is it, Kitten? What do you need?”

“You sound so cute when you beg,” he said, giving his tongue a break to use his fingers. “I’d love to watch Hongjoong make you beg. He’s far crueler than I am,” he smiled at the idea, rapidly rubbing your clit and sticking his fingers back inside. “Keep begging.”

You wept as you kept on begging. Your orgasm threatened to rise up each time he went particularly deep. Tears fell down the corners of your eyes and down your temples as the pressure strengthened. Somehow this demon broke right through your willpower, and had you clawing his expensive furniture. Seonghwa brought you into his lap, and you thought he’d use his cock next, but he didn’t. Instead, he put your back to his chest and kept your legs apart with his knees. Arms around your waist, he continued fingering you as before.

“Such a cute kitten,” he cooed in your ear, pinching your nipple through your thin dress. “Crying and shaking in my arms like this.” He licked a tear that broke through your lash line, “You want to cum so badly, but you want to be a good girl and hold onto it for me.”

It dawned on you that something hard rested between your ass cheeks. Something thick and hardening underneath you. Yes, yes, you wanted that there.

“Not today, love,” he said, almost disappointed. “I have work to do soon.” You whined miserably, and he laughed. “Don’t despair, pet. I’ll let you cum this time. Go on and cum for me.”

Seonghwa pulled out right at the last second, rubbing your clit, as small spurts of clear fluid came out onto the floor. Not too long or too thick, but enough that Seonghwa saw them on the polished floors. Your body seized up in his embrace, quaking thighs and nails digging through his pants. He let out a surprised gasp as you came down. Shaking and taking deep breaths, you rested back against him to enjoy the last bits of pleasure before he pulled away completely.

“I had no idea you could do that,” he said in a smile. “How delightful. I know someone who will enjoy cleaning this up for me…”

You thought he might call on San or Hongjoong. They might have come back early, and are looking for you right now. Except, it wasn’t their names he called.

“Yeosang! Come here!”

Yeosang seemingly appeared from nowhere, standing upright with his hands behind his back as Yunho had hours earlier. His eyes, already big, widened at the erotic sight in front of him. He visibly gulped as he stared down your body.

“You called, sir?” he said in a high pitch, which he covered with a cough.

“Kitten is dirty,” he said, “And I need someone to clean her for me. I’d clean her myself, but I have to go back to work. You understand, I’m sure?”

“I understand completely, sir, but,” he licked his lips, “Surely, you do not wish for me to…She is your pet, not mine. It’s improper for a servant to touch something belonging to his master.”

Seonghwa smiled at his words, “You’re truly one-of-a-kind, Yeosang. This isn’t the first time you’ve enjoyed leftovers, and I cherish you far too greatly to deny you luxuries from time to time. Don’t be shy. Consider this part of your duties for today, hm?”

Seonghwa motioned for you to slide off his lap and moved your legs apart again. Yeosang would never do it. He made his dislike of you obvious by now, and he thinks you’re a “slum slut”. You expected him to reject his master’s gift, and insist he resume his daily routine. He made a few timid strides towards the couch, but kept his distance. He forced himself to focus on your face instead of your messy thighs. Seonghwa, seeing he needed more convincing, finally removed your underwear and tossed them aside.

“Don’t act so above humans, Yeosang,” Seonghwa snickered. “I know you have a preference for them. I remember how you licked that one girl clean after we’d all had a turn with her. I never thought you enjoyed pleasures like that until then. Come and clean my slave for me.”

“If you…insist, Master.”

Yeosang came over and knelt in front of you. His tongue, foreign and new, made soft, timid licks at first. Seonghwa sat beside you, eyes glinting with delight as Yeosang cleaned you with his tongue. You mewled whenever he touched near your clit, the bud becoming sensitive from your recent orgasm. The first few touches remained uncertain and shy until a new gush of your juices broke through. Then Yeosang pulled them apart to thoroughly clean each crevasse. You heard him give a satisfied moan at the taste of you on his tongue. When he finished, he pulled away for you to see the sheen of cum left on his chin and mouth. Seonghwa inspected his work, and you’d admit Yeosang nearly pulled you back into desire.

“Well done, Yeosang, as expected,” Seonghwa said, standing and zipping himself back up. “Kitten is lucky to have a handler willing to do what he can to keep her tidy and clean.” He gazed down to see a distinct bump in Yeosang’s trousers. This amused him rather than upset him. He turned to you, “Kitten, give your handler a hand, won’t you? It’s the least you could do.”

Without bothering to stick around, Seonghwa fixed his tie and put on his suit jacket as he left. Yeosang stood up from the ground, pale cheeks tinged a bright pink that went to his ears. He used his handkerchief to wipe his mouth.

“Do you want me to do it?” you asked, unsure whether he’d take it that far.

“Master Seonghwa has insisted so…” he took a deep breath, “A quick one just to please him.”

“We don’t really have to.”

“I think you know as well as I do that he’ll know if we have or not,” he said sharply. He sat on the couch beside you and undid his trousers, “Don’t dawdle, YN. I have things to do that are more important.”

Yeosang did not have the same length or width as his masters. Simply eating you out gave his length a special kind of red around the tip and shaft. You looked up at him, uncertain if he really wanted this or not. Yeosang, unlike some in the house, made it clear he did not like you.

“What did I just say?” he snapped you from your thoughts with a cold voice. “Get to it, slut. It’s nothing you haven’t already done.” When you did not move, he let out a growl and took your hand. “We don’t have to like one another. There’s nowhere written that we have to share a personal connection to enjoy this. I wasn’t told to pleasure you, but after hearing you last night and licking you clean now…” he seemed reluctant to admit it, swallowing his words before finally saying, “I’m afraid it is all I’ll be thinking about…”

“But you-”

“-Yeosang, are you here? Yunho says we’re to go over-” Jongho’s voice was cut off by a loud gasp. He took in the scene before him, and found it hard to make words. “Yeo…Yeosang, what are you doing? Have you lost your senses completely? The masters will have you whipped for this! Let go of her now before someone sees!”

“Master Seonghwa allowed it,” Yeosang said simply. “She's being difficult. I don't know why. These slum sluts look for any reason to jump on a cock.”

“Don't act like you wouldn't like it,” you spat back at him. Reaching into his lap, you began carefully stroking Yeosang. He gave a shaky breath, arms on the back of the couch. “You've been looking down your nose at me since I got here. You're a slave just like me.” You squeezed the middle hard, and he moaned as his eyes closed. “Why are you so much better?”

“Because I don't give my holes to the highest bidder,” he said through gritted teeth as he watched your hand stroke him.

“You did that when you ended up in this house,” you said, jerking him faster. Clear precum began leaking From him almost right away. “Look at you, already about to burst for me. What's the matter, Yeosang? Can't hold it back? Do you cum too quickly?”

“Fuck you,” he huffed, “Slut.”

“A slut who's about to make you cum,” you retorted.

“Since it's all you know how to do. Even right now…You're jerking me off in front of Jongho, because you're so used to it that you don't care who watches,” he grabbed your hand and made you pick up the pace. “We all watched you through Yunho’s peep holes last night. We watched you get run through like a bitch in a kennel. We saw you cum so many times you barely remembered your own name.”

“And I bet you jerked off to me like the penniless perverts who peek into brothel windows,” you said, gripping him tightly. “You're too fucking poor to buy a woman, and that’s if you could find a slave who’d have you in the first place.”

Yeosang grabbed your chin with his other hand, glaring at you as he spoke, “You think I fucking care if they want it or not? They're just a hole.” He pulled your ear to his lips, “You are just a hole. You're a pretty slutty hole for them and anyone else to fuck. You're lucky they wouldn't let me have you.” He pressed his lips right to your ear, “I'd fuck you so hard and for so long you wouldn't be able to sit for weeks.”

“I doubt it,” you scoffed. “Not with this tiny thing.”

“You better hope they never throw you in the greenhouse,” he said. “The greenhouse whores are fair game. Trust me,” he laughed through teeth, “I'll fuck you-you-you all night if I w-wa-wan’t.”

In a few more pumps, thick white drops shot out in short spurts. Directed at his clean, pressed uniform, it splattered against the black fabric as Yeosang trembled in place. You kept the wave going. You pumped him the same speed, hard and fast, until your arm started burning. When he finished, Yeosang laid back on the couch, sweat beading his brow and chest heaving. You purposefully wiped your sticky hand on his pant leg, which made him growl.

“Oh, I'm sorry, Yeosang,” you said innocently, “Did you make a mess on your nice, clean uniform?”

“Bitch,” he grunted, using a handkerchief to wipe most of the mess. “Like I said, you're lucky they like you.” He zipped himself up and stood from the couch. “If they didn’t, you’d be a mindless hole in the greenhouse.”

“Bye Yeosang,” you beamed, “Hope you can get those stains out.”

Yeosang slammed the door behind him, leaving you and Jongho alone. You spotted the slight bump in his pants. The animosity still stayed in your chest as you said, “Did you have fun watching me too?”

“Huh, what?” Jongho asked, flustered and embarrassed. “Oh, um well, if you… it's nothing uncommon here. We all do that. The Masters don't mind, really.”

You giggled at his awkwardness, “Did you like it though?”

“I did,” he nodded. “I don't like it like Yeosang, but yes, I did, um, you know… enjoy watching you.”

You stood from the couch, feeling the stickiness between your thighs again, and smiled at him. “Maybe your masters will let you have a taste someday.”

“Oh, I don't think they would. I haven't worked here as long as the others.”

“You never know,” you said as you walked past him, “You just might get lucky.”

You walked into Seonghwa’s bathroom alone, shedding off your dress as you waited for the warm water. You hadn't seen him until you'd gotten in the water, inhaling the lavender scent rising from the suds. Jongho sat on a chair in the corner of the room, his cock in his hand and jerking hurriedly. You couldn't help laughing.

“Are you even allowed to watch?” you asked, no longer bothered by it.

“We can watch,” he said, “Not touch.”

“You're just going to sit there and watch me bathe then?” You sat up more in the tub, making sure the suds just barely covered your chest. Lathering them in soap, Jongho groaned at the sight of you touching yourself.

“If it's…okay.”

“I don't mind,” you rose from the water, soap bubbles still clinging to you. “I'm used to being watched all the time.”

So, you lathered yourself in soap as Jongho masturbated in front of you. You supposed if you'd be living in a palace full of horny perverts, you'd enjoy yourself. The thought of having as much demon cock as you wanted sounded like a dream. Even if your masters decided when and who you'd do it with, you knew with the right words or touches, they'd melt in your mouth. It made you feel like the woman you used to be: an ambitious vixen. You’d missed making men drool over you without having to do much of anything; you enjoyed the teasing. You let out soft sighs whenever you felt over a specific spot or brought attention to certain parts of your body. Jongho looked at nothing but you. It was when you jiggled and spread your ass cheeks did he finally cum. Like Yeosang, he dirtied his black slacks with thid strings of white. You felt tempted to clean them with your mouth, wanting to taste the long dick softening in his hand. But, you knew better.

“I'm sorry,” he said quickly, wiping himself with a towel. “I really shouldn't have come here-”

“-Will you at least help me dry off? I forgot to bring a towel,” you cut him off. Jongho grabbed it, then handed it to you. “And it's okay,” you said, getting out to dry off. “I don't mind. I'm used to it.”

“I still shouldn't take advantage of my position over you,” he said. “I don't want you to think I'm that kind of handler. I wouldn't do that to you.’

“Unless our Masters say so, right?”

“Right.”

Just because he looked so sweet and you couldn't help yourself, you drew close and said, “I do hope that happens soon. There are a lot more positions you could have over me.”

“YN…”

You let him have one last peek before leaving the bathroom. You might get in trouble, you might not. You didn't care at the moment. It felt good. For once, you held a bit of power in your hands, and nobody could take it from you.

***

A/N: as you can see, I can't stop myself from adding the other members lmao I hope you enjoyed this one, Hongjoong is one the way and...yeah, you're in for it lol

#pirateeznet #park seonghwa #ateez #ateez fanfiction #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #seonghwa smut #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #park seonghwa smut

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