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sprout-fics · 2 months

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Oh Muse, Tell me of the Things Done by Golden Aphrodite

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F! Reader)

Rating: Explicit Wordcount: 5.6k Warnings: None Tags: Greek Mythology AU, Greek God inspired, Human sacrifice reader, God of death and wrath Ghost, Size difference, Size kink, Praise Kink, (Marriage kink if you squint?), PiV sex, Aftercare, Eros and Psyche inspired, Cliffhanger A/N: Part two dependent on reception

They call your fate a tragedy.

It’s a necessary one, the temple priest says, as you weep at the steps leading up to the grand mausoleum- inlaid with gold and obsidian. You wrap your arms around yourself as they tell you of your duty, inform you of your sacrifice. The statue of the god of wrath and death looms tall and menacing behind him, his bone white mask a single flash of pale amidst the dark, swirling robes that cover his limbs. You shiver as you look upon it, flesh cold as you imagine your final moments pleading at his feet.

A sacrifice, they say.

One to appease the god as death ravages your city, an holy offering innocent, beautiful and pure to quell his anger and rage. Eyes rest upon your trembling shoulders in a mixture of hope and pity, and you know even if you cry out none shall aid you. Your destiny is to die at the hands of a god so that they may live, and if it means your life is called for, they shall offer it for you.

You do not scream or struggle as they take you into the temple, you do not speak as they wash you and smooth aromatic oils into your shivering skin. You do not even look at them when they clothe you in a dark chiton and allow a veil to flutter over your despairing, tear-rimmed eyes.

When they close the altar doors behind you, you dare not throw yourself against them in one last bid for freedom.

The altar is dark, black marble columns stretching high above you and vanishing into a ceiling that the candlelight doesn’t reach. Lanterns litter the steps leading up to the sacrificial altar, with opulent offerings of jewels, weapons, and polished bones stacked high. Shadows dance between them, casting long and sinister against the temple walls. Your bare feet skim the cold stone floor as you ascend, tracing your hand against the frigid, dark mirror surface of the altar. You were not told what to do, only to wait.

So you wait, and you wait longer, sitting upon the edge of the altar, trembling and holding in your cries until they break apart inside your throat. The chamber is silent as the grave, with not a breeze or whisper of warm air to comfort your frigid flesh. Eventually only the sound of your hiccuping sobs fills the emptiness, as you weep for your fate, for the tragedy that has befallen you, for how they shall remember your name in poems, until at last you fall asleep splayed upon the dark altar and awaiting your demise.

As you dream fitfully of the ever after, the candles waver and snuff out with a cold gust of wind. Dark eyes regard your pliant form prone atop the piles of offerings.

and quietly, arms reach forward and cradle you to him as you are taken away.

---

When you awake, it is in somewhere new.

You come to far more gently than you anticipated, soft dreams still clinging velvet to your slumber. It takes a moment for you to realize that you’re no longer curled tightly atop the hard surface of the altar, but rest instead upon silk sheets and soft, plush bedding. The veil still drapes across your face, and as you delicately lift it, your surroundings are revealed to you.

It’s a large chamber, far larger than the temple, but sparsely furnished. You lay upon a bed fit for a man larger than any you’ve ever laid eyes upon, adorned with dark sheets and embroidered with gold thread. Torches flicker with a strange black light against the walls- silver dancing along the outer edge of flames. The blazing hearth does the same amidst a mantle of dark stone, stretching upwards into a ceiling you’ll never reach. A mirror and a basin stands in the corner, and beside them curtains blow in from the balcony, where dawn glows yellow against the horizon.

You’re alone.

You’re careful as you creep from bed towards the balcony, the wind ruffling your gown as you stand at the precipice. Below, a stark mountain valley yawns dark and fathomless without end.

The door groans as it opens.

You flinch away from the sound, spinning and feeling terror pool low and vile in your stomach at the sight that awaits you.

It’s him.

Taller than any man, a being of pure power, the god Ghost stands at the doorway clad in billowing dark fabric, his dark eyes boring into your shivering form from behind the stark white of his skull mask. The sheer size of him is enough to send goosebumps racing down your spine, his immortal stature ensuring you scarcely come up to his chest. The strength of his limbs is curled in tight muscle discernible even with his cloak, and when you meet his eyes you think of the space between stars- a void into which no light escapes.

He takes only three strides to cross the chamber.

You cower backwards until your spine hits the railing of the balcony, and as you glance over your shoulder the valley wind roars from the depths. You wonder if it is a more fitting end to hurl yourself from here than face whatever slow death the God of Wrath has ordained for you.

He stops just at the threshold, regarding you as you look up at him with tearful, terrified eyes. At this nearness you can sense the pure energy that rolls off of him in waves, a strangeness that speaks of something far from human, an unfathomable power that your mortal soul will never fully understand.

“Don’t.” Is the first word he ever says to you, looking past you to the valley. He reaches out his hand, not an inch of his flesh visible beneath his gauntlet of white bone. “Come.”

You stay where you are, heartbeat fluttering as you eye his outstretched palm.

“If I was going to kill you, I would have done it when you were asleep.” He intones, voice deep like distant, rolling thunder. There’s a strangeness to it you cannot place, the tone of it ringing between your ears in a distant echo, otherworldly.

“Don’t hurt me, please.” Are the first words you return to him, desperate as a thing wheezes from your lungs.

Ghost stares at you unblinkingly, and despite the black ichor that paints his gaze, his eyes look almost kind.

“Come away from the balcony.” He tells you, his voice softer.

You cast another glance down at the dark valley, swallowing hard, before at last reaching your hand forward and settling it in his cold palm. He draws you inside, out of the wind, and you find yourself hovering near the hearth with its strange, dancing flames.

“Your name.” He tells you, watching as you hesitantly warm yourself, carefully looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

When you tell him, he repeats it. Slow, purposeful, as if tasting a foreign fruit for the first time. It shivers through you, as if he somehow has wound magic through the sound alone.

“You will stay here.” He tells you under no uncertain terms. “In my palace. No harm shall come to you here.”

You blink at that, face falling open with confusion as you turn to him fully.

“Why...?”

Ghost regards you coolly, but when you focus on his eyes you can swear they crinkle with a wry smile.

“I have no reason to hurt my bride.” He explains simply.

“Your...” You echo, blinking. “I...”

“You were given to me.” He tells you, advancing upon you until he’s mere inches away, one arm braced on the hearth so he bends over your smaller, mortal form. “As a sacrifice. I saved you. Your life is mine by rights.”

Fear pulses bright through you, limbs awash with dread as the blood drains from your face. You had expected death, but the daunting reality of this, of being given to a god as a bride...

Ghost must see the terror in your eyes, for he removes himself from you, striding towards the heavy, ancient door.

“I will not touch you unless you ask.” He states, voice lower. “You are free to roam this palace as you like. There is food in the banquet hall.”

He pauses, observing you as you hesitate near the hearth.

“I will return at dusk.”

and with that, your new husband vanishes.

----

True to his word, no one stops you from roaming the palace.

It’s a massive structure, with towering black columns and high ceilings. Obsidian, marble, and gold accentuates every corner, and you find treasures and trophies displayed at every turn. You are entirely alone as you wander, bare feet skimming against the cold tile as you take in your new home. Each room reveals a new wonder. A bath with glimmering water that billows steam from golden fountains, a garden with dark roses that creep along stone walls, a library with scrolls in tongues you don’t understand, and a banquet hall filled with food that doesn’t seem to rot.

You eat until your stomach is full, and with every bite the food tastes more delicious than the bite before. You scrub yourself in the bath, and when you exit you find fresh garments awaiting you, embroidered with glimmering thread. The finery is beyond anything you dared imagine, and quietly you feel your reservations departing you as the thought of possibly escaping ebbs slowly from your mind.

Dusk finds you back at his chambers, watching the shadows grow long against the walls as slumber slowly descends upon you.

You’re on the brink of sleep when the bed dips, and a bare hand curls gently against your cheek. In your half-dreams, you nuzzle into the touch with a languid sigh, feeling the air fan across his palm. Ghost is silent as he lays beside you, observing your restful face with half-lidded eyes. His mask lays on the table beside him, disposed along with his cloak and armor.

You see nothing when you’re roused by the sensation of him tucking you against him, the world engulfed in darkness. Hypnos whispers across your senses as your eyelids flutter, trying to discern the shape of him as he presses in close behind you. Ghost tucks his legs under yours, his massive frame curling around you and his nose burrowing into the junction of your throat and jaw, where he draws in a heavy breath.

“Sleep, mortal.” He whispers there, one massive arm wrapping across your front.

True to his order, and engulfed in the warm sensation of his body pressed against yours, you find the gossamer veil of sleep draw over you once more.

He’s gone again come morning.

You awake alone, and find yourself missing the presence of him.

The banquet hall is refreshed with food of all kinds- delicacies from far lands you’ve never traveled to. You spend an exorbitant amount of time in the baths, dozing gently as steam billows around you. In the library you find a collection of war poems that you devour with eager eyes until the sun begins to slope towards the horizon, and oddly you do not find yourself entirely bored despite being alone in the massive pantheon to which he has left you.

Yet as darkness descends, you find yourself awake in his bed, waiting for him.

When he at last appears, as the moment where all light has drawn away from the horizon, the dark candles snuff out in a cold billow of wind. Plunged into darkness, the only sensation available to you is a hand caressing your cheek.

“Little bride.” He rumbles as the bed dips before you. “Were you so eager to see me you chose to forego sleep?”

Hesitantly, you raise a hand to press his own against your face, feeling the immense size of it dwarf your own.

“Yes.” You tell him in a scarce whisper, as if you’re revealing a tender secret. Your heartbeat thrums loud in your ears, fluttering inside the cage of your ribs as he draws closer. You try to remember the words you had meant to say- a thank you for saving you? Awe at the splendid riches allowed to you? A quiet plea to leave, one which you don’t truly mean?

You reach forward in the darkness, finding the shape of him broad and strong against your palm. There’s smooth skin of scars that litter his immortal flesh, across the wide breadth of his chest, down to his waist, traced across his arm and shoulders and the massive span of his back. He’s bare to you, and you can’t suppress a shiver at the mere thought that you are laying with a God.

“You’re frightened.” He notes at the shake in your hands, attempting to draw away from you.

“No.” You tell him, a hand gripping tighter to his to prevent his retreat. Words clog your throat, lips parted with breath as you feel his coal-dark eyes bore into you in the inkinesss of his chambers.

“Touch me.” You whisper instead.

When he bends to you, he swallows the sigh that pours past your lips.

Ghost defiles you in the way warriors do- pure strength tempered by careful restraint. You splay under him bare, his hands smoothing over your flesh like admiring a masterful weapon. He memorizes the curves and softness of you, humming notes low and deep into your skin as he drinks in your scent like ambrosia. He spends his time admiring the outline of you in the darkness, fingers dipping between your legs and spreading you over large, calloused fingers until you mewl and grip at the fine silk sheets.

“Sweet little thing.” He rumbles, pleased, as you offer him high, keening moans, head tossed back against the pillows. Wetness dribbles down your thighs, coats his hand just as he licks greedy and hot into your open mouth that chants his name. His towering frame bends over you, hauls you to his waiting hands with hardly any effort. Your hands scrape against his shortly shorn hair as he lays claiming bites across your throat and collarbone and Ghost moans against your skin like the pain and pleasure are twin beings.

“Ghost.” You chant in a hymn as his worshipers do when his clever tongue drinks down your arousal at your entrance, and the answering growl that he responds with sends pleasure fissuring down your spine like the earth split open. His hands hold you still as you buck and writhe with your climax, broken sounds filling the empty chamber so loud you think your shout can be heard at the far reaches of the palace.

He shushes you when at last he sheathes himself inside you, the girth of him splitting you wide enough you whimper into his chest. Yet he holds you to him, noses into your hair and whispers low, soothing words as your legs quiver.

“Good.” He purrs as you go pliant against him with a keening sigh, arms looped around his neck and nails digging into the flesh of his spine. “Perfect little bride. They were right to offer you to me.”

You think the nectar of the gods must taste like the glide of his tongue when he kisses you.

Ghost plays the symphony of your flesh like poets play the harp. His massive frame hunches over yours, the sheets tangled around you and his fingers entwined with your own. Each roll of his hips has you choking on a plea, has him huffing hot breaths and growling filthy praises in your ear.

“Made for me. Just me.” He groans, voice grinding deep in his chest as he ruts into you. Slow, measured, infuriatingly not enough. The drag of him inside you threatens to pull you under into madness as you mewl and squirm, desperately chasing the touch of him. “Made to take me, made to be in my bed, in my palace.”

It’s possessive, almost wild with the force of his claiming you. You go to him willingly, tears watering your eyes as you choke on a sob of pleasure. Yet it’s not enough, as he draws your pleasure higher, higher, burning you alive like the inferno of the heavenly sun but refusing to push you over the precipice. You plead his name, dig your fingers into the dip of his spine, ask for divine mercy that he keeps just beyond your mortal reach.

“Say my name.” He tells you, the sound of your coupling echoing out into the chamber- wet and debauched along with your desperate gasps.

“Ghost.” You sob, clinging helplessly to him, laying kisses upon his bare face in the darkness as an offering to the altar of him. “Ghost.”

In return, Ghost bestows upon you your own name, snarling it wild and feral against your lips as you at last fall apart beneath him. You choke on a cry of his name as something great and tender snaps abruptly inside you, races outwards along your limbs with such sudden ferocity you wonder for a moment if you’re been burned alive. Yet the pleasure itself drowns you like the deep and bottomless ocean- a surrender where you try to claw your way to the surface and instead allow the depths to take you.

Ghost growls as he buries himself fully inside the wet clutch of your heat, emptying inside your heaving form with a long, low groan. You feel the spend on him leak from your joining, collapsing against him as you try to remember how to breathe. Ghost adjusts so you lay sprawled atop his broad chest, rising slow and purposefully beneath you as you tuck your head under his chin. A war-worn hand strokes lazy paths against your skin, and you hear him hum with a deep satisfaction at your consummation. You feel claimed in the best of ways, not as one of his beloved war trophies but as his.

When you finally grow restful against his chest, you prop your chin up and try to find the shape of him in the darkness. He’s absent of his mask, you know, and curiously you try to discern his features in absolute blindness. You wonder if he’s as handsome as you dare to dream.

“Why can I not see you?” You ask in a whisper, and Ghost’s hand stills where it traces along the ridge of your spine. He’s tense, and it startles you when he speaks with his voice pitched low, authoritative in a way he’s never spoken to you before.

“As long as you remain here, you will never see my face.” He tells you, his chest vibrating under your palms. “I will care for you, protect you, and you will be mine, but you never see me. Understood?”

You don’t, really, understand. Confusion wrinkles your brow at the enigmatic declaration, but Ghost eases under you as you nod anyways, and the comfort of his gentle touch resumes, and assuages you of your worries until you fall asleep.

In the morning he lingers in your marital chambers, the pale light of dawn glinting off the armor he has donned before you awoke. He sits at the edge of the bed, a bone white gauntlet stroking with surprising gentleness across your brow. You catch it with your palm, kiss across his ivory knuckles as he huffs a warm breath of affection.

“I will return.” He tells you softly, and steps towards the balcony, only to vanish in a billow of smoke.

You lounge in bed in his absence, feeling the pleasurable soreness of your lovemaking imbue itself in your muscles and limbs. Even after a full rest you find yourself exhausted, and it isn’t long before you curl back into the sheets until the chariot of the sun reaches its zenith. Even then, you wince to yourself as you creep from bed, roused by your empty stomach and the mess between your thighs. You don’t make it farther than the basin at the edge of the room before your legs threaten to fail you, and you resign yourself to a few sips of water and washing what you can before collapsing back into bed.

You’re still there when he returns, and Ghost pauses when he hears your empty stomach, hums with dissatisfaction when you tell him of your troubles. With no effort at all, he lifts you into his arms and walks in the way gods do- only several long strides before you find yourself at the baths. Candles cast shadows against the walls, dancing hypnotically as Ghost deposits you at the edge of the water, pausing to disrobe himself of all but his mask before once more lifting you and walking into the baths with you in his arms.

The moan that bubbles up your throat at the heat that ensconses your weary limbs prompts a laugh from the God above you, who releases you only enough to reach for oils at the tiled edge. Ghost is careful, deliberate as he washes you, and despite your protests he insists, as if the act itself is another means of proving his devotion. Yet he can’t resist grazing a rough thumb over your nipples until you squeak, dipping his fingers between your thighs in slow, lazy circles until your legs tighten around his wrist.

Ghost takes you like that, holding you flush to him as his fingers work deftly inside of you, plucking at something bright and powerful until your voice fills the chamber with gasping, wanton pleas. You grip at him as you gush over his palm with your climax, a whimpering sound caught in your chest as he lauds affections into your slick skin.

When you are at last clean and sated, Ghost wraps you in his own cloak before you find yourself in the banquet hall with grapes being lifted to your lips. You know the tale of the goddess taken to the netherworld and having eaten the fruit there, know it meant forever tying herself to a place of death. Yet as your lips close around his fingers as the morsels are fed to you, you can think of no other realm in which you’d rather be.

and silently, you wish you could see the face of the man who has taken you as his bride.

The days are spent as such. You become accustomed to the palace, teaching yourself its interior so you can navigate it blind. You spend hours in the baths, dozing with your head cradled by your arms on the tiled edge. You devour the poems in the library and write your own thoughts on parchment beside them which you find in boundless supply. In the afternoons before Ghost returns you walk on long strolls through his gardens which seem ever changing, blooming with iridescent blossoms and fragrant lilies bright like starlight. You find a harp which seems to offer no sour note despite your lack of familiarity, and wind beautiful music through the obsidian and onyx halls of his home. You find yourself wanting for nothing- not food or shelter or finery of any nature. In return, you offer your love to the God who has claimed you, and to you he returns the same.

Ghost returns to you at sunset, and most nights find your form tangled with his as he takes you whimpering and breathless against the sheets. He seems to know your body like a swordsman knows his blade, invents new ways to pluck at your desire until the only thing you can offer him is reedy, desperate sounds of his name, reminding him you are his. Afterwards he tends to you, and even then you kiss the other shell of his mask as steam billows around you in the baths as your bare bodies embrace.

You find yourself increasingly nocturnal if only to spend the long hours of darkness in his company, talking and touching in the absence of any illumination. You ask him of the poems in his library, of the trophies that adorn his palace, of the emptiness between these walls and how he bore the loneliness that came before you. You ask him of the offerings given to him by his worshippers, of immortality and all things of a god-like nature.

You never ask him to show his face.

Instead you map it with delicate touches in the darkness, trying to instill in yourself an image of his likeness behind the mask. His jaw is strong, and along it you think you feel the smooth skin of another scar that snakes up towards his ear. His hair is short, and you wonder if it is the same dark color as his ember stare. His lips are soft as they press to your skin, as if he himself is the acolyte to your divinity.

As the weeks turn into seasons, and the high winds of autumn reach the mountaintop, he tells you of how he became a God.

Gods are not born. They are chosen, he says. Those of great valor, of devotion and strength are lifted into the pantheon and blessed with immortality, with divinity beyond that of human comprehension. Outliving those who once knew them as human, their legends are inscribed in the songs and poems, spoken of in many tongues until their following becomes great and loyal.

When you ask him with quiet reverence how he became immortal, Ghost’s form goes rigid with something you think can only be fury.

“I was betrayed.” He tells you, voice filled with murderous intent.

He tells you how he was once a soldier- a warrior that some claimed was already a demi-god. Yet he was mortal when his commander betrayed him, abandoned him on a hill of battle upon which Ghost was buried beneath a pile of rotting corpses, slowly suffocating under the weight of dead men. He had clawed himself free with savage intent, feeling rage become the only emotion known to him. It had taken days for him to free himself of the putrid flesh and decay that surrounded him, and it was only once he stood upon the pile of death that he breathed in his first gasp of immortality. The wrath became him, and he became wrath, or so the legends are said.

When you ask him how long ago this was, Ghost does not answer you.

You try not to think of what will happen when he witnesses your final, mortal breath.

and you try not to wish to see his face before you die.

“Are you hideous?” You ask him teasingly, drawing circles on his bare chest as his fingers idly soak themselves in the spend between your legs.

“Far from it.” He replies dryly, and you place a giggling smile upon his grinning lips.

You try not to dwell on it. There is so much you have to be grateful for, after all. A warm bed, a blazing hearth, clothes, a home, food, endless entertainment, and most importantly a husband who swears his devotion to you every sunset.

Yet in the daylight you find yourself missing him, and in the hollow place of his absence you try not to let temptation take root in the emptiness.

It’s on a cold morning when you find a snake in the garden.

You’re bent over a swath of coal-dark dahlias when you hear it slither behind you. When you turn, you’re greeted with mahogany dark eyes and shimmering green scales. Yet even as you flinch away the serpent doesn’t deign to chase you, regarding you curiously as it speaks in sibilant, seductive words.

“I see the God of Wrath has found himself a muse.” A feminine voice purrs, amused. “Which mortal realm did he steal you away from?”

“I wasn’t stolen.” You retort, shying away as the snake curls closer around your bare feet. “I was an offering.”

Sinister, the snake laughs at you. “And has he refused to let you leave? Are you too afraid to try? He may kill you, hermosa.”

“He wouldn’t.” You manage, tucking yourself up on a pedestal where your dress drapes over the edge. “He loves me.”

“Oh?” The snake asks, curling around the base of the stone, where the light reflects upon its shimmering body. “Are you sure, little muse?”

“Of course.” You reply quickly, even though a shadow casts longer upon your heart with every word spoken by the serpent.

The snake hums thoughtfully, winding itself around the stone slowly, until at last it raises its smooth head to the level of your gaze.

“Then why hasn’t he shown you his face?”

You falter at that, hugging your knees defensively and brow furrowing with dismay. The serpent plucks at the secret doubt inside you that you quietly tuck away at every sunset, that you feel thrum under your fingers as you trace the planes of his face in darkness. You try to conceal it, hardly ever speak of it, but you can’t help but wonder why Ghost refuses to show himself to you.

“Maybe he’s a monster.” The snake goes on. “Grotesque and rotten. The only way he can have your love is if you never see him.”

That can’t be true. Your husband is beautiful and strong, and you know even if he was hideous you would still love him for his fierce protectiveness and tender care. Even if his visage was obscured by scars of battle past, you would still love him.

“He doesn’t trust you, little muse.” The snake hisses quietly, and it sounds strangely pitying, a sadness which you feel plays upon the harp strings of your ribs. “Can you truly be wed to a man who does not believe in you?”

“Ghost loves me.” You repeat in a whisper, mostly to yourself.

“If that were true, he would love you even if you saw his face.” The snake offers, tongue flickering in your ear.

Something dark and viscous simmers in your stomach like tar, and you further hunch in on yourself, uncertain.

“Away with you.” You say at last, refusing to look at the serpent, who laughs wickedly as she winds herself into the bed of dahlias, and vanishes.

That night, when Ghost lays with you, the whisper of his affections feels sour against your skin.

You lay awake even as he sleeps behind you, his massive form curled around you and bracketing you in his warmth. The darkness looms long inside your thoughts, where the words of the serpent echo into the void where light fails to illuminate the face of your husband.

He loves me, he loves me, he loves me.

Yet you know of Ghost’s warning, his oath that you will no longer be his if you see his face. To risk the love he has given you for such a temptation seems sacreligious, a sin for which there is no return.

He doesn’t trust you, the snake whispers.

In the morning, you feign sleep while you hear him depart to realms unknown.

He’ll return after dark. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

You do not find the snake in the garden.

He doesn’t trust you.

“You’re mine.” He huffs, dark and deep against your lips in your bed that night, and you shield your cry of desperation behind a moan. You give everything to him, your entire being, lay it bare before him as the offering you are, knowing he will keep you safe and love you with fierce devotion the way warriors love their oaths.

He loves you.

He leaves at dawn.

but he doesn’t trust you.

The wick burns against your fingertips as you light it.

You approach the bed with silent steps, your bare feet skimming across the stone as they did in the temple at the altar as you’d sacrificed yourself to him.

He loves you.

He’d taken you, spared you, made you his bride. He gave you his palace and all the treasures within, and with it came his love.

You see the broad, scarred plane of his back as you draw closer.

He hides behind a mask, refuses to let you see the one thing that nobody else has ever seen. Not even you, his offering, his bride, his muse, his beloved.

The candlelight illuminates his face.

and you feel your breath catch tightly in your chest.

He’s breathtaking.

The word ‘divine’ does not compare to his likeness, with his eyes closed and his lips parted in sleep. His alabaster skin shielded from the sun is written with scars, but the stories told by them seem like the songs of great poets, wild and magnificent in the way of feral things. Long, blonde lashes swoop gently over his cheeks, still rosy with the exertion of your lovemaking, face slack and open in his slumber.

He’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

Even when his dark eyes open, look upon you with despair, he’s still beautiful.

“No.” Ghost speaks in a tone you’ve never heard, full of grief, and it stabs through you like a blade. “How could you?”

“Ghost-” You try, reaching for him as he raises himself from bed, drawing to his full height and towering above you. Yet your fingers are just short as he draws away, towards the balcony.

“Leave.” He tells you, his voice hardening with fury as a cold wind begins to billow around his form, cast in starlight.

“No-” You try, panic bubbling up your throat as you try to move forward to him, pleas for forgiveness upon your lips. “Ghost-!”

“LEAVE.” Ghost bellows as smoke churns wildly about his immortal form, the cold wind slicing against your skin and preventing you from drawing near.

“I love you!” You cry in desperation as tears form, and the mantle of his cloak descends upon his shoulders, bone white replacing his face.

Ghost doesn’t respond, not as he becomes wrath, not as his eyes look upon you with betrayal and despair. You try to move forward, to touch him once more, but when you reach out your hand, skim your fingers against the outline of him-

He’s gone.

As the cold wind retreats, and with it your husband, you collapse to the floor and wail with your despair.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x you #my fic #my writing #call of duty x reader #cod x reader

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beefboyandbabygirl · 10 months

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I ❤️ DILFS / GOOD GIRL (18+)

pairing: student!brother's bff!seokmin x student!good girl!reader

genre: college au, brother's best friend au, smut (MDNI), bit of crack, a small bit of angst but not nearly as much as most of my fics

description: when you head out for college, you incidentally end up at the one your bother's best friend has disappeared to 2 years prior. now, seokmin has promised your brother, vernon, to teach you and take care of you while you're away from home. unfortunately, it seems vernon should have been a bit more specific about what exactly seokmin was supposed to be teaching you.

warnings: vernon is ur overprotective brother, seokmin is not a dilf unfortunately, dirty talk, masturbation (male and female), fingering, slight restraint?, praise (f. receiving), pet names (good girl is so overused), teaching, innocence kink, corruption kink, oral (m. receiving), tiddie play, alcohol consumption, a bit of pining, shame on the readers part, she feels a bit like a slut for a moment, kinda brief mention of miscarriage? for like a metaphor lol, jeonghan is hot in this, giselle is ur bff and i almost gave up my mission and made this whole fic ab her shes so hot, ok i think thats it

quotes my creative director (@joshibambi): "just admit u wanna bang son", "o is for orgasm", "the urge to be the younger sibling for once"

wordcount: 15.9k

a/n: the way this fic took me years to write. i hav been busy :( thank u 2 every1 who liked girl code uve made my whole year :D hope u like this one 2!!

You preferred to remember Seokmin for how he was.

How he was small and young, how he had a swanky bowlcut and how he looked in his school uniform. How he and your big brother, Vernon, had bonded and watched movies together in your living room, and the countless dinners he’d stayed over for, always so respectful to your parents and you. He wasn’t your best friend, he was Vernon’s, and yet he made it so easy to feel comfortable, so easy to feel like you were the one he came over for.

You crushed on him back then, wrote countless diary entries about him and his stupid, beautiful smile. But it had been so forbidden, you remembered feeling that, because of how Vernon had groaned at you to leave every time you peaked your head through the living room door, masking your insistent eyes on Seokmin with simply wanting to “watch a grown up movie”. Sighing, you’d turn back to your princess pink room, and the boundary - the Vernon shaped boundary - that stood between you and Seokmin grew farther.

It had almost been a relief when Seokmin left for college. That was the most terrible thing, the relief you felt while your brother was grieving the sudden separation with his best friend. But your heart simply couldn’t help but let out a long sigh - years of yearning for him when he was so close by. You felt that cool wash of repose when that border between you and him had disappeared from your view. Years of watching it, wondering whether to pad closer or turn away from it, became a distant memory. For two years you were almost a normal girl and a good baby sister.

Then it was your turn to head off for college. The nearest, big college to you accepted your application and you still distinctly remember dinner with your parents and your brother, how’d they’d cheered and clinked glasses and looked at you adoringly, because you were growing up right before their eyes. Then under the faint light of the restaurant chandelier, your mom had said something that immediately sent you hurdling back to that old, distant boundary: “Maybe you’ll see Seokmin there!”

How had you forgotten? You supposed in that time you’d let yourself be more taken with the relief. It was the thought that he would be gone that had distracted you from exactly where to. And there you were with all your moving plans and your packed backs, and your glass raised and frozen in the air and your eyes wide.

Then came the reasoning: surely, you could avoid him? It was a big college, there were plenty of people. There was no logical reason you’d really have to see him. Except for Vernon, of course. Ever so oblivious, your brother had called up Seokmin to tell him the good news, and to tell him to take care of you and protect you. And Seokmin was so sweet, of course, he’d take care of his best friend’s baby sister.

And there you were at college. All grown up.

In your defense, you had avoided him skillfully. You’d turned down his request to help you with unpacking, turned down his tour of the school (that you’d actually desperately needed - why is room 240 not with all the other 40’s?!), and most of all, you’d turned down every single message inviting you to a party.

I guess to him that was a perk; partying with the older kids. He knew you after all. He knew that you were a quiet girl and you stayed within your neatly laid brick walls, and he knew you were shy, and he knew you needed help letting loose. He knew you were a good girl.

Which is why it wasn’t surprising at all that you turned down his offers - wanting to stay focused on school. At least, that’s what you told him. Truth was even being in his vicinity had put you much closer to that boundary you’d never dared cross. You were afraid even just seeing him would send you hurdling back, like a leaf in the wind. So you didn’t go.

For a while, at least.

“This is, like, a once in a lifetime opportunity!” Giselle whined and you shook your head adamantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Well, maybe not for you, but for me!” she argued. “I can’t believe you’re consistently being invited to parties with hot, sexy men, and you’re turning it down because of one guy!”

You were currently sitting in the library with your roommate, Giselle, and you’d made the unfortunate mistake of telling her about your predicament after receiving yet another invitation to a party tomorrow. Giselle was throwing a temper tantrum because she had never ever had anything as ridiculous.

You liked Giselle a lot. She was very different from you - she was hot. You weren’t - you were cute. Giselle held boys on leashes and made them do homework for her. She liked partying and sexy, black dresses. You were a fucking nerd, and cute was the highest compliment you had ever received for your looks. Even though you were different, Giselle had immediately taken a liking to you. You had initially feared she would think you were lame, but she was so nice - except for right now.

“Come on, Y/n, there are, like, no cute guys in our year!” she said pleadingly, clasping her hands together and pouting, but you shook your head.

“You don’t understand, Giselle,” you murmured solemnly, trying to regain your focus on the science textbook in front of you.

“I understand perfectly well,” she said and you eyed her suspiciously. “I understand that you’re a bitch!”

“Alright, that’s unnecessary,” you said, closing your book. You pinched the bridge of your nose, when she went on. “No, honestly, Y/n. You’re a virgin, right?”

You snapped your head towards her in shock. Your eyes darted around frantically, before you leaned over the table to whisper to her: “How do you know that?”

“Don’t embarrass yourself, honey,” she grinned, holding back laughter and you rolled your eyes, sighing. “And what about it, Giselle?”

“How are you ever gonna get yourself out there if you’re constantly caught up on this guy and trying to keep away your feelings for him? You’ll stay a virgin forever, girl. You need to look him in the eyes and realize you’re above that childish crush!”

You stayed quiet, slumped in on yourself with your book in your lap. Why was she making sense?

You’d never thought about it that way. That your infatuation with your brother’s best friend was somehow holding you back from exploring and evolving as a woman. That maybe having him in the back of your mind every time you’d shyly made out with guys in high school, had been the thing that stopped you in your tracks.

“I can see it on your face, you know I’m right,” Giselle smiled smugly from behind the screen of her laptop. “Unless you’re asexual. In that case, fierce, but if you’re not, like, get out there, queen. Sometimes you need to realize that you have to leave one dick for another dick because the other dick is so good.”

You furrowed your brows. “Is.. Is this still about me?”

“No,” Giselle shook her head.

“Okay, yeah, ‘cause- ‘cause that didn’t..”

“Yeah, I know. I was more so, uh, angling-”

“Right-”

“Angling the story to- to my current situation.”

“I get it, yep.”

There was a moment of silence. You pursed your lips and looked at the message on your phone. Then you started typing.

“Are you telling him you’re coming with your super sexy, hot friend?”

“Yes.”

“Y/N, I LOVE YOU.” _____________________________

Regret was a nasty, old demon on your back and it had twisted and tugged at your guts, while you let Giselle get you party-ready. You’d sat on her bed, in her dress, and having her put her makeup on you, you’d sulked and tried to shrug off your back.

“You look so hot when you actually try,” she’d giggled, using a fluffy brush to spread the bake underneath your eyes.

“Thanks,” you’d mumbled, and she’d paused her movements, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked, sitting back on her knees. You had sighed, reaching a hand up to run it through your hair, but pausing midway when you realized you would ruin the styling Giselle had worked so hard on. You lowered your hand again.

“I’m not sure about this,” you’d murmured and she frowned genuinely. “Y/n, I meant what I said. I know I talk a lot about boys and stuff, but you really shouldn’t let yourself be held back by him!”

Before you could speak again, Giselle had tugged you off the floor to stand in front of her mirror.

“Look at you,” she’d cooed, clapping your shoulders. “You look so pretty!”

You’d smiled a little shyly, looking at your form in the mirror abashedly. You were pretty. Not cute, not nerdy; pretty. Curves hugged tight by a sleek, black dress from Giselle’s closet, this was a version of you that could actually see having sex - seducing men, gaining from her looks.

“I guess you’re right,” you’d said sheepishly, and Giselle had smiled sincerely and you’d let her take you to the party down the streets in a nearby frat house, and you’d almost not wavered when you stood right in front of it, music blasting out of every crevice.

But then you were inside and he was right there. For the first time in two years, he was there, and he was so hot. He was wearing a white tee and a fucking silver chain, and, God, when did he start working out, because his arms were so big and so toned. And his hair was fluffy and dark brown, and his face was slim, and the tops of his cheekbones were shining under the kitchen lamp, where he was talking to some other guy, arm flexed, as he leaned against it on the counter.

If there was one thing about Seokmin that had stayed the same it was that smile. He wore it now, laughing, as he talked to some blonde guy about something, and you wanted to scream because, there it was. The boundary, the ledge, the line, whatever, it was right before you again, right there with him. And all the feelings that came with it, your heart, wet and red in your throat, a brew of anxiety in your stomach.

Without sparing even a second, you’d clasped onto Giselle’s wrist, tugging her into a herd of anonymous people, and just walking. Walking, walking, pulling her along (she countered only with a “hey!”) only for you to hit a wall or something, just as long as you were far, far away from him.

“What the hell?” she said, when you finally stopped walking because you’d entered the living room, which was apparently more exclusive, as only a few people populated it, including a couple that was making out on the far end of the couch.

“He was there,” you gasped dramatically, as if you’d seen a ghost. “I-I can’t do this, Giselle.”

“Relax, babe, it’ll be fine. You’re away from him now, aren’t you?” Although she was trying to be supportive, you could tell she was growing a little tired of your theatrics. You couldn’t care less though, you were panting, and peering over her shoulder to see if he was somehow coming towards; and, God forbid, smile at you with that angel grin.

Giselle followed your gaze and sighed, brows furrowing. “How about I get us some drinks? Then you can let loose a little.”

You nodded absently, following her lead when she pulled you to sit down on the couch. You clambered to the couch rest, when she walked away, swaying her hips to the music.

You might’ve looked different, but you were still you. The entire scene had you uncomfortable, and you were still the shy, unconfident and nerdy girl. You cursed yourself for letting Giselle’s reassurances fool you - you would never be this type of person, and you would surely never get over Seokmin. She’d been wrong about everything.

“You okay, darling?”

You jumped at the voice, eyes darting up to see who it was.

You didn’t know him. He was handsome, though, but you’re not even sure you’d call it that. He was pretty, and he had long, black hair and big eyes and he was giving you this teasing smile, that was doing nothing to ease your nerves.

“I’m good,” you squeaked, gaze moving to a nearby pair of shoes in the corner of the room. You heard him chuckle, before he dropped into a squat before you. One lean hand came up to your knee, giving it a squeeze. “You just look so nervous, pretty,” he sat down an anonymous cup of liquor. “I don’t think I know you. Can you tell me your name?”

The hand on your knee burned into you, thumb brushing back and forth over the skin and he was looking at you so intently, it had you sputtering. “Uhm, uh, Y/n.”

His thumb froze. You looked over at him curiously to find this dumbfounded expression on his face, devious grin spreading on his pretty features. He chuckled and cleared his throat, face dropping down before he moved it back to look at you again.

“You’re the girl Seokmin’s always inviting over here?”

You nodded shyly and he smiled at you. “I’m Jeonghan.”

“Hi.”

A pause. Jeonghan squeezed your thigh, watching in delight at the way you screwed your eyes shut.

“You know, I just didn’t expect you to look like this,” he said finally and, sensing your confusion, he teasingly added: “The girl who’s always turning down parties to study.”

You blush deepened, cheeks furiously rosy, as you fiddled with your fingers in your lap. “I borrowed my friend's clothes,” you breathed, pursing your lips. “Ah!” Jeonghan gently patted the top of your thigh, nodding along exaggeratedly, “You borrowed your friend’s clothes! I see!”

He studied you while you giggled at his antics, still refusing to look him in the eye, really. He was almost suffocating, his hand on your thigh and his eyes boring into your face, and his cologne in a constant stream in and out of your nostrils. But suffocation, you decided, was almost better than being around Seokmin and having him parade his kind heart and his thick arms and his sweet smile, and just how off-limits he was.

Ripping you from your thoughts, Jeonghan stood up, placing both hands on the tops of your thighs and bending down to your face, so his nose was buried in your cheek.

“Look at me, darling,” he whispered, then pulled his face away from yours, just enough so you could gaze into his brown eyes. His hands were much higher now, squeezing hard at the plush of your thighs, dangerously close to your center and only separated by the thin fabric of Giselle’s dress.

“There she is,” Jeonghan smiled, voice a whisper. His lashes came over his eyes, when they flitted down to your lips. “Don’t you wanna come with me upstairs, and I can make you feel really, really goo-”

“JEONGHAN! GET OFF OF HER, THAT IS MY BEST FRIEND’S BABY SISTER!”

There’s a voice you know.

From across the room, Seokmin had burst through the mass of people, now power-posing with an extended finger in the direction of where Jeonghan was tilting over you, rubbing your thighs, as you sat innocently before him.

Jeonghan stood up, taking all of his heat and his suffocation and cologne with him, groaning and throwing his head back. “Seokmin!” he whined and he was suddenly no longer so suave and seductive.

“No, I won’t hear it, Jeonghan,” Seokmin said and, as much as you knew Seokmin to be sweet and tender and lovely, there was this crystal-clear anger in his voice. He walked over, one large hand pushing at Jeonghan. “Go get any other girl and sleep with her, just not her. Get your sorry ass out of here.”

Apparently Jeonghan sensed the same thing you did - a rare anger in Seokmin - because he didn’t put up much of a fight at all, only smiled at you apologetically (and then, when he was behind Seokmin, gave you a small, devious wink - he just couldn’t help himself).

You couldn’t focus much on Jeonghan at all though. Because Seokmin was standing in front of you, all muscle and huge fucking thighs by your head, and when you dared to tilt your gaze up to him, you saw how all that anger simply melted away.

“Hey,” he breathed, smiling softly.

“Hey.”

Then his eyes darkened, if only for a moment, as they traveled over your figure, gift-wrapped in that tight, black dress. His jaw clenched and he looked around for a moment. When he looked at you once more, he was giving you that smile - the one you’d fallen in love with - and the chocolate in his eyes was melting.

“Come on,” he ushered gently, one hand carefully guiding you off the couch. “Let’s go to my room where there aren’t any scary, evil, mean men.”

Despite being so on edge, so jittery, as you followed him up some distant staircase, you couldn’t help but laugh at those words. He was talking exactly like he had when you were kids. That was how you preferred to remember him; all small and young and with a swanky bowl cut, and he’s the exact same way with you, hand warm in yours, as he guides you through the house.

“Why’re you laughing?” he smiled, and you suppressed your own, trying not to dwell too much on how fast your heart was beating. “It’s just like before,” you quipped and Seokmin’s hand squeezed yours in understanding.

He lumbered down the hallway and at its very end, preceded by rows of white oak doors, he opened his own with a twist and a turn of the brass-blend knob. When he closed it, the party became muffled around you, as if his room was filled with water, and now the rest of the world was a garbled mess, and you were drowning.

His room was clean. You supposed Seokmin had never been the messy type - not even when infected by the influence of Vernon. He had a half-open closet, where you spotted folded clothes, and a circle rug and purple and green lava-lamp plugged in on his nightstand.

Seokmin apparently did not think it was clean enough, because he swooped down gallantly to grab a tossed sweater, smiling at you sheepishly when he held in between his fingers. You stared at him.

You felt like a kid again. Felt like just a young girl, creeping through the crack in the living room door, and looking at his silhouette, outlined by some grotesque horror movie playing on the TV. His sharp nose, when he turned to Vernon and laughed, his hair, all poofed and tousled and scruffy, and his smile.

And you’d let yourself fall into this trap, maybe to some extent you’d even wanted it. Because now he was right in front of you, and so was that damned barrier, right by your outstretched fingertips, and you could almost envision yourself climbing over it - climbing into his lap and-

“I didn’t think you’d ever come,” Seokmin said gently, a permanent, small smile frozen on his lips. You coughed, unready. “Uh, yeah, my friend- my friend thought I should try and.. You know, get myself out there.”

Seokmin studied you, bemused and fond, fiddling with the baby blue sweater in his hands. You were looking back cautiously, as if assessing a threat, but the threat was the sweetest, kindest boy in the whole wide world.

“Yeah, well,” he cleared his throat suddenly, ripping his gaze from you to fold the sweater onto his desk chair. “I’m sorry about Jeonghan, he’s.. You shouldn’t, uh..” Now neatly folded, you saw him rubbing the sweater between his fingers. “You should stay away from him.”

“Why?” you asked, and it was genuine enough that Seokmin let out a sigh.

“You’re too much of a good girl to be with him. He’s no good.”

A whimper clawed its way up your throat, bubbled from the depths of your belly, but you tamed it and settled on a light hum. You felt your underwear becoming a little sticky, and you wanted to die, because God, this was your brother’s best friend. They still facetimed every Tuesday and still played Fortnite together over Discord every Saturday.

“College going good?” Seokmin asked, retreating from the sweater to sit down on his bed. He looked up at you brightly and patted the spot next to him. It felt like another trap, where the folds in the blanket curved down under his weight, and would eventually lead you into him. You sat down hesitantly.

“It’s okay,” you breathed, folding your hands and in your lap and tensing your shoulders. Seokmin, fully relaxed and slumped, noted your posture and slid his hand over the exposed skin of your back. “Hey,” he whispered, so intimate it hurt your heart, “hey, hey, relax, Y/n. It’s just me.”

His eyes were soft and full of concern when he spoke quietly again, his voice almost a backdrop to the muffled sounds of dancing college students: “You know, Vernon was really concerned about how you would do away from home.”

“I’m not doing bad!” you said quickly, dismissing it immediately. Seokmin stared at you. “I just- this isn’t really my scene.”

His hand felt searing hot on your back, where it slid up and down, almost coaxing you further into him. He hummed. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

Then: “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to come. Just figured you might want that street cred of being friends with the upperclassmen.”

You snorted and, cheeks rosy as ever, started giggling, eyes still cemented to the floor. Your hair was falling gently over your face, wisps of baby hair tickling your forehead.

“It’s okay,” you sighed away the laughter, “You were just trying to get me out of my shell. I appreciate it.”

Seokmin smiled at that. His hand dropped from your back and you both stared into the expanse of his room. A small window to let in the rain, the moonlight separated by the grid, and the curtain blowing in a solemn breeze. You and Seokmin sat, both very small suddenly, like kids, on the edge of the bed and became speckled in starlight, in diamond-dust.

Then Seokmin was doing it. He was letting you be comfortable, letting you slip into a dazed joy, intoxicated from his presence. He was asking about your teachers, exams, friends, experiences, and you were both laughing together, and once again you were forgetting that Seokmin was your brother’s best friend, and he was not with you for you, but he was simply talking to you out of courtesy to your brother. He let you forget.

“You going home for the break?” he asked then, room quieted down from all the laughter. The fall break, starting tomorrow, you remembered. You’d thought about going home, but had opted to text your parents that you were staying, wanting honestly to stay in your dorm room and work on assignments and organization and just lull in bed, instead of being taken up, down and everywhere in your hometown. You shook your head.

“Really? Me neither,” he said, brows raised. “Won’t you get lonely?”

You giggled shyly. “Maybe a little.”

“We could hang out,” he breathed, and at that you tasted the boundary between you, felt it firm under your fingertips, because you couldn’t discern whether he was protecting his friend’s baby sister or if he actually liked talking to you, and your heart beat and yearned and hoped for the latter.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded, melting when you saw his smile reach his eyes.

“Didn’t you always like, uh, Mario Kart? You always wanted to play with me and Vern,” Seokmin said, but he was looking distantly into the window. You almost wanted to cry because he remembered you, remembered things that you liked. “I got it on my Playstation, we can play tomorrow.”

“I’d like that,” you said.

Then Seokmin was loaning you his hoodie, and, bathed in his warm, tender smell, he followed you home under the moon, glaring at Jeonghan on his way out.

“Keep the hoodie,” he’d said, smiling sheepishly when you stood in front of your dorm door. “It’s cute.”

He patted your head and left, thankfully before he could see how red your face was, and how you were absolutely about to blow up from unfiltered joy. You shuffled into your dorm room and tried to soothe the basking butterflies in your stomach and your burning heart.

Was he standing right across from you on that line, waiting to cross? _____________________________

Giselle woke up just early enough to catch you switching between different button-up dresses, throwing one on, looking in the mirror, and deciding to try another. She was groggy and tired and somewhat hungover, and needed to catch a train, so she could get back home.

“What are you doing?” she cried, rubbing her eyes. You scurried back and forth trying on another dress, considering white tights, then white socks, then adjusting the tone and volume of your blush.

“I’m-” you gasped in between your hard labor, “I’m seeing a boy!”

This caught Giselle’s attention. She shot straight up in her bed and looked at you with huge eyes. “No way!”

“Yeah way!” you giggled deviously. You turned around to face her. “What do you think of this outfit?”

“You look cute!” Giselle praised, nodding to your red strawberry dress and your knee-highs. You slumped. There it was again - cute. Not hot, not pretty, but cute. That was what you were; like a child, like the kid Seokmin knew years ago, like his best friend’s baby sister. Nothing more.

“Who is this mystery guy?” Apparently Giselle was too busy rubbing sleep out of her eyes to see how her compliment had deflated you.

“It’s Seokmin. My-”

“Your brother’s best friend?!” She gasped. It was one shock after another from you that morning. “I wanna say I’m disappointed in you, but.. If you pull this off you’re way freakier than me.”

“We’re not gonna have sex!” you groaned, pouting as you hastily shoved on your shoes. “We’re gonna play Mario Kart.”

“Right, this cute guy just invited you over for Mario Kart and nothing else, I get it,” Giselle said sarcastically.

“You don’t know him,” you mumbled defensively, shoes on and now staring at yourself in the mirror once more. “Cute,” the mirror spat at you.

“All men are the same,” Giselle rolled her eyes and threw herself back on the bed. You snorted and began to walk out the door.

“Y/n, wait!”

“Hm?”

Halfway out the door, a tote bag slung over your shoulder and ready to step into the sunlight, you peered back into the room. Giselle, in her sweats and hair fussed, stumbled blindly towards the door. She reached into her pocket and produced a-

“A condom?!” you shrieked, outraged. And not just any condom: a condom in white packaging with the lettering “I ❤️ DILFS”. You truly did not understand how Giselle managed to be a caricature of herself time after time.

“You need to wear protection, he’s in a frat, right?” she shrugged. You glared at her. “I’m not bringing a condom.”

“Alright, I guess,-” Giselle pretended to think, “I guess, you’ll just have to get chlamydia.”

You stared at her for a moment, bristling. Then you snatched it out of her outstretched hand.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re a prude.”

“Goodbye, Giselle!”

The condom slipped into your tote with ease to lay snug with all your other items and then you were out the door and heading towards Seokmin’s frat house. The sun was dulled by a few clouds, but it was still shining. Leaves were turning brown and red and yellow and were falling from trees to crunch underfoot - everything was lovely.

But the expanse, in your head, was much different. In your head you were traveling the soft dunes of a desert, spotting in the brown and red and yellow horizon a cleft in the sand. When you reached it, wide and long, seemingly endless to each side of you, you were standing right in front of Seokmin’s house.

You weren’t sure how long you stood there, knuckles white where you grasped your tote, and eyes big and heart pounding. What if Giselle was right? Did you want her to be right? Would you even be able to please him if she was? Half-heartedly you tried to push away the images of Seokmin pushing into you, arms flexing on either side of your head, that spawned alongside the thought. Maybe you straddling him, his hands on your ass, his head buried in your chest, or-

“Y/N!”

You jumped, clutching your bag tight, when you snapped your head up to the voice. It was Seokmin and he was waving at you from his upstairs-window, smiling so brightly you swore the sun reflected off of his teeth.

“What are you standing there for, come inside! Door’s unlocked!” he yelled, body disappearing in the window. You stared at the window for a moment, his presence now absent, before you nodded to yourself in reassurance. You could do this, right? Just Mario Kart and small talk.

Truth was, you couldn’t do this. Not even in the slightest. You and Seokmin sat cross-legged on his bed, TV on the wall before it, drinking soda and crunching on chips. Seokmin was drenched in a green, fuzzy sweater, collarbones peeking over the rounded neck, and fingers peeking through the sleeves, where he held his controller, and God forbid, his hair was all soft and fluffy, and he was wearing fucking puppy socks.

And he was competitive, too. He was leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he sped through the course. You huffed when he blue-shelled you, and you tried to refocus.

“I thought you said you were good?” he teased, eyes leaving the screen for only a second to look at you - you, dress bunched up to your thighs and tongue peeking through your pretty, subtly red lips. A second was all that was necessary.

Suddenly, his character (baby Daisy) swerved off-course, falling into the pit below and he screeched, seemingly genuinely sad, as your character (Toadette) overtook him, the little gold badge popping up in the corner to tell you that you were number one.

“What were you saying?” you giggled cockily when you finished the last round, Seokmin unable to quite catch up to you in the last stretch. He threw himself back on the bed in defeat, groaning into his hand.

“I can’t believe I let you win,” he cried.

“Let me?” you repeated in disbelief. You scoffed and put down the controller, pretending that Seokmin lying all angelic on his bed sheets wasn’t making your stomach pinch with static. “Pretty sure that was just pure skill on my part. Don’t blame me because you’re bad at Mario Kart.”

A blow to his talents in Mario Kart was a blow to him. He snapped his head up to look at you, playfully angry. “Oh, oh wow, really? I’m bad at Mario Kart now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, smiling cheekily at him. Seokmin studied you for a moment, before he shuffled into a sitting position. His gaze almost made you shy. Did he want to kiss you as much as you wanted to kiss him?

Seokmin shuffled closer to you and you almost stopped breathing: “Don’t I remember you being ticklish?”

You were almost so caught up in your fantasy to realize what he said. Your eyes widened in realization and you most immediately tried to twist your body away: a punishment was upon you.

“No- NO!-” You cried out but it was too late. Seokmin wrestled his body into yours, fingers dancing and prodding into your sides. Drowning in laughter, your face twisted into tortured pleasure, as you tried to bat his hands away. Your attempts were futile - each time you shuffled away, he followed right with you, fingers unrelenting as your torso twisted and turned.

"Hehehehehehe- NO, PLEASE!- hehehehehehe!”

Your knees pushed with all their might and you were almost able to drag yourself to the edge of the bed. There, you could gain distance and talk him down from beyond his desk. But Seokmin was smart. He sensed your escape plan when you squirmed away, and without much thought, he pulled his body on top of yours, weight pinning you down.

You were still giggling and squirming, when his fingers finally let up. You were both panting from the excitement, Seokmin smiling down at you adoringly. Then, both of your smiles dropped.

It was like it took a few moments to realize; he was straddling you. Hips pushed into yours, all his weight rested on your crotch - your crotch, which was now pulsating. To make matters worse, the skirt of your dress had ridden up and most of your plush thighs were now visible to him, and your chest was halfway out of your dress, and your cheeks were flushed and your hair was spread out on the sheets beneath you. Seokmin seemed unsure of where to put his hands, while you both stared at each other, breathing in the thick, heavy silence.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay, I-”

“I really- I don’t know what-”

“Don’t worry-”

You were pulling down your dress again, cheeks literally flaming red and bottom lip caught between your teeth. Silence swallowed you both whole.

You wanted him back on your hips so bad. It hurt. You were aching in quick pulses, but you couldn’t even look at him. Surely, you thought, surely, he’d seen that look on your face, how your eyes clouded over with lust. Maybe he felt disgusted.

“I better-” you hiccupped, voice small, “I better go.”

Seokmin, eyes peeking at you through his lashes, feared he made you uncomfortable.

“Yeah, of course,” he mumbled.

You gathered your things and ran out of there, wetness gushing out of you. You tried to run, tried to create distance, but this time, in your mind’s eye, you ran in place, staying completely still by the cleft separating you and Seokmin. You fiddled with the edge, sand cascading into the empty, endless dark.

There was no way you could make that jump.

That night you wished Giselle was by your side. You wrote an assignment, trying to ward off the embarrassment that stormed in your brain, when you got a message, that plunged you into rock bottom:

Lee Seokmin: hey you forgot smth at my house lol

Lee Seokmin: *Image Attached*

This was it. You were going to jump off a bridge (or a cleft in a dry, sandy wasteland).

As if your life couldn’t get anymore embarrassing: it was the condom. The white condom with “I ❤️ DILFS” on it. You damned that woman for ever making you bring it. What must he have thought of you? His best friend’s little sister trying to get in his pants? Your cheeks were burning and you threw your head into your pillow and screeched. Your life was over. It had simply ended now. There was no coming back from this. You huffed and removed yourself from its plushness.

Maybe you could salvage it? Thinking on your feet, you replied:

You: OMG i’m so sorry!!!! i think that’s my roommate’s, she must’ve put it in my bag… :/

You: I’ll come pick it up ASAP :((((

You stared at your phone at the blatant. It was not a far stretch from the truth, but being caught with your hand in the cookie jar - or maybe more so the I ❤️ DILFS condom in your tote bag - it seemed like an irrationally shitty cover up.

You gnawed at your lip when the three dots popped up next to his picture, and bit it to pieces waiting for his reply. You almost jumped when your phone buzzed:

Lee Seokmin: hahahahaha

Lee Seokmin: you can come pick it up tomorrow if u want? theres no rush

You glared at the message. Laughter? Surely he hadn’t bought it. He was just trying to be nice, just trying to avoid you any embarrassment. The thought made you wanna throw up, how he felt this obligation to be nice to you when you had permanently scarred him (were you being dramatic?).

You: ok. im rlly sorry again!! i’ll pick it up tomorrow _____________________________

Tomorrow came much faster than you had hoped. No amount of tossing and turning could slow down the passage of time, and by the time you received Seokmin’s promised “I’m awake”-message, the embarrassment hadn’t faded one bit.

Every discouraged moment of getting ready was haunted by your current situation, and you stopped to cringe every five seconds, causing an honest and diligent self-hatred to bubble within you. When you knocked on Seokmin’s door, you’d honestly never felt less confident in your life.

“Y/n!” he said enthusiastically.

“Seokmin,” you said, less enthusiastic.

He smiled at you sweetly, almost as sympathetically, before stepping aside. You furrowed your brow, not really understanding why he couldn’t just hand it to you at the door, but stepping inside nonetheless. “It’s in my room,” he offered, but could he not just have brought it with him? Did he have to prolong the shame even further? You followed him to his room.

In that moment you hated Seokmin for being who he was; for being sweet, gentle, caring, and gentlemanly. You would feel less pathetic if he yelled at you, if he was genuinely disgusted and wanted nothing to do with you. But there he was all smiling and supportive, and he wasn’t touching you at all, but he still felt like pillars on your back, soothing you and holding you up.

“It was your roommate’s?” he asked absently as you traversed the halls. “Uh, yeah,” you answered sheepishly.

“I can tell,” he threw his head back to you, and there was a huge grin on his face. A little bit of hope blossomed in your chest. “Yeah, I saw her at that party, you know? I think she slept with, uh, my friend, Minghao.”

“That’ll be her,” you were smiling now too, and a huge wave of relief washed over you, as he at least let you believe that he thought it wasn’t your perversion bringing along that condom.

Finally stumbling into his room, he did indeed pick it up from his desk, handing it back to you. You looked at it in his outstretched hand and blushed sheepishly. “Thanks,” you squeaked.

Seokmin nodded in response. For a moment the two of you stood, uncertain of what to do and caught in the web of a terribly awkward silence. Seokmin’s eyes darted to the window and yours to the floor.

“Hey, uh,” he giggled a little, scratching the back of his head. “I feel really bad for losing that Mario Kart game-”

You scoffed in response, but the facade of being peeved was falling apart, as you beamed up at him.

“Maybe we could do, like, a quick rematch?”

You shrugged, trying to be nonchalant with an ever-heavy flush in your cheeks: “I don’t back away from a challenge.”

Seokmin won the rematch. This only spurred on another rematch, and suddenly there was no end to the madness. This time there was no awkwardness, no lingering silences. You were just giggling and strategizing, and throwing heat in the direction of your opponents.

That uncomfortable, clamoring feeling left you, slowly. It became easy to forget it. That feeling that he was only there with you because of Vernon, that there was always some sort of demand, a twisting hand, forcing him upon you, and that you became a sort of burden on him. That was the thing about Seokmin, though, his ability to make you feel like his best friend; his ability to make him feel like he was there for you, even when he wasn’t.

It was only after an hour and a half or so, when Seokmin paused the game.

“What the hell, Lee? I was just about to beat you!” you whined, crossing your arms. He nodded along, pushing himself off the bed. “Yes, I agree, which is why I’ve assessed that I need a refreshment.”

“Oh, you’ve assessed?”

“Yeah, I’ve assessed that I need a fresh, cooling drink in my gullet.”

You both laughed a little and slumped back, dropping the controller. Seokmin smiled at you, eyes twinkling. “You want one?”

“What are you getting?”

“A beer,” Seokmin said. Rationally, you knew you shouldn’t accept. You were bad with alcohol, and everytime you drank just a little, a little easily became a lot. That was why you took yourself by surprise when your voice left your mouth, chipper and grand: “Sure!”

One beer turned into another, and Mario Kart turned into talking on his bed, slumped into his fortress of pillows and giggling at his stories. You were a little tipsy, halfway into your second beer and your face was flushed and Seokmin was lying on his side, hand propped up under his head, as he made you laugh again.

“Your kind of partying sounds… Extreme,” you murmured, rim of the bottle pushed against your lips where your words slightly slurred. Mario Kart and alcohol had gotten you a little out of your shell, and now you and Seomin were talking like friends - as if your brother didn’t even exist. You basked in the alcoholic buzz and in this reality, this hideout, where your lovely brother didn’t exist and the faint ache in your legs at Seokmin’s godly face in the bedside lamp wasn’t so utterly misplaced.

“I think anything’s more extreme than your partying,” Seokmin mused teasingly. You huffed, putting down your beer and smoothing over your skirt. Everything was so lovely and artificially yellow and his body beside yours radiated pleasant heat. He was beautiful, you thought, looking at how the sweaters pooled on his torso and how his brown hair looked so soft and messy. You almost felt the absence of ground beneath you, when you imagined yourself at the cleft again.

“You don’t know about my kind of partying,” you joked and he chuckled softly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

You looked at him and he was suddenly serious. The smiley, gooey Seokmin was gone and his eyes, although not threatening at all, were prodding at you. Your smile fell. The alcohol at this time felt misplaced and wrong, the lightness felt wrong.

“Were you gonna, you know, go with Jeonghan at the party?” he whispered. The world was suddenly very quiet, as if it were following Seokmin’s tact. You grimaced a little. “No. No, not really.”

He studied you. You couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, opting to look at your hands in your lap. “Why not?”

A pause.

You began to pick at your own fingertips, nails digging into the cuticles. Seokmin’s eyes dragged from your face to your hands, and he scooted closer to you, only to cover your hand with his, stopping your movements immediately. Suddenly so close, his voice was whispered right in your ear, so soft and so gentle, it felt like a kiss: “Don’t do that.”

You sucked in a breath, hands ripping to your sides to lay stiff. “I’m, uh, I’m not that experienced, so I..”

Your eyes flicked up to gauge his reaction. In your worst nightmares, you imagined a laugh breaking onto his face, maybe disgust, but you felt yourself melting. He looked at you so softly, like you were the most precious, fragile thing and his hand had stilled in the air after you pushed it off, as if, like the most enchanting artwork at a museum, he fought desperately not to reach out and touch you.

It was unbearable - how still the air had become, how heavy you felt, how your chest struggled to expand. You talked again, if only to fill the air with your babbling: “I’ve not had.. I mean, I can hardly get myself off… So. I probably. Couldn’t. Get him off.”

You realized about halfway through your sentence that you should not have said that. That last half of your sentence was a breathy mess, as your voice became shaky with humiliation. His gaze, a delicate constant, was not helping either. You felt tears welling up in your eyes suddenly and maybe that was the worst part.

“You have trouble getting yourself off?” he repeated, as if to make sure. “Like masturba-”

“Yeah, that,” you squeezed your eyes shut. You couldn’t tell if you wanted him to shut up forever, so you’d never have to know his reaction, or if you wanted him to talk and be able to sense how this information changed his perception of you. His voice came, in spite of whatever you had hoped.

“I figured you were a virgin,” he mumbled, voice half muted by the palm of his hand, “but I thought you at least masturbated-”

“I do!” you defended yourself, voice much louder than his and brows furrowing and tears threatening to spill over your eyes. “I’m just- I’m not that good at it.”

“Hey,” he said softly, hand landing on your arm. You immediately shut up, lip trembling when you struggled to meet his eyes. “Relax, Y/n. It’s okay. I’m not judging you.”

You nodded half-heartedly, still incredibly uneasy.

“If you want…” Seokmin’s voice trailed off. His eyes ventured over your form briefly, licking his lips. “You know, if you want, I could teach you.”

You looked at him silently. He seemed to snap out of whatever loopy trance he had been sucked into, because he was suddenly very jittery and scrambling through the bedsheets. “Uh, I mean- you don’t- God, I’m sorry- it was only if-”

“Yes,” you said. His scrambling stilled immediately. His eyes were teacups.

“You sure?”

You nodded, not trusting your own voice.

Seokmin squeezed his eyes shut, gulping as he sat back against the bed. His legs spread apart. “Come here,” he patted his thighs.

You felt terribly sober. All that buzz and butterflies and blaze and blossom was gone and you felt like a doll, moving each limb individually, as you climbed into his lap, back to him. You were unable to think, unable to truly process what was happening, what it meant, as you felt his form engulf yours.

His hands found purchase on your hips and his breath was warm on your neck, as you felt every ridge of his abdomen on your back. His thumbs rubbed against your hip bone.

“Okay, now show me how you usually do it,” his voice was a warm hum, a twinge of nervousness laced in it. Your face was lit ablaze and you squirmed in his hold, when one hand left your hip to gently push your legs apart. You sat, all open and held against him, dress keeping you covered.

“It’s embarrassing,” you huffed, being very serious, but Seokmin smiled and nosed your hair gently.

“We can stop whenever you want, seriously, if you get uncomfortable, we stop” he reassured.

“It’s just me.”

It was. It was just Seokmin, your brothers best friend, the sweetest boy in the world, who used to have a swanky bowl cut and dorky school uniform and who was always Vernon’s most respectful friend, but he was hot and whispering into your ear and one hand was massaging the outside of your thigh.

“Should I take my dress off?” you breathed, face turned halfway back to him. His hands squeezed at you in response and you could faintly make out his tongue sliding over his lips.

“Only if you want, angel,” he whispered back, rubbing your sides tenderly. “We’re not doing anything you don’t want. Whatever makes you feel good. ‘M just here to help.”

You nodded, and although the answer was maybe made to make you keep your dress on - a reassurance that there was no need to discard it - you removed yourself from his grasp, hands coming to tug your dress off. You felt a small boost of confidence when you heard Seokmin breathe out: “Shit.”

Only in your bra and panties (terribly mismatched, your bra was black and your panties were pink), you leaned back into his hold, and you noted how Seokmin’s warm hands were much more careful now, splaying out on your bare skin.

“Are you comfortable now?” he asked quietly. You nodded. He propped his head up on your shoulder, eyes cast down your almost-nude body, chest rising and falling. Your legs were closed again, he noticed, and his veiny hand reached down to open them again. “Show me how you do it, baby, so I can help you improve.”

You gummed your lip, breathing in one last time, before your nervous fingers began dancing their way to your panties. They disappeared under the fabric for only a moment, before Seokmin spoke again.

“Sweetheart,” he tutted, hand wrapping around your wrist to stop its track. “Don’t just dive right in, you need to get yourself all hot first.”

Your brows furrowed and some of the embarrassment you felt from being this exposed and pressed into Seokmin evaporated into genuine confusion.

“What? What do you mean?” you said, somewhat outraged, and Seokmin couldn’t help the laughter blooming in his chest at that. He vibrated against your back, hands smoothing down your arm. You pouted: “Don’t laugh at me, Minnie.”

He stopped, still smiling as he nosed your temple. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your head, that had your heart beating out of your chest. “You’re just so cute.”

Cute. You remembered your disdain for that word, but somehow, when it came from his lips, it made you beam. Everywhere he touched left behind a hot, burning ghost on your skin.

“You just have to touch your body, sweetheart,” he said sweetly. You thrashed in defiance, crying out quietly with red cheeks. Wiggling your body angrily, you felt his dick half-hard in his pants against your lower back.

“Can’t you do it?” you whined, wanting nothing more than for him to take over and make you feel good. He sucked in a harsh breath behind you, fingers wrapping around your hands to soothe you still. He seemed to debate your proposal, but eventually he kissed your shoulder and spoke: “Okay, baby, but you have to show me you understand, alright?” you nodded feverishly. “We’re trying to get you to learn.”

The whole thing had you dizzy, warm and gooey in his hands, and grounding yourself on his solid torso. You had tunnel vision, unable to focus on anything but his warm hands and sweet voice, and how fucking hard he was. You leaned your head up to look at him pleadingly. Even upside-down he was pretty. He giggled at your starstruck expression.

“Look at my hands, pretty,” he tapped your nose and you scrunched it, turning down to your own body, where he sat his hands on your waist. “You do it like this.”

His hands started dragging over your skin, creating constellations of ghosts on your skin. One dragged across your stomach and down your leg, squeezing it along the way, and the other brushed over your bra-covered chest, landing on your shoulder and collarbones. Then they moved oppositely, then diverged from their chosen paths, and you started breathing heavily. Pressure built up in your stomach and your panties, and you felt how slick started leaking out of you.

“Feel good?” Seokmin grinned against your neck, listening to the melody of your panted gasps. You nodded earnestly, moaning softly. Seokmin furrowed his brows at that noise, pressing kisses to your neck appreciatively. “Good girl. Such pretty sounds.”

Both of Seokmin’s hands dragged up to your ribs. There, they paused. “Can I touch your chest, baby?”

“Please,” you whimpered, and earned another sloppy kiss to the cheek. His hands immediately grabbed ahold of your chest, softly rubbing it over your bra.

“Does that feel good?” he whispered. You hesitated for a moment. “Um, I don’t feel much, honestly.”

You’d expect him to be a little angry or defensive, but Seokmin only hummed and nustled himself into your hair. “Good girl. Good girl, being so honest with me. So pretty.”

You whined at his praise and Seokmin smiled smugly, taking notice of how heated you got from his words.

“The- the fabric is in the way..” you whimpered meekly, and Seokmin nodded in understanding, stroking your sides soothingly.

“You want to take off your bra?” he hummed, truly as if it would not expose you to him, as if it weren’t a lewd and depraved scenario, but something as simple as the weather. You nodded, removing yourself from the harbor of his arms once more to remove it. You unclipped it and threw it God knows where, before settling back into him. Seokmin peeked over your shoulder at your now bare breasts, groaning a little and covering it up with a cough. This was about you.

Seokmin placed his hands on your tits again, massaging and rubbing the soft skin, before he brushed his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

You moaned - for the first time it was a clear moan, seething from your throat and puffing into the air. “Sound so pretty,” he muttered in your ear. “You really like that, hm?”

He pinched your nipples between his fingers, your back arching into his warm hands. Then, as soon as the pleasure had begun, it stopped, when his hands came to rest on the bed. You whined, twisting your head towards his, only to be stopped by fingers on your chin, turning you back forward. “Show me you can do it now, baby. You’re learning,” he reminded you.

“But, Minnie, I want your hands,” you whined and he tutted softly in your ear. “I know, baby, but I need to know that you’re understanding this in that pretty little head of yours. Need to know you’re focusing. Come on, show me now.”

Huffing, you placed your own hands (they somehow felt more foreign than his now) on your stomach and began to mimic his movements. You smoothed them up and down on your body, squeezing, then placed them on your chest, rubbing and pinching your nipples.

“There you go,” he praised, and his hands had traveled to your shoulders, massaging them gently. You whimpered and turned your head to him again.

“Can you teach me how to touch my…” you trailed off.

“Your pussy?” he offered, as if it was nothing, as if it wasn’t vulgar or lewd. You nodded vigorously. Feeling him gulp a little, his hands became a little unsteady as they came to hold your waist again. “Can I hear you say it? Baby?” he asked and suddenly his voice was a little shaky, a little breathless.

“Can you touch my pussy now, Minnie?” you asked, and any shame had been clouded over with lust. You’d never been this burningly bothered in your life, you needed him to touch you. He groaned, and this time he was unable to cover it up. You felt how his hard cock strained against his sweatpants, how it pressed into your back, and you wanted to touch it so bad.

“Alright, baby, want your panties off?” His sharp nose was pressed into your hair. You shook your head. “Want them on.”

He nodded. “Alright, jus’ tell me if you wanna stop, okay? I’m gonna touch you now.”

His hand slipped under the waistband of your panties, disappearing under the pink fabric. As if they were always meant to be there, his fingers slipped through your folds, coming down to circle your slit in impossibly light figurations.

“Shit,” he panted, grip on your waist suddenly bruising, as he tried to steady himself. “You’re so wet, baby, you like Seokminnie that much?”

“Yeah, I do,” you nodded blindly, your own hands coming to grip onto his thighs. His middle finger danced upwards and pressed against your clit, and you immediately squeaked and shut your legs around his hand.

“No, no, baby, don’t do that,” he frowned, hand that wasn’t buried in your pussy spreading your legs again. You felt how his legs, pressed against you, came to hook onto yours, forcing your legs apart with his own strength. He hummed in content.

His finger pressed onto your clit again, and he felt how your legs tensed, straining against his to close. Your back arched and you moaned, eyes squeezed shut. He began rubbing it, and it was so intimate, how close you were to him, how his hand navigated your sopping wet pussy, fingers just rubbing you gently, and how bare you were, his eyes training over your bouncing tits when you thrashed.

His fingers moved downwards again, gathering the wetness that was gushing out of you. Then, one long middle finger pushed into you. Canting into his hand, you moaned loudly and turned your head into his neck. Nosing the tan skin and inhaling his faint cologne, you began mindlessly kitten-licking the skin. His Adam's apple bopped under your tongue.

“You’re so tight,” he rasped, beginning to slowly push his finger in and out of you. His other hand had come to wrap around your waist in an attempt to calm the sudden bucking of your hips against his hand.

His hand moved faster, obscene, wet sounds coming from your ruined underwear, where he worked diligently into your pussy. He slipped another finger in, and you cried from the stretch. It was becoming hard to contain you, thrashing and writhing against his hold, stuck between wanting to move closer and to move away entirely. His fingers tied a knot in your stomach.

“That’s right, pretty, tell me how good Minnie’s fingers feel,” he whispered hoarsely above your ear. You could almost only whine and moan, nipping at his neck a little. “Tell me or I’ll stop,” he warned.

“Feels so good!” you whined immediately, because if he stopped now, you figured you might start crying. “Feel so, so, so good, fuck, Seokmin, I’m-”

“I know, baby, I know, but I’m teaching you, right?”

Though your mind was fuzzy, you sensed what these words meant and panicked, hand coming down to grip his wrist in an attempt to hold him in place. “Please, please, please, Seokmin, don’t stop, please, don’t stop!”

“Don’t talk back to me, sweetheart. I won’t stop, just talk to me. Tell me what you feel me doing,” pushing your head up again, Seokmin pressed his face against your cheek, so hard, you felt his humid pants against it.

Your mind was so hazy, so transfixed on the feeling in your stomach and his finger in your pussy, you could hardly respond.

“Tell me or I’ll stop, baby,” he reminded you again, and you scrambled frantically to focus.

“Nngh! You’re- pushing in and out-” your voice broke, hips stuttering against his hand, that was continuing its remorseless pace.

“Yeah, and?”

You furrowed your brows, lips trembling. “You’re- you’re curling them- A-ah!”

“That’s right. Such a good girl. So smart and clever for me,” Seokmin whispered happily, his other hand slipping down your stomach to circle your clit. Both his hands working pleasure into your pussy, you cried out loudly, head pushed back into his chest.

“Just let go, baby, I can feel you clenching on me so hard. Wan’ me to stay in your pussy forever, hm? Just let go, cum whenever you want, wanna see your pretty face so bad,” somehow Seokmin was just as intoxicated off of lust as you, despite staying, hard and untouched, in his pants. But he babbled mindless praise to you, and you came to his sweet voice whispering in your ear.

Your orgasm sent you hurdling over the edge - the edge, the one you’d been standing at hopelessly for years. You flew across it and landed on Seokmin’s territory; in his arms.

“Seokmin, a-ah!” you cried, releasing all over his fingers, coating them in your cum. Your entire body arched upwards, as you moaned into the night. Seokmin rode you through your high, pressing sweet kisses into your hair.

You fell limp against his body, worn out, when he finally retracted his fingers from your pussy. You snuggled into his sweater with a content hum.

Seokmin smiled down at you, eyes brimming with fondness, as his cum-slicked hands wrapped around your torso in a hug, holding you into him. “You did so well,” he whispered genuinely.

You looked up at him with a tired smile. “Thank you, Seokmin.”

He held himself back from saying he would do that a thousand times over, in fact, he wouldn’t mind never pulling out - he could live with only one hand. Instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered: “Of course, darling.”

Your brows furrowed and you pulled yourself away from him a little, eyeing the tent in his pants worriedly. “Do you want me to-”

“No,” he shook his head decidedly. “No, I’ll take care of it.”

You looked at him with big, innocent eyes, that only furthered the throbbing of his cock. Partially, he wanted to give in so badly. The thought of your hand around his cock, all pouty and innocent and confused, and how heavy it would be in your small hand, had made him cum more times than he’d like to admit. But, he reminded himself, this was about you. This was a favor. “Are you sure?” you asked softly.

“Yes, baby, go to bed. I’m gonna go get you some fresh clothes.”

You snuggled into bed while Seokmin scurried away to fetch a shirt and some boxers, and when he came back you cooperated limply in taking off your panties, and putting on what he’d given you. You fell asleep in his bed, cuddling his duvet, and surrounded by his scent.

Seokmin watched you in adoration. How peaceful you looked, chest rising and falling, and a little pout on your lips.

He wandered through the house, trying simultaneously to get as far from you as possible, and also trying to decide which of his housemates he currently hated the most. He landed on Jeonghan, slipping into his empty room and settling himself on the bed.

There, he fisted his solid fucking cock and bucked into his own hand, eyes squeezed shut to remember how you looked under his hands, how you begged for him, how well you listened, what a good girl you were for him. His moans were trembling and muffled by his own hand, and when he came, he felt momentarily smug, looking at how it dripped over Jeonghan’s sheets (served him right). Then, post-nut clarity sank in, as he reentered his own room and cuddled into you on the bed.

He felt almost despicable. He felt gross and evil and perverted and lewd, not because of you, but because, as if it were his first time realizing it, he remembered that you were Vernon’s sister. He remembered that he had promised to protect you from manipulative guys and always watch over you, and help you if you needed help, and report to Vernon if you were acting weird. Yet here he was, letting you cum on his hand and groping your tits, as if he was still that teenage boy with that swanky bowl cut.

After an hour of chewing on his lips and frowning, Seokmin let your sweet perfume lull him to sleep. He dreamt of you. _____________________________

There’s a blissful instant that morning when you wake up, curled into Seokmin’s arms, head nuzzled in his chest. There’s a blissful instant when you tilt your head, staring at his sleeping face, and he’s so beautiful, features all soft and breathing rhythmically. There’s a blissful instant where you see him, and your heart weeps in your chest because he’s so gorgeous.

Then it’s gone.

A panic button is pressed in your head, and your nerve-endings, each one resting on him, begin burning. What had you done? Yesterday feels like a faraway dream, but he’s still wearing that sweater and it grounds you in the reality of what had happened.

You’re lost. What did this mean for the two of you? Was Seokmin just lusting after you? But that couldn’t be right, you thought, because he’d insisted on only helping you, refused your offers to help him, which now was making you rot in his arms with guilt. Was this genuinely an attempt to help you? To be diligently by your side at the request of your brother? But surely this had been outside of the realm of what was acceptable to help your best friend’s baby sister with? Did that mean he liked you?

Seokmin awakened from your sudden squirming, as if, with enough shaking and turning, that feelings and thoughts would just fall out of you. They didn’t, they stayed right where they were, and all you were given in return was Seokmin’s eyes fluttering open.

You watched him go through that same process; the bliss came first and then the panic. Seokmin’s eyes went from adoring to wide and grave and suddenly he was shuffling away from you on the bed, creating a cool distance between you on the landscape of his mattress. You didn’t miss the pink dusting his cheeks.

“Uh- good morning,” he mumbled, and he could only look at his hands. Your throat was unbelievably dry. “Morning.”

You’re not sure how you both managed, but you went through that morning without mentioning the previous night even once. The air was thick with tension, fleeting glances, and shaky hands, while Seokmin made you both bowls of oatmeal. You stood on the other side of the counter in his shirt and his boxers.

You ate in his bed. It was silent and heavy and each clink of spoons against the bowl-rims had you both wincing. He put on a TV-show and you sat across from one another, chewing wordlessly to some drama in the background. Your belly was pooling with tension and light cascaded onto you, revealing your pores and flaws. Were you a bad person?

Finally, finally, Seokmin put down his spoon with yet another clink, fingers catching the bridge of his nose and eyes squeezing shut. He huffed into the palm of his hand, swallowing the oatmeal hard.

“Uh-” he began and his voice cracked, “Y/n. About last night-”

But you cut him off, and he couldn’t ever, even in his wildest dreams, have imagined that these words would come out of your mouth:

“I want to return the favor.”

The words were almost spat and discarded, as if they’d been sitting on the tip of your tongue all morning with a foul taste, and you’d only now been able to rid yourself of it. Seokmin snapped his head towards you, a genuine surprise on his face, but he soon wished he hadn’t looked at all.

You were so pretty, sitting cross legged in his shirt and a blush creeping up your neck and cheeks all shiny in the morning sun. And there was this innocence to your eyes, big lashes shadowing it only a little; this earnestness that told him you really, really wanted to do this for him.

“I-” he chuckled a little, heart clenching at your sweetness, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Well, it’s good that I’m asking you then,” you said, and though the comment was witty, when Seokmin looked at you again, he saw how careful you looked, and how unsure you were of yourself.

“Listen, N/n,” he reached out to grab your hand, and it was burning into yours, each area of adjoined skin screaming at you with reminders of last night. “You don’t have to do that. I just wanted to make you feel good, I was happy to just be of service to you-”

“But I want to make you feel good,” you pouted, almost brattily. Seokmin’s gentle expression and tone faded into something darker, as his eyes flitted down to your exposed legs and your heaving chest. He swallowed, putting away his bowl of oatmeal and collecting himself.

“Are you sure? You need to be absolutely 100% sure-”

“I’m sure, Minnie. I want to-” you broke off your own words with a squeak, face becoming bright red. You leaned in self-consciously, as if to tell him a secret: “I want to suck your dick.”

Your whispered admittance had him groaning, groaning at how sweet and innocent your voice was, how you couldn’t even say it loudly, you had to whisper the dirty word to him. He wanted you so badly, wanted to be the one to take away your innocence, to make you all dirty and beg for him, to make you thrash and whine and to teach you how to really feel good. He wanted you.

It’s like a switch had flipped, when Seokmin put his hand on the back of your head, and suddenly you were kissing again. The tension from before was replaced with something wholly different, something hot, something laced in the eye contact he gave you, before he leaned it again.

And Seokmin was kissing you with a fervor that you recognized from yourself - you both wanted to forget. Wanted to forget Vernon, who, although a great brother and friend, had become a heavy strain on your relationship with Seokmin. So you kissed him and let his tongue in your mouth when it swiped over your bottom lip, and you sucked on it, and you let him and yourself get lost in each other.

The sound of smacking lips and saliva was so lewd too, especially when Seokmin’s hand pulled you from your spot on the bed and into his lap, hands roaming your body, while you tangled into his hair. He was half-moaning into your mouth by the time he pulled away, face flushed and eyes darker and lower and lips swollen red.

“You gonna let me use that pretty mouth, baby?” he whispered against your lips, one hand palming over his cock through his boxers. You nodded, almost desperately, one hand reaching out to his in his lap. “Can I touch it?”

Seokmin smiled fondly, looking down at where your small hand was outstretched towards his cock. “Yeah, baby, go ahead.”

You were a bit clumsy at first, but soon enough you found its outline in his black boxers and you squeezed it a little. Seokmin crooked over, groaning into your shoulder. You felt him get harder and harder against your palm, a small smile at the desperate noises he was making.

Seokmin had laid his cheek on your shoulder, neck twisting to stare up at you, while you focused solely on touching him, and he hated himself for getting even harder because it was you - you, who he had wanted for so long, who he was hugged into and lying on, while you touched his warm cock.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, breathing heavily, and then smiling brightly when you became all sheepish, smiling and looking away, so that you had to pause your actions. He nosed into your neck, regaining some semblance of control over the situation, now that you weren’t touching him, and his breath was warm and humid on your skin. He pressed small kisses up to your jawline, nose flattening against you.

“So, so pretty. Fuck, imagining you with my cock in your mouth, all drooling and shit. Fuck, baby, you gonna let me fuck your mouth?” he rambled, hands finding home on your tits again. You whined and nodded, trying to pry him off of you. Immediately (forever struggling with a little concern that you might’ve changed your mind) he pulls away, looking up at you worriedly.

“Don’t- don’t touch me, I don’t wanna get.. All hot,” you whispered those words that he had said last night, biting your lip in worry. “I want to do it now.”

Seokmin melted completely, and in a complete inability to contain his adoration, brushed hair out of your face and pressed a million kisses to your cheeks and your nose. “Okay,” he said in between kisses, and you felt his smile on your skin, “okay, baby. But if it gets too much, tap my thigh three times, okay? If you need anything, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“Yes, yes,” you huffed, pushing yourself away from him and hopping onto the floor, sinking to your knees before the bed.

It felt completely unreal - to both of you. How you were suddenly on your knees and how he settled in front of you, bare, thick thighs on either side of your head. Everything was all light and all the places he’d kissed and touched had become holy and glowing on your body. He shimmed his boxers off and you gaped at the sudden exposure of his dick.

He was hard. Apparently the kissing and groping had been enough, because it slapped against his sweater, leaking silky white liquid from the tip. And he was big - you didn’t exactly have a good point of reference, but you vaguely sensed from Giselle’s words that this was quite a feat.

And actually seeing it brought a wave of uncertainty on you, not as to whether or not you wanted to do it, but how. So, you blinked up at him with a small frown, voice small when you spoke: “Seokmin.. How- how do I do it?”

Seokmin practically glowed with adoration, when he petted your head and rubbed your cheek, seemingly so comfortable despite being totally bare. “You just put your lips around it and suck, baby, it’s easy,” he said softly, then added, a little panicked: “And be mindful of your teeth.”

“But it’s so big,” you marveled, eyes trained on it, and he almost groaned at it, because you sounded so genuinely amazed, so disbelieving.

“Just put your hands around the parts you can’t reach. I’ll be gentle, baby, don’t worry,” he said. You nodded hesitantly, leaning forward towards it, but his hand in your hair suddenly clenched and pulled you back. You looked up at him and saw his eyes brimming with worry. “You do want this, right?”

“Yes, please, stop being so- so gentle with me and let me suck your dick!” You whined, fed up with being treated like glass, and tugged his hand out of your hair. Seokmin visibly relaxed at your insistence, nodding.

Finally, fingers grabbing the base of it, you wrapped your mouth around the tip. You were met immediately with the taste of his pre-cum, licking over where it leaked curiously. Seokmin’s hand found your hair again, gripping it tight to steady himself, as he groaned loudly. You slowly sank down, basking in the whimpers you ripped from his mouth.

“Fuck- you’re- you’re doing so good, baby,” he cried, face twisted in pleasure and head thrown back. You looked up at him and he was so pretty and glowing, panting into the air.

You sank down as far as you could, feeling the tip sit snug against the back of your mouth, and your hands wrapped around the base of his dick. You looked up at him, experimentally squeezing, and pursing your lips around his dick to suck it carefully.

“A-ah! Fuck!” Seokmin cried, hand that wasn’t in your hair squeezing the edge of his mattress. His thighs were flexing on either side of your head. “You’re- you’re so good at this, sweetheart. Good girl, fuck, such a pretty girl for me, letting me use you like this.”

You whined at his words, squeezing your thighs together. Seokmin’s hips bucked upwards at the vibrations, hitting the back of your throat. The sudden intrusion was unexpected and you let out a garbled moan around his cock. He panted regretfully: “S-Sorry, baby, d-didn’t mean to do that, you just feel so good. Can- can you bob your head up and down it for me?”

You did, started moving your head up and down his shaft, and breathing hard through your nose, while your hands squeezed the base of his cock. Looking up at Seokmin, you felt confidence that you were doing something right. He was in heaven, face all scrunched up and breathing as if he’d just ran a marathon.

And when he peeked his down to you, he could’ve cum immediately. Your pretty lips wrapped around his cock, head bopping with tears in your eyes from the pressure in your throat, and how curious and sparkling they were, gauging his reaction. The groan that clawed its way up from his heart, through his throat and out into his room quickly turned to a whimper.

“I’m- I’m gonna cum, sweet pea, can I-” he swallowed hard, because even the thought had him close to release. “Can I cum down your throat, pretty?”

You nodded, a little too preoccupied to answer, but Seokmin got it, and with just a couple more bobs, and the feeling of your wet tongue pressing against the underside of his cock, he spurted into your mouth in long ropes of white, whining at the top of his lungs, and pulling hair from the roots.

It was, admittedly, a little gross and sticky in your mouth, but it was also hot and you felt proud you’d made him feel good. He was panting, trying to recover, when you pulled off his dick, a satisfied smile on your face. His hand wandered to your face, caressing your cheekbone, before moving down to your puffy lips.

“Can I-” he was almost embarrassed, “Can I see baby? Can you open your mouth for me?”

A little confused, you did as told and opened your mouth, sticking out your tongue that was still covered in his sticky release.

“Fuck,” he groaned at the sight, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself not to get hard again. “C-Can you swallow it for me, beautiful?”

Still confused, you nodded and gulped it down, trying not to look like it felt as gross as it did. If Seokmin noticed, he didn’t remark it, because he only groaned again, and pulled you by your face into a sloppy, heated kiss.

“So, so, so good for me,” he whispered, not letting you out of the kiss, even when saliva dripped down your chin. “Such a good girl, letting me use her mouth, such an obedient, good girl.”

You whined into his mouth at those words, bothered by the aching in your core that his moans and his blissed out face had caused, and now those words repeated over and over: Good girl.

He grinned into your mouth. “Yeah? You like being my good girl, right? Like doing your best for Seokminnie?”

“Yes,” you murmured breathlessly, too lost in the feeling of his mouth and his hands rubbing your waist to come up with anything better.

Seokmin pulled away with a warm smile, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks. “You did well,” was all he said, and you could genuinely cry, because that was it - you just wanted to know you did well.

“I’m gonna go clean up, okay?” he said, waiting for you to nod in response before he pushed himself off the bed, snatching a new pair of boxers from a drawer on his way out of the door.

You threw yourself on the bed, closing your eyes contentedly.

He liked you. You were sure of it now, when you thought back to how his eyes had balked at you so wonderfully, how careful and attentive he’d been. You were certain, and your heart smiled and you smiled and your hair was sprawled out on his sheets and for the first time, that desert wasteland in your head welcomed you and took you in, and you were right where you were supposed to be.

Until your phone started buzzing.

It was dancing across the sheets violently at someone's call and you peeked open one eye tiredly to pick it up. And when you did, the desert turned on you. Caught in a sandstorm, you held your phone between your fingers and felt your heart drop, lowered into the acid bath of your stomach.

It was Vernon.

Vernon, who was Seokmin’s best friend. Vernon, who was your brother. Vernon, who had always yelled at you to leave his room whenever he had Seokmin over. Vernon, who didn’t like when you talked to any guys at all, who had recruited his best friend to watch over you and take care of you. Vernon, whose best friend had just had his dick in your mouth.

You heard the shower running distantly when you clicked accept, hoping to God that you didn’t look too disheveled.

“Hi, N/n!” Vernon cheered immediately on the other end. His face popped up on your screen, a bright smile on his face. You smiled too - you missed your brother - but it was half faded, and Vernon noticed immediately.

“Hi, Vern,” you said softly. His brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

Of course, he could read you like a book. Of course, he knew that you were distant and nervous. You sighed heavily, trying desperately to collect yourself, to remember how you usually behaved, but for some reason, that you was far gone, and you had to be splayed on his screen, like a person replaced by something peregrine.

“I’m a little stressed out,” you mumbled. “Got a lot of papers and stuff, that’s why I’m not home.”

“Come home next break, okay? We miss you and you need to get out of that place every once in a while.”

You nodded.

Vernon’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and you saw him lean closer to the screen (which would have been funny, were you not suddenly wondering if there was leftover cum on your face). “Hey, where are you right now?”

“My friend,” you said quickly - too quickly. “Her name’s Yunjin, we’re working together in chem.”

Vernon hummed, seemingly content with your answer. “Your friend has the same bed sheets as Seokmin.”

Shit, yeah, they facetimed every week, you remembered, cringing at yourself for not thinking of it earlier. You tried to play it cool, shrugging: “Weird.”

“Yeah, anyway-”

Vernon rambled on and on about something or other, but you were unable to focus, watching the door to Seokmin’s room with a worried frown.

Moreover, you felt like a whore. Realistically, you hadn’t even lost your virginity. But sleeping with your brother’s best friend suddenly felt way more real now that you were talking to said brother, now that you were lying to his face, and you felt dirty and gross and you wished you could stand before Vernon, as the same baby sister that you had been before. But you weren’t. You were disgusting.

“Vernon, I gotta go,” you cut him off, and you hadn’t heard a word. Vernon’s excited expression dropped and he furrowed his brows.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and you thanked the pixels for concealing at least a bit of the worry on his face.

“Yeah, I just- I really need to get going,” you said. “Bye, Vernon!”

“By-”

You disconnected the call and gathered your things, put your own clothes back on. Throwing Seokmin’s clothes onto his floor felt like shedding a second skin - a skin that had made you ugly and greedy and lustful. You only kept his boxers on, lumping the dress over your shoulders to drape over you in an unsightly and unorganized way.

You spared a glance at the wrapped condom on his bedside table, long lost and forgotten by now. You could leave it. You could leave it and have a reason to come back, a reason to slip across that ledge again and fall into his arms and his mouth and his warmth. You almost did. Almost left it right there, where it begged to belong. But you snatched it off the counter, ignoring the way your heart clenched when you did, and slipped it into your tote bag. And you left, jumping across the border that separated you and back into your own wasteland. And it was so cold and so empty. You were alone again.

Seokmin came out of the shower, expecting to see you cuddled up in his bed, all soft and beautiful. But you weren’t there. Seokmin understood immediately. The condom was gone and so were you, only the perfume in his sheets remained, willing him to remember. And he cried. He sobbed into his own hands, because what had he done?

You did not see each other the rest of that day. Or the next day. _____________________________

Seokmin wanted to let you disappear. He wanted you to slip away and he wanted to forget it had even happened - like a burning star dies out and leaves only a faint warmth behind, lasting years. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t let you go, couldn’t bear knowing he’d never hold you in his arms again, never see you laugh again, never see you cum again. And he couldn’t bear knowing that maybe he’d read it wrong; maybe he’d made you uncomfortable, maybe you’d felt obligated.

So he texted you. For two days his texts came in sporadically and unsuccessfully. Questioning and pleading, he wanted to know it wasn’t true.

Lee Seokmin: why’d you leave?

Lee Seokmin: can we talk??

Lee Seokmin: i miss u

Lee Seokmin: i need to know i didnt hurt you

Lee Seokmin: can you please answer?

Each text came more painful than the last. Each text came more pleading. You sat alone in your room, in the dark, having only his one sided chats to light up your tear-streaked face.

Eventually they stopped coming. You thought they would. You thought, you knew, eventually he’d give up. But what hurt the most was knowing he wanted you too; knowing he liked you as much as you liked him. You’d seen it in his eyes, when his hand slipped between your legs, and you’d seen it when he came staring down at you.

But you preferred to remember Seokmin for how he was.

How he was small and young, how he had a swanky bowlcut and how he looked in his school uniform. How he and your big brother, Vernon, had bonded and watched movies together in your living room, and the countless dinners he’d stayed over for, always so respectful to your parents and you. You preferred to remember when he didn’t love you back.

The pain that had been tethered to your youth and to him, back when he was unreachable, just a figure you could marvel at, was so much duller compared to this pain, the one pulsed in your heart now: the pain of him loving you back, but still being off-limits. Something that could be, but was destined to die out. And it did, when he stopped texting you, you felt that unborn child’s soul leave your own. Alone again.

And then suddenly, you weren’t.

A stern knock on your door. You flinched at the sound, fearing the worst. You were in your bed, in your sweatpants and your sweater and that condom was on the bedside table, watching the door with you.

Another knock.

“Y/n, I know you’re in there!”

Seokmin. Of course, it was Seokmin. No one else would come for you. But it was all too painful. You feared the worst - feared that seeing him, you would collapse into him again, and that this time you wouldn’t be able to find your way back.

“Open the door, Y/n,” his voice was serious.

“Go away, Seokmin!” you yelled, voice breaking halfway.

A pause. When Seokmin spoke again, he was not angry anymore; he was vulnerable.

“Y/n. I-I know you don’t want to talk to me, but-” he paused, wincing at himself and you knew there was tears in his eyes. “But I need to know that I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

You thought that you could handle the self-blame Seokmin omitted - maybe that’s just because it was words on a screen. But hearing him crying outside your door, and how real he was when his hand knocked vigorously, it tore down each and every one of your last defenses.

“I need- I need to hear that you’re okay and that I-”

“I’m opening the door,” you interrupted him, and sure enough you padded to the door and swiftly unlocked it.

And then you were standing before one another. It was like time stopped, how the air stilled around you, and how the world quieted down. He was all crumpled paper hearts, all deflated and broken, and his hair was messy and his eyes were dark, but they sparkled again, just at the sight of you, and yours at him.

“It’s not your fault,” you whispered, breaking the enchantment cast upon you. The real world came crashing down, the people in the streets and birds in the trees and wind coursing through the leaves. The light that you’d shut out with a firm tug to the curtains was dancing on your linoleum floor. “It’s my fault. It’s- I talked to Vernon and I- I feel like shit, Seokmin. I feel like a slut.”

“You’re a virgin!” Seokmin scoffed, but it did nothing to calm you.

“It felt wrong! Because I- because you’re Vernon’s friend. Because Vernon never likes when I date guys, and because now I’ve been fooling around with his best friend,” you defended yourself, biting your lip when tears stung your eyes. Seokmin softened. “I just felt guilty. And gross.”

“You’re not gross, you’re in love,” he said softly, and your eyes locked. Everything about him was pleading - he was just short of literally falling to his knees, begging for you to hear him out. “And- and with me, of all people!”

“Seokmin-”

“And I’m in love with you too,” his voice was an urgent whisper, not daring to let you speak again, to let you try and steer him away.

“Of all people,” you mumbled, a small smile finding your lips. Seokmin smiled too.

“So.. I’m tired of hearing you talk about yourself like this. I’m tired of Vernon being the one keeping us apart. I want- I want you to know that Vernon would understand.”

You shook your head dismissively. He wouldn’t.

“I know him too! You know? Maybe better than you,” he pouted a little, and it made you laugh, and everything was becoming lighter, and for better or worse you really did want to jump into his arms again. “He shouldn’t be the thing stopping you from dating me- or- or anyone, really. But especially me.”

You giggled again, and Seokmin’s heart palpitated in his chest at that sound - and at being the source of it. Then the laughter trailed off and your smile tightened and your heart tightened: “I just don’t want to sneak around-”

“Okay! Say no more!” Seokmin interrupted, hand held out as if to calm a mighty beast. He casually pulled out his phone, tongue in his cheek, as he called your brother. Vernon.

It rang for a few seconds, put on speaker. You couldn’t help the nervousness. Couldn’t help the pinch in your nerves, building up from your stomach and into your heart. Then he answered.

“Hey, dude, what’s up?” Vernon’s voice glitched on the other end of the line, utterly oblivious (as always). Seokmin spoke, hand on his hip: “Hey, just curious, how would you feel if me and your sister started dating?”

There was a moment of silence. On Vernon’s end, you imagined it was simply puzzled, but on your end, you stood with your heart all big and floaty, like a balloon in your hand, waiting for him to say that he’d hate it, that he’d kill him, and pop your heart with a simple word to prick. That wasn’t what he said though. Vernon said:

“I mean, yeah, man, I’d prefer you over any of those other college douchebags. I at least know you’d take care of her for real, man, not like that Jeonghan guy you were going on about.”

Your heart balloon took off, and the boundary between you and Seokmin filled itself with sand. Had it been imaginary? This whole time? You couldn’t help the wheeze you left you, overwhelmed with relief and joy.

“I know, man, Jeonghan’s the worst,” Seokmin said casually, but he was grinning from ear to ear at your reaction. You’d buckled over in silent laughter, unable to contain the glee. It seemed to dramatic now

“The worst,” Vernon repeated. Then he pursed his lips and spoke again: “So you’re dating my sister?”

“Uh, you know, I think we’re making it official in a second, yeah,” Seokmin said and even Vernon could hear the smile in his voice.

“Cool, man, yeah, I kind of figured, she facetimed me with your ugly ass bed sheets in the background, and I thought, no way, a girl would buy those bed sheets.”

“Lay off my sheets, man.”

Both of the men laughed and you did too, crying laughing and covering your mouth to contain. Your chest was fluttering with butterflies and light and love.

“Hey, man, for real, if you hurt her, I know where you live, bro,” Vernon was suddenly serious.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, man,” Seokmin responded, equally as serious now. He eyed you, then spoke into the phone again: “Hey, I gotta go make sweet love to your sister.”

“Ew, dude, don’t say tha-”

And the phone was hung up and Seokmin was laughing with you, eyes crescent and smile wide and toothy, and cheeks all red and shiny, he doubled over and took your hands in his. “I told you, didn’t I?”

“Shut up, Lee,” you said, pulling him by the hand and letting him kiss you. Letting yourself kiss him. Letting yourself back into his arms, and this time Seokmin had crossed the border, and had fallen into you, and you stood there together and you were in love.

So, so in love, your lips entangled and danced together, and your hands dragged up the back of his neck and his up your waist.

And you realized, his tongue in your mouth, this was how you preferred to remember Seokmin; completely and utterly in love with you, and dancing with you in your room, and smiling into the kiss, and hands running up your body. You preferred to remember him as yours, and yourself as his.

Seokmin guided you to your bed, pulling your body into his lap. Then he pulled away, completely out of breath, and smiling at you like a twinkling star.

“Think we can finally break open that condom now?”

“Fuck yes,” you said.

And then you did.

#dk x reader #svt dk x reader #lee dokyeom x reader #lee seokmin x reader #seokmin x reader #dk smut #seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #svt smut #svt x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt angst #seventeen angst

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neowinestainedress · 6 months

Text

𝐃𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘 𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄, 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄?

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: any nct member!ghostface x detective!fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄: “horror”, thriller, yandere-ish, smut, halloween special, scream!au 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in these past months your only goal is to find the killer that is terrorizing the town of Woodsboro, but when you get close to him and feel like you finally have the upper hand, Ghostface turns the game around again. Or, Ghostface wants to play with you but not like he does with his victims, and you let him. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: dark content, talks of [m*rders, sl!tting throats, v!olent stuff in general], dr*g/anaesthetic use [to make mc fall asleep but unrelated to any sexu*l act (she’s awake and willing)], mentions of [dubcon] phone s*x + masturbation, implied stalking, use of restrainers, cl!t rubbing, rough t!t/n!pple play, protected s*x turns unprotected, kn!fe play, ‘fear’ play, clothes cutting, fake sympathy, pet names used in a mocking way, degradation, rough s*x, hair pulling, spit (1), p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, possessiveness, 1 brief talk of carving, polaroids pictures, all consensual but i’ll still put a dubcon warning just to be safe (tbh it’s more like hate sex bc the mc would rip his head off but also fuck him), reader is kinda fucked up herself. | inclusivity notes: reader has hair long enough that can be pulled (no mention of texture, type and color), no mention of body type but reader is manhandled a few times and has b**bs and *ss big enough that can be cupped, no mention of skin color, no use of y/n 𝐖𝐂: 10.662k 𝐀/𝐍: this year i had vague ideas for halloween but not even a defined good one, i had some suggestions i liked but were far too complicated, and i had no energy to write them in time. but a ghostface/scream au was an idea i had in mind for some time, the original was a ghostface cosplay, but then i went with this one, and I’m happy with how it turned out. i had 2 members in mind (johnny/haechan) for the og plot, then someone suggested jeno and jisung (as a duo) but if i unmasked him the plot wouldn’t have made sense anymore, so he’s whoever you want him to be! the other ghostface is mentioned but doesn’t appear physically in the story, you can pick who you want for him too. i never wrote blankly for the male mc so let me know if it was good. please, if you like it, leave feedback through reblogs or asks! and also let me know who you imagined behind the mask 👀 enjoy and happy halloween

𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄.

Your mother always told you to mind your business or else your curiosity was going to be the death of you one day.

It’s clear you never treasured her words, and your curiosity led you to be a private detective with only a few thrills in your life since now, nothing too exciting ever happened in your small town, until one day you received a phone call from the district of Woodsboro. A string of murders was terrorizing the town after years and all the evidence led to another psycho who thought it was funnier to kill people while putting on a Ghostface mask.

Months have passed since that call and you have nothing concrete. It’s like he’s only messing up with you and, in the meantime, innocent people keep dying. But you have your theories, the ones you only keep to yourself, stored away in the privacy of your diary, hidden under the pillow of your bed. Your colleagues seem decent people, but with time, you’ve learned to trust nobody.

And your secret theories led you right where you are now. In the open country, away from the small town, where a small barn grabbed your attention the first time you moved to Woodsboro.

The barn seems empty but eerie vibes surround it. The strong smell of the grass stings your nose as your black boots walk on the muddy ground, the rain of this morning still lingering in the air and in the countryside.

When you reach the perimeter, you squeeze your eyes to see inside, but the few tiny windows don’t allow you a big view. The more you walk around it to make sure it’s empty, the more the hold on your concealed carry with the gun inside tightens.

It’s late October and the cold penetrates your brown leather jacket, but the temperature is not the thing that makes you shiver.

You should’ve never followed your instinct and come here alone. You should’ve spoken to somebody else in the department, told them your theory and have some backup in this crazy plan of yours. But when your impulses take over, your smartness slips away, and you find yourself in the worst situations ever.

Like right now. You stand in front of the wooden door and find the courage to push it open. You should feel thrilled, you found him. You found the psycho that has been haunting the town for months now, messing up with you with clues and mocks that pushed you farther away from the right path. Yet, you beat him, for once it looks like you have the upper hand now that you’re walking around the empty barn away from the town. But something doesn’t feel right, your guts are telling you something but you don’t listen, you can’t walk away now that you’re so close.

There’s not much to inspect, a few pieces of furniture, a disheveled mattress in the middle of the room, and a few chairs in a corner. It almost looks like an abandoned farm if only it wasn’t for the unnerving vibes that carries with it and for two walls that call your attention. On the right, there’s a map of Woodsboro, pins linked by a red thread, connecting all the places where Ghostface hit in these past months. Your hand quickly reaches the back of your pocket to pull out your phone and snap a picture, hoping there will also be places he didn’t go, and this time you can be faster at stopping him.

What’s on the other side is worse.

“What the fuck…” you mumble under your breath as you step closer to the wall. Polaroid pictures hanging from it, Ghostface and the victims, you guess, moments before they were brutally killed. You’re not surprised, one of the gifts he would leave on the scene of the crime being Polaroids, but they didn’t make much sense. “He’s a fucking psycho,” you scoff as you take another picture.

“Surpriiise!!”

Your phone falls on the floor with a loud thud and your heart jumps in your throat when his voice breaks the deafening silence in the room, but your reflections are swift enough to make you reach for your gun and turn around, shooting.

“Boo, fail,” Ghostface laughs, hitting your wrist hard enough to make the gun fall on the floor next to your phone. “You’re really not as smart as I thought you were, don’t you know intruding on someone else’s property is illegal?” he points out, pushing your body against the wall, the sharp blade of his knife grazing the skin of your neck.

You try to keep calm, deep slow breaths as you try to don’t look scared for your life. You might die today, but you won’t give him that satisfaction.

“Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’m quite happy to have you all to myself,” he chuckles, his hand lifts to caress your face and you struggle to avoid it, but the click of his tongue makes you stop. “I wouldn’t act too careless, it’s sharp.”

You stop moving. You are smart, and you can get yourself out of this situation. “Do you want to play a game, Ghostface?” You ask, ignoring his taunts, the irony in your voice is clear, just like it’s blatant in the slow bat of your eyelashes, but your words only make him laugh.

“Oh, that’s not how it works, detective. That’s my line. You didn’t study the script?”

You scoff, trying to take time to free yourself. “We’re switching roles. Do you want to play a game? It’s called you turn yourself in and I put you in jail.”

He snickers, and his head tilts to have a better look at your face. He’s had many people in this position before and never saw so little fear in their eyes. “Now you want to act like you don’t love the chase?”

“Fuck you, I don’t love it,” you spit out, narrowing your eyes, desperately trying to get a glimpse of anything under the mask. Another failed attempt.

He laughs darkly, so deep it hits you to the core and makes you shiver — in fear or excitement, you’ll let this decide to your better judgment. “I know you do,” he coos as his thumb covered with the black glove caresses your lips. “Enjoy the little clues I leave you around? You were interested in the pictures, I knew you loved them, that’s why you get the prettiest ones. I tell you so much, but you don’t understand me,” his voice is calm, scarily calm, and full of sarcasm filled with a sweetness that feels like a slap across your face. “I was a bit mad it took you so long to find me.”

Rage shoots up inside of you, but you instantly push it down, you can’t lose your composure. “So, what are you going to do, kill me?” Your voice drops of a tone, and your eyes turn into a teasing gaze, making him chuckle.

“Talking about death so nonchalantly with me, mmh… are you brave or dumb? Because if you ask so nicely, I just might let the knife sink in.”

You laugh lightheartedly, putting up the best performance of your life before your eyes flutter seducingly at him. “No, please don’t kill me Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel,” you coo, lips in a pout and innocence in your eyes, until you hit him with a swift, strong kick between his legs, the distraction of your performance giving you time to slip to the side, causing just a bit of your skin to cut and bleed.

“Bitch,” he mutters under his breath as he kneels to the ground. You reach for your gun, but barely have time to grab it before he pushes you on the floor again. “We were having so much fun, you just have to ruin everything.”

You’re waiting for the worst when he traps you on the floor with his body on yours, but his arms don’t lift to stab you in your chest or stomach, the last thing you see before passing out is his hand lifting in the air and the sting of a needle pushing past your skin.

The white light of the room feels like staring directly at the sun when your eyes blink repeatedly as you try to come back to earth and push away the hammering of your headache. You groan hoarsely, trying to adjust to the light, but the biggest discomfort comes from your shoulders, pushed behind your back and around the chair you’re now sitting on.

“Sorry, I had to tie you up, but you’re a bit feisty today. Didn’t want you to get hurt,” Ghostface replies to your silent questions — not so silent, considering how loud you’re groaning and struggling on the chair, trying to break free. He’s standing in front of you, but a chair is right behind him so you guess he was sitting there before you woke up.

“You can’t even take one down without a fight? Need to kill me without breaking a sweat?” You taunt, eyes dark and a deep frown on your forehead.

But your teasing seems to leave him unfazed as he walks toward you with a glass in hand. “Drink.”

You scoff, staring at him. You hate that you can’t see him, not even because you want to find out who’s hiding under there, but also because you feel like you can’t confront him well enough. “You think I’m so stupid to accept a drink from a psycho?”

His head rolls back followed by an annoyed sigh as he stops right in front of you. His black boots bumping against yours. “You know that’s not how I move, no fun in killing with these shortcuts. Drink. I would never want you to pass out here,” he coos while his free hand pushes your hair out of your face. You can’t see behind the mask, but you know he has a shit-eating grin on his face. He moves the glass to your lips, but you turn to the side, he doesn’t give you a choice when he strongly grips your chin, pushing your lips open, and forces the water down your throat. “Oops, it spilled all over, you’re so messy, detective,” he snickers when water drips on your chin and shirt. As if he didn’t do it on purpose.

“Asshole,” you mutter, eyes closing into fissures while you look at him. His head tilts, “Oh, brave. I could slit your throat right now, add you to the collection.”

You chuckle darkly, shaking your head. “You won’t,” you say firmly. “You’ve never had someone quite as fun as me.”

A low laughter escapes from the mask. “So, you are at least a bit smart?” His hand places on your thigh and you try to move away, but the chair screeches on the floor, and his hold only tightens.

“Don’t play games now. Don’t fake it,” he groans, hand moving up on your blue jeans. “You enjoyed our last conversation,” he whispers, the mask close to your face, so close you can almost see his eyes behind the blackness of the two holes. “Had shivers run down your back when the phone rang in the middle of the night, haven’t you? You sat up straight in your big bed, all alone, and felt fear take over. Never answer unknown numbers. That’s what they say, that’s what you say, running around town, warning everyone about me,” he laughs deeply. “And then look at you, picking up that phone call, eager to hear my voice on the other side.”

“You’re a psycho,” you spit out, struggling against the restrainers. But once again it is an act; he is a psycho, but you are starting to fear you aren’t much different.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, I am, never denied that. But don’t act better than me. You stood right in front of that window, stripping for me, touching yourself for me, moaning for me. How fucked up that is?” He snickers. “You have fucked up fantasies, my pretty detective, but I’m not one to judge. I’d gladly help.”

You laugh quietly, trying to look confident but it comes out shaky from your throat, “If you want to help, take the mask off and show me who you are.”

“Wow, wow, darling. Not so soon, I’m not one to burn stages in a relationship. What next? Want to meet my mom?”

You inhale sharply, and spit on him, “God, you’re insane.” Your eyes snap open when he pulls out of his back the sharp knife, your breath is stuck in your throat and fear runs all over your body. And once again you regret how impulsive you are. You did well all these past years of training and then on the first real-life experiences at pushing this side of you in the cage, but it looks like it’s coming out like a beast that’s been trapped too long.

“Don’t be so scared,” he huffs, the fake sympathy in his voice should make you mad but it triggers something else inside of you, and you hate to admit that he might be right, you’re enjoying this more than you should, you’re enjoying this entire chase more than you should. It’s like a game, but it’s not when real people are dying. “I would never hurt you,” his voice is raspy, slightly muffled by the ghost mask he’s wearing, and the knife sits on your sternum. “I hope you didn’t like this shirt too much, detective.”

You don’t have time to react, the steel cuts your shirt neatly, the sound bouncing in the small room and the sharp tip brushing your skin. You shiver, gulping hard and closing your eyes, already feeling the sensation of it cutting through you, but it doesn’t happen.

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head disappointingly. “You truly don’t trust me. I’m offended, and I don’t like when people offend me. Just like I don’t like when they hang up the phone while we’re playing. If people were respectful, I wouldn’t have to kill them, you know?” You stare at him with a furrow on your face, you’d like to take the mask off and see his eyes, not really to find out who’s hiding underneath that mask, but to see if his gaze is as insane as you imagine it to be.

“Let me go,” you say, the skin of your wrist bruised from the pressure you’re applying against the ropes.

“Don’t struggle too much, it turns me on,” he warns, kneeling at your level. He smiles softly and thinks it’s a pity you can’t see it, you’re just so pretty, with your beautiful face filled with different emotions and your eyes looking at him with a gaze that wants to be threatening but it’s all the opposite, almost making you look like a lost puppy.

“Why?”

“Why? It’s funny to see the victim beg for their life, it makes you feel powerful, you could show mercy, but you don’t,” the smug smile on his hidden face can be heard in his voice and you shiver at how cold he sounds, the shrug of his shoulder is just the cherry on top to his unhinged behaviour.

“So, you’re just going to keep me here?”

“No, I want to play with you. Do you want to play a game, detective?”

Your gaze falls on your thighs where his hand is placed again, the black gloves preventing it from leaving traces behind, as it slowly moves closer to your heat.

You snicker, pretending to play it cool, but your breath twitches at the contact. “’Cause if I said no you would stop?”

“Hey, I’m a killer, not a rapist,” he defends, shrugging. Yet, you still don’t reply, and he doesn’t like that. “So? I’m not so patient when I ask people if they want to play with me, so don’t test me.”

You swallow hard, swiftly looking around to see if you can pull a move on him. Damnit, it’s your chance to get him and throw him in jail but instead, you’re seriously thinking about his proposal. You fool yourself that you’re only doing this because maybe he could slip, maybe he could say something in the heat of the moment that could give you a clue, or he could leave his traces on you somehow, maybe his mask could fall, but you know you’re feeling something else. Attraction.

“I said,” he mutters, his face comes closer to yours, making you pull back, and the knife pushes flat in the hollow of your chest, “do you want to play a game, detective?”

“Yes, yes, I do,” you mutter, starting to breathe again when he pulls the knife away.

“Good, I love playing with you.” His fingers move to unbutton your jeans and then pull the zip down, you look at him attentively. “Lift your hips for me, love?”

You glare at him at the pet name but he only chuckles deeply. “What? If I’m rough with you, you get mad, if I’m sweet with you, you get mad. I can never win, can I?”

You huff, deciding it’s better to not reply and just do as he says. Your pants are quickly at your ankles and suddenly you feel even more trapped than before now that you can’t even move your legs, but his touch on your naked skin takes you away from that thought.

“Pretty panties just for me?” He coos, tilting his head to the side as he stares at your burgundy panties with the lace trim. “Were you hoping to find me here so we could finish what we started on the phone?”

“Shut up, this is not for you,” you retort, your forehead creasing with a furrow.

“And who is it for?” He asks, cupping your pussy, watching your body shiver. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me there’s a boyfriend I’m not aware of. I’d hate to kill him.”

You bite your lips and keep the contact with the mask, but words struggle to come out when his index finger starts rubbing on your clit, moving from the slit —where you can feel you’re starting to get wet— to your sensitive nub. “It’s not for you,” you repeat, trying to don’t show how much his touch is affecting you.

“Well, you want me to work so hard too, I’ll have to find out on my own if someone is playing with what’s mine,” he replays nonchalantly. “I know where to find you, maybe I’ll come visit again.”

“You talk so much for someone who wants to play so badly,” you retort, a teasing grin curling your lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my princess was so eager,” he replies, saccharine voice filled with mockery, before a harsh slap lands on your pussy making you jolt and whimper. “Want my fingers?”

The glare you give him would be enough to kill him; isn’t this pathetic enough? How much more does he want you to humiliate yourself?

He rolls his head back and then the knife is against your neck again. “Do we have to do this every time I ask you a question? Do you want my fingers, detective?”

“Yes,” you whisper. Your body relaxes momentarily before tensing up with excitement again, but it quickly shifts to disappointment. “What are you doing?” You ask when his covered fingers press against you again.

“Oh, you’ll get the gloves too, I’m not dumb, you know? Don’t leave fingerprints on dead bodies, won’t even leave them on yours,” his voice is smug, all the confidence of someone who didn’t make a wrong move and somehow was always ahead of you and the police department.

You hate him. You hate he’s so much better than you at this. And you hate him even more now that he has you fighting whimpers and moans.

“Are you seriously going to pretend you don’t like this while your hips are bucking up?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in a mock. “Think moaning is more pathetic than humping my fingers like a bitch in heat?”

Your mouth opens to retort but you can’t deny the evidence; your hips are rolling against his hand, chasing for more, your panties are darkening as your wetness leaks through the fabric and your chest is heaving in erratic motions.

“Look at me,” he sings, hand moving up to graze your neck, thumb pressing on your carotid, making your head snap up. “You listen so swiftly when you fear for your life. It’s funny, you know, because I truly would never hurt you.”

You chuckle, shaking your head, trying to pull away from his hold when his hand moves up to caress your jaw. The gentleness of his touch is even scarier than when he has his knife pointed against you. “Is this what turns you on? The fear in their eyes?”

His head tilts to the side, shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Partially. But not in your case, what turns me on with you it’s the chase, and the fact I always win.”

You scoff bitterly, struggling in his hold but his hand quickly grips your chin and pulls you closer. “Didn’t you see the movies? The villain always dies.”

“If the heroine is not busy getting fucked by him,” he mocks, squeezing your face harder and moving his fingers faster on your clit. Your head rolls back and so do your eyes while a chocked moan leaves your lips. “See, I doubt you will shoot me in the head if you keep moaning like this.”

You groan angrily, you’re madder at you than you are at him. You want him and it’s so wrong that you do, but there’s not even a siren ringing in your head, telling you to make this stop.

“No, shh, shh, angel, it’s fine, this will be our little secret,” he whispers to your ear, the mask rubbing against your face, and when your eyes turn to look at him, you can see small dots of blood on the white varnish. “We could play another game: one secret for you, and one secret for me. If you behave, maybe I’ll reveal myself to you, if you promise to keep it to yourself.”

Your teeth sink into your lips harder when he delivers another harsh slap on your clit before resuming his quick movements. “Just — just tell me if I know you,” you mumble. You know he will never reveal himself, but maybe you can get something more, anything to complete the missing pieces of the puzzle.

He chuckles darkly, staring at a spot behind you as he pretends to think. “Mhh, we’ve met.”

You frown and your heart jumps in your throat for a moment at the thought you’ve seen him. “Only met?”

“We talked,” he adds, finally letting go of your face, making you breathe normally again.

Your eyes widen while your brain hurts as you try to quickly connect the dots, and find out who’s hiding underneath the mask, you just have to put a face on a voice — even if distorted, but you can’t. And suddenly realization slumps on you.

“Will it — will it break my heart?”

He snickers under his breath as he looks into your sad eyes, you’re looking at him like a dog when it’s being scolded, but in this case, you’re also silently praying he’s not someone close to you. He has no idea why that would make you feel better, if you care more about Ghostface or whoever is hiding under the mask, but it doesn’t matter, and he mocks you again, mimicking you in a high-pitched voice. “Will it hurt if I was someone close to you? A colleague? A friend? A lover?”

Your breath gets faster. Will it? Would you turn him in or defend him? And you can’t stand you’re even questioning it, of course you’ll turn him in, that’s your job, but most importantly, your duty. But will you? You could be doing it now, and you’re not.

“See? It’s not as funny if you know me,” he laughs at your face, your thoughts so loud he could get a headache. “It’s not as exciting, you love the thrill of this too, more than you like to admit.”

“Fuck,” you curse when his other hand cups your covered breast, it’s a harsh tug and the leather feels weird on your skin, yet, it makes you clasp your thighs and forget what was tormenting your morals, again.

“They’re so perfect, I can’t believe you always keep them hidden under those ugly clothes,” he pouts, giving it another hard squeeze. “Sorry.”

“For what — what the fuck?” You scream when he cuts your bra with the knife, first the middle and then the straps, the matching burgundy bra falling in pieces on the bottom of the chair.

“It was getting in the way, and I don’t like things that get in my way. I cut them off,” in his voice lingers a hysterical laugh that makes you shiver, and in times like this, you’re glad you can’t see his face.

You gulp and automatically close your legs.

“Not you,” he reassures you, forcing your thighs open again with a smack, “you entertain me. And you suck at your job, so it’s clear you also don’t get in the way.”

“I’m good at my job and I will get you and put you behind bars —”

“Uh, uh,” he clicks his tongue, knife under your jaw before you can even finish the sentence, silencing you in an instant. “We were having so much fun, don’t ruin it, babe.”

You swallow and look down following the path he’s tracing with the knife, goosebumps bloom on your skin and you hold your breath when it gets closer to your neck, only releasing it when the blade sits in the hollow of your chest.

“It’s so funny how you shake like a leaf, I’m a professional,” he says, sounding almost offended. And you furrow, is he talking about the knife or his fingers? “Both, love.”

Another groan leaves your lips before he moves the crotch to the side and the cold air of the room hits your burning core. You’ve never been so ashamed your entire life, you shouldn’t be an open book to him, you shouldn’t be so malleable in his hands, it’s pathetic and humiliating.

“You’re so fucking wet. I’m quite pissed I can’t run to the police department and let them know how much I turn you on. I can already see the disappointment on their faces,” he taunts, the slick sound of his gloves against your dripping pussy burns your body in shame and excitement.

“Don’t you dare,” you spit out, but you don’t sound so menacing since your voice breaks, and a pathetically high-pitched moan rolls from your tongue right after.

“I said I’m not going to, I keep my promises,” he kneels to the ground, one hand keeping you spread more and the other is still busy taking care of you. “Maybe if you promise you won’t shoot or put me in handcuffs right away when you’ll find out who I am, I can eat you out. I bet you let out the prettiest moans when you have someone between your legs.”

Your head rolls back, and you hiss. “You wish,” you retort through gritted teeth, but a part of you dies to know what that would be like. “I will never give you the satisfaction.”

He laughs mockingly. “Maybe I should blindfold you and do it now, will you recognize me by that?” At those words your body tenses up, head standing straight again as you look down at him with terror in your eyes. “What?” He asks in a giggle, surprised by your reaction. “You’re fucking with me right now, I still have blood on me. Would that be the most problematic thing? Having fucked with me before? Without this mask?”

“You’re just messing with me,” you mutter but your brain is trying to think, the list of the people you’ve been with is not that long, he can’t be so stupid to out himself like that, right?

“Maybe… I love it when I can see you think,” he whispers. “Usually, you have your hands in your hair, pulling at it even if you just washed it or spent hours styling it, and then you nervously bite your right thumb, somehow there’s always a hangnail to pull until it bleeds, oh, and you also nervously walk back and forth, two steps forward, two steps back. It’s cute, really. You have no fucking clue how to stop this, but you look so into it, chasing after me… well, so you think because, let’s be honest, you’re only chasing after your tail.”

You can’t believe he knows all of this, how close to you is he? And a few names start popping into your mind, but for each face that you see, your only answer is it can’t be.

“Why are you surprised? I told you, I love watching you,” he says, voice scarily soft even through the distortion of the mask. “You’re very pretty, detective. When you work hard to catch me, and even more when you screw it all up to moan for me.”

“Ugh,” you groan through gritted teeth, wrist rubbing against the rope keeping you in place and hips bucking up, anger and pleasure mixing like a drug in your brain. You hate to admit it, but you’re close and you doubt you can push back your climax any longer.

“It’s alright, love, I told you, I won’t judge you,” he hums. He studies your face for a moment, admiring how your teeth trap your lips in the vain attempt to don’t truly show how much you’re enjoying this, but your eyes are filled with lust, lightly glassy, and your cum is painting his gloves white. “Now, will you come for me?”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice, your body shutters as the orgasm washes over you, the quick movements of his fingers on your sensitive clit making your nails dig into the palm of your hands while your moans slip out of you freely. Your morality disappears, getting dragged away with the orgasm that consumes you before leaving.

You forget where you are for a moment, or to be more precise, with who you are with, as you let your head roll back, close your eyes and take deep breaths, waiting for the high to pass.

The thing doesn’t bother Ghostface, though, he sees enough fear in people’s eyes, he likes it better when you stop pretending and relax around him. That’s the thrilling thing about you, you are the most entertaining game he has ever played. With all the others he knows how it will end, their lifeless bodies laying in a pool of their own blood and the sirens of the police going off in the background as he blends in with the crowd, but with you? It’s unknown. Like a Russian roulette.

He’d love to shred all your clothes off, but he knows you’d have to spill your guts (not literally) if you walk out of there completely naked, and he’s sure the version you would tell the police would add another crime to his name. So, he takes your shoes off and then pulls your pants down.

Your laugh makes him raise his face and stare at you. “What’s so funny, dollface?”

You shrug, wetting your lips. “You scare me more when you act all sweet, you know?”

He scoffs, standing up again, and caressing your face. “You want me to hurt you so badly. I could carve a heart right here,” he presses the tip of the blade next to your heart, tracing the shape of a heart, causing goosebumps to appear on your skin. “It would look so pretty on you, and you will always carry me with you. Isn’t it nice? Couple goals.”

You raise a brow at him, he doesn’t even realize it, but he’s giving away so much of his personality, even if you don’t find it out now, you’re pretty positive all of this is leading you somewhere. You shake your head quickly, trying not to show how hard you’re thinking about your plan. “I only want one thing from you, and you know what it is.”

He chuckles, leaning next to your ear. “My dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you curse, accidentally kicking him now that your legs are free to move. You suck your breath in, fearing your move, even if involuntary, might piss him off.

He hisses but doesn’t do anything else. “Don’t get all bratty here, doll. You said you wanted to play a game, and we’re going to play it until the end.”

When he cuts your panties and balls them in his fist, saying “keeping them as a souvenir,” with a grin that can be heard in his voice, you only reply with an “asshole.”

Once again, he doesn’t pay your insults any mind, and you wonder why he’s so nice to you. Should you fear it? Will you be his last victim, getting the worst death of them all because he needs to put on a show? “Now I will untie you, if you play any trick on me… you know how it ends.”

You nod quickly, watching him disappear from your view as he stands behind you. You inhale when the knife places against your neck again and roll your eyes back. “You don’t have to do this every time, you know?”

“It turns you on,” he retorts firmly. “And I need to make sure you don’t do any funny business.”

Your eyes roll back again but you try to relax anyway and keep still when your wrists are finally free. Your shoulders are in a more comfortable position again as you subtly roll them to ease up. “Get up,” he orders, and you follow, moving carefully because the blade is still close to your body and you don’t want to end up dead on the floor. “Good, now lay on the mattress.”

Your face twists in disgust when you’re reminded of the mattress on the floor, but he pushes you forward.

“We didn’t kill anybody there.”

You stop, turning around swiftly, and his reflections are rapid enough that he doesn’t push the knife into your chest. “We?”

“Oh… it didn’t click yet…” He laughs darkly at your expression, the whole world falling on your shoulders as you wonder how could you be so stupid to not realize it. “Sorry, love. But hey, aren’t you happy I helped you out?”

You glare at him but then bring your hand to your hair and your thumb to your lips. Of course, there are two of them, that’s the only way they could always be so headed of you.

“Not the right moment to think about that,” he warns, voice dropping lower, making you stop your nervous ticks. “Get on the bed.”

You turn around again, suddenly aware that he’s completely covered and you’re bare. That thought makes you seek the cover of the mattress more, and swiftly you’re laying where he wants you. But it also turns you on, being so exposed to him while he’s giving you not even a peak of who’s under the mask and the clothes send chills down your body and more cum drips out you.

“Promise you’ll be good? We can play cat and mouse later if you want to,” he asks, the blade running flat on your boobs, making him chuckle darkly when your nipples harden at the contact and your hips buck up. “You promise, detective?” He repeats with urge when you don’t reply, too busy watching the knife move on your body as he pins you down.

“Promise,” you reply, looking into the blackness of the eyes of the mask.

He chuckles under the mask, and you watch him unbuckle his pants. You could easily grab the weapon that’s on your stomach and stab him, you could even un-mask him, but you lay still, almost mesmerized. And the conscience inside of you likes to remind you how fucked up you and your morals are, but you brush it off, shaking your head quickly.

“Turn around,” he orders, but you hesitate. That’s too much vulnerability. It’s clear he doesn’t like your hesitation when he groans, grabbing the knife and pushing it aside. “God, I have to do everything with you,” he sighs as he forcefully flips you on your stomach before his legs trap you again. This time you can’t do anything even if you want to, but once again, you don’t want to.

“Fuck,” he moans, hands cupping your full ass and squeezing hard, the firm hold eliciting a moan from you. “Look at you, so fucking pretty. Keep your head down, don’t try to even get a peak,” he warns, and your immediate reaction is to turn around to understand what’s going on, but you know better, so you press your face into the pillow and only when you hear the loud sound of a spit and a glob of saliva drip between your folds you understand what happened. “Not that it was needed, you’re dripping. But you know, I like to get messy at times.”

You turn your face around, resting your head on the pillow, and bite your lips. The smugness and insanity of his voice causing more cum to ooze out of your pussy.

“I want to feel you so bad,” he hums, spreading your cunt, making you feel so exposed, “but will you run to the police? Will you tell them ‘oh no, I had to fuck Mr. Ghostface to have a bit of his DNA and save the town from this psycho’?” he mocks with a high-pitched voice, it doesn’t sound like you at all, more like a hopeless, brain-dead, blonde girl that dies within the first minutes of any horror movie.

You snicker. “You underestimate me, I could say I got those traces from somewhere else.”

“But will you? Also, I’m pretty sure they will find traces of you too. How humiliating would that be? Come on, honey, I won’t blackmail you, but you will screw yourself over? That’s not very smart of you.”

He’s right, you hate that he’s right. You will have to out yourself in the process of trying to turn him in. “I — I won’t.”

Deep down he knows you won’t, there’s no way they won’t trace it back at you too, and he also knows you won’t try to play the victim when you’re not, but he needs to be conscious, one wrong step and you could turn the game around. As much as he likes to mock you, he knows you’re smart and have been close to discovering them a few times, it was a matter of luck, and they were extremely lucky.

“Better safe than in jail,” he chuckles darkly, you don’t even try to peer around, and only listen to the plastic of the condom rip.

You whimper when you feel the tip against your slit, and you hide your face in the pillow as if that could change the reality of what you’re willingly doing. You’re too excited to be so ashamed of your actions, but, even if some may argue your morality is nowhere to be found, it still feels like a big balloon hovering over you.

You shiver when you feel the mask rest on your shoulder, “Nah, ah, angel, no being ashamed now. I told you I don’t like rude people, so don’t be rude and ask me nicely to fuck you.”

The urge to slap him is stronger than anything else, but once again your greed makes him win. “Please… please fuck me.”

“Not what I want to hear, you know what I want. We practiced the other night, haven’t we?” He reminds you, a hand creeping around your neck, holding tight enough to make buzzes of fear run through your bones.

You close your eyes, inhaling as deeply as you can while trying to find the courage to humiliate yourself one last time, but then the words slip out, “Please, fuck me, Ghostface,” and the air gets knocked out of your lungs when he pushes into you. It’s a strong, deep thrust that fills you to the brim and knocks you over. Your head falls against the pillow again while his loud groan fills your ears, “Fuck, it sounds so good from your lips.”

“Oh, fuck,” you curse through gritted teeth when he starts moving right away, barely giving you time to adjust to the feeling, thick dick grazing your insides and strong hands wrapping around your waist tightly.

“Is it too much for you, detective? My sweet little angel can’t take it?”

A groan slips past your lips, you try to stand up on your elbows, but he pushes you down. His body presses against your back and you feel trapped again. “Don’t move. I will fuck you so deep into this mattress that I will feel your scent for days after this. I want your face smashed against the pillow, I want it to be wet with your ruined makeup and tears, got it? ”

You nod quickly, shoulders dropping as you slump against the mattress. His breathing next to your ear makes you shiver, and you wonder if that’s the last thing the non-so-lucky people have met him heard before dying. But you push it away, for the sake of your sanity, you have to fool yourself that you’re not so attracted to a bloody murderer, that your morals are still intact, and that you are a good person.

It’s pathetic how all the anger you feel disappears with each calculated thrust, pleasure getting to your brain so quickly you stop holding back. Soft whimpers and moans roll out of your tongue and unconsciously your ass grinds back into him.

“Fuck, that’s what I want to hear,” he hums, standing up while his hands wrap around your waist. He never wanted to burn those gloves so badly, feeling the urge to feel your burning skin and mark you with his bare hands, but he can’t risk it. That doesn’t mean he can’t leave marks in other ways. One hand leaves your hips and cups your boob, eliciting a broken moan from you. “Have I told you they’re so pretty?”

“Mhh,” you mumble, eyes closing as he pinches down on your nipple. You wish you could say it hurt you but instead, it makes you clench hard around him, cum leaking out more with each pinch on your delicate, sensitive buds.

“Shit, you really are into pain,” he comments, there’s mockery in his voice —like always— but there’s also a genuine surprise. “Who would’ve thought, my innocent detective is way more fucked in the head than I thought.”

“I — I’m not,” you retort, groaning and forcing your eyes open, but the deep chuckle that rumbles in his chest makes you quiver, and your attitude drops in a moment.

“Honey,” he slurs, voice dipped in honey, “you’re letting Ghostface fuck you dumb, you are fucked in the head.”

You shake your head quickly, but he’s had enough of your lies. The rough tug at your hair makes you let out a choked gasp as your head is lifted from the pillow. “I know you better than anyone else, angel,” he groans, mask pressed against your hot face. “I know your dirty, little secrets. I know what runs into that dirty, little mind of yours. You can’t lie to me,” he almost purrs, a low chuckle making shame fire up inside of you, “and I can feel you, princess. Squeezing me, barely allowing me to pull out to fuck back into you. Fuck — I should feel you right now, no stupid rubber between us.”

Another broken moan slips from your lips when he roughly lets go of the hold on you, your fingers clench hard around the thin sheet under you, and your hips jerk up even more. It’s like you want to feel him more, to have him imprint himself deep into you, so far under your skin that you won’t be able to wash him off, and you don’t even know why you feel like this. Why it made you feel like this a week prior too, all the hesitation and fear as you picked up the phone and heard his breathy, distorted voice, flying out of the window the moment he started ordering you around. But was it truly an order when your only hesitation came from the fear of judgement, and you could only feel your body tingle with excitement? Sitting in front of the window, having no idea where he was hiding, putting on a show for the killer you swore you hated and making yourself come the hardest you’ve ever done.

“It makes you feel special, doesn’t it? The way you’re the only exception. The only one I would never hurt.” His voice is lower, hitting you to the core, making your toes curl and your breath falter in your chest. “You’re like a daisy in a garden of bloody, red roses.”

“Please,” you breathe out, choking on your tongue, eyes fluttering open shyly.

“Want me to stop?” He coos, head cocking to the side as he lands a sharp slap on your asscheek that makes you hiccup on a whimper and then another to your boob that drags a louder cry out of you. “Don’t want to hear how special you are?”

But that’s not what you meant. Your pleads were about something else, something you struggle to confess.

A deep laugh resonates in his chest as he looks down at your already wrecked face. You’re so precious, he can’t believe you sometimes think he could hurt you. His prettiest game, his wildest fantasy. The thrill he feels in his bones every time he’s close to you, so, so near to being discovered and yet always safe. It’s exciting, getting to his brain so much he can hardly hide how much it turns him on. But you’ve never been this close before. He dreamed about fucking you, having you pressed under him, begging, moaning and crying as his dick hit deep into your sweet pussy, pounding into you over and over again until you were nothing but mush in his hands. He wanted to strip you down completely and leave nothing of the women he sees and admires every single day. He dreamed of having all this power over you, watching you get weak on your knees and let him do anything he wanted, watching your body convulse in pleasure and your brain empty. And here you are now; wet, fucked-out eyes looking up at him while your pretty, plump mouth opens and closes as your shut-down brain tries hard to find the words.

“Speak up, princess. I don’t like to wait.”

“Please, wa-want to feel you,” you slur in a whisper, eyes blinking lazily as you try to hold onto what’s left of your sanity.

He chuckles, his thrusts coming to a stop that makes you whine in disappointment. “You want me to fuck you raw, detective?”

You hum, nodding slowly, not for the lack of enthusiasm but for the amount of shame that’s looming over you like a tornado. But Ghostface doesn’t like your silences, he doesn’t like it when you hesitate, that’s not what turns him on about you. It’s your impulses, the way you jump into things headfirst without thinking, for some it may be dumb, but to him, it’s just that sprinkle of insane bravery that makes life exciting. Your head is yanked up again with a rough pull of your hair, but his hold quickly moves to your neck. “I thought we were over the phase where I have to drag the words out of your mouth, detective. I’ll ask nicely one last time, do you want me to fuck you raw?”

You swallow your pride and reply meekly, “Ye-yes.”

He chuckles, pulling out of you almost completely before sinking in again with no warning, knocking the air out of your lungs, air that’s already struggling to fill them as his hold on your neck doesn’t loosen up. “See? It wasn’t that hard, was it? Even your stupid brain could put two words together.”

You gasp for air when he finally lets go and your face sinks on the pillow again.

“I’d love to, but I won’t risk it. Maybe next time, maybe if I’ll ever feel like telling you who I am,” he replies, and you groan in disappointment. Not only he doesn’t give you what you want but he also mocks you, reminding you why you’re here and how your mission flushed down the toilet as you let him play you like a violin.

“Then — fuck — please, fuck me harder,” at this point you want him to fuck you so hard your brain will just unplug and your superego can stop nagging at the back of your mind. You don’t want a single thought in your brain, just pleasure and lust.

“That I can give it to you,” he hums happily, and in a second, he complies. His hips start snapping against you at a fast speed, his tip hitting you deep repeatedly as he keeps you arched back with one hand around your waist and the other one wrapped around the makeshift ponytail he made with your hair.

You can already feel the orgasm build up at the tip of your stomach, but it only worsens when Ghostface roughly pulls you flat against him. Your head falls behind on his shoulder, eyes rolled far in your skull as your lips hang open to let out desperate moans and suck in as much air as possible.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he moans, his thumb rubs against your neck and jaw while his right hand squeezes and pulls your boobs hard before pinching the nipples. “Listen to those pretty sounds you make,” he snickers, “and you still want to pretend you’re innocent and pure? You’re fucked up just like me, baby, that’s why I like you so much,” he slurs.

You blink, once again adjusting to the light is uncomfortable but you make out just in time the fact he’s holding a Polaroid camera. “Smile for the camera, babe,” his voice rings in your ears but doesn’t reach your brain and before you know it, you’re coming just like that. The look on your face is not a smile but an expression of blissed pleasure, the exact moment as the climax explodes inside of you, making you clench around his dick and shake in his arms, your arm twisting back, letting your hand claps on his bicep and sink your nail in the thick fabric of the black cloak.

Ghostface would like to say he’s disappointed and scold you for misbehaving, but he can only stare at you with amused disbelief written all over his face. But you only see the constant expression of the mask and once again, you fear for a second he’s mad at you. Truth be told, he could even kill you right now, you wouldn’t mind much or even notice, too lost in the pleasure that’s still looming on your body.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hips slowing down until they stop completely, “you just gifted me the most precious pic in my collection,” he whispers. You feel like the edge of mockery is still persistent but at the same time something genuine lingers in it, it doesn’t make it less creepy, but the ‘fuck me harder method’ worked because you don’t question his, and yours, fucked morality and just smile dumbly.

And that smile, united with the slow bat of your wet eyelashes, is what he needs to lose it.

“Oh, fuck it, I’ll clean you up once we’re done and if you’ll try to turn me in, I’ll find out, so you better keep your promise, alright?”

You don’t get what he’s talking about right away, too fucked out as you lay on the mattress waiting for his next move, but when he pulls out of you and swiftly pulls the condom out, you get it. You bite your lips in anticipation and swing your hips in invitation.

The sight would be enough to make him come right there, and he damns himself because out of all people, you can’t be his biggest weakness. It got to be some fucking joke of destiny. “Will you go to the police?”

“No,” you mumble.

“Good girl, because these little games are just for us, me and you, you can’t use what we do here to help you with your case.” When he sinks inside of you again, he feels like he could lose it all for the way your wet, warm walls wrap around him. “Fuck, fuck,” he curses, voice even more distorted now that he murmurs through gritted teeth, “you feel so fucking good.”

His thrusts now are almost primal, desperately pounding you against the mattress, keeping you pinned down with a hand on the back of your head —not that you need that, you wouldn’t be able to hold your neck up even if you wanted to— and holding for dear life on your hips with the other. You’ll probably have some bruises by the end of the night, if not colored prints on your skin, surely light discomfort at the touch will follow you for a few days. And you almost want to beg him for more, to mark you in some other ways, to leave something just for you to see and carry with you. Sick and perverted thoughts cross your mind, and you push them away swiftly.

You bite down on your lips when his hand leaves your side to torture your nipples again, he can barely push his hand between your body and the mattress, but he has just enough space to play with your sensitive nipples, making them even harder and causing you to clench even more around him. He loves how sensitive you are there and how each rub, pinch, and slap has you easily squirming and moaning under him.

“Look at you, going all dumb on my cock,” he groans, mockingly giving one harsh slap to your tits before his fingers trace your cheek. Your skin is so hot he can almost feel it through the fabric separating you, but what he’s most fascinated about are your tears, black mascara running down your beautiful face, dying on the pillow and your tortured parted lips. “Are you still thinking about being better than me or — fuck — have you finally embraced your dark side?”

Not a word comes out of your mouth when you whimper back, and not even a thought crosses your mind.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he grins smugly. “You know,” he breathes out, head thrown back as it gets harder and harder to contain the orgasm, but he doesn’t want it to end so soon, “you should fire yourself and be my toy, just my toy, every time I need you, everywhere I need you. You’d love that, wouldn’t you? It’d make you feel even more special.”

You mumble a weak reply, it’s a whispered ‘no,’ but your body doesn’t deny how much the thought turns you on. Too many responsibilities in your life and your job, too much to carry daily, but right now? Nothing. Guilt will eat you alive tomorrow but not now. Something feels exciting about being on the run with him, being the one that runs, instead of the one that chases. But it won’t happen, you believe in your job, and you want this slasher to end.

“Cause only I can get you like this, ugh,” he grunts, hips slamming faster but more sloppily against your ass, the vulgar sounds filling up the room. “No man before and no man after will make you come this hard. Nobody, love. No matter how much you’ll want to, they all will disappoint you and you will look for me in every single one of them,” he groans, each word punctuated by a harsh slam of his hips, “well, the lucky ones that will get a taste before I’ll get them and kill them.”

You don’t reply, just lay there, looking like a mess as you try to fight another orgasm because coming again would be humiliating.

“It turns you on, doesn’t it?” You can hear the grin on his face and his voice has the edge of insanity of the usual. “Let’s be honest, you’ve got a list of shitty partners, you would’ve been grateful if I got rid of some of them.”

“Fuck, just — just fuck me,” you beg, your hand reaching behind to touch him somehow, but he doesn’t like it.

He grips your hand and pins it behind your back bending your arm, you hiss in discomfort, but he doesn’t let go. “Oh, no, angel. You don’t make the rules in this game, I do. If I want to sink into your brain and get so deep into you that I’ll make sure you will never come out the same, I will. I’m the darkest side of yourself, the fucked up filth you’re too afraid to face,” he groans. “And I know you’re close again. Your tight cunt is squeezing me, and you made a mess on the mattress,” he snickers. “Imagine if they find this place, this mattress, your DNA on it,” he stops, leaning next to your ear, voice dropping lower, “or better, imagine if they find us now. What do you say, detective? Would they be disappointed? Would they just jack off at the view? You look so hot right now, I wouldn’t blame them if they’d get off to you, to us together. Kill them surely, blame them not. We’re so hot, detective.”

You squirm under him, feeling like the room is spinning fast and you can’t ground on anything. You have a darker thought in mind, something you can’t confess to him or else he won’t stop mocking you. You want to get caught, but not by your colleagues, by his partner. What would he do if he saw you and his partner in crimes like this? Would he understand this, or would he snap? Maybe even feeling betrayed. Does he even know you and him have been playing this game of attraction for a while now?

Your silence doesn’t make Ghostface suspect anything. You simply look totally fucked out, brain empty as you plead in soft whimpers and moans.

“You sound so fucking good,” he praises. “Why don’t we play another little game, uh?”

Your eyes open in surprise and you hum with no strength, “what?”

“Beg me to save your life,” he says, grabbing the knife again and placing it close to your neck. “Come on, do it for me, I won’t ever hear you say it because I will never want to kill you. Please, detective,” he coos, hips slowing down because your pussy is fogging his brain and he’s not sure his always-perfect aim and reflexes will work right now.

You take a deep breath and then speak. “Please, Ghostface, please, spare my life.”

His head rolls back, and a deep, groggy moan comes out of his lips. “Fuck, yes, keep going,” he orders, hips picking up the rhythm again as he skillfully flips the blade to the lesser sharp side just to be safe.

And you obey. You beg, choked-up words slipping from your lips that soon turn into please, fuck me harder, and then please, wanna come. You feel boneless, your body is too hot, and you feel you might pass out, you need a release and then hope something bigger than you will make you get back on your legs and walk out of there as if nothing happened, as if you never followed your guts and found his —their— safe haven.

“Come for me, love,” he orders, throwing the knife to the side before his hand sneaks under your body to roughly slap your clit a few times, enjoying the louder moans he drags out of you by doing so and watching with pleasure as your body squirms and shakes. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.”

This time your eyes lock with the polaroid that he points toward your face as his chin rests on your shoulder. But it only lasts for the time of the picture, your body collapses again when he lets go of your hair and you let the pleasure pervade you from head to toe. It’s breathtaking and mind-blowing, and next time you’ll fuck someone else you’ll hate that he’s right. You will feel him everywhere, you will feel his dick deep inside of you every time your fingers will desperately try to take its place, and every time you’ll let someone in your bed, but you don’t hate that thought as you should.

“Fuck,” he groans, giving you a few more pumps to make sure you rode your high before slipping out and then roughly flipping you over. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and you follow with no hesitation —honestly, you were struggling to keep them open in the first place.

Your heaving chest, your parted lips still letting out cries, your wet cheeks, and your trembling closed thighs are the last drop he needs to let go. Deep moans reach your ears while his hot cum drops on your face, most on your skin but some in your mouth, and they get even louder when you shyly swallow it and lick your lips for more.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re —” he gasps but doesn’t finish, holding onto nothing as he empties himself all over your face. “Fuck.”

He feels dizzy, the orgasm still shaking him up, but then he looks at you and has to bite back a moan. The white strings of cum are covering your blissed face, your eyelashes are clumped together by the tears, and your lips are plump and darker, he knows he doesn’t want to forget what you look like right now. “Smile one last time, baby.”

And you do, the corners of your mouth lift and then you hear the click of the polaroid. You think for a second you should’ve told him to don’t take them, he could easily blackmail you, or straight-up get you fired, but once again, you don’t truly care, and you don’t deny how much the idea of those photos turned you on.

You should get up, grab your pants, jacket, shoes and leave. But you feel heavy and tired, you’re still shaking, and your breath didn’t go back to normal, yet.

“Don’t worry, detective,” Ghostface whispers, something passes on your face to clean you from the mess, but you don’t know what, and only then you open them ajar, just to see he’s still wearing his mask. “I’ll take care of you.”

The Ghostface mask is the last thing you see.

When you wake up, you’re in your bed, wearing your nightwear, completely cleaned up, but your bones and muscles are still sore, and a terrible headache is throbbing in the left side of your brain. You turn around, rubbing your eyelids with your palms before you can fully focus on the pillow and see three things on it. The Ghostface mask, a polaroid of you two from before, his face next to yours as he pulled your hair, and a note.

“It was a pleasure playing with you, my pretty detective. Can’t wait to see what our next game will be like♡ ”

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#nct fanfiction #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #wayv smut #haechan smut #johnny smut #jaemin smut #jeno smut #jisung smut #jaehyun smut #taeyong smut #yuta smut

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pandoraslxna · 1 year

Note

OMG no bc stepbro lo’ak secretly fingering you under the table

Movie night

Stepbro Lo‘ak x female Omatikaya reader

Words: 2.3k

Summary: Lo’ak can’t keep his hands to himself. Not even during movie night.

Warnings: explicit smut, stepcest, stepsibling au, aged up characters, innocent reader (I leave it to your imagination if she’s a virgin), slight age difference, they’re very much in public, voyeurism, fingering, little degradation, corruption kink, teasing between (step)siblings

Tonight was movie night at the labs in high camp.

It was a little tradition that Lo‘ak and Spider had started just a few months ago. Norm and Max had allowed them to use the big screen in the common room of the bio laboratory to watch some of the movies they had available. Gradually, more and more people had joined them in their little tradition over the last few weeks. Now there was your stepfather Jake and your stepsiblings Kiri and Neteyam. But also Norm and Max and some of the other scientists. And you, of course. Your stepmother, Neytiri, wasn’t a big fan of the whole thing. She still despised most human technology and basically everything else the humans did, so she usually avoided any unnecessary contact with them. You weren’t even sure if she liked Norm and the others. During movie night she would rather take care of chores or spend time with Tuk. The youngest wasn’t allowed to join anyways, since most of these movies weren’t exactly meant for children. Today was horror movie night on top of all.

The concept of horror or movies in general was still quite new to you, so you decided to settle as close to your stepbrother Lo‘ak as possible. Lo’ak had always been good at these human things. He was curious and eager to learn, so he understood these things pretty fast. And he enjoyed playing his big brother role very much, teaching you about them and easing your anxiety by explaining that the things you were watching weren’t real and it was all fiction and technology. He bought you great comfort.

Somewhere during the first thirty minutes of the movie, Lo’ak had pulled you onto his lap, his arms encircled your middle and his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Every once in a while, he planted a soft kiss to your temple or along your jaw. It’s was such an innocent gesture, so naturally that you two showed affection towards one another that nobody in the room even batted an eye. Your arms were resting on the table in front of you, mindlessly drawing patterns onto the tabletop and your eyes were entirely fixed on the screen in the front. You were sitting a little far behind in the left corner of the room, so it was a good thing that the screen was rather big and you were able to see perfectly fine from back there.

Lo’ak however, had a very hard time concentrating and following the movies plot. He was too busy focusing on the feeling of your soft bottom pressed tight against his crotch, where his erection grew with every passing second. He mentally cursed your choice of clothing today. Nothing else but this thin piece of woven fabric separated your privat parts from his cock. Worst of all was probably, that he was to one that had made this loincloth for you– with exactly that thought in mind.

You were painfully unaware about how much you were affecting your stepbrother, when you squirmed in his lap like that. Pressing yourself further against his crotch whenever you got scared. In the corner of his eyes, he watched the way you chewed on your bottom lip and how your breath hitched whenever the masked killer was on screen. You were adorable like this.

Lo’ak couldn’t help the way his hands wandered over your belly, caressing your skin as if they had a mind on their own. Experimentally, he dipped them a little lower, tracing the faint stripes on your lower abdomen and hips. His touches slowly grew more confident and bold over time. Sliding his hands over your thighs, he begins to massage your soft flesh, paying special attention to the squishy insides of your legs. Your skin was warm and smooth there. You weren’t unfamiliar with his touch, not even on those parts of your body. You didn’t resist him, when he wedged your legs slightly apart to make room for his hands. He could feel your tail, gently swaying next to his leg, making it known that you were relaxed and content. Maybe a little excited, but that was probably because of the movie.

Discreetly, Lo‘ak glanced around the room. Neither his friends nor his family payed any attention to him, everyone seemingly focused on the movie. Good.

His hands slide just a little further, until his thumb followed the outline of where your loincloth covered your sex. You were so lost in the bright, flashing movements in the front of the room, that you barely registered what was happening. Until Lo’aks thumb glides over the thin fabric resting over your folds. You inhaled sharply, but not loud enough for anyone to hear. The movie was too loud anyways.

You blink a few times, as if you were trying to gather your thoughts and make out what your stepbrother was doing. You were used to him being touchy with you, showing you just a little more affection than your other siblings, touching you in ways that stepsiblings weren’t supposed to touch each other. But Lo’ak always assured you that it was normal and that you should just let it happen if it felt good. Sure, hugs and cuddles and kisses felt good, very good even– but this was something completely new. It made your stomach tingle, almost the same way it did when he kissed you with his tongue.

Meanwhile, Lo’ak repeats the same motion again. He adds a little more pressure over the thin cloth, enough to part your lips under his touch to feel for your clit. Even covered by your loincloth, he expertly found the little nub of pleasure. Once found, he presses down on it and instantly, your eyes widen and your back straightens.

"Lo’ak?", you call out for him softly, barely turning your head in his direction as you spoke because you were just too flustered to look at him right now.

"It’s okay, just… just pay attention to the movie, yeah?", he whispered, sounding almost breathlessly as he spoke against the shell of your ear. You swallowed thickly, but like the good little sister that you were, you nodded and tried your best to regain focus on the plot.

At some point when the killer lured one of the human teenagers into his cabin somewhere in the woods, you felt Lo’ak pull your loincloth to the side.

His fingertips were ghosting over your flesh, with barely enough pressure, yet you were already panting. His index finger slides through your soft folds and you hear him exhale a shaky breathe behind you.

"You’re so wet, what’s got you all excited?", he whispered along a soft, content hum. You could literally feel the way your cheeks changed color, from blue to purple, because you were just so flustered from your big brothers filthy words. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond to him. You didn’t even dare to open your mouth, too scared that a moan could slip out at any second. Especially, when he begins to circle your clit with his thumb again.

His index finger then glides over your entrance, spreading your slickness and coating his digits in those clear juices. Ever so carefully, he slips his very fingertips into your cunt. Just an inch, before he pulls out again. You visibly tense above him, while he repeats the motion a few times. You bite your lip hard enough to keep quiet.

Slowly, Lo’ak slides his finger deeper inside, deep enough until his last knuckle disappeared past your tight opening. He places a tender kiss on your bare shoulder, before he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you. It’s slow, but enough to make you gasp and huff out tiny breaths of air.

"Shh, you have to be quiet, okay?"

He was one to talk. Right when the words had left his lips, he pushed a second finger into you. Your hand, that was resting against the tabletop just a few minutes ago, quickly comes up to cover your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut when he begins to scissor you open.

Lo’ak could already feel you clench around his digits and you were slick enough, that it slowly begun to produce faint squelching sounds. Thankfully, the movie was getting to its high point and the dramatic music mixed with the screams of the killers victims overturned your soft whimpers and the obscene sounds that your pussy made.

"Lo‘ak I’m… I‘m really trying, but—", you turn your head enough so he could hear your quiet whimpers, but he quickly shushed you.

"I know, baby. Does your big brother make you feel good? Feeling all special down there, hm?" He tilted his head and you got a glimpse of the smug grin on his face. Nodding your head quickly, Lo’ak kisses your cheek affectionately. "Try to focus", he then tells you, acting like he was paying attention to the movie again. You try your best to do like him, but it was getting more difficult with every thrust of his fingers.

When his other hand finally joins him under your loincloth, you almost loose it altogether. Now he was using both of them, one hand circling your clit with the one was busy burying two of his thick digits into your tight pussy.

Mindlessly, you buck your hips in an attempt to try and move away from him, the sensation of his hands all over your private parts simply being too much for you when you weren’t allowed to make any noise. You arch your back a little, your bottom pressing harder against his crotch only to feel his throbbing cock right there where you were sitting.

He was hard beneath you, impossible to ignore, yet there was no way you could do anything to help him out with this. Not here, to say the least. But Lo’ak didn’t even made any intentions for you to do so. You could clearly feel him twitch against the curve of your bottom, desperately waiting to get touched, yet Lo‘ak only payed attention to you. Seemingly taking pleasure by simply playing with you, teasing you in a room full of people. He carefully grinds himself against you a few times, but that was it. It would’ve been too obvious for anyone else if he kept doing that though. You, almost humping his hands was enough to hide already.

The pace in which he pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy has you squirming in his lap, toes curling and biting your tongue to prevent yourself from moaning out loud. The way he was rubbing your clit simultaneously, switching between slow and fast, as if he wanted you to become vocal, drove you quicker to the edge than you thought was even possible.

But then, on the other side of the room, your stepfather coughs and shifts in his seat. It startles you enough to squeeze painfully tight around Lo’aks fingers.

"Easy, sis", he coos next to your ear, "It’s okay, I’ve got you. They won’t see anything, don’t worry."

You squeezed your eyes shut once again and tried not to think about all the people in the room, because it just felt too good to stop now. The strokes of his fingers, the way he rubbed your clit as if he could read your mind, as if he did this a thousand times already and knew exactly how to make you come.

His speed picked up slightly, only making you whimper again. You leaned forward enough to rest your head on the table, encircled by your own arms to make it look like your were just tired. In reality, you bit down hard on your bottom lip and your eyes crossed before they rolled to the back of your head.

The soft, wet walls of your pussy were clamping down on his digits, tightening even more as the rest of you was starting to tense too. You could feel yourself right on the edge, his thick fingers pumping into you with vigour, your arousal running down between your legs, soaking his fingers where he was rubbing your throbbing clit over and over.

Your body trembled in his lap from the efforts of keeping any noises inside, when Lo’ak didn’t bother to slow down, carrying you thoroughly through every second of your climax until you were limp and whimpering quietly against your palm that was now covering your mouth again.

How he had managed to make you come harder with his hands than you ever had with your own was fucking beyond you.

When Lo’ak finally pulled his hand away and discreetly rearranged your loincloth, you slowly sit up again, letting your back rest against his front. You were spent, chest rapidly rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath again. In the corner of your eye, you watch Lo’ak lick his fingers clean with a wet pop.

Not shortly after, the lights of the common room are turned on again and you squint your eyes until they have adjusted to the brightness.

"And? How did you like it, guys?", Spider gleefully approached you both as soon as the blinds went up again and everyone had started their little chitter chatter about the movie, "You look a little shaken, everything alright?" He looked at you with genuine concern for a moment. At least until Lo’ak bursted out laughing, "She’s such cry baby, she was super scared the whole time. You should’ve seen her, bro! Maybe we should leave her with Tuk next time if these are too scary for her, right sis?" Lo’ak pinched your cheek teasingly and you couldn’t help but blush even harder at his words, a little pout forming when they both laughed at that.

You squirmed in Lo‘aks lap, cringing, as you felt your own slickness smear between your thighs with the movement of his laughter. Spider then turned his attention back to you, with both eyebrows raised high, as if he had just made a great discovery, "Ohh so that’s why you were hiding your face in the end? C’mon, it wasn’t even that scary!"

#avatar 2 #avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar way of water #awow #loak x reader #loak x female reader #loak #atwow loak #loak fanfiction #loak sully #lo’ak #lo’ak te suli tsyeyk’itan #lo’ak sully #lo’ak x reader

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sea-lanterns · 7 months

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TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE

synopsis: (slasher! AU) getting chased by a chainsaw-wielding murderer goes…horribly right?

featuring: beidou

rating: 18+ smut (men and minors dni)

warnings: sub! afab fem reader, violence, mentions of gore, blood, brief mention of vomiting, strap on, penetration, squirting, size difference, blo.wjob, choking, prey and predator kink, pet names (beidou calls you her little lamb), chasing, sharp things near areas they shouldn’t be, se.x in a barn, cursing.

art credits: chainsaw man

Holding your breath as best as you could, you heard the whirring of a chainsaw close by and prayed to whatever higher entity above that you would get out safe. What first started out as an innocent vacation with your friends, suddenly turned into a bloody chainsaw massacre, as the farmhouse near your vacation home had the most insane serial killer you’ve ever bore to witness.

From what you saw before your friends’ early demise, was a tall, muscular woman wearing a leather mask that mimicked human skin. It made you sick to your stomach, right before she sliced open one of your friends and left blood splattering everywhere. Traumatized was an understatement, you were left standing there in shock before forcing your legs to move and start running. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know you should run now and get therapy later, not too keen on getting sliced to ribbons like your other unfortunate friends…

The leather-masked woman slowly looked up. Her one eye gazing at you through her mask as blood slowly dripped from her strong, bloodied hands. The further you ran away, the longer she stared, suddenly no longer chasing you as she turned the chainsaw off.

You didn’t notice, of course. After all, you were too busy running for your life to see the way she licked her lips underneath the mask, pulling it off to take a breather and smirk at the way your cute little legs ran off to your car. She chuckled to herself, kicking aside one of the corpses of your friends and slowly stalking her way towards your path, humming to herself as she wondered how long it would take for you to notice that she slashed your tires with her chainsaw.

It didn’t take you long to notice, however; as the moment you ran to your car, you noticed the cut up marks on your tires and mentally cursed yourself with your luck. “Well fuck me with a chainsaw…” you groaned, before hearing the whirring of a chainsaw in the distance. “Wait, bad choice of words—”

As the chainsaw wielding woman tore down some shrubbery with her blade, she smirked and waved at you mockingly, almost flirtatiously with the way she flexed a bicep through the thin cotton flannel of her shirt. ‘So cute…’ Beidou couldn’t help but think as you stood there dumbfounded like a baby deer, wondering all the sweet little sounds she could get out of you once she got you all alone.

“Ah shit…” you quickly recollected your nerves and started running in another direction, remembering that you spotted a truck near the barn that you could hopefully hotwire once you got there.

As you ran, Beidou just chuckled when you took off in the direction of her old family’s barn, rubbing her calloused fingers against her forehead to wipe the sticky sweat off her skin. “So much work for one little lamb…” she sighs, eying the way your legs ran halfway across the field. Call her perverted if you will, but the woman couldn’t help but envision your legs wrapped so prettily around her neck while she eats you out. The soft flesh of your thighs just begging to be held down by her hands…

“Fuck…” Beidou was getting hot and bothered just thinking about it, groaning before slowly moving her way towards the direction where you ran. She was taking her sweet time in chasing you down, as she figured a girl as cute as you wouldn’t be so hard to hunt.

Through hard, heavy footsteps, Beidou watched from afar as you tried hotwiring the truck outside her barn, chuckling to herself as she wondered how long it would take for you to realize there was no gas.

“Oh Goddammit!”

Apparently it took you two seconds.

Beidou had to keep herself from smiling as she watched you frantically run into the barn to search for a gas canister. You were so cute in the way you panicked so frantically, darting this way and that like a little rabbit running in circles.

Oh, right. Beidou had to chase you, not admire you.

She let out a sigh and slowly entered the barn as quietly as she could, watching as you searched high and low for a gas canister, (or at least something that would protect you) in a barn full of hot air and hay. She watched you search through the barn and folded her muscular arms together in amusement, leaning against the doorframe with her chainsaw off and settled by her hip. ‘Poor little thing has no idea I’m right here…’ Beidou smirks to herself, almost tempted to tap her finger against your shoulder and scoop you up in her big, bulky arms.

Beidou drew closer, shadow slowly looming over your smaller figure and making you shiver as you start to notice the darkening light. Your blood ran cold, body tensing as you realized that Beidou was currently standing right behind you. “The little lamb has wandered out of her pen…” you hear her mumble huskily, pushing against the trigger of the chainsaw to give you a threateningly loud whirl. “I need to bring her back.”

“A-Ah…” your throat went dry and you almost stopped breathing the moment you heard the chainsaw behind you. Not daring to look back, as you knew that if you did, you’d get a face full of spinning blades and blood.

“…Hm.” Beidou chewed her lip at the sight of you still facing the wall, placing a rough hand on your shoulder and letting go of the chainsaw. “That’s not good. I want to see my pretty lamb’s face…”

She reached over to gently cup your cheeks and slowly bring your body over to her. Compared to you, she was absolutely massive. A tall, muscular, and broad-shouldered woman who looked like she could crush your skull with just one squeeze, towering over you like a bear leering down at its next fallen prey…

“…I know begging rarely works but please don’t kill me.” You say under a trembling breath, locking eyes with the mysterious killer behind the leather mask. “I— I won’t tell anyone anything, I swear. Hell, I sincerely apologize for my friends who trespassed on your property. Haha…ha…”

Beidou smirked at the way you shuddered under her grasp, like a little leaf that was quivering in the wind. She wondered if you could take what she had in store for you, or if your poor little body would crumble to dust with how she was going to manhandle you.

“Shhhh…” you were caught off guard when the woman suddenly began petting your head, treating you like some sort of shelter pet. “Don’t move.”

Well, you weren’t planning to, and with the way she was still holding that chainsaw made you obey every command she gave. Beidou was pleased to see your compliance, pressing a thumb against your bottom lip before leaning closer to murmur in your ear. “Are you scared?” She asks breathlessly, chuckling at the shiver you gave her from her voice.

“…A little.” You reply quieter.

“A little?” Beidou repeats, smiling a little and reaching up to pull off her mask. “What about now?”

Your eyes widened as you locked eyes with a roguishly handsome woman. She was missing an eye, had her face scarred with multiple scars, yet you could tell even from a glance that she was extremely handsome despite being a killer.

“…Uhm.”

Your cheeks burned hot for a moment before you quickly snapped out of it. Even if she was hot, she was still insane…!

“Uhm…?” Beidou edged on, giving you a toothy grin as she leans against a wooden post. “Didn’t expect a face like this, huh?”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. I mean, how could you when your killer was literally flirting with you after just chasing you with a chainsaw. You weren’t sure if she was trying to trick you by seducing you, or if she was genuinely flirting. Either way, you were still a bit terrified.

“…Dammit. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ that badly.” She sighs, moving closer until you are practically backed up into the wall. “I just wanted to see your pretty face screaming…”

“You killed my friends!” You suddenly exclaimed, before covering your mouth in shock.

“I did, didn’t I.” Beidou chuckles, gently moving her chainsaw against your thigh, cooing at the way you froze. “Well, your friends should know better than to trespass on my property anyways. It was very rude of them to enter my family home without permission.”

“That—” your breath hitches as the metal blades of the chainsaw gently graze your inner thigh. The chainsaw was off, luckily; but you could feel the severity of the situation as Beidou could turn the chainsaw on at any moment. “…That doesn’t give you the right to slaughter my…my…”

Images of your friends being sliced to pieces replayed in your head. You wanted to vomit, feeling a hot billow rise in your throat and threaten to spill over. You turned to your side and suddenly hurled the contents of your stomach on the ground, Beidou not looking surprised as she reached over to rub a comforting hand on your back.

“…That was a lot, lamb.” Beidou hums, pushing a lock of hair over your ear. “But let it all out. It’s okay…”

“You’re a sicko.” You couldn’t help but cough, a wave of fatigue crashing over your body as all that running and trauma finally caught up with you. “Dammit…fuck…”

You were sweating from both the hot barn and the aftereffects of vomiting, looking delirious before suddenly losing your balance.

“Oh...” Beidou moved forward to catch you from your fall and prop you against her muscular body. “I guess a small fry like you would fall eventually. You should drink some water.”

“What…” you looked more confused than anything, unable to keep your head up as you rested it against her chest. It didn’t make sense to you as to why the killer was being so nice, yet your body was too exhausted to fight back after running and screaming so much.

As you felt your body slowly slip into unconsciousness, you felt the killer wrap her arms around you and enclose your frame with her taller body. You’ve never felt so warm (and terrified) in all your life, yet she seemed to be gentle with you as she stroked her hand over your head. “Shhhh…you’re so sweet compared to them.” Beidou cooed, some of the blood on her shirt rubbing on your face. “I don’t understand how such a sweet little lamb like you would be hanging out with such jerks…”

‘They were still my friends…’ you wanted to say, but fatigue kept you from saying any more. Instead, you just breathed heavily and tried to move away, only for your thigh to accidentally brush against something firm and hard.

“Fuck.” You heard Beidou curse in front of you, a sly grin crossing her face. “Feel that? Ever touched something like that before, little lamb?”

You let out a surprised yelp when you felt it, confused as to what you just touched.

“Ever heard of a strap on?” Beidou chuckled, reaching a hand down to slowly unzip her trousers. “It’s what I was planning to use on you if you agreed…”

Your eyes widened as she slowly revealed a large, silicone dildo. You had no idea she was packing such a thing while chasing you, but just looking at the size of it had you unexpectedly aching in the heat of your core. “You…I…” You sputtered out as her words finally caught up with you. She wanted to use this on you? She wanted to fuck you?!

“You’re beaming, little lamb.” Beidou grins, giving her shaft a few playful strokes. “Are you turned on? Just moments ago you were cursing me out for being a sicko…”

“You still are!” You exclaimed back, yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away from how she was pumping the base of her cock. “I just…ugh…” your delirium wasn’t helping either as another wave of heat coursed through your body, Beidou staring at you with an arrogant grin before tilting your chin up to look at her.

“I have a proposition for you,” she speaks in a low, husky groan. “Let me have my way with you, and I’ll let you go. Or I'll let you go right now, but chase you to get my high…”

As if to emphasize her point, she gave the trigger of the chainsaw a small squeeze, causing it to whir to life for a split second. Upon hearing the loud roar of the chainsaw again, you tended up and shook your head no, clearly frightened for your life.

“By…letting you have your way, you mean…”

Beidou smirked, moving closer to murmur in your ear.

“I want to fuck you, little lamb.”

The way she whispered it had your nerves sparking with tension. Eyes flickering down to her strap, back to her face, and back to her strap again. “If I let you fuck me…will you really let me go?” You ask in a smaller voice, tempted by the offer of such an easy way out.

“I promise, my princess.” She hums, though that dark glint in her eye says otherwise. “Just let me reach one high with you, you’re too pretty not to lust over…” She exhales breathlessly before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Do I have your consent, my little lamb…?”

As her hot breath tickled your ear, you chewed your bottom lip before contemplating your options. “…Only because I want to be let go…” you say shakily, closing your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see Beidou’s reaction.

“Oh, I know,” you hear her chuckle, before a large hand pushes your head down to kneel against the hardwood of the barn floor. “But first, I need you to lube my dick with your throat. A pretty girl like you needs some assistance if she’s gonna take something this big.”

When you open your eyes you’re met with the fat tip of her silicone cock. The color a nude shade that matched the skin tone of Beidou herself, as well as a fake vein that ran from the base of the shaft all the way to the tip. “Suck it off, pretty girl.” Beidou chuckles, pushing you closer so that your lips brushed against the head. “The better you wet it, the easier it’ll slip in.”

Obediently, you parted your lips to take the head into your mouth, stretching your jaw to accommodate the wide girth and slowly bob your head down to suck.

“…God.” Beidou groans as she stares down at you, her one good eye glazing over with lust as she watches you suck her off. “That’s a pretty sight…”

She pushes you down a bit deeper and watches as you almost gag from the size. Beidou was one to always pick toys on the larger side of things, so it was no surprise to see you struggling to take her length inside your mouth.

“Gh-Ghhck—” you choked a little and accidentally let some drool leak past the corners of your lips, Beidou moving a finger down to wipe some of the drool away and pat your head. “Easy there, girl…” she hushes, gently pulling you back so you could pant for air. “Don’t want you suffocating, that should be enough for me.”

Strands of your saliva stuck to the toy as you gasped for air, Beidou stroking your spit all over her cock before hoisting you up to stand. “Shorts off, I promise to go slow…” In quick motions, you begin unzipping your shorts to slide them off, Beidou not wasting another second as she quickly moves in to scoop you up into her arms and pin you against the wall.

“H-Holy shit—” you instinctively cling to her broad shoulders and wrap your legs around her waist. “Don’t drop me—!”

“I won’t drop you, little lamb,” Beidou chuckles, trailing a thumb down to your bottoms and rubbing circles against the soft fabric. “I’d never drop someone as sweet as you…”

You felt a jolt of electricity when you felt her thumb rubbing circles against your clit. Although still clothed, you could feel how hot and big her fingers were as they toyed with your pussy from above your underwear. You couldn’t help but imagine her stuffing each one of her fingers deep inside you, the image making you wet as she continued playing with you to get you ready.

“My, you’re getting wet already…” the woman chuckles heavily, sliding your panties aside so you could feel her large fingers prodding at your hole. “Practically drooling for my cock to be shoved right in…”

She groans and continues massaging your folds until she feels you dripping over her fingers and down her arm. Once she’s sure you’re ready, she grips the shaft of her strap and angles it so that the tip pushes against your hole.

“Ready?” She purrs roughly, teasing your entrance with her head.

“Mhm…” you didn’t want to let her know how much you were craving it, so you bit your lip and hoped for the best.

“Alright.” Beidou groans, steadying her hips before slowly sinking you down on her cock. “Oh…shit.” She husks, feeling your walls part for the intrusion and swallow her whole. You squirm for a bit as you feel the mushroom tip spear through your folds, stretching you out to your limit due to how thick the strap was.

“Ah…hah…” you took deep, steady breaths as Beidou slowly eased her way inside of you, the smooth, slightly textured edges of the cock massaging your innards before you finally met her at the hilt.

“Oh…the little lamb is quite tight I see…” Beidou grins, feeling a little resistance before sliding out. “Let me fix that for you.”

Without warning, she begins moving her hips a little more and has you bouncing in her arms with small, wet, thrusts. She was holding you with just her strength alone, as she thrusted her shaft further into you and had you whimpering as she went.

“Is it deep enough for you, my lamb?” Beidou hums slowly, keeping up the rhythm while sliding her hands down to hold you by the rear. “I knew you’d be addicted to the size…”

She punctuates the end of each sentence with a sharper thrust, pounding away while she holds your legs up and grinded you against the wall. Though the dick she was wearing was not a real one, Beidou could feel every push and pressure against the harness while you grind your hips against the belt, making the woman grunt with pleasure.

“Just earlier I had you screaming, eh?” She laughs hoarsely, squeezing your ass with her hands before making you spread your legs wider. “I’ll have you screaming even more now… Screaming until your throat is torn and your cunt is filled to the brim.”

You moaned as she spoke such filthy words into your ears. She was fucking you so good that you were almost forgetting she was a masked killer who slaughtered all your friend, making you squirm with ecstasy and whine.

“Oh? Is the lamb whining for more?” The killer laughs, slamming her hips even harder against yours and making you scream with bliss. Nails gripping onto the blood-stained fabric of her shirt and trying to stabilize yourself from falling over in pleasure.

“T-Too…too much…” you whimper out into her ear, close to sobbing as you bury your face into her shoulder.

“Too much?” She mocks with an arrogant grin. “No baby, it’s perfect.”

She practically growls the word into your ear and raises your hips all the way up until just the tip was left inside. Once she feels you shiver under her hold, she braces you for impact before slamming you down roughly. Over, and over, and over again.

With each rough slap, it wasn’t long until you felt your insides tighten like a screw, before suddenly letting loose and squirting all over her strap, eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

“Oh…baby…” Beidou grunts, gazing at the way your cum dripped out of your hole and down her shaft. “That’s a sight…”

She senses your overcoming exhaustion and lays you down against her chest. Large hands coming up to hold your back as she kisses the top of your head. “I take it back, I don’t want to let you go,” Beidou murmurs softly, petting your head like you were an innocent farm animal she wanted to take in. “I’m going to keep you here and let you join the family, you’d be such a good wife for me after all, hm?”

She chuckles at the way your eyes flutter shut, fatigue taking over your body as you pass out in her arms.

“Rest well, my little lamb…”

That was the last thing you heard before you blacked out.

#beidou smut #beidou x reader #beidou x you #slasher au #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin women smut #genshin women x reader #halloween special

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artoutoftheblue · 6 months

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Idk what I wanted to accomplish with this. Listening to Poppy just made me want to draw Recovering Solar for some reason. Anyways rip this guys mental health

Song I listened to while drawing:

#fnaf security breach #daycare attendant #blues art #mask of innocence au #recovering solar #moi x css #tsams au #sams au #the sun and moon show au #sun and moon show au #Spotify

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

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The Horror and the Wild [Emperor!Konig x fem!Reader]

It's time for the wedding - and the wedding night. Emperor is going to make sure you will bear his offsprings by the end of the night. Tags and TW: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator AO3

You weren’t saved from the humiliation of a public wedding.

You weren’t saved the torture of picking the flowers as you were choosing the attire to your own funeral – and you weren’t saved your innocence by allowing yourself to ignore all the handmaidens and their horrible, disgusting picture books about penetration, pools of blood and hell that is saved between the legs of a man.

“My condolences, dear princess. For your parents. And congratulations on your wedding. Our deepest hopes go to your coronation, Empress.” “From the king of South, we send our sheerest condolences. And congratulations on the wedding.” “May your parents rest in peace. And glory to the Emperor.” “Grief surely suits you, Dear Empress. As well as the crown.”

You think you might puke right in your royal garments, looking at all of the royal visitors.

King Price of Southern Kingdom, with all of his knights – you do not know if you can find solace in the girl clinging to the hand of his masked knight, the stench of death filling you with calmness that you don’t know how to deal with. The girl is terrified, just like you – if you may, you’re probably the same age, that years of servitude grazing in the hands that are covered by the sheerest amounts of gloves.

The lady – you don’t know her name, and you doubt that any woman in this hall is even allowed to have one other than her husband’s – is looking at you with understanding. You think you might actually die.

— Lady Ryley?

She smiles, and before you can go to her – hold her hands, ask her to disappear with you, maybe run away somewhere, you don’t even know where – the masked knight already drags her away, a firm hand on her shoulder. You’re alone, the weight of the royal robe is pinning you to the floor.

You are dressed in black as the only form of rebellion – guests must assume you’re still mourning your parents, the grief in their eyes is mixed with congratulations on the Empire finally getting prospects of offspring – you hope you’d tore your womb from your body before König could lay his hands on you. Guests may assume that the wedding is a tab bit strange, maybe somewhat unusual for the emperor to marry someone of your status – tiny kingdom, no worthwhile resources, and almost zero prospects for trade. Maybe, you were the only treasure this kingdom ever had to sell so eagerly.

König holds your hands because you know that you would try to run the second he is letting you go. You know he knows this, too. Guests may assume that he is being protective of his young wife – assassins aren’t unheard of in these places, after all, you were the empress now. The much smarter guests knew what kind of looks you gave him – perhaps, you had the best options at killing the notorious emperor right after he robbed you of the last remains of your dignity.

You smile and wave like a damned pampered pigeon, pretty and useless, all dressed up in bows and black pearls, dark stones illuminating the depths of your despair – only the monster you had for a husband would even consider ordering a mourning dress this beautiful. You’re almost ashamed of wanting to paint it red – you almost feel bad while holding the butter knife and thinking about plunging it into your chest, ripping away all the delicate laces and ornaments that cut through your skin each time you breathe a bit too freely.

— You look divine in this dress, meine Liebe.

He smiles, you know he is – he didn’t forget about his damn hood even on his own wedding, but he holds you dearly, but he smiles with his eyes, an eerie sense of happiness that makes every guest shake in their seats. The Ruler of the Empire doesn’t smile. Not at his wife, who looks like she would rather kill herself, for sure – but he smiles as you say your wows, knowing full well you are not going to fulfill them, but he laughs when the priest stutters once you refused to say you do the first time – König has to squeeze your hands, reminding you of your place. Even your stubbornness has a limit, apparently.

His lips are dry and chastity.

König knows he can’t kiss you like he wants to – too many guests, too many pricks, thinking they have a look on his wife. If it weren’t for the admirers and desperate rulers of foreign lands, trying to force their songs and daughters to marry him out of a pathetic attempt at saving their countries, he wouldn’t even think about a public wedding. If it weren’t for the annoyance of constantly swatting the offers away, he would never allow the world to see you. Not how beautiful you look, not how pretty your eyes are, glistening with tears, not how much he just wanted to smother you with affection like there isn’t anyone around.

Hells, if he knew so many people would accept the short notice for an invitation, he would invade their kingdoms while they were away at his wedding.

König holds your face in his hands, the contrast between soft skin and his gloves is making you shiver – he pushes his hood up, even just for a little bit, and the only thing that is ever revealed to the audience is the scars on his chin and sudden dryness of his lips. He thought he overcame his childish anxiety when he was still a tiny bird stuck in his adolescence – but he looks at you, his pretty little princess, and his hands are shaking from the anticipation of a kiss.

The guests will assume you’re crying because you love him so, so much.

The Emperor knows better, kissing the tears from your lips like it was the sweetest treat around.

*** You thought you were smart.

You really did.

Such a slick motion, such an easy task – the girl coming with Knight Riley, the weak one, with trembling hands and face that spoke of innocence of lambs and with calloused hands of a fellow worker, took your hand as you were leaving. The veil of laughs and jokes about finally conceiving a worthy heir for the empire made you shiver from horror – and the girl swatted you to her side, a single sleight of hand putting…something in your palms.

Some sort of plant – dried, smelling of something sweet and edible, flowers that would feel crispy on your tongue. She smiles softly, her hands are gentle on yours – she whispers in your ear before your respective monsters can catch you and throw you in their layers again.

She said, it was mercy.

She said, it would make -it- feel quick and easy.

You hoped, it was a poison.

It had to be, you wouldn’t accept anything else – the desire to die and fulfill the destiny of a loyal servant, the whispers of the god of dignified death – you may not see the sweetness of the afterlife with your Princess, but killing oneself to save their bodies from being violated is a worthy fate for any. You pushed the plant in your mouth as swiftly as possible, chewing on the dried grass and crispy flowers, hoping the effect would be immediate.

You’re bathed and oiled like a pig for devour, short for the apple stuffed in your mouth – instead, you have forced a mouthful of wine, goblets after goblets. To ease the tension of the first night, the servants said, smiling understandably. You feel warm, you feel dizzy, you feel hellishly feverish, and it couldn’t be just from the alcohol – you close your eyes and hope that the plant took its way finally, releasing you from the shell of the mortal life. You’re dressed up in pretty garments, skimpy as something that the empress should never wear – you feel like a cheap whore when your skin is glossy with oils and decorated with flowers.

Just before you started chewing on them too, your husband finally arrived.

You hoped you’d be dead before ever seeing him naked again – but you’re forced to watch his muscles tense as the only thing saving his lack of dignity is the smallest ever piece of undergarments. It doesn’t help in hiding his arousal, the monstrosity between his legs. You knew you would have to die before he is ever putting anything in you – but you see the outline of his manhood, poking from the side of a simple cloth, and somehow, you feel hotter than before.

You blame it on the wine, you blame it on the poison you took. The warmness is spreading in your tummy to your lower areas, forcing its way to moisture your garments, a wet spot, embarrassingly big for an Empress, is slowly spreading between your oiled, scented legs. You’re nothing but a feast for him, a pretty little snack – you knew how much he liked to eat, after all. What great talent he had in forcing your legs apart and showing his head between them, that sinful tongue of his speaking of prayers and soft little blasphemies in the sweetness of your maidenhood.

— You’re burning, little princess.

You hoped it’s the poison working.

For a second, he placed his hand on your forehead and caressed it softly, accessing your temperature. For a second, the cold of his hands made you nuzzle into his palm like a cat that was fed nothing but the finest pieces of meat by the hand that was ready to skin it for its skin. For a second, you hoped that his embrace alone would be enough to kill you.

If you die, which you must do, you wish it would be with his hands holding you softly.

— A virgin fewer? I thought you’d know what we’re going to do by now, little prin…

— Don’t stop be from dying.

You let go of those words before you could claim your silence.

König’s hands are grasping you immediately, a finger lays in your mouth, making you gag – you open your lips from instinct, no matter how much you want to stop him from ever entering your mouth. He is weirdly smooth with you, the other hand going to grab your waist and press you on the bed – like you ever had a chance to stand against him and run away. Like he didn’t have a row of guards just outside the door.

— Dying? Scheisse, dumme What did you do?

He quickly grasped your tongue, the traces of the flower still lingered on your teeth, on the further corners of your mouth – you didn’t know if you had to spit it out or eat it whole, and you didn’t want to guess in the matters of death and loss of dignity. You gag on his fingers as he laughs – an unusual sound. First, the smiles and happiness in his voice, the rings and chains he put you in, and now laugh? Perhaps you died already, and this is your eternal damnation.

— Let go of me! You have no…

— Were you still so scared, Liebling?

— I wasn’t…what do you mean, Your Highness?

The title is good, the title puts some distance between you and him. Only imaginary – he is still as close as possible, hands on your body, wiping the traces of the flowers on the silk sheets and holding you in his embrace again, as tight as he possibly can. You feel ill, you feel hot, every time he puts his hands on you, you can feel your core throbbing, the poison making you dizzy and dumb.

You almost feel like begging him to touch you again – and again, and again. König, for one, can’t wait to watch.

— I wonder where you got it. Such a clever Katzen, ja? Eating aphrodisiacs before her wedding night, like I would just mount you like an animal without preparing my wife?

He laughs and laughs, hand in your hair, petting you gently like you truly were a cat. You’re dumbfounded, the fewer makes everything make less and less sense. You close your eyes, you open your eyes – you feel him on you. Looking, watching, observing, you want him to stop, and you want him to rip away those stupid garments and touch you, as he did in that dim hallway, to push his masterful, sinful tongue down your folds and treat you like a…

You whimper as you fell on the sheets, truly embracing the cat in-heat stance you were for the last few minutes. You roll on the sheets, smooth silk makes your core cool just a bit, the pressure only building with each time you try to hump the sheets, not caring anymore if you were behaving like an animal.

Perhaps, the Knight’s maiden really wanted to make everything easier for you – just in her own way.

— Wh…what have you done to me?

He is bracing his hands between your legs, lingering touches on the wetness of your garments, making you both shiver in anticipation. He is forcing his tongue on you, the immediate pressure making you meow from the sensation. You hate it, you hate it, you have to hate it because if you don’t, then what the hell are you even doing. It’s too much and too little, it does nothing to relief the warmth between your legs, only making you wetter with each stroke of his wide, warm tongue. — I haven’t done anything, little princess. You just want me.

— I would never want you.

— I can stop.

You snap your legs around his neck before he can withdraw his face.

König is laughing, the sheer adorableness of your expression making him want you even more. You look perfect, so lost in desire for him – gods, he just wanted to devour you, to strip you of all you worth and make you his just as much as he is yours. But simply pleasing you with his tongue won’t ever be enough for this night – he had waited for so long, too long, disgustingly long, he had to have you in every way possible. If he won’t consummate the marriage today, he might as well just die.

Other night, he will make you beg – plead for him to give you his cock, push the throbbing member in your trembling folds, snap the pleasure from your hands and force you to accept being his wife. The other night, he could wait and tease you for as long as possible. The other night…

He doesn’t have the patience for this night – he can’t even kiss you now, the mere feeling of your trembling lips would snap him beyond repair. It’s unfair to you, little princess, his desire is too much for someone like you to take – alas, he has to have you. Alas, he will have you, one way or the other, even if he’d have to push your pretty head into the pillows and force his manhood between your folds.

But you plead for him, the desire in your eyes, mixed with fear and anticipation, is enough for him to laugh again, his hand squeezing your chest. You look divine, absolutely – you would look even better when properly bred, tits full of milk, and belly swollen with his little soldiers. Emperor never thought of getting an offspring, always knew his fate was to fall into obscurity with the country he created, but you have wide hips, a soft belly, and warm hands – all the requirements of a mother. But you have the submissiveness of a pet and the wit of a wife.

But he can’t wait to push his seed into you – with a groan, before you could even lay your eyes on his cock, he is already forcing it in, ravaging all the resistance you once had.

The plant made you warm, aroused, and wet enough to be dripping when he first pushed his cockhead between your glistening folds. You cry, the feeling of being intruded, ravaged, bot entirely painful, but now very pleasant either, is nothing you were expecting of the first night with your husband. You were expecting screaming, pools of blood, half of your organs falling out from the newly made hole between your legs.

You just feel…intruded. The knot in your stomach is as tight as ever, even as König gives you a few minutes to adjust, the outline of his manhood throbbing in your tummy. You don’t even want to look at him, and he allows you to drift into a trance, the aphrodisiac you took doing all the job of preparation for him.

He is feeling you, raw and sensitive, your maidenhood is dripping down your thighs and his cock as he wasn’t exactly gentle – he will be the next night, and the night after, and after, he will promise to take care of you, little princess, but this night is about taking what belongs to him – and he will never allow you to keep your dignity when you can simply be his dumb, adorable wife.

— You’re so…heavens, princess, you’re strangling me.

He laughs, struggling to push in and out, his hand finding its place on your folds, playing and tugging with your swollen little clit. The bud is wet, no matter the pain you’re experiencing – the drug won’t allow you to stop wanting it, wanting him, König knows it’s not genuine, he has to work to make you this aroused, but for now, it will work. He doesn’t want you to feel pain – and he will make sure you’re able to take him.

— Too much, it’s…stop, wait, I am…

— You can take it, Schatzi.

— I can’t! — You will.

You whimper under him, you cry under him, he only continues to move, tearing your loyalty to your kingdom with each harsh thrust. You came to this room wanting to die, but now you feel your hands wrapping around his neck, your hips buckling to meet his, to bring the overcoming pleasure like König isn’t the one to tear you apart – you feel raw, you feel tainted, the pleasure in your folds is nothing what you ever had before.

You’re betraying yourself with each moan and each whimper – you find yourself begging for him, the tears of yours is not just from pain anymore. He kisses you, rough lips on your mouth, making sure you’re as prepared for him as he is, you want for him to stop, but you plead with him to continue.

— Stop already…I…

— I only came twice, little princess. And you – trice. Doesn’t feel fair, ja? — ‘s not, I can’t take it anymore…

— I will breed you, Schatzen. Until you’re swollen with my sons. — It w…won’t be royal children…

— Ach, my blood is enough to make a dog royal. — But…

— I will breed you, little princess. You can stop pretending you don’t want it.

You’re not even sure at what orgasm you are already – you feel like he came already, the wetness in your cunt should be evident of his already breeding you quite a few times, but the time is a blur when every time you cum, your vision blurs and your brain becomes foggier and foggier.

König knows you will look perfect, all thoughtless and swollen with his children – not now, maybe, with a few elixirs to enhance your ability to bear children, but he can’t wait till you’re done. You might not like it at first, princesses do tend to be just a bit dumb when it comes to their duties, but there is something in your eyes that is telling him you’re going to bring him sons just like a good girl you are. Just like he expects you to do, your pretty tummy all swollen, and your body is barely handling the passion of his lovemaking. Gods, he knew you would be worth it. Even if, to his knowledge, you’re not a princess at all.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #yandere cod #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig cod #male yandere #yandere male

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the-travelling-witch · 11 months

Text

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑

summary: working in a coffee shop means you always meet a wide variety of personalities; but why, out of all options, did you have to go and take an interest in the mysterious guy with an attitude problem?

pairing: piercer! scara x gn barista! reader

warnings: uhh needles (obviously), cursing like once, reader has questionable nicknaming skills (they're worse than paimon's)

modern au series || genshin impact masterlist

It was a typical Monday morning in the coffee shop you were working at, most customers seemingly dragging themselves in after rolling out of bed with the occasional energy ball as an exception. The aroma of roasted coffee beans filled your nose as you worked on several orders and people entered or left the store at a steady rate.

Once rush hour was pretty much over, the doorbell chimed again to reveal a guy with a dark and choppy bob cut you were sure not many people could pull off. The black clothes draped over his silhouette were deliberately torn at some places and a black mask covered the rest of his face except for striking indigo eyes and two gleaming dermal piercings peeking out from under the fabric on his right cheek.

“Good morning, what would you like to order?” you greeted, the expected smile already on your lips.

Without so much as a greeting, he said in a monotone voice, “A large black coffee to go.”

Wow, quite the attitude but then again, it was Monday morning and you had seen worse. So, not thinking too much about it, you continued as normal. “May I ask for your name?”

“Huh?”

“To write on your cup, so we can call you when your order is ready to be picked up,” you patiently explained.

In a tone that suggested the guy was bored out of his mind, he merely drawled a “Just write whatever” and went back to scrolling on his phone.

It was a good thing you weren’t holding a cup yet or you might have crumbled it. So much for giving him the benefit of the doubt. Your eyes narrowed as your smile and voice took on an almost unnoticeable edge. “Sure thing,” you replied in a sweet tone before telling him his total.

A few minutes passed after you gave the guy’s order to your coworker who sniggered as you handed them the receipt. While taking more orders, you were keenly aware of that indigo-eyed jerk’s presence lingering by one of the windows, back leaning against the wall and ringed fingers reflecting the morning sun.

Setting a cup down on the counter, your coworker called out “A large black coffee to go for ‘Whatever’!”

At the unusual call, a few other customers turned to see what was happening and the guy himself seemed taken aback for a short second before collecting himself. As he walked up to the counter, he threw you an unimpressed glare which you returned with an innocent shrug.

Despite his grumpy attitude, the guy kept coming back for the next couple of weeks to the point where you could pinpoint the exact time he’d walk through that door, always ordering a large black coffee. He’d yet to give you his name, so when you went to prepare his coffee ahead of time, you continued to write ‘Whatever’ on it.

It might have been your imagination, but you thought Bob-Cut seemed to mellow out more too as he kept coming back and you built somewhat of a routine. He’d actually use words like ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ which you didn’t think possible the first time you met him. And, much to your chagrin, you had to admit the nonchalant attitude paired with his style and accessories suited him really well and you sometimes had trouble tearing your gaze away from deep pools of lapis. Not that you’d ever make it known to his face though.

Slowly but surely, you started looking forward to seeing him everyday too. Remembering you’d get to see the mysterious - yet cute- guy walk in again made you positively giddy with excitement as you got ready in the morning.

Yet this particular day your enthusiasm was stumped as the prepared cup of black coffee sat lonely behind the counter, waiting to be picked up. But he never came, no matter how often you expectantly looked up as the bell jingled. Your coworker patted you on the back encouragingly and you dragged yourself through your shift, a sunken feeling settling in your chest.

The next day, no coffee sat premade on the counter while you worked on orders. With your back turned to the door you almost didn’t notice it swing open. A gruff ‘Morning’ made your eyes light up before you composed yourself and turned to face the strongest resting bitch face ever.

“Good morning, what would you like to order?” You smiled, deciding to play coy although you already knew the answer.

And that was actually the look he gave you; eyes narrowed unimpressed and brow twitching upwards. “Seriously, I don’t come in for a day and you've already forgotten me. That’s a bit harsh, no?”

“Well you never know,” you shrugged playfully. “Maybe you had a change of heart as your coffee was all alone yesterday.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he mumbled, averting his eyes. He had nothing to apologise for in your opinion but it was cute anyway. “A client cancelled their appointment on short notice and my coworkers had all the other clients handled, so I didn’t come to the studio in the morning.”

The guy must’ve caught on to the curiosity visible on your face because he followed it up with “I’m a piercer and tattoo artist.”

“Oh wow, really?” you said, remembering your own plans to get a new piercing somewhen soon. Since your last piercer had closed their shop, you had kind of pushed that thought to the back of your mind though. Suddenly you were very much aware again of the ink peeking over the neck of his shirt and the piercings gleaming in the shop light “Where do you work?”

“In the studio down the road. If you don’t believe me, you should drop by,” he challenged defensively, although you didn’t doubt him at all. Realising what he just said, his eyes widened in the first big show of emotion you’d seen from him and you thought you could see a faint rosy tint where his mask ended. “No, I mean– Forget I said anything!”

For the rest of the interaction, the guy kept his head down, bangs obscuring his eyes which never quite met yours. It was cute seeing someone who acted so aloof usually be all shy and bashful and you tugged the info about his workplace away for later. To be precise, for the coming weekend.

On your day off, you found yourself in front of the glass door of a tattoo shop. The pleasant scent of flowers from the shop next to it filled the air as you took a deep breath before you pulled the handle towards you. You chastised yourself for being giddy and letting your hopes get the better of you; for all you know, he might not even work today. Or what if he really didn’t want you here?

Your nerves were forgotten when you entered the studio. Along the walls of the modern entrance area hung a variety of different sketches, distinct both in style and motif. From fine-line flowers to precise geometrics to calligraphy and Japanese style tattoos, you wondered just how many coworkers Bob-Cut had and which sketches were his as you studied the signatures.

“Hi there, how can I help you?” You spun around to face an auburn haired man who had appeared behind the counter, his olive eyes twinkling at your reaction.

“Oh uhm, I wanted to get a new piercing. That’s fine without a scheduled appointment, right?”

“Sure, thing. Just fill out these documents here and tell me what piercing you want and I’ll hook you up with someone who’s not working right now,” he smiled brightly, yet you had the strange sense that mischief was bubbling just underneath the surface.

“Actually,” you couldn’t believe you were about to say this out loud, “is there a piercer working here with an indigo bob cut and two piercings on his cheek?”

“Oh?” And there it was, that teasing lilt in his voice which raised the hairs in the back of your neck. “Yo, ‘mouchie, there’s a cutie here to see you!”

A mere few seconds after his shout reverberated down the short hallway behind the desk, steps could be heard as a familiar raspy voice answered. “If you call me that again, I’ll fucking ki– What are YOU doing here?!”

“Oh, so you really do know each other,” Olive-Eyes snickered.

Deciding to ignore him, you tilted your head at the accusatory finger still pointed in your direction. “You invited me, remember?”

“I told you to forget it!”

“Well, too bad you’re not my boss and I can do what I want,” you snipped. “Besides, I wanted a new piercing anyway, so I decided to come here. Where’s the problem with that?”

The sound of your bickering lured in two more onlookers, a guy with dark blue hair tied into two braids to frame his face and one guy with his teal hair tied into a messy ponytail, who was staring down at his phone as if it was way more interesting than his colleagues.

“What am I hearing? Scara inviting someone over?” The braid-guy sing songed. He mimicked wiping a tear from his eye dramatically. “That I can still witness the day… They grow up so fast.”

“Go to hell, all of you,” ‘Scara’ seethed.

“Alright, see you there.” Teal-Bangs didn’t even look up from his phone, the quip rolling off his tongue as naturally as breathing.

“Wow, even Xiao is bullying you now,” Olive-Eyes chimed in.

Dual-Braids laughed, slinging an arm around Bob-Cut’s shoulders and you feared he might bite it off given the glare he was sending his coworker. “You should really stop hitting him with the newspaper, you know?”

“Uh, guys…?” you interjected before they could start squabbling again. “About that piercing…?”

“Oh right!” The auburn-haired man took the documents from you and gave you a wide smile. “As I said, a piercer who’s free will take care of that aaaaaand would you look at that! Scara happens to be free, so he’ll have the honour of giving you a cool new accessory!”

“Hey, I-” Your coffee shop acquaintance tried to protest but Heizou was already ushering you in his direction.

“Now, go have fun, you two,” he teased. “But not too much, okay?

That was how you found yourself standing in a neat piercing room, bright white light illuminating the equipment stashed there. There was a sigh behind you and ‘Scara’ crossed the room.

“They’re such nuisances,” he mumbled before he fixed his indigo eyes on you. Without his black mask on, you could see that besides the two dermal piercings on his right cheek he also had a nostril on the left side of his nose. As he spoke up again, a silver ball sitting on his tongue reflected the crisp light. “You’re okay with that? I mean, me being your piercer and all. Heizou didn’t give you much of a choice but just know that you can back out if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No, it’s fine by me, if you’re okay with it too,” you sincerely replied. “I mean you were pressured into it just as much.”

“I’m used to their antics though.” After a brief moment of gazing at each other, he cleared his throat and gestured for you to take a seat. “So, what kind of piercing do you want?”

You watched him pull on a pair of black latex gloves and only when he looked back at you did the question register in your brain. “A helix, here,” you said, pointing at your ear.

“Sure thing.” Rolling closer on a chair, he marked the spot you indicated and handed you a mirror. “Like that?”

When you gave your approval, he went back to the desk to prepare the necessary equipment and sterilised it. The silence prompted you to ask the question that has been burning on your tongue for a while now. “So your name is Scara?”

“Scaramouche is my artist name, I’m going by that,” he replied. “But Scara is fine.”

You didn’t have much time to wonder about the implications of using an artist name because a moment later, Scara appeared in front of you again. Needle in hand, his eyes came level with yours again. Up close, you could make out all the tiny specks of amethyst caught in the light and his scent invaded your senses.

“You ready?” he asked quietly, his low voice preserving the delicate atmosphere your proximity created. When you nodded, he gave you a small smirk, demeanour entirely changed from how you’d gotten to know him. “Alright, this is going to hurt a little but the pain will be brief. I need you to hold still through it, can you do that for me?”

Not trusting your voice, you nodded again as you swallowed. Latex met the side of your jaw in a ghost of a touch as Scara gently tilted your head the way he needed it. All nerve endings in your skin lit up as liquid fire spread from the tips of his fingers through your veins, the strange intimacy getting to you more than you could have prepared for.

You felt the Scara’s exhale brush your cheek as he positioned the needle and your warbled thoughts caught up with the situation the moment he pushed it through. But only when the jewellery followed did you flinch.

“There we go, the worst part is done,” he soothed. Giving the mirror back to you, he left you to admire his work as he got up. The calm call of your name pulled you from your own reflection as Scara held out a glass of water to you.

“Thanks,” you smiled before pausing. “Wait, did I even tell you my name?”

“Read it on your file,” he replied nonchalantly as you gave him an unimpressed glance.

“I’m sure that falls under poor etiquette,” you playfully chastised him.

“So? The outcome is the same, isn’t it?” he shrugged, yet you couldn’t help but find it endearing. “You good to go? C’mon, I’ll show you the way out.”

As you wrapped up the payment and Scara went over all the mandatory steps in taking care of your new piercing, you were well aware of the doors opening and the people peeping into your conversation. So much for privacy.

“Well then, that’s that.” The metal of his tongue piercing held your attention until Scara brushed some of his hair behind his ear, revealing a few piercings of his own. Among them was a helix which mirrored yours in placement. “Get home safe, yeah?”

“I will, thanks.” Your smile was filled with genuine gratitude. As you pushed through the glass door, you turned back to wave. “See you tomorrow!”

Maybe it was your imagination but as you left you thought there was an actual smile gracing his sharp features.

The next day, your spirits were high as they could be. Not only were you excited to show off your new accessory, you’d also been on cloud nine since leaving the piercing studio, butterflies stirring in your stomach every time you thought back to how he touched you. Perhaps what you were about to do was a little bold but you’d be damned if you didn’t shoot your shot.

As expected, Scara came in at the same time as every morning and you’d just finished brewing his coffee. He too seemed to be in a better mood than usual as he walked up to the counter. While you typed in his order, you made a bit of small talk over how your piercing was healing.

“It’s all good,” you laughed and showed the jewellery to him. “Almost like my piercer knew what he was doing.”

“You better believe that,” he countered. However, you didn’t miss the way his eyes seemingly lit up and crinkled at the edges, as they did when he smirked, when his gaze fell onto the piercing he put on you. His reaction gave you a boost of confidence for what you were about to do.

Handing him his cup, you wished him a great day and watched as he went to leave before stopping dead in his tracks. No doubt he discovered the little ‘If you ever feel like going for a coffee while I’m not working ♡ (and don’t whatever me!)’ you had scribbled onto the cup holder, followed by your phone number. You gave him a wink when he searched your eyes and watched him pull out his phone. A few seconds later your phone pinged.

Unknown number: whatever Unknown number: are you free this week?

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

#┊holly’s potions ೃ༄#┊holly’s modern au ✩彡 #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche fluff #scara x reader #scara fluff #wanderer x reader #wanderer fluff #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact wanderer #genshin modern au

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4ttack-ur-heart · 11 months

Text

Jean Hc’s: Mf Whipped

Pairing: Jean x gn! reader modern au!

Warnings: none

Summary: Just jean not wanting to admit he’s a big softie when it comes to you.

Genre: fluff.

He’d never admit it to anyone, but Jean is the biggest softie when it comes to loving you.

Jean will absolutely hold your hand in public, kiss you, open the door for you, but he will never let anyone find out how much he’ll do for you.

Fuck, you wanna do a face mask at midnight? He’ll clip his hair back and have you apply it on him. You want to slow dance with him after watching a romcom movie? He’s there with his phone blasting pretty music. You need to talk to him after a bad day? Jean will leave his friends to make sure you’re taken care of.

He’s a simp.

But he tries to hide it.

It’s so funny when you catch on.

One day, you both were sitting at the park, hidden away from public eyes. Flowers littered around you both and you absentmindedly starting to pluck a few.

Jeans head was laying in your lap, arms crossed behind his head. His view was gazing at the clouds slowly passing by along, eyes darting to your face every few minutes with a longing smile.

“What are you doing?” He asked now with his eyes closed. He could feel your fingertips brushing along his hair every few moments and an extra weight of something being placed on him.

“Nothing, don’t move.”

Jean chuckled at your words, obviously amused in what you were doing.

After placing the last flower in his hair, you quickly snapped a picture on your phone before he noticed something was up.

“Can I look now?”

“Ugh, fine but don’t sit up.” You told him and he grabbed his phone and switched on his camera. A small smile gracing his features when he saw various amounts of little white daisies and yellow dandelions placed in his hair.

“You look so pretty.” You gushed and leaned down to kiss him.

Jean blushed a little and you had to resist the urge to tease him. His usual ‘strong man’ barrier always broke when it was just you two alone.

Jean poked at daisies before plucking one out of his hair and gently brushing your hair back and placing it behind your ear.

“There, now we both look pretty.”

————

A few days later, you were on the couch scrolling through your Instagram feed, liking your friends’ posts and commenting on a few.

Your notifications were piling in since you just posted a few pictures of some selfies you took, but the last one was something special.

“(Y/n)!” Jeans voice called through the apartment.

“Yeah?” You innocently looked up at him when he entered the room.

“Care to explain this, doll?”

Jean shoved his phone in your face and you had to blink a few times to clearly see.

A smirk grew on your face when you realized he found your special picture on the post you shared. Staring at the platform more, you realized Eren had reposted your post with the picture of Jean you had taken at the park.

The picture showed him laying down on your lap, his eyes closed and his lips were slightly parted. The little flowers in his hair were vibrant against his ashen brown locks and a small pink dust coated his cheeks from the sun. You also didn’t forget to capture the way his muscles were showing through his shirt as his arms were flexed behind his head.

You could see Eren had minimized your post on his story, the phrase ‘mf whipped fr 🤝’ in blocky letter captioned underneath the post.

A sudden laugh caught Jean off guard as he watched your reaction. You knew Eren supported your relationship to the max, but that doesn’t mean he still can’t tease Jean about it.

Looking at his face, Jean was trying to hide his amused face under a glare.

“Relax, my little flower.” You cooed in a baby voice and gently squeezed his face under your palms. “I was just showing the world how much I love you…unless you’d rather me take it down?” Your eyebrow rose as you pouted. You knew he’d never ask you to that.

He let out a soft sigh and locked his phone. “No, don’t take it down. But you owe me! I need to post another video of me working out.”

You playfully rolled your eyes as Jeans thoughts were rambling out loud.

“I’ll invite Eren to work out with me, yeah. Then when we post the video, it’ll be obvious I’m bigger than him. God damn, I’m a genius.”

Standing up, you gave him a soft peck on the cheek before walking to the bathroom.

“I’m gonna do a face mask right now, babe.”

“Wait for me!”

1K notes · View notes

thedensworld · 19 days

Text

Hold on Tight | Y. Jh

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: revenge Au, marriage Au, humor, fluff

Summary: What's started for a revenge and status has developed into something Jeonghan couldn't comprehend. He unconsciously were willing to do anything and it was only for you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Baby you and me are a twisted Fantasy,

Buckle up and take a seat,

Hold on tight.

As the night deepened, their connection intensified beyond mere touch, brimming with an ardent expression of love and desire. Jeonghan pressed you against the wall, a silent invitation for an embrace that intertwined their figures. Lips locked in a fervent union, reluctant to part even for a moment, as if fearing they might miss each other in mere seconds. A symphony of groans escaped their mouths, echoing the passion that surged between them, while wandering hands sought to intensify the fervor of the moment.

Amidst their escalating passion, a sudden ding from the elevator interrupted their reverie, drawing a smile from your lips even as your groans grew louder, mingling with the occasional moans that slipped past your lips. Undeterred by their location in the corridor, their ardor persisted, oblivious to the world around them.

With your eyes fluttering open, you were startled by the sight of a familiar figure standing before the elevator. It was Choi Seungcheol, his jaw clenched and knuckles taut with tension, his unexpected presence injecting a new layer of complexity into the already charged atmosphere.

"Oh my god..." Your voice, tinged with panic, halted Jeonghan's advances, the realization dawning that the two of you were still in the corridor, under Seungcheol's watchful gaze.

"I'm sorry, Seungcheol. We're a bit impatient here," Jeonghan quipped with a nervous chuckle, his playful tone attempting to mask the awkwardness of the situation as he gently tugged your hand, urging you to move quickly.

As Jeonghan guided you into the room, he made sure to exchange a meaningful look with Seungcheol, silently acknowledging the unspoken tension between them before shutting the door with deliberate force, hoping to convey a message without uttering a word.

Inside the sanctuary of the room, you both let out a collective sigh, the tension dissipating into nervous laughter as your eyes met, sharing a moment of relief and amusement amidst the chaos of the interrupted encounter. With a playful slap to Jeonghan's chest, you couldn't contain your laughter, hastily covering your mouth to stifle the sound, realizing the need to maintain the facade of innocence after the earlier escapade.

"That was fun," Jeonghan stated as he stepped into the room, loosening his tie with a satisfied sigh. You mirrored his relief, already heading for the toilet, eager to rid yourself of the constricting gown and hair accessories. As you emerged, your eyes met Jeonghan's through the mirror, a shared sense of amusement dancing between you.

"Did you see his face?" you said with a wide smile, your voice tinged with excitement. Jeonghan nodded, his own grin widening as he recalled the scene they had just orchestrated in the corridor, a playful surprise for his cousin.

Jeonghan joined you in the hotel room's bathroom, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild trepidation as he observed his face, still adorned with remnants of the powder and makeup from earlier in the day. Sensing his discomfort, you offered him a makeup wipe, showing him how to use it by gently swiping it across his skin, revealing the amount of makeup it effortlessly erased.

"Women use this every day?" he asked, his interest piqued by the simplicity and effectiveness of the wipes.

You nodded, a small smile playing on your lips. "More than twice a day," you added, amused by his newfound fascination with the world of makeup.

"Should I start entering the makeup industry? You could help me," Jeonghan suggested seriously, his tone betraying a hint of genuine interest. You rolled your eyes affectionately, realizing that even after months of knowing him, you were still discovering new facets of Jeonghan's personality. His workaholic ass.

"You should rest your mind and have a nice break. Your mom's concerned a lot about you being a workaholic and all," you sighed, your gaze piercing through the mirror, reflecting your genuine worry for him.

Jeonghan scoffed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Don't be bothered by her," he said dismissively, "she still loves it every time I'm home with branded stuff for her."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his nonchalant attitude towards his mother's concerns, knowing deep down that his family's love and support were constants in his life, even amidst his hectic schedule.

"And also," he paused, his expression turning serious, "I have to support you now. I must work harder."

Your brows furrowed in protest as you insisted, "You don't have to support me," your arms crossed defensively over your chest, a hint of stubbornness in your stance.

Jeonghan, however, refused to let your words slide. Gripping your elbow gently, he pulled you to stand in front of him, his fingers deftly finding the zipper of your dress. Remembering how you had mentioned earlier that it made you feel suffocated, he began to unzip it, silently offering you relief from the discomfort.

You thanked him softly, but your eyes remained fixed on his through the mirror, silently demanding an answer to your earlier statement. Caught in your gaze, Jeonghan sighed, his own eyes reflecting a mix of frustration, knowing that despite your insistence, he couldn't help but feel responsible for looking out for you.

"It's written in our contract. I'm a businessman, Y/n. I do everything written on the paper," Jeonghan stated matter-of-factly, his tone carrying a hint of resignation as he adhered to the terms laid out in their agreement.

You smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction as you released yourself from the confines of the gown, opting instead for the comfort of a tight tank top and knee-length leggings. "Sounds like slavery," you mumbled under your breath, a touch of humor lacing your words as you sauntered out of the bathroom, leaving Jeonghan behind.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Jeonghan called out to you, "Please take a shower before you sleep! I couldn't sleep with the smell of sweat disturbing me."

You chuckled at his request, knowing all too well his aversion to unpleasant odors. "I'll take the left side!" you shouted back, a playful reminder of the arrangement they had settled on for sharing the bed.

You and Mingyu were having breakfast, enjoying a delicious meal prepared by Jeonghan's personal cook. You doubted whether Jeonghan had ever tasted his own food, as you had never seen him join you at the dinner table. One detail both you and Jeonghan seemed to overlook was the fact that Mingyu lived with him, completely unaware of the contract you and Jeonghan had orchestrated. Mingyu believed his uncle and his teacher had fallen in love quickly and decided to tie the knot, a story resembling a fairy tale. He remained oblivious to the true nature of your relationship—a contract marriage veiled behind the facade of romance.

According to the contract, circumstances dictated that both of you share the same room. Surprisingly, neither of you harbored any aversion to this arrangement, having never physically encountered each other in the bedroom. It seemed a matter of timing—either you would already be asleep when Jeonghan retired to bed, or you would awaken to find him still slumbering.

As if summoned by your thoughts, Jeonghan burst into the dining room in a flurry, hastily adjusting his tie as he requested coffee from his cook. Your gaze locked with his, and he shot you a questioning look, silently probing for any indication or sign. His demeanor shifted abruptly as he addressed you, his tone cold and indifferent.

"What?" he demanded, his words laced with a hint of hostility, before his gaze flickered to Mingyu, a gentle reminder of their young companion's presence. Softening his tone, he repeated the question, this time with a touch of kindness, though the abrupt change only served to elicit a scoff from you, revealing the underlying hypocrisy of his demeanor.

"Ms. Ji is concerned that you never have breakfast and just drink coffee," Mingyu interjected during his meal, drawing Jeonghan's attention back to you, who was now gracefully eating your salad.

"I'm fine without breakfast," Jeonghan murmured, taking a sip of his coffee as it was served.

"How's your preparation for the province selection?" you inquired, prompting Mingyu's brows to raise in surprise while Jeonghan's curiosity piqued. What province selection? He wondered.

Mingyu nodded eagerly, swallowing a mouthful of food before replying, "It's scheduled for next month. I've been practicing diligently."

Jeonghan, completely unaware of the prior conversation between you and Mingyu, furrowed his brows in confusion. "What selection?" he asked, his curiosity now fully piqued.

"National league's player selection for the province level. I'll be representing Seoul," Mingyu announced proudly, his excitement palpable as he shared his upcoming endeavor with Jeonghan.

Jeonghan's expression softened with pride as he nodded in acknowledgment. "Do you need any assistance while preparing?" he offered, genuine warmth evident in his voice.

Mingyu's face lit up with gratitude at the offer. "Could I have some of the popular energy drink from your company to distribute during practice? I want to show my appreciation to my teammates for helping me train," he asked eagerly, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

Jeonghan readily agreed, his pride in Mingyu evident as he made a mental note to discuss the matter with his marketing team. "Just promise me you'll become a national player. I need something to brag about," he quipped with a playful shrug, before taking another sip of his coffee.

As the conversation wound down, you gently reminded Mingyu of the impending school day. "It's time to go to school," you interjected, prompting Mingyu to nod in acknowledgment.

"Alright, Ms. Ji," Mingyu replied obediently, his eagerness to excel both on the field and in his studies shining through in his demeanor.

Jeonghan furrowed his brows in perplexity upon hearing Mingyu refer to you as "Ms. Ji" at home, a subtle but noticeable change in the dynamics that seemed to unsettle him. Sensing his unease, you glanced at him, silently questioning the source of his discomfort.

"Because she's Ms. Ji, my teacher," Mingyu reasoned innocently, unaware of the implications of his words.

Jeonghan shook his head, his tone firm as he interjected, "But she's my wife now." His declaration hung in the air, a definitive statement of the new roles and relationships within the household.

Confusion clouded Mingyu's features as he sought clarification. "So... what should I call her?" he asked, his gaze shifting to you for guidance.

You shrugged helplessly, indicating that you were equally uncertain about the appropriate address in this unfamiliar situation.

Exhaling a sigh, Jeonghan attempted to resolve the matter by posing a question of his own. "What do you call the wife of your uncle?"

"Aunt?" Mingyu ventured tentatively, uncertainty coloring his tone.

Jeonghan nodded, a sense of resolution settling over him. "That's it. She's your aunt at home and Ms. Ji at school," he concluded, seeking to establish a clear distinction between the roles you played in Mingyu's life.

Jeonghan had just wrapped up a morning meeting and was on his way to his office when his phone buzzed repeatedly, signaling the arrival of multiple texts. With a quick glance at the screen, he read the messages from you, his lips quirking up into a smile at the familiar name that popped up.

Ji Y/n: Isn't it great catching up with your nephew? Join us for breakfast starting tomorrow.

Ji Y/n: Regarding Mingyu's request earlier, don't forget to follow up with your marketing team. He was really excited about it on our way to school.

Ji Y/n: I'll share some ideas with you later about the makeup industry we discussed weeks ago.

A sense of warmth washed over Jeonghan as he absorbed your messages, each one a gentle reminder of the connections and responsibilities woven into his life. Despite his efforts to maintain a composed demeanor, a smile threatened to break through, betraying the genuine joy sparked by your words.

He quickly suppressed the burgeoning smile as his secretary approached, maintaining a professional facade as he delivered his schedule for the day. Nodding in acknowledgment, he replied, "I'll be occupied in an hour, so if there's anything urgent, please let me know beforehand."

"And..." Jeonghan paused, turning just before entering his office, his mind still buzzing with thoughts of your messages. "Could you speak to the marketing department about supporting the province and national basketball player selection? I believe it would be a worthwhile endeavor. I'll provide you with the details shortly."

His secretary blinked in confusion, not quite grasping the sudden interest in basketball. "Of course, sir," he replied, making a mental note to follow up on the request.

"And," Jeonghan paused once more, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, "please arrange for a few boxes of our energy drink to be delivered to my house every week."

His secretary's confusion deepened, his brows furrowing slightly as he struggled to comprehend the reason behind the request. "What are those for, sir?" he inquired tentatively, aware of her boss's recent marriage but uncertain of the significance of the energy drink deliveries.

Jeonghan smirked, a playful twinkle in his eyes. "You'll find out," he teased cryptically before disappearing into his office, leaving his secretary perplexed and intrigued by the request.

Days later, you mustered the courage to walk yourself to the nursery room where your father often spent his afternoons. As you pushed the door open, your heart sank at the scene before you. Seungcheol, seated across from your father, engaged in a game of chess. Both men turned their heads toward you, but it was Seungcheol who held your gaze, your eyes burning with disdain. Hate simmered beneath the surface, threatening to consume you as you struggled to maintain composure.

"My princess! Come join us, Seungcheol came to say hi," your father exclaimed cheerfully, oblivious to the tension in the room.

You entered hesitantly, closing the door behind you with a heavy sigh. The weight of your emotions pressed down on you as you dropped your bag onto the couch, arms crossing defensively over your chest. With narrowed eyes, you fixed your stare on Seungcheol, daring him to answer your unspoken question.

"Why are you here?" your voice cut through the silence, sharp and accusatory, each word dripping with disdain.

Your father rose from his seat, his expression a mixture of concern and disappointment as he watched you treat Seungcheol with such coldness. "How could you say that to your husband? I'm so sorry, my son-in-law," he apologized, his voice tinged with regret.

Frustration boiled within you as your father continued to misunderstand the situation. With a weary sigh, you attempted to interject, but Seungcheol spoke first. "The hospital called me. They said your father was looking for me," he explained, his tone soft yet determined.

You opened your eyes, gazing at Seungcheol with a mix of doubt and resignation. Releasing a heavy breath, you knew there were matters that needed addressing, away from prying eyes. "Let's talk outside," you requested, your voice tinged with weariness.

Turning to your father, you gently guided him towards his bed, the weight of the situation settling heavily upon your shoulders. "Father, Seungcheol and I need a few minutes to talk. Rest for a bit, okay?" you reassured him, though a hint of sadness lingered in your tone.

A small pout formed on your father's face as he reluctantly acquiesced. "Don't take him too long. I was having fun playing chess," he mumbled, a note of disappointment evident in his voice as he settled onto the bed.

As you stepped out of the room, Seungcheol trailing behind you, you halted and turned to face him, your expression guarded. "You should go," you stated firmly, your voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and apprehension.

Seungcheol shook his head, his gaze searching yours intently. "What is it, Y/n? I deserve an explanation," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute.

Frustration etched across your features as you crossed your arms tightly over your chest. "You don't hear anything and you don't see anything. You should go," you repeated, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Seungcheol's brows furrowed in confusion. "The hospital called me, saying that your father was looking for me. I didn't even know he had been here until an hour ago," he revealed, his voice laced with concern.

The weight of unexpected revelations crashed over you, leaving you feeling overwhelmed and unprepared. You bit your lip, grappling with the tumultuous emotions swirling inside you. Seungcheol tilted his head, sensing your unease. "What's wrong?" he inquired softly, his eyes searching yours for answers.

Unable to articulate the turmoil in your heart, you shook your head, urging him to leave once more, the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a heavy burden.

"I'll tell you later once the situation is settled, now you should—" Before you could finish your sentence, the shrill sound of the emergency alarm pierced the air, sending a wave of panic through the hospital corridors. Nurses and doctors hurried past, their urgent footsteps echoing off the walls as they raced to the room next to where your father lay.

Caught in the midst of the chaos, you found yourself standing frozen in the middle of the hallway, uncertainty gripping your heart. Without hesitation, Seungcheol reached out and pulled you close, his strong arm wrapping protectively around your back, shielding you from the rush of bodies surging past.

His proximity was unnerving, yet strangely comforting, his familiar scent mingling with the sterile hospital air. You instinctively tried to pull away, but Seungcheol held you firmly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

"Is something happening to your father... that I don't know about?" he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine concern. In that moment, his vulnerability mirrored your own, and you found yourself grappling with the weight of unspoken fears and unanswered questions.

"Ms. Ji?" A voice called out, breaking the tension between you and Seungcheol. Both of you turned as one of the nurses approached, her tone urgent yet professional. "Glad that you came today. I need you to sign some papers before we do an x-ray before the surgery this Monday. Please follow me to the station," she instructed briskly, her eyes scanning the bustling corridor.

You nodded in acknowledgment, torn between the pressing matters at hand and the lingering presence of Seungcheol. With a fleeting glance in his direction, you made a silent decision. "You should go," you murmured softly, your voice barely audible above the din of the hospital.

As you walked away, leaving Seungcheol standing there, a whirlwind of emotions threatened to engulf you. The weight of the revelation about your father, coupled with the strain of keeping up appearances, weighed heavily on your mind. And in that moment of solitude, you found yourself grappling with the tangled web of secrets and uncertainties that had suddenly come crashing down around you.

Jeonghan stepped into his house, a faint smile gracing his lips. The weight of the day seemed to lift from his shoulders as he remembered the promising news his secretary had relayed about the impending board meeting. The possibility of finally being positioned above Seungcheol after the recent wedding buoyed his spirits, each step echoing with newfound hope.

However, his optimism faltered as he caught sight of your figure perched on a barstool at the kitchen island. His brow furrowed at the sight of the whiskey bottle on the counter, his heart sinking as he noticed the glass in your hand. This wasn't the first time he had found you in such a state, but seeing you intoxicated stirred a mixture of concern and frustration within him.

He approached you cautiously, his footsteps slowing as he took in your flushed cheeks and the vacant expression on your face. It was clear you had been drinking heavily, and the realization only deepened his worry. Jeonghan's mind raced with questions, wondering what had led you to seek solace in alcohol once more. The weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders, overshadowing the glimmer of hope he had carried moments before.

Jeonghan loosened his tie and approached you, concern evident in his eyes. "Bad day?" he murmured softly as he settled onto the adjacent barstool.

Turning your head toward him, you managed a bitter smile before placing your glass down on the counter, your movements sluggish from the effects of the alcohol. Stretching your arms, you let out a weary sigh. "Where's Mingyu? He's not home?"

You nodded, your words tinged with fatigue. "He has early practice every weekend, so he usually sleeps at the center," you informed him, the weariness evident in your voice not escaping Jeonghan's notice.

Jeonghan motioned toward your glass with a playful glint in his eyes. "Don't want to invite me?" he teased lightly, knowing full well he wouldn't indulge, especially with an important meeting looming the next morning. His playful remark was a subtle attempt to lighten the mood, to distract you momentarily from the weight on your shoulders.

Shaking your head, you mustered a small smile. "I'm done anyway," you replied softly before pushing yourself up from the stool. As you made your way toward the bedroom, your steps were unsteady, and you ended up bumping into the dining table. In an instant, Jeonghan was by your side, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

With an amused yet gentle smile, he guided your drunken figure toward the stairs, offering support as you ascended together toward your shared bedroom.

He gently laid you down on the bed, listening to your unintelligible murmurs with a furrowed brow. "Sleep, Y/n," he urged softly, hoping to coax you into rest despite your resistance.

"No!" you protested weakly, your voice slurred with exhaustion.

As he began to tuck the comforter around your body, Jeonghan paused at your sudden revelation. "Seungcheol met my father..." you trailed off, your words laden with a mix of confusion and amusement.

"Did he?" Jeonghan inquired, his interest piqued as he waited for you to continue.

You nodded slowly, your eyelids drooping with fatigue. "My father asked nurses to call him, thinking that Seungcheol is my husband," you explained, a soft chuckle escaping your lips.

Jeonghan observed you closely, noting the effort you were making to stay awake despite the overwhelming urge to sleep. A fond smile tugged at his lips as he watched you pout and sigh, shifting your body to face him.

"He doesn't know anything about my father's condition," you continued, your words coming out in a sleepy haze. Jeonghan nodded in understanding, recalling the conversation from their wedding day.

"However, his mother came to me two years ago though, offering money for my father's surgery. With the condition that I have to leave Seungcheol. Very funny!" you chuckled again, but this time Jeonghan's expression darkened with concern at the revelation.

The weight of your words settled heavily on his shoulders, a mixture of empathy and anger coursing through him as he processed the gravity of the situation.

Seungcheol's mother was trying to bribe you?

"Is that why you left him?" Jeonghan questioned gently, his gaze meeting yours as you suddenly opened your eyes. Before he could register your response, your hand flew to punch his thigh as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"He left me, you asshole!" The words stung, a reminder of the pain you had endured.

Jeonghan sighed, reaching out to pull the comforter tighter around your body as you shifted into a more comfortable position. "Is that why you had so much debt? You paid for his surgery with all of it?" he asked, his tone laced with concern.

Another punch landed on his thigh, and he winced slightly. "Leave me and my financial issues alone!" you snapped, your frustration evident.

Jeonghan couldn't help but smile at your feistiness, even in your tired state. Playfully, he tugged at the comforter before speaking softly, "Sleep, Y/n. Let's talk later."

"Same goes for you. Sleep," you retorted, your eyes drifting closed once more as exhaustion claimed you.

With a tender smile, Jeonghan watched over you for a moment longer before quietly slipping out of the room, leaving you to rest peacefully.

Jeonghan sat in his home office, the weight of the revelation swirling in his mind like a tempest. Two years ago, tragedy had struck your family, leaving your parents and uncle in an accident that claimed the lives of your mother and uncle. Your father had endured numerous surgeries in order to reclaim a semblance of normalcy in his life.

As he mulled over the details, Jeonghan couldn't help but consider the implications of Seungcheol's departure. The offer of financial assistance from Seungcheol's mother, coupled with the request for you to leave Seungcheol, painted a troubling picture. Yet, the fact remained that it was Seungcheol who had ultimately chosen to end the relationship, leaving behind a whirlwind of unanswered questions.

Jeonghan sighed heavily, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. Despite his efforts to refocus on the task at hand, his mind kept drifting back to you and the weight of your words echoing in his head. Your gentle reminders to prioritize rest and balance in life resonated with him, especially as he grappled with the toll that his demanding schedule was taking on his health.

Glancing at the report laid out before him, Jeonghan felt a pang of guilt for neglecting your advice. It was his habit to meticulously review documents ahead of time, yet tonight, his thoughts were consumed by thoughts of you and the need for a reprieve from his relentless workload.

With a resigned sigh, Jeonghan made a silent decision to heed your wisdom. Pushing the report aside, he rose from his chair, intent on joining you in bed. It was time to prioritize his well-being and find a better balance between work and life, before the weight of his responsibilities crushed him under their burden.

The board meeting concluded with a sense of accomplishment for Jeonghan, as his aspirations had been acknowledged and discussed. As the potential leader, he felt a surge of validation, especially since his concerns about Seungcheol were taken seriously, prompting the board to reconsider their choices. However, amidst the professional triumph, a familial encounter awaited.

Standing alongside Seungcheol, Jeonghan respectfully bowed as his grandfather passed by, a gesture that held both reverence and a hint of tension. His grandfather's inquiry about Ji Kyungyi, your father-in-law, shifted the atmosphere, injecting a dose of personal concern into the formal setting.

Reflecting on the family dinner preceding the wedding, where you were introduced to his grandfather under strained circumstances, Jeonghan couldn't shake the memory. Despite the facade of formality, he knew the truth: you and his grandfather were already acquainted, your past engagement to Seungcheol adding layers of complexity to the situation.

The unease simmered beneath the surface as his grandfather's inquiry hinted at deeper familial rifts and unresolved tensions. Jeonghan's instincts had warned him of this possibility, recognizing the potential for misunderstandings fueled by Seungcheol's parents' influence post-separation.

"Actually, grandfather," Jeonghan began, his tone carrying a weight of revelation, "Y/n's father has a history with you." With a deep breath, he prepared to play a card he had been holding close.

"Y/n's grandfather, Hwang Daekhwi, was your best friend," Jeonghan continued, his words poised to unravel the tightly woven threads of the past, "and her father, Ji Kyungyi, was one of the investors in your first-ever resort project. Do you remember?"

The truth hung heavy in the air, casting a new light on the dynamics at play. Your familial ties to his grandfather's past endeavors unveiled a deeper connection, one that had remained obscured until now. The accident two years ago, a seismic event that reshaped your family's fortunes, added another layer of complexity to the narrative. The loss of your rightful inheritance, coupled with the struggle to navigate the unforgiving terrain of the business world, painted a picture of resilience in the face of adversity.

Jeonghan watched as his grandfather's expression shifted, the realization dawning upon him like a sudden revelation. The lines of recognition etched themselves onto his features, mingling with a newfound sense of empathy.

"I'm so sorry for what had happened to you, dear," his grandfather murmured, the words carrying the weight of regret for past oversights.

As the truth settled, Jeonghan seized the moment, recognizing the opportunity for reconciliation and restitution. "That lawyer in your law firm, Hong Joshua, isn't it? You should help her get her rightful place back," he urged, his voice tinged with a mix of determination and compassion. "Please, make yourself at home."

In that moment, amidst the echoes of the past and the promise of a hopeful future, bridges were built, and alliances forged, as the intricacies of familial ties intertwined with the bonds of compassion and understanding.

Since that pivotal moment, Jeonghan felt a newfound confidence coursing through him. He was certain he could navigate this intricate game and emerge victorious.

"He's recovering very well after his surgery, grandfather," Jeonghan relayed the reassuring news about your father's condition to his grandfather. A nod of acknowledgment and a comforting pat on their shoulders followed from the elder gentleman before he departed, leaving Jeonghan and Seungcheol momentarily alone.

Seungcheol's gaze bore into Jeonghan's, a silent invitation to converse away from prying ears. "Let's talk," he proposed, a hint of urgency underlying his words.

Jeonghan glanced at his watch, his excuse at the ready. "I'm afraid I can't," he regretfully replied, though a knowing smirk betrayed his true intentions. It was a subtle game of manipulation, one that Seungcheol was all too familiar with.

"I just want to know about father's condition," Seungcheol clarified his intentions, yet Jeonghan's attention snagged on the word 'father', a subtle jab that didn't escape his notice.

"Bold of you to call MY father-in-law 'father'," Jeonghan teased lightly, his lips quirking into a smirk that danced with mischief.

Undeterred, Seungcheol pressed on, revealing a piece of information that tugged at Jeonghan's curiosity. "I was called by the hospital a week ago. He's been in a nursing home for almost two years," he disclosed, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

Jeonghan absorbed the revelation with a nod of acknowledgment, his expression solemn as he processed the implications. "What happened to him?" Seungcheol's inquiry pierced through the air, laden with a sense of urgency and genuine concern.

With a heavy sigh, Jeonghan met Seungcheol's gaze head-on, his resolve firm. "I'm sorry, but it's not my place to tell you," he asserted, his words tinged with a hint of regret.

Seungcheol's own sigh mirrored Jeonghan's, a shared frustration at the barriers erected between them. "Y/n didn't want to tell me either," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

Jeonghan arched an eyebrow, his gaze probing. "Then there must be a reason, mustn't there?" he remarked cryptically before bidding Seungcheol farewell with a wave, leaving the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the air between them.

Jeonghan had made a mental note to visit your father after his meeting, realizing he hadn't spent much time playing chess with him lately. The obligation to care for their respective families was written in the contract, a duty he took seriously. Ensuring your father received the best treatment for his health was a priority for Jeonghan, a testament to his commitment to family.

While Jeonghan attended to familial responsibilities, you lent your support by focusing on Mingyu and his adolescent struggles. Your efforts in guiding Mingyu through his high school years had yielded noticeable progress, with his behavior towards Jeonghan showing marked improvement. The absence of a mother figure in Mingyu's life had left him craving attention, a void you filled admirably.

Jeonghan couldn't help but feel grateful for your competence in handling Mingyu's upbringing. Your dedication to nurturing his growth was evident, and Jeonghan found solace in knowing that Mingyu was in capable hands.

Amidst familial duties, Jeonghan also juggled professional endeavors alongside Joshua, his lawyer friend. Their collaboration aimed to secure your rightful shares in your grandfather's company, now overseen by the board. It was a challenging task, fraught with obstacles, yet Joshua's expertise offered a glimmer of hope. With their efforts, there was a possibility of securing up to 30% of your rightful shares—a significant victory in the making.

Despite his admiration for your teaching profession, Jeonghan couldn't shake the nagging question of why you hadn't pursued a career in business, following in your parents' footsteps. He saw your potential, creativity, and innovation, yet sensed a hesitation to take risks. Nevertheless, Jeonghan made it clear that he was willing to support any decision you made, even if it meant switching paths to become a businessman.

Reviewing your proposal for the skincare industry—a project he had requested—Jeonghan couldn't help but be impressed by your thoroughness and ingenuity. He teasingly suggested that you join his company instead of continuing as Mingyu's Korean teacher, only to be met with a playful rebuke from you.

"We're all speaking Korean already. Do we really need to bother learning it?" Jeonghan quipped, before being promptly silenced by your playful retort.

You had vented to Jeonghan about the challenges of being a teacher, expressing the exhaustion of shouldering immense responsibility without proportional compensation. Dramatically, you described how the fees didn't match the blood, sweat, and tears you poured into your dedication. Jeonghan listened attentively, though admittedly, he struggled to fully grasp the intricacies of the education system. After all, wasn't Seungcheol the chairman of your school? Why hadn't he raised the teachers' fees?

The thought crossed Jeonghan's mind: perhaps he should start an education foundation and put you in charge. Given your track record and performance, you'd undoubtedly excel in such a role. Yet, as he stood outside your father's nursery room, he shook his head, berating himself for overthinking your future when your marriage was purely contractual. "I must be crazy," he mused inwardly.

"Good afternoon, father. I'm Yoon Jeonghan, Y/n's husband," he greeted warmly as he entered the room, finding your father seated in front of his chessboard.

Your father looked up with a smile, welcoming Jeonghan with open arms. "Oh, Yoon son-in-law. Come join me!" he beckoned, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

A smile automatically spread across Jeonghan's face at the genuine warmth of your father's reception. Despite the complexities of their familial arrangement, moments like these reminded Jeonghan of the genuine connections that transcended mere contracts. As he settled in beside your father for a game of chess, he found solace in the simple pleasures of camaraderie and companionship.

"Is it your first time?" Jeonghan's voice whispered near your ear as you both stepped into the opulent ballroom where the charity event, hosted by the Jeon Family, was taking place. He looked dashing in his navy suit with a baby blue shirt, a combination that perfectly complemented your own attire—a stunning off-shoulder dress with elbow-length sleeves, elegantly matching his ensemble. Jeonghan mentally made a note to thank Jihoon, his secretary, later for selecting such a perfect dress that accentuated your beauty and drew attention to you as the two of you entered the room.

His arm naturally found its place around your waist as you navigated through the crowd to greet the host.

"No, I've been to several events like this with my father," you replied to Jeonghan's question, your voice tinged with a hint of familiarity with such affairs.

"Is he a friend or a foe?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued as you were introduced to Jeon Wonwoo, the host of the evening. Jeonghan couldn't help but chuckle at your straightforwardness. "Where did you learn that question?" he teased gently, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Just answer me," you demanded, your tone firm and unwavering.

Jeonghan smiled, amused by your determination. "Friend of a foe," he replied cryptically, knowing that the complexities of relationships in high society were often difficult to decipher.

You sighed in frustration, recalling Wonwoo's connection to Seungcheol as his college friend. "Right? I knew he's Seungcheol's college friend. I think I've met him," you muttered, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the implications.

Jeonghan nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on your face with a mixture of empathy and reassurance. "I could tell. He seemed taken aback when I introduced you," he remarked, subtly acknowledging the tension in the air.

Reaching for a glass of wine offered by a passing server, Jeonghan silently offered you some, but you declined with a shake of your head.

"However, who cares, right?" Jeonghan's tone was light, his words carrying an air of nonchalance as he took a sip of his wine, his eyes meeting yours with an assurance that eased your worries.

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Seungcheol strode into the scene, exuding charisma in his dark grey suit. His entrance commanded attention, and your eyes involuntarily darted towards Jeonghan, meeting his gaze. A blush crept onto your cheeks as you realized he might have caught you staring at Seungcheol. Sensing your discomfort, Jeonghan's brows raised in silent inquiry before his arm enveloped your left side, pulling you closer to him. His touch was reassuring, a silent declaration of his presence by your side as Seungcheol approached.

Seungcheol effortlessly navigated the crowd, exchanging pleasantries and accepting handshakes with ease. His eyes found yours briefly, accompanied by a charming smile, before he addressed Jeonghan. "I heard Mingyu will represent Seoul for the basketball national player selection in Busan this week," he remarked, a genuine note of pride evident in his voice.

Seungcheol loves basketball.

Jeonghan nodded proudly, acknowledging his nephew's achievements. "Yeah, really proud of him. Y/n has played a huge role there," he replied, turning his gaze towards you with a soft smile, a silent acknowledgment of your contributions.

Seungcheol's gaze shifted back to yours, his tone casual yet tinged with subtle observation. "I can see," he remarked, a hint of nostalgia coloring his words. "You used to have no idea how amazing Mingyu could play."

Before the conversation could delve deeper, Seungcheol changed the topic, steering towards the subject of marriage. You sensed a subtle shift in Jeonghan's demeanor, an underlying tension that threatened to surface. His gaze, once warm, now held a hint of irritation directed towards Seungcheol, a testament to the unresolved feelings lingering between them.

Smiling reassuringly, you reached out to touch Jeonghan's chest, your gesture a silent reassurance of your unity. "It's wonderful," you affirmed confidently, your eyes locking with Jeonghan's, seeking solace in his unwavering support.

"Jeonghan is an amazing husband," you continued, your voice filled with conviction. "I'm so happy that I married him."

Seungcheol blinked, momentarily taken aback by your assertiveness, before nodding silently. "Great to hear that," he replied, a hint of resignation coloring his tone. "I should greet the host," he added, raising his wine glass in a small gesture of acknowledgment before excusing himself.

As Seungcheol walked away, Jeonghan's frustration boiled over, his eyes narrowing with suppressed anger. "I was near to punch him," he muttered, his voice laced with irritation as he closed his eyes, attempting to regain his composure.

You chuckled softly, sensing the tension dissipating. "I can see you flying over to him and punching him in the face earlier," you teased lightly, a hint of amusement in your tone as you offered a moment of levity amidst the lingering animosity.

The night stretched on, with Jeonghan engulfed in conversations with businessmen, leaving you to navigate the socialite crowd alone, feeling like a fish out of water. Eventually, you found yourself standing outside the ballroom, seeking solace in the quietude of the night and the serene view through the window. Lost in your thoughts, you were startled by the approach of a familiar figure, hands casually tucked into his pockets, his presence both unexpected and unwelcome.

Closing your eyes briefly, you hoped it was merely a figment of your imagination, but the sound of your name being called confirmed his presence.

"Can we talk?" Seungcheol's voice broke through the silence, his words hanging in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

You sighed, turning to face him, the weight of his gaze meeting yours. Despite yourself, a flutter of butterflies stirred within you, though you couldn't discern if it was from excitement or apprehension.

"We're talking," you replied curtly, a hint of defiance lacing your tone.

Seungcheol nodded, his expression reflecting a mixture of regret and uncertainty. "I'm sorry," he began, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm sorry that I don't know what happened to your father. I've only heard about the losses you've endured—your mother, your uncle, and the survival of your father."

His confession hung in the air, laden with the weight of unspoken regrets. "I was surprised when your father mistook me for your husband at your wedding, and it's been weighing on me ever since," he continued, his voice laced with genuine remorse.

"When I received the call from the nursery house, I was so confused," Seungcheol admitted, his tone tinged with vulnerability. "But I was grateful for the opportunity to finally speak to your father again."

"I'm sorry because I wasn't there when all of this happened. I'm very—" Seungcheol's words faltered as he struggled to find the right expression of remorse.

Interrupting him, you cut to the chase, your voice tinged with frustration. "What are you trying to say, Seungcheol?"

A pregnant pause hung between you, the weight of the unspoken conversation pressing down on both of you. Seungcheol bit his lip, his gaze dropping as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head in defeat.

"I don't know," he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty clouding his features.

Taking a step forward, you narrowed your brow, your gaze piercing as you studied him intently. "Seungcheol, you're never this confused," you observed, a note of concern creeping into your tone as you searched for clarity in his eyes.

"I know," he replied softly, his admission underscoring the depth of his inner turmoil.

"Why are you so... confused?" You questioned, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt. "You've always been eager. You weren't this confused when you broke our engagement two years ago. You were very determined to choose your career over me. Why confused now, Choi Seungcheol?"

Seungcheol's response was heavy with emotion, his voice strained as he struggled to contain his feelings. "Because I still care about you, a lot," he admitted, his words hanging in the air like a heavy weight.

"Actually, the feeling is still the same. It never fades," he added softly, his admission piercing through the defenses you had carefully constructed.

You scoffed, a defense mechanism kicking in, but deep down, your heart clenched painfully at his words. Determined to put an end to the conversation, you took a step away, wanting to distance yourself from his emotional turmoil. However, a firm grip around your hand halted your retreat as Seungcheol spoke once more.

"I know you feel it too," he asserted, his gaze searching yours for confirmation.

His words echoed in the silence, reverberating through your thoughts as memories of the past flooded back. Seungcheol's admission of regret pierced through the walls you had erected around your heart, stirring emotions you had long buried.

Closing your eyes tightly, you fought against the tears threatening to spill over, the weight of Seungcheol's words bearing down on you. But just as despair threatened to consume you, a familiar warmth enveloped you, pulling you into a comforting embrace.

Jeonghan's presence washed over you like a lifeline, his familiar scent grounding you in the present moment. His protective stance against Seungcheol's lingering presence provided a shield from the emotional turmoil swirling around you.

"Stop your bullshit or I'll punch you in the face," Jeonghan's voice cut through the tension, his words laced with a fierce protectiveness that made your heart swell with gratitude.

Turning to face you, Jeonghan gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. "Let's go home," he whispered softly, his words a beacon of solace in the midst of turmoil, offering you the comfort and security you desperately needed in that moment.

As you arrived home, the weight of the evening's emotional turmoil lingered in the air, casting a shadow over the silence between you and Jeonghan. He watched quietly as you collapsed onto the couch, the exhaustion and frustration evident in the heaviness of your sighs as you kicked off your heels.

Taking a seat across from you, Jeonghan observed your struggles with a furrowed brow, his heart aching at the sight of your frustration boiling over into tears. He despised seeing you in such distress, yet felt powerless to ease your pain.

Your sobs tugged at Jeonghan's heartstrings, drawing his attention with a mixture of concern and determination. Squatting in front of you, he gently lifted your hands away from your tear-streaked face, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Hey, it's okay. You're with me," Jeonghan whispered softly, his words a soothing balm to your troubled soul.

Uncertain of how to comfort you further, Jeonghan instinctively pulled you into his embrace, enveloping you in a cocoon of warmth and security. He felt your sobs intensify against his chest, each one a painful reminder of the depth of your distress.

Jeonghan's hand found its way to your hair, his fingers tenderly tracing soothing patterns as he offered a comforting pat on the head. Gradually, the weight of your emotions seemed to overwhelm you, lulling you into a fitful sleep within the safety of his arms.

When Jeonghan awoke the next morning, you were nowhere to be found. Rushing to get ready for work, his mind buzzed with a whirlwind of thoughts, each one centered around you. The events of the previous night replayed in his mind like a broken record, leaving him grappling with conflicting emotions.

Watching you confront Seungcheol had filled him with pride, admiring your strength and courage in the face of adversity. Yet, a sense of protectiveness stirred within him as he remembered Seungcheol's unwanted touch, his instinct to shield you from further harm overwhelming his rational thoughts.

There was a part of Jeonghan that longed to keep your vulnerability to himself, a desire to protect you from the pain of exposing your innermost struggles to others. It was a sentiment he couldn't quite comprehend, yet one that tugged at his heartstrings with undeniable force, leaving him grappling with the complexities of his own emotions in the wake of your shared turmoil.

Later that night, Jeonghan stumbled upon you sitting on the kitchen barstool, a familiar bottle of liquor resting on the counter before you. The sight of the alcohol stirred memories of your first encounter with Jeonghan, a bittersweet reminder of the journey you had traveled together.

Exhausted yet unable to ignore your distress, Jeonghan veered away from the bedroom and approached you instead. Without hesitation, he snatched your glass, draining its contents before disposing of it and the bottle in the sink. You protested weakly, but the effects of the alcohol had already begun to blur your senses, leaving you in a state of intoxication.

"Let's sleep," Jeonghan suggested gently, his voice laced with concern as he sought to ease your troubled mind.

"No!" you objected stubbornly, your defiance evident even in your inebriated state.

"Why? Tomorrow is a long day," Jeonghan reasoned, his exhaustion palpable as he attempted to coax you into rest.

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth in his words. "I know," you conceded quietly.

As Jeonghan studied your flushed face, he couldn't help but marvel at your beauty, even in the simplicity of your pajamas. With a tender touch, he scooped you up into his arms, recognizing your inability to navigate the stairs in your current state, and carried you to bed.

Gently laying you down, Jeonghan's fingers traced the tear stains on your cheeks, his heart clenching at the sight of your silent sorrow. "What's bothering you, Y/n?" he inquired softly, his concern evident in his voice.

"Nothing," you replied with a sigh, a sense of resignation coloring your words.

"Then why were you crying?" Jeonghan pressed further, his gaze searching yours for answers.

You hesitated before finally speaking, your words tinged with bitterness. "You won't care," you murmured, your voice heavy with the weight of past wounds.

"I care for you," Jeonghan insisted earnestly, his sincerity evident in the warmth of his gaze.

You scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "That's what that bastard Seungcheol said. But he still left me. Left me alone and cold," you confessed, the pain of abandonment still raw in your heart.

Meeting your gaze, Jeonghan's eyes softened with empathy. "I'm not Seungcheol," he reminded you gently, his touch reassuring as he caught your trembling finger.

"I don't say you're Seungcheol," you countered, your voice tinged with frustration.

"Stop comparing me to him."

"Then what should I do?" you asked, your voice laced with uncertainty.

Jeonghan's gaze drifted down to your lips, a fleeting moment of hesitation passing between you before he met your eyes once more. "Just take this and forget him," he whispered, his breath mingling with yours in the intimate space between you.

As Jeonghan's intrusive thoughts overpowered his rationality, he yielded to the overwhelming desire pulsating within him. With a surge of longing, he crashed his lips against yours, surrendering to the intoxicating taste of alcohol lingering on your lips. In that fleeting moment, the world around them dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the fiery passion igniting between them.

Your hands instinctively found their way into his hair, fingers weaving through the soft strands as Jeonghan deepened the kiss with fervent determination. What had begun as a mere release of frustration swiftly evolved into a fervent display of raw passion, each brush of your lips against his sending sparks of electricity coursing through his veins.

Jeonghan's rationality dissolved in the heat of the moment, his mind consumed by the overwhelming desire to alleviate your worries and drown out the echoes of your past pain. In this embrace, he found solace in the warmth of your touch, a silent vow to stand by your side and shield you from the storms that threatened to engulf your heart.

For now, there was only the fiery passion that bound you together, a testament to the depth of your connection and the unspoken longing that pulsed beneath the surface. In this stolen moment, Jeonghan cast aside all semblance of reason, allowing his heart to guide him as he sought to erase your troubles with the fervent intensity of his love.

Jeonghan woke up with a hollow ache in his chest, the absence of your warmth beside him amplifying the emptiness he felt. The memory of last night's intimate moments with you lingered, but now he found himself alone in the morning light, as if what you shared had meant nothing to you. His mind wandered back to the first time you met, remembering how he had left you then, and now he understood the pang of abandonment you must have felt when he slipped away after your passionate encounter.

Walking into the kitchen, Jeonghan's heart sank as he realized he was the only one there. The usual morning routine of breakfast with you and Mingyu was disrupted, leaving him feeling even more isolated. "Mrs. Ji and Mr. Kim were heading to Busan early this morning," the emptiness of the kitchen echoed with the reminder of your absence.

Nodding absentmindedly, Jeonghan's hand instinctively reached for his phone, a desperate urge to reach out to you tugging at his heartstrings. But then, a wave of uncertainty washed over him, and he hesitated. Instead of sending a text, he opted to call you, craving the sound of your voice more than anything. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart pounding in anticipation until finally, he heard the soft click of you picking up the phone, and the warmth of your greeting flooded his senses, momentarily soothing the ache in his soul.

"You two arrived already?" Jeonghan's voice trembled slightly with anticipation as he awaited your response.

"Just arrived, we stopped at the rest area for breakfast. Your nephew is a big eater, he couldn't skip a meal," your voice came through the phone, sounding unchanged, which brought a sense of relief to Jeonghan's troubled heart.

"Okay, update me, alright?" Jeonghan requested, trying to keep his tone casual despite the turmoil swirling inside him.

"Sure... Wanna talk to Mingyu?" you offered, your usual thoughtfulness shining through even in the midst of their conversation.

Before Jeonghan could respond, Mingyu's voice burst through the line, filled with excitement and nerves. "Uncle, wish me luck!"

"You'll do great, buddy," Jeonghan reassured him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. There was a brief pause, during which Jeonghan could almost feel the weight of Mingyu's uncertainty hanging in the air.

"He sounds genuine... He's never like that with me," Mingyu's voice carried a hint of surprise as he confided in you, prompting a chuckle from Jeonghan.

"You promised me you'd bring that national player home," Jeonghan reminded Mingyu playfully, a warmth spreading through him at the sound of Mingyu's excitement as he promised to fulfill his uncle's request once he returned.

Later that day, you sent him a few photos of Mingyu during the selection, and Jeonghan kindly forwarded them to his parents, wanting to keep them in the loop about their grandson's achievements. However, as the night wore on, you informed him of the heavy rain in Busan, preventing your return to Seoul. Instead, you decided to stay the night in Busan and head back in the morning.

"That's better. Let me know when you're heading back," Jeonghan replied, a sense of relief washing over him knowing you would be safe for the night.

You hummed in acknowledgment, but before you could end the call, Jeonghan heard Mingyu sighing in the background, his voice carrying a hint of teasing annoyance. "I know you two were away, but can you stop being lovey-dovey when I'm around?"

Jeonghan chuckled softly at his nephew's playful protest, the warmth of family bonds soothing his troubled thoughts. However, his curiosity piqued as he overheard Mingyu and you discussing your health check-up results from the hospital.

"You checked too? Why didn't you tell me?" Jeonghan interjected, surprised by the revelation.

"It was Mingyu's idea because he didn't want to be alone. It was supposed to be sent this afternoon. Can you send me the picture of Mingyu's one? I should send it to the committee," you explained, your voice filled with concern and consideration for Mingyu's well-being.

"Hmm... I'll send it. Have a rest, okay?" Jeonghan reassured you, a sense of gratitude flooding his heart for your care towards Mingyu, even in his absence.

Jeonghan hurriedly checked the mailbox and retrieved Mingyu's and your health check-up results. With a quick glance, he opened Mingyu's envelope and snapped a picture of the document before sending it to you. Then, his curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't resist opening your envelope as well.

As he scanned through your results, a swell of pride filled Jeonghan's heart. The report was a testament to your dedication to maintaining a healthy lifestyle through daily workouts and balanced nutrition. He remembered the strength and vitality he had witnessed in your body, making it evident that you were in excellent health.

However, as Jeonghan continued to read, his eyes widened in surprise. Amidst the obstetric history section, he felt a rush of relief upon seeing that you were not pregnant. Yet, his relief was short-lived as he stumbled upon something he couldn't comprehend, something that made his heart skip a beat as he carefully read through the results.

Jeonghan's mind raced as he read and reread the results, trying to make sense of the unfamiliar term that appeared on the paper. A sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized there was something he didn't know about you, something hidden beneath the surface of your seemingly perfect health.

Jeonghan stood outside Seungcheol's office, his hand hesitating on the doorknob. It had been years since he last stepped foot in this place, memories flooding back with each passing moment. With a deep breath, he pushed the door open, revealing Seungcheol's surprised expression.

Seungcheol blinked, momentarily taken aback by his cousin's unexpected visit. "Jeonghan? What brings you here after all this time? Do you have news for me?"

Jeonghan remained silent, his gaze piercing as he met Seungcheol's eyes. There was a simmering anger behind his stoic expression, a resentment that had been brewing for years.

"Have you finally discovered that I was the one who was engaged to your wife before you?" Seungcheol's voice was tinged with a hint of bitterness, his own emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Jeonghan's jaw clenched, struggling to contain the surge of fury threatening to spill over. With a controlled exhale, he hummed in response, his voice laced with restrained anger. "I also happen to know that you were the one who foolishly ended that engagement."

The air crackled with tension as the two cousins faced each other, years of unresolved emotions hanging heavily between them. Jeonghan's visit had reopened old wounds, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting feelings that neither of them could ignore.

"Choosing career over a woman sounds like investing in a risky business when you were already offered a great and amazing business project," Jeonghan remarked, his words dripping with disdain. The resentment in his voice was palpable as he looked at Seungcheol.

Seungcheol felt his anger bubbling up within him, Jeonghan's accusation striking a nerve. His jaw tightened as he struggled to maintain his composure in the face of his cousin's cutting words.

"I'm glad the board is considering the future of the company again," Jeonghan continued, his tone carrying a note of satisfaction. It was clear he took pleasure in the implication that Seungcheol's decisions had jeopardized the company's success.

Seungcheol clenched his fists, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. Jeonghan's presence was like a thorn in his side, dredging up painful memories and reigniting old conflicts.

"What do you want, Yoon Jeonghan?" Seungcheol's voice was terse, his eyes narrowing as he met his cousin's gaze. He braced himself for whatever confrontation lay ahead, steeling himself for the storm that was about to come.

"I personally ask you to stop confronting my wife. What happened at the Jeon Charity Ball is the last time," Jeonghan asserted, his voice carrying a note of finality.

Seungcheol tilted his head, a sly smirk creeping onto his lips. "You seemed annoyed by what happened that night. You're not that confident?"

Jeonghan's facade remained unyielding as he responded with casual indifference, "I don't know what you're talking about."

A knowing glint flickered in Seungcheol's eyes as he pressed on, his tone laced with subtle provocation. "You saw that too, right? She was confused. She also feels the same thing that night."

Jeonghan's mask slipped for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of uncertainty crossing his features before he masked it with practiced ease. "You're afraid if she actually chooses me, right?" Seungcheol's words cut through the tension like a knife, his challenge hanging in the air between them, a silent dare to acknowledge the truth they both knew but refused to confront.

Jeonghan drew in a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as it reached into his inner pocket. With deliberate care, he withdrew an envelope, the weight of its contents palpable in the air between them.

"No, she hates you. And this explains a lot," Jeonghan declared, his voice tinged with a mixture of accusation and resignation.

Seungcheol's brows furrowed in confusion as he accepted the envelope, his curiosity piqued. With cautious fingers, he tore it open, revealing its contents with growing bewilderment.

"What's this?" Seungcheol questioned, his gaze flicking between the papers and Jeonghan's inscrutable expression.

Jeonghan took a steadying breath before speaking, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "Her obstetric history says she's currently not pregnant. And she had one miscarriage."

The weight of Jeonghan's words hung heavy in the air, the truth they carried sinking in with a sickening realization.

"What do you mean?" Seungcheol's voice wavered slightly, his mind reeling with the implications of what he was hearing.

"She was pregnant with your child when you left her," Jeonghan stated matter-of-factly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.

Seungcheol felt the blood drain from his face as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the enormity of his actions crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

"Her miscarriage date was after the car accident, which means she could have suffered the pregnancy loss due to the stress of having to face all of that alone," Jeonghan continued, his voice heavy with condemnation.

Jeonghan rose from the couch, his movements swift and purposeful as he buttoned his suit jacket. "I don't want to see you face her again," he declared, his tone final.

Seungcheol's heart sank as he realized the depth of his betrayal, the magnitude of the pain he had caused crashing over him like a wave of guilt and remorse.

"If you confront her again, I could destroy all of this," Jeonghan warned, gesturing to Seungcheol's office, a stark reminder of the consequences that loomed over them both.

As Jeonghan made his way to his office, his phone buzzed with a message from Mingyu. He glanced down to see a photo of Mingyu beaming widely, seated beside you who were driving, with a caption that read, "a photo of a national player and his aunt driving." A warm smile spread across Jeonghan's face, and he immediately tapped the call button.

A cheerful tone greeted him as Mingyu answered the call. Jeonghan wasted no time in asking about Mingyu's whereabouts, and Mingyu kindly explained that he had just left the rest area.

Jeonghan chuckled as he heard you mumbling about his nephew's big appetite agenda. "Are you going to live in the center then?" Jeonghan inquired, curiosity lacing his voice as Mingyu outlined his plans after securing a slot as a national player.

"Yup, starting in a week. I'm glad the center is in Seoul," Mingyu replied, relief evident in his voice.

"You're so full of energy, Mingyu. Tone down a bit for my wife," Jeonghan teased playfully.

Mingyu let out a deep sigh, but a grin quickly replaced it. "Aunt has said that to me a hundred times," he admitted, "but I take it as a compliment." There was a warmth in Mingyu's voice, a genuine affection for the bond he shared with Jeonghan and you.

"Did she rest well last night? She has been super busy with—" Jeonghan's words hung in the air, abruptly cut off by the sound of Mingyu's panicked shout and the jarring noise of cars colliding.

Jeonghan's heart leaped into his throat as he stared at his phone screen, the call still connected but met with eerie silence on the other end. "Kim Mingyu, answer me," he urged, desperation creeping into his voice.

Lee Jihoon, Jeonghan's secretary who sat beside the driver, glanced at him through the rearview mirror, concern etched on his face. "What happened, sir?"

Jeonghan's gaze flicked to Jihoon, his voice strained with worry. "Can you look for a car crash on the Busan-Seoul road? I think my wife and my nephew—" His words trailed off, fear gripping him as he imagined the worst.

"Uncle, uncle," Mingyu's voice crackled through the phone's speaker, cutting through the tension like a lifeline.

Jeonghan's breath caught in his chest as he frantically responded to Mingyu's voice. "We're fine," Mingyu reassured him, his breath coming in short gasps. "Cars in front of us crashed, but aunt managed to avoid it," he explained, relief flooding Jeonghan's veins like a soothing balm.

"Are you guys okay?" Jeonghan's voice quivered with concern, his heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Mingyu's response.

There was a brief pause before Mingyu's voice crackled through the phone, strained but steady. "I'm fine," he assured Jeonghan.

"But I think aunt needs help," Mingyu continued, his words weighted with worry. Jeonghan's frustration surged, his mind racing with thoughts of you in distress.

With a determined exhale, Jeonghan clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. "Send me your location," he instructed firmly, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. "I'll go there." The gravity of the situation spurred him into action, his only thought now to reach your side as quickly as possible.

Jeonghan bolted when he caught sight of Mingyu seated beside you on one of the benches in the rest area. Mingyu sprang to his feet as soon as he saw his uncle, his relief palpable. Meanwhile, you remained seated calmly, unnoticed by Jeonghan, who was focused on his nephew's well-being.

"Are you okay?" Jeonghan's voice trembled slightly as he examined Mingyu's body for any signs of injury. Mingyu nodded reassuringly, but then turned his head towards you, subtly signaling to Jeonghan that the car crash had affected you more than him.

Jeonghan approached you cautiously, his heart pounding with a mixture of concern and guilt. Your eyes flickered with surprise as you realized his presence, and a wave of emotions washed over you – relief that he was safe, worry for your own condition, and a hint of apprehension about what the aftermath of the accident might entail.

Jeonghan squatted in front of you, his hands tenderly cupping your cheeks as he examined your body for any signs of harm. "Are you okay?" His voice was filled with genuine concern, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You nodded slowly, grateful for his comforting presence amidst the chaos. With a gentle sigh of relief, Jeonghan pulled you into a warm embrace, enveloping you in his protective arms. "You're okay, I'm here," he murmured softly, his words a soothing balm to your rattled nerves.

Jeonghan instructed his driver to take control of your car while Jihoon, Mingyu, you and he made their way back home. Mingyu observed both Jeonghan and you through the rearview mirror, noticing how you slept peacefully in Jeonghan's arms while he appeared to drift off as well, exhaustion evident on his features.

Curious, Mingyu leaned forward and whispered to Jihoon, "Have you ever seen my uncle like this before?"

Jihoon shook his head, his eyes focused on the road ahead. "Nope, never. This is the first time he's taken a day off, skipped a meeting, and... he looks happy."

Mingyu nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips. "My uncle indeed seems happier these days," he mused, feeling a sense of contentment knowing that Jeonghan was finding joy amidst the chaos of everyday life.

Jeonghan had already notified the school about yesterday's accident, ensuring both you and Mingyu were excused from attending today. Meanwhile, he hurriedly sent a text to Jihoon, rearranging his schedule for the day. Taking a day off to care for you was his priority, especially after the harrowing events of the previous day.

As he woke up with you nestled in his arms, a rare occurrence since your marriage four months ago, Jeonghan couldn't help but feel a rush of tenderness. Your serene sleeping face, untouched by the usual stress of waking hours, was a sight he cherished. It was a stark contrast to the survival mode you often found yourselves in when awake.

When your eyes fluttered open and you muttered about your shoulder hurting, Jeonghan's concern immediately surged. He leaned closer to hear you better, his heart clenching at the thought of you being injured. After confirming which shoulder was hurting, he gently examined it, silently hoping it wasn't serious. Your mention of turning the steering wheel too much during the accident only heightened his worry, but he masked it with a reassuring smile.

"You did a great job," he murmured softly, his hand brushing against yours. "Let's have breakfast and then we'll head to the hospital to get it checked."

With a nod of agreement, you both prepared for the day ahead, though the weight of yesterday's events still lingered in the air. As you sat down for breakfast, a mix of relief and apprehension filled the room, knowing that a trip to the hospital awaited.

In the dining room, the morning light cast a warm glow as you and Jeonghan joined Mingyu for breakfast. Jeonghan couldn't help but notice the genuine smile that graced your lips as you patted Mingyu's head, a silent exchange of affection between aunt and nephew. Mingyu leaned into you, a gesture that tugged at Jeonghan's heartstrings. He couldn't shake the worry that Mingyu would be devastated if he ever discovered the truth about your marriage being contractual. But for now, he pushed those thoughts aside, determined to savor the present moment and the happiness it brought.

"We're going to the hospital after this," Jeonghan mentioned to Mingyu, his voice carrying a hint of concern. Mingyu's immediate worry for you only reinforced Jeonghan's resolve to protect both of you from any further harm.

As you explained about your injured shoulder, Mingyu's apology weighed heavily in the air, but you quickly brushed it aside with a reassuring smile, urging him to focus on his practice. Jeonghan couldn't help but admire your resilience, your ability to put others' worries at ease even when facing your own discomfort.

Throughout breakfast, Jeonghan's mind raced with thoughts of the accident and its aftermath. He couldn't shake the memories of past tragedies involving car accidents, each one leaving a lasting scar on his heart. But amidst the turmoil, he found solace in being able to care for you, to ensure your well-being above all else.

After breakfast, you and Jeonghan made your way to the hospital. Entering the waiting room, the atmosphere shifted as Jeonghan engaged in small talk while waiting for your turn. Suddenly, someone called his name, and Jeonghan's demeanor shifted as he rose to greet Mr. and Mrs. Yang. Introducing you as his wife.

"Are you guys here for pre-natal care?" Jeonghan's words hung in the air as Mrs. Yang's assumption about prenatal care caught both of you off guard.

Jeonghan's swift denial masked a deeper discomfort, and as Mr. Yang commented on modern attitudes towards starting a family, Jeonghan's whispered reassurance hinted at a sensitivity he rarely showed.

"Why?"

Your questioning gaze only added to his unease, and his attempt to deflect the topic left you wondering about his sudden change in demeanor.

"It's just sensitive topic. Pregnancy.. For women, at least."

As you sat in the waiting room, waiting for your turn to be seen, the tension between you and Jeonghan lingered, unspoken words hanging in the air. Despite the uncertainty, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support, even in moments of vulnerability. And as you searched for answers in his troubled gaze, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his reaction than met the eye

"Where's my health results?" You approached Jeonghan, interrupting him as he busily signed some papers in the living room. His hand froze mid-signature at the mention of the envelope he had left at Seungcheol's office.

"I read it. You don't need it," Jeonghan replied casually, his attention divided between you and the papers.

You couldn't help but scoff at his dismissive tone. "That'll be for me to decide," you retorted firmly.

Jeonghan's expression softened as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I accidentally threw it in the bin, sorry," he admitted, a hint of regret in his voice.

"You're kidding me. I need it, Jeonghan," you demanded, frustration lacing your words.

Jeonghan let out a small scoff, not entirely convinced. "Don't lie to me, darling. You said you did the check-up for Mingyu."

You shook your head, feeling the weight of urgency pressing down on you. "No, I'm serious. I have to submit a health check-up result for my teaching certification."

A warm smile spread across Jeonghan's face as he realized the seriousness of your predicament. "Then you could redo the check-up," he suggested, his tone gentle and reassuring, offering a solution to ease your worries.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down beside him, refusing to let this go. "You're not stupid enough to accidentally throw it. Give it to me, or I'll just keep bothering you while you work!"

Your childish antics earned a soft chuckle from Jeonghan. Little did you know, your playful behavior stirred a flutter of butterflies inside his stomach. However, beneath the laughter, a pang of guilt gnawed at him. He couldn't bear the thought of revealing that he knew your secret, nor could he admit to confronting Seungcheol about it.

"Give it to me, quickly!" you urged, your impatience palpable.

Jeonghan sighed, feeling the weight of his deception pressing down on him. "It's not with me," he mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? If it's not with you, then where is it?"

Jeonghan pushed aside the pile of papers in front of him and turned to face you fully. "Don't you want to tell me something?" he asked, his tone serious, catching you off guard.

You were taken aback by the sudden change in Jeonghan's demeanor. "I don't get it," you admitted, unsure of his intentions with the question.

Jeonghan sighed heavily, steeling himself for the difficult conversation ahead. "I read your results and... I found out that... You... You had a miscarriage," he finally admitted, his voice laced with uncertainty, afraid that his words might inadvertently hurt you.

You blinked, processing his revelation. "It's written there?" you asked softly, your tone barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan nodded, his gaze fixed on your face, searching for any signs of how you were feeling. He noticed the glint in your eyes, the subtle shift in your expression as memories resurfaced.

His hands instinctively moved to your side, a silent gesture of support. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your emotions, and nodded slowly, your eyes closed. Your hands moved to your face, wiping away the tears that had begun to flow. Despite your efforts, a chuckle escaped you, tinged with embarrassment at your own vulnerability.

"It's been two years already, but I'm still a coward when it comes to having a conversation about this like an adult," you confessed, offering a glimpse into the depth of your emotions and the difficulty of facing such a painful experience.

Jeonghan tilted his head, his expression softening with understanding. "No, it's okay. Everyone has something they don't want to talk about. I'm sorry for asking you," he reassured you, his voice gentle and comforting. But you shook your head, a need to share weighing heavily on your heart.

"When I met you at that bar for the first time, it was the date when I had my miscarriage," you revealed, your voice trembling with emotion.

"I was having a fancy dinner for myself, and I bumped into Seungcheol's parents. They looked so happy talking about their son's success when they were the reason I lost the baby."

Jeonghan's brows furrowed in confusion and concern. "What do you mean?" he asked softly, urging you to continue.

"When they came to me with money for my father's surgery, I told them that I was pregnant with Seungcheol's child. They were so mad, especially his mother. She... she pushed me so hard that I—" You choked on your words, overcome with emotion, the pain of that fateful day still raw and agonizing.

Jeonghan's heart filled with anger, but his touch remained gentle and soft as he pulled you into his embrace, allowing you to release your pent-up sobs.

He gently lifted your face to look at him, his own heart aching at the sight of your tears and swollen eyes. Tenderly, he cupped your cheeks and wiped away the tears, offering you solace in his comforting embrace.

"I'm so sorry that you've been through this," Jeonghan whispered, his voice filled with empathy and sorrow. He took a deep breath before continuing, his words chosen carefully. "I'm so proud of your progression, facing Seungcheol and being brave in front of him. That's great, Y/n... However, this pain," he said, gesturing to your distressed state, "you couldn't keep it to yourself."

His words resonated deeply with you, and tears welled up in your eyes once again as you felt the weight of his understanding and support.

"I'm here if you need me. Regardless of whether this marriage is contractual or not, we're still husband and wife," Jeonghan declared, his voice unwavering with determination.

"Jeonghan..." you began, feeling overwhelmed by his kindness and reassurance.

Without another word, Jeonghan closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours with a gentle tenderness that sent shivers down your spine. In that fleeting moment, his touch spoke volumes, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. It was a gesture of love, comfort, and unwavering support, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

As his lips met yours, you felt a rush of emotions flood over you, mingling with the taste of his presence. The kiss was a balm to your soul, soothing the ache of your heartache and offering a glimpse of solace in the midst of turmoil. In that instant, you realized that you weren't alone in your pain anymore. Jeonghan was there, standing steadfast beside you, ready to shoulder the weight of your burdens together.

The kiss lingered, drawing out the moment of intimacy as you melted into each other's embrace. His touch was both gentle and firm, a silent reassurance that you were safe in his arms. With each caress, it was as if a weight had been lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of comfort and belonging that you had long yearned for.

In the quiet intimacy of that embrace, the walls around your heart began to crumble, allowing Jeonghan's love to seep in and mend the wounds that had long been festering. It was a healing touch, stitching together the broken pieces of your soul and offering a glimpse of hope amidst the darkness.

When the kiss finally broke, you found yourself lost in the depths of Jeonghan's gaze, seeing a reflection of your own emotions mirrored back at you.

"Why do you always make me worry?" Jeonghan whispered, his voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and affection. "Why can't I stop thinking about you, Y/n? I feel like I'm going crazy."

You gazed into his eyes, seeing the depth of his emotions reflected back at you. There was a vulnerability in his words, a raw honesty that stirred something deep within you.

"I'm so crazy!" he muttered, almost to himself, as if grappling with his own feelings.

Before you could respond, Jeonghan closed the distance between you once again, his lips seeking yours with a fervent intensity. His hand found the back of your neck, holding you close as he deepened the kiss, as if desperate for the connection to never break. Meanwhile, his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed tightly against each other.

As he laid you down on the couch, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the whirlwind of sensations that engulfed you. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, while his hands gripped your waist possessively.

"If this is what love feels like, then I love you, Ji Y/n," he confessed between kisses, his voice husky with desire.

A moan escaped your lips as his touch sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You could feel the intensity of his emotions, the depth of his passion, and it only served to fuel your own desires.

"I'm so crazy because of you," he murmured against your skin, his words a whispered declaration of his love and devotion.

In that moment, as you surrendered yourself to the intoxicating whirlwind of emotion and desire, you knew that you were exactly where you were meant to be – wrapped in Jeonghan's arms, consumed by the flames of passion and love.

As the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, Jeonghan stirred from his sleep, his mind still heavy with the weight of the previous night's emotions. Groggily, he reached out beside him, expecting to feel the warmth of your presence, but his hand met only empty sheets.

Panic seized him as he shot up in bed, his heart racing with anxiety. Frantically, he scanned the room, searching for any sign of you, but the bed was empty, and you were nowhere to be found.

With a sense of urgency, Jeonghan threw back the covers and rushed out of the bedroom, his footsteps echoing through the silent house. He called out your name, his voice tinged with desperation, but there was no response.

His anxiety mounting with each passing second, Jeonghan raced through the house, checking every room in a frantic search for you. And then, just as his panic threatened to consume him, he heard the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room.

With a sense of relief flooding through him, Jeonghan hurried towards the source of the noise, his heart pounding in his chest. And there, in the soft glow of morning light, he found you and Mingyu sitting at the dining table, sharing a quiet breakfast together.

A wave of relief washed over him as he took in the sight of you, safe and sound, your laughter filling the room like music to his ears. Without a word, he rushed forward, pulling you into his arms in a tight embrace, holding you close as if afraid to let you go.

"Stop it!" Mingyu whined. "I told you to stop doing that in front of me."

Jeonghan threw a glance to Mingyu before his focus shifted to you, "i'll drive you work. Mingyu, you're going with driver today." His words were final before he went back to get himself prepare for work.

As you and Jeonghan finished breakfast, he suggested driving you to work, wanting to spend a little more time together before parting ways for the day. You agreed, appreciating the chance to have a few extra moments with him.

As Jeonghan maneuvered the car through the morning traffic, a comfortable silence settled between you. However, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind about what had transpired between you the night before. He had made love to you, and although he believed in the connection you shared, he wanted to hear it from you directly.

Taking a deep breath, Jeonghan finally mustered up the courage to broach the subject. "Y/n, about last night..." he began, his voice hesitant yet determined. "I know what happened between us, and I believe in the connection we share. But I want to hear it from you. How do you feel about me?"

His words hung in the air, filling the car with an undeniable tension as he waited for your response. He stole a quick glance at you, his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited your answer, hoping beyond hope that it would be what he longed to hear.

You felt a wave of confusion wash over you at Jeonghan's question. Your marriage to him was contractual, a mutually beneficial arrangement that had brought you together out of convenience rather than love. You couldn't deny the undeniable attraction you felt for him, but you also feared getting hurt by allowing yourself to fully invest in something that might not be real.

Taking a moment to collect your thoughts, you turned to face Jeonghan, meeting his gaze with a mixture of uncertainty and vulnerability. "Jeonghan, our marriage may be contractual, but I never regret anything that has happened between us," you admitted softly, your voice tinged with sincerity.

"You've shown me kindness, understanding, and love, and for that, I'm grateful. But I'm also afraid," you confessed, laying bare your insecurities and fears. "I don't want to get hurt, Jeonghan. I don't want to allow myself to believe in something that might not be real."

Jeonghan listened intently to your words, his heart aching at the vulnerability in your voice. He reached out to gently take your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. "I understand your fears, Y/n," he said softly, his voice filled with empathy. "But I want you to know that what we have is real. Our connection, our bond, it's not just a contract to me. It's something deeper, something meaningful."

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours with unwavering sincerity. "I care about you, Y/n. More than I ever thought possible. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to prove to you that our love is worth fighting for."

His words struck a chord deep within you, stirring emotions you had long kept buried. As you looked into his eyes, you saw the sincerity and love reflected back at you, and in that moment, you knew that despite your fears, you couldn't deny the depth of your feelings for him.

As you arrived at school and began your day of teaching, your thoughts were divided between your duties in the classroom and Jeonghan. Despite your best efforts to focus on your students and the lesson plans at hand, his presence lingered in the back of your mind, tugging at your thoughts whenever you had a spare moment.

Throughout the day, you found yourself reflecting on the journey of your marriage with Jeonghan. What had started as a union born out of revenge and individual advantages had evolved into something much deeper – a bond forged through affection and mercy for both of you.

You couldn't deny the growing feelings you harbored for him, feelings that had developed despite your initial reservations. You found yourself liking everything he did for you, from the small gestures of kindness to the moments of shared laughter and intimacy.

As you mulled over your emotions, a realization began to dawn on you. Could this be what love feels like? If it was, then you couldn't deny it any longer – you had fallen for Jeonghan as well.

The thought both excited and terrified you, but deep down, you knew that you were ready to embrace whatever the future held for you and Jeonghan. As the day drew to a close and you prepared to head home, a sense of anticipation filled you, eager to see where this newfound realization would lead you both.

As you made your way home, lost in your thoughts about Jeonghan and the newfound complexity of your relationship, a text message suddenly chimed on your phone. With a curious frown, you unlocked your device and opened the message from Jeonghan.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the photo he had sent you – a picture of torn papers scattered across his desk, accompanied by a caption that simply read, "I tear our contract. Hehe."

A rush of emotions flooded through you as you stared at the image, a mixture of surprise, excitement, and uncertainty swirling in your mind. Jeonghan's action spoke volumes, signaling a decisive step forward in your relationship and a willingness to break free from the confines of the contractual arrangement that had bound you together.

As you contemplated his message, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Despite the lingering doubts and fears, you couldn't deny the flutter of excitement that blossomed in your chest at the prospect of what this meant for the two of you.

With a newfound sense of determination, you quickly typed out a response to Jeonghan, your fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. "I'm on my way home. Let's talk," you wrote, your heart racing with anticipation as you hit send.

As you continued your journey home, the weight of the torn contract and the possibilities it represented hung heavy in the air, filling you with a sense of hope and excitement for the future that lay ahead.

The end.

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