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sillyseraphie · 11 days ago

Note

hi sweet seraphie! LOL im sending all my mutuals a request and im particularly excited about it!! i wanna know what its like to req 👰‍♂️

so something w phai maybe? reader had a ginormous crush on him b4 but lost feelings since he never reciprocated but hes realizing he loves them now and is trying to win them over again 🫦 cute, subtle ways!!!

kisses and hugs to u seraphie 🙇‍♀️

- cipher (sage in disguise)

“Love is never too late.”

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in which: you had a very huge crush on phainon before but long after knowing he never reciprocated your feelings, you lost feelings for him — only for him to develop feelings for you and the first thing that went inside his head was to win you over again.

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pairing/s: phainon x gn!artist!reader

au: college au!

cw: might be ooc as this is only the second time i write phainon and my third time writing an hsr fanfic! + loserboy phainon, bcs me thinks he's a loser when he's smitten! + unedited, there may be errors ahead!

others: angst+comfy

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HALO, LOVELY SAGIE!! (or cipher ;p) thank you for letting me be a part of "sending all my mutuals a request" event of yours! your idea is almost giving "she/he loved him, and he loved him/her too late" LMAO since i'm nice, i'm going to give this a happy ending!! but that doesn't mean my evil arc has ended >:)) might write mydei next based on the anime frieren(?) and on a song "multo" by cup of joe!

thanks for the sweet kissies and huggies! hyacine(disguised as seraphie) is sending u kisses as well!! enjoy reading my first longest fanfic in my life!!

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you glanced at phainon, who was laughing and teasing mydei to rile him up, as usual, then back at the page of your sketchpad that was once again filled with sketches of him.

you were never one to express everything through words as it always felt difficult for you. so instead, you poured all your feelings into sketching the man you adored.

almost all of the pages of your sketchpad were filled with doodles and sketches of phainon. some were sketches of him smiling, some were him sleeping on his desk (during class), some mini versions him, and even him as a puppy!

yet, even with all those masterpieces, nothing could compare to the real one.

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just as you were about to finish the outline, phainon leans over and takes a peek. "is that me?"

you almost jumped from your seat at his voice and you immediately turned your head to face him, only to freeze when you did and everything seemed to slow down until you snapped back to reality.

too close!

you thought to yourself as your heart gave a flutter at the proximity between your faces.

you wanted to push him away but you just sat there, not moving an inch.

"yes." thankfully, you knew how to control your expressions. otherwise, you would probably be a blushing mess right now.

phainon hummed in amusement. "you're quite talented at this, (name)! i didn't know i was one of your muses."

one of your muses? oh, how you wanted to say how wrong he was and tell him that he was your only muse but instead, you just kept quiet — as if the words were stuck in your throat — and averted your gaze to the sketch before you.

"thanks." you mumbled, shrinking into your seat, not used to receiving compliments.

phainon merely smiled, knowing and understanding that you were a person of few words who struggled to express yourself, and he accepted that.

so he reached for your head and gently ruffled your hair, making you huff under your breath and swat his hand away in response — only for him to laugh at you, oblivious to the way his touch sent a wave of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

(oh, have i ever mentioned how his laughter was always a music with the perfect melody to your ears? you could listen to it over and over again and you'd never grow tired or sick of it.)

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you plopped down to the mattress of your bed.

man, you were exhausted.

tilting your head to the side, you glanced at the plastic bag that had your newly bought sketchpad inside, which lay on the desk beside your bed.

you sighed.

this was your second time buying a new sketchpad, as the other two were already filled with sketches of him.

what am i going to do? you asked yourself. and before you knew it, your mind drifted to your feelings for him.

you never expected any of this to happen.

at first, you told yourself it was just a simple crush that would be gone in a flash for a few days — only for your feelings to last longer and bloom into something even deeper.

maybe it wouldn't hurt to confess, right?

...

yeah, maybe it wouldn't hurt.

you weren't the best at words, but you're willing to try, even if it means you'll have to face rejection— not that you weren't mentally prepared for it.

you spent the whole night thinking for the right words to confess,, some leaving you curled up in the sheets out of embarrassment.

curse the titan of romance, why must it end up this way?

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...

"sorry, (name). i couldn't return your feelings."

ah.

of course, he couldn't. you were just another friend in his eyes anyway.

you ignored the painful ache in your chest, pushing the feeling down with a laugh that sounded convincing enough for anyone to believe that it's fine.

"no need to apologize, phai. i completely understand, i wasn't even expecting you to reciprocate them anyway."

"thank you for listening to everything before saying anything else and for being honest. you may say that it's nothing to thank you for, but it means a lot to me. if you don't mind... could you at least accept these?"

you held the two sketchpads out to him, gesturing for him to take them from you and he did.

with a polite bow, you thanked him again and left.

all that mattered was that you finally confessed, and moving on would be a lot more easier for you now.

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phainon's a popular guy on the campus, a social butterfly with a charm that drew everyone in. he excelled in academics, dominated in sports, had good looks and a smile that could light any darkest room.

and you? you were just a normal, introverted student — known for your artistic achievements, but often overlooked in the crowd.

locking the door to your room, you slid yourself down to the floor with your back against the door.

you could finally move on without trouble.

you knew he'd never reciprocate your feelings.

you knew you had it coming and prepared yourself for it.

you had convinced yourself that you were okay with it. watching him laugh with friends, effortlessly connecting with everyone while you felt like a ghost in the background admiring him from afar. you told yourself that feelings like these were inevitable when you admired someone so vibrant and alive. and yet,

why did it hurt so much?

lost in thought, something warm and wet suddenly landed on your lap.

you blinked, confusion washing over you. you wiped at your eyes and noticed that your vision was blurry.

when was the last time you cried? the question echoed in your mind, heavy and unsettling. you couldn't remember. the emptiness you often felt had numbed you to every pain, dulling your emotions to the point where tears seemed like a distant memory.

as you fought to regain your composure, more droplets followed, cascading down your cheeks. each tear felt like a release, but also a reminder of the weight you carried.

you had grown so accustomed to the numbness that the sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed you, catching you off guard.

maybe letting go of your feelings for phainon wasn't as easy as you thought, but you knew for sure that you will be able to let go of them soon.

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phainon sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers tracing the outline of the sketches as his eyes fixated on the image made from pencil before him. each doodle was a glimpse into the world of someone who saw him differently, someone who captured his little moments.

he flipped through the pages, observing every expression— the way his smile lit up the page, the peacefulness of him sleeping during class, even the silly sketches of him as a puppy. it was as if each drawing held a story, and he felt his heart getting heavier on every page he flips.

as he continued flipping through the sketches, something tugged at his heartstrings. realization dawned on him that these weren't just sketches,

they were pieces of your feelings and thoughts.

he paused on the page where you had captured him laughing, the joy and lightness in that moment reflected back at him.

it was as if he could hear the laughter in his mind.

setting the sketchpad down, he lay down with his back against the soft mattress of his bed and placed an arm over his now closed eyelids before letting out a sigh.

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a month passed in a blur since you had confessed your feelings, life on the campus went smoothly as usual. well not for phainon at least.

phainon and you maintained your friendship, still sharing laughs, joining him for lunch and studying together as if nothing happened between the two of you. however, there was something different these days and phainon isn't stupid not to notice that.

while you still treated him the same, (with kindness, warmth, and respect) you rarely glanced his way like you used to anymore.

you laughed alongside him, but the spark that used to light up in your eyes when you look at him seemed dimmed.

he complimented you on your art and instead of the shy, grateful reaction he was used to, you kindly accepted it with a smile. (it felt more like a polite acknowledgement than the shy excitement he had grown accustomed to.) as if you were silently telling him that you no longer hold those feelings for him.

phainon couldn't shake the feeling that he lost something so precious. he often caught himself watching you and deciphering the subtle changes in your demeanor.

you had moved on, and while he was glad you did and you no longer have to suffer from your feelings for him that could never be returned, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing.

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he sat there at the cafeteria with mydei, glancing at the direction where you were sitting and laughing with your small circle of friends, seeming engrossed in a conversation.

why did it bother him so much? he has always been popular, admired by many, yet he felt a pang of something when he saw you laughing with others? (jealousy perhaps?)

in quiet moments, he found himself thinking about the sketches you had created. each drawing was a glimpse into a side of you he had never really recognized — your creativity, your perspective, and the way you deeply saw him in a different light.

(strangely enough,) it made his heart ache.

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phainon found himself staring at you again, his gaze glued to you as you sat with your friends. you were in the midst of a conversation, laughing at something that had been said, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

he watched as you tuck a strand behind your ear, a small smile forming on your lips. such a simple action, and yet it captivated him in a way he didn't expect.

he couldn't help but admire the way you moved, so unnatural and unguarded.

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phainon rested his chin on his palm as his gaze fixated on his seatmate.

he took noticed of you resting your head on your arms that was placed on top of your desk, your breathing soft and even as you drited off to sleep. the calm and peaceful sight of you brought a smile to his face, and something deep stirred within him.

"earth to phainon."

mydei's voice cut him off from his daze, and phainon froze in realization. "ah, sorry. i wasn't listening, what is it?"

mydei raised an eyebrow. "you seemed to be distracted these days, what's on your mind," he paused, his eyes landing at your sleeping figure.

"or rather, who is on your mind?" he finished in a playful manner.

shoot, he got caught!

phainon rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, letting out a nervous laugh.

was it obvious or was he staring at you that long?

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phainon looked at the ceiling above him as he recalled the days that had passed. his mind flooded with memories, each memory of you now felt more clearer and meaningful.

sitting in the cafeteria, watching you laugh with your friends and feeling a pang of something he hadn't felt before. but he ignored it and instead listened to your laughter that seemed to melt his heart. it sounded perfect to his ears, bright and carefree.

the smallest and simplest things you do, like when you were sketching, lost in your world, the way your brows furrowed in concentration or how you'd occasionally tap the tip of the pencil against your lips made his heart race.

those little gestures, once overlooked, now held a beauty that captivated him entirely.

he remembered the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a simple action that sent fluttering butterflies in his stomach.

the moments you'd fall asleep during class breaks, as if you were blissfully unaware of the world around you.

is this how you felt back then? he asked himself.

each memory deepened his confusion and longing. he had always seen you as a friend, but now he felt something more these days— and it honestly thrilled, yet frightened him at the same time.

he wanted to be the reason behind your smiles, the one who encourages you in your passion for arts, and who stands by you through everything.

and yet, he couldn't shake the fear of losing you. you had already moved on from the feelings you once had for him, and phainon worried that his feelings for you might push you away.

but he knew he had to confront these feelings. if he wanted you to see him in the same light you once did, he would have to take the risk before it's too late.

the first thing that came to his mind was to win you over again, and he was determined to do it.

though, will it be worth the risk? only one way to find out.

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sigh.

phainon exhaled and his groan soon followed, his face resting against the desk. he had been trying to win your heart again these past two months, but he always ended up failing with his sudden clumsiness, and the unexpected things happening.

impressing you with his drawing skills? failed. he knocked a bottle of water over (that had its lid opened) in an accident, spilling it all over your sketchbook. he tried cleaning it up with a paper towel, only for him to smear the sketches he had already made, turning his masterpiece into a messy blur. you tried assuring him that it was fine and it was an accident, and yet that didn't stop the sad expression that formed on his face, looking exactly like a kicked puppy and you had to hold yourself back from laughing.

(cute. you thought.)

impressing you with his skills in sports? failed. while he did manage to shoot the ball, he got distracted when he caught your gaze and before he knew it, a ball flew to his way at a rapid speed and hit him right on the head, almost knocking him out.

sending you a sweet message about how much he enjoys spending time with you? failed. he accidentally sent the message to the wrong person. and worst of all, the person he accidentally sent the sweet message to was one of the professors in the campus; anaxa.

he doubts he'll even forget that memory.

he tried to pick your things that had fallen to the ground, only for both of your foreheads to bump against each other really hard.

he also tried flirting, but you were so slow and oblivious, it backfired.

mnestia, could you please be nice for once?

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phainon always had a bright smile on his face, but there was a subtle change about him lately, and everyone on the campus could see the way his eyes would soften or light up with stars, the way the expression on his face would brighten with a grin, or even the way his imaginary tail would wag furiously whenever he sees you or when he's with you. (as if he was a dog with an owner that just got home from work.)

during class, phainon would steal glances on your way while the professor was busy discussing. only for anaxa to catch him daydreaming later, staring at you instead of paying attention and taking down notes. he eventually calls him after clearing his throat to catch his student's attention, "care to share your thoughts, phainon of aedes elysiae?" and the class erupts into laughter as phainon stumbles over his words, cheeks flushed and an embarrassed smile on his lips.

you also could tell that there was something more about the way he acts around you, but you kept denying it, convincing yourself that you're just imagining things or phainon was simply being... well, phainon.

yet despite your attempts to brush it off, you couldn't shake off the fluttering feeling in your chest from the way he looks at you like a lovesick puppy (you honestly find that cute), or when gives you those bright, charming smiles that always seemed to widen whenever you agree to tag along with him, or the way he still spots you in the crowds despite blending in perfectly, or—

titans.

you were falling for him again. but oddly enough, you didn't feel scared or hesitant about it, and it felt different this time, you didn't question everything like last time, you just accepted it without overthinking and complaining.

you didn't mind that he turned you down before, those moments had already felt like a blur now. and you found yourself clinging to the small hopes that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time.

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phainon was unusually quiet today, but as two of your friends called out to him, his gaze landed on them first before you and the moment it did; heat crept up to his cheeks.

"how do they look, phainon?"

cipher and hyacine had just finished styling your hair (out of boredom) and now they asked him for his opinion, only for him to remain silent and leave their question unanswered.

"i told you, i look ridiculous in this. i prefer my usual hair style much more." a sigh left your lips, embarrassment washing over you as you brought a hand to the clip/pin/hair tie, trying to take it off. But cipher stopped you before you could.

"ah, ah, ah. he hasn't given us an answer yet."

phainon was too stunned to speak and he couldn't help himself from staring at you, not when you look so...

breathtaking, beautiful, stunning, lovely, majestic, adorable, charming, enchanting, divine, and effortlessly gorgeous.

i mean you've always been, but seeing you in a different hairstyle than usual was new to him, and he doubts words are even enough to describe how captivating you are.

with a hand covering half of his flushed face and his shy smile, his eyes averted elsewhere before finally giving them an answer.

"they look pretty." he muttered and he returned his gaze back to you (and only you), his voice barely above a whisper but it was enough for you and your friends to hear.

while the pair cheered, he didn't fail to notice how you seemed to freeze in your spot.

was he seeing things? he could've sworn he saw your cheeks blooming into a faint red colour before you turned your back to him.

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several months had passed since day one of phainon's clumsy attempts of winning you over, and now you stood there with him at the entrance of the amusement park, staring blankly at the screen,and holding back the frustration that washed over you as you read the message.

hyacine: sorry, (name)! we got so hungry, we had to go somewhere to eat. i'm pretty sure you'll be fine there as long as you're with phainon! o⁠(⁠(⁠*⁠^⁠▽⁠^⁠*⁠)⁠)⁠o

cipher: have fun

cipher: on your date! ;3

beside you was phainon, who was also staring at the screen of his phone.

mydei: we had been standing and waiting for so long, but since you were taking your precious time, i had lost my patience.

castorice: sorry, phainon. i couldn't stay in one place for too long. we're cheering for you though! good luck! :))

great.

they ditched us. you both thought at the same time.

a long silence followed, and phainon was the first to break it. "seems like it's just the two of us then. where do you want to head to first?"

while phainon was frustrated at the fact that the both of you just got ditched, a part of him was happy that he got to spend time with you alone— in an amusement park.

you looked around first before pointing at the rides. "the rides would be nice, i'd like to try them out." (you felt a bit childish, but you've been dying to ride the rollercoaster.)

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as you made your way through the bustling crowd, you suddenly felt a bit anxious. "hey, phainon?"

"yeah?"

"do you mind if i hold onto your arm?" you hesitantly asked him. "i don't really like crowds, and i'm afraid that i might get lost..."

phainon glanced at you, and then chuckled. "with your height, it might not be easy to spot you in all these people." he joked and you flashed him a glare. (you were offended. that joke was unfunny, sir.)

"but sure, i don't mind." he extended his arm for you before you linked yours with his (and suddenly, you're not that scared anymore).

whenever you feel overwhelmed by the crowd, your grip on him loosens. and each time that happens, phainon would gently pull you back closer to his side, ensuring your safety.

the both of you headed to the rides first, you started with the simple ones before the thrilling rides. excitement bubbled in your chest as you climb aboard the rollercoaster. the ride was thrilling and it made you scream in delight whenever it plummeted down.

once the ride came to stop, you stepped off of the ride. but when you stepped foot on the ground, your knees buckled. just as you were about to stumble, phainon caught you just in time, his arms wrapping around you securely, "woah, careful there!" he said, and both of you burst into fits of laughter.

after regaining your balance, you and phainon headed over to the food stalls to eat, before wandering over to the game stalls. (you could've sworn you saw two familiar figures with blonde and lavender hair, but before you could even look at their direction, a prize caught your attention.) you tried your luck at winning the prize while phainon cheered you on, and his encouragement was boosting your confidence.

when you finally knocked down the cans and won a stuffed animal, you beamed up at him with the plush in your arms, and he flashed you a proud grin.

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the sun had begun to set and both of you had decided to go home. (your parents told you to come home before night time.)

the excitement of the day was still buzzling in the air, and the smiles on your faces were still there. phainon had decided to take you home and everything was silent, but it wasn't the awkward silence you shared earlier— it was rather comfortable and warm.

as you've both finally reached outside your home, you weren't sure how to voice out the feelings that had been blooming inside you, but it seemed phainon had something to say as well.

before you could bid him goodbye and call it a day, your eyes widened when you saw the solemn look on his face as he muttered something under his breath and avoided your gaze.

"did i love you too late?"

it was almost inaudible, but you managed to hear the words that (accidentally) slipped past his lips.

you could tell that he was being sincere.

"what?" you said in disbelief, causing a wave of panic to wash over phainon. but before he could say a word, you beat him into it.

"and here i thought I was only imagining things." you stifled a laugh and you were now facing him entirely. "please, look at me." he did as what you have told him.

and there it is, the look in your eyes, the one he had been longing to see.

"you're never too late, phai. I might have moved on and lost feelings for a while, but somehow, my heart found its way back to you again. it's odd, but i'm not complaining. with all the things that's been happening between us, i couldn't help myself from clinging onto the hopes that maybe things would be different this time. so..."

"phainon, if you truly love me... can you promise me to hold and take good care of my fragile heart this time?"

phainon stood frozen, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted in surprise. it was rare to see you express your feelings so openly, and the weight of your words hung in the air between you. He felt a sudden rush of joy, disbelief, and a slight vulnerability, all mixed together.

as your words sunk in, a bright smile replaced the solemn expression he had on his face. his eyes lit up, sparkling with warmth. you almost found yourself laughing at the sight of his imaginary fluffy dog ears perking up with excitement and his imaginary tail wagging furiously behind him.

after a moment, he finally answered, his voice steady and sincere. "i promise to and i will hold, cherish, and protect your fragile heart with everything i have."

he swore to the whole universe, that he won't let you down. and this time, he will show you how much you mean to him.

there is never too early, nor too late for you to love someone. it isn't something to rush on, as there will always be a right time for love to bloom like a beautiful flower.

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silly taggies! @sqgeism , @strawbairicake, @unabashedlyfamousprince

note/s: my tumblr was lagging when i pasted everything from my notes LMAOOO, + let me know if there's an error or you could share your opinion! (I would honestly love that, so feel free to drop your opinions, chat!) + did you all know that I based this on the things that had happened to me and my past crush? (Not entirely, it's mostly on the amusement park part and the reader's crying part LMAO)

#˚₊‧꒰ა serendipity and sweet tales ໒꒱ ‧₊˚#i can finally sleep (/j i can't sleep send help)#phainon x reader #hsr x reader #phainon hsr x reader

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definitelynotanalien · 13 days ago

Text

You’re screwed.

Tw; swearing

inspired by a dream i had

Sae Itoshi has been your friend ever since you were twelve years old.

You first met at some silly tour of the football academy, your father was a major investor in Re Al’s club and he had insisted that the two of you get to meet the new talents.

Your father was busy chatting with one of his associates, while you zoned off. It was rather normal for a kid your age who would have rather been playing with your friends than listening to boring business talk.

Unfortunately you weren’t allowed to read a book, or use a phone, so you were stuck ignoring the conversation and making up weird scenarios in your head.

You did that for around five seconds before a certain pink haired boy caught your attention. A — not very awkward — teenage boy version of the future greatest midfielder in the world.

He had the prettiest lower eye lashes, and his actual eyes were gorgeous. They were a green tinted cyan that seemed to contain the mystery’s of the ocean, you would compare it to the Mariana Trench, but his eyes were slightly more intimidating.

So you stared at the boy, burning holes through his soul, using his casual attractiveness to provide some interest in your father’s business interaction.

Of course eventually the mysterious teenager looked at you with a deadpan expression, noticing your less-than-subtle look. You responded with a side glance to your father and his associate, and you could’ve sworn the boy chuckled at your predicament. You rolled your eyes in response, and the boy walked over to you casually.

The pair of you didn’t make proper conversation, perhaps a small introduction at most. Sae simply stood next to you to keep you company, letting you continue to gape at him.

You ended up exchanging numbers thought some stroke of luck, and have kept in contact ever since. Quite a few years have passed since then and now you’re screwed, you’re sure of it.

You see, you had developed a massive crush on him. Who could blame you? An attractive and fit guy who was that interested in you? The dream! And now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

He’s straddling you against the couch of your much too expensive air BNB, your phone playing a rather familiar reel in hand.

The pair of you are on a vacation in the Alps, supposed to be having fun in the snow and relaxing, of course nothing can ever go as planned — especially if it’s on your fathers dime.

Sae has found your collection on Instagram with various edits and more of him saved, with the official title being ‘🤤🤤🤤’, and now he’s confronting you in his unusually Sae fashion by dangling your phone in front of you, as if it’s the steak to your dog.

“I didn’t know you were that interested in…” He pauses, and a pregnant silence fills the room.

Your heart skips a beat, and you regret not deleting that collection a while ago, but you didn’t think it’d come back to bite you in the butt this soon!

“Football.” Sae concludes with a mischievous grin, fluttering his fluffy eyelashes.

You groan underneath him, holy shit, you’re far more screwed than you think.

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borathae · 8 months ago

Text

↳ Index [Day 14 - Role Playing]

Pairing: Good Boy!JK + Mommy Dom!Reader

Genre: married life!AU, for the sake of the role play: forbidden love!AU, CEO!Reader, prostitute!Jungkook

Kinks: the trope of subby boy totally enthralled by his Domme, sex worker role play, sugar Mommy roleplay, he calls her both Mistress & Mommy, exhibitionism, handjob & blowjob in the car to the hotel room, he is so whiney and subby and pretty as she does it, orgasm control, cock rings, bondage gear which is also used later on, handjob in the hotel room, temperature play with ice cubes, slight food play, masochist!Jungkook, praise, nipple play, mirror sex, subby boy tears, suit kink (she wears the suit), creampie, passionate sex in Amazon Position with his hands tied to his legs, possessive talk, he is THE subby boy, loving & giggly aftercare, they're so in loVE!!!!

Wordcount: 7.4k

a/n: this is based on these two asks 💛 i love him so much holy fuck the drink feeding part ruined me KFADKSF actually everything about this ruined me, you have no idea. he is quite frankly, my ideal subby boy and i might need to leave this earth to go touch some alien grass or smth

Jungkook was told to wait at the usual spot. He arrived earlier tonight, so he has been pacing, asking himself whether or not you would come. You never stood him up before, but there is a first for everything.

A few people pass him, paying him no mind. They would look at him weird if they knew what he was wearing under his oversized clothes. It was a dark gray matching set of baggy pants and a baggy t-shirt, hiding bondage gear under it. The harness was black in colour and made of the finest leather. It doesn’t hurt nor pinch, but Jungkook definitely feels it when he moves.

He checks the time again. You should be here any second now. He feels a little breathless at the aspect. He can’t wait to see you. He knows that someone in his position has no right to feel this way, but he can’t help himself. You always treat him right, making sure that he leaves each session lightheaded. Sometimes Jungkook wonders if he should even feel this way as someone who gets paid to have sex with you, but he does. That’s what he is. Someone whose job is sex. He gets a call or a text telling him to wait here and there with the aspect of having to perform sexual activities for the person contacting him. There are a few he doesn’t answer anymore when they contact him and there are such he wishes they would contact him each night. Quite frankly, you are the only one he has such wishes for. It was purely professional at first, but then your gentle nature and immense sexual talent made him develop feelings for you. When he got the text tonight, Jungkook almost screamed in happiness.

His excitement grows at the view of your sports car rolling up to him. He tries not, but still ends up bouncing on his tiptoes as he waves at you with a big grin. He can’t help himself. He is so, so excited.

The car you are driving is black and imported from Europe. It stops in front of him and the passenger window rolls down.

“Hi, how are you?” he greets you cheerfully.

“Good. Get in”, you order, leaning over to unlock the passenger door.

Jungkook gets inside, holding his breath as you reach over his body to get the seatbelt. He squeezes his thighs together, gazing at your face. Your arm brushes against his chest, making his skin feel charged. Your scent so close is making his racing heart flutter.

The seatbelt clicks in place, you fumble with it a little to check its tightness. Once you are happy with it, you place your hand on his thigh, connecting your lips with the side of his neck in a long, sensual kiss. Jungkook sighs, closing his eyes and parting his lips. His fingers instinctively grasp your hand, his hips roll up against nothing.

You end the kiss by sucking a slight mark on his skin, purring happily.

“I missed your scent this week”, you rasp, inhaling him greedily.

Jungkook moans, fucking the air again. He already feels lightheaded and it has only been seconds with you.

“Fuck, that’s what I needed”, you purr and sit up. You abandon his thigh for the sake of grasping his chin gently, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “You look pretty tonight.”

“Thank, thank you” he barely gets out in a croaky whisper, feeling starstruck.

You give him a faint smile and slip your hand away, gripping the gear stick instead to shift it into the right position. The car drives off smoothly. You keep both hands on the steering wheel until you successfully merged back into traffic, then slip your right onto Jungkook’s thigh.

He inhales sharply, squirming on the seat.

“How was your week?” you ask him, rubbing mindless circles into his skin. Jungkook dedicates one more part of his soul to you with each circle.

“Good.”

“Yeah? Had lots of work?”

“I tried not to book too many.”

“No? Why not?”

“Because I knew you would call. I wanted to save myself.”

You scoff in surprise, “hah.” You tongue your cheek and glance at him briefly. “Tch”, the chuckle starts as a scoff. You turn on the radio and touch his thigh again. “You should be careful with the words you’re saying.”

The music you are playing is laced with the taste of sex. You definitely chose it on purpose.

Jungkook shifts needily, finding it difficult to breathe normally. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I’m not the one who’ll end up crying tonight.”

Jungkook touches your hand. It was so needy in nature, drawing a knowing smirk onto your painted lips.

You are wearing a suit and tie like always when you pick him up. The suit is grey tonight and you matched a white button up and a dark grey tie with it. The waistcoat is made of the same material as the suit, hugging your curves. You wear your hair in a professional manner and put makeup on. Jungkook is very attracted to you when you look like this. The amount of power and influence you exude makes him want to kiss every footstep you leave.

You slip your hand to his thigh again. You are currently standing at a red light. There are cars all around you, painting your faces is a mixture of red and white lights. Jungkook spots the sparkles of diamond earrings in the light.

“Are you wearing the harness I told you to wear?” you ask him, rubbing his thigh back and forth. Jungkook tingles each time your hand brushes over his inner thigh.

“Yes, I am.”

“Show me.”

Jungkook glances around himself. You, who feels his hesitation, look at him.

“Go on. What are you waiting for?” you stress him.

With a fluctuating pulse, Jungkook lifts the shirt over his torso, aware of the cars around you.

“Mhm, how pretty”, you say dryly. “Good. Hide it again. We don’t want others to see what I pay for.”

Jungkook makes sure that the shirt is tugged down neatly. His eyes meet yours. You are expecting something from him.

“Well go ahead, will you?”

“Oh. Oh, I’m sorry”, he stammers and lifts his hips to pull down his pants, exposing the fact that he is wearing no briefs. His slightly hardened cock carries a cockring on its base. Glimpses of more gear going down his legs can be seen.

“There we go. It wasn’t that hard. Get dressed.”

He obeys quickly, sitting back down with a way heavier cock than before. You are already fucking him without having to do anything. Jungkook is so deeply under your spell.

The traffic continues. You drive off, switching lanes after a while. It will take you around ten minutes to get to the hotel.

You bury your hand in his pants and take a hold of his cock.

“A-ah”, Jungkook lets out in honest surprise, gripping the edge of the seat as his entire butt lifts off the seat in a needy thrust.

“You know the rules”, you tell him and then no more words leave your lips.

The only noises are the city around you. Other cars, your own car, the music on the radio. They fill the silence you create. Jungkook helps as well; in breathy gasps and shy whimpers he fills the car together with the slick sound of your hand jerking him off.

Your eyes are glued to the traffic, you tap your unoccupied hand on the steering wheel to the music. It is as if you were completely unaffected by the situation and you definitely want to give off this vibe.

Jungkook can’t mirror your state. He is done for. Your hand knows his cock so well, touching him exactly where it feels the best. He goes from soft to rapidly hard from only a few strokes, meeting your touch in needy thrusts.

Truly the contrast is way too delicious. You, completely stoic and calm as you steer through traffic and Jungkook, utterly ruined and panting with shaky legs as he completely forgets that traffic might actually see him.

You stop at a red light again. Only two more to go before the hotel. You look at him.

His head is thrown back, his mouth agape and his eyes closed. What a beautifully arousing sight to see.

You tug his cock out of his pants and use the moment of wait to steal a taste. You sink him in completely, purring around him.

Jungkook moans. There is no way in hell he would have stayed quiet. Not when you bury him in your tight throat and send vibrations through him with your voice.

Two more purrs then you slip off, sucking on him hungrily the entire time.

Blop.

You slipped off, licking your lips as you straighten back up. Jungkook whimpers, chasing you with a sloppy cock and throbbing balls. He is leaking so much precum, base stretching out the rubber cockring.

The red light switches. You drive off, playing with his precum by rubbing his cockhead with your thumb. Jungkook is almost louder than the music at this point, head now resting on the spot between the seat and the window and back arched.

You don’t acknowledge him, steering your car with one hand. You have to switch lanes one more time and then you are already where you need to be. You do so calmly and safely all while your hand closes around his tip again to jerk it. Quickly, as if you were vibrating around him. Jungkook’s legs begin shaking, he drags out his moans, squeezing his eyes shut to the point they crinkle.

The car rolls to stop again. The red light, the last one before you take the driveway to the hotel. You lean over and sink him back into your mouth, slurping deliciously as you move your tongue as best as possible.

“Mistress!” Jungkook wails, reaching up to twist the seatbelt. His other hand grips the head rest, dimpling it deeply. He is mewling so much, throbbing in your mouth constantly while you messy him with sloppy oral.

You moan and purr deeply, enjoying every second of his cock, every fucking inch. You swallow him to the base, crying no tears nor feeling the need to gag because you stopped having such reactions years ago because in reality, your lives were flipped once.

This right here, tonight, is nothing but pretend between a loving married couple. Jungkook has never been a sexworker before nor was he ever paid to have sex with someone. You have no interest in being a CEO nor for you to pay him for sex. In reality, you were once the one he paid after a long day of being CEO until you fell in love and started a life together. One thing however will always be true. Your roles of power. Jungkook will always be your sub while you will always be his Domme. Even in this roleplay tonight. You are both so into it that it feels real. Right now Jungkook is the prostitute who should be used to blowjobs but who is currently losing his control while you are the hungry CEO needy for the taste of her favourite prostitute. You can’t get enough of him, but alas the traffic continues.

You slip off messily, letting your strings of saliva slap down his cock. You pick them up with your hand, using their slick to jerk off his cock. Jungkook barely wants to stay in his seat, pressing himself into the door wall.

“Mo-ommy ple-please”, he sobs, scrunching his face. He lets out the most devastating noises afterwards, twisting the seatbelt.

You ignore him, ogling the hotel in the near distance. You are so turned on. It’s difficult to drive at this point because of it. Jungkook turns you on so much. His noises are like ecstasy to you.

“Pl-uh-ease”, he wails and fucks your fist, moaning sweetly as his body shakes against his will. He does it repeatedly, having found the magic spot.

Your pussy is literally throbbing. If you weren’t so good at pretending that this left you cold, you would already be panting like a dog.

You roll into the parking garage of the hotel, searching for a parking space while beside you, Jungkook is coming closer and closer to an orgasm. He is squeaking so perfectly, fucking your fist like the neediest bunny ever.

You find a parking spot, driving into it backwards and with one hand. The motor turns off with a low purr. Jungkook hasn’t noticed that you came to a stop, arching his back from your touch.

One you retreat now that you are standing.

“No” Jungkook hits his head against the window and writhes, “I was so close, no please.”

“We’re here. Get it together.”

Jungkook barely peels his eyes open, looking at you all sniffly and pouty.

You, now gripping the steering wheel with both hands, cock your brow at him.

“What?”

“I, I was close.”

“And?”

He whimpers weakly, “it hurts.”

“How terrible. Don’t worry, we’ve got time. Tell me a little about your day.”

“What?” he breathes.

“Your cock. It’s way too hard. We’ll stay here till it’s soft again.”

Jungkook mewls, squirming his hips.

“Your day. Tell me about it.”

“I, I thought of you all day.”

“You did?”

“And all the days before that too. I missed you.”

You haven’t been home for five days for the authenticity of the roleplay. You stayed in this hotel, giving him no calls nor texts. You can’t deny that it didn’t make you want him in more ways than one as well.

“You missed me?”

“So much. Oh god so much”, he pulls a face of desperation, rolling his hips up, “I’m so hard, oh god.”

“I can see that. Are you not gonna ask me how my day was?”

“I’m sorry, oh god, oh. Did, did you have a good day?”

“Yes it was good. I had way too many meetings, but I kept getting distracted.”

“Why?”

“I thought of you in all of them although I shouldn’t have.”

“You did?”

“Mhm, I did.”

You unbuckle the belt and get on your knees, using your new position to lean over him with one hand on the window. It fogs up from your body heat. He gulps, feeling fragile and weak in your presence.

“Why is that, mhm?” You ask him, studying his flushed face. “I’m merely paying you. It should mean nothing to me and yet...” You trail off, studying his glossy lips. You speak no more thoughts, tracing his lips with your messied thumb.

Jungkook licks it instinctively, moaning in submission as his big, brown eyes gaze up at you. Every other night, you would be kissing him right now. But not tonight. You sit back and glance at his cock. It has softened a little. Barely, but you are feeling impatient.

“Perfect. You’re good. Get dressed”, you say and leave the car, rounding it in confident steps.

Jungkook tries to sit up straight, stuffing his cock into his pants. It is very difficult to do because he is still very hard.

You open the door for him and offer him the hand which, moments ago, was around his cock.

Jungkook gulps, accepting it so you can help him get out of the car. You are wearing dress shoes because driving in heels would be reckless. Jungkook sees no difference, worshiping you with his big eyes.

You close the door and lock the car, letting the keys slip into the inner pocket of your suit jacket.

You take his hand.

“Follow me.”

He obeys, following you like a good little puppy even if walking with a semi is very difficult.

Your hotel room is on the twentieth floor. You don’t talk in the elevator, having your back turned to him as you stand right in front of him. Your pinkie fingers are hooked however, letting Jungkook float on cloud nine. He missed you so much this week, despite not being allowed to, and it feels so good to know that you missed him too. That you craved to be close to him as well. Fuck, the lines between professional and unprofessional are so fucking blurry between you and him.

You step closer to him each time other people enter the elevator, making sure that he is covered from their eyes. He may be walking around with a hard-on but this is still your hard-on to look at. No one else is allowed a glance at it. Not even on accident.

By the time you reach the twentieth floor, Jungkook is leaking into his pants. You take such good care of him. Your overprotective and almost possessive nature makes him want to become your personal little plaything. Seriously, tonight he would be happy living a life in a cage if that is what you think is best for him. You wouldn’t even have to pay him for it. Being close to you, being yours, would already be payment enough for him.

Like always, you booked the biggest suit. Only the best for your favourite prostitute. That’s what you told him when you first led him to your room. Jungkook gazed at it with sparkling eyes back then, not believing his luck. He wasn’t used to such riches and luxury because his other customers take him to motels or fuck him in their cars. You are different. Of course you are.

“Welcome back, am I right?” you lead him inside with your hand on his lower back.

Jungkook thanks you with a bow of his head, which makes you roll your eyes at him fondly. He is too polite for his own good.

You were lonely before you met Jungkook. Life as a CEO is busy and hectic and leaves little room for personal relationships. You had influence, you had power and you had money but no one to share it with. No one to spend it on. So you looked for it on dating apps first, but never found what you were looking for. Then one night you stumbled upon the website he was on. It was a website where people could offer their bodies sexually for payment. Back then, you booked him solely from his description.

Lean, fit male sub with good stamina and expertise. Heterosexual but very open. Dark hair, brown eyes, five inches hard and can keep it up for long. Not opposed to anal. Kinky. Keeps it professional. Payment in cash only.

Maybe you could spend your money on him, you thought back then. You may not find love, but at least your needs will be met.

If only you knew that he would be waiting for you. He with his pretty face and his prettiest eyes, with his cute moans and perfect body, who always has something adorable to tell you and who is so, so polite. He made the loneliness go away and you wanted to spend your every fucking penny on him.

Like always, you lead him to the bed by his hand and sit him down on the foot end of it. Jungkook glances at the ceiling briefly, gulping heavily at the sight of the big ceiling mirror. The indications of what it means makes him shift needily.

“Sit properly.”

Jungkook straightens his back and presents his hands palms up on his thighs, “sorry.”

“Mhm.” You give him a little smile. “Now that the real fun is going to start, let’s hear our safety rules.”

“The handjob wasn’t part of it yet?”

“Obviously not. Just wanted to examine my product a little.”

Jungkook moans, back slacking in defeat.

“Sit up.”

He shoots up instantly, blinking his eyes shyly.

“Good. Tell me the rules.”

“Green, yellow and red. Snap my fingers three times or hum Happy Birthday. Yes, I want this. Please Mistress, please I really want this.”

“Good. You’re being so obedient tonight. I like this”, you praise and turn your back to him to disappear in the room next door.

Jungkook waits patiently even if he is a mess. His pants are sticking to his cock. He wants to be with you so much that it hurts not to be.

You reappear with two flutes of sparkling water.

“Are you thirsty?”

“A little.”

You hand him one flute, keeping the second.

“Thank-” he gets stopped in his endeavour of drinking with two fingers grasping his chin.

“Eyes on me.”

He obeys, struggling with it when seconds later you place the rim of your flute against his lips. You tilt his head back for him, tilting the glass with it.

“Drink.”

Jungkook obeys, closing his eyes sensually as you feed him the sparkling water. It tingles on his tongue, wetting his dry throat. He gulps and swallows hungrily, moaning softly.

You feel so parched, watching him drink from your hands with your lips parted.

“That’s it. Drink”, you rasp, gulping with him. The last few drops roll down his chin messily. The glass is empty. You pull it away and wipe the water from his chin.

Jungkook flutters his eyes open, keeping them half-lidded as he gazes up at you droopily. His lips are parted, he is breathing heavily.

“How was that?” you ask him with your voice raspy in arousal.

“Good”, he croaks.

“Sorry that I got you a little messy”, you apologise, rubbing his chin.

“I didn’t mind”, he whispers, gazing at your lips. He wants to kiss you. He hangs on your every word. You fed him water, but in reality, you fed on his soul instead. With each gulp, each cold drop which ran down his throat because of you, he gave you parts of his soul. What a cold, addicting deal you sealed with this act.

“That’s good. Your face is so pretty, it would be a shame if I messied it even more”, you say and straighten up, leaving him to crave something he knows he can’t have. Your sweetened kiss.

You take the flute from his hand and drink from it as you walk to the table to set his empty glass aside. You finished half of it when you return to him, swirling it in your hand casually. You put ice cubes in your water, they clink against the glass as you inspect him.

“Undress.”

Jungkook obeys quickly, sitting down on the bed afterwards. He doesn’t feel uncomfortable being naked in front of you. On the contrary. Being so exposed while you are still in your expensive suit turns him on.

“Shit, you’re so fucking handsome”, you murmur under your breath, licking the rim of the glass mindlessly.

Jungkook gulps, wishing that he could switch places with the glass.

“What do you think of the weather lately? It’s been too hot, hasn’t it?”

Jungkook is a little confused about your sudden need to talk about the weather, but he still nods his head obediently, “yeah, really hot.”

“Mhm, I agree”, you murmur mindlessly and poke your fingers into your flute of water to fish for an ice cube. You keep it between three fingers and connect it with his neck.

Jungkook gasps, shivering. His skin is covered in goosebumps instantly, his breath quickens.

“I’ll cool you off a little, yeah?”

He keens a soft “mh-hm”, nodding his head. It is difficult to keep his eyes open when you make him feel so good. His skin is very sensitive to temperature and you know that. The ice cubes are like cold electricity to him, charging him with so much pleasure that he already wants to cry. He cries easily when he is with you because you always make him feel so good that it’s a little overwhelming.

You guide the ice cube along his collarbones to the other side of his pretty neck. Jungkook follows the touch with shivers running down his back. The ice is actively melting as it touches his skin, leaving behind dripping trails of water. You let them sit on his skin, enjoying the sight of them glistening in the lights. You switch hands because it got too cold for you, using your cooled fingers to grip his chin and tilt his head up.

Jungkook sighs audibly, parting his lips. The ice cube traces the shape of them. He dares not to stick his tongue out, regretting it blissfully when you stuff the small ice cube into his mouth without warning. He mewls and gurgles, curling his tongue to keep the ice inside.

His little struggle makes you chuckle and wipe the water from his lips. He gulps the melted water down, mewling just for you.

“You’re so adorable”, you say and push at his chest.

He falls back, gasping at the impact. His eyes lock with his own reflection instantly, flustering him. He looks to the side.

“Keep your eyes on yourself.”

He obeys even when it flusters him to look at himself like this. Not in a bad way, but in a very arousing way. His hair is messy, his lips so pink from the ice. His neck and collarbones match in colour. Jungkook feels himself reach up instinctively, looking at himself oh so submissively. Look at him. He is such a good sub. Oh god, this is such a turn on.

He is so preoccupied with looking at himself that he doesn’t even notice you crawling on his lap until he feels your weight on him. He tenses up, eyes flitting to you.

You are still dressed, but took off your suit jacket and rolled up your sleeves. The view steals his sanity. You sit right under his cock, making him crave you more than air.

“You’re being such a good boy for me”, you praise him and lift a new ice cube into his vision. “Look at yourself, okay?”

He nods his head, obeying instantly. You connect the cold ice with his neck first, guiding it down to his chest this time around. Each second makes him feel breathless. Watching it pleasure him makes it even harder to bear. It feels so good, reaching its peak when you circle his nipple with it.

“Ah”, Jungkook moans loudly, arching his back into your touch as his fingers grip the sheets and twist.

“Eyes on yourself.”

He obeys, trembling under you.

“Gosh, look at you. Are you already crying?”

“Feels so intense”, he whimpers, barely able to look into his eyes, “Please can I close my eyes? It’s too intense.”

“Of course it is”, you state matter-of-factly and circle his other nipple with it. “You can’t close your eyes.”

“Pleaseeee.”

Jungkook mewls through gritted teeth, arching his back again and twisting the sheets. His cock throbs, leaking on his tummy. His neck is tensed. He is so fucking pretty like this.

“You’re such a pretty man”, you purr, giving his overstimulated nipples a quick break by guiding the almost melted ice cube through his abs. The goosebumps on his skin refuse to leave, the skin around his dark nipples is pink and tender. “So fucking pretty, it’s insane.”

Jungkook closes his eyes. He can’t do it anymore. The praise is too much.

“Hey”, you warn, tugging on his cock once.

Jungkook instantly fucks into your fist, making the neediest noises. The pleasure is so warm and good for two seconds and then burning cold pierces his cockhead as you press the ice cube against it, letting it melt there. In his panic, he opens his eyes, looking at you pleadingly. His noises let you know that this right now hurts in a good way.

“Eyes open. I thought my instructions were easy to follow.”

Jungkook pants and whimpers, writhing under you.

“I know it hurts, but I need you to learn that disobeying me will end in punishments.”

“Please”, he sobs.

“No. No begging. Why did you do it mhm?”

“It, it felt too good. Almost close, I mean, almost ca- cum. Oh god please”, he writhes, throwing his head to the side, “it hurts so much.”

“Well, are you sorry?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m sorry!”

“And are you gonna keep your eyes open?”

“Yes! I’m sorry, I will!”

“Good boy”, you praise, releasing him of his torture by finally opening your fist around his cock. You slip the tiny ice cube between your lips, letting it melt there with a delicious hum. “Mhm, tastes like you.”

Jungkook glances at his cock. The spot where the ice cube was pressed into it is purple from the cold. Of course you spot it as well, rubbing your thumb into it and sending such pleasure through his body that Jungkook almost throws you off from how aggressively his thrusts his hips.

You can handle him, taming his shaky thighs with little struggle until they are pinned under you again. You close the rest of your fingers around his cock to continue where you left off in the car.

Jungkook yelps up in ecstasy, throwing his head back as far as the mattress allows him to. Eye contact with himself is so difficult, but you told him to obey. He can’t disappoint you again. What if you tell him to never come back? What if you stop calling him? He can’t risk any more slip-ups, not when his entire existence is at stake.

Your hand is quick and skilled around his shackled length, forcing his legs to shake under your weight. It feels so good and Jungkook cries as he looks at himself. Not only has it been too long since he last felt your touch and this makes him cry, it is also to view of him which brings tears to his eyes. He is yours right now. Your pretty sub spread out on the sheets while you have your fun with him. He is so happy to be yours. Even if it is only for a few hours.

“I’m yours”, he croaks, feeling your hand falter around his cock.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m yours”, he is looking at himself as he speaks, “I’m yours. I’m only yours.”

“My little star… I’m paying you to be here. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No”, he cries tears, “no, I’m yours. Please, I’m yours.”

“No, Jungkook”, you choke out, dropping his cock for the sake of taking his face between your hands. Your face replaces his view, sending tears of worship down his face. He loves you so much and you have no idea that he does. Your eyes are foggy, your pupils dilated. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“I do. I’m yours, please Mistress.”

For just a second, your eyes mirrored the deep feelings Jungkook experiences when he is with you. For just a second he had the reassurance that his words are reciprocated. And then you break away from him, leaving his lap.

Jungkook feels too defeated to sit up. He lies in the sheets, crying little tears in the aching realisation that he is nothing but your product right now. You said it yourself. You are paying for him like you would pay for more milk in the store. The view of him would have probably hurt him irreparably when he didn’t suddenly feel your fingers twist the straps on his legs. He lifts his head, meeting your hungry stare.

“Legs up.”

He obeys, bending his knees and resting them on each side of his torso.

“Arms down.”

He obeys, presenting them to you as you clearly want to make use of the bondage gear. You open the clasps on his calve belts, hooking it in the ring on his wrist ties. Like this, Jungkook is forced to stay in the folded, open position. He feels so exposed and vulnerable like this, wishing for whatever you wanted to do to him.

“Comfortable? Do you like this?” you make sure.

“Yes, so much.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been hard with the cockring on?” you ask him.

“I, I don’t know”, he stutters, barely able to bring his voice over breathy gasps.

“I think it’s time we take it off, don’t you think?”

He doesn’t answer you, but it is okay for you.

“Promise me to be a good boy and hold back, okay?”

He nods his head vigorously, throbbing in your hand.

“That’s what I’m paying you for. Such obedience”, you praise and unbuckle the leather strap around his cock.

You can literally feel his cock throb in relief and how it grows so much harder in your hand. Pearly drops of pleasure leak from him. They are dangerously close to being white. The noises Jungkook makes and the utter bliss on his face lets you know that you aren’t that far off with your assumptions.

“Look at you. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Mhhmhm”, he mewls, nodding his head vigorously.

“Good”, you say and drop his cock, denying him of heaven.

Jungkook keens, writhing as best as his constricted position allows him to.

“Please, oh god please”, he begs, but to no avail.

You step back, falling back into your stern role. You begin undressing. Jungkook tries to watch you as best as the position allows him.

Your vest falls to the ground, your tie is opened, your shirt is unbuttoned and tugged out of your opened slacks within seconds. You pull said slacks down soon after, abandoning them on the floor alongside your panties. You keep the shirt on, climbing onto bed with the tie between your fingers.

“Eyes on yourself.”

Jungkook obeys, barely catching his breath. He wiggles his hands, coming to the blissed realisation that he can’t move them very much.

“You think you know what you’re talking about?” you say to him and bend over him to guide the tie behind his neck.

Jungkook gulps, gazing up at you with a dizzy head. With skilled fingers, you knot the tie and wrap the excess fabric around your hand two times so it sits snug in your tight fist. A makeshift leash to keep him close.

“You think you want to be owned by me? What do you even know about me? I pay for your company, do you truly think you would want to be with me willingly?”

“Yes”, Jungkook breathes, tilting his head closer in devotion.

You tug, helping him with the movement with the tie around his neck. Your eyes are burning in a dark fire. If you could, you would probably devour him with just a look.

“Don’t say promises you can’t keep.”

“Please, I could serve you so well.”

“No you couldn’t. I’m fucking twisted.”

“I’m flexible.”

An honest laugh rips through you. A glimpse of his love shines through the pretend persona you are performing tonight. Jungkook giggles, scrunching his nose.

“Fuck, you stupid noodle you”, you say, shaking your head in disbelief.

Jungkook’s heart flutters unbearably. He loves you so much.

You clear your throat and shake your shoulders to get back into character.

“Don’t think that I agree with you just because you made me laugh. I’m an asshole. I earn too much money and decide to spend it on obedient boys like you.”

“I don’t care. Please.”

You grind your teeth and darken your eyes. You know that you can’t change his mind. At least not with words. You straighten up and reach between your bodies to take his cock between your fingers. Jungkook’s breath speeds up.

“Eyes on yourself.”

He obeys.

“That’s it. Watch how your face changes when I sink it in”, you order him, slipping down on his cock. You are on your knees as if you were fucking his ass, but instead you are milking his cock in your tight cunt. The movement is the same, forcing Jungkook’s toes to curl in ecstasy.

His eyes go out of focus but stay locked with his own reflection. Your name slips from his lips, carrying proof of how good it feels for him.

“That’s it. Keep looking at yourself. Watch how you look when I fuck you”, you growl, twisting the tie around his neck as you rail him senseless. The position feels incredibly stimulating to you. His cock naturally grinds against your clit and rubs against your g-spot. The power you have in this position and the view of his big body folded into such a tiny shaking mess does the rest. “Watch how it would look to be owned by me. Is that what you want?”

“Yes”, he moans, “yes, yes, yes, yes please, yes.”

“No you don’t. You don’t want to be mine. You don’t want this”, you growl, fucking him harder to the point the bed shakes.

Jungkook rips his mouth open, rolling his ankles and tugging at his restraints. His lids are so heavy that he barley sees out of them. His face is flushed and his nipples erect. The back of your head is in his view as well, just as the shirt punching up on your lower back is. As is the grey tie twisted in your fist and the marks it leaves on his neck. He doesn’t get it. How could he not want to be yours when he has never looked better before? So destroyed, so marked and ruined. So fucked.

Jungkook arches his back as best as possible, getting pinned down instantly with a strong hand on his hip. He throbs inside you, leaking way too much pleasure on your velvety walls. The strength on your grip makes your shirt stick to your muscles visibly. Jungkook goes insane at the view, finding it difficult to look at the mirror. He wants to roll his eyes back and go brain dead. Please.

“I would break you. I would fucking use you up until there is nothing left of you. Don’t you get it? I’m greedy. In every aspect of life. You think being kind made me CEO? No, I take what I want and ruin it in the process.”

Whatever you are saying is only making Jungkook want to be yours more and more. He shows you his devotion with high-pitched moans and tears spilled only for you.

You tug at the tie harshly, forcing his head to lift. Your breath brushes against his lips. Jungkook closes his eyes, chasing your kiss.

“You would hate him in the end”, you whisper.

“So why are you fucking me raw?” he croaks out.

“Fuck”, your hips stutter before picking up a punishing speed, making it difficult for both of you not to orgasm, “we shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Please”, he squeaks, “kiss me.”

“We shouldn’t be…”

“Kiss me.”

“We shouldn’t …”

“Kiss me, please.”

“We…”

Your lips finally touch. You each moan into the other’s mouth instantly, breaking apart together. You drop the tie so you could cradle his face while Jungkook shakes his restraints and fills you with gushes of sticky cum. Your throbbing, tight pussy milks even more out of him, sending him to another planet because there is nothing better to him than sharing a high with you.

Once you come down together, your lower faces are messy from the sloppy tongue kissing you did and your heads are both pounding. The lipstick you once neatly wore is smeared all over your faces.

“Holy fuck”, you croak, dropping your sweaty forehead against his equally as sweaty forehead. You are panting for air, Jungkook is too.

Your pussy keeps his cock warm for now, but it will only be a matter of moments that it slips out on its own.

“Holy fuck, Kookie”, you breathe.

Jungkook whimpers, spilling happy tears with closed eyes and his body floating on the warm afterglow. You never called him like this before. It was filled with so much love. You feel the same for him. Jungkook cries in realisation.

“Why me? I pay you to get fucked by me. It’s nothing but money. How could you possibly love me?”

“Because you’re everything I ever wanted.”

“Fuck”, you twist his hair gently, pressing your forehead closer until your noses are squished slightly, “don’t say that, I might never let you go again.”

“Good. Don’t let me go.”

You chuckle softly, finding enough strength in your ruined body to tilt your head so you could kiss his forehead.

“How about I’ll take you to Hawaii first? All expenses paid.”

“You would do that with me?”

“Of course, my baby star candy.”

Jungkook peels his eyes open, looking up at you.

“Yes, please take me far away from here.”

You give him a smile, Jungkook retorts it.

“End scene”, you say, face morphing into your real expressions.

Jungkook breaks into giggles instantly, squirming under you happily.

“Wow mommy, you made us a-actually be together in the end. I’m so happy, this was so romantic”, he says, spilling tears.

“You’re such a cutie, gosh”, you wipe his tears. “Did you like it? I know you love happy endings.”

“I loved it so much. Oh my god, I’m so happy. This was so much better than I could have ever imagined it to be.”

“Hm”, you chuckle, pecking his lips, “you’re such a cutie, I’m gonna eat you. I would say that this roleplay was a total success. I felt so immersed in the scene with you.”

“Me too. I actually forgot that it was just play. You were so good in your role.”

“What should I say? You were the best.”

“All I did was whine and cry.”

“Exactly, you were the best.”

He giggles shyly, wiggling his arms. You snicker, wiping the messy hair from his face. Your eyes are spilling over in adoration for him.

“Mommy, can I be untied? I really want to hug you.”

“Of course, Bunny baby.” You say, slipping off of him. You and he are talking as you free him of his gear. “I’m leaking everywhere.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I came a lot. I didn’t touch myself this week, just like you told me to.”

“I knew that you wouldn’t, you’re my good Bunny after all. I really fucking missed you this week. I gotta be honest, the handjob in the car was not part of my initial plan.”

“It was so hot, oh my god. I had to work so hard not cum.”

“I could tell, you cutie.” You rub the tender skin where the leather belts lied. “Are you okay? Your skin is a little red where the straps were.”

“I’m okay. I’m not hurting anywhere. Oh my god Mommy, when you put the ice cube on my dick, I actually cried. That hurt so much.”

“Did you like it?”

“So, so much.” He shivers in memory. “I’m shivering just thinking about it.”

You smile, getting off bed to get something to wipe you and him down. He lets you work while he lies in the sheets totally chatty and happy. You listen to him with a content smile on your lips. He always gets chatty after you fucked him right.

“And when you fed me the water, I felt drunk. Please do that again one day, it was such a turn on. The mirror on the ceiling is so hot. Oh god, I can’t believe you picked this room and, and made me look at myself all the time. It was so difficult because it was so hot. Wow, thank you so much for everything.” He sighs, smiling goofily. “I love you so much, Mommy.”

“I love you too, Bunny”, you say and lie down on your side next to him, rubbing his tummy.

He rolls his head to you, grins and flips to his side so he could bury you under him in a strong bear hug. He makes the cutest sound effects, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. You laugh loudly, hugging him back as best as possible.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re such a polite cutie, my Bunny.”

“I’m so happy.”

“I’m happy too.”

“Mhmm”, he kisses your neck and inhales deeply until he can’t anymore. Afterwards he exhales against you, tickling you with it. He lifts his head, giving view to his pretty, glowing face. “Should we get room service and watch a movie?”

“I would love that. Also, this hotel offers a really cool couples spa treatment.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I read about it and knew I had to tell you once you’re with me again.”

“We have this room till tomorrow right?”

“Yup. Wanna book the treatment?”

“Yes please”, he says and squeaks as he hugs you tighter in another surge of love. “I love staycations with you so much, Mommy love.”

“I love them too, Bunny love.”

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natalievoncatte · 1 year ago

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“Hey,” Kara said, “want to grab something for lunch?”

Seated at her desk, Lena waved her hand dismissively, even though she was only talking to Kara on the phone.

“I can’t. I have too much to do.”

“You’re the boss, you can just take off. Everyone has to do what you say.”

Lena rolled her eyes. There was a hint of teasing in Kara’s voice, but Lena meant it. L-Corp was in the final stages of a major acquisition. Lena was taking over an AI startup that was developing a key technology for one of her medical division products, and to make it viable she needed their patents, IP, and scientific talent.

“I really am swamped.”

“Can’t you spare half an hour? For me? I want to make sure you’re not starving yourself again.”

Lena sighed. The teasing was replaced with a genuine concern, now. Lena had admitted to Kara that she lost five the last time she got caught up in something for three weeks. Of everyone she mentioned it to, Kara was the only one who didn’t congratulate her. She worried, she fussed, and she fed Lena that night.

“Okay,” said Lena. “I’ll meet you in the lobby in ten, does that sound…”

“I’m already here.”

Kara then opened the door and walked in, smirking. Lena’s breath caught when she saw her. Kara had her hair in an elaborate braid and was dressed for the blistering summer heat in a green sun dress and sandals. Joy sparkled in her blue eyes and she smiled wide.

“We could get delivery,” said Lena.

“Nope! Fresh air! It’s good for you!”

Lena sighed and allowed herself to be bundle outside, throwing on a hat and sunglasses. Since she was in the office on a Saturday and had let herself in, she had dressed casually and the heat was tolerable while they walked.

They spent the trip in companionable silence. Kara walked close to her, a presence just to Lena’s right that seemed to electrify the air, like something pulling between them.

Lena noticed things. Like how Kara always walked between her and the road, and how the way her arms would swing always seemed to leave Kara’s pinky brushing the outside of Lena’s hand. Sometimes she’d mumble an apology. Sometimes not. Sometimes Lena would feel the tender touch, and find Kara looking at her oddly, a soft wistful smile on her face that made Lena melt.

Sometimes she thought about catching her hand. Sometimes she thought about stopping and meeting that look, gently asking what Kara was so intent about. She never did, because as much as she enjoyed that fluttering feeling in her belly, she was certain Kara was straight.

It was like an ache she just couldn’t stop, dull and pulsing at the back of her mind. One soft brush of Kara’s lips on her own would be more than-

“Hey,” Kara said. “You’re a million miles away.”

“Oh,” Lena murmured, realizing that she’d been staring this time. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking about work.”

There was a nearly imperceptible flash of concern and sadness on Kara’s face, the tiniest hint of a frown that made Lena want to cup her cheek and whisper an apology, but didn’t.

“This is it,” said Kara. “Try to relax, alright?”

Lena sighed her best promise and followed Kara in to a quaint little lunch spot with air conditioning and big ceiling fans mounted high overhead, and they took their seats.

Kara ordered for her -you need protein, Lena!- and she spent the next forty-five minutes picking at a turkey wrap and listening to Kara chatter excitedly about gossip and work and who was dating who at CatCo and a big story she was working on. Lena knew she had a lopsided smile on her face and was nodding along, as much for the delight of Kara’s excitement. She did little voices when she imitated her coworkers and got animated when talking about her story.

Lena barely said a word.

“You’re quiet,” Kara finally said.

I’m in love with you, Lena thought.

“I’m just tired. I was listening. You think Elliot is dating… Katie?”

Kara smirked at her.

“I wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard. There’s more to life than work.”

Kara rested her hand atop Lena’s, and Lena felt her heart flip in her chest.

“I know. I’m sorry I’ve been distant, this project just means a lot to me.”

“Let’s get you back before the building burns down,” said Kara.

Lena felt a little guilty as they walked into the bar to pay the bill. For some reason, Lena felt a little thrill when Kara insisted on paying, and the host looked at Lena and then smirked at Kara.

They turned, snd a man stepped up to Lena.

“Luthor!” he shouted. “You ruined my fucking life!”

Lena froze, wide-eyed, about to ask what she did. The man raised the gun he had hidden in the pocket of his sweatshirt and fired. The sound was incredible, stabbing at her ear drums and filling the world with a dull ringing. She stumbled back into the bar.

Kara’s fist was clenched in front of her chest, her eyes wide and expression wild. Kara snapped her attention to the gunman, who fired again.

She stepped between the gun and Lena. Five more shots went off and seemed to rumple her dress with tiny bursts of wind, but then Lena saw the bullets had torn the fabric before they tumbled to the floor.

Kara swept her hand and yanked the gun out of his hand, and it fell to the floor in a crumpled mass, sliding along the tiles.

She changed. It was as if she grew taller, wider, expression hardening. She grabbed the attacker by his collar and hauled him off the floor with one hand, and Lena felt a pang of fear as fire literally blazed in her eyes.

When she put a hand on Kara’s shoulder, the muscles were coiled like steel cables.

“Don’t” she caught herself whispering.

Kara threw him. He slid across the floor and thumped against the wall, and she strode over and planted her foot on his chest, easily pinning him. He stared up at her in naked shock.

Kara touched her ear. “Alex, get to my location asap. Someone just tried to kill Lena. We need a cleanup.”

Lena stared at her.

It wasn’t five minutes before her sister, in full tactical gear, led a team of armed agents into the cafe and bundled up Lena’s assailant, dragging him away. They took the crumpled gun and the fallen bullets and began talking to the other patrons and staff.

Lena started to shake.

Kara focused on her instantly and led her outside, where “FBI” vans were waiting. Kara stepped into one and in half a second, without seeming to break stride, stepped back into view in full Supergirl regalia.

Lena almost fell. He knees went wobbly and she slumped, right into Kara’s arms. Kara scooped her up in a single fluid motion and lifted off as Lena took a death grip on the collar of her suit and buried her face in Kara’s neck.

Moments later they lighted on Lena’s balcony. Kara pushed the door aside, ignoring the very expensive lock that popped off as she did, and carried her inside.

Bolting, Lena ran to the bathroom. Her entire body had gone cold, like she’d been dunked in ice water. She sagged to her knees and grabbed the toilet, retching.

Kara was there. A soft, reassuring hand rubbed her back while the other tenderly and expertly gathered her hair. Lena couldn’t help it; she struggled to hold on her lunch, shaking, screaming between retches.

“You’re alright, I’ve got you.”

“He almost killed me,” Lena choked out. “If you weren’t there I’d be dead.”

Kara sat down, and pulled Lena into her lap, rocking her softly until the shaking subsided before standing up, easily carrying her out of the room.

A glass of water helped. Kara was attentive, gently, softly encouraging while the adrenaline shakes ravaged Lena.

Kara was Supergirl. It seemed weirdly obvious to her now. She looked up and realized that Kara hadn’t unbraided her hair, and the effect was disconcerting. Kara took Lena in her arms again, hugging her tight.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you, you’re safe now.”

Lena took in a deep breath, drinking her scent as Kara rubbed her back and did the same, burying her face in Lena’s hair.

“You’re going to be okay,” Kara murmured, “it’s alright.”

“I’m so tired of this,” Lena whimpered. “What did I do? Why did he want to hurt me?”

“You don’t deserve to live this way,” said Kara.

“Oh God,” said Lena. “I have to… the acquisition, my work…”

Kara seized her head in her hands, firmly yet gently, cupping Lena’s cheeks in her palms. Kara stared at her with shocking intensity, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Fuck your work,” Kara almost shouted. “I care about you. You, Lena! You’re more than… you… I…”

Lena stared back at her, in shock at the intensity in her voice, even moreso than the out of character f-bomb. Kara was still holding her, looking at her with such fullness of feeling, biting her lip and struggling to hold back tears and failing, that Lena couldn’t stop herself. She lunged, diving into Kara, hugging her.

Lena hugged Kara, but Kara was the one to kiss her first. Their lips met in a nearly painful crash, Kara diving into her like she might never see her again.

Oh.

It was a wild sensation, this adrenaline shock combined with the feeling of Kara’s powerful arms wrapped around her, fingers that could crush diamonds gripping her hip and the back of her neck, the way Kara stood tall over her and her boots thumped on the floor when she took a step.

“You mean everything to me.”

Lena sucked in a breath and swallowed a sob.

Oh.

“Don’t leave,” Lena chirped out. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t. I won’t.”

Lena finally felt herself slowing down, but it left her drained, barely able to stand. She slumped against Kara and stayed there, clinging to her.

“I’m going to change,” Kara murmured. “Easy.”

She lowered Lena onto the sofa and she curled in the corner, huddled in a ball.

Then Kara reached to her shoulders unclasped one side of her cape, then the other. With a flourish she swung it wide and swept it over Lena as a blanket.

“Stay right here.”

She wasn’t gone long. In mere moments she was there in a t-shirt and shorts, wrapping herself around Lena.

It took hours for Lena to finally calm down, and by then she’d fallen asleep on Kara’s shoulder. When she woke up, Kara was teasing her fingers along Lena’s scalp and singing softly. It took a moment for Lena to realize that the clipped, rhythmic language had to be Kryptonian.

“Are you okay?”

Lena nodded.

“It was different this time. People have tried to kill me before but… it was different. He was just some guy in a cafe.”

“Lena,” Kara murmured, “look at me.”

Lena looked up, meeting Kara’s soft, intent gaze.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Lena’s heart swelled. It felt so real, so true. Kara meant it, every bit of it, from the depths of her being. Lena tucked in closer to her and sighed on her shoulder.

“Work can wait until Monday,” Lena whispered.

“Tuesday,” Kara corrected.

“Can you stay tonight?” said Lena. “Just to sleep,” she added.

“Of course.”

They were silent to a while.

“Lena?”

“Yeah.”

“About earlier, if I… overstepped, I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.”

Lena sucked in a sharp breath.

“It means everything.”

“Oh,” said Kara.

#supercorp #supergirl fanfiction #supergirl #supercorp fanfic #lena luthor #kara danvers #kara x lena #karlena #supergirl fanfic #ficlet #identitity reveal #requited crushes #Lena doesn’t always just get over it when this shit happens #protective Kara #softcorp

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httpswritings · 1 year ago

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if you were my little girl: the series

alexia putellas x child!reader; this story contains mentions of traumatic experiences as drug addiction, child abuse and similar topics. don't read it if you find those topics triggering.

A Barcelona Hope Blooms

Alexia never felt the desire to have kids.

She enjoyed being around them, but maternity wasn't for her.

You, however, were a whirlwind of seven years old, a hurricane of energy fueled by football. Barcelona Femení's rise, intertwined with the Spanish National Team's success, had ignited a passion that burned brighter than any birthday candle. And at the heart of this inferno stood Alexia Putellas, your idol.

Her laser focus on the pitch, the way she orchestrated every move with an almost telepathic precision, it all mesmerized you. You saw in her an ideal – relentless pursuit of excellence, unwavering dedication to the beautiful game.

The Eye of Barça: A Scout's Discovery in Barcelona

The rhythmic thud of the worn-out ball against your worn-out trainers was the soundtrack of your afternoons. Barcelona's bustling streets were your training ground, the chipped brick wall your loyal opponent. You weren't just playing keepy-uppy - you were weaving magic, dribbling past imaginary defenders, scoring wonder goals against a rusty shopping cart guarding a den of discarded tires. You were a queen on this dusty pitch, ruling with every flick of your foot.

Suddenly, a sharp tug sent you stumbling. You whirled around to see your mom, her face etched with worry as she glared at the man in the crisp suit towering over you.

“Who is this?“ she demanded, her voice a tight knot of concern.

The man smiled reassuringly, flashing a badge that glinted in the afternoon sun. “Don't worry,“ he said in smooth Spanish, “my name is Mikel, and I'm a scout for FC Barcelona.” He gestured toward you. “I couldn't help but notice your impressive skills.“

Your stomach lurched. Was he serious? Could this be real? Your mom's frown deepened, a million questions swirling in her eyes. Mikel sensed her apprehension and continued, “We have a fantastic girls' academy at La Masia, where young talents like your daughter can learn and grow. We'd love for her to try out.“

Barcelona's prestigious academy, La Masia, was a name whispered with reverence. It was a factory that churned out legendary players, a dream factory for any aspiring footballer. Your heart hammered in your chest, a frantic drumbeat against your ribs.

Your mom, however, looked unconvinced. “But she's just a kid,“ she protested, her voice softening. “Isn't she a bit young?“

Mikel chuckled, a warm sound that calmed her ruffled feathers. “We start training young, señora," he explained. "But don't worry, we have a great program for girls her age. It's a chance to see if she truly has the passion and develop her talent.“

You looked from your mom, her gaze filled with a mixture of fear and hope, to Mikel, his smile radiating both professionalism and genuine enthusiasm. This wasn't just a game anymore. This was a potential turning point, a fork in the dusty road that stretched before you.

Taking a deep breath, you met your mom's gaze, a silent plea unspoken but clear. A flicker of understanding passed between you, a silent pact forged in the gritty heart of Barcelona. With a hesitant nod, your mom turned to Mikel.

“Alright.”

Facing Alexia

The day of the camp arrived, a nervous flutter in your stomach battling with pure excitement. Stepping onto the field, you scanned the faces, searching for the one that graced your bedroom walls. And then, there she was, Alexia Putellas, no longer a poster image but a living, breathing embodiment of your footballing dreams.

The drills began, each touch, each pass judged by the watchful gaze of your hero. You focused on the ball, desperately trying to block out the pressure, the weight of Alexia's scrutiny. Yet, every now and then, you'd steal a glance.

A whistle blew, stopping the drill. Alexia walked towards you, her expression still unreadable. You braced yourself for criticism, for disappointment. Instead, she stopped in front of you, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

“I'm amazed,“ she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “You have some raw talent there.“

You stared at her, speechless, the weight of her words settling on you. It wasn't praise from just any player – it was from Alexia Putellas. A wave of pride washed over you, a feeling far more intoxicating than any goal you'd ever scored. This wasn't just about drills or impressing coaches. This was about proving yourself, about earning a nod of approval from your hero.

Bruised Bloom

At La Masia, you thrived. Here, amidst your teammates, you weren't just a kid caught in a crossfire. You were a footballer, a budding talent with a future that stretched beyond the grimy walls of your apartment.

Training was your sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos that permeated your home life. The hushed whispers, the acrid smells, the constant tension – it all dissolved the moment you stepped onto the field. Here, the only pressure was the weight of the ball on your foot, the thrill of the game.

Back home, your world was a minefield. Your mother, despite the worried facade she put on at the park when Mikel first scouted you, was a ghost, lost in a world of her own until she felt it was time to punish you. Your father, a storm that brewed unpredictably, filled the silence with violence and toxic fumes.

The thought of returning after practice sent a knot of dread twisting in your gut. Yet, you faced it every day, a warrior donning a hopeful smile like armor. You knew you couldn't speak, couldn't reveal the truth behind your closed-door reality. So, you played, harder than anyone else, pouring every ounce of your hurt, your anger, your fear, into your game, hoping time would pass fast and you would reach adulthood and the possibility of escaping home.

The Girl Who Played with Ghosts

Days morphed into weeks, and the vibrant memory of Alexia's praise began to fade, replaced by a dull ache of missing her. It wasn't just the validation of your skills; it was the warmth in her eyes, a flicker of something that mirrored your own yearning for connection.

You were a child overflowing with love, a dam overflowing with affection that had nowhere to spill. Your home life offered no solace, your parents existing in their own desolate realities. So, you latched onto any adult who offered a sliver of kindness, a fleeting pat on the head, or a word of encouragement.

Alexia, with her quiet intensity and unexpected gentleness, had become a beacon in your world.

You would often daydream about her being your big sister, your mother, anything that made you feel secure. You craved her approval, not just for your football, but for your very existence. The thought of her watching you play again, that focused gaze that made you both nervous and exhilarated, filled you with a strange longing.

Alexia's Eye

One afternoon, during a particularly grueling training session, your heart sank as you saw Alexia emerge from the building. Your body ached, your muscles screaming in protest, but a surge of energy coursed through you nonetheless. Every drill, every tackle, became a silent plea, a desperate attempt to catch her eye, to earn another nod of approval, another fleeting moment of connection in this vast, intimidating world.

As practice ended, your teammates dispersed, their chatter fading into the Barcelona dusk. You lingered, hoping, praying Alexia wouldn't vanish like smoke. And then, as you were about to turn away, defeated, you saw her. She stood by the entrance, a hint of amusement dancing in her eyes as she watched you catch your breath.

“I was supposed to watch you training but my day got a little derailed. Still, I hear whispers of a wonder-kid on the pitch today. Any truth to that rumor?"

Your heart soared. It wasn't the words themselves, but the way she said them, the unspoken recognition that ignited a spark of warmth within you. You weren't just another trainee anymore. You were someone she saw, someone with potential, someone who, maybe, just maybe, deserved a little bit of her time, a little bit of her attention.

"I... I just try my best," you stammered, suddenly self-conscious under her gaze.

"Well, that best seems pretty good," she countered, her smile widening. "Mind if I see a sample?"

Bittersweet Symphony

You nearly tripped over your own feet. Alexia, wanting to see you play?

Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders, a newfound determination coursing through you. "I'd be honored," you declared, voice surprisingly steady.

As you ran through drills, fueled by a mix of excitement and nervousness, you felt a different kind of pressure. No longer was it just about proving yourself; it was about capturing that spark, that flicker of something special, in Alexia's eyes. You weren't just playing football anymore. You were playing for recognition, for connection, for a chance to forge a bond with the woman who had become your hero.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the La Masia training grounds in a warm glow. Alexia watched you with a smile, a hint of amusement and something deeper, a flicker of recognition, in her eyes.

"You're good, kid," she said, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Reminds me of myself at your age. Full of fire."

Your chest puffed out with pride. Alexia Putellas, your idol, was complimenting you! A warmth bloomed in your stomach, a feeling so foreign and comforting it made your eyes sting. It was like a hug, a feeling of love and acceptance you didn't think you'd ever experience.

Lost in this bubble of newfound joy, you didn't notice the other players filtering out, their chatter fading into the twilight. You were completely focused on Alexia, hanging on to every word, every encouraging nod.

Finally, a hand rested on your shoulder. You looked up, expecting Alexia's brilliant gaze, but instead, saw the concerned face of a coach. "It's getting late, kiddo," he said kindly. "Where are your parents? Are you leaving with them?"

You blinked, the realization hitting you like a cold wave. Your parents. You hadn't thought about them all afternoon, consumed by the warmth of Alexia's approval. Now, a knot formed in your gut. If they were late, that meant... you knew. The picture wasn't pretty, the familiar scene of their slumped figures reeking of alcohol playing in your mind.

Suddenly, the thought of a chaotic homecoming was a thousand times less appealing than the gentle reprimand of a coach and the lingering hope of Alexia's smile. You mumbled, "They'll... I guess they'll be here soon."

Alexia, who had been watching the exchange, now looked closely at you. The amusement in her eyes was replaced with a spark of concern, a question unspoken. You knew you couldn't stay here forever, but the thought of facing your reality was terrifying.

Behind The Charade

Then, there they were, your parents, their faces flushed, their laughter grating against the now-silent training grounds.

Your coach, Jordi, observed them from afar.

He knew something was off, but couldn't figure out what.

Jordi, your coach, watched them approach, a knot tightening in his stomach. Something was off, a forced joviality that didn't reach their eyes. They were experts at this charade, fooling people into believing their dysfunctional family was a picture of normalcy.

You, however, knew their routine all too well. A quick excuse, a feigned apology, and then the inevitable escape. You squeezed your eyes shut, a silent plea escaping your lips. When you opened them again, a desperate hope filled them.

"Alexia," you blurted, your voice barely audible, "would you… would you come watch me train next week?"

Alexia, who'd been observing the exchange with a growing sense of unease, met your hopeful gaze. Your fear, barely veiled, tugged at her heartstrings.

"Of course," she replied, her voice surprisingly firm. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Your parents seemed oblivious, their attention focused on their next conquest, whatever that might be. You knew the drive home would be a terrifying journey, a cacophony of drunken arguments and reckless driving.

Eyes Shut, Hopes Open

As your father lurched the car forward, you squeezed your eyes shut, a single image flashing before them.

The image of Alexia in your imagination, her strong hand clasped in yours, a silent promise of protection in a world that seemed far from safe.

The roar of the engine filled the car, but it was Alexia's voice, a whisper in your mind, that brought a sliver of solace: "We'll get through this, together." The destination might be uncertain, but for the first time, you weren't alone.

#alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader

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pupkashi · 1 year ago

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f1 driver!satoru 💭🏎️

a/n: hi friends ! i have had this au rattling in my head like a damn maraca for SO LONG im so glad i finally got around to putting it out for yall :3 this might be for a very niche group of people but i hope the five of you who enjoy f1 will appreciate this 🙏 let me know what yall think if you’d like him to make a reappearance in drabbles or one shots !! <3

masterlist

f1 driver!satoru who is mercedes golden boy, replacing lewis hamilton after his move to ferrari, going toe to toe with the likes of red bull and Ferrari racers

f1 driver!satoru who is loved across the grid and in the general public, think Italian men with charles leclerc, he’s the people’s princess, truly

f1 driver!satoru who dominates his rookie year, leaving everyone stunned at how truly talented and amazing he is

f1 driver!satoru who has the most followers on social media from everyone on the grid, everyone fawning over him constantly

f1 driver!satoru who loves the attention, but all of it seems so meaningless the second he meets you, falling hard and fast from the couple conversations you had, giving you free tickets for the race in an attempt to get more time with you

f1 driver!satoru who shows up and shows out the Grand Prix that weekend, eyes searching the crowd as tries his best to focus on his post race interviews

f1 driver!satoru finds you in the crowd as he steps onto the podium, smile widening and dimples popping out, he’s laughing as his podium mates douse him in champagne, all of them taking a swig from the comically large champagne bottle

f1 driver!satoru who says his to you with champagne dripping down his face and off his snowy hair, asking what the odds were of you letting him take you out on a date where he’s not working

f1 driver!satoru who is impossible to not fall for, with his witty replies and pretty blue eyes, he has you weak in the knees and on FaceTime every night

f1 driver!satoru who takes you carting, letting you win and treating you to dinner afterwards, buzzing with nervousness as he asks you to be his

f1 driver!satoru who is elated to have you as his partner, having you fly out with him whenever you could to his races, explaining everything about formula 1 to you beforehand, chest warming when he realizes how focused you look on his every word

f1 driver!satoru who develops a pre-race ritual with you, having you hype him up and giving him a good luck kiss before the two of you walk out of his driver room and into the garage, he’s zipping up his driver suit and asking you to help adjust his balaclava, smiling when you kiss his nose and wish him luck

f1 driver!satoru who seems to become even better after he started dating you, managing to podium every race and putting up a fight against a dominating red bull team; in every interview he says it’s not only the car but his amazing lover who helps him push every lap

f1 driver!satoru who has a picture of you in his helmet as his lockscreen, and you have one of him in his fireproofs as yours

f1 driverr!satoru who gets dubbed ‘the grids angel boy’ after you commented on his post fresh off his Japan Grand Prix win ‘congratulations my angel boy’

the entire grid loves you, announcers and commentators always excited when you show up to a race, cameras showing you in the Mercedes garage ‘and we have y/n in the garage today!’ you smile brightly at the camera, ‘i guess we know who’s gonna get pole position for qualifying tonight’

f1 driver!satoru who drives you around in his fancy Mercedes, sports and classic cars, exploring every city with you, treating you to expensive food and presents, walking hand in hand with you down the streets of Monaco, taking pictures of you at the beach in Miami and sending flowers when you can’t make it to his races

f1 driver!satoru who is absolutely smitten over you, adding your initial to his helmet hidden among the design, showing it to you with sparkling blue eyes as your heart flutters

f1 driver!satoru who runs to you after every race, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you on the lips before celebrating with his team

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miss-dollette · 5 months ago

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Person Of Interest - Chapter 1. Muse.

Warning: Stalking. Really fucked up opinions on the less fortunate. Remember, this is the salesman we’re talking about.

(A/N): I wrote this over the course of a few days. I haven’t written anything this long in some time, so let me know if I got anything wrong. Also, I’m not Korean and have never visited Korea, so I’m not familiar with Korean culture. Please be easy on me - I don’t even listen to K-Pop and this is my like, second Korean show I’ve watched 😭. Okay, it’s two in the morning and my eyes hurt. Enjoy :)

The little waif appeared at the train station again, as she did every day of the week except Sunday.

He knew that because he had developed a routine of his own-one where he ensured he’d catch a glimpse of her. She was a slight thing, all knobby knees and elbows, with a rounder face that still clung stubbornly to remnants of baby fat. It gave her an air of innocence that would likely never fade into maturity.

Twenty-two years old. A dropout from a prestigious university - why, he didn’t know. She lived with a roommate in a tacky apartment building and was unemployed. Instead, she earned her money playing her violin in the busier sections of the city.

A talented little thing. No matter the weather, her thin but strong fingers coaxed melodies from her instrument, drawing the attention of passersby. The locals knew her well, and they must have appreciated the way her music lured customers to their shops and stands.

The first time he saw her, she was on a concrete platform, playing one of his favorite songs. His hand had stung, his shoulder ached - a long day of recruiting Nothings - but the sound had stopped him in his tracks.

Passersby dropped won into the worn Breton cap she’d laid out in front of her, and each time, she flashed a brief, grateful smile before resuming her tune.

His breath hitched in his chest, his fingers slackening around the handle of his suitcase full of won and two dirty ddakji papers. Even dressed in an oversized coat with patched-up hemlines, she caught his attention in a way that left him stunned.

An elderly man shuffled past her, dropping a few won into her cap before bowing deeply. She paused just long enough to bow back, even lower than he had, before continuing to play.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, lingering spectators began to drift away, heading toward the station to catch their trains. Salarymen and women filed out of their offices, and nearby shops started to close for the night.

When the last stragglers were gone, she stepped down from the platform and retrieved her cap. One by one, she smoothed out the crumpled bills with delicate precision, as though each note were a treasure.

An elderly woman from a nearby food stall approached her, carrying a steaming skewer of dakkochi. Though the girl began counting her bills, ready to pay, the woman shook her head, pressing the food into her hands.

She hesitated, staring at the meat with wide, hungry eyes, before accepting it and bowing low in gratitude.

He watched as she took the first bite, her eyes fluttering shut as though she were savoring the warmth, the taste, the comfort of it. She chewed slowly, and though he couldn’t hear it, he could almost imagine the hum of satisfaction she must have let slip.

It was ridiculous. Fascination with someone so ordinary.

And yet, he couldn’t look away.

How could it be that this crumpled-up, discarded girl had managed to fascinate him so completely?

If he had seen her on any other day, he would have caught her alone, offered her a game of Ddakji, and slapped her cheeks until their softness gave way to mottled bruises. Those babyish cheeks of hers, stained with tears—he could picture it so vividly. Female recruits usually cried by the third slap, but they never stopped playing. The glimmer of hope, of winning back their dignity or even just a few won, kept them in the game.

They were all the same. Male or female. Persistent, pathetic pieces of garbage. That’s what they all had in common.

When she finished her food, she stuffed the crumpled won into a sash tied around her waist, her movements quick yet deliberate. Then she turned her attention to her violin, lifting it with a tenderness that bordered on reverence. She placed the chipped instrument into its worn case so gently that anyone watching might have thought she was laying an infant into its crib.

It was laughable, really.

And yet, he kept watching.

When she stood, she practically skipped toward the train station. Light, careless steps, as though the weight of the world hadn’t settled on her shoulders like it had on everyone else’s. He watched her descend the stairs, each movement unguarded, as though she had nothing to fear.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his suitcase, and his eyes flicked to his watch. The seconds ticked away steadily, a reminder that if he wanted to catch the last train home, he’d need to hurry.

But as he stood there, staring at the spot where she’d disappeared, he felt himself torn.

Head home... or follow her?

The decision hovered in the air, tantalizing and heavy, as the seconds marched on.

He realized that if he didn’t follow her, she’d haunt his thoughts all night. The sound of her tunes, the gleam in her eyes—it would all linger, nagging at him. And what if he never saw the little waif again?

The thought was unbearable.

He took a step toward the station, then another, and another, until he found himself at the platform, watching as she disappeared through the train’s doors.

“Pardon me,” he murmured, brushing past another passenger in his haste.

The man turned sharply, venom already rising to his face - until his gaze fell on him. The glare faltered, melting into something more subdued. Respectful.

It was remarkable, really, how quickly people changed their tune when they caught sight of his tailored coat and polished shoes. They didn’t need to know him, his past, or his purpose. The price tag of his appearance was enough to earn their deference.

How pitiful, he thought, as he adjusted his grip on his suitcase. Once, he’d been nothing - just like them. But now?

Now, he was above them all.

She sat in the distance, wedged between a mother with a toddler clinging to her thighs and a weary salaryman fighting to keep his eyes open. Her violin case rested on her lap, cradled against her chest as though it were something precious, something alive.

He watched her from the corner of his eye, careful not to let his gaze linger too long. If she caught him staring, she’d realize far too soon that she had an observer - and that wouldn’t do. Not that he had any plans of revealing himself.

Fortunately, he was practiced in the art of pursuit. Years of experience had honed his craft, though his targets were typically for a very different purpose.

The train jolted forward, and he swayed slightly, using the motion to adjust his stance, keeping her just within his peripheral vision. She was so unassuming, so small in this world of hurried professionals and exhausted parents. Yet, there was something magnetic about her.

Her oversized coat hung awkwardly off her frame, the patched hemlines almost brushing her knees. It was too large, almost comical, but she wore it without a hint of self-consciousness. Perhaps she didn’t care how it looked, or perhaps she was simply used to making do. The thought both irritated and fascinated him.

He shifted his grip on his suitcase, the leather pressing against his calluses. Would she even be worth it? She wasn’t like the others he had approached. There was a quiet resolve in her, something different. She didn’t wear her desperation as plainly as the others, yet he knew it was there - lurking beneath the surface.

Wasn’t it always?

His lips twitched into the faintest smirk. Everyone had their breaking point. The game just revealed it sooner.

She glanced up briefly, her eyes scanning the train, and his heart seized for a moment. Had she noticed him? No - her gaze swept right past him, uninterested and unseeing. He let out a slow, controlled breath, reminding himself that he was a master at this. Years of practice had taught him how to melt into the background, to become just another face in the crowd.

But watching her, he felt something unusual - a spark of impatience. Normally, he could bide his time, savoring the slow unraveling of his prey’s composure. But with her, the anticipation was different. Her every movement - so small, so deliberate - pulled at something in him, though he couldn’t quite name what.

The train rattled through another stop, and a few passengers shuffled off. She remained in her seat, her hands absently brushing over the scratched surface of her violin case. Did she know how fragile she looked in that moment? The way her fingers lingered on the case, as though drawing strength from it, made his chest tighten in a way that annoyed him.

Perhaps that was it - the illusion of fragility. People like her always looked so easy to break, so willing to bend under pressure. But they never went quietly. No, they always had a streak of stubbornness, a refusal to yield that made the process all the more satisfying.

He swallowed, his mind flickering between possibilities. If he approached her now, how would she react? Would she freeze, caught off guard by someone acknowledging her for any other reason besides her violin? Or would she look at him with suspicion, sensing something amiss?

The train slowed, and the voice over the intercom announced the next station. His pulse quickened. She adjusted her grip on her case, her body shifting as she got ready to stand.

He waited until the distance between them widened before stepping off the train. The crowd of passengers spilling onto the platform was his cover, their hurried steps and muted chatter blending him seamlessly into the flow of bodies. Not that she would suspect anyone was following her. Who would?

Once outside the station, she weaved her way past the gleaming high-rises and into narrower, dimly lit streets. The transition was stark - the polished facade of the city gave way to crumbling walls, cracked sidewalks, and flickering streetlights. It made sense for her to live in this part of town. He never imagined she could afford anything more secure.

She paused in front of a small brick building, its exterior worn and unremarkable, much like her. He hung back, watching as she disappeared through the front doors. His pulse steadied, and he exhaled slowly. Following her inside would be foolish - far too risky. A smaller building like this meant she likely knew her neighbors, and a stranger’s presence wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Still, his lips curved into a faint smile. The journey might have ended here, but now he knew where she lived. A detail worth savoring.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps to the station, a light flickered on in one of the windows. His head snapped up, and his gaze locked onto it. A shadow moved against the thin curtain, a familiar silhouette. Her slight frame was unmistakable, and so was that oversized Breton cap perched awkwardly on her head.

Yes, it was her.

For a moment, he stood frozen, watching her shadow shift. She set something down - likely the violin case she had cradled so protectively on the train. He could almost picture her now, brushing the dust off her coat, pulling her hair free from under the cap, perhaps exhaling with relief to finally be home.

His grip on his suitcase tightened.

“I should leave now,” he thought. Lingering too long would be reckless, but something about that glowing window and her faint outline held him captive. It was a glimpse into her world - simple, predictable, fragile. A world so easy to disrupt.

Finally, he turned away, but his steps were slow, reluctant. He had what he came for, but the thought of her shadow, the dim light framing her every movement, stayed with him.

Time to say Goodbye.

#squid game #squid game season 2 #the salesman x you #the salesman x reader #the salesman #squid game x reader #squid game x you #the recruiter #the recruiter x reader #yandere

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rubengrey · 11 months ago

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Top Mobile App Development Firms - Harness India's Expert Flutter Devs

Discover how top mobile app development firms harness India's tech talent with expert Flutter developers to boost efficiency, innovation, and cost savings.

#Flutter developers #Mobile app development #Tech talent #App development firms #Out sourcing

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foreverisntenough · 3 months ago

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‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Chapter 6- 'Staying In' | 'Aperture'

word count - 14.9k

[Chill Baby - SZA]

The kettle whistled, steam curling into the air as you reached for your mug, but your fingers hesitated when your phone started vibrating against the marble countertop. The sound cut through the quiet of your apartment, loud, intrusive, insistent. Your heart stilled before it had the chance to stutter.

Trent calling.

A slow, sinking feeling settled in your stomach. You stared at the screen, unblinking, pulse hammering so loudly it drowned out the kettle. It rang once. Then again. Each buzz felt like it rattled through your chest, like it was shaking something loose, something you had tried so hard to keep buried. Your fingers trembled as you reached for it. The movement felt detached, like someone else was doing it, not you. You swallowed hard. And then—fuck it.

"Hello?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, hesitant, as if saying his name out loud might shatter the fragile peace of your apartment. For a second, nothing. And then—

"Hey, you picked up..." His voice was low, familiar, and yet slightly stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to actually answer.

"I picked up." The words felt like an admission, like you were betraying yourself by acknowledging it. And yet, despite the battle raging in your head, warmth bloomed in your stomach, a flutter of something you despised—butterflies. Trent exhaled, the sound crackling softly over the line.

"Erm, sorry, sorry." He let out a nervous laugh, barely there, like he was fumbling with what to say. "You doing anything right now?" The silence stretched. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, throat tight. It felt like the world had gone still, the weight of the moment pressing heavy on your chest. Trent wasn’t good with quiet. He never had been. "Think I could come pick you up?" The words sent a jolt through you, something electric, something terrifying. Your grip tightened around the phone, knuckles white. Your mind felt blank and chaotic all at once, heart dropping into the pit of your stomach. What? You had spent weeks trying to convince yourself that he didn’t care, that this didn’t mean anything. That he wasn’t the kind of man to chase. But now—now he was here, reaching out, asking to see you. "Y/N..." He said your name, gentle but edged with something close to panic. You swallowed, forcing yourself to breathe.

"Sorry, erm…" The words felt thick in your throat. You exhaled, trying to steady yourself, but your fingers still trembled where they gripped the counter. Your apartment had never felt so small, the air never so charged. "I’m just at my place…" You answered, vaguely, unsure of where you were even going with this. Trent let out a slow breath, relieved that you were still on the line.

"Don’t say sorry, really… I just—" His voice softened. "I want to see you, if you’re open to it… Just us." His words landed differently. No pretense. No distractions. Just you and him. And fuck, you felt it deep in your bones—the undeniable pull toward him, the way your body ached for something your mind kept trying to reject. Your voice was small, hesitant, almost shy.

"Okay, I’d like to just see you." The second you said it, you heard the shift in Trent’s breath. The tension bled out of him, relief flooding through his body like a rush of adrenaline. He grinned, the weight that had been sitting heavy on his chest suddenly lifting. And just like that, his confidence came roaring back.

"Yeah, let me come see you. Send me your address, baby." The way he said baby made something flip in your stomach. The second the call ended, reality came crashing in. Your heart pounded against your ribs, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as you tried to make sense of what had just happened. What was this? What did you wear? Oh my god, what do you wear? Panic surged through you as you bolted toward your closet, the tea on the counter long forgotten.

Trent pulled up outside your apartment building too soon, his hands gripping the steering wheel for a moment before exhaling and stepping out. The city lights reflected off the sleek black paint of his car, the air still warm from the late summer evening. He took a steadying breath, brushing his hand over his jaw, trying to shake the nervous energy coiling in his chest The doorman nodded at him the second he stepped inside.

"Miss Y/L/N let us know you’d be coming. You can head up, 26 in the left.” Trent nodded, appreciative but tense. His pulse picked up as he stepped into the elevator, the hum of the machinery a stark contrast to the pounding of his heart. 26th floor, you were up there. The ride felt slow and suffocating, his reflection staring back at him in the mirrored walls, jaw tight, eyes flickering between confidence and something that felt like uncertainty. And then—he was there. Standing in front of your door. He barely had a second to steel himself before his knuckles rapped against the wood, the sound loud, intrusive, deafening in the otherwise quiet hallway. His whole body tensed in anticipation, in dread, in something he didn’t want to name. Inside, you jolted, breath catching in your throat. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of your pants, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles as if that would somehow ease the storm inside you. You didn’t even change. You didn’t have time. All you did was peel off the old jumper you had on off. You hesitated, frozen in place, before forcing yourself to move, your feet carrying you toward the door before you could think better of it. You cracked it open ever so slightly, as if expecting to wake up from some dream—or maybe a nightmare. And then there he was. Leaning slightly against the doorframe, dressed in something deceptively casual—dark joggers, a black tee, trainers that looked effortlessly put together. His eyes flickered over you, taking you in, something unreadable flashing behind them before—

"You alright, baby?" The smirk on his lips was enough to make your chest tighten, the armor you’d so desperately tried to put on tonight crumbling at the sight of him. You rolled your eyes instinctively, but the smile betrayed you, slipping through before you could stop it. You tilted your head, exhaling softly as you opened the door a little more, letting him see you properly.

"Hi… I’m sorry, I don’t—I didn’t have time to not look like…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely at yourself—white poplin pants, a tiny tank top that suddenly felt far too revealing under his gaze. [ref index] Trent’s lips parted slightly, his eyes flickering downward for the briefest moment, lingering before he caught himself. Heat rushed through your body at the way he looked at you, like he was memorizing every inch of your presence. Trent hadn’t seen you in person in what felt like a lifetime. And yet, the moment you opened the door, it was like a vice tightened around his lungs. His breath caught, his pupils blew wide, his hands clenched at his sides as if bracing against an invisible tide. And then—you.

Soft, golden under the glow of the setting sun bleeding through your windows. Skin like something he wanted to map with his hands, his lips, his tongue. Collarbone cutting delicate shadows against the light, your throat swallowing nervously, the curve of your stomach rising and falling with every shallow breath. That tiny tank top, barely there, the fabric clinging to the slope of your chest, the teasing swell of cleavage—a whisper of something he’d known before, something he’d had before, and yet now felt agonizingly out of reach. It sent him crashing back—Paris. Flashes. Fever dreams. The city’s lights flickering against streaked windows, the damp press of your body against his in the dim of the hotel room. Your collarbone—right there—where his teeth had sunk in too hard, where he had left a whisper of himself in the form of a bruise, now faded, gone, like he had never touched you at all. It made something ugly stir inside him. Your lips. God, your lips. The burns they left behind. The way they had kissed him like you were trying to ruin him, like you wanted to carve yourself into his skin. He could still feel the phantom sting of them, raw and swollen from hours of indulgence, from the gasping, from the biting. And now, standing in front of him, your mouth was soft again, untouched, like Paris had never happened. And your hands—dainty, delicate. A cruel deception, really. Because Trent knew better. He knew what those hands were capable of. They weren’t just artful and tender, weren’t just meant for framing beauty behind a camera lens. No, they had gripped. They had scratched, pulled, demanded. They had unraveled him piece by piece until he was something unrecognizable, something wrecked beneath you. It was dizzying. Fucking maddening. And here you were, looking at him like you weren’t aware of any of it. Like you didn’t know that the sight of you was rewriting him all over again. He smirked, but it was barely holding together. Because the truth was—he wasn’t. Not in the slightest.

"You look beautiful." His voice was steady, certain, and honest. The sincerity in his expression made your stomach flutter in ways you hated, in ways you wished you could suppress. You swallowed, shifting slightly, but his eyes didn’t waver. You stepped back, opening the door fully, silently inviting him in.

"Thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your texts…" You blurted out, the words tumbling from your lips awkwardly, the weight of them heavy in the air between you. It felt different saying it out loud, more real. Trent didn’t flinch.

"Nah," he shook his head, stepping inside, "I promised I’d take you out… well, convince you, and I didn’t." He looked around as he spoke, gaze flickering over your apartment. The space was luxurious but lived-in—modern furniture softened by personal touches, warm lighting, oversized photographs covering the walls he wondered if they were yours, windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, allowing the golden hues of the Manchester sunset to pour in. Trent’s lips curled into a smirk, bottom lip rolling between his teeth as he inspected it all, clearly impressed and interested. You giggled, tilting your head to catch his eye again, breaking his little exploration of your home. He chuckled, the dimpled smile making your heart ache in ways you weren’t prepared for. "Well," he started, meeting your gaze, "as interested as I am in seeing more of this place, I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in letting me take you out… but also to stay in. Just me and you." There was something in the way he said it—casual yet nervous, confident yet hesitant. Like he wanted you to know that this wasn’t an afterthought. You raised a brow, the corners of your lips twitching with amusement.

"So… staying in? But not here? You lost me." You smiled at him, your chest vibrating a little from a stifled giggle. Trent chuckled, shaking his head.

"Nah, not here. I wanted to take you out, but to my place." His voice was deliberate, measured, as if he’d rehearsed it in his head. Your heart was hammering in your chest. "I’m picking you up, I’ve got some easy plans. I know it might feel last minute to you, but it’s not for me. I thought about this. And I wanted to know if you’d like come to my house tonight—have a little something to eat, maybe a movie if you want to stay. But, you know…" Your breath hitched slightly. The offer was simple. But it felt… personal. Intimate. No loud parties, no distractions. Just you and him. You glanced around, feigning deliberation, but the truth was—you already knew your answer.

"That sounds…" You paused, dragging it out, watching the way he tensed slightly, anticipation written all over his face. You almost wanted to tease him, to make him sweat, but you weren’t cruel enough for that. Not tonight. "Okay with me." Trent let out a breath, the tension in his shoulders dissipating instantly.

"Yeah?" He asked. You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.

"Yeah." And just like that, the space between you shifted—something unspoken settling into place. The air between you shifted, thickening, charged with something unspoken but impossibly loud. Trent’s hand found your hip, his fingers warm and steady against the thin fabric of your top. It was such a simple touch—barely even that, really—but it sent a wildfire rushing through you, heat unfurling in slow, deliberate waves. Your gaze dropped to his hand, to the way his thumb moved in a lazy, absentminded circle over your skin. A touch meant to soothe, but it only made you more aware—of him, of you, of the space, or lack thereof, between your bodies. You swallowed hard, suddenly terrified. Terrified of how one singular touch made you feel.

"Okay… And Y/N," Trent’s voice was softer now, careful, like he knew he was treading on delicate ground. His thumb never stopped its slow movements, grounding himself just as much as he was grounding you. You lifted your eyes back to his, something hesitant in your expression. "Can I tell you something?" he asked, his voice rough with something unreadable. You nodded, slow, cautious. Trent exhaled, gaze flickering over your face as if trying to find the right words. "I’ve thought about this," he admitted. "This isn’t just ‘come to my place’ because it’s easy. It’s come to my house because I want time with just you. I don’t wanna be out at dinner and have someone ask for a photo, or see someone we know… I just want us. Just me and you." You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until it left you in a slow exhale. "But I wanted to pick you up," he continued, his voice dropping just a little, like he was letting you in on something important. "Take you with me. I know I said ‘out,’ but ‘in’ sounded better to me. I wasn’t gonna crash your space. I just…" He hesitated, his brows pulling together for the briefest moment. "I hope you know I’m trying." That was when it happened. Something inside you cracked open, shifted—like an aperture adjusting to let more light in, like the exact moment a photograph goes from underexposed to perfectly illuminated. Your heart grew three sizes in your chest, the warmth of his words flooding through you, burning bright. You’d spent so long keeping him at arm’s length, so long convincing yourself he was just a fleeting flash of light, one that might blind you if you let him too close. But standing here, feeling his hand against you, hearing the honesty in his voice, you realized—he wasn’t just light. He was the kind you wanted to chase. The kind worth adjusting for. You swallowed, your voice small but sure when you finally spoke.

"Okay." You replied. Trent blinked, like maybe he hadn’t been expecting you to say yes.

"Okay?" He asked to be sure. You nodded.

"Yeah… okay." You confirmed with a smile finding his shock endearing His lips parted, and for the first time since he’d arrived, you saw it—the subtle shift in his posture, the way relief flooded his expression, the way his grip on your hip tightened just slightly, like he needed to feel you, to make sure you were real. And this time, you didn’t fight it. It was like suddenly you’d switched from auto to manual mode, adjusting the settings yourself, letting in more light, letting him in. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Photography had taught you that sometimes, you had to be intentional about the exposure—had to shift the aperture just right, widen it enough to welcome the light without letting it blind you. And Trent? He was the perfect light. Warm, golden, steady. The kind that could overexpose you if you weren’t careful, but also the kind that could turn something ordinary into something extraordinary. You swallowed, breath unsteady, and met his gaze again. Trent was watching you closely, waiting, reading every flicker of hesitation, every silent adjustment you were making in real-time. "So trying," you echoed, voice quieter now, reverent almost, like the words themselves deserved to be handled gently.

"Yeah, trying," he exhaled, his thumb still tracing slow, mindless circles over your hip, grounding himself in the contact. “I know I haven’t given you much reason to believe that, but I am. And I get it if you don’t wanna—”

"I do," you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want to." And you did. God, you did. Because Trent wasn’t some fleeting burst of artificial light, the kind that burned too fast and left you with nothing but harsh shadows. No—he was the kind that photographers chased, the golden hour glow that softened everything it touched. And right now, with his touch warming your skin, his words filling the spaces you thought would remain empty, you realized you didn’t need to keep the aperture so narrow. So, you opened up. Let the light in. Let him in. "Do you think I could change?" Your voice was soft, almost shy as you glanced down at yourself. Trent stepped back, leaning against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his sweats to look at you as if inspecting.

"I’m not gonna," he smirked, gesturing to himself—dressed comfortably in a sweatshirt and trainers, like this was the easiest thing in the world. You giggled, tilting your head to the side, understanding what he meant. But still, you didn’t even have shoes on. "Nah, if you want to, go ahead," he said, his voice gentle, but then he paused, letting his gaze sweep over you, taking in the quiet comfort of you standing barefoot in your own home, wrapped in the kind of ease that wasn’t for show. "But if I’m being completely honest with you…" His voice dropped just slightly, a softness settling in the space between you causing you to pause. "You look fucking perfect. Sexy." His lips curled into that familiar, boyish smile—the one that made your stomach flip, made warmth bloom in your chest. And it wasn’t just his words, but the way he said them, like he truly meant it. Like he saw you, standing there in your tiny tank and soft poplin pants, and thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

"Okay," you murmured, barely above a whisper. “Just let me grab a jacket and my bag then.” He nodded, watching you with quiet adoration as you turned to grab a jacket and your bag. And for a moment, Trent just stood there, rooted in place, watching you move through your space so effortlessly, so beautifully. God, how stupid had he been? Wanting to take you out, wanting to be surrounded by noise and people, when this—this—was right here. You, at ease, unguarded in the soft glow of your apartment. You, in bare feet and a tiny top, looking more breathtaking than you ever had in designer clothes. His gaze flicked to the mirror in your entryway, and there it was. That lovesick, teenage-crush kind of smirk curling at the corners of his mouth, the kind that even he couldn’t fight off. Because if he hadn’t already known it before, he knew it now—he wanted this. Wanted you. Just like this.

As you walked toward Trent’s car, you caught the way his eyes narrowed, the slight curl of his lips betraying his amusement. His gaze dropped deliberately to your feet, then back up, then back down again, as if he needed to confirm what he was seeing.

"What are those?" he asked, voice laced with teasing as he flicked his eyes between you and your shoes, a barely-contained smirk playing at his lips. You followed his gaze down to your feet—your suede Balenciaga slippers, warm, cozy, chic and, in your opinion, absolutely perfect.

"Why?" Your brows knit together, suddenly hesitant. Did he not like them? Trent read your expression immediately, his smirk softening into something even sweeter.

"Nah, nah, I like them. I’m a big slipper guy." His dimples made a full appearance as he grinned at you, and you found yourself momentarily disarmed by just how cute he could be.

"Trent…" You said his name slowly, incredulously, as if it was physically impossible that he wouldn’t already understand the sheer greatness of these shoes.

"Mmm?" He only tilted his head, gaze glinting with mischief. You squinted at him before continuing.

"If you say you like slippers—" But Trent cut you off before you could finish.

"Nah. Said I am a big slipper guy. A true love affair." His voice was warm with amusement, his grin growing as he watched you shake your head in disbelief.

“Is it?” You questioned him teasingly.

“Mutual too. They love me just the same.” He smirked flicking his gaze to you in a way that made you almost forget how to walk. You couldn’t tell if it was a silly joke or implying something else entirely.

"Okay, well, if that’s the case—self-proclaimed slipper guy—” You mocked him. “Then I’m getting you a pair. You need these," you declared, fully serious now. Trent chuckled, shaking his head.

"Alright, I trust you." The casual way he said it made your heart stutter slightly, but you pushed past it, lifting your chin with a playful challenge. “When we get to mine, an order will be placed.” He winked at you, nodding toward his parked car.

[Make It Up To You - Khalid ft Ayra Starr]

You’d settled on the idea of watching a film during the car ride over, and it made you feel like a teenager again—the thrill of sitting close, the warmth of another body, the chance to talk or just be. But just like a teen with a crush, you were nervous.

"Place is nice," you murmured as you stepped into Trent’s home. The house was massive but warm, a few lights already on, softening the space. It was clean, but lived in—his presence obvious in the little details. A jumper tossed over the back of a kitchen stool, a duffel bag by the door, the infamous slippers you’d already teased him about sitting patiently at the base of the stairs.

"Worth the drive?" he asked, turning on more lights as you wandered deeper inside.

"Do you think so?" you replied, grinning as you followed him. He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing as he took in the familiar surroundings.

"It’s just home after a while." His voice was casual, but there was something underneath—something you weren’t sure he’d ever really put into words. You studied him for a beat.

"Do you like living here?" You asked. Trent flicked on the lights with one hand, the other instinctively finding its place at the small of your back. He gave a small shrug, then with a grunt, dropped onto the couch like his muscles had finally given up after the day’s training.

"Yeah, alright. Little eh… lonely sometimes. But good. I like me space." You rocked back on your heels, teasing the idea of actually giving him that space, shuffling as if you might just turn back toward the door. "Not from you. C’mere." He smirked, sitting up, his hands catching your waist and pulling you toward him before you could even think of stepping away. You settled in, the warmth of him immediately surrounding you.

"I like a cuddle during a film." Your voice was soft as he reached for the remote, scrolling through options on the screen.

"Yeah? I never really get to cuddle during a film—lot of plane rides, hotel rooms." He kept his focus on the screen, but his arm instinctively tightened around you, holding you closer. Something about that hit you square in the chest. You muttered a quiet ‘oh, but it didn’t feel like enough to express the way your heart ached at the thought of him alone in hotel rooms, watching movies without anyone to press into his side. It never occurred to you that when the footballer playboy lifestyle light went out, Trent the person was left alone in the dark. "What do you want to watch?" he asked, finally turning to you, cutting off your spiral of ache . And that was a mistake. Because when he saw you—this close, the soft glow of the television lighting up your face—his heart clenched. It hit him again, the same regret he’d been pushing down since Paris. Why did I wait this long to have her close again?

"Just nothing sad." You tucked yourself further into his side, resting your head against him, your arm looping loosely around his waist.

"Not sad—I can manage that." His lips curled slightly, but his eyes stayed on you, something unreadable flickering behind them. His gaze narrowed slightly. "Why nothing sad?" You turned your face up to him, and your breath caught. He was—God, he was gorgeous. Too gorgeous, to the point where it wiped your thoughts clean for a moment. You swallowed, your voice softer now.

"I have nothing against it. I just think we… we all kind of live our own dramas. Our own stories filled with more emotion than we can even bear sometimes. I think I just always like a movie that lets me go somewhere else for a little." You bit your lip, nerves creeping in. Maybe that was too much. Maybe he wouldn’t get it. But he did. His voice was quiet but sure.

"Yeah, I like that too. But, actually… I’m pretty okay right here." He admitted. And then, with the gentlest pull, he adjusted you, tucking you even closer into his side like you belonged there. You exhaled, pressing yourself further into him, your fingers curling into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt.

"I’m okay right here. This isn’t somewhere I want to leave." The words tumbled out before you could think twice, and the second they did, you realized how much you meant them. Trent’s arm flexed around you.

"Good." He murmured as his lips pressed into your hair causing your heart to falter. And just like that, the movie started—but for the first time in a long time, the story playing on-screen didn’t matter. Because right here, in the warmth of Trent’s hold, you’d already found your escape.

The movie had long since faded into background noise, a gentle hum of dialogue and shifting scenes playing across the screen. You weren’t really watching anymore—not with the way you were tangled into Trent, draped over him like you were made to fit there. Your cheek rested against his chest, rising and falling with his steady breath, while his hand lazily traced up and down your spine, slipping beneath your top, warm and soothing. The blanket over you both acted as a veil, hiding the way your legs were knotted together, the way his fingertips absentmindedly kneaded at your skin. Every touch sent warmth pooling low in your stomach, the air between you thick with something unspoken. You knew where this could lead—you felt it, the way your body responded to his, the way he was reacting to you. You were wet, you’d noticed he was hard and you’d kiss his chest, he’d kiss your hair like he just had, hands all over the other but there was no rush. Somehow, even amidst the tension, there was a softness, something so comfortable it almost felt domestic. And then, quietly, Trent broke the silence.

"So… you didn’t want to come to the match?" His voice was low, casual, but there was something tentative underneath, something careful. His lips brushed your hair as he spoke, placing a lazy kiss there like it was second nature. You tensed slightly. That wasn’t the question you expected.

"No…" you murmured, voice small, suddenly shy beneath the weight of his warmth. He glanced down at you, his brows furrowing slightly. You could tell he didn’t love the answer, but he wasn’t upset—just… curious. Maybe a little wounded.

"Don’t like footie or…?" He asked you.

"I do. I really like footy," you admitted, voice still muffled against his chest, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sweatshirt. That made him pause. His attention fully shifted from the forgotten movie to you, his hand stilling on your back.

"Oh…" So if you liked football, why weren’t you there? He wondered. The question was all over his face, clear as day, and you knew he wouldn’t just let it go.

"You had plenty of supporters there for you," you finally said, still firm in your decision, but without any of the earlier sting. Trent exhaled, his hand resuming its slow path down your spine.

"Yeah…" He nodded, his fingers pressing just a bit firmer, like grounding himself in you. "Weren’t you though. Wanted to see you." You swallowed, feeling your heart clench.

"Didn’t feel like that." The words were barely above a whisper, but they landed heavy. Trent’s whole body stilled beneath you. He felt it then—how stupid he’d been. How he hadn’t even stopped to think how it might’ve looked from your side.

"Nah, I know I messed up," he admitted, voice laced with regret and urgency. "I… I didn’t know how to—" He trailed off, fumbling, because the truth was, he had no clue how to explain this. How to explain you. He normally was very good at defending himself, not losing, getting out of things but right now he felt vulnerable and he didn’t want to defend, he wanted to apologize. But you weren’t looking for an apology right now. You just wanted to be here, with him. You kissed his chest softly, hoping he’d feel that, understand that.

"T, it’s fine. This… this is better." You whispered. He tilted his chin down to look at you, his lips twitching slightly.

“Yeah?” He asked appreciating you, filling the silence. You nodded, and his body relaxed beneath you. "Good." He hummed, and then, with a little smirk, "Mmm… might’ve missed you a little bit." He admitted aloud something he’d been thinking for weeks. You rolled your eyes, nudging your nose into his chest with a quiet scoff. But he felt the way you held him just a little tighter, and it made his heart stutter. Disappointment. You silently begging him to not do that. You wanted him to tell you he wanted you at that game, that he understood why this was different. To understand you. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment, taking a breath in realizing it wasn’t enough. After a beat, his grip on you tightened. His hand slid lower, smoothing down the curve of your spine, resting at the dip of your waist. His voice came quieter this time, more certain. "That’s a lie." He took a breath, and then, with all the honesty in the world, "I missed you. Been thinking about you a lot." The confession knocked the air from your lungs. Your fingers flexed against his side, needing something to hold onto. ‘Thank god’ you thought.

"Really?" It sounded lame the second it left your mouth, but you couldn’t help it. Trent grinned, knowing exactly what his words were doing to you. His hand slid further down, gripping at your thigh, caressing the bare skin draped over him.

"Mmm." He hummed, smug but soft. "Like the way you feel in my arms like this. Like hearing that little laugh. Wanted more of you..." You melted then, utterly and completely. Your body pressed closer, like there wasn’t enough space in the world to hold what you were feeling. “Even if you’re pouting.” Trent watched your lips part in surprise by his cheek. “Cute when you pout.” Yes, cute. Trent had just out loud called a girl cute. And he meant it. He smirked and you just smiled quietly squeezing him a bit tighter in retaliation but you liked the cheek. And Trent? He just pulled you in closer, his lips pressing into your hair again. Because this felt right. And there was no other word to describe it.

The night stretched languidly around you, wrapping you both in a quiet cocoon of warmth and shadow. The glow from the television flickered against Trent’s features, softening the sharp angles of his face, painting his skin in shifting shades of gold and blue. The house was still, save for the low hum of the film—a score neither of you were truly paying attention to. The real rhythm of the night was the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you, the slow, absentminded glide of his fingertips along your back, tracing patterns neither of you could name. There was barely a sliver of space between your bodies, and yet it was in that near-nonexistent gap where the uncertainty lay. His touch was featherlight, not urgent, not seeking, just… there. Steady. Sure. And that frightened you in a way you couldn’t name. What was this?

The comfort, the ease—it felt too intimate, too effortless. It made no sense. What kind of boy invited you over, came to your house, pulled you into movie nights on his sofa, held you like this, and did nothing more? Part of you found it sweet, another part was unsettled by the sincerity of it, and a third—one you were ashamed to acknowledge—felt something close to offense. Was he not going to have sex with you? Because if this wasn’t a game, if this wasn’t some carefully constructed ploy to win you over… then what was it? Your breath felt too loud in the stillness, your heart a traitor hammering against your ribs.

“T…” you whispered. His response was a lazy hum, deep and soft against your ear. His grip tightened slightly, a slow pull as if he could somehow fuse you closer into him. You felt the full weight of his palm against your back, broad and warm, anchoring you. Trent had never known quiet like this—never experienced a stillness so full. His house, though grand, had always felt like an echo chamber, filled with sound but never warmth. And yet now, with you against him, his sofa had never felt more comfortable, his heart had never beaten in such an unhurried, steady rhythm. It was as if you had slowed time, lulled him into a peace so delicate he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe too deep in case he shattered it. “Thank you for tonight.” Your voice, soft as a secret, pulled him from his haze. You tilted your chin up, resting against his chest, your gaze finding his. He looked down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, lips curved in a sleepy, satisfied grin.

“Course,” he murmured, voice thick with something you couldn’t place. “I like being with you.” It should have been simple, those words. But they weren’t. They landed heavy in your chest, curling around something fragile. You swallowed, forcing yourself to speak.

“You know… if this was some sort of stunt to make sure I didn’t think you were a bad guy, I never thought that.” You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “It was all really sweet, and I appreciate it.” You were bracing for impact, expecting him to confirm your worst fear—that this was all an act, that you were right to doubt, to question, to keep your walls up. This felt too good, too right, too real. Trent’s heart sank. Why… why wouldn’t you just accept this. Be in this rare kind of peace he was in. The world outside was so chaotic and yet here and in the hotel room in Paris, on the yacht in Ibiza, things stilled when you were together. But Trent stilled beneath you. He took a breath and you felt his chest rise. You felt stupid, unsure if you’d be okay with any answer he’d give, especially one of confirmation that it was all to save face. He exhaled sharply, and for the first time that night, the peace between you fractured. His fingers twitched against your back, and when he finally spoke, his voice was steady but laced with something deeper, something almost wounded.

“This was the furthest thing from a stunt, Y/N.” His gaze locked with yours, and you felt like you were drowning in it—those deep, endless pools of brown, full of something raw, something terrifyingly real. The room seemed to shrink around him, everything blurring at the edges until there was only Trent, only the warmth of his touch and the weight of his words pressing into you.

This was the problem. He made everything else disappear. He adjusted the aperture, shifting your focus, making it impossible to see anything but him. And that scared you. Because if you let yourself look at him too long, if you allowed yourself to sink into this feeling, you weren’t sure you’d ever want to resurface. Trent’s hand slid from your back, coming up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw, grounding you.

“Look…” He exhaled, his lips parting as if weighing his next words. “This isn’t some bit. I’d actually want to do this again, if you’d want…” The way he said it—soft, careful, unguarded—made your breath hitch. He was giving you something rare, something vulnerable. And when you looked into his eyes, you saw the flicker of uncertainty there, the silent question hanging between you. You swallowed, leaning into his palm instinctively.

“Okay.” The word came small, barely a breath. But it was enough. Trent’s lips quirked into a slow, soft smile, his thumb stroking over your cheek once more. Then suddenly the air shifted the moment he spoke again.

“It’s getting late.” The words landed between you like a sharp, unexpected chill, slicing through the warmth that had settled in the room, in your bones, in the spaces between your tangled limbs. It felt like a bomb. Like he had pulled you close, let you sink into him, let you believe in the comfort of his arms—only to push you back out into the cold. Trent’s jaw tensed the second the words left his mouth, his eyes flicking to the screen in something close to panic. Why the fuck did I say that? He hadn’t even been aware of the time, hadn’t cared, hadn’t thought beyond the way your body fit against his, the way your breath fanned soft and steady against his chest. But somewhere, deep in the uncharted parts of his mind, that old, ingrained instinct had kicked in—girl + no sex + too comfortable + real feelings = out. A reflex he didn’t even recognize until it had already sabotaged him. Your body shifted slightly, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you were pulling away.

“Yeah… I can—” But before you could finish, his hand pressed firm against the small of your back, holding you to him—a silent plea. Don’t go. I didn’t mean that. I don’t know how to do this. Please. His fingers flexed slightly, gripping you like he was afraid you might slip through them. But Trent didn’t know how to say that. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to admit it to himself. Your lips parted, brows pinching in confusion, the space between you thick with an unspoken question neither of you knew how to answer. It was an awkward moment in your mind, and yet… still, your bodies fit together like they had been carved to match. A painfully beautiful contrast—uncertainty in your heads, inevitability in your limbs. He exhaled, finally forcing words out before he lost you completely.

“Whatever you want.” The words were rough, hesitant. “I can drive you home, you can Uber…” He sighed, eyes fluttering closed for a beat, trying to regroup, trying to gather the courage to say what he really wanted to say. Your heart dangerously close to falling off the edge of a cliff and shattering. And then, finally, he let himself give in. Give into what he really wanted. “Or personally, I’d really love it if you stayed over. You’re welcome to, if you’d like. You can stay with me—or a guest be—”

“You.” You cut him off before he could finish, your voice soft but certain. “With you is fine.” A smile, slow and knowing, stretched across your lips—closed-mouth, cheeky, the kind of smile that was both endearing and devastating all at once. You felt the hesitancy and against your better judgement you dragged him into a decision. A flicker of something playful, something teasing, something victorious flashed in your eyes. And Trent felt it—felt the shift, the unspoken Gotcha. Because you both knew it. It didn’t matter how much he tried to fight this, to feign control over what was unraveling between you. It was happening. It had already happened. His lips curled at the corners, helpless against the pull of you.

“It is the best option.” His voice dropped lower, rougher, the warmth of it brushing against your skin. His other hand—formerly resting innocently at your back—trailed lower, teasing over the curve of your ass, his thumb dipping just slightly beneath the waistband of your pants. A suggestion. A question.

“It is.” You hummed, a quiet purr of agreement as you settled back into him, your cheek finding its home against his chest once more. And as you let yourself melt into him, as the outside world blurred, as your lens focused solely on him—you realized something. For the first time, you weren’t scared of the way he shifted your focus. You welcomed it.

[Are You Even Real -Teddy Swims]

The walk to his bedroom was a quiet kind of suspense, a slow, deliberate unraveling of something neither of you had named yet. Trent led you through the dimly lit hallway, your socked feet padding softly against the hardwood. The air between you crackled like static, an invisible thread pulling you closer and yet keeping you just far enough apart to feel the ache of it. After a few meaningless conversations with an undertone of tension he had given you a shirt—his shirt—and you had slipped into it, feeling the way the fabric swallowed you whole, the faint scent of him clinging to your skin like a whisper. You had decided, somewhere between the threshold of his door and the warmth of his bed, that you would test him. If this wasn’t a stunt, if this wasn’t some carefully orchestrated performance, then how would he navigate this? The two of you lay nestled together beneath the weight of his duvet, the hush of the night wrapping around you like a second skin. Like you'd done this a million times. The room was shadowed, the soft glow of a quiet neighborhood slipping in through the parted curtains, casting silver lines across the walls, across the sheets, across his skin. It felt like a moment out of time—suspended, fragile, humming with possibility. And yet, neither of you moved.

The tension was unbearable, thick enough to drown in. It filled your lungs like smoke, hot and suffocating, pressing against your ribs until you felt like you might pass out from the weight of it. You wanted something—him—but the wanting came hand in hand with something else. Something you weren’t sure you were ready to name. Trent was no better. He could feel you against him, the shape of you molding into his front, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your fingers traced lazy patterns over his forearms, soft and featherlight, sending little sparks up his spine. He nuzzled into your hair, breathed you in, let his lips brush ever so slightly against the back of your neck—just enough to make his head swim. Every little movement, every slip of the sheets, every sigh that escaped your lips was another tug on the frayed rope of his restraint.

He was hard.

Hard in a way that was almost painful, aching with the need to press himself closer, to move, to do something. But you weren’t initiating. You were letting him hold you, letting him touch you, letting him pull you into his world and yet—you hadn’t kissed him. Why? The question rang in his mind like an alarm bell, drowning out every other thought. He hadn’t kissed you. Not once. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. You were here. In his bed. In his arms. Wearing his shirt. So why hadn’t he leaned down and captured your lips in his? Why hadn’t he tangled his fingers in your hair, tilted your chin, and tasted the quiet hum of desire lingering between you? Maybe because this felt different. Maybe because it had never been this before. Not with anyone. Trent swallowed hard, his grip on you tightening just slightly, as if holding you closer would somehow anchor him. He wanted you. But more than that—he wanted this. Whatever this was. And maybe, just maybe, that was why he was so afraid to take the first step.

The air between you thickened, charged with something neither of you could name but both of you could feel. The world outside his bedroom had faded, dissolved into a dull hum, leaving just this—just the warmth of his body pressed against yours, just the whisper of your breath mingling in the hush of the night, just the slow, unsteady rhythm of two hearts learning to beat in time with each other. It’d been an hour of this uncomfortable comfort. You were so horny you felt like you might pass out and yet you couldn’t move. It was this inexplicable feeling of ambivalence. Feeling mixed emotions, both wanting and fearing something and both were for him. Trent didn’t know what to do. The sexual tension in the bed was crackling. Like every slight shift, every sheet that slipped was like a notch on inching him towards desperation. Why were you not initiating? What was he supposed to do? Both of you in silent internal wars with yourselves fighting battles in silence as he held you. Your back to his chest, his arms slinked around your waist, your hands rubbing over his forearms as he nuzzled into your hair. It was a live wire ready to implode. Trent wanted to fuck you so bad, he was so hard he didn’t even know how to begin but that was the thing… nothing had begun.

The game you were playing—this slow, torturous dance of restraint—was beginning to unravel at the seams. Your own resolve, once a steel fortress, was now a crumbling ruin under the weight of him. Every second spent tangled in his arms, with the thick press of his length against you, sent a fresh wave of heat surging through your veins. You felt drunk off the proximity, high on the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, his warmth enveloping you like a drug you never meant to take but now couldn’t live without.

Trent, for all his teasing and bravado, was on the edge of something catastrophic. It was agony—the softness of your skin against him, the scent of you curling around him like a noose, tightening with every shallow breath. The way your body fit against his, the curve of your ass pressing so perfectly into him, was a test of patience he had never willingly taken before. And that’s what scared him most. Patience. He had never wanted to wait, never needed to hold back, but with you, restraint felt like the only option. Because this wasn’t just lust—it was something bigger, something that stretched beyond the boundaries of the physical. And that’s why he hadn’t kissed you. Because one kiss wouldn’t be just a kiss—it would be like cracking open Pandora’s box, setting loose everything he couldn’t take back. And he knew you felt it too. You would have left by now if you didn’t. You weren’t shy. And yet, you hadn’t kissed him either. The weight of that realization settled between you, heavy and undeniable. And then, as you shifted, his length nestled between the dip of your ass, sending a fresh wave of agonizing pleasure coursing through him. Trent shut his eyes, his jaw tightening, a low, wrecked groan rumbling in his chest. You felt it, too—the sharp inhale you took, the subtle arch of your back pressing closer, like you were drawn to him against your better judgment. Paris flashing through your minds like a carousel slide projector. And then – he snapped.

"You never let me have you..." His voice was rough, almost pained, as his arms tightened around you, his lips ghosting over the delicate skin of your neck. Each word was breathed against you, melting into your skin like something sacred. Finally those lips who caught you in the club in Ibiza were on your neck but you tensed. They didn’t feel how you thought they would. No, they were better.

"That’s on purpose," you whispered, your voice barely above the sound of your own heartbeat. And then, deliberately, you removed your hands from his forearms, leaving yourself open, vulnerable—giving him the space to take, if he dared. And yet… he didn’t. A surprise to you. A shock to him. Instead, his thumb skimmed over the soft skin of your stomach, slow, reverent. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your neck, a touch so intimate it sent a sharp ache straight to your chest. Something lodged itself in your throat—something terrifying, something fragile. "You scare me." The words slipped out into the vast darkness of his bedroom, hanging there, naked and true. Your bottom lip wavered, rolling between your teeth, because never—not once in your life—had you been held like this. Trent’s eyes shut, an ache rifling through his chest. He didn’t want to hurt you. He didn’t but a part of him was terrified he couldn’t not. But the way you felt in his arms made him try.

"C’mere." His voice was a whisper, soft as a feather against your skin, carrying a weight far heavier than sound. He turned you in his arms with an ease that sent shivers down your spine, as if you belonged there, as if his embrace was a shape carved perfectly for you to fit into. The sheets tangled around your legs, your bare skin skimming against his warmth, and when he pulled you closer, it wasn’t just your body he was trying to keep near—it was something deeper, something unspoken. His hands traced lazy circles on your back, fingertips mapping the soft planes of your skin. You nuzzled into the curve of his neck, the heat of him intoxicating, the faint scent of him—clean, warm, unmistakably Trent—wrapping around you like a lullaby. Your lips barely had to move to press a kiss there, just the softest pout against his pulse, and you felt the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly against your spine. You were hiding against him.

"I think I like you." The words slipped out before you could catch them, barely more than a murmur, but they carried the weight of an anchor dropping into deep, uncharted waters. Your hands clenched against the firm muscles of his back, instinctively pulling yourself tighter against him, as if bracing for impact. A beat of silence. Then—

"I’m very likable." It was cheeky, effortless, the kind of thing that might’ve made you roll your eyes on another day. The man you met on holiday suddenly appearing in your arms. It wasn’t something he did, you recalled, it was something he is and it made your heart hurt. And right now, in the fragile intimacy of his bed, it felt like a misstep, a stumble where you needed a steady hand. Like the one he offered to board the yacht and so seamlessly pulled away. Something in you recoiled, not fully, but just enough for Trent to feel it—the subtlest shift, the way your breath stilled for just a second too long. And Trent felt it. His eyes fluttered closed, frustration flickering across his features. Why did he always do this? Why couldn’t he just let himself be earnest, let the truth settle without buffering it with humor? Cheek had always been his shield, his way of keeping people at arm’s length, girls at length, of making sure no one ever got too close. But you—he didn’t want distance from you. He exhaled, long and quiet, before gently coaxing you back, pulling you from the safety of his neck so he could see you. And when your eyes met, something in your chest tightened. His forehead dropped against yours, noses brushing, breath mingling, and suddenly, there was nowhere to hide. "You know I like you." The words weren’t loud, but they didn’t have to be. The way he said them, the way his voice dipped into something raw and unguarded, made your stomach turn over. None of this made sense, you didn’t know him and yet when you looked back at him it felt like you’d known him in every lifetime. His bedroom cracked with silence—the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but full. Full of meaning. Full of things you didn’t know how to say, things you weren’t sure if you were ready to hear. And Trent knew. He knew your silence wasn’t uncertainty. It was confirmation. You knew he did. You knew this was real. You knew this was as terrifying for him as it was for you. His hands spread across the small of your back, grounding you, tethering you. "Can I kiss you?" He asked. That was how thick the tension was, how palpable the moment had become. He didn’t just lean in—he asked. Because this wasn’t just impulse, wasn’t just hunger, wasn’t just something to take. It was something fragile, something that needed both of you to jump at the same time.The man from the holiday in Ibiza with a plan evaporated, leaving only a boy who didn’t know what he was doing. Your throat bobbed with a swallow, your lips parting slightly. You should say something, should fill the space, but all you could do was nod. And that? That was enough to unravel him. The corner of his lips curled—just a little, just enough to let the warmth of it sink into your bones. "C’mere, baby." His voice was a whisper, barely a breath, but it sent something deep and visceral through you. His hands flexed, gripping you, pulling you flush against him as he dipped his head. And then— Your lips met. Slow. Excruciatingly slow.

It wasn’t hurried, wasn’t desperate. It was patient, deliberate—like a promise unfolding between you. His lips moved against yours in perfect sync, a rhythm neither of you had to search for, a rhythm that had been waiting for this exact moment to be found.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was trust. It was a pact. A silent agreement that said, I like you. I’m scared. But I’m here.

The kiss lingered even after it ended, like a ghost of warmth pressed into your lips, like an imprint left in the fabric of time. You didn’t push for more.

Yes, you wanted him—wanted the way he felt beneath your hands, wanted the way he could unravel you with just a look. But tonight, the air between you was too delicate, too electric with something that felt bigger than just desire. Vulnerability clung to your skin, pooling in the hollow spaces between your ribs. You felt seen, and it terrified you. The way Trent radiated light, warm and golden, left you feeling overexposed—stripped bare in a way that had nothing to do with touch and everything to do with him. So instead of reaching for more, you curled into him, letting your body melt into the shape of his. His arms tightened around you instinctively, like his hold on you was a reflex rather than a choice. You settled into a comfortable cuddle. Your fingers, lazy and light, traced the sculpted ridges of his abs, your touch featherlight, absentminded. Beneath your fingertips, his muscles flexed, and he exhaled deeply, as though grounding himself in the feel of you. Trent had never felt so at peace. That kiss—just one kiss—had been enough to settle something inside him. Enough to make him feel like he could sleep soundly for the first time in what felt like forever. The ache inside him still lingered, a low hum beneath his skin, but it was dulled by something greater. He was in deep. He didn’t even know how deep, only that he was past the point of return. You had him. He would follow you down to the darkest depths if it meant keeping you close, if it meant feeling the warmth of your breath against his collarbone as you sighed into his skin.

You looked like an angel. Not the soft, glowing kind depicted in stained-glass windows—but something darker, something that carried the weight of gravity itself. A dark angel who had dragged him under, straight to the bottom, and God help him, but he didn’t want to come up for air. His gaze swept over you—the way your cheek rested against his chest, the way his shirt hung off your frame, drowning you in the scent of him. You looked right here. Like you belonged here. He imagined you in other moments, glimpses of a future he hadn’t dared to picture before—watching him from the stands at a match, your expression unreadable yet still unmistakably his. The way you’d look above him, pupils blown wide, breathless, beautiful. The sound of your laughter tangled with the hum of a movie in the background, curled into his side like you were now. But this? This was something else entirely. This was you, undone. Stripped of all the careful armor you carried through life, lying here in his bed, safe in the circle of his arms. And it filled him with something he didn’t have words for, something raw and overwhelming, something he could only pray you felt, too. He searched for something to say—some way to capture the enormity of the feeling pressing against his ribcage. But instead, he settled for what was safe, what was easy.

"Tired?" His voice was low, rough around the edges, as his fingers raked over the curve of your waist. You nodded, your body pliant against him, utterly pacified by the way he held you, by the way he felt. You hugged him. Arms wound tight around his middle, your breath steady against his chest, your entire body soft and trusting in his embrace. Trent let his lips graze the top of your head, lingering there, eyes fluttering shut as he whispered against your hair,

"You’re so beautiful." Your breathing slowed. Your fingers stilled over his heart. Your features softened, slipping into something serene, something almost unreal. "Y/N… I…" His chest rose with the inhale he didn’t realize he was taking, words teetering on the edge of his tongue. Something wanted to come out—something close to a confession, something close to surrender. But when he glanced down, you were already slipping into sleep, eyes closed, completely lost to him in a different way. Trent swallowed hard. Why were you so okay with not having sex tonight? He didn’t know. Maybe you didn’t either. Maybe it was insane, maybe it was impossible, maybe it was the furthest thing from logical— And yet, somehow, it was right. Because what you had just shared—the kiss, the silence, the way you settled into his hold so easily—was more than what he could take from you physically. It was something sacred, something unspoken but understood. He wanted you. Badly. His body ached for you in ways he couldn’t begin to express. But this? This was better. This was everything.

[All To You - Sabrina Claudio]

The morning was decadent, gilded in gold. Sunlight seeped through the curtains in honeyed ribbons, dripping over tangled sheets and warm, bare skin. The air was thick with the slow, syrupy sweetness of a morning that begged to be savored—no rush, no rules, just pleasure stretched out like a feast waiting to be indulged. And you? You wanted to be the main course. Trent’s chest rose and fell beneath you, steady, solid, his. You traced lazy circles over the expanse of muscle, memorizing the way the morning light kissed the dips and planes of his body. Waking up here, wrapped in his warmth, pressed against his heartbeat—it was a rare kind of bliss, the type that felt almost sinful to keep for yourself. You should’ve wanted to slip out, to reclaim some of the distance you so carefully guarded. But there was no urge to flee, no instinct to untangle yourself from him. Not after last night. Not this morning. This morning, you wanted to stay.

"It’s the next day." Your voice was soft against his skin, lips grazing over the warmth of his chest, each kiss an unspoken promise. You let your mouth wander, pressing against his collarbone, trailing up the smooth expanse of his neck, indulging in the way he shivered beneath you. A sleepy hum rumbled from his throat, gravelly and slow, his body stirring before his mind caught up. He was half-lost in the haze of sleep, but instinctively, his head tilted to the side, granting you more access, his arms winding tighter around your waist. You smiled against his skin. Trent had barely woken up but he was already hard—had gone to bed that way, after hours of restraint, he was practically aching. And now? Now, you were playing with him. "Was yesterday a date?" you whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear before tugging on his earlobe with your teeth. His eyes fluttered open, still clouded with sleep, but sharp enough to catch the way your body slinked further on top of his, your weight pressing into him with deliberate intent. A slow, knowing smirk curled at his lips.

"Mmm. Could’ve been." He smirked. You dragged out your next words like syrup over warm pancakes, slow and thick, each syllable dripping with something dangerously sweet.

"Well, if it was…" your palm trailed down the length of his torso, nails lightly scraping over taut abs, "then that would mean our first date was yesterday." Trent watched you, intrigued, turned on, and amused all at once, his hunger for you tangled with curiosity, pulling your body completely on top of his now.

"Alright, so our first date was yesterday." His voice was a low rumble, his smirk widening as his hands slid up your thighs. "What’s that mean for today?" You shifted on top of him, pressing yourself against his length, feeling the way he throbbed beneath you, the heat of him a perfect match to the fire pooling in your stomach.

"I’m a girl with standards." You whispered. The words left your lips like a confession, but your movements betrayed your sin, your hips rolling against him just enough to make his breath hitch, relishing in the way his hard length felt under your pulsing core. His hands found their place on your ass, kneading, gripping, his fingers flexing as if he needed something to hold onto to keep from losing control.

"And I like that about you." His voice was thick with want, rough around the edges, the hunger in his eyes deepening as he tugged at the hem of his own shirt—the one you were still draped in, the one that barely hid what he so desperately craved. Your smile was wicked, teasing, as you let him guide your body completely on top of his, dragging you against him like he was savoring every inch.

"So, it wouldn’t count as sleeping with you on the first date." You smiled at him knowingly as you let him glid your body back and forth on top of him. Both of you on the verge of imploding but the witt was too fun to end.

“Nah, no it wouldn’t.” Trent exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. His hands moved around your hips, his fingers flexing into you before grabbing the hem of his shirt you were in, holding you to him with it in place like reigns.

“You wouldn’t judge me?” You asked sinfully as you sat back, straddling him, your palms on pressing down on his chest,

“Nah never judge you, said it yourself our date was yesterday, today's today.” He looked at you like you were breakfast—something indulgent, something sinfully sweet and impossible to resist. And right now, he was starving. Your hands trailed lower, dragging over his body before settling over his, guiding his fingers beneath the fabric of the shirt. Together, you peeled it off, the barrier falling between you like the last scrap of restraint. And then, you were there, bathed in morning light, your bare skin kissed golden, a vision of temptation. A goddess at dawn. Syrup dripped in slow, golden streams over your curves, your body a masterpiece of warmth and light. Trent swallowed hard, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as his hands found you again, palms skimming up your thighs, your waist, your ribs, like he was savoring every inch.

"Oh my fucking god, baby." His voice was thick, reverent, his eyes lit up. He wanted to devour you and you felt good about it. He made you feel good about it.

The morning draped over Trent’s bedroom like honey, thick and slow, seeping into every crevice. The warm light bathed his skin in soft amber, highlighting the ridges of his abs, the deep, slow rise and fall of his chest, and the way his muscles twitched under your touch. There was something sinful about mornings like this, where desire didn’t spark—it smoldered. A slow burn. Sweet and decadent, like melted butter on hot pancakes, pooling at the edges, waiting to be devoured. And Trent? He was starving.

"You were really good last night, T," you purred, voice thick with amusement and something much more dangerous as you slinked down his body, the thin sheets slipping off his waist like an afterthought. The contrast between your teasing words and the heat brewing in your touch made Trent's jaw tick, his knuckles flexing against the mattress.

"Yeah?" His voice was still raspy with sleep, but the way he looked at you was anything but tired. His dark eyes traced the way your fingers danced over his skin, your nails barely scraping over his abdomen, the ghost of a touch enough to make his cock twitch. "Was really hard for me, baby." And it was. The restraint almost killed him. You smirked, nails dragging lower.

"I know…" Your fingers grazed over his hardness, the heat of him scalding against your palm. "You're hard right now." Trent let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head, but you didn’t miss the way his abs tensed, his thighs flexing beneath you.

"I've been hard since I knocked on your door…" His voice dropped, deeper, rougher, more desperate. "Probably since I met you too." Your giggle was sinful, dripping with amusement as you slid further down, kneeling between his legs, your hands smoothing over the toned muscle of his thighs. Trent’s eyes darkened, his chest rising faster now, anticipation curling around his limbs like smoke. "So if I was good last night, baby…" His voice was low, coaxing, teasing, but laced with something raw. His fingers brushed over your cheek, down to your jaw, tilting your face up so he could watch the way your lips parted at his touch. "You gonna be a good girl for me this morning?" You tilted your head, letting your lips ghost over the inside of his thigh, feeling the shudder that ran through him like a ripple in water. You peeled off his boxers slowly. His cock sprang free, thick, heavy against his abs, already leaking, already aching for you

"I told you," you mused, voice light, airy, but your eyes—your eyes were anything but. "I have standards to uphold." Trent smirked, the same words you’d used before rolling off his tongue, only this time, there was a different kind of hunger behind them.

"And I like that about you." His thumb traced your bottom lip, his patience hanging by a thread. "So show me what a good girl you can be." You didn’t make him wait any longer. Your tongue ran along his length, slow, deliberate, savoring the way his body jerked at the first touch, how his hands fisted the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white. Spit dripped from your lips, messy and obscene, trickling down his cock in shimmering trails before you let your hand follow, stroking him with the slickness of your own need. "Fuck," Trent groaned, head falling back for a moment, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down the pleasure threatening to wreck him too soon. But then his head snapped back up because he couldn’t afford to miss this—not the way you looked between his legs, hair cascading over your shoulders, lips swollen, eyes gleaming with mischief. Then you pressed your tits together, wrapping them around his length, and Trent’s breath stuttered. His hips lifted off the bed instinctively, chasing the tight, warm friction as his cock slid between the plushness of your skin. He was losing his mind.

"Have you thought about me like this, T?" you asked, lips brushing over his tip, teasing, taunting. His fingers twitched like they wanted to grab you, force you down, but he held back—barely.

"So fucking much," he rasped. "You're so fucking sexy, baby." You hummed, watching the way his jaw clenched at the vibration.

"Why'd you wait so long then?" you mused, tongue flicking over the slit, savoring the way his body tensed beneath you. It was a taunt. You could feel his cock pulse against your tongue, hot and heavy, the need rolling off him in waves. Trent let out a shaky chuckle, but there was a sharp edge to it, a desperation creeping into his voice.

"I don’t fucking know," he admitted, hips bucking slightly as he fucked the softness of your tits, watching them bounce, eyes clouded with something close to ruin. "I'm a fucking idiot." And then—without warning—you took him into your mouth. Trent's body jolted, a wrecked noise escaping his lips, something between a moan and a whimper. His head fell back, fingers tangling in the sheets before they found their rightful place—your hair, twisting in the strands, not to force, just to ground himself. Because he was drowning in you, sweet and slow, sticky like syrup, and the taste of you was something he never wanted to let go. Trent’s body trembled beneath you, his abs tightening, his muscles straining as he fought off the inevitable. His cock throbbed against your tongue, slick with your spit, your mouth wet, warm, devastating. “Fuck, good girl, just like that” Trent groaned. His words making your pussy throb. You moaned again around him, the vibrations just about sending Trent over the edge. You hollowed your cheeks and forced yourself to take more of his cock down your throat. Spit pooled in the corners of your mouth as you gagged a little around him. You bobbed your head, taking him deeper as he started to twitch in your mouth as he hit the back of your throat continuously His breaths came in ragged pants, his hands twisting into the sheets so tightly it was like he needed an anchor, something to keep him grounded before he lost himself completely. “Nah, baby, I’m gonna—nah, nah—” His voice was hoarse, desperate. And then, with a sharp inhale, he pulled you off him, his cock jerking against his stomach as he sat up. His hands cupped your face, thumbs smearing the mess on your lips, eyes ablaze with something carnal. He had been patient, so fucking patient, but not anymore. “You don’t get to be in charge in here, hmm?” Your lips parted, your tongue darting out to taste the remnants of him on your lips, and the way your eyes darkened at his words nearly drove him to madness.

“How come?” you countered, voice like silk, but your expression betrayed you—cheeks flushed, chest heaving, nipples peaked, spit and precum smeared across your tits like an artist’s signature. You looked ruined already, but Trent knew better. He hadn’t even started. A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he sat back, taking you in like a starving man before issuing his command.

“Lay down f’me.” You moved to your back, but he wasn’t having that. Before you could even settle beside him, Trent grabbed you, flipping you onto your stomach with ease, his hands gripping your hips as he loomed over you. His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down your spine. “You don’t get to be in charge because…” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear, dragging his lips lower, down the curve of your spine, his voice dripping with heat, with want. “You like being a good girl for me and I’ve been craving my good girl.” Your back arched involuntarily, a shaky breath escaping you as his mouth continued its descent. His kisses were slow, methodical, each press of his lips like syrup pooling onto warm skin, melting into you, seeping deep. “I know you’ve been dreaming of this too…” he mused, kissing the swell of your ass. Your body was on fire, your fingers curling into the sheets, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. And then—without warning—his tongue was on you, dragging up the entire length of your sex, a long, torturous stroke from front all the way to the back, all the way. A sound tore from your throat—sinful, raw, utterly wrecked. A whimper, a moan, a desperate plea all tangled into one. Trent smirked against you, his hands spreading you wider, kneading your ass as he settled between your legs, his tongue flicking, teasing, tasting. “Tell me, baby…” he murmured against your slick heat before sucking your clit into his mouth.

“Mmmhm.” It was the only sound you could manage, your mind going blank, pleasure crashing through you like a tidal wave.

“I know, baby. I know what you like.” His voice was deep, low, nearly lost in the filthy sounds of his tongue working you over, licking, sucking, fucking you open with long strokes. Trent was back in his element. You and he clicked. Your bodies made for the other. His tongue felt perfect just for you and he thought so too. “So be a good girl.” He commanded and you gasped as he devoured you like a man starved, tongue moving with precision, with purpose, dragging out every whimper, every moan, every sharp gasp you had to offer. The noises were obscene, wet and messy, something that should’ve been censored, but Trent wanted to hear it all—wanted to drown in the sounds of your pleasure, wanted to feel you shatter against his mouth. And then he slid two fingers inside you, curling them just right, and you swore you nearly blacked out. “Mmm, right there, hm?” He hummed against you and that was it. A high like no other crashed over you. Your body quivering.

“T…” His name spilled from your lips in a desperate, broken whimper as he worked you past your limits, past what you thought you could take, dragging you into a place where time didn’t exist, only sensation. He smirked against you, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to your inner thigh, reveling in the way your body trembled, the way your hips rocked against his face, chasing, needing.

“What do you need?” he murmured, lips trailing back up, pressing a kiss to the small of your back, his fingers still thrusting, still pulling you apart. And then, in a voice you’d never heard outside of these moments with him.

“Please.” you whimpered, a single, fragile plea. A tear slipped onto the pillow beneath you, but you weren’t even sure if it was from desperation or pleasure. Trent’s lips curled into a smug, satisfied grin. He loved you like this—completely undone, begging for him. He sat back, his hands smoothing over your hips before delivering a sharp slap to your ass. The sound echoed, the sting spreading deliciously, and the way you moaned? Fuck.

“C’mere, baby.” His voice was thick, husky, dripping with desire as he grabbed you, pulling you onto his lap, guiding you to straddle him. His cock was hot and heavy against your slick folds, pulsing with need, aching to be inside you. You were desperate and moved quick for him. And when you finally sank down onto him, when he filled you inch by inch, stretching you, fitting so perfectly it was like you were made for this—made for him—Trent let out a guttural, broken moan, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, eyes snapping shut, head falling back, the sheer feeling of you overwhelming. "You feel like—" He couldn't even finish the sentence. Because you felt like heaven. Like sin. Like indulgence. Like the sweetest, stickiest, most intoxicating thing he'd ever tasted. And now that he had you, he was never letting go.

The room was drenched in golden light, spilling in thick and hazy through the curtains, casting honeyed stripes across Trent’s bare skin making it all feel like a dream. The air between you was hot, heavy, thick with desperation. Sweat clung to your bodies making everything feel sticky—like sugar melting onto warm skin, like syrup pooling into the crevices of a plate.

“Why didn’t you fuck me last night?” you whimpered, your voice laced with frustration, desperation, asking more so why you deprived yourself of this. Oh my god, you forgot how good this fucking felt. You were raw with need, as you rode him, your slick heat enveloping his cock with every slow, torturous grind. “Feel so good—why’d you wait?” Trent groaned, his head falling back against the pillow, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was barely holding himself together. His hands gripped your hips, thumbs pressing into your skin, trying—failing—to keep control. His restraint was slipping like syrup down the curve of a spoon, slow but inevitable, thick and indulgent.

“Wanted you needy for me,” he rasped, though it wasn’t the truth. Not really. But he knew saying it would make you burn hotter, would make you ache deeper, and fuck, he wanted to feel that. You whined at his words, your body shivering, your walls tightening around him as if protesting the slow pace, as if demanding more. His hands cupped your tits, soft palms kneading, thumbs flicking over your pebbled nipples, drawing out a gasp from your swollen lips. You leaned forward, your palms flattening against his solid chest, feeling the wild, erratic hammering of his heart beneath your fingertips. It was a beautiful thing, how completely you unraveled him, how his self-control splintered in your hands like spun sugar snapping apart under too much heat. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice deep, guttural, barely a whisper of sound but heavy as sin. His fingers dragged down your waist, over your ass, gripping you like you were his anchor to reality. “Show me how much you need me.” You obeyed without hesitation, rolling your hips with purpose, your clit grinding against his abs as you moved, your breath hitching with every brush of friction. Your body was slick with sweat, gleaming in the morning light, a vision of pure decadence above him. “Tell me how bad you need my cock,” he demanded, his words both a tease and a command, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your pussy throbbed, clenching around him at his tone, at the teasing restraint in his voice. You were losing yourself in the slow, syrupy slide of him inside you, in the way he filled you so perfectly it was almost cruel. You whimpered, your head dropping forward, pressing your forehead to his, lips brushing, breath mingling.

“T, please.” Your voice was a breathy, broken plea, sweet and desperate. “Gonna make me cum again. Needed your cock.” You pouted. His lips curled into a knowing smirk, but his own breathing was ragged, his composure fraying with every passing second. Then cruelly, suddenly, he stopped your movements, instead of letting you sink down again, he held you there—suspended, just barely connected, the tip of his cock teasing your soaked, swollen heat. You let out a needy whimper, your hands fisting against his chest.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmured, his tone shifting, thickening. There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, in the way his eyes locked onto yours, molten brown, dark with want. Then, finally, he let go. You sank onto him, taking him all at once, your body stretching, accommodating, welcoming. A strangled sound escaped Trent’s throat, his hands flying to your hips as if he could ground himself, as if the sheer feeling of being back inside you wasn’t enough to shatter him. Like he missed you even in the millisecond you were apart. You leaned all the way back, hands bracing behind you for support as you rode him in earnest, your body moving with purpose, with intent. The way his cock filled you, the way his thick length pressed against every nerve, had your mind spinning, pleasure building like steam trapped in a kettle, pressure rising, rising, rising. Trent’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your thighs, his head lifting from the pillow just so he could watch you—watch your tits bounce, watch the way your body moved, watch how completely you gave yourself over to him. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice strained, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he was on the edge of unraveling. “You feel—baby, you feel so fucking good.” He wanted to control you, but this was an even playing field, you had him under a spell, whether you knew it or not. Your moans were a symphony, a desperate, breathy melody filling the air between you. Every thrust sent sparks of pleasure licking down your spine, every roll of your hips pushed you closer, wound you tighter. And then Trent’s hand moved between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, and that was it.

“Oh, fuck—T... I’m—” Your words melted into a cry, your body tightening, pleasure crashing over you in thick, sap ridden waves. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock, pulling him deeper into your pleasure, into your undoing. Trent’s restraint snapped. With a hoarse groan, his hips bucked, his hands gripping your hips again as he thrust up into you, chasing his own release. His orgasm hit like a force of nature, a raw, desperate sound tearing from his throat as he filled you, his cock pulsing, his entire body shuddering beneath you. The aftershocks left you both trembling, sweat-slicked and breathless, your heartbeats a frantic, tangled rhythm. You collapsed onto his chest, your cheek resting over his hammering heart, your body still pulsing around him, still clinging to the last remnants of pleasure. Trent’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly close, his lips trailing slow, lazy kisses along your temple, your jaw, your shoulder.

“Fuck —” He exhaled in utter disbelief. He felt like he was on another planet. He didn’t know where he was. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmured against your skin, voice thick with exhaustion, with satisfaction, with something deeper he wasn’t ready to name. And as the morning light spilled golden over you, wrapping you both in its warmth, you let yourself melt into him, bodies tangled, hearts still racing, lost in the sticky-sweet haze of each other. The sheets were tangled at your waist, the scent of sex and skin lingering in the air, mingling with the crispness of fresh linen. Your limbs were heavy, boneless with satisfaction, your breath still uneven as you rested against Trent’s chest, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over his skin in an effort to tell your brain he was actually underneath you. "You okay, baby?" he murmured, his voice thick with adoration, low and hushed like a secret meant only for you. His hand smoothed over the dip of your spine, fingers spreading wide against your sweat-slicked skin, grounding you in the moment. “Did so good for me.” His words felt like he actually cared, like he actually meant them. And he did but the sincerity of the moment broke when you let out a breathy giggle. You pressed yourself closer to him, feeling the delicious warmth radiating from his body, the sticky evidence of your love still lingering between your thighs. The euphoria was bubbling inside you, too light, too overwhelming to contain, and soon, the giggle grew into a laugh, airy and uncontrollable.

“What up with you, beautiful?” Trent chuckled, lifting his head slightly, his lips curving into a lazy, satisfied smile. His fingers flexed against your ass, kneading playfully as he kissed the slope of your shoulder, hoping—praying—the laughter was a good thing, not an embarrassing one.

“Oh my god,” you gasped between giggles, shaking your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck as if you could somehow hide from the moment. “That felt so good.” Trent let out a deep, pleased hum, his hands exploring the softness of your thighs, your waist, your hips—the places he had just held so tightly as he lost himself in you.

“Yeah?” He kissed your temple, then the bridge of your nose, then your cheek, as if he needed to taste your joy, as if your happiness was something he wanted to devour. “So good you can’t stop giggling?” You nodded, eyes squeezed shut, lips pulled into the most radiant smile, your happiness spilling out of you like golden honey, thick and sweet, impossible to contain. “C’mere, lemme see you,” he coaxed, voice gentle but firm as his hands guided you to sit up, straddling him once more. Your bodies remained connected, skin against skin, and yet, this felt different—intimate in a way that went beyond touch. You were on full display for him now, but there was no shyness, no hesitation. Only warmth. Only the golden glow of him, his gaze soft and reverent, drinking you in like you were a sunrise he’d been waiting his whole life to see. You saw it then—the way he was looking at you. Like you were something beautiful. Like you were something his hands weren’t worthy of holding, and yet, he was never letting you go. You bit your lip, overwhelmed in the best way, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to regulate your breathing. He tilted his head, watching you with a boyish grin, his dimples deep, his eyes twinkling with disbelief. “You alright?” he asked again, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your hip. You nodded, pressing your lips together, a childish closed-mouth smile spreading across your face as you wiggled slightly in his lap. Trent let out a groan with a cheeky smile, rolling his head to the side, dragging one hand over his face as if he needed to compose himself. “Honestly…” he exhaled, voice still laced with exhaustion, dragging his fingers over his curls, the other hand gripping your hip like he was trying to keep himself tethered to reality. You giggled again, your fingers trailing up the ridges of his chest, his warm skin flexing beneath your touch. His breath hitched slightly, and his gaze snapped back to yours, dark and mesmerized, as you arched your back like a cat, slinking against him, your lips ghosting over the path your hands had just traveled. His breath stuttered, his heart hammering against your palm. “Fuck off. You’re unreal,” he murmured, awe laced in every syllable. You smirked against his skin, letting your lips skim over the hollow of his throat. “I’m keeping you, baby.” He murmured into your hair as he pulled you tighter to his body. He didn’t know what he meant and neither did you. But you wanted him to keep you. Keep you right here in his arms as his hands gripped your waist. He pulled you from the nape of his neck and cupped your cheeks, holding your face in front of his. There was something behind that stare that neither of you knew how to name, but you could feel it. And like magnets, his lips met yours again like a tidal wave, swallowing your words, your laughter, your breath. The kiss was soft, gentle, a contradiction of hungry lips, of tongues tangling and teeth grazing, but hands roaming as if memorizing each other’s bodies all over again, needing to know more. You melted into him, into his warmth, into the way his hands held you like he was afraid you might disappear.

“Please.” You pulled back slightly, just enough to rest your forehead against his, your thumb brushing his jaw, your voice a whisper between his lips. And with a singular word, Trent felt the blood flow to his heart block. You felt like a heart attack in his arms and on his lips, nestled in his bed, hidden in the deepest folds of his brain.

•

Thank you for reading! Welcome to my new fic 'Aperture' I really hope you enjoy this chapter and look forward to what's ahead!

PLEASE PLEASE Please like, comment, or message what you think!!!

Next part - Chapter 7 - Everything, Something, Nothing

📷 🪩 💄 🤍 🎞️ 🎱🍸 💷

#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

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mumms-the-word · 2 months ago

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A Birthday for Manfred

Characters: Emmrich x Rook Thorne, and also Manfred obviously Summary: Grace Thorne finds out that Manfred has never had a birthday (spirits aren't technically born, after all). While Emmrich is distracted with the ever-increasing pressures of the encounters facing them at Tearstone Island, she decides to take matters into her own hands and plan a surprise birthday party. (ao3 link) A/N: I wrote this as a birthday gift for the super talented @sorceresssundries but it is embarrassingly late for a birthday gift. So now it is simply a gift! I hope you have a wonderful day, friend!! Never forget that you're loved and appreciated and you're a fantastic, galaxy-brained writer to boot!

“Emmrich. When is Manfred’s birthday?”

Emmrich paused mid-sentence in the letter he was reading at his desk. The question had preceded the asker, so for a split second he swore he had merely imagined it. But then Grace entered his study, eyebrows lifted in a way that suggested the question, posed in her voice, was in fact not a figment of his imagination.

Question aside, she entered with a purpose, the set of her shoulders speaking of determination. She had plans in mind—perhaps even plans already in motion—and she was carrying herself forth by the momentum of those plans. It took Emmrich another second to even register her question. “I beg your pardon?”

“Manfred’s birthday. When is it?”

“Erm…” Emmrich slowly folded the letter, a missive from the Mourn Watch about the wards they’ve cast and the precautions they have taken with Johanna’s skull, and focused on positioning it perfectly center in the cleared spot on his desk. Why did he get the sense that he was about to be in trouble? “What a curious question.”

Grace narrowed her eyes and folded her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve never celebrated it.”

Emmrich cleared his throat delicately, finally looking up at her again. “Of course I haven’t celebrated any birthday for Manfred. He was never born at all.”

Her eyes widened. “Never? As in, you’ve never celebrated…even once?”

He sighed. “Well it isn’t as if it was an intentional decision on my part. It simply never occurred to me.”

As she continued to stare, he steepled his fingers and rested his hands on his desk, a gentle lecture already forming in his mind. “Spirits aren’t born, my dear, they’re formed,” he reminded her. “Manifested by the power of emotion and thought. If you mean to ask what day correlates with the day his spirit first formed in the Fade, I’m afraid we will never know. The first flutterings of spirit life are so faint, they’re completely obscured by the tumult of the larger Fade itself. In fact,” (he couldn’t resist adding more knowledge to the subject, as it was a source of fascination for him personally) “it’s a popular topic of debate among mage scholars, whether we can predict the first glimmers of spirit life or measure the time between a spirit’s first spark and when it becomes a wisp tangible enough to communicate, however primitively, with others.”

Grace had that expression she sometimes acquired when speaking with him where she was trying, politely, to follow his lecture but felt that they had somehow veered off topic along the way. Not confusion, but simply quiet amusement. “So…you don’t know how old Manfred is.”

“Not a clue,” Emmrich said cheerfully. “Perhaps, as his powers of speech develop, we may one day ask him. Though in my experience spirits seem to have such a ubiquitous view of time that his answer may ultimately prove unsatisfactory by our mortal standards.”

Grace shook her head. “Okay, then forget his spirit birthday. When is his…I don’t know. The day he got his body. Or completed his body. Or…” She snapped her fingers suddenly. “His name day. When did you start calling him Manfred?”

“Well, let me think…” Emmrich cast his mind back, sifting through his memories. Manfred had been with him so long already that it was strange to recall a time he hadn’t been around. “That must have been the day he picked out his own skull.” He couldn’t help but chuckle “Ah, I remember it as though it were yesterday.”

He smiled to himself, lost in the memory. Manfred’s spirit, still a bright young wisp, had bobbed curiously from skull to skull where they had been placed along a stone table. Though he had briefly inhabited a skull or two, his wisp light peeking out from the eye sockets, it wasn’t until his current skull that he had practically sang, in the way only spirits could, with elation and joy. Emmrich had more than a few proud tears in his eyes when he fastened the skull to the rest of the skeleton he had constructed. He could have sung for joy himself at the sound of Manfred’s first hiss the moment he inhabited the body and claimed it as his own.

“Ah.” He sniffed faintly, blinking past the threat of more tears. It wouldn’t do to be weepy at such a time as this. They had more pressing troubles, like their impending clash with the Evanuris in the uncomfortably near future. “How remarkable that so much time has passed already. And yet so little.”

And to think, had he not given up lichdom, his years with Manfred would have been cut cruelly short.

He looked up again to find Grace leaning her hip against his desk, a gentle, affectionate smile on her lips as she watched him. She tilted her head, her red curls tumbling over her shoulder. “What did you call him before? When he was just a wisp.”

“Why, I called him by his spirit then—simply Curiosity. At that stage, Curiosity only really responds when addressed directly. The name Manfred came to me later, as we were selecting skulls for him to pick from.”

“Why Manfred?”

“He looks like a Manfred, does he not?” Emmrich asked, smiling. “And when I suggested the name to him, he seemed most pleased.”

“And…” She sat on the edge of his desk and walked her fingers along the surface, toward him. “What day was that, do you remember?”

“Grace, my darling,” he said, unable to resist a a smile. He set his elbows on the desk, wove his fingers together, and rested his chin on his knuckles, a subtle gleam in his eye. “Is there something you’re planning to do with this information?”

“Of course not,” she said, leaning in and letting more curls tumble around her shoulders. They were nearly nose to nose now. He could begin counting the hundreds of freckles that kissed her beautiful skin if he wished to. But her lips formed an alluring little smile, drawing his attention there. “I’m just…curious. Much like our Manfred.”

Our Manfred. How utterly charming. He couldn’t deny the bloom of warmth and pride he felt in his chest at her words.

But he was not to be totally distracted. “Why don’t I believe you?” he said, chuckling again. He hummed thoughtfully under his breath, searching his mind for the answer to her question. “The fifth of Harvestmere. Incidentally, only a few short days from now.”

“Perfect,” she whispered. She leaned even closer to brush a kiss against his lips. “Thank you, darling.”

“Anytime,” he murmured, tones warm and rich. “Now, will you tell me what—”

The door to his study slammed open suddenly. Grace was off the desk in an instant, hand reaching for a blade she kept at her hip at all times, only to relax a fraction when Harding rushed in.

“Rook,” she said, breathless, “sorry to interrupt. Some kind of ghost or spirit or something is causing trouble in the Hossberg Wetlands. Antoine and Evka want us out there as soon as possible to put a stop to it. I think it’s a…a scarecrow?” She seemed baffled by this latest bit of information.

Grace and Emmrich exchanged a quick look before Emmrich was on his feet, taking up his staff.

“Lead the way, my dear,” he said, gesturing for her to go first, and off they were on another adventure.

———

A few days later, Emmrich was back at his desk, massaging his temple to beat back a headache that a long conversation with Johanna’s skull had generated. She was silent now, thanks to a handy ward, but he could still feel her attempting to glower at him, in her unique skull-like way, through the back of his chair. Above, on the landing, Manfred was dusting some of the shelves, quiet but for the occasional thoughtful hiss or the soft clatter of moving objects around.

Time was slipping through their fingers like the sands of an hourglass. Their excursion to Tearstone Island, wherever that was, was looming ahead of them like the daunting final battle of an epic poem, where life and death hung in the balance. But this was no poem. The end was not yet written. There were few guarantees and even fewer chances of success. Emmrich was not a man prone to despair, but…the days were beginning to look dark.

Within the Lighthouse, they were still scrambling to prepare. Meanwhile, reports of other issues all across Thedas were continuing to make their way to them via messengers and spirits—errant demons, surges of darkspawn, venatori groups, everything seemed to be happening all at once. If he were a lesser man, it would feel as though the whole world were spiraling into madness, and him along with it.

The Lighthouse was their one safe haven away from it all. But even this sanctum could be invaded by reminders of the world outside, with letters appearing on tables at random or allies occasionally visiting through the eluvian. Some days, despite all the good they were doing and all the wonderful people he had met, Emmrich longed for the quiet of the Necropolis, sealed off inside a vault far below the surface of the earth, where war and strife and chaos could not reach. He longed for it now, despite knowing he could do so much more good here, where he was.

A soft knock pulled him from his depressing reverie. He sat up in his chair, straightening his clothing out of habit and checking that he hadn’t run his fingers too much through his carefully combed hair. “Come in!”

“It’s just me,” Grace said, already entering as he gave his response. Emmrich raised his eyebrows as she came into view. She had dressed not in her casual clothing or even her armor, but in a simple gown, similar to what she had worn on their date in the Necropolis gardens what felt like a lifetime ago. She had twisted and pinned half of her curls behind one ear, showing off a thick, gold earring she had acquired recently in Nevarra—her first bit of grave gold, she had remarked lightly, when she showed the matching pair to him. The rest of her hair cascaded freely and voluminously over the other side of her head and down her shoulders, a rich tangle of tight, red curls. Her freckled face was free of powders or creams that tended to obscure one’s complexion, but she had darkened her lashes and lined her eyes with a bit of makeup, adding a fine sheen of gloss to her lips.

“Oh my,” he said softly, and stood as if a noble lady had entered his study. Because, of course, one had. He smiled and took one of her hands, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss. “To what do I owe this visit from such a beautiful young woman?”

Grace smirked faintly and leaned in for a proper kiss. “I have a surprise for you. Get changed and make sure Manfred is wearing something…smart.”

“Smart?”

“Smart!” came Manfred’s scratchy echo from above. They glanced up to find him leaning over the railing, waving a duster at them.

“Exactly,” Grace said. “A nice coat. Maybe a hat. I think he’d look adorable in a top hat, don’t you?” The glimmer in her eyes suggested she was joking, but only just.

“Assuming the Lighthouse can conjure one,” Emmrich said, smiling, “as I seem to have left most of my hats behind in the Necropolis. But you haven’t yet told me the surprise.”

“That’s because it’s a surprise, darling.” She kissed him again before pulling away, letting her hands linger in his. “Get dressed. Bring Manfred. Meet me in the dining room in half an hour.”

Another date, was it? With Manfred no less. In that case, perhaps it was less a date and more of a quaint family dinner? Emmrich couldn’t help but be charmed by the idea.

“All right, dearest,” he said, giving her hands one last squeeze before letting go. “I shall see you shortly.”

She gave him a little wave and blew a kiss to Manfred before sweeping out of the room, leaving little more than her faintly floral scent behind. Emmrich shook his head fondly before turning his attention toward the task of dressing for a pleasant dinner with his beloved Rook and his skeleton ward.

Half an hour later, he finished dressing in a modest but clean set of tailored robes he’d worn at a recent Mourn Watch initiation ceremony. He was grateful to have packed it, despite not knowing whether there’d be any occasion for wearing anything formal when he first packed for his move into the Lighthouse. He turned to Johanna’s skull out of habit, forgetting that he had placed a silence ward over her earlier. “What do you think?”

The skull was silent, aside from a little flare of green light in the eyes that quickly circled the empty sockets in a clear, if dramatic, imitation of someone rolling their eyes. Johanna had never understood his taste. Emmrich pursed his lips slightly and adjusted the skull pin at his throat. Perhaps it had been too much…

Ah, but he was running out of time. Too late now. He stopped fidgeting with the pin and turned to look for his companion.

“Manfred? Are you ready?”

“Ready!” Manfred emerged from behind the stairs in a simple purple coat, his usual gloves and boots, and, yes, a purple silk top hat. Wherever had he gotten that? Emmrich sighed. The Lighthouse, probably, granting some unspoken wish in Manfred’s little mind.

“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Emmrich murmured to himself, affectionate and amused. Then, a little louder, he said, “You look excellent, Manfred. Now come, it wouldn’t do to be late.”

———

The Lighthouse courtyard was strangely empty as they crossed it. No chatter from Bellara’s room, no wisps singing or chirping from Neve’s office, no squawking from Assan, who was not in his usual place where he liked to roll in the grass and clover the Lighthouse so courteously provided for him. The Caretaker wasn’t even hovering in his little workshop, watching as they passed by. Everything was simply…quiet.

Emmrich didn’t like it. He had grown accustomed to the light clamor of living with several other living people and an adolescent griffon. Where had everyone gone?

A sense of unease began to grip him. Grace had said to meet her at in the dining room, but surely the others had their tasks or their interests to attend to. Had something happened? He tried to push it out of his mind, chalking it up to simple paranoia. There would be a logical explanation. There always was.

He reached for the doors of the dining room, only for the doors to swing open of their own accord. He paused at the threshold, a strange sense of anticipation arresting his steps. The dining room was unusually dark, almost pitch black, with no fire and no candlelight. In the seconds it took for the doors to slowly swing open, he swore he saw something moving in the shadows.

Manfred tottered bravely on, stepping into the gloom without a single pause. Emmrich cleared his throat, somewhat nervous. “Manfred—”

Then—there was a sound like a snap of fingers and suddenly the room was ablaze with light. A fire leapt up in the fireplace, a dozen candles and magelights of various colors floated about the room, and something—some spell or perhaps some cheap-made fireworks, or both—set off a series of glittering sparks that rained down over the room in a shower of purple, green, and gold.

“Surprise!” a familiar voice shouted. A burst of applause filled the room from all corners, adding to the sudden clamor of fireworks and voices.

“Happy nameday, Manfred!”

“Emmrich! Come in, come in!”

As Emmrich blinked away the spots from the sudden lights, he found himself suddenly swept into the dining room by a couple pairs of hands ushering him in and closing the door behind him. The sight before him was one of festive joy and barely contained merriment. Neve and Lucanis stood together off to one side, Neve with magic in her hands and Lucanis lighting the fuse to another simple firework, the two of them grinning and laughing as they added more glitter and light to the dining room space. Harding and Taash guided Manfred around the table to where Bellara was placing a simple cake with unlit candles at the top. Around them, Assan pounced and bounded around their legs, his tail swiping the air, eager to play games with Manfred. It was Davrin and Grace who had ushered Emmrich in, Davrin patting his shoulder fondly as he struggled to catch up with everything around him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Davrin said, grinning. “Didn’t you know this was coming?”

Emmrich couldn’t find the words. “I…well I…”

“I told you he’d never guess,” Grace said, leaning in to press a kiss to Emmrich’s cheek. “This team can keep a secret, if pressed.”

They weren’t alone, either. Myrna and Vorgoth were present, too, watching the festivities next to the Caretaker, who floated with hands politely folded at Vorgoth’s side. Evka and Antoine had also managed to make it, despite having only met Manfred very recently, and there were plenty of wisps dancing about as well. These wisps were not mere lights but were spirits, curious and playful, mischievous and delighted, resting on Manfred’s hat or bobbing over the table, which was laden with several dishes of various types, including plenty of vegetarian options for Emmrich.

“Happy nameday, Fred,” Neve called as she sent another flurry of magelights over his head.

Manfred clapped his hands together and hopped with excitement. “Surprise! Manfred! Me! Happy!”

“I knew he’d love a surprise,” Harding giggled. “Happy nameday, Manfred.”

Emmrich was speechless. To say he was overwhelmed was an understatement. He gripped Grace’s hand tightly, staggered by this open display of affection and joy—and for a spirit, no less. A spirit housed in a skeleton body, barely clothed, barely capable of speech.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He turned to Grace, holding onto her hand like a lifeline. She merely smiled at his mute, emotional gratitude and swiped away a couple of his tears with the pad of her thumb.

“What do you think, love?” she asked quietly, while Davrin tactfully retreated to try and rescue some of the dishes from being overturned by Assan’s tail. “Good enough for a first nameday party?

“Oh, my love.” He dabbed at his eyes and then framed her face in his hands, bringing her in for a grateful kiss, the love in his heart overflowing. “You beautiful, brilliant, clever creature. I couldn’t have asked for better. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it,” she murmured as he kissed her again. “It was a group effort.”

“Okay, Manfred,” Bellara said, drawing Emmrich’s attention over to them again. “We know you don’t have any lungs to blow out the candles, but you can do fire magic now, right? So we figured you could, you know, make a wish that way. So light ‘em up!”

Panic gripped Emmrich instantly. They hadn’t yet practiced controlled flame on such a small scale! “Ah, Manfred—”

But it was too late. With a ecstatic hiss, Manfred flung out his gloved hands and blasted a short burst of flame over the top of the cake. It was only for a second or two, and the candles certainly did adopt some of the flame, burning cheerfully in the aftermath—but they were also melted down to halfway and most of the icing on the topmost layer of the cake was quickly burned into dark, crystallized sugar.

“Oh dear,” Emmrich said, while Grace smothered her laughter behind her hand.

Manfred threw his hands up in triumph. “Wish! Happy!”

“Great!” Bellara said, clapping her hands. “Well, okay, the spell needs a little bit of work, and I should probably have picked taller candles, but otherwise—”

“Next time let me do it,” Taash said, wrinkling their nose at the burnt sugar on the top of the cake.

“Oh, it’s okay, Manfred can’t eat cake anyway,” Harding assured them. “We can just eat around the black part. A little burnt sugar never hurt anybody.”

“Oh, it’ll be fine,” Bellara said. She turned and waved to the rest of them, beckoning them over. “Come on, sit! Let’s eat! It’s Manfred’s nameday, we should celebrate!”

Flashing Emmrich a smile, Grace took his hand and led him over to the table, where they could sit near Manfred as he examined his burning candles with abject delight.

The festivities continued well into the evening, though time in the Lighthouse was always tricky to track. Though Manfred couldn’t eat any of the food, he was content to chatter away at everyone, including the guests, and to sometimes sneak treats to Assan when Davrin wasn’t looking. The others wasted no time in filling in Evka and Antoine on Manfred’s various adventures, while Myrna and Vorgoth occasionally offered anecdotes from before Emmrich and Manfred had joined the team. After a while, Grace surprised Emmrich and Manfred with a handful of letters. It seemed that, in lieu of official visits to the party, other allies like Teia, Viago, Isabela, and Strife had sent celebratory messages to Manfred with their best wishes, which Manfred insisted on carrying in his pocket as soon as Grace read them aloud to him.

“We shall have to teach him to read soon,” Emmrich mused, watching him take out the letters for the fifth time and flip through them.

“They grow up so fast,” Grace said, resting her chin on Emmrich’s shoulder. They had relocated to the sofa in the corner of the dining room, their bellies sated with good food, their energy waning after so much conversation and laughter. No one was willing to leave just yet, content to chat and drink or simply sit together at the table, listening to stories. The ceiling overhead was still full of floating candles and magelights, colorful and bright, but as the time wore on, the fireplace reminded Emmrich more and more of his own cozy fire in his study nearby, beckoning him to return to his room to rest.

But he couldn’t leave yet, not while Manfred was having such a good time.

He settled more comfortably on the sofa instead. “However did you come up with this idea, dearest?” he asked Grace, one hand massaging her knee idly as they watched the others converse. “I never would have anticipated we could pull off a nameday party in the midst of all…this.” He gestured vaguely to their surroundings. “It must have been so much extra work for you, my dear.”

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Only a little. Bellara and Lucanis handled the cooking, Neve handled all the magic. Harding, Taash, and Davrin helped move the furniture and send out the invitations. The hardest part was keeping it a secret from both you and Manfred.”

“But why?” he asked. “Why now? I hate to think this has only added to your stress.”

“It’s the fifth of Harvestmere. The day you said you named Manfred.”

“Well yes, but—” He struggled for moment, not wanting to sound ungrateful, yet concerned that all of this had been needlessly done when there were so many other things they ought to have been doing. “We could have waited until after defeating Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain.”

Grace was quiet for a moment, turning her head to lean her cheek against his shoulder. She hummed thoughtfully under her breath before quietly saying, “No. It had to be now. Even though it’s a bit chaotic right now, this is just what we do in the chaos.”

Emmrich stroked his thumb over her knee again, pondering her words. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Simple. Even when the world seems like it’s spiraling out of control, we still have birthdays, and we celebrate them. We gather together. We drink, we eat, we laugh. We live another day and celebrate another year around the sun.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “That’s how we win against the people who want to tear us down. That’s how we keep winning, day to day. Not every battle has to be us facing down the monsters. Sometimes a little party is the thing that keeps the darkness at bay.” She smiled, a little dry, her gaze sweeping back toward Evka and Antoine as her voice grew even softer. “I learned that with the Wardens.”

Of course she had. When you have to live each day as if it were your last…

Emmrich said nothing. This is just what we do in the chaos, she’d said. This was how people showcased their love and care for other people. It was such a simple statement, and yet…thinking of all they had done for Manfred, who was a spirit…Emmrich could feel the tears stinging his eyes again, closing up his throat. Manfred was so loved. Not just by him, not just by Grace, but by the others who had gathered together to make the food, light up the room, and tell the stories that put a smile on everyone’s faces.

Emmrich had always wanted a family. He had always longed to marry and have children, and when those dreams fell through, he had turned his thoughts to lichdom instead. Now here he sat, with Grace nestled into his side, watching these friends he had come to grow so fond of as they celebrated Manfred, and he realized…

This was his family now. Chaotic and ridiculous, sometimes bickering, sometimes falling in love with one another, and ready to do anything for one another, whether that be laying down their lives or throwing a party for a spirit. And Manfred? He’d never felt such pride for him before as he did now, listening to him chatter away in simple words to the others.

“To think I had almost lost him,” he said quietly. “I would never have experienced this if I hadn’t…if you hadn’t convinced me to retrieve his spirit.”

He took one of Grace’s hands, enveloping it in both of his own. “Thank you, Grace. Without you, I would never have been able to share in such wonderful blessings such as this. Surrounded by friends, celebrating Manfred…even being able to simply sit here, with you in my arms, is more precious than anything. These are memories I will cherish forever. Thank you.”

“Anytime, Emmrich,” Grace murmured, drawing closer again. Emmrich met her halfway, capturing her lips in a sweet, lingering kiss that he hoped conveyed all the love and overwhelming affection he bore for her.

He adored her. And with the precious little time they had left, before they journeyed to Tearstone Island to confront Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain at last, he would cherish every second of it, making sure she knew the depth of his love for her.

She drew away with a smile. “You won’t forget to celebrate Manfred’s nameday again in the future will you? Fifth of Harvestmere, every year from now on. Promise.”

He chuckled, bringing her hand up to his lips for a kiss. “I promise, dearest. Manfred shall have a nameday celebration every year from now on, thanks to you.”

“Party!” Manfred hissed, throwing his hands up again. “Party for me!”

Emmrich chuckled. “Precisely, Manfred. Well said.”

#yeeeee #i love writing emmrich #sorry that it is so late!!#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #datv #emmrich x rook #emmrook #emmrich x thorne #manfred #manfred the skeleton #rook thorne #my fic

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blakeswritingimagines · 10 months ago

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Sleeping All Alone

Summary: Reader who always teases bodyguard, named Daemon, to keep you safe both in public and in private situations. However, as the two spend more time together, an undeniable attraction and chemistry starts to develop between you.

Warnings: Power imbalance, Teasing, PWP, Begging, Choking, Use of Darlin, brat, tease, minx, Dom Daemon, and Sub reader, no real gender used for the reader.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Word count: 6.0k

Daemon Targaryen sat in his usual spot at the back of your concert venue. He watched as the fans went wild for the pop star on stage. He was there for one reason and one reason only, and that was to protect you. As you sang and danced on stage, he scanned the crowd, searching for any potential threats. He had been hired by your management team to be your personal bodyguard, and he took his job very seriously. Despite his best efforts, Daemon couldn't ignore the fact that the fans were going crazy over every move you made. It was obvious they were smitten with you, and he couldn't blame them. You were good-looking and talented, and he found himself distracted by you on stage more times than he'd care to admit.

As you strutted across the stage, you could feel a pair of eyes on you. You knew who it belonged to, your bodyguard Daemon. While most people found his intense stare unnerving, you couldn't help but feel a little thrill every time his eyes bore into yours. You tried to focus on the performance, but his presence was distracting. He was like a magnet, tugging at your attention even when you were supposed to be focused on the music. You finished the final song of your set, panting and wiping a bead of sweat from your forehead. You gave a final wave to the adoring crowd before returning backstage, only to find Daemon waiting for you with his arms crossed. “Another successful show,” he said as you approached. Daemon's voice was cool and measured, betraying no hint of the attraction he felt towards you. He had been your bodyguard for several months now, but he had managed to keep his feelings hidden from you. He knew that it was unprofessional to become involved with his client, but that didn't make the attraction any less strong. "But I have to say, you're slacking on your security. You're supposed to be paying attention to your surroundings, not getting distracted by me."

You rolled your eyes at his comment, but secretly a part of you was flattered. It was true, you had caught yourself sneaking glances at him during performances, but you weren't about to admit that. "Oh, don't flatter yourself," you replied with a smirk. "I was just making sure you were doing your job properly." Daemon chuckled softly at your words, his eyes never leaving yours. He knew that you were trying to maintain a veneer of indifference, but he could see through it. He could sense the spark between you both, no matter how much you tried to downplay it. "I'm always doing my job," he said in a low voice. "Just make sure you're not distracting me too much with those pretty eyes of yours." You felt a hoard of butterflies in your stomach at his comment, but you forced yourself to keep your cool. Two could play at that game. You stepped closer to him, using your height and platform shoes to your advantage. "Oh, trust me, my eyes aren't the only part of me that's distracting," you purred, fluttering your eyelashes innocently.

Daemon's breath hitched at your response, but he kept his expression cool. He wasn't about to let you know just how much you affected him. "Is that so?" he said, taking a step forward to close the distance between you. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, and it was driving him wild. "Careful now, little one. You might be playing with fire." You grinned, reveling in the effect you seemed to be having on him. It was rare for him to lose his cool exterior, and the fact that you were the one to make him falter was quite pleasing. "Oh, I can handle the heat," you said with a shrug. "But can you?" You stood on your tip toes and reached up, gently tugging on the lapel of his jacket to pull him closer. Daemon's eyes darkened as you pulled him closer, his resolve wavering slightly. He could feel the heat and electricity between you both like a tangible force. "You have no idea what kind of heat I can handle," he said in a low voice. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against his body. He could feel your heart racing in your chest, and it only made his own beat faster.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he drew you closer, your body pressed against his. Being this close to him was intoxicating, it was like he was a drug and you were already addicted. "Oh yeah?" you murmured, your voice husky with desire. "Prove it." The concert ended and you managed to get through the mandatory pleasantries and goodbyes without incident. Finally, it was time to leave the venue. You bid goodbye to your friends and colleagues and stepped out into the cool night air. Daemon was by your side immediately, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he ushered you toward the car. As you made your way through the crowded parking lot, Daemon kept a watchful eye on your surroundings, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. He could feel the press of your body against his, and it sent a jolt of electricity through him. He knew he should keep his distance, but he couldn't help the way his body responded to you. Once you reached the car, he opened the door for you and waited until you were safely inside before shutting it and walking around to the driver's seat. You watched him through the window as he walked around the car, the muscles in his shoulders rippling beneath his shirt. You couldn't help but admire his powerful physique, and the way he moved with such calculated grace. When he finally settled in the driver's seat beside you, you turned to him, your expression coy. "Where to next, sir?" you asked, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Daemon stifled a smirk as he started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. He could feel your eyes on him and it was driving him wild. "Are you always this cheeky, or is it just for me?" he asked, his tone neutral. He glanced over at you, his eyes raking over your body. He had never wanted anyone quite like he wanted you at this moment. Daemon gritted his teeth at your tone, but he couldn't deny the effect it had on him. "Home," he said curtly. "It's late, and you have an early morning tomorrow." You rolled your eyes, but a small smile played at the corners of your lips. "Oh, come on, you love it," you teased. As the car pulled away from the venue, you leaned back in your seat and let out a sigh. "You know," you said, breaking the silence in the car, "I don't know how you manage to stay so stoic all the time. It's a bit disappointing, really. I was kind of hoping I could break through your icy exterior by now." Daemon let out a soft laugh at your words, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You think I'm icy, huh?" he said, stealing a glance at you. "I guess it's just part of the job, little one. Can't have me getting distracted while I'm supposed to be keeping you safe."

You pouted at his response, leaning your head against the window. "Boring," you drawled. "You can't just blame it on the job. I think you like to act tough because you think it makes you look cool and mysterious." Daemon chuckled again, shaking his head slightly. "Maybe it's a bit of that," he admitted. "But you have no idea how hard I have to work to keep my cool around you." He flicked his eyes to you, taking in your pouty expression. "You drive me absolutely wild, you know that? But I have to keep my head straight when I'm working." Your expression softened at his admission, and a small smile tugged at your lips. "Well, I'm glad to know I have that effect on you," you replied, your voice tinged with mischief. "But I have to say, keeping your head straight seems like a pretty tall order. I can guarantee you I'm not making it easy."

Daemon's grip on the wheel tightened as he heard the sultry tone in your voice, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to do to you. "You have no idea," he said gruffly. "Every time you look at me with those big pretty eyes of yours or touch me with those delicate little hands of yours, it takes everything I have to stay professional." You couldn't help but feel a thrill at his words, the fact that you had such an effect on him only made you want to push his buttons more. "Maybe I like seeing you struggle," you said, leaning closer to him and placing a hand on his thigh. "Maybe I like knowing I can break through that tough exterior and leave you a mess." Daemon's breath hitched as your hand landed on his thigh, his muscles tensing under your touch. "You're playing a dangerous game, little one," he warned, but there was no denying the hunger behind his words. He glanced over at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You keep testing me like this and I won't be able to hold back for much longer."

You grinned, enjoying the way you were making him squirm. "Who says I want you to hold back?" you purred, leaning even closer to him, your lips almost brushing his ear. "Maybe I like the idea of you losing control with me." Daemon clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to pull you into his lap and ravish you right there in the car. Your proximity and your words were driving him wild, and the sound of your sultry voice in his ear was quickly eroding his self-control. "You are the most infuriating woman," he said through gritted teeth. Your grin widened as you heard the strain in his voice, knowing you were causing him to lose his grip. "But you love it," you said, moving your hand further up his thigh. "You love the way I get under your skin and make you feel things you try so hard to keep locked away." Daemon let out a low growl as your hand inched higher up his thigh, his knuckles white from gripping the wheel too tightly. "You're playing with fire, darlin'. I've been good so far, but you keep pushing my buttons like this and you're gonna see a side of me you can't handle." He shot you a warning look, but the lust and desire in his eyes betrayed him.

You chuckled, not intimidated in the least. "Oh, I can handle you," you teased, squeezing his thigh for emphasis. "And as for that side of you, you keep trying to keep hidden, I think it's about time you let it out to play." You moved your mouth to his ear, your lips brushing against his skin as you whispered, "I can take whatever you throw at me, big guy." Daemon let out a guttural moan as your lips grazed his skin, his control slipping further away. The sound of your voice in his ear was like a siren song, making him crave you more than he ever thought possible. "Damn you," he muttered, his voice rough with barely contained desire. "You think you can handle me, huh? I'll show you just how wrong you are, you little brat." You felt a thrill at his words, the way he was struggling to keep his composure only made you want to push him further. "Bring it on, big guy," you teased. "I'm not afraid of you." You continued to tease him with your hands and your voice, wanting to see just how far you could push him before he snapped. The car finally pulled up outside your home, and Daemon cut the engine with a flick of his wrist. The air was thick with tension between the two of you, the electricity crackling with every look and touch. As the two of you sat just outside your home, Daemon sat for a moment, trying to regain his composure.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the thoughts and desires you had stirred up in him. After a moment, he turned to you, his expression a mixture of lust and frustration. "You're a damn tease, you know that?" he growled. You smirked at his words, loving the effect you were having on him. "And you're a stubborn control freak," you retorted, still not backing down. "It's about time you realized you can't always be in charge." You leaned closer to him, your lips only inches from his. "But we both know you like it when I challenge you, don't we?" Daemon gritted his teeth, your proximity and your words making his restraint wear thin. He wanted nothing more than to give in to the desire that was building inside him, but he was a man of control, used to being in command. "You're driving me wild, you know that?" he muttered. "You're like a storm, beautiful and dangerous, and I can't resist your pull." He reached out and grabbed your chin, pulling you closer. "But make no mistake, darlin', I'm still the one in charge here."

You let out a soft gasp as he grabbed your chin, the rough handling sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, is that so?" you purred, your lips only millimeters from his. "Why don't you prove it, then?" Even though you were the one in control of the situation so far, your pulse was racing and your breath was coming in shallow gasps. Daemon's eyes darkened with a mix of lust and determination as you challenged him, your proximity and your sultry tone igniting a fire within him. "Don't tempt me," he warned, his voice low and dangerous. "Once I start, I won't be able to stop." He held your chin in his hand, his gaze burning into yours. "Are you sure you're ready for this, darlin'? Because I won't be gentle." Your heart hammered in your chest as you met his intense gaze. You were playing a dangerous game, teasing and challenging a man who was known for his self-control, but you couldn't help it. The way he looked at you with such hunger and intensity sent a thrill through you, making you more reckless than ever before. "I'm sure," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can take anything you dish out, big guy. Bring it on…. how about you come inside?"

Daemon's self-control finally snapped at your words, his restraint lost in a wave of desire and need. "You asked for it," he growled, his voice thick with hunger. Without waiting for a response, he quickly unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed open the car door. He strode around to your side of the car and yanked open the passenger door, pulling you out of your seat with a firm grip on your wrist. "Inside," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "Now." You gasped as he yanked you out of the car, the force of his grip making your heart race even faster. You followed him obediently, almost feeling like a pet being led on a leash. As soon as you stepped inside your home, he slammed the door shut and pushed you up against it, pinning you there with his body. His eyes glittered with a dark intensity that made your stomach flutter. "Now you're mine," he said, his voice hot against your ear. There was no going back now, you had pushed him past his breaking point and now you were about to see just what he was capable of. Daemon's body was taut with tension and desire as he pressed you against the wall, the weight of his body pinning you in place. His hands came up to cup your face, his touch rough and demanding as he held you in place. "You've been pushing my buttons all night," he muttered, his voice a low rumble. "Now you get to see what happens when you drive a man wild." Without warning, he slanted his mouth over yours, claiming your lips in a bruising kiss.

You couldn't help but moan into his kiss, your body reacting to his touch with a mind of its own. He was overwhelming your senses, his grip on your face and his body pressed against you left you feeling helpless and yet utterly desperate for more. You returned his kiss with an intensity that matched his own, your hands gripping his shirt and pulling him closer. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his desire like a flame that threatened to consume you whole. Daemon groaned, his kiss becoming more urgent and desperate as he tasted you. He released your face, his hands wandering down to your waist as he pressed you harder against the wall. His hips rocked against you, grinding his growing arousal against you as he deepened the kiss. "Damn you," he muttered, his lips moving against yours. "You drive me insane." Your breath hitched as his hips pressed against you, the feel of his hardness making your body respond with a wave of heat. You gasped against his mouth, your mind lost in a fog of desire. "Daemon," you panted, your voice pleading and desperate. "Don't stop, please. I need you, more than air."

Daemon growled low in his throat at your pleading words, the sound sending shivers through you. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. "You beg so pretty, darlin'," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your hips, gripping them tightly. "And I'm going to give you exactly what you need, but it won't be gentle." You arched your neck back, offering up more of your skin for him to claim. His words sent a thrill through you, making you shiver with anticipation. "I don't need gentle," you gasped, your hands moving to tangle in his hair. "I just need you, all of you. Take me, any way you want." Daemon let out a low hiss at your words, his control slipping further with each passing moment. He nipped at your neck before pulling away slightly and looking down at you with darkened eyes. "You won't be able to walk straight tomorrow," he promised, his voice rough with desire. "I'm gonna make sure you feel me for days." Without warning, he picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you towards your bedroom.

You let out a gasp as he picked you up, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance. You could feel the heat and strength of his body as he carried you, and the knowledge that he was in complete control both terrified and excited you. "I don't care if I can't walk," you gasped, your mouth hovering just above his ear as if not even thinking of the full day ahead of you. "I just want you. Now." Daemon grunted in response, the huskiness in your voice only fueling his own desire. He kicked open the door to your bedroom and strode towards the bed, dropping you down onto it with a soft thump. He followed you down, his body covering yours as he looked down at you with a mixture of hunger and possessiveness in his eyes. "You're mine," he growled, his hands roaming your body as he started to remove your clothes with rough, needy motions. "And I'm going to make you scream my name." You let out a gasp as he tore away your clothes, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You could feel the need and desire radiating off of him, and it only served to heighten your own feelings. "Yes," you gasped, your voice thick with desire. "I'm yours. I'm all yours. Do whatever you want with me, just please, don't stop."

Daemon's breath hitched at your words, his eyes darkening further as he looked down at you. The sight of your exposed body beneath him only served to stoke the fire of his desire, and he quickly shed his own clothes. "I won't hold back," he muttered, his hands roaming over your skin, claiming every inch of you. "You asked for this." Without warning, he claimed your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his hands continuing to explore your body with urgency and hunger. You moaned into his kiss, your body responding to his touch on instinct. His hands and mouth seemed to be everywhere at once, and you felt like you were drowning in a sea of sensation. You arched your body up to meet his, desperate for more, more contact, more sensation. Your hands roamed over his back and shoulders, feeling the strength and power coiled just underneath his skin. "Don't hold back," you panted, your voice hoarse with need. "I can take it, I want it, I need it." Daemon groaned, his body shuddering with need as you writhed beneath him. He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path down your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses. "You're so damn responsive," he muttered, his hands roaming over your body, tracing every curve and contour. "It's like you were made for me." He nicked at your skin, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. "I want to taste every inch of you."

You gasped and arched up to meet him as he kissed and bit his way down your body, your hands fisting in the sheets beneath you. The feel of his mouth and hands on your skin was driving you wild, and you could feel your body responding with a primal need. "Please," you panted, your voice thick with desire. "Don't tease me, I can't take it. I need you, now." Daemon growled, his restraint crumbling as your words and body reacted to his touch. He knew he was driving you wild, and it only made him want you more. He pulled away slightly, his eyes meeting yours, darkened with a feral hunger. "You don't get to tell me what to do, darlin'," he said roughly, his voice thick with desire. "And I'll tease you as much as I want." Without warning, he pressed his body against yours, his weight pinning you to the bed as he claimed your mouth in a hot, possessive kiss. You tried to suppress a moan as he pressed himself against you, the feel of his body and his lips on yours sending a wave of heat through you. He was in complete control, and you both knew it, but you couldn't help but push back against him, a little bit of defiance still left in you. "Don't be a tease," you managed to gasp between kisses. "I need you, now, please."

Daemon's body tautened as you spoke, his own need becoming almost unbearable. He broke the kiss, his lips hovering millimeters from yours as he looked down at you. "You want me, huh?" he muttered, his voice rough with desire. "You want me to give you exactly what you need, right now?" He leaned back slightly, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you, vulnerable and desperate beneath him. "Beg for it." You swallowed hard as he pulled back, his eyes raking over you, taking in every inch of your exposed flesh. You were already a mess, your body craving his touch with a need that bordered on desperation. The fact that he was still in complete control, holding himself back just enough to drive you wild, was maddening. "Please," you panted, your voice strained with need. "Please, Daemon, I need you. I'll do anything, just please, give me what I want."

Daemon's eyes darkened further as you begged him, the sound of your need and pleading driving him wild. He leaned back in, his body once again pressing heavily against yours. "You're so damn beautiful when you beg," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "And I can't resist when you look at me like that." He cupped your face in his hand, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip. "But I think first I wanna hear you say it." You let out a soft gasp as he cupped your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat and desire radiating off of him, and it only served to fuel your own need. "Say what?" you asked, your voice breathless and needy. "What do you want me to say? I'll say anything, just please, don't make me wait any longer." Daemon's eyes darkened even further, his gaze locking onto yours. "Say you're mine," he muttered, his voice rough and possessive. "Say you belong to me. That I can do whatever I want with you, whenever I want. And that you'll take whatever I give you, and you'll crave more. Say it."

You felt like your entire body was on fire, your need for him almost painful. You let out a shuddering breath, your eyes locked with his. "I'm yours," you gasped, your voice thick with desire. "I belong to you, completely. You can do whatever you want with me, whenever you want. I'll take whatever you give me, and I'll always crave more. I'm yours, Daemon, only yours." Daemon let out a low, guttural moan, your words sending a rush of heat through him. He claimed your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, seeking, claiming, consuming. His hands roamed over your body, touching, claiming, possessing. "You're mine, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice rough with desire, as he broke the kiss and nuzzled your neck. "All damn mine." You melted beneath his touch, your body responding to his every move with a mix of need and surrender. "Yeah," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly. "All yours, only yours. Just please, I need you, now." Every touch, every kiss, only served to fuel the fire that was burning inside of you, a fire that only he could extinguish.

His eyes darkened with desire as he watched you unravel beneath him, your pleas igniting something primal within him. He didn't need to be told twice. With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you so that you were straddling his hips. The tip of his throbbing member teased at your entrance before he thrust into you with a force that left both of you gasping for air. A loud cry escaped your lips as Daemon's thick length filled you in one powerful stroke, stretching you deliciously around his girth. Your nails dug into his chest as you adjusted to his size, the pleasure-pain sending sparks through your nerves. "Oh god…" you panted, your head falling back as he began to move within you, each thrust driving deeper, harder. The wet sounds of your coupling echoed through the room, mingling with your ragged breathing and moans of ecstasy. "More…please, give me more!" You begged shamelessly, lost to the overwhelming sensations consuming you whole. Daemon gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you steady as he pounded into you with ruthless abandon. Each deep, punishing thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you closer to the edge. "Take it all, little brat," he snarled, his voice raw with lust. "Every inch of my cock is meant for this sweetness."

He reached up to wrap a hand around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and arch into him. The dual sensations of his fingers on your pulse point and his thick shaft splitting you open had you teetering on the brink of climax. The roughness of his grip sent another wave of heat coursing through you, making your entire body tremble with anticipation. You threw your head back, exposing the tender column of your neck, a silent invitation for him to explore further. "Yes, yes, just like that," you whimpered, feeling the coil within tightening dangerously. His thumb pressed against your throat, cutting off your breath momentarily before releasing it in a rush, intensifying the sensation of being completely owned by him. "I'm close…so fucking close," you confessed, your inner walls clenching around him instinctively. He felt your body start to tighten around him, signaling your impending release, and it spurred him on even more. His thrusts became erratic, driven by pure, unadulterated lust. "Come for me, love," he commanded, his voice dripping with carnal intent. "Show me how much you want it."

Your body convulsed as the first wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you gasping and trembling beneath Daemon. Your inner walls clenched around his throbbing length, milking him for everything he was worth. "Oh fuck…Daemon!" you cried out, your body writhing uncontrollably under his touch. The pleasure was so intense, so overwhelming that it brought tears to your eyes, blurring your vision as you rode out the orgasmic waves crashing over you. Daemon groaned deeply as he felt you come undone around him, your tight sheath rippling along his shaft. It was almost too much to bear. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you and let go, spilling his hot seed deep within your quivering depths. "Fuck, yes," he hissed through gritted teeth, his body shuddering with the force of his own climax. As the last tremors subsided, he collapsed back onto the bed, pulling you down to lie atop him, still joined intimately. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as they both struggled to catch their breath. As the aftershocks of your orgasm slowly faded away, you lay there, panting heavily against Daemon's chest. The warmth of his cum filling you made you feel complete, and cherished. You turned your face towards him, pressing a soft, satisfied kiss to his lips. "That was incredible," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "You're amazing." The feeling of being held tightly by him after such an intense experience was soothing and comforting, and you found yourself not wanting to pull away anytime soon.

He smiled against your lips, a rare moment of tenderness breaking through the usual facade of dominance. "And you, little minx," he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face, "are utterly bewitching." There was a contentment in his voice that hadn't been there before, a satisfaction that came from having fulfilled a deep-seated craving. Slowly, he rolled you onto your side, keeping you nestled against him, his arm draped possessively across your waist. "We'll do this again," he promised, already plotting future encounters in his mind. You woke up the next morning feeling sore and tired, but blissfully satisfied. The memories of last night came back to you in a flood, and you smiled as you realized that you were still in bed with Daemon. You turned over to look at him, only to find that he was already awake, watching you with a lazy smile on his face.

Daemon's eyes took in the sight of your satisfied smile and messy bed hair, he felt a mixture of pride and contentment. He reached out a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle and tender. "Morning, darlin'," he said, his voice gravelly with sleep. "How you feelin' this morning?" You leaned into his touch, a contented sigh escaping your lips. "I'm feeling sore," you admitted with a small laugh, "but absolutely wonderful. Last night was… incredible." Your eyes met his, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight of his satisfied expression. "How about you? Did I wear you out?" He chuckled, a roguish smile playing on his lips. "You damn near killed me," he said, his words punctuated by a lazy stretch. "But I ain't complainin'. I could get used to seeing you like this every morning." He leaned in closer, his voice growing huskier. "All disheveled and satisfied, and all mine." You felt a shiver run down your spine at his words, your body responding to his possessive tone. You reached out to touch his chest, feeling the heat and strength of his body beneath your fingers. "Careful," you teased, a smile playing on your lips. "I might just have to test that theory."

His eyes darkened at your touch, his body responding instantly to the feel of your fingers. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dropping even lower. "You think you're up for round three already?" He shifted closer to you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer. "Or do you need a break first, darlin'?" Your morning reverie is interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by your assistant's voice from the other side. "Knock knock," she calls out cheerfully. "I've got a list of things that need your attention-" The door swings open, and she stops mid-sentence as she takes in the sight of you and Daemon, tangled up in the bedsheets. "Oh?" Daemon stiffened as the assistant barged in with no warning, quickly trying to keep the sheets covering his and your mostly exposed bodies. He couldn't help but scowl at her intrusion, his arms instinctively tightening around you as if to shield you from her gaze. "Ever heard of knockin' and waitin' for a damn response?" he snapped gruffly. Your assistant blushed profusely, her eyes widening as she realized the situation fully sunk in. "I'm sorry," she stammered out, her voice high-pitched and embarrassed. "I didn't realize- I'll just-" She quickly turned and tried to exit the room, but in her rush, she tripped over the rug near the door and crashed to the floor with a loud thump.

Daemon rolled his eyes at the sight of your clumsy assistant, but his grip on you didn't loosen. If anything, he held you even tighter, pulling you closer to him and the safety of the bed. "For the love of God…" he muttered, his voice an annoyed grumble. "She's a walking disaster, ain't she?" You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of your assistant sprawled out on the floor, clearly embarrassed and flustered. "Yeah, she's a bit clumsy," you admitted, your voice full of fondness. "But she's loyal and hardworking, so I keep her around." You looked up at Daemon, a sly smile on your face. "And she knows when to make herself scarce, thankfully." Daemon chuckled, his mood somewhat brightened by your fond words for your assistant. He leaned back against the headboard, pulling you with him so that you were half-reclined on his chest. "Yeah, I think the poor thing got the message," he said, his tone dry. "But I can't deny she's got great timing. Or lack thereof, in this case."

You snuggled up against him, enjoying the feeling of his warm, solid chest beneath you. "I guess we should count ourselves lucky," you joked. "Otherwise, we'd probably never get anything done." You glanced over at the clock on the bedside table and sighed. "Speaking of which, I do actually have things to do today…" Daemon groaned lowly in response, his arms tightening around you possessively. He nuzzled his face into your hair, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit your scent to memory, before pulling back slightly. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he muttered, his tone resigned. "You've got a business to run. But can't a man just hold his brat a little longer?" You chuckled at his words, touched by his possessiveness. "Of course you can," you reassured him. "And I would love that. But I really do have to get up. We can always pick this up later, though…" You reluctantly started to extricate yourself from his embrace, planting a quick kiss on his lips before standing up. He lets out a huff, watching as you reluctantly untangle yourself from his arms and rise from the bed, already missing the warmth of your body against his. He props himself up on his elbows, the sheets pooling around his waist and revealing his bare chest. "Promises, promises," he mutters, a roguish smile playing on his lips. "I'll hold you to that, you know. And I aim to collect, darlin'."

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