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formosusiniquis · 1 year

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y'know like barbie

ao3

It's Erica who gives him the idea, incidentally. Though she carries herself with a maturity that far surpasses the boys most days and though she's been through multiple life altering events, she does continue to only be eleven. Which is, it turns out, prime babysitting age.

The Sinclairs are going out of town overnight, it's their anniversary -- 18 blissful years, since our marriage can vote we thought we deserved a night away -- and they don't want Erica to spend the night home alone.

Enter Steve, who the Sinclairs trust with their children and who is inexplicably the only person Erica would accept staying the night with her. Steve honestly didn't believe it even as Mrs. Sinclair was saying it. But he smiles and nods, looks over the emergency numbers on the fridge when they're pointed to, nods at the money on the counter for food that he probably won't take, and waves as they walk out the door promising that he and Erica will be fine for the night and not to worry.

It's only when their car is out of the driveway and the door is shut that Steve realizes he isn't really a babysitter. He is a keep children alive while in a dangerous situation and when the situation is over drive them around because you feel bad that their childhoods have been marred by trauma-er which doesn't have quite the same ring as babysitter, and it's a lot harder to say with that rude tone the boys have been favoring. He also realizes that he's never actually dealt with children, or not girl children. The boys had all been older than Erica, when he had started keeping them alive. Max was definitely basically a teenager when he started really dealing with her; and she was usually okay to do what the boys wanted to do, like go to the arcade. Hopper didn't really trust him with El and that was fine, he wasn't sure he trusted himself with El either.

It put him in an awkward spot now though. Staring at Erica in her kitchen, a little afraid to ask the question on the front of his mind which was "What now?"

So he asks the second question on his mind, "What do you want to do that isn't eat ice cream all night?"

Say what you will about Steve Harrington, and a lot has been said, but he always keeps his promises and he always brings a pint of ice-cream for Erica to have when he comes over to the Sinclair house. Tonight he brought three, all different weird flavors he thought she'd like to try.

"Why can't I eat ice cream all night?" She says it with a challenge in her eyes, but he'd bet dollars to donuts that she's just doing it to make him sweat. "Because I've seen you eat ice cream, we've only got enough for two hours at most." His hand migrates as if of its own mind to his hip. "You need more than two people for Dungeons and Dragons, right?"

Her brows raise, for the first time since he's met her Erica Sinclair is stunned silent. Maybe she's just surprised he got the name right.

It lasts about as long as it takes him to notice it. "You'd play Dungeons and Dragons with me?" There's something fragile in the way she asks, and there is the eleven year old girl she's meant to be.

"Sure, you'd have to show me how, but if that's what you want to do I'm game."

Eyes narrowed in a distinctly intimidating way he kind of thinks she stole from Nancy, he does his best to make his sincerity clear on his face. "We need more than two people, but I've got something else we can do if you think your fragile manhood can take it."

He's got a retort at the tip of his tongue about just what his manhood can take and remembers just in time that yeah probably shouldn't make a joke like that in front of an actual child. "My pride isn't that delicate, I think I can handle anything you dish out."

"Famous last words."

He follows her to her bedroom, waiting outside the doorway to let her space stay private until he's told to come in. A clear plastic tub slides out from under her bed, out of sight but easily accessible and when the lid pops off he gets why. Rows of Barbies stacked neatly on top of each other, a mass grave for childhood. Steve has a stuffed bear, fur rubbed off of one ear, tucked up on the shelf of his closet that also got put away sooner than he would have chosen to, when it was too babyish.

“Alright, so who is the, like, elven warrior.”

“That’s not how you play Barbies.”

It’s snapped so fast that he thinks it embarasses her. He tactfully avoids eye contact, pulling out a doll with blonde hair snipped into a professional, if uneven, bob and a green skirt set. She's missing a shoe. “Then how do I play Barbies?”

“That one just won the Nobel Peace Prize, she solved world hunger, but she has plans to kill the Barbie who won the prize in Physics because she stole Barbie One’s research and gave it to NASA claiming it was her own.”

“Right, of course.” This was the kind of shit that happened on Dallas, only Barbie had a lot more awards. “And they’re all called Barbie?”

“Except for Ken, but Ken doesn’t do anything.”

“Well if Barbie just won the Peace Prize wouldn’t she use Ken to kill Barbie so she doesn’t get caught.”

Erica manages a look that is both condescending and considerate. “Barbie can do anything, including get away with murder; but she wouldn’t want to dirty her hands with that sort of thing.”

“And if Ken goes to jail it’s no loss.”

“Right.”

So maybe it's more accurate to say that Dustin actually starts it.

Dustin with the shittiest attitude this side of the Ohio, something Robin blames him for.

“Like father, like son.”

“Dustin doesn’t even know his dad.”

“I mean you and Eddie, dingus.”

“I am not that kid's dad. A brotherly figure at best, strong male role model more likely.”

“He’s a bitch because you are, Steve. Maybe if your and Eddie’s love language wasn’t being as bitchy as possible it wouldn’t have rubbed off on your kid.”

“Please don’t put Dustin and rubbing off in the same paragraph let alone the same thought wave.”

Dustin comes sprinting into Family Video on a Tuesday afternoon. “Steve! I need your car.”

“Did you learn how to drive when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“Obviously, I meant I need you too.” His hands are on his hips, eyes rolled. Shit maybe he did get it from Steve. “There’s this theoretical physicist coming to Notre Dame to give a talk on the Multiverse Theory.”

Steve was allowing himself a second to consider whether this was worth it, for once, instead of just blindly agreeing to drive Dustin wherever. The drive sucked ass, but it would put him close enough to Chicago that he could try to find a music store that would carry albums from the international metal bands Eddie couldn’t stop talking about.

It was a second too long for Dustin. “Steve, a theoretical physicist-”

See Steve had this suspicion that the kids did actually think he was an idiot. He was pretty sure that none of them, hell maybe none of Hellfire, save for Lucas realized that every athlete in the school had to keep up at least a 2.5 GPA. Which might not have been anything to write home about but Steve kept a 3.2 for most of high school, until the multiple concussions started to catch up with him. He wasn’t stupid, was the point and even if they didn’t think he was an idiot in a mean way he was a little sick of the shit.

“I know, like Barbie.”

That shuts Dustin up real quick.

“N- no, not like Barbie! Barbie is some girl's toy.”

“Excuse me?” Robin, who told Steve that she would not help him parent his children on work days or any other day ending in y had remembered that Martes doesn’t have one and her shift was almost over. “What does that mean, exactly, a girl’s toy?”

“And,” Steve adds, because he can and because Eddie made him drive him to fucking Bloomington because he was fixated on time travel and needed access to some science journal that only existed at Indiana U apparently, “Barbie is on a research team looking for the Higgs particle so she can start figuring out time travel.”

The bell chiming as Dustin leaves has never sounded sweeter.

He’ll definitely end up taking the twerp to stupid Notre Dame.

The thing is that Steve thinks he’s never really stopped being a bitch.

He doesn’t want to stop. He likes being bitchy. It’s fun, when you’re doing it with people you like it’s pretty funny, and honestly he’s kinda like Spiderman. With great power comes great responsibility, he’s only bitchy responsibly now.

And it’s actually perfectly responsible as an older brother type babysitter figure to correct the behavior of the younger siblings by being bitchy. If they don’t learn at home they’ll go out in the world thinking that kind of behavior is acceptable, see Steve Harrington in his early high school days who talked to people like his father did.

So when Mike interrupts El with, “I’m not going to ask Steve, he probably doesn’t even know what a Pulitzer is either.”

He says, “Oh, yeah like Barbie won. Or Nancy will someday, probably. It’s a journalism award, Wheeler.”

And when Lucas corrects, “I don’t actually think you can win an award for comics. It’s still really great though, Will!”

“Barbie won the Kirby Award in 1985 for best artist, I’m sure Will is soon to follow.”

Or when Nancy tells Holly, “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to be something important instead?”

“You could be an actress and do something cool like go to space if you want, Hols, like Barbie.” And maybe he says it with a little more bitch than he should that time, but he’s seen the ballerinas in Nancy’s room, she didn’t always want to be an investigative journalist.

It gets to be second nature. When someone starts being shitty about something or to lighten the mood.

Erica doubts whether she should run for student council. It's her first step to being actual president, like Barbie.

Dustin makes a crack about Steve's possible future prospects when he butts in on a conversation between Steve and Robin. "I could do all three, I could be a counselor and a hair stylist and an engineer. Maybe I'll add EMT too, Barbie wouldn't stop at three, why should I?"

Or when Mike sneers at him, "What are you a cop?" All because Steve told him not to buy weed now that Eddie had stopped dealing.

"Ew, no, because you look like a fresh-faced little narc trying to be cool and you're gonna get ripped off."

"What so not like Barbie?"

"The Barbie world has achieved equality at a level that it doesn't need the cops." Eddie sometimes has to get high after a run in with Powell or Calahan who he still doesn't really trust after the spring. Steve has been treated to many a lecture on why the police were a waste of resources.

He lets Mike sit with that for a minute before he adds, "Like Barbie, I am very cool and know what it looks like when I'm being taken for a ride. If you're gonna get pot from someone other than Eddie, ask Hop where he used to get all of his shit."

It doesn't feel stupid, until El comes running into the cabin one afternoon that Steve has decided to join the rebuilding effort. It’s actually just him and Hop, who has started trying to quietly parent him, something he’s not entirely convinced isn’t revenge for telling Wheeler that Hop has smoked pot before. Steve is pretty sure El was crying when she came in, something he bumps up to a certainty when he sees how awkward Hop looks right now.

“You mind taking that kid? It’s been a long time since high school.” he rubs the back of his neck, Steve does appreciate that he has the decency to feel weird about asking. “If it’s anything outside of big brother shit I can take over.”

He does let himself get suckered by that big brother line.

El is facedown on her bed in a clear ‘leave me alone I’m crying’ pose but he figures he’s already here it’s not like he can turn around and tell Hop that he was too afraid to approach a crying teenage girl. Like that wasn’t the whole reason he’d been sent in the first place. “Hey Ellie, can I come in?”

She sits up, tear tracks plain on her face but no more are falling, and nods in that endearing, aggressively certain way she’s got. “Is everything okay?” He pauses and asks, “Was it Mike?” because he knows that’ll be the first thing Hopper asks when Steve comes back out.

“You are worse than Dad.”

“That stings, Ellie Bell.”

She takes a deep breath, steeling an already impressive will, “Lucas says it is okay to just want to be happy right now, but all they talk about is what they are going to do. Dustin is talking about going to admission early, Will talks about talking to Dad and Joyce about art school, Lucas worries about his sports and scholarships, and Mike talks about classes that count twice. I do not know what I want to be. I do not know why I have to be anything.”

“You guys have been through a lot. I don’t think anyone would blame you for taking time to just be a kid.”

“What if I never want to be something? What if I do not ever want to go to college?”

He’s made his way over to the bed with her, sits tentatively on the edge like he’s seen Joyce do before. “Then you don’t. You’ll probably have to get a job at some point, but that doesn’t have to be what you are. Lucas isn’t a landscaper just because he mows lawns in the summer.”

“You don’t think Dad would be upset?” she asks.

“I don’t think there’s anything you could do that would really make Hop mad. And you might change your mind. I've been out of school for almost two years and I’m only thinking about college now. Or you could go to college and change your mind about what you want to be. You could be a hundred things, you could be anything! Like Barbie.”

He feels like an idiot almost immediately. A jerk quickly after that. He’s made El’s genuine crisis part of his stupid running joke. But something settles in the room. The underlying tension, the thing that had the hair on the back of his neck raised. He realizes, now, that her powers had probably also been on edge.

"Like Barbie." She says it with a graven seriousness, like Steve's dumb little joke is a mantra now.

"Yeah, and you're a sophomore you don't have to have your whole life figured out right now. And don't take life advice from Henderson anyway, he thought it was a good idea to raise an Upside Down slug as a pet."

He mostly just used it to be a bitch though. Because it was fun. No, it was what he was good at. So good at it he didn't even have to try.

Because Steve had a plan to be bitchy. Specifically to Mike Wheeler who kept flirting with Steve’s boyfriend while taking advantage of his hospitality. Sure it was at their stupid Dungeons and Dragons game, and yeah Steve was the one who said they could host the game at his house now that Eddie had graduated. Yes, he knew Eddie didn't mean anything by it when he responded and usually didn't flirt back with the kids. But it was still the kind of behavior that had to be gently corrected, for Mike's sake because if he didn't stop things were going to get drastic.

His initial plan is already in action. He encouraged El to come along to watch the Party play. It was, admittedly, a half hearted plan. Wheeler got so awkward anytime El was around he mostly just hoped that would keep him from trying anything.

It isn't. Eddie starts to describe a new character, "Blonde and statuesque, she has a long bow in hand and delicate elven features."

And even though El is sitting a few feet from him Mike perks up the way he always does when there's a new NPC to flirt with. He is going to have to have a talk with Eddie about letting the kid try out a bard.

He does at least have one other tool in his belt. "Oh, like Barbie."

Steve knew what he'd get as he said it. A groan from Dustin, who falls for this as being sincere about as often as he falls for the dumb-dumbs and dipshits line -- which is everytime for the record. Will and Lucas keep their laughs small, enough that they're covered by Erica's snort. The original Hellfire crew mostly looks confused, it's becoming less and less their default as they warm up to the Steve he is rather than the Steve they thought they remembered; but he likes to keep them on their toes.

Eddie is charmed. He can tell. Sees him duck his head behind his screen and his binders, trying to preserve the stern and scary dungeon master image. That apparently isn't possible if you're smiling like an idiot at your stupid boyfriend, so he's been told.

And Mike has maybe been on the wrong end of the joke a few more times than everyone else. He turns an interesting shade of red, two parts anger and one part embarrassed is Steve's guess. The foot stomp is unexpected, but he expects its been passed down the Wheeler line as a shared signal of outrage. "Not like Barbie, this isn't some stupid kids game. She's probably a hot, wisened archer ready to reward us for helping her village, not some stupid doll that you're obsessed with."

Eddie's blank face with the twitchy eyes has fallen into place when he sits back up from behind his screen. His things aren't going according to plan, panicked face. "I think that's a good place to end things this week. Wheeler, Henderson, Jeff, and Lady Applejack you've all cleared enough experience to level right? Do that before next week."

Steve knows enough to keep his mouth shut while everyone packs up to leave. Sends a small smile to Erica on her way out to the family minivan, he knows she struggles a little being the youngest at the table even if she won't say it. He has to imagine that the outburst had stung a bit.

"You gotta be nicer to little Wheeler." Eddie chides once everyone is gone, halfhearted at best when he's telling Steve off into the soft skin of his neck. When he feels the admonishment more than hears it.

"I'm not mean to Mike." He says on instinct, he does try not to be. "And he started it."

"Definitely think you started the Barbie thing, Sweetheart."

And well, yeah. "I Barbie all the kids equally."

Eddie hmms Steve can feel the vibration of it through his back and on his neck. Eddie is about to start something he better plan on finishing. "He asked Hop where he should get weed."

Oh. "I didn't think he'd actually do it!" And then, "Is that why he keeps flirting with you, revenge?"

"No, he's got a bunch of misplaced jealousy because Will and the girls think you're hot." He toys with the edge of Steve's shirt as he says it. Perpetually cold fingers brushing the clothes warmed skin beneath making him shiver.

"The girls don't think I'm hot."

He hums again, nips at the blush red skin at Steve's neck. "El used to, Max definitely has a taste for jock.

"That's not my fault, you let Mike play a bard." He wishes he didn't sound so desperate.

"Wanted to leave the Paladin spot open for you, baby."

"I'm starting to feel convinced, we could go upstairs and you could show me your character sheet."

The things he'll say to get laid.

"Don't think I can do that Stevie, smooth as a Ken doll down there. Could show you the actual character sheet though."

His back is cold as Eddie pulls away, smirking unrepentant as he lets Steve have the tiniest taste of his own medicine.

"Barbie has a very active sex life, actually." He's never been one not to double down. "Let me show you the fun we can have without getting your dick out."

He does leave it alone for a little while, even though he really, really doesn't want to. But despite what his friends, his fifth grade report card, and his mom might think; Steve is capable of keeping a hold of his worst impulses when he wants to.

So he lets opportunity pass him by.

He makes no comment about Barbie when Eddie talks about how John Carpenter is a film auteur. Not even when Dustin tries to define auteur for him. Incorrectly, but Robin comes to Steve's defense.

Barbie goes unmentioned, barely when an argument breaks out about Nobel prize winners, of all things. He thinks the kids argue more now than they ever have like it's the only way they have to get their bloodlust out now that the Upside Down was closed. He was quickly boxed out of the conversation, even if Erica kept sending him little glances over everyone's heads. (She'd let him have Peace Prize Barbie a couple weeks ago and maybe he was a little obsessed.)

Holly wants to be a vet now, a singing vet who is also on TV, but mostly a vet. She tells him all about it while he waits for Mike to find his shoes? Definitely not his quarters for the arcade, the day any of them bring those is the day Steve brings the nail bat back out. He’s one impulse purchase away from getting one of those little coin dispenser belts that the employees have -- Gareth just quit, maybe he still had his? Mike's frown is a little less general annoyance at Steve and a little more confusion when he's finally ready to leave and Barbie has gone unmentioned.

He almost breaks again when Eddie starts talking about sports. Or he starts talking about NASCAR which is close enough for Eddie, he has a surprising taste for racing for someone who never wanted to put his van on the starting line at parties. A woman led a Busch Series race for the first time, what a year '86. He's got no opinion on Barbie's ability to drive at all.

He could let a joke go. He could be nice. It wasn't so out of character that it needed this kind of attention.

Mike has forgiven him by the time the next session rolls around. Delayed two weeks after Eddie screamed so loud on stage that he couldn't speak for two days, and then again for Jeff's emergency appendectomy. Eddie has stopped leaving pointed gaps in conversation for Steve to fill with mention of Barbie, he has had his thinking face on instead which is good for Steve about as often as it isn't.

He leaves it alone. A little bit of non-life threatening surprise is good for the soul, or something. Listen, he’s made it this far by only asking questions when shit is about to get really, really bad and Eddie’s thinking face has only resulted in something bad once or twice -- and they probably should have spent more than a couple minutes negotiating that particular kink anyway.

When the kids start showing up and nothing has come from the thinking face, he assumes it was just for them anyway. He settles in to see whatever shit Eddie is going to do.

"From the ditch you pull a human man, a paladin. His plate is dirtied by his time on the ground but clearly gleams in its typical state. He's handsome, a square jaw and fluffy brown hair-"

"Ugh is this Steve? You already made us do a quest for him," Mike complains, maybe he hasn’t completely forgiven Steve for that last interruption.

Steve has, by his own count been the inspiration for at least three NPCs for this campaign: a white light faction rogue, Sol, that the party had to rescue from the dungeons of the nightmare King after he was caught sneaking into the bedrooms of the prince -- like it was Steve's fault that Wayne had super hearing; a young fighter from the gladiatorial combat ring who helped the party rescue a group of kidnapped children that were going to be used as bait in the next round of fights; and the most obvious Prince Stefan who sent the party on a quest to kill his betrothed a Duke called Thomas the Boarish and rescue his knight Rowen and beloved Bard Edwin -- it's not like he could unkiss Tommy, and he could be a dick but boarish was dramatic.

He was not this paladin, assuming Eddie was telling the truth about saving the Paladin he'd made for Steve.

"Cut the out of character chatter, Michael, before it starts counting in game. The Paladin before you is handsome in a bland, approachable, non-threatening way," Mike opens his mouth again, how is that not like Steve surely perched at the edge of his tongue and stopped in its tracks by elbows from Erica and Joey. "He introduces himself to his rescuer, Will the Wise, 'Thank you, kind sir, I would have been down there for ages before my lady noticed my absence. I am Sir Kenneth.'"

"What deity does he serve?" Will asks, something suspicious drawing across his face.

"Is there a holy symbol on his armor?" Gareth follows up. Gareth has been backing a lot of Will's plays lately, Steve thinks something might be going on there but he hasn't wanted to deal with Eddie teasing him for being a meddling matchmaker, again.

"There is no identifiable holy symbol on his clothes or armor." Eddie says, there's a mischief in his eyes, the way he tilts his head with quiet challenge and smiles.

"What God do you serve?" Erica asks, blunt and to the point. She gets cranky when her rogue doesn't have anything to stab.

"'The Lady in Pink,' he answers."

Any time Eddie reveals lore shit there's always a bunch of people talking over top of each other. It always turns into the kind of mass blob of shouting that Steve has a hard time parsing out, especially these days. Eddie somehow manages to distinguish not only people but the things they're saying and keeps his cool enough to keep the story going.

"Roll your insight, Gareth. Jeff, with a 15 history check, you have heard some whisperings from your homeland about a newly ascended goddess but not a name. Dustin, you're not getting shit with a 5 don't even try that but my back story says shit with me. Will, pretty sure that's a cleric spell but I'll let you have it he's a Neutral Good alignment. An 18, shit, yeah Garebear he does seem to be telling the truth that is the deity he follows; but that isn't the whole truth, you know a lot of the newer pantheon have a colloquial name and a true name."

"I'm sorry," Lucas says, "we aren't familiar with your lady. What can you tell us about her? Why would she leave you there? And that's a 14 on persuasion before you even ask."

"Why would I have asked that, Sinclair the elder? He has stars in his eyes when he speaks, 'before she ascended she was already limitless. A powerful warrior, an expert marksman, a mage beyond compare. Her power grew and grew until the only place left to explore was godhood.'"

"And what's her real name, if we wanted to spread the word?" Joey asks.

"'Oh she's everything. She's the lady in pink, she's the goddess with the golden mane, but before she ascended she favored one name I assume she has kept it.'"

"What is it?" Mike asks, perched at the edge of his seat.

"Oh no," Dustin whispers, a dawning horror on his face.

"'Barbara, though she preferred it shortened. Nicknames you call them," Steve sees the joke, knows where this is going a split second before reality breaks through the haze of fantasy for the players around the table. Eddie's smirking now, smile too pleased and too attractive. "'Y'know like Barbie?'"

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic #and in 1996 when steve and eddie are expecting their first kid - a daughter #erica gifts them the barbie camper so steve has something while he waits for the real thing #listen you know that oh like barbie post with the steve speaking image below it #i saw that and this happened #i just wanted to try out a little steve and erica bonding #and it turned into steve being a bitchy big brother #steve and eddies love language is being dicks #but their secondary love language is not letting the bit die and i do believe that #so eddie had to take it up when steve set it down

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rinniessance · 7 months

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TEENAGE FEVER ༊*·˚ - suguru geto x fem!reader x satoru gojo

SUMMARY. you, satoru and suguru have been taking care of the fushiguro kids and the twins since your teenage days. after your latest mission, you reminisce about the beginnings of your little family. and during an impromptu trip, unspoken feelings finally come to a boil.

꒰ warnings: pure fluff! idiots in love. friends to lovers, mutual pining, family dynamics, non-canon compliant, megumi calls you mommy once ♡ // word count: 11.6k ꒱ ꒰ notes: another repost from my old account .ᐟ.ᐟ just really wanted to have this piece on my new blog <3 ꒱

sometimes you wonder why you agreed to be a part of madness that is the geto/gojo/you in a co-parenting throuple (you internally scream every time you remember how nonchalant satoru was about that description. what? i think that’s kind of adorable. you and suguru did not agree; somehow the name still stuck around). you would think that a pair of strongest sorcerers would be able to handle four first graders yet dozens of notifications that finally came through to your phone prove otherwise. your left eye twitches.

[ groupchat notifications: co-parenting throuple ] ‘toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: girl dinner ! ‘toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: [picture] sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎: im sorry i wasn’t there to prevent the disaster sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎: shall i prepare the casket?

messages are stamped two hours ago, and you’re too afraid to open the picture, dozens of different scenarios popping up in your head at the speed of light. when you finally unlock the messages, you think suguru was considerate enough to even suggest a casket because once you’re done with satoru gojo, there will be no body to bury.

you: you fed them cake for dinner ?? toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ responded: it’s sunday! they deserve a little treat! sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎ responded: it’s a 12-inch cheesecake you responded: satoru, i know what you want to say, zip it. you’re in so much trouble already.

you: and why is it only you with the girls, where is megumi???? toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ responded: and ‘gumi ate regular dinner like a child-man he is :< you responded: it’s called a man-child satoru… toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\: responded: no, megumi is a child-man because he has a soul of a man trapped in a body of a seven year old sugu ₍ᐢ⑅ᐢ₎ responded: so you’re calling him benjamin button? you responded: that’s why he doesn’t like either of you.

the frustration you felt towards satoru mere two minutes ago dissipates and gives space to something much warmer; the feeling that was tugging at you the whole weekend as you travelled to korea, sent away on a mission (you found yourself missing your little family more than you expected); the feeling that made you treating exorcising curses with utmost care because for the first time in a while, you want to come home safe. with a simple reminder of how lucky you’re to have satoru and suguru protecting the little piece of safe haven you carved out for yourselves; all the anger is gone as if it was never there in the first place.

you’re about to scroll through the earlier messages but flight attendant announces that the passengers are finally clear to get off the plane, so you shove the phone into your bag, grab your carry-on and hurry out. security check is surprisingly fast, and you’re riding a taxi back home in no time. you send a quick message to the group chat that you’re on your way and close your eyes.

quiet hum of the radio, steady movement of the car, and familiar surroundings immediately bring you peace – you’ve been feeling restless during your whole weekend trip, and now that you’re almost back with people you want to be with the most, you cannot help but smile. you’re being lulled to sleep by something pleasant playing on the radio, and your thoughts drift back to the day you found that being teenage parents can come in different forms.

3 years ago

you sigh again as you look at your watch. 4:23pm, satoru was supposed to be here 23 minutes ago. not only that, but he’s been ignoring your calls, not responding to your messages and did not tell anyone where he’s suddenly gone off to. suguru cannot be reached either, you know he has a mission today, so now you’re stranded in the middle of shibuya, your least favorite place to be, alone. you think this is the day you finally stab satoru gojo because he has the absolute nerve to beg you to come to this new dessert cafe, the one that just opened. supposedly, it was so good, you just have to try it - satoru convinced you to join him, knowing that you hate being in overcrowded spaces, only for to him to ghost you.

buzz of your phone brings you out of your thoughts.

[ incoming call: toru /ᐠ. ᴗ.ᐟ\ ]

“i swear to god, satoru, you better have to save half the planet as an excuse or —”

“where are you?”

“what? what do you mean where am i? in shibuya, where we were supposed to meet almost 30 minutes ago!”

“we’re going back to the school now, come back as soon as you can.”

and then he hung up. you blankly stared at the screen of your phone like it would somehow explain what just happened. with a deep sigh, you put the phone away and massage your temples, feeling the headache coming. satoru gojo might be the one who’s getting migraines from having six eyes but he always makes sure you have one too, just for the company.

ride back to the school is quick and easy – thankfully you’re in time to beat the rush hour, and currently, you’re standing in front of tokyo high. now that you’ve had time to calm your anger and frustration down, you realize that gojo would’ve at least texted you if he was late. something must’ve happened, and you feel panic start spreading its icy tentacles all over your body. picking up the pace, you almost run through the courtyard, pass the temple decorum and straight to doctor’s office – you assume he would be there if something happened.

you finally stand in front of the door: your breathing is heavy and you’re dizzy from how fast you sped up. the horrors of last year’s mission flash before your eyes, painting it blood, sorrow and anger, and you pray to every god known that it’s not a repeat of that failure. you almost lost suguru to the darkness that preyed on him, stalking his shadows, seeping through his skin – you are still haunted by how hollow his eyes became. you’re sure seeing him like this again will break you instead this time. you try to steady your breathing and knock.

“you can come in.”

of course satoru would know you were here. pushing the door and walking into the room, you are met by two little girls sitting on each suguru’s side on the hospital bed. satoru is standing next to them and observing his best friend who is gently murmuring something to the twins. both of them look unharmed which means shoko already worked her magic if it was necessary. it seems none of you want to bring up the elephant in the room so you just take a sit in the chair next to the desk.

“what happened?” your voice sounds loud in the hushed murmurs bouncing off the wall, and all four pairs of eyes are directed at you. it seems you startled the girls as they grabbed onto suguru’s sleeves – you cannot help but stretch your lips in a pretty smile, waving to them. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you tell them in a hushed tone this time, “would you tell me your names if i told you mine?”

brunette twin shakes her head for the both of them, and you introduce yourself. same girl responds to your curiosity.

“i am mimiko, and we’ve never met our parents but i know i am older by 5 minutes. and this,” she points at the girl on the opposite side of suguru, “is nanako. she is always a little shy so i make sure to talk for the both of us!” blonde girl curls a little more into your friend, and you finally make eye contact with him. you’re a little lost by what you see – hurt, anger, tenderness, confusion, he looks so defeated yet relieved at the same time. you’re turning to look at satoru instead but he only shrugs his shoulders.

“don’t look at me, he didn’t really share any details with me either.”

you hum in response and get up from the chair, walking to where the hospital bed is and squat to face them, extending your hand.

“well, it’s really nice to meet you, mimiko and nanako,” and as you get a little closer to their face, you whisper as it’s meant to be a secret, “i think we’ll become really good friends.”

from what satoru told you, it seems that him and suguru hadn’t had a chance to talk yet – girls looked very attached to dark-haired man already, it’s most likely they wouldn’t leave his side and whatever gojo wanted to discuss was not meant for children’s ears. you’re too scared to overstep the friendship boundary you just started building with the girls but you know the look on your friends’ faces, and they tell you they need to have a serious and most likely unpleasant conversation (not too hard to guess what about). standing up, you tentatively reach out your hands to nanako and mimiko.

“have you ever tried crepes? there is a very good place that sells them nearby. what do you say if we go and grab some dessert, just us girls?”

you could see their eyes lit up as they looked back at suguru, looking for a confirmation you’re safe to go with. he smiled at them (that smile that sometimes makes your heart skip a beat and makes you yearn for something you know you could never have), making wrinkles appear in the corner of his crescent-like eyes.

“she is my friend, you can go with her. i’ll meet you in a little bit,” and as he looked back at you, he mouthed quiet “thank you”. you only smiled in return: suguru never needed to thank you, not after the near escape to hell you guided him away from; not after the sleepless nights you spent keeping him a quiet company on the rooftops of jujutsu tech because silence was everything he needed in those moments; not after tight embraces you had to hold him in when you witnessed a sliver of panic attack creeping up on him when he least expected it. in the year that followed the disastrous star plasma vessel mission, you were the light that guided suguru back to himself, back to satoru, back to you. geto didn’t need to say thank you, at least not to you, not anymore.

grabbing two little girls by their hands, you lead them out of school.

“i promise you we will have the best time.”

present

the particular rough bump of the car brings you back to the present moment. you look at the time on your phone, display showing 11:23pm, and you smile looking at the picture on your lockscreen: it’s a picture of satoru with nanako and mimiko, their mouths stuffed full of crepes.

after suguru decided to take the girls in, you and satoru made it a habit of coming over and helping him take care of them. geto and gojo used to be inseparable but the rift that broke in between them in the year that followed amanai riko’s death was a surprise. being close to both strongest sorcerers, you knew why it was there, you knew the sheer trauma of it for both of them. so you stayed with gojo when he needed you to keep reminding him that his shoulders do not have to carry the weight of the whole world, and you’re here to share it. and you stayed with geto when he was plunged into the coldness of heart-wrenching guilt and needed you to pull him out from under the deep. after suguru adopted nanako and mimiko, you were the bridge that crossed a seemingly bottomless crevice between the two of them.

making satoru see what he was missing with suguru’s behavour at the time and asking suguru to understand why satoru was seemingly oblivious to it in the first place – the confusion, the pain, the loss of innocence, and everything unsaid that went on between them – was almost as difficult as being a sorcerer in the first place. by a miracle, you stopped being their overpass as they started rebuilding their bridges themselves. yet, the connection you weaved with the sacred geometry of your hands between the three of you created a special bond that prevailed until this day.

unlocking your phone, you scroll through the earlier messages in the chat: messages that kids already miss you (sent 30 minutes after your plane took off on friday), stories about their successful disneyworld trip on saturday (traitors, you think, you’ve been begging them for a family outing there for months now), and cake-baking adventures today (you internally dread the mess that will have to be cleaned up in the kitchen). looking back at you from your home screen is the picture of megumi and tsumiki on their first day of school, proud suguru holding both their hands (megumi refused to hold satoru’s hand so he refused to be in the picture – sometimes you wonder who is the older out of the two). warmth takes over your entire being once again, and you allow yourself to recollect the memories of how the last pieces of your family all came together.

2 years ago

“i am going to meet with that kid fushiguro was talking about before he, you know,” and satoru dramatically slashed his neck with his finger, poking his tongue out, imitating a dead face. nanako and mimiko laughed from the opposite side of the table while you kicked him on the shin.

“please, satoru, i didn’t sign up to babysit three kids. eat your breakfast, i need to get girls to pre-school, we can talk about it once i’m back.”

“what if i drive you? and then we can go grab kikufuku from the new place that opened near shinjuku station, i heard it’s really good.”

“satoru, it’s 7am in the morning. unlike you, i am a normal human being who cannot possibly consume that much sugar this early. and,” you lean in closer and whisper so the girls cannot hear, “please don’t say stuff like this in front of the twins, they will think it’s normal to be asking for dessert at this ungodly hour.”

satoru thinks it’s adorable, how you huff and puff at the girls like a mother hen. ever since the girls started living with suguru, you made it your mission to come over at least once a week to make sure they have everything they need – and nanako and mimiko, as they once confessed to geto, love your presence. after everything they’ve been through, the girls learned to recognize the intention behind people’s auras, and yours only gave them peace. and, unbeknownst to them at this tender age, they have craved peace for a very long time. so he bites his tongue and keeps the snarky remark he wanted to say, instead quietly whispering “sorry”, and you appreciate the gesture that may seem small to another, but speaks volume to yourself.

“fine. we will be leaving in,” you look at the watch, squinting and thinking about how much time you have left, “30 minutes, make sure you’re ready or we’re leaving without you.”

you let the twins finish their breakfast and rush both of them to brush their teeth before you prep their outfits. suguru was sent out on a mission for the whole week (you worry; satoru tells you that with how much you worry about everyone and everything, you’ll be grayer than him in couple of years) and asked you to stay with the girls until he returns. you won’t lie – you’ve grown attached to them within the short amount of time you’ve been helping taking care of them so you agreed to babysit in a millisecond.

you didn’t expect that a third child will be living with you all this week too.

“why don’t i get my outfit chosen for me?” you feel satoru before you can even hear him, the never-ending reach of his limitless tingling your senses, rushing the goosebumps up your spine (this is totally normal, right? friends make other friends feel like this, right?). and you wish he would only be the omniscient presence that makes your knees weak because as soon as he opens his mouth, you want to roll your eyes and smack the back of his head. you learned to treat him like a child, if he wanted to behave like one.

“because mommy is busy and you’re old enough to do it on your own.”

satoru did not expect you to say that, sudden blush rushing to his face making his thoughts drift in a direction incredibly inappropriate for a friend. great. you’re so gross, satoru. he suddenly turned away and rushed out from the bedroom (if you had more time, you would’ve asked him what his deal was but alas, you were already running late). then he proceeded to stay quiet the whole morning: while you were getting nanako and mimiko dressed, while he was driving all of you to school, while you waved goodbye to the girls and made your way back to the car. the phrase kept running through his mind the whole time until you cleared your throat and looked at him with your brow raised.

“what’s gotten into you? you’ve been suspiciously quiet the whole morning. didn’t you want to talk about something?”

he forced all the wrong thoughts to stay hidden for now, patted them away like crows nibbling at the forbidden nerves of his sudden need. he cleared his throat and started driving away from the school, not knowing where he was taking the two of you yet.

“uh, yeah. i was telling you that i am going to meet with the fushiguro kid tomorrow.”

“okay… and?”

“and what?”

“what are you going to do?”

megumi fushiguro was discussed among you before, but no concrete decision was ever reached. what if the kid doesn’t even want to go with him? he won’t be able to drag him by force unless he wants to be accused of child abduction.

“i don’t know. if he does want to come with me, i have the resources to keep him out of whatever deal his father cooked up for him with the zen’in clan. but if he doesn’t… by the time he realizes what zen’ins are, and if he ever wants to leave, it’ll be too late,” satoru clicks his tongue at the mention of one of the three big families. it’s no secret gojo clan has not seen eye-to-eye with zen’ins for a long time now but for satoru, it’s personal.

“you know, if you decide to take him in, it’s not like one more child will really make a difference. you’ll just have to stop coming around and it’s like nothing changed,” the words come out of you with such levity, satoru sometimes thinks you don’t even realize that your presence alone can make a wilted flower spring back to life.

he can only laugh in response. you haven’t even met the kid and you already welcome him like it’s nothing to worry about. gojo always wanted to compare you to the sun, the stars or any other celestial being that shines so brightly, they illuminate every shadow in their reach. but as the time passed, he realized that he didn’t want you to be a sun, or a star – then he will have to share your light with everyone else. no, you’re a flame in the home’s fireplace, warm and inviting to anyone who’s welcomed into your humble abode but lost to everyone else.

“you say that now. let’s see what happens when i show up with two kids instead of one.”

present

the memory makes you chuckle. sometimes you wonder if he knew megumi had a sister because when he did show up with two kids instead of a promised one, you swore he looked as smug as ever.

as the time went on, spreading yourself thin between going to university (you said you wanted to finish your degree in case your career as a sorcerer doesn’t work out), helping out geto and gojo on their missions when they asked you, and helping take care of both suguru’s girls and fushiguro siblings was proving to be too much. so satoru, for all his seemingly unlimited resources, decided that buying a house and living all together will be better. you knew that it was easier to move a mountain than change gojo’s mind once it’s been set on something so you didn’t argue. to no one’s surprise, living together for all of you came as naturally as breathing. who said a family cannot be three barely functioning not-even-yet adults and their four adopted children?

the familiar silhouette of home comes into view, and you sigh with relief. when the cab stops, you pay the driver, grabbing your things and rushing our the car. it’s the moments like this you envy satoru’s teleportation ability though you will never admit it to him out loud, lest you inflate his ego even more. you’re barely able to step away from the gates when the front door to the house swings open and you see the person you were just thinking about poking his head out.

“need a hand?”

gojo is as cheerful as ever, and you cannot help but smile back, lips stretching in that tired way he finds almost domestic, and he feels something prick inside him. not now. you want to say something back, but you’re interrupted by the sound of little footsteps running past satoru, towards you.

“you’re back, you’re back!” nanako and mimiko are the first rushing to greet you, with tsumiki hot on their tail. you see megumi standing in the doorframe trying to pat away satoru’s hand resting on top of his head as he comes out to greet you as well.

“oh my god, ‘toru, what are they still doing up, it’s past 12am!” you redirect your attention to the kids instead. “what are you little rascals still doing up, uh? just because you don’t have school tomorrow doesn’t mean you don’t have a sleeping schedule anymore!”

“gojo-san and geto-san said we can stay up today!”

“3 years later and you’re still the only one they call by your first name,” you hear suguru before you can see him: he is standing on the opposite side of megumi, letting the kid hide behind his leg to get away from gojo’s assault on his hair. you smile at them and decide there is no point of staying mad at them any longer.

the men help you to bring your bags inside, and you collapse on the couch as soon as you pass the threshold of your home.

“how was your trip?” megumi asks as he slowly crawls to sit on your right side. out of all the kids, megumi was the hardest to read – for a child his age, he was overly perceptive and did feel almost like an adult at times. what did satoru call him? a child-man, that’s right.

“it was good, ‘gumi. ‘m just tired now. how was your weekend? i saw someone took you to disneyworld when i was asking for it the whole time,” you said, raising your voice at the later part of the sentence so it can reach gojo and geto’s ears from where they were in the kitchen. you could only hear a light chuckle back.

“it was so fun! mimiko was scared of the ride we went on, but i was so brave!” nanako’s eyes twinkled with so much joy, you really wish you witnessed the moment yourself. satoru was right all those years ago, you were a mother hen back then, you’re a mother hen now.

“no, i wasn’t! tsumiki was scared more!”

“why are you lying? no, i wasn’t!”

“ay, ay! i’m sure all of you were equally brave. now, can you tell me why you stayed up this late?” you finally sit everyone down, satoru and suguru joining you with freshly brewed tea, and think this is the most at peace you’ve ever felt.

“we were waiting for you…” tsumiki shyly confesses on behalf of everyone.

“oh,” your vision gets blurry and you feel pearly beads of tears pool in the corner of your eyes before quickly blinking them away.

“ughhh, you cute little puppies, i just want to eat you up,” you say before anyone can question your tears and pull all of the kids into a bear hug. time is late, however, so you make a quick work of tucking everyone into bed now that they’ve seen you. you say your goodnights and leave their rooms.

“do we not get a hug now?” satoru asks, wearing his signature smirk, and you want to clap back with a retort of your own, chastise them for letting the kids eat cake for dinner and stay up past midnight, or remind them that they are not seven years old anymore; but the car trip and the memories you revisited bring out something nostalgic in you making you slowly walk up to satoru and hug him instead. he is taken aback at first but gojo has always been good at recovering from momentary stupor so he’s pulling you back into a hug in no time.

“you two are rude,” comes from suguru’s side and as soon as you’re untangling yourself from gojo, you’re walking up to the raven-haired sorcerer to do the same.

“i missed you two idiots.”

“we missed you too.”

the silence stretches across the room but it’s comforting and inviting, like an old friend who hasn’t visited in a while, enveloping the three of you in its embrace. you look at the clock on the wall, showing you 1:05am, and suddenly your whole body feels heavy.

“sorry guys, i think the trip is finally showing its signs… i am so tired, don’t even have energy to take a shower,” you say and groan in disgust. you hate going to bed without washing the grime of the day off your body but the fatigue is clinging onto your skin like humid air. “i’m going to bed now, see you guys tomorrow.”

“good night.”

“sleep well.”

and if you paid closer attention, you would’ve noticed the deep seated longing in the men’s gazes, the one that you sometimes have to hide from them too; you would’ve noticed how suguru’s hand is following yours long after you’re out of their sight, and how satoru’s tongue darted out to wet his lips when you were pressed against him, even if for a second; you would’ve noticed that the feelings you’ve been trying to push deep down for your two best friends are reflected all the same somewhere in the constellation of their eyes.

next morning you wake up as a result of someone laughing your name and jumping on your bed. sunlight is peaking through the curtains, making sun bunnies dance on the walls of your room and kiss your cheeks. you try to open your eyes but your head feels heavy like you’ve just fallen asleep and you struggle to make out your surroundings – feeling disoriented first thing in the morning is definitely your least favorite thing. you groan softly and finally force yourself to lift your eyelids – as you do so, you’re met with two little girls using your bed as a make-shift trampoline.

“wake up! wake up! gojo-san and geto-san told us we will be leaving to go to the sea in an hour!” and they swiftly left, just as quickly as they had come in, leaving you to stare up at the ceiling in confusion.

“uh?”

once the words really settled in, you’re getting up from the bed in record time and putting on the first clothes you lay your eyes on. you find the strongest duo already up and ready. all of the kids, worryingly, also look like they are ready to leave the house, and there are bags near the door with both satoru and suguru looking too smug not to be suspicious about it.

“what is going on here?” you ask from the doorway that connects the hallway leading to your rooms to the kitchen. “why am i hearing that we’re going to the sea, and why are you dressed like this?”

“well,” satoru starts, “because we are going to the sea so we’re wearing appropriate clothing. you’re the only one who’s still not dressed.

you close your eyes and massage the bridge of your nose. mentally you douse whatever feelings you were having for these idiots yesterday.

“why am i hearing about this only now?”

“surprise?..”

“i know it’s last minute, but satoru made a promise to drive so you can relax in the car while we’re on the way there. just get ready and we can leave right after,” suguru says from his place on the couch, and you cannot help but sigh deeply and return to your room to shower and quickly pack.

when you’re out of earshot, geto shoots gojo a look.

“what are you planning, satoru?”

“why would i be planning anything? she’s been really stressed recently, and then the higher ups have the audacity to send her away for a whole weekend and give you a mission that took your whole sunday at the same time she was sent away. i was overworked the week before that. sometimes it feels like they are doing this on purpose. so maybe we should all disappear for a couple of days with no way of contacting us, maybe they’ll stop pestering us like we’re the only sorcerers available.”

“very mature of you, ‘toru.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.”

the two of them finish packing the last of the food that gojo bought in the morning while waiting for you. reserving a spot this late in one of the most popular vacation spots in japan was hard, but nothing is impossible when you’re satoru gojo.

you’re ready in record time, and the kids are all yelling and arguing about who is going to sit where. you need to intervene and say you will be sitting in the back of suv with nanako and mimiko, while mugumi and tsumiki agreed to sit in the middle row; suguru is riding shotgun and satoru has agreed to be your driver for the ride. unsurprisingly, not even an hour out of the city, the car is filled with snoring as the kids fell asleep shortly after you started driving. you feel yourself getting drowsy, closing your eyes and swearing you will only sleep for a moment. however, the next time you open them, you’re informed by suguru that all of you are already halfway through the trip.

“oh my god, i can’t believe i slept for that long,” you mumble through a voice heavy with drowsiness. “i think it’s best if we stop somewhere now, i’ll wake the kids up so they can eat quickly and pee. i suggest we all do it.”

“yeah, i think it would be best, i don’t know if we will have the opportunity to stop any time soon,” satoru agrees with you, and the drive continues for 20 more minutes until you’re stopping at the gas station. you gently wake the kids up and let them know that they need to have a snack and go to the restroom (time is 11:20am and they should be able to fall asleep again with no issues after that).

“how much longer do you think we have to drive?” you ask satoru as he is refilling the gas tank. you’re watching suguru watch the kids where they are running around nearby.

“maybe 2.5-3 hours, depending on the traffic.”

“did something happen during the weekend?”

“no, why would you ask?”

“hm…” you quickly hum, “this is all too sudden for it to be spontaneous.”

“oh, common, don’t be like that. i just think the little family of ours needs a mini vacation, that is all.”

as soon as the words leave his mouth, gojo can feel the blush creeping up all the way to his ears and he clears his throat, walking away. you don’t know what makes you giggle more – the way he admits that whatever it is you have, he also sees it as a family, or the way the confession makes him feel embarrassed. you observe him preparing to get into the driver’s seat – sometimes you wonder what is happening in that handsome head of his. you glance at suguru and wonder if he would have a better guess.

gojo lets you know that you’re good to depart again. the second part of the trip is as chaotic as you would imagine it go and you give up on trying to make kids to go back to sleep. instead, you’re breaking up the fights between almost everyone: nanako and mimiko argue about their friendship bracelets across from you; you keep having to remind gojo that he is indeed an adult in this situation while he wants to continue arguing with megumi; and suguru somehow breaks the AC so the last 30 minutes of the drive everyone is suffering in silence.

once you finally pull up to the little vacation house gojo somehow procured at the last moment, you’re already feeling at your limit: you need the sun and to dive into warm water before you start losing your hair.

geto helps you with the bags while gojo unloads everything into the kitchen – you’re not sure how long you’re staying here for but the amount of food they brought will last you a nuclear winter. the children are excited about their rooms, and you must keep reminding them to be careful and to not run into any corners despite their enthusiasm. you help them unpack and choose outfits for the day – it’s been decided in the car that you will be going to the beach as soon as you’re settled.

everyone is ready in half an hour – you helped the girls get into their swimming suits, while megumi insisted he can do it himself (you suggested geto or gojo help him, but he closed the door in their faces and didn’t come out until he was done). both men were already waiting by the door with the picnic bags and beach essentials – you had to admit they looked a little too good, making a knot twist in your stomach.

satoru was dressed in a simple white button up that matched his hair and a pair of navy swim trunks. maybe he was right, this trip was long overdue for all three of you, as gojo looked more relaxed and at peace than you’ve seen him in a while. his lips were stretch into a lazy smile and his eyes, unobstructed by the glasses or a blindfold, had a glint of mischief that reminded you of a 16 year-old boy you met all those years ago. he tried his best to style his white unruly hair but the surrounding humidity only made it frizzier.

gojo makes it seem almost effortless, with how good he looks, and maybe part of it is true – despite never admitting it out loud, you know he won the genetic lottery when it came to his appearance. but you also know that satoru has an unrelenting skin care routine (because you buy your products together); that he asks what you think about his outfits even though you keep repeating you should be the last person he asks for fashion advice (don’t worry about it, princess, your opinion is the only one that matters anyways and you hate how your heart clenches at these words); and that he spends 45 minutes taking his showers. but what gojo doesn’t know is that you adore him the most first thing in the morning – eyes so sleepy he can barely keep them open, voice gruff and low asking what’s for breakfast, wearing his sleeping gray sweatpants and nothing else. and he will never know lest you want to ruin everything you’ve worked so hard to build between the three of you.

you moved your eyes away from gojo to where suguru was leaning on the door. he was wearing a blue hawaiian shirt with the three top buttons popped off, paired with simple black swimming shorts. his hair was put into a perfect manbun, however, unrelenting bangs always make themselves known untangled from the rest of his locks. you noticed it back when you were teenagers and got used to carrying bobby pins for him – he somehow always leaves them at home (you will never admit but you love the fact that he always forgets them – it gives you another reason to run your fingers through his hair) – and this habit stayed with you all the way into adulthood. while satoru was handsome in a regal way, suguru was all sharp edges that made him look almost dangerous – pronounced jaw, pointy nose, almost cat-like eyes; the kind of beauty that always makes you weak in the knees.

“see something you like?” satoru’s voice takes you out of your daydream and, shamefully, you realize you’ve been standing in the corridor doorway, gawking at them like it’s your first time seeing their faces. you only groan in response and roll your eyes, trying to hide the blush that adores your neck and flushes your cheeks red.

“if i saw something i like, i would’ve told you,” and you stick your tongue out. liar.

“are you feeling well? you look a little red, maybe you got a fever?” comes from suguru’s side now as he tries to reach for your forehead but you swat his hand away.

“ugh, i hate both of you.” liar. they only laugh when you rush past them, megumi and nanako on either side of you holding your hands while tsumiki sits on satoru’s shoulders and mimiko takes her rightful place on suguru’s back.

“whatever you say, sweetheart.”

the way to the beach is short and sweet, your attention is fully dedicated to megumi and nanako as they re-tell you the stories from their weekend. ‘gumi won a plushy and gave it to mimiko because she asked him to play in the first place, and tsumiki, apparently, had the highest score in the game where you punch a bag to see how strong you are. nanako says that helping satoru bake the cheesecake on sunday was her favorite part of the weekend, and you make a mental note to let her help you the next time you do it.

from behind you, geto and gojo observe your interactions with the kids, each of them in their own thoughts, yet both mulling over the same thing – you, letting tsumiki and mimiko chat between themselves.

neither of them thought you would become a constant in their lives when they decided to take in the kids – after all, none of you were in a relationship, despite their feelings for you, and you had no obligations to be giving them so much of your time. but as the time went on, all three of you fell into a comfortable routine that was both a blessing and a curse – they couldn’t confess that the boyish crush they had on you in your teenage years not only endured but blossomed into something so much more. that something kept growing inside their ribcages, weaving and building a home there, rooting itself so deep, they forgot what life was like before you offered them your light.

satoru and suguru only discussed this once between each other. the unspoken feelings they had not only for you but also for each other made already complex situation even more complicated. the fear of damaging the carefully built dynamic between the three of you was overwhelming - so overwhelming in fact, both agreed to never speak of this again. pandora’s box was sealed, and only you behold the power to open it. the strongest duo knows why this little box of wonders needs to be locked far away from them - however, it’s moments like this, when megumi asks to be carried in your hands (even though he’s getting too big for that) while nanako clenches your hand harder and you indulge both of them without a moment’s delay, that make them wish you knew: knew how much suguru adores the little tilt to your head when you’re confused about something, knew how much satoru loves smoothing out the wrinkles on your head when you’re deep in the thought, knew how both of them yearn for your laugh after a long day.

the cute white bikini you’re wearing is definitely not helping the ever-running thoughts two men are trying so hard to push down. it’s not the first time the absolute indecency of their desire is sparked by the slight bounce of your tits and the swing of your hips. memories of countless times they had to take an extra shower in the morning because you would show up in the kitchen in one of their shirts, without a bra, nipples hard and visible through a thin fabric, should make them feel embarrassed, yet the shame never comes. when did the longing for you start feeling so right?

as the years progressed, this dance the three of you did around each other became familiar, and none of you dared to switch the melody.

sometimes you wish you were brave enough to do it.

“look, look, we’re finally here!” mimiko yells from suguru’s back and then instructs him to put her down. nanako lets go of your hand as tsumiki’s climbing down satoru’s shoulders, and three girls run away towards the sea.

“be careful! you still need to put your sunscreen, don’t run away too far!” you move your attention to the little boy you released from your hold as you entered the beach, “‘gumi, you’re not going with them?”

you wiggle his arm back and forth (his hand is so tight in yours, gripping now harder than before) but he refuses to look at you so you don’t push.

“did you forget he doesn’t know how to swim?” satoru says from behind you, and you shoot him a look. god, was he purposefully trying to rile megumi? fushiguro only digs his fingers further into your hand, and you honestly want to bite satoru’s head off.

“that’s okay, baby, i’m sure your dad needed support of his whole clan when he was trying to learn how to swim.”

“he is not my dad.”

your brain goes blank for a second, and you hope satoru did not hear what you just said (he did; but he thinks he’ll spare you the further embarrassment; he also doesn’t want to admit that it makes his stomach turn in a way he wish it wouldn’t).

“you’re right, dummy like him could never be your dad.”

you find the spot not too far from where the girls are playing, and you help geto and gojo set up the blankets and umbrellas. while they are making sure none of it flies away with the first gust of the wind, you search for the sunscreen in your bag.

“girls! come here, we need to put sunscreen on you!”

you hear the tatter of 6 feet rushing towards you, trying to get first in line so they can all get back to playing in the water. you hand satoru and suguru two other tubes you brought.

“help me to put this on them. i think if we don’t do it in the next minute, they will actually explode,” you say, smiling at how impatient tsumiki is being in front of you as she keeps bouncing on her legs. before you start on the sunscreen, you turn her so her back is facing you and let her hair out of the ponytail as you try to retie it. she winces a bit and lets out a small ouch.

“’m sorry baby, didn’t meant to hurt you, you okay?” you ask as you rub on the roots of her hair.

“yeah, i’m okay!” she exclaims loudly, making you giggle. once her bun is all set in place, you quickly put the sunscreen on her whole body, finishing with the face, and boop her nose. tsumiki scrunches it in her adorable way, and you feel your heart swell with joy and love.

once the girls run off again, suguru comes up to you with the tube of sunscreen in hands.

“don’t you think you need a little help too?”

the smile adorning his face is so sweet, he doesn’t realize the summersaults it’s making your heart to do. and when you think about those hands on your shoulders, on your back, going lower where you want them most, you realize you actually might be burning up. but you can’t come up with an excuse fast enough not to let him do it so, without any words lest you’ll be embarrassing yourself, you just turn around and present him your back.

geto start slowly with your shoulders, squeezing the tube and spreading the sunscreen on your soft skin. you swear you can hear him sharply inhale, and your heart involuntarily skips a beat. you let yourself wonder, just for a second, how these hands would feel on the parts of your body where you want them most, if geto would be as gentle squeezing your breasts and tugging at your nipples. and when his hands start travelling lower, caressing the space between your shoulder blades and running his fingers down your spine, you wonder if his long digits would reach the spot inside your gummy walls that you’re unable to find yourself. you absolutely lose yourself to the indecent thoughts when he starts massaging the sunscreen into your lower back. that man, you think, if only he knew what he was doing. it takes all of your willpower to prevent yourself from moaning out loud and not tremble at his mere touch. you want to lean back and tilt your head to the side so geto can leave a trail of wet kisses on the side of your neck, following the curve of it to your jaw, and capture your lips in a way that only lovers can.

you can feel your skin grow hot and your white bikini better not show how embarrassingly wet you got from your best friend’s touch. you’re so sick, you think to yourself and before it becomes any worse, you’re untangling yourself from suguru’s arms and call out for megumi.

“i… uh… will go swim with him, don’t want him to get bored,” you breathlessly whisper as if too afraid to speak any louder, and call out to the boy.

“‘gumi, common! grab your floaties and we’ll go play a little further away from the girls,” you wait for him to grab his stuff, and you notice one of his rare smiles – he never hid the fact that you were his favorite out of three adults, and he always feels a little smug when your undivided attention is on him. satoru shoots him a knowing look which megumi successfully ignores, clinging to you.

you pass the girls as you show them the direction you’re taking megumi in and they all say “okay!” at the same time like it’s rehearsed. mimiko, nanako and tsumiki are in a competition to see who can gather the most seashells and are left under the attentive gaze of gojo and geto. you help megumi put his floaties on and gather him into your arms so you can walk a little deeper: once you’re satisfied with the distance, you try to let him go but he is attached to you like a baby koala.

“common ‘gumi, i promise i won’t let you go, okay? i’ll be right here in case you need help, and i’ll be also holding onto you the whole time.”

fushiguro only violently shakes his head, not wanting to be in the water by himself. you wonder where this fear comes from and think you’ll have to revisit it later. you don’t push any further, and hug him closer, running a smoothing hand on his back while he puts his head on your shoulder. you squat a little to help him get adjusted to the temperature, and he shrieks from the sudden rush of water above his waist while hugging you tighter, almost choking you. laughter bubbles in your throat but you don’t want to make megumi feel worse than he already does so you try your best not to let it out.

“hey, baby, it’s okay. i am holding you, yeah?” and as you say that, you try to push him away from you one more time, to let him experience the ocean by himself but he only tightens his hold as a sign he is not moving away. so you resign to gently swaying with him in the water, letting the salty waves wash around you. you can feel the sunlight dancing on your skin, warm breeze carrying all your worries away, if just for a moment, and you close your eyes allowing yourself to take all of it in. megumi’s head is pleasantly heavy on your shoulder, and you walk little bit further away from the beach until you bump into someone.

“oh, i am so sorry!” you instantly apologize and turn around. what you don’t expect is to be met with the pair of the most beautiful green eyes you see (your mind involuntarily goes to gojo and how even these emerald eyes pale to comparison to the infinity carried by his gaze). you think if your heart didn’t belong to the two most annoying human beings you’ve ever had a pleasure of encountering, you would’ve fallen head over hills right here, right now.

“please, no need to apologize.”

surprise number two: this stranger is not only handsome, but also has a voice that makes you want to do whatever he asks you to, as long as he keeps talking to you. and again, you think how unfortunate of you to fall in love with two people you can’t have when men like this walk around for free.

he smiles when his attention falls to megumi - little boy appears not to be happy with this encounter. who does this man thinks he is? maybe megumi didn’t want to learn how to swim, it doesn’t mean that he is willing to share you when he just got you away from two men on the beach (he is not old enough to rationalize that what he is feeling is jealousy; you never noticed but, geto and gojo excluded, he never liked how other men talk to you in the first place).

a handsome stranger doesn’t seem taken aback by the attitude from megumi, and for a seven-year-old, your little boy has a mean death stare.

“he is very cute, what is his name?”

“he’s megumi,” you give him your name as well and extend the arm for introduction. before a man can even respond, megumi is tugging your arm away and whines, speaking loud enough for satoru and suguru to hear, who, unbeknownst to you, have been watching the interaction this whole time (spoiler – they are not very happy about it but proud of the kid, truly an oscar-worthy performance).

“mommy, i want to learn how to swim now!”

you think you heard him wrong – he has never called you this before. if it happened any other time, you think you would’ve cried tears of happiness. now it only makes you feel stupor. how does he even know to call you mommy in this situation? megumi has always been the most well-behaved one out of all four kids, the disbelief at his attitude is written all over your face. what is he playing at?

“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t realize he was your kid,” the man says but hurries to add, “i adore children though; i work at a pre-school. hi megumi, my name is rei.”

the boy looks at the outstretched hand the man offered like it personally offended him. all of a sudden, he points to the beach where satoru and suguru seat and announces, yet again loud enough for them to hear.

“my daddies are just right there!”

what happened to “he’s not my dad?” you think in panic.

you’re not sure if gojo and geto can hear the full conversation, but they wave back at you anyways. rei moves his gaze from you to megumi to two men on the beach, trying to decide if he should believe it or not. you, on the other hand, are speechless and currently wishing someone would be kind enough to curse you right now, or for the ground to split and swallow you whole with how hot and embarrassed you feel. megumi is so grounded today. you can feel the inner temperature rise to the inappropriate levels, feeling like a kettle that is about to overheat – you don’t wait for rei’s response while saying awkward “bye, nice meeting you!” and rushing away.

“welcome back, mommy,” satoru teases when you settle back at your spot. megumi is sitting on the opposite side of you, munching on the watermelon like he didn’t just make an absolute fool out of you in front of a random man. you try your best to ignore satoru, but his comment only makes you groan, sound almost bordering a sob.

“please, for the love of everything holy, don’t say another word. i bet it was you who put this idea into his head.”

“you know as well as we do that you can’t make megumi do anything he doesn’t want to,” gojo responds with the knowing smirk, and you only sink into yourself further. your face is burning up, and now you think it’s not because megumi’s whole afternoon mission was apparently to embarrass you in front of a stranger but because of what he said. the shock of the moment is finally dissipating, instead giving the space to indescribable tenderness. you will have to cry about it later on your own so to save yourself further shame, you hide your face behind your hat and lay down, contemplating how this one simple word somehow turned all of your insides upside down.

what you fail to notice is the proud smile satoru shoots to megumi, mouthing “good job” and suguru passing him his favorite candy knowing he’s not allowed to eat it before dinner.

you feel absolutely drained. after the incident with megumi, you stayed in the same position until the kids started complaining that they were hungry. the sun is getting low, painting the skies ochre and pink, giving everyone its glowing kiss. you dare to peek at satoru and suguru, and they looked almost ethereal – sunshine dancing on satoru’s white eyelashes as he dries tsumiki with a towel and nodding enthusiastically at the collection of shells she is showing him, while suguru tries to untie nanako’s wet hair so he can wrap a towel around it. mimiko slowly drags her legs towards you, poor girl absolutely exhausted, and as soon as you open your arms to embrace her with a towel of her own, she plops against you and almost momentarily falls asleep.

suguru offers to carry her home, but you wave him off, asking to grab megumi’s hand instead.

“i am not cooking once we get home, we better buy food now or we can drive into the city.”

“ugh, i don’t think i have the strength to drive,” satoru whines like he is the youngest out of the bunch. “let’s just buy something here, it smells pretty good.”

suguru only hums in agreement, listening to nanako and tsumiki argue about who got the most shells (both fail to count their shells correctly), and with that, your dinner plans are decided with satoru ordering your food from the stall nearby.

“what do we say when someone gets you food?”

“thank you, gojo-san!” three little voices echo each other, and you’re surprised even megumi joined in. the way back home is quick as you’re standing in front of your door in no time.

“oh my god, my legs are killing me,” you complain as you pass the threshold of the house. mimiko has been sleeping in your arms the whole way back, and you don’t know if you should wake her up and ask her to eat, or if you should just let her sleep. you can still smell the ocean on her skin, and you decide it’s best for her hygiene and your peace of mind that she is clean before she goes to bed too so with a heavy heart, you’re gently shaking her awake once you sit down on the couch.

“hey sweetie, we’re home. let’s eat, bathe and then i’ll put you back to bed, yeah?” her eyes are unfocused as she opens them, and she’s letting out a long yawn before slowly nodding her head and getting up.

“okay, everyone, go wash your hands, dinner will be ready soon,” suguru says from where he already stands in the kitchen, and all four pairs of legs excitedly hurry away.

“i hope the adventure today is enough to put them all to sleep right away,” you wistfully say.

“with their tummies full, i’m sure they will pass out in no time,” suguru says back while satoru circles around him to grab the plates from the overhead cupboards. you want to get up and help but looking at them like this, all domestic and familiar, the side of the strongest sorcerers only you get to see, makes you stall for a second to appreciate this moment for a little longer. the dull ache in your chest starts throbbing again as if someone’s picking at the rough edges that never seem to fully heal, and you wonder if you could have it all if you were a little more selfish. you shake your head banishing all unnecessary thoughts from your head.

the dinner is eaten quickly, everyone so hungry, you barely exchange any words. you can see the children are struggling to keep their eyes open, tsumiki almost falling face first into the plate, so you make a quick work of their unfinished dinner and hurry them into a bathtub. megumi insists he is old enough to take a bath separately from the girls so you ask either satoru or suguru to help him (megumi makes it known who he prefers by grabbing suguru’s hand and dragging him to the second bathroom). bath time is also surprisingly quiet, low energy in the room being an indicator of just how exhausted everyone is.

with the kids finally tucked into bed (megumi apologized for misbehaving, and you think about how far you’ve come with the boy who wouldn’t utter a full sentence to you for the first 6 months), you grab the beer from the fridge and make your way onto the patio where satoru and suguru are already engaged in conversation.

they turn their heads toward you once you step outside and offer you the space between them which you gladly take. you can see suguru is nursing his own beer, while satoru opted out for a bottle of virgin mojito.

“did neither of you really ask megumi to call me “mommy” today?” you wonder out loud as you’re looking out into the horizon, where the last rays of sun melt into the ocean, clearing the canvas for the stars to spark to life.

“nah, you know how stubborn that kid is,” satoru drawls as he takes another sip of the drink; you scrunch your nose just imagining how sweet that concoction is but smile, nonetheless. “plus, it was nice being called a dad.”

both you and suguru turn to look at him, but he stubbornly keeps staring forward. you snort, seeing geto’s smile in your peripheral vision, but there is no malice behind your action. both you and suguru always knew that gojo cared in the same capacity as the two of you for the kids, he was just a little more stubborn about admitting it. you can see it in the way he handles them after they wake up from nightmares (because he knows the same thing haunts him), how he packs them lunches to school when neither you or suguru are able to do it (i know i am not as great of a cook as those two but it’s better than buying stuff from the store), how he allows them to have sweets from his secret stash when everyone else (even you and geto) are not permitted to even think about it. the two of you always knew how much he cared – satoru just needed a little push to say it out loud.

you’re about to say something witty but suguru speaks up first.

“would you have continued flirting with that man if it wasn’t for megumi?”

“flirting? i wasn’t flirting with him!”

“whatever, talking,” geto waves a hand at you like it’s all unimportant details. “would you?”

the air suddenly feels charged with electricity, years of longing and yearning threaten to rip everything at the seams. you tried so hard to move past them, move past your silly little crush, failing miserably. not that dating other people was an option for you anyways – you are sure anyone, upon hearing that you take care of four small children at only age 21, will run away in the opposite direction. it’s a good thing it didn’t matter to you either way – the kids became an integral part of your life, and you would not give them up for anything. but sometimes, just sometimes, when the loneliness creeps into the parts of your bones that have no space for it, when the heart becomes a little too big for your own chest trying to escape through rushed beats, when you tremble from how longing encompasses your whole being, you wonder how it would feel if romantic love was made for you too.

you tilt your head to look at suguru, trying to find something in his face. he doesn’t know why he asked that question – maybe it’s the sun rush of the day, the good mood he’s been in recently or how that man looked at your body – but it felt right. and he knows he’s being selfish without discussing it with satoru beforehand, but he’s so tired of hiding, so tired of pretending like he doesn’t dream of waking up next to your warm bodies, so tired of thinking about what ifs and could haves - asking that question only felt right.

“no, i don’t think i would’ve returned his sentiment,” you simply state and hope that they would leave it at that. you know they never do.

“why?” it’s satoru’s turn in this interrogation, and he looks at you in a way that makes your pulse pick up its pace.

“because…” you don’t know what you’re supposed to say. because you’re in love with your best friends? have been since you were 16 years old? you’ve been carrying the weight of unrequited love for so long now, you think you’re afraid what will happen to the space it occupies if you confess. you hope you know them enough to realize they will not make fun of you for your confession, at most making lighthearted jokes about how they always knew you were not immune to their charms, but your palms are getting sweaty just anticipating their reaction.

“because?” satoru nudges you again, and you dare to steal a glance into his baby blues. satoru’s eyes have been compared to the most prized sapphires, an ocean that will never be fully explored, the skies that are bigger than life itself – all the metaphors that describe him to the outside world perfectly. however for you, his eyes are the color of blueberries that he painstakingly picks out of tsumiki’s desserts and gives to megumi; they are the color of his favorite shirt that is more gray now than blue with how much he washed it but refuses to throw away; it’s the blue ribbons he picked out for nanako’s and mimiko’s hair for their first day of school. you look into his eyes and see a sparkle of something familiar, something you’ve seen in your eyes times and times before, staring back from the reflection in the mirror.

unexpectedly, you feel dizzy and don’t know if it’s the summer breeze that makes your head feel heavy, the alcohol swimming in your veins, or the present company, but you’re brought back to when you were all 16 and innocent, to the moment before the steady ground was violently ripped from right underneath your feet. you think about amanai and that she still loved and cared despite knowing how all of it would end for her. you think about haibara, and how he was full of promise and life and so, so much love, you almost feel sick again.

you’re quiet as you contemplate, and the men don’t interrupt your train of thoughts. memories flash before your eyes like snapshots of old cameras, making them wonder where you have gone off to.

but then you think about how it ended, for the both of your friends, in blood and violence and guilt, their life threads cut short before either of them knew what life even is. amanai and haibara didn’t get enough time to figure it all out: have they loved anyone the way you love satoru and suguru? would have they have had time to figure it out if it was a fair world?

you can feel your best friends’ body heat wrap around you, encapsulating you in their scent and presence, and you decide you’d like to stay like this forever. you think about everyone who didn’t get to spend another hour with someone they love, and you realize you’d regret it your whole life if something happens and they didn’t know how they make you feel. and with the life you lead, something can happen at any moment. you steady your hands and take a deep breath, reading yourself. now or never.

“because i am in love with you two, and i have been since we were 16.”

you close your eyes, waiting for the laugh to come, for them to say oh, you little silly girl, to chastise you for falling for the only two people that will never be yours. you wait and wait but nothing comes. instead, you feel someone’s knuckles brushing lightly against yours and gasp, opening your eyes. what you didn’t expect to see is your two best friends looking at you as if they are seeing you for the first time, their lips stretch in smiles so wide, it looks like it’s supposed to hurt. and eyes, their eyes, say so much without them needing to say anything at all.

“so… what you’re saying is that we’ve been blue balling each other since we were 16?”

“ohmygodsatorupleasestop,” words leave your mouth all jumbled up, you’re sure they didn’t understand what you said. gojo might be a little crude but the meaning behind his childish metaphor is not lost on you – three of you have been oblivious to each other’s feelings for five years now, and a pang of regret shoots through you. how different would everything be if you were brave enough to confess all those years ago?

“have both of you really known since you were 16?”

“yes.”

both of them say it with such conviction, you feel yourself get lightheaded. you don’t want to cry but tears are pooling in your eyes involuntarily, and you sniff a little into satoru’s shoulder.

“aw, why are you crying? i thought we all finally agreed to be happy,” suguru coos at you from the side. the warmth of your hand in his still feels unreal – like it’s someone else’s arm attached to him, and he‘s just observing as a passer-by. he brushes your knuckles with the pads of his fingers and it feels right, how your digits perfectly intervene with his and how your head fits just right into the crook of satoru’s neck, and how your lips look so perfectly kissable and shiny right now. but he doesn’t want to rush the fragility of the moment, so he only squeezes your hand tighter.

“because we could’ve had this all this time… if we were just a little braver.”

“don’t you think we are already brave enough, all the time?” satoru asks this time. “maybe it’s okay for us to be a little cowardly, even if it’s not entirely good for us. we have next memory to look forward to anyways.” gojo lifts your head and looks into your teary eyes – you’re so beautiful, it almost hurts. he let his daydreams to be full of you and your lips and your touch, that it takes everything in him not to cross the distance in a searing kiss. but he knows it’s not the right moment, so he just swipes your tears away and kisses you on the forehead. behind you, you can feel suguru’s lips gently touch your exposed shoulder.

and just like that, all worries dissipate like sand through the cracks between fingers. what is the point of worrying about the past when you have future full of love in front of you? you don’t know what tomorrow holds for three of you with your souls now bare for each other, but you have the time to discover it together. for now, you’re content with this moment, salty ocean breeze dancing on your skin, the warmth of suguru’s palm in yours and satoru’s shoulder lulling you to sleep, and you think that maybe you’ve always meant to end up here, between them.

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appleblueberry-pie · 5 months

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yandere miles 42 when a guys asks you out to prom yk like where they make a whole scene a cardboard box cut into a square and it has will you go out to prom with me 😭😭 and says the most cheasy thing making you cringe and a large group of ppl are surrounding you two but we reject them and they get mad and you tell miles all abt it ^^ i love your posts btw🙏🏽

[Come back home to me.]

You knew something funny was gonna happen when people were smiling your way, giggling and whispering about you. And the further you trekked down the hallway, the more crowded it was. You tried to keep your eyes to yourself as you slithered through the crowd. Clutching your backpack straps harder. Phones were out and on you, you felt a little nervous. This day has been hard enough for you. Long, grueling hours in class, people chatting up a storm in your ears, a mind-blowing headache that you've had all damn day that you could only take medication for just 30 minutes ago. You were tired.

"Hey, Y/n!" You tense up before sighing, shoulders dropping. How much happier would you be if you just ignored the call of your name and dealt with the backlash tomorrow, instead? You recognized the voice, and knew that if you ignored him...you'd be dealing with the consequences forever. You decided to turn around.

There goes Travis. His dark brown complexion and well-maintained dreads make him stand out. They were pulled back into a low pony, probably because he knew these videos would be the talk of the school for a while. He always loved the spotlight. A junior, like you, giving you that smile that all of the girls bothered him to give to them. It's directed right at you while he holds a beautifully made sign. It's humongous. And pink. And purple. Colors that you don't remember telling him were your favorite. Your head begins to hurt again when you notice your name drawn in amazing detail and care, followed by something among the lines of "prom" and "love of my life."

Somehow in the time span that you scanned your eyes over the sign that determined your possibly inevitable doom, a perfect circle was formed by the students who stood and watched you two like hawks. The flash on phones made you calculate that these videos wouldn't leave the internet for at least a month. Great. A month of reminders. A month of prodding and picking at your sanity from a place you have to go to damn near every day for an education. And a month of replays of a rejection.

You're not telling him yes.

Travis's homeboys hoot and holler to encourage him. "Y/n..." He starts, taking a step closer to you. A fake smile wobbles onto your lips and you stare up at him. "......yes...?" Everyone suddenly goes silent as you two begin to converse.

The way he stares at you makes you feel like....what he's looking for in you isn't something you'd give up for any high school boy anytime. Because what he wants, you know it isn't genuine love. So it makes you nervous the way he seems to tower over you during his, so called, "profession of love".

"Your beauty and smarts is something I've always wanted in a girl." His voice is loud and clear. It echoes throughout the hallway, like he wants everyone to hear. You don't think the halls have ever been so quiet. "Everyday, I'd pass you in the hallways while you carry your textbooks and wonder what it'd be like talking to you every morning before class. What it would be like to love you the way you deserve to be loved." His vague explanation of his love towards you had you wondering if anyone else also realized how fake this whole thing was.

His dark brown eyes never leave your face and he's right in front of you now. "So, I made this sign...to show you how much I love you. And how much I want to be with you. So, if it isn't so much to ask," Travis slowly puts the sign aside and drops to one knee, taking one of your hands into his, holding it carefully. "would you please go to prom with me? And let me be your man?"

The longer he watched the live feed, the harder it was to not burn his work space to the ground. The longer he listened, the harder he tweaked his claw he was attempting to fix. He was trying. He was trying so hard to stay calm. Because it's not like you'd say yes. But at the same time, no matter how often he kills or beats niggas up, "They just keep fucking touching you, puto cabrón!" He swipes the table, his tools and broken claw flying to the ground. Miles takes deep breaths, holding his head in his hands.

He stands up, turning off his phone and begins pacing. He didn't wanna see the rest of that. Why does he have to keep doing this? Don't they understand your his? Just his??? Yes, you're the shining light that keeps Brooklyn alive, yes, yes, this isn't news. But he's always with you. So why do they keep bothering you?

It doesn't matter because he's gonna keep killing them until they get the message. The more roaches he brings into the light, the better. He suddenly rushes to his phone and quickly dials your number, chest heaving as he tries to calm himself.

Your phone silently vibrates in your back pocket and your heart drops. It had to be Miles. Because he wasn't at school today and this definitely wouldn't have happened if he was here. You're so fucked, you think to yourself as everyone cheers at Travis's speech. And it goes silent again as they wait for your answer.

Suddenly, Travis is so hard to look at. You didn't want to be stared at like that when he's gonna die in the next few hours. Miles was gonna get him and it'd be your fault. He always said it wasn't and would caress your face as reassurance, but there's no excuse when he only kills these guys at school because they talk to you. And not for any other reason. You always have to be where the line is drawn.

"No, I can't go to prom with you." You say, chest lifting of the thousand pound weight that held it down. Travis didn't even look sad, he still had that adoring look in his eyes. And you then knew that he was faking all of this. "Why not? Is it because of Miles?" He stands, still holding your hand and shakes his head. "If he's bothering you, I could....get rid of him if you want. Cause that nigga, he a fucking weirdo. And he clearly, like, has you hostage or something, cause he ain't nothing special. Any one of us is better than him." He scoffs at the mention of him and his friends laugh with him.

You shake your head and take your hand away. "No, sorry, Travis. I just....don't wanna go." He rolls his eyes and smiles at you, picking up his sign. "Whatever. That's aight." He tosses it in the nearest trash can. You wonder if he even made that himself with the way he tossed it with zero regards. He turns back to you one last time and nods. "I'll holler. Let me know when you get rid of yo little guard dog. He be stinking the halls anyway."

And everyone dispersed.

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding. You think this city is going to be the death of you with how many times you've gotten unwanted attention based on your looks. You tense up once more when you remember that Miles was calling you. The sudden silence after multiple calls was never a good thing. You yanked your phone out of your pocket and saw the 20-something missed calls and whispered to yourself in fear.

Immediately, you began your journey to his place.

His room was dark and cold. Only the light from outside his window illuminated it. You softly dropped your backpack into the usual corner and backed up to sit on his bed, but your back softly collided with a warm wall that also wrapped it's arms around your torso. You flinched as Miles exhaled in your ear, his head resting on your shoulder. "Miles, what the hell...."

He squeezes you a little and backs you both up, until he brings you to sit on his lap on his bed. He shifts you, so that you're facing him, his hand caressing your face and rubbing your back. "Hermosa como siempre, mami. How was your day?"(Beautiful as always, mami.) He whispers it to you, to calm you down. You're visibly nervous at his actions, expecting him to explode any minute.

"Um...it was alright. I did my project in 3rd period and got a coffee drink with my lunch. And..... I got asked to prom." You stare down at him, watching him scan you up and down, and let him 'check' your pockets before resting his hands on your waist. "Yeah? Who asked?" He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from you.

You severely struggled to tell him it was Travis. You were tired of him killing people. You were tired of the apologies from men who were beaten half to death because of you. You scrunched your eyebrows as your throat began to close.

"Hm?" He asked. You hated how calm he was about this. How he held you so dearly as you fidgeted with your uniform skirt. Tears built up in your eyes and you shook your head. Miles pulled you closer, immediately wiping your eyes. "No, no, por favor no llores, nena. No estés triste. I just want you to tell me who did it, that's all."(No, no, please don't cry, baby. Don't be sad.) You break into full out sobbing and wipe at your eyes.

"I don't- don't want to because you're gonna kill him!" You stutter and manage to spit out your words, voice wobbly. Miles shushes you and rocks you back and forth, resting your head on his chest. His voice rumbles in your ears when he speaks. "You don't have to worry about a thing when I'm here with you, N/n. All I want is for you to drop his name, and everything else doesn't matter."

He kisses your forehead sweetly, letting his lips linger for a few seconds. "Okay?" You nod and try to take deep breaths. You couldn't win against him. He probably already knew who proposed to you, and Travis's fate still wouldn't be unavoidable. "Travis." You felt immense guilt and despair the moment you dropped his name.

"Travis...." Miles repeats. Just putting his name in the air made him pissed all over again. He stays silent for a few seconds before tilting his head to the side. "I just realized why that name is so familiar," He starts. "That's that nigga who robbed and threatened you last year, ain't it?" Miles scoffs and turns to look at you. "Is that why you didn't leave when he brought up that sign? Cause of what he did to you?"

You scrunch your eyebrows at his words and sit up. "How do you know about that?" You didn't meet Miles until a month after you were robbed by Travis in your sophomore year. So, him knowing about that was weird, especially since you never brought it up to him before. Miles ignores your question and continues. "I should've known some shit was off." Miles places you on the bed and gets up, grabbing some clothes to change into.

You rush to stand in front of him to stop him. "Miles, wait! Please- please don't do this. He didn't even do anything to me. All he did is ask me out. I said no. What's wrong with that??"

"What's wrong with that is that nigga is gonna keep fucking getting at you until he can get into your pants, baby. I'm not stupid. These niggas know what they doin' riling you up and sending you back home to me crying and shit. Ain't you tired??" Miles begins to size you up, backing you towards his bedroom door, clothes clutched in his hand as he stares down at you.

"I am fucking tired. And I'm also tired of you ruining my life by making more rumors for niggas to spread about me. Nobody wants to be near me because of you, Miles!" You jab your finger into his chest and he grabs your hand. "You don't need nobody else." You hear his breathing speed up and realized you should've kept your mouth shut.

It's too damn silent for your liking. All you can hear is him and your heartbeat in your ears. "When the fuck have you ever needed anyone else besides me?.....I take care of you. I feed you, I do your fucking hair every morning, I walk you to and from school, I protect you. Es que no es suficiente?(Is that not enough?)" You don't respond and stare up into brown eyes that glare down at you. "How 'bout I show you how good you got it?" You try to pull your hand back, but his iron grip isn't letting up. "What.....? Miles, let me go."

"What's wrong, mi corazón? Don't wanna see?" Miles almost jokingly asks about your sudden concern. He steps into your space once more and firmly grabs your face. "Look at me when I tell you this,"

He shakes his head. "You don't know how to protect yourself. I'm the only one who knows how to keep you safe in these fucked up streets. When was the last time you felt protected before you met me? Huh? Cause I know you haven't. I'm meant to be here with you! I'm protecting you from the horrible fucking things that are happening out there that could've been happening to you, baby. You heard?"

You struggle to remove his hands from your face and he makes no move to stop the distress he's putting you in. "Okay, okay, Miles. Just...please stop."

Miles places a kiss onto your forehead before holding you in his arms. You sigh relief at the release of pressure and let him hold you. "Volveré pronto, okay? And then we can do whatever you want."(I'll be back soon) You allow yourself to relax and your eyes flutter shut. Sometimes you wonder how much it'll take for him to stop taking his obsession out on Brooklyn.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere character #reader #across the spiderverse #itsv #atsv #yandere atsv #yandere atsv x reader #yandere 42 miles x reader #yandere 42 miles #earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #yandere miles x reader #yandere miles morales x reader #yandere miles morales #miles morales imagine

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duskyvenus · 1 month

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A flower blossoms for its own joy: How will you bloom?

A PAC about your blooming moment and how you will get there. Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Open your eyes and choose the photo that speaks to you. 3 piles left to right. This is for entertainment purposes only, take what resonates. Feel free to check other piles if it doesn't resonate :)))

Pile 1

I'm seeing that we have some shy people here or people who put a lot of thought before saying something in the sense that they don't want to provoke someone. The message here is to be little unapologetic about certain things. You don't have to be worried about how others perceive you. "Say the weird thing!" I know this can be hard especially if you're not around the right people but the trash will take itself out if you are more open about your likes and dislikes. This is the way you will find the people that are truly meant for you, by letting go and cutting some people off. Also, I'm seeing that you need to practice gratitude and mindfulness. Keeping a journal can help. Travel to places you have always wanted to visit. The last thing that you need to do in order to "blossom" is to accept help. I get that it is nice being independent but being humans we need community. I'm not asking you to be very social and have too many friends, cuz remember the earlier point of not gaf about what other people say; yeah just do enough so that you're comfortable :) Remember that this is going to be a new chapter in your life so the key is balance. I think you can imagine your blooming moment by now. For some of you I'm seeing the presence of a significant other. This will probably be a slow burn.

Here's a moodboard for you:

Songs:

Thank you for reading!

Pile 2

I'm mainly getting the vibe that you don't take care of yourself enough. Like no skincare, self care or you're not eating healthy. I'm not asking you to follow strict regimes to become flawless, I'm just saying that maybe something's missing, some deficiency perhaps (?) idk. I also get the vibe that you are tight on money or grew up in a low income household. There's a lack of self love in this pile. You feel like you don't deserve love or that you're low maintenance because of your past relationships. (That's just not true!) The remedy for all of this is investing in yourself. You don't have to go broke looking after yourself; keep a journal, write down your thoughts, write down positive affirmations, maybe change your wardrobe (clothes carry energy), have a candle light dinner with yourself, etc. I'm also seeing that you could be really good at handicraft so maybe you should start a business. You could even be a good photographer. You just need to start posting you're a true artist! If you do things that make you happy and calm you're going to get closer to your blooming moment. You're going to have a really beautiful house. Your house will be adorned with pottery, paintings, etc. I get a self-satisfied vibe :)

Here's a moodboard for you:

Songs:

Thank you for reading!

Pile 3

I'm getting that this pile is very different from the last two. You probably have everything anybody could ask for or, you are working towards it. You are really close to blooming but that will need just a little more effort. You will bloom if you acknowledge your roots. You have to be very humble and thankful. Maybe you have lost track of your identity due to the grind and the struggle. Taking short breaks from time to time could be a good idea. You will bloom when you include others into your plans. Try giving gifts to friends just because. Tell them that you are glad to have them in your life. Go camping or hiking, reconnect with nature. For some of you I'm seeing an ancestor that protects you because you remind them of themselves :)) Apart from this I see that you're good at your job and leave on the dot which may have ruffled the feathers of a few people. But you don't have to worry about that. Just be your usual self. "Your coworkers can very rarely be your friends so make time for the friends that you already have." - words from your ancestor. I see you happy and smiling in your blooming moment. Shaking hands with important people, doing what you love to do :)) Your ancestors and spirit guides are smiling too <3

Hers's a moodboard for you:

Songs:

Thank you for reading!

#pick a card #pick a pile #intuitive readings #divination #tarot #tarot reading #tarotblr #psychic readings #tarot community #duskyvenus

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raticalshoez · 7 months

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Sorry guys. I'm ranting about Joel again because djskakaka that's my favorite guy. This post is a direct result of the tags in a post I reblogged and I just HAD TO TALK ABOUT IT MORE.

Okay, so Joel always carries himself to high regard. He has lots of confidence in himself, is generally apathetic and dry to any matter that doesn't concern him, and he overall loves to bite back at things. He's a big fan of chaos and violence, and stays generally bitter when things go badly for him. He can be ruthless and reckless and that's just natural for him because he's one of the many Life Series wolf-coded characters.

But something about Joel in Secret Life is just...kind? He's kind and caring, in his Joel Smallishbeans way. Especially in later sessions.

In Etho's little remembering the past era, he reassures him that he does still care for him. When Lizzie invites everyone to her party in a rushed frenzy, he attends because he thinks it's only fair. When Pearl was apprehensive about her task being guessed, he purposefully wastes his guess so she doesn't have to be worried around him. He trusts Jimmy to assist him with his task even while everyone else is cautious about his red name status. And when it all came down to it, Joel tells Martyn to stay back after all the reds have dropped like flies because even if all the reds were a threat to them, he still didn't want to see them all die in one episode.

In Secret Life, Joel still has everything he's always had. He's still bloodthirsty and holds silly grudges, evident with the whole Scott thing this session. He's still cheeky and likes to mess around and make sarcastic comments often, but at the end of the day he's Joel. He tends to stay loyal to his allies and I think he's more thoughtful than lots of people realize.

This may be part of the reason I love the Mounders. They were all sort of distant in the way they would wander off and do their own thing, but when it came down to it, they always stuck by each other. They remained loyal despite what seemed to be really loose ends tying them all together, and that means SO much to me! I guess it makes sense though; a team with the lonely wolf girl from Double Life and the lonely wolf boy from Last Life were enough to neutralize the whole, "Bdubs can be kinda disloyal" thing and the whole "Mumbo was apprehensive of any color lesser than he was" thing.

Anyways. Life Series Joel Smallishbeans. That's my guy bro...THAT'S MY GUYYYYYY

Also! The post that inspired this was by @simplydm! Their post about Joel's comment to Martyn reminded me how much that scene made me orbit around the moon so I thought they deserved to mentioned in this. Sorry to them if uh they didn't want to be tagged though. I will remove it if that ends up being the case!

#trafficblr #secret life smp #SORRY FOR ANOTHER RAMBLE YALL #smallishbeans #ethoslab #solidaritygaming #pearlescentmoon #ldshadowlady #inthelittlewood #bdoubleo100 #mumbo jumbo #smajor1995 #again idk if everyone needed to be tagged #but i did anyways #god......GOD.#sorry for all the rambling again #i'm sooooooo normal about the life series haha #soooooooooo so normal mhm yup #especially about joel. of the smallishbeans variety.

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domjaehyun · 2 years

Text

PL4YG1RL IS LIVE…

“are you lonely? are you stressed out? you deserve some fun. get your headphones, lock up the bedroom door, log on.” — PL4YG1RL, LOLO ZOUAÏ

PAIRING(S). na jaemin x fem!reader GENRE(S). thriller/suspense, yandere, smut, angst WORD COUNT. 20.6k WARNINGS. noncon, stalking, kidnapping, violence, mentions of blood, explicit smut (protected sex, unprotected sex, forced breeding, oral (receiving), nipple play (receiving), masturbation (male & female), defiling of a stuffed animal, fingering, i think that’s it) SUMMARY. you’re an up-and-coming camgirl, and na jaemin is a loyal supporter of your work–that is, until jaemin decides to take things to the next level. PLAYLIST. PL4YG1RL - Lolo Zouaï, ALL MINE - Brent Faiyaz, ALL UP IN YOUR MIND - Beyoncé, Can I - Kehlani, Menace - Dounia

NOTES. hello… don’t crucify me. this is for halloween :) *insert obligatory “i don’t think these people are actually like this” statement that will protect me from anon hate* *insert compulsory “read the warnings and don’t come for me about content i warned you about” statement that will also protect me from anon hate*

if you read this fic, you assume full responsibility for consuming the content below, whether you read the warnings or not.

Saturday night, and Jaemin has nothing to do.

He sends a text to his group chat to see what they're up to before remembering it’s well past midnight. Rubbing a hand over his face, Jaemin pulls his laptop toward his body and onto his stomach. His fingers move of their own accord, typing in his favorite adult entertainment website and waiting as it loads.

Index and middle fingers lazily scrolling through the copious amounts of explicit videos, Jaemin sighs heavily before an ad for a cam girl website catches his eye. A moment of hesitation, then a click takes him to the webpage, the background a lovely shade of pink as all the elements of the page load.

Jaemin is met with thumbnails of pretty girls in various states of undress, but no one is scratching the itch he has which is building up inside of him. A banner drops down from the top of the screen, attracting Jaemin’s attention.

PrettyKitty345 is now live.

Out of curiosity, he clicks, and the screen buffers for a moment before loading up a pretty girl with dark brown hair gazing seductively into the camera. Jaemin lingers for a moment until she speaks, her voice a perfect match for the sultry look she’s giving the viewers.

Jaemin’s not into that, really. He likes them a little less deliberate, more effortlessly pretty. He clicks away and another banner comes down as if enticing Jaemin to stay on the website just a bit longer.

FunBunny is now live.

Another curious click brings Jaemin to the live feed of another pretty girl with white bunny ears on, whose voice is high and soft, a blatant contrast to PrettyKitty345 from earlier. Her performance is a bit too…childlike for Jaemin’s taste, discomfort swirling in his belly as he clicks away.

PL4YG1RL is now live.

Jaemin sighs. He clicks—out of boredom, he tells himself—to enter the live feed. The second the screen finishes loading, Jaemin freezes in surprise.

You are quite literally the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Sitting up slowly, Jaemin moves the laptop to rest between his legs as he studies your setup carefully.

“Hello, pretty girl,” Jaemin whispers, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “Where did you come from?”

You’re sitting on your heels on your bed, wearing a lacy pink slip dress and a sweet, kind expression. Jaemin can practically feel the warmth radiating from your gaze, and he wets his lips as he sits forward, waiting for you to speak.

“Hi, everyone,” you say, and Jaemin’s eyes squeeze shut as he groans in ecstasy.

You’re perfect. Your voice is every bit as lovely as you look, and there’s something so genuine about the way you carry yourself on camera that has Jaemin falling rapidly.

“How is everyone doing? Have you all had a good day today?” you ask, and Jaemin scrambles to reply, a window popping up that blocks the chat.

“‘You will need an account to participate in the live chat’—oh, fuck.” Jaemin mumbles, opening a new window and quickly signing up with the website. It asks for a payment option so you can send tips, so Jaemin brings his laptop with him to his coat pocket in the foyer of his house, fumbling single handedly with taking out his wallet and pulling out a card.

Meanwhile, you’re reading through the responses coming in from the chat. “You’ve had a bad day, NiceGuy19? I’m sorry to hear that,” you frown and Jaemin’s heart clenches at how cute you are. He finishes inputting his credit card information and the window preventing him from typing in the chat box disappears.

NaJaem13: had a good day

NaJaem13: was feeling kinda bored though

He makes his way back to his bedroom, climbing onto his bed and setting the laptop back down.

“NaJaem13, you’re bored? I’m kinda bored, too.” you hum, and Jaemin feels a fluttering in his chest. “Maybe we could entertain each other,” you propose, a playful smile curling your lips, and Jaemin decides in that exact moment that he’s sticking around in this stream until it’s over.

NaJaem13: sounds good :)

Jaemin watches, content, as you make conversation with other patrons, and when you start playing soft R&B music in the background and swaying to the music with a pleasant smile, tips start to come in.

First it’s 20 tokens, which, Jaemin quickly searches up, is barely anything. Your eyes light up, however, and you thank the tipper gratefully.

Next comes 50 tokens, and it’s almost as if it’s a competition between the bidders, Jaemin watching in silent awe as the numbers increase to 75, 100, 150, 200– You can barely thank the donors quickly enough, a delighted laugh tumbling off your tongue that has Jaemin’s heart soaring.

Jaemin thanks his lucky stars that he just got paid this Thursday, and with a few clicks of his trackpad, he tips you 350 tokens.

“Thank you so much, NaJaem13!” You smile widely, bouncing slightly in place with excitement. Jaemin’s heart clenches; he’d do anything for that smile.

NiceGuy19: how much to take your dress off?

Jaemin can’t help but bristle at how forward “NiceGuy” is. Your brows raise in intrigue as you read through the chat, replying as best as you can to the messages coming in.

“NiceGuy19, if you’d like me to start taking clothes off, I have my goals for tonight on the display next to my feed,” you say politely.

Sure enough, Jaemin looks at the text to the left of your feed and sees that there are options to have you remove your dress, underwear, bra, dance around, play with a vibrator, dildo, or other sex toys, and Jaemin’s brain honestly fizzles out at the options asking you to do more. His mind is reeling thinking about his hands on your hips, moving you from position to position—

Jaemin’s hand finds his length before he even knows it, fingers gripping the thick base of his shaft and pumping his fist up and down.

Tips start escalating in value, the counter of tips received going up and nearing the numbers listed in your goals, and Jaemin hisses in delight when you run your hand up from your lap and over your breast to fix your hair casually. When you move to sit cross-legged on the bed, Jaemin catches a flash of your light pink underwear before you press your dress down between your legs and smile demurely.

Jaemin’s hand speeds up, pumping his length in his fist rapidly as he daydreams about stripping you of your dress, running his hand over the lace of your underwear and toying with you until a pretty little damp spot appears in the seat of them. Then he’d pull them down your legs slowly, revealing your bare core, and tuck himself under your thighs, bringing his face level to your glistening—

Jaemin’s cumming before he even knows it, his release spurting out and landing on his shirt before the last drops dribble down his fist; he keeps going, however—fucking his hand slowly until he can’t bear it anymore and releasing himself with a shudder and a tensing of his abdomen that borders on painful.

Catching his breath, Jaemin watches you in a daze, eyes heavy-lidded as they drink in the sight of you. He studies your face, admiring your lips—

How he wishes to see those pretty lips wrapped around his fingers or his cock. How he’d love to watch them moan his name as he pleases you.

He watches your eyes—

So sweet and unsuspecting; he wants to watch those pretty eyes glaze over when he turns you into a pretty, drooling mess. He’d love to see your eyes all glossy with tears when he breaks you into the perfect little fuckdoll for him.

Your neck—

His hands itch to wrap around your neck, squeeze until you’re gasping for air, and release you not a moment too soon, lips littering kisses all over the heated skin as you desperately suck in fresh gulps of air.

He wants to fucking ruin you—destroy you, break you, make you his and utterly his alone. The desire is building, and it’s building rapidly—Jaemin has never felt this way before.

His gaze drops to your legs, lifts to your breasts, runs over your body eagerly—

His tongue gliding over the swell of your breasts, fingers digging into your thighs greedily, hot and hungry—ripping off your clothes and revealing you to him, raw, bare, vulnerable; he wants you utterly exposed so he can take you for himself. Ruin any other man for you, have his name on the tip of your tongue every time you climax, memories of his touch ghosting over your most sensitive places at any given moment—

The rest of your live is short—technical difficulties cause you to have to end the stream earlier than expected with a precious frown and sweet, sincere apology—but you promise to see everyone again at the same time on Tuesday night, and Jaemin already knows he’ll be there because he’s sure of one thing, and one thing only.

Jaemin wants you—and he wants you bad.

You check your reflection in the camera one last time before sitting back and clicking the live button. Casually scrolling through your phone, you wait for viewers to come in, adjusting the light pink slip you’re wearing.

NiceGuy19: hi playgirl

“Hi, NiceGuy19,” you say with a smile, looking into the camera as you speak next. “Are you doing alright tonight?”

NiceGuy19: doing so well now that you’re live

“Oh, thank you,” you chuckle bashfully.

A few more comments start to roll in as your live picks up traction, and you do your best to answer each one, giving everyone the attention they’re requesting.

A familiar handle pops up and you can’t help but smile.

“Hi, NaJaem13,” you smile just a bit wider, wanting to really cater to the user who gives the most generous tips. “It’s nice to see you again.”

NaJaem13: couldn’t stay away from you

“You’re so smooth,” you laugh, amused by his boldness. “You must have broken a lot of hearts, huh?”

NaJaem13: maybe a few

“I missed you last week,” you pout at the camera, and several tips come in. “You left me.”

NaJaem13: won’t happen again

NaJaem13: i promise

He can promise anything he wants as long as the tips keep coming in. You smile at his response and proceed to give your other tippers attention—they paid for a show and you’ll give them one.

You’re still playing it up for the camera, answering a few more questions and thanking the tippers, when a hefty tip and a comment by NaJaem13 catch your eye.

NaJaem13: wish i could have you to myself

You can’t help but raise a brow in intrigue, silently hoping he’s as attractive as he seems.

“NaJaem13, you can always book me for a private show,” you offer, pointing to the left of your screen at the drop down list of booking options.

NaJaem13: my name is Jaemin btw

“Nice to meet you, Jaemin,” you coo, giving a small wave to the camera.

A banner notification drops down on your screen and you read the words curiously.

NiceGuy19 has requested a private show.

You mask your disappointment—that wasn’t exactly who you were aiming for, but it’s still a good thing—and click ‘Accept,’ the time of the show taking you by surprise.

You’re not sure if NiceGuy19 and NaJaem13—Jaemin, you think; his name is Jaemin—are in some sort of competition, but it doesn’t seem like a coincidence that he booked you for a show for the duration of the time you would be on live…right after you offered a private show to Jaemin.

You actually don’t fully care if they’re beefing or whatever—the money in your pocket is taking no sides—so you just flash a regretful smile at the camera, fixing your hair.

“I’m sorry, everyone, but I have a private show scheduled for right now; I have to cut the live short.” you frown apologetically, and several responses, ranging from sad to annoyed to understanding, flood the chat. “I know, guys, I’m sorry, truly. I’ll be here next week for sure, okay?”

NiceGuy19: see you in a minute ;)

NaJaem13: have fun NiceGuy

NaJaem13: have a good night playgirl :)

“You too, Jaemin,” you hum kindly, giving one last wave before turning off the camera.

Things escalate the following week when Jaemin decides he isn’t about to let NiceGuy19 swoop in and steal you away again.

After a couple of moments of futzing around on the website page, Jaemin finds the link to book you for a private session and fumbles through the process with excited fingers. He books you for tonight, right after your public show, and sits back in excitement as he waits for his time alone with you.

PL4YG1RL has accepted your request for a private show.

His phone lights up, likely a confirmation from his banking app that the transaction went through, and Jaemin can’t help but wince at the steep deduction his account’s going to be hit with.

It’s worth it, though, because he gets you.

After what feels like ages, your show finally ends and the display goes black. A buffering symbol appears on the screen, only heightening his anticipation for you.

After a couple of minutes, your screen loads and Jaemin is practically blown away by your beauty.

Yes, he just saw you, but he’ll never get tired of watching you.

“Hi, NaJaem,” you hum, smiling. “My favorite viewer—how are you tonight?”

Jaemin’s mouth goes dry as he sits forward to type out a reply.

NaJaem13: i’m better now that you’re here

NaJaem13: how’s my favorite girl doing?

“Your favorite girl? Stop, you’ll make me shy,” you laugh, and Jaemin smiles widely even though you can’t see him.

NaJaem13: i like you shy

NaJaem13: it’s cute

“You’re such a charmer,” you giggle. “Is there something you’d like me to do for you tonight?”

Jaemin thinks for a minute; he didn’t fully have a plan—he just wanted you all to himself for a night.

You’re patient while he thinks, humming a soft tune to yourself, and Jaemin marvels at just how lovely you are.

His eyes land on something almost out of frame, and he smiles.

NaJaem13: is that a stuffed animal?

Your head cocks to the side in confusion and Jaemin coos affectionately, finding you adorable. You look around you, your eyes lighting up in recognition as you pull a large teddy bear onto the screen from out of frame.

“Yes, it is!” you chirp, and Jaemin wets his lips with his tongue before typing out another message.

NaJaem13: i want you to ride that teddy bear until you cum

NaJaem13: can you do that for me?

Your eyes widen as you look from the screen to the stuffed animal in your hands and back to the screen. Nibbling your lower lip pensively, you nod, and Jaemin could just burst with excitement. You bring your setup to your bed before lying the bear down and straddling it. You start to rock your hips against the tan plushie, your brows furrowing in concentration, and Jaemin watches you with hungry eyes, his hand moving to palm himself through his sweats.

NaJaem13: just like that, angel

NaJaem13: doing so good

You whimper as your eyes flick to the screen, and he groans in delight, squeezing himself harder and starting to stroke himself.

NaJaem13: how does it feel?

“So good,” you exhale shakily, and he grunts, pushing into his boxers and gripping his length, hot and heavy, at the base.

NaJaem13: you look so pretty right now

NaJaem13: can you say my name, angel?

“Jaemin,” you moan, rocking onto the stuffie more eagerly. Your hands move from the bed to graze up your legs and torso until they’re cupping your breasts, squeezing them and shuddering with pleasure. “Jaemin, I think I’m close.” Your words come out as breathy pants that have Jaemin’s hand eagerly speeding up as he pumps his fist up and down his cock.

NaJaem13: good

NaJaem13: keep going baby. just like that

“Jaemin, can I cum?” you ask, desperation all over your face, and Jaemin nods vigorously, feeling his own climax approach, before realizing that you can’t see him.

NaJaem13: you can cum, angel

NaJaem13: cum for nana

“Nana,” you plead in a broken whine, and Jaemin watches in awe as your rocking speeds up—he tries to match the pace with his hand—and your head tips back as your climax hits. Whimpers fall from your lips freely until you bite your lip to stifle the sounds—an action, Jaemin notes, that he wishes you hadn’t done.

You are, without a doubt, the most mesmerizing sight he’s laid his eyes on in ages, and Jaemin’s climax comes rushing in without a moment’s hesitation.

Jaemin’s cock throbs in his hand and his eyes shut tightly as he thrusts up into his hand, cum spilling from the slit and dribbling down his fist, warm and wet and white.

“God, fuck,” he groans in delight, eagerly sitting forward to study you closely. You’re still straddling the stuffed animal, and your eyes are visibly glazed over even through the computer screen. There’s a beautiful lazy, content smile on your lips, and Jaemin wishes he could take you in his arms and kiss your smile over and over again.

NaJaem13: you are so beautiful

NaJaem13: you did such a good job

“Jaemin, please, all this praise is getting to my head,” you joke, grinning bashfully, and he can’t help but chuckle fondly.

NaJaem13: good

NaJaem13: you deserve it

NaJaem13: wish i could see that pretty smile in person

You look away shyly, smiling and there’s a moment that passes in which Jaemin realizes you’re debating on whether or not to say something.

NaJaem13: what’s wrong?

“Nothing, actually,” you say sincerely, and Jaemin hums in intrigue. “I just wanted to let you know that I have some in-person slots—”

Holy shit.

NaJaem13: i’ll be sure to book one with you

“Oh—awesome,” you reply, smiling sweetly. Jaemin’s heart could burst right now and he’d die a happy man. “The link is that way,” you explain, pointing to the left of the screen, and sure enough, there’s a series of links, one titled “Book a Session.”

NaJaem13: found it

You shoot him a thumbs up before looking off-screen for a moment, whatever you lay eyes on making you frown cutely. “I’m sorry, but we only have about three more minutes together tonight.”

NaJaem13: don’t worry about it

NaJaem13: get some sleep

Jaemin sends you a generous tip, your eyes widening in surprise when it shows up on your screen.

“Thank you, Jaemin,” you say gratefully, a shocked but pleased smile on your pretty lips. “Hopefully I see you again soon.”

NaJaem13: you will

You wave for a moment, then the screen goes black and a message shows up on the screen.

Your session with PL4YG1RL has ended.

Jaemin doesn’t want to let you book with anyone else; not after having you all to himself. He clicks the link you pointed to a moment ago, impatiently drumming his fingers on the keyboard as it loads, and the new page shows a calendar with appointment slots highlighted. Jaemin books the earliest available appointment for Tuesday at 4:00pm and sits back excitedly as the confirmation page loads.

Your appointment has been booked. Please check your email for your confirmation and further instructions.

Jaemin navigates to his email and reads over the list of stipulations. They seem standard and easy enough—like submitting a clean and recent STI test update—and a set of rules during the session—like always wearing a condom—and Jaemin scrolls and scrolls and scrolls some more until he sees the address you’re supposed to meet up at, and he smiles widely, saving it to his notes.

Three days until Jaemin meets the object of his affections. Jaemin feels like a child on Christmas Eve—well, the eve of Christmas Eve’s eve. He can hardly wait.

Jaemin sits in the hotel lobby, knee bouncing nervously as he waits for you. He scans the faces of everyone who enters the lobby curiously, his heart falling in disappointment when none of them are you.

You’re not late, Jaemin’s just early—and eager.

As a matter of fact, you walk in right on time, more beautiful than ever in a cute blouse and skirt combination. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so excited in his life.

He stands up and walks over to you, smiling when you two lock eyes.

“Jaemin?” you say curiously, and he nods, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

He is beyond handsome, you think. You got lucky.

“Hey,” he replies, stepping a bit closer to you.

“Hi,” you parrot, admittedly taken aback by how attractive he is. “Are you, um, ready to go up?”

“I was actually thinking we could…hang out, kind of.” Jaemin says carefully, scanning your face for any sort of negative reaction.

“Oh?” you ask. “Like a date?”

“Yeah!” he confirms. “Like a date.”

“Okay,” you agree, smiling at the prospect of a date with him.

“We can go out to a café or restaurant, maybe? Only if you want. It’d be my treat.” he proposes, and your smile widens. He’s cute when he’s nervous.

“Sounds good to me.”

He grins and offers you his arm, your brows raising in an impressed surprise at his manners as you take it, the two of you heading towards the front door.

“So tell me about yourself, Jaemin,” you say, raising an eyebrow curiously. You two sit in a café over drinks and pastries, Jaemin eager to get to know you.

“Oh, uh…I don’t know,” he answers with a chuckle. “I’m in college…I have a brother…”

“Ooh, college?” you ask. “What are you studying?”

“Photography,” he answers, and you let out an impressed hum.

“Very cool,” you say encouragingly. “And you mentioned a brother? Older or younger?”

“Older,” Jaemin replies. “He’s a cop, actually.”

“Oh, wow.” you murmur, intrigued.

“Can I hear more about you?” Jaemin asks, sitting forward. “What do you like? What do you like to do?”

“Hm,” you muse, looking up in thought. “I like deer,” you finally answer, “and bunnies.”

Jaemin thinks that’s fitting for you.

“I like my job,” you continue. “Meeting all these different people is interesting.”

“Can I ask you a question?” Jaemin’s thoughts won’t stay quiet, urging him to get them off of his chest.

“Shoot.”

“Do you ever fake it?”

“Fake…?” Your head tilts to the side in confusion.

Jaemin already regrets asking. “Um, I mean, like, when you’re with other clients, and you—”

“I know what you mean, Jaemin,” you laugh. “I’m just teasing.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“Off the record? All the time.”

“No way.” Jaemin can’t hide his shock.

“I probably fake it more times than I don’t.” You shrug, and he sits back in surprise.

“And that doesn’t get exhausting for you?”

“I can’t lie, it’s kind of fun to play it up every time.” you murmur conspiratorially, and Jaemin laughs.

You’re playful. You’re letting him know things you don’t tell other people.

There’s definitely something here.

“How do you know they don’t know you’re faking it?” he asks curiously, and you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Jaemin.”

“Hm?”

“You really think they care if I finish or not?”

“Oh,” Jaemin mutters. He hadn’t thought about that. “I would care.”

“Oh, yeah?” you hum playfully, nudging his foot with yours under the table. “Well, thank you. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

Jaemin’s heart could give out right now. You’re flirting with him.

“Next time?” he says hopefully. “So I can see you again?”

You give him a small but flirtatious smile. “That’s up to you.”

The first session ends as well as Jaemin could have hoped. You got a little beneath surface level with him, flirted with him, laughed with him—Jaemin thinks you might even be starting to like him.

He saw the way you eyed him when you first met; you’re definitely attracted to him.

So he books you again.

And again.

And…again.

Jaemin can barely keep his eyes off of you. All you’re doing is ordering a drink at the counter, but you’re a vision of beauty in a soft yellow flowing dress, your hair tastefully styled away from your face, and his mind is racing with everything he wants to do to you.

It’s your fourth time together, and Jaemin still hasn’t made a move. He wants you so badly but wants you to want him too, so he’s been trying to get closer to you. He thinks it’s working, actually, because you seem to brighten whenever you catch sight of him.

And all of that is well and good, but it doesn’t solve the problem he’s having right now. The very sight of you has his cock stirring in his pants.

“Are you okay, Jaemin?” you ask curiously, snapping him out of his thoughts. You’re looking at him with furrowed brows of concern, and Jaemin almost feels bad for worrying you.

“I’m alright,” he assures you, leaning forward to pay for your drink, and your face relaxes, the two of you walking over to the other side of the counter to wait for your drink. He stands just behind you, scanning your frame with desiring eyes. When you shift your weight from one foot to the other, a waft of your delicate perfume drifts into his face, and he has to control himself to restrain the groan that builds in his throat.

He decides to make his move—this isn’t how he planned for things to go today, but fuck it—and place his hands on your hips, squeezing you and pulling you closer to him.

“Hi,” you laugh, craning your neck to look back at him.

“Mm,” Jaemin nuzzles into your hair and breathes in the sweet scent of your shampoo. “Hi. You smell so good.”

“Thank you,” you chuckle, leaning back against him.

“And you look even better.” His voice is lower now, more seductive, and you hesitate, his tone piquing your curiosity and stirring up arousal in your stomach.

“T-Thank you,” you mumble, feeling shy now, and it’s Jaemin’s turn to chuckle, nosing past your hair to trail his lips along the shell of your ear. You take in a sharp breath at the somewhat ticklish sensation, your head tilting of its own accord to allow him more access to your neck.

His soft exhale sends warmth fanning over the sensitive area of skin, and you squirm slightly, arousal building as his lips press wet, slow, purposeful kisses down your ear to the spot just behind it.

“Jaemin,” you warn softly, your voice whinier and huskier than you expected it to be. “We can’t do this here.”

He peppers light kisses down your neck until he’s at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, where he gently bites the skin there, relishing the whine you let out.

“I have an iced chai latte with almond milk!” the barista calls, and you move forward to pick it up, only to find yourself restrained by Jaemin’s strong arm anchoring you against him.

“Jaemin,” you whisper, “I have to get the drink.” You can’t help but laugh when he shuffles forwards with you to pick up the cup before you turn around—not without difficulty—in his embrace to face him, your eyes drifting from his darkened, lust-filled ones to his lips and back up. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Do you have any idea how good you look?” he groans, and you blink twice, stunned by the wave of arousal that has overcome him. “That little dress is just tempting me.”

You cock an eyebrow curiously. “Tempting you to do what?”

Jaemin leans in so your lips are barely apart from each other and wets his lips, his gaze dropping to your mouth. “Rip it off of you.” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, instead closing the distance between you two in a kiss—your first one together—that leaves you reeling. You suck in a breath of air when your lips part, Jaemin immediately pulling you back to him with a deeper kiss, his tongue playing almost lazily with yours. He sucks on your bottom lip and releases you from the liplock when you tap his chest repeatedly to get his attention.

“The hotel down the block,” you murmur against his mouth as he strokes your cheek with his thumb, “the one we met at. I have a room.”

“Let’s go,” he says immediately, linking his fingers with yours and tugging you after him.

You two manage to make it back to the hotel quickly, hustling into the elevator where Jaemin all but pounces on you, pressing you up against the wall as the doors slide shut. The rail behind you digs uncomfortably into your back, but Jaemin’s lips on your neck distract you enough to the point where you no longer care.

“Wanted to do this for so long,” he grunts, sucking at the base of your neck and dragging his teeth along the patch of skin, making you gasp. “You’re so fucking tempting.”

“Jaemin,” you moan, your fingers sliding up his back to curl in his hair at the nape of his neck and tug. “That feels so good.” Desire blooms between your legs, warmth radiating out from your core to the rest of your body as you feel arousal start to leak from you.

“Yeah?” he hums, moving back up to kiss your lips. “Gonna make you feel even better.”

As if on cue, the elevator dings and the doors open on your floor, the two of you quickly making your way down the hall to your hotel room. Jaemin chuckles as you fumble around in your purse for the room key card, finally managing to catch it between your fingers and pull it out victoriously.

You swipe the two of you in, and Jaemin barely lets the door shut before he’s pressing you up against the wall, his thigh slotting between your legs with ease. He threads his fingers in your hair, thumb caressing your jaw, and tilts your head towards him for easier access. His free hand slides around your waist, resting on the small of your back and pulling you closer to him.

“Jaemin,” you pant, pushing at his jacket to get it off of his shoulders and finally discarding it on the floor, “the bed.”

“Can’t I play with you a little bit right here?” he hums teasingly, his hand dropping from your back to hike up the hem of your dress. He strokes up the smooth flesh of your inner thigh and you hiss in pleasure, parting your legs wider for him.

“Yeah,” you exhale, and he grins.

“Mm, yeah?”

“Yes, Jaemin, please?” You sound impatient, and Jaemin smiles at the thought of you as desperate as him.

“Okay, angel,” he acquiesces, slipping his hand up higher until they’re stroking the lace of your underwear. His fingers push the garment aside until he’s taunting you by stroking at your folds which are now slick with arousal, and the whine that spills from your lips is well worth the wait.

“More,” you whisper, and his fingers dip into your wetness immediately, eager to give you everything you want and then some.

“How’s that?” he muses, a playful smile on his lips as two of his fingers push into you, and you cry out in pleasure, gripping his shoulder with one hand to brace yourself as he curls his fingers and starts pumping them inside of you.

“S’good,” you whine, your head tipping back against the wall, and Jaemin presses his lips against yours firmly, startling you.

“I don’t want you faking it,” he urges, and your eyes widen as you nod, having forgotten you told him about that.

“I won’t,” you promise breathlessly, and he smiles, his fingers speeding up inside of you. “Just like that, oh, God—”

“You’re so wet,” he hums, the tip of his tongue flicking at your bottom lip teasingly. “You must really like me.” When your only reply is a plaintive moan, he grins proudly and kisses down to your collarbone, biting it gently as his fingers continue to thrust into you. It’s not too long before his fingers fuck directly into your g-spot and your hips start unconsciously grinding down to get more of him inside of you.

“Jaemin—”

“Nana,” he corrects, suddenly overcome with the need to hear you call him by his nickname.

“Nana—” you moan, “I’m close, I’m so close—”

“Yeah? Are you gonna cum all over my fingers, angel?” he’s practically taunting you, and the anticipation builds in your chest just as your pleasure builds in your lower abdomen.

“Yes,” you whimper. “Yes, yes, please?”

“Cum for me, baby.” Jaemin watches in fascination as you ride his fingers to your climax, your chest pushing into his as your back arches, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight in his life.

When your climax finally subsides, you look at him with pretty, glazed over eyes and a shy yet beguiling smile that has Jaemin wanting to pin you down and make you cum over and over again.

But first, Jaemin has something else on his mind.

“Angel?” Jaemin asks carefully, and you cock your head curiously, waiting for his next words. “Can I feel your mouth around me?”

You don’t say anything, but your smile widens and you sink to your knees, opening his pants teasingly slowly, eyes locked on his until your hand wraps around the thick base of his length.

“You’re so big,” you hum in delight, and Jaemin smiles fondly, the expression dropping off his face abruptly when you exhale warm air over the head of his length, a small laugh falling from your lips when he shudders and he twitches in your hand.

You lay your tongue out flat, blinking up at him before dragging your tongue up his length slowly, swirling it around the tip before wrapping your lips around him and starting to bob your head up and down, your hands stroking at what you can’t yet fit in your mouth.

“God, fuck,” Jaemin grunts, his brows knitting together as you suck him off. You pull off of him and look him directly in the eyes as you let saliva drip off your tongue and onto his length. The wet warmth sliding down his cock only makes Jaemin hiss in pleasure when you resume your actions of sucking and stroking, using the spit as lubricant.

“So good,” he croaks, thrusting forward unconsciously. His cock hits the back of your throat and your throat constricts as you gag slightly, the sensation feeling like bliss to Jaemin. “Shit, sorry,” he apologizes, and you shake your head, pulling off of him.

“Do it again,” you urge, and his brows raise up so high they practically disappear into his hairline.

“You want it, yeah?” He’s breathless, his hand wrapping over yours and aiding you in stroking him. “Angel wants Nana’s cock in her pretty little mouth?”

“Yes,” you say, pouting, and Jaemin feels like his heart could just explode. “Please, Nana?”

“Holy fuck,” he mumbles, awestruck and in heaven. “Anything for you, angel. Open up.” He taps his cock against your lips, grinning when you part them and let your tongue loll out of your mouth. He rubs the head of his length against your tongue for a moment before slowly pushing into your mouth and starting to thrust. The faint wet gagging noises only add to the ambience, Jaemin’s grunts and pants helping to create a lustful soundscape.

“You like when I fuck your pretty little mouth?” he asks, and you nod, whining around him and sending vibrations all down his length. “You are so perfect,” he murmurs, infatuated with the sight of you on your knees for him.

His thrusts speed up until he’s fucking into your mouth with sharp pumps, low groans leaving his lips freely.

You’re taking it like a champ, Jaemin thinks, watching in fascination as your eyes go glassy, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes before they start spilling down your cheeks. You are the prettiest thing he has ever seen, and the realization and wave of adoration he feels has him pulling out of your mouth abruptly.

“On the bed,” he urges, and you oblige, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. He hovers over you, encroaching on your space until you’re on your back, a playful smile on your lips as you look up at him. “Let’s get these off,” he murmurs, hiking up your dress to hook his fingers in your underwear and pull them off your legs. When your glistening core is exposed to him, he groans, pumping his cock in his fist slowly as he adjusts you further up the bed.

Jaemin fishes out the condom he brought from his pants pocket on the floor, ripping the package open and rolling it on impatiently, before he presses his cock against your core, the head nestling between your folds to rest just before your entrance.

He pushes into you slowly, a whoosh of relief leaving his lungs, and you clench around him, mewling at the sensation of him filling you up.

“So big,” you moan, and he leans over you again to capture your lips with his, kissing you sweetly to distract you from the discomfort as it ebbs away.

“You’re so good,” Jaemin mumbles in a daze, silently praying you adjust soon so he can fuck you. “Doing so well.”

“You can move,” you urge him in a soft voice, and he presses another kiss to your lips before straightening his back, draping one of your legs over his shoulder and pulling out to the tip before burying himself in your walls once more.

He quickly builds up a pace that has broken moans falling from your lips and grunts from his, the sounds of skin slapping against skin resonating through the hotel room.

“Feels so good, angel,” Jaemin practically babbles, losing his sensibility the longer he fucks you. “So tight and wet, shit—”

You respond with a flex of your walls around his length that draws an uncharacteristic whimper from him, and he can feel the beginnings of his climax stirring just behind his navel. He brings two fingers to his mouth and withdraws the now spit-slicked digits to bring them to your clit, massaging circles into the sensitive bud.

You’re in bliss as Jaemin stimulates your clit with skillful strokes. He thrusts into you at a different angle than before and your nails dig into the bedspread as his tip kisses your g-spot.

“Oh, my God, right there!” You cry, and he grins smugly, complying and thrusting into the sensitive patch of nerves over and over again as your climax approaches rapidly. “Jaemin—” you plead, rocking back against him desperately.

“Are you gonna cum again, angel?” he coos sweetly, and his grin only widens at your eager nod. “Good; cum for me, baby. Cum all over Nana’s cock.”

Pleasure washes over you in waves as your orgasm rushes through your body, and all you can do is whimper Jaemin’s name over and over as you ride out your high.

“Hang in there, baby, I’m close,” he groans, his thrusts speeding up as he focuses on getting himself to finish. He cums not long after you do, releasing into the condom with a shudder rippling down his spine. He hangs his head as he catches his breath and slowly pulls out of you, tying off the condom and heading to the garbage bin by the side of the bed. “Are you okay?” he asks, and you smile blissfully, nodding.

“I’m great,” you assure him, and he sighs in relief.

“Good,” he replies. “Hold on one second,” he murmurs, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment and returning with a damp washcloth and you giggle as he cleans you up and then himself.

“You’re such a gentleman,” you say, smiling, and he shrugs bashfully. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers softly, lying down on the bed beside you after he’s pulled his boxers back up. “Was that good?” His voice sounds more worried than he planned to let on, but there’s no taking it back now.

“It was amazing, Jaemin,” you reassure him, and he nods, smiling shyly.

Jaemin really thinks this could be something special. He’s sure of one thing—he’s definitely booking you at every available opportunity.

“Girl, where are you headed today?” Yuna laughs incredulously as you start packing up your things.

“I have an appointment.” You smile secretively, and Ryujin sits up from her spot on the couch, a skeptical furrow between her brows.

“With that same guy from earlier this week?” She asks, and you nod. “You do realize that he’s booked you literally every day this week, right?”

“Of course I realize that,” you snort in amusement. “More importantly, my bank account realizes that.”

“You see that guy more times in a week than you do us,” Yuna huffs with a pout, and you mirror her expression sympathetically.

“You’re being dramatic; there’s no way I’ve seen him more than you guys,” you reply, and Yuna rolls her eyes, Ryujin sighing in mild frustration.

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Ryujin exclaims, and you shoot her a look.

“Be for real,” you say flatly. “Think of it like…I work in a diner, and I’m picking up extra shifts.”

“Things must be getting real heated in that diner if he keeps coming back.” Ryujin teases, and you throw the nearest item—a pillow from Yuna’s couch—at her, laughing when it hits its mark.

“You know, he’s actually really good in bed. It’s kind of crazy that he’s single,” you muse thoughtfully. “Besides, sometimes we don’t even have sex.”

“Really?” Ryujin raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Does he ask you to do kinky fetish stuff, like walk on his back in stilettos?” Yuna asks curiously, and you and Ryujin look at her, bewildered.

“Wh—Where did that even come from?” Ryujin laughs.

“You know, I have actually done that before…but, no, not for him.” You wave off Ryujin’s and Yuna’s intrigued spluttering and continue on with, “I mean, sometimes we just…go get coffee, hang out, watch movies.”

“These just sound like paid dates.” Yuna points out, and you shrug.

“I mean, if he’s paying, he can ask me to do damn near anything, really,” you laugh, and Ryujin snickers.

“Well, we won’t hold you up, okay? Go get that bag!” she chirps, and you blink at her slowly.

“…Stop picking up lingo from TikTok,” you say as your final words before you bid them goodbye with a wave and head out of Yuna’s apartment to go meet up with Jaemin.

“Whose pretty pussy is this?” Jaemin coos at you as he fucks into you, your legs over his shoulders as he presses you into the mattress.

“Yours, Jaemin,” you gasp loudly, and he shoots you that winning smile of his, turning his head to kiss your calf.

“No one fucks you like I do,” Jaemin grunts, cupping your chin with one hand and making eye contact with you. There’s an almost crazed look in his eyes, a wild energy that thrills you to your core. “No one could ever treat this pussy as good as I do.”

“No one,” you whimper in agreement, your mind slipping away as he thrusts into you. “Only you, Jaemin.”

“Love this pussy so much,” he mutters almost to himself, biting down on his bottom lip so hard you can see the pink skin of his lips surrounding his bite turning white. “Wanna keep you for myself—you’re all fucking mine.”

“‘M yours,” you mumble, slurring slightly as the pleasure clouds your brain. “Jaemin, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, angel,” he urges, and you fall apart around him without waiting another moment, crying his name out loudly as your nails scratch uselessly at the bedsheets. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he groans, his head tipping back in ecstasy before his thrusts grow more erratic and finally come to a stop as he releases into the condom, ragged breaths leaving him.

Jaemin looks down at your figure, bare skin glistening with sweat, your hair all mussed up, and a fucked-out look on your face, and thinks to himself that this must be heaven on Earth, the male never having felt luckier than he does right now.

He pulls out of you carefully, quickly discarding the condom in the bedside trash can, and collapses beside you on the bed, a silence falling over you two as you catch your breath and get your bearings.

As you’re lying there, Ryujin’s and Yuna’s words from earlier come back to you, and a question begins to itch at your throat, begging to be asked. After moments of debating, you bite the bullet and ask.

“Hey, Jaemin?”

“Yeah?”

“How are you affording all these sessions? Aren’t you, like, a college student?” you ask curiously, and the silence that meets your question has you backtracking immediately. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business—”

“I don’t mind answering,” Jaemin speaks up, and you turn your head to see that he’s already done the same, brown eyes studying your face. “I have money stashed away in my savings, pretty good credit, and my job doesn’t pay too badly.” he answers, and you nod slowly in understanding.

“I hope you’re not blowing your savings on me,” you chuckle, feeling a bit uncomfortable with the notion of him spending his savings on you.

“Don’t worry about me, angel,” he hums. “Besides,” he continues, nudging you gently with his elbow, “I think you’re worth more than every cent.”

Your face warms up at the compliment and you mumble a bashful thank you. “I just don’t want you to land yourself in hot water because of me.”

“Trust me, angel,” Jaemin assures you, “I’m doing perfectly fine.”

So, Jaemin may have lied a bit.

A lot, actually.

Since meeting you, he’s fully blown through his savings—all $5,000 of it—royally fucked up his credit by maxing out his credit cards, borrowed far too much money from his older brother, and has now resorted to…is this embezzlement? Can you even embezzle a mom-and-pop shop?

Jaemin has to admit that he feels a bit guilty, Mrs. Kim’s kind face flashing in his mind as he pockets several bills from the cash register.

But it’s you, with those eyes, and that smile, and that laugh, and it’s you, with that sweet voice and the way you say his name, and—

It’s you.

And Jaemin would do anything for you. Even if it means making some fiscally irresponsible choices and committing a few reprehensible actions, he thinks as he navigates your booking website expertly and schedules another meeting with you for tomorrow afternoon.

Maybe, Jaemin thinks, he’ll take you shopping. He saw you eying a pretty silver bracelet in the window of a jewelry shop when you were walking around together the other day. Maybe he’ll get it for you as a gift.

The first time was an accident. Or at least that’s what Jaemin’s going with.

When he left the hotel room he’d rented for you two, he didn’t expect to see you still in the lobby, the picture of perfection as you look down at your phone, tapping at the screen.

Jaemin conceals himself behind a passing bellhop and his cart when you lift your head up to look around, and it’s almost like a magnet pulls him after you when you exit the building. He makes sure to keep you at a distance, not wanting you to catch him watching you.

Jaemin watches as you walk down the street, slowly following after you. You’re so sweet, so innocent…so unaware.

Someone could just snatch you up and have you at their mercy in a second.

So he’s protecting you. Or, at least, that’s what he’s going with.

Jaemin “protects” you on your walk, not even sure where you’re headed, but when he watches you fish out a set of keys and enter an apartment building, his body lights up with a thrill.

You’re heading home.

Jaemin very tentatively follows you into the large building and practically collapses with relief when you go to the mailboxes and take your mail out. He doesn’t find a way to justify following you up to your apartment, so he just…waits until the doors close on the elevator and walks over to your mailbox, looking at the unit number.

“Found you,” He sighs dreamily. If he inhales deeply enough, he can still smell your light fragrance in the air.

Now, the first time was an accident. The second time was a coincidence.

The third, fourth, and fifth times were anything but.

Jaemin follows you home after every single meeting you two have, evading detection every time. He swears up and down he’s protecting you, making sure no harm befalls you as you travel back to your place.

Sometimes, however, he catches himself entangled in a dark fantasy consisting of you and him and the lovely element of surprise and he can’t help but think that maybe he’s exactly who you would need protection from.

But he’s different, Jaemin thinks. He cares about you. He adores you. He…he loves you.

Plus, you make it too easy, he thinks. Never straying from your usual route home, never sparing a glance over your shoulder; it’s almost like you know he’s watching. Like you know he’s following your every move.

It’s almost like…you want him to follow you. Want him to engage in a little game of cat-and-mouse as he follows you—his prey—back to your place of safety and lies in wait to pounce.

You’re playing with him, Jaemin thinks, because you must have feelings for him too. Hell, you might even love him back.

Jaemin makes up his mind the eighth time he follows you home; nothing is going to stop him from being with you.

“Huh.” You pause when you step out of the elevator, the doors quietly shutting behind you.

“What’s wrong?” Ryujin asks, attempting to follow your gaze. “Oh, you have a package!”

“I don’t remember ordering anything, though,” you mumble, heading down the hallway to your front door. You check the package and sure enough, your first name is written on the small box.

“Well, are you gonna take it?” Ryujin watches you turn the package around in your hand.

“I mean…yeah, I guess.” You agree slowly, unlocking your door and heading into your apartment, Ryujin following after you. You set your bag down and immediately turn your attention to the package in your hand. You carefully and gingerly open the brown paper wrapping to reveal a small white box. You take the top off, revealing its interior, and gasp.

“What is it?” Ryujin asks, by your side in a moment as she looks into the box. “Holy shit.”

“Right?”

“That bracelet is beautiful,” Ryujin stammers, “not to mention how expensive it looks.”

You carefully take the silver tennis bracelet out of the box’s protective foam and stare at it in wonder. “It looks so familiar.”

“Put it on!” Ryujin encourages you with a nudge, and you nod dumbly, letting her fasten it around your wrist. You stare down at it in bewilderment, still having a hard time processing. “It looks so pretty on you,” she compliments, and you nod distractedly. It looks so familiar around your wrist—almost like you’ve worn it before. Your mind flashes with a memory and you freeze, staring down at the bracelet with wide eyes.

“Oh, my God.” You remember where you’ve seen it.

“What’s wrong?” Ryujin presses, looking from the bracelet to you.

You drop the box and step back from it as if it might bite you.

“I saw this during one of my appointments with Jaemin. We went to a jewelry store.” you recall slowly, apprehension trickling down your spine like ice cold water.

“Oh, okay! Why are you so nervous—wait a minute.” Ryujin goes still, and you nod encouragingly, hoping she makes the same deduction you just have.

“Do you think Jaemin bought it for you?” she asks, and you nod again, raising your eyebrows for emphasis. “But how did he get it—to your—oh, what the fuck—”

“Yeah, what the fuck?” you exclaim, and Ryujin waves her hands around as she silently tries to make sense of everything. “Does he—does he fucking know where I live or something?”

“How would he know where you live?” Ryujin asks in disbelief.

“I don’t know, but it got here somehow!” you whisper-yell, and she nods, her gaze drifting from your panicked eyes to the floor.

“There’s a note,” she points out, and you follow her gaze to the small slip of paper sticking out from under the foam in the box. You stoop to pick it up and blink down at the note.

“It’s just a heart,” you mutter, and Ryujin purses her lips thoughtfully.

“Damn. Was kinda hoping it’d have some sort of identifying information,” she mumbles, and you sigh.

“Me too,” you grumble, your mood souring. “Maybe,” you say hesitantly, “I should stop seeing Jaemin so much.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Ryujin agrees, “at least until you figure out what’s going on.”

You sigh in resignation. “Yeah. I hope this doesn’t end up blowing up in my face.”

Something is off.

Jaemin hasn’t seen you or spoken to you in eight consecutive days. When he looks at your booking website, your usual appointment slots are grayed out and unclickable. Every time he gets close to scheduling an appointment, it’s miraculously canceled and his money refunded, stating that there was a schedule conflict.

If that wasn’t enough, Jaemin has been attending your lives, and you haven’t given him any attention at all. He knows lives probably get overwhelming, especially when you have a large audience, but he doesn’t even get more than a thank you and a smile—a polite one, not the smile he’s come to adore—when he tips you.

He has no idea what’s going on, but his mind is reeling with possibilities, each more disastrous than the last.

You could be ignoring him. Avoiding him, possibly.

You could be scheduling with other people. Letting other clients touch what’s his.

Jaemin bristles with anger. The thought of another person’s hands on you, their name leaving your lips in a moan of pleasure, your beautiful smile directed at someone that’s not him drives him into a fit of rage.

Thoughts and images of you with another person flash in his mind, tormenting him, and he clutches his head, pressing his fingers into his skin as hard as possible to offset the emotional pain he’s feeling with a more manageable physical pain.

You can’t be with anyone else. Jaemin loves you. He fucking loves you. He would do anything for you; he’s landed himself in financial hot water tipping you and booking appointments with you, he’s completely fucked academically from skipping classes and not turning in assignments in his attempt to spend as much time with you as possible, and this is how you treat him? Do you even care about him?

Jaemin cannot fucking breathe. He places a panicked hand over his heaving chest and struggles to regulate his inhales and exhales as he tries to calm himself down. His chest feels tight, constricted as he pants and he can feel his racing heartbeat pounding in his ears as his world caves in around him.

No, Jaemin thinks, that’s not possible. You wouldn’t do that to him. Not with what you two have together.

Maybe it’s just a simple misunderstanding. Maybe you’re taking a break from in-person sessions for a bit.

Repeating the words in his head like a mantra, Jaemin can finally breathe again.

He misses you, though. Thankfully you’re going live tonight, and he can see you that way.

Sure enough, you go live at midnight like clockwork, a vision in a pretty pale blue dress, and Jaemin feels his heart swelling at the sight of you. A glance at your wrists has his heart about to burst with joy; you’re wearing the bracelet he bought you.

“Hi, everybody,” you greet sweetly, waving at the camera. “How is everyone feeling tonight?”

Responses start coming in the chat and Jaemin just sits back, waiting for a lull so he can send his message and not have it swept up in the flurry of rapidly incoming messages and ultimately ignored.

As he expected, the replies taper off in a moment, and he sends his message.

NaJaem13: lonely. bored.

He watches your eyes scan the replies as you respond to individual users, his heart rate picking up in excitement when you read the response right above his.

“Sorry to hear you’re bored, NaJaem13,” you hum softly, and hearing your voice say his name—well, part of it—and watching your lips shape the syllables has his heart soaring. “Hopefully I can change that!”

He tips you 100 tokens, and the smile on your lips as you thank him is more than worth it.

NiceGuy19: r u seeing anyone? boyfriend, girlfriend, etc

You read the question out hesitantly, and Jaemin’s chest swells with pride as he’s confident you’ll allude to what you two have going on—

“No, NiceGuy19, I am very much single.” You smile, the expression not quite reaching your eyes, and Jaemin freezes.

You’re single? What the fuck?

Loverboy01: haha so i have a chance

You let out a small laugh at the comment as you read it aloud before giving a small nod. “You do,” you agree.

Jaemin’s eye twitches. Maybe you’re keeping what you two have private…out of respect for the relationship. There’s only one problem with that.

Jaemin doesn’t want you to keep it private. As a matter of fact, Jaemin’s not so sure he wants to share you with anyone anymore.

His fingers trace along the trackpad, a few clicks, and he’s booking you for a private show. There’s a moment in which nothing happens, Jaemin waiting with bated breath for you to accept.

Your eyes drift away from the camera, looking distracted for a split second, and Jaemin smiles.

You saw his request.

You clear your throat and click something before fixing your hair slightly and continuing to read comments. A window pops up on Jaemin’s screen and he reads it eagerly.

PL4YG1RL is not available for a private show at this time.

Jaemin’s smile drops.

You saw his request…and declined it. There goes that tightening in his chest, that feeling of his throat closing up, and he can’t contain his frustration.

He has to talk to you; he has to see you in person and get an explanation for all of this. He’ll wait until your live is over, then he’ll go see you and figure out what’s going on because, honestly, Jaemin feels like his heart’s about to split into two.

You’re startled awake by three insistent knocks on your front door, not expecting any visitors at this hour.

What even is “this hour,” anyway? What time is it?

You look over at your clock on your dresser and your eyes widen at the displayed time of 4:17 that blinks back at you.

Who the hell could be knocking on the door at this hour?

You get out of bed, donning the robe on the back of your bedroom door and wrapping the fabric around your body, and make your way to your front door as three more knocks sound out.

You peek through the peephole and your blood runs cold at the sight of Jaemin standing there, an unmistakable frown on his face.

You open the door and stare at him in disbelief, saying nothing. His eyes widen when he sees you and he sighs in relief, a smile beginning to curl his lips.

“You answered,” he exhales.

“Jaemin?” You ask carefully, and his smile slowly drops in favor of a distressed expression as he starts to speak.

“I saw your live tonight and—”

“Jaemin?”

“You said you weren’t seeing anyone—”

“Jaemin.”

“You’ve been avoiding me too, I know you saw my private show request—”

You just blink at him, in disbelief.

“What about all the time we’ve spent together?” He looks like he wants to say more, but holds his tongue at the last moment. Looking into his eyes chills you to your core; past the hurt swimming in his dark irises, there’s something desperate and unnerving about his gaze. You don’t miss the way his eyes rove over your figure with an unmistakable hunger, his gaze no longer exciting you like it did before. Now, you feel vulnerable, wanting to shift your weight to your other foot but not wanting to show your discomfort.

“Are you done now?” You ask slowly.

He nods.

“Jaemin,” you say, making sure to keep your voice level, “how do you know where I live?”

He balks at your question, only worsening your nerves as you swallow what feels like a thick lump in your throat.

“What about us?” he croaks out, and you can’t hide your incredulity quickly enough.

“Jaemin,” you sigh, “there isn’t anything going on between us.” Jaemin flinches like you’ve slapped him, eyes wide and wounded. “I do this for a living.”

“What about that time I asked if I could see you again and you said that it was ‘up to me,’ with that teasing little smile?” he presses, and you pinch the bridge of your nose, breathing deeply.

“I meant that literally.” you explain, in awe at how far away from reality his mind has carried him. “If you wanted to see me again, you would have to book me.”

“But—I—I love you,” he confesses, stepping closer to you. He doesn’t miss the way you step back slightly, shrinking further into the safety of your apartment.

“Jaemin, I’m so sorry, but…” you say sincerely, feeling bad for him despite your apprehension about the whole situation. “I don’t feel that way about you.”

The way his face crumples into devastation has you wincing internally, your sympathetic nature pushing forward as you struggle with whether or not to comfort him. He hangs his head for a second and you look away to give him some privacy.

You remember, taking in his broad frame and how it practically fills up your doorway, that he never did mention how he found out where you live, and you slowly tense up again, also recalling how he’d blatantly dodged the question.

Just as fear trickles down your spine as you realize Jaemin knows far more about you than you’re comfortable with, he sucks in a ragged breath and jolts you out of your thoughts. You look back at his face and he slowly lifts his head, revealing an expression so deeply hollow that you wish you’d never looked in the first place, let alone answered the door.

You’re regretting every interaction you’ve had with Jaemin, frankly, because clearly he’s gotten the wrong idea, and now this emotionless, dead-eyed man in your doorway is honestly scaring the fuck out of you.

He sniffs once and when he speaks, his voice is every bit as flat and hollow as his face, completely impassive. “So you don’t feel anything towards me.”

You hesitate, nibbling your bottom lip nervously as you try to smooth the situation over. He raises an eyebrow expectantly, and you can feel your heartbeat pick up in pace as he stares you down with growing impatience.

“No,” you finally eke out, and he sighs, anger briefly flashing on his face before the hollow look returns, only to be replaced with a dazzling smile that doesn’t reach your eyes as he nods in understanding. “I’m sorry.”

He holds a hand up to silence you, nodding in understanding. “It’s alright.”

“Are…we done here?” You ask tentatively, not trusting your voice to conceal the tremble past a whisper.

“Yeah.” He smiles, waving you off dismissively. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” You wave cautiously, and he starts walking away from your apartment. You watch as he calls the elevator and gets in, waiting for the doors to slide shut before you practically collapse in relief, quickly closing your front door, locking both locks, and leaning against the door as you try to control your racing heart.

You’ve never seen Jaemin’s smile so void of any sincerity—it looked more like he was baring his teeth at you than actually smiling. Reality sets in, crushing your shoulders as you come to terms with two unnerving truths.

The first truth being that Jaemin knows where you live.

The second being that you didn’t tell him.

You’re heading out to the grocery store from Ryujin’s apartment, having decided to stay with her for a while until you feel safe returning home to your place.

Looking into your purse for your shopping list, you hear footsteps behind you, your senses lighting up in panic, and you whip your head around to look behind you only to see a woman and her child walking past you. She shoots you a friendly smile, and you return it, relief coursing through you.

“You’re being paranoid,” you mumble to yourself, grabbing the shopping list and looking it over briefly. As you walk to the store, you can’t help but notice the sense of danger your body’s picking up on.

Something feels off, and you don’t know what it is.

Now jumpy with nerves, you pick up your pace, glancing over your shoulder periodically as you practically speed walk to the store.

The first glance, you see nothing but the road behind you.

A car pulls up behind you and you whirl around, but the car pulls up to the curb and parks. A breath of relief escapes you, and you keep walking.

The third glance behind you rewards you with nothing, and at this point you’re pretty sure you’re jumpy for no reason, half-chuckling to yourself.

Almost out of habit now, you look over your shoulder for a fourth time, still finding no one, and you turn forward only to collide with someone’s chest, apologies immediately spilling out from your lips.

“So sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going,” you stammer as you steady yourself, and the chuckle you hear makes you freeze, your heart gripped with terror.

You know that chuckle.

You look up in a panic, a loud gasp escaping you at the sight of Jaemin’s wide smile. He doesn’t stand still for long, swiftly moving behind you and clamping a rag over your mouth and nose as you wriggle in panic, letting out muffled shrieks and screams.

Your mind races—how could he get away with this in the middle of the day? Where is everyone?—and whatever’s on the rag fills your lungs with every panicked inhale you suck in.

Hold your breath. Fight back.

You reach to claw at Jaemin’s arms, but his jacket sleeves block your every move. As he holds the rag to your face, he works to lock your arms behind your back, his actions hindered by your defensive attacks as you reach behind you, praying your nails can make contact with his face, neck, something—

One of your blind swipes collides with the side of his face, a low grunt leaving him, and you move to hit him again, this time aiming with your nails—

You can’t hold your breath any longer, adrenaline coursing through you and making your breathing pick up.

The rag is soaking wet, the smell of the liquid slightly sweet as it drips down your neck and onto your shirt. Jaemin dodges your attacks directed at his face and manages to catch one of your wrists, aided by the rag over your mouth which makes every one of your limbs feel like it’s filled with wet sand.

Your free hand drops uselessly to your side, and Jaemin grabs it, a faint sound of metal clinking before cool metal rings—handcuffs?—close around your wrists.

The fabric of the rag is coarse against your face, and it’s one of the last things you can focus on as you feel your composure slipping away, your muscles going slack, eyes drooping shut—

“You should be more careful,” Jaemin murmurs, starting to drag your limp body with him. As your mind finally slips away, your body losing its fight, the last thing you hear is a chuckle from Jaemin, the sound far more sinister than earlier, and his final words.

“You could get hurt.”

When you open your eyes, you see a white ceiling.

A look to the left of you, and you see a window, moonlight painting the floor in streaks.

To your right, you see a mahogany dresser, a matching nightstand, and a door, cracked open to reveal an en suite bathroom.

Your mind is swimming as you try to piece together everything going on—you were walking to the store—you ran into someone—Jaemin, you ran into Jaemin. You remember something cold, wet, and sweet on your face—and then, nothing.

Your arms and shoulders ache, and you wiggle your fingers experimentally, numb digits digging into your lower back—are those handcuffs?

Panic sets in as you realize that you’ve been abducted—in the middle of the day, no less—and you have no idea what’s going on.

What does Jaemin want with you?

Where are you? What time is it?

Has Ryujin noticed that you’re gone? Is she looking for you, perhaps?

Hell, can she even find you?

How the hell are you going to get out of—

“You’re awake,” Jaemin’s voice from out of nowhere makes you yelp, your eyes darting around to find him until you look straight ahead to see him standing in the doorway.

“You fought back more than I expected,” he hums thoughtfully, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Yeah, people don’t tend to like being chloroformed and dragged away.” You can’t help but be bitter and, really, who could blame you?

“You made it difficult,” he defends himself, frowning. You stare at him incredulously, saying nothing. “Hiding at your friend’s house—do you know how confused I was when you weren’t coming into or out of your building?”

“You waited outside of my building? How did you find out where I live?”

“I may have followed you home a couple of times,” he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You—a couple of times—oh, my God. Did you send this bracelet?” you splutter, shaking your wrist holding the piece of jewelry.

“I did,” he announces proudly. “And you’re wearing it; it looks so beautiful on you.”

“Jaemin,” you say slowly, “what was the purpose of kidnapping me? What do you want?”

Jaemin frowns. “I just want us to be together.”

“Jaemin, how many times do I have to tell you that all of our interactions were because of my job?” you complain, yanking uselessly at the handcuffs binding your wrists. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

“You will.” His reply is simple but unnerving in its simplicity. He leans over you and unlocks the handcuffs restraining you, smiling when you tentatively rub your wrists. “Better?”

“W-Why did you do that?” you ask, half-hoping he’s had a moment of guilty conscience, but his response chills you to the bone.

“I want you to struggle.”

The worst part is how bright his eyes are when he says it. He’s eyeing you like you’re the eighth wonder of the world, his gaze dropping to scan your body for an uncomfortably long moment, before he looks back up at you, his gaze now hungry and desiring.

“Jaemin—Jaemin, please, you don’t have to—” You stammer, scooting back against the headboard as he moves closer to you with his head cocked curiously.

“I know, angel,” he replies, leaning closer with a widening grin when you have nowhere to go. He wraps his fingers around your ankle and yanks you—hard—so you’re pulled closer to him. “I want to.”

“Jaemin—” Your voice cracks as tears sting your eyes. “I don’t want—”

“You will,” he shushes you, having the audacity to sound comforting. “It’s gonna feel so good,” he purrs, unbuttoning your jeans and pulling the zipper down. He peels your jeans down and off your legs painstakingly slowly, the sound of the garment hitting the floor making you flinch. “So jumpy,” he snickers, and you have half a mind to send your knee crashing into his jaw.

You refrain because, ultimately, it won’t do anything besides make him angry. Even if you managed to run away, you have no idea where you are and he’d probably catch you before you had a chance to get your bearings.

“Screw you,” you spit out instead, and Jaemin wiggles his eyebrows with a suggestive grin.

“You will.” He stares you down with darkened eyes, evoking a shudder from deep within your body. The corners of his lips quirk upwards in a smug grin, and he slides his hands up your bare legs, slowly parting your thighs with ease even though you fight to keep them closed. “Let’s play a game,” Jaemin hums excitedly. “We’re going to play together for a bit and then we’re going to take these,” he muses, snapping the band of your underwear against your skin and relishing the way you jolt, “off. If your body likes what I’m doing to it, we’re going to keep playing.”

“Oh, God,” you whimper, closing your eyes tightly. Jaemin’s hand cups your chin hard and he shakes your head from side to side roughly, forcing you to look at him with an affronted glare.

“Look at me.” Jaemin demands, his eyes hard as he arches a brow in warning. You balk under his stern gaze. “Don’t look away from me. Understand?”

You nod tentatively. Jaemin smiles, the disapproval from earlier gone without a trace.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises you warmly, and your stomach curls in disgust.

He’s sick. He’s lost his fucking mind.

You watch Jaemin cautiously as he moves to sit beside you on the bed, propping his back up against the headboard. He pulls you until you’re straddling his lap, your face burning with shame as you struggle to keep your eyes on him like he ordered.

His hands glide and down up your sides and he squeezes your hips with a low groan, guiding your movements so you’re rocking back and forth on his lap, your clit occasionally rubbing against his clothed erection through the thin fabric of your underwear and the thicker fabric of his sweats.

“Doesn’t that feel good, baby?” Jaemin coos sweetly against your lips, pushing forward to kiss you. It takes everything in you not to bite his lip or his tongue when he pushes it into your mouth. “Kiss me like you mean it.” His voice is still light, but the warning in his tone is evident, and you whimper in defeat when he swirls his tongue around yours, pulling it back only to suck on your tongue.

He’s drawing all your attention to your mouth and your core as he stimulates both, leaving you so disoriented that you don’t even notice one hand sneaking up your shirt until his cold fingers graze your stomach, making you jolt away from his touch.

“So cute,” he mumbles fondly into the kiss, and you could almost swear you feel bile rising in your throat.

You’re not sure if you’re angrier with him or with yourself as your body reacts to the sensations of Jaemin kissing down to your neck and sucking at the sensitive skin there. It’s hardly your fault, you think—Jaemin’s advantage is that he already knows how to please you, and you’re defenseless against his touch.

His hand under your shirt slips to your back and unclasps your bra, returning to the front and worming its way under the lacy fabric to pinch your nipple, tweaking it between his fingers. You jerk away from him, and his free hand clutches the back of your neck, his iron-clad grip pinning you in place. He pulls back from your neck to shoot you a warning glare that chills your blood before slowly returning his lips to your skin, sucking and licking as he traces circles around your stiffening peak.

His lips trail kisses, hot and wet, down your neck to your collarbones and both hands tug your shirt over your head, discarding it to the side and returning to your body to cup your breasts. You flinch at his touch, Jaemin chuckling with sadistic amusement before groping your breasts freely, tugging and squeezing your nipples until you let out defeated moans of pleasure.

His lips kiss lower and lower still until he’s leaning you back so he can angle himself forward to envelop your nipple in his mouth. The sucking sensation is regrettably arousing and it takes all of your focus and willpower not to make any noises. Your hands push at his toned chest, firm muscles unyielding under your touch, and Jaemin just laughs, the vibrations sending another pang of pleasure down between your legs.

Your pushing grows more and more determined until you actually manage to push hard enough to detach his mouth from your chest. Jaemin, it seems, grows tired of your retaliation and forces your hands behind you, gripping your wrists in one large hand and pushing them into the small of your back so you’re forced into a deeper arch. He nuzzles in the space between your breasts and leaves sloppy kisses along the skin there before moving to swirl his tongue around your nipple, flicking it with the tip and grinning when you inhale abruptly, your breath hitching when he nips at the bud with his teeth.

He alternates between your breasts, kissing, sucking, and licking to his heart’s content as you whimper in protest, incapable of wriggling away from his mouth.

After a moment of Jaemin’s relentless mouth on your nipples, he looks up at you, releasing your nipple with a wet pop, and reconnects your lips, squeezing your wrists together hard when you refuse to part your lips for his tongue.

He smacks your ass once, the flesh stinging from the impact, and you yelp in pain, Jaemin’s tongue slipping into your unprotected mouth and playing with yours languidly, leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

“You know,” he mumbles, still kissing you, “what I want?” When you don’t answer, he sighs, almost in disappointment, and smacks your ass again, ignoring your pained cry. “Answer me.”

“What,” you mutter bitterly through gritted teeth, “do you want, Jaemin?”

“I want…to feel you ride my lap,” he answers with a wicked grin, and you groan in complaint as he grabs at your hip with his free hand and guides you into a repetitive rocking motion against his clothed cock, which you can feel hardening with every drag of your hips.

His lips attach themselves to your neck, his hand leaving your hip and massaging your breasts, flicking at your nipples lightly. Your movements halt almost instantly, and he raises an eyebrow up at you expectantly, looking pointedly at where your bodies meet.

When you stubbornly refuse to move, his gaze hardens and he grips your jaw, squeezing hard enough to evoke a whimper from you.

“Keep. Moving.”

You two stare each other down for a moment and Jaemin raises both eyebrows as if to say, “is that so?” You falter at the thought of whatever punishment he has in mind and slowly resume your grinding motions, averting your gaze. It feels like your soul withers when you hear his satisfied hum and his lips return to your skin, kissing and sucking at where your neck and shoulder meet.

His head lolls back for a moment, eyes shutting as he lets out a low groan of bliss, and your movements start to slow again as you feel the insuppressible tugging sensation of pleasure in the pit of your belly.

He opens his eyes to stare at you through a heavy-lidded gaze, silently ordering you to keep moving, and you start to panic, knowing all too well that when he goes to check if you’re wet, he’s going to see that you irrefutably are.

“Jaemin, can we please stop—”

“No.”

“But—but I’m gonna c—”

“Of course you are.” Jaemin speaks to you slowly, as if you’re stupid. “What do you think the point of this was?”

Your heart falls at your realization that he probably intended to make you climax this whole time, rigging the “game” he’d set up. You can’t help but feel stupid for not knowing that this was his plan the whole time; he kidnapped you and you really expected him to keep his word?

His lips drag you out of your spiral of hopelessness when they drag against the spot just behind your ear, and you keen desperately, wishing for anything at all to save you from this.

Of course, no such miracle comes, and your body curls in on itself as you climax, your hips bucking against his lap. You bite your lip so hard to keep from moaning that you’re surprised you don’t bleed, but Jaemin’s gleefully satisfied expression is every bit as disappointing as any noise you could have made.

He waits until your body has calmed down from your climax, watching with fascination as you both succumb to the pleasure and try with all your might to ignore it, to speak.

“You know, I think we’ve been playing for long enough,” Jaemin hums, snaking a hand between your bodies and inching it painfully slowly down your stomach.

He’s prolonging the inevitable just to torture you, and you sigh in resignation, the sound catching in your throat as you hold back defeated tears.

After what feels like ages, his hand finally reaches its destination, long fingers stroking over the damp spot of your underwear as he gasps ostentatiously. “What’s this?” His eyes flicker between his hand between your legs and your face with a devilish grin, and you let out a broken whimper.

“Nothing,” you lie, and he raises an eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh, yeah?” He slips his fingers into your underwear and you reluctantly hiss at the sensation, angling your hips away from him. “Doesn’t feel like nothing,” he teases, grinning as he strokes along your slick folds.

You move to argue, but he presses his lips to yours, his tongue snaking its way into your mouth even as you whine in protest. Jaemin grins against your lips as he withdraws his fingers from your underwear and displays them to you proudly, the digits glistening with your arousal.

“Looks like we get to keep playing, angel,” he murmurs, and your heart falls. “C’mere,” he urges you, dragging your reluctant body off his lap and lying you down on the bed on your back.

“Jaemin, please? Please don’t—oh, God—” you stammer as he parts your legs, reflexively clamping them shut again, and Jaemin raises an eyebrow in warning.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” His voice is low and threatening, and a chill runs down your spine as his grip on your knee tightens noticeably and his eyes lose the playful glint. When you relax your muscles, Jaemin smiles brightly and spreads your legs apart. “Good girl. Now relax,” he purrs, running his hands up your inner thighs and chuckling at the tremor of revulsion that travels through your body, “Nana just wants a taste.”

He pulls your underwear down and off your legs painfully slowly, as if he’s rubbing the moment in your face, and you can’t help but let out a choked sob of defeat, wanting so badly to look away but fearing his reaction if you do.

“Sound so pretty when you cry,” Jaemin coos, spreading your legs wider once the thin garment covering your core is tossed carelessly onto the floor. He tucks himself between your legs, and you inch away from him as subtly as possible, crying out when he wraps one muscular arm over your hips and yanks you towards his mouth with ease. “Don’t run from me.”

You’ve been holding back tears for so long, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, but when he leans down and his tongue makes contact with your core, the dam breaks—tears, hot and fat and wet, trail down your cheeks, and you can’t help but sniffle pathetically.

“That’s it, just let it happen, angel,” Jaemin hums, licking up your folds, his tongue collecting your arousal, and he looks you directly in the eyes when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive bud and flicking it back and forth with the tip of his tongue. “Taste so fucking good…and it’s all for me.”

His tongue flicks and swirls around your clit languidly and your core drips arousal as he teases his fingers at your entrance, pushing two in slowly to the first knuckle, and you cover your face in an attempt to muffle the reluctant moan of pleasure that slips out from his attentive actions.

“Come on, Playgirl,” Jaemin taunts, “I wanna hear you moan like you did all those other times we’ve been together.” He pushes his fingers into you and you gasp, one hand leaving your face to clutch at the bedsheets, and you shake your head vigorously.

“Jaemin, that was my job,” you desperately explain, but your futile attempt to save yourself falls on unsympathetic ears, and he looks up from between your legs, his lips glistening with a mix of his saliva and your wetness.

“Well, now your job is to convince me to let you live.” He raises both eyebrows as he regards you, but an ice cold panic takes over your whole body at his words.

Would he seriously try to kill you?

You don’t even notice how your breathing has picked up until your chest is heaving with panic and Jaemin reaches up, pressing between your breasts to flatten you to the bed.

“Relax,” he sighs, “I won’t hurt you if you’re good for me.” He watches you intently as resignation settles in your chest, cold and heavy, before pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “Good girl,” he praises. He returns his attention to your core, curling his fingers inside of you and pumping them in and out of you as he wraps his lips around your clit and hums contently, sending vibrations through the sensitive bud and making your back arch.

A moan forces its way out of your lips, your face burning with shame as you feel your body succumbing to the pleasure.

“It feels good, yeah?” Jaemin asks, continuing when you don’t respond, “I know it feels good,” he coos teasingly, “because your pussy keeps clenching around my fingers.”

You refrain from swearing at him, instead shuddering with unwanted pleasure when he angles his fingers just right and his fingertips press into your g-spot, and Jaemin’s eyes light up with glee.

“Gotcha,” he mumbles, a triumphant grin on his face as he thrusts his fingers into you, repeatedly stimulating your most sensitive spot along your inner walls, and moans spill from your lips uncontrollably, the pleasure too much to bear.

“You’re gonna cum, aren’t you, angel?” Jaemin asks with a smug grin, and you shake your head vigorously even as your eyes roll back into your head and your back arches off of the bed with another skillful thrust of his fingers. “Yes, you are,” he says, ignoring your denial and reattaching his mouth to your core, rapidly flicking your clit with his tongue.

To your dismay, you are about to cum, your impending orgasm building up in your stomach even as you desperately try to will it away. Broken pants escape you as the pleasure grows, and when you finally climax, you whimper loudly, your eyes shutting tightly as fat tears force their way out and down your temples to melt into the pillow under your head.

“That’s a good girl.” Jaemin presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs, his lips traveling higher up your body until they’re pressing against yours forcefully, the taste of your arousal on his tongue as it slips between your lips. His kiss is all-consuming, Jaemin emitting grunts and pants of desire while his hand reaches between you two. After a moment passes of his hand not touching you, you move to break the kiss in confusion, only to feel the head of his cock rubbing up and down your folds, collecting your arousal.

“Jaemin—no—fuck, Jaemin, please—” you plead, putting all your strength into pushing him away from you. His eyes light up with excitement at the new challenge you’ve presented and he swats your hands away with ease as you push and shove at his chest, a growing smile on his face as you push yourself out from under him, scooting up towards the headboard.

“That’s it, angel,” he coaxes you, nodding encouragingly as you push his shoulders to get him away from you. “Push a little harder, yeah, just like that.” He’s coaching you through fighting him off, you realize, and what little hope you may have had all but drains from you as you let out a choked sob and close your legs as tightly as you can.

“Jaemin, at least put a condom on—” you manage to get out through panicked breaths, and he cocks his head to the side in confusion.

“Why would I do that?” Jaemin snickers, placing one hand on your leg and forcing his hand between your knees, yanking your legs apart with a grunt and shoving himself between your thighs once more. “I want us to feel every inch of each other, angel.”

Before you can protest again, he tucks your knees to your chest, draping your legs over his shoulders, and drags you back down to him. He pins your arms above your head and coos down at you in mock sympathy as he pushes into you slowly.

“Oh, my God,” you gasp, your body trembling under the weight of your yet-to-be-shed tears. Jaemin bottoms out inside of you with a low, content moan and turns his head to kiss your calf before leaning down to bring his lips to your ear.

“Love filling you up with my cock,” he purrs in your ear and you can only hiccup from the force of trying not to cry. “Does that feel good, hm? Having me fill your tight little pussy up?” When you shake your head vigorously, Jaemin tuts disapprovingly. “Lying isn’t going to help you.”

The worst part of it all, you think, is that it does feel good. He’s been with you enough at this point to know exactly what you like as he pulls out and thrusts back into you, slowly, making sure you feel every single inch and ridge of his length.

He fucks into you slowly but with powerful snaps of his hips, moans falling from your lips whether you like it or not, and he presses your legs against your chest even harder, uncaring about the ache it sends shooting up your legs.

You can’t even dwell on the discomfort because he keeps driving his hips into yours, fucking you into a stupor that you couldn’t snap out of if you tried.

“I know you love when I fuck you,” he coos, and when you cry out in protest, he just laughs. “Your body won’t lie to me.” He pouts. “I can feel you clenching around me and you’re so fucking wet, I could almost slip out. I bet you’re about to cum already, aren’t you?”

He’s right, unfortunately, and you can only nod and whimper, not sure if you’re asking him to release you or let you finish.

He reaches between you two and massages your clit in quick circles, eyes flashing with triumph when your back arches and you climax with a breathless whine and repeated moans of “No, no, no.”

“Gonna cum, angel,” he pants, his brow furrowing as he speeds up his thrusts. “Gonna fill you up with my cum,” he grunts, and your eyes widen as the fight returns to your system. You writhe under him in an attempt to free yourself, but Jaemin just laughs uncaringly and sits up slightly to grip your squirming hips and push you further into the mattress.

He’s stronger than you could ever manage to overcome, and his actions render you immobile, your legs still flailing under him as your hands push at his chest.

“Jaemin, don’t cum inside of me,” you plead, bucking your hips uselessly, but he just moans, fucking into you harder.

“Gonna make you mine,” he purrs, his grip on your hips tightening uncomfortably as he ignores your every protest. “All fucking mine.” His thrusts become slower and almost impossibly deeper before he bottoms out in you with a low groan and releases into you, a pleased shudder leaving him as his length throbs within your walls.

All you can do is cry bitterly at how betrayed you feel by your body and how shame burns in you like an inferno, and you cover your face with your hands in resignation, not moving them even when Jaemin attempts to pull them away.

He sucks his teeth in annoyance and his grip tightens around your wrists as he wrenches your hands from over your face, his lips on yours immediately as he tastes the salt of your tears, a delighted hum rumbling in his throat.

“You’re all mine now, angel,” he breathes into the kiss. “No one’s ever going to separate us.”

“I want to go home,” you whimper, and he shushes you with the demeanor of a comforting lover, despite the truth being far from the situation.

“You are home,” Jaemin coos.

Being abducted is, as you probably could have guessed, a nightmare.

Jaemin has the audacity to be sweet and kind to you by talking to you sweetly, serving you (admittedly) good food, and telling you sweet nothings everyday—while he has you handcuffed to the bed. He lets you wear his clothes, although you suspect that’s more for him than it is for you. Sometimes, if he’s feeling generous, he’ll attach one of your handcuffs to a chain so you can roam the room as freely as one can in an eight foot radius.

He hasn’t touched you since the day he abducted you; he says he’ll wait for you to get adjusted this time. He also leaves you alone a startling amount, but you figure that would track for a normal college student; however, nothing about this is normal, so there’s that.

Your chance comes when he leaves you to go to work one day—you think it’s Tuesday, but the days are honestly starting to blur together so you’re not sure—and leaves a drawer open in the nightstand in his haste to get there on time.

Your cursory peek into it reveals a few unimportant items but one stands out to you.

A paperclip.

You don’t know very much about lock picking apart from reading one WikiHow link on it a while ago, and there isn’t a lot of room for trial and error, so you really only have one good shot at it.

Today Jaemin felt kind enough to use the chain as opposed to handcuffing you to the bedpost, and you thank the universe that you have just enough room to reach the drawer, jostling its contents so the paperclip can slide closer to you.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you mutter anxiously.

The paperclip slides towards your hand and you snatch it immediately, sitting up and bending it into the shape you vaguely remember seeing in the WikiHow article. Unfortunately, your mind blanks after that one step, so you just feed the end of the makeshift lock picker into the keyhole for the handcuffs, carefully twisting it this way and that.

It takes a grueling amount of time in which you fear the paperclip might break, but the small metal utensil thankfully stays intact the whole time, and you could cry with relief when there’s a click and the pressure on your wrist loosens considerably.

“Oh, my God,” you half-gasp, half-laugh. You spring to your feet, wobbling slightly as you get acclimated to standing up and moving again. You don’t have much time, you’re sure, so you sneak out of the door and steal down the hallway and stairs, rushing out of the front door and not caring to lock it behind you.

You’re not wearing shoes, clad only in socks, and the concrete of the pavement feels cold and rough under your feet, making it harder to run away as you would have preferred.

You’re walking down the street, praying to see a landmark that helps you get your bearings, when you hear the blip of a police car.

You’re saved.

You’re running before you even realize it, the impact of your poorly covered soles on the concrete sending sparks of pain up your legs, waving your arms wildly at the car as it approaches, and it slows to a stop, a relieved sob escaping you as you run up to the cop’s window.

“Officer, please help me—I’ve been kidnapped—I don’t know where I am—I don’t know where to go—” you stammer breathlessly, and the officer raises a hand to silence you, looking at you with curious eyes.

“You’ve been kidnapped?” he murmurs, brows knitting together in a confused sort of surprise.

You nod vigorously. “His name is Jaemin,” you explain in a rush of words, “Na Jaemin.”

“Okay, let’s head to the precinct and I can get your report there,” the officer explains. He’s got a very handsome face, you can’t help but think. He smiles for the first time, and you feel at ease instantly, his smile kind and warm with two dimples to go with it.

“Okay,” you agree immediately.

“You have to ride in the back of the cop car,” he explains, stepping out of the vehicle and opening the back door for you. He’s fairly tall, and his badge glints in the sunlight, making it hard for you to read his name. “It’s policy.”

You nod in understanding and get into the backseat, strapping yourself in and scanning the car curiously. There’s a clear divider between the front and backseat and you watch the cop’s side profile as he starts the car and drives off.

You’ve been riding for a while before you realize.

“Um, officer?”

“Mm?”

“Is this the way to the precinct?” you ask carefully, studying the side of his face for any sign of a tell.

“We’re going exactly where you need to go,” he answers, and you can’t help but notice with an unsettling jolt that he didn’t answer your question. As he speaks, he passes a house you definitely remember passing when you escaped, and all the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

You think frantically about what could be going on, and it hits you all at once.

Jaemin mentioned having a brother. Who’s a cop. You found this officer in the area of Jaemin’s place.

“Officer, I don’t think I ever got your name.”

He doesn’t answer, only heightening your suspicions. The coincidences are too much to let slide, so you quietly reach for the door handle when he pulls up to a red light. There’s a muted click as the door handle fails to open the door, and the officer speaks.

“You can’t open the back doors from the inside.”

Which, yeah, makes sense, but the way he sounds when he says it takes you by surprise. He sounds smug almost, almost teasing.

You sit back quietly, your voice dejected when you speak next.

“We’re not going to the precinct, are we?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” he replies easily, and you rest your cheek against the cold window in defeat, trying as hard as you can not to cry; you don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

When the car finally rolls to a stop, you look out the window in resignation, your gaze dull and broken when you lock eyes with Jaemin, who’s standing on the sidewalk in front of his house.

“You should lock this one up more carefully next time,” the officer scolds Jaemin lightly, and Jaemin nods with a smile at him before looking at you with a hurt frown.

“I was being so nice to you,” he complains, and you scoff under your breath, sliding your gaze away from him. He opens your door and, when you don’t move, sighs before he reaches in to unstrap your seatbelt and pull you out of the car. “Oh, by the way, this is my brother Jaehyun.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jaehyun replies dryly, raising his eyebrow at you.

You don’t reply.

“Same mother, different fathers,” Jaemin goes on to explain. “Hence the different last names.”

“Jaemin, I really don’t care,” you say honestly, and he frowns at you.

“Don’t hurt my feelings.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in closer to him, kissing the top of your head. “Thanks, Jaehyun. See you!”

Jaehyun raises two fingers to his forehead in a mock salute before he’s driving off.

“I think I’m going to have to revoke your roaming privileges.” Jaemin hums with an air of disappointment as he leads you back into the house.

You wish you could revoke his life at this point.

It’s another day being held in Jaemin’s room and you’re lazily watching the television that Jaemin put on for you before going to work, eyes practically glazing over with boredom before you change the channel. It’s harder to reach the remote with your hands zip tied in front of you, but you manage to make it work.

You flip through channels absentmindedly, but stop immediately once you hear your name coming from the screen.

You flip back a couple of channels until you land on the local news, which is in the process of going through your Missing Person report.

“Holy shit,” you say breathlessly, watching as they display a picture of you on screen. “They’re looking for me.”

Your best friends Ryujin and Yuna come on screen next, Yuna in tears and Ryujin looking pissed as she talks to the newscaster.

“She doesn’t just up and disappear, something happened to her, I know it.” Ryujin says vehemently. She looks directly into the camera and you feel goosebumps raise on your body at how determined she looks. “We’re going to find you. Don’t worry.”

“I love them,” you mumble sadly before sitting up slightly. Knowing that someone is looking for you fills you with hope and a resolve you didn’t have before.

You’re getting out of here.

You stare down at the zip tie around your wrists and think about how to get out. You bring it to your mouth and start to nibble at the thick plastic, praying this works. Your jaw aches as you work away at the zip tie, but you can feel it starting to separate, giving you more hope.

You have no idea how long you have so you stop nibbling halfway through the tie and sit up as straight as possible, twisting the tie around and yanking your wrists apart forcefully. It takes several tries and you’re just about to give up before you yank one last time with all of the frustration and anger you have in your body and the tie snaps apart.

“Holy shit,” you sob in relief, quietly moving to get off of the bed before realizing— “fuck, my ankles.”

You can’t reach them to bite through the zip tie so you fiddle with the locking mechanism, pushing the small plastic latch this way and that with your fingernail until it gives way and loosens enough for you to slip out.

You look around for shoes, not about to make the same mistake as last time, and finally find them under the bed, slipping them on as quietly as possible and heading out of the door and down the stairs.

You’re almost out, freedom just out of reach, when keys jingle in the lock of the front door and you freeze for a moment before running to the hallway closet and hiding in it, holding your breath for dear life amongst coats and various household items. You peek through the slots and fear seizes your heart when you see Jaehyun walk past the closet and up to the second landing.

You don’t waste any time, immediately slipping out of the closet just in time to hear Jaehyun swear loudly, footsteps thundering down the stairs, and the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking has you panicking as you rush towards the front door.

“Don’t…move.” Jaehyun’s voice sounds out from behind you, and you turn slowly to face him. He’s got the gun pointed directly at your chest and your eyes widen and your breathing picks up as you realize the very real possibility that you might get killed. “Jaemin picked a difficult one, I see.”

“Jaemin wouldn’t want me dead,” you say desperately, shifting in panic each time Jaehyun moves to the side, not even realizing that he’s been slowly and subtly maneuvering you both so he’s blocking the front door and you’re forced further into the house.

“Jaemin wouldn’t mind you incapacitated.” Jaehyun points out, instead aiming the gun at your knee.

“Please don’t,” you beg, tears welling up in your eyes, and he raises one eyebrow skeptically.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Why are you helping him, anyway? You’re a cop; surely you know they’ve been looking for me.”

“He’s my brother,” Jaehyun answers your question like you’re stupid and you hide the way it makes you bristle with anger. “He makes dumb choices, yeah, but having his back is what family’s for.”

“I have a family, too,” you sniffle, and he blinks at you impassively.

“I really don’t care.”

Jaehyun’s face is frighteningly emotionless as he points the gun at your leg. You’ve got nowhere to run, and your hope is almost entirely snuffed out. You close your eyes and wait for the unimaginable pain to come with a bullet to the leg.

You flinch violently at the loud thud that startles you, and snap your eyes open at the familiar grunt, praying you’re not imagining things. Could it really be—?

Sure enough, Jaehyun is staggering from Ryujin’s powerful blow to the back of his head with a baseball bat. His grip on the gun slips and it hits the floor, making you flinch yet again as you pray it doesn’t go off. You dive for the gun at the same time Jaehyun does, but Ryujin kicks him hard in the side, the larger male groaning loudly in pain as one hand goes to clutch his side. You take the opportunity and snatch the gun off of the floor, quickly clambering to your feet and aiming the gun at his pained form on the floor.

“If you even think about moving, I will blow your fucking brains out.” You seethe, holding the gun with both hands and, truthfully, you’re surprised you’re not shaking, chalking it up to the shock and adrenaline.

“You don’t know how to shoot a gun.” Jaehyun sneers at you and you just smile, aiming at the wall behind him and pulling the trigger. The gun jerks back in your hand as a bullet tears a small hole through the wall, and Jaehyun’s face goes gray, much to your satisfaction.

“I’m sure I can figure it out.” You smile humorlessly down at him and you watch as he swallows thickly. “We’re going to leave now. I’m going to keep this gun. And if I ever see you again—I don’t care if it’s at the goddamn supermarket—I will put a bullet through your thick ass skull,” you promise, your voice low and trembling with poorly restrained rage (and fear—definitely fear).

Jaehyun’s furious yet dead-set gaze on you is beyond unnerving, but you shake off the jitters as best you can.

You and Ryujin slowly inch towards the door, never moving your eyes away from Jaehyun, and right as Ryujin inches by him, he lunges for her ankle, making her jump away in surprise and barely get away. You and Ryujin both scream and you point the gun at his legs, not even thinking before you pull the trigger.

A loud gunshot rings out, your hands jerking back once more from the gun’s recoil, and Jaehyun practically roars in pain, grabbing his wounded thigh and squeezing hard in an attempt to slow the blood loss.

“I hope I hit a fucking artery.” You spit, taking the opportunity while both of Jaehyun’s hands are busy to lurch forward and kick him in the side as hard as you can.

“Fuck—you fucking bitch—” Jaehyun’s words come out in pained gasps as he grasps his side with one bloodied hand, gritting his teeth in agony, and you and Ryujin make a run for it. You’re in absolute shock and disbelief as you stumble out of the house you’ve been held captive in for weeks.

You could faint from joy when you catch sight of Yuna’s car waiting outside the house, the car still on and running as you two rush to the car, climbing in the backseat.

“Let’s go, go, go—” Yuna yells, not even waiting until Ryujin is done shutting the door to drive off as quickly as possible, her tires screeching.

There’s a moment of silence in the car where you and Ryujin look at each other and as you two lock eyes, she leans over to you and pulls you into a tight hug, trying her best to soothe you as you shake and tremble in her arms with the force of your crying. Your shoulder feels damp, you realize when you finally compose yourself enough to pull away, and you see that Ryujin has tears silently streaming down her cheeks.

“We thought you—that he—” Ryujin hiccups, and you hug her again tightly as she takes her turn to cry. “We never stopped looking for you.”

“Thank you,” you gush, the two words feeling embarrassingly inconsequential compared to the absolutely overwhelming relief and gratitude you feel. “I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you—”

“Don’t even mention it.” Yuna weaves through traffic precariously, and you’ve never been so relieved to be in the car with your haphazard driver of a friend.

“How the hell did you find me?” You can’t help but wonder.

Ryujin sags in relief and exhaustion against the backseat, her free hand not holding the baseball bat gripping your free hand not holding the gun. “We just had to figure out Jaemin’s name and address and the other day I got lucky and spotted him in the grocery store, so I followed him home.” Ryujin says, her words stumbling out together in her rush to speak. “It was like a miracle.”

“You’re telling me.” You laugh for what feels like the first time in ages, relief flooding through your body as the sight of the police precinct comes into view.

It’s over. It’s finally over.

“So what brings you to therapy?” The woman sitting in a large gray armchair watches you over the rims of her glasses. Her gaze is intent but kind, and she crosses one leg over the other.

Her navy blue blazer and skirt are a cute combination, you think. The color brings out the warm brown of her eyes, and the slightly lighter shade of blue on the wall behind her only helps you feel a bit more at ease.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you speak.

“About two months ago, I, um…I was stalked and kidnapped.” You exhale slowly. “Or abducted, I guess—you can’t kidnap an adult—but, um, yeah.”

You chance a peek at the woman across from you to see her eyebrows raised in surprise, a concerned frown on her face.

“That must have been terrifying.”

“Yeah, for sure. The guy who did it is in prison now, thankfully, but it’s definitely changed a lot of things in my everyday life, y’know?” you mumble, and she hums thoughtfully, nodding.

“Can you tell me a bit more about that?”

“Well, um. I ended up moving out of my apartment because I just didn’t feel safe there. I live in a different building now with a great security system.”

“That’s good.” She encourages you to continue speaking with a small wave of her hand.

“I also quit my job because that’s how J— …my stalker—found me. Now I work as a waitress.”

“I see,” she muses. “How is that working out?”

“It’s good,” you say with a shrug. “Meeting all those people every day is kind of nerve-wracking, but maybe it’ll get better with time.”

“I believe it will,” she assures you, and you can feel yourself relaxing a bit more. “How have you been sleeping?”

“Not very well,” you chuckle humorlessly. “I’m so…jumpy nowadays that any sounds at night wake me up instantly.”

“I can imagine.”

“And then there are the, um…the nightmares.” She seems to be waiting for you to elaborate, but a lump rises in your throat, rendering you silent for the time being.

Avoiding her gaze, you scan the room for something to ground you and stop the tears pricking at the backs of your eyes. Your eyes land on the placard on her desk, your eyes tracing over the embossed letters of her name—Dr. Jiyoon Choi—and you envision what the nameplate would feel like under your fingertips.

It’d be cool to the touch, you think; it’s metal, after all. Smooth, too. You mentally run your fingers over the ridges of the letters of her name, and—

“Nightmares are common for people who have been through traumatic events like your situation.” Dr. Choi’s voice is gentle but brings you out of your dissociative state nonetheless.

“I figured,” you mutter with a nod.

“It will take time to work through everything you’ve been through.” Dr. Choi explains, and you nibble at your bottom lip as you listen to her. “Nightmares and flashbacks are common in people with PTSD—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“Yeah,” you echo lamely.

“As is dissociating at times,” she continues, and you think back to the several times you’ve spaced out in the thirty minutes you’ve been in her office. “It’s your brain trying to protect you from the memories.”

“I need it to try a little harder,” you sigh, and her lips quirk upwards into a fond smile.

“Be easy on it, hm? And yourself; you’ve both been through so much.” There’s something so deeply affirming about her confirmation of your situation, a professional signing off on your trauma, that the dam breaks and you take in a deep, shaky inhale before bursting into tears.

The only other sound to be heard apart from your crying is the ticking of the clock on the wall.

Tick, tick, tick.

The sureness of the ticking, the reliability of the sound, is somehow calming to you, your ragged breaths slowly starting to sync up with the clock.

Tick, tick, tick.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you manage to compose yourself once more and look up at Dr. Choi—who, you now notice, has passed you a small blue tissue box.

Tick, tick, tick.

“That was embarrassing,” you mumble, slightly chuckling as you try to play it off as a joke.

“That was expected,” Dr. Choi corrects you, sitting forward in her seat and adjusting her posture. “May I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Was that the first time you’ve cried since everything happened?”

Tick, tick, tick.

“Yes,” you admit.

“I think that’s a good sign,” she encourages you. “You’re starting to make progress by processing your emotions.”

“Yeah?” Your voice sounds small but hopeful.

Dr. Choi nods reassuringly. “Yes.”

There’s a small beat of silence and you look down and run the pads of your thumbs over the smooth surfaces of your fingernails.

“Is there anything else you’d like to share today?” Dr. Choi asks gently, and you shake your head. “Okay. In that case, I’m afraid that’s all the time we have for our session today.”

“Thank you.” You stand up and take your bag, smiling feebly as you head for her door.

“Of course.” She smiles. Your hand is just wrapping around the doorknob when she speaks again. “Will I be seeing you next week?”

You don’t say anything for a moment, your fist squeezing the cool metal of the doorknob.

You want to get rid of the dark cloud that feels like it’s been following you around for the past two months—you want to be able to walk down the street without looking over your shoulder every three seconds—you want…you want to feel better.

“Yes,” you answer, turning back to look at her with a small smile. “You will.”

“Wonderful. My secretary can set you up for our next appointment. Take care and get home safe.” Dr. Choi bids you goodbye, and you nod again before exiting her office.

It’s a start, you think. A pretty good one, at that.

Jaemin lazily thumbs through the pile of magazines in the pathetic excuse for a library the penitentiary has to offer, biding his time until the guards switch out their shifts. The clock ticks on endlessly, driving Jaemin closer and closer to insanity with every tick, tick, tick—

The air is uncomfortably warm and smells faintly of bleach and stale breath.

Tick, tick, tick—

The guard on duty yawns and looks at his watch.

Tick, tick, tick—

Another inmate in the “library” asks for permission to use the computer. Jaemin scoffs, wondering if his fellow prisoner is going to entertain himself with a game of Sudoku, Solitaire, or Minesweeper, seeing as how they have no access to the internet.

Tick, tick, tick—

Jaemin stands up slowly, so as not to draw too much attention to himself, and walks between the bookshelves holding barely anything worthwhile. He browses through the book selection, slender fingers stroking the spine of each hardcover book, before he finally finds what he’s been looking for.

He brings the book back to his seat and angles the spine up so the cover is easily visible to anyone who may look at him. Feigning a pensive expression, Jaemin flips to the middle of the book. The back half of the pages have been meticulously hollowed out in the shape of a rectangle and there, in the makeshift pocket, lies a smartphone.

Jaemin smirks to himself, smoothly pocketing the phone, and busies himself with looking through the pages of the book that haven’t been carved into. Hardcover books are typically off-limits, barely even allowed in the penitentiary, but Jaemin’s been getting some special perks due to “good behavior.”

To avoid arousing suspicion, he closes the book and gets up to put it back on the shelf, instead picking up a random self-help softcover book and leafing through the pages idly until that glorious tick, tick, tick—

There’s a brief sound of shuffling as the guard on duty stands up and offers his seat to the new guard about to assume his post. The first guard leaves, and the new guard sits down in the seat, leaning back to get comfortable.

Jaemin waits.

Tick, tick, tick.

The guard sighs, already bored with his assignment, and Jaemin enacts his plan. Scrunching his face up in discomfort, he stands up and, clutching his stomach, makes his way over to the guard, who sits up in his seat immediately, apprehensive upon Jaemin’s approach.

“Can I help you?” The guard asks, his voice rough like sandpaper, and Jaemin groans once for effect.

“I need to use the bathroom. I think I’m gonna be sick.” He moans, and the guard’s eyebrows furrow as he appears to think about it. Jaemin can only hope this guard isn’t on a sick little power trip and won’t feel like denying him the bathroom just for the hell of it.

To really sell it, Jaemin lurches forward, doubling over as he mimics the sounds of poorly restrained retching. The guard’s face contorts into disgust, and he waves at the hallway in admission.

“I knew there was something fishy about those Sloppy Joes for lunch.” Jaemin hears the guard muttering to himself and masks his smirk with another discomfort-borne twisting of his lips.

He staggers past the guards in the hallway, walking past one tall, burly guard Jaemin has a feeling he shouldn’t piss off and a thin, almost lanky guard who could probably blow away if the wind got too strong, and makes his way into the bathroom, locking himself in a stall and dropping to his knees. As he hunches over the toilet bowl, he fishes out the sleek black rectangle from his pocket and powers the phone on, quickly opening up the internet browser and typing in what he’s looking for.

Jaemin fake retches loudly to keep up appearances, fingers of his free hand drumming impatiently on his lower thigh, and sighs in relief when the familiar page loads.

FunBunny is now live.

“Not now, FunBunny,” Jaemin mutters. “I have someone in mind.”

He types in the username he’s had swimming around in his mind for the past three months since he’s been locked up and when the page buffers, no doubt due to the shitty internet connection in the prison, Jaemin sucks his teeth.

“Come on, come on, come on.” He’s alight with a buzz, the jitters settling in as the page finally loads, only for his heart to drop to the bottom of his stomach.

User ‘PL4YG1RL’ does not exist. Please try a different search term.

Jaemin stares at the screen incredulously, anger and frustration building slowly but steadily and now he swears he really can feel bile rising in his throat.

“Impossible.” He spits through gritted teeth, now dangerously close to losing his composure. He’s waited three months—three fucking months—to see you again, and you’ve managed to slip through his fingers.

He refreshes the page in a refusal to accept the situation, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turn white, and has to restrain the urge to slam the phone down on the grimy tiles in defeat when the page finishes loading to show the same screen as before.

“Fuck, shit, fuck!” Jaemin slams his hand against the wall of the bathroom stall before growling, his tethers to sanity starting to slip away the further he spirals into his thoughts.

“Inmate, what’s going on in there?” One of the guards from the hallway calls out, the bass in his voice snapping Jaemin back to reality.

“Got sick from the Sloppy Joes,” Jaemin grunts back, running his fingers through his hair and barely restraining himself from yanking the locks out at the root.

“Those always seemed odd to me, y’know.” Another voice, a thinner, more mousy voice sounds out, presumably the less imposing of the two guards. “Always thought they smelled kinda funny.”

“Yeah.” The burly guard is dismissive at best, and whatever the mousy guard says as a follow-up comment goes unheard by Jaemin as he refocuses his attention on the disappointing sight on his phone screen.

Jaemin stands up finally, shutting the phone off and pocketing it once more. He flushes the toilet with his foot and exits the stall, washing his hands. He stares himself down in the dirty bathroom mirror, at the dark circles that have formed under his eyes since his time in prison began, the scowl Jaemin’s mouth is unwaveringly twisted into, and he grits his teeth. He shuts off the faucet, dries his hands, and heads out of the bathroom and back to the library with a building resolve in his chest.

Jaemin will find you again—no matter what it takes.

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed :) tips are greatly appreciated!

SUPPORT ME? VENMO !! CASHAPP !! KO-FI !! WISHLIST !! (why?)

#jaemin smut #nct smut #na jaemin smut #nct dream smut #tw noncon

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chrisevansonly · 8 months

Text

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: charles leclerc x female reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: life is too heavy to carry, thankfully your boyfriend will carry it with you

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: talks of mental health and suicidal thoughts, mentions of depression, heavy topics so please read at your own discretion

𝐚/𝐧: i’ll be honest this is self indulgent and i know i said i wasn’t writing but idk i feel so low and thought writing about how im feeling might help? ive struggled with mental illness my whole life so i find writing it out in a way i can enjoy helps…i hope it helps others that are in need of it too<3

Life is painful, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, it’s dark and gloomy, heavy and hard to carry, life is painful. Okay well maybe not for everyone but for you it was, and it was draining, exhausting really trying to survive each day instead of living like everyone else. Truth be told you’d struggled with mental illness for as long as you can remember. In high school the suicidal thoughts came into play and you had fallen into a place no one deserved to fall.

You’d hear people tell you to smile, cheer up, get outside and take in the fresh air, but they don’t understand. They don’t get the internal pain one feels when they deal with depression and anxiety, unless you live it: you don’t get it.

So yes, life was painful but there was an ounce of sunshine in your life and it came in the form of Charles, your boyfriend of exactly three years. The man who broke through the storm to bring you blue skies and calm waters, the man who held you tightly as you cried for a break, aching for a moment of peace within yourself. Charles was a gift, you were sure of it: he was too.

“my love…?”

His voice was soft, delicate as it filtered through the dark bedroom, eyes filled with concern as he looked at you huddled under the blankets, almost willing them to swallow you whole

“hmm?”

It might not have been a word but Charles would take it

“can I get you anything? do you need something?”

The room fell silent again except for the sound of covers shifting, your head peaking over the duvet

“y-you please”

Hearing your voice break was enough for Charles to promptly move from his place in the doorway, lifting up the covers on his side of the bed before settling down and pulling you into his side, letting you virtually melt against him

“okay, okay i’m here, it’s okay amour..”

“it-it hurts”

“i know baby, i know it does…but it will only hurt for a little, i promise you.”

You wanted to believe him, you really did, but how many years would you have to suffer before it truly felt like you would never know how to feel okay.

“it’s hard to be here”

Now this caught Charles attention right away, having known your past with depression and even suicidal thoughts, he felt his blood run cold at the thought of you being anywhere than right here with him

“listen to me baby, i know it hurts, i know it’s hard, but i promise you i will help you find your sunshine, i will help you find your happiness”

He paused shifting to rest a hand on your cheek, his thumb swiping at a stray tear on your cheek

“i love you with everything in me, and i will do whatever i can to help you through this, if you need me to carry more of the weight, let me, if you need a shoulder to lean on more than usual, do it. you are my entire world baby, i won’t ever leave you out in the dark to take this on all on your own..”

Letting out a soft sniffle you looked up at him, always appreciating just how much love he held for you in his eyes alone

“why, i-i’m so sad a-all the time”

“because i love you. it doesn’t matter if your angry, happy, sad it’s part of you, i love all of you no matter what, and i am not going anywhere”

Charles leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead letting you have a minute to just digest everything he was saying

“pinky promise?” you asked softly, holding your pinky finger out which brought a soft smile to his face

“pinky promise baby, always.”

Nothing else needed to be said as you curled yourself further into his side, his arms only tightening on you, as if to keep you from slipping away from him. Charles knew words only helped so much, but he was willing to do whatever it took to bring you blue skies back. Even if it took days or weeks, even months, Charles was going to be right beside you, every step of the way.

Life might be painful, but you never had to go through it alone again.

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swordsandholly · 1 month

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Mother’s Day Blues

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Reader

Word Count: ~900 unedited

Johnny loves Mother’s Day. You hate it.

MDNI | cw: vent fic, big mommy issues, mentioned childhood spanking, ED mention

Johnny loves Mother’s Day.

You hate it.

He watches you stand in the card aisle, shifting side to side, reading every single card. Snatching them up and shutting them hard just to shove them back into their little displays - huffing and growing ever more agitated as you go.

“It doesnnae matter what ye pick, bonnie.” He tries to be encouraging. “They’re all nice.”

“That’s the problem.” You mutter in a voice far too weak and bitter for his liking. “Why can’t they make one that just says, like, ‘You sure are my mom!’”

“Sweetheart…” Johnny knows you’re trying to cover it with humor, but the way your brow furrows breaks his heart. He sets a hand on your waist, pointing to a very generic, sparkly joke card. You nod and take it, grimacing still.

He hates it - hates watching you chew your lip and your hands shake while you pace back and forth before the 10 am alarm you set to call your mom goes off. Hates holding you while you sob in his lap after because of course she had to ask in a pathetic, whiny voice ‘is everything okay with us’ when she knows damn well it isn’t. When she won’t ever try to fix it or admit that she fucked up.

You carry the effects of the way she raised you everywhere you go. Johnny sees them all - knows them all by heart. Every time he notices you cutting portions and weighing yourself more than normal. When you use cruel words to describe your body. Every time you don’t tell him that you’re upset with him because you’re frightened of his reaction - body shaking so hard that you look like an earthquake personified. The lack of confidence in your interactions with others, how easily you fold and are ready to people please. Every time you get that glazed over, far away look in your eye after you remember something a little too clearly.

You only took him to meet her once. He’s never wanted to punch a woman like that before.

Johnny is, and always has been, of the opinion that you should cut contact. Cold turkey. Block her on everything and leave it be. You’ve argued about it more times than he can count, going back and forth about what would happen if you did. What the worst outcome could be.

“It’s not like she hit me…” You mutter.

“Spankin’ is hittin’, love.” Johnny takes your hands. “And it doesnnae matter if she did or not. She was rotten tae ye in every other way.”

You just get quiet. Tears well up in your eyes and what is he supposed to do when you get like that? Keep fighting? No, never. It’s your decision anyway. He just hates what she does to you and, by extension, how it effects your relationship with his mother.

Every time you visit is perfectly cordial. His mum loves you - sees you as her own. You’re Johnny’s after all. Her only son. You want to love her. You really, really do but when she says ‘I love you’ it feels like you’re going to die. Every time she hugs you he can see the way your shoulders tense up by your ears and your lips purse.

They’ve talked about it. Johnny and his mum. The horrified look she gave him when he told her only the little he knew at the time was more than enough. Bless her. She made it her goal to be the perfect mother-in-law. Never overbearing, never too needy. To love you quietly and meet you where you’re at.

He’s cried over it a few times - though he’d never admit it - watching her treat you with the gentle hands and words you deserve. It breaks his heart as you try to figure out what to do with it.

Johnny has known he wants to marry you for a long time. You’ve both talked about it, both made it known that you’re fully committed to one another forever. It’s just hard to plan a proposal when he isn’t sure how long he’ll be in town. He got the ring months ago and has just been holding onto it for the right time. So, in the end, he decides to be a bit spontaneous with it. His whole family is going on a beach day, and you look so pretty in your little cover up dresses.

His little nieces and nephews gladly help him set up a little path leading to a circle of flowers. His sister brings her big, fancy camera to take pictures while his other sister hints at you to wear something cute and invited you to get your nails done a week before.

Thank god you’re one of the most oblivious people on the planet.

Of course you say yes, tackling him down into the sand while you both cry. He knew you’d say yea but it still fills his heart to bursting. He buries his face in your neck to hide it, but he can’t stop it. You’re his, always and forever.

As the family congratulates and talks, his mother finally comes up and tenderly takes both your hands in hers.“Welcome to the family, love. It’s so nice to have another daughter.”

Johnny freezes, watching for your reaction.

Your eyes turn to saucers, a quiet hiccup shaking your chest before a full on sob follows. You bury your face in your hands and she wraps her arms around your shoulders. Johnny grabs onto you both.

She might not be your mum by blood, and you may never truly open up to her, but either way you deserve a good mother. He’s more than happy to share his own. Maybe someday you’ll heal. Little by little, by the same gentle hands that raised him.

A/N: Sorry for the angst but Mother’s Day has me fucked up.

#john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x you #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #fem reader #ed trigger warning #cod x reader #reader insert #vent fic

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sxcret-garden · 2 months

Text

1st Desire ღ Testing Limits [M]

ღ Aspects of Desire series ღ Ateez Jongho x fem!reader ღ words: ~5.9k ღ genre: established relationship, college AU, fluff, some humor, slice of life, smut (dom!Jongho, sub!reader, parts of a very awkward kink negotiation turning into a slightly less awkward kink negotiation asdjflka, choking (reader receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, fingering, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms) ღ warnings: (mention of him running his hand through reader’s hair)

Desc.: You and your boyfriend decide to take a step towards a new chapter in your relationship when a secret desire of yours finally slips through. What you didn’t know until now is that he’s more experienced than you thought he was, and that you’re not the only one who’s been dying to spice up your sex life.

Author's note: aaaa I'm really nervous about how this series is gonna do, now that I'm finally putting out the first chapter!! I've been working on it for quite a while and it's become a very important project to me, so I hope y'all enjoy reading as much I enjoy writing it <3

next chapter →

If someone asked you about the thing you appreciate the most about your boyfriend (at gunpoint, because there’s no way you could choose just one trait under normal circumstances), you’d say it’s his softness. A softness that’s apparent in his smile and in the way he treats people, yet only selected few get to see fully. You remember the first time you felt he was opening up to you a bit, granting you permission to see what’s going on inside, and how that was the moment you started falling in love with him.

It’s the kindness in his words, behind the sound of his voice when he was reassuring you that he didn’t mind you calling him late at night and out of the blue because you needed someone to talk to, and he was the first person who came to mind. And the other way around, it’s the way he suddenly seemed very small as he crawled into his safe haven that has unmistakably become you when he went through a rough time.

It’s how he talks to people in general, treating everyone with kindness first of all, because it’s among his core beliefs that everyone deserves to be faced with respect. And it’s the warmth that inevitably breaks through the cracks and to the outside when he smiles, laughs at some weird joke, or simply when he steps aside to make way for a complete stranger rushing past him in the crowd.

It’s how you feel when he holds you, wrapping his arms around you, the warmth of his body warming you up too, and you can finally let go of the tension you’ve been carrying within your bones all day. It’s the way he kisses you - you remember your first kiss that was merely lips brushing against each other in a feathery light touch, and the bright yet shy smile that took over his entire face right after, and you still recall how this too made you fall for him yet a little bit deeper.

So why is it that you can’t but feel yourself bursting with excitement when he isn’t being soft at all?

It started quite early, in the blink of a moment and definitely not on purpose. You were out with some of his friends and some of your friends, and though most of them could sense there was something going on between the two of you, you weren’t official yet. And so it happened that one of his friends drunkenly, after visiting a bar not far from the place you had spent an entire afternoon together, tried to get close to you. It wasn’t to the point you would’ve felt uncomfortable - he started talking to you like one normally would when attempting to strike up a conversation, asking questions that made it clear he was interested in you. You didn’t find his way of chatting with you overbearing or anything, and you didn’t think much of it when he touched your arm seemingly mindlessly, but the second it striked you that just maybe this guy was glued to you a bit unusually much, Jongho stepped in. You can clearly recall the anger reflecting on his face, suddenly making an expression that didn’t show a single trace of the kindness you were used to. You don’t remember what exactly he said when he told the guy off, you barely even remember the shock apparent in your other friends’ hushed whispers as everyone seemed to agree that his reaction was a tad exaggerated. What you do recall was how it made your heart suddenly skip a beat. Back then you appointed this solely to your budding feelings for him and that you were crushing on him bad. However, with each time the memory came back to haunt you afterwards, it became more and more clear that there was something undeniably attractive about this side of him that is anything but soft.

You also felt it when you were play fighting, like that time he momentarily raised his eyebrows at you almost mockingly, looking down at your smaller frame while holding an item just out of reach to mess with you as revenge, after you had managed to mildly piss him off. And even when that expression was wiped off his face mere seconds later as he handed you what you were desperately trying to reach with an apology accompanied by a sheepish smile, the pounding in your chest wouldn’t cease.

And then there’s another situation where these complex desires you’re keeping hidden away mostly because you just don’t know how to bring them up to him keep taking over and clouding your mind, like a fire that’s only waiting to be ignited, in order to burn you up whole.

His lips brush against yours, parting from you after what can barely be considered a kiss. You feel his weight on top of you, he has your hands pinned against the bed to either side of your head, supporting himself like that as he rolls his hips into yours. Smooth and slow movements meant to satisfy you, but not for long, and yet the pleasure keeps building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck…” you mutter a curse, squeezing your eyes tightly shut in the race towards your high, and still you know he isn’t giving you everything yet.

“You look so pretty like this.” The words slip past Jongho’s lips, and you sigh at the way they make you feel, only to take a glance at his face, seeing the desperate chase towards his high reflecting on his features as well. He lets go of one of your hands without changing the pace at which he thrusts into you, fingertips dancing down your arm until he reaches your jaw, loosely cupping your face. The touch sends an electric wave through your body, and you remember a distinct thought that keeps creeping into your mind time and time again these days. And now that he has brought his hand so close to where you’re aching to really have it, you can’t but put your own palm on top of it. If it hadn’t been for these coincidences, this, and the fact that just before he had pushed you down onto his bed to make love to you, this thought came to haunt you once again, you wouldn’t do what you’re about to do.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, and without any signs of resistance, he lets you peel his hand off your cheek. However, when you place it on top of your throat instead, extending your neck almost instinctively when you feel his fingertips grazing your pulse, your boyfriend slows down, and eventually his movements come to a halt.

“Are you… are you sure about this?” As you hear him whisper those words, your first thought is that he must not like what you just did. But when you take a look at his face, and you see the way his eyes have undeniably darkened, his lips slightly parted as he tries to catch his breath, you feel like the complete opposite must be true.

“Yeah,” you mouth. “Been wanting to try this for so long…” Your confession causes yet another emotion to spark behind his gaze that’s suddenly so intent, and so much more intense than you’re used to. It takes him merely a moment to process your words, then he moves away from you with a muttered “wait”. Depriving you of both the touch against your throat that you’ve been longing for so much, and the sensation of him filling you up so perfectly leaves you feeling unexpectedly empty, but when he instead sits before you, taking you by the hands and pulling you towards him, you follow eagerly while something connects in your mind - he knows what he’s doing.

“Come here,” Jongho whispers, inviting you into his lap, his gaze finding your lips while he helps you move closer. “Ride me?” You can only nod once before he kisses you, allowing you to sink down on his length as he releases you and then reconnects your lips, and without hesitation you can feel him putting his hand around your nape again. He starts with bringing his palm up to your chest, moving it up unhurriedly, yet not letting you wait, and as soon as his thumb brushes across your throat, you break the kiss to throw your head back and you let out a soft moan. Your heart is racing like crazy from the simple motion alone, and he places his other hand onto your hip to guide you into a steady pace on top of him.

“You like that?” he asks, curiously, and yet you don’t miss the amused spark flaring up in his eyes when you glance at him.

“Yeah,” you reply honestly as your whole body heats up. It really does feel even better than you imagined it, like this one simple touch has engulfed you in flames, making you feel a kind of sensation you’ve never felt before. Your boyfriend moves his hand to the back of your head, entangling his fingers with the strands of your hair now, and you immediately furrow your brows in protest. It causes a smirk to appear on his lips, and the thumb of his hand resting on your hip finds its way to your clit, starting to give the sensitive bundle of nerves some attention.

“F-fuck…” you stutter, arms thrown around his shoulders and you let yourself fall forward in order to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Tutting at you, he brings his hand back to where you wanted it, pushing you away gently in order to be able to look at your face.

“Let me watch as you cum,” he mutters, his gaze taking in your features, and when you whimper in agreement he too lets out a breathy moan. Applying some more pressure to your clit, he never once takes his eyes off you as you’re racing towards your high - you can tell he’s enjoying this newfound power he has over you, and it’s getting him off too.

Only a few more repetitions of your movements on top of him and your hips start to stutter, and when he moves his hand resting against your throat just a bit further up, blood rushes to your head at once. You know you won’t last much longer, and so you mewl,

“G-gonna cum…” A sigh of approval falls from his lips, before he answers with a strained “me too”, and then your high comes crashing down on you. You dig your nails into the skin on his shoulders as your body is shaken, and the convulsions around his cock buried inside of you have him letting out a broken groan, before you can feel him releasing deep in your cunt as well.

As you gradually come down from your respective highs, you lie down side by side, and when your eyes meet for a moment you both know it’s about time you two had a conversation about this. However, for now it’s too late at night anyway, and with him nuzzling his nose into your temple and pulling you close, you decide that it could just as well wait until tomorrow.

“So…” Your boyfriend joins his hands together in front of him, his right hand clasping his left fist, and the second you look at him, he looks away instinctively.

“Yeah…” you answer, knowing what he’s trying to say, but somehow it’s hard to break through the air of awkwardness that has settled around you the moment you both sat down in the living room area of his flat. With him having made himself comfortable on the sofa (and then subsequently tensed up as you entered his proximity), you decided to misuse the coffee table in front of it as a seating opportunity, for the sake of being able to sit across from him, figuring that might make the conversation easier.

It doesn’t. You both don’t know what to say, and this is by no means a one time thing. You recall other occasions where you both sat down to talk and then the beginning of the conversation was similarly difficult, just that usually it’s about a problem you have, hurt feelings, or anything else one of you felt needed to be talked out. And you know that usually one of you eventually breaks the ice - admittedly it’s him who gets the conversation going most of the time, a skill you very much value in your boyfriend - but this here is very different. Sure, sex has been brought up between you two before, you are actively having sex with each other after all, but somehow the feel of a talk about it has never seemed this serious.

“Is it… supposed to be this awkward?” This time it’s you who starts the first attempt at smoothing out the mental obstacles that are undoubtedly there. And it seems to be working, because as Jongho lets out a soft laugh at your remark, you can see some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“Ah, no…” he says, but then he quickly adds, “I mean, it can be, I guess. The first time I had this conversation it started the same, so…” Ending on an implication, he monitors your reaction to his words closely for an entirely different reason. You know he broke up with his last girlfriend not too long before the two of you started getting closer, but he’s never talked about their sexual relationship with you before.

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows, now feeling genuinely curious. “What do you mean?” Your boyfriend straightens his back as he rolls back his shoulders, and with you watching how his gaze wanders from one point to the other on the wall behind you, he gathers his thoughts and becomes serious.

“You know… when you put my hand around your throat, I liked that. I mean,” he lets out a short laugh, “I think you figured as much.”

“I could tell, yeah,” you confirm, and when he looks at you to continue talking, you feel yourself gulping. His gaze seems more intense than usual, despite his otherwise softened features - or are you imagining things and it’s just your own nerves? You have no idea.

“I did this kind of stuff with my ex too,” he says. “Like… not just the choking, you know? We did other things too, dipped our toes into testing out what it would be like if I have more power over the situation,...”

“Like… BDSM stuff?” The question comes out more awkwardly than it should’ve, and you can clearly sense that you have no idea how to approach the topic in conversation. Then again, it’s just another thing people do - no need to be so uptight about it, right?

“Yeah.” He’s averting his gaze again, shyness creeping onto his face, and somehow you find the contrast between his words and the air around him endearing.

“Like… with whips and stuff?” you continue asking, because you’ve never thought about him in that context, but somehow you can see the association making sense.

“Ah, no, we didn’t go that far,” Jongho explains, waving his hands in front of himself to underline his statement. “We did other things, but… ultimately what we wanted out of that play didn’t align.”

“Oh,” you gasp, wondering whether that was part of the reason why they broke up, but you don’t pry for now.

“So… what I’m trying to say is… I’ve been thinking about how to bring this up to you. But I didn’t want to… make you feel uncomfortable. Since we’ve been keeping things very vanilla so far, you know?”

“You wouldn’t have-” you immediately try to refute, but you stop yourself. Really, you don’t know if you would’ve been intimidated by your boyfriend’s desires. It probably depends on what kind of stuff he wants to do to you. Expanding on the image you brought up earlier in your head, you realize you’re not sure if you’d be okay with whips after all. “Actually, what are the things you want to do?” You decide to pose a question instead, understanding that you shouldn’t give him any definite answers about this without being 100% sure about them yourself. And though you expect him to have a reply right away, he hesitates.

“Maybe… we should take this slow,” he says, voicing his thoughts out loud, and you can tell he really is afraid of scaring you off. So you reach out across the gap in between your knees, until your hands are resting on top of his.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him. “Let’s talk about it, and I tell you if I’m okay with the things you want.”

“Okay,” he agrees eventually, but then sinks into thought once again.

“What is it?” you chuckle as he doesn’t speak. “You’re taking this very seriously.” Your remark tears him out of his thoughts, and the complicated expression on his face tells you he isn’t entirely sure how to take your words. “I mean, isn’t it about fun most of all?” you add, and now he furrows his brows.

“It’s not that it’s not about fun, just… you need to be careful about these things. Even with what we did last time, if I put my hand around your throat the wrong way or apply too much pressure I can seriously hurt you. And I don’t want that.” Not just from the content of his speech, but also from the way he looks at you you can tell that there’s some very logical reasons behind his caution, and it causes you to think that maybe you’re not taking this seriously enough.

“You’re right, I think I get it now,” you answer, lowering your head apologetically.

“So maybe we should start with the things I’ve done before,” your partner continues. “That way we can test the waters, and I can make sure I know what I’m doing and can ensure your safety.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“So… are you okay with the kind of dynamic where I take on a more dominant role?” he follows up with a question, and you swallow thickly at all the associations popping up in your head. Even just the thought of you submitting to him has your temperature rising, and so you nod.

“Yes, I would like that.”

You talk about a few things, mostly kinks and practices he brings up, and as he’s taking his time discussing everything, repeatedly reminding you that if you’re unsure about something you can just say no and bring it up at a later point if you happen to get curious about it again, you’re beginning to develop an entirely new understanding of boundaries. It’s like everyone talks about them and their importance, yet it’s hard to figure out how to have a conversation about them, except for the “say no if you don’t want something” part. And even that’s tricky, because sometimes people simply don’t respect a no.

You feel like that’s not the case here at all, and so your conversation becomes yet another reason for why you feel you can trust him so much. And at the same time you come to understand that he too needs to be able to trust you, if you’re going to try getting more adventurous in the bedroom.

“Let’s use the color system, just in case,” he suggests. “Have you heard of it?”

“Like ‘green’ for ‘keep going’, ‘red’ for ‘stop’ and ‘yellow’ for…”

“For ‘slow down’ or… as a sign you’re getting close to your limits,” he finishes the sentence for you. “Even if we’re just going to try one thing at a time, I’d like to use that to check in with you, just in case.” You agree with his suggestion, and at the same time you notice how you’re much more comfortable than at the beginning of the conversation. No trace of awkwardness left. Instead, you feel yourself getting excited at all the new opportunities opening themselves up to you at once. You’ve been fantasizing about spicing up your sex life for a while now, and having finally made that first step towards it affects you in more ways than one.

“So…” you mutter as you lean in, your hands reaching for his and fitting into them very naturally. “Wanna get right to it?” You ask, your lips merely an inch away from his, but Jongho just laughs as he leans back.

“Y/N, isn’t it about time you leave for your evening class?” Immediately, a pout forms on your lips, and you’re more than unhappy about him bursting your bubble like that.

“It’s not a class, it’s just a meet-up for a project…” you refute, though you shouldn’t skip that either. Your boyfriend gives you an endearing look, his gums showing as he shoots you a smile and he extends his arm to run his fingers through your hair.

“Go to that meet-up, Y/N,” he says, and his expression changes ever so slightly as he adds, “And when you’re back, we can see if there’s a way I can reward you for your hard work.” You can undeniably feel the shift in energy from his last words, the way you suddenly feel like you’re smaller than him, like he’s been elevated to standing just a step above you. It’s not like you haven’t felt this air of dominance radiating off of him ever before, but after your conversation just now it has been put into an entirely new context, and it causes yet another spark of excitement to sear through you. And so all you can do is nod and get up to get ready for your meeting.

When the sun has long set and you get back home, your boyfriend is already awaiting you, as promised. To the question about whether you have eaten dinner yet, you answer no, and to your dismay he makes you wait for the thing you’re really craving just a bit longer.

“You should eat,” he says, hand brushing against your back as he notices you sitting down in front of some leftovers with a disappointed expression on your face that you just can’t hide, and he adds with an amused chuckle, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you this impatient.” You say nothing, and when you continue sulking it just makes him laugh some more. You know he’s being caring - and definitely reasonable - when he makes you do your evening routine too after that, but deep inside you really do wonder how he can bear the wait that you’re very much already tired of. And then finally you’re moving towards the bedroom, and if you’re not mistaken you can finally see a hint of impatience in the way he watches you walk up to him.

You take a step forward, to where he’s sitting at the edge of the bed and you place your hands on his shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of his pajamas. His hands find purchase on your waist, pulling you in closer yet, until your shins hit the wooden bedframe, and then his palms wander south to your hips.

“I’ve made you wait too long, hm?” he mutters. You say nothing, instead running your fingers through his hair, and your boyfriend briefly closes his eyes as he leans into your touch. You move towards him, bowing down in order to press a kiss onto his lips, and when your fingers begin fumbling with the buttons on his shirt, you reply with a chuckle,

“You did.” Watching you as you finish undoing the button-up shirt, he allows you to sit in his lap to straddle him once you’re done, and without hesitation you connect your lips to his. You can feel him sigh into your kiss as your fingertips come in contact with his stomach, and you move your palm all the way up in order to place it at the back of his neck. His tongue swiping across your bottom lip, you let him deepen the kiss, and when you play with the short strands at the back of his head he becomes just a little more passionate in how he kisses you. Effortlessly, he takes the lead from you, and when you finally part you’re more breathless than he is. One of his palms now placed at the small of your back, he pulls you closer yet, applying some pressure to make you roll your hips on top of him.

“That’s right,” he mutters, your faces mere inches apart, and you let out a shaky breath at the friction of your clothed cunt rubbing against his leg. He brings his free hand up to cup your cheek, gaze dropping down to your lips, but contrary to your expectation, he doesn’t kiss you. “Keep going,” he encourages you, and so you fall into a steady rhythm, a wave of heat rushing to your core with every repetition of your movements. “Feels good?” he asks and you nod.

“Yeah…” His gaze burns like fire as he watches you closely, making sure he doesn’t miss a single change of expression on your face.

“So, what’s your color?”

“Green…” you respond without having to think about it much, feeling the pleasure slowly building up. “You could tell though, right?” you add.

“Yeah.” Jongho smiles at you, letting his hands travel to the hem of your shirt and pulling it up. You let go of his shoulders for a moment to let him peel it off you, before he flings it somewhere to the ground and you throw your arms around his neck again. “Just thought I could bring it up once,” he then adds, and you let him hear a soft chuckle.

“You don’t have to be that careful,” you whisper. To be quite honest, you adore him for taking your safety so seriously, way more seriously than you think is necessary - because as for you there’s no way you’d feel uncomfortable about something as tame as this, but you appreciate his caution nonetheless.

A curse falls from your lips as you’re able to feel your orgasm gradually building up somewhere in the depths of your stomach, and when you feel him running his hands up your torso once more, a shiver runs down your spine. He’s letting his touch come close to your throat, but not quite far enough, and yet you lean your head back instinctively, to give him access. You don’t miss the amused huff he lets out at your reaction, and instead of his fingers, you can now feel his lips attached to your skin there. Supporting you with his palm against your back, he kisses his way up along your pulse, the sensation making you moan, and when he lets his teeth graze your skin just below your ear your head starts to spin. Your hips stutter at the sensations overwhelming you, and he’s quick to reach for your waist to hold you down, making you halt your movements. He scatters kisses along your jaw before calling your name to make you look at him, and when you do, he brushes his lips against yours. Deepening the kiss, he simultaneously slips his hand past the hem of your pants, and when he presses his fingertips against your folds through your soaked underwear, you can feel him grinning into the kiss.

“Already made a mess of yourself, hm?” You shudder at his words, and at the tone of his voice that’s somehow different from how he usually talks to you in this kind of situation. You’re used to him speaking softly as he quite literally makes love to you, but this is different.

Everything about it is different, right from the moment he invited you to sit on his lap. So this is what he was talking about, what you were so curious about, and now that you’re getting a taste of this side of your boyfriend, the only thing you know is that you want more.

“Y-yeah,” you can only whimper an answer, and you suck in a sharp breath when he pushes aside your soiled panties in order to touch you directly. He watches again, the look in his eyes making you feel small and helpless - but not in a bad way. It’s like you want him to take control of you, to do with you whatever he pleases - you feel yourself submitting to him.

A finger pushed inside your wet pussy has you moaning, a second finger makes you curse and fall forward, attempting to bury your face in the crook of his neck, but he clicks his tongue and pushes you back into an upright position with his palm against your chest.

“I want to watch,” Jongho says, it’s almost a whisper, the energy behind his words is very different from the last time this exact scenario played out, and his words ring in your ears loudly, only serving to amplify the pleasure his touches send through your body. Bucking your hips into his hand to see whether he would allow you to move, you become aware of the bulge in his pants, and the urge to touch him overcomes you.

“Can I…?” You ask, looking down on him and then back into his face, and his answer is short and clear.

“No.” He curls his fingers that are buried in your cunt, pulling them out only to thrust them back in, and when he finds that perfect spot inside you, you arch your back into his touch, your nails digging into the fabric covering his shoulders.

“Right there… don’t stop…” you beg, eyes shut tightly, as he continues fingering you at an unhurried pace. You roll your hips into his hand, your sensitive bud grazing his palm for some friction with every movement, and you can now undeniably feel your high approaching at lightning speed.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he says, and your name spoken in this tone you’ve never heard from him alone would’ve almost sent you over the edge. “You look so pretty when you cum. But…” The broken whine you let out when he removes his hand from your core as you shudder causes a hint of delight to tug at the corners of his mouth. “You’re gonna look even prettier when you cum with my hand around your throat.”

“Why…” is all you can whimper at his sudden action, not having fully registered the meaning of his last words yet. Then he pushes you off his lap and back onto your feet.

“Take your clothes off for me,” he orders, his tone softening, yet his sharp gaze won’t leave you. You do as told, and he as well rids himself of his pajamas, before he makes you lie down flat and comfortably in the middle of the bed. He wastes no time to get on top of you, scattering a trail of impatient kisses from your sternum up to your mouth. His lips feel rougher against yours now, his tongue quick to part them and to find yours as your hands fly to his back, nails digging into his bare skin. Up until now he’s usually taken his time with you, no surprising movements at all, and so you understandably gasp in surprise when now he unexpectedly breaks the kiss to sit up, reaching for your thighs and bringing them up. Throwing your legs over his shoulders, he leans in closer, and you mewl when he rolls his hips against yours once, his cock grazing your folds and clit.

“That feel okay?” he asks, and you nod immediately, clenching around thin air as you feel yourself growing more and more impatient.

“I’m okay,” you reply, desperately. “More than okay.” His hands resting on the underside of your thighs as he presses them into the sheets to your sides, he pushes up into you, making you cry out from the force behind his thrust.

“Shit…” you curse at the impact.

“And that?” he asks. “How’s-”

“Please just keep going, please…” you interrupt him, and contrary to your plea, he does nothing but look down at your state with a big smirk on his face. He has you exactly where he wants you, you know that now, and to be honest? You can only wonder why you haven’t started having rougher sex like this earlier. “Please…” you whimper again.

“What do you want?” Jongho asks, placing one of his palms onto your stomach. “Want me to ruin you?”

“Y-yes please,” you whine. He moves his hand up a bit, slowly, but not too slow, and when he finally snakes his fingers around your throat, you let out an uncontrolled moan.

“Like this?” he asks, and at this point you’re sure he’s only dragging this out to provoke you for the fun of it. And yet, with his hand around your neck like this you don’t have the strength in you to fight back or to do anything but beg.

“Y-yes… baby please…”

“Please what?”

“Please ruin me…” This seemingly being the answer he wanted to hear, he now starts thrusting into you, slowly at first. But his smooth motions soon turn into something rougher, something led not by self-control, but by his own lust, maybe his need for release, maybe his desire to see with his own eyes what he can do to you like this. And then there’s his hand around your throat, his touch feeling hot against your skin, even though it’s only resting there, not applying any pressure whatsoever. And still you find yourself unable to do anything but moan along with the pace he’s pounding into you, his weight pressing your body into the mattress. Groans fall from his lips as well, and you can feel a dull pain as he digs his nails into the flesh on your thigh.

“‘M coming… close…” you mewl, and as if that was his cue, you feel his grip around your neck becoming just a bit tighter, and his fingertips press down onto your pulse. Your head starts to spin, your mouth falling open, one broken moan after the other coming out, and mere moments later your high crashes down on you. Your body shakes violently and you feel your boyfriend’s hand being retracted from your throat, and the second he does you moan his name, clenching around his length that’s thrusting in and out of you even faster now. It doesn’t take long until he as well finds his release, a hissed curse falling from his lips as his short hair falls into his face, covering his expression as he too is shaken from the pleasure.

He pulls out of you, reaching for the tissues he’s keeping beside his bed to help clean you up before doing the same for himself and then he thoroughly inspects your throat, making sure he didn’t accidentally apply too much pressure or leave a mark.

“Are you okay?” he asks and you nod. “No pain anywhere?”

“No,” you answer, giving him a tired smile, and then you sit up. “Actually… I really enjoyed that.” For some reason you feel shy as you speak those words, and he immediately picks up on your state of mind, reaching out to cup your face and run his thumb across your cheek in a reassuring motion.

“That’s good.”

“And you? Did you… enjoy it?” And now suddenly he looks away somewhat shyly as well, and for a second there it’s hard to imagine this is the same person who’s been fucking you like that just a hot minute ago.

“I did,” your boyfriend answers.

“Then let’s try out more,” you suggest, but then you rephrase your words to make them come out sounding as sure of yourself as you are. “I want to know more.”

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