#they fall in love in every universe and it genuinely gives me anxiety thinking of them with other people <3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

l-artemisia-del-secolo · 3 years

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Hyyy, can I request a survivor!Nat where she was in love with reader in her universe before reader died, and then when she briefly met Peggy to take down ultron and felt a connection to her, and when the watcher takes her to a new universe, the universe where she ends up in has Captain Carter and reader dating, she falls in love with reader all over again and finds herself falling for Peggy as well and the three end up dating

Nat deserves all the happiness.

Survivor!Natasha Romanoff x Captain Carter x reader

Masterlist. Survivor!nat

Falling in love again

When you stopped breathing, Natasha Romanoff died. Her flesh was torn apart by the rusty arrow, the one that of the Ultrons shot at you.

She ran to you with a blood chilling cry. Your name on her lips, the one she was saying out loud only during the moments of intimacy, now was depreciated by the deadly circumstances. With the last beat of your heart, her universe stopped living, it just couldn't survive without you anymore.

Nat was howling for weeks, as if the sharp tip was forever stuck in her own body, poisoning her existence. Clint was with her, but he could only watch how his best friend was slowly dissolving into madness. It took all of his strength, all of his trust, all of his loyalty to stay with her. He knew exactly what Nat was going through, he too lost his family. But she couldn't even have her friend. He chose to give up and leave her alone with your ghost. The one she saw and felt every single day, but could never touch.

Natasha was talking with you, asking your opinion, sharing the details of her everyday survival. And even after you vanished, you were the one who helped her feel ground under her feet again. She almost resigned herself to her fate. Until Watcher decided to play with the universe.

___

Out of all the people, why the hell did her variant trust Peggy Carter? Was it the feeling of protection, Captain was radiating from her?

Was it her firm grip on Nat's shoulder during the battle? Was it her genuine smile of concert, that could get behind the wall Redhead build around herself? Was it the sparkle in her eyes that could become a beacon of light in the darkest of the worlds?

The answer was far simplier, at least Nat hoped it was. Peggy was just the first woman she met in a long time, whose behavior resembled affection. Resembled you. And now standing in front of the Watcher, she had to make a choice, voice a plea, show weakness. Natasha was ashamed of her desire to live further. She was terrified to ask for another chance for herself, when you never got that luxury. But what if, just for a moment another person could look at her, the way Peggy did. It wasn't you, but maybe her imagination could create the rest.

___

Nat's universe wasn't perfect. Her friends were still lost, she was alone and you were only a memory. But at least here, she wasn't enamoured with the idea of not making it through the day.

"Oh no, Romanoff. Don't you even dare to leave me." Peggy's voice could so easily fill any room. Maybe it was her accent or the choice of words, but she was always in command of any space. And now she was once again in charge of Nat's thoughts.

"I'm still here, waiting for you."

Peggy always needed more time to change into civilian clothes with the complexity of her uniform. But tonight they were going for a drink.

And Captain's company was worth the wait.

Nat quickly got accustomed to their nights out. She never had them before, even when her past life was still intact. You were the only one, who managed to change her spartan lifestyle, the only one who could make her laugh. And now that privilege belonged to Peggy.

"What are you thinking about Widow?" She let her whiskey tumbler clink Nat's beer bottle, which was standing on the table without attention.

"Nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing to me."

What the Redhead could say. She already felt herself as a burden after all these months of letting her anxiety take over for Peggy to see.

You both lost so much, but Captain Carter wasn't a pathetic whimpering mess almost every night. Nat was somehow sure of that.

"I'm having fun." Nat smiled and demonstratively finished the bottle in one go.

"Careful with that kind of amusement."

Peggy gently put her hand on Nat's lost one on the wooden surface. This tiny gesture was enough for Nat to feel the overwhelming protection she was aching for. Skin of the older woman wasn't as soft as yours, but her warmth was real, it was vibrating right into Readhead's pulse point.

"I had my fair share of being careful." Playfulness in green eyes appeared out of nowhere, lightening up everything around them.

"Romanoff, now you're just being a tease."

"And who's fault is that?"

Those evenings were so simple, barely having any weight, sometimes with the words that were not even coherent sentences. But they belonged to Nat. She could pretend, that this extraordinary woman, who saved the world on more than occasion thought of her as someone more than a colleague, someone closer than an acquaintance, someone dearer than just a companion.

"You sure, you don't want me to go with you? It's late."

It was indeed past midnight. And once again Peggy couldn't get drunk, unlike Nat, who was using a street lamp as a support.

"I'll be fine."

"That's not what I asked."

Nat could feel her cheeks heating up. Of course, she wanted Peggy to follow her. For the last few weeks, it was the only thing she so passionately desired. Her name was the one Redhead was muttering in her sleep, her face was the one, she was seeing near her own reflection. Captain Carter was replacing you and the grief was gradually overthrown with jealousy. This wasn't even the variant, she met during the battle with Ultron, but she felt that instant connection even in another universe. Selfish part of her hoped that Peggy did too.

"I'll be fine. you can go and do whatever you do."

Nat didn't want to sound offended, she didn't want to be offended, she didn't want to be so damn needy for the attention of the woman, who wasn't even you.

___

Nat's last mission was a disaster, a bloody and messy ordeal, in which both her and Peggy achieved very little. The disappointment was almost palpable in the helicopter, with the rest of the team staring blankly in front of them. They lost people, they lost an objective, they lost a will to fight further.

For the first time Natasha noticed tears in Peggy's eyes. It wasn't even their fault. And she wanted to whisper this into the super soldier's ear. And not only that. But how could she, she had no right even to look at her the way she did.

"Are you..." But Carter already left. Of course, she didn't want Russian, she didn't need Russian. And it was for the better. Nat had to remember her place in this universe.

"Hey, Widow. I want you to meet someone."

"What is it? Another boy, you think..."

But that wasn't one of Peggy's innocent jokes about Nat's lonely life.

"I... how..." She felt her own consciousness betraying her. Her body losing it's support, losing every single bone, that was supposed to keep her on the ground.

"What is wrong, Miss Romanoff?"

Was it a ghost? Of course not. How could this voice sound exactly like yours? How could your body arch the same in Carter's arms as it did hers? How could you smile at her, the way you always grinned at Redhead?

"You... you know me?" Her hands were clenched in fists of anxiety and fear.

"Of course." You smiled warmly. "Peggy always talks about you. Every evening you're practically a guest at our table."

"Carter?" She hopelessly asked for an explanation. "How? When?"

"I never told you that I have someone special in my life."

Special? You? for someone else? Green eyes were wondering from the face of the woman she was in love to the face of the woman she actually loved all these years. Nat had to do something, had to rip you out of the villainous arms of a rival. But you didn't recognise her. You were devoted to Peggy, At this moment, you both were. Nat could only nod and concentrate on her own heartbeat.

"Yes, we've been together for two years." You continued with the pride straightening your posture.

"Sorry, I didn't tell you." Peggy said with an apologetic smile. "But you know... with our crazy world."

"You should protect what you have." Nat's voice broke your heart.

You knew she endured so much pain in her life, so much loss. And now this woman was looking at you, devouring you as if you were her only saving grace,

"Miss Romanoff..." You left Peggy's warm embrace to reach out to Redhead.

She barely contained her whimper, when you touched her hand. Exactly as you did many times before. Your fingers gently caressing her palm.

You were so close. She could feel the perfume, you hated so much in her universe. And could see the shade of lipstick you would never wear.

"i'm OK." Nat whispered. "Just tired, I should... I should go."

"No" Peggy put her hand on Nat's shoulder with all the confidence she could. "Today was a hard day. And you're going with us. We won't let you be alone."

Natasha suddenly felt all the pain, she thought, she left in her own universe. But no, she took it with herself. And you were the one to revive it once again

___

Natasha didn't go with you that night. And the next, and the next, and the one afterwards. Watcher was making fun of her. Peggy was making fun of her. You were making fun of her.

And the only thing she could do was to ignore all her pain altogether. While staying alone in her rented apartment. For seven days she was alone, being choked on her grief.

"Romanoff!" The aggressive knock on Nat's door woke her up. "I know you're there. You can't ignore me forever."

The River of Russian curses was never-ending.

"What do you want?" Top notch spy somehow got her accent back.

The door opened and Peggy sighed.

"You don't look well, Widow."

"Coming here to tell me that was absolutely necessary."

"Well, you ignored my messages."

Nat was studying the brown eyes in front of her. The one that was always associated with the new chance she got in her life. But now those orbs were nothing more than a cruel reminder that the survivor of another universe was not deserving the happiness.

"I'm not going to allow you to come in." Nat didn't move from her spot. Crossed arms and artificial anger. Redhead always knew how to look intimidating.

"I'm not asking for a courtesy visit." Peggy brushed away a disobedient strand of the red hair from the face she admired so much. "I want to know how you are. And if you're willing to share, what happened?"

Nat couldn't find strength in herself to answer both of those questions. Carter was so close to her, so supportive, so caring. She didn't deserve to be betrayed by someone she considered a friend.

"I'm fine." She still leaned into the touch of the older woman. "I'm really OK."

"Is it because I didn't tell you about Y/N?"

"No, of course not. It was your choice." Nat lowered her head, being afraid that Peggy was in fact reading her thoughts. "She's nice."

"She's my one and only."

Those words were more destructive than anything Nat ever encountered in her entire life.

"You're lucky"

"I'm begging you, let's go with me. We'll have dinner, nice and cozy. Whatever there is, we'll help you go through this."

____

Months passed since that first dinner together. First time you touched her in this universe. So what, if it was just a greeting. First time you kissed her. So what, if it was only a goodbye kiss on the cheek. First time she heard you laughing. So what, if she wasn't the one, who joked. You were charming, welcoming and soft. And you were like this for Peggy. Perfect woman, who was better than Nat in every possible way. Romanoff couldn't handle that revelation. But as much as she thought, she didn't deserve domesticity, the more she was craving for it. You were giving her everything she was deprived of for months. Coming home after those perfect dates, Nat was moaning your name, but you were not the only one in her dreams.

There were parties, movie nights, breakfasts, and the parks. Nat often found herself in between you and Peggy, leaning on your hand, but hearing Carter's mellow tone. And she was falling in love with both of you again. And this was wrong on so many levels.

"Nat! We're getting late."

Of course, you noticed that Redhead definitely wasn't in a hurry. The Avengers were waiting, but she didn't care. Just a vision of you and Peggy being a happy couple and her simply crying on the sidelines was reminding her of that rusty arrow in her chest.

"I think I'll skip this one."

When you came into her bedroom, she was still wearing her comfy clothes and not the dress you helped her to pick up earlier. You sat near her and immediately felt her need for your support.

"I can't do this anymore." She whispered and the raspiness of her voice broke something in you. "I'm not strong enough."

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Peggy. It's too painful."

Nat shook her head to get rid of the tears and stood up.

"What are you talking about?"

"I... I knew you..." She hugged herself and really tried not to break down in front of you completely. "Back in my world. And we were... "

"Together?"

"No." She shrugged. "Something more than that. You were my soulmate."

"That explains a lot." You approached her and she let you bury your face in the red hair you adored. "I love you."

The meaning of your last words had the weight of a dying planet. You were laughing in her face, you were making fun of her. You were cruel.

"Don't say that. Don't mock me."

Instead of the explanations you turned her blushing face to you and carefully barely touching kissed her lips. And it felt so right for you.

"You shouldn't..." Nat tried to get away from you, but your arm around her waist didn't let her. "And Peggy... I think I'm in love with her too."

"We know. I love you and so does Peggy."

"What?"

"We love you, Madly, passionately. It runs through the veins of both of us." You noticed how the fear in her eyes was turning into something far warmer.

"How is that possible?"

"We talked about it. Were sincere with each other. And you're not exactly subtle with your feelings, Romanoff." You kissed her eyes with a smile. "Though, Peggy would definitely like to share this moment with us."

Nat finally smiled and the intensity of her gaze wasn't one of anxiety, but of anticipation.

"Then we definitely should call her."

"And we'll go to the party..."

"...together."

#black widow 2021 #black widow fic #natasha romanoff image #peggy carter #peggy carter x reader #captain carter x you #captain carter x reader #captain carter fanficion #captain carter #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #what if #black widow #survivor!natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x peggy carter x reader #natasha romanoff x peggy carter x you #300eventsentences

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

i can't forgive me & you can't forget

Summary: Spencer is happy that his boyfriend is as compassionate as he is, but watching Derek do everything he can to help Strauss with her alcoholism when he stood by and did nothing back when he was struggling with his dilaudid addiction is beginning to take its toll.

Tags: hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst, insecurity, est. rel., hurt/comfort, cuddling & snuggling, angst w a happy ending, fluff TW: referenced past drug use, addiction, and overdose, implied/referenced alcoholism

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // The other fic in this universe

Inspired by @marisatomay’s post here!!! The title is from the second part of the poem Betrayal by Lang Leav.

It’s pushing ten pm by the time Spencer finally hears the front door open and close with a soft click, hears the rustling of Derek ditching his leather jacket on the crowded coat rack and toeing off his shoes — no doubt placing them neatly at the side of the hall like he always does — and listens to his footsteps as he nears the bedroom where Spencer’s been holed up since Derek left.

“Hey, baby boy,” Derek says with a warm, relaxed smile, his fingers already working on undoing his shirt buttons, before digging through their wardrobe to find a more comfortable top.

“Hey.”

Spencer watches him with tired eyes. He’s been feeling as hurt and despondent as he does this evening for weeks now, but tonight is the first time he doesn’t have the energy to hide it. He’s spent the entire afternoon in bed, and he’s certain it shows in the imprints of the creased pillowcase on his cheek and his messed up hair, and where just a couple of days ago he’d rush to hide those tells, he simply doesn’t care enough anymore.

Derek turns around from the wardrobe and shrugs off his shirt, replacing it with a soft blue t-shirt Spencer’s always liked on him. “Have you had anything to eat yet?”

Spencer shakes his head. Derek undoes his belt and switches his trousers for a pair of grey sweatpants before walking over to the bed and climbing onto the mattress, grinning cheekily as he rolls over Spencer’s body and leans down to press a tender kiss to the tip of his nose.

It’s sweet and romantic and so painfully normal, and maybe that’s exactly why he suddenly finds himself swallowing back tears. He’s hardly spent any time with Derek outside of work in weeks and he’s hurt and sad and struggling, and it’s only making it worse that his loving and attentive boyfriend hasn’t seemed to notice. Really, Spencer knows he needs to communicate, and that a significant part of his pain is his responsibility, but the shame—

“Well that just won’t do,” Derek murmurs, interrupting his thoughts as he brushes his fingers over a lock of curly hair resting on Spencer’s temple. “I’ll go and make you something. Or we can order in? What do you fancy?”

Spencer shrugs, looking away. He’s not trying to be difficult, it’s just incredibly hard to think about food and a relaxing night in with your partner when you feel like your insides are splintering and you’re just barely holding yourself together.

Even without looking directly at his face, Spencer can see Derek’s brow furrow and his happy expression fade, and soon enough Derek’s fingers are at his chin, gently moving his head until he’s looking at him again. “Hey, pretty boy,” he says gently, looking so concerned it makes his chest ache, “what’s wrong? Tell me what’s going on in that big old head of yours.”

So much of him wants to give in and tell him everything, wants to spill his fears and his anxieties and his anger and his shame onto the sheets of their bed and lay it all out for him. He wants to shout, “See? This is who I am! This is all my mess and my pain and my regret! Look at it!”

But he can’t. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again to meet the swirling worry in Derek’s deep, beautiful brown eyes and he wills himself not to cry. “Nothing,” he lies. “I’m just tired. Hungry.”

He knows Derek doesn’t believe him, but there isn’t much he can do if Spencer isn’t willing to communicate, so he nods reluctantly and leans down to place a kiss on his forehead this time, lingering there for a moment longer than he usually does. The feeling of his boyfriend hovering over him and asking him what’s wrong and kissing him so tenderly is all Spencer’s craved for weeks, but now it’s here, he still feels sad and empty and hollowed out by shame and bitterness, desperate for something more without so much as an idea as to what exactly more might entail.

“I tell you what, I’ll go make you some tortellini, alright? There’s a pack in the fridge and it only takes a couple of minutes so I’ll be back before you know it,” Derek promises, and Spencer can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Regardless, Derek hops off the bed and heads out to the kitchen, leaving Spencer alone in the softly lit bedroom. He pulls the duvet further up to his chin and buries his face in it, the soft fabric gentle on his skin, and the comforting scent of Spencer’s shampoo mingling with Derek’s cologne settling him slightly.

Derek had spent the afternoon with Strauss at the rehab centre. And not for the first time.

The problem is, how can Spencer be mad at him for that? Really, it’s the epitome of his character: genuine, constant, unconditional compassion for everyone around him, no matter who they are or what his history with them might be. Of course he’d see Strauss struggling with her addiction and swoop right in, getting her settled in at the centre and spending hours with her on visiting days, fighting alongside Hotch to persuade the director to let her keep her job.

But watching him leave every week, watching him text her encouraging messages, hearing him talk about her progress and recovery�� it strikes a nerve deep inside Spencer. He isn’t proud of how he feels. He knows it’s petty and illogical, but he can’t help it.

Because somewhere deep in his soul, an old version of himself, a sad, lonely, scared, addicted-to-dilaudid boy is crying out, why didn’t you do that for me?

It’s that question that really plagues him. They’re called into work the next day for a fairly interesting case in North Dakota, and there are some fairly strong links to the world of academia, so usually, Spencer would be all over it, reeling off facts and statistics and reaching out to his contacts to further the case. But for some reason, he just can’t get his head in the game.

He finds himself zoning out on the jet and wandering off at crime scenes without even knowing where he’s going. Initially, his team had assumed that he was thinking, or was going somewhere deliberately that might help them with the case, they’d all counted on Doctor Reid to come up with some brilliant theory to bring them closer to catching their unsub.

But Hotch had quickly realised that his head was somewhere else and kept him close to his side from then on. At least staying at the police station with Hotch and being tasked with reading through the unsub’s literary work and constructing a geographical profile both gives him something specific to focus on, and — as much as Spencer hates to admit it — keeps him away from Derek.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Hotch asks gently when they both find themselves at the coffee pot in the late afternoon. He doesn’t look over at him, his eyes focused on the stream of coffee and creamer headed straight for his mug. Spencer knows it’s a tactic to make him feel less ambushed and more relaxed, but that doesn’t stop it from working.

“No,” he says honestly.

Hotch nods in acceptance. He puts a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezes briefly. “Well, you know where I am if you change your mind.”

Both JJ and Emily eye him suspiciously throughout the case as well, but no one is more confused and concerned than Derek. Spencer tries not to think about the irony.

“Baby, what’s got you all distracted like this?” Derek asks softly when they’re finally alone in their room that night, full up from the rushed dinner they’d all had in the lobby before crawling to their rooms for a couple of hours’ sleep before the manhunt continues in the morning. “This is so unlike you and you know it.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, just continues quietly changing into his pajamas before brushing his teeth and washing his face. Derek’s still sitting in the same position when he comes out, looking frustrated and contemplative, and Spencer feels guilty for making him feel this way, but he just doesn’t know what to do. He can’t act like everything's okay because it isn’t, and he’s tired himself out from pretending that it was for weeks, now. But he can’t tell him what’s going on either.

The thing is, how is Spencer supposed to admit that he’s still hurt over something that happened almost five years ago now? And how is he supposed to admit that Derek doing the right thing is only reopening wounds he’d tried so hard to heal and close? That both Derek and Hotch had specifically helped him heal and close?

He doesn’t know how to verbalise his feelings without sounding petulant or pathetic, so he doesn’t. He keeps them buried deep inside him and hopes desperately that no one comes digging.

“I’m fine, Derek,” he lies again, leaning down to kiss him gently before rounding the bed and crawling under the covers. “Just having an off day, I guess.”

Derek sighs but doesn’t push any further, clearly knowing a lost cause when he sees one. Instead, he follows in Spencer’s footsteps and gets ready for bed silently, whispering a quiet good night before switching off the lamp and climbing into bed on the other side.

It feels like the expanse of white sheet between them goes on for miles.

It’s the first time Spencer’s regretted Hotch’s decision to continue letting them share a room.

The question continues to plague him over the next week. He gets marginally better at pretending he’s not falling apart at the seams, and it’s enough to make almost everyone back off, but Hotch is still concerned and Derek is still confused, and he can feel himself drifting further away from the team each day, as though his rope tying him to the others has been cut, and now the current is having its way with him.

Nothing much changes. He continues in his hurt and lonely quietude, and Derek continues to ask what’s wrong, sighing sadly when he gets nothing out of him, and they exist in tandem.

It had always felt — ever since the beginning of their relationship — as though their relationship was a salsa dance. They were tangled in one another’s lives, both physically and emotionally, and they existed in this relaxed kind of ease that Spencer’s only ever seen before in long-term relationships. They’d fallen into a lucky, easy kind of love, and it was never as much work as everyone had promised him a relationship would be.

They’ve been together for four years, and their worst fight was over whether the cheese grater went in the cupboard next to the sink or above it. (Granted, it had spiraled into some other disagreements that came along with cohabitation, but. Still.)

Spencer knows he’s introducing a dynamic they’re unused to, and he hates it. Guilt plagues him, mingling with his shame and sadness until he’s drowning under the weight of it, no way to claw himself to the surface to take a breath.

They exist on parallel lines: next to one another; yet never crossing over. Their relationship is no longer a salsa dance.

The next off-day they have, Derek can’t get out the door fast enough. “I’m off to visit Erin,” he tells Spencer, and it still makes him irrationally angry that he’s stopped calling her Strauss and now refers to her like a friend.

Is it better that Strauss is now Derek’s friend? Him helping someone he actually cares about makes him not caring about Spencer all those years again slightly less of a gut-punch, he supposes. But the fact that Derek and Strauss of all people are becoming closer while he and Spencer drift apart hurts in a way he can’t even begin to explain.

This time, he spends the entire day crying. Every time the tears slow down and he catches his breath, another wave of grief and pain and anxiety and shame and jealousy crashes over him, and all of a sudden he can’t breathe again. It’s an exhausting cycle, and by the early afternoon his stomach muscles are aching and his ribs feel bruised.

It’s also the first day he gets a craving.

He’s an addict, right, he’s had periods of intermittent cravings over the years, that’s completely normal. Sometimes, even thinking about it in passing is enough for the itch to come back, to whisper the number of his old dealer in his ear, to recall in both his physical and mental memory the feeling that came with each press of the syringe.

This is the most intense one since his withdrawal immediately after waking up in hospital following his accidental overdose in his parking garage. It’s so intense that it scares him.

Crying harder than he thought it possible, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and — fighting the temptation to type in the digits of his dealer — he dials the number he’s had memorised since he was nineteen. He can’t speak through his gut-wrenching sobs, but he knows the sound of him crying this hard will be enough, so he lies in bed and continues his pity party until he hears the front door swing open and the rapid steps through the hall.

Soon enough, Hotch is pulling him into his arms and he finally feels a little less alone.

Hotch lets him cry himself out, and only when his tears have dried up and the hiccups have subsided does he say anything besides the reassuring murmurs he’d spoken into Spencer’s ears as he cried.

“Spencer,” he says — somewhat desperately — “please. You have to tell me what’s going on. Let me help you, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. I won’t let you suffer on your own anymore, I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t raise his head from its position buried in Hotch’s t-shirt, but he does finally say something. He doesn’t know what overrides the shame that’s kept him quiet — maybe it’s the exhaustion or the loneliness finally winning out — but whatever it is, he’s glad it does.

“I had a craving today,” he whispers, because it seems like a good place to start. “Haven’t been feeling good since, uh. Since… Strauss.”

It’s hopelessly phrased, but it’s the best way he can explain it and Hotch, being the miracle profiler and father figure of Spencer Reid, figures it out instantly.

He feels the way he slumps slightly, hears the tired, frustrated sigh, and knows he’s probably beating himself up for not figuring it out sooner.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

Hotch shushes him. “You don’t need to apologise for that, Spencer, don’t be sorry. I’m the one who should be sorry for being so blind, and I am. I hate that you’ve been suffering like this and we’ve all been too stupid to realise why.”

“It still, it still hurts,” he says quietly, sadly, regretfully, “it still hurts that no one helped me until it was almost too late. But everyone dropped everything to help Strauss— I’m sorry, it’s so selfish, I shouldn’t be—”

“Hey, Spence,” Hotch interrupts him, caressing his arm gently. “It isn’t selfish. It’s human. And you’re right, we should have helped you sooner and it’s always been my greatest regret that we didn’t, and that because of that dereliction of duty, we almost lost you.”

“I’m not, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything—”

“Spencer, I know that. But you need to stop feeling guilty for how you feel, alright? It makes complete sense that this is bringing up both the feelings of rejection and betrayal, and also cravings for the drug you were addicted to at the time. It’s so obvious that I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier.”

Spencer nods, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. “Derek’s been visiting Strauss on our days off,” he admits quietly. “I’ve barely seen him for almost a month now, and that— it isn’t helping.”

“I can understand that. Have you talked to him about any of this?” he asks, even though Spencer’s sure Hotch already knows the answer.

He shakes his head.

“I know it’s hard, Spence, I really do, but I think you need to talk to him. Obviously, it would’ve been better if both he and I had figured it out without you having to tell us, but clearly, he isn’t going to realise by himself. I know that as soon as you explain it, he’ll understand completely.”

Spencer sighs. Some part of him had known this was coming, he just didn’t know how it would come about. He wouldn’t have put money on Hotch being involved, but maybe he should have done. He always seems to come to Spencer’s rescue.

“He’ll probably be out for a while. He usually stays out for hours when he goes to visit her.”

“Well, how about I stay until he comes home, and then you can talk to him? How does that sound?”

Spencer looks up at him. “What about Jack?”

“He’s out with a friend and their family anyway,” Hotch reassures him, smiling as he runs a hand down his arm. “Now how about I make you some tea and we go and sit on the sofa?”

Spencer reluctantly agrees and moves from the safety of his bed to the comfort of his sofa, but he has to admit that the light streaming in from the big bay window and the feeling of sitting up makes him feel just a little better straight away. Once Hotch is back and placing a cup of chamomile tea into his hands, he doesn’t feel quite so much like he’s going to burst into tears at any moment.

“I have to ask, Spencer,” Hotch says carefully, “did you buy any dilaudid? Or attempt to contact your dealer?”

“Thought about it,” he admits, not meeting Hotch’s concerned eyes, “but I didn’t.”

Hotch relaxes. “Good. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Spencer looks at him with a hesitant smile that only grows when Hotch beams back.

They spend the afternoon watching nature documentaries — and Spencer admittedly dozes through a lot of them, exhausted from the burden of carrying so much pain around and the physical exertion of crying so hard — until Derek comes home at just gone five thirty.

“Hotch?” he asks, confused, and his voice wakes Spencer up from one of his unintentional naps.

He scrambles to sit upright, going inexplicably red at the thought of what he knows is coming. For some reason, he feels like he’s done something wrong and he’s about to be told off. He hates that this is what his relationship with Derek has come to.

“Hi, Derek,” Hotch says, squeezing Spencer’s ankle and getting up from the sofa. “Spencer asked me to come over earlier” — which is a bit of a stretch when really Spencer sobbed into the phone until Hotch showed up — “and I was just keeping him company until you came home.”

Derek’s eyebrows only furrow further, looking between them, confused. “Right.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says, meeting his eyes, “are you okay if I go now? You’ll tell Derek what we talked about?”

Immediately, Spencer blushes red as Derek’s scrutinising eyes fixate on him, but he nods and smiles weakly at Hotch, following him with his eyes as he lets himself out, if just to avoid meeting Derek’s.

“Pretty boy?” Derek says cautiously, slowly taking off his jacket and approaching the sofa like Spencer’s a wild animal liable to be spooked away at any given moment. He supposes it’s probably quite a good analogy, actually.

Spencer shifts nervously in his seat, moving his legs out of the way to give Derek more room to sit down on the sofa.

“You finally gonna tell me what’s been up with you these last few weeks?” Derek asks, and Spencer isn’t oblivious to the hope in his voice. “I’ve been worried about you, baby.”

Spencer nods and closes his eyes for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths to compose himself. He’s told one person, and it went fine— it went well, actually. Derek is his life partner, his soulmate, and they tell each other everything. He just needs to start at the beginning. He needs to tell him all of the disclaimers, remind him that he’s not angry at him for doing the right thing or for being the compassionate person he is, he just needs to— He needs to focus, and he needs to tell the truth.

“I called Hotch earlier because I was scared of myself,” he says, finally opening his eyes and looking into Derek’s. “I was having some of the most intense cravings I’ve had since being sober, and I was seriously considering calling my dealer, but I managed to call Hotch instead, and we talked about how I’ve been feeling.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Derek says regretfully, his face melting into the very picture of apologetic as he scoots a bit closer on the sofa so he can grab Spencer’s legs and pull them over his lap.

“I know,” Spencer replies, ignoring for now that him not being here is why they have a problem in the first place. He moves on. “I’ve been… struggling… over the last month or so with feelings that I haven’t really known how to rationalise or explain, and when I finally did make sense of them, I felt that I couldn’t share them with anyone, which is why I’ve been so distant and private. And I’m sorry for that, by the way.”

Derek just smiles, caressing his bare ankle with one hand as he rests his other over his shin.

He pauses for a moment, trying to find the best way to word his thoughts, but before he can think about it too hard, the words come spilling out, unbidden. “I’ve found it hard to reconcile your attentiveness and willingness to throw everything at helping Strauss, and the way no-one helped me with my addiction back in 2007.”

Derek’s face instantly falls, and saying the words out loud brings all the emotions he’d managed to control back again in full force, and suddenly his face is crumpling, too. Derek surges forward, moving them both until he’s situated between the sofa cushions and Spencer, cuddling him as close as he can while Spencer cries into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, baby, I’m so sorry,” he whispers, voice breaking as he begins to cry as well. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything then and I’m sorry I didn’t put two and two together to realise why you were struggling so much. I can’t believe I was so oblivious, Spence, oh God.”

They lie there for a long time, crying together as Derek runs his hands through Spencer’s hair and Spencer clings desperately to the fabric of Derek’s t-shirt.

“I was just feeling so distant from you because we weren’t spending as much time together, and I had no idea how to admit that I was feeling hurt about something that happened almost five years ago,” he continues when they’ve both calmed down again, and they’re ready to resume the conversation. “I guess I just felt… ashamed of both my feelings now and being jealous, which is so ridiculous, I had no idea how to tell anyone how I was feeling. And I’m so sorry that my lack of communication affected us so much.”

“Oh, baby,” Derek sighs, leaning in to press a kiss to Spencer’s lips. “You don’t need to be sorry. I’m sorry that I was hurting you when I should’ve known the effect my actions would have. This whole mess is on me for so many reasons.”

“Der, I don’t want you to feel guilty,” Spencer says insistently, urgently, looking at him imploringly. “You’ve apologised enough for what happened back then, and there’s no way we can change what happened. You were just being the same kind and compassionate person you always are when you were helping Strauss.” He reaches out and cups Derek’s face gently, hating the tells of guilt and self-loathing he can see all over it.

Derek sighs and moves Spencer’s hand to his lips so he can kiss his palm. “When I was sitting in that hospital room waiting for you to wake up,” he explains, “I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never let anyone down like that again. I was never going to stand back and watch anyone else I knew fall into the same trap you did. So when I realised Strauss had a drinking problem, all I saw was an opportunity to keep that promise.

“The only problem was that I was so wrapped up in doing the right thing in helping her that I wasn’t doing the right thing by you. I should’ve realised all the feelings, physical and emotional, that this would bring up for you, but I didn’t think. I’m so sorry, baby boy, I really am.”

Spencer cuddles back into Derek, burying his face in the juncture between his neck and shoulder and relaxing into the reassuring scent of his person. “I know, Der. I forgive you.”

“How about we order in some Thai for dinner from your favourite restaurant and watch some Doctor Who?” Derek suggests after a couple of minutes of silence. “I think we’re long overdue for some quality time together.”

Spencer smiles at him, feeling so much of the heaviness that’s been weighing him down over the last few weeks lift that he feels almost like he’s floating. “I think that sounds like a plan.”

They set the living room up to be as cosy as possible, lighting the candles Penelope had made for them and using only their soft lamps to light the room, before piling the couch high with blankets and pillows until they’re cuddled together in a little nest.

The evening is spent eating their favourite food and watching their favourite season of Doctor Who, and while Spencer’s still hurting and they still have healing to do, this feels like a damn good start.

“I’m proud of you,” Spencer whispers to Derek late into the night, when they’re close to falling asleep in the comfort of their blanket pile.

Derek turns to him, looking confused. “What do you mean?”

“You made a mistake when you let things get bad with my addiction back in 2007,” Spencer explains, “and when you saw someone headed down the same path, you stopped at nothing to make sure you didn’t make that mistake again. If anything shows me how much you regret not doing anything sooner, it’s your devotion to Strauss’ recovery.”

Derek smiles at him, his eyes a little watery, and holds his chin gently as he leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs. “I love you so much.”

Spencer kisses him again before cuddling back into his side. “I know you do, Derek. And I love you, too.”

And really, when it comes down to it, that’s enough.

Ahhh, this was the first fic in forever that actually felt fairly easy to write thank GOD. I loved this concept and writing that good, good angst was so much fun. Plus, we always love a happy ending in this house! Also, a reminder that how other people when you confront them with the way they hurt you or made you feel is not your responsibility.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @marsjareau @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds @wifeyprentiss @cmily @love-pyramus @notevanbuckley @thebipolarbisexualnerd (add yourself to my taglist here!)

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yee-fxcking-haw · 3 years

Text

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished.

Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his.

Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***

You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself.

You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep.

It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

"I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he?

His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box.

When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you.

***

You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat.

"I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath.

"Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease.

"So, uh- coffee?" He wonders.

"I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

"No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming.

Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass.

His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body.

They call him Dabi.

"So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling.

It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway.

"If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact.

"You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood."

Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options.

"I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter.

"Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away.

"Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice.

Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak.

"Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there.

Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder.

"Don't be late."

***

"You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

"Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something.

That must come with being a hero.

"Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink.

"No, but it helps me focus."

You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends.

"Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips.

Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward.

Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

"Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word.

"It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing.

But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes.

He can't, though… not yet.

"S-sorry…" He whispers.

And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart.

So you do want him too.

"Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly.

You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings.

"Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more.

He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you.

***

The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other.

You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him.

His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are?

You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Inside your house.

Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking.

There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook.

The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway.

They're heading straight for your bedroom.

You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock.

You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open.

"Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom.

You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall.

"Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time.

Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell.

"P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-"

Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone.

"Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement.

Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked.

"Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?"

Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning.

Suneater.

Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight.

You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him.

The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you.

"If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.

"She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki.

You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed.

The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face.

"Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically.

You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok."

His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you.

"Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you.

You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention.

"I love it." You say quietly, still trembling.

He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace?

"It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek.

You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease?

His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you.

"Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body.

"Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back.

"Anything. Anything for you."

That line, that makes you ache.

How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered.

Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

"If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch.

He feels it too, then.

Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts?

His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic.

"Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips.

Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight.

He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his.

While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in.

"I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours.

You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy.

"Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell.

"God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret.

"Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both.

You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki.

"Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him.

"I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Who said I don't want that?"

You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream.

"Fuck."

His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip.

He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly.

Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms.

He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer.

She's mine now.

Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus.

His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin.

Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds.

One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you.

After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks.

"I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame.

You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more.

Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more.

"I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it.

"You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground.

Mine.

The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart.

He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress.

You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you.

"Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek.

The question has your stomach burning with nerves.

No, nobody ever has.

You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment.

His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs.

"Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately.

His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one.

Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger.

"Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped.

Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition.

“Please…” You breathe.

And that’s all it takes.

His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back.

Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look.

“When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating.

He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush.

“Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.”

Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong.

It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up.

He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him.

“Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes.

You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you.

His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t.

“Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

“Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more.

“Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees.

Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them.

His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs.

He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you.

“I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you.

“Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions.

His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form.

“Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen.

You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said.

“Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing.

His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance.

“Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down.

You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing.

You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked.

“Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name.

By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did.

“That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again.

You? What about you?

Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy.

Not yet, don’t fuck this up.

“Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in.

Hold it. Not. Yet.

“You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise.

He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself.

“So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not.

Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view.

His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes.

“You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache.

“You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet.

You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words.

“Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged.

“I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out.

He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles.

“It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.”

The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was.

"Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair.

“There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder.

So she likes it.

Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him.

Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body.

"Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast.

It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough.

"Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you.

"I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop."

He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him.

Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting.

"Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want."

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh.

You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me."

He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused.

"Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself.

"Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me."

Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world.

"I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing.

It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are.

It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks.

Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth.

"Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough."

Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki.

He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed."

You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible.

Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you.

Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess.

Perfect.

Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth.

His quirk.

He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good.

You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams.

He hates that.

With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery.

It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good.

He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

“Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body.

The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum.

Then you feel the prodding at your entrance.

Then you really scream.

Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

"Holy fucking shit." You gasp.

He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love.

You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy.

He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it.

You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else.

As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands.

The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him.

You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin.

“You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.”

The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine.

“In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum.

“Something tells me you did too.” He whispers.

Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly.

He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.”

To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off.

“Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips.

“Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.”

He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you.

He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you.

“What do you say?” He asks.

You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.”

“Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants.

You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm.

"Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words.

A challenge.

You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it?

In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back.

Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length.

He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense.

Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling.

More more more.

"Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg.

Under control.

"Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt.

"Tell me you need me."

You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them.

He needs to feel needed.

"Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater."

Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move.

Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow.

"Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding.

And holy hell does it get you going.

"You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him.

You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip.

With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard.

"Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips.

The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls.

"Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him.

"So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?"

You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come.

"I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him.

"I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice.

The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet.

His damn quirk.

He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen.

He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

"Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position.

With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat.

Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his.

You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart.

"Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens.

You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it.

"Here, let me give that mouth something to do."

His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip.

The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you.

You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to.

"You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own.

You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you.

"You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping."

You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you.

Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips.

A pretty little mess indeed.

Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in.

"Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of.

His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing.

"You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock."

His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench.

He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you.

It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more.

“What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess.

Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips.

“So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest.

The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming.

“Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience.

“I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts.

Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock.

Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut."

He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit.

"Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it.

Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down.

He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard.

"Can you take more, angel?"

You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try.

"Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to."

He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert.

His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way.

You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration.

"You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real."

Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips.

Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion.

He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you.

With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing.

"I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you."

He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up.

"You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs.

You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look.

He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more.

She's mine. She said I have her.

The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control.

His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs.

You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you.

"I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair.

He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission.

"Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips.

You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him.

"Please, I want all of it." m.

“Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes.

It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity.

“We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit.

“You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament.

“You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his.

“Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin.

“That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again.

“Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning.

“No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.”

“That’s my girl.”

His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die.

You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface.

When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth.

“Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut.

“You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.”

His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.”

It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart.

Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.

“Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet.

Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work.

You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it.

He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction.

You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started.

“More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle.

The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more.

“Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.”

That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him.

It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you.

“I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling.

Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you.

“You’re such a good little girl.”

His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath.

"Angel?"

The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

"Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly.

The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands.

You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good."

You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you.

"You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss.

He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind.

He's allowed to feel this, he earned this.

When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind.

You don't, though.

You stay there with him, loving him and full of him.

"And you're mine."

You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more.

Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know.

It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful.

You belong to him now, and that's all that there is.

"Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance.

“You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.”

He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut.

“These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you.

“This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck.

‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes.

You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago.

“I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest.

You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession.

He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap.

Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs.

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.”

You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own.

Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration.

This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you.

He intends on keeping it that way.

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pinkchanelbag · 3 years

Text

truthfully, miserably. [m. fushiguro]

the truth came to him like a drowning man’s first breath, but came far too late; you were already long gone.

cw: literally just angst.

wc: 1.5k.

note: this doesn’t even have a plot??? it’s just me directing my bummed out energy on my poor baby megumi i feel so bad i have to like write him fluffly headcanons or something after this.

“you’re lying.”

megumi stiffened his body to suppress the shudder that passed through him. he worried that those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

how terrifying it was to watch himself become undone by those two words. he’d known himself to be an honest man, a good man. it didn’t ever occur to him that lying about something as intangible, inconsequential as his own feelings could hurt someone; could make him a worse person.

“it’s not the right time. i’m too busy to worry about you more than i already do. i can’t worry about your feelings too.”

it had been a harsh statement but an been an easy lie. so easy that he was mildly convinced of it himself until the moment you’d pulled it to pieces before him and turned your back on him with a suitcase in one hand.

you’re lying.

a dark feeling manifested in his gut at knowing those were your last words to him. knowing the last time you looked upon him, your face was pulled into something like disbelief, hurt, hopelessness, and tears sat in your eyes but didn’t fall. it was the face of a person spread thin, a person giving up.

the night was windy enough for it to be noticeable. the breeze tossed megumi’s hair before his eyes and obscured his vision of the train station.

he had stayed behind when the first and second years and gojo sensei accompanied you in farewell.

“you sure?” gojo sensei had asked with a titled head and rare genuine empathy.

“don’t think she’d want me there.” part of him had believed it to be true, but another part of him, the part that sneered at his cowardice knew it was also because he hadn’t come to terms with his own actions. he hadn’t been ready to face you after being hit with the crushing reality of his own deceit. part of him couldn’t make himself process that the hurt in your face wasn’t because of his words, but because of the fact that you knew they weren’t true.

gojo had simply sighed, paused for a few beats before saying,

“utahime will text me as soon as she’s picked her up from the station.” the sorcerer’s intuition had let him on to the circumstances, and it was that intuition that knew megumi would benefit from being reassured of the girl’s whereabouts. knowing this, megumi had thanked his sensei with deep sincerity, a rarity of his own.

he didn’t even know why he’d come. you’d departed before the sun had gone down. a creeping feeling told him it was because he should have been there. a part of him felt like he’d arrived several hours late to the most important encounter of his life.

he supposed he was here because it was the last place he knew for a fact that you’d been in; that a few hours ago, you stood on the platform. maybe your fingers tapped against the handle of your suitcase like they often did when you felt anticipatory. maybe you smiled at the others with your eyes and hugged them with your whole body. you’d always had a way of pouring every single thing in your heart and mind into your interactions—your eyes, words, your touch. megumi had always seen it as both powerful and stupid. you were truer than any other person he’d ever met. your heart teetered on your sleeve, but it was by no means weak. you felt with no shame or inhibition, and it was your superpower. but the way you couldn’t—wouldn’t—mask your feelings in any way made you an exposed nerve. you were all offence and no defence. at first, to megumi, it was irritating. he hadn’t liked being called out or being slapped in the face by your vulnerability and not knowing what to do with it.

then he came to know you. irritation turned to apprehensiveness; the feeling of wanting to grab you by the shoulders and shake you into some sense. to tell you to not be so open. a feeling as if he was constantly worrying about a toddler falling off a cliff. but you never changed, and he got somewhat used to it. and then he knew it was you, and knew he wouldn’t want you differently. then, unexpectedly, he came to like, even to admire, that quality in you. the anxiety never went away. all that had changed was that the more time he spent around you, the more he needed to protect your heart as you never would.

it’s not the right time.

it was a lie. and he of all people should’ve known better than to believe it. after having lost too many people far too soon in his life, he should’ve known that time becomes inconsequential, in the end. he should’ve known that you knew, which justified your look of incredulousness at his words. he wondered if you, with your terrifying ability to see through his every atom, had known that he didn’t truly mean to lie, because he had convinced himself of something that wasn’t true. megumi’s own heart answered painfully. of course you’d known. how long had you been wrestling with his iron-grip emotions before you gave up on trying to help him see truth?

it had taken far too many hours, but the initial shock and cowardice had just about worn off. on the dark, empty platform, megumi faced himself. not for his sake—for yours. for what you had been trying to do for him before he’d pushed you away more times than even your kind soul could handle.

with a lump in his throat, he thought about and acknowledged that as much as he should’ve known to cherish people before they were gone, he equally held himself back from growing close to anyone for fear of how badly their loss would hurt him. your closeness scared him more than any other because he knew that if anything ever happened to you, anything at all, he’d never be the same. it wouldn’t matter if you healed from whatever physical or emotional scars had been caused. megumi would never be able to feel like he belonged to the same world that had done you harm. his fists clenched in anger. and what had he done, exactly? he’d been the one to hurt you in a selfish pursuit of preservation.

you’re lying.

he’d been lying. he could own up to that now. he had to make his amends in some way, and not in hopes that it’ll make you give him another chance, but because you did what he hadn’t. you’d acted selflessly for his sake. you’d tried to help him be better, you’d tried to love him and to tell him—because i like you, fushiguro—to tell him that and whether or not you were around or would ever be around again to witness it, he would be better. and he’d start with this.

what’s the truth?

there was little thinking involved in what happened next. it wasn’t a conscious thought at all. it wasn’t so different from finally emerging from too much time spent underwater and the way your body pulls a dizzyingly deep breath into your lungs without your conscious decision or consent. for megumi, that was what it felt like to realize he loved you.

he choked on a sob as the words piled into existence. i love you.

he’d never been open emotionally, particularly with intimate feelings. that was why the conviction and forwardness with which he felt this truth shocked him—or would have, if he could’ve focused on anything else. vaguely he wondered if this is how you felt all your emotions. with such ferocious acceptance that no one could possibly mold them into weakness when they felt so much like strength.

i love you.

his body was nearly aglow with it. it bubbled up inside him and threatened to spill over.

“i..i love you.”

for just a moment, two opposite universes crossed. he stood inside that unfulfilled reality, where on this platform on this day he’d arrived before the sun had fallen and said those words to your listening ears rather than to deserted train tracks. he looked between himself and the reality where he’d done right by time, and he didn’t know which was the ghost.

“i love you.”

he spoke the words to the wind, and it heard him and whistled in empathy, but it would not carry his message to you.

“i love you...i love you.”

megumi watched those words that scalded the inside of his mouth materialize only to be carried out of existence. without you to hear them, they meant nothing, no matter how much they felt like breathing fire. but for all their uselessness, he didn’t dare to not say them, even as they burned his lips. for one thing, they were the truth.

“i love you,” he said miserably. “i love you. i love you. i love you.”

right person, wrong time. how backwards a saying that was. he scoffed tearfully. not even the watery eyes took away from the dry, bitter expression on his face. he was the one—he had wronged time. how long had he spent deluding himself about all the reasons he should let you go? the timing had always been right—he was what was wrong. and now you’d broken his heart like he’d broken yours. his tears sunk and hid into his pores and his face turned to stone, and you were gone, and he’d never love again.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi headcanons #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro imagine #megumi oneshot #megumi smut #jjk x reader #jjk angst #fushiguro x reader #nia.megumi #nia.txt

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact.

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication.

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive.

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.”

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both."

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours.

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it.

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night.

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again.

Oh, he was so fucked.

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you.

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood.

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you.

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey.

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.”

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble.

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek.

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face.

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much.

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends."

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks.

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises.

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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slightlymore · 4 years

Text

no, thank you

part of the Pride Universe

jaemin x fem reader

others: haechan (mentioned in jaemin's thoughts but not present in the real plot)

genre: smut with plot, roommates au, mentions of university (jaemin is a med student), angst, fluff, very +18 tho

warnings: very! rough! smut! (brat taming, oral, masturbation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, denial, slight degradation, restriction, manhandling, bath tub is one of the locations), short mentions of mlm (jaemin x haechan fwb in the past), yn comes off rude in the beginning but it's necessary for character development, yn has an anxiety attack, angsty

words: 11.3K

this is kinda good if I say so myself, yall have to read 👁️ if you don't like mlm or memberxmember I promise it's just a short bit of fluff/angst connecting it to Cute~ and that's all lol, the plot is very jaeminxreader centered

Jaemin has been told that he can't say no to people. Yes, he will come to the party. Yes, he can help with the moving out. Yes, he can help you with Anatomy. Yes, that kind of anatomy as well.

The only time Jaemin would say no is when people would ask if he’s busy or tired. No, I’m fine. No, everything is alright.

"Do you ever sleep, Jaemin?" Haechan asked once.

His soft and sleepy voice made Jaemin smile. He wrapped the boy’s waist even tighter, tugging Haechan’s body against his.

“Of course I do.” Haechan chuckled. “When?” “When you’re not here”, the other whispered. “Lies. You’re studying when I’m not here. Look at what kind of service I’m doing. Fucking you so that you can just lie in bed and fall asleep.” Jaemin smiled again and ghosted Haechan’s forehead with his lips ready to place a kiss on the other’s warm skin. He stopped himself before doing so. “Yeah, thank you for your service.”

But since Haechan started to date some guy, there was no one to force him into bed and make Jaemin rest.

The boy would drift off to unconsciousness for a little while every night, head pressed into his med school books, mind full of notions and caffeine. He would stay like that for an indefinite amount of time, not enough to fully fall asleep but enough to being shaken to the core when he would wake up, batting his eyelashes as his unfocused gaze tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then he would get up slowly from his uncomfortable chair and drag his feet to the kitchen to make his nth cup of coffee for the night.

Jaemin has never had a roommate and it was probably because of Haechan. Said boy wouldn’t have cared less if someone was in the other room, listening to their moans, but Jaemin didn’t like that. Instead, he loved it when Haechan would pull up to his doorstep unannounced, eyes either wide with tears or tight with lust. Because the choice was Jaemin. It was always Jaemin. Haechan needed him and Jaemin loved it. He couldn’t have other distractions. No flatmates knocking on the door and complaining. Just him and Haechan, on his bed, on the couch, on the kitchen counters, against the entrance door, on the floor, in the shower. Jaemin didn’t know, but it wasn’t just him doing Haechan a favour, maybe quite the opposite. Because Jaemin has been also told that he doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t let people know about his needs, or whatever. But Haechan was aware of that. It took Jaemin a little while to notice it, especially since the other was already gone, but more often than not, Haechan would just show up for no apparent reason. “Nothing happened,” he would say, “I was just horny.” But Haechan would come for him. Because that’s how Haechan was. He could see people very well and he could see Jaemin when he needed something, or when he was exhausted and needed a simple hug, or when he didn’t sleep in days or having eaten nothing more than a single cup of instant noodles. They were friends with benefits but the benefits sometimes were just lying beside each other and talk, or order in some food while watching a movie. Sometimes they would just kiss for a long time, during nights where Haechan felt weaker, and those were Jaemin’s favourite nights. “You should sleep now,” the older would whisper against his lips and Jaemin would reply with a short-breathed yeah, in a second, before letting his tongue inside the other’s mouth slowly for another hour or so. Some people might have said that Jaemin was in love, but the boy had no idea himself whether that was the case or not and he didn’t want to think about that. Jaemin didn’t like thinking at all. But he loved it when others did and he loved to think about their thoughts instead of his own. He wanted to know people’s reasons and why they behaved in a certain manner so that he could understand himself without actively trying to.

“So, what do you think?” Jaemin was standing proud in the middle of his spot-free living room, hands on his hips, like a housewife expecting compliments from her housewive friends.

“Could be better,” you mumbled, biting your nails, barely looking around.

When you found Jaemin’s pretty written paper renting a room on the university notice board, you did assume he was a girl.

“What could be better?” he smiled at you.

You stared back, sensing sarcasm but upon seeing the boy’s genuine expression you realized how naive he was.

“I don’t know. The roommate maybe?” you rolled your eyes and walked towards your assigned room, dragging your suitcase carelessly on the nice wooden floor. “I’m staying, by the way,” you yelled after closing your door with your foot with a loud bang.

____

You have been told a lot of stuff during your life. Selfish, rude, uncaring, insensitive.

It would make you angry.

You would yell back that it’s not true making people step back and add some more adjectives that you wouldn’t want to use while describing yourself in class.

You fought that back a lot, crying secretly under your covers, terrorized of being alone by yourself, afraid of being alone with such a bad person.

You fought and fought until one day you just stared back at those people.

So what? you found yourself thinking. Perhaps I am. Yeah. I am selfish and I don’t give a shit. So what about that? What are you all going to do?

And when you ignored people, they started to ignore you as well.

And slowly, everyone knew that no, you would not help them with their homework, no, you didn’t want to go to their stupid party, no, you didn’t give a shit about their new college charity event.

And you didn’t give a single fuck about Jaemin’s rules.

“So, you can actually do whatever you want, really. The only things I ask of you is-,” he tried to speak to you the first morning of you living together.

You turned your music loudly on purpose the previous night as you settled in. You wanted to see the boy come knocking on your door and finally throw away his polite mask as everyone does around you after a few minutes of knowing you. Because you’re rude and it’s better for them to just know that from the start.

The thing you hated the most was people giving you a little hope, that maybe you’re likeable and they wouldn’t turn their backs on you. Yet, you’ve quickly realized that it is impossible. Not with you. Not since you’re such a horrible person.

“Yeah, I don’t care,” you replied, one of Jaemin’s red apples between your teeth, a little juice glistening on your lips after you bit down. They were prettily on display in the middle of the kitchen island with a little vase of fresh flowers kept them company on the right.

The boy looked at your mouth for a second before locking eyes with you. “Okay,” he simply replied grabbing an apple himself. “I’m glad you like apples. I was afraid they would go to waste-,” but he didn’t complete the sentence, one hand suspended in the air, eyes wide as you let the piece of apple you were munching on fall on the ground as well as the fruit you were holding.

“These apples are actually disgusting,” you commented then you both listened to the sound the apple made as it rolled into the living room and stopped as it met the soft rug.

That was it.

It wasn’t your fault that this boy had more patience than your previous flatmates and you had to go stronger on him.

Kick me out? Are you going to kick me out now? Come on. Kick me out.

But Jaemin didn’t look mad.

After the initial confusion, he just put his apple back on top of the others and grabbed a paper towel. He knelt in front of you as you stood there with crossed arms and picked up your half munched bite of fruit and threw it away. Then he walked the few steps separating the kitchen island to the living room and picked up the apple as well, giving it the same journey towards the trash.

You scoffed.

Jaemin still didn’t say anything and grabbed a pan out of the cabinets. “I’m making pancakes,” he announced calmly. “I don’t like pancakes,” you acted like a kid but the feeling gripping at your throat was something new and you didn’t know how to behave.

This Jaemin guy made you angrier than other people.

Jaemin turned around to face you. “What do you like, Y/N?”

You stared back for a few seconds at his neutral and unbothered face, then shoulder bumped him as you walked away. Grabbing your backpack from the ground you just slammed the entrance door on your way out.

You knew you were annoying. You also hated yourself just like everyone hated you. But you couldn’t help it. It has happened before. You let yourself believe that maybe you were kind and sweet, that you had a caring heart, that people would like you. Yet, soon after, they would finally realize that you weren’t like that at all. That you were a monster trying to put on an act. So you liked the idea of people seeing the worst you could be first, so they could just leave if they couldn’t handle it.

And no one could. Yet this Jaemin dude didn't budge.

You came home late that day and you noticed the way Jaemin turned off his music as he heard you enter your room.

God, you hated him.

And the morning after he was already in the kitchen, hair wet on his forehead, a white towel around his neck.

He smiled like an angel.

"Eggs and bacon?"

You ignored him.

And the morning after again. "Fruit?" Door slam.

And another morning again. "Maybe cappuccino and croissants?" he wondered. Again.

"Porridge?" "Okay! Okay. Fuck. Okay", you finally replied.

It was the weekend and you had no excuse to dramatically leave the apartment as you did the previous days when you had to go to class. You were standing in the same spot in front of the kitchen island as the first day when you made a fool out of yourself by spitting out a piece of an apple.

"I'm fine with whatever,” you added quietly. "Toast?" Jaemin raised his eyes from underneath his fringe before his hand could throw the locks back revealing the forehead.

You shrugged.

He smiled excitedly and got busy around the cabinets, the scent of his aftershave intimidating you.

Walking around him silently you sat up on the kitchen stools, placing your hands on the marble and looked down, uneasy. It was alright if Jaemin was kind now then would start hate you afterwards. You could rest for a little bit, right? You could just put down your shield and breathe. It’s not like you would become friends if the made you breakfast.

"How did the week go? You guys have many exams?" Jaemin's voice slightly startled you.

Looking up you saw that he was already looking at you, two white plates in front of him with two pieces of hot toast. You stared back for a second then looked at the way his hands spread jam on the bread.

"It was alright," you found yourself speaking.

How was yours? You probably should have asked. But you didn't care and you were afraid to randomly engage in more than a few words long conversations.

"Here," Jaemin placed the food in front of you then he licked his thumb. Thank you, you should have said. But Jaemin didn't look bothered.

After a few moments of silence during which you couldn't bring yourself to start eating, Jaemin sighed like a British person would while slapping their knees when announcing they should go.

"Alright. I'll eat in my room. I have a lot of stuff to do,” he announced and left with the plate. You stared at his back as he lazily dragged his feet towards the corridor and when you heard his door close you finally tasted the toast.

_____

A scared cat. An angry and scared cat.

This was the first thing Jaemin thought when he saw you.

Honestly, he almost lost it on the first day but kept it in together when he saw the way your hands trembled while being confronted. Then all of his anger died.

No, I don't care, you told him yet you didn't turn up your music loudly again after the first night and you never bothered him. It was almost as if you weren't even there.

What a nicely crafted facade, Jaemin would think, hands behind his head, a pencil between his lips, an open manual on his chest, eyes directed towards an indefinite point on his ceiling.

It was very late at night. His phone buzzed once and the boy stared at the "apartment empty, wanna come?" text.

Yeah, he could use some of that.

And he would have been at his friend's place by now if a weird noise wouldn't have stopped him from putting on his shoes.

It was coming from your room, a small choked sound, barely audible that Jaemin wouldn't have heard it in other circumstances. He walked the corridor slowly until gently stopping in front of you door, a slight blush covering his cheeks. Could it be-?

But no.

Jaemin heard a fair share of whimpering girls before and you definitely weren't enjoying yourself. So he knocked, suddenly worried. "Y/N?" You didn't reply, only a little whimper being caught by Jaemin's ears. "Y/N, is everything alright?" He waited, face almost pressed on the cool wood. Another choking sound and "I'm coming in, now,” he announced and you couldn't stop him.

Sat on your bed, wet cheeks from crying and irregular breaths, you looked up like a scared deer, sliding back when Jaemin walked towards you. "Shh, it's alright," he whispered with a calm voice, hands in front of himself as he sat down in front of you.

"Don't touch me. Go away," you flinched, hiding your face from his gaze.

Jaemin had a reassuring face when he spoke again. "I won't touch you if you don’t want me to."

"Go away. Leave me alone," you repeated with a feeble voice, arms pulling your knees to your chest.

Jaemin looked at you for a few moments, your baby blue pyjama and irregular breath, then he gently sat down on the bed in front of you and crossed his legs.

"Do you take medicine?" he asked softly. You shook your head. "Okay. Then, will you look at me?" You sobbed and furtively raised your eyes to meet his for a short moment before looking away. "It's alright. You're doing great." Jaemin's voice was low, articulating every word slowly and he didn't move. "It's scary, I know. But there's no danger now. I'm protecting you." His eyes were trained on your face and you finally let yourself stare back fully.

"Imitate me," he spoke again, breathing in and out slowly. A little sob escaped your lips before you could do the same.

"Good. You're doing amazing. Slowly," he cooed and you did just that for an indeterminate amount of times, the silence engulfig you both until you looked down and saw your fingers wrapped around Jaemin's hands.

You let them go surprised but your palms liked how soothing touching another human’s skin felt.

His was soft and warm, and you concentrated on the way the heat spread to your cold hands, holding them again timidly.

Then you let yourself fall on the pillows, eyes looking up at the ceiling, the sobs getting more time between each other.

Jaemin remained still for a moment, as if unsure what to do, then he slowly moved to the side, walking on all fours until resting on the bed beside you.

A little stronger whine shook your frame again though and he slightly rolled over, rising on his elbow the other hand above your body.

"I'm-- going to touch your diaphragm. Is this alright?"

You bit your lower lip then nodded.

"Okay, breathe in again, keep it for one second, then release slowly."

You inhaled, staring at Jaemin's big eyes as if looking for approval. His hand ghosted your stomach until finally resting on your body right underneath your bust.

"That's right," he spoke softly. "Now, again.”

You repeated the exercise, feeling Jaemin's warm palm through the clothes every time your rib cage expanded.

"Again," he breathed in with you, keeping it, then releasing it.

After a while your mind felt like white, blood fully oxygenated, Jaemin’s non-invading and calming presence actually making you feel better.

Yet your heartbeat couldn't stop beating and Jaemin could feel it.

"Again," his low voice made your arms skin shiver with goosebumps, your breathing getting irregular instead of steady.

"Focus on my hand and your breath," he said but his gaze falling on your slightly open lips wasn't helping you focus at all.

He blinked and looked up into your eyes again.

It was even worse. "Jaemin, I'm fine now.”

The boy blinked a few times and retrieved his hand slowly.

Your breath calmed down and Jaemin took it for a good sign since he returned to his side of the bed.

It became silent so suddenly that you could hear Jaemin swallow.

Thank you? Thank you for being here? Or, thank you for helping me out. Sorry for slapping your hand away? Is this what you should have said, right?

“Then, I’ll be going now,” his soft voice disrupted the silence and your bed creaked in the darkness as he presumably got up.

No, wait, wait.

"Why do I become like this at night?" you whispered instead.

Jaemin’s silhouette against your dark blue windows moved around and lied on the bed again, this time on his stomach, bust raised on his elbows, eyes probably on the shadows of your face.

"It's because the front part of your brain gets quieter and gives space to the other parts of your brain where feelings are."

"Why do you always have a good answer to everything?"

You heard Jaemin's breath form a light chuckle.

"Many people told me that before."

"Okay, right."

"No, wait, I meant that- I'm not bragging, sorry--it came out very weirdly."

You smiled, the dark and sudden sleepiness making you care less about keeping up your cold image.

"You want to be a psychiatrist?" "I don't know."

You turned on your side, hands pressed under your face, knees buckled until almost touching his hips. "Why is that?"

Jaemin sighed. "I don't know if I'm good at helping people."

The laugh you let out took both of you by surprise. "Are you joking?"

The boy exhumed perplexed energy even if you couldn’t see him properly.

"You're a human matt with weird gigantic patience. You'll help people alright." "A human mat?" Jaemin raised his eyebrow at you but you still noticed the amused twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, you have no self-esteem,” you went on. "I have self-esteem," the other protested. "If you did, you wouldn’t let people treat you like that."

Jaemin let the clock on your wall fill the silence with its ticks for a little while.

"Like what?" he whispered.

You rolled on your back, unable to look at him anymore. "Like how I treat you."

"So you're aware of that."

"So you're aware of that as well but choose to ignore it instead of fighting back?"

Jaemin rolled on his back as well, hand rising to his forehead and ruffling his fringe.

You stared at the way the strands fell back exposing his forehead then you looked at his furrowed eyebrows and finally at his lips when he opened them to speak. "What's the point in fighting back?"

A car roared outside your open window, giving you more time to collect your thoughts.

"What's the point in being stupidly kind like that?" you finally spoke up. Your voice was a little whisper as if you secretly wanted Jaemin to not hear you. But he did.

"So I can live by my principles." "And are you happy?"

Ah.

Shit.

Jaemin was at a loss of words.

"Isn't it better to just be yourself and do whatever the fuck you want?" you went on. "Like you?" he finally spoke up. "Yeah." "But you're not doing what you want.”

It was your turn to have no words to choose from.

"You're not yourself, are you?" he asked. "I am," but your voice didn't seem convincing even to your ears. "People are not going to like you more if you behave as you do," you added. "And what should I do to make people like me?" Jaemin inquired. "Nothing. Just be yourself."

Jaemin sat up slowly and briefly looked out of the window.

"Then you should follow this advice as well. Stop putting on this act."

You didn't sleep the whole night after Jaemin slowly exited your room.

_____

The next day you already left when Jaemin got up and walked to the kitchen.

He heard you leave actually. He couldn't sleep the whole night either.

Are you happy? Are you yourself?

No. After turning and rolling on his bed Jaemin got to the conclusion that he wasn't happy or himself at all.

Not all the time at least.

Because most of the times he did care about people, but he could also point out times when he did too much for no reason, getting back nothing but a bittersweet taste on his tongue.

When he came back home after class, an intense sweet fragrance welcomed him first as he stepped inside. With the back turned at him and wearing his black apron, you were frantically looking for something in the kitchen cabinets.

Jaemin indulged in looking at you for a little while, a fizzy feeling inside his chest, small happiness created by moments like finding money in an old jacket, a little surprise you didn’t need but that made your day better.

How would it feel to behave like you? Would Jaemin be able to do it?

At first, Jaemin wondered why you were like that, but after the previous night, he hit his head with an imaginary palm, feeling stupid for not realizing it earlier.

You were just like him.

Hiding something in front of people.

He cleared his throat and smiled when you jolted with a little scream. “For fuck’s sake.”

Yeah, you were hiding the little girl he saw crying on her bed and he was hiding the needy little boy that so desperately wanted to be loved.

“I’m sorry for startling you,” he let his bag fall on the floor as he sat on the kitchen stools in front of you. “Are those cookies?” he indicated the oven with his chin.

You adjusted your clothes as if suddenly realizing how embarrassing it was to wear an apron.

“Why ask obvious questions?”

Jaemin’s smile widened until showing his teeth and you felt like either fight him or run away from his eyes. What a weirdo, you thought. It was almost as if he was enjoying your moodiness.

“Are you looking for something?” he asked again. You crossed your arms on your chest and Jaemin thought that seizing you in the act of being domestic was something that highly embarrassed you.

He loved it.

“No.” The boy rested his head on one arm, tilting his head to the side, already knowing what you were trying to do before. “Shall we decorate the cookies together? I can make the icing. The colouring is in the other cabinet.”

You turned around and stared at the only place you didn’t look before. “I wasn’t trying to decorate them,” you lied.

Jaemin lifted his hands as if innocent. “Never said that,” then smiled as you rolled your eyes.

“Do you have plans tonight?” he walked around you to retrieve the decorations and you felt your breath hitch when he had to press himself on your back. “Because the cookies have to cool down first,” Jaemin explained.

You didn’t reply and untied your apron, suddenly regretting your decision to remain in the kitchen instead of hiding in your room.

“Watch a movie with me, please?”

The “no” was already on the tip of your tongue but then you heard the “please” and your eyes moved to Jaemin’s face by themselves. His hands were pressing into the isle, shoulders raised as if he was trying to lift himself, the evident nervousness in his expression making you feel at a loss of words.

You didn’t expect Jaemin to be shy. Why was he shy? To ask you to watch a movie with him? That made him shy?

“Okay.”

His eyes widened. “Okay?”

You almost laughed at how surprised he was and you had to admit that seeing him run around the kitchen to get to the living room was pretty adorable.

A little sigh, as if a warning, left your lungs when you walked towards the couch. You were probably doing a mistake, but Jaemin - God - Jaemin was so kind.

Watching his back as he was sat down on his knees in front of the tv, so eager to spend some time with you, even if it was fake, even if he didn’t really care, made your heart swell up. No one has behaved like that before. Maybe it was alright.

“Okay, but I choose the movie,” you extended the hand and Jaemin got up, placing the remote controller on your palm. His smile never left his lips as you shuffled the options. “What about this?” Jaemin read the description with squinty eyes. "Oh, I don't like happy endings." You looked at him. "Why is that?"

The boy remained quiet for a moment.

"I think it's because you relate a lot to a sad story and it describes your life so well that you get mesmerized in it. You finally feel understood. Others are going through the same struggles. But then they get a happy ending and- you don't.”

Jaemin’s fingers played with one of the threads of his shorts and you blinked at his unexpected words.

“It becomes a reminder of how your life could go if you were lucky like them. But you're not. That's when you can't relate anymore and it becomes even sadder. Instead of being a sort of relief, the happy ending is another punch in the gut, since I'll never be able to experience something like that,” he smiled after the last phrase as if he had just said that the best colour to decorate the cookies was blue.

Suddenly it felt as if the reality was altered.

Jaemin's face was a concentrated mask, trying to read other movies descriptions and you desperately wanted to touch it with your fingertips.

But you touched the back of his hand instead and Jaemin looked down at his thigh before looking up.

You didn’t know what expression you had on but the boy was so good at understanding people that you could have had a blank face and he would have known what you were feeling.

He smiled warmly at you and held your hand, squeezing it a little bit.

“I’m fine.” “It’s alright to be weak,” you almost talked on top of him. “Or to have desires.”

Jaemin opened his mouth and closed it a few times like a fish and you both jolted when the ding of the oven told that the cookies were baked.

The boy reluctantly let your hand go when you got up and walked towards the kitchen.

The smell was incredible and despite the weird saddened energy of the room, you both smiled at each other when locking eyes.

_____

Jaemin got used to your love language very quickly.

After cookies, came breakfast, and after that, it was the turn of a small gadget you found at the flea market.

“It’s so ugly that the first person I thought of was you.”

You still kept the insulting wall but Jaemin loved that part of you as well.

He ate your gratitude made of sweets and desserts, and looked at it in bed, rolling the little bald man made of wood on his palm.

A night Jaemin would think a lot about, was when you were hammered, bodies spread on the living room floor, eyes closed, soft music in the background to make the ambience less awkward. But you didn’t care about awkwardness as soon enough, the only thing your dizzy heads could think of was nothing at all.

With a wavering hand, Jaemin felt around him, searching for the bottle of “you’ve never tasted such good cognac before, I’m sure” cognac that Haechan sent him.

And the “Oh, perhaps I’m getting engaged :P”.

Jaemin stared at the note for a long time then stared at the bottle of amber liquid, his hands gripping it hard.

You took it from his hands before he could unreasonably smash it on the ground.

“Are you okay?”

The bottle was put down on the kitchen counter and Jaemin looked at it first then at your concerned eyes, as you’ve started to do more often lately.

Jaemin didn’t know what expression he had on but whatever it was, it made you take a few steps towards him when he didn’t reply.

“Yeah,” he breathed out after a little while, trying to put on his normal smile. But when you wrapped his waist with your arms he didn’t stop the tears falling silently on his cheeks.

He did not sob, nor wail. Jaemin just stood there, arms unable to hug you back. And when you dragged him by the hand, the bottle under your arm, making him sit down on the floor, he just obliged.

“Let’s drink to that.”

And Jaemin didn’t know if you meant his broken heart or Haechan’s happiness but he nodded and took a sip of the sweet drink. The bottle travelled back and forth between you until you couldn’t sit up anymore.

Lying down, the sun setting, the same few songs playing on a loop since no one had the energy to change the playlist, Jaemin couldn’t find the bottle anymore so he just grabbed your hand instead.

You didn’t say anything and intertwined your fingers with his, mind circling the spot Jaemin’s thumb was circling on your skin.

"I feel like people love me for how I make them feel.”

The boy’s voice was hoarse and it made your chest tingle.

You listened, squeezing his hand as to invite him to go on.

“I know everything about them. I know how to make them feel good. I listen and I love. I love a lot.”

“You do.”

Jaemin swallowed hard.

You didn’t have to look to know that his cheeks were wet again.

“I tried to be perfect. So I could be loved back.”

“You don’t have to do that. You just got an example of that not working very well anyway.”

A sniff.

“I know. But the little amount I still get now, would it be there if I didn’t try as hard as I’m trying right now? Would people care about me if I wasn't perfect? Would they love me if I didn't do what they need me to? Honestly, I'm terrified to find out.”

You sighed and let his hand go, rolling on your stomach and lifting your bust on our forearms to be able to look at Jaemin.

The boy opened his reddened eyes and tilted his head to the side to meet your gaze.

“If you try so hard and still get so little, you don’t need that love.”

Jaemin blinked once, listening to your soothing voice, the evening breeze lightly swooshing his hair spread around his head.

“As you said, they probably still love you for how you make them feel and not for how you are,” and Jaemin visibly flinched at the hard truth. “But,” you grabbed his hand again, not wanting to let him despair, “there are also people that love you because of who you are, even if you confuse them with those that love you for what you do. And I’m sure Haechan is one of them, it just didn’t go well.” “It didn’t have to go well. It has never been something that could go. It’s just my fault that-” but you shushed him pulling at his hand as to make him stop talking. “You can still admit that he hurt you. He didn’t do it on purpose but it’s not your fault either. And it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t care about you. Sometimes you can try very hard and people would still not care in the same way that you do, and it’s alright. It’s not you. It’s them.”

Jaemin kept his eyes closed as you talked, his chest rising with deep breaths and you placed a hand on it just like he did to you before.

“Do you like me?”

His question took you by surprise.

“You can say no. I’m sorry, I’m putting a lot of pressure on you right now-” “I do.”

The boy opened his eyes, staring at you from underneath his long lashes. “Why?”

You stared down at your intertwined fingers. The truth was that you also liked him for how he made you feel. He never snapped, he accepted you, he tried hard to get to you and it was something that you’ve never experienced before. But what does that also mean about him?

“Because you’re a beautiful human being.”

Jaemin’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

“You’re kind and patient and so sweet. And I know that it looks as if I’m saying only the stuff that has to do with me, like, you’re kind with me, and patient with me and sweet with me. But honestly, I would have liked you even if you were like that with other people and not with me.”

You looked up at his face and bit your lower lip. “Also, would you not like me if I understood you the way you understand others? Would that be only loving the way I make you feel? Would that be a bad thing?” “It’s a bad thing only if you were kind to me only to be loved back when in reality you’re not.” “Yeah. And you’re not doing that, are you? You think you’re not deserving of love without trying to be kind but you’re naturally like that, Jaemin. You’re just unhealthily pushing yourself sometimes. It’s not like you’d stop being kind if you stopped trying. Because you’re already kind. And people will love you the same.”

The boy didn’t add anything to that.

He pulled you by the hand until you softly landed on his chest and wrapped your body with his arms.

You could feel his quick heartbeat under your chest and he probably could feel yours. His warm breath caressed your forehead until you fell asleep.

_____

The day after, Jaemin was the usual boy.

His teeth were the first thing you saw when you woke up with a groan. “Good morning.”

You furrowed your eyebrows when your eyes focus on the background. “What the hell am I doing in your bed?”

Jaemin giggled and tugged your body against his, making you realize that he has been hugging you the whole time.

“Let me go!” you tried to escape but Jaemin didn’t budge.

“We’re just cuddling,” his muffled voice on the sweatshirt you were wearing sounded whiny and sleepy.

“Why are we cuddling? What the fuck happened last night?”

Your body stiffened when Jaemin threw a leg on your hips like a koala.

“Nothing. We got drunk and cried, then we fell asleep on the floor.”

You waited.

“And then I woke up and took ourselves on my bed where we cuddled some more until falling asleep again.”

You waited some more.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Jaemin.” The boy raised his face from your shoulder to show you his innocent puppy eyes. “Like what?” “Like why I have nothing on besides your hoodie.”

Jaemin’s face lit up in a bright smile and he hid his face into you again as if shy.

“You were thirsty and drank water from the tap.”

“And?” you were losing all of your patience while your cheeks heated up.

“And your clothes got all wet.”

“Jaemin, for fuck’s sake, talk normally. Did you undress me?”

The boy shook his head. “You took them off by yourself,” he paused. “While trying to give me a lap dance.”

You choked on air and tried to cover your face with your hands, but Jaemin’s koala arms prevented you from doing so.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

“But you just took your clothes off and fell on me. Nothing happened. I forced you to wear my hoodie. Then you wanted to cuddle and we fell asleep as you kept saying how pretty my eyelashes are.”

Oh my God.

“And that’s it?” you asked with a little voice.

Jaemin looked at you again and his face was so close that you felt as if on fire, the thought of being naked in front of him and doing stuff you couldn’t remember at all.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

You hit him on the forehead and as he giggled, hands pressing on the spot, you could free yourself and run away in your room.

It was something you would have never imagined, the feeling between your legs.

You breathed in and out, trying to calm yourself, but your skin still remembered where Jaemin’s hands were placed just seconds ago. And his breath on your neck. And your eyes couldn’t get rid of his sunlit chocolate eyes.

Oh, fuck.

This shouldn’t have happened.

You didn’t predict this happening at all and it made you go crazy just like the heat spreading through your body as your hand slipped down your stomach. You didn’t think. Your mind was blank and your fingers moved on their own, teeth biting your lower lip, knees buckling until your frame slipped on the door and meeting the floor. Legs open and back pressed onto the hard wood, you closed your eyes and gasped, hoping that Jaemin’s hangover ears could not hear you.

_____

Jaemin loved how things started to go between you. Bad mannered and moody, you still snapped at him but didn’t run away when he would laugh and pull you into his arms.

Perhaps Jaemin was making a mistake. The same mistake all over again.

Perhaps he was giving and giving, thinking the other party felt the same, but he didn’t care anymore. That’s how he was. He wasn’t trying. He felt like hugging you and kissing your forehead just to hear your scream, loving the little smile blooming on your lips when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He bathed into your silent affection and soon your affection became something else he wouldn’t have expected.

“I think you should stay at home.”

Jaemin adjusted his raincoat with furrowed eyebrows. You were standing near the wall of the corridor and watched him about to go out in the pouring rain.

“Jaemin. There’s a storm outside. Your friend can just call a tow truck or something.”

The boy has been in a rare bad mood for a little while that day and when he heard that his friend got a flat tire his mood didn’t get any better. And now, with you looking at him as if he was doing something wrong when his conscience was telling him it was the right choice made him unreasonable angry. Because he knew that he should probably listen to you.

“I know.”

You huffed. “Then tell him to go fuck himself and stay home.” Jaemin let his shoe fall down on the floor annoyed. “Why do you care so much suddenly?” and while saying it he was already regretting it but was unable to stop. “You’ve hated me since day one and now you care about my well-being?”

You tightened your lips. “I don’t hate you. I thought-- you understood.”

Your vulnerability made Jaemin close his eyes for a second. “Fuck, I do. I always do. I understand everyone and I hate it.”

Sudden lighting made his face spectral and you took a step back.

“Just stop being a human mat and stop doing stuff you don’t want to do. We’ve talked about this before, haven’t we?”

If the boy was cooling down, that phrase took it all out of the window.

“You think it’s easy? Why don’t you stop saying no to everything and start being kinder then? We’ve talked about that as well. You can’t do it either.”

“I bet I can go one day with saying yes to everything but you can’t go a day by saying no or doing what you want instead of what other people want,” you dared him.

Jaemin scoffed. “Yeah, sure. I would want to see that.”

You crossed your arms on your chest determined. “Okay. Starting from this moment I’m going to say yes. What about you? Are you going to refuse people and do what you want? I don’t think so.”

Jaemin stared at you for a split second and his expression became one you’ve never seen him wear before. With a fluid movement, he filled the space between you until your faces were a breath away from each other. “I want to fuck you. How about that?”

You almost gasped as you stared at his dark eyes, the storm outside the window giving him an even more dangerous aura.

Gulping down, your mind started to run and search for an appropriate answer, but it wasn’t necessary as your lips betrayed you by forming a quiet “okay, deal.”

Jaemin’s pupils trembled as if he was surprised himself, yet his hands were quick, stripping him of his raincoat, letting it fall to his feet.

“The safe word is,” he whispered slowly, “forest.”

You swallowed again, feeling your throat suddenly dry, then you chuckled trying to mask your nervousness.

“Okay, but forest? Really? That’s very stupid-,” but you couldn't complete your shaky sentence as you found yourself dragged towards the bedroom and knocked on the bed in a second, ass up in the air with Jaemin’s hands on it. “Stupid?” he asked irritated. “Start fucking counting.” You shivered even though your blood felt like boiling. Not in a thousand years, you would have expected Jaemin to manhandle you like that.

Spank.

A little yelp, more because of the surprise than the actual pain since your thick jeans didn’t really allow for much friction, escaped your lips. “One.” Your voice was trembling. “Good girl,” Jaemin’s voice was almost a deep whisper.

Spank.

“T-two,” you stuttered as Jaemin increased the force.

Spank.

You whined. “Three.” “God, I’ve wanted to do this the first time you left your dirty stuff in the sink and refused to clean up.”

Spank.

“F-four. So you’re actually able to feel human emotions such as anger, huh?” you chuckled breathlessly.

Spank. You moaned and your panties started to get too wet and hot for your liking.

No five could come out of your lips as Jaemin grabbed your arms and rolled you over on your back. His eyes were full of fire and you felt your core tingle as he got on the bed as well, kneeling between your open legs, resting his weight on his hands pressed on each side of your head. “I’m going to stuff you up so hard. Let’s see if you’ll be able to talk back again, princess.” You were about to chuckle, pretending that his words didn’t affect you, but you lost it at the pet name. A little gasp left your lips in the form of a single breath and Jaemin got even closer as if catching it. “Oh, you like it? You want to be called like that?” he teased you. You gulped nervously and nodded. “Then I won’t do it,” he whispered, mouths almost touching. You raised your head to connect his lips with yours but Jaemin pulled away with a laugh until you couldn’t reach him anymore. Then he got closer again when you rested your head down. “Wanna kiss me?” his voice caressed your ears just the way one of his hands started to draw little circles down your neck. You turned your head to the side, giving him more space. “Hm?” he asked while the tip of his tongue traced the outline of your ear. You shivered at the sensation. “Yeah, wanna kiss you,” you replied, remembering the dare, even though, you realized with deep shame, you would have answered positively anyways. Jaemin’s soft chuckle added to the sensation growing between your legs and you would have rubbed them together if Jaemin’s bust weren’t there, so close to your core yet so far away. “Ask me nicely,” he ordered. You bit your lower lip and looked up at him, trying to flirt back, maybe making Jaemin weak the way he was making you feel. But the boy’s smile never flattered. “Do you not want to kiss me?” you fluttered your eyelashes. Jaemin shook his head. “No.” “I want to kiss you so badly though,” you tried again. “Sounds like a you problem.” “Okay, so you’re not actually able to feel human emotions,” you dropped the sugary tone. “This is pretty human in my book,” he lowered his hips grinding on you, his hard cock making you jolt even through the layers of clothes. “I have to do what I want right? Then I want to fuck you until there’s no trace of that attitude left, but on my terms,” and you would have replied if Jaemin didn’t rise on his knees again, looking at you sprawled in front of him like a full meal and if his hands didn’t go to your waistband, unbuttoning your pants and roughly dragging them down. Your legs fell on the bed like dead weight after the jeans were thrown somewhere in the room. Jaemin got between them again but not to do what you hoped he would. Instead, he reached on the shelves behind you and you recognized the sound before seeing the object: a pair of shiny metal handcuffs. Your eyes widened at the sight and Jaemin chuckled. “You want me to tie you up?” you tried to joke, knowing damn well that they weren’t for his wrists. Jaemin ignored your useless question and handcuffed you, tugging at the chain connecting your hands, making you whine as he hooked it to a nail above your head. You looked up, blaming yourself for not noticing it sooner and shivered at the sudden realization that Jaemin had probably done it very often. A little fear of what he might do to you crept in the back of your mind but instead of spreading panic through your body, it spread a wave of pleasure, collecting itself in a single pulsating point between your legs. “Tell me the truth. It’s the first time you’re not the one tied to the bed, right?” you teased him. “No, but it does look like it’s your first time, isn’t it, love?” his eyes were sweet and kind, the usual look Jaemin would give you in the morning or before going to bed, yet it changed in a second as he calmly slipped his fingers on your hips, getting under your panties and dragging them down your thighs. He twirled them around his finger a few times, the tip of his tongue moisturizing his dry lips as he drank in the view of your spread legs. “You’re not taking off this?” you tried to drift his attention to your face instead, shimming your bust as to indicate what you were talking about, suddenly very shy of you being so exposed to him and definitely not used to the look on his face. But Jaemin didn’t budge. He still stared where he wanted, as if almost caressing you with his gaze as he replied. “It would be a shame. That’s my hoodie, isn’t it? Tell me,” he got closer, hovering over you, finally looking at you in the eyes, making you regret that he wasn’t looking away as before, “does it still have my perfume on? Were you thinking about me today just as you touched yourself that time while wearing it?” he purred and chuckled at your shocked expression. “This apartment has very thin walls, angel. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll tell you my little secret as well, yeah?” You nodded breathlessly. “I was fucking my fist to your pretty moans as well, thinking about your sweet lips wrapped around my cock,” he rubbed his thumb on your lower lip, making you open your mouth as if about to kiss you, then smirked. “What about you? Were you thinking about this-” he let his hand fall from your face down your body until reaching between your legs, touching your wet core with two fingers, dragging them up and down slowly. You jolted, inhaling sharply at the feeling, eyes unable to stay open. “-or maybe this?” his voice was a whisper as his fingertips circled your clit, snapping a whine out of you. His shiny necklace was dangling in front of your face, then it laid on your chest as he got closer and pressed his lips on your neck, sucking your skin in, playing with it with his tongue. “Was it perhaps this?” he spoke again as he easily slipped his middle finger inside of you. The wet sounds of him pumping your pussy made you even more aroused and it probably had the same effect on Jaemin since a little low growl roared in his chest. He slipped another finger in. “Do you hear it? So wet and all for me,” his hot breath ghosted your ear. “Jaemin, please,” you mumbled, the building up sensation keeping you on the edge but not enough to grow to what your gut needed. Jaemin raised his bust and sat down on his heels with a cocky smile, looking at the way his fingers disappeared inside you, glistening with your juices. “You’re in no position to ask for anything, angel,” he reminded you calmly. “But I appreciate the please. Now, let’s learn to say thank you as well, shall we?” You whined, rocking your hips against his hand, urging him to go faster. The boy raised an eyebrow at your eagerness and let himself down on his elbows between your legs. “Do you want to feel my tongue?” “Yes, yes, please,” you replied, all of your pride out of the window. “Like this?” he licked your inner thigh. You protested and it only made Jaemin more amused. “Sorry, like this?” he drew a line on one of your lips, so close yet so far. “Jaemin, I’ll fucking make you pay,” you spoke through your teeth and Jaemin clicked his tongue as if disappointed, retrieving his fingers from you and leaving you all empty. “No, no, no,” you wailed, eyes wide staring at him. “What was that? Did I hear some-” he cupped his ear with one hand in a playful act, “-attitude?” “Shit, Jaemin, you said you’re going to fuck the attitude out of me, yet here you are, not doing anything to me.” Jaemin’s smile disappeared in a second leaving space for a dark expression. Usually, he would have continued to smile, but this Jaemin was a different person. “Oh, be careful what you wish for, angel,” he whispered and dove into your core, not leaving you a single second to breathe in properly. You moaned hard feeling his quick tongue, curling your toes and tugging at the handcuffs keeping your arms painfully above your head. “Oh oh- fuck me,” and he did it, lapping at your wetness, fingers shoved back inside of you, quick to find your sweet spot thanks to your increasing moans guiding his movements. His name on your whiny lips probably made him insane since he started to move even quicker, so quick to make you arch your back, not stopping even when you started to uncontrollably shake, coming all over his tongue. Your legs tried to get together but Jaemin didn’t agree with that, slapping your thighs away his with free hand and diving back in, sucking on your clit as if nothing happened. You cried out and mumbled something about stopping but Jaemin didn’t accept anything besides the safe word. Deaf to your protests, he ravaged you until hearing your loud whimpers again, this time shaking so hard that the bed frame moved with you, your wrists hurting as you tugged at the handcuffs again. Only then Jaemin lifted himself on his knees again, breathless, your juices wetting his lips and chin, a thin layer of sweat matting his fringe to the forehead. “How are we feeling, baby?” he grabbed the collar of his t-shirt and undressed himself, revealing one of the best bodies you’ve seen in real life. Unable to speak, still coming down from your high, you just stared at him, fucked numb, and he still didn’t even put his cock to good use yet. “Good,” Jaemin seemed satisfied as he caressed his abs, going down to the waistband of his grey sweats with a slow movement. He teased you like that for a second, loving the way your eyes were trained on his hard one. “You want it?” he asked with a smirk, palming it and outlining its form. “Yes,” you managed to say. Jaemin clicked his tongue. “You’re back to speaking now. Better do something about it,” he commented and took off his bottoms alongside his boxers. In a single movement, your legs were around his waist and the tip of his cock was tasting your entrance. Jaemin moved it up and down with his hand, spreading your abundant juices on it, making you almost whimper with expectation before finally filling you up slowly with a deep grunt. And you felt every centimetre of it, stretching you out, making the air leave your lungs in the same moment until you felt it hit far inside where no cock has possibly touched before. “Shit-” Jaemin whispered as you moaned, slowly making more space inside your tight walls by swiftly rolling his hips. He didn’t need to keep the pace low for a long time though as you quickly adjusted to his girth, high pitched pleasure whimpers leaving your rough throat instead of pained ones. Jaemin swore again, thrusting every time faster, grabbing your legs and putting them on his shoulders, hitting it from a better angle. "Louder, baby. I want to hear your moans." You bit your lower lip, the remnants of your brattiness lingering on your tongue. "Then make me moan, Jaemin-," and in that second you realized that you've fucked up. Jaemin descended in a breath, making your thighs touch your chest, one of his hands deeply pressed into the pillow, the other tightened around your throat. He was quick. Oh, he was so quick you felt like you were about to go blind. "Like this? Huh?" the creak of the bed and the slapping of the skin almost covering his teeth spoken questions. When you came you felt your eyes roll back and Jaemin finally let you inhale, oxygenating your fucked out brain. Little pleas slipped your trembling lips, imitating your shaking muscles. But Jaemin didn't stop until you felt his hot cum spurting deep inside of you, making you clench hard around him, finally hearing his choked moans as well. His hips moved and moved until you begged. “Jaemin, Jaem- I can’t, I can’t take this anymore." “You know what to say, angel. A single word and I’ll stop,” he reminded you. You bit your lower lip, staring at him in the eyes. “Oh, so you like it that much, huh? Like - a - little - slut," he accompanied each of his last four words with a deep thrust. "Your tight little pussy can’t take it anymore but you still want it, isn’t that right, princess? You like to be used like this, just as I please. You’re filled up so much that it’s dripping out, baby. Would you let me use your other pretty holes as well?” “Fuck, Jaemin, you’re driving me crazy,” you whined, a few warm tears collecting to the sides of your eyes. “Oh, my baby is crying because it’s that good? Do you love it? You want more of my cock, right?” he cooed sweetly. “Yes, yes, please,” you squirmed underneath him. “No,” he shook his head amused slipping out of your hot pussy, slapping your clit with his tip. You jolted and tugged at the handcuffs. Jaemin smiled and jerked his cock between your legs. "Oh, fuck," his voice darkened as his fingers wrapped his glistening cock, fucking himself while looking at your abused pussy. He was so hot, with strands of wet hair to hide his eyes, open red lips to let out deep grunts and his abs flinching when his thumb would press into the tip of his cock that a little whine escaped your lips. "Give it to me." Jaemin looked up at your begging face with a smirk, hand not slowing down at all. "Where do you want it?" You let your tongue out and you could visibly see the moment during which Jaemin forced a moan down his throat. In a second your arms were down and you sighed relieved as he silently unlocked the handcuffs. But you didn't live that pleasurable moment for long that your bruised wrists were grabbed again to make you stand up on your knees in front of him. Jaemin looked at your face for a short while, almost tenderly, eyes darting from your eyes to your lips, before he gripped your head and forced your on all fours, his other hand keeping his cock aligned to your face. You whimpered at the sudden movement but opened your mouth, looking up at Jaemin, waiting for him to do whatever he wanted to you. And he did just that. A choked moan vibrated up his length as he thrust on your tongue, making you taste yourself and his cum at once. Jaemin hummed once then whined, stopping the air inside his nose as if choking before releasing it with through his open mouth and it was so sexy that you desired to listen to his sounds forever. And they got louder as you bobbed your head, his hands loosely gripping your face before palming your shoulders and back, going further until reaching your ass and grabbing it, kneading your soft flesh, shoving himself even further inside your throat. Overstimulated, it took him less time to cum the second time and you loved it how briefly at your mercy he was when you let his cock out, a little string of saliva connecting your tongue to his tip, jerking him off until feeling his seed paint your face. "So fucking hot, fuck-," he groaned, staring down at your expression until you milked him all up.

Both breathless you just looked at each other until a little smile broke on your lips. He followed suit and chuckled, one trembling hand searching for his t-shirt to clean you up.

"Wait," he said when you sat up, putting one finger to your cheek and sucking it clean.

"Delicious," you raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, I bet," Jaemin replied sarcastic one hand sliding on your jaw while the other cleaned up your cheeks. You closed your eyes with a smile and waited for him to be done, not expecting the little peck he places on your lips.

When you opened your eyes surprised, Jaemin continued to pat your skin as if nothing happened.

"What was that?" you inquired.

The boy blinked at you innocently. "You had something on your lips."

Your smile grew. "And it's all off now? I think there's some left. Wanna check?"

Jaemin let the t-shirt go on the side in that instant and kissed you deeply, almost making you fall on your back. It was soft and careful, yet so intense that if you wouldn't have felt so spent it would have turned you on again. And maybe you still could go on for a while because when Jaemin tilted your head to the side and circled your tongue with his, you could have sworn that the heat between your legs came back stronger than ever.

"Wait here," he whispered on your skin and got up, letting you admire the back view until he disappeared outside the room.

With a deep sigh, you let yourself fall on the bed again, stretching your sore muscles, the realization that you've just had some mad sex slowly creeping in.

When Jaemin came back you were almost drifting to sleep, lulled by the sound of the rain.

"Come." A little whine rolled out of your lips as you opened your eyes again. Jaemin smiled looking at you for a few moments before sliding his arms under your knees and waist.

"Jaemin, wait, no-," you jolted awake but not being able to do anything besides wrapping your arms around his neck. "You can't carry me-," but he shushed you and in a few moments you were already in the bathroom, the hot water still filling the bathtub.

He put you down and held your waist when you realized your legs were still wobbly and helped you step inside the soapy water. When he followed suit, placing himself behind you and pulling you towards him, you felt your cheeks on fire.

"You alright?" he whispered, hands already trained on your body, massaging your body softly.

You nodded and inhaled sharply as he traced your bust with two fingers, going down between your legs. "Jaemin-," your thighs closed around his wrist while your face pressed on his bicep to your left.

His soft chuckle brushed against your temple. "I'm not doing anything. Just cleaning you out," he had the courage to say. When you arched your back he retrieved his hand and grabbed a soft loofah. With gentle and careful strokes, he passed it on your skin starting from the chest and shoulders then going down on your torso, giving a little bit too much attention to your breasts. Too turned on but also embarrassed about him washing you up, you could just stare at the way the bubbly water dripped on your skin and when he ordered you to turn around, you couldn't bear to look at him in the eyes. Hands on our ankles, as you rested your back to the other side of the tub, he worked your legs up slowly, enjoying the view and your shy expression maybe too much.

"You're so beautiful," he commented in a low, playful tone and you felt like asking him to get you off for the nth time that night.

Perhaps it showed on your face or maybe he could read minds, but when he reached your inner thighs, he let he loofah float and touched you with his fingers, pulling you towards him until you straddled his lap.

"The bet is off now. You can insult me just like before," he smirked while his fingers made their way between your aching folds.

The breath you inhaled was shaky and you had to press your forehead against his, your hands restless on his wet shoulders.

"I wasn't like that because of the bet," you confessed and Jaemin's pupils visibly trembled while his lips curved in a little smile. "And I'm not like this now because of it either."

A low sound vibrated in Jaemin's chest before he whispered against your open mouth.

"So you saying that you're actually a good girl?"

You nodded, unable to speak as the boy's fingers picked up the pace on your clit.

"I know," he placed a peck on the corner of your mouth, "you're such a good girl," a peck on your jaw, "especially for me" a peck on your neck.

You exhaled with a whine and let your head fall back, digging your nails into his skin, finally being able to touch him as you've wanted to do before. Jaemin took the opportunity to let his lips descend to your nipples, sucking them inside the warmth of his mouth, twirling the buds with his wet tongue until it was unbearable for you to not moan his name uncontrollably.

Your body was all mush when you came again with an almost scream, pulling his head against your chest until his fingertips left your throbbing clit and traced your thigh, going around it and palming your ass. When you finally unclenched your arms from around his neck, he looked up from between the swell of your breasts with a soft giggle.

"Sorry," you mumbled but he shook his head, a kind of adoration in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"I loved it-," he started but stopped abruptly afterwards, as if not wanting to let the words aching on his tongue to roll freely.

You sat down deeper on his thighs until your eyes were at the same level.

"And?" you touched his chest slowly, fingers still trembling from the high.

He swallowed, mind running at an incredibly high speed reflected in his suddenly troubled eyes.

"And I think that-- fuck, I might love you as well."

Oh.

It made your whole body shake again.

Jaemin noticed and you wondered what kind of expression you had on to make him look so worried all of a sudden.

"Is it too much? Too soon?" he cupped your face with one hand.

You couldn't look him in the eyes. "I don't know-- I just-"

Jaemin shushed you. "It's alright. You don't have to do or say anything."

You shook your head and raised your gaze. "I just- I really want to let myself go and believe it."

The boy stayed silent for a moment as if wondering what his next words should be and you hated it. Nights and nights of talking freely with him made you understand how refreshing it was to be yourself and not walk on eggshells around people. And you knew that Jaemin felt the same. Seeing him now, delicate fingers on your skin as if afraid to break you, made your heart ache.

"You care too much, Jaemin. Don't worry about me like this. We've talked about it."

Jaemin briefly licked his lower lip. "How can I not care about you when no one has cared about you before?"

And you choked on the amount of tears that suddenly made your vision blurry.

The boy pulled you towards him and you rested your forehead on his shoulder. "I know," he talked with a shaky voice, "I know I'm too kind and all that stuff and everything you've said is true, I need to change for my own sake, but-," his arms held you even more tightly, "not when it comes to you. I want to be like that with you. And I'm going to change, yes, I'll say no and refuse to do things people ask of me if this is what you want."

His words didn't make your sobs slow down but you raised your face and touched his cheeks.

"Then I want you to care about yourself the way you care about me, Jaemin."

"I care about myself now, because you care about me."

You chuckled. "That's still doing stuff for other people." Jaemin smiled and stroked your under eye with his thumbs. "It's not for other people. It's for you. Because I love you, Y/N."

You bit your lower lip as a new tide of tears announced their way.

“I never said I care about you though,” your lower lip trembled after you let it go. “You don’t have to say it.” “I hate you.” “Yeah,” he kissed your lips. “And I don’t like cuddles and I don’t like breakfast.” “Yeah,” he kissed you again.

And again.

Until you didn’t let him go anymore and he was sure of being loved back.

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