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loganlermanstanaccount · 11 months

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Rigor Mortis (part 2)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 1, Part 3

summary: Your new roommate has... interesting habits.

warnings: sexually suggestive, nothing explicit.

a/n: i think i've realised miggy in this fic is a combo of his movie and comic counterpart. Miguel O'Hara: part-time whore lmfaooo

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 4.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lady death, at the cradle of a babe.

You've decided: if Miguel's the Sun, then you're a black hole. Cold and dark where he was warm, to seemingly everyone else but you. Even then, the metaphor didn't carry, and O'Hara wasn't quite the shining centre of the universe you had first thought him to be.

In the dim gloom of a little lamp on your bedside table, you’re left squinting at a crisp white document. Blank; save for a thousand tabs open, and the blue links of a half-hearted bibliography. You’ve got the bare bones of an assignment; left too late, as usual. The rest lies at the tip of your tongue; nips at the ends of your fingers like the heat of cigarette butts, and as fleeting as wispy smoke in an ashtray. To get yourself through it, you’ve resorted to romanticising it all, pretending you're a wistful poet dipping the feathered end of a quill into ink. Writing something… revolutionary; as opposed to the mish-mash of articles and studies you’ve crammed within the last hour and a half. There’s a pounding at your skull: the dull beginnings of a migraine, most likely. You squeeze at your temples, eyes shut – and the thrum matches the thud at your thin walls. Rhythmic, obscene, and it creates a cruel staccato; shaking the flimsy plasterboard that separates your room from your roommate’s.

He’s fucking someone. Loud, like it can’t be heard by half the complex. It's the third girl he’s had over in as many weeks. Not that you were keeping count. For a supposed tutor, you hadn’t seen much studying - despite the bright eyed young women that seemed to be at your doorstep most days. Perhaps you're being dramatic, but you couldn’t quite wrap your head around the kind of pupils Miguel had had the privilege to “teach”.

You remember the first time the true weight of Jia’s words became clear: whilst banging on the front door after a draining day of lectures.

You’d forgotten your keys after rushing out the morning of, and arrived to a locked door in the afternoon. You had been starving, insides churning with the thought of takeout you’d saved the night before; a greasy bag nestled in the corner of your shelf in the fridge. So maybe you'd been antsy, irritable at a stretch; fist on the door like a divorce lawyer, hungry in more ways than one.

Wasn’t Miguel already home? He had to be, you can hear the low tones of his voice leaking from the gaps at the sides of the door. And.. rustling, the shift of fabric tousled and pillows hitting the floor. It’s then that you hear another voice, higher pitched; gentle and soft where his is baritone. If you’re not mistaken; and something at the pit of your stomach hopes you are, for some reason; he’s laughing, speaking in hushed tones, whilst she giggles at something he said. You bang at the door even harder, hoping the sharp rap-rap-rap interrupts him. It feels like you’ve had half of your college’s senior cohort in the city in and out of your apartment - or, at the very least, the pretty ones. For some reason, this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back; and your knuckles sting against the lacquered wood. You’ve half a mind to shout into the keyhole, to tell him to hurry the fuck up, or else–

Miguel opens, brow tight, and wiping something from his lips with the back of his hand. It’s suspicious; he looks carefully flushed, lips plump and cheeks slightly ruddy. You notice the way his head flops onto the lip of the open door; slightly out of breath like he’s done a dozen push ups. And with the way his biceps flex and tense under his open button up; paired with some slacks in a pitiful attempt to look less slutty; he might have. The image makes you purse your lips to stop inappropriate laughter: Miguel on the floor, brows kneaded in concentration as the woman in your apartment looks on, entranced. It feels more plausible than the reality; making out on your couch, whilst her hands travel to undo the button at his waistband.

What doesn’t help, is the look he gives you; like you’ve interrupted something important.

“Oh.” He says, clearly deflated. “It’s… you.”

You flash him a sarcastic smile and push past into the front room. You’ve seen her before: the girl on your couch. Sarah, a pretty thing in Miguel’s advanced Math class, you’d learned from the last few weeks. It’s not the first time she’d been over, but she doesn’t usually stay; rather, she’d drop something off at the door and twirl her hair whilst she waited. You’d answer, because of course he was never home at the right times, and she’d crane her head in for a glimpse of him. The first time; you were struck by the effortlessness of her beauty. And on your sofa, she seemed hardly fazed; the gentle curve of her stomach and thighs spilling onto the tattered cushions, donned in a patterned sundress. Her lips are pert, curved into a knowing smile as she giggles at the scene you and Miguel make at the door.

“Hey, Sarah.” You give her a small wave as you make your way into the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. However, you don’t have the energy to dignify Miguel with a response – so you stay silent. He bristles.

“You don’t have a key, or something?” You’re digging through the shelves as he calls out to you, hands on his hips like you’re in the wrong. You can’t help but hiss under your breath. He’s got an attitude, when only one of you had been left outside the door; starved and exhausted. And the other: getting off on your sofa. Poor Miguel, left with a limp dick and full balls.

"Forgot." Your answer is curt, and you don't even bother to look up. You can hear him scoff, incredulous - as if the mere idea was so offensive. It makes anger bubble up at your gut, head still buried behind the fridge door.

"That's convenient." You can't hear the words that come out after, but you're sure it's not exactly glowing praise. You lob a hypothetical grenade over the lip of the fridge door: a middle finger, crisp and clear.

Takeout in hand, and a bag over your shoulder that feels like a concrete block; you drag yourself to your room, without giving Miguel so much as a second glance. When the door slams, you're hit with the full weight of Jia's words; a moment that seems so long ago. Miguel's probably picky about who he tutors for the same reason people swipe left and right on dating apps: he's an unrepentant whore.

The thought had seemed somewhat premature, at the time. You had had little to no evidence: a string of pretty women in your apartment did not a slut make, after all. It wasn't quite enough, just a knee-jerk reaction after a bad day. The most charitable interpretations tell you that by all means, your roommate is an upstanding guy. A model student; who left his undergrad with honours and a disgustingly high GPA, head of half a dozen clubs and societies, and currently getting his masters sponsored by a prestigious biotech company in the city. He’s a chronic overachiever, more or less. All things you've learnt from the people he’s tutored, small talk in between sessions (and they’ve all been nice enough). It seems a little more than convenient that the prettiest ones end up in your apartment - in his bed. And yet, you can’t get a straight answer from the man himself. Favours for a couple of friends, he says every time you complain.

With the noises you hear from the room over, you wonder how he treats the friends he really likes.

You think he’s doing it on purpose. That’s the only explanation you’re left with as you massage your temples in desperation. A steady pounding, that makes the shared wall shudder. Interspersed with graphic moans, the higher pitched panting of his partner; Yes Miguel and Just like that; seems to blend with his groans. Sleep pulls at your eyes, and you want to scream into the pillows. It’s muffled, but you can make out his voice beyond the wall; low, hushed tones that makes desire pool at the base of your stomach. And you’d rather die than admit it; but you zone out for a moment, a little lost in the haze of a daydream. God, his stamina. It feels like they’ve been going for hours, obscene grunts and groans spilling into your room. The wide span of his shoulders, the way light is cut at his jawline - and you wonder what he’d look like on top, or the sounds he’d make underneath.

Shaking your head, you try to convince yourself: it's the lack of sleep that makes you think of the way his hands would feel on your waist.

~~~

The honeymoon stage, if there ever was one, was well and truly over.

In the morning, you’re woken up by the thud of the front door. Laptop cracked open on the covers, you shift to wipe the drool crusted on the side of your mouth. The good news: you remember getting down a couple thousand words before fitful sleep. Not to a great standard, of course, but as your deadline approaches, you’re grateful for whatever you can scrape together. Stretching, your back creaks with the memory of last night: hunched over your laptop, barely able to concentrate. Still in pyjamas from last night, you pad into the front room, looking for water to satisfy your dry mouth.

The bad news: you’re met with Miguel on the sofa, splayed out on the cushions lazily. There’s a mug of something on a side table, which he’s clearly neglected; eyes closed, and an arm drawn upwards to expose the tan skin of his chest. He’s wearing nothing but loose plaid pants, hair a mess and frustratingly peaceful. For once, he’s not wearing the perpetual frown you’ve been subjected to for the past few weeks, and he looks five years younger as a result. You tilt your head to the side – like a mere 90 degrees would make him look any different – and you can’t believe this was the man who was terrorising you the night before. He looks… cute. Innocent, almost.

The sight makes you scoff. You snatch a glass from the cupboard with a clink-clink, and he stirs. You watch him stretch as you fill it; a mop of brown peeking over the back of the couch. He peers over, groggy and seemingly confused.

"....When did you get back?" His voice is gravelly, heavy with last night's sleep – or lack thereof. You ignore the feelings it stirs up; pleasant and comfortable and domestic.

"Good morning to you too, " You say it under your breath but he hears; catches it and holds it at his chest like a songbird. One hand over his heart, he smiles, wide; a lazy, sarcastic grin, but it still makes your face heat up. It's too damn early for this, you think. "I wasn't… for fuck's sake… I came back last night."

"Oh." He frowns, sweeping into the kitchen, and opening up the cupboard.

"I couldn't sleep." Miguel's not stupid, and you wait for him to take the hint. "There was… too much noise last night."

"So that's why you're up early." He clicks his tongue. "You don't have a lecture to be late for?"

"You don't have another girl to fuck and ignore?" Without missing a beat, you snap at him – too tired and annoyed to entertain it.

"Ouch." It's blaise, thrown over his shoulder without a second thought. He doesn't even look at you, head buried and eyes scanning the shelves – looking for his morning coffee, no doubt. He finds it, opening the packet and elbowing you in the process, and you give him a glare. Did he have to do that right next to you?

You catch the ghost of a smile on his face.

"...Miguel?" You say; quietly, because you can't quite find your next words.

"Hmm?" He hums, fiddling around with the machine; a ritual you've only caught glimpses of.

How do you tell your roommate you can hear him have obnoxious sex through thin walls? Well, probably by opening your mouth and saying it, but anything resembling your true feelings dies in your throat.

He doesn't prompt you to finish the question, choosing to let the silence wash over you both. The clattering of a spoon against ceramic is the only noise in the little kitchen. It's not something you hear too often - never waking up at the same time as Miguel through a combination of coincidence and sheer willpower. Naturally, your routines are asynchronous - a half step, half-hearted jig to crashing music. That is to say: if you and your roommate were partners in a… ballroom, perhaps: you’d be stepped-on-toes and two-left-feet on the dancefloor. Disastrous, to say the least.

And yet, half-asleep, you watch as he pads around the kitchen; poking into cupboards and bringing out the ingredients to a hearty breakfast. Eggs and chorizo and tortillas; your stomach rumbles at the thought of a proper cooked meal. Ever the stereotypical college student, your usual food has mostly been instant noodles and leftovers. Maybe you’re just tired, but he makes the drawers and fridge shelves seem bottomless. It’s clear Miguel eats and he eats well – because of course he does.

“Could you…” You jump a bit when he places a gentle hand at your waist, moving you to the side as he reaches for a chopping board on the counter. “Sorry. Do you mind?”

It’s brief, but the fleeting touch fucks with your head as he cooks. Flashes of the night before run up your spine, electric. You watch his deft fingers fly on the chopping board; slender, a wide palm covering the span of a large pepper. How would they feel on your waist – properly – at the crook of your back, or at your thighs? Sighing, you chew the inside of your cheek and lean your head back against the wall. You feel the whispers of another headache. It's much too early for this.

He puts a pan on the stove. Shirtless, despite the heat of the spitting oil, and he pops a piece of a bell pepper in his mouth with a little smile that makes you roll your eyes. It's smug, somehow, like he knows something you don't – like he knows exactly what he did yesterday (or rather, who) and he’s enjoying your reaction.

Except: you’re exhausted, and he’s giggling like you’ve caught a kid with cookie crumbs on their face, empty jar in hand.

It’s a quiet he sits with, comfortable; moving around the space with the kind of familiarity that comes with time. It makes you wonder just how long he's been here, which other roommates he’s terrorised over the years. Maybe, Miguel’s got a reputation, and there’s a Yelp review sitting somewhere you’ve neglected to read.

“Did you see her leave?” He still doesn’t look at you. Instead, his eyes are trained at the eggs on the pan, onions and veg making a lopsided smile in the runny yolk. Even his food seems smug.

“Her?” You frown, not quite following.

“...Katie?” He says it like it’s obvious, as if her name alone should set off half a dozen bells in your head. It’s Katie, this time - not Jia, or Sita, or the slew of other girls he’s been fucking in the past few weeks alone.

Your eye twitches. Involuntarily, of course, but it feels like your body is physically rejecting his bullshit.

“I didn’t know she stayed the night.” A lie, obviously. You heard her well enough through the walls, not even a couple of hours ago.

“S’okay,” He shakes his head, nonchalant. You trace the curve of his shoulders and gentle slope of his plump lips. “I would’ve called her an Uber, or something.”

“You’re a gentleman, Miguel.”

And he laughs, a deep rumble that rings off the tiles. Admittedly, you like the way it sounds, and the way his eyes crinkle up into crows feet. He’s pretty, you think. In an annoying kind of way.

Oh, fuck him. You get closer, and stick a fingertip into the rich red of the pan. Wrapping your lips around it, with the heat of Miguel at your back, and yes, it's fine. Okay, fucking incredible – you know, nothing you haven’t tasted before.

Making eye contact, you watch him blink in surprise. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of himself; not dripping with the arrogance of a few minutes ago. Not wanting to give anything away, you keep your face steady.

"Needs salt, I think."

The spell is broken and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. "I've seen the crap you shovel into that big mouth of yours… ¿mi mamá no me enseñó a cocinar para que vengas a decirme que sabe mal…?"

[My mom didn't teach me how to cook so you can come here and tell me it tastes bad…?]

It's your turn to smile at the sweet taste of revenge. Not enough to fuel the next couple hours of essay writing, but a small victory nonetheless. You flash him pink tongue, and watch as his gaze drops to your lips for a fraction of a second.

"More salt?" He scoffs. "You wouldn't know good food if it bit you on the ass."

It's childish, but he chucks a tea towel at your head; and you narrowly miss it.

"Asshole." You spit out, frustrated. Your stomach grumbles, loud, and you watch his face crack, amused.

His lips curve into a shit-eating grin. "Idiot."

Face tight, you storm out of the kitchen.

You're holed up in your room for the rest of the day; only leaving for snack and toilet breaks. Luckily, Miguel doesn't disturb you, except for a full plate left outside your doorstep in the morning. It tastes delicious; warm and homely, but you'd rather pull your teeth out than see that stupid fucking grin on his face. Instead, you give him a grudging thanks, shrugging as if to say: it was somewhat edible.

And when you hit send on your essay, with a whole 11 minutes to spare, you sigh in relief. You got through it, eventually; even though your roommate is trying to kill you, your new apartment is falling apart and you're failing half your classes already. But you're through the day, and approaching the end of the week with minimal emotional damage. Key word: minimal.

In the warmth under the covers of your bed, it makes you think. It can't get any worse, right? It won't – it can't.

Something shifts. Like a rip in the space time continuum or a malevolent god, the universe snatches up that thought; ripe and ready to spit you back out onto the fire.

~~~

You wake up and something feels off, already. For one, light streams in through the blinds, a slight chill from the open window. It’s peaceful, and the first thing you hear is the song of morning birds just beyond the glass, instead of cars and clattering garbage trucks.

But it’s a Friday, and you’ve got that 9:00am; the one you were insane enough to sign up for at the beginning of the semester. What you should be hearing is the call-for-war of your alarm; the one that slaps you square across the face and wakes you the fuck up. On time, of course, but still the kind of sound that strikes fear into the hearts of grown men. Groggy, you wipe the sleep from your eyes. And then you frown. The lilting chirp of songbirds (well-fed pigeons that shit all over your windowsill, large enough to be classed as biological weapons), instead of your alarm…?

Your hands go cold, and dread creeps in. Reaching for your phone, you click it on and it shuts off just as quickly. You’re met with the red icon of a dead battery. Fuck.

Leaping out of bed, you rush into the hallway. From there, you see Miguel; out of his workout clothes and flitting in and out the kitchen. Except usually, at this time he’s just coming back from his run and banging at the door to hurry you out of the shower. He spots you and furrows his brow in confusion.

“Aren’t you meant to be…?”

You don't let him finish, and call out. “–What’s the time?”

He looks at his watch. “Uhhh… quarter past 8?”

“Fuck!” It erupts out of you, and you bite down the rest; opting to dart back into your room.

Miguel gets closer, pops his head towards your door; in the careful kind of way someone might approach a sleeping bear.

“Are you–”

When you open it in a robe and toiletries bag in hand, he’s there; tentative, and slow, and in your way. A beat passes and your eyes widen, incredulous. Like a fucking lump of coal, he’s slow on the uptake.

“...Move.”

You push past him into the bathroom and he throws his hand up to surrender. You’re the oddest person he’s had the pleasure (?) of sharing an apartment with, he thinks. Mostly harmless, but hard to read.

The shower sputters to life, changing from hot to ice cold in a second. You grit down a scream, powering through it until the suds wash off. Sheer resolve makes you towel off and change in record time.

You’re grabbing your bag and chucking whatever you can find in the fridge onto bread. Whilst making a crude sandwich, you’re distracted – going through the calculations in your head. You’ve got a train to catch in about 20 minutes, and if you keep a brisk pace you can make the walk in 15. When you switch subway lines to get across town, it’ll be tight, but you can make it up by cutting across the barriers and keeping those elbows sharp on the stairs. God forbid you miss the transfer, because you’ll have to wait another 15 minutes for the next one and–

Miguel watches by the doorway, a little amused. So caught up in your own world, you don’t notice. He takes a sip of a mug of hot coffee, and you look up. Your face, cute and all scrunched up as you concentrate; but he can’t help but enjoy the flash of displeasure on your face.

“Don’t want to hear it.” You’re spreading butter aggressively, if there was ever such a thing.

He shrugs. “...I didn’t say anything.”

“I can hear it, Miguel. You’re thinking out loud, and…” Wrapping up your meal in tinfoil, you stuff it into your bag. “...I don’t have the time to tell you to fuck off.”

With a little gasp, he clutches at hypothetical pearls. He gives you a sarcastic grin before you’re off – slamming the front door in your wake.

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #eventual smut #angst #kat_writes😼#rigor mortis 😼

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hanggarae · 5 months

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GROWL - ARE YOU ATTRACTED TO ME TOO ?

↺ content your ceo has made a point of making your life a living hell and you aren’t sure how long you can keep up with it, part 2 of my ‘promotion’ series, ceo!jeonghan, f!office worker!reader, jeonghan’s such an asshole in this part even worse than in part one, jeonghan is so dumb and clueless, bffs bss, this is honestly hardly a tear jerker so idk if it’s technically angst but ig ?? idk 😞

↺ a/n : 3.5k words, npr, another enemies to lovers jeonghan, loosely based off of lyrics from growl by exo but also lowk not ?? im trying to finish this series as quick as i can bc i know that when i start studying ill go back to the irregular posting schedule and this will never see the light outside my drafts (like the chan thoughts part which i had ready for months but never got around to posting)

‘He’d get bored of trying to get a rise out of you in a month or less so all you had to do was put up with him until then’

Life was a bitch, a petty bitch- and so was Jeonghan.

It’d been four months since you became his assistant, or as you like to call it: four months of hell. He didn’t go easy on you one bit and constantly belittled you.

Ever since you left that night without him knowing he made it his personal goal to continue punishing you for it by constantly gave you tasks were no less than humiliating. You underestimated just how petty a grown man could be. Despite him clearly finding this job boring, he stayed due to the laugh he got out of making you suffer. What’s worse is you couldn’t deny the fact that he was too pretty for his own good.

“Here is your schedule for the day, sir” you forced a smile on your face, handing your boss his coffee brewed exactly how he enjoys it (you learnt that the hard way when Jeonghan once took the cup out of your hands and poured it all over your desk and paperwork, ridiculing you for ‘not being useful enough to even make a decent coffee’).

Jeonghan simply stared at you, bringing the cup to his lips and taking an obnoxiously loud sip. “Reschedule the meeting with Hong, I don’t want to have it today” he mumbled, bored of the day already.

You tried your best to compose yourself and not throw that coffee in his face while you scream about how he’s an incompetent brat that needs to actually get some work done. But you couldn’t do that so you settled with the satisfaction of imagining the scene in your head.

“Unfortunately sir, that isn’t possible. You’ve already rescheduled three times, and Joshua’s been-”

Jeonghan seemed to perk up at that, “oh the meetings with Shua? Why didn’t you say that silly? you can bring him in right now”

“I’ve told you it’s with him four times but alright-”

“No back talk or I’ll demote you to coffee maker”

You bit back the words on the tip of your tongue and instead started to walk over to the reception where Joshua was waiting.

You remember Joshua. He was still Jeonghan’s friend even back in high school, although he never picked on you like Jeonghan did. From what you remember, Joshua wasn’t really interested in proving himself when it came to academics.

“Mr Yoon will see you now” you told him politely, holding the door open for him to follow you.

“About time” he laughed with no real offence, “he really took his time, huh?”

You simply returned his laugh and agreed with him wordlessly, leading him to Jeonghan’s office. The man in question gave his longtime friend a loud greeting.

“Shua I had no idea the meeting was with you” the long haired man scoffed, “my assistant over here told me it was with your uncle”

“If that’s what you thought I don’t blame you for postponing it as much as you did” Joshua laughed easily, dispersing your anger toward your boss.

The two continued to talk for another hour or so while you drowned out the noise and focused on the task Jeonghan had given you. Times like these really tempted you to quit because what sort of maniac gives you one day to finish organising a dinner with some business partners.

When Joshua was ready to leave you followed him out and waved him goodbye before mentally preparing yourself for your boss giving you his very much unwanted undivided attention.

“y/n, you don’t have anything planned for next week do you?” your boss stated more than asked while looking through his own planner. “Any personal plans outside of work?”

His attitude irked you so much.

“Well I have a dinner with my friends for-”

“Cancel it.” Jeonghan stated plainly.

You blinked a few times, laughing awkwardly. There’s no way he was being serious right?

“I’m sorry sir?”

“You heard me. Cancel it” he approached you even closer. “And pack your bags, we’re going on a business trip tomorrow night”

Your mouth opened, anger painting your features but Jeonghan left before you could argue.

This wasn’t fair. Next week was your birthday, your friends insisted on planning a dinner for you and you were honestly really looking forward to it. Knowing Jeonghan though that didn’t mean anything to him, he’d probably laugh at you for even thinking that gave you an excuse.

Luckily, you might still make it in time for your birthday dinner. Jeonghan explained the details of the trip to you and your plane was on Thursday night, meaning you’d get back on Friday at around 6am. The dinner was planned for Friday night so if you could power through the jet lag and sleep deprivation you’d enjoy that dinner with your friends.

If you were being honest you weren’t entirely sure what you were doing on this trip. Other than ordering his room service there really wasn’t any use in your being there. Eventually you came to the conclusion that Jeonghan dragged you along in favour of just making you suffer.

For some odd reason though, Jeonghan liked to drag you along to whatever parties and dinner his aristocratic friend group enjoyed throwing.

And although it was a pretty sight, you could only really just feel out of place being there.

Like tonight, the venue was absolutely gorgeous but you didn’t belong here. Not with people that had six digits in their savings from the moments they learnt to talk.

To your surprise however, Jeonghan was uncharacteristically tame. After the way he’s treated you the last few months it was safe to assume that he would go out of his way to embarrass you any chance he got at these dinners but he was surprisingly helping you adjust well.

Tonight was your last night in Paris and the two of you were attending a dinner hosted by his associate. Wonwoo was nice, he was down to earth despite probably having more money than everyone in your branch combined.

What wasn’t nice was the way Jeonghan was stalling getting out of here. Did he want you guys to miss the plane?

“We need to head to the airport now if we’re planning on catching that plane?” You urged, trying to reason with your boss while everyone around you was distracted.

“Wouldn’t that be rude of us?” Jeonghan scoffed before smirking, “did nobody ever teach you any manners, y/n?”

No matter how much you urged Jeonghan, he wouldn’t budge. You thought it was pretty much useless at this point, debating on whether or not you should text your friends to reschedule the dinner or just let them enjoy it without you.

As you watched the flight updates on your phone and saw the signal that your flight had already left, you felt tears well up in your eyes. You were so tired of this. How many tears were you going to lose on this? On him? He didn’t even matter to you.

And you weren’t sure why you mattered to him. Just because he’s too petty to forget about something that happened in high school?

The entire drive back to the hotel, you kept refreshing the tab to see if there were any other flights but it was no use. The only ones available would make you arrive too late for the dinner so there was no way you were making it on time.

It seemed silly, being this upset about a dinner. But you hadn’t gotten the chance to properly celebrate your birthday, or anything really, in years and it felt nice for your friends to plan an entire night just dedicated to you. And you probably felt worse about all of their efforts going to waste.

When you made it back to the hotel you didn’t say a word to Jeonghan. You didn’t curse at him, you didn’t scream at him, you didn’t defend yourself from his comments.

You just.. headed back to your room and texted your friends that you were sorry.

You stayed in your room for another twenty minutes, thinking about what Jeonghan’s motive was. There was no way you could continue working with him.

A notification on your phone drew your attention. An email from some cosmetics brand wishing you a happy birthday and giving you a coupon code to celebrate.

It was only then that you realised it was now just a few minutes after midnight meaning it was officially your birthday.

Even though you should be happy, only more tears fell.

You don’t know how long you just sat on the bed, wallowing in your own self pity before somebody knocked at the door.

You quickly dried your tears before pulling it open, gasping at the sight in front of it.

Jeonghan stood there, a huge smile on his face, holding a cake that read ‘Happy birthday’ in green frosting. You hated green.

“Happy birthday y/n” he greeted loudly. There was something so sick and twisted about this. Maybe even sadistic.

Before you knew it you were tearing up again. Was this some sort of sick joke? He ruins the only plans you’ve had, the only time you’ve asked something of him these past months as his assistant, the only time you asked him to cut you some slack and he’s.. standing there smiling with a cake that has frosting of a color you hate.

“Sir, when we get back tomorrow- or whenever we do, you need to find a new assistant because I can no longer do this” you told him plainly, too tired of the way he’s treated you.

You ignored the way his face fell and eyes widened, “If I can’t return to my old position then I’d like to be transferred to a different branch. And if that’s also not possible then I resign from the company”

You didn’t wait for his answer, you didn’t wait for him to laugh and call you pathetic for quitting halfway through, you just closed the door and went to bed.

Jeonghan didn’t fly on the same flight as you, probably staying in Paris for an extra few days but you honestly weren’t sure. And you honestly didn’t care.

Despite saying you’d try staying at the company, you realised you wouldn’t be able to without feeling uncomfortable. And Jeonghan was in a position where he could still make your life hell so you simply resigned altogether.

You were a valued employee and were smart in keeping connections with big companies you’ve worked with on projects in the past, and even the few you met in your week in Paris. So you really weren’t worried about finding a new job, maybe it’d even be better than your last one.

It’d been three months since you quit working at the Yoon company and although it was nothing special at your new job it beat having an asshole boss setting you up for failure everyday.

It’d honestly be a lie to say you haven’t thought about Jeonghan since quitting. Partially because you now worked under Choi Seungcheol, who you learnt was one of Jeonghan’s best friends. Meaning you’d sometimes run into him but you never spared him a second glance.

Ever since you got the new job you decided to do some things that you’ve been meaning to but never got around to- one of them being to get a new apartment.

You’ve been living in your current one since just after you graduated college and you could definitely afford to now upgrade it. The place you’ve been looking at was in a far better neighbourhood and building.

You decided to pull the trigger on it sooner rather than later, knowing that the longer you put it off the more likely you were to just discard the idea in the end.

You hated making second trips to carry luggage, so you decided to carry all of your moving boxes in one go, despite the fact that all of them piled in your arms blocked practically your entire line of vision.

Just as you were getting off the elevator you heard the person getting on chuckle lightly at the sight in front of them.

“You need any help with that?” The voice sounded oddly familiar you thought as he started to grab most of the boxes from your arms before you could protest.

Oh is he serious?

You looked unimpressed at the man in front of you, “Give me my boxes back.”

“What-” he hadn’t noticed you until you said that. Glaring at him, clearly unhappy with seeing him again.

Jeonghan simply scoffed, not giving you the boxes back and only asking you what number he needed to take them to.

“You can take them back to my arms” you bickered despite leading him to your apartment anyway.

“Don’t think Cheol’s gonna like how you can’t type for two weeks because you broke your arms while moving” he argued back, doing a double take when he saw the number outside of your door. Giggling when he realised.

Before you could ask him what was going on he giggled, “And, it wouldn’t make me a very good neighbour, would it?”

He smiled before using his own keys to open the door of the apartment right across from yours. This cannot be real.

“You live here?” You whined, not caring if it made you look childish in front of him anymore.

“Mhm” he hummed coming back to you to help you get all the boxes inside, “Let me know if you need help with anything else, neighbour”

“So he lives literally down the hall?” Soonyoung asked you, taken aback. “Small world”

“I’m still convinced he had something to do with it” you grasped your soda can tighter, the metal denting under the pressure.

“You think he’ll be there right now?” Seokmin asked, taking another handful of popcorn.

“Why? Do you want him to give us some michelin star food or something?” Seungkwan asked, continuing to look through the selection of movies for you guys to watch.

“If he does don’t eat it! He probably poisoned it or something” you muttered bitterly.

It was just your luck for the person you despised most to just happen to now live three steps away from you.

It’d only been a week since you moved here but you’d already ran into him five times. Five times too many in your opinion. You were ready to complain about him all over again until the doorbell rang.

“What do you want?” You said crossing your arms over your chest.

“Well it seemed like such a fun party over here. How could I miss out, am I right?” You realised really was the most arrogant man you’ve ever met when he invited himself in and made himself comfortable on your couch. “What’re we watching?”

You also realised your friends were not loyal. Despite cursing him out with you for the last few months they were too quick to become friends with him- even if it was because of the alcohol you really did not care.

It was approaching 3am and you couldn’t sleep, the guys all getting too drunk and crashing on your couch in the other room.

After tossing and turning a few more times you crawled out of your bed and into the building’s hallway, careful to tread lightly to not wake anyone up even Jeonghan.

Ever since your landlord gave you the keys to your apartment and access to the building’s rooftop you think you’ve been here everyday since.

The cool breeze always hit you just perfectly, momentarily letting you forget about everything in the world.

It really wasn’t fair. How Jeonghan treated you. You laugh to yourself when you realise you hold the same thoughts as your high school self, upset that her crush all of a sudden started to insult her for being top of the class.

You’d like to say that you don’t care about what Jeonghan thinks about you, but you know you’d be lying to yourself. That inner teenager of yours that still wants Jeonghan to like her back.

You don’t think you like Jeonghan anymore- but you also don’t think you hate him. And when you realise you don’t hate him after the way he’s treated you, you think you must like him at least a little to forget about that.

“Stop biting your nails” a voice from beside you says.

You don’t recognise it at first and instantly lunge at whatever it is, thinking it was a crazed psycho killer or something.

“Okay I get I wasn’t a saint to you but you didn’t have to hit me in the face y/n what the fuck?” The man groaned.

“Well maybe you should stop sneaking up on me Yoon” you forced out despite feeling a little guilty.

“Well I wouldn’t have to sneak up on you if you acted like a normal person and didn’t leave your apartment at 3am!” He scoffed, flicking your forehead with his finger lightly.

You glared at him before turning back to look at the view over the city.

“We’re not friends, I’d appreciate if you stopped acting like we were”

“We’re not friends? And here I was buying us matching cups” fake pouted, the same way he would when you worked for him and complained about the workload.

The more you remembered how it was like having Yoon Jeonghan as your boss the less you wanted to even be near him.

“You’re not funny, Yoon” you mumbled. Not like he cared.

“You’re not my employee anymore, y/n. I don’t care if you call me by my name now” Jeonghan looked at you.

You think you got even angrier when you looked back at him. Pretty privilege was real and Yoon Jeonghan probably benefited from it the most. Even at 3am and drinking for hours he’s still beautiful enough for you to forget how awful of a person he is.

“Even so, I’m nobody compared to you and I’m nobody to you,” you laughed bitterly, “So I’d prefer to not call you by your first name. Just like you requested”

“You really hold a grudge, don't you?”

“Fuck you Jeonghan” you looked at him baffled, “I hold a grudge? You tormented me for months because of some stupid thing that happened in high school that wasn’t even my fault”

“And even now you’re-” you sputtered, “you’re still trying to blame me. I didn’t do anything to you Jeonghan! You’re the asshole that did everything to me!”

You expected Jeonghan to get mad at your rant and say something back, instead he just stared at, ghost of a smile on his lips and some unreadable glint in his eyes. “You said my name”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. He really could not take anything serious. “What is wrong with you?”

“I’ve been asking myself that too” he got closer to you, “you know ever since you left I’ve strangely been really sad in the office. Moping around looking for something- or someone”

“After a while I realised that was you. I missed you, y/n. And then I realised I like-”

“This has to be the worst confession I have ever heard of, Jeonghan” you looked at him surprised at how he could even begin to think this was what a good confession sounded like. “If anything this just makes me think you’re a sadist who enjoys making the girl they like cry everyday in the office bathrooms”

“Cut me some slack, I only worked this out two weeks ago” Jeonghan whined, and you really had to question if he genuinely believed this would get you to forget the way he acted. “I’ve seen the damn Notebook, we’re supposed to start kissing in the rain now”

“After the hell you put me through Jeonghan, I deserve a lot more than whatever you just threw together” you said before starting to walk away.

“Wait!” Jeonghan quickly grabbed ahold of your wrist before you could leave. “What do I have to do to get you to.. you know, look I’m not good at this!”

“Well for starters I think you should look up the definition of what liking someone is and how people usually act when they do like someone. When you work out how to love them right then let me know”

“Wait but before I start to show you that I can be a good person and an even better boyfriend, can you at least let me know it’s not completely useless. Like you’re not just going to reject me in the end to get back at me” Jeonghan looked at you desperately.

“I’ll see you around” you said before leaving, retreating to your apartment for the night. But Jeonghan could see the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Jeonghan was an idiot, he thought to himself, but he had a chance. He had to work this out somehow- and quick. You were a pretty girl, probably the prettiest girl Jeonghan had ever seen, you definitely had other guys interested and if he wasn’t quick he’d end up losing you to them.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen x you #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan x y/n #yoon jeonghan imagines #jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan x reader #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan angst

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btsgotjams27 · 3 months

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bust a move | jjk

✨ title: bust a move | ✨ pairing: jk x f!reader ✨ genre/au: smut, pwp, married!au, parents!au ✨ word count: 825 | ✨ rating: m/18+ MDNI ✨ summary: you finally return the favor. ✨ warnings: kissing, groping, oral (m. receiving), handjob, he comes in her mouth (but she spits it out) ✨ a/n: i blame ck jk for this horny word vomit, and also thanks to ck jk for bringing out of my smut hiatus (err--i'm also a little rusty, so forgive me). this is definitely not beta'd, so i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes.

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ] previous > busted again

You hum, “G’morning,” inching towards Jungkook, your hand moving to his crotch, but he resists your touch. “What’s wrong?” Brows furrowed and a pout on your face.

He scans your face, eyes dropping down to your chest that’s barely covered by your silk pajama top. “I’m, uh, wet.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips. “You mean you had a wet dream?” He avoids your gaze, embarrassed at the fact that he still gets them occasionally. “It happens. You have a dick. It’s only normal.”

Jungkook sighs, embarrassment written all over his face as he hides under the covers. You follow suit, joining him under the duvet. “I’m just–I’ve been really horny lately, that’s all.”

Raising an eyebrow, you scoot closer, cupping his face, staring into those starry doe eyes. “Did you know that you can have sex with me anytime you want, and I will probably never deny you?”

He grunts, closing his eyes for a moment, imagining all the things he’d do to you. “Mm…don’t tell me that.”

With another wiggle toward him, your body soaks up his warmth along with the heat that’s encapsulated underneath the duvet. It’s early. 6 AM. Lucky for you, your two littles have decided to sleep in, but you have other things on your mind—mainly returning the favor since he wouldn’t let you suck him off that one time in the bathroom.

“Will you…” You pause, your fingers drawing invisible stars into his sculpted chest, then trace down the center to his chiseled abs. “Let me…you know,” you say softly with a smirk on your face.

“Baby, I’m all yours. I’ll take anything you want to give me.”

Your thumb hooks into the elastic of his sweats, pulling them down over his hips along with his briefs, letting his cock spring free. A soft hiss leaves him when you wrap your hand around his shaft. Stroking him a few times, you love watching him revel at your touch. The noises and staggered breaths has you clenching around nothing.

Jungkook remembers that he can touch you too, kiss you even. His hand grips your waist, then moves to grab your ass, kneading them with desire and lust. The ache for him builds within you, but this is about him.

You bring your lips to his, not letting his moan escape, for fear of little ones bursting through the door. The two of you don’t need to be busted again.

He breaks away from the kiss, molding his lips to the column of your neck and collarbones.

“Kook…” you whimper. “Let me take care of you.”

Pulling back, he sighs with a chuckle, “Okay—sorry, I got a little carried away.”

You draw the duvet, uncovering the two of you. Peering at the door, you make sure it’s closed. But for good measure, you jump off the bed, running to lock the door—just in case.

Running back, you push Jungkook on his back, crawling on top of him, legs on either side. His cock is erect, ready to go. Your mouth envelops his length, sucking the tip as your hand holds his shaft, pumping and twisting at the same time. His fingers comb through your hair, grasping it lightly. You look up and his dark eyes are focused on your mouth then flicks up to meet yours.

He sucks in a deep breath when you take as much as you can in your mouth, drool glistening as you’re bobbing up and down his hard cock. You hasten your pace, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. Popping off, you rub his tip against your tongue. He’s throbbing, quivering. He’s ready to topple over. You take him in your mouth again.

Jungkook sits up. “Baby—baby, I’m gonna cum. I know you don’t like it when I cum in your mouth.”

You love how considerate he is, but you’re mentally prepared for this. “It’s okay. Cum in my mouth,” you say, going right back to your previous position.

Your eyes flick to his, witnessing the subtle ripple effect of pleasure course through his body. His chest heaving, abs tightening, cock throbbing. With a strangled groan, he spills seed into your mouth. It’s warm, salty to taste, but you continue milking him for all he has.

He opens his eyes with worry because the last time he came in your mouth, you gagged not being prepared for him. But you’re confident and composed, calmly getting up, heading to the bathroom sink to spit out the cum in your mouth.

Standing at the threshold, a huge grin spreads from ear to ear and you open your mouth. “See, I’m totally fine,” you chuckle, heading back to bed. You place a kiss on his lips.

“You’re—” Jungkook grunts, “You’re too much for me sometimes.”

You sit beside him. “I’m too much for you?”

He nods, kissing you again.

And like clockwork, the handle on your door is rattling, busting the pair of you.

#jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #jungkook drabble #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n

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01zfan · 22 days

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human like me | l. sh

sohee x fem reader | 7k words

last installment of the sacrilegious series WHO ELSE THOUGHT I’D NEVER FINISH IT? seriously though, thank you guys so much for your patience and for supporting this series i love every single one of you guys. also sorry for this being different than the summary on the masterlist it was too similar to umf so i changed it. this is also definitely my saddest work but religious is sad to me so it works.

contains: MAJOR character death, depictions of depression, implied virginity loss, cheating (???), kinda a dark fic but in like a very sad way (???)

sacrilegious materlist

sohee was always in your life. you believed that even before you met him he existed in your orbit, passing by you constantly but never colliding. he was shrouded in mystery but he felt familiar, like you had seen his face in the mass of people when your eyes would wander during service. when he came to introduce himself as the new student in your class, you tilted your head, trying to remember where you’d seen him from. the answer was so close yet so far away. you tapped your thigh and tongued your cheek, a habit of yours when you felt bible verses caught on the tip of your tongue.

although everything about sohee felt familiar it was the smell of him that rang the most bells in your mind. when he came in close to shake your hand it was like you were taken back to a time in your life where you felt at peace. it happened so suddenly, one moment you were confused the next you knew everything. your olfactory neurons were firing off a storm, transporting you somewhere when sohee came close. you lingered for a second too long when you came close to him, closing your eyes to try and remember where you were.

when you finally pulled back from sohee he looked confused but not afraid of you. he had big expressive eyes, ones that were a clear indicator down the road that this was his first life. when you apologized and pulled away he told you it was okay, hesitating a moment before asking you if he smelled bad.

“no” you shook your head instantly “you just smell familiar.” you said.

sohee smiled and you smiled back. when he turned his head you counted the moles that dotted on his cheek. something in you knew the number, counting them over and over again to see if you were right.

“is that a good thing?” sohee asked when he turned back to you. “that i smell familiar?”

he pinched the fabric of his shirt and move his head to his shoulder to smell it. you groaned inwardly at another failed attempt to socialize with your peers. too many times you ended up embarrassing yourself or saying something that could be taken as an insult to the person you were talking to. but when sohee was done smelling his shirt he didn’t look annoyed or perturbed by your comment. instead, he leaned forward to you and took a large whiff, as if he was trying to be as loud as possible. your classmates turned to look at the two of you in the back of the class. sohee didn’t seem to notice the confused people looking at the two of you.

“you smell good.” sohee took another sniff, rolling his eyes up to his head like he was thinking. “is this how i’m supposed to greet people?” he said.

when you laughed at his question all of your classmates stared at the two of you again. your laugh felt foreign almost, you were so used to hushed laughs to yourself during boring parts in sermons when your mind would wander. sohee’s eyebrows raised before he laughed along with you.

ever since that day sohee stuck close to you and you stuck closer to him. he had become the weird kid in the school and you were the silent one, reputations that stuck like a second skin to the both of you. it was a match made in heaven.

you remained friends throughout school, both of you helping eachother through the late nights of worship and bible study. you became partners for every project and seat mates in every class after your reputations for being different ran through the school like wildfire.

you remember at graduation recalling the irony in how quickly you and sohee were judged for being different. from the outside looking in, you would’ve never known that your catholic classmates had a tendency to judge and alienate those who were different. kids who had been preached the teachings of the bible before they could walk were the most self-righteous. they thought it was their prerogative to isolate the ones who didn’t fit into their cookie cutter mold. you were all smacked with rulers to instill the fear of god and his gospel in your young impressionable minds, but even after a lifetime of teaching people could still become hypocrites.

even if you had become okay with your reputation, you still felt a stone in your throat after everyone threw their caps in the air. it seemed like before everything touched the ground everyone was gone. people left in their cliques that were formed long ago. after the ceremony you found sohee and you two roamed the school grounds like ghosts. it was strange, sticking around the place where you guys were bullied while everyone else left to the next chapter of their lives. when the moon was high in the sky you guys found yourself at the playground, recalling all of the awful things that happened to the two of you at the hands of your peers.

“to hell with them.”

sohee said it loud and proud as you guys sat on the swings you never got the chance to play on. when you heard the words fall from his mouth you gasped, feet digging into the wood chips to stop the little momentum you had. sohee was still in his seat, only rocking back and forth on his feet. he turned to you with a smile on his face, cheek pressed to the uncoated swing chain.

“i’m serious. they were awful to us.” sohee said.

he looked up to the moon and you did too. something inside of you wanted to agree, to say to hell with all of them. but you couldn’t. you shook your head and turned to sohee, heart beating in your chest as you thought of everything coming to an end.

“one day, they’ll realize what they did was wrong.” you said.

even if you sounded so sure, sohee still scoffed. his head looked down at his feet now as he kicked woodchips around.

“i doubt it.” sohee murmured under his breath.

you let out a sigh, trying to let the need for an apology fall from your shoulders.

“thessalonians 5:18” you say.

instantly sohee beside you groans and tips his head back in the narrow swing seat. you laugh and start spinning in the seat to twist the chains.

“i hate when you quote bible ve—.” sohee complained.

“give thanks in all circumstance; for this is the will of god in christ jesus for you.” you interrupt.

sohee makes sounds of anguish the whole time you quote the verse, and you mockingly increase your voice to be over his. when you’re done you let the chain of the swing untwist.

“and what should we be grateful for in this situation?” sohee asked.

“i met you.” when sohee turned in his seat you suddenly felt nervous. you maintained eye contact, counting his moles over and over again to try and steady yourself. “i’m pretty grateful for that.” you say.

for a moment, it’s just you and sohee staring at eachother. the moonlight shines on your faces, and you both grip the stiff tops of your graduation caps to ease your nerves. even if your outside you suddenly feel suffocated. sohee breaks away from your gaze first, clearing his throat and looking forward at the jungle gym.

“i’m grateful too.” sohee said.

a smile came across his face when he let one of his hands drop away from the chain of the swing. he was subtle as he slowly moved his swing sideways to get closer to you. his hand was still in the space between your two bodies when you let your hand drop as well. it was slow, both of your heads tilted towards the night sky while your fingers found eachother. it was a gentle touch then a tight squeeze as you two held hands. any attempt to look at eachother was futile, the both of you were nervous messes while your fingers intertwined. suddenly you didn’t care about the graduation parties you weren’t invited to, or the events you were excluded from—you had sohee and you had god. both were two constants in your life, both made you feel safe, and both were on your mind constantly.

when you started thinking about sohee more than you thought about god, you knew something was amiss. it happened suddenly, weeks after you guys silently held hands underneath the moonlight. you both were kneeled at the altar with lowered heads as you murmured prayers underneath your breath. when sohee looked up and you saw his head tilt back as he did the sign of the cross you focused on his bobbing adam’s apple. it was ironic, the forbidden fruit lodged in the first mans throat was the thing that first sparked your lustful thoughts.

sohee kissed his hand at the end and stood up. you felt like your knees were glued to the floor. when sohee looked down at you, you couldn’t stop your eyes from going wide. everything about sohee was familiar, you knew him like the back of your hand after spending so much time together. but from this position of him looking down at you, everything felt new.

the feeling that churned deep in your stomach was something you never felt before. it didn’t seem to go away, only intensify as your time with sohee continued. when he spoke to god you felt your mind wander to what he’d sound like cursing the name underneath his breath, bringing in his plush lips between his teeth. when you caught glances of sohee’s hand thumbing through pages of the bible you got lost, entranced by the way his slender fingers scanned down the pages to find what he was looking for.

sometimes the churning hurt, it got so intense that you would almost feel pain in your bed at night. the sin was so suffocating you tossed and turned until you fell asleep—but even your dreams couldn’t give you an escape.

you were taken to an early morning, laying in a bed with silky soft sheets. when you sat up in bed you saw thin white curtains dancing in a gentle breeze and sohee sitting behind them, their sheerness giving you a filtered view of sohee. he was always focused on something else as he sat at the table. sometimes it would be his book, sometimes it would be his phone. but it was always his lips that caught your attention first, soft and pink mouthing something you could barely make out. then your eyes would wander to his fluttering eyelashes, so visible even if your were half a room away.

sohee’s attention would always go back to you, smile on his face as he got on the bed and crawled towards you. in the white room, reflecting purity you found yourself thinking only of the loss in innocence as you backed up to the headboard. sohee looked down at you, right in the eyes then down to your lips. your own eyes wandered too, gripping the smooth sheets in your hands as you tried to figure out what to do next. sohee’s hand was familiar, like it was a touch transcending planes of consciousness as it clasped over yours. sohee knew to lean close, so close that you felt the ghost of his lips jolt you awake.

when the dreams got to be too much, you found yourself pulling sohee away during transition time in the oratory. you pulled him away mid conversation with his new friend he made in the choir. sohee could barely mutter a sorry to anton as he followed behind you, being pulled by his hand. sohee stumbled as you continued pulling his hand to go against the mass of people. you didn’t answer sohee’s questions of where you two were going, and you didn’t stop moving until you both were cramped inside the janitors storage closet.

sohee looked around the room, staring up at the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling.

“is this the new prayer room?” sohee asked.

you shook your head, trying to figure out how to confess to your friend that you were sinning at the thought of him.

“sohee.” you’re serious, and sohee looks at you worried as the lightbulb above your heads sways in space. “i have sinned.” you confess.

his head tilted slightly as he tried to figure out what happened. he looked at the top of your head when you hung it in shame, gripping his hands as you tried to come up with the words to say.

“is it bad?” sohee asked quietly.

you knew now that you were being dramatic then. compared to what you ended up doing later in life, having lustful dreams about your friend wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. but when you’re young you don’t know any better, and when you are taught about cardinal sin and damnation you think everything is absolute. so even though they were only dreams, the tears welled at your water line as you nodded your head to sohee’s question.

“like, how bad?” sohee asked.

“cardinal.” you said simply.

sohee did a sharp intake of his breath and you went back to letting your head hang. you felt the heat start in your chest at the humiliation. no amount of repenting could save you, or take the thoughts from your mind.

“which one?” sohee asked.

you were convinced you were cursed, even in with the gravity of the situation weighing down on you in the cramped closet your eyes still found their way to sohee’s lips. how he chewed on them as he tried to figure out what to say to you. how his eyes were wide as he looked at you. his hands that held tightly onto yours. you counted the moles on his face over and over again until you found the words, trying to shake the thought’s from your mind.

“lust.” you answered.

sohee had to strain his ear and repeat the motion of your lips a thousand times. from your whisper he almost missed it—he believed he was making it up until he mouthed the word himself. he let your word float in the cramped closer between the two of you as he tried to figure out what to say.

when he saw your head hang even deeper in shame sohee lifted your gaze by lightly shaking your shoulders. it took everything to maintain eye contact with him like this. the lightbulb that hung above your heads shined down on sohee like a ring of light above his head. he began sweating a long time ago, from being shoulder to shoulder during mass now in this tiny space where the tension felt like a thick fog. sohee had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead, and the light that caught it made him glisten. you tried to swallow your thoughts as sohee continued to look at you.

“it’s normal. to feel that way.” sohee assured.

his eyes were big as he tried to comfort you. when you shook your head he nodded his, trying to show you everything was alright. the guilt and shame ate you up inside.

“even if it’s about you?” you asked.

you swear to god that you don’t remember what happened next. all you remember was that one moment everything was still. none of the cleaning supplies moved on the shelves, the lightbulb above your heads didn’t sway from its cord. the next sohee back you into the wall with his lips on yours. teeth clashed as you knocked things down. you stumbled, almost putting your foot in a mop bucket before you greedily tried wrapping it around sohee’s waist. he held it there by a grip on your thighs, but he was no better as he failed to balance himself in the small space. he nearly fell, only held up by the grip you had on his shoulders.

when you pulled away the swinging lightbulb illuminated parts of sohee’s face. even if his eyes were dark from lust you didn’t shy away, you only licked your lips to try and remember the taste.

the first time sohee touched you, it was quick. both of you were so burdened by lust that clouded your judgement. it held you so tightly sometimes you felt air getting caught in your chest and the only relief was sohee sticking his hands underneath your shirt. in relation to things you two did in the years to come, it was harmless. but in that moment, both of you looked to the ceiling in the janitors closet like god was going to strike the two of you down then and there. when nothing happened, you let out a sigh of relief and stuck your own hand underneath sohee’s shirt. you were softer then compared to now. sohee was warmer then too, his skin was smooth but felt like fire underneath your fingertips. when you thought about fire you hesitated, no longer reciprocating sohee’s fast and wet kisses he placed across your face. he pulled away, eyes blown out as he looked at you with worry.

“what’s wrong?” sohee asked.

“this is wrong. god is watching.” you whispered it, like he was in the cramped janitor closet that barely had enough room for the two of you.

you were so stupid.

sohee knew you were stupid, you swear to god he knew it too. even though he put a gentle kiss to your forehead and reassuring pecks to the apples of your cheeks you think now he was mocking you.

you didn’t take your hand away from sohee’s bare stomach, and he pressed into your yours gently. he looked up for a moment, before turning his attention back to you.

“we can just repent, yeah?” sohee asked.

you thought about it too. lust was a sin, but the feeling of sohee readjusting your leg on his waist made you believe it was worth it. you didn’t need much convincing to melt into sohee’s kisses again, to push him against the walls of the small closet until cleaning supplies fell from the sides. you were desperate but still shy, not letting your hands wander from the space of sohee’s torso. that was all you needed then, just touching his bare skin gave you enough to feel that pressure churn in your stomach.

that’s how lust worked. it started off as a supernova, burning bright and fast, over as soon as it started. that’s why you and sohee were able to reach peaks you had never known before just by kissing and pushing eachother against walls with your hands touching bare stomachs. the two of you were moaning into the others mouth within minutes, returning to church service uncomfortable in your underwear and sweaty underneath your tunics before anyone noticed you were missing.

in the beginning it was only touching and kissing, before the lust became unbearable and needed more to be sated. before you knew it you were pushing sohee’s hands past the waistband of your pants or up your skirt, and sohee was closing your fist around his dick with his hand as he snapped his hips forward. you had graduated from the janitors closet to prayer rooms, even sneaking away to feel eachother in the youth group meeting rooms or sohee’s bedroom when his parents weren’t home. it was risky, but that was the thing with lust, it took away your inhibitions and made you daring.

you were always lucky, after coming back from sneaking away with sohee all you had to do was sit in the pew and wait for service to be over. sohee had to sing in front of your congregation, pursing the lips that you kissed swollen with hair your carelessly mussed. he was unaffected, smiling to you in between hymns.

you believed sohee was an angel, someone god sent down with a heavenly voice to spread his word. even when he had his hands down your pants, whispering unholy things into your ears as you came undone you thought he was an angel. with a supernatural singing ability you believed he was invincible.

you found out later that sohee was a human like you, a creature of flesh and blood that could be here one second and gone the next.

to this day you don’t know what happened. everyone kept it a secret from you, or maybe it was something your mind tuned out in efforts to protect your sanity. all you knew was that sohee looked so cold now, and you were the one looking down at him. you finally got the apologies you wanted in highschool. the people who berated you and sohee and isolated you in class came up to you with tears in their eyes.

we were young dumb kids back then.

sohee was so sweet.

we could tell your love was real.

may god protect you.

you almost laughed when you heard the name of god, but it didn’t seem appropriate to laugh anymore. when the preacher got that strange wheeze in his voice that sohee would mimic you had to bite your tongue, and after the service you almost chuckled as you tried to find a word to describe what sohee’s parents were now. what do you call a parent that lost their child?

inverse orphans?

you gripped the plate that had sohee’s favorite snacks as you held back a laugh. you watched from the corner of sohee’s living room, seeing everyone mingle and talk. you felt like sohee that night at graduation, scoffing up to the sky when you said the bible verse. there was nothing to be grateful for in this moment. you weren’t grateful to sit in the front row of mourners, sandwiched between his mother and anton. you weren’t grateful that they asked you to share a memory you had with anton, or to spare kind words. you weren’t grateful that his mom pulled you aside and sincerely thanked you for being her sons bestfriend. you weren’t grateful to stand in the same living room where you spent countless days with sohee after school, talking about the future with eachother in mind.

to hell with them.

you adopted that mindset then and there. the shock turned to indifference and numbness in that moment while you stood in the corner of sohee’s living room. you didn’t bother saying goodbye, leaving through sohee’s window after you snuck into his room to lay in his bed. you were nosy in his space like you always were, opening drawers and wrapping his clothes around your face as you tried to recall where you remembered his scent from. you stole a black hoodie, and the red baseball cap that perpetually rested on his dresser. you snuck through sohee’s window, trying to not be seen. but as you had one leg out anton was coming in, peaking through the door like he had done countless times before.

for a split second you saw anton’s eyes go to sohee’s bed. you followed his line of sight, almost thinking that sohee was there. you almost saw the outline of sohee’s body relaxing on his bed like you had seen so many times before. but before you could really take a look anton eyes went to you halfway out the window.

“oh. hey.” anton said when he saw you.

you didn’t say a word to him. the only thing you did was move your body to the side when anton’s eyes drifted down to sohee’s things in your hand.

“i was wondering if—”

before anton could say anything else, you left. you swung your legs over the windowsill to the fire escape, walking down to the street. you drove in complete silence all the way home, looking to sohee’s things in your passengers seat at the stoplight.

on your way home you became increasingly numb to everything. you let yourself cry when you initially got the call, and tears fell when you saw him for the last time. but now, as you walked around your apartment you didn’t feel anything. you didn’t care about anything.

except for that damn light.

the reminder that the sun continued to rise everyday weighed heavy on your conscious, and the fact that your apartment had so many windows made the light virtually inescapable. in the beginning the light used to bring you life, even if you didn’t want to admit it. you didn’t want to admit that you liked waking up from the gentle sunlight coming through the windows and getting an early start to your day, or how refreshed it made you feel. you found it extremely ironic to actively deny the benefits of the sun in front of the sun itself—but sohee was no longer here to make the sun seem dim in comparison. now it was just too bright. your apartment that used to be bathed in the sun felt like it was burning you alive.

sohee used to talk about the windows in your apartment like it was a perk, and for a while you believed him. when you signed the lease he got your sheer colorful curtains, and the sun came through the same way it came through the stained glass windows in the chapel. at first you loved it, feeling like you were always in a place of worship. but now you hated everything that reminded you of church, or anything that was connected to god.

you didn’t want to see the light, you didn’t want to see anything related to the church anymore. god abandoned you a long time ago, if he was even real. you didn’t know if it was more upsetting—to find out god wasn’t real or if he was real and didn’t stop good people from dying or suffering. if you thought about it too much, if you were forced to see what your life had become because of the colored light filtering through your sheer curtains you would only get violent and trash something else in your apartment. so the first change you made to your apartment was buying blackout curtains. once you were done hanging up all the curtains you closed your eyes then opened them, happy to find that it almost looked the same.

after you hung up the blackout curtains, avoiding the world became easier. you didn’t have to hide from the sun underneath pillows or your covers, and you didn’t have to worry about the sun interrupting your long periods of sleep. you didn’t have to go through the pounding headaches from sleeping for too long and you realized if it was already dark in your apartment, you didn’t have to know that life went on. the earth didn’t continue to spin in your pitch black apartment, if you didn’t check your phone the illusion of time standing still wasn’t broken. the sun never set or rose when you hung up the blackout curtains.

the first person that saw you after everything was sohee’s bestfriend. you had heard his knocks before, and then before that as well. you didn’t know what day it was, and when you finally peaked through your door anton looked just as lost. he looked like he was already preparing to walk away, back turned to your door when you finally opened it. he turned immediately, smiling with cracked dry lips and red eyes.

“i came by earlier.” he picked at the lid of the glass dish in his hands. “you must’ve been out.”

you are still silent behind your cracked door, not used to speaking to other people in so long. you mainly can’t focus because of the blinding light. you cough behind the door, trying to clear your throat.

before you can speak, anton holds out the meatloaf towards you like a peace offering.

“sohee’s parents came by service today and they wanted me to give this to you.” he said.

“i hate meatloaf.” you said.

when anton heard the defeat in your voice, he finally dropped the act. you saw his shoulders visibly sag, you saw him smile and his eyes drop. your eyes went to the bottom of his tie, how the fabric was darker than the rest from blotting away his tears. maybe he had the same epiphany you did about the church. it didn’t work, and the pain never goes away. anton looked up from the letter placed on top of the dish to look up at you.

“can i come in?” when you looked behind you getting ready to decline anton took a desperate step forward. “please.” he begged.

you only opened the door up a little wider, feeling like the light was infiltrating the refuge you built away from it.

when anton squeezed through the small space, he brought you in for a tight hug. he hugged the same way he did at the wake, and you stood there frozen now the same way you did then. when it was the three of you, you always welcomed the hugs, smiling while patting his back gently. but when it was just you and anton, it felt awkward. you hugged friends with enthusiasm, but you were always apprehensive of strangers. that’s what anton was now that the reason you two met was no longer there. it felt intimate to have a stranger in your apartment just to drop off food and well wishes. you shifted on your feet and shrunk into sohee’s oversized sweater that only reeked of you now.

anton was the only person on earth that understood sohee like you did. maybe that’s why you felt such a connection to him when he was alive. anton was the only other important person in sohee’s life, and it was something you two wore like a badge of honor. competition for sohee’s attention slowly turned into a friendly teasing and forced hangouts. anton also went through a period of isolation at the hands of his peers. after your shared trauma and shared love for sohee it only seemed logical that the three of you would become a trio.

but now it seemed awkward and painful. anton didn’t realize it like you did at the wake, but when he pulled back from the hug you could tell he knew. he separated from you immediately and cleared his throat. anton’s anxious fingers flexed around the pyrex dish, like the food was going to save him. your hands stayed at your side while you tried not to think about what it would be like if sohee was still here. both of you would be laughing to exaggerate the awkwardness, letting your shared love for sohee overcome the tension. but the veil was lifted now, and you both knew it.

while anton tried to navigate your shadowy apartment, you started thinking about how much in common the boy in front of you had with sohee. the two had the same dialect from growing up in the same town. they had the same affliction in their voice brought from spending so much time together, and they both had the same annoying habit of placing things to close to the edge of counters. if you closed your eyes it was almost like sohee was with you again.

“did you hear what i said?” anton asked.

you could see him look for your face in the darkness, not finding you until you spoke.

“no. what’d you say?” you asked quietly.

“sohee’s mom wanted me to get his sheet music.” you could see the outline of anton’s arm go to scratch the back of his head. “they asked me to cover his parts temporarily.” anton said.

you could tell that anton was half expecting you to decline. you almost did, you had developed the nasty habit of hoarding anything of sohee’s you could get your hands on. the last sane part of your mind knew it was evil to withhold something from his parents, and they were already so nice to let you steal their sons clothes and keep them for yourself. so you silently walked in front of sohee—anton—to go into your room.

you actually preferred for anton to be in your bedroom. it was the only part of your apartment you bothered to keep clean. you saved all the takeout bags and trash for your kitchen, letting it rest on your counters. you dug around your room in the darkness, trying to remember where you put them. anton stood by the door, not moving until you found the folder.

“here it is.” you said.

anton moved to you, standing by your bed as he held the folder in his hands. the two of you were silent, looking at one of the last things sohee ever touched.

“do you mind?” anton asked.

when you saw that he had looked up from the folder to look at your drawn curtain, you shook your head. you didn’t have the words to explain yourself, instead you just got on your bed to unplug your phone. anton followed you, sitting on the edge of your bed as you turned on the flashlight. both you and anton lingered on the lockscreen of your phone, a picture of sohee smiling big in his choir uniform. you saw anton next to him, unaware that you were taking a photo. before you could stay on it for too long you turned your phone off, using the flashlight to illuminate the front of the folder.

anton ran his fingers over sohee’s name written on the bottom and the little doodles beside it. he flipped through the pages, seeing sohee’s annotations and little things he scribbled off to the side. you had never seen the pages, sohee kept them close to his person during service. you remember seeing him up late at night, headphones over his ears as he made his own changes to the hymns. you thought it would only be about music, but as anton thumbed through the pages you saw little sketches of you in the corners, your initials written in heart shapes and your erased name. anton was surprised too, a tiny laugh escaping his lips as he saw everything.

“so that’s what he was doing during service.” anton said.

you knew that you should’ve found joy in sohee’s scribbles. he was thinking about you as much as you were thinking about him. you wondered if he was thinking about you while singing, when he should’ve been thinking about god. your mind started thinking about punishment when your tears started dotting the sheets of music. anton closer the folder immediately, turning to you. he said nothing, only bringing you in for a hug as you sniffled into his shoulder.

“i’m sorry. i thought seeing that would make you feel better.” anton whispered into your shoulder.

you shook your head, finally letting your hands wrap around anton’s waist. you gripped his white button up tightly, letting the tears you didn’t know you had wet his shirt.

“it’s not fair.” your words were muffled into anton’s shirt. you felt him nod against your head, patting your back soothingly.

“he’s watching over us.” anton said unsurely.

you shook your head, going further into the comfort of the mans arms. your phone’s flashlight was pointed upwards, illuminating the space between your bodies. when you pulled away you could make out the shadow of anton’s face, and your line of sight was bracketed with tears.

“if he’s here, why do i feel so alone?” you ask.

in the dark of your room, you swear you could hear sohee’s voice in front of you. he became so familiar to you that you could place him anywhere, even if you haven’t seen him in so long. so when you press your thigh against the person next to you, you swear on your life it’s sohee’s thigh that touches you back. when you flipped your phone around, it was sohee’s hands that stayed on your shoulders. when you heard the person next to you speak, it was sohee’s voice that talked to you.

“you’re not alone.”

it felt like you were taken back to the first time sohee spent the night in your apartment. it was the first time the two of you had been left completely alone, your parents didn’t bother you once you fled the nest and sohee’s parents thought he was with anton. that was the night you were the most nervous, only settled by sohee’s comforting words. he whispered them against the shell of your ear, then huffed them into your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist. the familiarity of it all crept up on you, and if you closed your eyes you could hear the same bated breath sohee had before he first leaned in to kiss you deeply. you felt sohee’s hands go from your shoulders as they traveled down to your elbows.

you screwed your eyes shut when you held sohee in front of you the same way. he never wore button ups, but if you didn’t think too hard about it your mind filled in the blanks. you ignored how hesitant his dry cracked lips were at first, instead remembering how you were always kissed with such soft devotion. you remembered his soft plush lips, how slowly you were able to kiss eachother when you weren’t under a time constraint or watchful eyes. your imagination made you take the lead, hoping your muscle memory would mold the pair of lips to the ones you were familiar with. but when you shamelessly ran your tongue over his top lip you weren’t fighting for dominance against a guiding hand on the nape of your neck. when you fisted his shirt you weren’t pulled in by the small of your back. you only felt an uneasy hand go to your face, stroking the fresh tear tracks on the apples of your cheeks timidly.

regardless, for a moment your mind and the pair of lips humored you. they humored you into delusion, to the point that you pulled away for a second. maybe it was the last fleeting smell of sohee embedded into his hoodie, maybe he still rested on the pages of his sheet music. but when you pulled away you swear on god’s life that you saw sohee beside you, breathless with his lips parted as he touched your cheeks.

“sohee?” you said breathlessly.

at the same time, your phone fell from your lap face down, lighting anton’s horrified face in front of you. the hand that was on your cheeks went to your shoulder, pushing you back slightly. anton shot up from your bed, his head hanging in shame as his hand wiped you away from his lips.

“i’m sorry. i can’t.” anton backed towards your bedroom door, head still hanging low. “text me when you finish the food. i’m sorry.” he said.

the front door closed before you could say anything. you stayed on the bed, looking down at the shining white light on the back of your phone. you had nothing to say anymore, you had no tears anymore. you eventually made you way back to the kitchen and eyed the dish sitting on the edge of your countertop. you looked at the envelope that sat on top, your name written in tiny neat letters. you pushed the glass dish to the edge of your countertop a little more, until it was threatening to fall. you went back to bed and laid down, looking through the scribbles of sohee’s sheet music over and over again.

that was the same night you had your first dream about sohee. he came to you while you laid in bed, curling next to you and kissing your head through your hair. it was warm and comforting, you could feel his heat wrap around your body completely. sohee came close to your ear and apologized that it would be awhile until you saw eachother again. you shot up in bed when your phone buzzed out of do not disturb. you reached for the empty space beside you, panting into the darkness as you looked around your dark and empty room.

after you yelled at the person who woke you up, calls stopped coming in. there were occasional texts that you couldn’t process and words that dripped in pity. anton friend sent you a text that night about how sorry he was. you were almost able to delude yourself into thinking it was sohee until the word “grief” pulled your from fantasy. you kept your ringer off now, only going to your phone to look at your lockscreen and ignore the digital clock that told you the earth was still spinning.

your room was the only thing you bothered to keep clean, because that’s where sohee would always visit you in your dreams. it had gotten to the point that all your trash was waiting for you on the other side, littering your living room and unfolded clothes occupied your couch. wrappers from candy bars and empty paper bags on the occasion you’d eat littered your kitchen countertops. the food in the dish was long spoiled and your bathroom was virtually unused except for the toilet and sink. your dry soap bar and washcloth became a looming presence and you made the excuse of whispering to yourself i’ll do it tomorrow each time you walked by.

i’ll do it tomorrow had become your new motto. you said it every time you added to the pile of dishes in your sink, stacked so high it almost touched the faucet. you said it when you heard knocks on your door or your phone went off from receiving a text message. several notes cards were crammed underneath your door, things you told yourself you’d read later. if it wasn’t sohee, it wasn’t a priority. the only thing that mattered was keeping the curtains drawn and sleeping to see him again.

#seriez: sacrilegious #01zfan: sohee #sohee smut #riize smut

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 2 months

Text

Something There (Chapter 12)

6.8k words

Roy Kent x Reader

Warnings: Language, fluff, references to smutty things, absolute fluffy fluff

Series Masterlist

A/N: This has... taken a while, lol. Honestly, I've been struggling with how to end this, mostly because I don't want to say goodbye to Roy and Bucky! But, all good (or at least halfway decent) things must come to an end. (Plus, I already know there'll be some blurbs featuring these two!) I hope you enjoy, and thanks for coming along for the ride ❤️

“What would you say is your greatest accomplishment?”

Roy nodded towards me and smirked. “Can I answer for her?”

Another “Manager Monday”. Apparently, people liked seeing Roy and me sitting together and answering questions. According to Keeley, the internet referred to us as the “Mum and Dad” of Nelson Road. It was weird and a little flattering, if I was being honest. And, frankly, getting to goof around and not-so-subtly flirt with Roy on camera during work hours was a pretty good deal.

“No, you cannot,” Keeley chuckled. “Go on then, greatest accomplishment.”

“Winning my Olympic Gold Medal,” I answered, elbowing Roy when I heard his good-natured snicker. “It was something my grandpa and I talked about for as long as I can remember. And he did come see me win it. After that, whenever he introduced me to people, it was always, ‘This is my granddaughter. She’s an Olympian.’” I smiled at the memory before turning to Roy. “What’s yours? That year you led the league in red cards?”

Roy’s smile had my heart doing somersaults. “You fucking know it.”

With lots of laughter and poor attempts to hide our flirting, we got through a couple more soccer-related questions before Keeley broached the topic we both knew she was dying to get to.

“So, the internet has been debating between two couple names for you two,” she announced mischievously. “‘Boy’ and ‘Rocky’. Which do you prefer?”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Keeley,” he growled, as I snorted, “We’re not answering that.”

While we were more than happy to let our friends at Nelson Road know about our relationship and annoy them with our PDA, we had agreed not to make any big public show of things- at least not until the season ended. We were enough of a distraction when we were just a few blurry photos the night of the gala; we didn’t want to take away any more media attention from the club, not when our teams were on the verge of something great.

Keeley rolled her eyes. “Fine, fine. But once you two go public, you know better get used to those questions, alright? Because you guys are really fucking cute, and the internet loves you already.”

“We are pretty cute, I’ll give you that,” I chuckled, taking Roy’s hand and smiling at the grumpy coach- my grumpy coach.

In return, he leaned over and pecked my lips gently. “That better not fucking end up online,” he warned Keeley, thick eyebrows raised threateningly.

“We’d break the internet with that little kiss,” she teased, winking at me. “Better be nice to me, or I’m leaking that clip.”

“Careful,” Roy replied with a nod in my direction, affection sparkling in his eyes. “I heard this one’s got a mean right hook.”

Roy leaned on the doorframe, enjoying the view. Who would’ve thought that just watching someone put on makeup would make him so fucking happy?

But seeing her standing in front of his bathroom sink and applying that red lipstick had his heart skipping a couple beats. He liked this domestic thing, the sleepovers and the driving to work together and the making dinner and… everything. He wanted more of it, he realized. He wanted more of her. The word was on the tip of his tongue, the word that had been floating around in his head since they got together, since the gala if he was being honest. Maybe even before that, he didn't fucking know. But it was too soon, he knew. Things were already going fast enough and, although she was diving in headfirst just as hard, Roy was still worried about scaring her off.

Her playful eyes met his in the mirror. “Can I help you, Kent?” she teased.

He shrugged and pushed himself off the doorframe so he could stroll over casually. “Just admiring the view.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a slow kiss to her cheek. “I like when you wear that color.” Another kiss to her temple. “Especially when it ends up on my neck,” he hummed.

“Fuck off,” she chuckled, elbowing him gently. “Come on, let me finish getting ready. Otherwise, you’re going to be late to your game, Coach.”

“Fine,” he growled. “But after the match?”

She whirled around and grabbed his face gently, her eyes bright. “After the match, I promise my lipstick will be all over your neck.” She pressed her body close to his. “And maybe some other particular places.” Her red lips formed that smirk he loved, the one he couldn’t believe he used to find annoying. “But only if you win.”

Roy grinned, eyebrows raised at her appealing offer. “Well, lucky for me I’m the manager of a winning team.”

“That is lucky,” she purred, nudging her nose against his. “Now then, can I go put on my new Greyhounds kit?”

His grin widened. “You got a fucking Greyhounds kit?”

She shrugged. “Of course. I’m part of Richmond. I like the fellas. And I’m pretty obsessed with their pain in the ass manager.” She smiled. “It’s about time I start rocking some Greyhound gear.”

Roy’s heart was soaring. He loved wearing her name and number on his back, even if it made their relationship obvious to anyone who was paying even an ounce of attention. And he’d be lying his ass off if he said he hadn’t pictured what she’d look like wearing his name on a kit. Granted, some of those pictures in his head were in his bed rather than at a match, but still. What a fucking dream come true.

“Alright,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hurry up then, Coach.”

Roy probably would have skipped to the living room if it weren’t for this shit knee. With no one around, he didn’t bother hiding his stupid grin, the one he found himself wearing quite often these days. The internet had gone a bit wild with images of him wearing her name on his Whippets kit; he could only imagine the silly little fan edits and TikToks that would surely follow this match.

“What d’you think?”

Roy’s old man heart nearly stopped in his chest. The bright red and blue material hugged her figure perfectly, tempting him to rip it off of her and forget all about his match. The little Greyhound logo settled beautifully over her heart, just like the Whippets manager had weaseled her way into his. He was officially obsessed with the picture in front of him, he decided.

“Fucking perfect,” he hummed. He twirled his finger in a circle, eyebrows raised. He just needed to see one more thing. “Give us a spin, then.”

Her grin widened as she turned around, something mischievous in her eyes. Roy sat up a little straighter, unashamed to be so obviously excited to see-

“Does that fucking say Tartt?” he spat, pure disgust smeared across his bearded face.

Her laughter rang in his ears, almost magical enough to make him forget about this absolute betrayal. He narrowed his eyes at her as she turned back around, shameless amusement on her face. “What’s the matter, Roy?” she teased as she made her way over to where he slumped on the couch. “Don’t you think I look good?”

He reached out and tugged her onto his lap, doing his best to keep his stern expression. “I think,” he growled against her shoulder, pawing at the material, “that you need to take that fucking thing off.”

With a giggle, she grabbed his wrist and looked at his watch, reminding Roy of the night of the gala- their very first night. “Ah, no time to change, I’m afraid.” She pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, careful not to leave any lipstick on his face. “Let’s go, Kent.”

Still grumbling and growling, Roy allowed himself to be pulled off the couch and dragged out of the house. When she wasn’t looking, he shook his head and smiled softly at her. Even with such a stupid name on her back, Roy still thought that seeing her in a Greyhounds kit was his new favorite sight.

He just couldn’t wait to rip the damn thing off of her.

“Let’s fucking go, Greyhounds!” I screeched, ignoring the way Keeley covered her ears.

After everything that had happened this season, both on and off the field, it was hard to believe it was coming to an end. Tonight, the Greyhounds were only one victory away winning the Premier League. And, after weeks of wearing Jamie’s name and other players’ names on my back just to mess with Roy (and the internet), I was proudly wearing his name and our number on my Greyhounds sweatshirt.

Keeley leaned close and held out her phone. “You’re already trending,” she teased, showing off a blurry photo of Roy and me entering the stadium, with me wearing Roy’s name and my signature red lipstick as I smiled up at the Greyhound manager. “And so is this.” There was Jamie Tartt, entering the stadium, wearing a fanny pack and, as usual, a hat. Unlike usual, this hat didn’t say “ICON”; instead, it proudly proclaimed “ROCKY”.

I rolled my eyes as the guys took their places on the field. “Is that a reference to that stupid ‘couple name’ thing?” I groaned. “Because you’re all supposed to be helping us keep quiet, you know.”

The sly way Keeley narrowed her eyes had me almost squirming. “Yeah. Because the way you two act during Manager Mondays and wearing each other’s kits is really discreet.” Suddenly, her suspicious expression turned somber, giving me a new urge to fidget. “How’s it all going by the way? You and him? The two of you seem pretty damn happy these days.”

“We are,” I assured her, not bothering to stop my wide smile from filling my face. “He’s… well, you know how he is.” I gave a soft chuckle as I looked down to the pitch and watched Roy lean over to say something to Coach Beard. Perfect, I decided. That was how Roy was; perfect. From the way he stood during games, shoulders squared and all business, to the way he always stole a quick kiss when our paths crossed at work, to the way his strong hands tenderly adored me in bed, to the lazy afternoons on his couch, to the phone calls and texts that flooded my phone whenever we were apart, to the way he made me laugh and smile in between all those moments. Roy Kent was fucking perfect. “He’s Roy.”

Keeley’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “I do know how he is,” she said carefully. The little clearing of her throat had me turning my eyes to her. Her eyebrows knitted together, as if she thought I would slug her at any moment. “And I hope this isn’t totally inappropriate, but we were talking last week- and he was saying he’s so fucking happy,” she quickly added, probably seeing my slowly raising eyebrows. “He’s just worried about being… clingy?”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how completely apprehensive my friend looked. “Oh, Roy’s clingy as fuck,” I said. “But I like it.” I shrugged, my eyes returning to the gruff man on the pitch that had weaseled his way into my heart. “I… I’m clingy too,” I admitted. “I think that’s why we work, actually. We’re both pretty intense people, we both do everything at full speed, you know? So, one person’s idea of ‘too clingy’ is my idea of ‘absolutely fucking perfect’.”

The smile on Keeley’s face was filled with joy and a bit of relief. “I’m so happy to hear that,” she said, grabbing my hand and intertwining our fingers. “Really. He deserves the best and you-” She smacked a kiss to my cheek. “-are the fucking best, babes.”

The tips of Roy’s fingers tingled as he stared down Jamie, who was making a mad dash towards their opponent’s goal. There were only moments left before stoppage time ended in a tie and the match inevitably went to extra time, which had been a dangerous place for the Greyhounds all season long. If Jamie couldn’t beat both the clock and goalkeeper, it felt like their season would end in defeat. And Roy couldn’t have that. Not this season. Not when everything seemed to be ending so well, on and off the pitch.

Only one defender stood between Jamie and the goal. Roy held his breath as he watched Jamie move this way and that, doing a maneuver he knew Tartt hadn’t learned from any of the coaches on the pitch; he’d learned this particular move from the Whippets. And he’d apparently learned it well, because suddenly Jamie was in front of the goal, kicking the ball and-

“JAMIE TARTT SCORES!”

Less than a moment later, the familiar sound of the referee’s whistle had all of Nelson Road in pure pandemonium. Roy sprinted onto the field, not caring about his stupid knee, and was instantly swallowed by the swarm of blue that was his team. He grabbed and hugged whoever was close by, not caring to see anything other than their wide eyes and wider smiles. He wondered ever so briefly if anything in his career would ever live up to this moment; he knew nothing before ever had. And, if he was being quite honest, he could live with this being the happiest moment of his career.

He was hugging Jamie tight, mumbling something about being fucking proud of the prick, when he heard some of his players call his name in teasing voices. He knew those tones; he’d been hearing them a lot lately, caused by one thing- well, one person- every fucking time.

Sure enough, when Roy glanced over his shoulder, the sight made his smile grow.

There she was, clad in her Greyhounds sweater, running at him. He knew she’d regret this run in the morning- they’d probably spend the whole next day icing ankles and knees- but she didn’t look like she cared. In fact, she looked like she didn’t care about anything other than Roy.

She threw herself into his arms and let him envelop her in a tight hug, one far too tight for two platonic managers to share.

“I’m proud of you,” she huffed into the crook of his neck. “So fucking proud, Roy.”

He released her slightly so she could gaze up at him, her eyes full of adoration and joy. Deep in his chest, Roy held a hope that she would stare at him like this for the rest of their lives. “Fucking come here,” he murmured, his hands leaving her hips to cup her face.

At some point over the season, Roy had lost count of how many times he’d kissed this woman. There were some kisses that were irrevocably stamped on his heart- their first kiss while sitting on his couch listening to Sam Cooke, the kiss in the rain after he’d given her the Team USA football, the sweet kiss they’d shared after he asked her to be his girlfriend- but this was probably his favorite so far. It was soft and slow, and it made the roar of the crowd go silent in Roy’s mind. He knew there was no going back from this; there would be photos of this kiss in the papers, and he’d definitely be asked about it in the post-match press conference. They’d once again be the subject of rumors and speculation, with Twitter users trying to put together a timeline and reanalyzing every little interaction they’d had over these last few months. It was going to be pure fucking hell.

But thankfully, his own personal heaven was in his arms.

When they parted, she wore a wide grin, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. “Congrats on the win, Coach,” she chuckled as she ruffled his hair. “Can’t believe you guys beat us to it.” She kissed his lips effortlessly, as if she kissed him on the pitch every day. “Whatever happened to ladies first?”

Roy shook his head and tightened his grip on her. “Just means the Whippets get to be the grand finale.”

“Grand finale,” she repeated, giving his jacket a tug to pull him back to herself. “I like the sound of that, Kent.”

Roy could’ve stayed on that pitch forever, holding her and kissing her, finally able to show everyone how he felt about her and how she miraculously felt about him. The feeling of winning the whole fucking thing, and having his girl in his arms, and hearing his team shout and celebrate, it was intoxicating as hell.

But, as Keeley reminded him with a giggle, there was pomp and circumstance to get through.

His whole body shook with excitement as he stood by Rebecca’s side and received the trophy. In the smiling crowd, he locked gazes with those familiar eyes. Could his smile get any bigger? he wondered. Surely that would be the morning headline: Richmond’s Roy Kent finally knows how to smile. And damn, if it wasn’t something he wanted to keep doing.

Once things began to die down on the pitch, Keeley began herding him towards the press conference he still had to do before celebrating with the team. He kept an arm wrapped around the Whippet’s manager as he finally made his way through the halls, to the familiar door that led to the press room. He paused in front of it, thinking about all the less-than-stellar moments he’d had in there. Announcing his retirement. Watching Jamie have a meltdown. Throwing a chair at George fucking Willows after being asked about Keeley. Being asked intrusive questions about his love life and the drama of this season. Some crappy things happened in that room, he admitted to himself.

But today? Today he walked in with his head held high; for the first time in a long time, Roy Kent felt nothing but good about himself and his life. His team was officially the best in the Premier League, and he had the girl of his dreams to kiss after the match. He allowed himself a smile as he settled in front of the cameras, enjoying the surprise on the reporters’ faces when they caught sight of his expression. In the back of the room, Keeley gave him a thumbs up before wrapping her arm around the Whippets’ manager, who shot him a wink that had his stupid grin widening.

Yeah. This might be the best fucking day of his whole fucking life.

The clamoring began before he even sat down. Roy rolled his eyes, albeit good-naturedly for once, and pointed to a familiar face, a reporter he didn’t fully hate. “Yeah?”

“Coach Kent, how does it feel to lead the Greyhounds to do the impossible?”

Roy leaned into his seat, determined to at least look relaxed. “Feels fucking great,” he said. “And I’m going to ignore that ‘impossible’ thing.” He smirked at the tittering from the reporters. “Because honestly, this team is fucking incredible. And anyone who thought this was ‘impossible’ for those lads hasn’t been paying attention.” After answering a few questions about the season and the match, he could see the journalists beginning to get restless. It was clear what they would be asking next. He pointed to another raised hand. “You.”

“A certain coach had an… interesting way of congratulating you,” the reporter asked in a timid voice. “Anything to say about that?”

For a moment, he glanced to the back of the room. Not to Keeley, like he usually did during these things, but to the pair of eyes that gazed back with a beautiful mixture of adoration and teasing. Another wink encouraged him to lean forward on his elbows and ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. “There’s a lot I can say about that,” he chuckled. “But, all I will say is this-” He looked directly at those bright eyes. “-I’m fucking mad about that woman. She seems to think I’m alright, which is nice. And she continues to be one of the most impressive managers I’ve had the honor of watching on the pitch. And I am looking forward to seeing her and the Whippets kick some serious ass next weekend.”

More questions were hurled at him, mostly excited and kind ones, but Roy didn’t really hear them. He was too focused on trying not to simply sit and stare at that pretty face that smiled at him and made him feel like he’d won more than the Premier League.

I pulled my dark blue blazer on and turned to get a good look at myself in the mirror. Dark blue blazer, white blouse, best jeans, hair up in a ponytail, red lipstick applied, necklace my grandfather had given me around my neck. This was it, I decided. This was the outfit of a Women’s Super League-winning coach.

“You look fucking amazing.” A pair of strong arms wrapped around me as a scruffy kiss smacked my cheek. “Like a fucking winner.” Roy smirked at me in the mirror. He looked damn good in his white Whippets kit, the number six on his back and something that kind of looked like love in his eyes. If my entire season wasn’t on the line, I’d be debating ripping off that jersey and throwing Roy onto the bed. “Gonna wear your gold medal?” he teased.

With an eyeroll, I slipped out of his grasp and sat on my bed. “Just toss me my sneakers, Kent.”

Roy raised an eyebrow as he moved towards my familiar Converse that sat perfectly next to the closet. “Wow, I get to touch the Match Day shoes? What an honor.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled as I took the shoes from him and tugged them on. “I’m hoping your luck from last weekend rubs off on me and the Whippets.” I knew that underneath my joking tone, he could hear my nerves. Roy always seemed to know what was going on beneath the surface.

Sure enough, he sat down next to me and took my hand. “Oi.” His voice was as soft as his gaze. “You’re going to be fucking brilliant.” He kissed my forehead. “Your team is incredible. You are incredible. You’re Coach Bucky. World Cup winner, Olympic champion, NWSL Coach of the Year.” He shook his head as he rattled off my résumé with a smile on his face. “You’ve fucking got this.”

“I know.”

He raised his thick eyebrows at me expectantly. “But?”

“But…” I sighed heavily and let my head fall against his shoulder. “There’s just so much pressure,” I murmured. “It’s our first season. And with all of my personal drama…” I closed my eyes. “I have to win. I have to show that I’m a fucking winner. If I don’t, I’ll forever be that slutty American who slept with Roy freaking Kent.”

He gave me a light shove. “Oi, I thought you liked sleeping with Roy Kent.”

“Roy,” I huffed. “I’m being serious. I need to win today. I have to prove that I deserve to be taken seriously. Everything I’ve built this year is on the line. If we don’t do this, I don’t know-”

“Babe.” Roy shifted and lifted my legs until they draped over his lap. His arms felt like a warm blanket as they wrapped around my waist and tugged me close. “You don’t have to prove shit to anyone. You’re lightyears better at this job than I am-” A snort slipped out of my nose. “-and everyone knows it, no matter what happens today. You are brilliant and accomplished. And if it’s not this year, it’ll be next year.” He gave me a squeeze. “But I believe in you. Your team believes in you. Rebecca and Keeley and all the Greyhounds believe in you. Fuck what anyone else says.” He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “You can always just punch them anyways.”

Fucking Roy, making me laugh and forget my anxiety. As I smiled through my nerves and kissed his mouth, probably smudging my lipstick, all I could think was how badly I wanted him to make me laugh for the rest of my fucking life.

The feeling of pride in Roy’s chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life. The energy of the stadium vibrated through his whole body, and he couldn’t help the lump in his throat when he saw how absolutely packed the place was. He walked confidently into the owners’ box holding Phoebe’s hand tight. He smiled down at his bouncing niece, with her bright eyes and her own Bucky kit. She was talking a million miles a minute, reminding him of Keeley, chattering all about how well she knew the Whippets would do and asking if Roy was really going to take her onto the pitch after the match if the Whippets won. Her yammering only stopped so she could give Keeley a hug and take her seat next to the blonde.

“Ready to see your girl in action?” Keeley teased over Phoebe’s head as Roy took his seat.

His broad smile would have been enough of an answer. “She’s gonna be so fucking brilliant,” Roy laughed. “I can fucking feel it.” He narrowed his eyes at Phoebe’s expectant face. “Add it to my tab,” he grumbled.

To his surprise, Phoebe shook her head. “You get a free pass today, Uncle Roy,” she informed him earnestly. “It’s a very big day for Bucky and you’re probably very stressed.” She nodded, her demeanor comically matter of fact. “So, I’ll let it slide. Just for today.”

“Thanks, Pheebs,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. He nodded to Rebecca as she took her spot on Keeley’s other side. “Boss,” he greeted with a salute.

“Coach Kent,” she replied, a sparkle in her eye as she saluted back. “Beautiful night for a game, hmm?” Despite her calm tone, Roy could see the way her fingers drummed on her lap nervously.

He smirked at her. “Ready to be the owner of two winning teams?”

She shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Not thinking about it,” she announced firmly. “I am just going to enjoy the match, cheer for our girls, and feel proud of them no matter what.”

Keeley, Roy, and Pheobe all just stared at her until a smile broke out across her face.

“Alright, yes, I’m fucking ready!” She turned her attention to the field, where the Whippets were beginning to line up. “Let’s go, Whippets!”

The quartet were joined in the box by Beard and Nate and Jamie, who looked quite comfortable wearing Kira Malone’s name on his back. There were deafening cheers all around as the Whippets were introduced. Roy’s whole body felt warm as he bellowed their names; even without being head over heels for their manager, Roy would feel beyond proud of these women. He’d watched them work all season long, through sweat and injuries and fatigue and the harsh media. And they’d done it all with smiles on their faces and their heads held high. They were impressive and inspiring, and Roy already knew they would win that trophy.

And they had ninety minutes to do it.

After the players were introduced, the Whippets’ coaches stepped forward to shake hands with the opposing coaching staff. Of course, every eye in the owners’ box turned to Roy with mischievous smirks on their faces.

Not that Roy noticed. He was too busy jumping to his feet so he could cup his hands around his mouth and bellow, “Let’s fucking go, Buck!”

With that colossal voice of his, no one was surprised to see the manager look up in their direction. Her red-lipped smile was clear as day, and they all oohed teasingly when they saw her blow a kiss up towards them.

“Obviously that was for me,” Jamie joked, turning around and winking at his manager.

“Fuck off,” Roy chuckled as he resumed his seat. He gave the striker a light shove before turning his attention back to the pitch. Fuck, how was he supposed to focus on the match that was starting when she was down there, looking strong and confident and powerful- not to mention gorgeous. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her in her element, shouting excitedly at her team and reaching out for Luke’s hand every now and then. Some part of him wanted to watch her forever; the other part of him couldn’t wait for the ninety minutes to end so he could wrap his arms around her and celebrate her victory.

A stray piece of popcorn smacked him in the temple and diverted his attention.

Keeley shot him that shit-eating grin and tossed a fresh piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You’re drooling, Roy-o.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and reached over Phoebe’s lap to steal a handful of Keeley’s popcorn. “Yeah, yeah,” was all he could manage. He smiled down at Pheobe, whose attention was rapt with the match in front of her. “Having fun?” he asked loudly, amused to find that her trance was just as intense as the one he’d just been in.

All the little blonde could do was nod, mouth slightly agape, as she watched the Whippets score their first goal of the match. The entire stadium was on their feet, deafening with their shouts and cheers as the players embraced. But of course, the only thing Roy could see was their manager and the way she looked up at the owners’ box, right at him.

Lucas was holding my hand so tight he was going to cause permanent damage to my blood circulation. Not that I cared; we had succeeded in keeping the game tied 2-2 all through stoppage time, and now Amanada Camacho had managed to secure a penalty kick. With my free hand, I gripped my necklace tightly, as if the little gold charm would somehow direct Amanda’s kick into the right direction.

The forward made her move, running towards the ball, and gave a powerful kick-

That sailed perfectly into the corner of the goal, out of the goalie’s reach.

In unison, Lucas and I let out sharp screams and crashed into each other’s arms, trading kisses on cheeks and foreheads. When the referee blew her whistle, we sprinted onto the field, greeting our mob of Whippets in a pile of hugs that evolved into a mountain of players and staff tumbling over each other. It was loud and chaotic- and beautiful. Somewhere in the reveling, tears had formed in my eyes, but they didn’t fall until I found myself face to face with Rebecca’s glowing smile and own teary eyes.

“Well done,” she said simply, wrapping me in a tight hug. “Well fucking done.”

I melted into her embrace- fuck, how was this woman so perfect that even her hugs were the best?- and finally let the tears fall. “Thank you for believing in me,” was all I could manage.

She shook her head. “That’s just the Richmond way,” she chuckled as Keeley approached us.

The blonde wrapped us both into a group hug, chattering about how brilliant the girls had been, how brilliant I had been, how we were going to have the biggest celebration ever once we left the stadium, how I’d better have brought a change of clothes like she’d instructed me so we could party properly.

But her excitement was drowned out by my beating heart when I caught sight of a pair of beautiful brown eyes sparkling at me.

“Kent!” I shrieked, breaking free of my bosses’ warm embraces. I sprinted towards him, this time under stadium lights and falling confetti rather than pouring rain, and launched myself into his arms. He caught me with ease, lifting me and letting me wrap my legs around him. With a couple of first place finishes under our belts, we were finally free to be as publicly insufferable as we wanted- which I planned on taking full advantage of. I figured a dramatic kiss on the pitch was a good start, and Roy seemed to agree as he attached his lips to mine hungrily.

“So. Fucking,” he huffed into my mouth between kisses, “Proud.” He held me tighter, pressing my chest harshly to his. “You’re amazing.”

I finally removed myself from the kiss so I could bury my burning hot face in his shoulder. He let me plant my feet back on the ground, but kept his arms firmly around me. “Roy,” I murmured, realizing I had something important to tell him. “I-”

“Bucky!” Phoebe jumped onto my back, nearly knocking me over.

“Pheebs!” I laughed, turning away from Roy so I could hug his niece. “I’m so glad you came,” I gushed. “Your team wins a championship next, right?” When I glanced up at Roy over Phoebe’s head, he was already gazing at me, something soft on his face. He’d been doing that a lot lately, I realized as I returned his smile. This gentle stare that held something significant, something I felt sure one of us would break down and say soon. Something I’d wanted to say since I first ran out in the rain to him.

But I didn’t have time to think about that. Not when my team was calling for me to join them to be crowned the Women’s League champions and hoist the trophy in the air and beam with pride as cameras flashed in our faces.

I was still beaming as I held Roy’s hand in the club the Greyhounds and Whippets took over to celebrate both of our victories; Rebecca was something of a blubbering mess as she took the microphone early in the night and thanked both clubs for their hard work, thanked our coaching staffs for surviving the wild ride that had been our season (Beard raised his eyebrows in our direction, clearly remembering being frustrated enough to lock us in a shed), and above all thanked Keeley for being her partner in the adventure of establishing what she knew would be a great legacy of women’s football in Richmond.

By the time Rebecca finished and called me up to make my own speech, I was close to joining Rebecca in her tears; unfortunately, I knew I wouldn’t look as graceful as she did once my waterworks began flowing. So instead, I focused on smiling as I kissed her cheek and took the accepted the microphone from her.

“How’re we feeling, Richmond?” I was answered with cheers and shouts from our teams and their loved ones. “I’ll try to keep this brief so we can get back to partying- although my Whippets probably already know I’m not as capable of brevity as the Greyhounds say Coach Kent is.” The mere mention of Roy’s name provoked catcalls and wolf whistles from both squads. “Calm down,” I laughed, shaking my head when I caught Roy’s not-really-annoyed eyeroll aimed at Jamie. “I just want to say thank you,” I continued once the commotion subsided. “Thank you to the Whippets, for all of your incredible work and dedication. I think we made it clear to the Women’s Super League and all of England that W.F.C. Richmond has arrived.” Cheers again filled the club, as well as my heart. “Thank you to our fearless leaders Keeley and Rebecca, for believing in us every step of the way.” Keeley’s little bow alongside Rebecca’s refined wave had me giggling into the microphone. “A special thanks to our dear Greyhounds. It was an adjustment learning to work together-” Coach Beard’s exaggerated groan could be heard loudly over everyone else’s teasing hums. “-but we managed.” I shot Roy a wink that was returned with a blown kiss. “And, personally, more than anyone else I have to thank my right-hand man.” My eyes found Lucas’s. “Luke,” I sighed. “You formed me into the player I was so proud to be. You mentored me into the coach I’ve become. You were insane enough to follow me here for this adventure, you held my hand during every scary moment and picked me up every time I fell. We came here for greatness-” I shrugged, gesturing to the assembled group of champion athletes. “- and I think we fucking found it.” Both teams hollered in agreement, but still managed to hear my last few words: “Richmond on three! One, two, three-”

“RICHMOND!”

In a blur of cheers and hugs and kisses, I finally found myself back in Roy’s embrace, accepting the chaste kiss he pressed to my lips.

“Wanna sneak off for a moment?” he hummed in my ear. “After that, I need to give you a proper kiss. And if I do that here, I think Beard might actually be fucking ill.”

I leaned into his touch. “Can’t have that,” I teased back.

We wandered away from the bar, ignoring the eyerolls from our friends when they caught sight of our lovesick expressions. We had warned them early on; they were going to miss the days of our screaming matches and insults. These days, instead of walking in on arguments, they walked in on make out sessions. Jamie had more than a few times accused us of trying to make him go blind. Even Keeley grimaced when I asked if she wanted to continue Manager Mondays next season, clearly regretting asking us to be more affectionate once we were public.

All season everyone bitched at us about getting along. We were only giving the people what they wanted.

Roy clearly knew what he wanted when he found a dark, isolated corner where he could press my back against a column that hid us from view. His mouth melded with mine as his hands lazily stroked up and down my sides. I sighed against his kiss and snaked my arms around his neck, pulling him flush against me. My mind was filled with thoughts of the weeks ahead of us; sure, we’d have a shit ton of press, but once the circus was over, this was all I wanted to worry about. We’d floated the idea of going on some fabulous vacation together, turning our phones off and isolating ourselves in a little bubble of sex and food and laughter. I’d told Roy we could settle plans once the seasons were ended, which he had seemed thrilled about. Or at least as thrilled as Roy could manage. But as I kissed him harshly and melted in his arms, I briefly considered that spending our entire break locked in his house with nothing but takeout, movies, and his bed sounded just as good as whatever destination he had in mind.

Still, we’d worked hard and gone through a lot; we deserved a damn vacation.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he mumbled as he began to wander down my neck. “Seeing you on the pitch today… and up there with your speech…” He groaned softly and pressed a slow kiss to my collarbone. “Don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

My grip on him tightened as my body tensed up. Not bothering to hide my wide smile, I tugged at him until his face was inches away from mine. “You love me?”

His smile was sloppy and bashful, my favorite sight. “Fucking ’course I do,” he murmured as he brushed some hair out of my face. “You’re something special, you know that? I think I’ve loved you since that moment in the shed at the fucking retreat, hearing you say we were both going to win the whole fucking thing. Called it ‘fairy tale shit’.” He touched his nose to mine. “This right here, this is some fairy tale shit.”

“It is,” I breathed before closing the space between your mouths, pulling Roy into a tender kiss. Before I could deepen it into something a bit harsher, he pulled back, eyebrow quirked playfully. “What?” I chuckled.

“I love you,” he whispered, raising both eyebrows now.

I nodded, trying to hide the grin that was growing on my face. “So I heard.”

He rolled his eyes and took my face in his hands. “Anything you care to say to me, Coach Buck?”

He knew. Of course he fucking knew. He knew from the way I kissed him and the way I looked at him and the way I held him close whenever I could. He knew from the way we made love at night and made breakfast together in the morning. He knew from the way our fingertips brushed when we passed each other at work. He knew from the million little things we shared every day.

But sometimes, a fella needs to hear the words.

“Fine,” I huffed, all faux exasperation as I tugged his face back towards mine. “I guess I love you too.”

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the-darklings · 2 years

Text

──𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐢 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 [𝐕𝐈.]

summary: "You know what he is. Better than most. I need not do anything. One day, dear Dream will ruin this himself."

pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader

wc: 3.6k+

warnings: Wanderer is going through it emotionally; the price for immortality is the burden of remembering, Dream is still Dream ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

notes: I wrote this in 4hrs and need to get up at 4am (it's now 11.30pm) so if there are more warts on this than usual, I'm really sorry!! thank you so much for your support, too. enjoy the quiet before the storm...

part one | series masterlist | ao3 |

PART SIX: YEAR 522-619

Your landings have improved. With the passing centuries, you’ve come to predict and control them better. Landings differ based on the circumstances of your escape. Sometimes it’s as simple as snapping like a rubber band from one place to another. Minimal pain compared to what you once dealt with, and significantly more comfortable. Based on your condition, landing can range anywhere from stumbling steps to falling flat on your face.

Today, unfortunately, it’s the latter.

Your skin burns, prickling all over, chafing from within. It’s become more of a dull ache after five hundred and seventy-five years. Easier to manage. Your control, in that sense, has come leaps and bounds.

Gravity bites into your ankles, forcing you to tip forward. Your jaw jolts upon impact, each tooth rattling when you hit the cherry red, glossy flooring. Your right hand throbs in protest at your side.

“Oh, dear,” a purring voice floats over. “There you are.”

Rolling onto your back, you huff a winded breath, cradling your lumpy, partially numb hand. “Desire.”

Desire of the Endless laughs, low and sensual, at your dry greeting. It’s quite the sight, but this is hardly the worst position they’ve ever found you in. Like the Dreaming, Threshold—Desire’s domain—hums with power around you. There’s a stark difference between the warm, lulling familiarity of the Dreaming compared to Desire’s kingdom. Threshold pulses with heat, want and desire. Those greedy, oppressive sensations ignite heat in your chest, cocooning your senses from all sides.

“Do get up, dear,” Desire says. Their ruby red mouth shines when they speak, all teeth on display. Openly delighted. That’s as good a reason as any to bolt. Desire spins on a red, lustrous chair, golden sheen passing through their eyes. “You make for quite an unsightly view, rolling around on my floor like that.”

Rolling your eyes, you struggle up, wincing at the heavy sensation in your hand. “Give me a break,” you mutter, peeved.

Another slow spin. You hadn’t noticed the glass in Desire’s hand until they twisted the bright-coloured umbrella. “Whatever happened to your hand?”

You almost snap that it’s clear Desire doesn’t care—never cared—and this act will get them nowhere, but hold your tongue. In truth, you would like to pretend Desire does care. By now, though, you know better—learned better, the hard way.

“I got caught stealing,” you reply flatly. Standing up takes two attempts. You fish out an apple from your pocket, rubbing it on your thigh. Victorious even in defeat, you continue, “Fingers went first, then the hand. It should be back in working order in a few hours. Don’t give me that look. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to go without food for two weeks? It doesn’t kill me, sure, but it’s a pain. Literally.”

“Sounds positively awful.” Desire pops their chin in their palm, all gentle, beguiling words that make you bristle. Their features shimmer, blurring at the edges. You force yourself to squint to keep Desire’s face in shape. If your mind strays, Desire’s power will reflect that. “Shame Dream doesn’t do anything about it, isn’t it?”

Umbrella twists again, those words coy and low. A fine bait laid out in your path. You’re not sure if you should be offended Desire assumed you’d fall for such a cheap trick.

“Whatever you're cooking, leave me out of it,” you bite out.

You sound exhausted. There’s no escaping that. When faced with Desire, there’s no point in pretending otherwise or playing pretence. Once, that lack of facade is precisely why you believed Desire to be your friend. Once. But that was a long time ago. Back when you were a lot more naive and hopeful about making friends with only constants in your life.

“You’re becoming no better than him,” Desire whines irritably, falling dramatically back into their seat, legs crossing with an inpatient exhale. “So boring. I remember when you used to be fun.”

Your bloated fingers twitch at your side. Sluggish and fumbling. You can’t help but wince at the dull, gnawing discomfort. That never gets better. Years don’t alter how pain feels. Biting into your apple to keep yourself occupied, you stroll on unsteady feet around Desire’s gallery. Six sigils to call upon each sibling and a mirror where Desire’s own sigil should be. Your attention skims over Dream’s sigil, the helm, while you chew, your features softening.

“So do I.” Your words come out faint, scratchy. There’s no denying you’ve missed Desire or how good it once felt to find yourself here. Not the Dreaming—nothing could ever come close—but so much better than the human world, than Despair’s domain. Or Destiny’s. “I remember how much I looked forward to visiting you all the time. You had my trust, Desire. You had my friendship, too. Then you decided to use me as a puppet in your little pissing contest.”

And then you became no more than a pawn utilised in a battle between beings more powerful and older than Gods. It’s perhaps the first and only time you’ve seen Dream truly angry. Or close to it.

Desire stretches to their feet, dual shadow slithering, slow and treacherous, across the floor.

“Do not become arrogant, Wanderer.” Footsteps amble in your direction. Desire’s fingers trail every surface on the way. You bite your apple with extra force when Desire halts next to Dream’s sigil, grinning sharply. “There is still much you do not know about your precious Dream. You’re but a leaf caught in a hurricane. Oh, so simple to ruin. You’re too blind to his faults.”

The snide bitterness in those words forces your body towards the Endless. “Am I? Help me understand, then. Tell me what this is really about.”

Desire pivots your way, ponderous air shrouding them. Your heart catapults to your throat, fluttering. For a second, golden irises bleed into piercing, wintery blue; flaxen hair darkens to tar black, and your steps stutter to an abrupt halt. You blink forcefully, and Desire’s face morphs back to their usual appearance. The sudden chill in your bones doesn’t abate.

What do you see when you look my way? Desire had once posed, a long time ago.

You had sat curled on a hard, shiny settee, still more comfortable than you’d been in a human prison, held in chains for days. That’s why you told Desire the honest truth. At your description, Desire’s guileful grin had wilted. Their hand had dropped from your bruised cheek where they’d been soothing the throb, leaving only intent curiosity peering back.

You see me because you desire nothing I can offer. For I reflect whatever is your heart’s deepest, most secret desire.

Back then, you had mutually concluded even Desire could not reflect freedom. It’s an abstract concept that holds no human qualities after all.

But just now, you—

Desire cuts the remaining distance between you, cupping your face with delicate hands. Your head nudges upwards, meeting their sultry, golden stare. “I do not have to explain myself to you, gumdrop.” They lean closer, whispering into your ear, “Besides, your devotion to Dream runs too deep.”

The hold drops dismissively.

"That's fair enough." It's not your business. You're not arrogant enough to assume whatever rancour between the two siblings exists is anything you can fix. If you could, you would do so in a heartbeat. So instead, you nod, taking another bite to chase the vision from moments prior. "For old time's sake, keep me out of it. Please. I've had enough on my plate recently."

Desire’s head slants curiously to one side. “Do you imagine me a villain?”

The genuine question you hear there stuns you momentarily. Turning the half-eaten apple in your palm awkwardly, you shake your head. “No. I never did.”

But Desire can be cruel. Malicious and self-centred. You suppose it comes with the job. Desire is a tricky, loud emotion, insistent upon whomever it bears down on. Even standing here, in the Threshold, makes every emotion muddle and stumble all over each other in your chest.

Desire pauses by Dream’s sigil once more, considering it with a tut. Their hand hovers over the helm, their back to you, tracing imaginary patterns there. “You know what he is. Better than most. I need not do anything. One day, dear Dream will ruin this himself.” Desire peeks at you over their shoulder, golden light reflecting cruel and complacent. “All I’ll need to do is sit back, look gorgeous, and enjoy the show.”

Your jaw tenses. “Ruin what?”

Protectiveness coils in your chest, sudden and fierce, rearranging your features into a new colder composition.

Desire blinks. Then again. “Something is… different about you, Wanderer.” They push away from Dream’s helm, scrutinising you with a curious hum. “What form do I take when you gaze my way?”

Your jaw grinds harder, your teeth aching in their gums. “As yourself.”

Desire laughs. The sound is a soothing bath, silk on your skin, and fills your chest with a bloated, bubbling feeling. The Endless tuts, waggling their finger as if you’re a misbehaving child. “Liar, liar. I am many forms and many faces. What is self anyway? Oh, but this… this is… most intriguing.”

Your teeth sink in the apple again, ignoring Desire’s probing stare. “Are you done?” you mutter.

Desire rolls their eyes, strolling back towards their chair. “Fine. You know I’ll figure it out in the end. You can’t hide it from me.”

“While you do that, oh Great One, I need your help with something.”

Desire lets a disbelieving scoff escape their lips. “Oh? My help?” Their arms part in invitation. “Fine, I’ll bite. What is it that your dear little heart desires most?”

The Endless leans forward eagerly, an ever-shifting veil of desire and deceit cloaking them.

This time, you’re the one to grin, lifting your near useless appendage for inspection. “A ring. But not for me.”

This time, Desire's face lights up with gleeful delight, previous ire wiped entirely. Fickle, as always.

“Ah, at long last—something fun. Little Wanderer, always full of surprises.”

You are meant to fall, as you are meant to rise. It is how your destiny is written. There are no shortcuts.

Cracking your neck, you hop into the Dreaming with only a minor wince as punishment. Voluntarily travel, you’ve come to learn with centuries, significantly reduces discomfort. When you grasp whatever excessive, rotting power the curse has instilled in you, and yank on it.

Strolling up the stone bridge, you give passing figures brief smiles and greetings, heading towards Dream’s castle. Destiny’s cold, emotionless words stalk your every step, rubbing your emotions raw. Shortcuts, he says. As if you go prancing around a park. Giggle daily and skip around, smelling daisies. As if your entire existence is anything more than a sick joke.

You’re just…

Tired. So, so tired. Inextinguishable exhaustion nestless deep in your marrow.

Over six hundred years. One would think you’d gotten better at immortality. But as you continue your exhausted trek, you can’t help but consider a notion you never had before:

That, perhaps, humans are simply not made for eternity. At some point, the soul—the weight of it—merely becomes too much.

The Gatekeepers bow their heads at your approach, peering down at the one requesting entry. You can’t help but crack a smile. They can probably sense you the second you cut and drop yourself here, but still they insist on these ceremonies.

But the law is the law. And Ancient Rules are merciless, even to the Endless.

“Wanderer.”

Your sour mood brightens instantly.

"Lucienne." Your spirit lifts at your friend's appearance. "How are you?"

An arm drops suddenly around your shoulders from behind. There's no need to look behind you. He's as familiar as the Dreaming is, and the clothes on your back, as the tiny wooden figure safe in your pocket.

“She’s fine,” Corinthian announces cheerily, giving you a slight squeeze. “Can’t you see?”

You lean into him, selfishly grateful he’s shown up. Like a balm, your friends and the Dreaming wash away the weariness. Ease the weight without knowing it.

“Cori,” you greet dully.

Corinthian’s brows wiggle, his smirk dynamite. “Natural disaster on two legs.”

“Nevermind,” you grumble, stepping from his half embrace. “I’m leaving again.”

He catches you by the collar. “Don’t think so. We have company, don’t we, Lucienne? It would be rude.”

The librarian observes your exchange with perplexed curiosity, but her wariness around Corinthian hasn’t budged in centuries. No matter how highly you’ve spoken about him, Lucienne has never once regarded Corithina as anything other than a nightmare. A highly volatile one at that. One that should not be regarded so amiably.

Lucienne’s brows knit, suspicion glinting behind her circled glasses. “Where have you been, Corinthian?”

Your attention drifts to him. Corinthian shrugs nonchalantly beside you, not a care in the world evinced in his lazy half-grin.

“Around.”

There’s a tense, fraught moment where Lucienne seemingly teases over the idea of pushing further. Ultimately, she permits the matter to drop, turning towards you with her hands clasped behind her.

“Corinthian speaks the truth.” Smooth, stolid words directed solely at you. Pointedly so. “Lady Death is visiting the Dreaming.”

“Death is here?” Just when you thought today couldn’t get much better. “Where?”

Lucienne’s smile is reserved but happy. She gestures for you to follow, but you only manage a step before halting. Corinthian’s smile takes on a venomous edge when your gazes meet, but he shadows your step when you resume your trek.

As expected, you locate them in the throne room.

Dream and Death of the Endless are so overwhelming in their sheer presence even Corinthian draws inwards, his teeth gritted while he lingers behind you. Their presence is dampened, glossed over behind veneers in the waking world. But here, in Dream’s realm, where aspects of Death manifest as well, they are themselves in the truest sense.

The siblings walk side by side through the sprawling space, caught in deep conversation. Dream’s unruly dark hair steals your attention first. He’s pale and tall as he was three years ago—unchanging. You should take him to the waking world soon. You’re sure the tales humans are starting to spin about pale cave dwellers are solely based on him. Maybe you should ask Lucienne’s help to hunt the stories down in the library later.

However, Death’s ethereal, compassionate glow can never be mistaken for anything other than her. Your curse comes alive at her presence, shrivelling far and deep inside, and you instantly feel ten pounds lighter.

You catch Corinthian mouthing after Dream, mimicking his creator’s words mockingly. Your elbow lands promptly in his ribs.

“Stop that.”

Though your words are no more than a hissing whisper, Dream’s head snaps in your direction.

“Wanderer.”

Even this far away, it’s as if his voice has whispered the greeting directly into your ear. Deep and soft. However briefly, something cracks in his solemn expression, gone the next moment. Death veers in your direction, her arms parting for a hug.

A smile blooms across her face. “Look who it is.”

The warming fondness in her voice forms a knot in your chest. Your arms wrap tightly around her, that hard weight in your gut practically shivering in her presence. It gives you an immense pulse of cold satisfaction. You no longer fear death, not when it wears such a kind face, but it’s good to know the curse fears to be unmade.

“Death.”

Her arms are strong and comforting around you, so loving you remember weeping the first time she held you precisely like this. There’s a foolish second where you nearly whisper that you wish to go now. But Dream stands behind his sister, silent and alone, and you can’t. Not yet. For him, maybe never, or, at least, for however long this lasts.

Dream holds your gaze, a thousand questions and answers alive in those depths, and you smile faintly at him.

Death’s embrace loosens, but her hands settle on your arms, not quite letting go. “You look good. Better than last time.”

It’s a loaded statement. One that pins everyone’s attention squarely on you, barbing the room in unspoken tension. Death’s words can only ever be taken one way.

“Yeah, well, you know me,” you force out cheerily. “Rubber ball. I bounce back. Can I, uh, borrow you for a moment?”

Understanding creases Death’s face. “Of course.”

You shoot Corinthian a glance over your shoulder, nodding your head outside. He deciphers your silent message to meet him later, slanting his chin in response. Shoving his hands into his pockets, Corinthian strolls away without another word, whistling a short tune under his breath.

Dream’s stare bores into your head until Death leads you away and from anyone’s sight. The castle is so vast that you could spend an entire day exploring and only cover half of it. At best. You’ve tried.

“Is this about what happened with Destiny?”

Death’s question startles you from your thoughts, sending them scattering. A scowl carves into your face when you process her question.

“No.” Realising how defensive you sound, you shove your shoulders backwards, exhaling deep from your chest. “It’s… it’s actually about Destruction.”

Death traces her fingertips lightly over the pale marble wall while you walk. Her pitch doesn’t alter, and her strides don’t falter, but there’s a change. Death is old and powerful, and you can only guess what she’s thinking right now. “What about my brother?”

She’s carefully neutral, and that concerns you more.

“Has he… said anything to you? Recently?” you wonder awkwardly.

“He has not.”

It’s not an unkind response—she’s patient and gentle the same way she’s been since your first meeting, but…

“He’s just been… different. Lately.”

Or maybe Desire was right. You’re a leaf caught in a hurricane. The Endless don’t need you. You just so happen to be a constant in their endless existence. A stray they find amusing at best, an irritation at worst. Meddling with their affairs is stupid. What were you thinking?

“You love every unlovable thing that crosses your path, Wanderer,” Death says knowingly, slowing to a stop. Her dark eyes shine with compassion. “Sometimes I wonder if that’s your real curse.”

Won’t that be ironic?

Spotting your crestfallen expression, Death sighs softly. “But I will speak with my sibling. Thank you for informing me.”

You’re uncertain why such an awful, distinct sensation of dread suddenly curdles in your gut. “There’s a cause for worry, isn’t there?”

Death only says, “We’ll see.”

You haven’t realised the loop you’ve made until you find yourself back in the throne room. Dream sits perched on the stairs, his coat pooling like an ink stain around him. Lucienne is gone, too.

“Thank you,” you whisper to the Endless at your side. “Sorry I interrupted earlier.”

“Do not be,” Death dismisses lightly, a more humorous note entering her voice, “Though I believe a certain brother of mine is anxious to speak with you.”

Dream stands, waiting on his sister to guide her from his realm. Ever the gracious host.

“You’re leaving?” you blurt, aghast. “Already?”

Death brushes her hand across your cheek. “I have much to do. But you are always welcome in my lands.”

Except you don’t see her realm often. Usually, when you meet, it’s in the waking world. Diseases have been ravaging the world. Plagues are a truly horrid affair. Utterly relentless, always devastating.

“I’ll be seeing you, little brother,” Death says.

Dream dips his head low—a quiet display of affection and respect.

“Wanderer.”

With a wink in your direction, she’s gone with a rustle of wings. You breathe out, staring at the empty spot Death vacated.

“Three years, Wanderer.”

A shudder skitters down your spine. Each word tiptoes down your vertebrae one by one. You didn’t foresee Dream acknowledging the time apart at all, much less first.

“What?” You round to face him but avoid looking directly at him. Your cheery chuckle rings hollow. “Missed me? I missed you.”

God, you wish you didn’t. Not as much as you do. You suspect he sees right through your flippant words and straight into your heart. Tendons in Dream’s neck tighten, bunching and coiling beneath his pale skin. A fire scorches, but you’re not entirely sure what it means if anything. Something about how raw—downright undone—he appears for that split second rips clean through your heart.

And then it’s gone, all emotion wiped clean, as if it were never there. No more than a fleeting dream. The same collected, eternal being is all that’s left.

“My subjects are… fond of you,” he replies quietly, scratchy with— “It saddens them to have you away.”

His words reverberate through the space your bodies create.

“They’re my dearest friends, Dream,” you remind him, and every syllable resonates with naked sincerity and love. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss them when I’m away. Or the Dreaming.”

Or you.

Dream comes closer. In between shadows and dreams that he considers his own. When you come face to face, that slight furrow once again creases the space between his brows.

“You are weary.”

You give him a slow, fond smile. “Forget about that. Sleep later. First, let’s go.”

“Where?”

Does it signify anything? That he asks to share in your adventure without a second thought? The formidable Dream King, the ruler of Nightmare realms, is here with you.

“To the Wanderer Island. To the library.” You shrug, digging your back heels in with purpose, half-turned already. “Everywhere. I’m home, and I want to enjoy it.”

“Home,” Dream repeats with a faint exhale, so quiet you almost miss it.

And as you spin to go, you could have sworn you catch a glimmer of a tiny smile on Dream’s face.

an: and the stage is set.

once again, sorry for an extra messy chapter. I'll be away (but around, checking in when I can) and enjoy dream/wanderer being pining idiots : D everything from the next part onwards is gonna be kermitjump.jpg

thoughts? ideas? theories? let me know, and thank you for reading!!!

#the sandman #sandman x reader #netflix sandman #dream x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x fem!reader #dream x fem!reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman spoilers #the corinthian #death of the endless #desire of the endless #tom sturridge #fic: today i bury you in me

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royalwilmon · 1 month

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this is a prequel of sorts to always on the tip of my tongue! a glimpse into wille and simon's very first taco tuesday. eventually (like, after all of tomt is published, so basically never) this will be one part in a series of mikael pov insights into wilmon's relationship, but i wanted to share this for now! enjoy!! <333

if he likes you, he'll smile

Mikael had been working at Geronimo’s for nearly two months the day that he met Wille and Simon.

He didn’t even think he’d be in the job that long. He had just been laid off from another corporate bullshit position and had been enjoying a proper midlife crisis when another eviction notice forced him to resort to bartending again. Geronimo’s FGT was decidedly not his kind of place. He hated how touristy the area was, hated the shitty bands the owners constantly had in for live entertainment, and more than anything, hated how monotonous the job started feeling just after a couple of weeks.

He wanted to quit. He was seriously considering giving his notice. He nearly did several times, but for whatever reason, he kept hesitating. It was good that he had a job for now, but he was already restless. Something was missing. Mikael didn’t know what he would do or where to go next, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was invisible here. Mikael couldn’t even remember the last time he had an honest-to-God conversation with someone. In this town, the idea of him disappearing forever without a soul noticing he was gone was more reality than fear.

And then, one day, on a Tuesday in autumn just like any other Tuesday, Crown Prince Wilhelm sat at the bar right before him.

Mikael didn’t give a shit about the royal family. He was surprised he even recognized him. He probably only did because Wilhelm was around the same age as Sanna, his daughter. Mikael remembered the headlines when Erik passed away. It was right after Mikael got into that last big argument with Nea before she packed everything they owned, left, and took Sanna with her. He remembered watching the videos of Erik’s funeral on the news, seeing pictures and closeups of Wilhelm, and just thinking about how young he looked.

He still looked young now. His hair was shorter, his face more angular, and he didn’t look sad like he always did when he was on the news. Quite the opposite, really. He had another person with him tonight, a shorter boy who looked even younger, whose smile seemed so bright and genuine that Mikael almost felt blinded by it. As the two boys slid into their respective barstools, bright laughter filled the room, and Mikael thought that today would be different. He didn’t know how, and he didn’t know if the change he felt was necessarily a good one, but it was different.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to address the prince in any sort of particular way. For a moment, he thought maybe the prince was trying to be discreet, and he shouldn’t address him at all, but the pair of security staff who followed the duo inside and positioned themselves nearby made it clear that Crown Prince Wilhelm was here. Plus, people around the restaurant noticed him and started staring. All eyes Mikael could see were on Wilhelm.

If the attention bothered Wilhelm and the boy sitting beside him, they didn’t let it show. Mikael couldn’t imagine that it didn’t. He felt awful for the kids. As the stares turned into whispers turned into audible speculation, Mikael felt the urge to yell at everyone to shut the fuck up and leave them alone. But if he was going to quit this job, he at least wanted to do so on good terms so he could still have references. He did not need to have to explain the fact that he was fired because he lost his temper in front of a prince to his next employers.

Realizing that he was staring, too, and was maybe now part of the problem, Mikael cleared his throat, leaning forward on the bar and raising his voice so Wilhelm and his friend could hear him.

“Can I get you boys something to drink?” Mikael asked, trying his best to sound casual and uninterested.

“What do you have with tequila?” Wilhelm asked. His voice was teasing, his smile playful. Mikael was caught off-guard. He hadn’t spent any amount of time thinking about what the Crown Prince might be like, but this young, smiling boy was nothing like what he might have expected.

Mikael didn’t say anything, just narrowed his eyes a little. He picked up a drink menu and placed it down in front of Wilhelm, dragging his finger around the portion of the menu that listed their cocktails and detailed which tequilas they had on the shelf.

Mikael watched Wilhelm’s smile twist into an amused smirk before he looked down at where Mikael was pointing.

“Mmm, I’ll take a ginger beer, please,” Wilhelm’s friend said, reading the drink menu over Wilhelm’s shoulder. Mikael nodded and reached under the bar, opening the cooler and pulling out a glass bottle. He placed it in front of the boy, who smiled at him brightly and thanked him. Exceedingly polite.

Mikael took a moment to size up the prince’s companion. He certainly didn’t seem royal or even royal adjacent. He looked astoundingly normal. While Wilhelm was outfitted stylishly and professionally in a collared shirt and smart sweater, the other boy came simply dressed in jeans and an old hoodie with the drawstring missing. The two boys looked like they came from two different worlds, but at the same time, there was a sort of familiarity and ease between them that felt… right.

“How spicy is the spicy margarita?” Wilhelm asked, looking up at Mikael with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes that Mikael didn’t quite know what to do with.

“No. No, Wille,” the boy cut in before Mikael could even open his mouth to answer. “You can’t keep pretending you like spicy things. You’ll take two sips, spend the rest of dinner complaining about it, and end up wasting the entire drink.”

“You don’t know that,” Wilhelm grumbled, pouting dramatically as he looked back down at the menu.

Mikael had to bite back a chuckle. It was amusing how comfortable the boys seemed with each other. The boy called the prince Wille and teased him knowingly. It was strange, seeing someone so famous casually sat in front of him, so strikingly human. Mikael felt drawn to the prince and his friend, almost like he was a part of their world. Or, maybe stranger, that they were a part of his.

“I’ll order the House Margarita if you can tell me what’s in Geronimo’s Secret Margarita Mix,” Wilhelm said, looking at Mikael with that same playful smile that continued to catch him off guard.

“It’s written in the employee handbook that if we tell someone, we have to kill them,” Mikael said, without thinking. He had a moment of doubt when he thought that maybe threatening violence against a prince might not be the smartest move, but at Wilhelm’s widening smile, he continued. “It also explicitly states that we do not grant exceptions regardless of rank. The only way one can learn the secret of the Margarita Mix is if they have concerns about allergens.”

Wilhelm’s friend laughed at that, beaming at Mikael with a thousand-watt smile.

“Oh, I like you already,” he said. The boy looked at Mikael closer now, considering him in the same careful way Mikael had just done with him. After so much thought about how working in this part of Stockholm made him seem invisible, in this moment, he felt almost unnervingly seen. “I’m Simon. Best friend of Wille. Official title. What’s your name?”

Still apprehensive, Mikael just pointed to his chest, where a nametag was pinned to his apron.

“Mikael,” Wilhelm read, grinning wide.

“Good, he can read,” Mikael muttered to himself before he had a second to think better of it.

His gaze flickered over to Simon, who looked like a kid at a candy store. Clearly, he was delighted that Mikael was instantly willing to poke fun at Wilhelm. Mikael didn’t know why he was chasing the approval of this… kid. Especially at the expense of the actual Crown Prince of their country. It was something to do with Simon’s smile, Mikael thought. It felt familiar. It reminded him of Sanna.

Mikael knew his face fell at that realization. He also knew that Simon had caught it, and Mikael watched as his smile faltered, but only for a fraction of a second.

“Literacy is one of his better qualities,” Simon said to Mikael, glancing over at Wilhelm with a fond roll of his eyes.

“It’s ‘Gang Up on Wille’ day, huh?” Wilhelm muttered, looking up briefly to glare at Simon. Simon just laughed lightly, looking down at the food menu the hostess had given them when they first sat down.

Someone in Mikael’s position would have to be blind not to notice the rush of pink on Simon’s cheeks. Mikael remembered what it was like to be that age, no older than nineteen or twenty if Mikael had to guess. He recognized Simon’s exact blush from his early memories of Nea.

Mikael wasn’t ready to make any assumptions, but he was briefly curious. He thought he would have heard something if the prince was gay. Or bisexual or whatever, Mikael didn’t know. Then again, maybe they were trying to be discreet. But, Mikael thought, there were definitely places more discreet than a busy restaurant in the middle of Gamla stan, just minutes away from the royal palace.

So, they were probably best friends. Still, Mikael noticed the way Simon looked at Wilhelm, like he had just hung the moon. It wasn’t nothing.

None of his business, though.

“I’ll have the House Margarita. Salted rim, please. For now, you can keep your secrets,” Wilhelm said, smiling at Mikael again. “But next time, I’ll find a way to get you to tell me while also sparing my precious life.”

“Precious,” Mikael scoffed, causing Simon to let out another breath of laughter.

Mikael opened his mouth to ask to see Wilhelm’s ID before he stopped short. Do members of the royal family even carry identification? Mikael knew Wilhelm was over eighteen, but he was still legally required to ask. Unless there was an exception for princes? He didn’t think there would be, but he also had no reason to know. Would Wilhelm get mad at him for asking? He couldn’t help but glance over to the security guards, who, admittedly, looked terrifying.

Mikael thought back to how he wanted to quit this job before they fired him. He did not want to have to tell the story of how he was fired for not carding the Crown Prince.

“Can I see your ID?” Mikael asked, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

Wilhelm looked surprised for a moment, but he instantly reached into his pocket to remove his wallet and his ID, which, apparently, he did carry with him. That was good to know.

“I’ve never seen you get carded before,” Simon said to Wilhelm, beaming ear to ear. “This is the best day of my life. I hope the food is good, Wille. This might finally be our place. It feels right.”

Mikael glanced down at Wilhelm’s ID (which was weird, so extremely weird. Wilhelm had so many names and probably the nicest picture Mikael had ever seen on an ID) before handing it back to him wordlessly.

Mikael set to work making Wilhelm’s drink, thinking that their interaction was over for now, but Simon spoke up again, surprising him.

“So, Mikael,” Simon said, his voice curious and friendly. “Have you always lived in Stockholm?”

The answer to the question was no, but Mikael was a very private guy. He didn’t want strangers asking him personal questions. It was none of their business. Especially not the prince’s.

Mikael finished pouring the last of the ingredients into his cocktail shaker before answering Simon’s question with a frown and a shrug. It wasn’t a yes or a no—it was just an acknowledgment. Simon seemed to take the hint, and he just smiled at him with a nod. Understanding, gracious, unnervingly kind.

Simon and Wilhelm were quiet while Mikael finished making the drink. They looked around, admiring the space. For all of its faults, Geronimo’s FGT was fun. Decked out in colorful textiles, weird bird taxidermy, and neon cacti, the place felt like a fever dream interpretation of the American Southwest. Mikael did love it, and so, as it would seem, did Simon and Wilhelm, who each wore small, pleased smiles on their faces as they took in the atmosphere of Geronimo’s.

Giving the margarita a few good shakes, Mikael poured it into a mason jar with a salted rim and slid the drink over to Wilhelm, who thanked him profusely and wasted no time downing half the drink with one prolonged sip.

“Nectar of the gods…” Wilhelm mused, putting the jar down with a satisfied sigh. Mikael still didn’t know quite what to make of Wilhelm, but he thought that he liked him. Or, at least, he was pleased that the prince seemed to approve of his bartending skills.

“Anything to eat?” Mikael asked, using both his hands to point at the pair of menus in front of Wilhelm and Simon.

“It’s Tuesday, so definitely tacos,” Wilhelm said, with so much enthusiasm.

“Which tacos would you recommend?” Simon asked, looking up from his menu to Mikael.

“They’re all fucking great,” Mikael said, truthfully. Since starting here, Mikael had tried and enjoyed pretty much the entire menu. “Birria are good. Fish, too.”

Mikael watched Simon and Wilhelm exchange a look, wordlessly communicating before Simon nodded and grinned, turning back to Mikael.

“Perfect, we’ll try those,” Simon said, before glancing back at Wilhelm. “And we’ll split them so we can both try both.”

“And queso, too. Please. As much as you’re willing to give us,” Wilhelm added, before doing something weird with his eyes. Mikael thought Wilhelm might have been trying to wink, but he wasn’t sure. He might just have something really wrong with his vision.

Mikael left to put in their food orders, and then, a little reluctantly, went back to work. As much as his curiosity made him want to linger by Wilhelm and Simon, there were other patrons sitting at his bar, and more drink orders coming in for him to work on. Even if he had literal royalty at his bar, Mikael couldn’t afford to give them all of his attention. He was cutting his rent a little too close as is.

While Mikael was able to busy himself with the Taco Tuesday crowd, he did occasionally try to listen in to Simon and Wilhelm’s conversation, just to get a better idea as to what their deal was. He wanted to know why they were here, of all places.

It sounded like they were catching up on the past week or so of their lives. Simon must have been a student, probably here in Stockholm, as he spent most of his meal talking animatedly to Wilhelm about various classes and professors. Wilhelm was listening intently, nodding along and peppering in questions and comments throughout.

Mikael realized that their appearance at Geronimo’s was really quite simple. Wilhelm and Simon were two friends, meeting for dinner to catch up on each other’s lives. There was nothing fancy, no royal banquets or expensive wines or anything. Just two friends sat at a bar, eating tacos and talking about their day.

It was… endearing.

When it was getting late, and their plates were all but licked clean, Mikael approached Wilhelm and Simon again, leaning against the bar opposite them. He offered them a sort of smile, a slight purse of his lips that was just about as friendly as his face could get.

“Good?”

“Fucking great,” Wilhelm grinned, repeating Mikael’s praise from earlier.

Giving the boys a satisfied nod, Mikael placed the bill between Simon and Wilhelm. Simon let out a loud bark of laughter before pushing the bill directly to Wilhelm.

“Why do I always get stuck paying?” Wilhelm said, teasingly. Still, he didn’t hesitate to immediately take out his wallet and hand Mikael a card, smiling politely all the while.

“Wilhelm, do not get me started today. You are already on such thin ice,” Simon said, his voice surprisingly serious. Simon must have had plenty of thoughts on the excessive amount of cash Wilhelm surely had at his disposal. It was surprising—in a good way, Mikael thought. Wilhelm seemed to have a friend with a good head on his shoulders. Polite, engaging, and willing to challenge him.

Mikael really, really liked this Simon kid.

He also really, really missed Sanna.

Mikael ran Wilhelm’s card and returned it to him. Wilhelm pocketed his wallet, thanked Mikael again, and then started to get up.

“You’ll be working next week, right Mikael?” Simon asked as he stood. Mikael was surprised at the question and didn’t answer right away. He just stared at Simon for a prolonged moment, raising an eyebrow. “Next Taco Tuesday. We’ll see you here again. Next week?”

Mikael shrugged and smiled a little. He supposed he would stick around until next week, at least, if that meant seeing Wilhelm and Simon again. He was still curious about them. He wanted to listen to them more and try to understand them better.

“Next week, then,” Wilhelm smiled. He crinkled his eyes in that weird and awkward way again—probably a wink. Then, with a final wave, they left Geronimo’s, security detail in tow.

Suddenly, Mikael’s monotonous job felt like the most interesting place in the entire country. Maybe Mikael would quit next week.

But for now, he’d stay. Make a couple of margaritas. Eat a few more tacos. Have a fucking good time.

#ally writes #tomt #i wasnt sure if i was gonna publish this anywhere but it turns out im too proud of it to gatekeep #oops #also me naming this after another jimmy song??? classic me #ok bye

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gyllenhaalstories · 10 months

Text

VERY TRAINABLE — JAMIE RANDALL 💙

summary: is there a little blue pill that could teach jamie some patience or do you have to train him yourself?

warnings: curse words, smut (allusions to viagra & intoxication, handjob, cum as lube, overstimulation). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 1440

gifs credits: @/parixtexas (deactivated) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: manwhore manslut malewife, yeah, that’s just jamie. 💦 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

"Does that feel good?”

Jamie nodded excitedly, watching you rub your lube covered hands over his hard cock.

You clicked your tongue and stopped moving your hands. “Look at me and use your words.”

Jamie’s cheeks filled with air that he pushed out as he tried to lock eyes with you. “Fuck yes.” However he was completely disrupted by the view below him.

You were laying down and still wearing your bra, your tits seemed as though they were begging for him to lick and suck and nibble on them. Your lips were swollen, just like his, from all the kissing you used as a way to stop Jamie from being so needy all evening long.

You looked so hot and he had trouble concentrating. He could focus on two things, though.

“My eyes are up here.” You scolded him.

For a split second, your eyes met with his and you laughed at him. He pouted at your reaction, his lips red and wet. “What? It’s not my fault. I blame you!”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “You blame me? For what?”

“Because... huh...” Your two hands covered his shaft, leaving only the tip of his cock exposed as you stroked him back and forth slowly.

“That’s what I thought.”

“You’re just being mean.” He scrunched his nose playfully.

“And you’re just being needy.” You picked up the pace and jerked him off a bit faster as you watched his abs clench in response. “You couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes tonight.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t hear you complain.” His hips jolted forward, fucking your hands. “Shit.”

“Oh, you’re right.” You caressed his pelvis, smearing some of the lube on his skin before you moved back down to cup his balls gently. “I’m not complaining, but you need to learn how to be patient.”

He wiggled above you, his knees pressed on your sides and caged you in a tight embrace. Jamie moaned when you started to massage his balls. “I’ll have you know that I’m very trainable.”

You looked up at him right when his eyes rolled to the back of his head as you smeared his precum all over the tip of his cock. “I’ll be the judge of that.” You winked at him, not that he could see it.

Jamie’s lips were curled up, mouth left ajar, and his eyes were shut tight as you jerked him off faster, and harder. Your hands were holding him tight and making his skin pink from all the friction. Nothing could beat the feeling of being inside of you, but your hands felt heavenly after a long evening of teasing and waiting.

Your hands were warm and slick as you kept moving them, although your pace decreased until you stopped. Instead, you focused on his red, sensitive tip. You flicked your thumb over it and moaned, too, as another drop of precum leaked. You pulled your thumb towards you, creating a sticky strand that you brought to your lips and tasted.

Mounted above you, Jamie appeared as though he was losing his mind. His brows were raised up one second and furrowed the next. It was getting more and more difficult to not just scoot forward and push his cock past those pretty lips of yours. And he was getting impossibly harder too, his cock was throbbing above your chest while he whined, as if to beg you to touch him again.

And you did. You started to stroke him hard and fast again like he usually loved. You pulled moan after moan out of him, he repeated a series of curse words interlaced with your name.

“Fuck, fuck” Jamie interrupted himself with a loud, slightly high pitched whimper. “I’m gonna cum!”

“Yeah?” You teased him with a condescending tone, one that resembled the type of voice he would use to mess with you. “Then cum, baby. Make a mess for me.”

You did not need to tell him twice. He grunted loud, so loud, as ropes of cum shot from his hard cock. His seed painted your chest, but it also covered your hand when you stopped jerking him off so he could finish. His face contorted into expressions of bliss and ecstasy until the last drops of his cum fell on your skin.

“Imagine what I could do to you if you agreed to take some Viagra again.” You smiled widely, more so talking to yourself than to Jamie who was trying to come down from his high. “We could be doing this for a long, long time. I bet you’d be so sensitive that you’d cum without being touched before I’m done with you...”

“Shut up.” He chuckled when you brought up his little blue pill incident. “Just shut up.” Jamie clenched his hand into a fist, his face still tensed from the intense pleasure of his last orgasm. “I don’t need that to go for another round and you know it.”

“So you do want to go another round?” Your hands wrapped around his cock, still rock hard and red from all the friction. You did not move just yet.

Instead, Jamie took the lead and that was good enough of an answer for you. He placed his hands on each side of your head and kept this position, on all fours, so that he could fuck your hands. He started to move his hips, slowly. He winced at the way his body reacted to the painful and pleasing sensitivity.

You kept one hand around him, and smeared the cum that had fallen on your other hand. You used it as lube so that he could fuck himself faster.

And he did, while grunting loudly, and close to your ears. He knew you liked it when he was being vocal and he was putting on quite a show. The truth was that he could not control himself, everything just felt too intense for him to hold back, but he liked telling himself that it was his turn to tease you.

You watched him with your mouth left ajar. Your own moans added to the mix of noises that he was making. He truly was putting on a show, his whole body was working towards his second release.

“What a good fucking,” He groaned loudly, his lips curled up again. He caught your attention, so he repeated himself. “What a good fucking fleshlight.” He loved the gasp you let out at his words. “I fucking love using you to jerk off.”

His words spread goosebumps over your skin. It was a sudden change of attitude, a shift of power. Both your mind and your body, reacted positively to it. As Jamie looked down at you, he could read your expression of lust and desire for him. Despite your squirming, your hands remained steady and wrapped around his cock.

He was moments away from cumming again. It was a race between his orgasm and the overstimulation, whatever would come first.

You took the decision for him. You closed your hands into fists around the tip of his cock and prompted Jamie to move his body with short, quick thrusts.

Sure enough, more of his cum painted your hands and your chest while he exhaled loudly.

You jerked him off only for a few more seconds before he collapsed by your sides, his cock was throbbing and he emptied his balls on his toned tummy. You cooed at him until his soft moans were replaced by tired giggles.

The euphoria of his multiple orgasms did not cloud his mind enough to miss an opportunity to taste you. His request was silent, only his eyes and his tongue licking over his lips spoke for themselves.

With a roll of your eyes at his neediness, you switched positions to be the one kneeling on top of his body with a leg on each side of him. You made your way up to his face, leaving a trail of kisses when you were not licking drops of his cum. “You still got a lot more training to do.” You teased him, pressing a quick but firm kiss on his lips before you hovered your core above his face. “But you gotta return the favour first.”

Jamie’s hands found their spot on your hips so that he could pull you down directly on his mouth. His expert tongue, sticking out of his open mouth, connected with your slick folds and he lapped at the mess you made while you pleasured him. His last words followed an arrogant smirk. “I don’t need any of stupid training to make you cum on my tongue.”

#jake gyllenhaal smut #jamie randall smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal fanfic

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corazondebeskar-reads · 4 months

Text

keep it caged

werewolf!Joel Miller x f!reader

originally for Febuwhump 2024 Day 5 - rope burns | Febuwhump masterlist

words: 447

summary: They put you in a small cage within the beast's cage, as if it would be more than a minor inconvenience in his way.

This is technically another drabble for my upcoming series "of rage and ruin" following werewolf!Joel. It can be read as a standalone.

warnings: alpha/omega dynamics (one use of the word "omega"), captivity, abuse, genre-typical violence, canon-typical violence, restraints, description of injury

dividers by @saradika-graphics

He can’t reach you, not when you’re tucked back in the corner of your cage. But he can smell you, and he can smell the rich iron soaking into the ropes around your wrists. It’s not yet visible, but the skin squishing through the edges is red and rough.

He whines, pushing his muzzle against the bars, long tongue flopping out like he can reach.

The sharp battery acid edge of your fear spikes, and he growls. Stupid girl. Stupid fucking omega. He’s trying to help you, and you’re—you’re—

You’re starting to cry again.

He can’t make human words like this, can’t enunciate or even really remember them. He tries to reach you through the bars again, snarling when they burn against his knuckles. Even the distended bony fingers of his full form can’t reach you there, not even with the tip of his claw.

You’re shaking now, body twitching and jittering beyond your control. Everything inside you is screaming white-hot and dissolving; vomit tickles the base of your throat, and you just can’t stop crying. It hurts; it’s ripping your throat and lungs to shreds. It’s a violent, tumultuous thing, and you can’t stop the wounded keening of your cries.

He’s pacing in front of your cage now, the beast, on four mangled limbs too long to be canine and too warped to be human. His huffs startle you, long snout returning, again and again, tongue darting out for a taste.

A little drop of blood slides down your hand from where the rope’s edge cuts into the bottom of your palm.

He freezes, nostrils flaring. You freeze, barely breathing.

He looks right at you and then tips his head back to howl, the sound like icy water through your veins.

You can’t help yourself. You scream, broken as your voice is from all the tears.

Between the cacophony, Jim stomps into the corridor and slams his hand on the wall. “Shut the fuck up, both of you!”

“Help me,” you yell.

I’m trying, the wolf howls.

“Please, please help me,” you gasp, sobs reaching new heights alongside your panic.

“If you don’t quiet the fuck down, I’ll open up your goddamn cage and let him eat you,” Jim snaps. “I said you were going to be more trouble than you’re worth, and I was fuckin’ right.”

The beast snarls, snapping his sharp teeth at the air.

Jim regards him with a sneer. “And you! Giving her a heart attack counts as breakin’ her. We aren’t gettin’ you another one.”

The words don’t make sense, but you don’t really hear them, anyway. “Please, I want to go home, please, please,” you whisper.

But no one’s listening.

*title from "Monster" by Skillet

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #alpha!joel miller #alpha!joel x omega!reader #a/b/o dynamics #werewolf!joel miller #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #febuwhumpday5

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bteezxyewriter12 · 1 year

Text

Daddy/ 7

Pairing- Namjoon x Named Reader

Word count- 3.2k

Includes- Stepdad Namjoon, "Dumb/naive" reader, reader name not used- instead called "baby"or "bunny", all are of consenting age, corruption, Oral, pussy eating, blow job, deepthroating, cum eating, sex from behind, consented somnophilia, riding, choking, missionary, squirting, multiple orgasms, choking scare, minute smidge of fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@borntowalkaway @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @seokwoosmole @meowmeowminnie @nctzennikki09 @mrcarrots @yoonallthetime @namjooningera @quinsly @kendranicole1996 @jacobhey @wolfgurl2600-blog @mrskimjoon @svnbangtansworld @taeluv13 @effielumiere @moonchild-qaads @kitinae

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Daddy Masterlist 📝Masterlists

📝BTS Masterlist

📝Namjoon Masterlist

3 weeks later

Namjoon POV

"Our revenue has increased substantially since the release of the teaser for The Astronaut porn", Seonghwa says, "We have doubled in subscriptions, especially in the top tier subscription"

"That's good", I say, then lick her little clit, her body shaking on my bed

Looking up at her, I smirk at the way her eyes are screwed shut in pleasure

She learned from the last time she interrupted me during a call

She came into my room while I'm taking this phone conference call and her eyes opened so wide, immediately turning and leaving the room

Since she wasn't making a scene, I decided to let her stay

I muted the call, telling her to get on my bed

Then I gagged her with one of my ties because she's loud and I can't have that

It was bad enough the guys saw her fucking me on the video call

I don't need them to hear her on the phone too

I started eating her out, leaving the phone on speaker and on her tummy but she kept moving her hands and knocking it over

So I tied her arms together and to the bed using another one of my ties

Now she's gagged and bound, quiet and I'm liking this a lot

"Seems many people want to experience the whole thing with music, the YouTube videos, the series and so on", Jimin says smugly

"Seems so", I answer, delving my tongue in her tiny hole and feeling her throb on it, sending pleasure right to my hard cock

This cunt is so wet, so fucking sloppy and I'm so here for it

I fuck into her hole a few times before dragging my tongue up, licking her throbbing bump

"Mmm", she moans, the tie muffling her sounds

Sliding my fingers in between her lips, I hold her clit between them, licking over and over, dragging the flat of my tongue to the tip on her

Her thighs shake, her breasts heaving as she breathes around my tie

Muting the phone, I tell her, "Cum for me, right now"

Swiping my tongue over her clit, her body arches as she cums for the third time, moaning, her hands pulling on the tie hard

Letting go of her clit, I lick her hole, tasting her cream

So fucking good

I keep forgetting how much I love how she tastes

I don't go down on her as often as I should but every time I do, I remember why I like doing it

I don't eat her cunt for her but for me because she has the best cunt I ever tasted

Slipping my tongue up, I wrap my lips around her clit, sucking hard as I slip three fingers inside her

One more

Need to taste her one more time before I fuck her

As I move my mouth, I plunge into her, her pussy sucking me in, my fingertips rubbing on her spot

She calls me in her muffled voice, her body shaking hard

"Such a good cunt for me", I praise her

San is talking about the various video he put up for the movie trailer and the ad revenue we get from those videos is doing well

I'm listening but right now I'm too into her pussy to speak

My hand is soaked, her tight cunt squeezing my fingers desperately, like the whore she is

She's close

Increasing my sucking, I go hard and as soon as she orgasms, I pull my fingers out, replacing them with my tongue

She clenches down on my tongue, her cream coating it as I close my eyes, reveling in her taste

I swallow over and over, wanting all of it

Every single drop

After licking her clean, I sit up, flipping her over on her stomach

"Up", I demand

She moves on her knees bending forward as her hands are still tied, her legs already spread for me

My good slut knows what I want

I take a second to watch her juice slip from her cunt down her thighs, her tiny hole clenching around nothing

"Mm bunny, want daddy's cock?"

She nods, holding onto the tie so hard

"Want daddy to fuck that cunt stupid? Split you open"

"Mmm hmmm", she cries

"Good girl"

Shoving my cock inside her, I push hard, feeling her tight pussy stretch around me

I swear this is the best pussy I've fucked and that's because it's mine

I made this pussy into my personal cock sleeve, wearing her everyday

She knows what I like, what I want and does it every time

I start off thrusting into her, the wet sound of her cunt taking my cock, creaming my cock, so musical

I need to record that sound one day

I watch the white cream around my dick, a thick ring of it accumulating at the base of my cock, her stretched little hole smeared in it too

Fucking hot

"Fuck my cock bunny", I tell her, stopping my movements

She takes over, sliding along my length, bottoming me out and taking me in deeply, feeling so good

"Ohhh", she gasps, moving faster, her skin slapping loudly against mine

I have no idea what we're talking about on the conference call right now, all I can focus on is her pussy opening for me over and over

Her breathing is turning into gasps, long moans coming from her as her cunt pulses around my dick

"I'm gonna cum", I choke out, pleasure assaulting my body

"Hmmm", she nods, taking me all in, grinding on my cock, against my pelvis, her cum hole clenching in a death grip over and over

"I...I can't...", I moan, not able to hold back

Ecstacy hits me as I cum, her pussy sucking my cock as she grinds on me

"Bunny, fuck...so good"

Jesus

After emptying into her cunt, I pull out, laying down on my back as I breath hard

She calls me softly and when I look at her, she shows me her hands, asking to untie her with her eyes

I actually forgot she was tied up

Leaning over, I undo my tie, her hands dropping to the bed

She sits up, taking off the gag too as I pick up my phone and focus on the conference

"...planning on starting to shoot the movie in three days", Jimin says

"Everything is set up for a smooth filming?", I ask

"Of course Namjoon. I'm not incompetent", Jimin snaps

"It's my job to question you", I answer, rolling my eyes

Jimin starts ranting and I'm about to go off when I hear a very quiet, soft, "Daddy"

Looking at her, she's crawling in-between my legs

What does she want now?

She keeps her eyes on me, her hand around my dick, pumping me slowly

I watch her lean down, her tongue licking around head, pleasure slowly seeping in my body

Muting the phone, I ask, "Can't get enough of daddy's cock huh?"

She shakes her head, taking my tip in her mouth, sucking softly, her hand still moving

And I'm getting hard again

"Love your cock daddy", she whispers, taking more of me in her mouth

"So what is it you want now bunny?"

"Want to suck you off and swallow your cum"

I groan at her words, "Fuck bunny, you know what daddy likes"

She nods, sucking harder

Not gonna lie she's so pretty with my cock in her mouth

Like her mouth belongs around my cock

Just like her pussy does

"Well you're lucky I love coming down your throat", I answer, "Suck daddy's cock. Make me cum"

She nods, her hand leaving my cock as she deepthroats me, her throat so tight

Moving my hand in her hair, I bob her head up and down, moaning in bliss

She sucks as she moves along my length, shivers running up my spine

"So good bunny"

"Ok well that's all for this meeting", someone says on the call, "We can meet in a month or so to talk about the progress"

The others on the call agree and then hang up

I toss my phone on the nightstand, finally able to completely focus on my stepdaughter blowing me

Tears are falling from her eyes but she's not stopping, fucking her throat on my cock, knowing this gives me intense pleasure

She swallows on my shaft, sending spikes of pleasure down my spine

"That's it bunny", I murmur, watching my cock enter her mouth over and over, "So good at sucking cock"

She should be, I trained her to be amazing at it

Moving faster, I feel myself right there

Shoving her head down, I hold her on my dick, listening to her choke as I cum into her mouth

"Yes Bunny. Fuck"

She moans, swallowing and sucking over and over, the pleasure so fucking incredible

She slows down her mouth as I finish, gently pulling off me, sitting up

She swallows a few times then looks up at me

"Yummy daddy"

"Fuck bunny", I mutter, exhausted

"Are you tired daddy?", she asks

I nod, "Yeah bunny. Daddy's tired"

She nods, "Ok. I'll go so you can sleep"

"Yeah sure"

A nap sounds like a good idea

I lay down as she gets up expecting her to just leave

Instead she bends down, picking up my blanket from the floor and putting it on me

Like she's tucking me in

I raise my eyebrow at her but she just smiles and says, "Have a good nap daddy"

Then she turns and leaves my room

And leaves me speechless

What the hell just happened?

Did she....sort of...take care of me?

Giving me a blanket isn't taking care of me right?

No, it's not

That settled, I close my eyes, relaxed and ready for a nap

---------------------------

Massive pleasure wakes me up and I snap my eyes open

The sight of my bunny bouncing desperately on my cock hits me full in the face, her cries of daddy filling my ears

And I can't help but smirk

"Mm bad girl", I say, groggily, "Fucking daddy's cock without asking"

She immediately stops, looking down at me

"Ssss..sorry daddy. You...you were still asleep and I came to check on you to make sure you were ok. I just... you were still sleeping but your cock was so hard"

"Was it baby?"

She nods, "The blanket was sticking up too. I...I touched you and I licked your cock but you didn't wake up"

I raise my eyebrows

I didn't feel a thing

"I sucked on you daddy but you were still sleeping and...and my pussy hurt. I tried to stay off for as long as I could but I couldn't anymore. I just...I just wanted to sit on your cock"

"So what happened baby?", I ask, "You sat on me with my cock up your cunt?"

She nods

"Then what? You were bouncing on me like a fucking whore when I woke up"

She pouts, looking down, "You we're throbbing inside and I couldn't help it"

"Uh huh", I say, "Slide up"

She does, keeping my head inside her

I bite my lip seeing the creamy mess she left on me

She came

I already know that

"How many times did you cum on daddy's cock without me knowing?"

Her cheeks turn red, "Three times"

"Three?", I repeat, surprised, "You're cunt was greedy huh?"

She nods, "Always for your cock daddy"

Yeah I know

Which is exactly what I want

"Were you working on a fourth orgasm baby?"

She nods again, "And I was trying to get daddy to cum inside me"

That's interesting

"Yeah? Why?"

"Because I love feeling daddy cum in my pussy. I love being full of daddy's cum"

"Huh. Well don't let me stop you"

I'm not upset

I told her that she could fuck me awake if there was an opportunity

I fuck her awake so many times and honestly waking up to that pleasure is the best way to wake up

"I...I can keep going?"

"You better. I want your cum hole to make my cock feel good"

She nods, "I will daddy. I promise"

"Go", I nod at her

She leans her hands on my abs as she squats, her legs pumping as she bounces up and down

Her fucking hole looks so good spreading wide open for my cock, her pussy lips so swollen, wrapped around my shaft

So pretty

Not to mention the pretty cream flowing from her pussy

I don't think I'll ever not love the sight of her cream all over me

Putting my hands behind my head, I watch her fuck me

I watch the way she moves her hips as she takes me in, her tummy bulging as she circles her hips fast, grinding on my head so it rubs against her spot, then slides up my dick, doing all the movements all over again

It's like she's dancing on my cock and it's mesmerizing

Her boobs are jiggling so much, her head tilted back, beads of sweat rolling down her body, pleasure on her face as her cunt chokes my cock

I can admit that she looks so good on me right now

Hot

Sexy

That's why I wanted to fuck her

Her looks and her stupidity

"Daddy", she gasps, her legs not stopping, pumping my cock in and out of her

"Yeah bunny, I feel you. Go ahead, make a mess on my cock"

She leans her hands back on my thighs as she takes me back in, wiggling and grinding on me

"Daddy! Oh god", she whimpers, so much pleasure hitting me hard as she orgasms

Her pussy floods my cock in squirt, running in my lap and spilling over on my bed

"So pretty bunny", I murmur, watching her cunt clench around me, "Love when this cunt squirts"

"Feels so good daddy", she moans, "Your cock always feels so good daddy"

I'm glad she feels that way because it means she'll fuck me more

And I'm all for that

When she finishes, she leans forward, her hand on my shoulder, breathing rapidly

And for some reason, I feel the need to fuck her

Pulling her off me, I throw her on her back, grabbing her ankles and shoving her legs towards her body, her legs spread, her little ass up off the bed, her cunt throbbing and waiting for me to fill her

Getting my head in her hole, I push in slowly, savoring the feel of her on my dick

Bottoming out, my body shivers as she latches on my dick, already pulsing pleasurably

Immediately I set a hard pace, watching that hole splitting open in with every thrust into her

As always she takes me perfectly, swallowing my cock like she can't get enough, moaning for me like a big whore

"Look at you", I growl, "Taking daddy's cock like a pro"

She nods, whimpering

"My little cock sleeve, always ready for my cock to wreck you"

"Yes daddy. Mmmmm yes"

"Love how this cunt throbs on me, sucking me in like you can't get enough"

"I can't", she moans, "I can't get enough of you daddy"

I know she can't

It's great

"Cum on daddy's cock, bunny", I demand, feeling her right there

Slamming her spot, she cries out, her body shaking as she orgasms

And I get the pleasure I want

I need more

Slamming her pussy, I fuck her hard and rough, making her cum three more times, the bliss I feel mounting with every orgasm

Thrusting into her tight hole, I wrap my hand around her neck, her cunt becoming impossibly tight

And I just smirk at her

She looks so fucked out, fucked stupid as she keeps taking the pounding I'm giving her

I choke her, her body shuddering, wet hole spasming so good on my length

"So good bunny. Pussy getting so tight", I tell her, letting her breathe

She opens her fucked out eyes, tears falling from them

"Need you to cum like that so I can fill this sloppy cum hole again"

She nods

I snap my hips hard over and over, choking her, feeling her so close

"C'mon you fucking slut. Cum on me so I can blow my load in this coming pussy", I demand

Her pussy locks on my cock, coming and pumping around my cock, the pleasure outstanding

"Fuck", I yell, slamming my dick into her, immediately blowing my load into her orgasming cunt, "Yes fucking whore, milk my cock. Take all my cum, slut"

The pleasure lasts, making me shake as I ride it out inside her

When I finally finish, I relax and realize I haven't let go to her neck yet

Shit

Letting her go, she gasps in air, choking as she tries to sit up

I panic a little, helping her up, her whole face red

"Are you ok?", I ask worriedly, "Bunny are you ok?"

I may not care about her pleasure and I definitely use her for sex but I don't want to hurt her

I use women, I'm an asshole but I don't hurt them

She sucks in air, coughing a little

"Bunny?"

"I...I'm ok", she gasps out, "I think...I think I need to lay down for a minute..I...I feel dizzy"

"Yeah sure", I nod, helping her lay down on a pillow, my eyes widening when I see my fingerprints on the sides of her neck

Fuck, I choked her harder than I thought I did

I've never went that hard on her or any girl when I choke them

How the fuck did I lose control?

She turns on her side, her eyes squeezed shut, trying to get her breathing under control

I actually feel bad but I don't know what to do to help

"Bunny?"

"I'm ok", she croaks, "I...I'll get up in a minute to leave daddy"

"It's ok bunny, take your time. I...I didn't mean to hurt you"

"It's ok daddy. I know you didn't mean it", she breathes

Even though she said it's ok, I still feel bad

I could of seriously hurt her or killed her

Something like this can never happen again

I won't let it

I let her lay down for awhile, paying attention to her breathing, making sure it's going back to normal

The next time I look at her, shes breathing normal and I think she's asleep

"Bunny?", I call softly

"Hmm", she murmurs, her eyes open tiredly, "Oh. Sorry daddy. I'll leave"

I hesitate but tell her, "It's ok bunny. You can stay"

Why I'm doing this I don't know

Maybe it's because I'm worried about her, maybe it's so I can make sure nothing happens to her because of choking her

Maybe it's because last time she slept in my bed overnight, it wasn't that bad

No that's not it

It's because I'm worried and I want to watch her to make sure she's ok

That has to be the reason

It is the reason, I tell myself

"I can go daddy", she says, yawning

"No bunny. It's fine. Sleep ok?"

She looks at me sleepily and confused, "Are you sure?"

I nod, surprised that I am sure, "I am. Sleep bunny"

She cuddles into the pillow, closing her eyes, knocking out almost immediately

I don't know how long I sit there for, just watching her, listening to her breathes

Everything seems normal, she doesn't seem hurt besides the brusies on her neck

I move my fingers in her hair, fixing it so it's off her face and not obstructing any of her airways, ignoring how soft and silky it feels

Getting the blanket, I fix it so it's on both of us then I lay down, facing her

I don't know if I'm gonna fall asleep but I want to be right here in case anything happens

Any emergency or something, like she stops breathing

It's just for tonight, I tell myself

Only for tonight

#daddy fic #bts namjoon smut #kim namjoon smut #namjoon smut #bts rm smut #rm smut #bts namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfic #rm fanfic #bts rm fanfic

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royallyprincesslilly · 9 months

Text

Title: The UnIntended Series {Book 1: UnExpected}

Okay, so I'm actually nervous to post this. It's wild. With my fanfiction, I don't really feel nervous having others read it, but this---😬.

Anyway, here is chapter 1. As of now, I'm not sure if I will post the 2nd one. Again it'll only be up for a day or two then I will delete it.

To anyone reading it please give me some feedback rather than a "like". I am partly using this as a focus group/beta read session so feedback is crucial. What did you think? Any part you liked or disliked? Would you want to continue it from the 1st chapter alone? If you came across it in a bookstore or Amazon, would you buy it?

Note I: This has NOT been edited beyond small grammatical issues. Also, I am not 100% sold on the name "Daryl" so don't let it be a hang-up.

Note II: Everything here has been officially copywritten so be careful, I'm the wrong one to try.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prologue

He was my addiction. My cloudy sky. My stormy night my thunderstorms. He was my chocolate brownie with the chocolate ice cream on top. He was my passion my need my obsession. He was my poison. My sweet, delicious poison and I couldn't get enough--wouldn't get enough. I needed him like I needed air water food. It was never enough. His sex was killer, his kiss was sugar, and his body was the best creation made by the creator. His love was death. He was--my ruin.

Chapter 1

“Ughhhh, deeper, harder, uuuugh, yes. Right there, right there. Don’t stop! God, yes, yes, yes, yessssssssssssssssssss!”

Though my vocabulary was quite advanced, no other words could form. The sensations had taken on a life of their own.

“Oh shit, damn baby”.

He drops on the bed next to me panting heavily filling the air with our combined scent. I moan deeply still feeling the power of him between my thighs, “That was amazing La”, Daryl says using the name he’s always called me since college.

I remember the day we met in college like it was yesterday instead of the nearly eight years it actually had been. I was coming up the steps in the rec room not looking where I was going then bam I ran smack into him. At that time we were both kids, barely nineteen with plenty more to learn about the world and the affairs of the heart. When I looked at him it was all over, then when he smiled that lopsided, slick grin of his, I was a goner. Signed sealed delivered I was his. He must have known it too. There was no way he hadn’t because the smug look on his face said it all.

He’d said, “I haven’t ran into anyone as beautiful as you around here, I have to know your name”.

Boy was it a cheesy line, but I was nineteen after all and it was the flyest line I’d heard. I was his.

“You’re just going to leave me hanging?”

Daryl’s voice brought me out of my memory, a memory that was once your favorite but was slowly becoming one you wished you could forget. Looking over next to me, I find his dewy brown eyes staring into me with a questioning look.

“Oh I’m sorry my mind was wandering, it was amazing, but--,” I stretch out rolling onto my side and bring my hand to toned his chest. Slowly I trail my fingers down his smooth skin over each ab muscle, down past his mind dumbing oblique indentations to his still alert appendage. The moan that escaped him was a deep throaty one that said he was more than ready for round three.

Smiling, I lean closer slipping the tip of my tongue along the shell of his ear. “It’s always been amazing, I’m always amazing”, I say in a self-satisfied way before continuing to lick his ear.

“Mmm, you’re bad. Trying to start something?”

That same lopsided smirk decorated his lips and my belly flipped.

“Nope, who said we were done to begin with?”

Without missing a beat, Daryl crashed his full lips into mine, but it was me who took control of the kiss. The passion between us was evident and I was sure that if the room had smoke alarms we would have set them off. Another sensual moan escaped his lips which made my nether regions clench from the desire to have him nestled there again. Just as his movements became urgent and his kiss needy, a loud sound filled the silence pf the space.

Buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz.

“Mmm, ignore it,” I coax continuing the pleasurable attack my hand was doping under the black sheet of Daryl’s bed.

“Ah, baby,” he groaned out as my finger glided across the smooth tip of his manhood.

With more urgency, Daryl pressed himself against me then brought his large hand to trace along the right side of my body until he cupped my breast.

“Mmm,” I say tightening the grip of my hand around him.

Daryl’s response was to tweak my sensitive and aching nipple between his thumb and forefinger. The action easily brought more moans of pleasure from my lips. It also served the purpose of distracting me. When I felt his other hand skim across my stomach then dip lower and lower the anticipation in me had my back arching off the bed.

Once he made it to the sweet spot between my thighs a high-pitched sigh escaped me. Within seconds he had me panting and mewling from the skill of his fingers and within seconds I needed more of him. Daryl was good at many things, but the one thing he excelled at hands down was his ability to get me from zero to one hundred in thirty seconds flat. It was a skill he’d developed in college and had never relented in holding the record for.

Buzz, Buzz. Buzz, buzz.

I felt the absence of him before he pulled away but when his hand left my body he spoke against my lips, “It could be work, La”.

In this very moment you didn’t give a flying fuck if it was work. Right now there were much more important matters at hand. That was all it took to spark my anger. It was a small action, but it spoke volumes and brought memories of other times before where he’d seemed so aloof. Using all the self-control I possessed coupled with some learned tricks to decelerate my emotions, I clenched my jaw and silently willed my anger to remain in check.

With my eyes glued to him, I watch on as he glances at his phone screen then types in the unlock code. When his face illuminates white from the screen, I continue to watch and crane my eyes to get a glimpse of his screen to see just what it was that had interrupted your moment. Almost as soon as it opens there is a picture of a pretty woman with her legs spread eagle butt naked.

“Oh”,” Daryl rushes out as he jerks from me. The sudden movement has him fumbling his phone but with a stroke of last-minute grace he holds it close to him, hiding it from me. Too late.

The tight hold I had on my anger was suddenly not enough to contain it. With almost inhumane speed, I bolted upright and glared at him sending a thousand hot blades through my eyes in his direction.

“What the hell was that!?”

The heat on my face quickly spread down my neck until my chest felt like I was standing in direct sunlight on the hottest day of summer.

Daryl shrugs, “Nothing”.

“Don’t nothing me, I saw that. Who is that”?

He reached over the bed and placed his phone on the bedside table. “I don’t know La. Must have been a wrong number. It’s nothing”.

My nose crinkled from the stench of his lie. They always had their own distinct scent. I always knew when he was lying and unfortunate he was lying more often than not. “

“Oh nothing? That’s nothing!? So, it’s nothing when you’re getting naked pictures while you’re in bed with me?”

I hadn’t meant to scream the words but once they were out they bounced off the walls, echoing in the room.

“La, calm down,” Daryl cautiously encouraged, “She’s no one.”

Suddenly I felt as if I was going to be sick. The tight knot in my stomach spasmed, a familiar feeling. “No one! So if she’s no one, then what am I?”

Daryl rolled his eyes, and sighed in the exaggerated way he did when he was annoyed with the direction something had taken, “God here we go”.

When he dropped back onto the bed, you bolted to your feet. He was annoyed? Shit, I was past annoyed right now and I had every right to be.

“Yes here we do, Daryl. What the hell is wrong with you? Who is that woman and why is she sending you naked pictures?”

Silence filled the space as he laid there staring into the ceiling completely ignoring me. He knew how much I hated it when he did this. I was convinced he did it because I hated it so much. I didn’t want to go irate right now, but I was seconds away from going atomic.

“Hello!”

Another sigh came from him before he sat up and reached for me. With his hand inches from my breast I leaned back and slapped it away. It was supposed to be a regular hit but because of my anger it was much more than a regular hit. It was a hard one that made the sting from it ricochet through your hand.

“You know what, fuck you Daryl.”

Without missing a beat, I turned and walked to the chair across the room where my clothes were currently draped over. It was time to go. I shouldn’t have even been here to begin with. Keeping my back to him I began putting on my clothes.

“Unfuckinbelivable! Every time is the same mess. The same thing!”

Angrily slinging my shirt over my head I do my best to keep the tears pricking my eyes away. I was tired of crying, tired of this circle.

“Don’t do this La,” Daryl began, his voice smooth as a hustler on the corner trying to upsell some weed, “Listen her name is Marcella, and we were hanging out a while back. That’s it, we haven’t in weeks though.”

Spinning around to face him my eyes narrowed, “Weeks? We’ve been fucking for years Daryl. We’ve been going around this for years. Years! Unbelievable. Oh La, I miss you, I love you, I’m going to change I promise, it’s just you. Bullshit!”

I felt so stupid to have believed his lies, to have expected anything to change. I felt dumb being here right now. My anger had morphed into hurt and it was becoming harder and harder to fight back the tears. I should have known nothing had changed, that nothing would have changed. Deep down I knew it was the same bullshit. Every time I looked in the mirror I saw the truth shining back at me. I had been stupid for a long time.

I watch as Daryl slinks across the room to me with a somber look on his face that I knew was an act. For it to be real he had to feel remorse, an emotion you doubted he even fathomed. Raising my hands I try to keep him at bay because I know if he touches me even a little bit my anger will falter, and he will turn it all around. I didn’t want him to placate me with lies any longer.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Now I can’t touch you? Come on, you love when I touch you.”

He laced his fingers with mine before he pulled me closer to him. “I’m the only one that makes you feel good,” he cooed, “The only one that knows how to touch you.”

For emphasis, Daryl brought his hand around to cup my ass in a way that also brought my leg up to wrap around his waist. Groaning, I pressed my palm to his torso trying to push him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “I’m the only one that makes you drip”, he says his voice dropping to an impossibly deep baritone that instantly proved his words true. It was a voice I had always been utterly powerless against.

I hated his cockiness, hated that there was even an ounce of truth to his words, hated that he had me right where he wanted me.

“Stop it Daryl, I’m not playing.”

“Neither am I,” he said against your ear making you shiver. “I haven’t seen her in weeks. As I said, it’s nothing.”

With that, he tipped my chin up, so I looked into his eyes and just like that, it was over. “I want you”.

I searched his eyes for lies though I knew the lies were to be found on his lips instead. I searched frantically and desperately but there were no lies in his eyes.

“You La. Just you.”

His lips crashed into mine, pulling me into a soul sucking kiss. Soul sucker. That was exactly what he is. Soul sucker. I knew he was full of shit; I knew it yet still I allowed him to kiss me, allowed him the time to worm him hands along my body until I felt his fingers creep up my skirt where I am bare and wet. Wet from wanting him, needing him. Damn it! I hated this; I hated him. A moan filled the room, and I am annoyed to realize it was mine.

Traitor. My body was a traitor, always had been. Daryl lifted me and instinctively my other leg wrapped around his waist. When his mouth moved to my neck the hard press of his girth between my thighs sends my head flying back giving him complete access to the spot he loved to exploit and that was when I knew it.

Fuck! It’s over.

Once he has my back slammed against the wall, he follows suit but grinding his hips against me so I can feel the thing I crave. Without warning, he then slams into me with all the strength and force his powerful body holds. The action pulls a scream from your lips. It’s a scream that is raspy and high pitched all at once, a scream that never stood a chance of ending because before it could, he snapped his lips forward again reminding me that every word he spoke before was true.

“Aaah!”

The force of Daryl’s hips slams into me over and over, harder, and harder until I am seeing stars and unable to catch my breath. All I can do is hold onto him for dear life and pray to whoever was watching this show that you wouldn’t be forever scared by this man.

“You’re mine La!”

Slam.

“Mine!”

Slam.

“--Have been since you were nineteen and will always be mine,” he added, his lips brushing your ear, so you didn’t miss one word.

Slowing down, Daryl circled his hips again nudging your g-spot until you were sure you were going to pass out. In seconds you were clenching around him giving him the satisfaction of knowing you were powerless to him.

“This sweet spot is mine, Leianna, cause I do it the best. Me!”

The possessiveness in his voice could not be missed. He always did get off on claiming ownership. He loved it when I told him I belonged to him, loved when I bore his markings on my skin for others to see, and loved I went out smelling like him. This was nothing different. My eyes rolled to the back of my head as he overwhelmed me with the barrage of thrusts that served as nothing more than way to mark you, brand you as his.

Another orgasm claimed me sweeping me up into the frenzy of need that tied us together.

Bringing his hand to your throat he held you there against the wall making you moan louder and clench harder around him. “Say my name La, say it!”

He knew I liked it when he got rough. Fuck him, I thought as another moan fell from my lips. I hated him but I was loving every second of the pleasure he brought me through this show of assertion he was putting on, loved the feel of him pounding into me, trying to mark me. Fuck him and damn me, I loved it all.

“Say it,” Daryl badgered adding a slight amount of pressure. Not enough to hurt me but it was enough to make me wetter.

“Daryl,” I gasp out of breath as he keeps pounding into me against his wall.

“Whose is it? Who does it belong to?”

The air around us has become so thick that catching a breath is nearly impossible and the lack of oxygen has my head spinning.

“Whose!”

His shout brings me back to the moment. our eyes linger and I watch as his mouth falls open clearly enraptured with the pleasure he was finding in me.

“Yours. Shit Daryl, it’s yours, always has been, yes, yes, yes!”

I feel the tint of shame wash over me. Shame for saying the words, shame for allowing him to put me in this situation, shame for never wanting him to stop fucking me, shame for wanting to stay in this bubble for as long as possible because it would mean he would stay here with me in this moment away from his lies and away from his asshole moves.

Digging my nails into his shoulder I aim to hurt him and with his shout I am pleased to know that I have. With one final thrust that sends my head banging into the wall, Daryl fills me, marking me as we both find our release. For long moments we clutch one another panting as we slowly come down from the euphoria of our bodies connecting, the euphoria I had only ever found in him.

When I am coherent enough I realize that Daryl had moved us back to the bed. I feel his lips press to my jaw, then my neck before he pulls away from my body and walks away toward the bathroom. I take another steadying breath then see him grab his phone from the nightstand before disappearing into the bathroom. Again the knot in my stomach spasms and I feel sick to my stomach as utter disgust and self-loathing washes over me. I was stupid, so stupid. I knew it, and he must have known it too because he knew he had me, he knew it.

The stinging of my tears pushed me into action. Standing on wobbly legs I took a moment to steady myself then fixed the clothes I was wearing. I approached the chair again to finish dressing then dug a note card from my purse and wrote across it with the red lipstick he liked so much. Gathering my things I walked to the bed ignoring the crumpled sheets and placed the notecard on his pillow. Looking around I took a moment to make sure I had everything then walked through the bedroom door towards the door.

I didn’t look back. What was the purpose of doing so? I walked with my head high and spine straight with a head filled with vows to never return but your heart whispered into the abyss of your pain that you’d be back.

#original fiction #novel sample

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princehee · 11 months

Text

The Wrong Guy Pt.3 || Lee Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung + fem reader

TW: cursing, breaking away, mentions of death

WC: 1.78k

Your eyes fluttered open to the bright sunlight hitting your face. You tried moving around but you couldn't, almost instantly remembering that you'd been tied up. You could barely feel your arms at this point, they didn't hurt but they sure looked pale, almost as white as the paint on the walls around you.

You had no clock to keep track of the time, but you could tell that it had been several hours since you'd been locked up. The only difference was the room, looked more like a cellar, the bed was gone and so were the other basic furniture you'd noticed before. In fact, there was nothing in the room other than the four walls and a rusty metal door.

You were so dehydrated to even process what had happened to you while you were asleep, your eyes were fighting to stay open, the drowsiness was pushing you further into the slumber.

As you tried gulping a few times in order to speak, or maybe even attempt to scream for help, the rusty door flung open, revealing the tall and lean man from last night.

"Hey, my girlfriend's up already?!" Spoke he while walking closer to you.

As he crouched down to meet your eyes, he ran his slender fingers from the tip of your fingers hanging above your head to the side of your chest and said ...

"My pretty, pretty Lily. Looks like my flower needs some water, eh?"

You could barely even feel his hands on you. After wetting your lips a few times, you finally tried to speak out.

"Home.... I wanna go .... please! Miss my mom.... please" Tears rolled down your cheek as you tried to speak as loud and clear as you could. His eyes softened as he listened to you, as if his whole personality just flipped a 180. His eyes flickered open and closed as he massaged his temples a few times. Then, he brought his hand close to his face to rest his chin on it.

He sighed out loud and said "then go"

You blinked in disbelief, but he soon grabbed some keys out of his pocket and unlocked your shackles, setting you free. This for some reason seemed too easy and you knew there was a catch. But he just sat there staring at you intently, waiting for you to run away.

Your hands dropped by your side as soon as he released you, you tried to stand up, failing miserably like a newborn calf, but Ethan grabbed you and helped you up.

The door was open, yet your feet were hesitant to move. You turned to Ethan as you spoke ...

"Just why? Ethan I-"

"It's Heeseung!" He cut you off with a quick response. His tone went up as he spoke in annoyance. "But it doesn't matter anymore, just go. You're wasting time"

You had no idea what he meant by that, so you just stood there looking at him in wonder. What did he mean by you had no time to waste? What's with a new name, a new sense of consideration you saw in him for you?

He clicked his tongue in exasperation as he grabbed your hand and started dragging you with him, all the while your eyes set on him. You knew he looked different, not the Ethan that you've come to know from last night. You could tell that he looked worried by the way his face wore a frown, by the way his voice sounded appalled. The grip his hands had on yours was smooth too, although you couldn't feel much of it anyways due to the sluggish blood circulation, but you could tell that he tried his best not to hurt you.

He was taking you through a series of corridors that looked like the ones in a basement, everything rusted and old with spider webs hanging from every corner. Some of the cellars were equipped with heavy machinery, ones that you'd notice in a butcher's shop, the walls sprayed with a reddish tint. You shut your eyes close to stop imagining the worst possible scenarios.

As your feet reached a halt, you opened your eyes again to notice yet another door. But this one being even larger, you could almost hear the birds chirping from outside. This has to be it, you thought to yourself and looked back at Heeseung, who was struggling with the keys, trying to find the right one that fit the knob on the door.

"Shit" He fumbled with the keys as he started to notice that he did not carry the right one with him.

He looked at you apologetically and escorted you to a nearby room that looked better than the ones you'd seen so far. At least, it had a chair to sit on.

"Eth- I'm sorry. Heeseung?" You asked almost catching him smile a little as you got his name right.

He knew that you were confused and had your set of questions for him, but he just had no time to deal with them. Your safety was his priority.

He drew himself closer to you, his forehead almost touching yours, his hand gently caressing your cheek, his touch so soft that you almost melted in it.

He was not Ethan. You knew it.

"I'm sorry. Just give me some time and I promise I'll get you out of here and once you do that, don't ever come back. Run as fast as you can, okay? I'll go find the key, it must be on some desk if I'm not wrong ... You just stay here, alright?"

He let go of you as he hesitantly drew himself further away from you, walking himself out of the room. As he locked the door behind him, he threw the key towards you, through the space under the door.

"My code word will be 'Blue'! Throw me the key only when you hear me say it, okay? Until then, please keep it down, especially if Ethan- umm .... please wait for me, okay?"

You could feel the genuine and sincere concern in his voice as he tried to keep you safe. You knew how much he despised Ethan, from the way he hissed every time he brought his name up.

"Heeseung-" You started sobbing softly after you called his name "I'll wait for you"

After about five or six seconds, you heard the sound of his footsteps fade away.

As you plopped yourself down on the chair, you ran your fingers through your hair, thinking about the mess you got yourself into. Not once during your whole ten or fifteen minutes with Heeseung did you feel scared, moreover, your heart felt at ease with him. And now with him gone, your body turned cold again, ears ringing, head throbbing, you wanted to throw up but you tried your best to push these feelings away. Your panic attack was showing up at not so good time and not so good place.

You shut your eyes tightly closed and tried to sleep away through the pain, waiting for 'Blue' to come up soon. The chair was a little uncomfortable, so you just chose to lie on the floor while you waited for him.

The pounding on the door woke you up from your brief nap but you laid silently still. You saw this coming, so you just closed your eyes and prayed for it all to be over.

"Y/N! It's me, Heeseung! Open up! I brought you some water and food"

Trap. It's a trap - You told yourself as you brought your knees closer to your body and curled into a ball.

"Hun, you gotta eat some, before we can leave this place, I got the keys with me right here" He said as he jiggled the keys, but you knew deep down that it was a facade Ethan tried to put on. The pounding continued more violently as he started to grow impatient with you.

"Looks like you both talked a little too much, yeah? that you won't even open the door? what, that kid gave you some kind of fucking code? I'll tell you what - that pathetic little kid is a loser, if it wasn't for me, he'd have been dead by now"

Your ears perked up at the mention of Heeseung.

"What do you mean dead by now?"

A smirk drew on Ethan's face as he finally got your attention.

"God, you're so smitten by him, huh? But he's just a depressed soul, a total failure, someone who should've died years ago if it wasn't for me who held him back from jumping off the building"

"Yeah, you're right! He should've just died, rather than cleaning up after your reckless mess!" You sincerely felt so bad for Heeseung, now that you got an idea of what he had gone through and how his life turned into this messy situation. You wanted to help him out more than he wanted to help you.

"Bitch, you're talking too much now. Think you can go all day with that attitude? Heeseung isn't coming back again, not for a while, I put that kid to sleep, so get your act together and open this fucking door if you choose to not die of hunger"

You chose to die if that be the way, but you'd never open the door for a monster to suck the life out of you.

"Heeseung please, come back!" You prayed, but all you got was a snickering laugh from the other side of the door.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #heeseung #kpop smut #lee heeseung #smut #heeseung smut #lhs #angst #enhypen heeseung #enhypen x reader #heeseung enhypen #series

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eupheme · 2 years

Note

I have fallen so in love with Penny For Your Thoughts, it’s been such a ride! Congrats on completing such a great series and getting me hooked on ✨Dilfred✨! I went back to find a little excerpt in one of the chapters that I’d love to maybe see a drabble of someday if you ever feel inspired and it’s this one:

“Moving until he’s cupping your ass again, tilting you against his mouth, his lips closing around and sucking as his fingers slip between the curve of your cheeks until they’re teasing you again.” “Because of course he noticed how you reacted-the touch not one that was completely new. But it had been with him.”

Something about Alfred and anal is so dirty but so hot to me and I just know you’d end me with your smut if you ever turned it into something for In For a Penny In For a Pound! Much love to you, J!!! 💖

Oh my god I was so excited to see this - thank you so much for your kind comments (so happy you loved the series!), and thank you for this request! 💖 I had actually been secretly hoping to write a little more about this at some point. It felt like you were reading my mind! Thank you again, and so much love to you, too!

I wanted to note - I was lucky enough to read (and be inspired by) this amazing HC by @stargirlfics and this kintober fic by @squidlywiddly87 for Alfred while I have been working on this. Please check these out, they are incredible!

Something New

masterlist

Alfred Pennyworth x F!Reader

Rated E - 3k

Tags: soft smut, oral (sixty-nine), rimming, sex toys (plug), PiV, anal fingering, mention of tears (nice ones)

(and thank you to @thaddeuscranes for letting me squeak about this in their dms)

Admittedly, this was perhaps not your best idea. It wasn’t a bad per se one, not at all - you just hadn’t anticipated the few… complications that had arisen.

Like how the dinner would drag on. How every shift in your seat would send the heavy, silver plug bumping inside you.

How good it would make you feel.

Your jaw clenches as you sip your coffee, distractedly listening to the conversation around you, managing a weak smile when your attention is expected.

Fingers running over the embroidered tablecloth to keep them from wandering - which they had done plenty of tonight.

It’s not your fault that his hand felt so nice, so heavy, resting on your knee under the table - in a perfectly polite location.

But maybe the warning look he had given you soon after was - when your own hand had started at the same place on his leg, slowly moving up and up. Until the tips were brushing against his inner thigh, until the muscles beneath were clenching and he was capturing it with his own.

Improper, he would have told you - if he could do so. Fingers curling around your own as his eyes dart sideways at you, with a lowered brow, a pointed, stern expression.

The look had made you clench, bite back another soft sound. But you had tried to behave.

And then, you mind had drifted. Another bad idea, because it had also made you squirm - your thighs pressing together to quell some of the ache that pulses between them.

Remembering the weekend before - what had lead you to your decisions tonight.

How you had hovered, just above his wanting, waiting mouth. Palms flat against the broad plane of his chest - facing his hips, the heavy curve of his cock where it rested against his thigh. The hair there sticky, from the bead of precum that had leaked from the head, dropping down.

Carefully lowering yourself - first your stomach, then your breasts pillowing against his abdomen. Putting yourself on display as you relaxed onto him.

Alfred’s mouth meeting your soaked folds, your head dropping as you groaned. Rocking the tiniest bit into the flick of his tongue, as your own hand reached out and wrapped around him.

His cock flexed in your loose grip, his own groan rumbling in his chest when you lowered your lips to the tip, slowly enveloping him. Taking him into the heat of your mouth, bobbing your head as you tasted the salt of his velvety skin.

You had shifted forward to take even more of him, a soft whine in your throat when you lost contact with his mouth, feeling the exhale of his breath against you.

“Christ, just look at how you’re clenching for me.” He had murmured, into the curve of your inner thigh.

Lips pressed against the soft skin, leaving a wet mark behind. The slightest brush of teeth, the scrape of his beard that made you twitch, moan. Then, a question that had been breathed out against your skin.

“Can I eat you, darling?”

You had swallowed down the saliva that had flooded your mouth, a wet ‘pop’ as your lips had lifted off his cock, “You are.”

There had been a low hum, the softest laugh.

“I don’t mean your pretty cunt, love.”

Your fingers had flexed around his base, brain lagging just a second as you had caught up. Thinking about what he’s asking, the edge to his voice when he had.

He rarely asked you for anything. Letting you lead, never disappointing.

It made you want to give him anything he wanted.

“Yes.”

He groaned with your answer, fingers sinking into soft flesh, angling you as his kissed up to your clit, then higher. Past puffy, slick folds, until he was at a place that only the tips of his fingers had explored.

The first brush of his tongue was light, the barest flick against your tight rim. You had been holding your breath, a tension in your thighs as you kneel above him - cheek resting against his abdomen as your eyes fluttered shut.

Another press then, dragging with more pressure - his thumb denting the soft flesh of your cheek, tugging to open you wider against his eager mouth.

A soft, ragged soft had burst from your lips, your face pressing against his skin - his own rough moan as he does it again.

You wonder now, if that had been why you liked it so much. The way he had asked, how it had affected him, the sounds he had made.

Eyes darting now to the man sitting next to you, so perfectly put-together. You doubted anyone would suspect the things he’s done to you with his fingers. With his mouth.

What you’ll hope he’ll do with his cock, if you’re lucky.

Thinking again back to then - when said cock had flexed in your hand, achingly hard as you finally started to pump your spit-slicked fist, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the base. Then his forearm had reached, curling around your thigh - pinning you in place against his mouth.

Angling so his fingers could slip between your thighs - gathering your arousal on the tips, bringing them to circle your clit.

The sounds you had made then, a whimper, then - eyes still shut - the cries going lower, louder, the smallest rock of your hips to meet his tongue. To where it had met you, from flat and wet, to pointed and pressing just inside.

He had you close so quickly, the burning arousal fueled by the newness, the taboo, his eagerness. Your fingers slowing, the jerk of your fist growing sloppy as the pressure built - until the tight ball of pleasure reached it’s peak, and it was spilling over.

Coming hard against his mouth - moaning against his thigh, the coarse silver-peppered curls as you clenched around nothing.

Remembering now how he followed so soon after, spilling messily across your knuckles as he groaned against you.

Eyes wide with sense of self-discovery when you carefully eased off him, dropping down to lie panting next to him on the bed. His own expression a pleased, curling smile, and interestingly enough - seemingly unsurprised.

You hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

And so, you had done a little shopping.

Finding a store you could visit in person, paying in cash so they wouldn’t send you mail, a catalog - you could only imagine the depths of your own embarrassment and humiliation if something had shown up at the Tower.

Eying the aisles, curiosity welling in you at all the toys, all the possibilities. Making mental lists of things that looked interesting, though your eyes kept getting drawn to one item in particular.

A small, silver plug - the base crafted in the shape of a heart, topped with a shining, pink gem.

It was pretty.

You wanted to look that way - pretty - for him. You wanted him to want it, want you.

So you bought it, taking some time after a hot, steaming shower to carefully fit it into place. To get yourself used to the weight, the fullness, before you were whisked off to dinner.

Leading you to now - wishing desperately for dinner to be over. A look of relief when the chairs are pushed back, his eyes worriedly flickering your way when you sigh as it’s indicated that after-dinner drinks would continue in the lounge.

His voice low, fingers curling around your elbow as he leans close to your ear.

“Is everything alright, darling?”

Your lips press together to hide your smile, your laugh. Not wanting to explain here - but as he guides you towards the room, it’s hard to school your expression as it nudges inside you with each step.

So, you wait - a hand on his arm as the other couples pass you. His eyes bouncing between your face as the people filing into the room, trying to guess, as he often did.

“I’m fine,” You tell him, when it’s a little more private. Not wanting him to worry, so you try to explain, “I wore something for you, tonight. It has me… distracted.”

Alfred’s clever eyes drop on their own, to the low neckline of your dress, and then down further - assessing - before flicking back up.

A tilt of his head, the peek of his tongue between his teeth as he considers - before asking, “Would you like to leave? I can meet you in the car in a few minutes.”

God, you loved him.

“Please.”

———

His fingers work at his tie, and if you didn’t know any better - how the curiosity had ensnared him, you’d think he was uninterested. That he was simply undressing at the end of the day, the movements familiar and ritualistic.

But you caught the glitter of his eyes, the subtle shift in his torso whenever you moved, always facing you.

And in the car, he had pried.

“Are you going to let me in on your secret?” He asked, as soon as the doors were locked. The windows tinted, his elbow pressing into the leather of the center console as he leaned.

His dark look making you think that he was considering finding out for himself, right now - with wandering hands and mouth - public location be damned.

“Not yet.” You had smiled, and he had given you another of his infamous looks, before the car roared to life.

Making record time home.

Your fingers work at the hidden zipper as you walk over to him, as he shifts again. Shoes kicked off by the door as you as you had stepped in. The straps falling from your shoulders as you invaded his space - eager, now that you were home.

His fingers fumbling against the buttons of his vest as your arm snakes around his waist, your breasts crushed against his chest. Lips that touch down on the sliver of skin that appears at his throat, then his neck.

Fingers curling into the belt loops of his trousers, right where the crisp white shirt tucks in, tugging. Still undressing with careful steps as you guide him over to the shared bed.

It’s there that your mouths finally meet - a soft hum of relief from your own. It’s when his hands start to roam, over the skin of your exposed shoulders. Lingering there as you let go of him to pluck at the clasp of your bra, until it falls free.

The tips of his fingers skating over the flesh that was now bared as he invades your space, a knee rising to sink into the soft bed, where you sit on the edge. His shirt falling to the floor as his back curves over you as your head tilts up, the kisses turning messy - tongue and teeth - when you reach out to palm him.

The following flex of his hips into your hand, your back hitting the mattress as his mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing at the curves of your breasts, his tongue flicking over a nipple.

Curious fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties as you coax him to full hardness with your touch. A rough groan then, when they meet you soft, soaked flesh. Sliding almost, not expecting now ready you were - had been - for him.

“Oh, darling,” his head tilts up, and you can see the sharp flash of blue, hips jolting as the swipe of his fingers skate over your folds. “What has gotten you so worked up?”

All of it - his body pressing into yours, the steady press of his fingers, the plug filling you - it makes your brain fuzzy with desire, your words sliding out smooth as you smile up at him.

“You.”

Coaxing him up to kiss you again as he circles your clit, mumbling against his mouth, “I need you.”

His own moan, as his other hand tugs at his belt, “You have me.”

Without thought you’re moving, as he lifts off you, standing at the edge of the bed. As you flip around onto your stomach, pushing up onto hands and knees - a position that you’ve done often.

Fingers that tug your underwear down your thighs, and then - freeze.

You know he sees it, the plug pressed deep. The blush gem glinting off the light, above where you’re swollen and soaked for him.

An sharp intake of breath, the ghost of fingertips tracing up your leg, the plush curve of your ass.

“Look at you.” He clicks his tongue, the pad of his thumb coming to rest on the base of the jeweled plug. Pressing down, nudging it just the tiniest bit deeper into you, making you groan.

“Have you been wearing this all night, dove?”

When you meet his eyes, nodding - telling him yes - his lips part with a rough moan. Ridding himself of his trousers, still somehow managing to step neatly out of them while his thumb still circles, pressing again.

Your head sags between your shoulders, against the mattress - hips high as you rock back into his hand. Clinging on as you feel the fat head of his cock nudge at your entrance, before the tip slips in.

A moan is pulled from you as he eases in - he feels big with the new addition, everything feeling tight and snug and he’s not even fully in you yet.

You can hear his own gasp behind you, a steadying hand on your hip when your ass sits flush with his front.

“Christ, you are gripping me so tightly,” He grits out with a shallow thrust of his hips, but it has your eyes fluttering closed, fingers curling.

Another sound as he does it again, until he’s setting a slow, steady pace. The drag of his cock against you, a rock of his hips as he presses deep again.

All the while a hand grips your hip - the other still running over the plug. Fingers carefully catching the edge, fitting the tip of his index underneath. Giving it the smallest tug, a replication of a thrust in time with the grind of his hips.

It has you breathless, fucking you with his cock and the plug - you’re not even aware that you’ve been chanting the word “please” over and over until his left hand smoothes down your back, his voice catching your attention.

“What do you want, darling?”

The ache is enough that you’re shameless now, ready and willing to beg.

“You. God - I want you so bad.” Your eyes crack open, head tilting again so you can look at him. The breadth of his shoulders curving above you, lips parted as he sucks in a breath.

“Want you to take it out and fuck me. Please.”

Because you do want him, want to know what it feels like to have him take you - trusting him to make it feel as good as his teasing had felt.

His expression changes, from careful concentration and devotion - to a low laugh, a bright flash of teeth as he smiles.

“Oh dove.” He sighs, voice turning rough and rueful, “You’re going to need a lot more practice before you take me.”

It makes you whimper, his tone and the denial, but he’s quick to make amends. His cock nudged deep as he carefully eases the plug from you, as he makes a promise.

“But I would never leave you wanting.”

There’s the rustle of the bedside drawer, a cap opening. Lube-slicked fingers circling where you’re soft and worked open, the tip of one pressing into you as you clench around him.

Easing it in, a knuckle at a time until he’s past the tight ring of muscle, as you get used to the feeling. Until you’re begging again, until the thrust of his cock matches the careful pump of his finger.

It’s a lot. For both of you, the sensation new and filthy and your fingers are snaking between your thighs, the first rub against your clit making you keen.

A second, slicked finger teases, pressing against the puckered skin - the deep thrust of his cock has you panting into the sheets, each breath coming out strangled and needy.

“That’s it,” He coos, knowing you’re close, can feel it in the strung-tight tremble of your limbs, “Want to know how this feels when you come.”

How it feels with him buried in both your holes, and you want to know, too - never feeling so full and stretched and your fingers are pressing against soaked skin as your breath turns into a long cry.

His name on your lips as the need becomes overwhelming, before it engulfs you. A coil that twists so tightly and then snaps, the waves of relief and pleasure hot in your belly, coursing down your limbs as you come.

You can feel him, achingly hard inside you, the hand on your hip gripping almost painfully as he feels the way you clench around him, the tight, hot pulse around his cock and fingers. The way you soak him, your whimper when the press of his fingers within you become too much, overstimulating.

They ease out as he slows, waiting until there’s a small grin that forms on your lips as you peek back at him, the heel of your hand scrubbing the hollow under your eye, wiping away tears from how much you had felt.

“Thank you.” You tell him with a soft sigh, and that alone almost does him in.

Hands rest on your hips now, his thrusts shorter, rougher now. His own release building until it’s all but bursting from him - as he gazes down to where you’re wrapped so snugly around him, the slightest gape where his fingers had been.

“My gorgeous, filthy girl.” His voice lower and rougher than you’ve ever heard, “I won’t tonight, dove. But I promise you, one day I’m going to come in this tight, perfect ass.”

Selfishly, the pad of his thumb rubs against your rim one more time, just barely pressing down. And with your soft moan, the thought of how tightly and sweetly you had just come around him - he’s there.

A rough “fuck”, a long moan ripped from him as his hips snap against yours, grinding himself deep as he comes. Stomach and chest pressing into your back as he curls around you, messy kisses peppered against your shoulder as the rock of his hips slow.

As the throbbing pulse of his cock wanes, his release pushed deep into you as you sigh - content and weary after the excitement of the evening.

The kisses against your shoulder moving to your neck, under you ear, then your cheek as his cock withdraws from you. Leaving you needy and empty, though he’s there to clean you up, drawing a bath for you both.

It’s deep in the bubbles, lounging against him when you ask, “Did you like your surprise?”

You’re teasing, and he laughs - the sound a low, incredulous huff.

“Yes, my darling. I most certainly did.”

A smile still in his voice, as he adds, “In fact, consider this encouragement to surprise me… at any time you wish.”

#ahh thank you! 💖#alfred pennyworth x f!reader #alfred pennyworth x reader #alfred pennyworth smut #alfred pennyworth x you #requests

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draguta · 1 year

Text

.a court of fate and fortune | fourteen.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: n/a

chapter word count: 2908

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Return To Spring

Lucien clicked his tongue, bringing his horse into a faster walk until he fell into place beside Tamlin. Another day, and yet another border patrol. It would seem, over the days since Feyre had returned, the only thing he and Tamlin had been doing was heading out on border patrols. There had been reports of creatures lurking on the border between Spring and Summer, but they were yet to find anything. Tamlin had been certain that these creatures were Night Court spies. The days were long, and the rewards were few and far between. By the time they returned to the manor, they would no doubt be too tired to spend any time with Feyre besides a silent dinner. Not that it was Luicen who needed to spend time with her - that should have been Tamlin.

But instead, Tamlin had taken to following on this wild goose chase. Rumours had floated into the village nearest the manor from the outlying hamlets, and Tamlin had followed them blindly; such was his newfound paranoia.

“Tam,” Lucien said, and the High Lord’s head snapped toward him. “About what happened in the study the other day.”

Tamlin’s entire body stiffened in his saddle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Perhaps you don’t,” Lucien said carefully. “But I do.”

Tamlin cocked his head, his emerald eyes flashing with challenge, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “What exactly would you have to say about it?”

Lucien cleared his throat, sparing a glance over his shoulder to where Silas and Wren rode in silence behind them; there would be no help from them, he could see that. “I know that you’re aware you made a mistake,” he said slowly, calculating each and every word that he said, “but Tam, you can’t keep letting your anger win.”

“What would make you say that I am?” Tamlin asked, clenching his jaw.

“You destroyed the entire study, you almost hurt Feyre,” Lucien pointed out. “You are letting your anger win, letting your fear make your decisions for you. Do you not think that Feyre deserves better than that? Do you not think that you deserve better than that?”

“You forget your place, Lucien,” Tamlin growled. Lucien pulled on his reins, bringing his steed to a halt.

“I don’t care if I’m speaking out of turn,” he snapped. “You need help Tamlin, and I can help you. I want to help you, as my friend. But…”

“But?” Tamlin asked when Lucien’s words trailed off. Lucien breathed out a sigh through his nose, catching Tamlin’s emerald eyes.

“But if you ever hurt Feyre - if she is ever put in danger because of your anger again - then I won’t help you,” he said as confidently as he could. “Be mindful of what you’re doing, my friend, because at the end of the day, it is you who will pay the price.”

“Was that a threat?” Tamlin asked, clenching at his reins.

“No,” Lucien replied nonchalantly. “It was a reminder.”

You kept going over the plan in your head. Over, and over, and over. There was no doubt in your mind that should this plan fail - should you slip-up even a tiny bit - you would find yourself locked away in that room again. That was a risk you weren’t willing to take.

But the plan was strong, and thought through carefully. Azriel had been at the helm of concocting said plan, and you had interjected with certain ideas here and there. Anything to make sure Tamlin thought that you were remorseful for having left, that you had been taken against your will and had been fighting to get back ever since, and that you were no longer any kind of threat to him or his court. It was the only way, Azriel had said, that Tamlin wouldn’t lock you up again. And he had made a promise that should Tamlin step even one foot out of line, he would be right there to help defend me.

“Even though I know you can look after yourself,” he had said with a small smirk. He was right - you could.

The clothes felt wrong - too tight and constricting - the same clothes that you had been wearing when Azriel had first brought you to Velaris. The same breeches and linen shirt, the material now scratchy and rough in comparison to the silks and soft leather that you had grown used to in the Night Court. And you waited, patiently, in the lobby of Rhysand’s townhouse - waited to be taken back there, where your fate would be decided by the male you had once called your brother.

“Are you okay?” Mor asked from beside you. You glanced over at her, taking in her pinched brow and the curl of her red lips into a small frown. She knew this was the best - perhaps only - way to gain real, trusted information about the movements of the Spring Court, but it would seem she was as happy about it as you were. As Azriel was, who had barely said a single word to his High Lord since the idea was proposed. “Are you nervous?”

You were. Your stomach hadn’t stopped swirling the entire morning. Yet, the excitement to be reunited with your mate was defeating and overcoming any feeling of nerves or fear. It was the only thing you had been able to think about.

‘You’re no longer a threat. Lucien is waiting for you. This could be the start of your happy ending.’

You turned back to the stairs which Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian were now descending, and held your head high. “No, I’m not.”

Hugs were exchanged, Mor offering you a small but comforting side-hug, Cassian a large bear hug. The hug Azriel gave you held on a little longer, and you could almost feel the worry seeping from him. So strange, how much you each valued the friendship that you had been able to build in such a short space of time.

“If you need anything, I’ll be right there.” He whispered his promise into your hair before letting you go, and you turned to find Rhys already holding a hand out toward you.

“Ready?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. You scowled at him, but took his hand nonetheless, and allowed the darkness to swirl around you as he winnowed you both back to the place that you thought you had escaped. Your old home.

As per the plan, Rhys winnowed you to the far edge of the Western woods where you would continue on foot. The second that your feet were planted on solid ground you shook your hand from Rhysand’s grip. He watched as you turned and began making your way over the woodland ground, away from him.

“The manor is that way.” Rhysand’s voice called from behind you. You paused, turning on your heel to find Rhysand pointing in the opposite direction. You glowered at him, and began making tracks past him in the direction he was pointing. “I know you’re angry, but I hope you can see - or at least come to understand - that this is what’s best for everyone.”

You stopped, turning to look at him. “But is it what’s best for me?” You snapped. “I will do what you’ve asked of me, but don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to be,” he countered, shooting you a small smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes as it normally did. He knew how hard this was for you. You sighed, taking a few steps toward him and pulling him into a hug; his arms wrapped protectively around you. “Be safe, and remember we’re here for you. You’re one of us now.”

You pulled back, looking up to meet his eye as you smacked him playfully on the arm. “Me be careful? I think it’s you that should watch your back. Azriel looked like he might kill you when we left.”

He leaned down, his smirk only growing. “I’d like to see him try.”

You chuckled, turning on your heel and beginning to head back in the direction of the manor, shouting over your shoulder, “So would I.” When you looked back, he had already winnowed away.

The blade of the dagger ran along the whetstone with ease; it was a routine that felt so natural to Lucien, to sit and sharpen his blades and swords each morning. A routine that had almost been lost - forgotten - with Tamlin’s temperament. Weeks had passed since the Tithe, and whilst the patrols were still occurring, they were far from as regular, and Tamlin rarely went on them anymore - not since their conversation about Feyre. Instad, the High Lord had opted to spend more time about the manor, more time with Feyre, more time in her bed. And he had been relatively…normal since then. Everything had felt relatively normal. His routine had fallen back into place, meal times were no longer awkward, and there wasn’t the air of trepidation around the house as there had been for so many months. The only thing missing was Y/N.

He held the dagger by the hilt and tip, pulling it in long, intentional strikes against the stone, revelling in the way he could almost see the blade becoming sharper. That was when he heard it, through the wood of his door; first footsteps on the stairs, two people, but neither light enough to be Feyre, and then voices, one of Tamlin, and the other…

He grabbed the dagger and was against the door in seconds, pressing his ear to the wood, ready to strike if or when needed.

“You won’t take her again,” Tamlin’s voice sounded, low and rough and angry. Shit. “I won’t let you take her this time.”

“I’m afraid you don’t get a say in that,” Rhysand’s voice crooned, just on the other side of the door. “She made a bargain with me, remember? Nothing you can say or do will change that.”

“Get out,” Tamlin warned. Lucien white-knuckled his dagger, his other hand already on the door knob ready to open and lunge at the Night Court High Lord if he had to.

“Is this always how you treat your guests in the Spring Court?” Rhysand asked, and Lucien could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “No wonder Y/N wanted to leave.”

“I’ll say this one last time-” Tamlin began.

“Oh sorry,” Rhysand interrupted with a small chuckle. “I almost forgot. She didn’t want to leave at all - we stole her away.”

A door clicked open somewhere in the hall, and Lucien took that as his chance, turning the door knob and opening his own door just a crack, enough that he was able to see Tamlin and Rhysand just a little further down the hallway, and Feyre popping her head out of her bedroom door wrapped in a blanket.

“Feyre,” Rhysand said, and Lucien didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed up and down her body. “Are you running low on food here?”

“What?” Tamlin demanded.

Rhysand didn’t deign Tamlin with an answer, turning back to Feyre and holding a hand out toward her. “Let’s go.”

Tamlin pushed closer to Rhysand, his jaw clenched as he sized up the other High Lord. “Get out,” he spat, pointing toward the staircase. Lucien almost jumped to defend Tamlin, but something held him in place, stopped him from going out there. Perhaps it was fear of what Rhysand would do to Y/N if Lucien lashed out against him, or maybe it was that innate trust that she seemed to have in the High Lord that kept Lucien in place, he wasn’t sure. But either way, he didn’t move. Instead, he just listened. “She’ll come to you when she’s ready.”

Rhysand reached forward, Tamlin’s shoulders tensing as the Night Court High Lord brushed a speck of dust from the Spring Court High Lord’s sleeve. Lucien winced; that was sure to have riled up Tamlin’s anger. “No, you wouldn’t have. As far as your memory serves me, the last time Tamlin’s teeth were near your throat, you slapped him across the face,” Rhysand crooned, glancing at Feyre. Lucien frowned, realising that Rhysand was reading Feyre’s thoughts once again.

“Shut your mouth,” Tamlin growled, moving between Rhysand and Feyre. “And get out.”

Rhysand lowered his head and moved a step back toward the stairs, a step closer to Lucien, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You really should have your wards inspected. Cauldron knows what other riffraff might stroll in here as easily as I did,” he said, looking Feyre up and down once more. “Put some clothes on.”

Feyre disappeared back into her room, and Tamlin followed moments later, baring his teeth as he slammed the door in Rhysand’s face. Rhysand turned his head to the side ever-so-slightly, and his smirk illuminated in the sunlight seeping in from the window at the end of the hallway. “Come out, little Lucien.”

Lucien cursed under his breath, opening the door an inch more and slipping into the hallway, dagger still in hand. Rhysand turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“Must you take her?” Lucien asked. “Must you always take her?”

“You know as well as I do that I can’t do that,” Rhysand remarked, turning to look at him, leaning his back against the wall as he cocked his head. “So why would you even bother asking?”

Lucien swallowed down his annoyance. “Shy folk get nothing,” he replied, his voice a bite in return. “But then you have something - someone - who was never yours to take in the first place. Forgive me for thinking you weren’t exactly one to follow the rules.”

“Are you forgetting that Y/N came to the Night Court of her own volition?” Rhysand asked, raising a thick brow. “That she wanted to leave here?”

“Oh, I remember,” Lucien snarled. “I remember that she had no choice but to go to you to train the powers that you gave her. The powers that were quite literally killing her. She didn’t go of her own choice, she didn’t have a choice, and you know that.”

Rhysand shrugged casually. “Yet, her powers are…contained now,” he replied nonchalantly. Lucien paused, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. “I’m sure you’ll see her rather soon actually.”

He coughed over his shoulder, louder than necessary, to alert Feyre and Tamlin that he was waiting and ready to go, and then he looked back to Lucien. There was something else there, glinting in his eye - not the playful mischief that Lucien had seen before, nor the hard anger of the High Lord of the Night. Something else. Something new.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Lucien scoffed, almost laughing out loud.

“For what?”

“For looking after Feyre,” he said carefully, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “As best you could, anyway.”

Lucien’s mouth dropped agape, but just as he was about to question why Rhysand cared at all, the handle to Feyre’s room twisted, and Lucien cursed under his breath, slipping back into his own bedroom. As he closed the door, through the crack he caught Rhysand’s violet eyes one final time; the Night Court High Lord offered him a low nod, and then the door was closed, and Lucien was left staring at the wood.

“You end her bargain right here, right now, and I’ll give you anything you want,” Tamlin’s voice sounded from the other side of the door. Lucien pressed up against the wood, dagger falling from his hand to the ground with a soft thud as it hit the rug. Surely Tamlin wasn’t serious…?

“Are you out of your mind?” Feyre asked, voicing exactly Lucien’s thoughts.

“I already have everything I want,” was Rhysand’s casual response. Only a loud growl sounded after that, and then footsteps growing louder and closer. Rhysand and Feyre were gone.

The knock sounded firmly against the wood, and a moment later Lucien was opening the door to find Tamlin glaring back at him. “We’re going on patrol,” he said firmly. “Now.”

“Tam, perhaps you should rest-” Lucien began, but Tamlin cut him off.

“I need to kill something.”

You kicked at the fresh leaves on the ground as you wandered through the wood, inwardly cursing Rhysand. He had dropped you so far from the manor that it was sure to take you half the damn morning to find yourself on the manor grounds. At least it was a fair day - of course it was a fair day, this was the Spring Court. There would be no mountain snow and chill here, only sunshine and fresh flowers and endless green rolling hills.

Your stomach growled menacingly, and you suddenly wished you’d thought to eat before you left Velaris, or at the very least to have packed a lunch for yourself.

“Bloody Rhys,” you muttered under your breath as you trudged onward. “Probably thought this was funny.”

A twig snapped somewhere behind you, and you froze. That hadn’t been your foot landing on that twig, that had been someone else. You took another few tentative steps forward, but when you heard the thick rustling to your left, you froze again, heart beating with nothing but fear.

Slowly but surely, you turned, not even sure you wanted to know what it was that was stalking you. And when you saw three pairs of deep, black void-like eyes staring back at you, your heart stopped entirely.

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