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yeonzzzn · 1 day

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devilish: sjyn + lhs

epilogue of chilling & killing 🔪 | spotify playlist

pairing: jake x afab!reader + heeseung word count: 2.3k

synopsis: you go visit heeseung in jail for one final interview about the ghost face cases…learning more than you expected.

genre: ghostface!heeseung, ghostface!jake, journalist!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, m*rder & sexual themes, heeseung and jake are insane (as always <3) I think that’s it!

Heeseung chuckled when he saw you sitting on the other side of the glass, his heart smile reaching from ear to ear.

He sat down in front of you, tilting his head, “Awe, what did I do to deserve a special visit from you?” his voice echoed through the small holes in the glass, his voice a tiny bit muffled.

You cross one of your legs over the other and stretch your arms out, hands resting on your knee, “I came to ask questions.”

He chuckled again, “There’s the journalist YN we all know and love.”

“You don’t even know me.”

Heeseung smiled, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth then releasing it, eyeing you up and down, “How’s Jay going?” he asked, tilting his head in the other direction, “You know, after you stabbed him three times.”

You tried to not react, not to give him what he wanted: to see you break. “Jay is fine,” you said calmly, “He was released from the hospital yesterday.”

Heeseung nodded, “Didn’t think you had it in you to be so feisty.”

You still didn't react. But you had to agree with him, you didn’t think you’d have it in you either to attempt to kill someone until seeing the way Jay was hovered over Jake with Jake’s blood spilling on the floor.

“So,” Heeseung said, sliding his cuffed hands onto the table, index finger touching the glass, “How did…” he glanced up to the ceiling, then back down at you, “how did Jake figure me out?”

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table, “It wasn’t hard, Heeseung. Not after piecing everything together.”

“Oh?” his eyebrows raised, “Tell me more!”

“You slipped up,” you lean back in the chair, “First, you let me see your watch when you attacked me.”

Heeseung shrugged, “That wasn’t something I was planning on, it didn't cross my mind. Sunoo had my longer gloves at that time and once I saw you leave your apartment, I had to ask fast.”

You continued, “Second, after you attacked me, when we were discussing the murders, you specifically said, “we’ll catch him,” that narrowed it down to males specifically. So we had the watch, and what you said.”

Heeseung stared at you, “Jake figured me out just by those two things?”

You raised a brow, “I wasn’t finished. Besides, he is…you know. He knows how it all works, I suppose.”

Heeseung had to give you that one, Jake was one smart motherfucker.

“Jake went over all the cases again, looking at every piece of information given until he found the missing puzzle piece.”

“He always was a good detective,” Heeseung leaned back in the chair, lowering his head at you, “Still will make a damn good one.”

“Jake wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was even you,” you sighed, “But the more he thought about it, the more sure he became. Jake went into the film office, finding nothing that said it would even be pinned to Jay or Jungwon. Then he searched the investigation office, used his brain, and found Sunoo’s ghost face attire. That was another strike in your box, that you had help. The last bit of confirmation was how Jay attacked us. It wasn’t the same movements as when you attacked me. Plus anytime you talked to Jake as ghost face, you said his full name. Jay slipped up and called him Sim.”

Heeseung locked his jaw, anger raising through him at how he could have gotten away with everything if fucking Jay didn’t fuck that one up.

You saw his gears turning and you smiled, “The only last bit was to draw you in and confess.”

Heeseung evilly smiled, “Your boyfriend used you as bait to catch me,” he laughed, “he was so confident that he risked your life, all to catch me?”

You looked to the floor. It wasn’t a risk Jake wanted to take but one he felt that needed to be done. Jake researched everything about Heeseung and took notice of every little thing he did towards you, it was obvious Heeseung had feelings. Jake knew Heeseung wouldn’t fall for a meeting if Jake was the one to call it, it had to come from you no matter how much he hated it.

“Why did you do it?” you asked him once more, “Why drag Sunoo in on this? How many people did he kill?”

Heeseung smirked, “I assume you already tried speaking to him and he gave you nothing.”

You didn’t have to acknowledge it, you knew Heeseung already knew you spoke to Sunoo. All Sunoo did was stare and smile at you and occasionally giggle, “I want to know about the past department head too.”

Heeseung sighed, leaning forward again, “I’ve always been obsessed with killers and how their brains worked. All the crimes they commit and how they do them. Watching plenty of documentaries growing up and different types of crime TV shows, it always made sense to me to become a forensics investigator,” he shrugged, “You probably could assume how excited I was when the ghost face killings started happening,” Heeseung chuckled at the memory of the first body that popped up on the news, “It was all exciting. Like a serial killer was on my campus. It was crazy. I rushed to the first murder scene.”

He made eye contact with you, “Then there was you,” you swallowed, waiting for him to continue, “It was love at first sight. Seeing how you wrote in that little journal of yours, taking pictures and investigating. I knew I was in love.”

“You don’t know me…”

“Oh, but I do,” he bit his lip, “I followed you around everywhere. I looked up every piece of information possible and learned everything. I know how you like your coffee and you’ve never drank coffee near me.”

The hair on your arms raised. Heeseung stalked you for so long and you never knew.

“I spent so long trying to figure out how to approach you, to make you mine while at the same time, my obsession with ghost face grew. And then Jake joined your team,” Heeseung’s eyes grew with hatred, “I hated him the moment I saw how he looked at you. He looked at you like you were the ones who aligned the planets and slapped the stars in the sky.”

You already knew Jake was interested in you since way before he even joined your team, he’s admitted that much to you. But hearing Heeseung say it made your heart race. Like it was fated that Jake would always be your endgame.

“So I started following him around,” Heeseung confessed, “It didn’t take long for me to figure out…his secret.” Because of course it didn’t, “You should have seen how angry I was. Knowing the man I loathed because he had feelings for my girl was also the same man I obsessed with and looked up to? The mixed emotions were crazy.”

You stared at him, “I can imagine, and I’m not your girl.”

Heeseung frowned, “My admiration for him outweighed my feelings for you,” he looked away from you, “At least, at first. Not until I followed him off to your apartment, seeing how you figured out his secret and still let him fuck you on your kitchen floor.”

“Jealousy is an ugly thing, Heeseung,” you whispered.

“Not so ugly when you felt him fuck you in public all because Jay was hitting on you.”

You roll your eyes, “Continue your story.”

Heeseung laughed, “Eager are we?” you narrow your eyes at him, “I stalked him enough to learn his patterns and the types of victims he goes for. The brand of knives he uses, even the cloak, and where he got his mask. I studied everything, all just to take him down, steal his title and his girl.”

Maybe Heeseung was crazier than Jake.

“But I had to get close, needed a reason to get close. So I committed a few murders and dumped my mask as a middle finger to him knowing it would piss him off. I learned how to bug devices, and was listening in when the news was on. It was the perfect time to introduce myself, then go commit more murders,” He shrugged again, “I needed to get close to you and your team. So I pitched to the dean about us joining together, but he told me to ask the department head. And as you know, she was murdered.”

“I’m going to assume she turned you down, saying to stay out of it?”

“You’re the department head for the journalism club for a reason,” he smiled, “She told me no. So I dressed up as ghost face and murdered her right outside her dorm room,” he sighed, “That’s when Sunoo comes in.”

You laughed, “He caught you, didn’t he?”

Heeseung nodded, “He watched me slit her throat and started acting like a fanboy, begging me to let him join me. He’s a major ghost face enthusiast.”

It made sense.

“Sunoo even knew I was a copycat,” Heeseung snickered, “He did his research just as much as I did. The only thing is he didn’t know who the original was until I told him. Then we started plotting together.”

“And you had him do your side work.”

“You’re on a roll today!” he clapped his hands together, “and to finally answer your question, Sunoo only stained his hands red once. The rest was all me. I wanted it to be all me.”

“Why?” you asked with a shaky breath.

“Again,” he leaned forward, “To destroy Jake. Destroy everything he was and what he had built. To murder him and take up his ghost face mantle and make you love me instead of him!” Heeseung clenched his fists, “I could have continued his legacy and had you at my side. Oh, the way I’ve dreamed of being in his position. Getting to be the one to be ghost face and come home to you every night and fuck you so so good. With Jake completely out of the picture. You were such a fucking tease with how you drew me into you, I knew it was too good to be true but I couldn’t help myself. Feeling your legs wrapped around me and lips brushing against mine, getting to finally touch you…”

Your ears turned red and you stood from the chair, “You’re fucking crazy!!”

Heeseung stood up quickly, leaning closer to the glass, “Says the one who is fucking a serial killer every single night.”

You shook your head, “He’s changed.”

Heeseung laughs a bit too loud, it echoing against the walls on your side of the glass, “Has he though?” he smirked, “Where is your boyfriend at right now? Do you know?”

You swallow, thinking of all the places Jake could possibly be right now, not giving him an answer.

Heeseung leans closer to the glass, his breath fogging it up, tapping his index finger against the glass, “I think we both know where he is right now, YN.”

You slowly backed away, blowing off his comment, “We’re done here.” You turn on your heels, quickly pressing the button to buzz yourself out of this room.

Hessung’s laughter could still be heard, “You know where he is, YN. Use that brain of yours!”

You exited the mental hospital, quickly walking to your car and climbing inside, dropping your face into your hands and taking a couple of deep breaths.

Heeseung’s words echoed in your mind over and over on repeat to the point you were driving yourself crazy. You sat back in the seat, glancing at the time on your dashboard, it was almost seven pm and you couldn’t help but wonder where your boyfriend could be, letting Heeseung’s words sink in and not wanting to actually know the truth.

—

Jake’s laughter echoes across the empty alleyway, pulling his knife out of this random guy's chest, his blood splattering across Jake’s new mask. He lifted the all-white hockey mask up to the top of his head and pulled down the black bandana to his neck.

“Awe fuck,” he breathed, staring at the blood dripping down the blade of his knife, “Feels so fucking good to slash with my favorite weapon again,” he coos, “It’s been too long.”

Jake laughed again, leaning down and pressing the knife to the man’s neck, his eyes widened, and cried out of fear as he looked up at Jake, pleading with him.

“Yes, I’ve missed seeing those desperate looks,” he pressed the blade more against the man’s neck, and Jake’s smile turned into a frown, “That damn copycat forced me to change my whole persona. My mask and outfit too. Such a fucking shame.” Jake slides the blade in and through his throat, blood going everywhere including Jake’s near face, it being the killing blow.

He stood to his feet, wiping the blood onto his long-sleeved shirt, staring at his reflection on the blade. Jake’s corners of his lips curled upwards, him not being able to hold back his giggles that once again became a laughing fit.

“Ahhh,” he sighs after calming down, dropping his hands to his sides and staring up at the nighttime sky, “YN is going to murder me once she finds out where I am,” his smile just grows more, “But that’s just the thrill of it all, knowing she could end me at any moment.”

Jake walked deeper into the alleyway, grabbing his things. Who knew just chilling and killing could be this much fun? Mostly now that Heeseung took the fall for his plus Jake’s crimes. Jake could start fresh and rebuild what was taken from him. Oh man, he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face once he’s home. His cock twitched with anticipation just thinking about it.

He tossed the knife up, catching it at its hilt then tossing it again, “We are so back.”

‧₊˚✧T H E E N D✧˚₊‧

— perm taglist: @alvojake @ikeuverse @woniebae @shawnyle @kangnina @jwnghyuns @in-somnias-world @zyvlxqht @aaa-sia @wonniethepoo @addictedtohobi @eneiyri @sparklovespink @skzenhalove @fakeuwus @cherry-park @vousty @ladyartemesia @psh9 @cmoundiamante @enhaverse713586 @wondipity @lhsvibez @jaeyunq @rikizm @kaykay11sworld @pockettwinzz @zeeloveshee

— taglist: @secretlyapartofthisfandom @wonheartz @ggukkyu @liwugy @hoondrop @jentlecoeur @yawnzzhoon @vixialuvs @ericluvs @qoeqe @hanjisunginc @jaeyunsbimbo @ksnooppy @immortalvee @criminaluvr @kookify @aileeeeeeeeeeeee @sunpov @topichoon @brownsugarbaybee @lilyuwon

#jake bby #heeseunggie #jake sim #sim jake x reader #reader x sim jake #sim jake #lee heeseung #heeseung #enhypen #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #ghostface!jake #yeonzzzn writing #ghostface au

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wileys-russo · 1 hour

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Mary earps in the date to remember series “I’m beginning to question whether you only married me for my ass” idk about location, maybe home or out shopping?

part of the a date to remember series gentle pat II m.earps

"okay! shopping bag, keys, list, phone, backpack leash, snacks for bribery. are we ready? i think we're ready." your wife clapped from the front door as you gave her a look.

"mary." you deadpanned, raising an eyebrow as she looked on uselessly. "forgetting something?" you egged her on as again she seemed dumfounded, going through her checklist and shrugging.

"me!" delilah came barreling through from the bathroom as your wife blushed slightly and you shook your head.

"from putting yourself to bed instead of her, eating half her dinner before she even got home from dance last night and now nearly locking her in the house alone...better pick your game up earps." you squeezed your wifes shoulder, snatching the keys from her hand, grabbing the shopping bags from the floor and walking out the front door.

"yeah mama, pick your game up!" delilah grinned cheekily as mary scoffed, easily scooping the four year old up and tossing her over her shoulder. "pick my game up! righto cheeky i've had about enough of this little parrot routine aunty tooney taught you." mary rolled her eyes, delilah for the last week finding endless amusement in doing and saying whatever she did on a dare from ella.

you of course also found it hilarious given it wasn't you that was being copied, not even lifting a finger to try and help put a stop to it.

"i'm not a parrot!" delilah huffed banging her fists against marys back who stepped out and locked up the front door. "are too, gonna change your name from delilah to...feathers? or maybe chirpy? squawk?" mary pondered as you watched on from the passenger seat with a smile.

"no! not allowed to do that mama." you heard your daughter scowl, turning around with a grin and tickling her stomach as mary buckled her into her car seat and delilah giggled kicking away your hand.

"good news babe i've decided we're changing her name. we've got options; feathers, chirpy, squawk?" mary pondered sliding into her seat and starting up the car as you hummed and delilah continued to protest from the back.

"oh! could call her tweety? or maybe birdie?" you joined in as mary backed out of the driveway with a grin. "no! delilah delilah delilah delilah delilah!" the four year old chanted over and over.

"okay okay! you can keep the name delilah...for now." mary teased as delilah huffed and pulled a face. "lilah we've talked about this. if you make an ugly face and the wind changes you're stuck like that forever." you warned as she quickly slapped a smile on and started to wiggle around happily as you flicked on her favorite playlist.

"don't wanna wear it! please mummy?" your daughter looked to you with the puppy dog eyes that normally broke both you and your wife but today all it earned her was a shake of your head as mary helped her slip on the backpack.

"sorry babe, you lost that privilege the last time we went shopping and you ran off. remember mama and i had to come and get you from the big security man? and we were very very worried." you clicked together the straps so it sat securely on her as mary grabbed the leash part.

"sorry." delilah mumbled kicking a rock, though spotting a pigeon land a few metres away she sprinted off as mary was almost taken down to her feet at the sudden tension on the leash and you covered your mouth to cover your laughter.

grabbing the shopping bags you winced seeing your wifes training bag shoved in the back, the girl currently in mid season break you knew it would have sat there for awhile.

"urgh mary!" you groaned, pointing it out as she near dragged delilah back toward you, smiling guiltily and kissing your cheek, promising to do the washing the very moment you got home as you hummed.

"hey! my turn." delilah stomped her foot, tapping her cheek expectantly and making you laugh as your wife rolled her eyes playfully but ducked down to kiss all over your daughters face making her squeal.

"alright. off we go!" mary nodded as you closed the boot and locked the car, gently tapping you on the ass as you passed her causing you to glare at her over your shoulder and delilah to giggle as mary only winked.

"you're in trouble." delilah warned wagging her finger at your wife as you took off ahead of the pair of them. "you're in trouble." mary parroted shoving her head to the side as delilah tried to tackle her and mary dodged out of the way with a grin.

turning around to see them left behind and chasing one another about you rolled your eyes and cleared your throat loudly, raising an eyebrow with one hand on a shopping cart as mary scooped up your daughter and hurried over to catch up.

"divide and conquer." you ripped the list in two and handed her half as you entered the supermarket, marys grip on delilahs leash tightening as delilah held up her hand expectantly.

"where's mine!" she frowned when she wasn't handed a list making you smile. "you get the most important job tiny." you warned as her eyes lit up and she nodded. "babysitting mama and making sure she doesn't get distracted." you whispered as delilah nodded, hugging your leg.

"go mama! hurry." the four year old barked, tugging on your wifes jumper where she was stood reading the nutrition information on the back of tub of protein.

"yeah mama, hurry." you teased, giving her a wink as you took the cart and headed off to start your own shopping, though not before a hand collided with your ass.

"mary! for god sakes we're in public." you hissed in warning as your cheeks burned red and she only grinned and headed off in the opposite direction with delilah ordering her around as she went, hitting her every time she deemed her as distracted.

you met back up every now and then, trading delilah or the shopping cart as you went, your daughter for once incredibly well behaved which earned her a few extra treats tossed in when mary thought you weren't looking which made you roll your eyes with a smile.

you were staring at the freezer section trying to find the specific brand of dinosaur chicken nuggets you knew were delilahs favorite and also the easiest way to get her to eat vegetables if mary smothered it all with gravy.

but a sharp slap to your ass had your body whipping around with a glare however the face you were met with wasn't the one you expected.

"deliah!" you exclaimed in shock as mary stood behind her with somewhat of a proud smile, your daughter grinning cheekily up at you. "mama does it." your daughter shrugged as if that was excuse enough, racing over to the freezer and pressing her face against it in wonder.

"you're a terrible influence." you glared at your wife who was tugged closer as delilah moved toward the ice cream section, pulled back a little by marys grip on the leash.

"me? my love i simply don't know what you mean." she winked, reaching around to squeeze one cheek in her hand as you smacked her chest and pushed her away.

"i'm beginning to question whether you only married me for my ass." you sighed with a shake of your head, grabbing the leash as your daughter continued to pull and struggle, determined to reach the ice cream section despite barely moving an inch.

"of course not darling i married you for your mind, your wit, your passion...and your ass."

#mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso #woso community #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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seasideoranges · 1 month

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Mama's boy. twitter // ko-fi

#i was doing so good while drawing this #then slipping through my fingers came on my playlist #had to lay down for ten minutes after that #sokka #atla sokka #kya #atla kya #atla #avatar the last airbender

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dist4nt-shores · 1 month

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rereading mind blind rn and GOD i always forget how good it is

like nick and buttons relationship??? gray and button existing?? sally the bff of all time? i love them all sm

#was listening to my mind blind playlist too and 'slipping through my fingers' just came on so im in my feelings about it ig #that song is so nick and button idc #mind blind if #mind blind #button wiseman #nick wiseman #nick and button #button and nick

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nessie665 · 2 years

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Here the playlist I did for my Phantom 70s AU on AO3 with a mix of songs pre-1975, the year the story takes place and modern ones, hope you enjoy it 💙

A link to the phanfic if you missed it

#i did lied bc slipping through my fingers is here and that came out in 77' but that song HAD to be in this playlist #poto #christine daae #the phantom of the opera #erik #yeston and kopit phantom #phantom of the opera #erik x christine #female phantom #Project/Fanfic: Spy X Phantom

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formulaforza · 5 months

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—if walls could talk

some things are meant to be secret (we'd fall from grace) pairing: charles leclerc x female reader warnings: 18+ minors dni. loadsss of google translated french. language, friends talking about sex, nsfw warnings under the cut :) love, mackie... 6.3k words! sometimes the only person who can help you out is a good friend. happy almost thanksgiving to all my american followers :) thankful for each and every one of you. mwah mwah mwah.

18+ because: fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, aftercare, mentions of hookups/faking it

You’re the last one to walk through the door of Charles’ apartment. Everyone else has been long comfortable, leaving imprints on the comfortable couch, footprints in the freshly-vacuumed rug, empty wine bottles and half-empty glasses on the coffee table.

There’s always something so cold about his apartment—always empty, always dusty, filled with the remnants of his boyhood and the promise of his adult life. It has all the makings of a home, but it still feels like a house—like a museum instead of a secondhand shop. Always, except on days like tonight, when it’s filled with warm laughter and the smell of half a dozen different meals and the quiet hum of his favorite playlist. On days like today, it feels like a home.

Nobody in the living room hears you open the door or slip off your shoes—they’re too preoccupied in their busy, lively conversation about a road closure on the way to the airport in Nice that adds twenty minutes on to the drive. You move in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen, to set your crowd offering—blue cheese stuffed shrimp—on the counter and get a wine glass from the cabinet to fill. He’s in the kitchen when you turn the corner, carefully examining the platter of Italian meatballs he’s got cooking in the oven.

Charles looks up as soon as you set the heavy plate down on the counter. “Hé!” Hey, he greets, closing the oven door and pulling off his blue mittens to properly kiss both of your cheeks, a single arm wrapping around your middle to pull you into a quick hug. “Quand es-tu arrivé?” When did you get here?

“Tout à l'heure,” Just now, you reply, roll up the sleeves of your shirt because his kitchen is so small, and heats up so quickly when the oven is on. “Désolé, je suis en tard,” Sorry I’m late.

“T'es pas en tard,” You’re not late, he interjects, dragging a tortilla chip through someone’s dip and popping it into his mouth. With his other hand, he’s reaching into the cabinet above his head, pulling down a wine glass and handing it to you.

“Je suis très en tard,” I am so late, you smile, take the empty wine glass with a thank you and follow suit with your own chip in the fame dip. “Je reviens directement du travail. Les crevettes sont restées dans le réfrigérateur du bureau tout l'après-midi,” I came straight from work. The shrimp sat in the office fridge all afternoon, you explain, and he scowls, raises his brows at you and at the shrimp. You chuckle, nod. “N'en mangez pas,” Don’t eat it.

His eyes are stuck on your cheek, which forces your hand to investigate what he might be staring at. “Quoi?” What? You ask, fingers coming up with nothing but an embarrassed heat.

“Rien, juste... tu as un cil,” Nothing, just… you have an eyelash, he lets a sharp exhale leave through his nose, “je l'enlèverai,” I’ll get it, and then he does. Carefully, with the pad of his middle finger, he picks the eyelash from your cheek. You don’t look at him while he does it, but you are watching when he transfers it to his thumb and drops it onto the platter of shrimp with a quick flick. “Oh, non,” he feigns concern, grabs the platter from the counter, “Allons juste…” Let’s just… he laughs and holds the plate over the trash can and drops the shrimp into the plastic bag with a thump.

“Bon appel,” good call, you laugh.

He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up.

They go through phases, the two of them. She doesn’t like your friend group very much, and Charles doesn’t seem like he likes her all that much, but they come and go like seasons. Together one month, broken up the next week. He usually tells you, but even when he doesn’t, you usually know. He’s always touchier with you when she’s out of the picture. Not that you mind it, but. He is.

It’s all a little more comfortable, like you’re both a little less aware of the fact that you’re the only girl in the group who isn’t spoken for, or that you’re both atrociously the other’s type.

“Regarde qui j'ai trouvé,” Look who I found, Charles announces, and you’re met with a spattering of greetings, plopping down onto the couch, slotting between Marta and an empty space that is quickly occupied by Charles.

You both fight over the corner seat, who gets to take up more of it. He loves to sprawl out and you love to curl up. When it’s all settled, he’s spread out like he likes, and you’re curled up into the space he leaves, half leant against him with your knees pulled to your chest, sleeves pulled over your hands because it’s hot in the kitchen, but only in the kitchen.

“J'ai entendu dire que vous avez tous les deux eu un week-end assez mouvementé,” I heard you both had quite the eventful weekend, Marta teases. She’s the only other person besides the man next to you—as far as you know—that knows about what went down last Friday night. It takes even you a moment to remember, having already relegated the mortifying details to the bottom of your soul. When you do recall, your cheeks burn with the sudden blow flow and you giggle, curl into Charles a little further than you probably should.

“Quoi?” What, Joris asks, “ce qui s'est passé?” What happened?

“Rien ne s'est passé,” Nothing happened, Charles tries to protect you from re-living the evening, but it’s no use. Now that your friends have a sniff of a story, they won’t stop until it’s told in complete, painstaking detail. So, you begin:

“J'étais en train de garder un chat le week-end dernier pour mon collègue, n'est-ce pas?” I was cat sitting for my coworker last weekend, right?

— —

You were indeed cat-sitting for a coworker last weekend. It was an orange cat whose name you never really learned, much less remembered, and you were on day three of five of cat-sitting. It’s important for the rest of the story, for later. It is.

Anyway, you were cat-sitting on a Friday night, but that wasn’t going to stop you from going out. Your sister had invited you, something about a club and her boyfriend’s friends visiting from London. Only if I can claim a brit, you’d joked. You’d joked, right up until coming face-to-face with the twenty-something, five-foot something-but-still-taller-than-you, perfect brown hair and perfect green eyed British man that had come along for the visit. You weren’t joking after meeting him.

Once the two of you were finally drunk enough to lose any sense of what’s good for you, you were squeezing into the back of a taxi and stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex, the cute boy and his little kisses and touchy hands slowing the whole process down.

We all know what a drunken Friday night hookup looks like, so. There’s no need to explore the logistics of it with someone who’s name you’ve since forgotten, who you hope is back home in London never to return. Because where the story really gets good, is after the uneventful hookup, when Mr. Brit really needed to get back to his fiends and had you walking him to your apartment door in just a towel because he didn’t have the patience to wait for you to put on some fucking clothes.

— —

“Bon sang,” damn, Hugo laughs from the other end of the sofa, “tu es vraiment si mauvais en sexe?” Are you really that bad at sex?

“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck you, you scoff. “Je suis incroyable en matière de sexe,” I’m amazing at sex.

“Je peux trouver quelqu'un pour vous donner des cours, si besoin,” I can find someone to give you lessons, if you need.

You pause, blink twice, and then continue your story. “De toute façon,” Anyways.

— —

As you open the door to let him out, the cat you’ve been cat-sitting—see. It did come back to be important—darts out of the door.

“Grab him!” You’d yelled, and the guy actually looked back at you before replying.

“I’m allergic.”

You scoffed, hurrying past him and down the stairs after the cat. You manage to corral it in the corner of the stairwell, pick it up and return to your apartment, just in time to watch the door shut behind you. You look at the door, at the guy you’d just fucked, at the cat in your hands, and then back at the door. “That is not good,” you say.

The guy laughs. “Just open it.”

Oh, brilliant. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “It’s locked.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

By the grace of God and all things good in this world, the guy had a fully-charged phone. Unfortunately for you, of the three people with a spare key to your apartment, there was only one number you had memorized: Charles.

You text him before you call him. It’s me, please don’t send me to voicemail, and then he did send you to voicemail twice before calling the number back.

“Bonjour?”

“‘Bonjour?’ Mon cul!” ‘Hello?’ My ass! You greeted, the cat snarling and wiggling against your grip. You were so far beyond being in the mood for pleasantries. You just really, really wanted some fucking pants. “J'ai besoin que tu viennes ouvrir ma porte. Genre, il y a dix minutes,” I need you to come unlock my door. Like, ten minutes ago.

“Et avec qui ai-je le plaisir de discuter?” And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with? You swear if you could, you’d punch him through the phone. You can’t, so you settle for hanging up.

It’s at this time that Mr. Brit properly excuses himself from the evening of fun, because now that he knows you won’t stand outside your apartment in nothing but a towel for the rest of time, his conscience is clean.

You and Charles live a sixteen minute walk from each other, and he definitely chose to walk rather than literally any other form of faster transportation. Maybe you should have disclosed your current state over the phone, but that probably would have made him walk slower.

When he finally does trudge up the stairs, he stops three steps short of your landing at the sight of you, towel and cat and literally nothing more. “Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé, putain?” What the fuck happened to you? He laughs, and then finishes his walk up the stairs, holding your key out to you tauntingly.

“Connard,” Asshole, you mutter, snatching the key away from him with your free hand and forcing it into the lock. “J'avais un gars chez moi,” I had a guy over, you add, forcing the door open with your hip.

“Où à?” Where? He asks, following you into the apartment.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, où?” What do you mean, where? You laugh, gesture around the apartment. “Ici,” here.

Charles frowns, scowls even. “Et il t'a laissé dehors?” And he left you out there?

You nod, gather up your clothes from the floor before they can exist there long enough to be perceived. “Tu n'es pas obligé de rester, je vais bien,” You don’t have to stay, I’m fine, you tell him, half-usher him back out the door he came through. “Je sais que ta copine va probablement me tuer,” I know your girlfriend is probably going to kill me next time she sees me.

— —

“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ne t'a pas tué,” I can’t believe she didn’t kill you, Ricky chuckles, looking to Charles.

You find solace in the bottom of your wine glass, an excuse to fill the silence that follows Ricky’s comment. “En fait, nous avons rompu,” we actually broke up, Charles says, and the room falls into the same silence it always does everytime they break up. It’s not that you guys don’t like her, so much as… well. Yeah, it is that you don’t like her. But she didn’t like you guys first, so it really shouldn’t matter much that none of you like her.

“Je suis désolé, mec,” I’m sorry, mate, Joris offers, and then everyone follows suit with half-hearted apologies they don’t mean.

“C'est bien, vraiment,” It’s fine, really, he offers to the group. “Elle était gentille, mais elle ne l'était tout simplement pas…” she was nice, but she wasn’t… he hesitates. You take another sip of your wine. Your friends listen to him intently. “Je ne veux pas être méchante,” I don’t want to be mean.

“Soyez méchant,” Be mean, Marta giggles.

He laughs nervously, fidgets with his fingers, watches his rings spin. “Elle n'était pas très bonne. Elle ne pouvait pas... Je ne l'ai jamais fait, tu sais,” She wasn’t very good. She couldn’t… I didn’t ever, you know, he trails off, gesturing wildly into the space around him, anything to avoid having to say the words the entire room has picked up on.

You roll up your sleeves, hot again. Burning.

The teasing that follows from the guys is relentless, gets to a point where you and Marta step in, begging them to stop kicking a dead horse while Charles is in the bathroom. They do ease up, and the night continues far, far away from horrible hookup stories and mortifying relationship admissions.

You were the last to arrive, which means you’ll be the last to leave, make sure that the whole place has been cleaned up, returned to its stiff and dusty places in the apartment before you head home for the night.

“Juste pour que tu le saches,” just so you know, you comment, scraping the last of the left behind chip-dip into a tupperware container while he gathers up the now-stale crackers from the charcuterie board. “Je ne te crois absolument pas,” I totally don’t believe you.

He meets your eyes, confused. “Tu ne me crois pas à propos de quoi?” Don’t believe me about what?

“A propos de ne pas…” about not… you look away, direct your attention to the lid of the container. Anything but looking him in the eyes while talking about each other’s sex lives. “Tu sais. Il est impossible que vous n’ayez pas joui depuis cinq mois.” You know. There’s no way you haven’t gotten off in five months.

You see him shake his head in your peripheral, distract himself with the task at hand the same way you had. This isn’t something the two of you talk about, and you talk about pretty much everything. Sex, though. It’s always been off-limits, especially in a situation like this, just the two of you together. “Non,” nope, he mutters. “Je souhaite,” I wish.

You roll your eyes. “Charles, regarde tes mains,” look at your hands, you say, and he does, all full of crumbs and salt and grease. “Voilà, voici la solution à ton problème. Tu peux le résoudre dès que je partirai,” there’s the solution to your problem. You can fix the issue as soon as I leave tonight.

He rolls his eyes right back, “idiote,” idiot, he says, shoves your shoulder with one of his hands and you laugh. “Je ne peux pas. C’est… je ne sais pas, c’est irrespectueux,” I can’t. It feels… I don’t know, it feels disrespectful.

You laugh, curl in on yourself at his comment because it feels so completely ridiculous. He’s a good guy, you know. You know, or you wouldn't be such good friends in the first place. You know, but that's a crazy concept even for a good guy. “Manque de respect envers ton ex-petite-amie si tu te branles après un séparer?” Disrespectful to your EX-girlfriend if you jerk off after you’ve broken up?

“Bien. Quand tu le dis comme ça,” well. When you say it like that.

“Ouis,” yeah, you chuckle, hoisting yourself up onto the counter you’d just cleared. The granite is cool even through the denim of your jeans. “Quand je dis ça comme ça, tu es un imbécile,” when I say it like that, you dumbass.

“Pourtant,” Still though, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He always looks particularly boyish when he gets even the tiniest bit frustrated with you. “Tu ne comprendrais pas. Ça n'est pas pareil.” You wouldn’t get it. It’s not the same.

Wouldn’t I? You pick at your cuticles, don’t know how to skate around the admission that you’re finishing about as often as he is—that Mr. Brit, who he’d missed by no more than ten minutes last weekend, was not exactly giving you a very eventful evening when he decided he was done for the night.

"Je ne vois pas comment tu pourrais,” I don’t see how you could.

You nod, wish you lived in his little naive world where you always finish. “La moitié des gars de ce putain de pays ne savent pas comment faire jouir une fille. Et apparemment, les gars de Londres non plus.” Half the guys in this fucking country don’t know how to get a girl off. And apparently, neither do the guys in London.

“Vraiment?” Really?

You nod. “Je ne peux pas te dire combien de fois j'ai simulé parce que j'en avais marre que quelqu'un attaque ma lèvre gauche avec sa langue,” I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve faked it because I was tired of someone assaulting my left lip with their tongue.

“Fuck,” He laughs. “Ce n'est tout simplement pas bien,” that’s just not right.

“Non, ça ne l'est pas,” no it is not.

“Tu devrais vraiment obtenir de l'aide pour ça,” you should really get some help with that.

“Et toi aussie. Je mourrais avant de laisser tes conneries arriver.” So should you, you offer. I’d die before I let that shit happen. And you would, you really would. You can’t think of something worse than dating someone for months and knowing you’ve never gotten them off once. And she knows, she has to know, because there’s no way for him to fake it. She has to know.

There’s a pause, and you realize that somewhere on the other side of the apartment the music has stopped playing. The speaker must have died—or the phone playing through it. You realize that Charles is close, now. Really close. Has he been this close the entire time you’ve been cleaning up, close. “Le feriez?” you would?

“Cent pour cent. Une bonne petite amie le ferait—en fait,” a hundred percent. A good girlfriend would—actually, you stop yourself, scowl a bit at the idea of it all. “Une bonne petite amie n’aurait jamais ce problème en premier lieu, mais ce n’est pas la question,” a good girlfriend would never have that problem in the first place but, that’s besides the point. He smiles, the threat of a laugh, and takes a step closer, firmly between your legs, now. You put your hands on either of his shoulders, give them a firm, friendly squeeze. “Une bonne petite amie t'aurait aidé,” a good girlfriend would have helped you, you assure him, but it doesn’t sound as friendly as your gesture was.

His hand falls to your knee, thumb moving over the fabric of your jeans there ever so softly. It sends a chill up your spine, makes you shiver. “Un bon ami pourrait m'aider,” a good friend could help me, he says, hardly above a whisper—like he thinks saying it quieter is going to make it have any less suggestion.

You nod, gulp, your fingers intertwining behind his neck. “Un bon ami pourrait vous aider,” a good friend could help you.

“Ouis,” yeah. You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, that your noses might as well slot against each other. That you might as well be kissing, even if you aren’t. You’re sure your eyes cross when they meet his.

“Dommage que tu n'en ai pas,” shame you don’t have any of those, you tease, smile pulling on your lips, hands falling from over his shoulders to move down his chest, to feel every reaction of his muscles as you trail over his abs softly, toy with the hem of his t-shirt.

“C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?” It is, isn’t it? His hand moves up your leg, and you instinctively move towards the touch, move yourself closer to the edge of the counter. He moves up, up your thigh, to your hip, threatening to go further. He doesn’t, though. He stalls there, searching your eyes for the permission to be there in the first place.

And then, just like that, he kisses you.

It starts soft, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. It’s a gentle collision, tender and hesitant and exploring whatever new waters you’d just sat yourselves in. His lips are so soft against yours, so careful, so sweet, and then his tongue is slipping through your lips, settling into the kiss now that he knows you’re going to kiss back. And you do, you kiss back, until it’s all hurried and messy, noses bumping against each other, teeth scraping each other’s lips. Until you’re hazy and dizzy and have to pull apart for air.

“Peut être,” maybe, you chuckle into his mouth, kiss him again quickly. “Peut-être que tu devrais accepter l'offre de Hugo de trouver un tuteur,” maybe you should take Hugo up on his offer to find a tutor, you joke, and his smile is sweet against your lips.

“Peut être,” maybe… he says, fiddles with the buttons of your jeans hurriedly, like they’re going to seal shut if he doesn’t undo the button that very moment, and then he unzips the zipper, “ou peut-être,” or maybe…

You kiss him again. Your core aches, the knot in the pit of your stomach pulling itself tighter and tiger with each millimeter further he moves. “Tu pourrais juste,” you could just.

“Je pourrais juste,” I could just, and he dips a hand into your pants.

You sigh, react instantly to his touch and his lips are on your again. Your hips move against his hand like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched—which, this whole thing feels so charged that it might as well be. Charles’ hand moves in flat circles over your clit, pushing farther, deeper, slipping a single finger inside of you.

You hiss at the movement, kiss him harder when your breath is back, pull him hard against your lips by the back of his neck. “Putain, tu es tellement mouillé,” Fuck, you’re so wet, he says.

You nod, talk into his mouth, “Je sais, je sais,” I know, I know.

You reach between your bodies to palm him, find him already hard in his jeans, taking in a sharp breath when you touch him there. His other hand grabs at your tits, pushing and pulling and squeezing over your shirt before finally slipping under, haphazardly pushing your bra out of the way and palming them, kissing mumbled profanities into the skin on your neck.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine—he ruts against the counter when you do, smirks against your lips and hums whatever noise he’s attempting to swallow.

You sigh when he pulls his hand out from your jeans, but he’s quick to get them off of you, pulling them and your underwear off as soon as you raise yourself up off the counter. It’s cold, so cold, but his hands are equally warm, burn against your body as he explores every inch of available skin.

You work away at his jeans, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as the angle allows you to. His cock springs out of the elastic waistband and the only thing you can think is how pretty it looks, all swollen and twitching and wet with precum. It looks painful, almost, how hard he is. But so, so pretty. “C'est tellement chaud,” this is so hot, you say.

“Tu es tellement belle,” you’re so hot, he replies.

You’re expecting for it to all boil over, then, for him to sink into you, fill you up with his perfect pretty dick, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself to your cunt and looks at you with nauseating eye contact. “Dis moi quoi faire,” tell me what to do, he says.

“Quoi que ce soit. Faire n'importe quoi,” Anything. Do anything, you beg.

He does, he does—licks a long stripe through your folds, forces your head to the sky and a sweet moan from your lips. He holds your legs apart with a hand on the inside of each thigh—strong, warm, big—and fucks you with his tongue. It’s messy and natural, but every move is intentional, working towards the goal of getting you off before he even fucks you. And he will, he will, because he listens so well.

Every direction, even the jumbled, incoherent moans that leave your mouth, even the little twitches of your legs or the way your hips move against his mouth—it's all an instruction for him. What to do. What to continue doing exactly like he’s doing. “Juste comme ça. N'arrêtez pas,” just like that. Don’t stop, you chant, and he doesn’t stop. He holds his pace, and then you’re coming in his mouth, fingers slipping on the countertop in search of some kind of grip, some kind of stability as you writhe against him.

When you’ve come down, come back to reality and the cold countertop and his warm hands, he’s kissing you again, cock hard and twitching between your bodies. You take him in your hand and he winces, groans when you start to stroke him, to spread the precum around his tip with your thumb. “Ça fait du bien,” feels good, he mutters.

“Laisse-moi t'aider,” Let me help you, you insist. He doesn’t need much convincing. None at all, really.

“Est-tu toujours... sur le?” Are you still… on the, he asks, tapping your arm.

“Mon implant? Ouais, ouais,”My implant? Yeah. yeah.

He kisses you again, licks into your mouth in a way that feels half-illegal, like all the rules of the universe have been broken. “Tu veux que j'utilise un préservatif?” Do you want me to use a condom?

You shake your head against his lips, shrug somewhere in the distance, far away from where your mouth is on his. “Je m'en fiche, je suis propre,” I don’t care, I’m clean.

“Moi aussi,” Me too.

"D'accord, d'accord. Putain," Okay, okay. Fuck, and then he's slapping the head of his cock against your pussy, making you quiver with every touch. He drags it over your clit, through your folds, and then he’s sinking into you. His fingers bruise into your hips as he ruts into you, you reaching down to circle you clit while he fucks you full of him. "Putain, Dieu," Fuck, God, he moans.

“Oui c'est bien?” Yeah, it's good? You ask.

“C'est tellement bon, putain, c'est tellement bon, tu es si sexy,” It’s so good, fuck—it’s so good, you’re so hot. You don’t know if its his words, or that the seal’s properly broken now, but right as his dick slips out of a particularly measured thrust, you’re coming around the air, shoving a finger back inside to ease the ache of emptiness, pulling it back out and guiding his cock back in. He fucks you so good. So hard. So deep, just the sounds of each others groans, of heavy sighs and skin slapping filling the room, bouncing off the walls. “Je suis près,” I’m close, he tells you. “Je suis si proche, putain. Je vais,” I’m so close, fuck. I’m gonna, he repeats, fucking into you hard. Hard, burying himself in your cunt longer and longer each time.

“Fais-le,” Do it, you say, “laisse-moi l'avoir, je le veux,” let me have it, I want it. And then he’s coming. Hard. Bottomed out in you, groaning against your neck, and filling you up with him. Fuck, he breathes. You can’t make a distinction between a sigh versus a laugh. “Ça va?”Are you okay? He asks.

Your breath is heavy, heart thumping in your chest, in your ears, in your toes. “Je suis,” I’m, you laugh. “Ouais, je suis plus que… je vais bien,” Yeah, I’m more than… I’m okay, you finally sputter out into his patient eyes. You think that’s the reason you stutter—the eye contact. “Es-tu?” Are you?

“Ouais,” Yeah, he says, running a hand through his hair, nodding. “Oui. Très bien.” Yes. Very okay.

“Bien,” Good, you nod, and then, with all the vulnerability in the world: “Étais-je bien?” Was I alright?

He smiles, moves his hand to brush your flyaways from your forehead, to stop them before they can get in your face. “Tu étais…” You were… he laughs, and there’s no mistaking it now. When he does it, you’re reminded just how full of him you still are, of the ache you’ll feel when he finally pulls out. “Je ne pense pas que quiconque puisse avoir un problème avec toi,” I don’t think anyone could have any issue with you.

“Oh,”, you chuckle, eyes locking onto the clock hung on the kitchen wall. You can hear the second hand clicking around the same way you can hear your own pulse. “Bon alors,” Good then.

“Et moi?” And me? He asks, and pulls out slowly before you can begin to answer. There’s a silence in the room, just the clock and your heart and your breathing, his eyes glued to your cunt like he’s admiring his handy work. “C'étaient…” Those were…

“Tous deux très réels,” Both very real, you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, catching his eyes when he leans over the sink, wetting a paper towel and ringing it out. “Je ne suis pas doué pour faire semblant,” I’m not that good at faking it.

“Bon,” Nice.

“Je ne pense pas que nous soyons le problème, alors,” I don’t think we’re the problem, then, you chuckle, eyes snapping back to the clock, mind to the feel of the counter under your fingertips. You can’t think about anything more, of any other feeling or sense of taste or smell you’re experiencing or it will be too much.

“Non je ne pense pas,” No, I don’t think so, he continues, and starts to clean you up, warm hands on your legs again while he runs the cool paper towel through your folds. You recoil at the cold, a shiver running up your entire body and his eyes jump to yours—”Désolé,” Sorry, he mumbles.

“C'est bon,” It’s okay, you squeak, and it sounds like you’re about an inch tall. Utter mortification will do that to you, something this fucking awkward making you incredibly aware of everything happening in the room around you, of every touch of his warm hands on your skin. A lot of things are different now. Everything is different.

“Je, euh. Putain,” I, uh. Fuck, you resort back to what you know best, to the only thing you can think about that doesn’t spiral back to the feeling of him finishing inside you. “Je n'arrive pas à croire que je doive nettoyer à nouveau ce comptoir,” I can't believe I have to clean this counter off again.

He laughs again, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. It sits on top of everything else like a billboard, screaming about what it had been used for. The lid on the trash can doesn’t close like it’s supposed to. “C'est à ça que tu penses en ce moment?” That’s what you’re thinking about right now?

“Ouais,” Yeah.

“Tu es tellement bizarre, putain,” You’re so fucking weird, he says, adjusting himself, tucking back into his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up to make himself proper again. You have to hop off the counter to do the same, collecting and correcting your things as fast as you can because you can feel his eyes on your figure while you dress, and it feels too intimate.

“Je ne suis pas bizarre,” I am not weird, you quip, buttoning your jeans and pulling up the zipper, carefully fixing your shirt, your bra, smoothing all of your clothes out over your skin.

“Tu es. Tu es tellement bizarre.” You are. You’re so weird.

“Peu importe,” Whatever, you mumble, quickly closing the lid to the trash can.

The night has run its course by now, and then some. You spend fifteen minutes silently moving around each other in the kitchen, the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the downstairs lobby. You spend at least ten of them cleaning off the counter, which doesn’t feel so cold anymore, at least not where you were sitting.

“Tu peux rester, tu sais…” You can stay, y’know… he finally breaks the silence. “Si tu veux.” If you want.

“D’accord,” Okay, you nod. “Je ne… je ne sais pas si c’est une bonne idée.” I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

“C'est vrai, ouais,” Right, yeah, he says, and the place threatens to fall back into negative decibel levels. “Je t'entends, tout ce que tu veux.” I hear you, whatever you want.

“Désolée,” Sorry, you choke.

“Ne le soit pas, vraiment,” Don’t be, really, he assures, but you still are, still feel like you're stepping on a little baby bug that’s on its way home to its family. It’s not that you don’t want to stay, it’s more that you… you don’t trust yourself to stay, and you don’t trust him not to turn this into a messy rebound thing. If you slept in his bed tonight and got a text next weekend that he’d gotten back together with his girlfriend, you’d feel like a piece of shit. It’s bad enough that when they do inevitably reconnect, you’re already never going to be able to look her in the eyes again.

“Tu m'enverras un texto quand tu rentreras à la maison?” You’ll text me when you get home? He asks, standing opposite you in his doorway.

“Bien sûr,” Of course, you nod, fidgeting with the keys on your lanyard. “Nous n’avons pas simplement ruiné notre amitié, n’est-ce pas?” We didn’t just ruin our friendship, did we?

“Non,” he answers, without leaving space for a hesitation, to really wonder about your question.

You smile at your keys, bite back a chuckle at just how quick he’d responded to you, about how sure he seemed. “Parce que tu es une de mes personnes préférées, tu sais,” Because you’re one of my favorite people, y’know.

“Tu es ma personne préférée,” You’re my favorite person.

You swallow, and when you look up from your keys, he’s staring right back at you. The comfort in the silence is palpable, and it makes you shy, pushes a nervous laugh from your lips. Charles just nods, certain in his choice of words. It makes you even more sheepish.

You’re completely aware that he doesn’t look at everyone like this, that he never looked at her like this. “Que s'est-il passé entre toi et elle cette fois, d'ailleurs?” What happened with you and her this time, anyway?

He sighs. “Tu veux vraiment savoir?” You really want to know?

“Ouais,” Yeah, you nod. “Je fais,” I do.

“Je euh,” I uh, his fingers fidget with each other, pulling on the joints and twisting his rings. He doesn’t look at you when he tells you, watches the metal spin around his finger. “Je suis rentré de chez toi le week-end dernier et elle attendait dehors que je la laisse entrer. J'ai complètement oublié qu'elle venait après le travail.” I came home from your place last weekend and she was waiting outside for me to let her in. I totally forgot she was coming over after work. You regret asking as soon as he starts explaining. It’s not your business, and you could have gone your whole life without knowing that you were the catalyst for it. “On s'est disputé, elle m'a dit de choisir qui était le plus important,” We got into a fight, she told me to choose who was more important, he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like he was being asked to flip a coin, asked what color the sky was. “Je te choisi,” I chose you.

“Charles,” your head falls to the side defeatedly. You wish he never told you this, even though you asked. You wish he knew better, that you knew better.

“Je sais,” I know, he nods, and it sounds like he feels genuinely bad about the truth. “Je suis désolé,” I’m sorry.

“Je devrais y aller,” I should go.

“Ouais…” Yeah… he hesitates, his hand lingering around his front door, refusing to close it on you. “Ouais,” yeah.

“Juste... ne le fais pas,” Just… don’t. You stop yourself—or you try to stop yourself—from speaking. It’s unsuccessful, how could it not be when he’s staring at you intently with those big green eyes, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. “Ne te remets pas avec elle S'il te plaît,” Don’t get back with her. Please.

“Je ne vais pas,” I won’t.

You nod, even though you know he will. He always does. They always get back together. It’s nice to pretend, though, for a few days. To pretend that anything is ever going to come of what’s happened this evening.

“Bonne nuit, Charles,” Goodnight..

“Bonne nuit.” Goodnight.

1K notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 7 days

Text

Take Me Higher

Happy 4/20 my lovelies. I just whipped this up quickly so I hope you guys enjoy it 🫣

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WC- 2.5k

Warnings- use of marijuana, high users, switch!H, choking, cum play, etc

Picture is not mine, credits to owner

————-

The smoke had cleared out of the room but it was a bit cold still from the chill of the night. It wasn’t quite warm enough to be spring in her humble opinion, but she’d take what she could get. Plus, Harry had brought her some food stuff for them and she was feeling the effects kicking in as she felt a weight settle on her body. Her eyes were hooded and she was a little giggly as his scent engulfed her, vanilla and tobacco more prominent than the smell she tried to keep from her place.

“Mm… you’re warm.” A cool nose brushed her throat, making her shiver as the man crawled up her body and rested himself on top of her. Harry always got like this when they smoked, but it seemed even more prominent today.

“And you’re a needy little thing.” Fingers carded through his hair, knocking the beanie off his head as he buried his face in her neck. There was no real response except a whine, breath warm on her skin as he tried to warm himself up. The window had to be opened so they’d not get any real complaints from their flat, but luckily they were sure her neighbor wasn’t home today.

Comfortable silence made her melt further into the sofa, the playlist on low as her eyes fluttered shut and she busied herself with playing with his hair. He’d been a good smoking buddy for a while, but she knew why he really came over. It was only a matter of time.

A large hand slipped under her body, wiggling itself under her top to feel the hot expanse of her back. He couldn’t get close enough, needy little thing, and Y/N was fully enjoying being clung to. Physical touch always made the high even better, but that’s just her opinion. Or maybe it was physical touch was better when high? She didn’t know. Her brain didn’t want to analyze that right this second.

“Did you sleep last night? Tired?” Her voice was soft as she didn’t want to disturb the vibe, twirling a curl around her fingertips.

“No.” He shook his head, seeming like he was trying to get into her skin. “Jus’ want to get close to you. You’re warm and you smell fuckin’ incredible.” His voice was a little bit more hoarse, but that was to be expected. “You’re my favorite person... To smoke with.” He added on to the thought hurriedly but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. Fingers trailed down her spine, making her shudder a little.

“Hm, is that because I let you eat my pussy?” She smirked, feeling him pull his head form her neck with a glare. Sex with him was fantastic. Maybe it was because they were usually blazed when they did it and they both felt the sensitivity that went with it along with a more intense orgasm. He was the only one who could match her drive when she was like this, so he’d easily become a favorite person of her. Though she had a feeling that he’d do it just as well without the smoking bit, that would be something to unpack at a later date.

“Hey… don’t make me sound like a lecher.” He pouted, sending her heart to beat a bit harder. One thing she’d give the man was that he was adorable. “Not the only reason. I love doin’ that but… you have the best snacks n’you let me talk about anything. Your cunt is just a bonus… though I really do love it.” Harry wasn’t usually super shy, but sometimes he got a bit bashful when it came to Y/N. There was a slight hesitation as he let their noses brush, ghosting his lips over hers. “Can I?”

“So sweet for asking.” Y/N cooed, smiling n at his request. He wanted to kiss her. She could taste how bad he wanted it when the high had hit him, but now he wasn’t able to hold back much. “Go ahead, pretty boy. Since you seem to like it so much.”

Harry was a little messy with it, smearing their lips together and grazing his teeth over her bottom lip. There wasn’t much to hide his desperation as he adjusted himself on top of her, pulling one of her legs to wrap around his hip. “I do.” He breathed before licking into her mouth. Her lips were so sweet and soft, tasting like the cola she’d drank and mint chapstick. His favorite thing. Pulling apart with a soft clicking sound, he let out a groan as he looked down at her. Her bun was all messed up with some flyaways, lips wet and eyes hazy. His favorite sight. Seeing he undone when usually she was so put together, knowing he’d been the one to get to see her like this… it did things to his “I really fucking do.”

Y/N whimpered as he devoured her. His tongue hot in her mouth and his hand gripping her thigh to keep her close, she couldn’t help but grow hot when she felt him against her. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, but it still surprised her every time. How had she ever fit that inside of her? Tightening her legs around his hips, she heard the hitch in his breathing before he pulled away from her lips to groan. It gave her a chance to pull her shirt off her body, exposing her tits to him.

Harry nearly whimpered at the sight of them, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips before making his way down. “Fuck, the things you do t’me.” He whispered, moving closer to her breasts. “Can I kiss on them a bit, pretty? It’ll feel good.” He pleaded, sighing against the skin as she nodded at the request.

Sponging kisses all over the swells, he gently rocked his hips into hers to relieve a bit of the ache. His cock was thick and throbbing, desperate for some relief. The hear of her cunt could he felt through her panties, making Harry thank whatever higher power that she’d chosen the big shirt no pants combination today. “Gorgeous. You’re so pretty, all over.” He praised, puckering his lips over a nipple for a kiss. She shivered under him, her grip in his hair getting fuller as he brought it into his mouth.

Y/N sighed in pleasure as his hot mouth suckled on her. She’d loved when he did this last time, licking over her tits while he was inside of her. He was still clothed this time but somehow that was just as hot to her. Panties were ruined regardless, but she arched her back slightly as he took more of her breast into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the nipple. “Oh, shit.” The girl whimpered, rocking her hips in return. The stimulation made her head cloudy, or maybe it was the blunt, but she didn’t really care. It all felt so fucking good, it didn’t matter. “Harry… you’re so nice t’me.” She sighed, watching him pull off with a soft ‘pop’.

“I know, sweetheart. It’s what you deserve, yeah? So nice to me too…” he sighed into her chest, placing wet kisses to the skin that glistened in the light, leaving cool spots once he left. “Let me come over and smoke, let me eat your snacks, kiss your pretty mouth… let me taste you, sometimes let me feel that perfect little pussy wrapped around me… have t’be nice to my girl.”

She didn’t have a chance to answer before he repeated the process with her other nipple, making her pant. The grinding was getting harder, her breathing matching it as he rubbed over her clit in the motions. Back and forth, sweet relief as she spread herself out further and clutched his head to her breast as he worshiped them. “Fuck me, keep going like that and M’gonna cum.” She warned him, though she had no real want of him stopping.

“So cum.” He mumbled into her skin. “Won’t be the last time you do it tonight.” And oh- oh. He sounded so self assured and cocky and it did something to her, a zap of electricity to her tummy as she moaned into the air, clinging to him.

His back was firm under her hands, not stopping herself from sliding them unde this tee shirt. His skin was burning under her palms as she dragged her nails lightly down his shoulder blades. “Harder.” He instructed, rutting into her with more force. “Scratch me. S’okay.” He couldn’t help connecting their mouths again, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as it clung to him.

She did as asked, surprising her when he let out a deeper groan than she’d heard before. His hips quickened, sure his gray sweats were ruined but uncaring about anything else. “Gonna make me cum in my joggers.” He panted against her lips, unable to keep himself from touching her. His mouth was a magnet to her body, his cock throbbing and balls feeling exceptionally full as he dry fucked her.

“Mm… here.” She momentarily reached between them and tugged them down far enough that he was out of them. “Cum on my panties.” Her voice rang into his ears. “Already ruined them. Can’t you feel how wet you made me?” And fuck, could he.

Without the sweats in the way he could feel her soaked through panties wetting his prick, the heat of her through the barely there fabric making him insane. Though the real thing that got him was her request. “You really want that?” He questioned, buttoning their lips together for a moment because he simply couldn’t help it. “You want t’be sticky with my load all over your panties and your skin? I’ve got so much for you…” he wasn’t joking either. It had been a bit since they’d hung out and his hand didn’t do him as much justice as she could. His dick desperately missed her.

“You know I don’t mind a mess, Harry.” She purred, moving a hand to wrap around his throat. “And you’ll be a good boy and lick it off my skin, won’t you? Then you’ll lick my pretty pussy until you’re ready to fuck me. Because you’re always such a good boy for me…”

Oh, fuck. Harry whimpered at the feeling of her hand around his throat, the drop of his guilty pleasure nickname, immediately feeling the shift. He was determined to please her before, but this tone of voice and her slight overtaking made him a bit pathetic. “Yes- yeah, M’gonna do it.” He promised, adjusting them slightly so he tip could brush right over her clit. “Anything you want. Want t’make you feel so good. M’good for you.” He nodded, messily kissing her again as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.

Y/N hummed in pleasure as he got them to the right position. His hard cock rutting against her like the fabric wasn’t even there, thick and hot. She loved feeling him, knowing she’d done that to him. Her stomach tightened as she felt the perfect thrust from him, gasping into his mouth. “Oh- yes, like that. Keep it light that, baby.” She pleaded, mouth falling open as he repeated it. “Mhm… there. Gonna cum.” She had been worked up for a little bit now but feeling his need to please her helped her get there.

“Please, please do it. Want you to cum, want you to feel so good… you’re so perfect, please cum for me. Give it to me, fuckin’ goddess….” He spoke to her like he needed her orgasm to breathe. Whimpery and needy and unlike how he usually sounded, but with his perfect angle and the friction against her clit combined with that, she was pushed over the edge.

“Yes- yes, fuck me.” Head falling further back into the cushions, she dug her nails into his back with one hand while the other tightened on his throat. Sparks igniting her nerves and her legs held on to him like a lifeline as she came. Harry never knew a prettier sight in his life than how she looked when he made her orgasm.

“Give me it too, H. Make me a sticky mess so you can clean me.” She gasped out. “You’ve been so good, I know you can give me what I want. Please?” Her voice shook slightly. “Give me what I want.” Giving just the slightest bit more pressure to the fingers on the sides of his throat, she knew exactly how much to press to make him lightheaded. Choking was a weakness of his, something that made him cum embarrassingly fast a lot of the time, but this time he was grateful as he let out a sob. His prick was slick with her and aching to release but he tried to hold back for her sake. With the mix of the high being at its height, the sensitivity overwhelming him and how she knew exactly how to touch him- The moment she called him a good boy and gave him the head rush he needed, he was a fucking goner.

“Gonna cum, gonna cum, M’gonna cum-“ he babbled her name as he found his release. Jerking against her, hot ribbons of the pearly cum shot against the covered cunt and over her tummy. His balls pulsed as he unloaded on her, smearing it over himself and her as his hips sloppily worked him through the orgasm. Face slack in rapture, he let out a hoarse groan as the last of it spilled from his tip, hips jerking a few times before he felt her hand fall and his mouth descended on hers again.

“You’re gonna be the end of me, hm?” He slurred, biting her lip with a hum before he lowered his body onto hers. His prick was sensitive but he made no move to pull back, pecking her over and over again as she caressed his cheek with her choking hand. Y/N was by far the best at it regardless, intuition leading her to know exactly what he liked. “Feel like m’fucking floating. Dunno if it’s the high or your cunt.” He snickered, feeling her return the laugh.

“Probably a mix of both.” She smiled, giving him a few kisses of her own. “But we’ve got plenty to keep it going for a while. Are you up for it, pretty boy?” The girl had no plans but to be blazed and fucked for the rest of the night, and she hoped he was on the same page.

“M’up for anything, you fuckin’ goddess.” He mumbled as he sat up on his knees to look at the mess they’d made. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, her cunt and little thatch of hair visible through the now transparent fabric and splattered with cum on the ruined panties and her tummy. It made his mouth water just looking at it. “Jesus… look at this.” He mumbled, spreading her further open with his hand. “Seems like I’ve got a lot of work to do, don’t I?”

566 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 29 days

Text

MIST | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 11.3k

summary: one encounter with jungkook makes you forget about your boyfriend.

playlist: mist / pinterest board: mist

warnings: the unfolding of polyamory, provocation, cuckold kink, cum eating, oc and yoongi fight, use of vulgar names, mentions of female masturbation, punishment, spanking, hair pulling, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, nipple play, disobedience, use of a sex toy, multiple orgasms, yoongi isn't comfortable with a certain sexual practice at first, spit kink, oc feels pain and likes it

note: it's here, you guys oh my god. this is part two of STEAM. i thought this would have only two parts, but when i got to the end, it was evident that it needs another one. i worked hard on this, guys. if you haven't read my little updates, i was literally sick today and threw up my breakfast, but i still somehow managed to get this writing done, so make sure you let me know how much you love this, hate this, what you expect and what you're feeling. pls!!! my inbox is open for you always x enjoy reading, love you all. ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

side note: HOBI'S NEW ALBUM IS OUT SLDKFJSDLFJSFJSLDF.

The night is feverish.

So much that small pearls of its perspiration settle over the arc of your hand, between your thumb and your index, peeking from beneath the enfolding of your crossed legs. It’s as if the darkened heavens were hot and bothered while eavesdropping on the conversation you’re having with the two males sitting by the table, one right next to you and the other across from you. Even the clouds have halted their drift and the stars… they haven’t dared to blink, focused entirely on the question slipping from the mouth of the male you’ve known the least amount of time.

Is this gonna be a one time thing?

You will your mind to be empty, for if you allow yourself to think about it, your answer is as clear as the flare of those lights above. And you don’t want to voice out how much you like the idea of the sex being continual in fear of being turned down, in fear of Jungkook wanting this to be a one night only matter. What’s worse, you’re terrified of awakening Yoongi’s wrath. You believe the wine in your hand is the only bitterness you can manage to swallow.

Oh.

You chuckle.

A mist blankets your shoulders, the softest of summer drizzles. A briskness that steals your attention from the double meaning swarming in your brain. But when you lift your eyes to welcome in the small rain, it’s Jungkook’s gaze that you meet. Dark eyelashes, heavied down by the weight of the half-drunk bottle of red that you and him have been drinking. An ivory swirl of brightness glossing over dilated pupils, fixated on you. On your own blurry left eye, the sheen of your mouth, past your neck to the shimmery glow of your collarbones and your right eye. The coldness of the mist thickens, yet it’s not the reason behind your gooseflesh. No, it’s quite far from it.

What roughens your skin is that very intentional stare. The slight narrowness to his once perpetually round eyes as he, for a mere second, shifts his gaze from your boyfriend back to you, adamantly expecting a response, one you refuse to have. It’s such a stark change to his countenance that, besides being stirred by it, you’re completely in awe of it. The smooth forehead, the slightly raised brow and smug mouth, now adorned with a lip ring that wasn’t there before. You don’t find the good man with purity in his eyes that, days ago, made a ruckus out of your life sitting before you, but someone else entirely.

A man, whose arousal emanates out of him like fragrance, seeping into your fresh mango scent scattered along the perimeters of your skin.

A man, like Yoongi had predicted, came to you like a puppy through him, asking you out for dinner.

Horny puppy. You squeeze your legs, hiding your faint smile behind the rim of your wine glass, tilting the carmine nectar into your mouth. Jungkook examines the bobble of your throat, the dart of your tongue as the muscle drifts across the rosy brownness of your bottom lip and you’re heedful of it—a moonlight personified, the mist around you like the clouds clinging to that planetary body.

Jungkook calls you by your name. “What’s funny?”

A momentary stillness. You thought your soft laughter was unheard. Your brain goes empty, mouth parts, the entirety of your vocabulary vanishes—

“I think that’s something we decide after the night is over,” Yoongi answers Jungkook’s question lowly, propping a strong palm on the cloth of the table. The wet breeze dampens his hair, leaves a glow to his pale face. You wonder how he feels—if he’s still as okay with it as he was while fucking the life out of you—if he’s now, perhaps, facing some internal doubts that you know nothing of, that he hides beneath his words. “A collective decision.”

He looks at you and beams at you with a tight-lipped smile. An expression that conveys that he wants this for you. You let out a sigh of relief, placing your hand on top of his and Yoongi makes a space for your fingers to fold in between his. Like he always does when he’s giving you backshots.

A gooseflesh changed for hot flashes. You become the night, its fever thudding inside your lit skin. A familiar ache begins to grow in between your legs, demanding it. As if Jungkook’s lustful expression and energy wasn’t enough, your boyfriend had to remind you of something so intimate.

You want both of them—right now.

Jungkook’s gape falls on your intertwined hands. Lover’s grasp. You note recognition, and perhaps a flashback, pulses with a dimmed light for a mere heartbeat in his eyes. It worsens your ache and, like Yoongi’s hair, you feel your panties dampen under your dress. You squeeze your thighs one more time before you untangle your legs, your heels clanging on the concrete, your knee bumping into Jungkook’s.

So close to him, yet so far away.

You let yourself dream about how he fucks. Rough strokes, those muscled thighs straddling you—

“You agree with this?”

A question from him directed towards you. Your throat dries up, dizzy from being pulled back to Earth. You take a long sip of your wine, but it doesn’t help your state. On the contrary, the buzz of the alcohol makes you tremble all over, intensifying your lightheadedness. You want to be fucked. Multiple times. Until you can’t walk.

You wet your lips. “Of course,” you say, squeezing Yoongi’s fingers once, twice, letting him know through your own version of Morse code how horny you’re becoming, hoping he gets the memo. “It’s smart. If we made the decision now, who’s to say you won’t get sick of me?”

Your response hurt you and you cringe, regretting your words. Your knuckles turn white, the breeze brushes through your hair and you relax your hold. Let out a hard breath.

If he got sick of you after fucking you, you’d hate yourself for the rest of your life. Move out to a cave, far from civilization, so no one would see you ever again.

Jungkook raises his brows, shaking his head. The smug smile on his lips remains, as if sewn into his skin. You wish you could wipe it away and straddle him right here in front of everyone—

“Sweetheart, don’t think that. I won’t get sick of you.” He toys with the foot of his wine glass, fingers moving it in slow circles as though he was—

Such a fucking tease.

Your clit throbs. You won’t think that, all right. You’ll keep your mind empty and stupid just for him.

You watch the movement of his digits, smiling slyly. The night rushes within you and, mentally, you wrap a collar around your neck in order to stop yourself from crawling across the table and taking a seat on his lap. A yearning forms. A yearning to feel the semi you know full well he’s sporting in his pants. You bite your lip, squeezing Yoongi’s hand again. He merely chuckles, aware of what the pair of you is doing and it’s too much for you.

You need a dick rearranging your guts. Right now.

Perhaps, two.

You stifle a groan.

“Tell you what. I have a cabin out in the mountains. With toys,” Jungkook says and you widen your eyes, his deep voice fraternizing with the night in you. Toys as in…? “An hour away from here. I can show you there how much I’m willing to not get sick of you.”

Yoongi’s chuckle amplifies and you’re struck. Fucked up. Your cunt drools, ruining your panties. Your cheeks flush. Feverish, beyond feverish—you’re on fire. Your breathing gains speed and fuck. Toys?

You have no thoughts. All that your brain is filled with is dick. Two dicks.

Yoongi lifts his hand, unsnarling your intertwinement, and he sneaks it beneath your dress. His fingers feel up the drenched material of your underwear and hums. You reckon he already expected to find you wet and his sound of approval coaxes more of your dewiness to try and come into contact with him, but to your dismay and his, the fabric stands in the way.

For two beats of time, Yoongi puts pressure on your clit as he feels up more of you and, faintly, so no one hears, you mewl, hiding your face beneath your palm. You swallow your whine for more, instead you sigh, camouflaging your moment of weakness. Bury your gaze into Yoongi’s, silently pleading him to take you home.

Yoongi only smirks down at you before he faces Jungkook. “She’s wet. I think it’s safe to say she’d like that.”

You slap his arm and Yoongi takes his hand away. The men laugh and you feel terrible, but not for long. You decide to take charge of the energy.

“What kind of toys?” You will your voice to be confident and it’s only a split of it that comes out. You don’t mind—it’s enough because it silences their laughter, seriousness taking place instead.

Jungkook licks his lips, adjusting in his seat—like Yoongi during that video call—and you sense it moving through you. You also feel the need to adjust, to peel your panties away from your cunt, discomfort seizing you a little. “I’ll show you tomorrow. Or the weekend after that?” Your eyes widen in panic. No—no, you can’t wait that long. He smiles fondly at you, sensing your emotions. “Tomorrow, then.”

You sigh in relief, downing your wine, but Jungkook isn’t done with you.

“Will you pack your little red robe?”

You choke.

Amidst the chaos of the situation, you didn’t even realize he saw you. You didn’t even detect his eyes drifting that low. Thought Yoongi’s body colliding into you prevented him from seeing your intimate nighttime attire, but then you grasp that due to your shock, you might have missed that.

Jungkook’s smirk widens.

Oh, you want to say you’ll pack your little lace number that Yoongi particularly likes, along with your garters and stockings, though you opt to say something else entirely. You decide you want to steam him a tiny bit. Dominate the energy. Make him uneasy. For ulterior motives.

“Will you brush off the cobwebs on your condoms when packing or should I buy you new ones?” You quirk your brow, finger wiping away the drop of red that slipped out of the corner of your mouth. It’s all just talk—you want him to fuck you raw—a straight allusion to his loneliness that Yoongi told you about. Amused, Jungkook’s darkened eyes follow your movement.

“Will you lick that finger?”

You’re convinced your bloodstream came to a standstill. You don’t breathe, you don’t hear anything—your entire being becomes him, melding with the night, the moonlight. It’s him who now erases your brain. Yoongi touches your thigh, his fingers skimming the bare skin, but you don’t feel them. No, you pierce your gaze through Jungkook’s, penetrating right into his soul. And you simply decide that you want to own it.

So much for steaming.

“Do you want me to?” you retort, fluttering your lashes, the smile you give him as seductive as moonlight fluttering in you. You tap your finger on your bottom lip. Watch as his hand drifts somewhere beneath the table.

He taps your knee in the same, identical beat. And, instinctively, you widen your legs. Your other knee bumps into Yoongi’s thigh.

His first touch on your skin. You burn. Thank the heavens for slipping the idea inside your mind to wear a short dress. You inhale a breath in. Bite your lip, impatient for his answer. Tense your body so your trembles aren’t evident. You want to be strong, confident, despite the fact your body longs to submit to Jungkook—to be at his complete disposal, to be his, his to smooth down those quivers.

Jungkook spreads his fingers along the roundness of your knee. Caresses you once. Then, nods. “Lick it for me.”

Your heart jumps out of your chest. Right into his glass of wine. A flashback fills your brain—Yoongi saying familiar words to you on the night that perpetually changed your life. Stick it in your mouth for me. It must have rustled through his being just like it has in you. Has caused enough mayhem in him that he used those words. For me. He wants you to be naughty, be a little slut that listens to his commands—for him.

Oh, and you shall do as he asks.

Yoongi spreads an arm on the back of your chair, fingers sinking into your hair. The attention of both men, the lewdness, your wetness coating your panties, the warmth of the wine in your stomach, the night and the soft rain—you brim with life. You’re so elated that you’re sure you’re luminous.

You plunge your red-tinged finger into your mouth. Keep it open for both men to see how you swirl your tongue around the digit before you close it. You make exaggerated sucking noises, your instincts and habits telling you to roll your eyes, but you decide against them. You’re in public after all—and you don’t really want to give Jungkook the full experience. Not yet.

But then Yoongi pulls your hair and unwittingly, in a second, you moan. You shoot him a look, withdrawing your finger. He only chuckles, loosening his hold on your hair, the love in his eyes growing, mingling with joy and excitement. The sight of it calms you like still, deep waters and suddenly, you’re suffused with the desire to kiss him.

Jungkook steals your attention, however. In typical fashion.

He squeezes your knee between his thumb and forefinger, making you look at him. He’s propped his elbows on his thighs and the position broadens his shoulders more, the fabric of his black linen shirt taut around his muscles. The breeze quivers his lashes, strengthening the dimness and the lustfulness in his eyes. No glint of light to be found—just an abyss, bottomless eternity, enlivened by the scent of chocolate, the color of his eyes. It doesn’t unnerve you, on the contrary it boundlessly stimulates you.

“You listen well,” he drawls, skimming his first knuckle down the smoothness of your shin before trailing back up. Gooseflesh—hard, thrilling gooseflesh. Your breath comes out choppy and you’re too transfixed by his feisty, lascivious aura to do something, anything about it. “But can you misbehave?”

Your jaw falls open. At a loss for words. Brain muddy, cunt dripping. Your vocabulary long gone, your decision to be the one who takes charge of the situation long forgotten, long erased—more like—by someone who’s proved himself to be more dominant than your own boyfriend. Your boyfriend who has made you cry multiple times during sex.

You let your trembles show. Bare, vulnerable.

Yoongi strokes your hair, nuzzling his face behind your ear, placing a singular kiss there and it grounds you. Envelops a shield of safety around you. The breeze nourishes it.

Jungkook slaps the side of your thigh softly. You gasp almost breathlessly, the impact vibrating through your body, the pulse on your clit a full drum.

“Tomorrow then. At my cabin. Bring your robe,” he mutters, hypnotizing you with his gaze and you submit to it, unreservedly. This time, he drags his palm down your shin and his warmth guides you as you extend your leg for him, propping it between his outstretched legs, on the edge of his chair. He straightens, welcoming your gesture. “No condoms, no panties. Pussy dripping, preferably.” He halts the venture of his hand at your ankle, long fingers stretching to grab a hold of the heel of your stiletto. Flicks his eyes to Yoongi. “You can either make sure she’s wet or,” he pauses, whisking his gaze back to you. “You can touch your pussy for me? How’s that?”

A carousel of dreams floods your mind and, fighting against the lodge in your throat, you voice out the one you like the most. You don’t want Yoongi to decide for you—you desire the decision to be yours, yours only. “Can I call you then?”

Jungkook quickly raises his brows, stupefied by your answer. He didn’t expect that from you, and that fact makes you giddy. Night flowers begin to bloom in you, evening primrose and chocolate daisy—his flowers. They spread their petals when he says, “of course you can. Call me from his phone.”

Ever so persistent in the game of the roleplay. You could have exchanged numbers, but no. He wants it to be from the cuck’s phone.

Yoongi grips your thigh, hard enough to make you wince. Even through your hypnosis, tipsiness and arousal, you sense that something is wrong. You turn your head to look at him and you discover that the love in his eyes, joy and excitement has gone out. Solemness has replaced it and into it, little by little, like the bottle of red Jungkook now tilts to your glass, overflows his wine of wrath.

The threat you feared the most.

You drop your leg to the ground and Jungkook lets you. Yoongi slackens his hold and you wonder what it was exactly that Yoongi didn’t like. The fact that Jungkook touched your leg or the plan between the pair of you—you touching yourself for him—that never had his approval? You release a breath, aware that you’ve done something very bad and your hypnosis and your smile declines with it. You even push your glass away, sobering up. The night flowers in you wilt.

Yoongi relaxes beside you and you slip your fingers between his.

You must have overdone it and the perception of that causes guilt to pool in your core. You should’ve at least looked at Yoongi to make sure he’s okay with it before jumping head-first. Nerves rise within you and you reach for your pack of cigarettes, hoping to chase your negative feelings away. Both men watch you, but the energy has already shifted. Arousal has evaporated and now, like the mist, seriousness settles in its place. Jungkook gives you a soft smile and you realize that your guilt is written all over your face, but he doesn’t say anything. Not to you; not to Yoongi.

The man before you returns to the good man you know, although his smug pride doesn’t let him become the healer that you know him to be.

The ride home is silent.

Jungkook texted Yoongi the address to his cabin as soon as you said your goodbyes. Your boyfriend scowled at the message before he pocketed his phone, taking your hand and walking a little faster to his car, as if to run away from the mess you’ve created. You felt so bad that you let him trail you behind him like a child, chin tilted to your chest, the heft of your guilt pressing down at you like a murky cloud.

The rain is thickening by the time Yoongi drives down the familiar road to his apartment. He keeps his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel and the gear stick, knuckles white like the moonlight that left you and fled back to the dark heavens. He doesn’t reach for the radio or his phone to play some music. Lets the rain sing instead; lets the rain mend the tension between you. You overfill, uncomfortably, with so many beginnings to your sentences, but none of them fit right—none of them really portray what you think you should say to him, so it all falls into the abyss of the night that still lingers within you.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first when he kills the engine, as if he needed the fifteen minute long car drive to think about what just happened, but it’s not the words that you want to hear. He stares ahead at the line of cars parked before him, at the canopy of trees bending to their roofs. The pitter-patter sounds of the raindrops worsen the guilt eating at your insides, especially when Yoongi remains seated with his hands in his lap.

“You’re not calling him tomorrow.”

Your deduction was right. He didn’t like the idea of you calling Jungkook while you’d be touching yourself. You get that he has the right to not feel comfortable letting his friend in on a particular sexual practice, but you want to know why. If you’re not getting your own way and he gets to decide everything, you at least want to know the reason.

“Why?” you ask, calmly. I want to, you don’t add. You fold your hands on your lap similarly to him, mirroring his body language. Feel the bubble of your disappointment sizzling in you.

“You’re fucking him tomorrow and that’s the end of it,” he mutters, waving a hand through the air sharply to emphasize his words. Doesn’t look at you. Not once. “No collective fucking decision. One time and that’s it.”

You will your calmness to stay, even when a foam of your own wrath pours into your disappointment. Do your own wishes and desires not matter at all in this situation? Or does the unfolding of it only belong to Yoongi and you have no say in it? Are you to shut your mouth or speak up?

He was the one who made a comment about your self-pleasure to Jungkook when he was fucking the shit out of you and picked up his phone to call him. I recall her saying your name would be pretty to moan while she played with her pussy. Why did he say it if the thought of you pleasuring yourself on the phone with his friend makes him jealous? Did he really think Jungkook wouldn’t latch onto it, not want it to play out in real life?

The uncertainty, the questions devour your gut, but you go back to the start.

“That’s not what I asked.”

Yoongi sighs. Hangs his head and rakes his hands through his hair. “I said—”

You suck in a breath. “That’s not what I asked,” you spit out with a venom that you didn’t mean and Yoongi finally looks at you—catches you closing your eyes at the rush of your emotions and turning your head away from him. “I want to know why.”

Yoongi scoffs. “How come you don’t know, huh?” His voice raises in volume and it paralyzes you with fear—he’s never yelled at you before. The question itself strikes you cold and you don’t like the feeling of it crawling up your legs. “How come I have to fucking remind you?”

You’re embarrassed that you don’t know what he’s talking about, caught in the middle. You want to get out of this car and walk home, afraid—so terribly afraid of what might come next. Fuck the rain, you don’t care.

Silence, intertwined with the long breaths that he’s trying to calm himself with, floods the car. You don’t know what to say and Yoongi keeps it at that. You consider the conversation finished.

Your hand reaches for the handle.

“Stay in the car.”

Your back faces him. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Then get drenched in the fucking rain.”

In disbelief, you turn around to look at him. Yoongi boils with anger, elbow propped on the door, index finger outstretched along his cupid’s bow, staring down the myriads of cars before him, setting them on fire with his gaze.

“And I will,” you bark, frowning at him, needing to have the last word. “Don’t come running after me.”

Your hand reaches the handle again and pops it open, your foot swinging over to the wet ground, but Yoongi grabs your leg and hauls you back inside, closing the door shut.

You open your mouth to yell at him. “What is your—”

Yoongi takes your face in his hand, puckers your lips and kisses you harshly. You groan, but you don’t fight it. In fact, you kiss him back, needing him—needing him warm and not cold to you. He stays nose-to-nose once he withdraws, watching as your irises dilate. The sadness that you catch whirling past his eyes punches you in the gut, hard enough that you regret the fight you’ve caused, regret every word you said and every action that can never be erased. You hate yourself for your desires, for your ugly soul and your abhorrence becomes an anchor wrapped around your heart, dragging it down.

You whimper, but no tears come out. Yoongi pulls you onto his lap and cradles you, folding you into his chest. He rubs you back in circles, sweeps your hair to one side and you cling to his heat, wondering what the fuck just happened.

You and him never had an argument before, never met each other halfway through the decaying meadow of negative feelings while being two opposite forces. You both were always there for the other person, absorbing their feelings, on their side through and through. Until now, you’ve truly never been two separate people with separate emotions and it’s a reality check. A breath of fresh air—the sudden, brisk disentanglement of an unhealthy attachment.

Jungkook didn’t just make a ruckus out of your life, but out of your relationship, too. And by that ruckus, he healed it.

And right then and there, you find the beginning to your sentence that you were searching for.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the fabric of his polo shirt and your apology stops Yoongi’s motions. You lift your head to look into his eyes. “I should’ve checked in with you—I admit that. It was wrong of me. You’re allowed to not be okay with something and I should respect it, act accordingly, even when I might have a different opinion.”

And your opinion shouldn’t change to be identical to his. Your thinking is your thinking. You’re your own person.

The anchor loosens and falls from your heart when that understanding takes form within you. You feel much lighter.

Yoongi frowns, but it doesn’t perturb you. Not anymore. “I will say this once so listen to me carefully,” he says, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m not letting him see you touch yourself because that belongs to me—that’s what we do. Remember that.”

So that’s what he meant. Guilt clenches your heart in a deathly grip for not knowing, for not realizing it.

“If you so much as touch your clit tomorrow when he fucks you, I won’t think twice to carry you away and leave him with blue balls,” he continues, keeping his hand on your cheek. “You’re still mine, even when I’m letting him have you. You’re mine. You got that?”

You place your hands on his shoulders and nod.

“Are you still okay with it, though?” you ask, not expecting him to go along with it after this and you wouldn’t be disappointed, not anymore. The healing that took place is bigger than your desire. The freedom that you feel is better than anything your intimate parts ask for. Your relationship at this very state, at this very moment, has grown past the sexual part. Before it was just lustful love. “We don’t have to do it. Jungkook would understand, wouldn’t he?”

Yoongi sighs and presses a kiss on your cheek. You feel all of his stress and wrath dispersing into your skin. “I want this for you, honey. You were so excited about it, so into it. I’ve never seen you filled with so much light before.”

You do the same for him—you press the same kiss, on the same right side of his cheek. “So just tomorrow then?”

A tight-lipped smile, like the one at the beginning of the night. Yoongi nods. “Just tomorrow.”

You disobeyed in every way you could. Brought panties and condoms. Left your red little robe at home. Didn’t look once at the lace little number you planned to pack. Decided you wanted to keep that for Yoongi’s eyes only.

Decided you were going to paint your encounter with Jungkook with different colors, one that differs from the stained ones on your palette that you use with Yoongi.

He wants you to be bad. Yoongi wants you to be good.

It’s all your mind is suffused with as Yoongi drives into the woods and the sunlight spilling through the windshield, cutting through the trees, tempers it. No music, no conversation.

You’re empty. You think the brown barks of the passing trees have more life in them than you do and along with that difference rise questions. Questions of what you’re allowed to do and what you’re not. Questions that you’re wary to ask.

Not because there’s a lingering tension between you and Yoongi after the fight. As a matter of fact, he made love to you after you both ran for the door. Licked you clean of the rain while breathing in the heady scent of petrichor on your skin. All that had been broken was mended, beautifully. The reason why you’re nervous to ask is that you don’t want to venture back to that place of wrath. Where you are right now is a place of brisk freedom, one that you don’t want to leave, but to have a clear state of mind, you reckon you have to risk it.

You place your hand on top of Yoongi’s on the gear stick, breaking the silence with your body language. You turn your torso halfway to face him. Meet his angelic early-afternoon-kissed countenance, hidden by his black shades and the long wisps of hair falling to each side of his face.

Murmuring his name, Yoongi only hums at your call.

“I have some questions,” you say slowly, carefully making your way to the place you’re timid to go to.

“Ask away, honey.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I know I’m not allowed to touch myself and I won’t, I promise. But is there anything else that’s off limits?”

Yoongi also swallows sorely, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He takes a moment to think about it and because you’ve already brainstormed what he might not like, you make it easy for him.

“Is he allowed to kiss me?” you try, fingers grasping your dainty necklace to play with, to distract your nerves.

“Kissing is a part of sex, but if you’re not comfortable with kissing him, you don’t have to. Please,” Yoongi says your name with a sigh. “Don’t force yourself to do anything that doesn’t feel good. I beg you.”

A hit of your liquid emotions. A little vein of life springing in your body. You blink the sudden tears away, dipping your fingers into the space between his. You’re so grateful to have such a thoughtful, intelligent man like him.

“Okay, what about blowjobs?”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Ponders it. “Well, that’s an important part of the kink, isn’t it?” He looks at you momentarily before bringing his eyes back to the road. “Watching your girlfriend suck someone else’s dick. That’s the appeal.”

“Besides watching her get fucked.”

He chuckles shortly. “That’s what I’m most excited about.”

A soft smile. “You’re excited about watching me get fucked?” Yoongi nods, but you didn’t get the answer you wanted. You go back. “So you’re not comfortable with me sucking his—”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his forehead before slapping his hand back down on the steering wheel. “I don’t know yet, honey. We’ll see when we get there.” He squeezes it, the white of his knuckle appears and you take a mental note of that. No blowjobs, or no overindulging in the act, more like. Not knowing is an answer, too.

“And he’s allowed to eat me out?”

He doesn’t smile as he says, “he’s skilled with his tongue. You’ll lose your mind. It’s all I could ever want for you.”

You raise your brows in doubt. “No one is as skilled as you.” At that, his coy smile finally rises and you brush your thumb across the side of his hand. “Will you join in or are you just gonna watch?”

Yoongi shifts the gear and speeds down the road. “I was planning to watch only, but I guess it depends on the situation. I’m willing to join if I feel like it.” He lifts your hand and kisses the soft skin. “You nervous, honey?”

You still feel slightly empty, no nerves to be found. You shake your head ‘no’.

“You’re gonna like it there. It’s a nice cabin.”

What Yoongi said was an understatement.

When you witness the greenery enveloping the mountains, you stand gaping with your mouth half open. A warm summer wind billows in and out of the balcony, ushering in such liveliness and joy of life that you feel it slinking into each and every pore of your body, filling you up with all that you’ve been lacking. Giddiness clutches you and lingers, the flimsy curtains quivering against your thigh with each movement to and fro. You willingly become the nature—the sunlight and the slowly diffusing mist wrapped around the grays, blues and greens. The trees curtsy at your presence and a fond smile blossoms on your face.

Now, at last, you can’t wait to get fucked. You’re glad it’s going to happen at such a lovely place like this.

Jungkook, dressed in a white oversized T-shirt and a pair of cargos, takes your travel bag from Yoongi’s hand. He looks so soft that it’s hard to believe you’re staring at the same man from yesterday—he changes drastically when he’s aroused, like you takes on the likeness of the dark whenever he hears its call. It’s fascinating to you.

“Come see the room upstairs.”

Quietly, you and Yoongi follow him, your feet thudding along the wood of the stairs. And there, there your breath gets snatched altogether.

A white, heavenly canopy above the king sized bed, white furniture—void of any dust—adorned with nourished plants that sway and rustle in the wind. The summer breathes through the open wide windows and in the corner, next to a dresser, a mirror stands, a mirror with a rocking chair right beside it that causes gooseflesh to prick at your skin.

If this is where you’re getting fucked, Yoongi will have first row view of it. It’s as if Jungkook planned it all along and that speculation causes a shiver to run down your spine.

Jungkook sets your bag and Yoongi’s on the mattress. Skims his surroundings in case there’s any untidiness that he hasn’t touched and one glance at Yoongi tells you that he spent the first half of the day cleaning up the place.

Cute puppy. You and Yoongi share a smile.

“This is where you’ll be sleeping,” Jungkook says, straightening his spine.

“We’ll be sleeping?” you joke and the men shoot you a look, which makes you burst out into laughter. The sound blends into the song of the birds and the sway of the trees. You feel a spark of joy perk up in your chest.

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

Oh.

He said it so casually that you feel hot all over. You glimpse at Yoongi, though his face utters no words of emotion. Eyes fixed at a point on the hardwood floors, hands in his pockets, teeth nibbling on his bottom lip. Did he not say he was excited to watch you get fucked? Have you made a mistake?

You rake a hand through your hair, exhausted of your questions and doubt.

Jungkook leads you back down to the main floor, but Yoongi stays behind. Wants to take a shower before lunch. Nervousness nips at your fingertips at the thought of being alone with his friend, but you nod anyways, having no other choice.

You watch the swing of his body as he goes down the stairs, little wisps of hair bouncing on the back of his head that you find immensely endearing. They’re like some floppy ears of a puppy to you. Your breasts bounce as well with each skip down and you become aware of how full they are in your low neckline as with each movement your bare, pebbled nipples graze against its fabric, stimulating you, sending a familiar ache down to your intimate parts beneath the ruffles of your skirt.

You need to be very careful from this moment on upon this dangerous territory.

“I want to show you something,” Jungkook says, walking towards the balcony. He doesn’t look back at you, he just expects that you’re following him blindly and something about that overwhelms you peculiarly. You want to slap yourself for getting aroused so quickly—you just got here.

He extends his arms along the railing and you saunter to his side, taking a peek above his shoulder but failing, miserably. All you face is the hard wall of his muscles, even when you lift yourself on your tippy toes and it makes you huff out a frustrated breath against the material of his T-shirt, despite the fact his tall form dampens your cunt—

Is it your ovulation day? Fuck, you make a mental note to check that later.

Jungkook turns his head to look at you and chuckles. Grabs the back of your neck to push you closer to the railing and you fear your eyes will pop out of their sockets due to the way you widen them. The second body part he touched—one of many. You hope, you pray he keeps his hand there but he withdraws as soon as your fingers wrap around the wood of the railing. You narrow your lips in a tight line.

He points to what he wanted to show you. You try your hardest to not notice the details of his tattooed hand, to ignore the silver ring around that index finger of his and the ghost of his touch on the nape of your neck. You close your eyes for a heartbeat to regain your composure before they catch the view he’s pointing to.

A pond. A clear body of water under a thick weeping willow that wets its petals in the freshness of it. Your mouth parts. You sense his gaze on you, but you can’t reciprocate it. Not when such a lovely view like this lulls your soul, permeates it with the pleasure of beauty.

“Can we get closer?” you ask, mesmerized completely.

Jungkook grabs your elbow. Another body part. He drags you to another set of stairs. And you realize that the balcony is a veranda of some sort. The feeling of grass under your bare feet is exhilarating and, like a child, you begin to run to the pond, your skirt furling around you, exposing a sliver of your bottom. Jungkook lets you. Walks sluggishly with his hands in his pockets, watching you—smirking at that piece of skin he got to see.

You crouch to touch the stillness of the water, your fingertips reflected upon it. The coldness, despite the steaming sunlight, is so refreshing and you long to take a dip, to fill your hot body with the briskness it so evidently needs.

Standing upright, you twist to yap about how beautiful the scenery is—but Jungkook pushes you into the water.

You were so wrong. So very wrong.

Your feverish body didn’t need the coolness of the pond to dull your arousal because when you come up for air and your little outfit sticks to you body, your heartbeat picks up its speed, thumping in tandem with your clit. Jungkook wipes his smirking mouth at the sight of you and you’ve convinced that’s your undoing.

Nipples stiffened through your little top. Skirt shrunken. Skin wet and glossy. You run your palms through your hair, squeezing water out of your strands, feeling sensual, confident and so fucking playful. You smirk right back at him when you wade your way to him. Pull your shoulders back, tits on full show for him, when you lift your leg onto the grass.

And you stalk him down. You thought he’d move but he stays put. Those hands still in his pockets, those eyes zeroing down on yours—now different, now much smaller. Darker. Willing you to come after him.

“Prick.” You screw up your face at him, your chest tightening, an inch away from his.

Jungkook releases a breath. Grins smugly, briefly, swiping his tongue down the side of his inner cheek, as if he liked the fact you called him something like that. His irises drift down to your tits unabashedly and you swear you can see his hands twitching—

“You look pretty like this,” he murmurs, irises back on yours, twinkling, dilated. “Wet.”

You blush. Ache to be touched. Think about Yoongi and whether he’s finished with his shower because you need to be attended to. Taken to a safe place where the pleasure of his words and energy can unfold, where you can enjoy it. But Jungkook hypnotizes you again—and you don’t know how he does it, how he manages to draw your body close to his without hands. You hate him for it.

“Prick,” you repeat, more to yourself than him, drops of water trickling down every perimeter of your skin.

Jungkook cups your chin, raising it to his level. “And what else?”

You dart out your tongue and wet your mouth— slowly around the arc of your top lip to tease him. Then, you narrow your eyes even more at him. “Asshole.”

Affectionately, he titters, influenced by your actions so much that you catch flecks of drunkenness in his features. It makes you feel so brilliant that you beam up at him and once his laughter softens, he reciprocates the grin. Like you and Yoongi had, but in a different way.

The swish of the willow tree. A teetering bird. Jungkook fondles your glowy cheek.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Your breath lodges in your throat but you push against it. Want to speak up. “I couldn’t.”

He frowns. “But did you want to?”

You nod. The question causes you to blossom, shed the last of thorns left in your body from the attachment. He’s the only person you could say this to and naively you trust that he won’t peep a word to Yoongi. A relief bolts through you that you put yourself first and spoke your truth for the first time in your life. You understand the reason why Yoongi isn’t comfortable with that practice and you promised him you wouldn’t do it. Intending to keep your word, it doesn’t change your opinion, however. Your opinion being that there’s nothing wrong with letting him see this part of your sex life.

It could be reversed. Jungkook being the one who watches.

He wraps his fingers back around your chin, hovers his thumb an inch away from your lips, as if he’s fighting himself from touching them. “Tell me with your words.”

A question that makes the time stand still. Do you listen or misbehave?

The decision is fast.

You press up your body against his. Jungkook sucks in a breath at the sensation of your stiffened nubs beneath his pecs, the water of the pond soaking through his T-shirt, marking your tits on him. You interlock your hands behind your back and Jungkook withdraws his hand. Surprises you when he lets it roam down your arm until he finds your clasped wrist.

He’s waiting for your answer. You know he is. And you want to gratify the puppy.

“I did want to rub my clit for you,” you breathe out and the hotness of his exhale envelopes you in a heat, even more so when his other hand grips your wrist and nuzzles you even further into the shadow of his body.

Hard length against your tummy. The roundness of his nose nudging against yours. It’s too much, way too fucking much and you mewl—to which Jungkook immediately responds, approves of the sound, of your neediness and presses you closer to him, your tits squished against him.

Lips above your ear, he whispers, “would you have called me or would you have let me see?”

He takes both of your wrists into his fist and his other hand goes to your wet hair, smoothing down the strands. You find the gesture calming, calming enough for you to say, “let you see.”

You inhale his scent—wood, vanilla and fabric softener. The fragrance of gentleness.

“Hm, would you have fingered yourself for me?” Jungkook continues, pulling your hair so you look at him. No hint of darkness in his eyes, but tenderness—a healing kind of tenderness that makes you give yourself over to him.

“Yes. More than once.”

Jungkook grunts. Turns you around and flips your skirt to see if you’re wearing any panties. Is met with the bareness of your behind as your choice of underwear for the day is a white thong. Optical illusion.

A quick heartbeat. Dry throat.

He straightens you and presses you back against him—this time from behind. Lips to ear, the same one. You feel the shape of him on your palms. Thick. Big. You roll your eyes back. “On the count of three, you run and hide. If I find you, you get fifteen spanks for wearing panties when I specifically told you not to.” His breathing turns ragged, in sync with yours, the thought of punishing you turning him on.

“What happens if you can’t find me?” You squeeze his full balls and you hear that grunt again, vibrating through you.

“You don’t wanna know. Did you forget I have toys?”

With that, he pushes you and you gaze back at him with horror—a lustful horror that blazes you. What kind of toys does he have? You want to find out, badly enough that you don’t mind misbehaving.

Jungkook begins to count.

You don’t wait until you hear the number three before you run for your life.

Inside the cabin, near the balcony, you bump into Yoongi’s naked chest. And you don’t have time to react before Yoongi scowls down at you, ridding you of any sounds of shock that desire to pour out of you.

“Why the fuck are you wet?” he asks, bracing you with both hands, skimming a glance upon the sight of you.

You panic. “Yoongi, I—”

A creak on the hardwood floors behind you. You round your brows. Will you ever make a decision on your own? Your fate was, again, picked for you. By Yoongi, by Jungkook—who didn’t give you enough time to hide.

Even a tendril of disappointment doesn’t have time to perforate your being because you sense another hand on the ruffle of your dripping skirt.

“Tell me why you didn’t take the second to make sure she was bare for me? You don’t check her holes?”

A deep, indignant murmur. Not expressed towards you, but towards your boyfriend. Yoongi’s scowl deepens, but you smile through your shock—the sun leaking through the clouds—and you sneak a finger along the definition of his abdomen that tenses under your touch. A conveyance that it has begun—that he should play along. You nod your head even, shortly, letting him know it’s okay.

Yoongi relaxes. Drifts his hands to your palms, holds them. Flicks his eyes to Jungkook above your head. Swallows. “She’s a brat that has a mind of her own,” he says and perhaps he’s right. Now you get to be one, at last. “She didn’t even pack her robe. Did she tell you that?”

You freeze. Jungkook fists your skirt.

Lips back to your ear. Heat radiating. You hope Yoongi didn’t see the marks of your breasts on his T-shirt. “Is that right?”

Vigor courses through you. You get to be a brat. And the possibility makes you feel infinitely alive.

“Yes,” you giggle, and when Yoongi gives you an endearing smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, you find that safe place you were searching for, that you needed. “I figured I should be naked for the occasion.”

Jungkook scoffs. “And yet you disobeyed me. Do you even use your brain or are you just that horny?”

Your lashes quiver at that, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, feeling stupid, although you know the reason behind your defiance.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He pushes you towards Yoongi until you collide into his chest. If your panties weren’t drenched from the pond, his manhandling would’ve taken care of that already. “Turn her around and strip her.”

You panic. Fear that Yoongi will see your tits on his T-shirt. Noticing your emotions, Jungkook understands. Pinches the back of his shirt and flings it on the back of the couch. Broad shoulders, big pecs, deeply defined abdominal muscles and the lines of his V leading into his intimate parts. No happy trail. Jungkook smiles at your relief. Your body flutters.

Yoongi’s hands grasp the hem of your soaked top and swiftly pull it over your head, making your full breasts bounce from the impact. He can’t help but knead them, face nuzzling into the crook of your forest-scented neck to pepper kisses there, and you catch the protest in Jungkook’s eyes—only to watch it dwindle away with the slow realization that he can’t tell your boyfriend not to touch you.

It makes you whimper. And the licks of Yoongi’s tongue and harsh kisses merely heighten that sound.

He continues as his hands find the waistband of your skirt and drag it down your hips until it plops onto the floor. And to fully present you to him at last, he hooks his thumbs under your thong—at which Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. Walking towards you, he kneels before you and Yoongi blows on the traces of saliva he left on the side of your neck. Shivers, ones that Jungkook smooths down on your thighs to calm you down before he rips your panties in one motion.

If Yoongi wasn’t holding you, you’d fall to the floor—your legs boneless, jelly.

Like a leaf out in the forest, your ruined thong plummets to your feet. Jungkook lifts your ankle, helping you step out of it. Throws the scrap on top of his T-shirt, perhaps as a keepsake.

He doesn’t rise. Gazes upon your cunt, instead. Upon the glistening of your folds and lips, the swollenness of your clit. You part your legs wider for him. In appreciation, he looks up at you and strokes the back of your knee. Pupils dilated, the black swallowing the brown. And when Yoongi presses his length against you, pinches your nipples and you roll your eyes back, your attention stolen, Jungkook rises to his feet.

Licks his fingers and places them on your clit, starting a speedy series of circles—and you can’t catch your breath. Not when Yoongi rolls your nipples under his digits, not when Jungkook narrows his eyes at you and commands, “apologize.”

The pleasure overwhelms you so fast and you can’t speak. Can’t for the life of you remember how to apologize and what for, especially not when you grind your ass against Yoongi’s length and he grunts into your ear, not when you’re aware of the quickening of Jungkook’s breath.

Briefly, Jungkook speeds up his pace before he plunges the same wet digits into your hole. Doesn’t let you adjust, but instead keeps filling you to the brim. Then, with the same rapidness, he fucks you.

And you can’t stop yourself from coming and drenching his hand. The second fastest orgasm of your life. Your drops of essence are added to the pile of chunks of dry mud, grass and the pond water dripping from your hair on the floor.

Jungkook withdraws, completely. And you feel cold without his heat, without his closeness. “Why did you come?”

Yoongi begins to focus on your earlobe and you perceive the smug, proud smirk on his mouth. You don��t know what to say—beyond overwhelmed, beyond fucked out. All you know is that you don’t have enough, that you need more, that you hated how quickly your orgasm came upon you.

Jungkook takes Yoongi’s hands gently and rearranges them. The right one on your cunt, the left one on your jawline. To your surprise, he lets him. Something about that coaxes a string of your wetness to trickle down your thigh.

Yoongi’s hold on your chin is rough, causing a litany of soft mewls to spill out of your mouth as you wait for the next move. Needy, horny. And your mewls turn into loud moans that waft out into the forest when Jungkook grips your tits, pushes them together and licks against both of your nipples, your whole body fluttering, trembling, weak and stimulated. Yoongi begins to rub your clit and Jungkook catches you go cross-eyed, stifling his chuckle, but smiling at you regardless.

Drawing close to you until your bare, wet nipples come into contact with his skin, he glimpses at your mouth once before boring his eyes into yours. “Apologize,” he says lowly. “Apologize for wearing panties.”

Yoongi squeezes your cheeks, puckering your mouth, despite the fact this is something you only do together. Then, Jungkook tilts his head to the side and kisses you softly, owning you entirely. The puffy tenderness of his mouth, the gentleness which he pressed that kiss with—Yoongi squeezes your cheeks even harder, opening your jaw, giving Jungkook the green light to use his tongue and you’re gone.

You’re gone when Jungkook swipes his tongue on top of yours. Gone when he toys with it, swirls around it for a moment before closing his lips around yours, kissing you deeply—the smacking sound so loud in your ears, so delicious that you moan, losing your strength to stand and sagging a little bit in Yoongi’s arms.

“Fuck,” you utter once he lets you breathe and even through the hypnosis, the hot flashes signaling the upcoming of your second orgasm and the blurriness of your vision, you can see how much that kiss affected him.

Softening glossy eyes, features loosening—smirk wiped clean, unbelief, wooziness and arousal in its place instead. Mouth parted, puffy, shiny with saliva. A beautiful, extraordinary sight.

“She can’t apologize, but she can swear,” Jungkook comments, but it doesn’t reflect the turmoil happening on the inside of him. And it doesn’t explain what he does next.

He kisses you again. More gently than before. A slight whirl of tongue around yours before he closes his lips against you all over again. Although this time, he doesn’t stop. He pinches your nipples with his fingers, over and over, while moving his mouth against yours, a slow ripple of the pond behind you if there ever was one. And you feel the heat, the sweat coating your body and you feel Jungkook feeling you come. You don’t have to make a sound. He knows.

Your orgasm is a deep current moving through you. Like that kiss. You lose yourself in it, eyes rolled back into darkness, fluttering to and fro—from light to dark—and when you resurface, you find Jungkook’s cavernous, enthralled gaze fixed on you, fixed on the forging process of your orgasm taking roots in you.

Yoongi lets you drop to the floor, breathless. Jungkook shoots him a dirty look, but you reach for the button of his pants, not caring. He stops you with a gentle grasp of your wrist. Bends to your level.

“You’re not sucking dick. Not mine, not his,” Jungkook snarls, helping you stand to your feet. Hooks an arm under your knees and back and lifts you into his arms—carries you upstairs, without any other words spared.

He sets you on the bed. Gently cleans your feet with a wet cloth and when he’s done, he takes a seat on the white rocking chair across from you. Palms his length briefly before he manspreads, propping his elbows on his thighs like he did at dinner. Once Yoongi arrives, he pats your head and caresses your hair, an apology for letting you fall. You’re on the verge of tears.

Jungkook doesn’t even look at him. “Fifteen spanks from him for wearing panties. Fifteen more from me for not apologizing. To me.”

Yoongi never spanked you. You recognize it’s as much of a punishment for him as it is for you. They haven’t been friends for a day. Jungkook must be very well aware of Yoongi’s disliking of any impact play. He might like to make you cry during sex, but he never uses violence to do so. He uses his words, his dominance and his length.

Jungkook is teaching him a lesson for letting you drop to the floor. And it coaxes an onrush of foreign emotions to swarm within you. You’re touched. Deeply, deeply touched.

So much that you don’t take in the fact you’re getting spanked thirty times.

Yoongi scowls and you’re sick of seeing it. Getting on your knees, you wait for him to sit down. He remains standing.

Jungkook clicks his tongue. “Sit down, hyung.”

Power play. He has no business ordering him around and calling him hyung while at it. Has no business to be in control when he’s the bull. Your essence sticks to your thighs.

“I’m not spanking her,” Yoongi mutters. “Do it yourself.”

Jungkook leans back, a finger to his temple. Darkness soaks him in heat and he shines, dimly. “You allowed it to happen, so you punish her. For me.” In other words: You dropped her, so you’re getting punished.

Yoongi has no other choice. You can see the defeat wrung into his face and he doesn’t look at his friend as he sits down. You do.

And the look you share should mangle your heart, but it doesn’t. You should feel bad that you’re on his side and not on Yoongi’s, but you don’t.

Purposefully, you angle your pussy so Jungkook has a perfect view of her as you crawl on Yoongi’s lap. One leg on the mattress, the other in the middle of his thighs—

“Lie down,” Jungkook orders and you listen, immediately, plopping down on Yoongi’s lap, making him gasp.

Yoongi cages you in. Pushes you farther towards his back, but you fight against it. You want to look at Jungkook when you’re getting spanked by your boyfriend for the first time, and so you twist your torso to the side. Just in time to catch a sunray penetrating his aura of darkness, enkindling him softly.

With his hand wrapped around his still clothed cock, Jungkook nods at Yoongi. You didn’t even realize he was waiting for his signal. Your pussy drools. Jungkook squeezes his girth in response.

The first spank is tender. And so is the second and the third. Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple, but he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

Fourth and fifth—it gains a small amount of intensity, barely. Sixth and seventh, he rubs both of your cheeks as if it hurt, when in reality it was a caress to you.

Jungkook slowly blinks at you, telling you to be patient through that gesture.

Because it’s the tenth one that makes you gasp. The prickling pain coursing through your body, pooling at your core—your core that shows him how much you liked that sharp spank. Jungkook smiles, proven right.

Yoongi’s breath shakes. His cock twitches against your stomach.

“Harder,” Jungkook mutters, his own breath quick, eyes never leaving yours. “For the last five. And faster.”

Yoongi obeys. Your moans grow in volume with each spank, your bottom painted in faint red. Yoongi quickly pulls you up to face him, brushing your hair away from your face.

“You liked that?” he asks in disbelief, eyes flicking between yours, looking for any hint of discomfort.

You nod. “I need—” Him, you don’t say. You can’t.

The rocking chair creaks. Jungkook walks towards you. You twist your body again to meet him halfway and he caresses your cheek, rewarding you. You go to turn your body wholly, but Jungkook stops you, holding you steady by the waist. While you still straddle Yoongi, knees on either side of his thigh, he gently prompts you to lift up your bum against him, arching your back, tits in Yoongi’s face.

“Stay like this,” he whispers into the waterfall of your hair and as you rub your cheeks against his manhood slowly, he hums, pressing a deep kiss onto your scalp. “Hold onto his shoulders.”

You do as he says. As if Yoongi knows something you don’t, he latches his hands onto the back of your knees, clamping you down on the mattress.

The first spank causes you to squeeze your eyes shut, pain so acute striking your body like flashes of lightning. And unlike Yoongi, Jungkook doesn’t stop. He keeps spanking you, each hit harder and more painful than the one before and you lose count of how many you’ve taken. You grip Yoongi’s good shoulder with all your might, wrapping your other hand around his neck.

You like the pain. You like the pain so much that you stay still. And because of that, Jungkook tilts your chin so you can look at him, coming to your side and propping a knee on the mattress. You see amusement and amazement swimming in his eyes when you finally open yours, dazed. He smiles at you, softly and tenderly. And you pucker your lips at him, asking for a kiss.

Jungkook willingly obliges. Gives you a deep peck full of meaning that you don’t know the language of yet—and it sinks down your body, makes a bed there. The coldness of his lip ring turns you whiny. Jungkook kisses you over and over again, just to hear your sounds.

Yoongi is red when you glance down at him. He’s at loss for words and there’s a puzzling look to his face that you don’t want to decipher.

“Five more,” Jungkook whispers, tracing the outline of your abused, sensitive ass. “Can you handle five more? You’ve taken it so well so far.”

“Yes, please,” you breathe out and the fact you asked for it makes both of the males still. Jungkook sneaks a hand between your legs and circles your hole, gathering your arousal, teasing you, finding you wetter than before.

Yoongi begins to suck on your nipples. And when Jungkook finishes his punishment faster than you anticipated or even noticed, your bum burning, you could come like this—but you don’t. Jungkook sticks his tongue down your throat, does what Yoongi does on your nipple and you begin to tremble, making a mess on Yoongi’s thigh.

As if pitying the abuse, Jungkook kneels before you and peppers gentle, wet kisses on the red flecks of your disobedience, making it right, healing it. Careful with his lip ring, careful not to suck on the skin.

Then, he places a singular kiss on your clit, making you shiver. Stands to his feet. Walks over to his dresser. “Both of you lean back against the headboard. You against his chest. Keep her legs open, hyung.”

You hiss at the change of positions, your cheeks hurting, even when Yoongi places a pillow underneath your butt. It worries him, your expression of pain and he tries to alleviate it by kissing you. There’s so much difference to the way he does it that it makes you emotional, drags you deeper into the madness of your hypnosis.

“You enjoyed that?” Yoongi asks, knuckles brushing against the side of your face, as if he truly can’t believe you enjoyed the inflicting of pain.

And you’d want it again, if your skin wasn’t so sore.

“I loved it, Yoongi.”

Shock flares in his eyes and you look away.

Jungkook crawls upon the bed with a pink toy in his hand. A small egg with a small gap in the top half. You smile at him, excitement surging in you, and he reciprocates it. Lifts your leg to your shoulder and Yoongi holds it in place.

“Butt hurts?” Jungkook asks, noticing the pillow, and you nod. “Good.”

You laugh, softly.

Placing a hand on your mound, covering it entirely, he brushes his thumb across your cunt, checking your arousal, spreading it on your clit. Doesn’t think there’s enough, which you find ridiculous, and he spits on her, making you moan. Turns the toy on.

“Spit on her again,” you command, grinding your hips, feeling the trail go down to your hole.

Jungkook smirks at you. “Filthy girl.”

Bends to your cunt and spits at her again, tongue darting out to lightly keep the liquid love, where he wants it to be. And you mewl, welcoming his tongue on your clit, and you yearn for more, lifting your pelvis even though it hurts, but Jungkook withdraws. Places the toy on it, thumb clicking on the intensity, rising it, rising it high so much that you widen your eyes—

It sucks on your clit.

You cry out, pleasure seizing you in its grasp and all you can do is close your eyes and feel it. It paralyzes you, takes your breath and—

“Look at me.”

You can’t.

“I know it feels good, but I’m not letting you have it until you look at me.”

He takes the toy away. You grip his tattooed arm, opening your eyes.

“Please, Jungkook—”

He doesn’t listen to your plea. Lifts your other leg. Doesn’t give it to Yoongi—keeps his hand there, nice and firm. Begins to concentrate on the back of your thigh, leaving behind wet marks of red and purple, tongue sliding on the skin before he sucks on it, keeping his eyes on you as he does it. You grab a hold of his hair. Soft, so silkily soft, short and healthy. You imagine the tiny petals on the weeping willow outside have the same softness.

You’re spellbound. Jungkook places the toy back on your clit, pleasure flooding you—now more fervent and extreme, with his puffy lips still sucking your skin in tandem. And hearing your moans, Jungkook fires them back at you, setting your body ablaze.

“That’s it. Keep looking at me,” he husks and Yoongi squeezes your other thigh, kissing your hair, reminding you he’s here with you. But he’s not the one who moans along with you. It’s Jungkook. Your eyes lid, but you try your hardest to keep them open, your feverish body swaying, the nearness of your orgasm at hand. “Yes, like that. I’m gonna make you come for me.”

Letting go of your thigh, he sinks the two of his fingers inside your heat, gasping along with you. Stuffing you to the brim like he did before, he doesn’t have to fuck you fast to bring you over the edge. He moves the toy from side to side—and it’s the feeling of fullness, the twist of his features as if he was the one pleasured that makes you come all over his hand, the pillow and the bedding.

It’s like being submerged under the water of the pond and you keep your eyes open the entire time, the endearment on his face and his attentiveness taking care of you, watching over you as he talks you through your orgasm.

“Don’t hold back for me, yes, take it, baby. Good, so good, I know,” he says it in such undertones that you sob, emotions rushing out along with your release, trickling out of your tear ducts. You feel so safe and so well taken care of, so content that you don’t shy away from your feelings. You let both males be witnesses to it.

It’s Jungkook first, who reacts. Brows knitted, he wipes your tears away. And it’s him who decides to take a break.

“Let’s eat lunch.”

Your focus is enveloped around him so tightly that you don’t even know how your boyfriend reacted to your tears. You don’t feel him when he lets go of your leg and stands up to his feet to dress. It’s Jungkook who cleans you and checks the redness of your ass if there are any bruises.

Yoongi doesn’t wait for you as he goes down the stairs.

And it’s you who feels defeated now. And when Jungkook looks at you, he knows.

BACK to masterlist / READ part one

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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macfrog · 11 months

Text

grilled cowboy like me chapter three

part iii of dbf!joel! parts i here and ii here. ask, dear readers, and you shall receive. i do just wanna also add a massive thank you to you guys for all the love on this series. every single like, reblog, reply, etc. means the world to me. i hope you enjoy this next chapter 💚 reader got joel quaking !!! 🥵

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: joel knows he shouldn't be looking at you the way he is, but you look so pretty on your knees; how can he say no?

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! oral (m receiving), praise kink, jealous/protective joel, age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), consumption of alcohol, cursing

word count: 4.6k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter. You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize – That’s exactly what you want him to do.

You spend a few more minutes up in your room before you follow Joel out the door and downstairs. You’re a little flustered, okay? Your dad’s best friend just had you literally wrapped around his fingers, and now you both gotta head off to a friendly neighborhood barbecue you’re supposed to be hosting. All smiles. All, Anyone need a refill? All, No, I haven’t just totally been fooling around with Joel Miller.

The house is empty and voices feed in from the backyard. You push aside the shades and step out onto the bright patio, where a few of your neighbors are sitting. Joel stands between Hank and Rita’s chairs, and you amble over to his side.

You sense his body tensing as soon as you reach him, your shoulder brushing off of his deliberately.

“Hello, my girl,” Rita calls, taking one of your wrists in her frail hands. “I sure am glad to see you back on home turf.”

You smile a little awkwardly, placing a hand on top of hers. “It’s nice to see you, too. How’ve you been?”

“Still livin’, honey, still livin’.”

She lets go of you when Hank takes her up in conversation, and your attention turns back to Joel.

“Busy, huh? Lotta people came.”

“Mhm,” he grunts, taking a step away from you and folding his arms. You eyes skim across the new distance between you both, noting it.

“Joel, your Sarah,” Rita swivels to face him, “she’s home soon, right?”

Joel nods. “The seventeenth.”

Hank gives a nod. “It’ll be a fine summer havin’ both you girls back home.”

Joel shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting around the patio. He spots Bill across the pool, by your dad’s work shed, and excuses himself. You track him as he makes off, and feel your face reddening.

Your dad’s head and shoulders materialize through the sliding door to the kitchen and he calls on you, beckoning you in. You hesitantly wander over, a cloud of shame forming over your head that you hope he can’t see.

“Bill’s beer,” he adds a Coors to a tray filled with glasses and bottles, “Marcia’s iced tea, a Coke for Sam…Joel– Shoot, we ain’t got Joel anythin’. Reckon he’ll touch Coors?”

You flinch at the mention of his name, and instantly try to recover it. “I wouldn’t know, why would I know that?”

Your dad’s hands lift like you’ve aimed a shotgun at him. “Alright, cranky, jeez. Go back to bed, get out the right side this time. Here.”

He lifts the tray and slowly passes it over the island to you, the glass trembling.

“…you remember, now? Bill – beer, Marcia – iced tea, Sam–”

“– Coke, yeah, I got it. Go take a Xanax, dad, your hair’s fallin’ out.”

“And ask Joel what he’s after!” he calls as you slip out of the sliding door.

Marcia sits beside her daughter, Lisa, on the pool loungers. You bend your knees and lower the tray for her to reach her drink.

“Thank you, honey.” She grins gratefully as she lifts it off the shaking tray and you return her smile, then continue on.

Bill is stood at the other end of the garden with Joel, arms crossed, both listening to some story Arthur Kennedy’s telling about a mechanic he works with. Arthur Kennedy always kinda scared you, was always loud and drunk. Your dad and Joel used to deliberately come up with excuses to keep you and Sarah away from him at parties.

This time is no different. You approach the group of men from Joel’s right side, dipping behind his back to stand between him and Bill, safely separated from the raving storyteller.

“He says he’d just oiled it, I said, Benny, that engine’s drier ‘n a nun’s nasty!”

He erupts into a roar of laughter despite the silence of his companions, and you nudge the tray against Bill’s arm.

“Oh, darlin’,” he says, turning to you and giving you an affectionate smile as he lifts the beer. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smile back. Bill can be gruff, a bit of a loner, but he’s always had a soft spot for you.

“How you doin’?” he asks, taking a swig.

You nod. “Good. Back workin’ at Sal’s, so…living the dream.”

You can feel Arthur’s stare on you like the hot sun. You shift awkwardly from foot to foot, tray tucked under your elbow against your hip.

“I’ll bet,” Bill says. “He got you workin’ hard?”

“Not really. It’s a pretty quiet store. Uh, Dad wanted me to ask,” you turn to Joel, whose eyes are glued to the ground, “what you’re drinkin’?”

He shakes his head, palm hooked around the back of his neck. “I’ll get my own. Thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon Joelie,” Arthur taunts. You try to avoid looking him in the eye out of fear he’ll take you up on it, but he does it anyways. “Why don’t you just let this pretty little waitress of ours bring you a drink? Since she’s bein’ so sweet ‘n offerin’.”

Your eyes flit to Joel. His jaw is tense, his eyes dark as he stares down Arthur.

“You know what,” he says through his teeth, “I’ll take a Bud. C’mon, you’ll know where they are, right?”

“Wh– We didn’t get any–”

“Be in the fridge, I’ll bet.” He takes your arm and pulls you away from the duo, who resume conversation as you leave.

You’re hauled back into the kitchen so fast that you almost drop Sam’s soda.

“Joel, be careful!”

He lets go of your arm and watches Arthur from the kitchen window. “Scumbag,” he mutters.

“Do you suffer from short-term memory loss?” you ask, throwing the tray onto the counter. “Didn’t we have a whole argument in the store about me not gettin’ Bud?”

“Just had to get you away from him, talkin’ like that. Guy pisses me off,” Joel huffs.

“Who pisses you off?” your dad calls, appearing from the bathroom.

Joel shoots him a look. “Arthur Kennedy. What’s he doin’ here?”

“I couldn’t not invite him; I know he’s a dirtball. You stay away from him.” He points a finger at you.

“Very good,” Joel replies. “Great plan. Make it her problem to keep the pervert off her tail.”

“Pervert?” You scoff.

“You don’t hear him at Frank’s!” Joel rounds on you now, and you raise your eyebrows. “That waitress line wasn’t even half of it.”

Your dad chuckles, patting Joel’s shoulder as he passes. “I’ll keep an eye on it.” He wanders out to the patio.

Joel’s still full of rage. You watch him, not sure whether to move closer or let him calm down on his own.

“I think you’re probably overreacting a little. It was a creepy line, and I won’t be goin’ near him anyways, but it’s fine. I can dodge Arthur Kennedy.”

“Shouldn’t need to. Shouldn’t be put in that position.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off of the kitchen counter, palms pressed flat to the surface, shoulders hunched, breathing deep. He looks like a wild bear, like he could rip Arthur Kennedy limb from limb if only he’d just stroll through the sliding door.

You decide to give him some time to cool off.

“I gotta get this Coke to Sam. You good?”

“I’ll be fine,” he snaps, and you take that as your cue to dip.

When you reappear into the sunlight, a pair of hands clamp down on your shoulders, making you jump.

“Hey, stranger!”

“Sam!” you cry, clutching your chest. “You almost gave me a damn heart attack. Here, idiot.”

You hand him the soda, and he tilts it in your direction, a thank-you in the form of a toast.

“I’ve been meaning to drop by Frank’s since I got home, come pay you a visit.”

“I’ll get you a drink on the house when you do.” Sam smiles, blonde fringe gleaming in the sun.

“So, how’s it going?” you ask.

“It’s…going.” He laughs. “Was just talking to Hank about college courses. Figured I might apply. This bartending life is not for me.”

“Do it. Come be a graduate with me. I got a degree, forty grand of debt, and absolutely no prospects!”

Sam laughs. “Nah, you got a brain, you’re gonna work somethin’ out.”

You both take seats by the pool to catch up. Sam’s a nice guy; he was in your circle of friends at school, and, like Anna, always stayed in Austin while you and the rest up and left.

Your dad always thought he had a thing for you, being that he was male and you two were close, and your dad’s an old-fashioned man who doesn’t believe any good can come from two people of opposite genders being friends. But Sam’s a sweet guy, and his being here pushes Joel’s sudden change in behavior a little further back in your mind.

“I’m working later on, so I’m only staying for an hour or so. My mom says hi, by the way.”

“Hi right back. Is she doing okay?”

“Fine! She’s fine. As fine as she can be, I think. Y’know, my dad leaving wasn’t too great. She took it pretty hard. But we’re settled into the new place, she’s doing good. Do you…Did you scratch yourself, or somethin’?”

He points underneath your hair to the side of your neck and your fingers run across the skin, wincing a little over a particular spot under your jaw. A memory flashes before your eyes as the sensitive skin tingles and your eyes instantly lock on the culprit: emerging from the kitchen door, beer in hand, dark eyes scanning the garden for you.

When you lock eyes, he makes a passive expression and wanders off in the opposite direction.

“Uh– No, that’s weird. Well, I had a nap earlier. I might have scratched myself in my sleep, y’know?”

Sam narrows his eyes. He’s twenty-three, dumbass, he’s not an idiot.

You smile sweetly at him and scrape together some reason to excuse yourself, dashing off to the bathroom to examine Joel’s handiwork.

It’s only a little red, probably more noticeable in the sunlight, but still, you grab some concealer and dab it over the mark. Feeling exhausted from running around and pretty pissed off with Joel, you march back outside and throw yourself into a chair beside Hank.

“Your dad knows how to cook a burger,” he tells you, holding a napkin to his mouth. “Delicious.”

“I’ll grab one in a bit. Not really hungry.”

You spend a little time chatting with Hank and Rita, answering their questions about college, telling anecdotes about work, asking about Anna’s makeup business.

“That girl,” Hank shakes his head, “there ain’t no tellin’ her. I’m just her ol’ uptight dad.”

All the while you periodically glance up, across the pool to Joel, and each time, he’s staring right back.

When you get up to grab some food, his eyes follow you. When Sam pulls you in for a hug to say goodbye, he’s watching. When Arthur stumbles over to sit across from Hank, Joel’s figure appears like an apparition at the side of him. Across the table, an appropriate distance away, but keeping an eye on you.

It fills you with equal parts thrill and frustration.

You find yourself laughing extra hard at Bill’s comments, leaning your head on Marcia’s shoulder, leaping to your feet anytime Hank wants a refill, or Rita asks you to light her cigarette. All to get to Joel. All so he has to watch you be unbothered by him for the entire night.

The garden is darker, porch light attracting moths and flies, but a small group of your neighbors sits congregated under blankets on the patio still. You’re talking about New York with Lisa when you notice Joel lean in to your dad across the table.

“I’m gonna head, early start tomorrow,” he says, getting up from his seat.

“You remember your gas tank, Joel,” your dad tells him, nodding over to the grilling station.

“Hey.” You feel a nudge on your shoulder and look up to find his brown eyes looking down into yours. “Give me a hand, would ya? Loadin’ this into the truck.”

“You got it out just fine on your own.”

He calls you by name, and you know from his stern expression he’s serious.

You stand, shaking the blanket from your shoulders, and follow him over to the barbecue. He detaches the tank and picks it up. You wrap your fingers around the handle beside Joel’s, but when the two of you waddle out the back gate, you can feel he has most of the weight.

You reach his truck, shrouded in darkness from the dusk. He hands you the keys from his back pocket and you drop the tailgate, then Joel hoists the tank up by himself and wipes his hands on his jeans.

“What’d you even need me for?”

“Been weird today. Wanted to check you were alright.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You groan. “Are you talking to me or not?”

“Of course I’m talkin’ to ya.”

“Then stop being an asshole, okay? I’m bored of asshole Joel. I want my Joel back.”

He looks at you almost solemnly.

“Look, if you don’t wanna talk about what happened upstairs, we don’t have to, but–”

“’s not that I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Then what is it?”

The floodlight over the garage switches on and your back gate clicks open. Your dad ushers Rita out, coat draped over her shoulders.

“Just walkin’ Rita home,” your dad calls.

“See ya, hon!”

You wave. “Bye, Rita.”

When you turn back, Joel’s making his way toward the truck door.

“Oh, go fuck yourself,” you mutter under your breath, and silently storm back into the house.

You hear his truck pull away as you throw yourself down onto your bed. Fucking livid.

Alright, you agreed nothing happened. But then Joel went and started acting like something totally happened. If anyone had caught on to the way he was acting, they’d for sure know something was up.

The anger rolls around in your stomach; his avoiding you, the way he kicked off when Arthur made that comment, the way his eyes followed you around the garden afterward.

And worst of all, you fucking liked it. You liked him protecting you, didn’t you? You liked the way he couldn’t help himself, had to make sure you were out of reach of any danger. You liked peering over Sam’s shoulder to find his gaze frozen on you.

You sit up, hands either side of your hips on your mattress. You look down and notice what they’re resting on.

Joel’s flannel shirt.

You’re halfway out the door, shirt in your fist, before you even have time to breathe. You run into your dad in the driveway.

“Woah, woah, where we off to?”

“Joel forgot his shirt.”

“I’m sure he can do without it for a few days, kiddo.”

“I’ll just take it back to ‘im,” you call, hopping in your car before he has time to protest.

You’re at Joel’s in five minutes.

Knocking and waiting for him to answer might ruin the argumentative vibe you’re trying to set, so you fling his front door open and walk straight into his hallway.

The house sits in complete darkness, save for a small light flooding in from the room at the end of the hall. You wander up to it and find Joel sat at his kitchen table, staring down at some contract papers on the wood. Aside from the dull light over his head, the kitchen is dark, orange tinge on the walls from the streetlights outside.

He doesn’t flinch when your shoe scuffs his tile floor. Instead, he just flips the papers back over and sighs.

“Subtlety not in your nature, is it, kid?”

“You left this.” You throw the shirt onto the table.

His eyes scan over it. “Thought I told you to keep it.”

“Oh,” you sit down opposite him, “my mistake. I thought you meant keep it until you’d had your way with me. Thought once you’d dumped me I was to hand the flannel back.”

“Dumped you?” He raises his eyebrows, sitting back in his chair. “Hm.”

“Hm?”

“I wasn’t tryin’ to dump you. I didn’t mean for you to feel…dumped.”

“The most you talked to me all afternoon was to give me a grilling about Arthur Kennedy. All you did was stare at me, then ask me to help you carry a gas tank at the very end of the night.”

He scratches his beard, considering what you’re saying.

“I mean, I thought we agreed to act like it didn’t happen,” you continue, “I thought we were fine.”

“Fine? You think what we did was fine?”

You struggle to find words to reply. Sure, it was better than fine. And at the same time, it was a terrible idea.

“We…We were…We were just messing around.”

Joel almost laughs. “Messin’ around.”

“Yeah,” you protest. “I liked it, you looked like you liked it. What’s wrong with it?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. If we do this, if we’re ‘messin’ around’…what makes me any different to…to Arthur Kennedy? Hm? Just another creep on the street, hangin’ around and flirtin’ with girls far too young for ‘im?”

“The difference is I actually want you to do it, Joel.”

His expression drops. He stands up, shoving the chair back, and wanders off toward the kitchen counter.

You twist around to watch him. “I want this. And I’m twenty-three fucking years old, I can decide for myself. Arthur is, like, sixty years old, anyway. And he ain’t even a good sixty – he’s all grey, wrinkly skin, greasy hair like he doesn’t know how to work his own shower–”

“Alright, kid, we’re digressin’ here.” Joel waves his hand.

You snap back to reality and shake your head to clear it of Arthur Kennedy’s leathery skin. “Sorry, sorry.”

“It’s just not a good idea.”

“What’s not?” You stand.

“This. Us. You ‘n me.”

“And did you decide this before or after you fucked around with me in my bedroom?”

Joel sighs, shaking his head and turning away. He places one hand on his hip, the other to the bridge of his nose.

“I mean…” You throw your arms up, finally at breaking point. “What are you doing to me?”

Your tone forces him to turn back. When your expression matches it, he approaches you, gently cupping your face in both hands.

“I’m tryin’ to rein this in a little, baby. I’m tryna be the responsible one here. You know how hard it is not to give in to this? To you?”

You know what he means. He’s in a lot more trouble than you are if you both get caught; he’s your dad’s buddy. He isn’t supposed to be fooling around with his best friend’s daughter.

You think over what you’ve gotta be doing to him – all the glances when no one’s looking, the touching, practically fucking begging for him to make you cum earlier. It’s no wonder he’s trying so hard to stop himself every time, no surprise he’s doing all he can not to give in to you. And right then, you realize –

That’s exactly what you want him to do.

Your head falls limp in his grasp. “Then, stop trying.”

Joel’s eyes trace over your face; down the bridge of your nose, across your lips, over to where your jaw meets his rough hands. He’s tossing the thought of it over in his head like a penny. Only there’s no right answer.

Heads, you call it off, and lose any chance of ever knowing what this is between you guys. Tails, you fall down the rabbit hole; secret, clandestine, forbidden rabbit hole, and risk losing…well, everything.

Is it worth that risk? Just to feel him on you again? To feel his lips across yours, hungry, demanding, his hips grinding into you, his hands all over you, the way he looks at you as you cum for him…

Suddenly, like the realization hits him at the exact same time as it does you, Joel’s eyes darken.

Yeah. It’s fucking worth it.

His grip becomes rough, shifting from your jaw to around your throat. He pulls you toward him, lips connecting, and your hands press against his chest.

His grasp drops, squeezing your hips, before one hand leaves to settle between your legs. He just can’t get enough, can he?

“Uh-uh,” you mumble against his mouth, “you had your taste earlier. It’s my turn.”

You push him back against the counter. He’s staring at you with nothing but lust behind his eyes. Without a word, you sink down, knees hitting the cold tile.

“Baby…” Joel hums when your hands find his belt buckle. You smirk at his voice; you’re too good to be true to him. Like he can’t believe what’s about to happen.

You undo his belt and pull it through the loops, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. Then your fingers undo his jeans, almost tearing them apart by the zipper with your eagerness to see him.

As you pull the denim over his hips, you feel his hand softly rest on the crown of your head. A quick glance up tells you he’s watching every single thing you’re doing, lapping it up like it’s the last thing he’ll ever see.

You can see the bulge through his boxers; it’s big. Bigger than you imagined, even with your hand stuffed down your panties.

You place a gentle kiss to his thigh and pull the waistband of his underwear down, and his cock springs free. You gasp a little at the size of it, feeling your mouth watering at the sight of precum on his tip.

Your hands wrap around it, clutching his girth. You pump him a few times in your hands and he tips his head back, mouth agape. His free hand grips the counter, steadying himself.

His tip oozes more precum and you wrap your lips around it, sucking gently. Joel groans, audibly. The most audible you’ve heard him yet. It drives you insane.

You push your lips down his shaft, his cock filling up your mouth to your throat before you even reach the bottom. You push down as far as your throat will allow before releasing him with a pop, saliva mixed with Joel all over your lips.

“Good girl,” he’s mumbling, eyes still screwed shut, hand still knotting in your hair.

You drag your tongue along the underside of his dick, closing your eyes. All you can think is Joel, all you can taste, smell, and breathe is him. Completely dumb for this man, cock stretching your mouth so good.

When you take him in down to your throat again, he begins moving his hips; fucking your mouth. You steady yourself, hands on his upper thighs, and let him, trying not to lower your hand to your cunt to relieve the ache quickly growing there.

The sounds he’s making are enough to make you cum by themselves. He’s panting, moaning, breathing your name, groaning whenever your cheeks hollow and you suck until he’s so close he pulls you off.

“Wanna take my time, baby. You’re doing so good.”

You pull him back into your mouth. He tastes like sweat and salt and Joel. He tastes perfect.

When he bumps the back of your throat and you gag a little, you notice Joel’s head snap down to check on you. His grip on your hair loosens, and you softly gaze back at him, eyes blown with lust, to let him know you’re okay.

You drag your lips off of his head, a string of saliva still linking your mouth to his reddened tip. You’re panting now, half-turned on, half-tired from accommodating the size of him between your jaw.

Your palms wrap around his length again, pumping and twisting slowly while your tongue flicks over his head. He grits his teeth, both hands now against the countertop, knuckles whitening the longer you go on.

When you let go of him and dip your head down to take his whole cock in your throat, he lets out a deep groan.

“Keep goin’, baby, keep doin’ that,” he’s groaning, your head bobbing up and down. “Don’t fuckin’ stop.”

His hand falls to the back of your head and he applies a little pressure, fucking into you again.

When you begin to feel him jerk, you lean back, hands helping him to his high as you hold his head to your bottom lip.

Joel’s hand never leaves your head as his cock twitches, filling your throat and coating your tongue in warm, salty cum. He’s calling your name, breath heaving and hips shuddering.

His length slides out of your mouth. When his orgasm subsides, he watches you lick your lips and swallow his load, before tucking his softening dick under his boxers and pulling his jeans back up.

You watch in a distant haze of ecstasy as Joel does his pants up himself and takes your chin in his hand.

Breathing heavy, you look up at him, eyes hooded. Waiting for permission to stand.

“C’mere,” he whispers, and your tired legs hoist you back up to height.

He envelops you in his arms, placing a kiss to your forehead and letting you lean into his chest.

You let your eyes fall closed as you breathe each other in.

“So good to me,” Joel mumbles against your forehead, and you lazily smile.

You could let him carry you up to his bed and fall asleep right then and there, you think. That is, until you hear your phone vibrating on the table.

“Fuck,” you groan, and Joel releases you from his grasp.

“Just makin’ sure you ain’t dead,” your dad chirps down the line.

“I’m still at Joel’s,” you reply, “just leavin’.”

“Don’t you be keepin’ him, you hear?”

You pretend not to, and get him off the phone as quickly as possible. When you turn back around, Joel’s stood with a smirk on his face.

“Go on. Don’t want to make him suspicious.”

You skip over and place a kiss to his lips, and he runs a hand through your hair.

“Like I said, we’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Just messing around,” he says.

----------

As you approach the front door, you pause for a second and compose yourself. Glance in the window to check your reflection, take a deep breath. The last thing you need right now is your dad noticing something’s different.

He’s sitting in the recliner watching baseball highlights when you stumble in. He doesn’t turn to look at you as you dive straight for the refrigerator to grab a bottle of water.

“Hey there. Joel get his precious shirt back?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Just couldn’t be bothered with it lying around my room.”

He hums absentmindedly. You stand by the kitchen island chugging the water, avoiding conversation with him and looking for an excuse to dismiss yourself to bed.

“Hey,” he says after a bit, “did you find the burgers too…salty?”

You choke on your drink. “The– Too– What?”

“The burgers. Not sure if I over-seasoned ‘em. Were they salty?”

“No. They were fine. They were fine.”

Dizzy with adrenaline, you feign sleepiness and bid him goodnight. When you reach your room and collapse onto your bed, your phone buzzes.

Your eyes scan over the text; your heart skips and you feel a flutter just south of your belly button.

Joel: You free Sunday?

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115 @subconsciouscollapse (let me know if u wanna be added!)

#joel miller #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller pedro pascal #pedro pascal #cowboy like me

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lnfours · 3 months

Text

* ✰. — the valentine’s day date | l.n

summary: if i was a bluebird, i would fly to you or part two to ‘the mini valentine’s day playlist’

warnings: language, fluff, fluff and more fluff. first i love yous!! i need this so bad.

masterlist | prev part | next part | listen to the soundtrack

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

you were on the phone with p when lando knocked on your apartment door. you rushed to get it, heels clicking against the hardwood flooring. you opened the door and spotted him with a bouquet of roses in his hand. you smiled brightly up at him, letting him inside your apartment before speaking to p.

“p, hey, i gotta go, but ill text you okay?” lando could hear the girl talking on the other end as he closed the door behind him, “tell max i said hi. okay, love you, bye,”

you pressed the red button on your screen, “sorry, i swear i’m almost ready.”

he shook his head, “take your time, i’m a bit early.”

you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips, smiling as you accepted his flowers, “thank you for the roses.”

he smiled against your lips, right back at you, “you’re welcome, baby.”

baby. yeah you weren’t sure if you were ever going to get used to that one.

you rushed to put them in a vase with some water, “i just need to find my lip lipstick and then we can go.”

he stood with his hands on your waist, pressing you against the counter of the island, “sounds good,”

you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck, fully caving into him, “i mean we have a little bit, right?”

he laughed, nose brushing against your cheek, “we do,”

“okay, good.”

he laughed softly, letting you pull him down to your level and press your lips against his. he kissed you just as passionately, your hands running through his curls as you let him slip his tongue into your mouth. you whimpered softly as he bit gently onto your bottom lip, leaving you wanting more as he pulled away slowly.

you took a minute to catch your breath, nose bumping against his again as one of his hands came up and tucked a piece of hair from your face. you swore you could stay like this forever. in fact, right now, this was all you wanted to do. kiss your boyfriend until your lips were numb and cuddle up next him with a good movie.

sure a fancy dinner downtown sounded lovely, but these were the moments you cherished most. and it was like lando could read your mind as he squeezed your hip gently.

“you wanna skip out on dinner and get some takeout? rent a movie or something?”

thank god he was on the same page as you.

“i’d love that more than anything,” you smiled, his smile beaming right back at you, “i just washed those sweatpants and the hoodie you let me borrow last week. want me to grab them for you?”

he nodded, letting you take his hand as he followed you down the hall to your bedroom. he sat on the bed as you rummaged through your closet. he took in the way everything in your apartment had a place, how you had little reminders of him speckled throughout the apartment after all this time. a photo strip from your first date hanging on the cork board above your desk, a framed picture of you and him with max and pietra from the wedding sitting on the dresser.

it made his heart clench, how open your arms were for him after a short amount of time.

he was falling in love. and you were too.

you reappeared, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts. you handed him the sweatpants and hoodie. he placed a hand on the back of your leg as you stood between his legs, looking down at him with the prettiest smile he’d ever seen.

“where’d you wanna order from?”

your nails scratched at his scalp, your fingers running through his curls. he was in total bliss as you twisted them around your fingers, you laughing softly at the way his eyes closed and he hummed contently before mumbling a soft, “your pick.”

you placed your hand under his chin, leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. you giggled into his mouth as he pulled you on top of him, now straddling his lap as you kissed him with as much love you could shove into the kiss as possible.

“i love you,” he breathed when you separated. you felt your stomach do flips when his eyes met yours. gorgeous green eyes meeting yours as you smiled at him.

you had fallen in love with him, too. who couldn’t, really? he was everything you ever wanted, wrapped up with a nice little bow on top. it was impossible not to fall in love with him.

“i love you, too.” you finally spoke, now noticing the way your vision slightly blurred. you weren’t sure when you started crying, but he smiled gently at you as he took your face into his hands. he kissed you sweetly, eventually the kiss breaking when your smiles got too wide.

“wanna order the food?” he gently brushed his thumbs against your skin when you pulled away.

you nodded, “eventually,” you hummed, burying your face into his neck, his hands holding you as close as he could get you, “can we stay like this for a little while?”

he hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple, “we can do whatever you want, baby,”

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sweetenerobert · 9 months

Text

DRUNKEN’ NIGHTS

dom!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: an opportunity to have a guy's night with your daughter’s best friend’s dad turns into a heart-to-heart into an unforgettable night to remember

warnings: strong language, infidelity, joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, angsty thoughts, oral (m giving/m receiving), pet names, fingering, creampies,

word count: 4.9k

a/n: gif by @shirks-all-responsibilities

a/n: dividers by @firefly-graphics

a/n: italics = thoughts

official playlist

next chapter

YOUR DAUGHTER, MARIGOLD, WAS CLOSE TO SARAH, JOEL’S AND ADALINE’S DAUGHTER.

You remember the first time you met Sarah, it was a late night at work and you came home to see your daughter laughing at a TV Show that she and Sarah were both watching, and they were a little nervous and surprised to see you.

You reassured Sarah saying that your home is open to her.

You met Sarah’s parents; Joel and Adaline after Sarah invited them to have dinner with you, Marigold and Sarah. You remember that you noticed how distant/close Joel and Adaline were during the whole dinner.

It was like they weren’t present as a couple but as a couple of friends. Of course they did their best to hide it but sometimes they slipped through the cracks.

Later that night, you learned from your daughter, Marigold, that Joel and Adaline weren’t as close as they were before they were married — Adaline travels a lot for work, so the relationship wasn’t as strong as they hoped.

After that night, you noticed that inviting Joel and Adaline for hangouts, activities, game nights, and movie nights always had Joel come over with Sarah by himself, and Adaline always worked.

That concluded, you and Joel were always hanging out, drinking together while your daughters had their fun.

This was one of those nights where it would just be you and Joel at his house, with Sarah and Marigold hanging out at yours to have their privacy.

You bought a bottle of rum you were never gonna finish all by yourself and you thought this would be the best time to get rid of the bottle that's been eyeing you for the past 10 years.

You already knew the girls were over at your house. Marigold’s bedroom held the sound of giggling and hushed whispers. You shook your head as you had the neck of the rum bottle in your clammy palm.

You were walking across the cul-de-sac in the already warm orange sky to Joel’s front door, bringing your free hand and knocking on the wooden door in front of you.

You hear shuffling getting closer and closer to the door, and then Joel opens the door, and you smile, and Joel shoots one back.

“Hey, man, what’s our poison for tonight?” Joel asks, leaning on the doorframe.

You held the bottle in your hand and showed to Joel.

“A wedding gift that’s been sitting in my cabinet for ten years, she and me never opened it.”

Joel knew you were divorced but never knew the reason behind it. It wasn't like you never told him. He just never asked.

“You sure you wanna drink this, man?” Joel asks, taking the bottle from your hand.

“Wedding gifts are unique. I know you're divorced and everything but —”

“It's fine, It cluttered the cabinet. Good excuse to clean out my cabinet,” You shrugged.

“Okay, let's get to drinkin’,” Joel smirked, getting off the door frame.

You walked behind him and close the door behind you. You sit on the brown couch in front of the TV — seeing that it's on, you can't take your eyes away from the bright screen. It was a movie that Joel must have been watching before you knocked on the door.

Glancing towards the kitchen, you notice Joel walking back toward you with two glasses in his hands; you fix your position on the couch as Joel sits beside you.

“Here we go,” Joel states, handing you a glass.

“Thank you, cowboy,” You smile, taking the glass from Joel’s hand.

“I can't believe you call me that,” Joel chuckles.

“I’m just glad you don’t call me city boy.”

“I might have to start.”

You place the glass on Joel’s coffee table and unscrew the rum bottle cap, putting the bottle cap on the table.

“Let’s get to drinkin’ then.”

“Let’s get to drinking then,” You smile.

You grab your cup and pour some rum into Joel’s glass and then some into your glass, placing the glass bottle on the coffee table.

“To gettin’ drunk,” Joel nods, holding his rum-filled glass near you.

“We sound like alcoholics — but, to getting drunk,” You laugh.

You and Joel clink your glasses together, and you both knock back a sip of the rum before you start coughing.

The rum made your throat feel like it was burning, and it stayed for a couple of seconds while you were coughing; Joel couldn't help but start chuckling, watching your pain endure.

“Okay, you brought this, and your actin’ like it already killed you,” Joel laughed.

“Look, Mr. Drinker, I’m not much of a drinker; I only act like I am, so you don't judge, city boy, over here,” You countered.

“Aww, is city boy a baby?” Joel pouted.

You shove him. “You suck,” You laugh.

You and Joel probably drank ten or eleven drinks, but it was apparent; you both were drunk like never before. The night sky came rushing in through his large windows.

“Okay, wait, you and Tommy rode motorcycles for his birthday?” You laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, and it was so fuckin’ fun; the adrenaline rush was high that day; I miss it.”

You and Joel were laughing together like lifelong friends. Two dads who were just getting irresponsibly drunk while their daughters did their own thing.

Leaning your head on the backrest of the couch, from the corner of your eye, you can see Joel smiling and leaning back on the sofa, his arm outstretched on top of the couch.

You could tell Joel was hiding something behind that smile, though, as he was looking at the now-muted TV; you could tell something was on his mind.

“Joel,” You state, closing your eyes.

“Yeah, city boy?”

“I can tell something’s on your mind.”

“How? Your eyes are closed,” He reported.

You open your eyes slowly and turn your head to look at him. “Thanks for noticing, detective.”

He chuckled at that nickname.

“But, is there legitimately something on your mind?”

He took a long extended breath and spoke.

“Why did you get a divorce?”

You knew that question would come up eventually; you couldn't dodge the question any more than you wanted to. At this point, you felt like you could tell Joel the real reason.

It could have been the rum messing with your mind, but you acted like you knew Joel for more than ten years when in reality, you only knew him less than five months.

You inhaled and then exhaled before answering Joel.

“I’m gay, no other reason,” You spoke.

Joel couldn't tell where his emotions were in his drunken mind. He wanted to sympathize, comfort, and let you rant about what was on your mind. But in his drunk-filled head, he thought you needed a distraction.

“Do you wanna know how Adaline and I met?”

You nod your head slowly.

“Back in high school, I was this star athlete and shit. She was a wannabe journalist at that point,” Joel started.

“So she wants to interview me because I was this great athlete and shit, we go back to my house, my folks don't come home until later that night. As we're talking, I don't think she’s listening at this point — and she grabs my bulge.”

“What?” You question fixing your position.

“Yeah! I was surprised at it, too; she was now next to me, rubbing, then she unzips my fly, and she’s now rubbing my cock. Her hands are so fuckin’ warm, she’s rubbing and rubbing, and then she stops and walks out with my cock throbbing.”

You could tell with Joel’s feeble attempt at a distraction he was hard himself. He was rubbing his aching cock on top of his jeans.

He was breathing through his nose to the point you could hear every inhale and exhale coming from his nose.

“Your hard, aren't you?”

Joel was nodding his head in between breaths.

“Yeah,” Joel breathed.

Joel stopped rubbing his cock and placed his hands on the sides of him.

Sober, you would have just sat in the uncomfortable silence in the room, but drunk, you did something you would be scared to do if sober.

You place your hand over Joel’s cock; you can feel it throb in your palm.

“W-what are you doing?” Joel exclaimed.

“Helping you out,” You answered.

You knew that this was wrong to do this, your mind was screaming at you to stop, but your actions were speaking louder than your head.

You unzipped Joel’s jeans and placed your hand in between his zipper, and started rubbing his cock on top of his boxer-briefs.

He threw his head back in pleasure and lust.

“Damn, city boy, you know what you're doing,” Joel chuckles.

You didn't hear his statement, you were dick-whipped, and you wanted more. You unbuckled his belt and jeans; then you see his cock bounce up with his boxers, making a tent.

“My cock isn't gonna take care of itself, is it?”

You fix Joel’s cock so his cock can go through the hole in his boxers.

His thick cock was throbbing right before you as you took the tip of his dick in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the slit of his dick as he was moaning with pleasure.

“Oh — fuck, yes.” Joel moaned.

You wrapped your hand around his length as you were taking his size in your mouth.

He was throwing his head back and sucking his teeth as you were pleasuring him to the point that he would explode. Joel hadn't felt something this fantastic in so long; he had forgotten what it felt like.

This feeling he yearned for it once again after so many years; he missed it, the way his body betrayed him showing him that he was enjoying this too well.

The men you gave oral pleasure to in the past can never compare to Joel’s length, and you were addicted to him. You mouth was taking his length with anticipation like a prize you always wanted.

“Such a good fuckin’ cock sucker, city boy,” Joel grunted.

He places his hand onto your head ands pushing down as you were going down on his dick. He was making you speed up a bit.

But going your own pace, you knew he would enjoy it, his dick is sleek in your mouth, almost like a piece of ice in your mouth. You feel his thumb rubbing your head as you take his length.

You take your mouth away from his cock as his dick throbs like a spring.

A line of saliva connect from your mouth to Joel’s cock. Joel’s now having full body breathes, he can’t control the adrenaline and lust coursing through his entire body at this point.

Joel stands up and takes his pants off along with his boxers, you watch as he drops them around his ankle. You can tell Joel is writhing in anticipation, but he’s hiding it.

“Work your magic, city boy.”

With that, Joel shoots a wink as you slide off the couch and kneel on the wooden floor below you. He was standing — towering over you with his hands on his hips.

“No! What are you thinking? He’s married,” You thought.

Ignoring your head again, you take Joel’s cock in your mouth as moans escape his lips. He’s starting to tremble as your head moves, almost bobbing even. You take his cock out of your mouth, and you start stroking his thick, sleek cock. Looking up at him, he gives you an almost weak smile.

“How’s that?” You ask.

“Better — than I — could ever imagine.”

“Wait, he’s imagined this before — Stop! That does not excuse this!”

You place your tongue under his cock, at the base of his balls, and start licking and sucking on his balls.

Joel’s moans kept escaping his lips; it was like music to your ears. Your heart was pumping, hearing Joel moan like he didn't have a care in the world.

“Damn, baby. You so fuckin’ good at that,” Joel exclaimed.

He places his hand on the side of your head.

“Get on the fuckin’ couch,” Joel commands.

“What?” You ask, swallowing your spit.

“I said, take off your fuckin’ clothes and get on the damn couch; I’m going to fuck the shit out of you like no man has before,” Joel commanded.

You stood at the man before you, undoing your pants, taking your shoes off, leaving your socks on, and then taking your shirt off.

Joel had already tossed his boots, jeans, and boxers to the side, with his flannel unbuttoned but hanging on his shoulders. He was a mighty 6’2 compared to your height. You were intimidated a bit in your sober mind. But being drunk, you weren't scared; you were standing your ground.

“Look’s like your cock is happy to see me,” Joel breathed.

Before you can answer, Joel takes your cock in his hands and starts to stroke it; you gasp at his movement as you grip his shoulders to keep yourself from falling over.

You never received this type of pleasure from anyone else but yourself before. Joel stroking your cock made you replace your moans with breathing — heaving breathing. You didn't want to show Joel that you were touched-starved at this point.

“C’mon, city boy, if you can make me moan — I should return the favor at the least,” Joel grinned.

He was stroking your cock faster now, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and moan with pleasure. Your nails were going to make half-crescent moon shapes on Joel’s shoulders.

“Ack, Joel —breath— damn this, so fucking amazing,” You breathed.

Joel smiles as you moan his name like that; he can hear the lust radiating from your lips. He knew you were on the brink of feeling satisfaction just by him stroking you right here.

He knew he had to treat you right, he stopped stroking you, and you placed your head in the crook of his neck and acted breathless right there.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel reassured.

“You need to stop now!”

You get away from the spot in Joel’s neck and back up from him. Joel smiles at you and sits down on the couch; he pats his thigh, indicating for you to ride him. It was intoxicating how he was manspreading and how he patted his thigh.

“You can walk out of here, grab your clothes and walk out!”

You straddle Joel wasting no time acting like he was going to run away.

You could feel the tip of his dick press up against your ass; Joel puts his fingers in your mouth as you drunkenly suck on them.

“Damn, baby, I don't need to tell you anything.”

He takes his fingers away from your mouth and fingers your ass with his spit-covered fingers.

You exclaim with a moan escaping your lips; your nails had dug into the couch material as Joel kept fingering you.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby boy. Have you ever been fingered before?” Joel questioned.

You shook your head and Joel gives you a smirk.

He was enjoying making you squirm under his intoxicating actions. Your moans became quick with efficiency, like you wanted him inside you already.

His fingers were sleek, going inside you and out fast; your knuckles were almost bone white at this point, and your moans kept passing through your teeth like water; Joel’s grin meant he was enjoying every sound you made for him.

He knew that these sounds for him could only be heard by him, considering he was the first person to make you feel this way: overstimulated.

“You like this, city boy?”

“Y-y-ye-yes,” You moaned.

His fingers slipped out of your, and his hands were on your ass.

“You want this cock inside you, baby boy?”

“No!”

“Yes,” You breathed.

“Yes, what?” Joel grunted, smacking your ass.

You yelped as he smacked your ass.

“Yes, Joel, I want your cock inside of me,” You groaned.

Joel’s shit-eating grin meant he’s heard what he’s always wanted to hear.

You waste no time having your ass hover over Joel’s aching cock, mentally preparing yourself, but your mind decides to take over.

“You seriously can not be thinking about doing this, right? What you are committing is an act in which you are going to lie to everyone about how horrible you felt when in reality, you enjoyed every minute of —”

Your mind goes blank as you feel Joel’s cock enter you slowly, intoxicating and rich but slow. You spat a moan out in retaliation for Joel’s dick inside you.

In those enticing, agonizing seconds, Your ass meets the base of his cock, and Joel’s hands make loud contact with your ass.

“God, damn, that's tight, city boy.”

His hands reach your hips like a puzzle piece you lost. Joel lifts you up and slowly goes back down; your moans escape your teeth, your clenched teeth, until Joel rocks his hips up and down. That's when you feel him hit that same spot.

Joel’s hands feel rough as they feel like they were sewn onto your waist, with how tight he grabbed you. His hips felt like they had a mind of their own.

His face had a look of rage and determination all in one; his breaths were quick and through his teeth as he pumped his cock inside you.

“Take this dick, city boy,”

“You know this is wrong. You can't keep doing this!” You thought.

You couldn't contain your moans with every pump Joel delivered; it was addicting.

“Fuck, Joel, I think you're gonna break me,” You exclaim.

“Not yet, baby, soon enough.”

Your hands were on the back of the couch, gripping the fabric. You could tear it off by how your hands were grabbing this.

You yelp again as his hands make contact — hard contact to your ass.

“You’re taking it like such a good boy, baby,” Joel grunted.

“Such a good boy.”

“No! No! No! You are not a good boy!”

Joel’s pace was so fast that his cock, slipped out of you.

Both of your breaths were heavy and difficult; you were looking into each other's eyes and saw the same thing: satisfaction.

“Holy shit, your tight little pussy, almost made me cum, city boy!” Joel chuckles.

“Turn around, baby.”

You complied with what Joel told you to do; you got off Joel’s lap and turned around; you didn't need to listen to your head right now. All you knew was that your ass was hovering over Joel’s thick, throbbing cock.

Joel grabbed the base of his cock and started slapping it against your ass. “You want this dick, city boy?” Joel questioned.

Surprising Joel, you shoved Joel’s cock inside your ass hole. Joel was taken aback.

“OOOOH, GOOD BOY!” Joel exclaimed.

You slowly started to fuck yourself on Joel’s cock. It was thrilling, adrenaline-inducing. You were on the brink of exploding.

“C’mere baby,” Joel stated.

Joel wrapped his arms around your body to bring you closest to his. His hips were rocking up and down, and his pace was fast. His hands were wrapped around your chest, feeling your body as he enjoyed bringing you immense pleasure.

Your feet were on Joel’s bare, sweaty knees. His was hitting your G-spot again, and it felt indescribable. The feeling you never felt before would go away soon, and you hated that, at this moment, you felt suitable for the first time in so long.

“Who’s my good boy?” Joel growls in your ear.

“Me, Joel. I AM,” You hiss between your teeth.

One of his hands found its way to your throat, lightly choking you.

“You love this big dick inside you? Huh, baby?”

“I love it so much, Joel.”

That's when Joel wanted to go rough with you some more. He removes his hand from your throat and grips your thighs, and lifts them so that your back connects with his slightly covered — sweaty chest.

His dick would hurt when you woke up in the morning, but for now, you were feeling pleasure.

Joel was rough, and he knew that your face was close to his, and you could see the rage and determination, and it turned you on even more.

Your cock was slapping against your navel, and your pre cum string was slapping against your stomach. Your left hand gripped Joel’s covered shoulder while your right hand was on the back of the couch.

You could feel Joel’s cock pulsating inside you. You could think that he was close.

“Your so needy, city boy, feelin’ my bulge like that,” Joel grunted.

“Shut up. . .” You thought

“You're taking this thick cock so well,” Joel growled.

“Please, Joel, stop talking; I won't control myself if you keep talking.”

“You love this cock inside of you, don't you?Pounding that tight little pussy of yours.

“YESSS,” You spat.

“You're a filthy whore!”

“Joel! JOEL!” You exclaimed.

“FILTHY WHORES NEED TO SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

That's when you listened to your head and did the unthinkable. You kissed Joel Miller.

A married Joel Miller, not a simple peck on this lips too—a sloppy, slobbery, open-mouth kiss. Joel slipped his tongue in your mouth as the kiss got rough and passionate. You can feel Joel pumping his cock inside of you faster as he takes his mouth off yours.

“Joel, you’re going to make me cum!” You moaned.

“Cum for me, baby!” Joel breathed.

Joel’s hands made your legs spread apart, and he was pumping his cock rough and slow.

“I’m going to cum, in that tight pussy of yours, city boy,” Joel growled.

“Yes, Joel, fuck —mpfm—, I want that load inside me!”

Joel started to get faster again. As he was, you were about to cum; Joel’s hips were on the brink of exploding if he didn't cum soon. This feeling, this experience, would end with a lust-filled bang.

“I’m cumming, I’M CUMMING!!” You exclaim as white lines of cum shoot out on your stomach.

“FFF— FUCK, ME TOO!” Joel growled.

You could feel his cum inside of you slowly start falling out of you, and Joel’s body started to jolt.

Joel kissed your lips with more passion than hunger like before. You both were drenched in sweat, spit, and now cum. This night was something you didn't want to forget.

You feel your body raised from Joel’s hard chest. Then you notice Joel is picking you up bridal style.

“Not yet, city boy, we’re not done yet,” Joel growled. His eyes turn dark as he walks upstairs with you in his arms.

Joel pushes the bedroom door with his foot; once he sees the bed, he places you down on the bed — on your back.

He’s in between your legs with a grin spread across his face, which shows he has more ways to pleasure you. With your ass hanging over the edge of the bed, Joel places tender kisses on your thighs.

Your spine shivered with how soft his kisses felt on your legs, your calves feeling cold to Joel’s warm lips kissing them. He trailed the kisses down towards the back of your knees, down to your thighs.

Your mind was going into shock at how soft Joel was being. A few minutes ago, he was fucking your brains out, and now he’s tenderly kissing your legs. And now you didn't know what to —

You gasped in awe and enjoyment as Joel’s mouth reached your hole. His tongue was swirling around like he was licking a lollipop. You gripped the gray bedsheets next to you and tried your best to hide your moans.

“Mmmhm, city boy, If I knew you’d tasted this good, I would’ve eaten you out sooner,” Joel exclaimed.

Your hands found their way to your face. You wanted to moan but this would validate that you were ready for him but you wanted to see what —

You yelped as a hard and fast slap came to your balls; you knew Joel was trying to force a moan out of you with his rules.

“C’mon, city boy, I can tell you're enjoying this. Moan for me, baby,” Joel breathed.

Your body betrayed you, and you moaned per Joel’s command. Your body was on overdrive, and it felt immensely addicting.

“That's right, baby; moan for me.”

Your moans kept slipping from your lips, and you enjoyed every second of it. Joel’s hands traveled all over your knees, thighs, and stomach.

His touch felt devilish, addicting. It felt like you depended on his hands, mouth, and cock to fill this overstimulating you had.

“You ready for this cock again, city boy?” Joel asked.

You nodded, and your breaths came out as moans prepared for his cock once again.

Joel stood up from his knees, and that's when you see Joel’s cock. Throbbing, pre cum leaking from the slit. Minutes ago, that cock had cum shooting inside you; it should’ve been soft at that moment.

But his cock looked like it was before the whole situation started; hard, throbbing, begging to cum.

Joel catches your eyes as your are shocked at his massive length.

“Impressive, huh?”

You reflexively nod your head in hunger, his cock will be inside you again, and you can't wait.

Joel lowers his face to kiss you. His hand travels to your throat as he lightly tightens his grip around your neck. You gasp, and Joel sticks his tongue in your mouth. Joel’s moans were quiet, but you could hear them, even with the shuffling of sheets.

“You ready for round two, city boy?”

He kisses you before you get to answer.

“Yes, yes, Joel, I am.”

Joel backs up from your face, and you crawl backward to have your head on top of the pillows below you.

Joel shrugs his flannel off his shoulder and crawls over you. His face inches from yours, his tanned bare chest hovering away from your bare chest.

He adjusts his cock, and you can feel it press up against your hole. Joel slowly slides his cock inside you. You exclaim in pain, but you can't help but feel pleasure all at the same time.

Your legs are over Joel’s shoulder as he starts slow and then goes faster. Your moans were bouncing over the bedroom that Joel and Adaline shared.

This feeling was unbearable, but you didn't care. The pleasure was worth it.

“How do you get so fuckin’ tight, baby boy,” Joel growled.

Joel’s eyes darkened; that same look of rage and determination was back on his face. Heavily breathing through his teeth and you gripping his shoulders so hard, you could make crescent moon shapes on his shoulders.

“Joel! Oh my fucking god, I love this so much!” You yelled.

“I love it when you talk dirty, city boy.”

“Your tight pussy doesn't want to let go of my cock. I’m fuckin’ obsessed with it,” Joel breathed.

Joel wraps his forearms around your legs, making your calves close to his ears. You exclaim in pleasure as he’s fucking you this rough again.

This feeling: It was more than an addiction, a sense; it was indescribable. This immense pleasure you’ve never felt before, and you loved everything.

“J-Joel, slow down; you not gonna last if you go so fast,” You breathed.

“I can't help it, city boy. This tight ass needs my cock. I can tell you need it; I’m going crazy, baby.”

“I- love it, Joel. Just slow down for a second.”

With that, Joel’s hips started to slow down, he was on the brink of coming, but he didn't care. He just wanted you to feel something: Good, lustful, ecstatic, wanted.

He closed his eyes and kissed you as he could feel your heart almost exploding. He let go of your calves as Joel’s hands were beside your head.

His hips started the pace again. He was pumping like he was on a mission. He didn't want to stop this time; he wanted to cum, inside you to show you that you were his, no one else's.

“Ugh, fuck Joel, your seriously going to break me!” You clenched your teeth.

“That’d be the idea, baby. Your mine, no one else’s,” Joel growled.

You couldn't tell if it was the alcohol in your system or just your mind, but you understood when Joel said you were his and no one else’s.

You hated/loved how much that turned you on.

“City boy, I’m going to cum, again. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Joel, pump your hot cum inside of me.”

Joel clenched his teeth so hard one could out from his gums. His hands were gripping your thighs; they could cause bruising.

Your mind was blanking out as Joel was speeding the pace in his hips even more.”

“Fuck, baby, I’m coming!” Joel yelled.

With one thrust, two, and three thrusts, Joel’s cum shot inside you again. You could feel the warm liquid sit inside you. Joel’s forehead had beads of sweat covering it. He leaned down and kissed your lips softly.

“You’re gonna stay the night, and I don't want anyone to see the pleasure I gave you tonight. That’s for my eyes only.”

You nodded, having no other words to say. Joel slips his cock out of you and lays down next to you, breathing heavily. Your head finds his chest, over his heart. You can hear how fast his heart is pumping. You were so exhausted that you fell asleep on Joel’s sweaty chest.

tags: @evans55 @odetodilfs @jrrmint <would lose it @groggygrogu @ihugpedro @strang3lov3 <would lose it

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marxo-fm · 7 months

Text

Secrecy

✯ Viscount Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x f!reader

Summary: You’re the princess of the United Kingdom, trapped in the Kew Palace with nothing to do but obey. That seemed to change after your brother makes an appearance at the ball held in honor of his arrival from the British Military, with a surprise guest.

Warnings: MDNI+18, Mentions of adult theme and language, slight smut with plot, inexperienced!reader, virgin!reader, praising, innocent!reader, Ghost gives reader an anatomy lesson and teaches reader certain things, fingering, slight angst, no use of y/n, head canon, no descriptions of race, skin color, hair type/length, or body type. Reader is in her 20’s and Ghost is in his late 20’s. This takes place during the Regency Era.

Words: 9.7K (I can explain)

A/N: Rewatched Queen Charlotte in one day and got inspired to somehow write this. Idk what came up in my head but I’m not mad about it. I love historical romance pieces and Bridgerton is one of my favorite shows, so this was inspired by that as well. Must I add, this will be a series (let’s act shocked!) but it’ll start off slow and then progress into something very steamy. I plan on making this 2-3 parts? Not entirely sure yet. I’m so excited to make a playlist and have this become a part of my page. I promised to write a Ghost fic in celebration of 300 followers!!! Thank you!!! That’s all peeps, enjoy this and thanks for reading once again. :)

To be in love, is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. —Gwendolyn Brooks, “To be in Love.”

The rain drummed loudly against the windows of Kew Palace, a historic refuge steeped in tales of bygone eras. Yet another dismal night had slipped away in silence, the relentless downpour obscuring any sounds of the world outside. The scent of rain, laced with the earthy aroma of centuries-old stone, permeated your room through the slightly ajar windows. Candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that played upon the antique furnishings, each one holding its own secrets from a different age. As you gazed out into the night, the blurred outlines of majestic trees in the palace gardens whispered stories of forgotten romances and royal intrigues, echoing through time.

Yet not one memory of romance had ever occurred to you, sadly.

You sat in silence, enveloped by the heavy presence of the palace's servants, who stood as immobile as statues waiting for a command.

The stillness in the room was deafening, capable of giving even the strongest a throbbing headache, yet this oppressive silence was something you had grown accustomed to. It was an everyday affliction, a reminder of your powerlessness and the stifling constraints of your position.

The relentless cycle of attending balls, tea parties, leisurely walks, and grand masquerades had become a mundane routine. None of these activities could dispel the relentless boredom that had settled over your life. Despite the lavish extravagance and social grandeur, they only served to further emphasize your dull amusement.

Unfortunate yet fortunate at the same time, you learned to be grateful for the position you are in now, but the life you have been given to live wasn’t what you enjoyed. That itself is a secret one must never know of.

Your contemplations were abruptly halted as your mother entered the room, her presence commanding immediate attention. You rose gracefully from your seat, bowing with an elegance through years of refinement. With a quick, composed adjustment of your dress, you presented yourself as the embodiment of poise and decorum. And of course, elegance. It was essential to maintain appearances in the relentless world of aristocratic expectations.

All the servants bowed down before their queen. A display of loyalty and respect—a testament to the power she held.

“Mother.”

“Dearest.” Her voice, filled with warmth and affection, broke through the icy layer of your mood. You responded with a genuine smile, one that masked the melancholy you often kept hidden. It was carefully maintained; your mother could never be burdened with your silent suffering. If she were to glimpse even a fraction of the emotions you endured, she would tirelessly pester and lecture, determined to alleviate your pain.

But this was a battle you chose to wage in solitude, for the sake of preserving the family’s reputation and your own fragile sense of independence.

“We have a ball to attend in the celebration of the upcoming arrival of your brother. It is to be held quite soon, though, we are not sure on the date.” Your ears perked and every melancholic emotions you were enduring suddenly became cheerful. Your brother is finally coming, after being gone for a year. Though it felt like centuries he had been gone.

“That is thrilling news, I pray he arrives safe and well. Have you shared this with our other siblings?” Other siblings meant your six siblings, you’re the youngest of eight children, and it’s rather lonely. It feels like.

“Yes, dearest. I have reminded them that a ball will be held soon. The members of the Ton will be attending and it will be grand.” She replied enthusiastically, “though I have something else to share, beloved.”

Your eyebrows rose, and your curiosity piqued. What more could your mother share with you about the ball? You sought more information.

After a brief pause, she continued, “He is arriving with a guest, a Viscount to be precise. This gentleman is to be accorded the utmost respect, just as I have instilled in all of you. He holds a special place in your brother’s heart, and it is imperative that he is welcomed with the same warmth and hospitality that we extend to family.”

You nod, “of course mother. May I know his name?”

“His name is Simon Riley, he is a fine and distinguished gentleman. He holds the rank of Lieutenant General. Quite remarkable if I do say so myself.” She looked at the servants before setting her eyes on you, “He is also very close to your father.” You gasped, for one to be close to the king—your father of all people, was quite rare. Since he is a busy man with important duties he must fulfill.

“I will treat him with the utmost respect, my dearest mother, rest assured.” Having made your commitment clear, you resumed your thoughts, still buzzing with anticipation for your brother’s return and the upcoming ball.

You returned to the chair you sat in before your mother shared important news, resuming in what you were doing before.

“Read a book, darling. You are amazing at that. Do not bore yourself here.” You nod graciously, you found her encouragement as something you deeply appreciated.

“Thank you mother, I shall read.” You made your way to the nearest shelf, curious as to why you haven’t done this earlier. Maybe your mother was right, do not bore yourself with such thoughts and emotions, instead find joy in reading. It helped you get lost in the pages and words, that you forget whatever was going on in that head of yours.

“Ladies, go help my daughter with the books.” Your mother ordered.

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” They all responded.

“It is quite fine mother, I can do this myself.” You assured, nodding to the servants and their faces expressed a puzzled look. Unsure of whom to listen to. “Yes, love, do as you may.”

The servants walk back to the area they had previously stood in, watching you carefully. “I must leave now, love, It is rather late.”

“Goodnight mother.” You make your way to the shelves once again, the area was dimly lit and the bookshelf stood tall. Its polished mahogany wood gleaming softly in the warm glow of a crackling fireplace.

It was calm.

The scent of aged leather and paper makes its way through the air as your peruse the titles, each elegantly bound with gold lettering.

You spot volumes of Jane Austen’s novels, her delicate pages filled with tales of love and societal intrigue. One most famously known as, “Pride and Prejudice.”

Nearby, a collection of poetry by Lord Byron beckons with its romantic verses. The room is adorned with lush velvet draperies and antique furniture, setting the scene for a world where manners, class, and etiquette reign supreme.

Your delicate fingers skim through every romance book there is.

As you select a book and settle into the armchair, the world outside slowly began to fade away. You immerse yourself in the intricate and vivid description, momentarily escaping the constraints of your era into the enchanting world of literature.

(…)

It is the next morning, as the sun timidly filtered through the drawn blinds in your room, its radiant presence compelling you to squint and shield your eyes.

The birds chirped and the sky is painted with bright whites and bright yellows streamed through the window, a sense of lightness enveloped you. Starting the day with a serene countenance, you blinked away the remnants of sleep from your eyes and smiled drowsily. Your fingertips traced the cotton sheets, as you embraced the morning's gentle charm.

You summon the bell in your bedchamber, signaling to the housemaids that you are indeed awake and require a comforting, warm bath drawn. You stand on your own two feet, welcoming the housemaids inside your bedroom assisting in disrobing your white cotton nightgown.

They draw a bath, filling it with steaming water infused with fragrant oils and rose petals. You step into the tub, sinking into the comforting embrace of the warm, scented embrace, a welcome respite from the chill of the morning.

As you soaked in the fragrant bath, your thoughts drifted to the impending ball. You longed for any additional information your mother might have left off about this highly anticipated event, eager for every intricate detail to fuel your anticipation.

Truth be told, your curiosity about meeting Viscount Simon Riley was quite overwhelming. You harbored an occurring hope that he would prove to be the epitome of a true gentleman. Your mother's praises of him fueled your optimism, suggesting he was a man of impeccable character and esteemed authority, which only heightened your eagerness to make his acquaintance.

Excitement was a vast understatement for the emotions coursing through you.

The revelation that Simon was not only close to your father, the King, but also held a special bond with your brother left you astounded. While many men enjoyed proximity to your father and eldest brother, the depth of connection your mother had described set Simon apart from them all. It led you to believe that he was indeed the definition of a true gentleman.

"Ladies, may I inquire if you have all gathered the latest tidbits of information regarding the upcoming ball?" You found yourself pondering, the fragrant bubbles in the warm bath soothing your senses, as you leaned back against the porcelain tub's elegant curves.

"Not quite, Your Highness," she informed, her voice filled with anticipation. "We've heard rumors that hundreds shall grace the occasion." Excitement surged through your entire being. Finally, the time had arrived to mingle with society, to dance, and to revel. It had been several long months since the last grand ball, and the prospect filled you with eager anticipation.

"Are any of you acquainted with Viscount Simon Riley?" Curiosity overtook you, though you couldn't quite fathom why. After all, you hadn't yet crossed paths with the man, and here you were, posing a question of seemingly little consequence to your maids.

They all gasped and stood quiet, maybe you have said something wrong.

"He is not a man of whom one speaks ill of," she responded cautiously, her voice betraying a hint of unease. "Viscount Simon Riley wields significant power and authority. However, Your Highness, that is all I am permitted to share." Her nervousness was evident, as if she were tiptoeing around a topic that carried great weight.

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. This was information your mother had yet to share with you. The maids' description of Viscount Simon Riley sent a shiver down your spine, an ironic sensation given the warmth of the bathwater enveloping you.

"Do not worry, my mother shall remain unaware of this conversation," you assured with a gentle smile and a nod, watching as the tension melted from their bodies.

The curiosity within you compelled you to seek more information. "Can any of you describe his appearance?" You observed the maids exchanging uncertain glances before turning their attention back to you. As warm water continued to flow over your body, their soothing massages on your arms accompanied the anticipation of their response.

“It is okay to tell me,” you reassured with a playful giggle, “once again, mother will not know of this. It is not like you have committed treason!”

"Indeed, Your Highness," she began to speak in hushed tones, her voice carrying an air of trepidation. "Discussing Viscount Simon is a delicate matter. His influence is undeniably formidable, and we speak with a measure of fear." Her concern seemed to stem from the notion that their conversation might somehow reach the ears of this powerful figure.

A shiver of apprehension coursed through you. The maids' fear had a way of rubbing off on you, leaving you with an uneasy feeling about this Viscount Simon.

All excitement about meeting him quickly faded away into the endless void, everything your mother had described about him paled in comparison to the unsettling image the maids were painting of this man.

"Whispers of his enigmatic persona have swept through the highest echelons of society, Your Highness. They speak of him donning a finely crafted mask, shrouding his countenance in secrecy. Only a privileged handful among the Ton have been granted the privilege of glimpsing his true visage, and even the slightest revelation of his features carries the weightiest charge of all – high treason."

You gasped. Oh dear.

"Why does he shroud himself in such mystery?" The quest for information left you yearning for more knowledge. How is it that his existence remained hidden from your awareness until this moment?

Their fearful glances held your attention as they continued, "Your Highness, we remain ignorant of his motives for wearing that ominous mask. Its design, reminiscent of a skull, has earned him the haunting name of 'Ghost' among the hushed whispers of society."

Goosebumps prickled across your skin, and a shiver of fear coursed through you. The once-anticipated ball had transformed into a nightmarish affair, shrouded in dread and uncertainty.

He scared you, and you haven’t even met the man.

"That's enough, ladies. Please, remove this bath swiftly," you commanded. Your mood had done a complete somersault, and now you were acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as though an ominous presence was creeping into your room, even though he hasn’t arrived yet.

Or maybe he has, but you’ve yet to know.

No no, don’t worry yourself of such horrid thoughts.

You repeat and repeat over and over. The fear of darkness and the ominous weighed heavily on your heart. It was a secret fear, one you dared not share, for you knew that if anyone discovered it, they would only dismiss your worries with laughter and reassurances.

The maids, their hands deft and efficient, hurried over to where you stood by the bath, wrapping you in plush towels to dry your delicate skin. With precision, they helped you into a graceful blue chemise dress, its fabric cool and comforting against your form, the intricate lacework and delicate embroidery adorning it a testament to their impeccable craftsmanship.

Each lace on the dress was adorned with a multitude of tiny individual diamonds, their facets catching even the faintest glimmers of light. The shade of blue, a soft and ethereal hue, served as the perfect canvas for these sparkling gems, making them gleam like stars in the darkness.

"'Tis a truly exquisite chemise," you whispered in admiration, extending your arms gracefully for the maids to slip on your pristine white gloves.

"Made for Her Highness, indeed, just like a rare diamond," your maids complimented, their words like a soothing balm to your nerves. Their unwavering support for uplifting your spirits never failed to bolster your confidence.

"Thank you, ladies. I must take my leave now, as there are matters to discuss with my mother and duties to attend to," you graciously replied, ready to face the responsibilities that awaited you.

(…)

"Yes, Your Majesty. The ball is scheduled for the end of this week, and all is proceeding as planned. Every detail has been meticulously arranged, and all members of the Ton have received their invitations," spoke your mother’s friend at morning call.

She took a delicate sip of her chamomile tea before speaking once more, her voice calm, "That is indeed wonderful news. I pray that everything proceeds without a hitch, and I have the utmost confidence that mishaps shall remain a distant concern." Her friend nods, before turning to you to ask a question.

You straightened your posture and offered a warm smile, "You are truly lovely, my dear. If I may inquire, are you excited for this upcoming ball?" As the question lingered in the air, a torrent of unsettling thoughts flooded your mind. The words of the maids, the mention of the enigmatic "Ghost," and the eerie mask all coalesced into a haunting collage of images. Your body quivered involuntarily, and a palpable sense of unease washed over you, like an ominous shadow creeping into the room.

You masked your true feelings expertly, putting on a facade of excitement. It was clear that your enthusiasm was reserved solely for your brother, not for the Viscount. You knew all too well that you couldn't reveal your fear, so you concealed it behind a carefully crafted persona, concealing the trepidation that lurked beneath the surface.

“Indeed I am quite cheerful. I already know well enough that this ball will be the best of this year.”

She takes a bite of her honey cake, proceeding to invade you with more questions. Questions you were not comfortable answering.

“Well yes…your mother—Her Majesty—is hosting the ball.”

"Ah, yes, of course," you quickly replied, feeling a bit flustered by the reminder. Her raised eyebrow and condescending gaze made you feel like a naive child, an unsettling sensation you couldn't quite shake off.

“Your Majesty, has she not yet met Viscount Riley?” Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Viscount Riley's name, sending a chill down your spine. The palace suddenly felt much colder, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. It was an uncomfortable and awkward moment for her to bring up such a question in the presence of your mother, Her Majesty.

"I am not privy to such information, my dear. However, I have every confidence that she will excel in his company and extend to him the respect I have diligently imparted. Would you not agree, my dearest?"

You nod graciously, before her friend decided to open her mouth once more with questions that made you shift in your seat. Uncomfortably.

"Forgive my bluntness, Your Majesty, but I have had the privilege of seeing him in person. And, if I may say..." Her voice trailed off, and her response piqued your curiosity, causing your brow to arch. It was evident that she was quite eager to acquire more information about a man you had not yet had the chance to meet.

“He is quite tall,” she began, and your mother adjusted her posture, “he holds such authority and he is not the man to disrespect, he doesn’t speak unless spoken to and most certainly does not show his face to just anyone.”

The maids' prior revelations had served as a disconcerting confirmation. Fear welled up within you, growing like a thunderhead on the horizon, and it cast a foreboding pall over what had once been an eagerly anticipated ball. The event, once a beacon of excitement, had transformed into a looming specter that filled you with apprehension and uncertainty.

“It is quite a mystery, but it is none of our business. Maybe if he is truly as good of a man he is, I will have him marry my daughter.” Your tea to become a chaotic spray, dispersing droplets and saliva particles across the table’s contents. Your cheeks flush crimson as you glance at your mother, her expression clearly reflecting her shock and disapproval.

“Deepest apologies mother, but marriage?” Her lips tightened as you contemplated her words. “If he proves to be a good man, then perhaps. If not, then no. You are two and twenty, it is time you settle down my dearest.”

“I do not know him.”

"Indeed, there is an abundance of time for you to become better acquainted with him," your mother replied with an encouraging smile. Her eyes sparkled with the anticipation of a promising match for her beloved daughter. "I've heard such positive things about Viscount Simon," she continued, her tone brimming with optimism. "He is reputed to be a true gentleman, and I can't help but hold high hopes for your future together, my dearest."

The description of Viscount Simon had already sent shivers of fear down your spine, and the thought of falling in love was an entirely different realm of uncertainty. You wondered if you'd ever experience the kind of love immortalized in poetry and literature, given the enigmatic and potentially imposing nature of this match.

You decided to let the future unfold at its own pace, allowing it to chart its course without rushing or forcing any outcomes.

You held a clear standard for your future husband: he must be a respectful and considerate man, not exhibiting any sexist, disrespectful, misogynistic, or rude behavior. However, if he proved to be the all those things, then marriage would not happen. Your mother, Her Majesty, fully comprehended your stance on the matter.

You valued a man who showed genuine interest in your passions and didn't pass judgment on them. Mutual respect and shared interests were important to you in a potential partner.

While you recognized the significance of politics and manly duties in society, you weren't inclined to marry a man solely focused on these matters. A well-rounded individual who embraced a broader range of interests and pursuits was more appealing to you.

Your mother knew that.

And you prayed the Viscount lived up to to your high standards.

(…)

On the night of the ball, you stood in front of the grand mirror, the flickering candlelight casting a soft, golden glow across your reflection. Your gown, an exquisite creation of silk and lace, clung to your figure in all the right places, its color a subtle shade of pink. The delicate embroidery and beadwork shimmered in the dim light.

Your heart raced, and your gloved hands trembled as you practiced your breathing, trying to calm the storm of nerves within you. The anticipation of meeting Viscount Simon, coupled with the pressure of societal expectations, weighed heavily on your mind. The maids had spared no effort in choosing every accessory, from the intricate hairpin adorning your carefully styled hair to the elegant necklace that graced your neck.

You hoped, with each practiced breath, that tonight would be a turning point, that Viscount Simon would prove to be the gentleman your mother believed him to be, and that the evening would be the start of something meaningful in your life.

——

"Good afternoon, dearest," your father inquired, his arm linked with your mother's. "Where are your siblings?"

You look around, carefully examining the palace in attempt to look for your other siblings, and you’ve caught them. Relief washed over you.

"They are in the library room, Father," you replied. Your gaze wandered over the opulent floral arrangements that adorned the palace. Vibrant blooms graced the staircase and the grand room's tables, filling the air with a fragrant aroma. The Ton had indeed turned out in force for this event, with couples arriving, their arms elegantly linked, creating a sea of fashionable attendees, and not a single person seemed to be without a date.

Although you’re the princess of the United Kingdom, you oddly felt…out of place.

"Mother, you've done a splendid job. This place looks absolutely marvelous," you praised, appreciating the grandeur and elegance that surrounded you. Her smile radiated with warmth, and her pink dress, a few shades darker than yours, effortlessly outshone all the other gowns the ladies wore in the palace, commanding attention with its regal allure.

Diamond encrusted corset with a matching diamond necklace, and many layers underneath the dress made it seem larger.

Of course, it was your mother, the Queen, who had graced the event with her radiant presence. Her regal attire and demeanor left no room for doubt about her esteemed status in the grand ballroom.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” A man who appeared to be taller than your dad, bowed before him and shook his hand.

“Good evening, John. How is it here compared to the states?” The states? He must be American, you are sure.

“It is rather marvelous here, we don’t host balls as often as you do, but this ball is alluring.” And he is American so it seems, the accent was crisp.

“Thank you, John. I hosted this ball.” He bowed to the queen, your mother, before bowing down to you.

“Well of course, Her Majesty created the most perfect ball.” He complimented. Twirling the ends of his mustache, this was the first time you’ve ever met an American.

Your mother smiled, appreciating his sweet compliment towards her. “I must get back to Kyle, Ghost should be here any minute now Your Majesty.”

The mention of "Ghost" made your nerves prickle with unease, considering the unsettling details your maids had shared during your bath. As John reminded your father that Ghost would be arriving shortly, your stomach tightened with knots of apprehension. The looming presence of this mysterious figure cast a shadow over the otherwise glamorous evening.

“Thank you, John. I am quite cheerful in meeting him. It has been far too long.”

John bowed and left the area.

Your mother's concern deepened as she observed the horrified expression etched across your face. She gently placed a hand on your arm and whispered, "Dear, you look as if you're on the brink of fainting. Please, go to the refreshments and fetch yourself a glass of water. Take a moment to compose yourself." Your motherly care enveloped you, and you nodded, grateful for the suggestion to step away briefly from the anxiety that had gripped you.

The grand ballroom began to feel suffocating, and you yearned for a breath of fresh air, a momentary escape from the overwhelming atmosphere. The need to step outside and simply breathe because it became nearly overwhelming, and you decided it was time for a brief respite.

He will be here soon, and there is no avoiding it. This thought completely gnawed at your insides and there is no place for you to hide.

"Sister, are you feeling well?" your eldest sibling inquired, her cream-colored chemise beautifully complementing her shimmering jewelry. Her concerned gaze met yours, and you could sense that she found something amiss in your expression. The irony was not lost on you, given that you were about to meet a man who also bore the name "Ghost."

"I am feeling rather ill," you responded, fabricating a falsehood to avoid the impending meeting with "Ghost." While part of you wanted to avoid this mysterious figure, there was an even stronger desire to reunite with your dear brother. Your deception was a way to navigate the complex emotions and uncertainty of the evening.

How unfortunate. This man will haunt your dreams.

——

You made your way outside, the chilly breeze sweeping over your face as you finally found a moment to breathe. The cool air provided a welcome respite from the suffocating atmosphere inside, and you closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of liberation that came with each deep breath.

As you’re breathing the cool air, a voice is heard from a distance.

"My dearest sister, always wandering," your brother chuckled warmly as he approached. You turned your head swiftly at the sound of his voice and finally laid eyes on your sibling after many long months. He appeared strikingly different, somehow taller and more muscular, and the transformation left you momentarily speechless with surprise and joy.

"Brother!" You couldn't contain your excitement and ran up to him, welcoming him with open arms. The embrace felt like it lasted an eternity, as you cherished every moment, not knowing how long he would stay. It was a precious reunion, and you wanted to make the most of it.

"How have you been? I suppose everything has been well while I was away?" he inquired, his arms crossed as he surveyed the palace grounds. It was just the two of you outside, and he seemed genuinely interested in catching up on all that had transpired during his absence.

Amid the tranquility of the palace gardens, your brother's question hung in the air, and he observed his surroundings with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The evening's hushed elegance enveloped both of you as you began to catch up. He looked different from when you last saw him, and you couldn't help but wonder about the experiences that had shaped him during his time away. It was a moment filled with anticipation, longing, and the joy of reconnecting with your brother.

"It has been quite well! Rather normal," you replied with a smile, acknowledging the routine and calmness that had become the norm in his absence. His head tilted as he teased, "The word you're searching for is 'boring,' isn't it? After all, the fun brother hasn't been around." His hearty chuckle filled the air, bringing a touch of lightheartedness to the conversation.

“That is true. I have missed you a ton.”

“And I have missed you more, my dear sister.”

You couldn't help but glance around, hoping against hope that Viscount Riley had not yet arrived. The idea of facing him at this moment was almost unbearable, and you found yourself anxiously searching the surroundings for any sign of his presence.

How awkward.

"Oh, I thought you arrived with a guest," you blurted out, your hope that he had an emergency and didn't come alone shining through your words. The prospect of meeting "Ghost" or Viscount Riley had filled you with apprehension, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of dread at the thought of encountering him in person. Your brother's response would determine whether your unease would intensify or be somewhat alleviated.

But it was not.

“He is here, in fact, he is inside speaking to our father. I highly suggest you meet him, he is a fine gentleman, though he might frighten some. I can assure you, he means well.”

Meeting him now seemed almost inevitable, and you had to prepare yourself for this encounter with the enigmatic figure.

It is time you met him, to get it over with once and for all.

(…)

Viscount Riley stood before you, his face obscured by a mask that added an aura of mystique to his presence. As you gazed into his eyes, you sensed a depth of emotions and stories waiting to be unveiled. It was a stark contrast to the fear you had felt just moments ago, and now, you found yourself admiring this enigmatic figure, eager to learn more about the man behind the mask.

"Your Highness," his voice, deep and gravely, greeted you. An unfamiliar warmth spread through your stomach, causing your cheeks to flush crimson. It was a sensation you couldn't quite understand. Why did you suddenly feel so flustered in his presence?

"Good evening, My Lord. I extend my gratitude for making the journey to attend this ball," you replied politely, determined to make a favorable first impression, despite your royal status as a princess.

Your mother's friend had not exaggerated; Viscount Riley was indeed exceptionally tall, almost appearing otherworldly. Inhumane. His muscular physique was apparent even beneath the luxurious waistcoat he wore. The choice of an all-black ensemble, combined with the white skull-like mask, added to the air of mystery and intrigue that surrounded him, making his presence all the more imposing.

As Viscount Riley closed the distance between you, a sense of anticipation hung in the air, and your heart quickened with each step he took. His hand, encased in a fine glove, reached out, and you watched in fascination, your gaze locked on his as your brows raised. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, leaving you both on the precipice of an intriguing encounter.

"Care for a dance?" Viscount Riley extended the invitation, his eyes lingering on you as he assessed your presence. His gaze felt almost intimate, as if he were undressing you with his eyes, although you quickly chastised yourself for such inappropriate thoughts. The offer to dance hung in the air, and you considered your response carefully.

You nod, “yes, My Lord.”

"Call me Simon, Your Highness," he suggested, his eyes captivating you with their natural hues in the dim light. They seemed to glisten like moonlight. You hesitated, feeling a mix of intrigue and reluctance. "I'm not sure I am comfortable calling you that," you admitted honestly, the formality of addressing him by his title still lingering between you.

"I have granted you permission, my love. Call me Simon, in private," he whispered softly into your ear, his words tinged with an intimacy that sent a shiver down your spine. His scent, a heady blend of sandalwood, enveloped your senses, and the warmth of his breath against your skin caused a flush of heat to spread through your body, leaving you feeling quite overwhelmed in his presence.

My love.

"Do you know how to dance?" Viscount Simon inquired, his grip on your hand tightening slightly, eliciting a soft gasp from you. As you turned to examine the ballroom, you noticed your family watching with smiles on their faces. "I do, Simon," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the intimate moment you shared.

"How about the waltz? Are you familiar with that?" Viscount Simon's hand slipped behind your back, drawing you closer to him in an intimate embrace. Your mouth hung open in astonishment at his boldness, aware of the watchful eyes of the Ton in the ballroom. The closeness between you two, especially in such a public setting, was bound to attract attention and speculation.

"That…I do not know how to," you admitted truthfully. The waltz was indeed a dance you had never mastered, primarily because it required a partner to perform it. The admission was honest, though it left you feeling somewhat vulnerable in this moment with Viscount Simon.

As he continued to examine you, Viscount Simon couldn't deny the striking beauty that stood before him. The tension between you grew thicker, almost suffocating, and he felt a subtle but undeniable change within himself. His chest rose with each breath, and with every passing moment, he seemed to grow larger, as if the weight of the atmosphere and unspoken emotions were affecting him physically.

“I will teach you, Your Highness.” He took your right hand into his left, wrapping his other large hand behind your waist. Pulling you inches closer, if that were possible. You were practically glued to his body.

Your left hand found its place on Viscount Simon's shoulder, and as your touch made contact, you couldn't help but notice the spark in his eyes intensify, transforming into a fiery gaze. The sensation coursing between you was entirely new and left you feeling uncertain about how to navigate it. Yet, there was one undeniable truth: it felt like the pages of a romance novel coming to life, and the allure of the moment was impossible to ignore.

The world around you seemed to fade away, as he began to guide you through the graceful motions of the dance.

He leaned down to your ear, “tell me, love, have you ever done this with anyone before?” You shook your head nervously.

Viscount Simon was nothing like the enigmatic and intimidating figure you had imagined before. He had swiftly disproven your earlier apprehensions, showing himself to be a skilled and confident dance partner. However, the lingering mystery of his masked appearance still intrigued you. Why did he choose to conceal his identity in such a way? Was it a habit, a comfort, or perhaps a symbol of something deeper? As he expertly swayed you through the dance, all your earlier fears seemed to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of fascination and curiosity about this complex man.

“What is going on in that head of yours?”

"I am just trying to be focused, My Lord," you replied, a touch of nerves still present in your voice. He cleared his throat before offering words of encouragement, "You are doing great. Don't think too hard about it, or you'll make a mistake." His reassurance helped ease some of the tension, and you tried to follow his lead with more confidence, allowing the rhythm of the dance to guide your steps.

“Everyone in the room are watching us.”

"Imagine it's just us, Your Highness. Nothing to fret," Viscount Simon whispered, his words a soothing balm to your nerves. With that simple suggestion, you closed your eyes for a brief moment, allowing yourself to immerse in the moment, focusing solely on the dance and the connection you shared, the world around you fading into the background.

"Very well done," Viscount Simon praised, a touch of warmth in his voice. His encouragement and guidance continued to make the dance feel like a shared experience, and you found yourself becoming more at ease with each step, as though the world outside this dance floor had ceased to exist.

The instrumental music slowly started to fade away, as you became enchanted under his mysterious gaze.

In the mesmerizing dance with Viscount Simon, you counted each step and movement carefully. One, a step forward, followed by several backward steps. Then, you counted to two as he gracefully led you to the side, and you followed his lead with precision, completely entranced by the rhythm and grace of the waltz.

"May I ask you a few questions?" you inquired, looking up at Viscount Simon. Or should you call him simply Simon? Your curiosity about the man behind the mask had grown steadily throughout the dance, and now seemed like the perfect opportunity to satisfy it.

"Yes, Your Highness," Viscount Simon replied, his tone respectful as you continued to dance in harmony.

"How long have you been in the military? I can only imagine it's been quite some time," you mused, curious about the path that had led him to his current station. Viscount Simon's physical fitness and the air of intrigue that surrounded him certainly hinted at a rich and varied history. Those eyes of his seemed to hold countless untold stories, and you couldn't help but be drawn to the mystery that shrouded his past.

"I am quite intrigued that someone has inquired about this, especially the princess. It's an honor," Viscount Simon began, a hint of appreciation in his voice. He continued, "I've served in the military for a considerable duration." His sigh hinted at a deeper story. "But I must wonder, why do you ask, Your Highness?" There was a curious and genuine note in his inquiry, as if he too was interested in the motives behind your questions.

His question took you off guard, and you momentarily pause for a moment. Heat swept across your face, and your stomach felt like a hundred butterflies were attacking it at once.

You clear your throat, preparing yourself to speak the truth.

"Well, your physique does suggest you've had a long tenure in the British military," you stated, your words coming out more bluntly than you had intended. You looked away, feeling a bit embarrassed by your straightforward observation. It was as if the words had slipped out of their own accord, revealing your unfiltered thoughts about him.

His head tilts as you both continue the dance, the tension became thicker in the moment.

“I’m glad you’ve noticed that, you have quite the eye darling.”

"I suppose it is rather evident," Viscount Simon replied with a good-natured chuckle, acknowledging the obvious. His height and impressive physical presence were indeed difficult to overlook, and it was refreshing to engage in such candid conversation with him.

“I would like to continue this conversation another time, Your Highness.” The music stopped, and suddenly your heart ached.

The fear and apprehension you had felt before meeting Viscount Simon now seemed misplaced and misjudged. Shame washed over you as you realized that your initial impressions had been far from accurate. Emotions you had never experienced before welled up within you, and you found yourself struggling to process this newfound connection and the complex feelings it stirred within you.

"You look quite sick, Your Highness. Should I summon a doctor?" Viscount Simon's concern was evident in his voice, and he signaled his readiness to assist. However, you shook your head, declining the offer. His expression shifted, and the color of his eyes darkened noticeably. The once-bright stars in his gaze seemed to fade, leaving a shadow of concern and curiosity in their wake.

"I must retire to my bedchamber at once. It seems I may have eaten something disagreeable," you explained, offering a plausible reason for your sudden discomfort. As you made your exit, you couldn't help but reflect on the unexpected attachment you had felt during the dance. Was it the chemistry that had taken you by surprise, or the disappointment of the dance ending so soon when you had secretly wanted it to continue? The confusion within you left you with much to ponder as you retreated from the ballroom.

You heard heavy footsteps in the distance, and you face the sound. Heart beating so fast and hard that you’re afraid it’ll break your ribcage.

Your eyes widened as you glanced back, catching the intense gaze of the tall man in the distance—Viscount Simon. The burning sensation in your stomach flared once more, and your heart raced at the unexpected encounter. It seemed that your paths had crossed again, and the intrigue surrounding him deepened further.

“My Lord, you are not permitted in this area,” you stuttered, your voice trembling with a mixture of surprise and unease. Viscount Simon’s inhumanly towering presence had a profound effect on you, causing your knees to grow weak and your heart to race.

The unexpected encounter left you feeling both vulnerable and intrigued, uncertain of what would come next.

Viscount Simon continued to approach you, seemingly unperturbed by your protest. His voice, when he spoke, carried a darker, gravely, and husky timbre, each word rolling off his tongue with a depth that sent shivers down your spine. It was a voice that held a mysterious allure, and as he drew nearer, you found yourself captivated by the man before you.

“You are still not allowed here, My Lord. Unless are married to me or if you have permission to do—“ he interrupted you for a brief moment, your breath hitched. “Do I have your permission?”

His simple question held a weight that left you questioning your own dignity and morals. "I-I suppose you may. I don't believe you'd cause any harm," you replied tentatively, your nerves causing you to fidget with your hands.

Viscount Simon took note of your hesitation and reached out to gently take your hands in his own. His touch was surprisingly rough and calloused, yet it had a calming effect on your frayed nerves. The unexpected gesture further deepened the sense of connection between you two, leaving you both intrigued and comforted by the enigmatic man before you.

The entire experience felt like something out of a romance novel, a dream brought to life. It was something you had never been entirely sure would happen to you, yet now, it had. The enchanting dance, the mysterious encounter with Viscount Simon, and the complex emotions that had unfolded were all like a dream come true, turning the pages of a story you had never expected to live.

“Open the door, the guards are all downstairs, no need to fret.” He demanded, in a gentle manner.

You obediently opened the door, allowing Viscount Simon to enter. As he stepped into your bedroom, a breeze swept in from the open window, which you had forgotten to close before attending the ball. The cool air helped alleviate the heat on your flushed face, and you welcomed the refreshing sensation, finding comfort in the natural element that had invited itself into your bedroom.

"This is my bedroom," you announced, leading Viscount Simon on a brief tour. You observed him as he moved toward your bed and the bookshelf. His large hands gently skimmed over the rows of books, and his eyes, visible through the skull-like mask, carefully scanned the titles.

“I didn’t take you for such a romance reader, Jane Austen, Your Highness?”

You noticed his finger resting on “Pride and Prejudice” and felt compelled to explain. “Yes, most of them are by Jane Austen, but her works are more than just romance,” you informed him, eager to share your love for literature.

“Excuse me, but there’s not a single book here that is not romance.” His interest in your personal space and choice of reading material piqued your curiosity even further. “Are you an expert perhaps?”

"No, I am not," you admitted, your tone laced with a hint of shame. The vulnerability in sharing this aspect of yourself with Viscount Simon revealed a layer of your character that you hadn't expected to expose during this encounter.

"I can teach you some things from these books, unless you already possess the knowledge," Viscount Simon offered. He selected a random chapter from one of the books and began to read aloud, his gaze eventually shifting back to you.

With his arms now crossed, the buttons on his vest seemed on the verge of bursting due to the muscles that strained against it. The prospect of learning from him, coupled with the undeniable physical presence he exuded, left you intrigued and eager to explore this connection further.

"Knowledge of what?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by his statement. As Viscount Simon approached you, his every step seemed to carry a weight of its own, and you couldn't help but notice the way his breaths grew heavier, causing his chest to rise with each intake of air.

His masked face concealed most of his expressions, but his eyes continued to hold your attention, revealing a shift in his demeanor that intrigued you even more.

"May I, Your Highness?" Viscount Simon asked softly as he gently lifted your chin with his index finger, tilting it upward until your gazes locked completely. The sudden and intimate gesture left you gasping for air, and a rush of emotions from earlier returned with a renewed intensity. In that moment, it felt as if the world outside your shared space had ceased to exist.

You nodded, still unsure of what he was asking for, and confusion clouded your thoughts. Suddenly, Viscount Simon closed the distance between the two of you, narrowing the gap until you were in close proximity, and your breaths seemed to synchronize in that intimate space.

His lips were soft, and everything you read in the books are now suddenly real.

Viscount Simon’s right hand gently cradled the back of your neck, securing you in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. His kiss was passionate, intense, and consuming, leaving you both breathless and addicted to the taste and sensation of each other. In this private room that had once held your deepest secrets, it now bore witness to your first kiss, a moment that defied propriety but felt undeniably right in that intoxicating connection between you two.

In the midst of the heated kiss, every thought and worry seemed to vanish from your mind. Viscount Simon's warm tongue ventured into your mouth, igniting a rush of desire that left you breathless. You held onto his vest with a desperate grip, the fabric of his waistcoat beneath your fingertips offering an anchor in the whirlwind of sensations that coursed through you. The world outside ceased to exist as you both lost yourselves in this intimate exchange, a forbidden connection that felt undeniably intense and irresistible.

He must’ve kept all this encased during the dance…

Viscount Simon's strong hand cupped your face, holding you tenderly as the intensity of the kiss grew. His groans of pleasure became more pronounced, and the raw desire in his sounds threatened to melt you into a puddle beneath him. The fire in your belly surged, an insatiable heat that refused to be extinguished. Every vein in your body seemed to pulse with desire as you couldn't help but wonder where he had been all this time, and why it had taken so long for your paths to cross in such an electrifying way.

"You... taste delicious," Viscount Simon murmured as he pulled away from the kiss, a thin string of saliva briefly connecting your reddened and swollen lips before breaking. Both of you were left breathless, taking moments to regain your composure as you watched Simon also catch his breath. His remark left you feeling dizzy and uncertain about what had just transpired, and the lingering question of why it had happened hung in the air between you.

“My Lord, why did you kiss me just now?” You broke the silence, and he looks up at you, still panting.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Your Highness, but I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

Your voice wavered with a mix of desire and frustration as you implored, "Stop asking me such questions before I do something completely and utterly outrageous." The tension between you and Viscount Simon had reached an almost unbearable peak, and your words conveyed both the temptation and the peril of this magnetic connection that had ignited between you.

Your brows furrow, “I don’t understand what I did, My Lord.”

"Simon, Your Highness," he corrected, his tone both firm and possessive as he closed the distance between you once again. The formality mingled with intimacy in his address, emphasizing the complexity of your connection and the roles you both occupied in this uncharted territory of desire and longing.

Suddenly, Viscount Simon began to undress your chemise, leaving you with only your undergarments. Your voice quivered as you confessed, "Simon, I was told this was not allowed unless I am married..." The touch of his hands against your skin felt like lava, igniting a blazing heat that coursed through your body. The boundaries and proprieties that had once defined your world seemed to blur and fade in the face of this overwhelming desire and vulnerability.

“Do you want this?” He asked, a simple question that made you answer it in less than a second. You wanted to shout “yes” but that was deemed highly inappropriate. So you kept quiet and all you did was nod, though, Simon kept asking.

“A nod won’t do, Your Highness. I need to know if you want me to touch you, to kiss every inch of your body, to explore depths no other man has ever explored, and to tell you that you are mine. Do you want that?”

In that suspended moment, you gazed at him in awe, realizing that every description he had given you, every hint of desire and passion he had conveyed, was everything you had been longing for. It was everything you so desperately wanted. The anticipation that had built within you had finally reached its culmination, and now, in this moment, it had all become a breathtaking reality.

"I want you to do all of the above," you confessed in a breathy, fervent tone. In that intimate moment, you could discern the expression in Viscount Simon's eyes behind his mask, and the desire and hunger mirrored in his gaze confirmed the depth of the connection you both shared.

Lust.

Viscount Simon began to unbutton his vest and everything else beneath his waistcoat, gradually revealing his sculpted torso. Each chiseled muscle seemed to tell a story of years of hard work and sacrifice, with every scar etching its own narrative.

Unable to contain your fascination, you traced your fingers delicately across each scar, causing Simon to flinch at your touch. The intimacy of this moment, where you explored the physical evidence of his past, deepened the connection between you even further.

You asked in a voice tinged with sadness, “When and how have you gotten these?” Your fingers continued to trace the scars on his torso, and a part of you wished that he had never had to endure the pain and suffering that each mark represented.

“I would like to talk about these another time, I don’t want to ruin this moment, love.” You understood.

He gets up from off his knees and places both his hands besides you, you sat on the edge of the bed as he leans towards your face. “Would you like me to undress you, Your Highness?”

"You may," you breathed in response, your need for his touch growing more intense with each passing moment. Viscount Simon didn't completely undress you; instead, he lifted your petticoat all the way up to your waist, exposing your white cotton undergarments to him. Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, you hid your face, unable to meet his gaze as your desire and vulnerability laid bare before him.

"In all my years of living, I've never seen someone so perfect," Viscount Simon whispered, his words of admiration sending shivers down your spine. He lowered his face to your thighs, and you gasped at the sensation of his soft lips and warm breath trailing across your bare skin. He left a trail of peppered kisses as he slowly made his way to your most sacred and intimate spot, igniting a fiery passion between you that seemed to transcend time and place.

Simon hooks his fingers on the band of your undergarment, and slid them off, leaving you completely bare in front of him. His jaw locks, looking at you like you’re the prey and he’s the predator, ready to devour his meal and fulfill his hunger.

"What are you going to do?" you questioned, your voice filled with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Despite your previous experiences with literature and romance, this moment was uncharted territory, and you found yourself both intrigued and apprehensive about what might come next.

He completely ignored your question, taking his finger and touching it on your most sensitive spot. You gripped the cotton sheets, it became victim to your tight hold.

“Your Highness, this spot right here, may cause some discomfort.” He warned, his rough finger circling the bud slowly.

You struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you found it difficult to form the right words. Your senses were overwhelmed, and your mind raced as you desperately tried to find your voice and articulate your thoughts in this intense and intimate moment.

Small whines and moans left your mouth, putting Simon in a haze. “Now right here,” his finger slid down your throbbing folds, “may hurt, darling.”

You balance yourself on both your elbows, seeing the intense sight in front of you. Simon’s head was in between your legs, and his fingers were on your cunt.

His middle finger enters a part of you that made you let out a scream in response, he may have warned you before, but it still hurt. “Did I hurt you, love? If you’d like me to stop, I can.”

"No, please," you assured him, your voice trembling with both desire and reassurance. "I assure you, I am fine." His hands remained firmly pressed against your thighs, and you welcomed him further into this intimate connection, surrendering to the intoxicating sensations that washed over you.

“Tell me when you’d like me to stop, my princess.”

My Princess. That alone let a moan escape your lips.

His finger began to slide in and out, and the sensations that surged through you left you breathless. It was a mix of pleasure and pain, a new and overwhelming experience that had your body tingling with desire and your mind racing with sensations you had never felt before.

"Oh, Simon..." you whimpered, your head thrashing from side to side as he continued to pay no heed to your whimpers and moans. His mouth descended to your most intimate place, and he began to explore you fully, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you surrendered to the exquisite sensations that washed over you.

“Stay still.” He ordered, ignoring your protests as his hands make their way to your waist and back to your thighs. Gripping them as if he’s scared you’re going to somehow leave his hold. His tongue laps against your entrance as his finger continued to slide inside and out, then quickly adding a second finger.

“Simon!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation that surged through you. The knots in your stomach tugged tighter, intensifying the anticipation as you neared the peak of ecstasy, the culmination of desire and longing.

Your legs instinctively wrap around his head, their delicate silk fabric clinging tightly as his warm breath tickles your inner thighs. With each gentle brush of his nose against your bud, a delicious shiver of anticipation courses through your body, intensifying the electric connection between you.

And there, you couldn’t take it anymore. You unraveled underneath him as he continued to devour you, his grip intensified as you thrashed your head around. Every delicate moans escaped your mouth, and you thought you’d never make these noises in your life, yet here you are.

“You are bloody delicious, my love, so sweet.” He kissed your thighs as he hovers over you. His breathe heaving and his chest covered in sweat. You couldn’t deny the attractiveness in front of you, it was almost impossible how someone could look this good in a mask.

"Thank you, Simon," you expressed your gratitude, and in his mysterious eyes, a glint of admiration shimmered like a hidden treasure in the depths of a secret world you had just begun to explore together.

“It is my honor, Your Highness. I am sure the next time we visit, it won’t be the same as this.”

"What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued, and an unspoken desire that he would stay by your side forever welled up within you. He sighed, his breath carrying the weight of unspoken truths, and his eyes held a depth of emotions that begged to be explored further.

"I mean, Your Highness," he began, his voice holding a note of determination, "that I will never let you go. I intend to reveal the deeper parts of myself to you, and I will slowly begin to show and teach you everything you desire to know." His words carried a promise of a journey into the unknown, an exploration of desires and emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface.

“I realized now more than ever, that I need you.”

——

NOTE: HOLY!!! This took a week (omg) and now it’s finally done. I’m actually so proud of this. Let me know if you’d like to be in the taglist. Once again, thank you all for reading my peeps! :) this was a promise made by me! Also, I may have watched Bridgerton hundreds of times and Queen Charlotte and all of those shows etc etc, but if there’s something historically incorrect, please inform me! I would love to correct it for future readers. Thanks once again!

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 26 days

Note

HII okay so ik this is a bit of a weird request (or maybe im js rlly anxious rn for some reason??) BUT i was wondering if u could do like little head canons of Leo and a female reader who has like, a really deep country accent IYKWIM?? PLS N THANK U dont rush or anything js a small request🫶🫶

✮⋆˙ howdys, yeehaws, and cowgirls; leo valdez x western! daughter of apollo! reader blurb

content: leo valdez x western! daughter of apollo! reader blurb warning: lanauage and stereotyping (?) of texans but it's okay yall will get over it author's note: as someone from rural california (yes ive been trying to gaslight you guys into thinking i live on the beach when really it's three hours away stfu) and literally just went to a school sanctioned line dance that is quite literally more anticipated than prom, i feel more than qualified to answer this prompt lmao. ive seen a pair of cowboys more than once everyday my whole life. for FUN kids i know raise pigs and cows and lambs and shit and then sell them off at fairs. also do not stress bby, this wasn't a weird request at all! in fact it was so good i made a whole blurb lmao. ALEXA play my childhood country playlist, thank you miss girl. 10 year old me knew good music when she heard it okay, stfu. OH AND PLAY COWBOY CARTER WHILE YOUR AT IT YALL COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE BEYOUNCE LEAVE MY GIRL ALONE FRFR you just dont wanna admit the albums good smh

to say leo missed texas, would be a lie. there was a deep ache in his chest to just go home. it was a strange feeling, considering he couldn't remember the last time he was in that state, as the foster system was eager to drag him all over the country. he missed the sticky and dry heat, he missed the longhorn cows that always seemed to be in the roads, and what he missed most of all was whattaburger. him and will mourned the loss of the beloved food chain weekly, if not daily. but, he only ever mentioned these feelings around will and simply in passing. he didn't think people would understand why he missed the state who's accent he tried his best to rid himself of.

which is why, when news spread of a new camper from texas, leo was buzzing to meet them. what was failed to be mentioned in the rumors, though, was the fact that you were a girl and also drop dead gorgeous. he was staring at you in a way that would have his mother smacking him upside the head, cursing him out in spanish. it took a bit for him to introduce himself, his nerves allowing his accent to slip through occationally.

"are ya from texas?" you asked, eagerly, your eyes brightening in a way that had leo's knees buckling. your voice, oh gods, your voice-

"yeah," he breathed out, bordering on a coo as you cheered.

"finally! and here i thought there were no cowboys left in new york," you teased, poking his chest with a finger before someone from the hermes cabin was calling you over. you flashed him a smile brigther than the sun on a hot texas day and scampered off, your cowgirl booties with bows clanking to the beat of leo's heart as you went.

from that day forwards, it was hard to see you without leo close by. finally, someone else to talk to about texas. sure, will was great, but he was a busy guy with all his medical stuff and boyfriend. and your voice left leo like a fly to honey. it was sexy and got him hot and heavy. but, it was also a comforting dialect that had him thinking of childhood, sweet tea, and sweltering heat.

and then you were claimed by apollo, only a few days after your arrival. i guess apollo has a thing for cowgirls, and leo couldn't relate to the god more if he tried. leo was slightly worried that you'd turn out just like will, locked up inside the infirmary, destined only to share passing comments of missing real texan barbeque. but, then you came up to leo during lunch, blushing as you admitted that you fainted when kayla pressed the scalpel into your hand. and leo laughed, and silently thanked his lucky lone star.

then the more musically talented apollo kids caught wind of the fact that you sang in your church's choir as a kid and nearly blew the whole camp up in excitement. something about wanting to do a country performance for camp but never having a lead singer with the accent as they'd rather jump into the sea of monsters in speedos then listen to will attempt to sing. naturally, you were more than happy to sing, excitedly telling leo about the country songs you were picking out, even letting him request a few of his childhood favorites.

and as you were prancing around on that slapdash stage with your siblings, singing proudly into a mic with your accent clear as day, leo fell a little bit more in love with you every note. and he fell back in love with texas, too, and everything it meant to him - everything he knew it meant to his mom. every twang of your voice and every playful tip of your cowboy hat had him thinking of how much his mother would have loved you or how he had wished the two of you could have met. nevertheless, he was laughing and singing along, front and center with will, there arms thrown around each other. they both wore barely thrown together western outfits, thought will had a hat, that despite leo's begging, he wouldn't give up.

at some point in the show, you were singing of coca cola and tight shirts, kneeling near the edge of the stage. leo was entranced as you locked eyes with him, just barely computing that you took your hat off and set it on his curls before jumping back up to your feet, singing about wanting to be wherever your boy was, throwing a wink to leo over your shoulder.

and gods, you were hotter than the blazing texas sun in the middle of summer, that much leo valdez was sure.

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #hoo #pjo #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #leo valdez x oc

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 28 days

Text

the smouldering scar

fused with the foe, chapter three

a/n: big reveal in this one, you guys. hold on to your butts!

summary: you didn’t know how long he remained silent, frozen in the depths of the answer your simple question apparently had, but eventually, you heard him say, “I wanna show you something.”

warnings: king!steve rogers x reader, fantasy AU (monsters, but not much magic), original fantasy world, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, innocent!reader, violence, gore, injury, crying

word count: 3430

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It nearly looked like snow. But you knew it wasn’t. It was ash that swirled around in the smoky air outside of the small windows.

Sitting on the floor of the chamber that shot off of the grand throne room, your back was pressed back against the stone wall. Numerous servants, mostly elderly ones or others who couldn’t join on the battlefield, had, with a handful of wardens, all gathered in that meeting room. Some were seated at the round table in the middle while others had opted for the floor like you.

Hugging your knees to your chest, one of your hands slowly slid up and down your shin in a self-soothing caress, the movement eventually came to a stop on the top of your knee. Glancing down, you couldn’t help but turn your wrist and stare at the symbolic scar that marked your palm. Without really realising it, your other fingers came up to trace it gently as the terrifying reality of what was occurring just outside of these castle walls nearly ate you alive.

With every hellish thought that fluttered in your mind, you became nervous that you were mere moments away from throwing your breakfast back up.

What if Steve didn’t make it back? What if he was lying dead somewhere right now? What if he was just charred enough to make his demise inevitable, but draw his last few moments out in a torturous wait? What if you had to rule this kingdom, that you’d barely even gotten your footing in, all alone?

Suddenly, doors on the other side of the room were forced open so loudly that it ripped you from your paralysing thoughts and made you jump. Lifting yourself up to your feet, your eyes stayed glued to the exit.

But when the door to the chamber was pushed open, all of the air slipped out of your lungs in an instant.

With soot and scrapes tainting their features, there stood the royal who wouldn’t escape your worries, alongside numerous soldiers behind him.

“Turner, Hardy,” not even taking a second to breathe, he instantly called to the wardens who had been guarding the chamber, “go get some supplies, blankets, food and water, as well as some healing supplies to the throne room,” he commanded, “we’ll use it as a sanctuary and gather the people who lost their homes as well as prepare for some of the injured since the hospital is already dangerously close to full capacity–”

Before you even knew what was happening, you’d crossed the room and nearly tackled the king from how forcefully you threw your arms around him. A breath of air seeped out of his lungs at the blow. It wasn’t till his touch slowly found your spine that you realised what you had done. Scurrying back like his touch had shocked you, “I’m sorry,” your wide eyes blinked up at him and your stomach twisted at the reality of what you’d just done, “I didn’t–…” though when you met his gaze, your shoulders melted back down into place as you uttered, “hi.”

“Hey,” he breathed, staring down at you as guards rushed around him, dashing to fulfil his commands, “are you alright?”

“I’m–…” for a split second you were gonna spill to him just how terrifying it had been, how scared you still were, but looking back at him and the other knights, seeing the obvious signs of the fire they’d just walked through, you instinctively withered down and replied, “yeah. I’m fine,” you tried your best to keep your tone steady, “are you? What happened? Did you–…”

“Steve,” haven already migrated into the chamber, Bucky then tossed the king a roll of bandages, “we’ve got this here, you go take care of your side.”

Watching Steve’s quick reflexes catch the cloth with one hand, your gaze then grew again as it scanned his frame, “your side? What happened to your side?”

“It’s nothing,” he tried to relax his clenched jaw as he said, “it’s fine.”

With chaos buzzing all around the room, you searched his steely eyes a moment before you then turned on your heel. Snatching up one of the healing kits resting on the central table, you then glanced over your shoulder and gestured with your head, “come.”

Weaving through the crowd, you slipped into the vacant war room. A thick table, littered with maps and little markers, grounded the space. Not glancing back at him as you heard him shadow you, he slowly began to lay down the weapons still strapped to him as you pulled out a chair and sat the wooden box down on the table, the glass vials within it clinked against each other at the force.

“You don’t have to help me,” his deep voice was quiet as he stayed near the door, “this isn’t my first burn.”

Unlatching the lid, you glanced back at him as you opened the box, “do you not want my help?”

“No,” he shook his head and lowered his shield and axe to a chair he passed when his feet finally began to shift.

“Then take your armour off,” you nodded clinically as you returned your gaze to the herbs before you.

As he began to near you, he slowly started to loosen the straps of his leather armour, gently shedding it as he watched you search through the kit.

“Where is it, where is it…” you muttered as you plucked up the bottles and read the scribbled labels, looking for the right thing, “ah!” you exclaimed as you located the elderberry and milkweed salve, “there!”

Steve’s brows knit together gently as he placed one of his layers on the chair beside the one you sat in, “…you know how to treat a burn?”

“Yes,” you met his eye, “why? Did you not think someone like me would know about the art of healing? That it would be too grotesque for my fragile little soul?”

“No, I just–… I didn’t know that about you,” he leaned back against the table.

“So, what happened out there?” your eyes flicked down to the crimson stain on his ivory tunic.

Letting out a low exhale, a moment passed before he uttered, “I don’t know if maybe we’d been more prepared that we would have been able to win… we tried everything, but it got away… flew out west… with barely even a fucking scratch…” his eyes stayed locked on the same crack in the floor by his boots, “people that I’ve known and fought beside all of my life got turned to ash in seconds… houses were burned down, fields were set a flame… it just doesn’t make sense… none of it does… I’ve studied dragons and never, anywhere, have I come across an account of them just stopping by a town to kill a few folks before up and leaving again. Dragons are greedy, they’re solitary, they’re highly intelligent, I–…” a heavy sigh then seeped from his lungs, “it just doesn’t make sense…”

A knock then echoed at the door.

Clearing the thickness in his throat, Steve lifted his gaze and said, “yes?”

An elderly servant, balancing a tray, creaked the door open, “I thought some refreshments might do you good, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Hilda,” the king mustered a small smile as she sat the pitcher and glasses down beside him before disappearing out the door once more.

Carefully, Steve then peeled his soot and blood-stained tunic over his head and revealed the nasty burn that stretched across his left ribs.

It was terrible, but for a moment you grew thankful for his distracting injury as you tried your hardest not to make the face that his burly physique conjured.

As you began to smear the salve carefully over the burn, a stifled groan slipped out of him at your first touch.

“Sorry,” the muscles in your body tensed as you could only imagine the pain he was in.

“It’s alright,” he uttered through controlled breaths as he watched your fingers glide over the angry blisters that bubbled at his scorched waist.

Popping the cork back into the stout glass container when the salve had been spread over his wound, you then picked up the bandage and your efforts almost caused you to hug him again as you wrapped it around his abdomen.

When the clean cloth was secured and you’d turned to pack the supplies back up, Steve suddenly remembered, “oh, you should probably have this back,” and removed the borrowed chain you’d been too blind to notice dangling from his neck. Placing the necklace in your palm, a small smile twitched at his lip, “thank you for lending it to me. One could always use a little more bravery and not just when an actual dragon’s spewing off fire over your head.”

“I guess so,” your head cocked slightly, unsure what prompted him to say that.

Searching your expression, he said, “you know, because of the rune.”

“What?”

“Because it means courage,” he pointed down to the scratch in the opalescent stone, “did you don't know that?”

“It does?” you glanced down at the necklace like you were seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah. Is that not why you wear it?”

“No, I’ve just always worn it,” your head gently shook from side to side, “kinda thought of it as a good luck charm since it’s the only item of my mother's I’ve ever had…”

“Cosima, are you sure there isn’t anything more we can do to help?” Steve asked the farmer sincerely.

Shaking her head, her grey locks were cropped so short that they only offered a silver shadow of hair, “you’ve already done so much, your majesty.”

Glancing around at the charred remains of the farm that had gotten the brunt of the dragon attack, the king spotted the gloomy girl that shyly shadowed Cosima’s wife as her fingers stayed weaved in the spotted fur of a young sheepdog.

“Is that your granddaughter back there playing with that puppy?”

Glancing back over her shoulder, a sombre smile twitched at her lip, “yeah, that’s our little parsnip.”

“How is she taking it?” he asked slowly.

“I think our attempt at distracting her is actually working, even just a little bit…” her eyes stayed on the dog a moment longer before she glanced back at the king and you beside him, “the attack turned too many children into orphans. We’re staying with the blacksmith and his wife while we rebuild the farm,” she spoke, “and his brother and sister-in-law didn’t make it as well, so now they are taking care of their nephew.”

“Wait, Mary and Richard?” Steve’s eyes widened slightly, “I didn’t know they were among the deceased.”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.”

Standing by his side, you’d let Steve do most of the talking. Not just because he knew the people better, but you also just didn’t know what to say without bursting into tears.

Staring at the kid slightly obscured by her grandmother, your feet couldn’t help but shift closer to her and Steve’s voice, “…I was thinking of gathering the town council again tomorrow if you could spread the word to the rest of the members,” slowly faded away as you neared.

Kneeling down before her, you mustered a gentle smile as you asked, “is this your dog?”

Staring up at you, her weary and bloodshot eyes were wide as she quietly replied, “yes.”

“What’s its name?”

Scarcely breathing in your presence, the girl timidly said, “his name is Oak.”

“Hello, Oak,” you scratched the puppy’s fluffy ear, “aren’t you adorable…”

“Excuse me, what?” you glanced up from the expansive map that screeched across the table of the war room and blinked back at the king.

“I said, what do you think we should do?” Steve repeated, “what do you wanna do?”

“You want my opinion?” your shock shined clear through your tone, “really?”

“Of course, I do.”

Letting your gaze flutter to the seagulls flying by outside the window, you exhaled, “well… I’m not sure what I could do to help. I honestly feel kinda helpless,” you shared, “I’m not a carpenter, I can’t help rebuild the homes that burnt down…” but then an idea tickled the back of your mind, “where is it again that the orphanage is located?”

“In The Dandelion Quarter, down by the docks,” Steve’s chin tilted slightly, “what were you thinking?”

“Well, it’s not much, but I kinda wanna go down there, visit the kids if they’ll let me. I don’t know if that’s dumb, but maybe it wouldn’t be nothing if I put some effort into distracting them a bit or whatever they might need. Is that stupid? To do that for as long as they’ll let me?”

“No,” he shook his head, “no, not at all.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” letting his fingers ghost over the backs of the chairs, he slowly curved around to the side of the table where you stood, “we both have an idea of what it’s like to lose your parents. I think it’s a great idea.”

As your lips twitched up into a smile, so did his.

Though as you stood there and momentarily let yourself disappear into his gaze, a thought struck you and you soon found your lips parting once more.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?” he simply hummed.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

Noticing that you were gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you forced yourself to stop before you uttered, “why is it that you call me dove?”

You didn’t know how long he remained silent, frozen in the depths of the answer your simple question apparently had, but eventually, you heard him say, “I wanna show you something.”

“Alright,” slowly nodded before following him out of the chamber.

You’d never before entered the room he then showed you to, never even realised there was anything down this corridor. Though a bit dusty, the magnificent office he’d led you to only granted you more questions than answers.

“This was my mom’s study,” Steve said slowly as he stepped aside and let you explore the space, “I haven’t changed a thing in here since she died. Everything’s still exactly as she left it.”

As you glanced around the room, from the polished desk to the untouched tea set still sitting by a soft armchair, a painting on the far side wall caught your eye and made all of the hair of your body stand up.

The portrait was in an informal style, depicting a teenage girl with her arm around another. One of them you knew to be the same lady illustrated countless other paintings within the castle, but the other, the young plump woman depicted in a pair of billowy pants, her you recognised as well.

“Oh my–, is that–…” scarcely breathing at all, you tore your stare away from the painting, “Steve, why is there a portrait of my mother in here?”

Sucking in a breath, his low voice then found your ears once more, “because that is a painting of my mother and her best friend.”

“H-her–,” you felt as if the world might fall out from under you, “what?”

“Our mothers were friends,” he shared slowly, “they grew up together.”

With brows tightly knitted together, you blinked between the king and the painting, “she was born here?”

“She was,” he nodded.

“I–… I knew my mom wasn’t from Obelón, but I never knew she was from here…” tears began to blur up your vision as you stared up at the portrait, “this doesn’t make any sense… I always thought my mother hated this kingdom… she was on a diplomatic mission here when she died, trying to stop the war our marriage eventually put an end to.”

“No, she wasn’t,” he softly corrected.

Whipping your head back at him once more, “what?”

“She wasn’t here for any political reason,” he disclosed, “it wasn’t unusual for her to visit her home, but even that wasn’t the reason why she was here when she passed,” he sucked in a breath before continuing, “Y/n, she was trying to escape. Trying to find a way for both her and her children to leave your father.”

“She was? I always thought they were happy together, that they loved each other.”

“They might have in the very beginning, I don’t know,” you slowly sank down into a chair as he spoke, “but I do remember the way that she spoke about him back then and it was with anything but love. I might have been young, but I wasn’t a complete idiot about what was going on around me.”

“You knew her?”

“I did,” he exhaled, “I mean, I was just a small child, but yeah, I remember her well.”

Feeling your body tremble at the discovery, you hazily heard yourself ask, “would you–… could you tell me about her?”

Offering you a small nod, he then sat down in the armchair opposite the one you found yourself in.

“My mom always told me that she and Saoirse were practically attached at the hip as kids. Where the crown princess went, your mother followed and vice versa. But at my mother’s coronation, Saoirse met King Ivan and it didn’t take long before he swept her with him. They tried to keep in contact, the best that they could, but at one point the letters were so few and far in between that my mom had nearly lost all hope in the kinship. But then, one day, after I was born, your mother started coming around again. She became like family to me as well. Taught me how to skip rocks, how to throw a punch, she even told me stories of the gods. But the last time she was here it was different, everything was different… my memories from that far back are fairly spotty, but I still remember every single thing from that night… the night that you were born… when Saoirse realised her fate, she made my mother promise her that she’d look out for you, that she’d protect you no matter what. We tried to keep you here, to keep you from going back to the very place your mom had worked so hard at freeing you from, but at the end of the day, all we had to prove you staying here were the dying words of a mother, not the blood you shared with a king. My mom always kept an eye on you for the remainder of her life. And then she made me promise to do the same.”

Feeling a heavy tear drip from your chin and down into your lap, you uttered, “so, that’s why you married me?”

Meeting your eye, he uttered, “I married you to protect the daughter of a very kind lady I once knew. I married you to keep up a promise I made to my mother.”

“I see…” the fact that he wed you out of kindness and duty somehow didn’t help how overwhelmed you still felt, “I still don’t understand though why you call me dove. I get why you told me all of this, and I’m-… thank you for doing so, but what does it have to do with that nickname?”

Weaving his fingers together, he glanced down at them, “your mom, uh… it’s what she called you whenever she’d talk to her belly,” unclasping his hands, one of them briefly fluttered up to scratch the nape of his neck, “hell, my mom even continued to call you that long after your father gave you a proper name. I didn’t really realise I was doing it, guess it subconsciously just kind of slipped out when I met you, but I can stop if that’s what you’d prefer.”

“No,” you swiftly shook your head, “you don’t have to stop.”

Glancing up at you, he offered a light nod, “alright.”

Letting your vision flutter back to the youthful depiction of your mother, your eyes took in every little detail as a stomach-turning thought haunted your mind till you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“…do you remember what chamber it was that she–…” turning your head to meet his gaze, you couldn’t get yourself to finish the sentence, though thankfully, the king didn’t need any more words to understand.

“I do…”

Your eyes flickered to your lap to spot the few splotchy tears that had stained the silk.

“…could you show it to me?”

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